Authors: Maren Smith
He stood up so close to her that each breath she took scraped her breasts against his chest. His fingers brushed her stomach, slipping in between her jeans and her navel, shivering her as she felt the button come loose and the zipper descend. His hands explored all the parts of her that her falling jeans revealed, her hips, her thighs, he even cupped and squeezed her bottom, lifting, spreading them, letting go again.
He stepped sideways and tapped the edge of his desk. “Right here, young lady.”
She stepped up to the desk as if in a dream and bent herself over it.
“You have such a beautiful ass,” he said as he let his hand wander all over the smooth, round target she was presenting to him.
“Thank you.” A tickle of laugher itched up the back of her throat, but she tried not to let it escape.
“Not at all.” Great. Now he sounded as if he were trying not to laugh too. “I could spend all day spanking you. Perhaps before you go home I will, and then we’ll see who gets the last chuckle in.”
The first soft slap caught the curve of her right bottom cheek. Her breath hitched when he rubbed; she almost lost herself composure to a moan of sheer wanton delight.
“Do me a favor.” His hand rasped a warm figure eight from her right buttock to her left.
She twisted back far enough to look at him. “What?”
“I have plans for you that do not include making it impossible for you to sit so early in the day. However, I also have a reputation to uphold and I do so enjoy scaring the devil out of naughty little girls waiting their turn in the hall. So, I’m going to spank you and I want you to, as my father would say, 'holler fer all yer worth’.”
That sudden and unexpected deep-South drawl startled her so badly she almost laughed. She clapped both hands over her mouth to keep it from being overheard by those ears straining just outside the door.
“Ready?” He grinned, still rubbing her bottom but now squeezing too, and prying in a way that made her whole sex come alive. It felt like he was prizing her open, readying himself to come inside her or perhaps just making good use of his superior view. Except that he was looking at her, catching peeks of her face each time she twisted back to see him.
“You don’t have to be loud if you don’t want to be.” Another clap, only just hard enough to make her jump and sigh; another rubbing squeeze. This time, his fingers got right in there, skimming both her anus and the eager folds of her shivering sex. “If you don’t feel comfortable faking it, as it were, I’m more than happy to give you something real to cry about and treat you like the bad girl you wish you could be. I love watching your face, dressed in blushes and tears. I love the sound of your voice, cracking as you plead and beg for me to stop when, all the while, what you really want is more.”
God help her, Kaylee almost orgasmed. How could he make something like that sound so wonderful and so threatening all at the same time? How could he so effortlessly leave her breathless and unable to hold still like this, with her stomach and her sex clenching in so sharp and erotic and tight?
She pressed her hands over her mouth, fighting to swallow back the moan that tried to slip free when his fingers hooked into the elastic waistband of her underwear. He peeled them down as far as her thighs before his warm hand wandered back up to cup her pussy. He rubbed her; he spanked her. He filled the air with sounds of wetness—
“Oooh,” she clawed at her hair, moaning.
—and she was only getting wetter.
“Of course, I’m also fond of good girls too,” he said, his hand slapping, rubbing, slapping again. Patting more than spanking, her pussy interpreted every smack as sheer pleasure. “Obedient little girls who get rewarded for that obedience in all their favorite ways. So, my question to you, my pretty pet, is this: Do you want to be a good girl or a bad one?”
“I’m a good girl,” Kaylee breathed, her hips rocking under the increasingly seductive spanks of his hand.
“Are you really?”
“Yes!” She clung to his desk, all but panting with need. She arched her hips and spread her legs, opening herself that much wider for him. It was a fight to keep her voice soft so it would not carry. “Please, I want to be your good girl!”
“Let’s see then, shall we?” Wrapping his arm tight around her waist, Master Marshall gave her pussy another soft spank and her knees almost buckled under the pleasure of it.
“Oh!” She stiffened, blushing furiously when his fingers found her clit, rubbing and rolling to bring her arching up onto her tiptoes and then pinching cruelly tight to make her cry out. That it coincided with the first sharp smack of his open hand to her bottom she didn’t for a second think was an accident.
The impact was more sound than sensation, but as Master Marshall settled into a swift and disciplinary rhythm, so did the sting. His palm cupped to catch the air and provided a truly heart-stopping wallop as he warmed her bottom. Soon Kaylee was writhing in time and tempo, but not because she didn’t like it. She yelped and cried out, she even began to beg. It might have been his whispered command that started it—she honestly couldn’t remember. She cried for him to stop, please stop, when stopping was the last thing she wanted. She kicked and she fussed, and spread her legs and arched to meet his hand even though gentle warmth and soft stinging was now melting into sizzling heat and genuine discomfort. But his fingers—oh his fingers!
The spanking abruptly ended and he quickly clamped his burning hand over her mouth, muffling her moan as she ground helplessly on his fingers until she felt that first spark of bliss. He kissed her forehead while she came, spasming again and again, riding on his fingers. He pressed his soft laugh into her skin, shaking his head (at himself?) as he said, “God, I could spend the rest of the day just torturing every inch of you.”
Taking his hand from between her thighs, he brought his fingers to her mouth. “Suck,” he commanded, and she did, using her lips and tongue the way he seemed to like. His hungry kisses stole the taste of her from her mouth before, reluctantly, he helped her rise from his lap and set her back on her own two feet.
Her legs felt like rubber. Her knees kept wobbling and when she dragged first her panties and then her jeans up her legs and pulled them back into place, her bottom sizzled and throbbed. She’d dropped her paper, but found it again half under his desk.
“I want you to have fun today,” Master Marshall told her as they walked to the door. His hand was on her bottom the whole way, cupping and squeezing to make the heat flare like a bonfire all over again, and patting until she squirmed from the delicious discomfort. “My door is always open if you need me.”
When he opened the door, Kaylee slipped outside to exchange places with John, the gentleman waiting in the hall.
“Beth.”
It took Kaylee a moment to remember that was her new name. She looked back at Master Marshall. His was a stern but smiling Look.
“Behave yourself,” he said, and leveled a similar Look at each of three women in turn. Retreating back into his office, he closed the door.
“Oh my God,” one maid whispered as the other covered her mouth with both hands. All three stared at Kaylee with wide eyes and pale faces.
Plucking at her bottom lip, the princess began to jiggle one knee rapidly up and down as she hesitantly leaned over to whisper, “Are you okay?”
Reaching back, Kaylee framed her tender bottom with both hands. “I have never, ever been spanked like that in my life,” she said. She was rotten for doing it—the poor women were nervous enough as it was—but she hadn’t lied.
She left them there, contemplating the punishments that awaited them, and made her way to Wardrobe. She couldn’t wait to strip down in front of all those dressing room mirrors and finally see what he had done to her—all that bright, beautiful red skin that she could feel blazing up with every step she took.
No, no one had ever spanked her like that before.
The hurt hadn’t yet faded, and already she ached to have him do it again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“So, what kind of maid do you want to be?”
Kaylee stood in dressing room with mirrors on all sides of her, staring at the selection of uniforms hanging neatly before her. She had three basic models to choose from. The first was a skimpy, fantasy French maid’s outfit. More corset than gown, it came without garters or stockings but offered shiny black, tiptoe-high dominatrix heels with crimson-red laces that laced up the heel and tied around the ankles.
Tipping the other end of the scale, the second was a dour neck-to-ankle gown that could not have covered more of her had it been a burka. It lacked all the frills and (she suspected) thrills of the first outfit, but did come with a very utilitarian full-length apron and probably very utilitarian stockings, although that was anyone’s guess since no one would ever see them.
The last option ran straight down the middle between the two extremes. The dress was knee-length with a modest neckline that showed a bit of cleavage, enough leg to know the stockings were garters, but with flat, sensible footwear to round it all out.
All three options were stark black and white. All three were crowned with mob caps: a full hair cap for the dour uniform, something very normal looking for the modest uniform, and a veritable tiara of lace and impracticality for the sexy maid’s outfit.
Behind her, the scantily-clad "Lisette" watched on as she agonized over her choices. She herself had picked the sexiest of the three outfits. But then, she also had the kind of body that absolutely rocked that look. She was gorgeous—all big blue eyes and golden curls piled high in ringlets all around that lacy tiara. The corset-style bustier plumped her already full breasts, pushing them up so high that she verged on spilling out over the top with every breath she took. Layer after layer of lacy frill fluffed out her too-short skirt, a length of cloth sufficient only to cover her so long as she did not bend over. There wasn’t enough of her tiny slip of an apron to make a pocket out of.
Kaylee had to work very, very hard not to hate her guts on sheer principle.
“Well,” Lisette prompted and gestured to the dresses, “what do you think?”
“I’m not sure.” Kaylee examined each outfit yet again. She knew which one she’d select if only no one else would ever see her in it. If she were in the privacy of her own living room, hands down, she’d have been a French maid, dancing and strutting and dusting the hell out of everything she owned. But she wasn’t back in her living room. She was here, where she would be expected to go out in public with her fanny hanging out for heaven only knew how many people to see. She didn’t need all these mirrors to know her face was bright red and so far she hadn’t even touched that outfit.
She turned to the middle uniform, demure and respectable. A good girl could still do naughty things in a respectable uniform, but again and again, her eyes strayed back to its scanty cousin.
“Know what I think?” Lisette asked, her hands settling on Kaylee’s shoulders. The two women looked at one another in the circle of mirrors.
“What?”
Lisette took down the uniform Kaylee couldn’t stop admiring. She held it up to Kaylee’s chin, hanger and all, and they both studied her reflection. “Baby girl, I think you are going to look sexy as hell in this.”
Hesitantly, Kaylee felt the fabric. “I don’t know…”
“What do you want?” Lisette pressed, the reflection of her gaze never leaving Kaylee’s in the mirrors. “Do you want to serve? Do you want to follow ordinary, everyday orders—carry trays, polish silver, blacken boots, oil straps? Do you want to sleep in a servant’s bed, be treated as less than equal with the fear of minor punishments hanging over your head but without any sexual release? Put on the long dress and you’ll be like any other shadow walking these old halls. You’ll rise early each morning and be among the last to fall into your bed at night. You’ll be given task after menial, mind-numbing task, with scoldings and the threat of the switch your only chastisement—unless, of course, you come to other arrangements with Mr. Grimsley, the head butler.”
Lisette smiled and smoothed the skimpy outfit out across Kaylee’s belly and hips. “Or maybe, you’re one who aches for punishment but not for the sex that makes this game so much fun. Maybe you want to remain faithful to a vanilla partner on the outside, or you want to avoid the complication of romantic entanglements. A more boring way to spend your time here, I can’t imagine, but at least you’ll get your sitter dusted upon occasion. And who’s to know what you do late at night…all alone in your bed…just you and your busy little fingers. Do you know why I come here, twice a year, every year?”
Mesmerized by Lisette’s blatant sexuality, Kaylee shook her head.
“I love being a bad girl. I love walking into a room and seeing all the men who can’t take their hungry eyes off me. I love serving refreshments in the drawing room and feeling all those hands that can’t resist touching me. I love being cornered in the shadows, kissed until I’m breathless while some stranger seduces me into wearing his collar for a while. Sometimes I wear two or three different collars every day; sometimes I wear chains all night long. I love this place. But it’s not about me, is it, baby girl? What do you want?”
That was the question, now wasn’t it? Kaylee stared at their reflections. She thought about Master Marshall: his angel-blue eyes, that devil-born smile, and his voice as smooth as honey. If she couldn’t have that, what would make a good second choice? Her mind kept coming back blank. “What if you don’t know what you want?”
Lisette’s smile turned sympathetic first, and then blatantly coy. “Not knowing what you want and being ashamed to admit you do want it, are two very different things.”
Kaylee gave the skimpy maid’s outfit one last glance before reluctantly hanging it back up on the hook. “I better not.” She took down the middle dress. “I don’t think I’m comfortable wearing something so revealing in front of other people.”
“Why not?” Lisette challenged. “When will you ever see any of them again? Who are they to judge you when they’re here too?”