This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters in sexual situations are 18 years or older.
This story is dedicated to Boxwood.
Jennifer DiPietro ran her hand across the supple leather of her driver's seat, a light brown calfskin, in the sports car her husband Mike bought for her 40th birthday. As she gazed out the windshield onto the slow moving traffic on the Garden State Highway, her mind wandered to the feel and scent of Mistress Elaine's leather flogger -- the flogger that was most recently used on her bottom as punishment for her continuing insolence.
A small smile curled up on her lips as she recalled her last weekend at Mistress Elaine's Connecticut weekend house, a weekend spent performing the most mundane of chores until her smart mouth, complaining again about the drudgery of her assigned tasks, brought yet another session in her Mistress's "playroom," a room created expressly for the discipline of her stable of subs. Jennifer was one of a half dozen subs who routinely spent time in the service of Mistress Elaine. Jennifer's smile came about because her insolence became a trigger point for her punishments -- punishments that she hungered for.
Jennifer was spending a lot of time driving now, since meeting Elaine as an insurance client, and then as Mistress Elaine. It had started with invitations to her country house, but now it was a routine that Elaine had made for her. It had been two years since the two of them met at a department store where Jennifer was clothes shopping, and since then Jennifer escaped spiritually (but not physically) from her loveless, and almost sexless, marriage. Jennifer hadn't known about her submissive tendencies until Elaine identified, and then exploited them, for their mutual pleasure. Jennifer knew she would never turn back to her vanilla existence. Acting as Mistress Elaine's sub was the only time she felt truly alive.
Every other Friday she made excuses to leave work early, and made the drive 55 miles to Elaine's Connecticut house, prepared to stay for the weekend ... or not. The house was modern stone and glass, not really a mansion but still a massive structure with a large adjoining pool and pool house on a heavily wooded lot. As instructed, she parked in the gravel lot around back, a lot reserved for service people, then used her key for the mud room entrance that adjoined the spacious country kitchen.
As she stepped into the kitchen she saw her reflection in the floor to ceiling glass panels framing the breakfast nook and felt ridiculous -- a professional woman, in her mid-40s, here to do the bathroom cleaning she hated most, but nevertheless feeling giddy, with her heart thumping at the prospect of serving her Mistress. At least today it was rainy, and there were no other cars, but her instructions were the same whether the house was occupied or not.
She paused as she gazed at her reflection, a short buxom blonde whose curvy body and tight abs belied her middle age. She corrected her posture, thrusting her hips and chest out, admiring her best physical attribute, her large rounded breasts topped by long, always hard nipples that poked out from her scanty lace bra and gossamer thin silk blouse. The beeping of the alarm pad broke her admiring glance. She kicked off her heels and padded silently on her bare feet, feeling the cold tile floor as she entered the code to turn off the alarm.
As usual, there was a line of blue tape on the slate floor. She glanced up at the camera blinking red in the corner, then quickly undressed and folded her clothing on a wooden stool. Naked and barefoot, she stepped across the line and reached for the shopping bag on the row of coat hooks.
It amused Mistress Elaine to choose her clothing for her day as a house servant, and it might be anything. Sometimes it might be a worn maid's work dress, shortened and with most buttons removed, or an old faded bikini, or a complex corset with stockings. The short blonde shivered and opened the crumpled bag to find a scuffed pair of high heeled pumps and denim shorts. She tugged on the slightly too-small jeans shorts, with the button removed, and stepped into the pumps. Her phone went into the pocket, in case Mistress might choose to text her.
There was nothing else, except a pair of wrap-around sunglasses that obscured her eyes. Elaine had left her a small mirror on a hook, below the camera, so she could see herself and further her humiliation. Now she felt even more ridiculous, an older woman dressed like a cartoon girl in a teen movie, with her C cup breasts swaying and exposed and the jeans half open to show the womanly pubic hair that Elaine made her leave untrimmed. At every step, her breasts moved to remind her how she was displayed. There was a deep red lipstick taped to the mirror, which Jennifer applied to her lips and to her nipples, now rock hard in the cool air.
She had to move now, she knew the timer was ticking since she first opened the door. In the kitchen, she took out the bucket and the bathroom cleaning supplies as the next camera blinked on. She never knew whether Mistress Elaine got messages to watch her in real time, or whether the video was saved for later viewing -- or even if there really was any video at all. Was she featured now in some "Topless Maid" camera site, or was all this just a reminder of the degradation she secretly craved?
Jennifer trooped up to the third floor, breasts bouncing and swaying, to start work in one of the guest bathrooms, reaching high to scrub the tile in the shower then on all fours, breasts hanging low, as she scrubbed the toilet and the floor.
Mistress Elaine knew she hated domestic chores, so this was her task every time, to clean every fixture in every bathroom, whether it was already clean or grossly used, to finish her chores dirty and sweaty, but to never be allowed to shower later or clean herself up. Putting on her own clothes later, driving home sweaty and used, would remind her of her place. Crawling and scrubbing, Jennifer's mind was full of her desire for Elaine, who would mercilessly tease her, but seldom touch her. On a good day, she might be allowed to play with another female sub as their Mistresses laughed.
As she cleaned, Jennifer also flashed back to the humiliation of her first visit there, when Elaine made her help male slave Boxwood with the lawn care, then had him scrub her clean outside with the hose, using his hand and roughly soaping her shivering body. She was only bisexual in a technical sense now, since Elaine sometimes instructed her to please her mostly disinterested husband, but from time to time Elaine used it against her and made her supervise or work with Boxwood as punishment. He was older, balding, a bit chubby and not attractive, but her skin went flush now as she thought of his thick cock in her mouth as he manhandled her tits, all for Mistress Elaine's amusement.
Jennifer lugged the bucket of soapy water to the next bathroom, dreaming of submission while her work kept her grounded in reality.
* * *
Boxwood entered the familiar Connecticut address into the mapping app and settled into his car. He knew the way, of course, but he was an organized guy who always checked for the best route and any traffic problems. Since Mistress Elaine had found him, among all the on-line chat subs, he had found the intensity of service he was looking for, so he was excited to have this routine. On random Fridays, she would text him to go to the house, and be prepared to stay over. He knew now to park at a nearby gas station and walk a half mile over the hill to her back yard, where he had a key to the pool house.
