Authors: Melissa Macneal
Her sharp intake of breath told me the sight affected
her
too. I’d never watched a woman fondle herself, yet Monique was clearly experienced at it — baring her most private parts with pale fingers separating rose-coloured flesh from short black curls, to give me a lesson in technique. Surely Dewel couldn’t have guessed she would —
That’s precisely why he sent her
, came my mind’s reply.
The memory of his hot weight, pressing me against the iron gate as he rubbed his cock against my backside, made my desire spike like a fever. Monique was wet now, making juicy, secretive sounds as her fingers quickly drove her to my level of arousal. Her slit turned a deeper pink. Her agile body rocked in rhythm with mine, and with the moans that escaped her.
‘Oh,
cherie
— such a sight you are. Such a pretty piece,’ she coaxed. ‘I’m on the edge — so very close — come here and fuck me —
mon Dieu
!’
And then Monique was on
me
, straddling my lace-draped leg so her folds could rasp against the black pattern. Her flexing thigh pressed the fabric against my clit, and I grabbed her hips when the pain and frenzy fused into white-hot pleasure. Together we thumped against the wall, searching for those moments of perfect contact…the completion of this secretive act we shared again.
With a gasp, she landed against me. I’d have felt very awkward if one of the new girls came in and saw us, despite the way I’d previously imagined performing for them. But my fantasies — and my needs — went beyond reason sometimes. I didn’t have answers for questions I’d just begun to ask.
‘Why can’t it be this way with Chapin?’ I murmured. Words I wouldn’t have dared express ordinarily, yet I sensed Monique understood.
‘We can’t always have what we want, Auntie Evil.’ She was wetting a towel, and then gently wiped between my legs before she cleaned herself. ‘But sometimes, if we try for it anyway — finding ways to be happy, staying open to joy — we get what we
need
. Maybe not where we expected to find it,
non
?’
Wise beyond her years, Monique, yet wickedly innocent. Her childlike view of the world set my own circumstances into perspective and, when she left me to get dressed, I knew Dewel had placed my budding sexuality in very capable hands. I could only hope Chapin would appreciate my new-found knowledge, even if I had to hide the way I was acquiring it.
‘
Mon Dieu
, what is this I see?’ My maid’s shrill voice penetrated the tiled white wall. ‘I left you for only a moment. I asked you to arrange Miss Eve’s new gowns in the closet above her new shoes. And I find —
this
!’
Feverishly I buttoned my blouse. What catastrophe merited such an outburst from the woman who’d been a purring pussy moments ago?
‘Downstairs! This minute!’ she barked, and I envisioned a fist against her hip while she pointed towards the door. ‘Not here two hours, and already I’ve caught you playing on the job. Like sneaky little girls dawdling in mama’s closet. Out! Out!’
Absolute silence then; the maids knew better than to sass back. As I was smoothing my hair in the mirror, Monique peeked into the bathroom. ‘We request your presence in the front parlour, Auntie Evil. I hope you’re ready for the…the
spectacle
they’ve made of themselves.’
As she closed the bathroom door, and the purposeful tattoo of her boots went towards the stairway, I sensed Miss Picabou was not as angry as she’d led our new domestics to believe. This was part of her act, and she relished every second of being their superior.
Far be it from me to intercede. I smoothed my navy skirt and tucked in my blouse, a natty nautical design with a sailor collar, as was coming into fashion now. Looking at it, no one would guess what I’d been doing to myself in here — and with a length of black lace! I folded the fabric back into its box, smiling at what I might want to do with it next.
I descended the stairs, pausing outside the parlour to compose myself. I was the lady of the manor, the wife of a prominent politician, and I had an image to maintain in front of new employees: the dignity and breeding of Southern gentility must prevail if these maids were to properly perform their duties in the coming months.
When I saw them, however, my hand flew to my mouth.
The three domestics stood in a row, hands clasped before them, looking mightily afraid of the punishment to come. Chloe had let her straight black hair down and sported a thick coating of kohl around her exotic eyes; she’d rouged her cheeks and lips as well, and she looked like…well, like a tart in uniform. Beside her, Annabelle fidgeted in my new gown of turquoise tulle. She’d wound my longest strand of pearls into her red-brown hair, so it dipped dramatically over one ear. And Sylvia…Sylvia had removed her apron and grey uniform, presumably for a better view of the stunning new shoes that graced her feet. Shoes I’d had specially designed of an iridescent fabric with a shine like glass, to match my fanciest new ball gown.
But it was Monique catching everyone’s eye. She’d stripped away her dress and pinafore — not a shred of innocent pretence remained about this virago clad in a black corset, with a matching garter belt and stockings above her calf-high boots. She surveyed the trio of maids from behind a wickedly thin black mask, and was pulling on velvet gloves that flared above her wrists. She retrieved her cane from the umbrella holder with a zeal that had
me
flinching, even though I’d done nothing wrong.
‘What a mess you’ve made of your first day,
non
?’ she crowed in that relentless Cajun rhythm. ‘Your sole purpose in life is to make my aunt look good. And
look
at you!’
Her tone would’ve withered a hardened criminal, and the way she clicked that cane on the parquet floor as she paced, pantherlike, intensified her wrath. ‘What if Mr Proffit walked in? Why, he’d kick your foolish butts out to the street. And then he’d complain to Miss Delacroix — and you know what
she’d
do to you!’
The girls shifted nervously as their gazes fell to their feet.
Tap, tap tap.
‘What do you get when you cross Aunt Evil? That’s who she is, you know — my Aunt Evil. And for good reason.’ Monique continued in a rising cry. ‘
What do you get when you cross Aunt Evil?
’
Silence rang around the parlour, until Chloe’s red lips quirked. ‘Cross her with what?’
An unladylike snort escaped Annabelle, and then her dangling pearls quivered with her effort to stop giggling. Poor Sylvia looked mortified enough to wet herself.
‘You three are the most pathetic…’ Monique gripped her slender cane in an effort to keep from hurling it at them, a chorus line of dilettante domestics. ‘You deserve a spanking, and you know it. Now turn around and bend over that couch. Dresses up! Drawers down!’
Could I believe what I was seeing and hearing? I opened my mouth to suggest —
But, as the girls assumed the position she’d ordered, Monique turned to point her cane at me, shaking her head. I stepped back, abashed yet fascinated: the three girls, although clearly frightened by the corporal punishment they faced, prepared themselves as though they’d done this before. Three skirts and white shifts were hiked slowly over three backs that bent low over the settee, revealing ruffled white panties that billowed demurely over their hips — the latest rage in underthings. Three sets of hands reached back to three waist-bands, and slowly began to lower the frilly undergarments over firm young backsides.
To my horror, Fanny Frike then entered the room, to see what sort of commotion my maid was causing now. Taking note so she could tattle to Chapin, no doubt. The housekeeper stopped to stare, with the most amazed expression I’d ever seen.
‘Saints preserve us,’ she whispered. ‘They’ve all got balls!’
‘Space yourselves! Spread those legs!’ Monique commanded. ‘Don’t make me tell you twice, you naughty maids!’
The three maids — if one called them that, considering the anatomical parts I now saw with utmost clarity — separated themselves along the couch, and then leaned over it for the punishment to come. I had followed Fanny’s gaze and stood gaping, my pulse galloping like a runaway mare, for surely the fusty old housekeeper would call a halt to this charade — and tell Chapin all about it the moment he got home.
Yet she stood stock-still, gripping her hands in front of her stomach. She had yet to blink.
Tap, tap, tap
, went the cane’s tip on the floor.
Did I imagine it, or did all three miscreants lock their knees so their asses protruded more prominently? I couldn’t stop staring, for between each pair of muscled thighs dangled a set of testicles, each with its uniquely coloured haze of hair. A blonde, a brunette and a redhead. Displayed as though for my enjoyment; angled so I could watch their cocks starting to stiffen.
‘So you want to be queens,
oui
?’ Monique went on, so caught up in her role as disciplinarian, she was heedless of the housekeeper and me. ‘Well, even royalty pays the price for overstepping the line. Humiliation is the very
least
you deserve for your behaviour this morning,
non
?’
There was a murmured reply; a shifting of tight backsides anticipating the cane.
‘Yes,
what
, you pathetic pansies?’
‘Yes, Mistress Monique,’ came the chorus.
‘Maybe you’ll improve in your role of serving girls, as befits this fine household, if you have royal names to live up to,’ the virago in black intoned. ‘No doubt you were the ringleader, Annabelle.’
She gave the redhead in the centre a preliminary whack, making the fleshiest part of the maid’s ass jiggle and blanch before a pink stripe appeared. ‘And dressed so divinely, in Mrs Proffit’s prettiest pearls and turquoise gown. You fancy yourself French,
oui
? Marie Antoinette, perhaps?’
Again the slender cane whished through the air, producing a stripe above the first one.
Annabelle jumped, stuttering, ‘Yes, mistress, Muh-Marie Antoinette cut a stunning figure as queen.’
‘Toinette it is then!’ Monique gleefully landed another whack on the centre of that attractive backside, watching the flesh shimmy and shine pink above those quivering balls. ‘Try not to lose your head again. Even Marie only got one chance at it.’
Warming to her role, Monique paced behind them for a moment, to intensify the anticipation. The clatter of those tight boots, punctuated by the cane’s
tap, tap, tap
, was enough to make me pity whomever she humiliated next.
‘Dabbling in Auntie Evil’s cosmetics, were we, Chloe?’ she then demanded, and with a deft flick of her wrist the cane bit into the darker maid’s shapely backside.
This minx had the nerve to wiggle, making those balls swing seductively around a cock that prodded the couch. She stifled a cry, however, when Monique made her whip sing a surprise second verse — louder and harder this time.
‘With those dark features and that midnight hair, you belong in Egypt,
non
? Cleopatra, queen of the Nile?’
‘She ruled, yes! Her legend shines through the centuries,’ the newly named maid boasted. But her crowing rose to a howl when the whipping continued with two more quick whacks in succession, and then a third. This time the stripes were patterned in precise X-shapes, growing rosier as we watched.
‘
De-nial
is no place to float your boat now!’ Monique quipped. ‘You have no business trying Aunt Evil’s beauty secrets, trying to be as pretty as she. You are her servant! Her slightest wish is your command,
oui
, Cleopatra?’
‘I was only —
yess
, Mistress Monique!’ the sinner cried out when the cane met her dusky butt with a vengeance. ‘Just as Cleopatra served Egypt, I live to do Miss Eve’s every bidding.’
The parlour got quiet, except for the ragged breathing coming from the couch…and from the stout housekeeper who stood riveted by this performance. I’d never known Fanny Frike to fixate on anything the way she gazed at the three asses and sets of privates so blatantly displayed before us.
‘They’re young men, in the prime of life,’ she breathed, taking in every curve of their cushions, every sinew of the thighs that ended in a froth of white ruffles at their knees. ‘Yet I was certain they were girls. Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’
Religion was the furthest thing from my mind, however, for only one penitent awaited her due, and her creamy, rounded moons were already aquiver. White thighs framed a neat little pair of nodules adorned by hair so pale it was nearly invisible, yet I had no trouble imagining what stuck out in front, high and hard: Sylvia had shifted to allow it room to grow. Her panties ringed dainty knees and white-stockinged legs, with fine-boned ankles and feet just made to fit my beautiful see-through shoes. While it irked me that Sylvia had chosen my newest, most expensive footwear, I had to admire her taste.
‘And
you
, silky Sylvia!’ Monique’s voice crescendoed. ‘Carried away with straightening Miss Eve’s pretty slippers, even after I warned you,
non
?’
Whisss-smack
went the slender cane, and the maid’s outburst wrenched my soul.
‘Please, Mistress Monique,’ she pleaded, her ankles wobbling on the high, narrow heels. ‘I was trying to do my best job —’
‘You tried on every shoe in the closet!’
‘— of placing each pair beneath the dress they complemented best, and —’
Tap, tap, tap.
‘— Miss Eve has such a
lovely
assortment, I couldn’t always decide —’
Whisss-smack
, and again Sylvia yowled like a whipped kitten, reaching back to shield her ass with her hand.
I was ready to step in, but Mrs Frike took my elbow. ‘Obviously needs watching, that one,’ she intimated, shaking her head sternly. ‘Better to let her — him — take his licks now, and understand what’s expected in this house. I can tell you
I
won’t tolerate any such foolishness about your clothes and shoes when it’s me they answer to!’
Her vehemence gave me pause: in my years as Mrs Proffit, I’d known Fanny Frike to run a disciplined household, but not with a cane. Not by punishing some poor servant’s bare backside! Yet I sensed the thrumming pulse in her grip had nothing to do with this spanking spectacle. Something about having three young men with interesting idiosyncrasies under her roof was giving the housekeeper a whole new outlook on staff management.
‘All right, Cinderella!’ Monique continued, slapping the curved handle of the cane against her palm. ‘It’s down to the cellar with you — to let your sisters get all the glory — if you misbehave this way again,
non
?’
‘But I didn’t mean to —’
Whisss-smack
, and yet another piteous yelp, and another shining pink stripe across that ripe, white backside.
‘It’s just that…well, Cinderella wasn’t a queen,’ Sylvia protested. ‘She was only the misfit princess in a fairy tale!’
‘Enough whining. All of you — up. Up!’ Monique banged the cane’s tip on the floor to hurry them along. ‘You will apologise to Miss Eve for using her personal effects for your own enjoyment. You will spend the rest of today wearing only your aprons, with your panties around your knees. And you will answer to your new names — cheerfully,
oui
?’
‘Yes, Mistress Monique,’ they replied as they turned to face me.
Cleopatra in her kohled eyes, and Toinette with her pearl headpiece, and Cinderella in her glasslike slippers without a prince to rescue her from such piercing shame. It took all my effort not to giggle as they made their apologies. Each maid in turn came forward, begged my forgiveness, and swore to behave with perfect decorum from here on out. And, as they peeled off their outer clothing, leaving their panties down around their knees, I realised the point of Monique’s punishment: their rosy rears would be on display for all to see, a reminder of their morning’s shortcomings.
‘What a bunch of sissies!’ Monique hissed — although, even with her wicked mask and fierce black attire, I could see she was enjoying herself immensely. ‘Back to work — all of you! And if you whine like whipped pups at what I make you do, just wait. This afternoon you’ll work with Mrs Frike!’
The heavyset housekeeper couldn’t hide a smile. ‘That’s my cue to have some tasks ready,’ she remarked with a final scrutinising of the three maids. ‘But I don’t mess with a silly little cane, girls. I’ve got a broad hand and an arm that never gets tired — hear me?’
Cleopatra, Toinette and Cinderella scurried towards the stairway as best they could with their white skiv-vies nipping at their knees, not daring a last look at the dour housekeeper who exited the parlour. When Monique and I stood alone in the centre of the room, I took a deep breath. What did I say — what did I think? — about the scene I’d just witnessed?
‘Must you be so —’
‘Strict?’ The black-clad mistress tugged at the fingertips of her gloves. ‘They must learn in a hurry,
non
? If they are to meet Mr Proffit’s approval — and make
you
look good? And never, never forget that Miss Delacroix, she trained them this way.’
Monique stepped closer then, to peer at me with those provocative dark eyes still surrounded by a mask of black satin that went up into pointed corners.
‘These girls who are boys?’ she asked in a confiding tone. ‘They make the
best
servants, Auntie Evil. Sissy maids live to follow orders. They’re born to serve. They
choose
this path, because to attend the School of Domestic Endeavor, to be trained and then recommended by Honore Delacroix, why — they can attain no higher life!’
Sissy maids. I’d have to take this new bone and chew on it, for I’d never been presented with such a philosophy, nor met anyone who knew of it. I simply could not fathom a healthy, normal young man becoming a — a maid. In skirts!
But again my personal servant — very unorthodox in her own ways — corralled my stampeding thoughts with a fingertip on my cheek, forcing me to focus on her unmasked face. She was flushed and lovely from her exertions, truly the queen of my staff. And once again her subtle charm cast its spell.
‘I’m planning a special surprise for tonight,’ she murmured, grinning as she thought about it. ‘Tommy Jon, he’s made you a gift,
ma tante
. And he wants to deliver it personally.’
My mouth went dry at the memory of her well-hung lover pumping her, but then reality set in. ‘I don’t think he’d better show up here —’
‘
Non?
You can refuse that handsome man and his special talent with —’
‘If Fanny tells my husband about these goings-on, I’m hanged!’
Her laughter filled the elegant room with a gaiety seldom shared in this sombre house. ‘Fanny’ll be busy watching those sissy maids,’ she explained with sparkling eyes. ‘And if the housekeeper’s so excited by their little secret, she’ll keep
your
secrets too,
non
? For if she tells Mr Chapin what’s under those aprons, he’ll send them away. Then
everyone
will be unhappy.’
My head spun with her skewed Cajun logic, but I was enjoying it too much to argue. It was indeed an ironic advantage that our stodgy Mrs Frike had found a new light in her life.
‘And, Auntie Evil, you know what they say — about when the cat’s away? The mice, they should play.’
Monique wiggled her nose like a mouse — a fetching little mouse in black who snatched up my hands. ‘T-Jon, he’s all excited about making your present. He’ll be
so
disappointed if you refuse him. And there’ll be no fun for me if my man’s not happy,’ she added pointedly.
With that, she headed for the door with feline finesse — probably so I’d notice the way her bared hips swayed beneath that tight black corset, while her footfalls set the pace for my pulse. She pivoted, to lean against the door jamb in profile, one leg bent with a foot to the woodwork as she slipped a little cigar from her stocking top, and then a match.
A spark flew from the bottom of her boot, and then she placed the cheroot between her lips, her movements exaggerated to full effect, making me watch until she was ready to take her leave. With sensual slowness she inhaled, her cheeks hollowing, until she reversed the procedure to blow her smoke. Then she smiled as only Monique Picabou knew how, a mixture of lazy lust and childlike charm radiating from her entire body.
‘Leave your suite’s gallery door open, Auntie. We’ll come like thieves in the night, to steal your innocence…your inhibitions,’ she whispered. ‘To teach you about seducing your husband when he gets home, of course.’
Of course. It would be true because this young woman declared it so, before leaving me with a flounce of her fully exposed behind. I could only listen and obey. And wonder who was really the servant here.