Story: Maid to Order

I am planning to re-publish some of the stories from C.Lakewood's wonderful collection in this blog to make sure they don't follow the way of much of transformation fiction on once popular yahoo groups that have since been deleted or went inactive. A lot of this late 1990s-early 2000s stuff has probably been lost forever and, given the quality of C.Lakewood's work and the fact that his page hasn't been updated for nearly four years, I don't want one day to discover that the site is now gone. Therefore I will re-publish a few of the stories here and, possibly, introduce a few readers to some of the lady-to-maid classics.

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...."  

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