Copyright © 1996
Disclaimer: All the standard rules apply. If you are offended by explicit descriptions of sex or the human body, if it is illegal to possess such materials at your location, if you are under-age by law in your location, or if somebody else thinks you might have too much fun reading it, stop right now and remove this text from your computer.
This is purely a work of fiction, with all characters and actions described by me coming straight out of my imagination. As a work of fiction, it does not condone or condemn any of the activities or actions described, nor does it relate to any type of real events in my life, or known to me in the lives of any of my friends or relatives.
You've been warned.
Author's notes:
I've just finished reading a few dozen stories written by Deirdre.
All of them were well written, most were interesting, and a few
were downright intriguing. Here's my way of paying back a very
talented author. My version of a Deirdre-style story. Thanks!
[Trudy's tale]
I think that was the scariest day of my life to that point. Well, maybe not *the* scariest, but definitely right up near the top of the list. Some people might argue that a job interview is a job interview, period. Most times I'd agree with them.
That one was different.
When was the last time you had an interview at a large, expensive house, in an exclusive neighbourhood, where you were to meet your prospective employer's husband and children? The children whom you would be in charge of for a year? Especially when you really wanted - no, *needed* - the job? I thought not.
So I screwed up my courage, put on my bravest face, and rang the doorbell. I promised myself that no matter what happened, I wouldn't go running off screaming into the sunset. When I imagined that scene, picturing myself meeting the Munsters rather than the Carltons, it brought a bit of a smile to my face, and maybe helped rope in my fears a little. How bad could it really be, after all. They were people. Rich, a bit eccentric <well, maybe more than a bit>, but still people.
I hoped.
Fiona opened the door. She was dressed casually in a bright yellow sun dress and sandals. That, at least, quelled some of the butterflies in my stomach.
"Hello Trudy. I'm glad you decided to come."
We exchanged pleasantries before she invited me into the house. I followed her down a short hall to a nice <picture perfect, actually> living room. Everybody in there was wearing clothes, thank god. Fighting my nerves, and feeling giddy with relief, I looked at the other people as they stood to greet me. I tried to fit them in with the descriptions given to me by Mrs. Carlton, and her introductions a few seconds later showed that I was right on all counts.
Mr. Carlton looked just as described. Tall, weathered, handsome, with lots of lean muscles. Black hair and pale eyes <not blue, but that in-between colour which changes all the time>.
Timothy, their son, looked almost nothing like his father, except for having the same hair and eyes. He was slender and soft, almost effeminate, despite his wiry muscles and height. And he was good looking. Very good looking.
Hannah, his twin sister, was almost the same height <height runs in both sides of their family obviously>, with the same short black hair, but looking at me with her mother's bright jade-green eyes. They had almost identical body structure, other than the obvious. Oh, and she was gorgeous. Her mother was striking, and a very good looking woman, but she was totally eclipsed by her daughter's beauty.
The only other person in the room was Ms. Tiff, their housekeeper. She was probably about the same age as Mrs. Carlton and looked to be just as fit and toned. And just as striking. Height must run in her family too, since she was almost as tall as Mr. Carlton.
I felt like a midget in there. At five foot one I'm not that small, but Hannah, the shortest of the bunch of them, was close to a foot taller than me. Mr. Carlton was much more than a foot taller. When everyone sat down, it felt like I'd stepped out of a dense forest and into an open meadow. <I found out later that Hannah was five foot eleven. Everyone else was taller.>
"Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee? Ice tea? Some wine, perhaps?" Fiona was looking at me, and asking in a rather polite way. I decided that something cold would help. Definitely no alcohol. Because I rarely indulge, and because of some inherited family traits, even one drink is enough to make me giddy and light-headed. That, I didn't need.
"Ice tea, please."
Orders for bottled water and ice tea came from all the Carltons, and Ms. Tiff silently went to fetch our refreshments. Everyone sat quietly, waiting for her return. It was a very uncomfortable time for me, but they all looked perfectly calm. That made me even more nervous. I was glad when the woman returned.
"Trudy," began Mrs. Carlton, "this is your final interview. If you do well now, you get the job. If anyone here feels uncomfortable with you, we keep looking. Do you understand?"
Still fighting my nerves, I nodded, then said yes. My last job disappeared three months beforehand when the company I worked for went bankrupt. Despite a glowing recommendation, which is all I ever got from them in the end, I couldn't seem to find anything else. There were too many trained secretaries available. Becoming a waitress, or worse, was something to be dreaded. I was far too shy to ever enjoy working with the public. Sitting there, meeting those strangers, was about as wild and daring as I had ever been, especially with what Mrs. Carlton had already told me about their personal lifestyle.
The lady was still speaking and I zoned back in part way through a sentence.
"... expected to be on duty twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Is that acceptable?"
Again I nodded my acquiescence, hoping I hadn't missed anything important.
She summarized my duties in point form.
I was to be in charge of the house, the help, and the kids while the two of them were away on their frequent trips.
It would be up to me to handle any problems during those periods. Calling one of them was to be a last resort in case of something truly serious.
There was to be no wild parties or bacchanalia while they were away. Small parties were okay, as long as they stayed civil. If discipline was needed, either for the kids or the staff, I was to administer it.
The kitchen was my responsibility - keeping it stocked, keeping it clean, and preparing dinner Monday through Thursday, unless something else was scheduled ahead of time. Breakfast for the kids before school was also my problem. Everyone else's breakfast, and all other meals, were either free-for-alls, or were done on a volunteer basis.
Both kids were to be packed up and driven to school by me in the mornings. Getting home was their problem. A car was available for me to use both in my duties and for my personal use.
Well, on the benefits side, I was to get free room and board, a generous <more than generous!> salary, the free use of a car, and lots and lots of free time. A job heaven sent for someone trying to become a writer <Yes, a writer! Of kids books, no less! Don't laugh so hard!>.
I still wondered why they needed a housesitter for their obviously mature children. They were both seventeen, after all. Fiona had told me in our first interview that she wanted someone older, someone with a bit more life experience to be in charge while they were away. Me, at twenty five, with all my 'vast experience', would be perfect, in her opinion. She'd also told me that Ms. Tiff didn't want the responsibility.
We talked for a while, or rather, they fired off questions and I answered as best I could. Most of the questions had already been asked by Fiona in our previous interviews, but I guessed the others needed to ask them again anyway. Towards the end, the inquiries started getting personal, and then became very personal and embarrassing.
"Do you smoke?" "No."
"Do you drink?" "A little, but rarely, and then not much."
"Is there someone special in your life right now?" "No." Not since that ass Steve divorced me. I was too 'wild' for him. Me! Ha!
"Do you do drugs?" "No." "Have you ever?" "Never." "Not even once?" "Not even once. My parents would have killed me if I'd even hung around people who might do drugs."
"What about in university?" "Never been there." "No?" "No. My parents got me married off right out of high school. My husband wanted a perfect stay-at-home wife, and I was it."
"But you're not married any more?" "No. We divorced two years ago. No kids, he got the dog." There were some chuckles at that. I didn't think it was funny during the divorce, because I loved that old mutt, but after two years I had come to realize there was some humour in the statement.
"Can you cook?" "Yes. My mother taught me some, and I've learned a lot since. I like good food."
"Have you had any partners since you divorced your husband?" This question came from Mr. Carlton. "Partners?" I asked because I was unsure of what he meant. "Partners," he replied. "Intimate companions."I blushed, and I'm sure I stammered a bit, but I did say no. I *think* I understood the question.
"Have you ever had any partners besides your husband?" I stared at Hannah for a second, a little shocked by her question. She was supposed to be the kid, not me. "I mean, intimate partners," she continued. There was *no way* I was going to answer that one truthfully! "None except Steve, my ex." She smiled a bit at my answer. The way I blushed and stammered, it would have been a miracle if she'd really believed me.
"What's the wildest thing you've ever done with your husband. Intimately, I mean." The room was quiet as I gaped at Fiona. They were all waiting for me to collect myself and answer. "I ... ah, we never ... I mean, Steve wasn't like that. Neither am I." Steve certainly never was. He had 'satisfied' me once a week the same way he had consummated our marriage - with the lights out, under the covers, in the missionary position. When he was finished, he would give me a peck on the cheek and whisper 'I love you' before rolling over and going to sleep. Most times I was just warming up when he packed it in for the night.
Hannah cut in. "You mean you've never done anything wild at all?" This was getting to be a bit too much for me.
"Mrs. Carlton, what has my past relationship got to do with the job?"
"Trudy, we're inviting a complete stranger into our lives and our home. This is part of getting to know who you really are so we can feel comfortable with you. After all, this would be your first domestic position." <Yeah, aside from being a wife for five years.> I thought it made some sort of sense. And I really wanted the job.
"Okay. No, I've never done anything wild at all." I was lying through my teeth again. I thought Hannah, and maybe Fiona, suspected something, but I wasn't going to give away my secret. Not even for a really good job.
"Have you ever been spanked?" That got my attention again, as it was the first question Ms. Tiff had asked, and it was a very strange one. She was looking at me rather intently, with her eyes seeming to bore right into my skull. I stared back, summoning all my reserves of willpower to keep from looking away. Somehow I just knew it was a test. "Yes. By my father, when I was a little girl." Ms. Tiff glanced over at Fiona for a second, breaking eye contact, and I felt like I'd just gained some sort of victory.
"Have you ever spanked anyone else?" Mr. Carlton was staring at me with the same look the housekeeper had worn a few seconds ago. I stared back, shaking my head, and whispered "no" to him. He ended up glancing over at Fiona as well before I took my eyes off him. Things were getting very difficult for me. I was almost ready to bolt, both from nerves and from embarrassment.
"Have you ever wanted to?" Mrs. Carlton wore a slightly amused expression, but her eyes were just as intense as the others had been. All I could do was blush and turn my head away. I couldn't answer her!
I don't know what kind of secret signals they used, but there was no more than a few seconds of silence and some strange looks passed between the five of them before Fiona spoke again.
"Congratulations, you've got the job."
She was looking at me rather quizzically. I imagined it was because of the way my mouth was hanging open. Composing myself, I stood to say thank you. Then I was surrounded by trees again as they all stood up. My hand was ignored, and they hugged me in congratulations. I almost lost it when Hannah gave me a kiss on the forehead. It wasn't the kiss so much, as the way her hand casually brushed across my bottom. I dismissed it as an accident, even though it did leave me a bit shaken.
Fiona took me on a tour of the house and the grounds, showed me my new room, and we made final arrangements. I was to move in the following Sunday and start work Monday <the interview was on a Wednesday afternoon>.
The house was large, with at least fifteen or twenty different rooms. The formal living room (where we met), formal dining room, and guest bathroom were at the front of the house. Fiona explained that they were only used for greeting clients and guests. It kept prying noses away from the private areas of the house. Certain rooms were off limits to me until I had their full trust - rooms like their bedroom, their home/office, and their private recreation room in the basement. I didn't consider that a problem.
My room, a fairly large converted workshop in the basement, was very nicely furnished. A big bathroom, complete with everything, was right across the hall. The only drawback was no windows, and no working lights in the hallway. She explained that some wiring somewhere had been removed during a renovation leaving the light fixtures as nothing more than decoration. A tiny nightlight plugged into the wall gave just enough illumination to keep me from walking into something.
In the back was a decent sized pool, Jacuzzi, tennis court <it's a big yard>, and patio/barbecue area. As usual, and as I had suspected, a tall privacy fence, lined with evergreen trees, surrounded the place. They had a gardener coming in two days a week to keep the greenery looking good.
It was when we were going back into their house from the back yard that I got my biggest shock. Fiona had explained to me that they ran a 'relaxed' house, and what that meant. Seeing it in real life was quite different than having someone tell me about it. Hannah and Timothy walked out from the kitchen, heading for the pool, with towels over their shoulders. Both were quite naked. I'm sure I looked like an absolute fool with my eyes bulging out and an expression of shock on my face, but neither one said anything. Fiona just looked at me and shrugged.
I couldn't help myself. I turned and watched them walk to the pool and dive in. Timothy was smooth all over, with muscular legs, a tight butt, and a slim waist. He was completely hairless, except on the head and around his genitals. What I saw up front looked normal enough, but with only one other man <my ex> to compare with, that didn't mean much <videos and magazine pictures don't count>. It was Hannah that I stared at though. Her figure was perfect, and her bottom was absolutely gorgeous. There was no spare flesh anywhere, and the way her muscles tightened and flexed made me almost gasp. My panties started getting damp.
When I finally turned away <after they were both in the pool> I noticed Fiona staring at me with a strange look in her eyes. We walked through the kitchen and into the dining room without speaking. I'm sure I saw a slight red sheen on everything nearby. My face was glowing. For a strict Catholic-raised girl like me, getting used to their lifestyle was going to be difficult.
After Fiona and I settled a bunch of minor details, such as expense accounts for food, shopping centres, budgeting, and <very important, at least to me> paydays, she handed me a set of car keys.
"Here you go. It's the blue Honda parked beside the trailer."
"Huh?" That, and my rather blank expression, told her I didn't have a clue.
"The car. The one you'll be using from now on. I'm sure it'll come in handy for moving, and it's definitely faster than using public transit." That her words weren't registering was obviously evident on my face.
"Trudy, you're working for us now. You need a car to do your job. These are the keys to the car you'll be using. I expect you'll need it if you're going to be ready to move in here on Sunday." She spoke slowly and carefully, watching the words sink in one by one.
"You mean, just like that, you're giving me a car?"
"Not quite. We're loaning you a car. Use it, but don't abuse it."
So, I had a new job, I had <the use of> a nice car, I had enough left in the bank to cover all my outstanding debts with a small nest egg left over, and I still had my alimony coming in. Life was good. All I had to do was get used to my employers. I was sure that looking at naked bodies would become rather blase after a while. I thought I could get used to it. Mom and Dad might spin in their graves, but what the heck. Besides, Fiona had made it perfectly clear that I could wear <or not wear> whatever I wanted. Nudity was not a job requirement. If it had been, I would never have even considered working for them. <I was what some would consider a prude. I think.>
Moving in was relatively painless - as painless as moving ever gets, anyway. So was learning the routines. Cooking was easy, since everyone there preferred barbecue to anything else. As you'd expect, they had every modern convenience, from a convection oven to a built-in dishwasher. Getting the kids <Kids? At seventeen they're no longer kids!> to school was no problem. Helping with homework was no problem <that was delegated to me too>. Cleaning the stainless steel, formica, and ceramic kitchen was a breeze. Grocery shopping for six <and with friends and special dinners, sometimes ten, fifteen, or twenty!> took some adjustment. Two jugs of milk three times a week, rather than one quart every few days, two loaves of bread almost every day, buying giant economy size everything when I was used to buying the smallest packages, and pushing around a full <very full!> cart was strange.
What I found hardest was getting used to everyone prancing around with little or nothing on. Even the kids' friends often stripped down to the buff when going for a dip. I used my nice, demure one piece suit whenever I went swimming or sunbathing, and tried to ignore all the tanned skin around me, no matter what my body and imagination said.
I did *not* let Hannah take me out shopping for a new swim suit. She said I had a perfect beach bunny body - perfect for wearing a micro bikini. She said a new suit, and a new hairdo with some lightening and highlighting, would have all the guys drooling over me <yeah, just what I needed, more attention>. No way was I going to make things harder on myself.
Believe it or not, I wasn't a complete innocent. I'd seen two dirty movies and, after my divorce, even bought a few indecent magazines. Since I'd seen actors and models on the tube and in pictures, I thought I was prepared for the real thing. It wasn't the same. Neither Timothy nor Steve cared if they had an erection when they were in and around the house, so I couldn't help but get some very good closeup looks. Blase, I wasn't. I tried not to be too obvious with my staring.
My imagination kept running wild. At breakfast I pictured myself as naked as Fiona, walking around like nothing was out of the ordinary, then casually sitting in Timothy's lap and sliding myself onto his manhood. Or sitting in the family room, watching TV in a chair with Mr. Carlton, casually jerking him off while he had his fingers buried inside me. Or out suntanning with Hannah, running my hands all over her body, especially that exquisite backside with those perfect glutes, while supposedly applying sunscreen. Or having her lay me down on the grass so she could use her fingers and tongue to excite me for hours and hours before allowing me any relief. Of course, I never let on about my fantasies. I never caught any of them acting in an improper manner either, but that didn't stop me from daydreaming about what happened when I wasn't around.
After staring at any of their naked bodies for a while, with my mind getting lost in the erotic possibilities, my crotch would be soaked through and I'd have to go change my panties. Sometimes several times a day. After the first week I had to go buy more panties, since I didn't have enough pairs to last between washdays. Not while I was around them, anyway. My fingers were also very busy any time I was alone.
I was sure Hannah knew I stared at her just as much as at her brother. I never said anything or did anything, and neither did she, but sometimes I caught an odd look or a glance when she thought I wasn't paying attention.
Why was I looking, you ask? Why did she get my panties damp? That was my big secret. It's because she reminded me so much of Sally. Tall, skinny, athletic Sally. Same black hair, same flawless tanned skin, same wonderful bottom.
We were friends from our first day in junior high. When I hit puberty <got hit, actually> at fourteen, I went from 'AAA' at the start of summer to 'B+' when school started again. The boys were merciless in their teasing, saying I was wearing falsies, or had tissues in there or water balloons or something. Some even tried to stick pins in me to see if I'd pop.
Well, I've always been shy and a little less than physical, so all I did was cry a lot. The vice principal, the principal, some of the teachers, and even my parents, all made it seem like it was *my* fault - as if I asked for these things! Well, Sally finally got fed up with the way some of the boys were treating me <and her, since she'd also started developing> so she beat a few of them up. Some more than once. They eventually got the message.
She and I spent a lot of time together after that, and, well, one thing led to another. First she showed me the bruises and scrapes she got from the different fights. I *had* to put creams and ointments on them, of course. Then I started massaging out the pains and knotted muscles. I showed her the tiny wounds from the pins, and the bruises from the pinchings, so she proceeded to put some ointment on my sore spots and massaged it in <much to my surprise!>.
Things took a rather degenerate turn <as my father would have said> when Sally got kneed in the groin during a soccer game. Naive me, despite a lifetime of admonitions by my mother that I was supposed to keep my hands away from down there at all costs, decided that I could do a better job of fixing the hurt than Sally could. She let me massage in the medication and the next thing I knew she was moaning and panting and sweating and she wouldn't let me stop. It was the first time I had ever seen anyone have an orgasm.
When she was finished, and she finally got over the shock of finding out that I didn't know what had happened, and got over the bigger shock of learning that I'd never had one myself, she gave me a few lessons on masturbation. And then a few more. Then I had to practice on her - just to make sure I was doing it right, of course. And she practiced on me. Repeatedly. By the time she moved away, a year later, I knew her body better than she did, inside and out, by sight, touch, and taste. Especially by taste.
Of course, none of our parents knew anything about it. My parents would have <literally, I think> killed me, and I didn't trust anyone else in school to keep that kind of a secret, so we never told. Nobody knew. After she was gone I retreated back into my shell, but by then I definitely knew what that little bump was for. I never had the guts to try and find anyone else like her, though.
I've missed her ever since.
It was about three weeks after I started that the Mr. and Mrs. went on a trip together, some sort of business thingy for him <he was a something-or-other engineering consultant>. They were gone for a week, from Sunday to Saturday. Tuesday, while they were gone, *it* happened for the first time.
Hannah and Timothy got into a big fight, in the kitchen, and broke some of the China and glassware. Despite my nervousness and my fear <hey, they're both a *lot* bigger than me> I stopped the fight and got things ironed out. I don't remember exactly what it was about, but I do remember that it was over something trivial. That's when Ms. Tiff stepped in.
"You need to punish them." She was looking at me with only the slightest shadow of a hint of a smile. Both kids <they were acting like kids, anyway> had their eyes glued to the floor and their hands behind their backs - the perfect picture of guilty and contrite children. I half expected one of them to start toying with the mess on the floor with the toe of a shoe. I would have laughed, if they weren't all so serious about it.
Ms. Tiff looked at Hannah and her brother. "Do you agree that you should be punished for this?" Both of them nodded, rather reluctantly it seemed.
They looked so forlorn and woebegone I almost said no way, until I noticed the corners of Hannah's mouth twitch, like she was trying very hard to suppress a smile. That's when I decided to play their game.
"Punishment it is, then," I said. I had to think fast. "What do you recommend, Ms. Tiff?"
She looked at me, again with that same almost-smile. "There is only one punishment in this household. The only question is one of degree and severity. Children, go prepare yourselves. We'll meet you in the drawing room shortly." I watched them both leave, and I swear I saw Hannah crack a smile just before she disappeared from my line of sight.
Ms. Tiff helped me clean up the mess and throw out all the broken bits and pieces. Then she made me sit and have a cup of coffee with her before going and seeing to the twins.
"Patience. Anticipation is a big part of punishment, both for you and for them. You'll learn." Her words didn't help to calm my nerves. It was almost an hour later that Ms. Tiff said it was time. We went into the study.
Both kids were there, naked, facing the far wall. Ms. Tiff sat me down in a large, old, very solid wooden chair and handed me something that looked like a ping pong paddle, except that it was covered in leather rather than rubber. I was very confused.
"Timothy, you first," she said. He turned from the wall, walked over to me, and lay down across my lap! Bottom up! Right then, I knew what they were expecting, what that paddle was for, and what all those questions were about back in that last meeting. No *way* was I going to administer corporal punishment! At least, that's what *I* was thinking. Ms. Tiff had other ideas.
"Ms. Hennersly," <that's me>, "I believe twenty five strokes with the light paddle should suffice. Begin immediately."
"N-no. No. I can't - you can't expect me to - no, please ..." Through my rather incoherent refusals, the woman just stared at me with that same almost-smile on her face. When I ran down, she was still staring, I was still seated, the paddle was still in my hand, and Timothy was still lying across my lap. With him there, I couldn't have gotten up anyway. She walked over, took my hand <the one with the paddle>, lifted it up high, and then brought it down fast and hard on the boy's bottom. Up until then I hadn't realized just how strong that woman really was. I guess being over a foot taller and a good fifty pounds heavier than me <all muscle and bone> did make a difference.
She repeated her actions a second time, then a third, then a fourth.
"We begin counting," she said, "when you are swinging the paddle on your own. Soft blows don't count. If you stop, we begin the count again. Both Timothy and Hannah are aware of these rules, and they know that if you balk or refuse or strike too softly, they will get worse later. Please continue."
I could hardly believe what was happening. I raised the paddle and brought it down. The smack sounded loud in my ears.
"Too soft" she said. I thought it was far too hard. I did it again, harder.
"Too soft again. This is punishment, Ms. Hennersly, and these are big children. They need to feel the paddle for it to do any good. Now swing away!" I tried again, putting a little more force behind it.
"Ms. Hennersly. Please. These children know what a paddling is. They knew what the punishment would be when they had their fight. If you cannot administer discipline, as is stated in your agreement, you will be terminated. Mrs. Carlton will see to that immediately. Your job is on the line. Please begin. We are still waiting for the first blow."
Looking at the reddened cheeks of Timothy's backside, it looked like he'd already received more than his fair share. However, he hadn't moved, and neither had Hannah. Somehow I managed to figure out that those two were old enough to be on their own, but were still living at home despite what appeared to be brutal treatment. They obviously knew what was happening, and what to expect. It was my job on the line too, so, swallowing my misgivings, I reared back and let fly.
The smack was almost deafening, and was followed by an almost immediate cry of "One!" from Timothy. Ms. Tiff finally smiled. I cut loose with another one, with the same results, except that the count was two. A pair of deep red marks, one on either cheek, showed where the blows had landed.
Three followed two, then four, then five, and so on. I alternated sides, moved up and down, and generally targeted any area that was less red than the rest. By the time twenty five was reached, my arm was getting tired and I was getting quite warm.
Timothy stood, turned to look at me, and through the tears and sobs he quite plainly said "Thank you Ms. Hennersly. I'm sorry for what I did wrong, and I promise not to do it again." It sounded like a scripted line, something he'd said many times before. It was hard to believe that I'd just paddled the bare bottom of a man much bigger and stronger than me, and that he was thanking me for it!
Ms. Tiff sent Timothy out of the room and gave me several minutes to regain my strength <and breath> before ordering Hannah into my lap. There it was, that perfect derriere, those exquisite glutes, tanned, naked, and right under my nose. I couldn't help myself. I touched and caressed her bottom, stopping only when I heard an "ahem" from The Battleaxe. Red-faced, I began.
"One!" Hannah screamed. "Two!" "Three!" And so forth. Near the end, she was squirming around, wiggling, and practically bouncing up and down in my lap. I stopped at twenty five, hot and squirming myself, almost feeling like I was vibrating. "Again!" she shouted. Confused as anything now, I looked to Ms. Tiff for direction. She simply nodded. So I did. Her entire backside was glowing bright red. Once more Hannah shouted "Again!" That time when I hit, she nearly lifted up off my lap. She immediately shouted "Again!" despite the sobbing and moaning I could plainly hear. So I did, again. She went rigid in my lap, every muscle tense, and just hummed. I put my hand on her bottom, and she huffed and squealed and squirmed and panted. Finally she got up.
"Thank you Ms. Hennersly. I'm sorry for what I did wrong, and I promise not to do it again." Despite the tears and moans, there was a definite smile on her face, and her entire upper body had a flush to it, almost as though she'd just, well, you know.
Ms. Tiff sent Hannah on her way as well.
"What do you think of our method of keeping an orderly house," she asked, still smiling.
After thinking about it for a few minutes, I replied. "I'm not sure. Isn't it a bit, er, drastic?"
"That depends on your definition of drastic. I know some parents prefer to drag the punishment out for days, even weeks, but not here. It's done, it's over with, and now everyone can get on with what they want to do." The way she said it, it almost seemed to make sense. I wasn't going to commit myself to liking it, not then, not for a while, and maybe not ever.
"Okay, if you say so. So this is it? No more? No grounding, no docking of allowances, no curtailing of privileges, nothing. We all carry on as if nothing had happened."
"You've got it! Mrs. Carlton was right, you do catch on fast. Come on, let's go have another cup of coffee. My treat."
"You go ahead. I'll be along in a while." I had to sit there for some time, waiting for the fluttering in my stomach to settle down, waiting for the tickling in my clit to stop. Sure enough, when I stood up there was a large wet spot on the chair. I wiped it up with my skirt. I'd leaked right through my panties and everything else. There was also a wet spot on the front of my skirt, on the right side, just about where Hannah's crotch had been positioned. My imagination said yes she did, but the logical part of me said no, it's impossible. Nobody could get off on a paddling! So I promptly shoved that thought as far back in my mind as I could and tried to forget about it. I went and changed my panties and my skirt.
Late that night, just before I fell asleep, a forgotten bit of conversation came back to me. Fiona had said I was to administer any needed discipline to the kids *and to the staff*. Did that mean I was to paddle Ms. Tiff, The Battleaxe, if she did something wrong? A shudder ran through my body, and I tried to convince myself it was just shock and a little fear. My buzzing clit and the sudden flood of moisture tried to convince me otherwise.
The very next night something else happened. I got woken up sometime in the wee hours by someone touching my foot. With a high-pitched squeak and a sudden jerk, I was wide awake <sort-of> and crammed into the corner where the wall met the bed.
"Shhhh" I heard. It was almost pitch black, what with no lights on except the tiny night light out in the hall, so I couldn't see who it was - just a vague blurry shadow on my bed.
"Who is it? You shouldn't be here! You'll get me in trouble! Go on, git! Scram! Shoo!" No, I wasn't making much sense, but then again, it wasn't exactly something I'd expected or been prepared for. Whomever it was grabbed hold of my foot again and held on, despite my struggling and kicking. Like I said before, I'm not really a very physical person, and everybody in the house was in better shape than me, not to mention taller and heavier.
He <I automatically assumed it was Timothy, since as far as I knew he was the only male in the house> started stroking my leg and foot and making soothing noises. It was almost like he was trying to calm down a terrified animal, which at the time I was <terrified, that is>. I don't know whether that actually did any good, or whether I realized I couldn't really do anything anyway, or if I just ran out of adrenaline, but I did calm down eventually. That's when the kissing and licking started and I got scared all over again. He never did touch anything other than my feet and calves that night, but he definitely touched every part of them, and he soon had me calmed down again <sort of>. An hour later, he left. Even when he was out in the hallway, all I could see was a vague shape.
By then I was calmed down. Very, very calmed down. I never realized how sensitive my feet were. I had to change my panties again. <Hey, I hadn't had anyone for over two years by then! You go without for that long and see how much it takes to get you excited!>
Everyone was acting normally at breakfast the next day, including Timothy. Everyone but me. I jumped at the slightest sound, or any sudden movement - a raw bundle of nerves for sure. Maybe that's why he never came back that night, or for the rest of the week.
When the Mr. and Mrs. got back, Fiona and I had a long talk about the events of the previous week. She seemed quite surprised when I told her about Timothy's midnight visit to my bedroom, but did promise to have a talk with him about it. Not about visiting, because she considered us both to be adults, but about not leaving when I told him to. That rather surprised me, since I had automatically assumed that fraternizing with the hired help would be a no-no. She laughed again, and said the only one she'd be mad at for visiting would be her husband, and she definitely knew where he was that night <yeah, 2000+ miles away>.
As for the rest of it, she said "It's part and parcel of your duties as majordomo of the house <her exact words!>." She was satisfied with the punishment, so as far as she was concerned the event was settled and forgotten. She did tell me that all disciplining was handled by her when she was at home, so I shouldn't have to repeat that scene very often.
Two nights later, my midnight visitor was back. That time I wasn't <quite as> frightened.
"What are you doing!?" I whispered towards the shadow. "You shouldn't be here!" All I got in return was some fingernails softly skimming up my calf, and a tongue licking in between my toes. "Stop that! Stop th... oh. Oh!" The fingernails were now tracing a line up the inside of my leg. They stopped short of my panties, circled around a bit, then started down the other leg. My mind said that it had to stop, that I should order Timothy out of my room, but my body had the deciding vote. It melted. All I could hear was a faint whine, and after a while I realized it was coming from me. He had his way with both my legs, caressing them, touching, skimming his fingers up and down, using his lips, and, what really started my belly fluttering, licking up the insides of my thighs. By the time he left, I was nothing but a quivering, shaking, leaking lump of gelatin. He hadn't even touched any of the naughty bits!
I had to get myself off, twice, and change my panties, before I could even think about getting back to sleep. And the next day was a school day! <Up early, fix breakfast, drive the kids to school, then come back and catch up on the sleep I'd missed.>
Thinking about it now, I guess I could have locked my bedroom door after the first visit. There was a deadbolt on it, and it did work. Why I didn't, I don't know. I can only imagine that after being continually stimulated for several weeks, and not having had *any* personal attention for years, I was rather vulnerable. Other than that, I have no excuses.
The following Saturday turned out to be the first really hot day of the year. The Mr. and Mrs. were gone until Sunday, The Battleaxe had taken the day off and was due back very late, and Timothy was out with some friends camping for the weekend. That left myself, Hannah, and Jodie, one of Hannah's closest chums, all alone.
Their plan was to bake in the sun, swim, and gab all day, with possible interruptions for minor details like lunch. They convinced me to join them for some of the swimming and baking, but I definitely wore my suit. Them two, of course, were as bare as the day they were born. I tried not to be too obvious with my staring, but blonde haired brown eyed Jodie was almost as good looking as Hannah - tall, slender, and modestly built - and she had nearly as good a bottom <yes, she was a natural blonde, just like me>. For some strange reason, I kept picturing what her backside would look like, suspended over my knee, and bright red from a good paddling. It was very hard to purge the vision from of my mind. Of course, as soon as that image left, one of the various recurring daydreams I'd been having about Hannah would pop up. Several times through the morning I had to jump into the pool to have an excuse for why my crotch was wet.
Hannah, of course, spent a good part of the morning trying to talk me into going skinny dipping with the two of them, trying to get me nude, like she'd been doing since the day after I arrived. I had the feeling she was really interested in my breasts. I've got a pair of 33D's, and they're solid and well maintained. On my moderate frame <5'1", 105 lbs> they look positively huge. The truth is, I was probably bigger than Hannah, Fiona, and Ms. Tiff all put together. That's not bragging, since I'm not overly fond of having such obvious features, just fact, and might possibly have explained Hannah's fascination with me.
"Come on, " she said. "It's only us girls here. Nobody else can see us. We're completely alone. What's wrong with living a little, of getting some thrills out of life? It's glorious! You'll never know how good this is until you try it!"
Needless to say, I didn't.
Hannah cooked lunch <a first!> and served it on the patio. She also served up a crisp white wine to go with the pasta <yes, both twins are allowed into the liquor cabinet>. It was a nice, calm, peaceful day, with nothing planned, so I had a glass. We sat around the table talking for a long while, so I had another. Have I already mentioned how alcohol affects me? Well, that hadn't changed any.
I went and laid down on a lounger, face down, ready for some more sun <and probably some sleep>. I was feeling very mellow. Hannah offered to oil down my back for me, so I let her. She did my back, my arms, my legs, and my neck. She also slipped the straps off my shoulders and down my arms. I let her get away with that. Somewhere in the back of my mind I also knew that she was doing much more than just rubbing oil on, but it felt so good, I couldn't complain. I didn't even say anything when I realized there were four hands busy on my body. The way I was feeling, I'm not sure I could have said anything intelligible anyway.
Later, waking me out of a semi-doze, she got me to flip over. She again offered to oil me down, so I just smiled and nodded, closing my eyes. Well, she <they> did another wonderful job, starting with my feet and working up to my chest and arms. When I realized she was doing my entire chest, I opened my eyes to look. They were both there, one on either side, each handling one breast. My suit was pushed down to my waist. It felt so good, I just closed my eyes and let them play. I was definitely drunk and feeling really mellow. That sun did feel nice on my bare skin too, what little got past the two of them.
After I woke up, possibly for the third or fourth time, I pulled up my suit and went for a swim. The cool water felt delicious on my overheated skin. Hannah and Jodie came out of the house and jumped in too, so we played around a bit in the water, splashing each other, trying to dunk one another <I was at a real disadvantage> and generally having a good time.
Both of them decided they needed more sun, so they towelled down and flopped onto the loungers.
"It's your turn to oil us up," Hannah said.
"Yeah," agreed Jodie. "We've done you twice, now it's time to return the favour." Twice? I remembered once. Did I miss out on a second helping? Or did she consider front and rear two different episodes. "Next time," I decided, "I'll skip that extra glass of wine."
Jodie was on her stomach, so I did everything from her neck to her toes. I definitely paid more attention than I needed to on her bottom. She was purring by the time I finished. I could tell she spent a lot of time visiting because she had no tan lines at all, not even old faint hints of ones. I was jealous. Not just because of all the time she'd spent with Hannah, but also because she dared to run around nude so much. My embarrassment, my prudery, all the lessons hammered into me by my parents, were starting to crack. I was scared of what I might become if they all suddenly crumbled.
Hannah was next, and she was waiting for me. Stretched out on her back, arms reaching way over her head, she asked me to start with her fingers. So I did. I gave her the same kind of deep, firm, decidedly relaxing massage I remembered from many years ago. I missed nothing, but stopped just above her bush. The poor darling whined and complained when I paused because she was expecting me to visit her naughty bits next. Instead, I started over again with her toes and worked in the opposite direction.
By the time I got to her hips, she was moaning and slowly rolling about, and her thighs were definitely relaxed and wide open, showing me everything, including a hot, pink, rather excited-looking little nubbin peeking out from its hideaway. I couldn't help myself. I went playing. It had been a long, long time since I'd enjoyed myself like that, and she was a very willing partner. An hour later she was exhausted, and I needed relief in the worst way. I left her lying there and went down to my room, locking the door behind me. It was a half hour or so before I finally staggered out of there and into the shower.
Tuesday night my secretive admirer was back, waking me at a ridiculous time in the morning. For some reason, I didn't mind.
"Stop. No. It's not right" I whispered. "I can't let you do this to me." Once again, he ignored my protests, as I hoped he would. Three quarters of an hour later he was licking me through my panties, bringing on an orgasm the likes of which I hadn't felt in ten years. Not since Sally moved away. He left after some further touching and stroking, bringing me down slowly from my high. He *really* knew how to get me off.
Didn't my husband ever do things like that for me, you ask? Ha! Chortle! Derisive laughter! As far as he was concerned, anything outside of Straight Missionary was perverted. When I asked him to lick me, down there, he called me sick. The one <and only> time I licked him down there, he screamed almost like I'd bitten it off or something.
Most of my education, and enlightenment, came from Joan, my next door neighbour when I lived with Steve. She was, I finally realized, a normal housewife. Back then she seemed like a wild and wanton sex fiend. She told me about things she and her husband did together, things I'd never even imagined possible. One time when I was over there, she let me watch a dirty movie they'd rented the night before. I couldn't believe my eyes! I had to run home and rub myself like crazy. Another time she tried to give me a vibrating dildo. Despite my very real curiosity and desire, I had to refuse. If Steve had found it, he'd have divorced me on the spot. He considered masturbation almost as bad as one of the cardinal sins. He was a lot like my father.
Friday night, after a wonderful restaurant dinner and evening out with the whole crew <I even had a glass of wine>, my visitor was back. I was feeling just fine, all ready for him.
"No, please, you shouldn't be doing this," I whispered.
He got up and left. I lay there, mouth open in shock, disappointed as heck! He left! He left me high and dry! I wasn't even wearing panties, hoping he'd show up! There was no joy in Mudville that night. Or much sleep. I had some serious thinking to do, especially when it came to my priorities. Up until then, I'd been hiding behind my token resistance. I hadn't really been considering myself an active participant, since it was happening to me without my overt approval. Now my resistance wasn't considered token any more.
I was very grumpy the next morning. Everybody else was cheerful as anything. That made me even grumpier.
A week later, Saturday again <no nothing interesting had happened the whole time, not even during the night, dammit!>, Hannah, Jodie, and I had the place to ourselves again. For the whole day, again. I wonder how many favours she had to call in, or how many IOU's she had to write, to arrange that repeat. She was trying very hard for a return performance, or maybe more.
When they asked me to oil them down in the morning, that's exactly what I did. No massage, no playing, nothing extra. I had to hide my grin when I saw the disappointed looks on their faces. We swam a bit, and talked a bit, and I did some reading and some writing <believe it or not>, all before lunch. Hannah cooked us some beautiful quiches for our meal <she *can* cook! Wow!> and, again, served wine. Oh, she was trying hard, she was. Despite what they thought they saw, I only drank a half glass of the potent potable she served. The rest ended up elsewhere. I wanted to be at least aware of what the afternoon would bring forth.
Again, feigning dizziness, and half convincing myself it wasn't faked, I laid down on the lounger. Just like last time, Hannah offered to do my back, and I let her. I let the two of them get away with everything they did without a murmur of protest. It felt good, and they did manage to get me oiled up, eventually. Once again, my straps ended up down by my elbows.
They disappeared for a while, so I soaked up some sun. When they came back, they got me to flip over <not entirely faking groggy half-sleep> onto my back. It was a repeat performance up until they slipped the top of my suit down to my waist. When they did, I lifted my hips. It took them about a second and a half to realize it was an invitation, and less than that to get my suit off. My blush told them I *was* aware of what was happening, but my closed eyes told them I didn't want to admit it.
Despite what I had done, embarrassment was a very real player in the game. I was, after all, quite naked, outside, with other people looking at me. That went against most of my childhood teachings. It took them a long time, and a lot of foreplay, before I'd let my legs loosen up. By then I was hot enough not to care. A few minutes after Hannah's fingers got busy in my privates, I wouldn't have cared if a parade got lost and wandered through the yard. She had a magical touch.
Embarrassment was forgotten. Propriety was forgotten. All that existed was my body and those hands. And the mouth which suddenly attached itself to one of my breasts. And, a short while later, the crotch which somehow ended up on my face <the hair was black, so I assumed it was Hannah>. I didn't question how, I just started licking and sucking and tasting what I'd been missing seemingly forever. I was in heaven.
After an eternity or two had passed <Minutes? Hours? Days? I didn't know or care> I sort-of came back to the real world. Jodie was asleep, I thought, on a lounger on one side of me, and Hannah was slowly diddling herself on a lounger on the other side. Ignoring my state of undress, as well as everything else, I crawled over and planted my face where her fingers were. I think I was in overdose mode after such a long abstinence, and simply couldn't get enough. My rational mind was obviously off in la-la-land somewhere.
Hannah realized what was going on after maybe an hour or so and put me to bed. Forcefully. With Jodie's help. With a lot more touching and playing around. That took another hour. I think. That's what Hannah eventually told me, anyway.
So I woke up later with a hangover, and it wasn't from the wine. The rest of me felt fine. I couldn't stop blushing, even when I realized I was alone in my bed. Upstairs, the two of them were just getting into some pizza, so I had some too, and we sat around watching videos for the rest of the night. It was enjoyable, despite the fact that I was blushing at just about everything, even the most innocuous comment. I slept the sleep of the dead that night. It had been far, far too long <ten years!> since I'd enjoyed good sex. That was the day I realized I'd never had good sex with my husband <lots of mediocre stuff and disappointing nights, but nothing I would ever again consider good>.
Thursday of the following week, the Mr. and Mrs. took off for four days. That left me in charge again. Friday all hell broke loose. Timothy got into a fight at school, and lost, badly. Hannah found out about it and took on his attackers, all three of them, and beat them soundly <that's when I found out who the tiger in the family really was>. One attacker had a broken nose, the second had three cracked ribs, and I never heard about the third one's injuries. Hannah had lots of bruises and scrapes to show for her efforts as well, including a nicely swollen black eye. Timothy was in no better shape. Needless to say I was busy with the vice principal, the principal, the police, the folks in the emergency room, and a number of students and parents, for the rest of that day and most of that night.
Ms. Tiff was a great help through it all <yeah, right>. She looked at me, smirked, and said "Hey, enjoy your job. I've got cleaning to do." She did keep tabs on how all the kids were doing in the hospital at least. Small favours and all that. How I managed to keep myself from losing it, and just burying my head in the sand, I don't know. Maybe it was because I was doing it for someone else. Facing up to all those angry, upset, and emotional people was one of the more difficult things I'd ever done. Of course, nobody ever did tell me why those kids attacked Timothy.
Very early Saturday morning, after everything was settled, after the twins were resting in their beds, I crawled off into my nice, warm, safe little nest and cried myself to sleep. I couldn't help it. The emotional backlash of staying straight and stable through the whole situation simply overwhelmed me. I didn't wake up again until late Saturday night. I had some dinner, checked on my charges, and went back to sleep.
Sunday was nice. I fed both kids breakfast in bed. The Battleaxe smirked at me the whole time. She treated Timothy's bruises and abrasions, so I treated Hannah's. She wiggled and squirmed and squeaked and moaned about how I was torturing her poor, abused body. With a grin on my face I told her that if she didn't settle down I'd give her a good paddling to go along with the other hurts she had. After that she was quiet, other than when I touched some genuinely tender spots. She was giving me the oddest looks, ones I didn't recognize. So I ignored them. I was calm, cool, collected, and <semi> professional about the whole business. It was only when I'd finished the last bandage that I let my hands <and my lips> wander.
When I saw Ms. Tiff again, during dinner, she was still smirking. I thought about that smirk. Then I thought about what had been said during our meeting <the first day I was in that house>. I also ran through the events on Friday, and what she'd done. Or rather, what she hadn't done.
"Ms. Tiff," I said. "I've been thinking."
"Oh?" she said. "About what?" That smirk was definitely annoying.
"Well, I've been thinking about last Friday, and what happened. Specifically, I've been thinking about what you said and did, and about your attitude since then." Her smirk faded a little, then came back, but looked a little forced. She just stared at me without saying anything. I felt the butterflies, felt the fear, and knew I was blushing, but I didn't think I had any choice in what I was about to do. Not if I was going to survive the next year. I stared back.
"I don't think you did what you should have, Ms. Tiff. I think you went out of your way to make things harder on me, to see if I'd crack. Didn't you, Ms. Tiff." She still said nothing, but the smirk was fading again.
"In fact," I said, "when I asked you for help, you basically refused. Isn't that right, Ms. Tiff." She was still silent, but the smirk was gone, replaced by a look of apprehension and, well, expectancy is the only way I can describe it. Her eyes were locked on mine, and I felt like squirming in my seat and looking away, but I didn't. It was another test, one of wills. I had to win. <Just picture a Yorkshire terrier facing down a pit bull. That's the image that flashed through my mind at the time.>
"Do you think you should be punished, Ms. Tiff?" I stared at her, waiting for an answer. Any answer. If she spoke, she would acknowledge that I was truly in charge. Finally, after what felt like several hours, she whispered one word. "Yes."
Despite wanting to breathe a huge sigh of relief, and maybe laugh a little, I stayed outwardly calm and cool. "What would be an appropriate punishment for willful disobedience," I asked. Again, I had to wait for an answer.
It was a strain to hear her answer, but answer she did. "Twenty five lashes with the crop." Finally her face dropped, her gaze becoming riveted to the floor. I had won.
"Is the drawing room appropriate for this punishment?"
"Yes" she whispered.
"Go prepare yourself. I'll meet you there in a while."
After she'd gone, I finally managed to take a few deep breaths. I had never before been forced to impose my will upon someone else, so the experience was very new, and very frightening. I don't know if others would have interpreted the tingling in my limbs and the fluttering in my chest as being thrilled or excited or not, but to me, it was just the after effects from too much tension and fear. I needed something to calm my nerves, so I made myself a cup of coffee and forced myself to sit and drink the whole thing. Eventually I went to see her.
Timothy and Hannah were also there, sitting on the sofa, waiting expectantly. Apparently they thought this was a spectator sport. Since The Battleaxe hadn't chased them out, I let them stay. She was naked and leaning up against a wall, arms over her head, bottom jutting out. On a table nearby sat what I assumed was the crop. Wasting no time, I started in. She coached me through the first half dozen strokes, setting the pace and the strength of the blows. Again, my first few were too light and she didn't count them.
By blow twenty five she was vibrating, letting out a squeak with each rapid breath. Hannah called out "again", and since there were no objections <except my own private ones> I did. Then again. And again. She took six more blows before the vibrating stopped and she slumped and started breathing heavily. The twins sat there, obviously waiting for something, so I waited as well. When Ms. Tiff finally regained her breath and her strength, she turned to me and spoke.
"Thank you, Ms. Hennersly. I'm sorry for what I did wrong, and I promise not to do it again." It was the exact same speech I'd received from the twins. She left then, and I watched her walk out the door. The welts coming up on her bottom and the backs of her thighs looked very sore and painful, so I knew she'd have a hard time sitting or lying on her back for some time. It was also quite strange seeing how wet her crotch and the insides of her thighs were. "You'd almost think ... nah." I buried that thought quickly.
I had enough trouble getting my own mind and body back into order. I felt wrung out, exhausted, almost drained, as if I'd been the one getting punished, not her. Then I realized that I'd been close to panic the whole time. The tingling after effects were still there. I had to go change my panties. For some reason they were soaked through.
An hour later I was in her room applying salve to her welts. I could tell that she'd tried doing it herself, but hadn't managed very well. Neither of us said a word. I finished the job, gave her a pat on the back, and left. She just sighed.
Monday afternoon was a time of explanations. Mrs. Carlton was home and demanded to know about every little detail. She took it well, and congratulated me on handling things so nicely. Later, in private, when we talked about Ms. Tiff, she laughed.
"The woman was still playing games with you. Whenever she starts getting that way with me, I give her fifty with the crop. The first ones she likes. The last ones are the punishment. Next time you'll know."
"Next time?" I thought to myself. "Will there be a next time? Will I survive a next time?"
The following Sunday the Mr. and Mrs. left for a week.
Monday, I had an accident. I wasn't watching where I was going, tripped, banged into a sideboard in the front room, and ended up breaking a vase. It was a foolish accident, and the noise brought Ms. Tiff running. I explained to her what happened, and she started that smirk again.
"So, you were careless. Now an expensive vase is broken."
I didn't like that smirk. Something was wrong. "Yes. It was an accident. I said that already."
"True, but it was a careless accident. Mrs. Carlton will be unhappy."
The Battleaxe was getting too happy. Something was very odd. Strange, even. "Yes," I said. "Mrs. Carlton will probably be upset. But it was an accident."
"I'm sure she'll take that into consideration, when ..."
She was being far too melodramatic for my peace of mind. "Spill it, Ms. Tiff. Why are you grinning like a Cheshire cat?"
"Well, it's like this. Mrs. Carlton will take into consideration the fact that it was an accident, so she'll probably make your punishment light." If she was grinning any wider, her face would have split open. Punishment. I didn't like that word. The last couple of times I'd heard it, people got smacked.
"Punishment," I asked. I knew I wouldn't like the answer.
"Oh, yes. I'm sure Mrs. Carlton will be punishing you for your mistake. It'll be something to look forward to. That is, if you stick around." She didn't laugh or chortle or snicker or anything. She looked ready to do all three as she walked off.
Almost in a daze I went and fixed myself a cup of coffee, then sat down. I was going to get a paddling. Or something. If I wanted to keep my job. Was it worth it? I'd been embarrassed almost to the point of humiliation. I had nowhere else to go. The pay was good. The work was easy. Timothy was there. Hannah was there. I'd had to administer corporal punishment. I was going to get a paddling. Or something. I thought about that part over and over again.
Images of what the punishment would be like kept popping up. I was picturing Mrs. Carlton sitting in that chair, holding that paddle, and waiting for me. Ms. Tiff, Mr. Carlton, Hannah, and Timothy were sitting on the couch, watching. Me, naked, walking up to her and draping myself over her knee. Then pain.
The hidden memories of how Hannah and Ms. Tiff reacted to their punishments surfaced. Those memories bothered me. I really didn't want to find out why they reacted the way they did to the pain. I sat there and thought for a while, with those images flashing through my head. A week.
I had to go change my panties. They were soaked through.
Monday night my nocturnal visitor was back. His touch on my toes sent electric thrills right through my whole body. I was ready, I thought. He worked on my foot for several minutes before I told him to wait. Steeling myself, I skinned off my panties and placed them over my foot. I figured that only a fool would miss an invitation like that. I whispered out an okay, and almost immediately he found my nylon covered appendage. He was definitely no fool.
I don't know where he got his patience from, but I was vibrating by the time he finished bathing the insides of my thighs with his tongue. That first lick, running from my bottom hole right to the top of my crack, sliding across my wet hole and my clit, sent me over the edge. Yes, he had an educated tongue and he knew how to use it. I squirmed, I moaned, I yelped, but most of all, I flowed. He kept lapping it up, which made me make more, which he lapped up, which made me make more, which he lapped up, which ... I thought he would never stop.
And he was merciless with my poor defenseless little clit, taking no prisoners, attacking with wild abandon. There was licking on and around it, warm and cold blowing, lips sucking and pulling, teeth scraping and biting, and even some fingernails working away for a while. I had no idea where he'd learned how to handle female body parts, and didn't care. It was enough that he was using that knowledge to bring me off like nobody had ever done before. I think I screamed once or twice, but I'm not sure.
By the time he left, my clit was sore. Happy, well satisfied, but sore. It wouldn't let the rest of me go to sleep. So I went upstairs and fixed myself a hot chocolate <yes, I was wearing a negligee and a housecoat, so there!>. I was just draining the dregs at the bottom of the cup when Timothy came walking in the back door.
"Timothy? Isn't it a bit late to be going out?" That's when I noticed he was soaked to the skin. It had been raining earlier in the evening, but wasn't right then.
Something deep inside of me began to tremble.
He gave me a curious look before answering. "Well, actually I'm just getting home. I had a little car trouble, and it took quite some time to get a service truck out to help me. Then I had a flat. It's been a miserable night." He practically growled as he pulled off his wet shoes and wet coat. I told him to go have a hot shower or a soak in the Jacuzzi before getting into bed, and he looked rather pleased with those orders.
I sat there for a while with an empty cup in my hand. Timothy was too wet, too cold, and too miserable to be faking, so I had to believe he'd been out all evening. That left me with a teeny weeny little question. Who'd been in bed with me only an hour beforehand?
All I knew was that the person had short hair. I'd grabbed it often enough that night. Everyone living in the house, except me, had short hair. Was it Fiona? Hannah? Mr. Carlton? The Battleaxe? I tried to remember who else was home during those visits. Thoughts of the first time came back, and I realized that it could only have been Hannah or Ms. Tiff.
Picturing Ms. Tiff crawling around between my thighs made me shiver, despite the fact that whomever it was had given me the most intense climaxes of my life. She looked good, she had a nice body, but she scared the bejesus out of me. I prayed that it was Hannah.
I thought back to my experience earlier that night. My insides began to flutter.
I couldn't help but remember that a punishment was also in the offing. Images of what that would be like ran rampant through my mind.
I had a week to wait. Would I still be there? Did I have the courage, or stupidity, to stick around? Would it be worth going through the torment to continue the pleasure?
I had to go change my panties.
[Diane's tale]
I was very nervous, standing there on the veranda, waiting for someone to answer the door. Mrs. Carlton was going to introduce me to her family and staff, and then we'd have the final interview which would determine whether or not I got the job. Me, becoming a majordomo, looking after a kitchen, a pair of seventeen year old twins, and the rest of the house staff. Well, if I emulated my great aunt, I'd have no trouble with the work. That's why I wanted this job so bad - I *had* to get out from under her thumb!
Fiona answered the door herself, which surprised me. I thought the staff was supposed to do that.
"Hello Diane. I'm glad you decided to come."
"Hi Mrs. Carlton."
She invited me in and escorted me down a short hall to a beautiful living room. The rest of the family and staff were there, all fully dressed. I relaxed a little at that, since I'd half expected them all to be quite naked, what with the lifestyle Fiona had described to me.
When they all stood, it made me feel like a little child. Fiona was tall, a foot taller than me, but I hadn't expected her to be the second shortest person there <besides me>. If I'd had to stand there looking up for very long I'd have gotten a sore neck for sure.
She introduced me to everyone. Her husband Steve looked great. Her daughter Hannah was beautiful. The housekeeper Ms. Tiff was striking. But it was her son, Timothy, who got my motor cranked. He was beautiful. Not rugged and handsome like his Dad, but delicate, sensual, with huge expressive eyes. He was slim, fit, toned, and looked delicious. I had to turn away before I started drooling.
It was then that I remembered Fiona mentioning a maid, just as that woman walked in the door. Remember what I said about everyone wearing clothes? Well, she wasn't. She was a natural blonde, with a muff slightly darker than the halo on top. The highlights in her hair and the just-so makeup she wore brought out her beauty. It helped that she had a very shapely body. Fading tan lines told me she'd recently stopped wearing a one-piece swimsuit. I stared. Not that I was really attracted to her or anything, it's just that she looked so much like me, other than my hair being a bright red. Same height, same shape, same breasts, and very nearly the same features. She could have been my long-lost sister.
One small correction. She wasn't completely nude. At first glance I thought she was wearing a white choker. When I finally got around to looking at it a little more carefully, I realized that it wasn't a choker. It was a white leather collar, and it was fastened on with a tiny padlock.
Mrs. Carlton broke me out of my trance by asking me if I'd like anything to drink. I needed something bad by then, so I said yes to some wine. Anything to calm my nerves. Fiona told Trudy <that was her name> to take everyone's orders and return with the beverages as soon as possible. Nobody said anything until the woman came back and handed out the glasses. That's when the strangest thing of all happened.
Trudy looked at Mrs. Carlton, almost like she was asking for approval for something. When she received a grin and a nod, she almost ran over to Hannah, smiling bright as the sun, and crawled up into the girl's lap. It was the craziest sight, the nude woman curled up like a cat, eyes half closed, almost purring, and getting her back stroked just like a tabby. She glanced at me once and gave me a look full of contentment, arousal, and something that looked like possessiveness. The job was obviously going to be much weirder than I had imagined. I almost bolted, but thoughts of going back to my aunt's home made me determined enough to stick it out.
Well, after a fairly lengthy, very personal, and highly embarrassing series of questions and answers, I got the job. I also got my own room in the basement, keys to a car, the royal tour <where I saw both kids naked for the first time - that Timothy was even more beautiful nude than dressed> and a whole list of duties and responsibilities. I was thinking of asking her what she meant by administering discipline, but figured someone would explain it to me if it became necessary.
I had four days to get everything settled, get moved in, and get ready for work. It was Time For Action. I was looking forward to my new job, especially if I got to see more of that Timothy. I did wonder, though, where they found that maid. She never said a single thing around me, either during the interview or afterwards. She made me nervous. Later that day I had a chance to watch Timothy splashing around in the pool with a few of his friends, all of whom were nude. That almost made me giddy.
If you're wondering, I hadn't had an unchaperoned date in five years, ever since my high school grad. My great aunt, the Dragon Lady, made sure of that. If she even knew I was at this job interview, never mind the perks <I was still drooling, looking through the kitchen window>, she'd have locked me in my room for six months. I believe it made her almost physically ill to think of me having a life of my own, out of her control. She'd been running my life for so long it was hard for me to imagine being free. I really thought the job would be a perfect stepping stone for getting out on my own.
Even thinking those thoughts, running them through my mind again, I was still staring at the sights. Seeing all those fit, tanned, handsome, and exposed examples of manliness got me steaming.
When I finally arrived home I had to change my panties.
<Fin>