This story has morphed somewhat from when I started it. Originally it was to be a story of non-con body modification and permanent femdom relationship. But the ending became much darker of its own accord, a natural progression of the narrative. So while this is filed under BDSM, it could almost be under Erotic Horror. Hopefully that does not diminish its appeal and interest, for I have tried to introduce some quite novel experiences within these chapters.
Chapter 1 -- The Position
It did not amount to much, for what would turn out to be such a life-changing thing. The wording was simple, minimal. The advertisement merely said, "Butler and personal servant sought by titled lady. Duties will include both personal and general duties. A high level of loyalty is expected. Successful candidate will join small staff on country estate.
In any other publication, the listing might have seemed somewhat short on detail for a serious employment placement. There was no indication of previous experience, nor of renumeration. But this was no ordinary publication; it was in the local BDSM listings online, and for George the brief phrasing contained plenty of keywords that aroused intense interest for him. It gave a post-box in his own city address for applications rather than a digital contact.
George Barrett was reluctant to admit publicly that he was even in his fifties, but in reality he would soon head into his sixties. After a solid career as a banker, he was very comfortable financially, but every day he felt that he was inevitably facing a long, lonely, later life. When he looked at himself in the mirror of his apartment bathroom, the lines on his face were accumulating even if he had kept his hair, and his sexual and emotional life was a barren landscape. Finally, he had come to realise that unless he took the initiative and tried to make his long-held fantasies come true, then he would reach old age dispirited and regretful of what might have been.
This advertisement seemed so promising that despite his reluctance to reveal these dark innermost secrets to the world, he forced himself to pen an application, using terms that were neutral but equally interpretable in a particular manner, if the lady involved actually was saying what he thought:
"I have long dreamed of being able to serve a lady of distinction.....am prepared to comply with any requests regarding behaviour or demeanour, or appearance, etc...."
He went on to list his more mundane accomplishments and knowledge base; things he thought would be applicable, including his languages, his knowledge of art and fine wines, his general fitness and health status. He thought it was cheeky to include the massage course he had once done, intending to practice on his dear wife, but that hadn't been successful on any level, for they had parted less than a year later.
It would be misleading to say he had a nervous wait for any response. Nor did he merely post the application and promptly put it out of his head. In reality, he wanted to assume he would get the position, because once he had written his application and posted it, he started to realise just how much he wished to be in service; but more than that, to be in servitude.
The idea of being compelled to kneel before a woman, to lie under her, to serve her body according to her orders, had filled his inner desires over many years, even if it had been something his wife had no tolerance for. She had wanted, apart from the affluent lifestyle he could provide, a strong, simple, straight-forward kind of man. Which George plainly was not. And so she finally left him and found one, taking a good proportion of their combined wealth with her.
So George mentally started to make plans; considering how he might let his apartment, how it would feel to retire from his corporation and what options he would choose for his pension funds, how he might manage his financial affairs from a distance, and so forth. The way he figured it, whatever outcome this first application resulted in, his little mental flirtations would better prepare him for the next time an opportunity arose for creating a similar realisation of his fantasies. He needed to take this seriously.
After a while he did indeed fear that he would receive no response at all. But after several weeks the mailbox bore a plain envelope, bearing inside a single sheet of typed paper indicating simply that the advertiser was interested in meeting with him. At the bottom was a meeting proposal; a top hotel in the centre of town, and a suggested day and time. The writer added that if he could not attend, could he please contact -- and here it gave a cell phone number and the name Pauline -- to make another time agreeable to both parties.
Once he had got over his surprise, he decided to attend -- was it ever in doubt? - and sent a brief text to the number indicating his acceptance of the interview rendezvous. Suddenly all his mental planning seemed far more immediate, and his head was spinning with possibilities. He wondered who this woman Pauline was, whether she was an English lady from a long family line, or someone who had gained her title through marriage.
But all that was peripheral. What drove his imagination into a frenzy was wondering what the estate and the house might be like, and what his circumstances would be. Would he need formal butler's clothes and would they be supplied? Or would he wear something kinky like leather? Would he be allowed to have physical contact with his employer? Would he be asked to service her body? He realised that he was getting ahead of himself; imagining any kind of physical interaction would be to extrapolate hugely the plain words in Pauline's advertisement. In truth, when he read the words over, there was absolutely no indication of anything like that.
The day came. George booked a day off, then wasted time all morning watching the clock and laying out clothes on his bed, trying to not be nervous but failing. He was horny and desperately wanted to wank, but dared not. This was unlike any other interview in his life. He finally decided on a reasonably smart suit, but not one of his most expensive 'bankers' suits; branded ensembles meant to impress his clients. Rather it felt more like the kind of suit in which an experienced butler would present himself.
He was meant to meet in the lobby of the hotel at 2pm, and dawdled around the block until the time came, gazing aimlessly at shop windows and willing his watch to move faster. Then finally it was time. The receptionist indicated him towards the far side of the lobby, where he could see a blonde-haired woman sitting facing away from him. There was a part-finished coffee on the table before her. As he approached, he could see she was young, attractive but rather hard-looking; confident, with a square jaw and blue eyes, and as he stood before her, she appraised him up and down casually without any pretence of politeness.
"OK. So you're reasonably well-presented, that's good. What are you in real life? You are something, no? Hopefully you're not 'retired', or 'in between jobs', or something like that?"
Her voice had a certain foreign edge to it, and she was challenging him; her expression was mocking him.
"Yes, Ma'am. I am a banker."
"OK. Good. That's quite acceptable. So, sit over there."
They conversed for perhaps thirty minutes, or rather George expanded on what he had included in the application in answer to her questions. Then the woman stopped him in mid-discourse.
"We need to understand ourselves clearly here. You can release yourself from your current employment? And you realise that the position is permanent, and also that the placement of that advertisement was deliberate?" She stressed the last word.
He allowed himself a slight smile at the corners of his mouth. "I had hoped it would be so, Ma'am, and yes, I have planned to retire soon anyway."
"You can call me Miss Pauline, and address her Ladyship as Ma'am. So that we are absolutely clear, permanent means that you are required to serve until her Ladyship no longer wishes your services, at which point you may be dismissed if you have displeased her, transferred to another employer of her circle of acquaintances, or perhaps disposed of more abruptly if your presence has become inconvenient. You would have no say in this. Of course, if you become seriously ill, you will be released into the hospital system of this country and your tenure will cease."
"So, continuing the clarifications, the position involves personal services, but also general work. You may be expected to help Lady Chr.......," she stopped herself, ".... intimately, for she is interested in your massage abilities, but you will also act as butler, and even will work outside on the gardens and estate. You will be expected to be intelligent enough to learn aspects of the job as you go, for she realises you are not formally trained in service. We also have a young man who runs the kitchen and shares in the housework, and myself. I am the Lady's personal assistant."
George cursed his stupidity. He had been thinking this girl was his future employer! But she was just the first interview.
"Of course, this is no ordinary butler position. This is a permanent, indentured position." She stressed the word heavily. "My employer has unusual tastes. She likes her male staff to be subservient and obedient. You will generally serve naked. You will serve wearing a metal collar, for when you enter into her service, you also take on the collar. But just so you don't get any wild ideas, the position is one of butler. There is no concept of sexual interaction with the Lady, or myself. In fact, for any demonstration of sexual arousal you will probably be punished. You may even lose your position, with all that implies. And, just so we are clear, there is no pay. You will be fed and sheltered and your health taken care of; that is all."
George sat silently, taking in everything this abrasive, brash young girl had said. While there still was not a lot of detail being revealed, the thought of being collared and naked was dominating his thoughts. Everything else seemed very peripheral or unimportant. He didn't even want to start thinking about punishment, but he had, and felt a slight treacherous tightness starting in his groin.
"So, have I deterred you?"
He stammered slightly, caught himself, and finally gained his composure. "No, er..., Miss. That all seems in order. It is substantially what I expected....what I hoped for," he dared add.
"OK. So now I am going to take a photo of you. Then I am going to talk to Lady......my employer. Have you the rest of the afternoon free?"
George nodded. She brought out her phone. "Look towards me first. Thank you. Now would you stand, over there beside that chair. Thank you. How tall are you?"
"Just under six foot, Miss."
"Is your body hairy?"
"No miss, I have very little body hair in fact."
"Good. Please wait where you were sitting." With that, she moved away engrossed with her phone, presumably sending the photos. She stood over in another part of the lobby talking on the phone for some time, then returned.
