(A note on the accents: 'but' and 'butt' are spelled 'boot,' 'it' is spelled 'eet,' 'good' is 'gewd,' etc. They are fairly self explanatory, 'roo een' is 'ruin,' etc.)
1.
.
Mrs Sandra Zapeda was a kept woman. Having been raised in a large family of moderate means, she was accustomed to shopping at discount boutiques and consignment shops. Like most women, she loved to shop and collect clothes- her wardrobe had samples of every major designer in the fashion industry. Perhaps it was the result of a deprived childhood or a response to a lack of emotional fulfillment. Whatever the reason, her heart throbbed and her nipples ached whenever she went out with that purse full of credit cards.
Sandra was not only a remarkable beauty, she knew how to dress herself to advantage. She almost never dressed in a deliberately provocative manner. Rather, she believed in displaying refined taste and a sense of elegant class. Sandra knew how to attract the right kind of man. Pigs rut in mud, she would say, but ermines will die rather than sully their fur. Dress like a low class slut and you'll attract a pig, but dress with class and sensuous elegance and you'll attract an elegant and sophisticated man- one with wealth, power and influence. In her early twenties, while an impoverished law student, Sandra was swept away by Alfonso Zapeda, the owner of a chain of luxury car dealers in Queens and Long Island.
Alfonso and Sandra married in the idyllic spring of 1987. As all storybook romances go, they turn to blissful marriage... and from blissful marriage to disillusionment, tedium or turmoil. They needed to maintain appearances for the sake of careers, family and friends. Sandra tolerated his affairs with younger women and he tolerated her flighty moods and her costly extravagances. The possibility of divorce was never discussed. They had a mutually beneficial if loveless marriage; besides, Alfonso knew he'd lose everything in a divorce. Sandra worked part-time as a paralegal for one of Manhattan's most powerful law firms.
2.
Cherry and cedar-lined wardbrobes were custom made for Sandra's sumptuous bedroom. Alfonso slept in his own bedroom, a result of their incompatible hours and his penchant for snoring like a diesel engine. Their separate rooms were adjoined by a large bathroom equipped with a luxurious marble tub, a large crystal-enclosed shower, a sauna and twin wash stands. She preferred to keep her room decorated in distinctly feminine tastes, with pink wallpaper, silk hangings and satin bedspreads. For Sandra it was a pink paradise. Alfonso preferred more masculine decor.
Sandra's longtime maid, an authentic Frenchwoman named Jeannette, married her lover and gave notice. There were tears, hugs and congratulations. Sandra footed the caterer's bill at their wedding. A dilemma arose. She resorted to a maid service who would send her someone based on experience, requirements and other factors. One sunny afternoon, Maria arrived at the doorstep with several bags of luggage. Sandra was surprised at her age- she was in her forties, she guessed, but very beautiful... an exotic beauty with large doe eyes and thick heart-shaped lips. Maria soon settled into her routine and Sandra grew comfortable with her, as if they'd known each other for years.
One winter morning, Sandra was heading for Manhattan on the Southern State Parkway when she realized she'd left her valise on the foyer table. It would take another forty minutes to retrieve it, but it was essential that she deliver its contents to her office. She called in late and took the next overpass to turn back towards home. In frustration, she gulped down her entire 32-ounce coffee. Her bladder was aching by the time she pulled into the long, winding driveway. Passing the forgotten valise, she rushed into the bathroom to relieve herself. "Damn that," she sighed. One of her exquisitely manicured nails had snagged on her pantyhose and caused an unsightly run.
Sandra rushed up the carpeted staircase to change her pantyhose. She carried an extra set in her car for such occasions, but since she was already home she'd change in her wardrobe. Always meticulously dressed, she preferred the taupe Hanes Silk Reflections to the flesh-colored pair she'd just ruined. They'd go better with her black pinstriped skirt. Maria was supposed to be picking up some of Alfonso's dry cleaning and then take his Astin Martin to Rocco the mechanic's. Sitting on a chair in her wardrobe, Sandra was changing her pantyhose when she thought she heard something. "Maria, is that you?" Sandra indistinctly heard a whimpering sound from a recess in the closet.
When Sandra looked in the recess, she saw Maria standing in a posture of vain modesty, her knees knocking together, her torso bending forward and her arm shielding her naked breasts. She squeaked like a mouse and tried to talk but only a few inarticulate sounds came out.
"Uh... ohh... kkkaahh... unnnn..."
Sandra stared at her, too shocked and angered to speak. Finally she blurted out without time for thought,
"Oh, Maria, that's my... my Marc Jacobs skirt... it... that cost me... twelve hundred dollars!!! What are... why... take that off
now
!"
Sandra looked around and saw a Searle blouse in striped Italian silk, a Lysette teddy, a suit jacket tailored by Yves St.-Laurent she'd bought in Paris.
"Maria! What are you doing in my clothes!... What have you... you... been doing? Do you realize this blouse you've soiled with your... filthy, yes,
filthy
body... that cost me four hundred dollars?!!"
Maria could barely speak. In her thick Spanish accent, she moaned,
"I... I was... ju... j-joost try-tryeeng th-these on... please, Meezees Za pee da, I... I... deedn't..."
Sandra slapped Maria hard across the cheek as she shriveled in humiliation and embarrassment...
"You... you... you
stupid
bitch!"
Picking up a pair of her own panties, Sandra realized they were damp and smelled peculiar. Sniffing them, she recognized a familiar smell. Some of her clothes seemed to have a strange odor lately. She had wondered if there was a mold growing in her closet somewhere, or if her laundry was being done improperly. No. It was Maria! Maria had been wearing her clothes and not only that... my oh my, it couldn't be true... she'd been...
masturbating
in them!
3.
"Pleeease, pleeease, I... I deedn't... I... noooo..."
Maria was pleading in a very humiliating and sniveling tone.
"I was onlee..."
"Shut that cunt of a mouth and listen, whore..."
Maria gulped, "Pleeaase!"
Sandra had cornered her.
"Show me what you've been doing in my clothes.
Now
! Do it! Show me just what you've been doing.. in
my
clothes!"
"You weesh me to... to... play weeth my... my... poosee?"
Maria stuttered.
"Yes, bitch. Since that's what you've been doing, show me now!"
The way Maria pronounced 'pussy' was making Sandra gush into her panties... 'poo see,
poo
see
,' popping her lips with an unintented air kiss as she pronounced the 'p.'
"Play with
what
, you dumb cunt?"
Maria said it again, puckering her lips as she pronounced it,
"My
poo
see
. My
pooo
seee
!"
She had the most sniveling gestures and voice that Sandra could imagine, a mature forty year old woman reduced to the whimpering state of a frightened girl. She was pursing her lips and undulating her body as she thrust her hand in her, that is, in
Sandra's
, ruby red panties with crystal hearts...
"They're a little tight on that fat ass of yours, aren't they?"
Sandra taunted her, gloating over Maria's humiliation,
"Those big fat globes that bounce and wobble in your maid's uniform when you walk?"
The look in Maria's eyes as Sandra degraded her was delicious... she was getting aroused by being abused. Sandra sneered at her,
"Strutting around like a cheap slut?"
Maria cooed in her humiliation,
