Juliette

Chapter One

Juliette backed the cleaning cart into the library, using her butt to bounce the door open while whistling to herself. She retrieved the feather duster and was already dusting her third shelf of books, lost in her thoughts, before she realized she wasn't alone in the room. M. Leclair was sitting behind the large desk, reading his newspaper with his morning coffee steaming on the desk before him.

"Oh! Monsieur Leclair, sir. I did not know you were in here." She dropped a quick curtsey, holding her short black skirt out with both hands. "I will dust elsewhere. This will disturb your peace."

"That's quite all right, Juliette. It won't bother me."

"Thank you sir." She went back to work, dusting the tops of the books carefully, humming the pop song she'd woken up to. She became conscious of his eyes on her back, watching her quietly, so she asked, just to make polite conversation, "And how are the events of this great world this morning, sir?"

"This great world continues to spin," M. Leclair said idly. He lay his newspaper down on the desk, and took a sip of his coffee and focused a direct gaze at her. "Tell me something, Juliette. Do you enjoy your employment, here?"

Juliette's heart picked up its speed a little and she looked back over her shoulder directly into his eyes - she had been told he preferred direct eye contact from his servants - trying to keep her voice steady, despite her sudden nerves. "Oh yes. Of course, sir. They said in the village that you were a bit... difficult... to work for, but I have not found it to be so in my month here. Though I admit, maybe that's because I haven't seen you very often in that month." She gave a nervous laugh, immediately regretting her words. Why on earth had she mentioned the rumors about him in the village? She had a bad habit of speaking before she thought. It was one of several bad habits.

He didn't look angry or offended. Merely thoughtful. "I am glad you are dusting in here today," he said carefully. "Because I've been meaning to speak with Monsieur Vachon about you since Friday, but perhaps it's better to go straight to the source, without intermediaries."

Juliette's featherduster stopped as her heart began to pound. "A-about me, sir? I hope you are pleased with my work."

"For the most part, yes. You seem industrious, if a bit distracted on occasion. But you'll recall that on Tuesday, we had a conversation about Friday's dinner party, and the need to clean the dining room chandelier before that. You assured me at the time that you would see to it, personally. Then, during the dinner party, I looked up from a conversation with Judge Fortier, and observed the chandelier was not at all clean. One could even say filthy."

With a shaking hand, she placed the duster back in its designated spot on the cart, and turned to face him, her hands folded over her apron. She returned his direct gaze, with her head slightly inclined toward him. "I am very sorry, sir. I do remember that conversation now, but in the press of my daily activities, I had completely forgotten."

"It is a small matter," he said, tossing a hand carelessly. "I am disappointed, that's all. But there is something else that we need to discuss. You may find the conversation a little painful."

Her body became rigid, frozen in her submissive posture. Her gaze went to the floor. "Y-yes, sir?"

"It seems you were unaware that the computers given to the service staff in your bedchambers create monthly reports." He paused for a moment. What did he mean? "Reports of browsing history."

Juliette began trembling uncontrollably, her face becoming hot.

"The sites you've been visiting at night in your bedchamber, Juliette...Somewhat lurid, don't you think?"

Juliette's chest began to heave as she fought to control her breathing, fought to remain in control of her emotions. Deep shame flooded through her. He had seen the sites she visited. All of them. She tried to hold back hot tears of shame and mostly succeeded. She had to get out of the room before she broke down completely. She had to do anything, say anything, to get out of the room and away from his judging gaze.

"I will tender my resignation, sir. Effective immediately. My deepest, most sincere apologies, sir."

He stood up from his desk and walked around it, approaching her slowly. "That's the sort of thing you like, is it?" he murmured.

Juliette involuntarily allowed a sob to escape her lips. "I never would have done it, sir. I never would have, if I'd known."

He stood close enough to touch her, now. "I am not the only person they tell stories about in town, you know. When we considered you for employment here, I heard stories then. About you."

Her shame deepened. Some of the stories were true. "They are all false, sir. Slander from jealous girls..."

"All of them?" he asked quietly, standing far too close to her. Her legs trembled. She could not hold his gaze for longer than a half second.

"Almost all..." Justine wheedled in a voice that escaped her lips at a higher pitch than she'd intended.

"I do not accept your resignation, Juliette," he said slowly. "But your behavior is unacceptable. It must be corrected."

"I agree, sir," she said, nodding. She felt a trickle of snot running out of her nose, but didn't dare move a hand to wipe it away.

"Punishment," he said. Her labia began to tick and throb with her thudding heart the moment he said the word. She could feel they were painfully engorged against the satin fabric of her panties, her sex becoming uncomfortably moist. She squirmed in place, trying to relieve the building pressure.

"I... I... y-yes," she stammered, trying to keep her mouth closed and breathe through her nose. She couldn't seem to get enough oxygen. Her head swam.

"What kind of punishment would you suggest for these transgressions, Juliette?"

"Take away the computer, sir. I no longer want it. Have it removed, immediately." She was crying hot tears of shame now, all pretence of holding them in abandoned. She glanced up into his face. His expression was neutral, looking at her with simple interest.

"Hmmm. No. What would you think of a more... physical corrective?"

"Physical, sir?"

"A little smattering of pain, to remind you in moments of weakness to focus on your duties?"

She bit her lower lip, trying to maintain her composure. Her pussy was throbbing. "I... well... what did you have in mind?"

"Face away from me," he said evenly. "Bend over at the waist and grasp your ankles."

She nodded, and obeyed immediately. She turned to face the bookshelves and bent over almost double and gently grasped one ankle in each hand. She knew the skirt was too short to keep her modesty in this pose; he'd be seeing the black satin thong she put on this morning, never imagining at the time she'd be in this situation.

"May I... may I adjust my uniform, sir?"

"No. Stay like that."

He must know, she thought. He must know that this is what I dream about in my little chamber at night, and when I dream about it, it's always him doing this to me...

"You've been a very bad girl, Juliette," he said simply.

"Yes sir, you're right, so very improper," she whimpered quietly, "I - OOOH!" she shouted as his flat hand came down hard on her ass. She tried to control the shaking in her whole body and discovered she couldn't.

"I think you have potential, but you need some discipline. Self control."

"You are right sir, I - OH MY GOD" she shouted involuntarily as his hand came down hard on her ass again, making the cheek shake. She could feel the burn on her skin of both impacts. Her pussy was wet with her juices. She was certain she'd soaked through her panties, right where he could see.

"You may stand up and return to your work, Juliette," he said, and walked around his desk again. He sat back down and resumed reading the paper.

"Sir, may I go and freshen myself before continuing?" she asked, her voice betraying her again.

"No need, Juliette. Please resume where you left off."

She looked back over her shoulder at him as she picked up the duster. He had the newspaper before his face, and she could not see any part of him but his hairy knuckles, holding either side of the newspaper. Her heart was bouncing around in her chest and her vision was blurry. She dusted the top of the same book four times. He wouldn't see, she thought. I could just give myself a little rub, relieve the ache a moment, he'd never know. I'd stop right away. Glancing over her shoulder, she moved her hand slowly down to the hem of her short uniform skirt. Facing away from him, seemingly intent on her work, she lifted the hem until her fingers found the warm skin of her lower abdomen. I definitely should not be doing this, she thought as her fingertips slid under the waistband of her thong, moving lower. She gently teased apart the sodden folds of flesh there and her fingertips went straight to her clit, pressing it from either side. She tried to keep her breathing deep and even to avoid alerting M. Leclair to her misbehavior, but it wasn't easy. What she'd intended as just one quick rub, maybe two, turned into four, then ten, then she lost count and kept rubbing, her hips twitching as she did.

"Young woman! Are you... pleasuring yourself?"

M. Leclair was standing right beside her again, and she froze with one hand clutching the duster like a shield before her face, and the other deep in her panties down the front.

"OH! Sir, I - no, I know it looks like that, but..." She began to tremble all over.

"Apparently your punishment was not enough to correct your behavior."

She pulled her hand out of her panties and waved it weakly, smelling her own arousal wafting into the air from her wet fingers. "No, it's not that, I..." she stopped and sobbed again.

"If you are THIS determined to put on a show, perhaps that should be your punishment."

"Please sir, PLEASE stop saying that word, I can't think when you..."

"Here is your punishment for this unacceptable behavior. I will go sit on that couch. You will stand before me. You will remove your uniform, and you will finish what you began."

"SIR!" she gasped, shocked. "No that wouldn't be possible, there's no way that I could..."

Without saying another word, he walked to the couch and sat. He gestured with both hands to the space on the oriental carpet in front of the couch, saying nothing, his face emotionless, firm.

"What if someone should walk in?"

He said nothing. There was no acknowledgement on his face that she had even spoken.

She had lied when she told him there was no way that she could do what he'd commanded. Her heart was being yanked in many different directions by strong emotions, shame, bewilderment, shock - but the principle emotion was an all-consuming desire. She desperately wanted to do exactly what he said, no matter what he said. It had been so from the first moment she'd seen him during the interview, a month before.

He crossed his legs, resting one ankle on his knee, waiting. She walked slowly to the spot on the carpet he'd indicated. With trembling fingers, she unzipped her uniform, pulled it up over her head, and laid it carefully on the desk. Her chest was heaving, her large dark swollen nipples rising and falling with each breath. She stood before him in her sensible tennis shoes and her white lace bonnet and her soaked panties, wringing her hands together painfully.

"What are your instructions, sir?" she breathed weakly.

"Return that hand where it was, and resume the activity. Keep the panties on."

She nodded and returned her fingers down the front of her panties to her throbbing clit. She moved her feet farther apart to improve her balance and access, and started rubbing. At first slowly, but within seconds, with earnest intent. Her breath was hitching in her throat, raw, ragged.

"Unnggh. Oh. Like this, sir?"

"You follow instructions well. Now, your other hand down the back of those panties and enter yourself with your fingers from behind."

She unleashed a guttural moan and slid her other hand across her ass, pushing the thong aside. She brushed fingertips slowly down the crevice of her ass. She bent forward slightly at the waist to give her fingers easy access to her steaming wet pussy. "OH. Oh. Like this sir, is this acceptable?"

"Yes, Juliette. That is acceptable. I would like for you to relieve yourself with your hands now."

She moaned and increased the pace, swaying on her trembling legs.

"Are you... aaaaah... are you enjoying the show, sir?" she panted.

He raised one eyebrow. "It is not a question of my amusement, Juliette. We must correct your behavior."

The only sounds in the room were the wet noises her fingers made in her pussy as she pressed them in further, seeking the magic spot that made her crazy, and her own grunts and whimpers. She stared back at his face, her small firm breasts shaking as she worked. If this was what he wanted, she'd give it to him. She'd give him anything he commanded her to.

The door to the library swung open and Yvonne rushed in, another feather duster in her hand. "Juliette, what is taking y--" The words died in her throat as she realized what she was seeing. She dropped the duster, shook her auburn curls as though to deny what she saw, and said only. "Oh."

"Hello Yvonne," Mr. Leclair said pleasantly, as though over breakfast. "Juliette is being punished for inappropriate behavior. You should watch her shame. Learn from her example. You will sit on that leather armchair, please. Juliette, I did not give you permission to stop."

A flush of hot shame blossomed on the pale skin above Juliette's breasts, and she began to move both hands again, breathing hard.

Yvonne held both hands up in front of her chest and waved them weakly. "Oh no, sir, I have so much work--"

"It was not a request, Yvonne. Sit."

Her eyes wide in an expression of terror, she walked carefully to the leather armchair, her hands folded, and sat perfectly still. She looked down at her hands.

"Watch her, Yvonne."

Her face set in an unreadable expression, her widened eyes shining, Yvonne looked into Juliette's pleading eyes, and watched. The pulsing shame of having her best friend watch her debase herself made Juliette's whole body shake violently, and her hands worked more furiously, roughly penetrating her sopping wet hole, and pressing directly on her sore clit. She keened, a high-pitched noise like a creature driven mad by need.

"Sir... sir..."

"Yes, Juliette."

"I'm going to... oh... I'm going to -- to have an orgasm, sir."

"I'm sorry, I do not give my permission for that."

She gritted her teeth and made a low growl between them. "N-NO! You can't... I can't, no, ah... ah... ah. I can't stop it... "

Juliette felt her interior walls clench around her fingers as she started to come, and stared at her cruel torturer with a desperate expression. "Please..." she murmured weakly.

"You may," he said.

The moment she heard the words, her body convulsed and a wave of heat washed over her. She felt all her muscles contract at once, and then release, and she heard herself making wheezing noises as she crested. There was a light splash of hot liquid on her hands and it ran down the insides of her thighs. Slowly, breathing hard, she drew both hands out of her panties, and stood still, with her wet hands folded before her, looking at him directly, her breasts still heaving.

She glanced at her friend Yvonne. She had one knee bent over the arm of the armchair, and her pink panties were dangling from that ankle. She had her eyes open, watching her closely, and was kneading her bare pussy with both hands also.

Juliette looked back at M. Leclair, her chin up. "Am I dismissed, sir?"

"Your punishment is almost complete," he said, standing up and walking up to her. "On your knees, please."

"Yes, sir," she said, and dropped quickly to her knees. Her mouth began to fill with saliva like one of those dogs hearing the little bell. She'd pictured this exact moment in her mind, late at night, so many times.

"You are a very dirty girl, but at least you're obedient," he said, unfastening his belt. Her bruised pussy began to ache afresh.

He undid his pants and let them fall to his ankles. He was tumescent, pointing straight towards the ceiling. She gazed at his cock. It was thick and long and beautiful. In her imagination, it had not been this large. Her mouth fell open and her eyes grew wide.

"Clasp your hands behind your back," he ordered. She did so. "Lean forward and take me into your mouth."

She leaned forward eagerly, licking her lips. She dropped her mouth onto his hard shaft and swirled her tongue around the perfectly-shaped head of it, making him shiver. His skin was very warm, almost hot. "Ah," he said. She moved his cock farther into her mouth and began to gently suck. It was hard to control without the use of her hands, so she swayed her body around as her head bobbed on his stiff member, taking a little more of him into her small mouth each time. It was too large, she was forced to breathe only through her nose. She looked up into his eyes as she bounced her head up and down, and hummed against his hard cock. His face looked like it looked when he was reading the paper. She could hear Yvonne bleating as she watched and played with herself, and she determined to put on a show for her friend. She released his shaft from her mouth and allowed a glob of saliva to fall on the glistening head of his cock from between her lips, and then chased it down again with her mouth, drooling all over him. Yvonne made a desperate noise from the armchair, her hands a blur.

Juliette's kneecaps burned from shifting around on the oriental rug, trying to keep his cock in her mouth without the use of her hands.

The head of his cock nudged the back of her throat and she felt a moment of panic. I can't, I can't, it's too much... she thought, but the pressure on the back of her throat was inexorable, so she relaxed her throat and allowed it to slide in as far as it would go. She couldn't breathe at all, but kept bobbing her head carefully, taking him down her throat. She made gagging, wet noises against his shaft and finally pulled it out, gasping for air, a thread of her saliva connecting the shining, slick tip of his cock to her lips.

"Lean back," Mr. Leclair said. "Open your lips, and close your eyes."

She obeyed his orders, thinking, no, there's no way, he wouldn't do -- but before she could finish the thought, he did. She felt a hot glob of viscous liquid land on her eyebrow, a second on her left side of her nose. A third slid down her upper lip, across her open mouth, and landed on her chin. Her mouth snapped shut and she frowned with revulsion. Mr. Leclair grunted once. The first glob slid down the side of her face with agonizing slowness. She kept her hands behind her back.

Yvonne gave a sweet little cry as she came, her bare ass making squeaking noises on the leather armchair as she thrashed.

"Eat that, Juliette," M. Leclair said, breathing hard.

Meeting his eyes, she used her fingertips to wipe his warm seed from the side of her face and her nose, and licked her wet fingers, redolent of her own juices, without breaking his gaze. She licked the third glob from her lips and chin. It was as salty as the ocean. She swallowed slowly. She climbed to her feet on shaking legs. "Am I dismissed, sir?" she asked, her voice croaking. Yvonne was sitting up, pulling her panties back up, and rearranging her uniform, an embarrassed expression on her face.

"I fear that without a more... public shaming, you won't be able to control your behavior in the future," he said.

"More public, sir?"

"Yes. For the rest of your work day, you are to complete your tasks, dressed exactly as you are. Should anyone ask why you are underdressed, you are to respond, 'I have been a very filthy girl, and this is my punishment.' Is that understood?"