I had a busy, anxiety-filled week leading up to the big Saturday dinner party at Luke's house for his executive team. So many obligations of servitude, so little time. I guess it was a good thing that I had such a light course-load that semester with my upcoming sabbatical in the fall. The day after my unsettling visit to Neil's office -- during which my colleague's previously subtle domination of me turned into something more overt and unambiguous -- I made my way over to Paul and Anna's condo for the first time since winter break.
Paul's text message indicated that I should plan on a four hour minimum visit, but atypically, there were no other instructions given with respect to attire, cleaning supplies or food to bring, etc. Brooke was working all afternoon at the restaurant, so I wouldn't be missed. It had been over two months since I had last seen my former student tormentors. I say "former" because Paul, Anna, and Kelly were not enrolled in either of my two spring semester lecture classes, mercifully. It soon became clear, however, that the adjective "former" did not apply to the "tormentor" part of my description, as their spirited subjugation and humiliation of me continued unabated.
I had no idea what to expect that day when I entered their lobby. My hope was that my nemesis, the snarky doorman, had gotten a new job or had been run over by a bus or something during the holidays, but no such luck. I was greeted by his trademark smirk (I'm a nonviolent person, but, oh, how I longed to slap it off his face!).
Rather than play games with him, I simply said, "Please ring apartment 11 B and tell Mr. Betz the maid is here." I was in no mood to give him the satisfaction of engaging in a back and forth with him that afternoon.
He looked somewhat irritated, as he called Paul and Anna's apartment on the intercom: "Mr. Betz, Your maid is here and has requested to come upstairs." After a brief pause, his obnoxious smirk returned, and he said into the phone, "No, he definitely did not address me as sir. Got it. Thanks, Mr. Betz."
Then to me: "He said I should let you up only after you show me the respect I'm due. He wants you to call me sir from now on."
This was really too much, calling this likely high school dropout sir. But what choice did I have? So I swallowed more of my ever diminishing pride, and said, "Yes, sir. I would be ever so grateful if you'd allow me to go up to apartment 11B now."
"So that you can do what?"
"So that I can clean it, sir."
"Because you are what?"
"Because I am their maid, sir."
"Very well, you may go up."
"Thank you, sir." My words were respectful, but my tone and expression were not. Even that modicum of resistance would likely be denied me on subsequent visits to Paul's and Anna's condo, I realized at the time, but it was difficult for me to completely mask my contempt for this man.
When I got to the 11th floor, I got down on my knees in front of their door and waited. I could hear loud rock 'n' roll music pulsating through the door. I was wearing a teal, satin v neck shirt and a pair of skinny jeans. The jeans had several tears in them, seen as stylish by some and ratty by others; I was firmly in the latter camp, but I didn't choose them. Beneath my jeans I wore a pair of black tights which were visible through the rips in the denim (a sometimes sexy look on attractive women -- but on me, not so much). During Luke's absence, Brooke had relented on her insistence that I incorporate some feminine element into my daily attire; with his impending return to the scene, however, she thought it was best to resume this practice. She knew my subtle public emasculation pleased him, and I think seeing me in feminine clothing and/or accessories pleased her aesthetically as well. I had brought my Little Foot Page costume along with me in a bag, because I knew Anna liked it (as did Kelly, in the event she were around that day) and keeping her happy made life less difficult for me on my visits.
The door opened suddenly, and standing over me was not Paul or Anna, but a fairly tall, slender transgender female wearing a pink and white maid's uniform. I learned later that afternoon that "they" is the pronoun by which this individual likes to be addressed. This is a challenge for me, an English professor, who had always been precise in my grammar and use of words, and who had always understood the word "they" to mean more than one. I couldn't help but wonder: when describing them, would it be correct to say "they was tired, they is annoying," and so forth, since they in this case is a singular individual? It was all much too confusing for a traditionalist such as myself to keep straight.
With large, intense hazel eyes, cropped brown hair on the sides and long bangs partially covering their right eye, they are exceptionally attractive -- beautiful even -- and I only guessed that they are (is?) a biological male because of their barely perceptible adam's apple and the tone of their voice, slightly deeper than that of most women. Later that afternoon, when their caged cock was exposed to me, any lingering doubts as to their biological gender were erased. I concluded that this extraordinary individual staring down at must be Chrissy, whose name I had heard mentioned several times by Paul and Anna on previous visits.
At 25 years old, Chrissy was roughly four years older than their master and mistress as well as the other two members Paul's and Anna's stable of sexual submissives, Isaac and Cindy, but obviously considerably younger than yours truly, who now always seems to be both the oldest and the lowest in the pecking order in any situation in which I find myself. Over a decade older than Luke and Brooke, old enough to be the father of my former students or of Luke's kid brother, Kevin, and his girlfriend, I was even slightly older than Neil, my one true contemporary. As I mentioned previously, Paul and Anna took special delight in having an older authority figure under their thumbs. I have to admit, the age discrepancies between me and all of the various people who now have power over me unquestionably intensify my feelings of shame -- shame, and and it's close companion, arousal. As the eldest and best educated, I should be afforded respect; I should be valued for my intellectual abilities and the wisdom and knowledge I can impart. Instead, I am routinely mocked, and am valued for how well I clean a bathroom, massage a foot or prepare a meal. My lady, of course, I serve willingly (and she values me in many, and far more meaningful, ways). But serving Brooke means serving Luke. And Luke has been the gateway to me serving an ever widening group of mostly much younger, and far more attractive, people. A group that was expanding that very afternoon.
"Oh, goody," said the lovely creature standing above me, with a derisive smile. "My junior maid is finally here. You're not much to look at, though, are you? Crawl on your knees to Master and Mistress and greet them correctly, maid. And then I'm going to put your sorry ass to work." They spoke with the trace of a lisp.
I shuffled on my knees into the living room, where Paul and Anna sat on the couch, a young woman kneeling at their feet, giving Anna a pedicure. This, I correctly surmised, must be Cindy. So, I finally was getting to meet two of the other three members of Paul's and Anna's stable. I immediately wondered if Isaac was also present somewhere in the condo. It turns out that he wasn't that day, although I was to meet him soon enough.
Cindy is a rather plain looking young woman, roughly the same age as Paul and Anna. Slender, with long, stringy hair, she is by no means unattractive. However, there is nothing remarkable about her features and she has a somewhat pale yet splotchy complexion, a marked contrast to Anna's flawless, golden skin. Relatively flat chested, she was wearing nothing other than a blue sports bra and white cotton panties, and a pair of black framed glasses. She looked up at me briefly before bending her head down to Anna's right foot and gently blowing on her toes. Anna's nails were clear, so Cindy was presumably blowing dry the base coat before applying the actual polish.
"Well, if it isn't the good professor!" said Anna. "You'll have to wait to properly greet me until Cindy piggy finishes doing my nails."
