Story: Managing the Heiress. Chapter 4.

By Charles Ryder

Stephen made me very happy today. He explained how he was very impressed with my work under Mrs Francis. She had apparently explained to him that I was now thoroughly knowledgeable regarding all matters pertaining to the running of the house and that consequently my services as a maid were no longer required. He also explained that I should be schooled in the behaviour expected of the wife of a senior army officer. He has discussed this with Mrs Francis and she is apparently amenable to help ‘take me in hand’. He has also given Mrs Francis a sum of money in order that I might be more appropriately dressed for my new role.

“How long do I have to wait before you tell the silly little bitch?”

Each word was punctuated by a rhythmic thrust as I worked energetically on my Irish minx. I could feel my manhood straining to bursting point. She was almost the exact opposite of my juvenile wife, sexy, skilful and all the tricks of a whore, which she possibly once was. At that precise moment I just didn’t care. I was right on the very edge of a massive climax.

“Tell me again” I whispered. “What are you going to do with Charlotte?”

Story: Managing the Heiress. Chapter 3.

by Charles Ryder

The following week saw a very subdued Charlotte. She carried out her duties without a murmur. She accepted the many criticisms she received from her mentor with little or no dissent. On the Friday she was called into the former sitting room which was now Mrs Francis’s office. 

“I have two pieces of good news young lady. The first is that I’m very pleased with your behaviour this week and as a result we’ll be going on an outing tomorrow. And the second is that your husband has been able to secure the services of an experienced house maid. The young lady is called Mary, I believe. She will be starting with us on Sunday.”

Charlotte could hardly believe her ears! Mrs Francis was actually pleased with her. She would be going on an outing and she would, after all this time, be finally getting a housemaid. This was simply marvellous news. Stephen would be so proud of her. She could hardly wait to tell him.

The following morning she woke early and washed herself. She dressed herself in one of her new uniforms, reminding herself that the skirt was maybe a little too short and tight for her and that Mrs Francis may allow her to have it taken out a little. Timidly she knocked on Mrs Francis’ bedroom door, and when answered she entered and placed a cup of tea on her bedside table as required. At first this had seemed an intolerable imposition but now Charlotte regarded it as just one of her many duties. Thankfully though this might be the last time she carried it out. From tomorrow that would, she imagined, be Mary’s job. She smiled to herself. She’d done it. Her husband would be bound to be impressed by her efforts. She’d proved to him, and to Mrs Francis, that she could learn her lesson and was now in a position to run the household as she wanted it run. She would have such fun instructing the new girl in her new duties! What sort of mistress would she prove to be? Certainly, she would be fairly strict. If she’d learnt anything from her mentor it was that servants had to be managed. They were most assuredly not friends, they were subordinates.  Perhaps not quite as strict as Mrs Francis maybe? Not a disciplinarian with a cane but certainly strict, strict but fair.

Story: Managing the Heiress. Chapter 2.

Charles Ryder just had an e-book out called The New Government, a BDSM anti-feminist novel that many of you may enjoy if you like stories here. You can find it at A1 Adult E-books. 

And now on to the next chapter of Managing the Heiress.

by Charles Ryder

Later that evening Stephen returned, but he wasn't alone. He entered the living room with an older gentleman. He introduced the man to her as Major Lytham.

"Mrs Darnley, it's a pleasure to meet you at last ma'am. Your husband has told me a very great deal about you. And ma'am, if I be so bold, he has much underestimated your beauty and charm."

Charlotte blushed prettily and thanked the Major.

"Let me explain the situation, Mrs Darnley. I am your husband's senior officer. He is one of my most valuable men. The reason I'm here is to explain his role with us and to beg a favour from you. Your husband is soon to go undercover on our behalf. That is to spy on this country's enemies." 

Charlotte put her hand to her mouth. "But Major Lytham isn't that terribly dangerous? Will Stephen be in danger at all?" 

Story: Managing the Heiress. Chapter 1.

by Charles Ryder

Stephen Darnley straightened his uniform tie and checked to make sure his cap was square on his head. He tucked his swagger stick under his arm and rapped on the imposing door. It was answered almost immediately by Jenny the immaculately uniformed maid.

"Won't you come in Captain? I'll tell the young mistress that you're here sir"

Stephen merely nodded and stepped into the baronial hall. My word but it was an impressive room! The furniture positively groaned under the weight of its opulence. Magnificent hunting trophies decorated the walls. Extravagant silks and carpets were strewn carelessly around the huge space. He couldn't begin to fathom what it had all cost. And that was just one room in the vast mansion. His reverie was broken by a rustling behind him. He turned just in time to witness her descending the last few steps of the massive double staircase.

She was a beauty, of that there could be no doubt. Quite small even for a woman, blonde and very slim. She had a heart shaped face, dominated by bright blue eyes. He knew from previous observation that she had little womanly shape. Her breasts were very small and her buttocks almost non-existent. But on the other hand she was only nineteen years old. He had no doubt that she would develop in a most pleasant way.

"Captain Darnley, how good of you to come sir."

Story: Executive Stress. Part 3.

by Charles Ryder

Two days later she discovered that her new guise was going to be put to the test. That afternoon, friends of Mrs Pugh were coming over to play bridge. Abigail was to prepare and serve them their refreshments throughout the game. She felt her stomach churn at the news. What if one of the women was to recognise her? All this subterfuge would have been for nothing, one call to the local constabulary and she would be arrested. When she haltingly explained to her Mistress her fears, she was told to pull herself together. She would simply have to be extremely convincing in her new role. By two o clock she was a bundle of nerves. When the front door bell chimed, she literally jumped. She smoothed her skirt down and scurried to the door. A large, immaculately made-up lady appeared.

“Good afternoon ma’am, welcome to the Pugh house.” She curtsied as Mrs Jackson had taught her.

The woman looked her up and down and handed Abigail her luxurious fur coat. Without a word she made her way down the passage to the sitting-room. Abigail hung the coat up and almost before she could turn round, the doorbell rang again. She hurried back and opened the door. The two remaining guests were chatting to each other.

“Good afternoon ladies, welcome to the Pugh house.” She curtsied again.

Story: Executive Stress. Part 2.

by Charles Ryder

A week after her humiliating meeting with her husband, Abigail was stood at attention in front of Mrs Pugh’s large, imposing desk. Her new employer was reading a report. This was her weekly assessment carried out by her immediate superior, Mrs Jackson. As if the whole situation wasn’t demeaning enough she had to be subject to an assessment from an elderly yokel. Mrs Pugh looked at her over her spectacles.

“This really isn’t very good is it Munroe? Lazy, rude, work-shy, these are just some of the words that refer to you. What do you have to say?”

Abigail knew what she’d like to say but she just couldn’t summon the nerve. Lydia Pugh tended to have that effect on her; she was so cold and intimidating.

“Er...I’m sorry Mrs Pugh, I’m trying really I am but I’m not used to this sort of work.”

“Well, I think it’s high time you got used to this sort of work, because it looks like this sort of work is the only sort of work that you’ll be carrying out for the foreseeable future. Here, read this.”

She reached over and passed a copy of the local newspaper. Abigail only had to read the headline for her blood to run cold,

‘Police On The Lookout For Missing Businesswoman.’ Her eyes scanned down and quickly read the copy. ‘Officers are still on the lookout for Mrs Abigail Pugh. Mrs Pugh, a local businesswoman allegedly involved with the Bellman case, has not been seen for three weeks. Foul play has been ruled out but the fraud unit are interested in speaking with Mrs Pugh whom they believe is connected to the alleged fraud carried out at her former workplace.’ To make matters worse there was a photo of her with a champagne flute in her hand and laughing at something.

Story: Executive Stress. Part 1.

by Charles Ryder

When Abigail Pugh examined herself appreciatively in her hallway mirror on that fateful Friday, little did she know it would be one of the last times she did so. The day had started much as any other day. Breakfast prepared and served by her devoted husband, Andy. Then she'd showered and changed. She'd chosen the Jaeger suit, the dark one. One of her favourites, she'd teamed that with some black stockings and red heels to match her Vuitton handbag. She'd taken the Porsche rather than get Andy to drop her at the station. Well, why not? The company paid for it after all, why not take advantage of it? It wasn't as if Bellman and Co were short of money or anything. A lot of that money was, she reflected, earned by her and her team. Idly she wondered what her commission would be this year. Something vast she assumed, like last year and the year before that. She allowed herself a little smile, life was certainly good.

A few miles down the road the car beeped at her. She glanced down at the dash, more petrol needed. A mile or so later she pulled into a garage and filled up. She gave the plebeian looking girl behind the counter her debit card and put in her PIN. Turning around to admire the Porsche she was only dimly aware of the girl speaking to her.

"Excuse me madam, you're card's been refused."

It took Abigail a little time to process the news. Oh really! There were several thousands of pounds in her current account.

Story: Alison’s Attitude Adjustment. Part 3.

by Charles Ryder

Alison Templeman-Davies was sweating. She could feel the moisture making her thick, heavy uniform stick to her back. She could feel perspiration running from underneath her demeaning cap and matting her blonde hair. Her arms were beginning to tremble as well which only added to her discomfort. She had been stood in the same place for over an hour, feet together, bottom in and her chest pushed out. In her arms she carried a round tray on which was a large jug of iced lemonade. Despite the heat of the room she was dressed in an Oriental approximation of a Victorian maid’s uniform. High-heeled black ankle boots which chafed horribly, black seamed stockings, knee length white bloomers, a restrictive corset, a black serge dress which was long-sleeved and reached to her calves. Her black uniform was relieved only by a white lace Peter Pan collar, a starched white apron tied with a large bow and the cap, complete with long ribbons which was perched on her head.

Yang Xe looked at her maid with a certain amount of pride. She’d researched ‘English Maid’ on the internet and then had paid a local dressmaker to design a uniform especially for Alison. How foolish she looked, how subservient. The real pleasure though was the reaction of her good friend Liang Li. The poor woman was absolutely furious. Every one of their social class and wealth had servants, they were very common and not worth mentioning. But she, Yang Xe, was the proud owner of an English servant, and what’s more an English servant dressed in the actual uniform of an English maidservant. The joy was enough to make her heart flutter. She picked up the little silver bell by her hand and rang it a couple of times. Her maid immediately left her place by the window and scurried over to where  her mistress and her two guests lay comfortably reclined. Carefully she knelt by Yang Xe’s elbow and held the tray up so it was within easy reach.

Yang Xe couldn’t help but notice the angry reaction on the face of her two guests. Both Liang Li and her daughter, Lily were clearly envious.

Story: Alison’s Attitude Adjustment. Part 2.

by Charles Ryder

Suddenly the door opened and a woman entered. She was tall for a Chinese woman and carried herself with a confidence that only the rich and powerful have. She was beautifully and expensively dressed in a Western style trouser suit. Her hair and make-up were perfectly done, she simply oozed sophistication. Alison assumed that this was Yang Xe, Mi’s mother. The second person to enter the room was Mi herself. Like her mother she was beautifully dressed in a clearly expensive dark blue silk blouse and demure knee-length skirt. Her schoolgirl haircut had been replaced with a more sophisticated style, which along with her black high-heels made her look about six inches taller than Alison remembered. The third and final person to enter the room was her Governess, Miss Zhao, dressed in her customary black garb.

“You may make your obedience, girl.” Said Miss Zhao.

Alison had been well trained as to what she should do when she first met her new Mistress. Slowly she sank to her knees and pressed her forehead to the floor.

“Madam Yang and Mistress Yang, my name is Alison Templeman-Davies. I hereby accept the fact that I am your property. I am yours to do with as I wish. I truly regret my behaviour towards you Mistress Yang, and with your help I will endeavour to make amends for it. I hope you will accept me as your slave.”

Story: Alison’s Attitude Adjustment. Part 1.

by Charles Ryder

Alison Templeman-Davies was woken from her fitful sleep at 6am by the jarring note of her bedside alarm. Without thinking she immediately roused herself and stumbled across to the washbasin in her tiny room. She washed and quickly brushed her teeth. In the one wardrobe that contained all her clothes she extracted the cheap nylon uniform and slipped it over her head. She pulled her one pair of black leather flats from under her bed and pushed her feet into them. She brushed her blonde hair and bound it into a pony tail using an elastic band. She grimaced at herself in the reflection of the cracked little mirror. She pulled and tugged at her black polyester dress but no matter what she did it was still too small and too tight. She checked that the white collar was properly fastened and that the white cuffs of her dress weren’t too grimy. She reached over for her frilly white apron and tied it around her waist in a big bow. The final and most demeaning touch was to pin her little black and white cap to her lacklustre hair. Finally Alison Templeman-Davies, eldest daughter of millionaire businessman Ronald Templeman-Davies, was ready for work.

She scurried down the corridor in order to get to her place in the kitchen by 6.45. There were already five other girls in the huge room. Nobody spoke to her; nobody even paid her the slightest attention. The other servant girls never spoke to her in fact. That was partly because they were uneducated girls from the country but also because they didn’t speak any English. Alison couldn’t converse in Chinese either so their chances for any sort of interaction were limited. Through the clouds of steam she could see her immediate superior, Miss Chang, gesticulating to her. She hurried over to her and bowed as she was required to do.