Mistress Mommy
Mistress Mommy
Abby Collier
© 2010 Abby Collier & Blushing Publications
© 2010 Abby Collier & Blushing Publications
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Mistress Mommy by Abby Collier
eBook ISBN:
978-1-60968-085-5
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Cover Design: Korey M Johnson
Images Provided by BigStock Photo © Viorel Sima © jumpingsack
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Chapter One
She nearly missed the ad at the back of the campus paper. It was almost deliberately non-descript.
Seeking person to stay at my home. Own room. Special circumstances for the right person. Contact M.M. at 555-6572.
Granted, Alicia was getting pretty desperate, but it wasn’t just her wallet that was intrigued by this ad. In fact, it wasn’t her wallet at all, because there wasn’t a price mentioned, which should have been the first thing to raise warning bells. She circled it and punched the numbers into her cell before she could talk herself out of it.
A woman’s voice answered almost immediately, and was nothing if not no nonsense. “Yes?”
Suddenly shy about the call and what it might entail, she stumbled over her words. “I – uh, I w- was calling about the – uh- the ad that y- you had in the paper for – uh – the room?”
The voice on the other end softened somewhat. “Oh, yes.”
“Is it still available?”
“The most important thing is that you must be over eighteen. And I’m very selective about who I allow to stay in my home.”
That had Alicia immediately thinking that, whatever the restrictions were, they would apply to her, and she’d be out of the running. “I’m over eighteen,” she said, without much hope.
She was surprised to hear a light chuckle coming from the other end of the phone at her disappointed tone. “Why don’t we get together and talk about it? Are you available later today?”
Licia had knotted the napkin in her lap until it was in shreds. “I have some appointments but I’m free after three thirty.”
“Then why don’t we meet at four? Do you have a paper and pen? I’ll give you directions.”
Licia took down the detailed directions.
“Read them back to me, please. I don’t want you to get lost.”
She did as she was told without thinking. The woman on the other end was extremely detailed, and made sure she knew where she was going and that she wasn’t going to get lost. Alicia had spent enough time in Portland as a young girl on vacation with her parents, so, despite the fact that she was newly arrived to start college, she was relatively familiar with the city already. The part of town the house she was being directed to was in was called the Eastern Promenade, or the Eastern Prom, as the natives called it. It was a beautiful area with big old houses that looked out over the water, not far from downtown and the touristy Old Port shopping area, and relatively close to Southern Maine College, which she would be attending.
“Good girl. So four o’clock this afternoon. Be punctual. I don’t tolerate tardiness,” came the sharp warning.
“Yes, ma’am,” she answered, entirely without thinking, simply responding to the authority in her voice.
Another light chuckle. “You and I are going to get along well, little one. See you then.”
Licia stared at the phone for a long time after the woman on the other end had hung up, wondering what she’d just gotten herself into. On impulse, she dialed a close friend and gave her the scoop about where she was going - completed with directions and a phone number and the paper and issue the ad had been in, just in case. She made arrangements to meet her friend later that night for dinner, and if she didn’t show up at the agreed upon restaurant, Keri would alert the authorities.
Usually early, she only managed to be exactly on time for this appointment, since her others ran late. The house was a gorgeous old Victorian, complete with a tower room. It was painted in complementary pastel colors that surprised Alicia, but they seemed to go together. She nervously pressed the doorbell, and only had to wait a few seconds.
“You’re right on time. Good girl.”
She didn’t know why, but the praise made Licia flush with pleasure.
“Come in, come in.”
The house was as warm and inviting on the inside as it was on the outside, although the Victorian theme was definitely continued throughout, everywhere except the kitchen, which was extremely modern. Everywhere else, though, seemed to be crammed to the rafters with gorgeous period piece furniture, or what could have been artful knockoffs, for all she knew.
The house was mainly done in shades of maroon, with the occasional contrasting blues and grays, and the only negative Licia could see was that it was dark. The drapes at the tall windows were a heavy velvet or velour – she didn’t know which – and they blocked nearly all of the outside light.
The woman that answered the door was much younger than Licia had expected. She’d been picturing someone in her fifties, maybe even sixties, but the person standing confidently before her was probably barely out in her thirties, and maybe even not out of her twenties.
It was hard to tell, yet there didn’t seem to be an ounce of makeup on her.
She had jet black hair that fell in waves around her face and over her shoulders in an artfully careless style. She wore what appeared to be diamond studs in her ears and a matching diamond necklace, as well as a Byzantine gold thumb ring and a good sized diamond solitaire on her right ring finger. Her complexion was flawless, but very pale. No tanning booths for this lady.
She was wearing what looked like some sort of elaborate robe that looked very much like the curtains Licia had noticed at the windows, very feminine with wide lapels, and showing a modest amount of cleavage by today’s standards, belted at the waist with a beautiful matching flowery print belt. She was apparently wearing men’s style pajamas beneath them; the shirt and very tight, straight legged pants could plainly be seen beneath the robe.
The woman offered her hand. “It’s very nice to meet you . . .”
“Alicia Barnes.” Alicia shook the pristinely manicured hand.
“Alicia. I like that name. Very feminine. And you may call me Mistress.” Her real name was Margot, but very few people ever called her that. Certainly not someone who was going to be living in her house.
Licia’s heart leapt to her throat. How was it that she had managed to step into one of her own fantasies in the middle of stodgy downtown Portland, Maine? This place could have been the scene of any one of the turn of the century Victorian porn novels she’d stumbled onto in Boarders! Call her Mistress? She had half a mind to run screaming from the place...
Unfortunately, the other half of her mind was utterly intrigued by what was going on, and it was quite adamant that she stay and find out exactly where this was going to lead. She was safe – relatively. She patted the pocket in her purse that contained a large vial of pepper spray. Besides, Keri was her fail safe. She knew she’d do exactly what was needed when – and if – the time came.
She’d become so preoccupied, arguing with herself within her own mind about whether or not she was going to stay there or not, that she forgot to pay attention to her hostess, who, annoyed that her guest wasn’t following her, came back to find Alicia still standing in the doorway.
“Alicia, I asked you to follow me. You’ll find that I don’t like to have to repeat myself, and, if I end up having to do so, there will be unpleasant consequences. Follow me, please.”
The “Yes, ma’am” that popped out of her mouth was entirely unbidden. Licia found herself following the older woman entirely automatically.
She was lead into a beautiful parlor that continued the maroon, gray, and blue theme, with gorgeous reproduction – she assumed – pieces of camel back settees and gate legged end tables. Licia was motioned to sit at the end of one of the settees, while the other woman occupied a luxurious chaise lounge across from her.
“Tell me about yourself, Alicia. What brings you to Portland? Why are you looking for a room?”
Despite the circumstances – or perhaps because of them, in Alicia’s case – she was surprisingly easy to talk to. Alicia found herself confessing things that she might not have to someone else – like the fact that the reasons she was looking in the paper for a room was because she’d procrastinated in filling out the necessary paperwork to get a room through the college.
Her companion stopped in the middle of reaching for something and looked directly at her. “There are definitely remedies for procrastination, you know.” She reached for and rang a small bell. A tiny woman in an outrageously gaudy, old fashioned maid’s uniform appeared within seconds. “Would you like some milk or water, Alicia?” the Mistress offered.
“Do you have any soda or coffee?” Alicia countered, certain one of those common items had to be available.
“Milk or water?” she was offered again, more firmly.
“Neither, thank you,” Licia declined, just as firmly.
A small smile played about the older woman’s lips, but she turned to the servant and said, “Tea for me, please, Ella.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
It appeared as if by magic, minutes later, and Alicia was duly impressed to hear that the servant was thanked by her mistress before being summarily dismissed.
She was again encouraged to speak about herself, and had just begun doing so when they were interrupted by a young woman who was not too much older than herself who ran into the room and knelt down to kiss the Mistress’s hand most lovingly. “I’m back, Mistress.”
“I see that you are, my Amy. But the door was closed and you didn’t bother to knock, did you?” Her tone was gentle, but there was no mistaking the rebuke. “I’m with someone right now, and you barged in quite rudely, I’m afraid.”
Amy’s head hung in shame. It was unclear whether or not she’d even noticed Alicia’s presence, but Alicia didn’t think that would have mattered to Amy in the least.
Mistress hugged Amy without reserve, despite her gaffe, then leaned back and cupped the young woman’s cheek. “You know what you must do now, then, don’t you?”
“Yes, Mistress,” came the reluctant, mumbled reply.
“And what is that?” The question – which everyone in the room knew was much more of a command - was delivered in a soft but clear tone.
On a dry sob, Amy replied, “Go upstairs to my room and stand in the corner with my panties at my ankles and wait for you.”
“Good girl. I won’t be too long.” She reached up and patted Amy’s bottom as she turned and trudged out of the room, reluctance and regret more than evident in every step.
When she looked back at Alicia, the girl’s eyes were wide as saucers. “What do you make of that, Alicia?”
She could do nothing but gulp at her suddenly dry throat. “M-make of w-what?”
“I asked you what do you make of what just happened between myself and Amy?”
“Well, I... I don’t – I don’t know.”
Mistress’ eyebrows rose as if she highly doubted what Alicia was saying. “Come now. You must have felt something. The usual is revulsion or disdain that a young woman of Amy’s age – she’ll be twenty in six weeks – needs to be disciplined. Needs to stand in the corner of her room with her bare bottom on display, waiting patiently for her Mommy to come up there and blister it for her because she forgot to be polite.” She could see how Alicia was trying – unsuccessfully – not to squirm in her seat. But most young women were already halfway down the block by now.
