Maid to Order by C.Lakewood ________________________________ | | | PENDANT PRESS | | | | | | Susan Ingoldsby | | | | Senior Editor | |_______________________________|
I envisioned my brand new business card yet again. The promotion was in the bag -- more status, a hefty raise, and better benefits -- in return for what is really part-time work...plus a little skillful flirting with upper management, implying a lot more than I ever intend to come across with.... God! How long have I been playing this game? It must be 15 years now -- ever since my sophomore year in college. And I'm very, very good at it, if I do say so. College professors, traffic cops, salesmen, contractors, supervisors, Warren (my wimpy ex) -- all grist for my mill. The latest, old man Morton (the erstwhile Senior Editor and my erstwhile mentor), was one of the easiest: flatter him a little, pick his brains, knife him in the back, and manoeuvre the carcass out the door -- all without him really knowing what had happened and who had engineered it. Well, he did warn me that "Business is Darwinian." I hope he's satisfied to be part of the proof. (Of course, I role-play only for people who can give me something. Lower-end people -- janitors, for example -- tend just to get the sharp edge of my tongue.) Yes, life was pretty good and about to get better. The divorce had brought me the big Victorian house and furnishings, the Audi, and a sizeable cash settlement. (The settlement was practically gone now, unfortunately, having been wiped out when all those bastard dot-com companies tanked.) Of course, the Queen Anne-style house was just too big for me to take care of properly by myself. And it had been a while since I'd even tried to keep up, so it was turning into a real sty. Now, however, with my impending rise in status as Senior Editor, I decided that I really shouldn't have to do any of that anymore. So I got in touch with a counselor at the local college, who in turn referred me to a Vietnamese student (actually, three-quarters Vietnamese and a quarter French), named Lê Minh Sanh. Accordingly, I phoned the girl, Sanh (pronounced, I found out, as if it were spelled "Shan"). She sounded polite and eager to work. She tended to mishandle "the" and "a" -- too much of one and not enough of the other -- but, otherwise, her English was excellent, if occasionally halting. I asked her to come over to the house the following day, noon-ish, and she showed up promptly at 12, neatly and conservatively dressed. She seemed very deferential. She was 22 years old (though she looked about 15), small and slight (no more than 5' tall and 100 pounds). With her shy smile and short black hair (a pixie cut, for god's sake!), she rather resembled a young Leslie Caron. I showed her about the house, and we discussed hours and pay. She turned out to be quite accommodating, so I hired her. ****************************** Thursday was her first day. She arrived right on time, wearing a t-shirt, a pair of loose cotton shorts, and sandals. In that outfit, she looked even younger. Her bra-less breasts were quite small, her abs flat, her hips narrow, and her legs slender but attractively muscled. She straightened up the downstairs and did some vacuuming. Then I put her to work on the kitchen. In fact, we worked on the kitchen together, because I wanted to rearrange the contents of the shelves and work spaces. There was more scrubbing necessary than I'd thought, however, and, by the time we finished, I was exhausted and sweating heavily, whereas she still looked fresh and cool. I'd been watching her while we worked, more or less surreptitiously, I guess, admiring her lithe body and the way it moved, so...sinuously. All evening, as I pretended to watch TV, images of Sanh kept flitting through my mind. When at last I went to the bathroom before going to bed, I found I was very wet between my legs. I looked at myself in the mirror. "Get a grip," I said out loud. "You’re a perfectly respectable hetero, not some lunatic dyke...." I looked a bit longer and decided that, while I was 34 and not quite what I had been at 20 or 25 -- or even 30 -- I was still a pretty good looking piece. And I WAS a divorcée (and everybody knows what they're like). I've just got to get out more.... On an impulse, I weighed myself: 130. I shrugged. That was okay, I guess, for 5'7" -- though it could have been distributed better. The last time I measured, I was 33-28-36, and I hadn't changed much, if any. I sighed. You win some and lose some. I brushed my teeth, masturbated, had a pee, and went to bed -- where I fell asleep immediately and slept like the dead until my alarm roused me. On Friday, I was able to get some work done in the morning, have a lovely lunch, and day dream through meetings most of the afternoon. (The bulk of my daydreams were not about Sanh, but rather how I was going to spend the fabulous raise that would soon be coming my way. I felt quite like my old self -- even to the extent that I phoned one of my admirers and allowed him to insist on taking me to dinner. He didn't get much in return, but he seemed grateful, anyway.) ****************************** The following day, Saturday, Sanh was scheduled to work twice as long. I let her in and told her what needed to be done, then I nonchalantly left to go shopping. Remarkably, from time to time, in this store and that, I did see something and think, "Oh, that would look cute on Sanh...." But it didn't happen too often, and, each time, I was able to just shrug it off. At length, I got back home and walked into the house to find her polishing furniture -- and wearing only a wispy little pair of semi-transparent panties. I guess I stammered something -- I must have, though I don't know what. She wrinkled her nose and giggled. "Ah, well, I often dress...casually like this, 'specially if I am doing the strenuous work, and I was vacuuming earlier." She giggled again. (And was that a blush I saw, darkening her skin?) "And sometimes I even take off everything...if I am scrubbing the floors or bathrooms or something." I smiled and nodded...and forced myself not to lick my lips. How naive she was. I became accustomed to her flitting about in just her panties, but I was still shaken the first time I found her completely naked, on her hands and knees, scrubbing a bathtub. I watched her for several minutes, stunned by the sight, until she became aware of my presence, stood up, and said, "Afternoon, ma'am." I mumbled some sort of greeting and continued to stare...principally at her pubic hair, which was sparse and quite long and quite straight. At last she turned away and went back to work, and I hastily retreated. From then on, she seemed to be naked much of the time. A few days later, she was doing the kitchen floor, naked, as I was having tea and scones. She was still deferential (in most things), but had become quite talkative at times and was telling me that afternoon about her education in France. "When I was 18, and still quite shy, I was sent to the boarding school as sort of...I guess you say 'college prep.' My room-mate there was older girl who came from Algeria. She was very...domineering. And, since I was 'new girl,' I had to obey her...be her servant...sometimes lower than servant.... In our room, I had to be naked at all times...to sleep on thin pallet beside her bed...to call her 'Miss Azira'...to kiss her feet every morning and...well...do all the things she said, exactly the way she said...." She laughed, somewhat self-consciously. "It was very hard at first...especially when her friends visited.... That was most humiliating. But, I guess, 'exciting,' too.... And I soon stopped being shy." She shrugged. "But I also learned the...advantage of being naked when doing the nasty jobs like the scrubbing. I do not have to worry about my clothes. You should try it, yourself...ma'am. Easier to wash the body than the clothes.... Of course, Miss Azira let me wash myself only one time each week...and use only the cold water...." She shivered. "Also, when we were out together, I had to walk two paces behind her and keep my eyes on the ground. Off the school grounds, I had to wear clothes like lowly Algerian servants. People called us 'la chienne et sa fillette' -- 'the bitch and her puppy.'" When she finished the kitchen a little later, she announced that the bathrooms were next, seized my hand, and dragged me along, practically insisting that we do them together. And, more than that.... "Now, do not be...up-tight!" she said, waiting for me strip down, too. And I quickly found myself standing there, naked (and trembling a bit), as she looked me over...thoroughly. I felt myself blush bright red under her gaze. Then she smiled (grinned? smirked?) and gave me a bucket and a brush. She did some of the work, but mostly just watched me and made occasional comments. After I finished, she complimented my work, causing me to blush again. From then on, she'd often suggest I help. It did tend to get the jobs done faster, and there was always plenty to do. But it also seemed that she did less and less of the work and spent most of the time supervising me...and teaching me, I suppose. Under the circumstances, she stopped addressing me as "Mrs. Ingoldsby" or "ma'am" and just called me "Susan." And so the days passed, in rather mindless activity. But I did find a certain inexplicable satisfaction in toiling, naked, as Sanh watched me strain and sweat. Then, one Thursday, just as we were about to start on a bathroom, she announced that she had an important errand. She said that she'd be back in half an hour (or so) and that I should start without her. She returned as I was finishing the second bathroom. "Not done YET?" she asked. "Have you been loafing?" Standing in the doorway, she was cool and nicely dressed, while I was on my hands and knees, naked and grubby. I was getting used to being nude in front of her, but still.... I scrambled to my feet. "But you DID do good, Suzy," she added, with a smile, as she patted me on the bottom. Then, with a lip shrug, she said that she had to go out again, and that I should go right ahead with the third bath -- the toilet especially needed a good scrub -- and that she'd see me on Saturday. That night I couldn't get over her patting my rear like that...and calling me "Suzy." I suppose I should have felt resentful at being patronized like that -- and I TRIED to -- but, I just couldn't, for whatever reason.... ****************************** On Saturday, she showed up quite late, blaming the traffic and saying that it was getting to be more and more of a nuisance. That prompted me to broach an idea that had been percolating in my brain for a while. "Why...um...why don't you just move in here? You could have the guest bedroom that I'm not using for an office, and it would not only simplify your commuting, but save you money, too." She cocked her head to the side and seemed lost in thought for a moment. Then she beamed. "Oh, yes...yes.... That would be wonderful." She moved in the following day. That night, shortly after I'd turned in, Sanh knocked softly on my bedroom door. "I am sorry," she said. "But the street light shines directly into my eyes...and the curtains do not close all the way, and the shade is broken." I swallowed, nervously. "W-why...um...why don't you sleep in here, at least for tonight, dear? We can sort things out...later." She smiled (shyly?) and nodded. As she entered, I could see that she apparently slept in the nude.... I awoke out of a fantastic dream, teetering on the edge of an orgasm. It was so vivid at that moment -- the bedside clock read 1:17 -- but I couldn't recall any of it later...except that it involved Sanh and me (and a swarthy woman whom I somehow knew was Algerian), and we were all naked and sweating. I felt strange lying there with Sanh's warm young body next to me. On an impulse that I still don't understand, I stuck my head under the sheet and moved closer to Sanh's crotch. I could smell her pussy, unfiltered by panties, a spicy, sweet-and-sour fragrance that I found intoxicating. I inhaled her aroma and wanted so badly to play with myself -- but I didn't dare. I knew I was near to an orgasm already and didn't want to cum and make a lot of commotion and wake her.... How could I ever explain that? Eventually, I slipped out of bed and hid in the bathroom, where I masturbated to a quick orgasm. I wasn't really satisfied, but knew that that would have to do. Trembling, I crept back to bed. Before I left the house the next morning, I went through Sanh's dirty lingerie and found the panties she'd worn the day before. They still smelled of her. I drove to work with one hand. The whole way, I alternated sniffing her panties with fingering myself. By the time I got to work, I was half-crazy. I dashed to the ladies' room, clattering along the terrazzo floor, heedless of how I must have looked, then locked myself in a stall, stuffed Sanh's panties into my mouth, and masturbated with both hands for almost half an hour. That evening, I suggested we wait until the weekend to switch over the guest rooms, and, meanwhile, she might as well continue to sleep with me. ****************************** But, on Friday, the hammer fell at Pendant Press: it had been bought out by another publishing company, and two thirds of Pendant's employees were being let go...immediately. I walked out of the building stunned, with a severance check that included an extra two weeks in lieu of notice. I was waiting for Sanh when she came home from class, and I blurted out the whole story about getting fired. She hugged me and stroked my hair and told me that she would see to it.... Then she gave me a list of chores, told me that she had to go out again, and waited while I stripped off my clothes and got to work. I was scrubbing the back porch when she returned. She lounged in the doorway, sipping a glass of lemonade and watching me work. I was thirsty, too, but she didn't offer me a drink. "You have done well today," she said. "Good little worker. But the toilet in the third bathroom is not as clean as it should be. Come, I will show you." She handed me her empty glass, turned on her heel, and walked off briskly, leaving me to follow along in her wake. Back in the third bathroom, I scrubbed the toilet again under her watchful eye. Finally, she announced she was satisfied and patted my bottom again. I shivered at her touch. She shooed me off to the next chore on the list and then left again. She was out late that night. I stayed up until she came in. ****************************** Saturday, she left early. When I eventually crawled out of bed, I pulled on a t-shirt that wasn't too dirty, breakfasted on pop-tarts and beer, turned on the TV, and began polishing furniture. Sanh returned, not long after. "I am glad to see that you have started without needing to be told. But you are over-dressed...." I quickly took off the t-shirt. "Good girl! That is much better," she said, with a thin smile. "A-and...wh-what about you?" I ventured, somewhat timidly. "Aaaah," she said, superciliously. "Later. First, we must talk about...business." She sat down in the big leather chair, and I started to sit on the couch, but she shook her head. "No. Just stand there and listen to me," she said. "I consulted my friend, who is accountant. You are in the deep trouble and must take the...drastic action right away, he says. You have very little cash reserve, and the job market is not good right now. So, you must give up your car, eliminate luxuries, take in boarders, and get SOME sort of job, even the part-time, until the crisis is past. Fortunately, I can help you. I will find work for you, and several of my friends will move in and pay the good rent -- IF they can be sure that the house will be run correctly...." "'Run correctly'? What does that mean?" I was confused. "I would be in charge," she said, blandly. "B-b-but...." "It is either that...or I wash my hands of...of you...and just move out." She shrugged. "Without me, you will never manage the mortgage and will lose the house." "I-I just can't lose the house. Then I'd have nothing." "So. I am in charge, then?" I sighed. "Oh...yes...that's probably best...." "Fine. I have list of things to do, bills to pay, but first you must sign this paper. It is called the "Power of Attorney"; it gives me the right to manage your finances." Dully, I signed it. What choice did I have, really? "Now, you get back to work. The new boarders will move in tomorrow, so you must move furniture between the two guest bedrooms. We can use the one with defective shades as the common room. I have many things to do yet." Very businesslike, she swept from the room. Switching the furniture around was a very difficult job, and I was practically exhausted by the time I finally finished. I sat, slumped in a stupor, until Sanh got home some considerable time later. "One busy day for me," she said, kicking off her shoes and slithering out of blouse and skirt. "And for you, too, I think. So I give you the treat." She casually tossed me her panties and pirouetted in front of me. I was, once again, amazed at how 30-20-31 could possibly be so seductive. She giggled. "Come and massage my poor, tired feet, and I will tell you what I have been doing." She gathered up her clothes and scampered off to our bedroom. I followed, still physically tired, but now mentally revitalized. She sprawled out on the bed, naked, and I knelt and proceeded to massage her tender feet. "Ummmm.... Nice," she sighed. "Well, I sold your car for almost as much as you still owed on it, and that was the very good deal. I sent in check to take care of...balance. Huong and Thi will move in tomorrow. They will be paying much money for room and board. And that is fine, because their families are rich. But it is very important that everything is 'proper' -- and that means only one voice of authority here: mine. Right?" "Y-yes...." "'Yes,' what?" "Yes, M-miss Sanh." "Good." She leaned over and sniffed me, her nose wrinkling. "I found you part-time work -- four and half hours per day, Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday; I will tell you about it later. But, now, you go and shower...and come right back to bed. Do not dally-dilly, and you will get your treat." In the bathroom, I hesitated momentarily when reaching for the hot water handle, but then shrugged. I was soon luxuriating under a steamy spray...and playing with myself. I wished I could stay there longer, but was even more anxious to return to Sanh and get my "treat." When I slipped into bed, she pulled me close and whispered in my ear. "You are the good little scrub lady, and you deserve this...tonight. But tomorrow...will begin the new page in our story...." She squirmed atop me then and kissed me deeply. Even if I'd wanted to, I couldn't have resisted her. She was kissing me here and there, murmuring soft, meaningless words, caressing my breasts, fingering my wet cunt...one finger...two...and, when she corkscrewed a third finger into me, and began using her thumb to torment my clit, I began cumming...and cumming...and cumming.... Later, as I was drifting off to sleep, warm and content, I heard her talking to me. Her voice sounded as if far away, but I knew that what she was saying was important -- and that I should remember it. "I always had to ask Miss Azira for permission to...to masturbate, and she always made me do it openly, even when others were visiting -- especially then. And I had to lick her...just the way she wanted, and whenever she wanted...usually every night before bed...and sometimes during the day. Whenever I was less than perfect, she would punish me with the Algerian horsehair whisk...or, even, with the mundane plastic fly swatter...." I looked up at her. She was staring down at me, her face expressionless. And then I was asleep. ****************************** The next morning, she nudged me awake and out of bed. I stood there a moment, more than a bit muzzy, before I noticed that she had swung around, dangling her feet off the edge of the bed, but was making no further move to get up. Our eyes met, and she had that same noncommittal look she'd given me last night. I felt myself surrendering something more as I slowly sank to my knees, bowed my head, and respectfully kissed each of her feet. Sanh -- MISS Sanh, now -- left about mid-morning to help her two friends pack their things and move in. I spent some time simply tidying up, but, in the end, just couldn't meet my -- the -- new boarders naked. So I found a t-shirt and pair of shorts and was pottering about in a semi-presentable state when the three girls showed up. Miss Sanh had one glimpse and stopped short, as if pole-axed. She took a deep breath and composed herself. "Get undressed, girl," she said, tonelessly. I quickly found myself naked and on my knees, under the gaze of the fully clothed three, being introduced to Huong and Thi -- to Miss Huong and Miss Thi -- who giggled at my ineptitude. They were both rather cute, though neither had Miss Sanh's charisma. During the rest of the day, I found out what the house routine was to be from then on. Sanh, having done the grocery shopping, also did the cooking -- mostly strange Asian food. I, of course, did the washing up, afterward. The three of them chattered much of the time in Vietnamese -- when they weren't issuing peremptory orders to me. Miss Huong and Miss Thi seemed to find my body fascinating, and Miss Sanh explained that they had never seen an "older" Caucasian woman naked. They were apparently most interested in the texture of my nipples and areolae, the elasticity of my asshole, and the size and exquisite sensitivity of my fully engorged clit. (Of course, they had to shave me in order to get a really good look.) They played with me for almost two hours after dinner, before Miss Sanh announced that it was time for the three to attend to homework and me to go see if the bedrooms and bathrooms were properly tidy. When I opened the door to our bedroom, I was crushed to see a thin, second-hand, twin-sized mattress lying on the floor at the foot of her bed. Oh, god, I'd hoped to avoid that. Hurt, I flung myself down on the mattress and started to cry. To compensate, I guess, I began playing with my poor, abused cunt...riding my fingers until the fires the girls had lit were at last extinguished. I cleaned myself up a bit and then lay on my mattress, dozing, until Miss Sanh found me later. She sniffed the air and knew immediately what I'd been doing. "Stand up! Feet apart! Bend over and take hold of your ankles. Secrecy in bodily functions is not permitted." Between my legs, I could watch her take something from under her pillow: a new plastic fly swatter. My butt twitched, involuntarily. ****************************** The next day, Monday, I began my chores without having to be told. (The house was sparkling now, but I was expected not to slack off and allow it to resume its former griminess.) I worked so hard and tried not to react when either Miss Huong or Miss Thi (or both) watched me and giggled. They were certainly aware of some of what had gone on last night; I hoped that they didn't know everything. (It had been educational for me, at least. First, I had learned that the fly swatter, applied with skill and enthusiasm, not only stung like hell, but also made a godawful racket that must have been audible throughout the entire house. And, second, I learned how to kiss someone goodnight in just about every conceivable way.) The day passed rather uneventfully -- though I did have to ask for permission to masturbate after dinner. Miss Sanh readily gave me permission to do it...but I had to beg a very long time for permission to stop. Later, while I was kissing her goodnight, she told me about my new job. She had gone round to Pendant Press to see about a reference, but there was no one there then except the cleaning staff -- many of whom remembered me well and were more than happy to talk to her. They recommended an ex-employee named Antwan Jones, who had started up a little janitorial service after a certain "stuck-up, racist bitch" had gotten him fired for sloppy work. (Mentally, I was squirming, but I continued to kiss her.) She'd then called on Antwan and explained the situation. He'd been most enthusiastic in his desire to help. Accordingly, she'd signed me up to clean the restrooms of a cluster of six fast food places three times a week. "Mr. Antwan" was expecting me to do a good job, too, especially since the assistant manager at one of the places was his cousin and also a former janitor at Pendant...and would inspect things closely and would not be pleased with sub-standard work. (I shuddered, imagining how I'd probably have to make sure he was "pleased.") ****************************** Early Tuesday, I was naked, on my hands and knees, scrubbing a bathtub (it seemed as though I was always scrubbing something), when I sensed HER behind me. I looked over my shoulder. "You missed a spot," she said. "Miss Sanh...." "Quiet. Scrub woman should be seen and not heard," she snapped. I stared up at her, totally abashed. Then she smiled. She kicked off one sandal and pushed her bare foot into my crotch, wriggling her toes and teasing me unmercifully. I gasped and felt a monster orgasm building up. Then she stopped -- just before I was about to cum. I squirmed against her toes and whimpered like a frustrated bitch as she withdrew her foot. I begged to be allowed to finish, but she refused, with a wicked giggle. "If I do not watch out, you will be trying to...'hump' is it?...on the furniture next...or maybe my leg...." She took hold of my ear, pulled me to my feet, and dragged me, staggering, toward the back porch. "It is time for you to go to work. See the clothes I had made for you." She showed me a crude pair of sandals and a short, sleeveless shift made of some coarse, loosely-woven fabric, greyish-cream in color. "This must be what a 'lowly Algerian servant' would wear," I murmured. She chuckled. "Oh, my little puppy is so smart. But hurry and get dressed, now. Mr. Antwan will be expecting you...."