Claudja appeared from behind the sheer curtain. She was dressed in her maid's uniform with the tightly-cinched waist. It was cut so low at the top, her large, copper-colored breasts pushed forward over the tight material.
"Is this uniform the right size?" she asked Marjorie Lloyd, the lady of the house, and the one who sent for Claudja from Jamaica so that she could serve in her employ.
"It looks just fine," Marjorie 'replied, glancing up at the expanse of dark thighs which were revealed below the short skirt of the outfit.
"Then get down and see if the panties are correct, too," Claudja said, suddenly changing the tone of her voice so that it filled Marjorie with terror.
"What do you mean?" she gasped. "I'm the mistress of this house."
"Not any more, you bitch," Claudja said, knocking the white woman over and sticking the high spiked heel of her patent leather shoe into the woman's soft bosom.
"You'll pay for this, you black cunt," Marjorie hissed.
"No, you will be the one to pay," Claudja grinned, running the high heel from Marjorie's bosom to the cleft of her pussy. She dug the heel into the opening of moist flesh.
"Please, please," Marjorie begged.
"That's better," Claudja replied cruelly. "Beg me. Soon you'll be begging for the humiliations you can only receive from your black maid of pain."
CHAPTER ONE
It was a hot day and the natives were spilled out over into the streets.
When the Jamaican sun beat down like this in the summer, people became more lazy. Perhaps it was for the best. They didn't need the rush and bustle of New York life, despite the fact that some of them dreamed of it.
Claudja Jones was seventeen years old. She was tall and slender, yet she was big-boned and strong. For the slenderness of her body, she had broad shoulders and large, full breasts. Her hips were full, too.
She was fully developed.
It was too hot a day for her. She didn't like the way the summer heat caused her panties to stick to her private parts.
"I'm damp down there," she exclaimed, feeling the material stick to her sweating cuntal area.
"Take your panties off, then," her girlfriend Grace told her.
"Here in the street?"
"Where else?" Grace replied.
A sly look came to Claudja's beautiful face. She loved to play games � especially sex games. Suddenly she had some ideas.
She pulled up her flared skirt and reached under, finding the waistband of her panties and pulling them down over her luscious form.
Her legs were tanned, like the rest of her. She was black, but she had some European blood in her, too. That combination accounted for her rare, exotic appeal.
Her hair was long and free-flowing when she flicked her head around like a spunky pony. Her features were bold, with a wide nose and full lips, but her eyes were blue-green in color.
"Oh, girl," Grace exclaimed as Claudja removed her panties by pulling them over her feet. "Look at you."
Her skirt was raised and her brown body seemed bronzed in the glow of the sun. Heat was radiating off it, and a droplet of girl-sweat dripped off the shiny black curls which surrounded her honey pot.
She still had that look in her eye. It was a glint which said that she was out for some stimulation. She held her dampened panties in her hand.
"You have to help me," she told Grace.
"I don't know. When you get that look on your face, I ... "
"Don't be a spoil-sport. Do what I tell you and you'll have a good time."
Claudja took Grace to a place she knew where the men who toiled in the fields would go after a day's work. Here they could drink, relax, and get over the heat of the day.
Claudja gave Grace her moistened panties.
"Climb up that ladder and get up on the roof. From there you'll be able to see the guys who come out of the club. You'll be directly over them."
"But what do you want me to do with these panties?"
"You'll see. I want you to drop them down when the time is right. Drop my wet panties right on the head of the guy who I talk to. It'll be fun."
"Claudja, are you sick! That's disgusting."
"He'll love it. I don't even know who he is yet, but I know he'll love it."
"It seems so, I don't know, so perverted to do that. It's almost like you hate the guy, even before you've given him a chance. I mean, dropping your wet panties on a man's head could be fun for him, but it seems like a slap in the face, in a way, too."
"That's exactly what some of these guys need. They're too damn sure of themselves. They'll have to learn that a woman can be boss."
"Are you a sadistic lover?" Grace asked her friend. She had recently heard the term.
"What does that mean?" Claudja asked.
"Well, I don't know exactly. But it has something to do with dominating people. You know, making them do what you want them to do. Treating them like shit."
A broad smile came to Claudja's lips and her teeth showed pearly white against the tan of her face.
"Yeah, that's right. Treat 'em like shit. Rub it in their faces."
Grace felt a shiver go up and down her spine. Other friends who did not like Claudja had warned Grace about her. They said that there was something funny about her something they couldn't quite put their finger on.
Maybe, as Grace now sensed, it had something to do with lesbianism as well as domination. If Claudja hated men so much, maybe ...
Claudja snapped out of it. She had been standing with a dazed look on her face. Her eyes were gleaming and so were her teeth as she held her expression and wondered about what she was. At seventeen, even she was unsure.
But as she thought about it, her cunt became hot, and she reached down absentmindedly and scratched a long fingernail in the curly pubic mound surrounding her core.
"Go on now, get up there and do as I tell you," she snapped at Grace.
Grace looked at her strangely. She didn't at all enjoy being told what to do in this manner. She wasn't getting anything out of dropping Claudja's soiled undies down on a man's head. This was all Claudja's scheme, and she really wanted no part in it.
Still, as much as she resented Claudja's manner, she felt compelled to obey.
She rationalized it all to herself. After this time, she would rid herself of Claudja. The other girls were probably right. There was something about Claudja � something sexual - and it was the kind of thing she wanted to keep away from.
But she didn't want to risk offending Claudja now. All she wanted was to get away from her, but she would have to play her cards right, or else she would really be in a bind.
She remembered what had happened to another friend, Cecily, when Cecily had refused to take part in Claudja's plan to do some other kind of negative scene some tune before. Poor Cecily had been trussed up with her own nylons!
That's right! It came back to Grace now. She knew that Cecily loved those nylon stockings. They were not easy to come by in Jamaica. They had been imported.
And then they were wrapped around Cecily's breasts, tightly. Her hands had been tied behind her, fastened at the wrists. Claudja was a vixen.
"Go on, get up there," Claudja repeated. "I hear someone coming out of the place now."
There was no getting out of it now. Grace climbed the ladder up to the roof, holding on when the ladder shifted back and forth unsteadily.
She held the wet panties in her hand.
Claudja stood a few feet from the doorway, awaiting her prey. A big, black man came out. He was still sweating, even after his drinks, and his skin was so dark, it was shining like ebony.
Claudja stood back and struck the kind of pose one might see in the girlie magazines. She raised her skirt and undulated her naked cunny.
"Holy shit," the man gasped, seeing the vision of the gorgeous seventeen-year-old, brazenly and invitingly showing her bare pussy.
Claudja ran her tongue around her lips. Her tongue muscle was pink and wet.
"You like what you see, big boy," she said, glancing down at her nakedness.
The man, turned on by her unique boldness, grabbed his huge cock through his pants and squeezed.
"My dick is getting hard for it," he rasped. "Let me take you behind this shack and fuck the brazen hell of you, girl," he said.
"Oh, mister, you can look, but don't touch. You'll have to pay me for touching."
"You whore," he snarled. "I'll show you."
"Drop it!" Claudja yelled, and from above, where she had been watching this scene, Grace let the panties fall from her fingers.
It was a perfect aim! The wet panties hit him on the head.
He didn't know what was going on. The smelly panties startled him when they were dropped from above like that.
This gave Claudja her chance to jump in. Rather than having played her little trick and then run away, she wanted to get the full benefit of her fun and she jumped on the man.
She pulled her underpants down from his head so that the crotch, wet with her girlish cuntal cream and private sweat, was directly on his face.
"You pig," she hissed at him.
The scent of her cunt on his face would have been pleasure under other circumstances. Even now, he would go home and jerk off thinking about this, but as it happened, he could express only confusion and then anger.
She rubbed the silky material into his nose.
The scent of her pussy fluids stuck to his face.
Claudja pulled her knee up and gave the man a swift kick in his groin. The .kick landed in his balls, just where she aimed it, and he doubled over in pain.
"I'll get you for this, you brazen bitch," she said as he held himself.
"Fuck you, black shit," Claudja snarled. "You'll never get me. Neither you nor your fucking friends will get me."
And with that, she ran away, leaving the man in pain, and Grace, still on the roof.
Grace cursed Claudja under her breath. She knew that she shouldn't have allowed herself to get stuck on this roof like this. She knew that she shouldn't have gotten involved with Claudja at all. Now she was stuck up on the roof.
The man must have felt her presence, or perhaps he just thought to look up and see where the panties had dropped from.
"So, there's an accomplice!" the man shouted.
"No, there's a mistake,*' Grace moaned.
"There's no mistake," he said.
Grace couldn't start down the ladder. She couldn't escape any other way, either.
She was afraid that the man would pull the ladder away, leaving her stuck on the roof, but it was worse than that.
He started up the ladder himself, taking large steps, getting up to the top before Grace even had a moment to think.
He pounced on her. He was hot from the stimulation of Claudja. He wanted Claudja, put he would settle for her accomplice. He pressed his strong body into her body and she felt the heat and the anger of him.
He had been turned on and humiliated. That combination led him to want to take it all out on Grace and that was exactly what he intended to do. He was ready to take it out on Grace's young cunt.
"No, no, don't," she pleaded, trying in vain to push him away.
He was on top of her, ripping savagely at her clothing, tearing it away and baring her cunt.
Tin a virgin," she cried.
His eyes lit up. These were the words he wanted to hear.
She did not discourage him from taking out his savage lusts on her by telling him of her virginity. Rather, she turned him on even more and he pawed at her breasts as he drooled for her cunt.
His cock was stiff and bared, now. He pressed and poked it around her cuntal realm, making her squirm.
She did everything she could to push him off, but it was no use. He forced his way inside of her.
She screamed, but he silenced her with his mouth on top of her mouth. He forced his tongue down her throat and she bit at it.
This didn't stop him. It only made him more determined to fuck the shit out of her. He rammed his stiff dick all the way in, taking her cherry there on the roof in one harsh and painful stroke.
They both thought of Claudja as the rape took place. Her image came into each of their heads. Grace envisioned the laughing girl, throwing her head back and having a laugh at Grace's expense. She suddenly hated Claudja and wanted only to hurt her.
She wished that it was Claudja's pussy which was feeling this invader now.
As for the rapist, he was getting his revenge. He envisioned the sight of Claudja with her skirt pulled up and her naked pussy inviting him.
He imagined that he was fucking some discipline into her cunt as he rape-fucked her friend Grace.
At home once again, Claudja thought about all that happened and she laughed.
She did indeed derive sadistic delight in humiliating men, and she could feel that delight way up in her cunt.
She was on her back, on her bed, with her fingers inside of her hole. She felt the thin membrane which defined her virginity, and she ran her finger, gently, over it.
She wanted to protect that maidenhead. She didn't have a desire for sex. She didn't want to make love with a man.
But she did enjoy her fantasies, and was willing to wait before she experienced her true desires of sex which were desires of domination. She thought about what she had created by leaving Grace stuck on the roof with the humiliated man buzzing about below like an angry bee.
She knew that the ladder was the easy link between Grace and-the man, and she didn't have any pangs of conscience about any of it.
That was just it. She was a hard-hearted bitch and she enjoyed the fact that she could have such power. Thinking about what might be happening to Grace made Claudja hot. She played inside of her cunt, feeling the juices drip from the lips.
She thought about the man raping Grace, which was exactly what was taking place. She felt responsible for it all, and that was her orgasm - to have been in a strange way responsible for getting the two together for savage, violent sex.
She knew that Grace would probably cut their friendship abruptly short after this incident, but she didn't really care.
She dreamed about dominating them both with a whip, striking the man on his naked back and buttocks as she directed the length, depth and speed of his fuck strokes.
That was her fantasy, and as she thought about humiliating both the man and her friend, she felt the uncontrollable quivers which soon quaked in multiple climaxes for her.
"Ohhhhhh," she moaned. "It feels so good."
But up on a Jamaican rooftop, a girl had been raped.
Oceans away, a New York socialite named Marjorie Lloyd was pacing the floor. She was complaining to her husband, a young professional lawyer who spent much of his time away from home.
"The help situation is just too much," she said. "This is the third maid we've had in a month, and again, I had to fire her."
"Do you think that maybe it could be something you do that sets these women off?" her husband Corbett asked.
"What are you talking about?"
"Well, I don't know, you say that these maids are good for nothing and they sass you back when you give them commands. Maybe that's it. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you give them commands. Can't you tell them what to do in a nice, friendly manner? I mean, I don't think that they have the nicest or easiest of jobs. You should try to see their side of it and help them out a little."
"As if I had nothing better to do!" Marjorie snapped.
"I didn't mean that," Corbett said, soothing her flared temper, although, with the large allowance he gave her, there was little that she had to do. She didn't have to go out and earn money, and she didn't have to do the cooking because they had a maid for that. The cleaning, too. But the problem was that they were losing maids right and left. They couldn't get any to stay.
"It's not me," Marjorie insisted. "There's a problem about getting good help these days. It's just impossible. That first woman we had, Mrs. Kane, didn't want to do a damn tiling. I told her to clean the toilet, and she was offended."
"Did you tell her to clean it � with her tongue?" Corbett asked with a grin.
"Corbett, take this seriously," Marjorie said.
"You're always making fun of me."
"I was just asking."
"Then that one, Constance. She talked back to me. I gave her orders and she was just so sassy. She said she wouldn't do all the work I had assigned her. She had the nerve to tell me that she didn't like my attitude. Can you believe it? She was telling me, and I'm supposed to be the mistress of this household."
"Well, you can't blame these people, honey," Corbett said. "They're not making a fortune in our employ by any means."
"We pay just what the agency advises and not a penny less," Marjorie said, although it was not her money paying it "Yes, but cleaning other people's toilets is not my idea of an ideal job."
"Oh, and then there was that one who wanted to take over. She was nice enough, but she wouldn't let me be the mistress of my own house. She wanted to run everything. I think she was after you. She thought that if she cooked and cleaned to perfection, she could snag you and get your money," Marjorie said. "Or your cock, or something," she added in afterthought.
"Well, I wanted none of her. I only want you. And I want you to be happy so tomorrow you can call the agency and they'll send another maid."
"I wonder what it would be like to have a male housekeeper. They have a few of those at the agency, you know."
"I don't think so, honey," Corbett said. "I'll gladly pay for a woman to do the work around the apartment, but I do mean a woman. I'm not going to be foolish enough to invite some able-bodied man into my home and have you with him all day long while I toiled like crazy in that courtroom. No way."
"That's what I wanted to hear," Marjorie said, snuggling up close to him and pressing her breasts into his chest as she arched her cunt into his crotch.
She kissed him on the neck, over and over, working her way up to his ear which she next took into her mouth, biting the lobe.
"You like it when I get jealous, don't you?" Corbett smiled, holding her.
"I like to know that you're interested in me," she cooed.
"Yeah, I'm interested in you. Let's fuck. I've had a hard day in the courtroom and I could use the release of some of this tension."
She pulled away.
"You always do this," she complained, fixing the curl in the front of her blond head of hair, and straightening out the wrinkles in her expensive, tailored suit.
"Do what? You get close to me, tease the hell out of me, get me hard and then ... "
"That's just it," she shot back. "And then. There doesn't have to be a 'and then.' I'm just showing you a little affection. But you take it as sex. You're an animal. You're a sex-crazed beast."
"Ah, shit," Corbett cursed. He was used to this treatment.
He wasn't going to argue with her this time. He wasn't going to tell her that when she snuggled her braless boobs up against him after a long day at work it was hardly being a sex-crazed beast to want to fuck her.
He had been through this all with her many times before. In fact, it seemed that they ended up like this more often than not nowadays. In the beginning, in the first days of their marriage, it had been much more rosy and loving. But now, every time they started to get close to sex, it seemed that Marjorie would have a headache, or even worse, some angry excuse about his being a sex maniac.
It just didn't make sense.
He was frustrated, and wanted to have sex with her, but it seemed to get worse and worse. He wasn't sure what she needed or what she wanted to get the bug out of her ass. So he got his rocks off with pay-for-play girls during the long lunch breaks called in the courtroom. There were always women hustling their cunts around the vicinity of the courthouse. Some of them had been taken in and had appeared before the judges only to be fucked by the very same judges later in the day, on a pay for play arrangement.
Figuring that he had set her off by suggesting that her 'attitude might be responsible for the high rate of poor hired help, Corbett decided that the only thing to do was to forget about it and allow her to try out somebody new from the employment agency.
After a night without sex, Corbett wasn't feeling great in the morning, but Marjorie behaved as if nothing had happened the night before.
Actually, nothing unusual had happened the night before. Irritability was a regular thing for her now. She was missing something in her life and it was something that she, apparently, could not get from her husband. Or perhaps she just didn't want it from him.
Even she didn't know what this something might be.
But she would soon find out.
Her life was going to change completely. She didn't know it yet but fate was playing a little game on her.
CHAPTER TWO
"Yes, Mrs. Lloyd. Yes, we'll send another housekeeper to your home this morning. I can't understand why you've had no success with the ones we've sent thus far, but we'll keep working with you until we find just the right maid for your purposes."
Marjorie spoke into the mouthpiece of the telephone and played with the folds of her vagina as she spoke. Her husband had gone to work and she felt free enough to lounge about the house wearing only her garter belt.
"Perhaps I'm more strict than the other women who call for hired help. But that's the way I am. I'm looking for an extraordinary housekeeper and that's all there is to it."
"I understand fully, Mrs. Lloyd," - the receptionist answered into the telephone. "We'll send our finest over."
"Perhaps you could make the one you send today a bit younger. The others were too old. A younger girl might have more respect. And maybe she'd be more able to stand up to the task I have for her. I need somebody strong."
"We'll soon be getting hired help from Jamaica, in the West Indies," the telephone voice replied. "If we haven't gotten you anyone who suits your purposes before, maybe somebody from Jamaica will be right for you."
"It's too early to tell about that yet," Marjorie said. "Today, just send me a young woman, preferably attractive and black."
"Attractive and black?"
"Yes, I give formal dinner parties here from time to time, and luncheons for my girlfriends. I want an attractive looking woman to serve us. And I think that black women would be more, how do you say it, more subservient."
Marjorie twirled a blonde sausage curl through her fingers as she waited for a reply.
"I think I have just the girl for you," the receptionist finally said. "Her name is Elouise and she comes from the Bronx, in New York."
"The Bronx?" Marjorie replied haughtily.
"Yes, it's just a subway ride away and she has written on her application that she wants to work very badly. I'm sure that she could be at your home before noon."
"Before noon sounds fine. And not a moment after," Marjorie said, "Punctuality is important."
"Yes it is, well I guess I should telephone her first to make sure that she doesn't have other plans for this morning and ... "
Marjorie broke in.
"Just get her here before noon and I'll see what I can do with her. If I can possibly use her, I will."
"I'm sure you will, Mrs. Lloyd. I'm sure you will."
Marjorie hung up and fingered the garter belt which circled her body. She went to her bed and reached between the box spring and the mattress. She found the key which she kept hidden there. Then she went to her private closet and unlocked it.
The door creaked open, revealing an assortment of black leather items, all hanging neatly in a row from a rack which stretched across the top of the closet.
There were buggy whips and riding crops, a leather covered paddle as well as a wooden one, various belts of different lengths, widths and materials.
Some of the leather belts were dotted with silver studs. One was an old army belt which Marjorie had taken from her husband's uniform, snatching it from his closet and placing it among the others in her special closet of pain.
Some of the items of torture had been purchased by Marjorie from various stores she haunted in her spare time. There was an umbrella shop, a fancy one, on east fifty-seventh street, and she was able to purchase several old-fashioned whipping canes there. These were the kind used in British disciplinary schools, and she kept her canes along with the yardsticks and switches.
Her pride and joy was a rubber strap which had been given to her for a small sum by a shopkeeper who claimed he had gotten it from a prison. It packed quite a wallop on naked flesh, as Marjorie knew. It was her practice to warm up a naked bottom with a thin leather strap, and when the bare flesh was burning and crimson with repeated whacks of the hot leather, she would use the rubber strap to really lay it on.
Usually she made her slave bend over and count out the number of blows given on each bare rump cheek. The slave would be instructed to say "thank you" after each and every hit. That was to show appreciation for the discipline received.
It was, Marjorie believed, only proper subservience from a slave to the mistress.
These were the things which Corbett never knew. She wanted to let him in on her personal world, but she knew that he would never understand.
She had always, it seems, had the need to be involved in this sort of discipline scene. She recalled growing up in New York where she was exposed to bizarre extremes much more than other girls her age ever were. Even Corbett, who grew up in a small town in Pennsylvania, a neighboring state, never was exposed to these things.
But after school, when other girls her age were dating boys or playing and working at home, Marjorie would take a bus down to forty-second street. This was the famous Times Square � once a theater haven, but even then, a haven more for sex than anything else.
Now it is lined with peep shows and dirty magazine stores, and hustlers, pimps, and people selling drugs, or people out for trouble.
There are the lonely people there, too, and that in a way was what Marjorie was. In high school, she was an extraordinarily beautiful girl, but she had no interest in the boys in her class. They were bores, out for one thing.
And she wasn't going to give that one thing to any of them. She respected her body too much to give it to a boy who would brag about it all over the school.
If she had the desire for sex and petting, she probably would have given in to the temptation. But as it was, she was happier telling her mother that she was going to visit friends for the afternoon � when in fact she went to Times Square to look around.
She could get lost in the crowd there. There were so many people that another girl could sort of hide out there. True, there were few girls who ventured down on that street. At least, few good girls ever did.
Even when the girls did go down there, it was rarely alone. They traveled more in groups, or couples. But not Marjorie.
She would stay by herself, avoiding the remarks of street punks who looked her up and down and talked about her tits or her ass or her cunt.
She never forget the reaction she felt inside of her when she saw a certain magazine in the window of a porno shop on the block. On the cover of the magazine was a tall woman of, it seemed, German descent. She was hugely built with full breasts which were trussed up into some sort of black leather contraption.
Black leather strips were wrapped around her powerful thighs, and she was wearing high boots of shiny black leather. The boots had high heels on them, and they came up to the pink, fleshy thighs of the blonde dominatrix.
It was a strange magazine for a young girl to get off on, yet, she couldn't keep it out of her head. The woman on the cover was posed with her long legs spread wide apart, inviting a lowly slave, perhaps, to feast at the meal between her legs.
But not without first paying a price. In her hand she held a threatening whip. It was a riding crop, actually, designed to bite into the flesh of an ample animal, such as a full-grown horse.
Marjorie wondered how that whip would feel against the flesh of a person - be it male or female. She was sure, judging from the look on the German woman's face, that the whip would sting. It would bite into the vulnerable flesh and leave the leather kisses of its anger.
Marjorie felt all flushed and hot the first time she saw it. She didn't know if she wanted to be down on her knees at the feet of this woman, or if she wanted, in fact, to be this woman, or to be in her place, holding a riding crop over her head, just demanding her slaves to take a chance. Just daring them.
That was the start of her interest in the bizarre world of domination and submission, and she went to the library to read up on it.
She knew that she would get the most accurate information from the various medical and psychological journals which were kept in bound volumes in the adult section of the main branch of the library. Or at least, that was what she thought.
She had to find her information in books which generally reported that such behavior was perverse, bizarre, and unnatural. Few, if any of the things she read at that time put forth the belief that such behavior was widespread.
She knew that she was different, but there were others who shared her interest, or should one say her lust, for the bizarre.
She found her mouth watering when the teacher at school, a mean old bitch named Miss (of course she was unmarried) Block took a sassy student, pulled his pants down, and smacked his naked bottom with a ruler in front of the whole class.
Marjorie could still see his bare bottom with its overlapping red welts after the teacher's work was done. As further humiliation, the boy was forced to stand with his face against the blackboard, showing his naked ass to the rest of the class.
Most of the kids were ashamed to look at the naked buns except in quick glances, because they feared that they would receive the same treatment if they were caught.
But of course, they all did get to witness the battered behind, and as far as Marjorie was concerned, the impression of that was a lasting one.
She didn't know why she was so excited by it. And she didn't know if she wanted to administer such a whipping on somebody else, or if she longed to be whipped and humiliated like that herself.
But whichever, she thought about it constantly.
She recalled the boys tears, as he turned around, shame-faced after his discipline was over. She recalled it even now as she stood before her closet and surveyed the secret items which she kept there.
Each day, she could hardly wait for her husband to leave the house so that she could masturbate herself with her erotic fantasies � fantasies which were also realities � fantasies which were spurred on by her collection.
She hadn't bothered to ask the woman from the employment agency if this Elouise from the Bronx was a .big woman or a slender one; a short one or a tall one. She had a number of different uniforms for her maids, and she should have asked the question so that she could be prepared with the proper uniform for the proper maid.
But she decided then and there that it really didn't matter and she wasn't going to waste her time picking out the proper uniform for a lowly maid. Any one would do.
She reached for the first one she could find: a short-skirted, black uniform with a starched, white collar and a little white apron in the front.
She didn't care if it would be too short, too tight or too small for Elouise. That was not her concern.
In fact, if she had to truss the new maid into the costume by pulling tightly on the drawstring, then that was exactly what she would have to do.
As the noon hour approached, she paced the floor, tapping her feet against it. She was getting irritated. It was getting late. If the maid walked in late, there would be hell to pay. The very first order was an important one as far as Marjorie was concerned.
It was a dark day because the clouds were heavy with rain which threatened to start at any moment. The apartment was large, but with the darkness from outside, the huge rooms remained shadowed in greyness.
Marjorie didn't bother to turn on any lights. Nor did she bother to dress any more than she already was. She was wearing the garter belt, backless, high heeled bedroom slippers, and a sheer negligee which moved back and forth over her voluptuous curves.
Suddenly, the skies opened up and the rain started to pour. Thunder rolled and lightning struck through the crowds.
Outside, a church bell chimed, signaling the noon hour.
"Bitch," Marjorie cursed to herself. "She'll pay for this."
She went to the record collection and reached into the neatly-stacked album assortment. She knew exactly where to find the album she wanted. She always kept it at the very end, like a book-end. That was so she could find it easily without searching. Corbett never fooled with her collection of records, so it was pretty safe to keep this special album at the far end of it. It was in a plain, white album jacket anyway. There was no indication, except when the record was played, as to what its contents actually were.
She pulled out the album without difficulty and brought it to the stereo. She placed it on the turntable and started to play it.
There were clanking noises, like heavy chains being dragged across the floor of a dungeon. At least, that was what the clanking conjured up in Marjorie's imagination, and that was the idea. This was a record, reputedly recorded at a realistic discipline session.
It sounded like a male slave was next brought down and perhaps fastened to a table with his naked buttocks up. But Marjorie didn't bother to listen to that part of the record. The preliminaries didn't interest her. She was concerned with the heavy action, and she knew that, if she dropped the needle anywhere on the middle of either side A or side B, she would hear something that would arouse her.
She could feel her clit tingle as the sound of a torture instrument whistled through the air, landing sharply on the upturned bottom of the slave.
"Stick it up," a woman's voice command. "Come on, stick that ass up and take it. I like to see you take it."
Plunk, plunk, plunk, plunk, plunk.
At first the strap, or whatever it was, plunked down on the naked flesh, eliciting a gasp from the slave, as if he were holding his breath and clenching his teeth in an effort to take the pain. Marjorie, feeling a trickle of sweat drip down her inner thigh, could imagine how sweaty and tormented the slave was.
Soon, the whipping became worse for him. The blows were coming as regularly, and as forcefully, but he had already taken so much, he just couldn't withstand any more.
He started to moan and cry.
"Oh, oh, no," he begged, but his mistress had no mercy.
"Come on," she said. "Stick it up."
Smack.
Apparently he raised his ass and received another whack.
"Come on. Stick it up."
"Oh, oh, no," he whispered under his breath.
He was rewarded with a string of blows.
Marjorie's fingers were exploring her cunt. Oh, she was hot. She was very hot. She thought that she would start to come, when suddenly, there was a piercing ring which filled the room.
It was the house phone, located in the hallway near the door. She hoped that the neighbors hadn't complained to the downstairs doorman about the whipping sounds and the crying coming from her apartment.
She had a paranoia about her secret fantasy life. She knew that the neighbors wouldn't understand, and she wondered if the vibrations from the speakers of the stereo gave her away as the whipping pounding through the floor. One could never tell in these New York apartments, even though Corbett was paying an enormous rent for this luxury one.
But no, she had lowered the sound and had placed her body up against the speakers so that others would not hear, but she would hear and feel the vibrations through her own voluptuous curves.
The buzzer rang again.
"Alright, I'm coming," she muttered to herself. In fact, she had nearly started coming, but was stopped before the first wave of orgasm by the sound the bell.
"Yes," she said, pushing the "speak" button on the intercom.
"Miss Elouise is here to see Mrs. Lloyd,'* the doorman announced.
"Thank you. Send her up."
The room was still darkened. Marjorie turned off the stereo player and put the album away. She had to remember always to put it away after masturbating to it. Otherwise, if she left it out and forgot about it, Corbett would find it and that would be the end of her secret. She would have to make up some lie about why she had the album, and it would only be worse for her if other slip-ups took place which she'd have to account for.
When she first met Corbett, they had an immediate sexual reaction to one another. She was amazed at herself for being so turned on to a man, and she enjoyed it, and courted it, even though it frightened her.
He was free with her, and she felt that it would be alright to suggest certain kinky things to highlight their lovemaking. She brought up the subject of spanking a number of times, and she spoke about domination and submission.
Corbett always took the cues, but he didn't follow through. He couldn't, because he wasn't really interested in such behavior, and Marjorie found herself, more and more, following up on her own � in secret.
It was bad to do it that way, she thought, but it was her only choice at the moment.
Of course, with her practice of interviewing potential servants, she got her experiences during the day when Corbett was at work. She was able to do her thing then.
She looked at the clock. It was exactly twelve minutes after twelve � twelve minutes past noon. Elouise was twelve minutes late when she rang the doorbell.
Pulling her sheer nightie around her, Marjorie opened the door. She was pleased to find that Elouise was very young. She appeared to be no older than sixteen or seventeen. She was attractive in an unkept way. Her features were attractive, but she didn't keep herself up. She didn't have the time, or the money to do so, and besides, she had just gotten caught in the downpour.
"You're soaking wet," Marjorie said. Then, before Elouise had a chance to respond, Marjorie added, "You're also twelve minutes late."
Elouise didn't get this at all. Twelve minutes didn't seem like such a long time since she had been informed of this job interview only this morning, and she had come all the way from the Bronx on the subway.
Marjorie looked the young woman over with a careful eye. She was wearing a white blouse which clung to her like a second skin now that it was soaked with rain.
She was wearing a bra - that could be seen, through the material of the blouse which became transparent from the water which soaked it The bra had pointed cups, and was well-filled with the abundant flesh of Elouise.
Elouise had a bit of extra weight on her. Marjorie thought about disciplining this young woman with the whip until she exercised herself down to a more trim figure and a better weight.
Her skin was a yellow color. Her hair, which had been treated with a straightener, was dyed reddish brown, even though her features were definitely Negroid, She was a large, big-boned woman with full hips and a strong body for heavy work.
That was exactly what Marjorie had in mind for her, although not without taking her through some disciplinary paces first.
"Take your clothes off," Marjorie said.
Elouise, thinking that Marjorie was inviting her to get out of her wet things so that she wouldn't catch a cold, was happy to do so. But when she asked where the bathroom was, so that she could change clothes in it, she was told that she need not worry about the bathroom.
"Here's your uniform," Marjorie said, tossing it to her. The skimpy little uniform missed Elouise's grasp, landing on the floor at her feet. "You can take your things off right here in front of me. We're both women. There's nothing to hide."
Elouise found this all strange. She had heard about these white women. She had heard that rich, white women such as this would take advantage of her. But this was something different. This was something else. And Elouise could sense it.
But she was shy and unsure. She was nervous, and this was still one of her first times in Manhattan. She was uncertain of the ways of the sophisticated people who lived here.
Nervously, she started to undress, kicking off her shoes, unsnapping the hook of her skirt, removing her blouse and her slip.
"Go on," Marjorie said. "Take it all off."
Elouise, standing there in her bra and panties, with her clothes folded neatly in a pile at her feet, did as she was told.
Marjorie sat down in a chair and watched Elouise's every move. She didn't care that this hawk-eyed vigil made the young woman nervous. She wanted to see the nervous perspiration soak into the lace and white cotton of the woman's bra. She wanted to watch the full breast globes fall out of the bra so that she could see the full jugs bounce up with their tawny nipples sticking way out.
She liked humiliating the woman with her stare.
When Elouise stepped out of her white panties, revealing her quivering quim, Marjorie snapped at her.
"That's enough. Now that you're naked, get down on your knees and crawl over to me."
Elouise looked at her, dumbfounded.
Could there have been some mistake? Was it possible that the agency had sent her out as a slave, and not just as a housekeeper? It seemed that way. This treatment was like being in one of the slave horror adventures she had heard about � the kind which took place when white slave owners abused their black slaves.
"Come on, snap to it," Marjorie demanded.
"You already have twelve punishment strokes coming for being twelve minutes late. That will teach you to be on time from now on. Punctuality is something you servants have to learn. And I'll make sure that you learn it."
It was just too intense for Elouise to even believe. But it was happening. It was real. And though she wanted to take her things and run out, or to talk with Marjorie to see exactly what it was she wanted of her hired help, Elouise found herself obeying the powerful order.
She got down on her knees.
"Now crawl," Marjorie commanded. "Crawl to me."
Elouise felt the thick pile of the white rug digging into the flesh of her bare knees. At least the carpet was spotless. Being totally white, it took some effort to keep it so clean, that was for sure. And it was even more certain that Mrs. Marjorie Lloyd was not the one who cleaned it.
Elouise looked around her from her position on the floor. She felt that she was being treated like a dog. This was a dog's eye view.
Everything was out of reach. On her hands and knees, she was like an animal. She had to use her hands as a means of getting her from one place to another along the floor. She had given up her stance of humanity.
"I said crawl to me, dog," Marjorie repeated, this time baring her teeth.
Tears filled Elouise's eyes and she could feel herself steam up. Even though her skin was brown-yellow, she could feel the heat in it and she knew that she was red. She was blushing red with anger and humiliation.
She felt the beads of sweat as they broke out on her brow, making her hairline shimmer with droplets of nervous perspiration.
One of the droplets began rolling down her face, and she didn't dare take her hand to brush it away, as she normally would have. For some reason, she had allowed herself to be intimidated by this evil, dominating woman.
Marjorie Lloyd was the woman of the house. She was doing the hiring, and Elouise needed work very badly. She had three young children to support. Her husband, Ben, was a trucker, away much of the time. When he was around, he didn't give much help, despite the money he made. He gambled it all away.
There was a fear that he would be laid off from his job, anyway, so Elouise really did have to take care of everything. And with her young age, and lack of experience or training in any field, she was at the mercy of her environment.
This time, she was truly at the mercy of it.
The apartment where Elouise lived with her three children and her husband, when he was around, was smaller than the living room of Marjorie Lloyd's apartment. Literally, from one end to the other, the apartment could fit inside Marjorie's living room.
And even from her position on the floor, looking up, Elouise saw treasures , of home decoration which she could never ever hope to have. This bitch Marjorie was on to something. She was worth a lot of cash. She had everything. And yet, Elouise knew that she didn't work for it She didn't lift her finger for it.
All she did all day was lay around and be beautiful. That was her function, and her husband paid her well for that. For a young lawyer, he was quite successful, and he wanted only to satisfy the whims of his wife.
Elouise had no time to think about all of these things now, despite the fact that many thoughts were racing in her head.
She was confused, but there was nothing she could do now.
She had allowed herself to go this far. She had been intimidated by wealth, power, and the intense sexuality of Marjorie's commands.
Down on her knees, she began humping her way across the floor.
With her head straight forward, she saw Marjorie's high heeled bedroom slippers. They were backless, revealing a smooth heel. In front, the toes were exposed, each nail polished with a lustrous fire engine red polish.
The foot was tapping slightly in anticipation, or impatience. Perhaps a combination of both.
Elouise crawled toward her mistress. She felt like a dog. She felt like a fool, an asshole.
She was aware that her butt was sticking up and that her breasts were hanging down. She was aware that when she crawled along the floor, her butt was up and wiggling back and forth. That was the way she propelled herself, and she felt ashamed when Marjorie called attention to it with a smirk.
"Look at that big, black butt move back and forth. That's it, bitch dog. Crawl to me. Down on your knees and crawl. Arf, arf."
Then the blonde woman threw her head back and swirled it so that her long hair moved back and forth and around like an ad for shampoo.
She sat on a satin chair in the corner of the room and poured herself a drink from the bottle which was placed on a table with a mirror for the top. She sipped from her goblet as she watched her slave girl crawl. Her expression didn't change. It was just as if she were being entertained slightly by the dog which she had just acquired.
When Marjorie saw Elouise at her feet, she raised her feet and placed them on Elouise's back. This forced the black woman's head down, and caused the tips of her nipples to brush against the pile of the carpet.
Her knees were scraped red from the crawling. Marjorie didn't care. She blew on her fingernails, totally ignoring the presence of Elouise at her feet. She dug her heels into her slave girl, but she paid the woman no mind.
It was then, from that humble position on the floor at Marjorie's feet, that Elouise saw the bowl.
It was a silver dish, and on it was the word "Mutt." Instantly, Elouise knew what it was. It was the dish a dog would eat of. It was a pet bowl!
And the dish didn't even have a regular name on it. It was marked "Mutt" � perfectly appropriate for any stray dog of mixed breed.
"I'll beat my doggie if she doesn't behave," Marjorie said, realizing, even though she barely glanced down at Elouise, that the woman had seen the bowl.
Perhaps she could feel it in her feet when Elouise's body tensed up at the vision of the waiting doggie bowl.
Elouise stared up from her position on the floor. She was looking right up Marjorie's nightgown. The gown was casually opened, exposing her naked pussy.
It was hairy and the fragrance of it filtered down to Elouise's nostrils.
Never in her life had she experienced such a scent. She had never gotten that close to the private sex part of another woman. Now, however, down on the floor, she was openly exposed to the female organ.
It shouldn't have frightened her, because being a woman, she had a cunt herself. It wasn't something entirely unknown to her.
But on the other hand, she had never had this kind of contact with one, and dealing with the likes of Marjorie Lloyd, there was no telling what she might be forced to do with it.
Was this scent the same scent she had between her legs?
Was this view of pussy the view that she would offer to her pet dog at home, unknowingly?
She had, at times, caught the dog she had at home looking up into her cunt. She had been embarrassed when other people were around and the dog made his way to her honeypot, nuzzling his head between her legs and sniffing in.
When she was alone, however, she didn't particularly stop the dog. It didn't bother her to allow the dog to sniff around. And once he had licked her there in her private place, and the feeling of his warm, wet tongue sliding over the lips of her little vagina was very pleasant, indeed.
Ben, her absentee husband, didn't lick her slit. Many black men wanted to, but she always refused. Ben said it was dirty � and he wouldn't put his mouth where his dick had been.
But the dog had no such qualms.
Suddenly however, the positions were turned around and Elouise was no longer mistress to a dog. Now she was the dog herself.
Another difference was that while the dog at home, a mutt named Spider, sought out Elouise's cunt, Elouise herself was being forced into this. Here the mistress was a cruel one, and she would use the strength she held over the dog to force the dog to bend to her will, to her ways.
It was humiliating, but she wanted this job. She believed, however naively, that this was just a test. She thought that Marjorie Lloyd might turn out to be a normal woman after all, and that she would be in the service of a typical employer.
She wanted to make some money very badly and so she was willing to extend herself to someone like Marjorie Lloyd, who obviously had the money to spend.
But when Mrs. Lloyd commanded a servant, she really commanded her.
"Lick it," Marjorie said.
Elouise felt her body stiffen .again, without her consent or control. Her tawny nipples were firm. Her cunt was wet.
"You heard me," Marjorie repeated. "I said lick."
Elouise looked up, raising her eyes rather than her head. She saw the slit of her mistress waiting there to be serviced.
"Go on, bitch. Lick the foot of your mistress."
Elouise heaved a sigh. She had thought that she was being commanded to lick Marjorie's cunt. She was afraid that she would pass put at the reality of that. She thought that she would never get the job if she did that. When she heard that it was Marjorie's feet that she had to lick, she was, for a moment, relieved. But then, when it came right down to it, she was unable to bring herself to do it.
Her face was right up against Marjorie's feet. That was not the problem. Her tongue was trembling. She felt her throat go so dry that she hardly extend her tongue.
"Bitch dog," Marjorie snapped, slapping Elouise across her naked back and rump. From the seat cushion of the chair, Marjorie had pulled out something she had placed there earlier, just for this occasion. It was a leather strip, studded with silver triangles. It was a dog collar.
"This is good for slapping naughty dogs and keeping them in line," Marjorie said. "It's also good for snapping around the neck of my doggie. Give it here. Give your mistress your neck."
The leather and silver were shining in front of her. She offered her naked neck for the enslavement of the collar. It was a ritual for Marjorie to place the leather, warm from beating her back, around the neck of her new dog.
As she snapped the lock of the collar in place, a rush of energy flowed through her cunt. It was nearly enough to stimulate orgasm without even touching herself.
Her dog was at her comman, collared, and then, leashed.
The leash which Marjorie had in her hand, as if out of the blue (though it had also been placed beneath the cushion of the chair), was silver, made up of joined links.
It snapped onto the collar, and Marjorie had a dog on a leash.
Getting up from the chair without warning, she started pulling her dog along on the floor. It took Elouise some time to get adjusted to what was happening. She wasn't able to crawl at first. Marjorie, taking her by surprise, virtually was dragging her naked body across the floor, at first.
Elouise was crying, humiliated, and afraid. But she didn't fight back. She was too afraid to do that to this dominating white woman. The wealth, the beauty (cruel though it was) and the power which this woman represented to the humble, black maid from the Bronx, all kept up her resistance to giving into the anger which should have been brewing by this time.
But she had allowed herself to-be a slave and now she would have to go through with it. She tagged along at the feet of her mistress, seeing the. rooms from her position on the floor.
She was humiliated and ashamed, but there was nothing she could do about it.
She was dragged into the area where, the silver bowl had been placed.
"The employment agency said that your wages were to include lunch, isn't that right?" Marjorie asked sarcastically.
Elouise started to speak. She was kicked in her stomach by Marjorie's high heel.
"You can bark your answer," Marjorie added.
"Woof," Elouise barked meekly. "Woof, woof."
"Then get your head down in that bowl and eat"
With that, Marjorie pushed Elouise's face into the silver dish marked "Mutt."
Elouise felt the sticky, warm food all over her face. She wasn't being permitted to use her hands at all. She was just being treated like an abused dog.
She was naked, on the floor, on a leash, at a bowl of dogfood.
Oh, God, it tasted dreadful. She imagined what the food might be, knowing that dogs eat things which humans find impossible to swallow � bugs and everything else. She was afraid that she was going to throw up in the bowl. She was feeling sick.
She burped.
"If you vomit in that bowl I'll stick your face in it and make you swallow it all back," Marjorie sneered.
Elouise could tell that she meant business.
The telephone rang. Elousie was saved, for the moment, by the bell.
Marjorie left the scene and answered the phone. This was not the thing that Elouise had expected to do on her first day at work for the rich white woman. She had expected to be doing dusting, cleaning, and answering the telephone.
But Marjorie took care of the phone, and it seemed that if Elouise was to get any cleaning in today, it would be with her tongue!
"Yes, Corbett. Yes, the new girl is here now. She's not perfect, but she may be able to be trained. She had potential. I''' just have to see how she responds."
Her handsome, young husband was on the other end. He looked at Marjorie's photograph in a golden frame on his desk. The picture was an eight by ten inch glossy, taken by a world famous photographer.
Corbett was cool in his air conditioned office, sitting back and collecting his lawyer's fees. He didn't even adjust the tie around his neck. His grey suit jacket was hanging behind him on the back of his chair.
"I'm going to be coming home early," Corbett said. "I just want to take some time off and spend it with you."
"Don't you have important work to do?" Marjorie said. She had her slave here on the floor, and she was in the midst of the training session. She didn't always get the women sent by the employment agency to go this far on their first day. Most of them refused to take part in Marjorie's schemes of domination. They either laughed it all off as a sick joke, or took offense and walked out.
Marjorie depended upon the fact that many of the women who applied for jobs as maids through the employment agency were hot American citizens, and did not have much social or economic clout. They were unschooled and afraid, many of them, to complain about her bizarre antics. As for the ones who did complain, Marjorie stood her ground. She knew that even the employment agency was aware that she had money, and money speaks. Money keeps others quiet.
It would not get back to her husband.
But here she had a woman who did get down as her slave woman. Perhaps, she thought, Elouise was a natural slave. Perhaps she enjoyed this abuse.
Or, if she was just going through with all of this because she was really afraid of the threat Marjorie offered, then she was still slave material.
Marjorie wanted to follow through on all of this. Now that she had started with Elouise, she was hot to follow through all the way.
The presence of Corbett would not help things.
"I can bring whatever work I have to do home. I've got to get out of the office more often, anyway. I can do the work when I want to. Right now, I want to be with you. Let's spend the afternoon together," Corbett told his wife over the phone. He played with the bulge at the front of his pants as he spoke. Her voice and her breathing on the other end of the line made him hot and excited. He always started to get a boner when he spoke with her.
"Alright, you can come home," Marjorie said, almost as if it was a decree, or a clear case of her giving him permission to come back into his own house.
Corbett wanted to tell her that he was hot for her and that he wanted to fuck her. He wanted to tell her that he would like her to strip down and wait for him with her legs spread.
He fantasized about the way it used to be when they were first married. He would be dying to get home to her, and she was always waiting eagerly for him.
He remembered how he would come home and find her in the bedroom with her clothes off and her cunt up on the bed, waiting for his dick to start fucking her even in the middle of the day.
But he knew that she would be a cold bitch and refuse to even let him into his own apartment if he gave a warning of what he had in mind.
Sometimes he wanted to spank her.
He wanted to put her in her place.
But he was at her mercy, in a way. She was the one who could put out or close up. She owned her own vagina.
Well, he wanted it now, and he told her he was coming home.
"I am training the new maid," Marjorie added, once more trying to postpone his return.
"I won't interfere with that," Corbett said. "In fact, I think I should meet her, don't you?"
Marjorie looked into the other room where her black dog was down on all four, sick to her stomach as she looked into the doggie bowl filled with food.
"She's having her lunch now. I told her to gobble up every last bite if she knows what good for her."
"If she knows what's good for her? That sounds like you're forcing her."
"I mean, it's good food. If she knows what's good for her, shell eat it all."
It was double meanings all the way around, but Elouise realized that this was all for her benefit. It was Marjorie's way of telling her to get into that food and eat it up, bobbing her head in the bowl like a mutt.
That was what she was.
Marjorie's mutt.
"I'll see you soon then," Corbett said.
Marjorie snapped her fingers.
Like the dog that she was, Elouise's ears perked up.
Marjorie pointed to her cunt. Then she snapped her fingers twice more.
With the chain of the leash dragging along the floor, Elouise waddled along on all fours with her naked butt high in the air.
Marjorie, still on the telephone with her husband, pointed directly into her own pussy again, and she licked her lips in an exaggerated manner.
Elouise felt a bolt of heat rush through her body. She felt hot and then cold, and she knew that this time she had broken out in a cold sweat all over. Marjorie wanted Elouise to eat her cunt.
She wanted her slave woman, just an ordinary girl looking for work from the poor part of town, she wanted her to suck and lick her pussy!
"Come home real soon," Marjorie said, suddenly changing the tone of her voice from that of a dominating bitch to that of a honey-coated vixen.
Corbett's boner was really hard now. He played with himself under his desk as he spoke with her, squeezing his cock and balls.
"That's the tone of voice I like to hear."
"Oh, big Daddy," Marjorie cooed. "You get me so hot. My slit is wet and juicing right this very minute."
Of course it was. The tongue of Elouise was down on it!
"Talk hot to me over the phone," Marjorie begged her husband, as Elouise licked at the hole.
"I wanna come home and get you in the flesh. I wanna feel your juicy tits in my hands and I wanna take those hot nipples of yours in my mouth."
"Yeah, I wanna feel you flick your tongue back and forth over my stiff nipple. And my hot clitty, too."
"Yeah, I'm coming home now to get at that love button of yours and push it for all I'm worth."
"Oh, baby," Marjorie moaned.
She didn't want Corbett to come right home. She wasn't really going to follow through with the cockteasing she was doing over the phone. He was her husband, and perhaps, according to their marriage vows, she owed him something, but she wasn't going to give it to him, at least not that easily.
She preferred having her naked dog slave at her cunt while her husband talked dirty to her. She was getting off on the fact that she was humiliating another woman. That turned her on more than anything else. That was what was causing her cuntal juices to flow. They were flowing directly into Elouise's mouth!
Willing or unwilling, Elouise had to take it. She was gagging and choking, but Marjorie had her hand on the slave's neck and she was forcing her down, keeping her head on the openly-splayed pussy.
She insisted with the thrust and arch of her pelvis that Marjorie's tongue impale itself inside the juicy hole.
The thrill for Marjorie was in keeping her husband hot on the line, without his knowing that she was being eaten out at the same time.
He was completely unaware that Marjorie's cunt was dripping into the mouth of a woman who was being forced to be her doggie slave.
CHAPTER THREE
Marjorie reached orgasm as Corbett talked to her on the phone and Elouise lapped like a dog inside the folds of her pussy.
Her body was quivering uncontrollably, and she had to hold back the quake in her voice as much as she possibly could to keep her husband from finding out or from suspecting that something was going on.
She was straining to keep from moaning in orgasm as her cunt convulsed in thunderous climaxes. Her clit was throbbing. Her juices were flowing into the mouth of her slave dog.
Elouise was forced to suck up every drop of the cunt juice and swallow it.
She knew that if she didn't, she would be abused with a whip, the way any bad dog would be abused by a strict mistress.
The silver studs which were embedded in the leather collar around her neck were digging into her because Marjorie had fastened the dog collar with the studs facing the inside instead of out. This was just to give Elouise the constant sensation of .discomfort and also to make her aware, at all times, that she was a dog and that her employee in the Lloyd household would be in that capacity � or worse.
When her orgasm had finally stopped, and the sweat dripped down her tits as she caught her breath, she became abrupt with Corbett over the phone.
"I really have to go now," she said quite suddenly and in a snippy tone of voice. "I have to train this maid."
Corbett recognized her total and very sudden change of mood. He didn't press it. He was coming home, and he knew that he would deal with it then.
His boner started to subside. He could tell that she had changed, and he stopped anticipating the warm pussy that he had been dreaming about. He knew from past experiences with Marjorie that a warm pussy might be waiting for him on his arrival home, and then again, it might not.
He wanted to be king of his own castle, and he deserved to be, what with the money he paid for that privilege. But Marjorie had the upper hand. She wore the pants in the family. Her word was law, even when she exercised her control in a calm and feminine manner.
With her slave woman, such understatedness would not be had. She was pissed that she would not have her slave woman all to herself for the rest of the day. So she was going to do something else to give herself the satisfaction she "Go on, get up. You don't have to be a dog forever," Marjorie said when Elouise, afraid and unsure, indicated with her face that she didn't know whether to accept the key in her hand or to take it in her mouth like the dog she had been made to be.
"I have other things for you to be and other things for you to do," Marjorie said. "Use this key and open that drawer," she said, indicating the bottom drawer of the bureau which stood in the corner of the room. It was an ornate old cabinet, really, with light green paint on it, and little angels painted over that as a design. Over one hundred years of age, the cabinet was an antique. And in the special, secret, bottom drawer, Marjorie kept things which had been used in even more ancient times. Oh, not the same ones, of course, but torture had been around for a long time.
Elouise stood up and felt the pain in her bones. Marjorie looked at her with some distain. The woman's knees were red. Her face was damp with cunt flow. Her hair was hanging, wet with sweat.
"You can crawl there," Marjorie sneered.
Immediately, Elouise fell back to her knees and holding the key in one hand, managed to crawl to the dresser.
She opened the lock and pulled the drawer forward. It was filled with various types of dildos!
She had never seen rubber dicks before! But there they were of all colors, sizes and descriptions.
"Take out one that you like," Marjorie said.
"What?" Elouise asked.
"You heard me, you stupid cunt. Take out a dildo that interests you. You're gonna get fucked by it, so you might as well take one you like."
Marjorie caught a glimpse of herself in one of the wall mirrors. She adjusted the curls of her long, blonde hair. She wanted to put some more makeup on. She was totally oblivious to Elouise's pain and humiliation, at least in so far as giving the humiliated slave dog any compassion.
Elouise stared into the drawer. It ,was full. She was afraid to even touch the artificial pricks. She didn't know where these objects had been. She was afraid to even think about it.
But she also knew that Marjorie Lloyd was waiting. And Marjorie Lloyd must not be kept waiting � not by her maid, or by anybody.
There would be hell to pay.
The pricks were huge, most of them. The first one she touched had been greased and it remained that way in the drawer. It slipped from Elouise's fingers. She didn't want to hold it. If it still had grease on it, it had probably not been washed after its last use.
The second dildo which she touched was a thick one with a base of two rubber balls. Elouise saw a small piece of metal at the base, below the balls. It was sticking out like a handle. She started to twist this metal extension, and to her amazement, the shaft of the rubber penis began to twist and turn with the movement.
It was obvious that the idea was to take this dick up the cunt, all the way until the balls pressed against the cuntal slit. Then, by twisting and turning the handle of the metal extension, the entire shaft would twist and turn around inside the cunt just like a real, live dick.
She dropped it back into the drawer like a hotcake.
Marjorie, picking up on the gesture, had found the dildo which was right for Elouise. She really didn't want the woman to experience pleasure from this thing. She wanted to get her own rocks off by humiliating and dominating her.
Dominating her sexually was the most intimate way, "Bring that one to me," she snapped.
"Which one are you talkin' about?"
"You know which one I'm talking about, bitch dog. The one you just dropped back into the drawer. That's' the one I'm going to use on you."
"Oh, please, please," the maid begged.
She meant that she was begging Marjorie not to do it. Marjorie told her that she liked her to beg for it She took the pleas to be signs of wanting it.
"And from now on you can call me Madame. I am the Madame of this house and you are to address me with subservient respect."
"Madame," Elouise said humbly in an attempt to speak to this dominating bitch on a mature level. "I just came for a job. I - ... "
"I'll tie you to the post of the bed and keep you there all day if you don't hurry up and fetch me' that dildo. Come on, bitch. Bring it here in your mouth."
There was no reasoning that Marjorie would hear.
Elouise took the dildo from the drawer. She couldn't hold it in her mouth. It was much too thick for her to close her lips around. It was too heavy for her to carry that way without it falling from her lips and onto the floor.
Yet, her mistress had told her to fetch it, and she had to serve her mistress. She bit into the body of the shaft with her teeth and held onto the rubber prick that way.
She brought the dildo to her mistress on her hands and knees.
"You know that this is all for your own good," Marjorie said. "It's the training you need. The hired help that's around today needs to be disciplined like this. You need to know who the boss is so that you can fully serve."
Elouise dropped the dildo from her mouth. It plopped down on the floor at Marjorie's feet. She picked it up and told Elouise to stick her tongue out.
"Come on, bitch, stick that tongue way out. The spit from your tongue is the only lubrication you're gonna get, so you better spit it up while you have the chance."
Humiliated, Elouise did as she was told. She felt her tongue muscle trembling as she held it out as far from her mouth as it would stretch.
The big dick slid across it.
Marjorie gave Elouise's tongue a taste of the shaft, then the balls, then the head. She even taunted her bitch slave by shoving the head of the cock as far back down into Elouise's throat as it would go.
Suddenly, Elouise felt her air supply cut off by the invading monster. Her throat was filled with the thick rubber dick.
Thankfully, Marjorie removed the dick from Elouise's throat as fast as she had stuffed it down. There were still some little blessings to be thankful for.
"Up on your hindquarters so I can stick this thing in where it belongs," Marjorie said. "Go on, stick your ass up."
"My ass?" Elouise gasped, her eyes opened wide, like saucers.
"You'll be aware of your position as my servant. With a dildo up your fucking ass, I think you'll get the message loud and clear."
Elouise fumbled for a moment. Actually, two thoughts were racing through her head at the same time, causing her not to act as Marjorie had commanded.
One of the thoughts was for her to get out of there as soon as possible, any way possible. If it meant jumping up and fighting back, that was what she would have to do. If it meant going home without a job, well, it seemed now that going home without a job would be the better alternative, all things considered.
But there was something which stopped her, and if that wasn't another simultaneous thought, then it was a streak of subservience which was part of her.
She hobbled up on her hands and knees and assumed the position which Marjorie insisted upon for her. There was a low, sideless chair, and this is what Marjorie wanted Elouise to bend over.
The naked woman, with the collar around her neck, was a beautiful looking slave. Her brown body was ample enough to take the abuse Marjorie dished out. She was full, round, and womanly. A big girl, she offered a wide target for Marjorie's female sadism, and she was strong enough to take it. Not that she had any choice in the matter, Marjorie knew what she was going to do.
She placed her body over the chair and offered her nakedness for her mistress.
She felt a cool breeze of air chill her naked, upturned buttocks as Marjorie swished by. She looked over the naked behind, seeing the furry vagina below it in the position which stretched Elouise across the chair.
It was usually used for spanking, and while Marjorie was at it, she took advantage of that.
"Madame, yes I was, but I barely had tune to arrange for my children and catch the train and come here from the Bronx before ... "
"I didn't ask for excuses. You were supposed to be here by noon or before. You were expected at that time and it was your agreement to be here then."
"Well, when the lady from the agency called me and told me that I would have to be here by noon I did my best."
"Your best was not good enough in this case, dog. And if you are going to serve me as my maid, you must improve yourself. You must never keep me waiting. I will see to that, with a little bit of much-deserved discipline. I'm going to introduce you to the yardstick."
The yardstick. Yes, Elouise knew of the yardstick. This introduction would be like a re-introduction. She had been whipped on her bare hindquarters with a yardstick before, back home in Georgia when she was a little girl growing up there. Discipline was strict in those parts in those times. Many was the time she had her bare bottom blazed up with what they called the licking stick.
Elouise was going to get another licking.
"You were to be here at twelve noon," Marjorie said, testing the weight of the three-foot long wooden ruler. "Instead, you arrived at twelve minutes after twelve. I'm going to give you twelve good, hard ones with this stick across your naked butt. Maybe next time you'll think twice about being late."
"I'm sorry, Madame," Elouise said humbly.
"That will do you no good now. A few days from now, when you still feel twelve smacks of yardstick blistering your bottom, you'll be even more sorry. But you won't be late again."
With that, she struck the first blow. There was a moment of deadly silence before the stick whistled through the air, landing squarely on both of the smooth ass cheeks at the same time.
Crack!
A red mark appeared on the tan flesh just as soon as the crack echoed through the room. It was followed by another and another.
"One, Madame. Thank you. May I have another one, Madame?" Elouise asked.
"Yes you may."
Smack!
"Thank you, Madame. Two, Madame. May I have another one, please?"
Smack!
It went on like this, each smack as hard as the one before. Sometimes, after all the area of the rounded globes and the upper thighs had been made red, Marjorie started smacking in the same places again, causing overlapping weals to well up in the flesh.
After the seventh and eight blows, Elouise started to wriggle around a lot more. She wanted to avoid the blows, but her body was vulnerable to them.
It felt like Marjorie had a fire going back there on her ass.
"You still have four more to go," Marjorie announced.
"Yes, thank you, Madame," Elouise said weakly. She knew that the final strokes of the twelve would be the most painful and stinging. The heat and the sting of the previous wallops was still burning Elouise's behind.
"Spread your cheeks," Marjorie said, before landing the final four.
"Excuse me, Madame?"
"I said spread your ass globes and open up that asshole of yours. I'm gonna give you your last four cracks up the crack of your hole. That'll warm it up for the big one � the ten inch dildo!"
Elouise reached behind her and spread the cheeks of her beautiful ass. The rounded globes opened up, exposing a puckered ring of tan flesh � her asshole.
It was the opening to an inner warmth. She stretched her body back, exposing more and more of the inside.
"Show me your bunghole," Marjorie said. "Let me see that shit chute open wide."
When the hole was exposed as much as physically possible, Marjorie landed the final four smacks in quick succession.
She took the huge dildo, which had been slicked with Elouise's own spit, and she inserted the bulbous cock head into the tender anal opening.
The inside of the asshole was red hot where she had smacked it. The tender opening was blazing and red and quivering as the head was slowly, but forcefully inserted into the rectum of the submissive maid.
Inch by inch, the dildo stretched the anal canal, filling it with hot rubber.
Elouise was not used to such treatment. She had never taken something like this up inside of her asshole before. It was painful, but once the full length of it had impaled her, there was a feeling of being totally filled which aroused her enough to make her nipples get hard and her clit feel all aglow.
With the big, rubber balls up against the inner cheeks and the rosebud of the big ass, Marjorie began to twist the metal rod which extended inside the length of the rubber fuck stick.
"Oh, owwwwwww," Elouise moaned. The cock was stretching every part of her asshole. It felt like nothing she had ever experienced. Her entire asshole was alive with the sensation of it. It made her cunt tingle. Her pussy and asshole were really closely associated. They I were simultaneously stimulated with a pain I which turned to pleasure.
The dick was wriggling around inside the ass channel. Every inch of the inner canal was being touched with the filling rod.
Marjorie unsnapped the garter belt which she had been wearing. She wanted to use the belt which had been around her private parts all day � and she wanted to use them on her maid.
She took the garter belt and tied it around the base of the dildo, where the big balls were. In this way, she had made a kind of sling which held the dick in place up the ass. She tied it real tight so that it would hold the dildo inside no matter what position Elouise assumed.
"This will keep that dick up your ass all day long. That way you won't be like a bitch in heat, longing for a prick up you. You'll have one up your asshole at all times to remind you of your place."
"Yes."
"Put your uniform on over the dildo.
Nobody will know that you are wearing the dildo up your ass except you and I."
Well, there was certainly no question that Elouise would be aware of the presence of a fat, ten inch dick up her asshole.
She was stretched and filled with it.
She put on the things Marjorie gave her. This was her uniform. It started with a pair of black lace panties. They were crotchless, exposing her hairy pussy. There must have been reasons for that, but Elouise wasn't asking.
The rear of the panties were normal, covering the big balls which stuck out at the base of the dildo which was the only part of the ten inch thing not inside of her.
On top of the panties was the little skirt of black satin, with the white apron with the sash which tied in the back. Her bra was also black lace, and Marjorie had cut the front of the bra cups with a pair of scissors. This way, the naked nipples were exposed.
On top of that, however, was the top of the uniform with the white collar, lowcut though it was. In her hair, she .wore the little white cap which Marjorie had provided to give her maids the total look of elegance and formality which she felt they should possess.
If only she could get these servants to behave as good as they looked. She was in search of total subservience, and even though she was getting excellent results with Elouise, something simply wasn't clicking.
She didn't know exactly what it was, but she wasn't getting the satisfaction, or even the gratification that she had expected out of this. She had found a willing servant, and now there was something about the servant which turned Marjorie off � or at least, did not turn her on.
What was it?
She wasn't sure. Perhaps it had something to do with dominating and wanting to be dominated. The two ends of the pole. She wondered.
Black fishnet stockings and high heels which were more than seven inches tall, completed the uniform. Elouise felt like an Amazon woman in those teetering heels. She could barely walk in them without falling, but Marjorie told her that she would have to learn to walk balancing a book on her head if she didn't learn without it first, and fast.
She was given a little advice.
"You are to behave like the proper maid," Marjorie told her. "When my husband is here, you are not to let on about anything that happened between us. I'm sure you know what kinds of things I mean. You'll keep quiet about them, or I'll see to it that you'll be a very sorry bitch."
"Yes."
"And I'm keeping an account of every time you address me without the proper respect. You'll pay for that later, too."
Marjorie went around putting away all traces of things which would point to what had taken place. The bottom drawer was closed and locked. The closet which kept all of the whips and chains was locked, too.
When Corbett finally arrived home, he found everything back to normal except that there was now a young maid to take care of things around the house.
"This is Elouise," Marjorie said, introducing Corbett to the new maid.
"Pleased to meet you," Elouise said, not letting on that she felt like a French maid in this silly uniform which was much too small for her, showing off much more flesh than she had expected or wanted to.
When she walked, she teetered on the seven inch heels. And with her every step, she was aware of the dildo which, probed about inside of her.
"Let the maid answer the phone and all of that," Corbett said, holding Marjorie close. "I came in the middle of the day because I was hot for you. I wanna fuck you."
"No. I'm not in the mood," Marjorie said.
"Look at this," Corbett said, holding his stiff erection through his pants. The outline of it was clear, right down to the flared head which was defined through the thin material of his pants.
"I've been working with this maid all morning," Marjorie said. "I've been breaking her in. I need to ... "
Corbett wasn't hearing any of it. He wanted to take his chance with his wife. He wanted to fuck her, and that was what he was going to do.
He closed the door to their bedroom so that the new maid wouldn't hear the sounds of their loving.
Actually, the sounds were not to the sounds of love, but the sounds of struggle, instead. He wrestled her for her cunt, throwing her to the bed and forcing himself on her.
She almost gave in because she was aroused by the he-man nature he was demonstrating. She couldn't recall him being this aggressive for a long time, and she liked the challenge of the power play. Like many dominating, castrating bitches, what she really wanted was to be dominated herself.
Of course, it couldn't be just anybody who would be qualified to do it. Marjorie knew that she could only be subdued by a master who knew the ropes. He would have to be somebody who she could trust and obey as well as love. Then she would serve because such a person would command, and even demand her respect.
But when she looked into her husband's eyes, she doubted he was the man. He just wasn't evil enough. He wasn't creative enough in his sadism, if he had any sadistic qualities in him at all.
"No, Corbett, I can't," she said again.
It was then that they both heard the door slam.
It startled them. The front door of the apartment had suddenly been slammed closed. They both ran out to see what was up, Marjorie was in the lead.
She called Elouise's name, but the woman was nowhere to be seen.
"That bitch," Marjorie cursed.
"She left?" Corbett asked.
"That's the way it looks. She's nowhere to be seen. She took her clothes with her. But look, she left her uniform."
There it was, on the floor near the door. The apron and the skirt and the top and the little piece for her hair and even the bra and panties were there on the floor beside the fetish heels.
But the dildo which had been tied into her asshole had not been left behind with the other things.
Marjorie had lost another maid - and another dildo.
"What is it with these maids?" Corbett asked. "Why do they keep running away like that?"
"Your guess is as good as mine," Marjorie said. "It's part of the general disintegration of the world, I guess. People just don't care any longer. They have no respect for a good job."
She didn't reveal the dimple of her smile. This was to be a serious matter. Only she knew why Elouise, like many others before her, had slipped out on the very first day of work. In fact, they left the first moment they had the chance. The only miracle about what happened with Marjorie and Elouise was that Elouise had stayed as long as she had.
"I'll just have to call the agency and get them to send somebody else over."
"Disgusting, isn't it?" Corbett sighed. "Hired help is so hard to find. It takes good luck and good searching to find the proper person."
"I'll just have to keep looking," Marjorie said, "If I keep on trying, I'm sure I'll find the right person for the job, eventually."
She drew her robe around her. All day, and she still had not put her clothes on. This was how it was for her every day. She would lie around in bed in the morning while Corbett puttered around in the kitchen. He kept the door to their bedroom closed so that the light and noise would not bother her.
He made coffee for himself and for her. She drank her coffee in bed.
He sat on his bed and she sat on up in her bed. They had shared one bed when they were first married, but they had decided to separate the two single beds when it became hot in the summer.
They had central air conditioning in the elegant building in which they lived, and with the huge terrace which overlooked the city, there was a breeze to* be felt if ever there were one.
It hadn't been a terribly hot summer at all, but Marjorie complained of humidity. Corbett always thought it was amusing that she didn't complain when they were sitting around a swimming pool in some tropic island. But then, Marjorie claimed that there was a different kind of heat there. It wasn't as sticky and humid, she said, and she was right, but there was probably more to it than that. There always was more to it when it involved Marjorie.
She had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth. When she took Corbett's cock in her cunt, she spit out the silver spoon, but only shortly. It was soon back, and her cunt was tightened up whenever she could. Sex had been great, but now that Corbett was supporting her, she was happy to keep her mouth wrapped around the silver spoon past, and not around his cock.
Her mouth never went near it.
That was alright as far as Corbett was concerned. He was also from a well to do family. They came from New Hampshire.
He did not think that his wife should suck his cock. He often spoke of it, but he followed through with the women he paid, and not with Marjorie.
She often teased him about it, but when he held her face down to his naked cock, she would usually come close to it, but stop short of taking it in her mouth.
He would feel her soft face near his cock.
She would feel the warmth of it, and the warmth of his crotch and balls.
He would push his pelvis forward until he felt the softness of her upturned nose brushing against the flared head. He would feel a strand of her long, blonde hair as his cock moved against her smooth face.
She would open her mouth and place it over the head of the cock. She would let her tongue drop a few droplets of saliva, and maybe when she licked the opening of his cock, his slit, a string of clear liquid would delicately connect his cock and her mouth.
But when it came time to put her mouth down on it and take it down until her teeth caressed the base of it, she withdrew and moaned a little moan which told her husband that she just didn't want to.
Her mother never did that with her father.
Her mother was the one who held the key to much of what went on in Marjorie's life. Some of Corbett's friends believed that Marjorie's mother had threatened to disown and disinherit her unless she married by the age of twenty-five. Mama had all the money in the world, but she liked to control her daughter with it. She wanted Marjorie to have her own source of income and not be dependent. She wanted her daughter to prove that she could have a rich man and still love her, even when she didn't need the money.
As it happened, Corbett did have enough for both of them. He was doing exceptionally well in his young law practice. He had married Marjorie on a whim, but he wasn't sorry.
He knew that she was just not suited for work because she was so used to being pampered. He didn't mind. He wanted to pamper her more.
It suited his ego to be her supporter, financial and otherwise.
"It's just so much trouble doing this maid interview thing," Marjorie huffed after a while of pacing while Corbett watched on, afraid to ask what was bothering her. He was afraid she would snap at him if he asked.
"I'll help you if you want," he told her. "I've been thinking about taking more time off from work and being with you. I don't care what you think of the idea. I think it would be a good idea."
"You don't trust me by myself," she pouted. "That's it. You think that when you go to work I have a man here. Or maybe a dozen men!"
"Honey, it's nothing like that."
"Maybe you think I hired these maids for a day and I beat them or use them for my personal sex slaves. Huh? Is that why you want to be here? To make sure that I don't tie up some poor black maid and hang her from the ceiling?"
"Marjorie, sometimes I think you're crazy," he said, when her responses seemed more serious than humorous to him.
"So that's it. You think I'm crazy."
He could see that she was picking a fight It happened frequently. She would goad him on. He would snap back. She would say something to insult him. He'd keep calm, but she'd twist his words around and throw them back at him.
It went on and on, always ending in the same thing. She would storm away from him, slamming a door behind her. They would stay separated for a good period of time, several hours sometimes. He would come to her to apologize, but she wouldn't hear of it. She'd lock the bathroom door and stay inside.
This time, the telephone rang before she could storm away.
"Mama!" she exclaimed. "How are you!"
Corbett watched her as she flopped down on the green satin couch. Her long legs were smooth and perfectly formed. The shape of them was inviting, especially at the thighs where her hips flared out such enough that he wanted to hold onto her there. He wanted to rub the soft stubble of his five o'clock shadow against the delicate flesh of her inner thigh, making her quiver as he told her he loved her.
He wanted her to hold onto him, pressing her bosom into him. He watched as the sheer negligee moved up and down across her naked cunny. The blond hairs of her pussy could be seen through the material.
"Mama, how is Jamaica? Oh, it's hot? Yes, it's terribly hot here, too. I'm sure it's worse here. What? Oh, yes, yes, of course we have air conditioning. Are you kidding? I'd die without it. I'd just die.
"What? Oh, it's on right now. I keep it on all night and even when I go out. What's that? A riot? Oh, my God. Corbett, Mama says there's all kinds of rioting down in Jamaica. I hope you stay out of the black areas.
"What? Corbett, Mama says the blacks called her a rich bitch and cursed at her even worse. It's shocking. They should be shot for that."
Corbett had to smile at the thought of Marjorie's mother being called a rich bitch. He had wanted to call her worse than that, many times.
He turned his face away to keep from showing the smile.
He looked outside. On the terrace opposite his, a young black model was sunning herself. She was already bronzed by nature, from birth. Corbett thought that it was amusing that she should want to tan herself. Just as amusing, it so happened, as she thought it was for white people to lie in the sun trying to get dark as she was.
She was sipping from some cool tropic drink as she stretched out on her stomach. Her dark flesh was pressed against a white towel.
Her bottom was covered with a string bikini bottom. There were two dimples above her full ass cheeks. Corbett couldn't really see them from the distance he was away from her, but somehow he just sensed that a woman with a figure as luscious as her, figure was would have dimples above her ass globes.
She made her money off her body � as a model of high fashion. Now, on her free time, she untied the top of her bikini and let her back take the sun without interference. Her breasts stayed within the cups of the bikini bra.
Corbett saw her catch his eye. She looked at him for a moment and then turned her head away. He continued to stare at her, but when she didn't respond, he returned into the living room.
"How much did it cost? Did you get one for me?"
Marjorie was still on the telephone, talking long distance with her mother who was calling from Jamaica. Corbett assumed that Marjorie's mother had reversed the charges. Whenever she telephoned from one of the places she was visiting, even if it was half the world away, she would call collect and Marjorie would accept the charges. They would appear on Corbett's bill.
"Corbett, Mama was robbed while she was in Jamaica. A black stole her watch and then showed it to her and made her pay for it again." She turned back to the receiver. "You mean you had to pay to get your own watch back?"
Corbett was uninterested in the conversation. He wanted his wife. He wanted her to warm up to him and give him what he needed.
He placed his knee beside her on the couch and leaned over. He pulled the negligee off of her shoulder. It was smooth and creamy, and he knew that when his lips moved over it, it would be soft to the touch.
She made a face, crinkling up her eyebrows and pouting her lips. It was not a face of welcome. She had not forgotten that she was being pissed at him. She pushed him away.
"I've been having a terrible time trying to find a maid," she told her mother. "You can't get maids like Cookie anymore," she said, speaking of a now elderly black woman who was the family maid for many years when Marjorie was growing up on an estate in Long Island.
"Oh, really. Mama says that hired help is easy to come by in Jamaica. They do everything for the smallest possible wages. They just don't know any better. Oh, and she says that many of them want to come over to America. That's what they've heard about for so many years, she says. America. America. It's paradise to them. It's the biggest. Maybe you can find me some girl and bring her over. You know, that could be her pay, her chance at coming over.
"What? Oh, Mama, I can't hear you. The connection's gone bad. What? Oh, Mama. Mama? Mama? Hello? Can you hear me? Hello!"
Marjorie clicked the buttons at the top of the phone.
"Somebody cut a wire. Mama said so before she hung up. She's staying at a hotel and the black help is rioting there. They resent the white people who come in. It's crazy because they bring industry there and give the people jobs."
"And pay them practically nothing," Corbett said. He wasn't even trying to get back on the subject of sex. That was a closed subject in every way,
"They opened a big soda plant out there recently."
"Yeah, and they polluted the water with the wastes from it," Corbett said.
"You're the big corporate lawyer," she told him. "You make your money from the big companies, too."
"Let's not talk about my work," Corbett sighed. "I want to spend more time with you. I want to look out for you. I want to help you with every thing."
"You want to help me find a maid," she said, bringing the subject back again.
"Well, I wasn't thinking of that, exactly."
"The people at the agency are going to be very upset when they find out that another maid has run out of here. I'm going to have to start calling a new agency where they don't know me yet."
"I'll be around when you audition the maid, if you want me to be," Corbett said.
What irked Marjorie most was that Elouise didn't stay around long enough to go through with the next part of her punishment. She wanted to have Elouise do her bidding in silent suffering.
She wanted Corbett to give the maid her orders and watch her in her tiny uniform while all the time she was feeling the pressure of the dildo up her ass.
That was how Marjorie was going to get her thrills. That was how she was going to keep her cunny dripping with love juices. They would have nothing to do with love, those juices. They would be sex juices, milked from her cunt by the humiliation of Elouise � silent humiliation in the face of her husband.
But the damn bitch got away with the dildo still up her ass.
That was what Marjorie was thinking as she slammed the door on Corbett. She sat at her dressing table and applied her lipstick.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Jamaican sun was shining down as walked the several miles of road to her school. She hated to go to school during the summer. In fact, she hated going to school any time.
She was not a good student, not because she wasn't intelligent. She was a bright girl, but she just didn't apply herself.
It really didn't seem too important to her to learn about numbers and adding them. She never did so. She just didn't use that kind of knowledge in her life.
She wanted to learn about adventure and excitement. She was tired of walking the barren dirt road from her shack of a house every day. There was nothing to see along the-way except the trees and bushes which lined one side of the road. But even they seemed dull to her compared to the lushness of the city life she had heard about when people spoke of America.
She hated reading. In fact, she wasn't very good at it. But when one of the teachers in the school started talking about New York, with its skyscrapers, she pictured the tall, needle-like structures which scratched through the blue of the sky and she marveled at the idea of it. She wanted to go there, even though it seemed like an impossible dream.
She would be stuck living in the shack of a place with her brothers and sisters, all piled together in one room. Now that she was maturing sexually, she didn't feel comfortable sleeping in the same bed as her brothers.
They were younger than she was, but when she played inside the folds of her virgin pussy, causing the droplets of girl juice to trickle out when she began to convulse deep inside of herself, and shudder as her pussy felt climax, the boys sensed it, even in their sleep.
She had no privacy. She had nothing.
It was so hot on these summer nights, they all had to sleep in as little clothing as possible. Yet, they couldn't sleep in the nude. Their mother wouldn't allow it, particularly of Claudja.
She wondered if Grace would sit next to her at school. After what she had done to Grace, by running off when Grace was up on the top of the roof after dropping the damp panties on the head of the black man in the bar, Claudja wasn't going to be surprised if Grace didn't speak to her again.
She didn't really care. She didn't need friends who wouldn't laugh with her at her pranks and jokes. It was just that not everybody was in agreement with her about what was funny.
Grace did not find it amusing being raped on the roof because of Claudja's taunting.
It was a typical day - hot, with a hazy sun. Claudja didn't expect to see anything out of the ordinary on her way, but something different was just around the bend. She heard it before she saw it. It was the buzz of a motor in the distance. When it came close, she saw that it was a buggy car.
In the car, were two white men. They were young guys, in their early twenties, and very good looking. Claudja was fascinated. It was rare that she saw white men in this part of the island.
In fact, it was rare that she saw white men at all, unless she went into the tourist sections. She lived in a black ghetto, and the school she attended was ninety-five per cent black. There were a few whites and Orientals, but Claudja knew none of them. She had spoken to Charing Tablante, a lovely girl with long, straight black hair. Charing was from one of the Polynesian islands. Claudja had touched Charing's hair. She found it incredibly straight and soft. But she had gotten no farther with her. Their friendship had been restricted to the secret time Claudja touched Charing's hair from behind when Charing was unaware of it.
The young guys in the car couldn't help but notice Claudja in every way.
Her white, cotton dress was nothing more than a few pieces of cotton material sewn together. Though it hardly fit her, that was why she was so good looking in it. The few pieces .of cotton clung to her warm flesh, revealing the curves of her perfect body. Her large breasts pressed insistently against the top of the dress. Her nipples, circled with what looked like chocolate drops the size of half dollars, could be seen through the white material.
She didn't wear a bra, and today, since her fun with the man at the bar, she didn't wear any panties either.
The men stopped the car a few feet in front of her. They turned their heads back to get a better view of her. She looked good from behind, too. Her waist was tiny enough to invite a pair of hands to fit around it, flaring out to a beautiful pair of hips which flattered her rounded ass. The globes of her ass were like two pieces .of ripe fruit in that cotton dress.
She turned back to look at them, too. Her lips were like the fruits of the trees. Juicy and sweet. The men were sure of it.
"But she may be a wildcat," Bruno said to his partner.
"She looks like one. But I think two of us can handle one of her, don't you?" his buddy Karl asked.
"You know the orders. We're here on business. The last thing we're supposed to get into is these native girls. We're supposed to be establishing friendly relations with the natives, remember?"
"My relations with her will be real friendly. Real friendly. A deep friendship, you might say."
"Cut the shit, Karl. We've got work to do. They'll be no buzzing around her honeypot," he said, and he revved up the engine and headed off down the road, leaving a cloud of dust behind him.
Claudja stood there on the parched ground, watching the car take off. Karl was still looking back. Claudja wanted to lick her lips or touch her breast, or let her hand wander up and down inside her thigh.
She wanted even to raise her skirt and show the men that underneath her dress she was, wearing only what nature had given her � a beautiful cunny.
But she didn't do any of those things. It was alright for her to be a brazen girl and tease a mail with her damp panties, if the man were one of her own kind. But these men were white, and she didn't know quite how to act.
She was afraid of them, of course, even though they aroused her much more than black men did. She had never had contact with men who were white, and therefore she knew nothing about them from a practical point of view.
She was sure that her magnificent face and body would turn them on, and she was correct about that, because color was no boundary when it came to appreciating the unique sensuality which breathed from her every pore.
She was enough to turn a statue of a marble saint into a raving maniac, and even the fantasies she provoked so effortlessly would be nothing compared to the way she writhed and moaned beneath a man in reality.
But she wouldn't stay beneath a man for long. She was indeed the wildcat they saw. She would claw and bite and work her way on top. She would do the bumping and grinding, sitting with her cunt on a man's dick as she worked her body on it. She was sure of it. Although none of it had ever happened. She was still a virgin.
Determined to keep her virginity for as long as she could, she continued on the road without trying to do anything to attract the men back to her. She was already late for school and it was probably all for the best that she forget about men who looked at her with lust in their eyes. Especially if they were not her color.
She heard a lot about the white men who came to her island. Recently, in fact, she heard more about it than ever. She didn't know if the situation had always existed, or if she was just becoming aware of it, and that was why she heard of it so often. But what she heard about the white men, aside from their sexual habits, was not good.
People of her parents age called them red-eyed devils. She wondered if the eyes of white men were really red. She hadn't gotten close enough to Bruno and Karl to see.
Recently there had been a lot of talk against them. She didn't pay it much mind until now because she so rarely saw white men in her area. It gave her something to think about. What were they doing on her turf now?
The school could now be seen in the distance. She started to walk faster to get there without being terribly late. Then she stopped herself. She didn't want to rush. There would, be time for everything.
Grace was not in class. Perhaps she was home, recovering from what Claudja had set up in her own way. Claudja was unaware of the extent of the damages.
The teacher was talking about geography and weather, but it was too hot for Claudja to pay attention. She was glancing put the window, as usual, when she saw Charing Tablante running toward the school. Her beautiful, long hair had been cut off. Her dress was hanging in tatters.
"Oh, Yazuks!" Claudja screamed.
Everybody turned around. The discussion was halted. They rushed to the window. By this time, Charing was at the door.
"What happened to you?" the teacher asked.
"Some black girls attacked me," she cried. "They ripped my necklace off my neck and ripped my dress. We fought. They attacked me for no reason. Maybe they did because of my color. All of them were black. And look at my dress. There's blood on it."
In a way, Claudja was glad that something had happened to keep the teacher from asking for homework. As usual, Claudja had not done her work. She hadn't been caught for a while. It didn't really matter to her if she did get caught. Her grades were already poor enough. But it was better to get by without the teacher bringing the subject up.
But Charing, with her hair cut off! It was shocking.
Claudja was confused. Blacks were attacking Charing for the color of her skin. Whites were said to be invading the island and taking it over.
The tropic summer was steaming. Everything seemed to be in a state of turmoil. Even her practical jokes and nasty pranks wouldn't help.
The teacher brought Charing inside and seated her. He was going to tend to her wounds, but outside, a band of black men was marching. They were carrying lighted torches and chanting.
The chant could not be understood all at once. At first, the garbled words could have been anything. It was some kind of a nursery rhyme. "Yeah, whitey must go. Whitey must go!" That was it. That was what they were shouting.
A bunch of kids rushed to the door. Some followed the men, out of their curious interests. The teacher called them back, but clearly, something was going on here, and the kids took advantage of the situation.
"I'm getting out of here and heading my black ass home," one of the kids announced. "There's gonna be rock throwin' and all kinds of trouble. I can feel it in my bones."
"What's going on? Why all this marching and chanting?" Claudja asked the girl nearest her at the window.
"The white folks are coming in on our territory. There've been some incidents."
Claudja wanted to know more, but if she wanted to be part of the group of kids who got away from the classroom in the rush and excitement of this incident, she knew that she had to get out now before things settled down.
She didn't want to be left behind with the goody-goodies.
She ran out of the classroom and trailed along at the back of the mob. She could sense the anger which had brought them to this point. They had been stepped upon, or so they felt, and they were righting back because they didn't want to take shit any longer.
They marched together, calling out slogans, and warning their white enemies that they were out for blood. They brought their rampage down the dirt road (in the direction away from Claudja's house and the jeep with Karl and Bruno.)
As they marched toward the city, toward the hotels and tourist places where people were unaware of the plight of these poor people who now felt that they were being invaded for the manipulation of the white man, Claudja stayed at a good distance behind them.
She had a lot of spunk when it came to her prankish jokes, but in this situation, she clammed up, unsure of how to deal with the white people she was afraid to meet at the end of this journey. There was going to be trouble, and although she was drawn to adventure, she did not yet feel the hatred and anger that the rest of this band of people felt.
As the group rounded a curve, Claudja saw a rustle ahead in the bushes at the side of the road. A man stuck his head out and looked at the angry mob. Then he ducked back into the bushes.
His hair was sandy blonde. He was a white man.
Because he was following the sound of the mob, he looked out after them when they had gone beyond him. He didn't think to look back until a few moments later, and when he did, his eyes caught sight of Claudja.
She was staring at him, too, and he didn't duck back into the bushes as his instinct first provoked. He was stunned by her beauty.
She looked at him, but stopped in her tracks.
"It's alright. I don't want to hurt you," he called out. "I'm only here to be a friend."
She didn't respond in words. She walked closer to him, though.
He looked at her so hard that she thought he could see right through her. She felt that his piercing blue eyes were staring through her dress.
Yes, his eyes were blue. Sky blue. He was not a red-eyed devil.
"My name is Scott," he said, trying to break the ice with her.
"I am Claudja."
He smiled. He was wearing blue jeans and Claudja had not seen such pants on a man before. They clung tightly to his body; much more tightly than Jamaican clothes on Jamaican men. She could see that his cock was not small. Although it was not clearly outlined, she could see the bulge at the front of his jeans.
She looked up at his face. She could feel a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was confused and felt faint.
A strong girl, she was not used to behaving like this. But she couldn't help herself. She felt weak, and then she collapsed.
Scott rushed out from the bushes so fast that he caught her before she hit the ground. He supported her with his strong arms. He wanted to give her first aid there in the middle of the road, but with the violence that was in the air, he decided to pick her up and carry her into the bushes at the side of the road.
If the angry bands of black youths came back and saw Claudja lying prostrate in his arms, there was no telling what conclusions they would jump to.
He cleared the way with his shoulder and the side of his body, carrying Claudja through the path his body made. On the other side of the bushes there was a small clearing, and he rested her body on the ground.
He hovered over her, kneeling down at her side. He unbuttoned the buttons of her dress, starting at her neck and working downward. She was breathing, but she was not conscious. He needed to give her air and increase her breathing.
Scott was going to stop at her breasts, but he decided that she would do better if he opened the buttons all the way down to her naval. As the flimsy material of her dress fell open, one of her breasts fell free.
He looked at it. The shape of it was luscious to him. It was curved upwards where the nipple became pointed. The aureole of darker flesh around the nipple was perfectly round, and he couldn't help but feel a tinge of energy in his cock at the thought of running his tongue around it.
But he had her survival to think of, and he untied the sash which held the dress tight at her waist. He wanted to allow her room to breathe, but when the sash at her waist was unfastened, the bottom part of her dress fell open, since that was how it was holding together.
Scott hadn't realized this until the dress had fallen open, exposing her naked body.
He straddled her, without putting the weight of his body on her body at all. This was just to get his face positioned on her face. He brought his lips down to her lips. His fingers led the way, and finding her soft mouth, he pulled it open.
Her tongue was pink and wet inside and he grabbed it gently and saw to it that she would not choke on it. He placed his lips on hers and started to blow air into her body through her mouth.
When he had positioned his mouth on her so that his lips were inside of her mouth, he moved his hands to her chest. He blew his breath into her and pressed down on her chest just above her breasts, trying to force her to take some deep breaths.
It didn't work at first, but in a few minutes she responded. He could feel her breathing in deeply, taking his tongue in her mouth as she did so.
He could feel her breasts heaving. They rose and fell as she breathed normally again.
Her eyes opened. She blinked a few times.
He was still positioned over her, looking into her face with his big, blue eyes. When she realized what was happening and who she was with, she screamed, and jerked her body, causing him to fall on top of her, pressing his weight into her.
"Hey, it's only me, Scott, remember? You passed out. You must have had heat stroke or something."
Claudja was breathing hard. She was still now, wondering if she should conserve her energy for a few moments before pulling out and scratching and kicking her way away from him.
But she could taste his saliva inside of her mouth, and now she could feel the bulge at the front of his jeans on top of her, on her leg, near her thigh.
It didn't feel bad at all. In fact, she liked it.
A droplet of sweat dripped down him from his face. It dripped over his chin and onto her neck before rolling onto her bosom.
She was breathing even harder than ever now. She was excited, and she could feel the heat of sexual passion swelling in her body.
"I don't know you," she whispered.
"And I don't know you."
"But," she said, and then she swallowed hard, "I think I want you."
He was silent, unsure of what to say. He looked at her in that way that made her cream. She reached up tentatively and ran her fingers through his curly blond hair. His hair was not smooth and soft like Charing's, but it was different from her hair. And when the light from the other side of the bushes touched it, it gleamed with a golden color.
"I'm excited," she said. "But I don't know what to do."
"Tell me what you want," Scott said. "Tell me your greatest desire. I'll see what I can do to fulfill it."
She paused. She felt heat flushing through her. It was wrong to be there in the bushes with him. He was a white man. She was black. She had been warned that his kind was no good, but she had to see for herself.
"I want," she said slowly, looking him in the eye, "I want to see your cock."
She had wondered what to call it. The black boys around the school and in the area where she lived called it "dick" or "cock." It seemed natural enough to say it. He smiled.
He arched his body off her and stood up. He was towering over her now. She felt weak with excitement. She wanted him. She wanted to see what a white man's dick looked like.
He unzipped his jeans. Claudja could see white cotton beneath. He was wearing underpants. Then he pulled the jeans open. He didn't stick his cock out. He pulled his pants down, getting naked from the waist down.
"There, I've bared myself. This is my cock," he said.
Lying down between his legs, she looked up into his crotch. She could see his balls hanging over her. She could see the head of his dick pointing at her, but she couldn't determine the length of it, or anything else about it.
She pulled herself to her knees. She looked directly at the prick, taking her hand and cupping his big balls with it. Both his balls and his cock were in her hand. Her hand was darker than the dick, even though her palm was lighter in color than most of her, and his dick was darker in color than most of him.
He was still soft, but as she stroked his shaft, the cock began to grow harder. It wanted to stand up straight, but she held it down in the palm of her hand first. She wanted to feel it all over.
She was most fascinated by a vein which ran across the bottom of his shaft. She stuck her finger in her mouth and traced a path along the vein,-wetting it with her saliva.
Her touch was arousing. It was delicate, and yet it was not so delicate that he didn't feel it. He had to shiver and moan several times when she touched him in a certain way. He could feel the cum inside of him. It felt that the cum had worked it's way up from his balls and was filling the length of his shaft. His entire dick was tingling with a sensation which tensed the rest of his body. His entire attention was physically on his dick.
Claudja looked up at Scott. He was staring down at her, watching her face as she stared at his privates in wonderment and desire.
Then he closed his eyes and rested his head back on his neck. He allowed her to get lost in his dick. He told her to take her time and get off on him.
She felt the weight of his balls in her hand. She ran her finger very gently over the tip of his cock, making little circles on the head of it.
His eyes were closed when he felt something that he had never felt before. She was down on his cock! Other girls had sucked him before, but they had never given him a sensation like this. His girlfriend at home had nipped him with her teeth and been unable to take him all the way down. This pleased him and boosted that macho part of his ego because it did make him feel that his cock was a monster, which is just what his girlfriend had said in explanation of why she couldn't get all of it down her throat.
But Claudja, who had never done this before, must have been constructed in such a way that her oral cavity just took him all in.
She had no difficulty in sucking all the way down on his dick. He could feel her wet inner lining, and it was very, very hot. Her mouth and throat seemed slippery on his dick as she sucked. He could feel her teeth gently grazing the base of his cock as she quickly sucked back to the head of his dick.
She was working real hard on him, sucking up and down, and running her hand around the balls. Every inch of his dick was taken care of. When her mouth and throat weren't enveloping it, she used her soft hand to stroke it. Somehow, she managed to stroke it in ways that even he had never thought of. He always believed that as much as he loved being sucked, he could never find a cocksucker who would do as good a job as his own jerk-off hand.
But he had been very wrong. He had never anticipated Claudja.
Physically, they were a perfect match. His cock seemed made for her throat, and vice versa.
Her expertise at cocksucking was not based on experience. It was based on desire. She wanted him. As the spit stuck to her face, dripping from her eager mouth and wetting her chin as well as his crotch, she wanted him.
"I want to fuck you," he said, holding his dick at the base and squeezing it so that it became even harder and the vein she loved showed even more.
"You have a beautiful cock," she breathed softly. He could feel the heat of her breath on the bulbous head of it as she spoke. He was holding his prick so tightly, the head was fat and purple.
"I want to fuck you," he repeated.
"I can't," she said. "It will have to wait. We'll have to see each other again another time. Right now, I can't."
"Why? Are you afraid?"
She couldn't answer. She felt uneasy.
She started to suck him again. He soon forgot about fucking her. She sucked his cock so well, he felt the cum bubbling up in his balls. He didn't want to cum so soon, but it felt so good. He was so damn hard. He could never remember being this hard before. With his girlfriend he had lost his erection from time to time. Now he realized that he had not been as turned on as he was now.
She was pulling the cum out of him with the suction of her sucking mouth. Her tongue was swirling around the sensitive part just under the head of his cock. He was squirming and moaning and she pulled off long enough to look him in his blue eyes again.
"Ahhhhh," he groaned.
It was too late to hold back. Just as she took her mouth off his cock, he started to shoot a load of pent-up jism.
"I'm cumming," he groaned.
She pulled back and watched the first fountain-like gush of hot semen rush from his dick slit. It splashed on her chin and she pulled back at first when the hot liquid splattered on her face.
But instinctively, she threw her opened mouth on the shooting prick, getting down in time to catch the flowing^ flowing sperm as it unloaded without stopping.
She took the sticky cum inside her mouth and gulped it down. She tasted the strong flavor of it even after she swallowed it down.
He came and came, shooting all of his semen into her mouth and down her throat. He was moaning and groaning as he came, holding his bouncing balls as they emptied their heavy load.
"Whew!" he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. "I needed that. It was getting to the point where my nuts were hanging heavy, if you know what I mean."
He looked at her. She didn't know what he meant. She was a vixen. She was the kind of girl who would tease a stranger with her damp panties and she was the kind of girl who would suck the prick of a white man in the bushes, and still, she was unaware of what he meant when he told her that his balls were hanging heavy until she came along to relieve him.
But there was really more to tell her than that. Much, much more.
He had to tell her the truth. It was the best blow job he'd ever had.
"You're great. I can't remember anybody ever doing it better."
She smiled, with cum on her full lips.
She thought he was fooling her. Or perhaps he said that to all the girls.
"It was my first time," she told him.
He smiled. He thought she was fooling him. Or perhaps she said that to all the guys.
"I thought you were afraid of me when you first saw me. You were trembling, and when you collapsed, I wasn't sure what had caused it, the heat or me."
"Many things caused it," Claudja said. "I've no been through a lot in the past few days. Not that much that shows on the outside, maybe. But I feel it on the inside. I'm going through changes. Thank you for saving my life."
"Oh, I don't know if I really saved your life."
"I think you did," she said. "And you gave me my first white man's prick. It tasted .wonderful. I loved the way it felt in my mouth."
"You start talking like that in that sweet Jamaican accent and girlish voice of yours, and you'll get me hard again," he said, feeling his cock stiffen a lurch forward already.
"I can't help it," she said, and when she said the word "Can't" it was purely Jamaican sounding to his ears, "It filled my mouth and throat. It was warm and it felt good. It tasted like nothing I've ever tasted before in my life. It was sweeter than the mango, but bitter, too."
"I've often wondered what my cum tasted like," Scott said.
"Have you never tasted it?"
"Well, I've tasted a drop of it on my finger, I'll admit. But I never was down on it while it shot."
"I'm a mixed up girl," Claudja said, out of the blue. He had imagined that she was going to tell him about tasting the flow from her pussy.
But she had other things on her mind. This was what she had been wanting to tell somebody for a long time. But she never had the right person to tell it to, and so she acted out like a bad girl.
"I'm not really bad," she told him, "but I have evil inside of me. Sometimes I feel that I want to do the strangest things. I don't know, I see girls in the street and I want to run them down. I want to pull their hair out. I want to do to them what the black boys did to Charing."
This was not making sense to Scott, but he listened for what it was worth. The girl was so beautiful. He thought that she should be a model. Her face belonged on the cover of a magazine. She was gorgeous.
"I see a cat walking in the street. I want to pull its tail out. I don't know what's wrong with me. I have so much anger in me."
"I don't know how I can help you," Scott said, "but I'm willing to try."
"I get so frustrated," Claudja continued, "I have no friends because of the pranks and tricks I play on people. I don't trust blacks. I don't trust whites. I live in a little shack with so many brothers and sisters that ... "
"That's it," Scott said.
"What?"
"Living in close quarters with many people. It'll get a person crazy."
"It's a run down shack and we can barely afford to feed ourselves. I can't work because I have no skills except work on the land."
"You should be a model and pose for pictures in magazines. You're beautiful enough for that, I'm sure. You're frustrated here. Frustration leads to aggression. You want to strike out. You have these impulses."
"I want to, oh, it's sick. I can't say it."
"Say it," Scott urged her. "It's alright. I'll understand."
"Well, even right now, I want to take your cock and twist it around. I want to bite your balls and pull the hairs out of them one by one."
Scott was startled.
"I'm not into that scene," he said. "There are plenty of guys who are, but I'm not one of them. Have you thought about seeing a doctor? Psychiatrists know the workings of the human mind. This won't shock them."
"There are none here that I know of. It's unheard of for someone from my village to see a head doctor. A voodoo person, yes. But I've been to one of those."
"What did the voodoo man say?"
"It was a woman. An old, grey-haired woman who lives alone in a little shack. She said that I was possessed with devilish ways, but not to worry. She said that I would find, well, hi your words, she said that I would find the right outlet for my ways. When the time was right, they would serve me well."
"So, you see, you have nothing to worry about."
"What are you doing here in Jamaica?"
"I'm here on vacation. I'm not with the white people who've been accused of looting the land and misusing the labor. Not that the roving bands of militants would make that distinction if they caught me."
"Can I see you again?"
"Of course, I want to see you again. But I'll only be here for a few more days. I'm going back to New York after then. My vacation time will be over."
"I wish I could go with you," Claudja said. "It's hot and I'm bored here. I need to be free. I'll never change if I stay here. I have no money, but in New York, I would have to earn money."
"It's not that easy, Claudja," Scott told her. "Besides, this is just an infatuation you have for me."
"Don't flatter yourself," Claudja shot back. "I'm hot for you and I want to see you again, but that's not what I'm talking about when I talk about New York. I have to get out of here. There must be a better life for me. You say I'm beautiful. Maybe in New York they have enough to appreciate and pay for my beauty."
"You'd be a tramp, a whore?"
"I thought you said that I looked like a model"
"Claudja, you do, but it takes time, and money. Where would you stay?"
"You have a wife?"
"No, just a girlfriend, but you couldn't stay with me. I'd like it, but it would be impossible. I just couldn't."
"Will you take me back with you to the hotel?"
"Here? In Jamaica?"
"Yes. It's alright. I stay away from home for days and nobody minds. It just means one less body in the bed, one less mouth to feed."
Scott couldn't help but beam. He didn't want to get saddled with Claudja in New York. It wasn't that she was anything but a beautiful bounty to get saddled with, but he wasn't going to take on that responsibility.
However, the chance that he could have that warm and voluptuous brown body in his king-size bed at the plush hotel for a day and a night or more, well, that was ideal. That was the traveler's dream come true.
"You could walk back to the hotel with me now. We could walk arm in arm, and that way neither of us would be hurt on the way. None of the militant blacks or whites will harm us because we'll be together as one. A couple � you know?"
He loved the sound of her voice. It was so light and lilting with its Jamaican flavor. He couldn't resist reaching out and touching her lovely, long hair. He felt the black strands in his hands, and he moved his palms down to her bare shoulders.
Lovingly, he pulled the white cotton dress back up over her shoulders. He told her that he would love to take her back with him to the hotel. There would be no difficulty slipping her into the room. The hotel was a large one and nobody paid particular attention to the comings and goings of the people who stayed there, at least not as far as Scott was aware of.
Besides, he was allowed to have a guest in his room. Especially one as gorgeous as Claudja.
He had felt her warm wetness on his cock. He longed to taste her cunny. They walked arm in arm back along the road. He had rented a car which was parked a mile up the road. They got in it and drove to the hotel.
Her head was filled with dreams. She had never been inside of a hotel. She knew that it would be wonderful. She was thinking that he had a lot of money, and that he would relent and bring her to New York where she might become a top model. She was thinking of the huge buildings and the air conditioned stores and all that she had heard about.
He was thinking of her cunt. He wanted a taste of it.
CHAPTER FIVE
Marjorie Lloyd was on the telephone with the woman from the employment agency. As she'd expected, she'd played her game once too often. The employment office supervisor was catching on.
"Mrs. Lloyd, you've seen more than five potential housekeepers in the past week. Weren't any of them acceptable to you?"
"I'm sure my standards must be high, but I don't think that I should have to lower them just because the caliber of maid service has gone down so dramatically in the past few years," Marjorie answered haughtily.
"Well, what exactly is it that you're looking for. Maybe if you spell it out in further detail, we'll be able to tailor the housekeeper to your specific needs. All I know is that you've turned down more than most people do, and several of the potential maids ran away from your house, it seems. One of them said the place was cursed, but she wouldn't go into it any further."
"The superstitions of ignorant people," Marjorie huffed. Secretly, she was relieved that none of the maids had told any more of the perverted paces she put them through. As she'd hoped, they were either too embarrassed to relate such explicit and humiliating sexual details, or they were afraid to report someone as rich and as powerful as she was.
It was better just to say that it hadn't worked out, and leave it at that.
"I'm looking for a woman to be my personal maid," Marjorie started. "I prefer a black woman. Young. Strong. Beautiful."
"Beautiful! What does that have to do with it?" the supervisor yelped.
"I am Marjorie Lloyd. Everything must be perfect for me. I know the way I want this maid to be."
"I see."
"Do you have anybody to send me today? I need a maid badly,"
"Well, I have one woman who meets your requirements, but I doubt that you'll want her."
"Nonsense. If she meets my requirements, of course I'll want to try her out. I'll be happy to break her in if she's new at it."
"Well, it's not that, exactly," the supervisor hedged. "I probably shouldn't have mentioned it at all. She's probably not for your caliber of person at all. I just feel that I have to let anyone who would hire her know the full truth and then decide if they want to keep her or not."
"Well, get on with it," Marjorie said, blowing smoke rings from the cigarette she had inserted into a silver cigarette holder clamped between her pearly teeth. "Let's hear all the details."
"I interviewed her myself, Mrs. Lloyd. Her name is Magnolia. She's tall, very able bodied, and twenty-five years old. She's black, and she is an extraordinarily beautiful woman. She wants to serve in somebody's home."
"She sounds like she's perfect. What's the catch?"
"Well, the catch is the fact that she's just come out of prison. She was referred to us by the warden who says that she's made progress and is ready to be free. She needs a job and she's willing to work hard."
"What was she in prison for?"
"I'm afraid that she was involved in a lot of things. She was caught selling narcotics to an undercover agent. It happens that she was also the madam of a house of prostitution in Harlem. She had been paying off the police."
"She must know a lot about sex. I'll bet she did quite a trade in discipline. Those cops with all those handcuffs and guns and everything just love to have their pants pulled down by a big, black bitch. They need to get their white asses paddled red by a big, black hand, don't you agree?"
"Mrs. Lloyd! I'm only here to send you the maid you requested. Now that I see more of the picture, I think that Magnolia will be perfect for you. send her right over."
The supervisor hung up the phone before another word could be said.
Marjorie was intrigued.
"Hmmmm. Madam of a house, huh?" she said to herself as she poured herself her third glass of wine. It was still not eleven in the morning. Maybe it was the wine, or the funny cigarette she smoked which prompted her to be, very "Bold and revealing on the telephone.
"I'll bet she knows the ropes. And a junkie! That sounds good. Maybe she can sell me some good cocaine."
Marjorie wanted to listen to her S and M record to get herself hot and bothered before the arrival of her latest try-out in the maid sweepstakes, but she barely had time to do anything. Before she knew it, the buzzer was ringing. Magnolia was here.
On the street, they called Magnolia "the Harlem Connection." When she was caught, she had ten-thousand Quaaludes stashed in her house, seven pounds of marijuana, and several guns. All this, not to mention a place full of call girls.
When she walked in the door, Marjorie smiled inside of herself. She had met her match. She had met another dominatrix. She was sure of it.
"I don't do no windows," Magnolia said flatly.
"Are those your first words to me?" Marjorie asked, raising her eyebrows as she spoke.
"I sure guess so," Magnolia said. "And you can call Ms. Betty."
"Ms. Betty? I thought they said your name was Magnolia."
"That's my first name. It's Ms. Betty to you."
"Magnolia Betty, huh? Well, come in Ms. Betty and I'll show you the place."
"Big."
"Yes, it's rather big," Marjorie said.
"A lot to clean."
"Shouldn't be too much for you. You like to clean apartments, don't you?"
"Not particularly," Ms. Betty replied.
Marjorie could see that this would be a challenge. She didn't want to come on as strong as she had when she dealt with some of the previous maids, Elouise included. She didn't want to set this bitch off. For one thing, she wasn't at all sure that she could handle her.
Ms. Betty was a big woman. Her bust was huge, but the rest of her was in proportion to it. Not that she was fat at all. She was in proportion. She was just big, tall, and threatening.
Her hair was very closely cropped in an African style. Her nostrils were flaring as she spoke. Her nose was wide. Her lips were full. She had dark skin and she was dominant in her manner of speaking, in her voice and in the things she said.
"I'll put it to you straight," she said as Marjorie began to show her the bathroom, the room she wanted her to look over first.
"Yes?"
"They told me at the agency that I'd have to be on good behavior. I just got out of the slammer. I had my fill of that place. Fm not gonna go back there, not even for Vicki, my lover there."
Marjorie was silenced. She was sure that she would be learning from this woman. She wasn't so sure that she wanted to take her on, though. She was a little bit too aggressive for her tastes. They'd have to work something out.
"I was sayin', I'm not out for no bullshit. I'm gonna do my thing. I'm gonna use your phone to make dates. I'm gonna do my thing. That's all there is to it. I don't take shit from a honky bitch."
"I can't believe you're talking like this on your first day on the job."
"I'm not on the job yet," she replied. "I don't know if I want it yet."
"Well, are you sure you haven't been talking to any of the other women who were sent here? You sound as if you're striking back at me."
"Why? Did you give 'em a hard time?"
"They didn't meet my standards."
"Your standards don't look so high," Ms. Betty said. "Look at that bowl. There's piss on the base of it. Dried, yellow piss."
"That Corbett!" Marjorie said, without even thinking. "He's so sloppy. He wasn't watching what he was doing, I guess."
"And you expect me to clean up your husband's piss from the bottom of the toilet?" Ms. Betty asked.
That was it. Without doubt, that was the moment that something had to be done. Marjorie was no fool. She wasn't going to take a dominating bitch into her house to humiliate and boss her around and then pay her for it.
She liked the idea of having a strong woman around the place. But she had to have the upper hand.
She took in a deep breath. Then she spoke.
"Yeah, I want you to clean up that piss. You'll clean up my husband's dried up piss any time I tell you to. You'll clean it with your mouth, and if you have to, you'll take it from his dick."
That was it. It had been said. Either she was going to be knocked in the mouth or ...
As it happened, the alternative took place. Ms. Betty came on like gangbusters. But as soon as Marjorie put her foot down and gave her the nasty command, Ms. Betty went down on the floor with her face at the base of the toilet.
Marjorie saw that this was no time to let up.
"I'll handcuff you to the toilet and make you stay there until you clean it so it shines," she added.
Ms. Betty started making little panting noises as she licked the toilet clean with her tongue.
"Show me that tongue," Marjorie said.
Ms. Betty stuck her tongue out to show the piss on it. When she licked it with her wet tongue muscle, the caked up urine turned into stale liquid again. She lapped it up like a dog.
Ms. Betty, having been madam of a house of whores, knew about dominance and submission. She could play both sides of the fence, and intended to do just that always.
For now she was content to follow the lead of her potential employer. She knew that she could regain the upper hand at any time.
From the beginning she suspected that Marjorie Lloyd was looking for something more than your average black house maid.
"Now that we understand each other," Marjorie said, "I'll get your uniform. You can strip out of those clothes."
"I'm still not sure I want this job," Ms. Betty told her.
Marjorie picked up the brush which was sitting on the surface of the sink. She walloped Ms. Betty across the thigh. The sound of the back of the brush hitting against the woman's body echoed in the tiled bathroom.
"Get out of those clothes!"
"Yes, Ma'am."
When Ms. Betty, (or Magnolia, if you prefer) removed her clothes, there was a red mark where the brush had smacked her.
"I'll sit on the edge of this bathtub and put you over my knee with your head in the toilet bowl," Marjorie told her, "and I'll give you a beating you won't forget if you talk back to me like that again. This is your trial period. You'll be paid for the day, even if you chose not to take the job."
"Yes, Ma'am."
Marjorie brought the uniform. For Ms. Betty, she had chosen something different. It started with a girdle which would pull Ms. Betty's waist in tight. It was a corset, really, and Marjorie insisted on fastening it herself.
She wrapped the body of the corset around Ms. Betty's waist Then she pulled back hard on the draw strings of it She pulled them back as far as she possibly could, straining and groaning as she forced the breath out of Ms. Betty's black body.
Ms. Betty didn't dare say that this trussing up was becoming painful already. Marjorie had this special outfit in mind, and that was exactly what Ms. Betty was to wear, even though it was to become much, much more bizarre than even this.
Marjorie had to brace her foot against Ms. Betty's ass in order to have the leverage she needed for fastening the corset tight enough.
Ms. Betty's waist was now pushed in so that it measured no more than eighteen inches around.
"Ouch. Be careful, man. That's my waist you're cinching."
"What's the matter? Isn't it tight enough for you?"
Ms. Betty swooped around and stared hard into Marjorie's eyes.
Marjorie didn't say a thing. She didn't dare. It was still a close battle between the two. It was a battle of wits and strengths. It was almost as if Ms. Betty was allowing Marjorie Lloyd to dominate her. For what reason, only she knew.
Perhaps she had a reason, and that was why Marjorie shut up after being stared down by the dark woman. She shut up, but she didn't relent on the uniform. The waist stayed cinched at eighteen inches.
This was followed by a special bra.
"I had this made in Paris," Marjorie told her. "I've been saving it for the right person, and you seem to be that person."
She was looking at Ms. Betty's breasts as she said this. The breasts were large enough to fill this bra. The bra was suited for a woman with a forty inch bust, at least, and so Ms. Betty, with forty inches on top and an eighteen inch waist, was ready to look like an hour glass with her hips making the third curve.
"Just close your eyes and I'll slip the bra on your tits," Marjorie told her.
Ms. Betty gave Marjorie quite a look. It was enough to tell her not to try anything that she might regret. She was telling her, with her eyes,- that she was into what was going on. She was aware that her mistress's discipline was getting her off.
But don't go too far. That was definitely implied in her glance. Don't go too far because I can give it right back to you.
Marjorie leaned close to her dark slave woman as she placed the bra around the melon-like globes of breast flesh.
Ms. Betty, putting her trust in her mistress, closed her eyes.
At first she felt nothing unusual as Marjorie slipped the bra on her. Her jugs moved into the large cups. Marjorie snapped the snap in the back and fastened it tightly.
"Ouch," Ms. Betty said once the bra was in place.
"How does it feel?"
"It feels like my tits are on fire!"
"Just the nipples?" asked Marjorie, knowing that they were firm with excitement.
"No, not just the nipples. AH of 'em. Ouch."
Marjorie laughed.
"That bra will help you do your duties around the house. It won't let you get too relaxed and fall asleep on the job. That way you'll escape a whipping for discipline."
Ms. Betty snarled. She felt like an animal in this harness.
"What's making it so damn hot on my tits?" she asked.
"It's covered with little pins," Marjorie said, matter-of-factly. "Oh, don't worry. The pins aren't sharp enough to penetrate your tender tit flesh. They'll leave you red, but that's about it. They're very short."
"Pins! On the inside?"
"That's right. About ten pins inside each bra cup. Just enough to keep you aware of yourself at all times. Your breasts belong to me now. When you're in my charge, your breasts belong to me."
"You're a ... "
Ms. Betty stopped herself short. She knew that all Marjorie had to do now was land a hard smack across her chest, and she'd feel those pins much more deeply than she wanted to.
"What was that?" Marjorie asked, raising her voice and her eyebrows at the same time.
"You're a kind employer, Mrs. Lloyd," Ms. Betty said.
"I thought you'd see it that way," Marjorie smiled slyly. She was thrilled that she found someone who appreciated some good discipline.
The next part of the uniform were the garter belts which snapped on the corset. Marjorie brought out a pair of nylon stockings to go with it. The stockings were fishnet stockings with black fishnet designs on them.
"Get those seams straight," Marjorie said picking up a hairbrush which she tapped against her palm threateningly. "I don't want to see them out of place."
"Neatness is important, Ma'am," Ms. Betty replied meekly, forcing her anger inward.
Marjorie watched as the tall black woman leaned back on a chair and pulled the stockings over her feet and up her shapely legs. She bent down while looking in the wall mirror to make sure that the seams were perfectly straight. When she bent down, her large breasts pushed forward in the bra, causing her to flinch from the pressure of the tiny pins which found her nipples and the flesh around them.
Marjorie saw Ms. Betty's reaction. She was pleased.
The shoes which she picked out for Ms. Betty were spiked heels, of course. They were stacked so high, Ms. Betty nearly fell over, "You'll have to learn to walk in those," Marjorie insisted.
"You expect to clean your house in these?"
"I expect you to clean my house, fix my toilet, serve me breakfast in bed and do whatever I tell you to do. Why, if I tell you to lick my toes, you'll lick my toes, Ms. Betty. I'll pay you and pay you well for your services, but I require a very special maid for my needs. I've been looking a long time for the proper woman, and you seem to fit the bill. If you want the job and the money, you'll do as I say. Now bend over!"
"W-what?"
"How dare you miss what I said! I said bend over, and I mean it!"
"What for?" Ms. Betty asked.
"For your spanking, of course. You need to be beaten every day. That will keep you in line and they'll be no problems between us. You've just earned yourself an extra five smacks with this hairbrush for asking me questions, though, You'll have to learn to accept what I tell you without question. Either you'll learn, or you'll get tired of being spanked."
Ms. Betty took a deep breath. She was a .proud woman. She had respect for herself and she knew what oppression was, having experienced it as a young black woman.
But now she was being offered good money for being a personal maid, a personal slave woman. She consoled herself with the money, and with the fact that she had let her mistress know that she was a keg of dynamite. She could explode at any moment if you lit her fuse.
"Come on. Bend over," Marjorie repeated. "Assume the position with your hands on your ankles. Hold on and stay down. Get your rear up, I'll start the count all over again."
Ms. Betty did as she was told. When she bent over, her black pussy with its dark tangles of pubic hair could be seen below her bronzed ass cheeks. The garters and corset did nothing to hide her private places. She was naked down there.
She wanted to ask Marjorie if she would have to walk around with a naked bush and bare buns all day long. She was afraid of what the answer might be. She knew that Marjorie would be using the brush on her, and probably she wanted her buns bare at all times so that the perfectly formed globes could get the full benefit of the stinging hairbrush, on both the smooth and bristled sides!
"This first ten is just to warm your brown buns up," Marjorie announced.
She raised the brush high in the air in a dramatic gesture. Ms. Betty glanced into the wall mirror and saw Marjorie's arm raised eye with the heavy brush ready to come down on her exposed ass.
She winced before the arm started its downward swing. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see what she was about to feel.
Wham. The brush, smooth side down, landed on her ass globes. It hit both sides at once.
Wham, wham, wham.
In quick succession, she received blow after blow. She got all ten real fast. By the time Marjorie was finished, it felt as if there was a fire back there.
Ms. Betty remained an obedient slave, keeping her hands tightly around her ankles. She remained in the position until Marjorie gave her permission to rise.
Her rest period was brief indeed.
"That was just the warm up," Marjorie repeated. "Assume the position and we'll start with the punishment."
Ms. Betty grabbed her ankles again. She bent down. Her brown ass cheeks were now red. Her big butt was raised high in the air. It was a strain on her since her waist was tied so tightly. Her black-furred pussy was juicing.
She had to brace her strong body as best she could. The impact of Marjorie's wallops was enough to knock her off her feet. Those high heels didn't give much support.
As for the bra, the pins inside of it stuck her tender breasts with every blow of the brush. The impact of the ass beating coursed through her entire body, and she was sure that the pressure of the pins was making her nipples as red as her ass.
Probably because the tan cheeks were already sore, the next series of smacks with the brush seemed much harder than the first.
Silently, Ms. Betty was counting the hits, but they came so fast and so furiously, that she lost count. Marjorie started on the left globe and then moved to the right. Then she smacked both globes at once, landing the brush on the crack.
Each time, Ms. Betty felt the stinging smacks and felt the pins in her breasts, as well. She had been beaten up by angry boyfriends in the past, but this woman seemed to know exactly what to do to bring her to the heights of agony.
"Just keep that position," the mistress warned the slave.
Ms. Betty had all she could do to keep her ass up and her knees straight and her hands around her ankles. Her face was red with strain and tears started to roll down her cheeks. She watched the tears splash off the shiny patent leather of the spiked heels. She could almost see her humbled reflection in the toes of the shoes.
Finally, just when she thought she could stand it no longer, the punishment stopped. It felt as if she wouldn't be able to sit down for a week. She felt her big ass cheeks throbbing.
"Alright, you can get up now," Marjorie said.
Ms. Betty stood up and immediately put her hands, behind her. She cupped the throbbing globes in her hands. She could feel the heat burning off each cheek.
"How does it feel?" Marjorie asked.
Rather than risk another beating for giving a nasty answer, the chastised maid thanked Marjorie, and told her that she felt better for having been punished and put in her place.
It was an appropriate answer. But it wasn't enough to stop Marjorie.
"Alright then, back in position for the rest of it."
Ms. Betty was stunned. She certainly had believed that the beating was over. Her cheeks were flame red. She was sure that they would sore and lumpy for days.
"Hurry up. You've got the final five to take."
Five more!
She reluctantly bent over. She stuck her ass up. Then she stood up again.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Lloyd. I just can't take any more."
Had she spoken harshly to Marjorie, or threatened to spank her in return, she might have assumed her power again. But Marjorie was in command now.
"Get over!" she said sternly. Ms. Betty cowered and bent over. The fine line she had been balancing on seemed, for the moment, at least, to have disappeared. She was a slave.
"Now, you'll count out your final five whacks, thanking me for each and every one and begging for the next one."
"Yes, Ma'am," the beautiful woman said, bending over and grabbing her ankles.
There was a moment of deadly silence. Ms. Betty gritted her teeth in anticipation of the worst. She was already so sore, and she knew that Marjorie would probably give extra power behind these last five.
Marjorie teased the black maid, running the smooth side of the brush across the expanses of ass globes. They cheeks, once smooth and unmarked except for one dark beauty mark on the left globe, were now welted with the imprint of the brush.
She took her time before smacking the girl, raising the brush and starting to bring it down many times as a tease. Several times, feeling the breeze as the brush started to descend, Ms. Betty flinched.
But when the real spanking started, she knew it!
Whack!
"Ohhhhh!" she moaned.
It was harder than she expected. It felt like dozens of needles, just like in her bra. That was because for the final five strokes of this punishment, Marjorie was giving Ms. Betty the bristled side of the brush.
"T-thank you, Ma'am," Ms. Betty stammered. "That was number one. May I have another one, please?"
"Do you think you deserve another one?"
"Y-yes, Ma'am."
"A hard one?"
"A hard one, Ma'am."
"With the stiff bristles?"
Ms. Betty gulped. "With the stiff bristles, Ma'am,"
Whack!
"Oohhhhhhhh!"
Poor Ms. Betty was holding back the tears. She was sore.
"Two, Ma'am. Thank you Ma'am. May I have another one, please?"
"Yes, you may."
Marjorie raised the brush and gave Ms. Betty another one.
She had no mercy, she didn't care about the pain she was causing. Nothing mattered .but the feeling. Another blow landed right on her ass. The two cheeks sort of closed around the invading bristles.
"Thank you, Ma'am," Ms. Betty forced herself to say. Her ankles were red from the pressure she was exerting to keep her hands firmly around them.
"Well?"' Marjorie asked harshly. There was too long a pause for her taste, although as far as the punished maid was concerned, the pause was not at all long enough.
"Three, Ma'am. Thank you. May I have another one, Ma'am?"
Marjorie raised the brush. She was about to smack the bare behind of the corseted maid when the door opened, catching both the maid and the mistress in a state of shock.
It was Marjorie's husband, Corbett Lloyd. He had taken the afternoon off because he'd been concerned about his wife's welfare. He thought that she was under a lot of personal pressure. But now, he saw quite clearly, that she had found a way of expelling that pressure.
She was delivering it into the ass of her maid!
CHAPTER SIX
In Jamaica, Claudja was having an affair with Scott. He took her up to his room and they fucked the afternoon away.
He was especially fond of eating her pussy, He placed her on the bed, and after kissing her on the mouth, went down on her twat, offering her his dick in exchange.
She tried to suck on it, but she was unable to get it all in her mouth. She opened her mouth real wide to take as much of it as she could. She had her mouth opened wide with much of his cock inside. Then she closed down gently, and sucked.
He started to buck it in and out, ramming it down her throat.
She loved it and took as much of it as she could, but she was afraid that the extra large cock would do damage if he pressed it all the way down her throat as his bucking threatened to do.
She took her mouth off of it. It was very wet from her saliva, then, and she wrapped her lingers around it as he stroked it back and forth with his impassioned, bucking movements.
Meanwhile, he was down on her, since they were in the famous sixty-nine position. He spread her lips with his fingers and looked at the moist insides of her. She was a young black woman, but inside, her cunt was pink.
He saw the clit, and started flicking his tongue back and forth on it. Saliva dripped from his mouth, into the opened vagina. Then he used his tongue like a spear, diving in and licking her out.
He suctioned her cunt up and swirled his tongue around inside, touching her at every part of her cunt, deep and shallow. He judged the effect by the intensity of her moans. When he worked on the clit, thrashing his tongue over it and then down deep, repeatedly, he made her writhe and scream.
The window of their second floor room was opened, and Claudja was afraid that her moans of delight were loud enough to be heard from outside. The window was open, the curtains were pulled open, and she might draw attention to their interracial love making. But she couldn't subdue her passion. There was no holding back.
Turned on by her moaning, Scott continued to eat her and to drive her insane with his practiced and talented tongue muscle.
There was no doubt that he loved licking and lapping black pussy.
To him, the taste of a woman's cunt was like beer. Strange, but that was what it was like to him, and he was .so thirsty for it, he couldn't get enough. Especially when the cunt was as fresh and as tasty as this young one.
With one stroke of his tongue, he broke through the thin layer of skin which had defined Claudja's virginity. He popped her cherry with his tongue!
Claudja was writhing about and screaming in delight. She didn't even realized that her hymen had been snapped. The thin membrane did not cause her pain when it broke and the few drops of blood were sucked up by the impassioned white man.
She continued to hold his throbbing boner, looked at it, watching the veins in it, and the balls behind the shaft. Every now and then she would place her beautiful lips on it and start to suck as he ate her. This drove Scott wild, but she would have to stop soon enough. She wanted to concentrate on the sensation which was bringing her close to orgasm.
Never had any man touched her in this way. She wanted to tell him that she was getting close to climax, but it felt so good, that she didn't do anything but dig her nails into his flesh and scream.
Her noises were becoming more and more animalistic. He was moaning inside her cunt, asking her without actual words if she liked what was happening, which, of course, she did. Fuck, she loved it!
He didn't let up as he felt her inner cunt begin to convulse. He rammed his tongue deep inside, scraping her clit as he-went. He sucked on her inner twat as she started to scream. Her screams became louder and louder as the window was crashed in.
Suddenly, the room was dark - filled with the bodies of angry black militants.
They pounced on Scott, pulling him off her.
One of them had a sawed-off shotgun. He took the firing end and smacked it over the white man's head. Claudja heard it crack against his skull.
"Nigger rapist," one of the black men spit at him. "You don't call our women niggers and then rape them."
Claudja was completely confused. She was naked and felt totally vulnerable. She saw Scott trying to protect her, but the savage black men, alerted to the room by Claudja's passion cries, took over, smashing lamps and mirrors, and leaving the room a bloody shambles.
"We're taking over this whole hotel," one of the leaders shouted. Indeed, outside, the sounds of gunfire and breaking glass echoed over the swimming pool.
"This is revolution!" they shouted as they left the room, leaving the white man dead on the floor. Claudja, unharmed physically by the men, crouched down and held her white man's head in her arms. She cradled him, even though he was dead.
She didn't know the man, really. They had just met and they knew little of each other. And yet, in other ways, she felt that she loved him more than any man she had ever been with.
She felt an attraction for his light-colored flesh and his soft, blonde hair. It was like nothing she had ever experienced with her own kind, and she resented her own kind for taking it from her.
She blamed herself for making it worse for him by allowing him to be caught at her black pussy by the militants.
She stayed there, holding him, sobbing.
Hours went by, and finally there was quiet. The police were called in to assess the damages, which were, extensive.
There was a bustle of noise in the hallway. Claudja, fearing that there was nothing more that she could do, and fearing that her presence in the hotel room would only get her in. trouble when the police came around, opened the door to the room and saw what was going on in the hallway.
Gladys Grover, Marjorie Lloyd's mother, was leaving the hotel in a hurry.
"Take these bags, too," she shouted at the black bellboy who was already loaded down with three heavy suitcases. In the rush, Gladys had to leave several trunks behind. She hated to do it, but her life was more important to her. She had remained hidden under a bed during the outburst which had ripped the hotel apart. She was determined to get out of the country immediately, before the bloodshed became any worse.
"Damn niggers," she cursed under her breath, when she saw Claudja, shaking and crying in the doorway.
"Please, Ma'am," Claudja said. "Help me get out of here."
"I think you'd be more of a help to me than I could to you," Gladys Grover responded. "It's angry people of your race who are after whites like me. But if you were with me, maybe they'd think that I'm a friend of the blacks. Maybe then they wouldn't hurt me. Alright, come along. Take these bags. We'll get out together."
It was nearly impossible to get a car to the airport, but with the proper amount of money as a bribe, Gladys was able to get a car and a driver.
"What do I do now?" Claudja asked forlornly at that point.
"What do you mean? Can't you go home from here?" Gladys asked. "We're away from the rioting."
"But I'm sick of it here. I'm poor. I need to go to America and become something. I need to make money and have some self respect."
Gladys didn't pay much attention at first. She was hardly concerned with the plight of a poor, black Jamaican girl. Her only interest was in getting her own white ass out of the place.
But then she remembered her daughter Marjorie and the phone conversation they had recently had. Marjorie wanted a black maid. Why, if Gladys paid Claudja's air fare to New York, that would equal a month of wages. It would be a perfect gift to her daughter, and it would provide her with a black escort during these troubled times in Jamaica. She needed it to get to the airport. Already one black man had called out to them, seeing them together, calling Claudja a whitey-lover. There would be trouble in any event, but this seemed the easiest way.
There was always the additional fact that she would be helping poor Claudja make a start in a new country, but that was not really as important to her as having somebody around to help carry her bags.
"Here," Gladys said, offering Claudja the heaviest suitcase. "I'll take you with me to New York. I'll pay your way if you promise to work as a maid in the household of my daughter. She's a prominent socialite, married to a rich young lawyer."
Claudja was overjoyed. Immediately she pictured the setting and the working conditions. It was heaven.
She wished that there would be a way to contact her family before leaving the country. Surely they would fear for her and grieve for her, perhaps thinking even that she had been injured or killed in these racial riots.
But it was now a matter of her own survival above all, and this seemed to be the only answer.
Freedom was just a plane ride away.
Or so she hoped.
Actually, she was heading for a different kind of bondage, a different kind of chain.
CHAPTER SEVEN
In New York, there was really no reason that Marjorie could offer that would fully satisfy her young husband. As a lawyer, he had learned not to believe everything he was told. Whatever Marjorie could tell him now would be hard to swallow. After all, he had caught her disciplining the black maid with a hairbrush.
"It's her first day and I wanted to set her straight from the beginning," Marjorie said when Corbett questioned her.
"But why is she wearing that corset and those high heels?"
It seemed an odd outfit to work in, despite the fact that it stirred up quite a bit of emotion in Corbett. The clean-cut lawyer felt funny in the pit of his stomach, and his face was flushed red with sweat breaking out at his hairline.
"This is the outfit I want my maid to wear," she said.
"And you agreed to it?" Corbett asked the maid.
This put Ms. Betty in a strange position. She didn't know if Mr. Lloyd would be taking charge and running things straight, or if she would later be turned over to Marjorie when Corbett was away, causing her to receive a bruising for betrayal.
"Yes, I agreed, knowing that I wouldn't be doing any heavy work. I'm to serve Ms. Marjorie, doing things like polishing her toenails and fetching her tea."
It was a reasonable explanation. It was quick thinking on the part of an ex-madam in a house of prostitution.
"Well, then that means we'll still need another maid to do the cleaning and the heavy work."
"Yes, that's right," Marjorie said, sticking with the story and seeing that she might be able to work it out to her own advantage after all.
Corbett took a deep breath.
"I don't know if we can afford two maids for this small apartment."
"The apartment isn't small," Marjorie said. "I need two maids. We can afford it. You said that you wanted to give me everything I deserve."
There was a moment of silence after that remark.
"We'll have to think this thing over," Corbett finally said. "But I don't think that you should take to disciplining your household help with a brush. The days of slave horrors are over," he added.
"Your wife is not aware of that," Ms. Betty said.
Marjorie was pissed. She made a mental note that Ms. Betty would have to punished later for that remark. But when she looked into Ms. Betty's eyes, she saw that she wouldn't dare do that. Ms. Betty, spurred on by Corbett Lloyd's remark about slavery, was ready to break her chains.
"We'll see if slavery is dead or not," Marjorie whispered when Corbett went into another room to make some telephone calls.
"Yes, we will, won't we?" Ms. Betty shot back, making it quite clear that she intended to fight fire with fire. "Strip your breasts bare," Ms. Betty commanded.
Now it was Marjorie who was stunned.
"I said strip those tits bare. Let's see what you've got there. If you don't hurry up and do what I say," Ms. Betty threatened, "I'll show your husband what you've been hiding in those-special closets and drawers of yours. Then he'll really understand what you were doing when he caught you spanking me. And he'll understand why you've taken so much time in finding the right maid."
Wanting to strip and get it over with before Corbett returned to the room, Marjorie did as she was told. This was the first time she had ever really been on the receiving end in such a relationship of dominance and submission. She was receiving the dominance.
Being on the other end caused her cunt to tingle. She didn't know quite what to do or how to take it, despite the fact that she had dished it out before.
Even her palms were damp with perspiration as she nervously undid herself, exposing her milk white breasts. They bounced as she bared herself.
She wanted to hide her firm nipples with her hands, but Ms. Betty ordered her to drop her arms and place them behind her.
She followed the command.
"Fresh from my black tits to yours," Ms. Betty said, as she removed the bra which had been fastened around her and placed it on Marjorie's flawless globes.
Marjorie tried to squirm away, but Ms. Betty was firm.
"The more you struggle, the deeper the pins are going to go into you," Ms. Betty told her.
Marjorie had of course tried out the bra with the pins on the inside of the cups, but she had tried it out for a minute or two, and she hadn't tied it tightly on herself. She had run her fingers over the pins, to feel how sharp they were, and she had decided that they hurt enough, without causing any real damage.
But now that the bra was on her breasts for real, she wasn't so sure about that. The discipline bra was fastened tightly on her.
"If you rat on me, I'll rat on you," Ms. Betty said, shaking Marjorie's body as she forced the words into her. She wanted to let her know that she meant business. She meant every word she said. "I don't have nearly as much to lose in this as you do. And you better believe that I'll make it hot for you. Hotter than hell."
Marjorie felt the power of domination as it took over her. She felt dry in her throat. She felt weak. Her pussy was feeling it, too. A droplet of nectar dripped from her young cunt down her inner thigh.
She knew that her maid had taken over. She was no longer the mistress of even her own domain. She was a slave in her own house.
Marjorie felt the pins of the bra sticking her luscious breasts with pain. The black maid rubbed her battered behind and told her that she deserved what she'd be getting. "This is only the beginning," Ms. Betty said. "I wanted to see how far you would go before I let you have a taste of real domination."
"I was only going to put you through your paces today. After today, I was sure that we would have a good working relationship. We'd understand each other better."
"Bullshit," Ms. Betty hissed through her teeth. "But we understand each other pretty well now. You understand that I'm the boss, don't you?"
Marjorie didn't respond. She stood there, frozen.
This irked Ms. Betty, the Amazonian bitch goddess who expected total submission, especially from a cunt like Marjorie Lloyd. "You rich, spoiled piece of shit," the big black woman snarled.
She grabbed Marjorie by her arm and twisted it back into a painful wrestling hold. The position caused her breasts to go flush against the hidden pins inside the bra. She was in agony, but Ms. Betty merely twisted harder.
While she had the wealthy socialite twisted back in the wrestling hold, she used her teeth on Marjorie's long, blonde hair. She bit into the strands and pulled back, pulling the roots of it.
"Alright, alright," Marjorie moaned, trying to keep her agony quiet so that her husband wouldn't suspect what was going on in his own house. "You win, you win. I'll serve you. You'll be my maid, but I'll serve you."
"And your husband will pay my salary," Ms. Betty said, emphasizing her intent with more pressure on Marjorie's twisted arm.
"Yes, yes, he'll be paying you to discipline me," she cried.
"Which will be money well earned and money well spent," Ms. Betty said.
Ms. Betty could still feel the heat on her butt. She would feel the stinging for a week, and it would inspire her to new heights in her training of Marjorie.
If there was any doubt of that, Marjorie soon realized that Ms. Betty intended to give it her all. Marjorie had dressed herself, still wearing the bra which was rubbing against her tit nipples. The fact that she was being made a slave in her own home should have been enough of a clue to her about her own submissiveness. She had never been dominated, having always been a rather spoiled princess.
Used to getting her way, this turn of events was having its effect. When the pins rubbed against her, her nipples stood up like little spears.
She was aroused.
Corbett suggested that they sit down and have a chat.
Marjorie agreed, and after properly introducing Ms. Betty to her husband, she politely asked the new maid to get them some tea.
"Very good, madam," Ms. Betty replied, turning around and walking to the kitchen to fix it. In her strange uniform, with the bared pussy and bared ass globes, she was quite a sight. Corbett didn't know whether to look away or look at her.
"I think that the uniform you've picked for a her is a bit, well, a bit extreme," he told his wife gently. He was still of the opinion that Marjorie was troubled mentally. He thought that she simply picked the uniform out of her own ignorance, and he assumed that the maid was too ignorant to say anything about it. After all, any new maid who consents to a spanking with a hairbrush on her first day of work must be a bit off the deep end, too.
"I thought that it would be alright since we're both women, and she seemed comfortable in it," Marjorie said weakly. "But since you're home, I think it would be better if she covered up a bit more."
She winced, feeling the pins sticking into her nipples as she changed from one position to another on the couch.
"I'm going to be coming home from the office earlier from now on, and I would appreciate it if she covered up. Not that you have anything to be jealous about," Corbett added, forcing his body on top of hers.
"Corbett, please!" Marjorie said. "She'll be out in a minute. She'll see you. She'll think your a beast."
Really, it was Marjorie who thought that way. What was wrong with showing a little affection in one's own home, even with the maid around?
Corbett didn't stop, though. He was on top of her and she felt his chest against her own, causing the pins to stick right into her.
She was torn between passion and pain. She didn't like Corbett to hug her this way, and the pins were hurting, and yet, the realization that she was being dominated all the time by the black maid who was in the other room was enough to start her cuntal juices flowing.
It was bizarre!
Ms. Betty came out of the kitchen with two tea cups, a silver pot filled with tea, all on a silver tray.
"Tea is served," she said, and Corbett released his wife.
"Thank you Ms. Betty," Corbett said, and Ms. Betty poured tea for each of them. She didn't know that fussy Marjorie would, by force of a longtime habit, complain about the tea. Unless it was piping hot, she would never touch the stuff. This had been simmering off the stove's light. Marjorie liked her tea boiling and bubbling when she drank it.
"I thought you were told to bring some HOT tea!!!" she snapped.
Corbett was embarrassed by his wife's usual snootiness. They had been through this before at restaurants and even in the homes of friends. This particular time, she was more bitter and harsh than usual. Maybe, subconsciously, she was just asking for more of what Ms. Betty could give her.
Corbett, embarrassed though he was, shrunk down in his seat without reprimanding his haughty wife. He didn't realize that the maid could be far haughtier than Marjorie.
"Really?" Ms. Betty said, not batting an eyelash. "Well, I'll take this back to the kitchen and bring you some tea that's piping hot."
"This is fine for me," Corbett said. "Just bring another cupful for my wife."
He kept the pot and his cup.
"You really should be more respectful to your hired help," he told her, too gently, perhaps. "That's the sign of a true lady. You should do things with class."
She didn't answer. She was stewing.
A few minutes later, Ms. Betty returned with a fresh cup for Marjorie.
"Here you are," Ms. Betty said, handing the cup directly to her mistress. Then she shot one of those looks at Marjorie again. It was the evil gleam which made her eyes turn into tiny slits in her black head. They looked like rat's eyes, or the eyes of a snake.
Marjorie recognized that look. It was filled with anger.
"That tea will be hot enough for you," Ms. Betty said. "I expect you drink it all down. Every drop!"
Marjorie placed the cup to her lips. She took the first sip. It was very hot, but it was bitter. It didn't taste like tea at all. It tasted like ...
"Drink it all," Ms. Betty repeated, baring her teeth as she hissed the command. She was still staring through Marjorie with slitty snake eyes.
With the next full swallow, Marjorie realized what had happened. She was drinking hot stuff, alright, but it wasn't tea.
For her snotty attitude, Marjorie had been punished with a discipline drink. It had come directly from Ms. Betty's black tap. It was piss!
The look on Ms. Betty's face told Marjorie that she dare not utter a word. Ms. Betty had her hands on her hips and it was clear that she would tell Corbett everything with the slightest provocation.
"How is it, honey?" Corbett asked her as she gulped the bitter fluid.
"It's fine," she said meekly, still feeling the pins in her breasts, and hoping that the scent of piss wouldn't stay on her breath.
Ms. Betty stayed in the room, at a distance, to be polite, but close enough to make certain that Marjorie followed the command and drank down every last drop of her fresh, hot piss, and swallowed it.
Steaming piss was just one of the many things Ms. Betty had in mind for her slave. She was determined to dominate Marjorie Lloyd in her very own home, turning the tables so that Marjorie would soon be waiting hand and foot on the new lady of the house � the Amazonian maid.
When the telephone later that evening, Marjorie was relieved to hear her mother's voice. She depended upon her mother at times like this, even though she didn't even know how to explain all of this to her.
Her mother insisted on coming directly over from the airport with the present she had brought back for her from Jamaica.
"Can't it wait?" Marjorie asked.
"No, it can't. I have to come over immediately. I've imported a maid for you?"
"Are you kidding?"
"No, she's an alien, of course, so you'll have something over her," Marjorie *s mother whispered into the phone. "She's young, a hard worker, strong, and she's eager to be in this country. I've paid her first month's wages by bringing her over here. Now, all you have to do is break her in. I'll be right over."
And with that, Marjorie's mother clicked the receiver down.
Marjorie turned to her husband. "Well, it looks like our second maid has arrived."
"What do you mean? We were going to have a talk about that. I don't know if I can afford to have two maids in this one apartment. I mean, ... "
"Don't worry about that," Marjorie said. "Mama is paying her wages for the first month. After that, if we don't want her, we'll get rid of her. But I can't insult Mama."
Ms. Betty listened in on this conversation, hearing Marjorie treat the still unarmed Claudja like an object which should be used, then discarded, as long as Mama weren't insulted.
"Well, if that's what will make you happy," Corbett relented, as usual.
"Oh, it will make me happy," Marjorie said, using her coy tactics to woo her husband's favor, as she often did. Of course, she had no intention of following through with her smiles of seduction.
But Ms. Betty entered the scene, coming up to Corbett and telling them both that she would take care of breaking in the second maid.
"I'll take it as part of my responsibility to show this new girl around and let her know the rules of the house," Ms. Betty said, loading her words with double meanings which coursed right through Marjorie's trembling body.
Marjorie was at the effect of everything Ms. Betty did, and Ms. Betty intended to run this house with an iron hand.
"Well, that would be very nice of you," Corbett said. "I'm sure that Marjorie will appreciate that."
"I'm sure that once I take over, with the help of this second maid to do the heavier chores around the house, we'll have Mrs. Lloyd in a new frame of mind in no time."
"You know," Corbett said, responding to the gleam in Ms. Betty's eyes, I think you mean that"
"Oh, I do. I really do."
"Yes, I can tell that you're a determined woman who does what she says she's going to do."
"Oh, that I am," Ms. Betty replied. "I'm sure you'll see the results."
Marjorie was too weak and too humiliated to say anything. Already, this was a change for her, and Corbett noticed the difference. As for Marjorie, this treatment was total humiliation for her. She knew that Ms. Betty was having her fun at her expense. But there was nothing she could do about it.
There was too much to lose if she lost Corbett and that might just happen if he found out about her secrets.
Besides, there was something else preventing Marjorie from telling her husband that he was paying a maid to abuse her. She wasn't quite sure of what it was. All she knew was that she felt it in her cunt.
New York was more than Claudja had expected. The rush of the people was just too much for her. Even at the airport, she nearly flipped out. When she saw people rushing toward her, black people or white, she reacted with such fear that she doubled over several times.
The cab ride to the Lloyd apartment in the fashionable east sixties was nerve-wracking for her, too. She had been a prankster in her small Jamaican town, but the big city was a bit much for her.
Of course, her recent trauma was largely responsible for her vulnerability now. Not only had she left her family, friends, and the town she'd grown up in, but she had just seen her very first love, her very first white man, killed by black militants.
One might think that she would strike back at others of her race for taking the life of her white lover, but the mind flips out in strange ways. There was no reason to her behavior. She didn't do anything as yet, but she was on the brink of doing harm to herself or to anyone, of any color, who came into her path.
Marjorie's mother, Gladys Grover, was hardly aware of any of this. Like her spoiled daughter, she did not have much insight or compassion for others. The human condition was not her concern. Her own comfort was all she thought about.
Ms. Betty, on the other hand, had learned to psyche out people's personalities with the skill of an expert. It had served her well many times in her former trade as a prostitute and madam. It had'd helped her know exactly how to keep a spoiled bitch like Marjorie Lloyd in line. The spanking she had received was all part of it. It was worth it now, considering the financial and emotional benefits she was reaping from the new situation which she had so ably created.
When Marjorie's mother arrived, there was the usual noise and commotion surrounding her arrival. Gladys Grover presented Claudja like a piece of meat.
"This is your new maid, a present from Mama," she announced.
The young girl, never before having been in a place of such wealth, stood meekly, trembling.
Ms. Betty stepped right in, taking Claudja away with her into a private place to get to her before Marjorie had the first chance.
Marjorie was uncomfortable with the situation, and with her bra of pins, but she knew circumstances demanded that she stay seated beside Corbett and listen to the rantings of her mother who was complaining about the terrible blacks she'd encountered in trouble-torn Jamaica.
"What's the matter, baby?" Ms. Betty asked Claudja. "You're shaking like a leaf."
"So much has happened so fast. I don't know what it is. I need to strike out the way I did at home. It's crazy. That's the way I've always done it when this devil takes over me and gets me confused like this. I've done crazy pranks to people, but now I'm sorry for it, and I can't get away with it here."
"Don't be so sure of that," Ms. Betty said. "If you need to pull pranks to release your frustration, then you'll just have to do that."
Claudja was, of course, taken by surprise at the response. But somehow, she trusted Ms. Betty from the beginning.
They had a long talk.
Ms. Betty told Claudja what she had just been through with Marjorie. Now wearing a more suitable uniform, she raised the skirt and showed Claudja her well bruised behind.
"She did that to you?"
"Yes, and she'll do the same to you if you let her. But don't worry about that. She just needs black women like us to dominate her. You, in fact, could probably do the best job of all with all that anger inside of you."
The two, attractive black women talked on into the night. Claudja told Ms. Betty everything about herself. Ms. Betty did the same.
They finally decided that they had both been taken advantage of by women like Marjorie Lloyd. They knew that they now had a chance to strike back, and that was exactly what they were going to do.
It started the very next day, when Marjorie kissed her husband off for work.
"So long," he told Marjorie. "I'll leave you in the capable hands of Ms. Betty and Claudja."
"Alright," she cooed, cockteasing him as usual.
"If you keep that up," he said, referring to the way she stroked his cock through his pants as she spoke to him on the doorstep, "I'll turn around and come right back to the bedroom."
"Not now," Marjorie said, pushing him away. "Maybe when you get home." Then she added, just to be safe, "If I'm in the mood."
He'd heard it many times. Rarely was she in the mood when he returned. But he just took it like that, and that was what he got.
But Ms. Betty, listening closely to all that went on, had other plans. She sat down with Claudja and they had another talk. She asked Claudja to use her special powers as a prankster and think of some tricks which would place Marjorie in a position of total submission.
It didn't take the two of them too long to figure out what to do.
"My husband is gone," Marjorie said, approaching Ms. Betty humbly.
"Good. You can fix me some breakfast, then," Ms. Betty said.
Marjorie had never fixed breakfast for anyone in her life. She hated to cook. In fact, she barely knew how. Her husband made breakfast for her on most mornings. If she didn't go out to eat, she usually didn't eat. Already aware of the foods that were in the kitchen cabinets, Ms, Betty told Marjorie what she wanted, and Marjorie reluctantly fixed it for her and for Claudja. She was humiliated by being a slave to two black women who were being paid to wait on her! But then, that was what she had asked for by her actions. You can't get away with being a dominatrix unless you really are one. Marjorie was a bitch, but when it came to taking total control, she had met her match in Ms. Betty.
After breakfast, Marjorie was hot. She had dismissed her husband, but all this domination by black women was driving her crazy.
Her cunt was steaming. She needed something that only Ms. Betty and Claudja could give her.
She stood in the living room, being watched by the two black maids who stretched out on the couch.
She removed the bra.
"I slept in this all night. I thought about you each time I rolled over," she told Ms. Betty. "Look, my breasts are red and raw."
The globes, were large and when she cupped her hands beneath the mounds, she puckered up her lips. Then she raised her breasts to her mouth and kissed the red flesh.
"I should make you lick them until they feel better," Marjorie told the black dominatrix. The way she phrased it irked the short-tempered Ms. Betty.
"It sounds like you're giving an order to me," Ms. Betty said sternly. "I thought we established the fact that I'm the boss around here. I'm the queen and you're the servant."
"I'm sorry," Marjorie said. She was humble again.
But when Claudja, innocently enough, asked Marjorie why she had pushed her husband away, Marjorie exploded.
"Why do you ask me that? Do you want him for yourself? Do you want to give my husband your black pussy?"
In light of all that had recently happened to her, Claudja saw red. She was ready to jump up and strangle the snotty blonde.
But Ms. Betty held her back.
"We have better plans. And it's time to start acting on them," she said. She was talking about the prank which the two of them had cooked up together earlier.
Ms. Betty ordered Marjorie to participate.
"Go into your bedroom and bring me your sexiest pair of panties," she commanded. "And hurry up!"
Marjorie scurried off into the bedroom. Fear filled her body again for she knew that she was at the whim of her black dominatrix. She hated it, and yet she loved it. She wanted to expose it all and tell her husband so that she could crawl out from under Ms. Betty's thumb, but crawl was what she was going to do, and it would be wherever and however Ms. Betty commanded her to crawl.
She searched through her drawers, looking for her sexiest pair of panties. She was aroused to think that she would have a chance to display herself in them in front of two gorgeous black women. She picked a pair of lace panties which were pure white in color, except for the yellow area which clung to the curve and cleft of her cunt. The yellow color was from the cream of her pussy. It stained the front of her crotch just enough to make the panties especially arousing.
While she was getting the panties, Claudja was busy in the kitchen cutting some rope which Ms. Betty had found in one of the cabinets.
"I want you completely naked except for the panties," Ms. Betty said as Marjorie returned to the living room. "And then I want to see you standing before me."
Marjorie responded to the orders. She had never before been commanded like this by anyone, no less a black woman.
She hurried to meet the demands. She was soon naked except for the lace panties. Her long blonde hair hung down. Her face, contorted with subservient desire, was never more beautiful, at least as far as a dominatrix like Ms. Betty was concerned. Marjorie closed her eyes, awaiting the voice of her mistress.
"That's good," Ms. Betty said. "Just stand there with your cunt covered by those lovely panties. Stick your breasts way out so the nipples arouse me. Quiver your cunt muscles so I can see the material at your pussy move back and forth with your cuntal control. I want to control every part of you."
"You're in control of me from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet," Marjorie said. "I wish that I could feel your mouth all over me, from my head to my toes."
"Don't be greedy," Ms. Betty snapped. "You'll speak when you're spoken to, and then only to thank me or to praise me, or to praise Claudja, or to call yourself lowly, scummy names."
Marjorie stood there, quivering. Ms. Betty saw Claudja enter the room with the ropes in her hands.
"Now, place your hands behind your back," Ms. Betty said, and Marjorie did as she was told.
That was when they bound and gagged her!
Never had she known such a feeling between her legs, She couldn't understand it, but she knew she felt it, and liked it.
This was a new pleasure.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When Corbett returned home later that afternoon, he found a note waiting for him on the floor.
"Corbett," the note began, "I've been a naughty and selfish wife. I know that I have, and Pm ready to change my ways. I told the two maids to go to their rooms so that you and I could be alone. I want all of you, and I've done a few things to turn us both on like never before. I want your big dick in my cunt and I want it without mercy. As for the special toy you'll find as you continue, I thought it would be good for both of us if you used it up my ass."
The note was signed, "Your horny wife. All this time without a good fuck is too damn long."
It didn't sound like Marjorie, 'and yet, Corbett was too aroused to question it. There, was something about this particular message which made him believe that despite her many incomplete come-ons of the past, this one was more than that.
He was hard already.
He walked a few feet further into the apartment, looking around for clues. The maids were apparently locked in their rooms. Marjorie was nowhere in sight.
But there, on the floor outside the bedroom, was a big, rubber dildo. Corbett had heard about these things, but he'd never seen one before. It shocked him that his wife had gone out and bought one of the rubber sex tools, but he was turned on by her initiative.
Now he knew what she meant by that part of her note. She wanted the dildo up her asshole while he fucked her in the cunt.
He walked into the bedroom, opening the door and then closing it behind him. There, on the bed, in her sexiest panties, was Marjorie.
But this was Marjorie like he had never seen her before.
She was writhing about on the bed like a bitch in heat. Her hands were tied behind her back. Corbett believed that she was really hot as hell to tie her own hands behind her.
"So you're so hot you tied your hands just so you wouldn't claw me to death, huh, you vixen?"
But Claudja couldn't answer. Her mouth was gagged, It was stuffed with a pair of her husband's underpants!
He recognized his underwear by the waistband which was sticking out of her lips. "That's the pair of shorts I wore yesterday," he said. "All day yesterday, and the day before, too, I think."
Then he grinned and held his throbbing boner.
"I didn't think you had it in you," he said.
He went along with the entire fantasy, believing that Marjorie had gagged herself with his dirty jockey shorts to turn him on, and possibly to keep herself from yelling out in orgasmic joy during the fucking she was about to receive.
Her legs were parted and the sexy undies had been ripped at the crotch to expose her pussy, as well as at the back, to expose her ass for the dildo. A tube of lubrication had been placed at the foot of the bed, along with another note.
This note read: "Fuck me you horse-dicked stud. Fuck me like you've never fucked before. Screw the living hell out of me, cunt and ass."
Seeing him coming, Marjorie began to squirm and buck around on the bed even more. She was trying to convey to him, in body language, that this was all a frame-up. This was the work of the two women who knew that the most cruel way in which they could dominate her was to make her the sex object of her husband's lusts.
Too long she had incited his lusts without following through. It took two black women to change all that.
Marjorie was moaning through the saliva-soaked underpants. She was writhing about the bed, bumping her cunt around.
Corbett stripped his clothes off. The sight of his wife with her arms behind her and her wrists bound with rope aroused his sadistic instincts.
"You want this big fucker, don't you?" he said, holding his stiff boner. "Yeah, you want this prick and that's what you're gonna get, but not before it goes up your ass."
It was then that he noticed the third note which had been left for him. He had been placed near the head of the bed, and Marjorie had tried to conceal it. But it was too late.
The third note read: "I'm into something real kinky that we've never done before and I spoke with the two maids to get their okay. They want to be part of this. Let's get them in here to get us all hot."
"Shit!" Corbett grinned. "You're hotter than I ever thought. I can hardly believe it."
Before doing anything, he greased up the dildo and teased Marjorie with it. He placed it between her tits. She jumped around as far as her bonds permitted her. She wanted to get that thing away from herself, but Corbett brought it down over her cunt lips and around to her ass.
It picked up some of the juices from her pussy on its way. Then he found the opening of her puckered hole, and he inserted the head of the rubber cock inside. He forced it into her in a twisting movement. The dildo stuck up in her cunt with the rubber nuts at the end of exposed at her pussy opening.
"That looks real good," he said. "I wish I had a picture of that."
Then, thinking that the maids had quite an effect on Marjorie, he went to the room where they were waiting. He knocked on the door. When they opened it, both Ms. Betty and Claudja were dressed seductively.
Claudja was wearing a black slip with nothing underneath. Ms. Betty was nude, except for a belt which she wore around her waist.
"We know what you're here for," Ms. Betty said.
Corbett blushed, but Ms. Betty took care of that. She pressed her naked body against his and started kissing him. She pressed her tongue between his lips and thrust it down his throat.
Aroused by a white man, Claudja knelt behind him. She found his ass and spread the cheeks. She looked into the puckered hole and began to lick it with her pink, wet, tongue muscle.
Nobody had ever done that to him before and he shivered with delight. As for Claudja, it was a new experience for her, too. It suddenly struck her to fall to her knees and lick his asshole until he was hot enough to screw his wife like he had never done before.
The three of them then returned to the bedroom where Marjorie was the captive., willing or not.
"Show that horny bitch what you can do with that cunt of hers," Ms. Betty shouted.
The words rang through Marjorie's ears. It was the ultimate humiliation for her to hear the black woman whom she wanted for her lover and mistress, telling her husband to fuck her instead.
"Yes, show me how you use your prick," Claudja added. "Then, if I want some of that dick, maybe you'll give some of it to me."
Marjorie wriggled on the bed again. It would be equally humiliating to watch her husband's juicy dick withdrawn from her damp pussy and rammed into the cunt of this stranger from Jamaica � a girl who had been presented to her by her own mother as a maid � not as a sex partner for her husband.
But Ms. Betty said that it would be a good idea for Marjorie to watch Corbett screw Claudja, and that meant that it would probably come to pass. Marjorie knew that. And she knew that even if the underpants were pulled from her mouth, she had dare not speak a word against her tormentors. Not with them there in the same room with her.
With his boner stiff and ready for plunging, Corbett hopped on the bed and mounted the bound and gagged blonde. He parted her moistened cunt lips, and pressed the hot of his throbbing organ into her.
He could feel the material of the lacy panties at the sides of his shaft as he entered her. Her eyes rolled around in her head. Ms. Betty arid Claudja looked on playing with their cunts and egging Corbett on.
He fucked her deep and hard. He grabbed her body and rolled over with his cock still in her so that he could lie on his back with her on top.
"Since you're so damn hot today, I want you to do the work," he told the gagged beauty. "My dick is good and hard. AH you have to do is bounce on it. Go on, work that pretty body of yours up and down on my hot poker."
Marjorie didn't move at first, but Ms. Betty knew just what to do to get her bumping and grinding her cunt on her husband's big rod.
She unbuckled the belt from her waist and started swinging. Marjorie's ass was in the air now, with the dildo sticking out of it. Ms. Betty started whipping that ass with the belt, hitting the dildo each time.
The whipping caused Marjorie to bounce on the cock which impaled her, and it kept her butt hot while the dildo pushed even further into her rear.
Getting it from the front and the back at the same time, Marjorie was ablaze with sexual pain.
Ms. Betty, who had trained snotty bitches before, knew that though this treatment was painful to Marjorie now, it would serve to spark her erotic fantasies and masturbatory sessions for years to come.
