Date: Sun, 05 Aug 2007 09:10:16 -0700
From: cate murray <murraycate@fastmail.fm>
Subject: My Mistress, My Maid

Sometimes I took a certain perverse pleasure in chiding Gretchen in front
of guests, but on this occasion I was genuinely irritated.  Or I thought I
was!!!"  Normally neat enough in her movements, discreet and self-effacing,
Gretchen upset the cream jug on the coffee table dangerously near to the
elegant knees grouped around it.  I angrily ordered her to get a cloth (I'm
still not sure how much of my anger was simulated; we'd played this game
before) but, of course I was a different person with my friends..

Gretchen bit her lip and hurried towards the kitchen.

"Was that really necessary, Caroline," my friend Teddy Blumenthal said in
her "servants are so hard to get these days" voice..

"She's not normally so clumsy," I said, trying to mop the liquid up with a
tissue, but already a delicious tingle had started between my thighs.  My
mouth was dry and I swallowed, feeling my tongue huge in my mouth and Teddy
Blumenthal crossed her exquisite legs and looked at me speculatively.

When Gretchen had come back and cleaned up the mess she said, "My I see you
for a moment in the kitchen, Madam?"

"When I'm ready, Gretchen," I said, curtly and we continued to discuss a
political plate dinner coming up shortly.  Teddy suggested five hundred
dollars a plate, but I felt this would attract the wrong sort of people and
started to say so but I was suddenly conscious that my voice had thickened
and, covered in confusion, I had to excuse myself and make for the kitchen.

"Better see what she wants," I said, making the sort of face that all
employers make in these situations.

I had given a charity dinner six weeks ago and Gretchen was one of the
maids I hired to serve the drinks and canapes.  At some stage of the
proceedings I noticed an uneasiness, a hiatus in one corner of the room,
hardly noticeable except to an experienced hostess and I immediately
guessed that Bobby Metcalfe had been making a fool of himself again. When
Gretchen went to the pink ladies room, which was on the first floor, I
followed her and knocked on the door.

"Come in," she called.

"Oh, I beg your pardon," I said, astonished, to find she was sitting on the
can with her skirt up and her panties around her ankles.

"What happened out there?" I asked trying not to look at her.  As she
squatted, her knees pressed with a pale sheen through the smoky grey
stockings, which I immediately knew were silk and not nylon.

"Nothing much, he pinched my ass and I kicked him on the shin," she
said. "Hold on a second..."

She released a powerful stream of urine into the bowl, stopping every now
and again for a few seconds as though exercising her spincter muscles
before continuing to jet powerfully into the bowl, a scent like wild garlic
and ammonia in my nostrils now as I waited, fascinated at her effrontery in
peeing in front of me.  I couldn't look at her but then I glanced at the
mirror and was sneaking a peek at her again when she looked up, catching my
glance in the mirror.  She gave me a radiant smile and I blushed furiously.

"I come from a big family," she said, as though this explained it.

"I had to ask," I said, covering my embarrassment, "because in these
litigious times..."

"Come again?" she said.  "Oh, I'm not gonna sue that buffoon..."

She pulled up her panties and began to wash her hands I bridled.  Even
guests as troublesome as Bobby were not usually referred to by the maids as
buffoons.

"A pinch on the ass is nothing..." she went on cheerfully, ".If we were
working together or something I might get him sacked but you can't get
sacked from being rich..."

"Thank you..." I said.  "I don't care to discuss my friends..."

"With me, you mean?  Suit yourself..."

"No, I do sincerely apologise.  You are ...entitled to as much respect as
anyone else here."

"Oh, I know that," she said. "Would you let me do something?"

"What's that?" I asked.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Kiss me?"

"I think you're gorgeous," she said.

Her flattery grated on me.  Even when young, I had never been considered a
beauty.  She couldn't have been more than thirty two or three and I was
forty-seven.

"I don't think so," I said. "If you don't mind..."

"That's okay," she said, smiling sweetly at me.

I was surprised that I found myself slightly annoyed she didn't persist.
Once, a few years ago, at the end of a long, drunken party, when most of
the men had passed out, I found myself dancing with one of the wives, Teddy
Blumenthal and found myself painfully excited when she began kissing me
passionately, drunkenly on the mouth, her small breasts pressed hard
against mine.  Nothing had happened since, she had pointedly not ever
referred to it, and yes, I had, from time to time, imagined myself in bed
with her.  I was still rather shocked at Gretchen's suggestion, though, and
couldn't get her out of my mind for the rest of the evening.  Just to make
sure she wasn't going to make a complaint about what happened earlier, or
so I told myself, I kept her on when all the guests and other maids had
left.  We had a drink and then another.  She was aware, she said, that I
was looking for a maid.  It was true, but the last applicant, a gum-chewing
young woman with forged references had put me off the idea for a while.

 "Mind if I smoke?"  she'd asked.

"I'd rather you didn't" I said. "Not in the house.  I used to suffer from
asthma as a child".

She'd looked quite angry for a moment and her dark eyes flashed.  Then she
smiled sweetly and, placing a hand on my thigh, leaned over and kissed me
lightly on the cheek.  And I didn't demur.  She was testing me now, the
game had started.  I wasn't going to call a halt now, I knew that.  She had
looked into my soul and recognised what she saw there..  I could see myself
reflected in her dark eyes.

It was partly the alcohol, but we did get on well.  Yet she was jumpy, ill
at ease and I suppose she was dying for a smoke.  Almost without warning
she made her move, caught me to her with one arm and, putting her other
hand at the back of my neck, began kissing me fiercely on the lips.  While
one part of me wanted to be treated peremptorily by her and to be bent to
her wishes, my other side wanted to be wooed more gradually with the rough
stuff, if any, left until later.  I tried to curse her, tell her to get
off, but her lips were sealed to mine, her tongue pushing past my teeth.  I
tried to bring my knee up and we rolled over on the couch and, as she
scrabbled to capture my wrists, we fell to the floor.  I was on top for a
few seconds, but before I could pin her she rolled with me into the centre
of the room and, while I was still trying to get my bearings, she jockeyed
astride me and straddled my belly.  She stayed there for a few moments,
breathing heavily, her dress riding up over her thighs.  I could see the
bright bones in her knees.

She held my wrist tightly.  I knew she had me.  Confidently, she knew it
too.  She moved up until she was nearly sitting on my neck, her shins on my
upper arms.  Her purse had fallen on the floor beside us and she took out
her cigarettes and a lighter.  She put a cigarette in her mouth.  From
where I was lying her lower lip was a thin line, but her upper lip was
puffy and sensual.  She rasped the lighter into flame, her eyes staring
down at me past the broad wings of her nose.  The telephone rang.


She was able to reach it by lifting off me slightly.  Someone asked for me
– a man's voice.

" Yeah, she's here," the girl said, handing me the phone and flashing me a
warning look at the same time.

"Harry," I said. "I'm sorry...H...how are you?"

"You sound out of breath, Anne," he said.

"Sorry, I was in the corridor.  Had to rush when I heard the phone."

" Who was that?"

"A friend," I said.  "Well, one of the girls who was helping out.  Christ,
I was to meet you and Sarah to- night.  Please let me beg off, Harry.  The
party was heavy going -I have a headache.  I know you'll be sweet about
it."

"You're different somehow."

"I've never broken a date before?"

"No, but you sound sort of ...submissive.  I like you that way."

"Don't bet on it," I said. "I'll call you soon."

I gave the receiver back to Gretchen and she put it back on the phone.


"What does it feel like,?" Gretchen said.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Listen girl," she said. "You're gonna tell me or Gretchen's gonna make
you.!"

She caught me under the chin and forced my head back.

"Please, I want to tell you...anything you want."

"Well, Miss smarty-pants.  What does it feel like to be lying there, with
me sittin' on top of you." She took her cigarette out of her mouth and blew
smoke into my face. "And you're not able to do anything about it."

To prove her point, she began slapping my face, lightly at first, then a
stinging slap that jerked my head sideways.  I began to fight her again –
maybe that's what she wanted.  She put the cigarette down on the carpet and
gripped my wrists again, forcing them down to the carpet and pressing them
tightly against it.

I could feel her fingernails in the skin of my wrists.  Her face looked
ugly and foreshortened her nose blunt and cruel from where I lay.  I tried
to struggle again,,,, confused, half wanting this.  Yet I knew nothing
about her... but the intimacy of our eye contact was disconcerting.  She
would not permit me to turn my head away and continued to stare deeply into
my eyes.  Her eyes were black pools.


Like the act of falling asleep, before it happened it seemed impossible,
then you were gone.  I felt I was going to cross some invisible barrier, be
brought back to a place I knew and had half-wanted all my adult life.  I
started to weep.  Again I tried to turn my head aside, , but she caught me
by the chin and twisted my face around so that it was directly beneath
hers.  The cigarette was back in her mouth again.

"Tell me," she said.

"Please," I begged.

We were beginning to play the game.

She let me sob for a few moments, then said, "That's enough,"

I couldn't stop crying.

"Fuck you, tell me."

Left and right hand, quickly, she slapped my face.  Hard.

"It was my cousin," I said hoarsely, and my tongue was thick in my mouth.

"Like this,?"

"N..No.  Not exactly..."

"You're lying.  You're a lying bitch, aren''t you"

I nodded my head – too ashamed to say anything.  I didn't want to say
anything, but this was the game again.

"Please..." I said.

"You're gonna have to tell me or I won't let you up."

"Please..."I begged.  This was the game again.  She knew the game we were
playing as well as I did, I was sure of it.

"This is delicious," she said.  "I'd expected... But not this... Not so
complete.  Oh, my, my... ."She bent down and pressed her lips to mine, dry
lips against mine.

Instinctively I tried to press through her lips with my tongue, but she
broke contact, sitting up straight again.

"Tell me," she said.

"I...I had this cousin," I began, my tongue swollen in my mouth now, my
throat harsh and dry, so that I hardly recognised my own voice.

 "Really?" she mocked..."

""Please give me..time," I begged.

"So that's how you got these feelings/"

I nodded dumbly ,"Just a minute – turn over," she ordered.

She sat astride me, facing my feet and pulled off my shoes, then stripped
down my pantyhose.  I was unable to help myself when she tried to bind my
wrists and started to struggle again, but she held me down easily and
gripped my wrists with one strong hand.

"Listen, she said, "You wanna surrender to me?  Either you do that or we
forget the whole thing, I get off you and walk out of here.  No hard
feelings, okay?"

"Please," I begged, in despair.

She sat back on my buttocks.

"Say it," she ordered.

I felt a surge of fire in my loins and womb, my throat becoming dry, my
voice thickening as I managed to say, "I give – I surrender."

I crossed my wrists behind me and she wrapped the pantyhose around them,
tightening and knotting, whistling contentedly through her teeth until she
had achieved her objective of binding my wrists together tightly.  She
unzipped and stepped out of her own dress, peeled off her stockings and
unsnapped her garter belt, throwing them on the ottoman.  She wore plain,
very brief transparent cotton panties and a white sports bra.  She turned
me over on my back, sat down again astride my belly, my arms uncomfortably
bound beneath me, pushed my chin back and said "Tell me."

"I'm yours, " I'd said


When I had left my guests and reached the kitchen, Gretchen was seated at
the counter, a cup of coffee in front of her and her feet propped up on
another chair.

"Gretchen, my dear," I apologise," I said.

Normally Gretchen waited until the guests were gone and, though part of me
was annoyed, I also felt a desperate claw of excitement in my womb and
vagina.

"Fuck you!" Gretchen said.

She stood up and, lifting her skirt, pulled her white cotton panties down
with a quick movement and kicked them onto the kitchen table.  She leaned
back against the worktop, straddled her legs and pointed between her
thighs.  I made to turn the key in the kitchen door but she said "Leave
it," and arched her hips I knelt quickly in front of her, gripping her cold
fleshy buttocks and burying my face in her rosebud, smelling again the
whiff of urine, the strong scent of her sex, which always smelled and
tasted of oily roasted vegetables swallowed with wine or was this my wild
fantasy? I was a connoisseur of her muff, found new delights in my every
adventure there.  The unlocked door added to the excitement and the
possibility of discovery inflamed me.  Last week Gretchen had insisted we
change the drapes in the lounge and also redecorate her bedroom.  Today she
was confidently ratcheting up the stakes again. Okay, it was highly
unlikely anyone would follow me into the kitchen, but perhaps the newcomer,
Mrs Bruton might be gauche enough to come looking for me and the others
might even be mendacious enough not to stop her.

Gretchen pressed herself forward against my mouth.  We had very little
time, but she was on fire.  My fingers sought the creases at the tops of
her thighs, I sensed her buttocks clench as she thrust for satisfaction
against my adoring mouth.  Her hands were on my shoulders and raked down my
back inside my morning gown.  I could feel my skin tear under her nails as
she climaxed fiercely, then pushed me away and leaned back panting against
the countertop.  Still on my knees I tried to grasp her around the hips as
she pulled her skirt down but she pushed me away again and hissed, "Get
back to your guests!."

Quickly she took a mirror from her purse on the table and helped me to put
my hair in place and fix my lipstick, but my face was flushed and most of
my lipstick was now between her legs.

"Here, it's not the same colour, but it'll have to do," she said, handing
me a lipstick tube from her purse.

Gretchen had told me I wasn't the only one.  She'd said she had someone
else, another maid, the one with the big ass in pink Bermuda shorts who had
left at the end of the party.  There was some other girl too, but she was
in jail at the moment, serving a short term.  Gretchen liked her a lot too.
These girls were her slaves as well, Gretchen told me.  They were much
younger than me and would be taking up most of Gretchen's time.  But, if I
begged her, I was to be allowed to become part of Gretchen's harem.  That
night she made me prove myself by having me kneel before her and serve her
drinks.  My desire for her was terible.  I was naked, apart from my
sandals, a necklace and slave earring and the two "slave-bands"

that Gretchen made me wear around my ankles.  Gretchen photographed me,
over and over again, in the most humiliating positions, naked and kneeling,
then, as a final humiliation, with a dog-collar around my neck, while
Gretchen, dressed in my most expensive peignoir and mules, lay on the
ottoman, a cigarette in one hand, a drink by her elbow, and the leash in
her other hand..  Then, when Gretchen was more than half drunk, she took me
to bed, climbed on top of me and fucked my brains out.


When I got back to my guests from the kitchen I knew they must have guessed
something strange was going on..  Not just the smell of cigarettes from my
mouth, but the condition of the house -The new drapes Gretchen had chosen
were tasteless, garish tropical prints, which were already filled with the
smell of her cigarette smoke. The room was obviously untidy, with dusty or
sticky surface, totally unlike the pristine quality of my previous,
servantless regime.  Then the youngest matron present, Anne Bruton, made a
gauche and simpering remark about how long I'd been in the kitchen with the
maid and, in the dreadful silence that followed, before Teddy Blumenthal
intervened with a cruel snub to Mrs Bruton I was certain that everybody
knew already that something was terribly wrong.

To be continued...