My Mistress My Maid

Sometimes I took a certain perverse pleasure in chiding Gretchen in front of guests, but on this occasion I was genuinely irritated. Or I thought I was!!!" Normally neat enough in her movements, discreet and self-effacing, Gretchen upset the cream jug on the coffee table dangerously near to the elegant knees grouped around it. I angrily ordered her to get a cloth (I'm still not sure how much of my anger was simulated; we'd played this game before) but, of course I was a different person with my friends.. Gretchen bit her lip and hurried towards the kitchen.

"Was that really necessary, Caroline," my friend Teddy Blumenthal said in her "servants are so hard to get these days" voice..

"She's not normally so clumsy," I said, trying to mop the liquid up with a tissue, but already a delicious tingle had started between my thighs. My mouth was dry and I swallowed, feeling my tongue huge in my mouth and Teddy Blumenthal crossed her exquisite legs and looked at me speculatively.

When Gretchen had come back and cleaned up the mess she said, "My I see you for a moment in the kitchen, Madam?"

"When I'm ready, Gretchen," I said, curtly and we continued to discuss a political plate dinner coming up shortly. Teddy suggested five hundred dollars a plate, but I felt this would attract the wrong sort of people and started to say so but I was suddenly conscious that my voice had thickened and, covered in confusion, I had to excuse myself and make for the kitchen.

"Better see what she wants," I said, making the sort of face that all employers make in these situations.

I had given a charity dinner six weeks ago and Gretchen was one of the maids I hired to serve the drinks and canapés. At some stage of the proceedings I noticed an uneasiness, a hiatus in one corner of the room, hardly noticeable except to an experienced hostess and I immediately guessed that Bobby Metcalfe had been making a fool of himself again. When Gretchen went to the pink ladies room, which was on the first floor, I followed her and knocked on the door.

"Come in," she called.

"Oh, I beg your pardon," I said, astonished, to find she was sitting on the can with her skirt up and her panties around her ankles.

"What happened out there?" I asked trying not to look at her. As she squatted, her knees pressed with a pale sheen through the smoky grey stockings, which I immediately knew were silk and not nylon.

"Nothing much, he pinched my ass and I kicked him on the shin," she said. "Hold on a second...."

She released a powerful stream of urine into the bowl, stopping every now and again for a few seconds as though exercising her spincter muscles before continuing to jet powerfully into the bowl, a scent like wild garlic and ammonia in my nostrils now as I waited, fascinated at her effrontery in peeing in front of me. I couldn't look at her but then I glanced at the mirror and was sneaking a peek at her again when she looked up, catching my glance in the mirror. She gave me a radiant smile and I blushed furiously.

"I come from a big family," she said, as though this explained it.

"I had to ask," I said, covering my embarrassment, "because in these litigious times....."

"Come again?" she said. "Oh, I'm not gonna sue that buffoon......"

She pulled up her panties and began to wash her hands

I bridled. Even guests as troublesome as Bobby were not usually referred to by the maids as buffoons. "A pinch on the ass is nothing..." she went on cheerfully, ".If we were working together or something I might get him sacked but you can't get sacked from being rich...."

"Thank you..." I said. "I don't care to discuss my friends......."

"With me, you mean? Suit yourself......"

"No, I do sincerely apologise. You are ...entitled to as much respect as anyone else here."

"Oh, I know that," she said. "Would you let me do something?"

"What's that?" I asked.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Kiss me?"

"I think you're gorgeous," she said.

Her flattery grated on me. Even when young, I had never been considered a beauty. She couldn't have been more than thirty two or three and I was forty-seven.

"I don't think so," I said. "If you don't mind..."

"That's okay," she said, smiling sweetly at me.

I was surprised that I found myself slightly annoyed she didn't persist. Once, a few years ago, at the end of a long, drunken party, when most of the men had passed out, I found myself dancing with one of the wives, Teddy Blumenthal and found myself painfully excited when she began kissing me passionately, drunkenly on the mouth, her small breasts pressed hard against mine. Nothing had happened since, she had pointedly not ever referred to it, and yes, I had, from time to time, imagined myself in bed with her. I was still rather shocked at Gretchen's suggestion, though, and couldn't get her out of my mind for the rest of the evening. Just to make sure she wasn't going to make a complaint about what happened earlier, or so I told myself, I kept her on when all the guests and other maids had left. We had a drink and then another. She was aware, she said, that I was looking for a maid. It was true, but the last applicant, a gum-chewing young woman with forged references had put me off the idea for a while.

"Mind if I smoke?" she'd asked.

"I'd rather you didn't" I said. "Not in the house. I used to suffer from asthma as a child".

She'd looked quite angry for a moment and her dark eyes flashed. Then she smiled sweetly and, placing a hand on my thigh, leaned over and kissed me lightly on the cheek. And I didn't demur. She was testing me now, the game had started. I wasn't going to call a halt now, I knew that. She had looked into my soul and recognised what she saw there.. I could see myself reflected in her dark eyes.

It was partly the alcohol, but we did get on well. Yet she was jumpy, ill at ease and I suppose she was dying for a smoke. Almost without warning she made her move, caught me to her with one arm and, putting her other hand at the back of my neck, began kissing me fiercely on the lips. While one part of me wanted to be treated peremptorily by her and to be bent to her wishes, my other side wanted to be wooed more gradually with the rough stuff, if any, left until later. I tried to curse her, tell her to get off, but her lips were sealed to mine, her tongue pushing past my teeth. I tried to bring my knee up and we rolled over on the couch and, as she scrabbled to capture my wrists, we fell to the floor. I was on top for a few seconds, but before I could pin her she rolled with me into the centre of the room and, while I was still trying to get my bearings, she jockeyed astride me and straddled my belly. She stayed there for a few moments, breathing heavily, her dress riding up over her thighs. I could see the bright bones in her knees. She held my wrist tightly. I knew she had me. Confidently, she knew it too. She moved up until she was nearly sitting on my neck, her shins on my upper arms. Her purse had fallen on the floor beside us and she took out her cigarettes and a lighter. She put a cigarette in her mouth. From where I was lying her lower lip was a thin line, but her upper lip was puffy and sensual. She rasped the lighter into flame, her eyes staring down at me past the broad wings of her nose. The telephone rang.

She was able to reach it by lifting off me slightly. Someone asked for me – a man's voice.

" Yeah, she's here," the girl said, handing me the phone and flashing me a warning look at the same time.

"Harry," I said. "I'm sorry....H...how are you?"

"You sound out of breath, Anne," he said.

"Sorry, I was in the corridor. Had to rush when I heard the phone."

" Who was that?"

"A friend," I said. "Well, one of the girls who was helping out. Christ, I was to meet you and Sarah to-night. Please let me beg off, Harry. The party was heavy going -I have a headache. I know you'll be sweet about it."

"You're different somehow."

"I've never broken a date before?"

"No, but you sound sort of ...submissive. I like you that way."

"Don't bet on it," I said. "I'll call you soon."

I gave the receiver back to Gretchen and she put it back on the phone.

"What does it feel like,?" Gretchen said.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Listen girl," she said. "You're gonna tell me or Gretchen's gonna make you.!"

She caught me under the chin and forced my head back.

"Please, I want to tell you....anything you want."

"Well, Miss smarty-pants. What does it feel like to be lying there, with me sittin' on top of you." She took her cigarette out of her mouth and blew smoke into my face. "And you're not able to do anything about it."

To prove her point, she began slapping my face, lightly at first, then a stinging slap that jerked my head sideways. I began to fight her again – maybe that's what she wanted. She put the cigarette down on the carpet and gripped my wrists again, forcing them down to the carpet and pressing them tightly against it. I could feel her fingernails in the skin of my wrists. Her face looked ugly and foreshortened her nose blunt and cruel from where I lay. I tried to struggle again,,,, confused, half wanting this. Yet I knew nothing about her..... but the intimacy of our eye contact was disconcerting. She would not permit me to turn my head away and continued to stare deeply into my eyes. Her eyes were black pools.

Like the act of falling asleep, before it happened it seemed impossible, then you were gone. I felt I was going to cross some invisible barrier, be brought back to a place I knew and had half-wanted all my adult life. I started to weep. Again I tried to turn my head aside, , but she caught me by the chin and twisted my face around so that it was directly beneath hers. The cigarette was back in her mouth again.

"Tell me," she said.

"Please," I begged.

We were beginning to play the game.

She let me sob for a few moments, then said, "That's enough,"

I couldn't stop crying.

"Fuck you, tell me."

Left and right hand, quickly, she slapped my face. Hard.

"It was my cousin," I said hoarsely, and my tongue was thick in my mouth.

"Like this,?"

"N..No. Not exactly..."

"You're lying. You're a lying bitch, aren''t you"

I nodded my head – too ashamed to say anything. I didn't want to say anything, but this was the game again.

"Please..." I said.

"You're gonna have to tell me or I won't let you up."

"Please..."I begged. This was the game again. She knew the game we were playing as well as I did, I was sure of it.

"This is delicious," she said. "I'd expected.... But not this... Not so complete. Oh, my, my... ."She bent down and pressed her lips to mine, dry lips against mine.

Instinctively I tried to press through her lips with my tongue, but she broke contact, sitting up straight again.

"Tell me," she said.

"I...I had this cousin," I began, my tongue swollen in my mouth now, my throat harsh and dry, so that I hardly recognised my own voice.

"Really?" she mocked..."

""Please give me..time," I begged.

"So that's how you got these feelings/"

I nodded dumbly.

"Just a minute – turn over," she ordered.

She sat astride me, facing my feet and pulled off my shoes, then stripped down my pantyhose. I was unable to help myself when she tried to bind my wrists and started to struggle again, but she held me down easily and gripped my wrists with one strong hand.

"Listen, she said, "You wanna surrender to me? Either you do that or we forget the whole thing, I get off you and walk out of here. No hard feelings, okay?"

"Please," I begged, in despair.

She sat back on my buttocks.

"Say it," she ordered.

I felt a surge of fire in my loins and womb, my throat becoming dry, my voice thickening as I managed to say,

"I give – I surrender."

I crossed my wrists behind me and she wrapped the pantyhose around them, tightening and knotting, whistling contentedly through her teeth until she had achieved her objective of binding my wrists together tightly. She unzipped and stepped out of her own dress, peeled off her stockings and unsnapped her garter belt, throwing them on the ottoman. She wore plain, very brief transparent cotton panties and a white sports bra. She turned me over on my back, sat down again astride my belly, my arms uncomfortably bound beneath me, pushed my chin back and said

"Tell me."

"I'm yours, " I'd said

When I had left my guests and reached the kitchen, Gretchen was seated at the counter, a cup of coffee in front of her and her feet propped up on another chair.

"Gretchen, my dear," I apologise," I said.

Normally Gretchen waited until the guests were gone and, though part of me was annoyed, I also felt a desperate claw of excitement in my womb and vagina.

"Fuck you!" Gretchen said.

She stood up and, lifting her skirt, pulled her white cotton panties down with a quick movement and kicked them onto the kitchen table. She leaned back against the worktop, straddled her legs and pointed between her thighs. I made to turn the key in the kitchen door but she said "Leave it," and arched her hips I knelt quickly in front of her, gripping her cold fleshy buttocks and burying my face in her rosebud, smelling again the whiff of urine, the strong scent of her sex, which always smelled and tasted of oily roasted vegetables swallowed with wine or was this my wild fantasy? I was a connoisseur of her muff, found new delights in my every adventure there.

The unlocked door added to the excitement and the possibility of discovery inflamed me. Last week Gretchen had insisted we change the drapes in the lounge to her taste, and also redecorate her bedroom. Today she was confidently ratcheting up the stakes again. Okay, it was highly unlikely anyone would follow me into the kitchen, but perhaps the newcomer, Mrs Bruton might be gauche enough to come looking for me and the others might even be mendacious enough not to stop her. Gretchen pressed herself forward against my mouth. We had very little time, but she was on fire. My fingers sought the creases at the tops of her thighs, I sensed her buttocks clench as she thrust for satisfaction against my adoring mouth. Her hands were on my shoulders and raked down my back inside my morning gown. I could feel my skin tear under her nails as she climaxed fiercely, then pushed me away and leaned back panting against the countertop. Still on my knees I tried to grasp her around the hips as she pulled her skirt down but she pushed me away again and hissed, "Get back to your guests!."

Quickly she took a mirror from her purse on the table and helped me to put my hair in place and fix my lipstick, but my face was flushed and most of my lipstick was now between her legs.

"Here, it's not the same colour, but it'll have to do," she said, handing me a lipstick tube from her purse.

Gretchen had told me I wasn't the only one. She'd said she had someone else, another maid, the one with the big ass in pink Bermuda shorts who had left at the end of the party. There was some other girl too, but she was in jail at the moment, serving a short term. Gretchen liked her a lot too. These girls were her slaves as well, Gretchen told me. They were much younger than me and would be taking up most of Gretchen's time. But, if I begged her, I was to be allowed to become part of Gretchen's harem. That night she made me prove myself by having me kneel before her and serve her drinks. My desire for her was terible. I was naked, apart from my sandals, a necklace and slave earring and the two "slave-bands" that Gretchen made me wear around my ankles. Gretchen photographed me, over and over again, in the most humiliating positions, naked and kneeling, then, as a final humiliation, with a dog-collar around my neck, while Gretchen, dressed in my most expensive peignoir and mules, lay on the ottoman, a cigarette in one hand, a drink by her elbow, and the leash in her other hand.. Then, when Gretchen was more than half drunk, she took me to bed, climbed on top of me and fucked my brains out.

When I got back to my guests from the kitchen I knew they must have guessed something strange was going on.. Not just the smell of cigarettes from my mouth, but the condition of the house -The new drapes Gretchen had chosen were tasteless, garish tropical prints, which were already filled with the smell of her cigarette smoke. The room was obviously untidy, with dusty or sticky surface, totally unlike the pristine quality of my previous, servantless regime.

Then the youngest matron present, Anne Bruton, made a gauche and simpering remark about how long I'd been in the kitchen with the maid and, in the dreadful silence that followed, before Teddy Blumenthal intervened with a cruel snub to Mrs Bruton I was certain that everybody knew already that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

To be continued...