I guess I took advantage of her, but when I saw her that day spanking that child over her knee, I knew I needed her help.
I had been a not so happily married man for three years at this point. My wife was pretty and dutiful and moved in all the right social circles, but she had proved to be a sexual martyr in the bedroom, lying there under me each night with her legs spread and her eyes closed waiting for it all to end. We had one child who was in the stage of the troublesome twos as they called it and I was feeling the house we lived in closing in on me. You see I'm a writer of fiction and spend most of my time in the back room pounding away at my Underwood typewriter. The room has a grand view of our backyard and rose garden and even of our neighbors yard.
It was from my open window there that I saw her for the first time sternly directing the children in her charge as she hung laundry. She had her dark hair pulled up in a tight bun as is the style and her white blouse and full-length skirt were impeccable. She wasn't pretty, but her face had a certain homely appeal. She was a maid and nanny it seemed, doing the housework and minding the little ones of our neighbor. Their home was quite a bit larger than ours and they liked to put on airs as did others on our block. So these live-in maids were common to see, wringing out the laundry and sweeping the porches.
One day as I sat at my desk I heard a commotion over there. It seems the boy had decided to kick up a fuss and this nanny, from her tone, was going to put up with none of it. I craned my neck and saw her as she walked the boy of six or seven out to a bench under the willow tree, a paddle held in her right hand. The boy tried to get away as she pulled him down over her knee, but she handled him with surprising ease and was soon placing the wood against his backside with somewhat more than measured force. The lad was soon balling out his contrite tears as his younger brother and sister looked on. But what struck me the most about this penal demonstration was the agility of this maid's use of force. She had, no doubt, paddled hundreds of backsides in her day and was a firm believer in the hierarchy of power and authority. I understood exactly how she felt and agreed with her view. The world was indeed controlled by the delivery of pain and pleasure.
That night as I penetrated my wife, the image of this maid came to my mind again and again. I saw the calm sternness of her face as she paddled the child to teach him the most important lesson in life. Domination and obedience had to be held above all. She had learned that as a child and so had I. My wife had learned that lesson too. This was what kept her wet each night as my manhood delved into her. But for some reason she had decided to spoil our son and not teach him his proper place in the order. I began to push into her more forcefully as I searched for a way to fix this problem.
The next day I decided the best solution was to bring this maid to our house. I wracked my brain trying to think of a discreet way to approach her. Finally I came up with the plan of throwing my son's ball into their yard to initiate a conversation. My goal was to somehow get her away from our neighbor by obtaining some information about her. After all, our son was in need of a good authority figure during the day when my wife was out socializing and our house also needed the attentions of a good cleaner. But I had to be careful not to breach the social protocol. It was going to be a delicate maneuver.
That afternoon I tossed my son's red ball over to their side and began to call politely for some assistance. She appeared not too long afterward drying her hands with a dish towel.
"Hello! My son seems to have launched his ball onto your property!" I said smiling.
She walked out into the yard and scanned the property.
"Is this it?" she asked pointing.
"Yes! yes! The boy's got quite a foot!" I replied peering over the white plank fence.
As she picked it up and walked over to me, I was impressed by the health and size of her physique. I tried to look for something in her face that would give me an opening, but the mouth was firm and set. She handed the ball over to me.
"Thanks, my name is John Oliver. It's nice to meet you." I said.
"I'm Miss Marlow. It's a pleasure to meet you as well, sir."
"I was wondering," I continued, "do you know of a good agency in town where I could find a caretaker for my son?"
"Well, I work for the Brockton Agency and they do have caretakers available there." she replied.
"Oh good, I'll try them. Thanks!" I said.
The corners of her mouth came up only slightly at this point.
"You're welcome, sir." she replied before heading back in.
Later that day I went to the agency and made it quite clear I wanted Miss Marlow and only Miss Marlow as the caretaker for my son. I told them I was willing to pay their highest fee for her services and that it would only involve light cleaning duties. It took a month but the agency eventually convinced her of the wisdom of this move and had her report to me for work early one Monday. She seemed a bit uneasy when I met her at the door.
"Good morning, sir." she said, "I'm here to start today."
I acted surprised since I had told the agency not to inform her I had requested her specifically. I showed her to her room and then introduced her to my son.
"This is my son, David." I told her as he ran past us screaming in the hall.
