“Welcome, Miss Francie,” she said warmly, indicating that I should join her, then turned to the staff. “Miss Francie is to be the new second chambermaid. Her responsibilities will cover the guest rooms, and to assist the first chambermaid and myself in any other duties.” She then introduced me one by one to the rest of the staff: the parlor maid, Miss Charlene; the first chambermaid, Miss Susan; the Cook (“Cook,” of course); and finally, the butler, Mr. Fletcher. As I was introduced to each, I curtsied and they would respond with a curtsy (or in the case of Fletcher, a bow).
“Jefferson, the chauffeur, is out with Mistress Madeleine,” Miss Claudia explained, “and the garden is managed by a company, and is not part of the house. But in any event, you would have little contact with Jefferson or the gardeners, as your duties should not take you even downstairs, except for meals and to assist Charlene for special events. We don’t need chambermaids running through the gardens, interrupting music lessons in the Conservatory, despite evidence to the contrary.”
I blushed a deep crimson, and heard someone snigger. The housekeeper’s head snapped in the direction of the sound, and her pretty eyes narrowed.
“Susan,” she said quietly. The plump red-head stepped forward quickly, her face filled with dread. “Fetch me a cane from the stand, please.” I watched the maid’s eyes fill with tears, but she didn’t protest. She trotted to what I had mistakenly thought was an umbrella stand, and pulled a cane from the half dozen that were kept there. She returned to hand the cane to Miss Claudia, and curtsied. The housekeeper pointed to the fireplace mantle, and with a nervous whimper, the red-head turned to the mantle and pulled her skirt up, revealing creamy white buttocks barely covered with black lace panties, and a black garter belt. With trembling fingers, she lowered those wispy panties to just below the curve of her bottom.
“Susan, you are to receive four strokes for inappropriate verbal behavior,” the housekeeper stated.
“Yes, Miss Claudia,” the girl answered, her voice quavering. The first stroke came almost immediately after she finished speaking, and I winced involuntarily at the sharp sound of cane hitting flesh. The impact had hit the softest, fleshiest part of the maid’s buttocks, just above her thighs, and two red, parallel lines were already appearing in sharp relief against her skin. She had gasped, but made the formal reply. “Thank you, Miss Claudia.” The swish of the cane and its impact cracked through the air again, and again two parallel marks appeared, directly below the first set. “Thank you, Miss Claudia,” the maid whimpered. The third stroke bit into her thighs, and I flinched again, in sympathy. The housekeeper flicked the cane through the air one last time, and now there were eight angry red lines paralleling each other perfectly across the chambermaid’s buttocks and thighs. “Thank you, Miss Claudia,” she responded, a sob catching in her voice. I watched the housekeeper step forward and touch the girl reassuringly on the shoulder.
“Don’t cry now, Susan, it’s not seemly,” she said, “Mistress Madeleine will be home for dinner, and we can’t have your eyes all puffy and red, can we?” I watched her hand dropping to caress the chambermaid’s buttocks, cupping them briefly, and running a finger across the marks. “What if she wants a juicy redhead to turn her bed down tonight, hmmm?” The maid nodded, a smile lighting up her face now, and Miss Claudia patted her once more before pulling her panties up and smoothing her skirt back over her buttocks. She then returned her attention to the rest of us. Other than a slight rise of color in her pretty cheeks, the housekeeper was as calm as she was before she had so viciously caned the young maid. I shivered. What composure!
“Mistress Madeleine will be returning at six,” she informed us. “Mr. Linden will be joining her for dinner, and is expected to stay through the weekend next. Dinner will be served at seven thirty. Charlene, please assist Cook in preparations. Mr. Fletcher, I must ask you to attend to the table, as I will be instructing Francie in her upstairs duties. I expect to be finished before seven, and will assist you at that time. That will be all, thank you.” With her dismissal, the servants left quickly, to attend to their various tasks.
I followed Miss Claudia to the back stairs, still in shock. I knew I would have trouble sleeping tonight, thinking of her sweet, smooth hands wielding a cane that would come sizzling down on my backside, but I kept that thought in the back of my head and made a determined effort to concentrate. On the second floor, Miss Claudia began opening doors.
“This is the guest wing,” she explained. “There are four rooms, each with their own bathroom. Linens are kept here.” She continued the tour, pointing out where supplies were to be found, the closet for storing dirty linens until they were to be taken to the laundry room in the basement, and the dumbwaiter located between the second and third rooms.
“Mr. Linden will be using the blue room,” Miss Claudia said as she showed me the room, which was decorated in the more masculine Federal style, with a sturdy four-poster bed dominating the room. “He takes a snifter of brandy at night, and prefers his windows open.” She hesitated, looking at me. “Previously, Mr. Linden has requested that Mr. Fletcher attend to him because we don’t have a valet on staff, but Mistress Madeleine has decided that you shall be called upon for those duties.” She hesitated, and I wondered if Mr. Linden was expecting someone like me to appear at his door. Then the housekeeper seemed to come to a decision. “Follow me, Miss Francie,” she said, and we headed to the other wing, passing through a hidden door into a small bedroom that I knew instantly was hers.
The room was petite and very feminine. The walls were bisected with a chair rail, and floral wallpaper reached up to the ceiling. Pink curtains moved slightly in the afternoon breeze. A double bed with a fluffy comforter was pushed against one wall. A vanity set, a straight-backed chair, and a chest of drawers were the other furniture. I stood in the center of the room on a round rug decorated with a rose pattern, while the housekeeper went to her vanity and opened one of the drawers, retrieving something that I couldn’t see.
“Francie, please take off your undergarment,” she requested. I pulled the skirt up to grasp the top of the restrictive girdle and peel it off my body. As I started to pull my skirt back down, she interrupted. “No, keep your skirt up.” She walked slowly toward me, her eyes fixed on my cock. I blushed, and I felt my cock get harder under her gaze.
“That’s such a pretty package, it’s a shame to hide it under something so binding,” she said. “I think an alteration in your uniform is required.” She gently gathered my balls into her hand. I breathed hard at her touch, my insides melting in embarrassment and desire.
“Francie, from now on, this will be worn beneath your uniform instead of underwear.” In her hand was a leather strap with snaps that I immediately recognized as a cock ring. She smiled at me as she wrapped the leather around my cock and balls. “This was a special gift from a friend, a fellow maid when I first met him,” she remarked as she snapped it tightly around my privates. “Oh, I’m so pleased it fits,” she said.
She started to pat my balls, the palm of her hand coming up between my legs, first gently, then harder, until she was lightly and rapidly slapping my scrotum. A moan escaped my lips, and she smiled wider. She stopped slapping and grasped my cock in her hand, moving up and down on the shaft, encouraging it to grow. I was panting from the intensity until she slapped it as well, and the pain stabbed through my groin. Even as I gasped she returned to fondle my balls again, torturing me to the edge of pleasure, then slapping, never so hard as to cause real agony, but enough to make me gasp. Finally, she stopped, but the leather ring kept my balls engorged and my cock was protruding nearly straight out from my body. Miss Claudia stepped back to admire her handiwork. “Yes, that will do splendidly,” she decided. “I’ll have your uniforms shortened to enhance the effect, but this will do nicely for this evening.” She smoothed my skirt down, her eyes twinkling as my throbbing package showed in sharp relief through the fabric.
“Yes, this will do quite splendidly,” she repeated, and gestured for me to follow her out of the room. Glancing at the grandfather clock in the corridor, she ordered me to my duties, and started downstairs to assist Mr. Fletcher.
I was dusting the windowsills in the blue room when Susan knocked timidly on the door and entered.
“Francie, I wanted to apologize to you personally for my behavior earlier today,“ she said, after curtsying to me. “I hope you won’t be mad at me—I’d like us to be friends.”
“Oh, I hope we can, too,” I responded eagerly. “But I must admit I was rather taken aback by your punishment. After all, you barely made a peep. Is Miss Claudia always so stern with the maids?”
“Oh, yes,” said Susan, with a bit of relish in her voice. “It’s one of the reasons I love being here. You know,” she added, lowering her voice confidentially, “she wasn’t always that way. When I was first working here, Miss Claudia was a timid little thing. She would cry at the slightest thing. I thought she was rather brainless, really, the way she would flutter about. She wasn’t much good for anything other than serving tea and polishing the silver.”
“No!” I cried, astonished. By this time we were huddled together like schoolgirls. “What happened?”
“Miss Madeleine sent her to a special training house, a place where they train slaves for the Marketplace,” Susan informed me. I could hear the capital letters in her voice when she mentioned the Marketplace, and shivered in fear. “When she came back she was a different person. You’ve seen!”
“What kind of training would make someone change like that?” I wondered out loud, but before we could continue, we heard footsteps in the hall. We turned quickly and curtsied as the housekeeper appeared in the doorway.
Looking at both of us shrewdly, she said, “Mistress Madeleine and her guest, Mr. Linden, are on their way here. Please come downstairs to welcome them.” We quickly trotted behind her, and stood in the hall, where this time I lined up with the rest of the staff.
Mistress Madeleine was taller than I, and dark, the color of milk chocolate. She wore her hair long, and in a complicated arrangement that must take nearly an hour to prepare. I ached at the vision of brushing her hair out (a hundred strokes). She was dressed in a simple, but elegant dress, and had clearly been shopping, as witnessed by the packages being carried by the two gentlemen following her in. Since one was in uniform, I guessed he was Jefferson, making the other Mr. Linden.
“Carl, give those to Fletcher,” she said in a light, musical voice. The butler was already stepping forward to relieve the man of the packages, and he and the chauffeur took their burdens into the parlor. Mistress Madeleine turned her attention to Miss Claudia, and at her signal we all curtsied. That was when I heard Mr. Linden gasp—well, snort, really.
“Good heavens, Madeleine, what’s this?” Mr. Linden exploded. I knew he meant me, but I stayed in position, eyes fixed downward, hands clasped together—and my bound cock now pushing slightly against the fabric of my skirt.
“Well, Carl, you kept complaining that I didn’t have enough available men around the place,” Mistress Madeleine answered. “I decided this would be a good compromise: another man for you without taking away from the feminine ambiance that I’ve taken such pains to create here.”
“But, a sissy maid!” he protested. I kept my eyes down, staying in position. I can’t stand the term, but I was certainly in no position to contradict the Mistress’ companion. She made a shushing sound to him.
“Claudia, I will want a bath before dinner. And a brief consultation with you as well—we’re going to have a party this weekend.” She turned to walk briskly up the grand staircase, indicating that the housekeeper accompany her. With a long sigh, Mr. Linden followed. I followed the other servants to the kitchen.
“Well, you shore wuz a surprise for Mista Linden,” said Miss Charlene flicking a lock of caramel-colored hair out of her eyes. “You even made Mista Fletcher’s eyes jump, even though he knowed aboutcha aheada time. But I gotta admit, you look cute as a bug’s ear in that yooniform, ’specially with that little package y’all got under theah.” Susan giggled, and nodded in agreement. The attention of the two maids made me blush even more.
“Thank you,” I said awkwardly, and she flashed a smile that lit her whole face.
“Aw shucks, Francie, I really jest meant to say welcome. But I gotta go,” she said, standing up as a little bell rang on the servant’s board. “That’s Mista Linden ringing for you, and I gotta give Cook a hand finishin’ the salads.”
I headed up the back stairs to the second floor, hesitated, then knocked at Mr. Linden’s door.
“Come in,” he called, and I entered, with a curtsy. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting. He pointed to his boots. “Give me a hand with these,” he said, and I immediately dropped to my knees and gently removed the boots, setting them carefully by the fireplace. “So, what’s your name?” he asked me.
“Francie, Sir.”
“Francie, huh? Well, if that’s the way it is.” He was unbuttoning his shirt. “I’ll want a bath, hot, and I’ll want you to shave me.” I went into the bathroom and started the hot water pouring into the iron claw-foot tub. As steam began to fill the room, he joined me, stark naked. He was a big man, darker than Mistress Madeleine, with an upper body that he clearly kept up with weights, and thick, stocky legs. His head was beautifully shaped, and he kept it shaved. An enormous gold earring weighed down his left earlobe, and an ampallang piercing framed the head of his thick, heavy cock. He looked at me, and sighed again, and stepped into the bath.