Maid to Order (2 page)

‘I suppose it would be inappropriate to spank you in front of your father, especially bare bottom. Why, he might realise what a slut his sweet little daughter is, getting all wet when her stepmother spanks her.’

I was choking with shame as I struggled to get my knickers up before Dad came in. Her words made it worse by far, but that didn’t stop me catching the worried tone in her voice, or seeing the expression on her face. She even adjusted the cushions while I buttoned myself up, and by the time the door finally swung open she was all sweetness and light. I waited until the perfect moment, as Dad turned to pull his keys from the lock, then mouthed a single word to Danielle.

‘Bitch.’

If looks could kill I’d have been toast – hot, buttered and with extra marmalade – but it was too late for her to retaliate and I was pretty sure she wouldn’t dare say anything too bad in front of him. She didn’t, but kissed him and went to make him a coffee, now the perfect little girlfriend. I gave him a hug and ran up to my room, close to tears as I brooded over what she’d done to me. She really was an utter bitch, but there was nothing I could do about it when she knew so much about me. And she’d only had to say two words when she first turned up with Dad to make very sure I couldn’t call her on her nasty habits – Morris Rathwell.

That could only mean she knew about his spanking parties, which I’d been attending once a month in order to earn myself some decent pocket money over the last couple of terms. It had meant pretending to be where I wasn’t, while in reality I was having my bottom smacked by a group of dirty old men. Very generous dirty old men. How Danielle knew I had no idea, but she did and if Dad found out I’d really be in trouble. So would she too, because even knowing about something so dirty was going to ruin the whiter-than-white image she tried so hard to keep up for him. So while she could be pretty horrid to me she could only push so far, and she knew it.

She understood about spanking as well, and all the little humiliations that make it worse, especially when it comes to pulling down knickers. That, and knowing about Morris, had to mean she’d had it done, which was at least some consolation as I inspected my cheeks in the bathroom mirror. She given me plenty and I was quite red, but I’d taken a lot worse, and on the bare. Anyway, I like to be spanked, but not by her, and just the thought of what she’d done brought tears to my eyes. I gave myself a rub and tried to pretend I wasn’t reacting the way I would have done if I’d been over a man’s knee voluntarily.

It just wasn’t possible. The sight of my red cheeks sticking out between my top and my pushed down panties was too much on its own, without the heat of my skin and feel of my flesh in my hands. I tried to concentrate on the power getting it from men gives me and how I’d felt as I stood to have my smacked bottom inspected at Morris’s last party. His wife Melody had dealt with me, a tall, powerfully built black girl who’d stroked my hair to help me get over my shyness, and then held me firmly in place across her knee as she turned my school skirt up and took down my panties.

I could remember the men commenting on my figure, their voices amused or hoarse with lust. Coltish, one man had called my legs, as if I was a young horse being paraded at a show. Another had replied that he’d never seen such a pert bottom on such long legs, then asked Melody to pull my knickers down a bit more so that he could see my cunt properly. That single, crude word had been like an electric shock. Melody had obliged, adjusting my panties and then cocking her knee up to make my cheeks spread so they all got a good look at my bumhole too.

She’d spanked me so hard, with my arm twisted up into the small of my back just in case I tried to escape. I’d screamed and squirmed and kicked my legs up and down so hard my shoes had come off, but it had mostly been for show. With Danielle it had been real, but she’d had me, just as securely, holding me in place while she smacked me on the seat of my jeans, and on my panties. As I shut my eyes and stuck my hand between my legs I was thinking of how she’d threatened to strip me properly and what she’d have seen. She’d known anyway, because she’d smelt me, and I was absolutely soaking. It had felt awful having my jeans taken down, worse than when it had been my panties with a dozen leering old gits getting off over my bare rear view. But I wished she’d done it properly, spanked me on my panties and then pulled them down too, taunting me as my bottom came bare, telling me what she could see, telling me how wet I was, calling Summer in to watch ...

‘No!’

I cried out loud, determined not to do it, and forced my mind on to something else, my own rude rear view. My hand was cupped on my pussy and my bottom stuck out to the mirror, my spanked cheeks open to show off the tiny pink star of my bumhole and my fingers where I was holding myself. I was so wet my juices were running down my thighs, with my flesh pink and glistening as I slipped two fingers in to spread my hole. That looked so rude, and I tried to imagine holding myself that way for a man while he got his cock ready to put in me, but it wasn’t a man who’d got me that way. It was Danielle, the vicious, evil bitch who’d held me down and spanked me, who’d taken down my jeans and would have had my knickers down too if Dad hadn’t turned up. I’d have been spanked bare bottom and she’d have seen exactly how I was reacting, and if Summer had come in she’d have seen too, both of them laughing at me as my bum cheeks bounced and my juices splashed ...

There was nothing I could do about it; I was going to come over my punishment. I cried out again, a raw, broken sob at the thought of what had been done to me: spanked by my stepmother and on that awful
word
I came, while frigging myself off, utterly ashamed of myself even as I watched my own busy fingers snatching at my pussy with the juice squashing out and my bumhole squeezing as my muscles contracted in a long, hard orgasm.

My legs were shaking badly as I came, as much from emotion as the strength of my climax. The moment I’d finished I sat down on the loo, biting my lip with shame as I pulled out some loo paper. As I cleaned myself up I was acutely conscious of the feel of my hot, bare cheeks on the cold wood; it kept what had been done to me and what I’d done afterwards fixed firmly in my head. At least there were consolations, and I tried to concentrate on them. For one thing nobody need ever know that I’d masturbated, least of all Danielle, which would have been really unbearable. Better still, Summer hadn’t come in from the garden. Despite the situation I liked her, and she looked up to me. Being spanked in front of her would have been the final straw.

Eventually I got up and went back to the mirror to make sure it wasn’t obvious I’d been crying. I couldn’t bear to be in the same room as Dad and Danielle when they were together, so I intended to sneak into the garden and find Summer, but I was called down before I even crossed the landing.

Dad’s tone sounded doubtful, making me wonder if she might have told him about my spanking, and even made him agree to let her discipline me. As I walked down the stairs, I was desperately trying to think how to get out of it if she had. Even admitting to my visits to the Rathwells was no good, because if I mentioned Morris’s name first, all she had to then do was deny everything.

Dad was smiling, but he looked as doubtful as he sounded. Danielle was smiling too, like a crocodile. I tried to sound casual.

‘What’s up?’

Dad begun to drum his fingers on the table. ‘We were thinking about the rest of your year off.’

‘New York?’ I opened my mouth without engaging my brain. Had Danielle persuaded Dad to get rid of me by letting me take up Hudson Staebler’s offer of summer work in the States? He gave a long sigh and my hopes sank once more.

‘No, Jem, we’ve been through that already.’

‘Europe then.’

‘No, Jemima. Danielle has a much better idea.’

‘What?’

‘My uncle is the manager of a hotel on the south coast,’ she said, and I knew I was in trouble just from the tone of her voice. ‘I’ve got you a place as a maid.’

‘A maid!’

‘Yes, a maid,’ she answered and quickly turned to Dad. ‘It would do her a lot of good, Jeremy. Teach her about real life for a start. You’ve been far too soft with her and I’m not being harsh. It’s for her own good.’

‘I’m sure you’re right, darling,’ he answered, but I could tell he had his doubts.

‘Dad!’

‘I do think it would be a good idea, Jemima, just for a few months, and then we can talk about Europe for next year, when you’re a little older and you’ve had a term at university.’

‘And there’s also the expense to think about,’ Danielle broke in. ‘Your trip would cost your poor dad several thousand pounds, and everybody’s having to tighten their belts at the moment. This way you’ll be earning your own money and learning to stand on your own two feet.’

‘But I don’t want to be a maid! I don’t need to work, and there must be dozen of girls who do, so it’s really not fair.’

‘Don’t talk nonsense,’ she interrupted. ‘Really, Jemima, it’s for your own good. You must learn to stand on your own two feet.’

My mouth came open to protest that I had been standing on my own two feet when I was in the States, but I could hardly admit to what I’d been up to, let alone what I would have been up to if Aunt Penny hadn’t ruined it for me. As it was I had to bite my tongue while she went on about how privileged my childhood had been and how much I’d benefit from a taste of the real world, until I finally managed to get a word in edgeways. Even then my every protest was ignored as the summer I’d been looking forward to for so long was destroyed bit by bit. The fact that I’d got a good place at uni didn’t matter, nor that Dad had plenty of money, nor that the whole thing was just completely unfair.

I even came close to telling Dad about the spanking parties and hoping to catch Danielle out. He knew Morris, and had some idea of what he got up to, but was blissfully unaware of my involvement. There would be real trouble, but there was no way I could prove Danielle knew what went on, and I didn’t even know what the connection was. It was just too risky. I was going, and that was that.

Here’s what I don’t understand. If I take a job, a really boring, tedious job that means being bossed around by a lot of stuck-up people and doing all the really crap work they can’t be bothered with, and work a full week, and they only pay me one hundred and sixty-nine pounds and forty-four pence before deductions, which was what I was going to be getting at the Friston Executive, and I’m supposed to be proud of myself. Alternatively, I can work one evening a month, getting my bottom smacked in front of a load of dirty old men, and, OK, maybe tossing one or two of them off, for a cool five hundred pounds plus tips and no deductions, and I’m supposed to be ashamed of myself. Why?

The argument that always gets trotted out is that providing sexual services is degrading, but that’s just bullshit. Seriously, what’s more degrading; having to clean the toilets in a big hotel, or dancing about in my knickers while a load of men try to get me drunk on champagne? Mopping up after a party of drunken chavs or being put over another woman’s knee, given a slow sexy spanking and being brought to orgasm under her fingers? You prefer mopping up? You can keep it, and if that makes you proud I feel sorry for you.

I certainly didn’t feel proud of myself as we drove down to the south coast, and I did feel very sorry for myself. Danielle had wanted me to go by train and bus, on my own, but the very difficulty of getting to the place had meant that for once she didn’t get her way. Then she’d suggested driving me herself, but Dad and Summer had both wanted to come and wouldn’t be put off. For some reason that was making her nervous and snappy, and when we stopped for petrol and Dad got out of the car she told me to grow up and stop sulking. I felt I had every right to sulk, and told her so. She had completely ruined the end of my year off, and was obviously getting a kick out of making my life miserable, because if she just wanted me out of the way it would have been better to let me go to Europe.

She and I hardly spoke all the rest of the way, but it was only as we got close that I realised how completely she’d spoiled things. I’d looked up the Friston Executive on the net and it had seemed quite nice: a big, spacious three-star hotel in its own grounds and right on the beach. What I hadn’t realised was that it didn’t just have its own grounds, it had its own valley, in a dip between two huge, bare hills without another house in a mile and five miles to the nearest town. It was a quarter of a mile just from the road to the actual hotel, with gates to close off the drive and the entrance to the car park.

We parked by the beach, which turned out to be a strand of enormous flints at the bottom of a twenty-foot chalk cliff. Dad seemed to be impressed, stretching his arms out and taking a deep breath of air.

‘Ah ... smell that! I love the sea. You are a lucky girl, Jem. Just think, all summer at the beach.

I peered over the edge. There was a stair, of sorts, but just looking at it gave me vertigo, while as far as I could tell the smell Dad seemed to be enjoying was a mixture of rotting seaweed and very dead fish. Summer was equally unimpressed, wrinkling her nose and throwing me a knowing look as Dad admired the scenery. Along the beach in both directions, the dirty white cliffs rose higher, with the same drab grey shingle stretching to the limit of vision, where headlands jutted out to East and West. It was all very sunny and calm, but the trees planted to shelter fields in the valley bottom were bent away from the wind, showing that it could be as bleak and miserable as I felt inside.