Kaylee's Keeper

by Maren Smith

  Mary was quiet, the only hint of consternation being a slight tightening at the corner of her mouth. “I…I know it was stolen, sir,” she reaffirmed. “I took it off in my room last night. It wasn’t there when I got up this morning.”

  “Mrs. Hardwick.”

  Following along behind him, Mrs. Hardwick, the same head housekeeper who had given the orientation in the courtyard the day before, looked up from the ledger she carried and the demerits she was recording. “Yes, Mr. Grimsley?”

  “Have the maids’ quarters searched and bring me the apron when it’s found. Mary,” he turned his dark eyes back on the dowdy maid, “if the apron is proved to actually have been stolen, I will suspend your demerit. If I judge it misplaced, you will receive double the count and present yourself to my office after the supper hour. Is that clear?”

  Again, that slight tightening at the corners of her mouth. “Yes, sir.”

  Nodding once, the head butler moved on, once more surveying the line. “Elizabeth, Unkempt. Your hair is showing, girl. Adjust your mobcap.”

  The woman next to Mary quickly did, and the rest of the dowdy maids passed inspection and received their day’s assignment.

  “I want every fireplace in the east wing swept, scrubbed and freshly laid. There are forty in all, which means you each have eight to attend to. I expect half done before lunch is called and the other half before dinner. Mr. Dodson will accompany you as you go about your duties. Demerits given by him will be upheld by me and doubled for any girl who fails to complete her duties by the end of the day. Dismissed.”

  Led by an upper butler, the dowdy maids filed from the room and headed for the east wing. Mr. Grimsley watched until they were gone, then turned his steady gaze on the middle inspection row. There were only two proper maids in modest uniforms. Tapping his switch at the empty air, Mr. Grimsley began his inspection. The carrot-headed girl received a demerit for crooked stocking seams; the brunette received two, for untidy appearance (although she looked neat enough to Kaylee) and for the sin of wearing too much makeup.

  Kaylee actually felt her palms sweat at that. She, like the other "French" maids, had enough makeup on to work a Broadway play.

  “Did I or did I not take the switch to your knickers for that very thing yesterday?” Mr. Grimsley asked.

  “Yes, sir.” Whisper soft, the brunette’s voice trembled just a bit. Straight at her sides, her fingers fidgeted in the folds of her uniform skirt.

  “And here you are again, guilty of the exact same offense. Has my arm gone soft, is that it?”

  A flush of color stained her cheeks. “No, sir.”

  “No? Well, if the fault rests not with my arm, it must lie with you. Are you hard of hearing, Annie?”

  “No, sir.”

  “No? Then what’s the problem, girl?”

  Her fingers fidgeted just a little faster and the hem of her skirt began to hike a little on the sides as she nervously wound them in the cloth. “I…I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Well, I’m pretty sure I do know. I’m even sure I know how to fix the problem. Carrie, you’ll be helping Cook in the kitchen. She’s short-handed today. Take your demerit down to her and she’ll settle your score at the end of the supper hour.”

  “Yes, sir.” At her dismissal, the redhead took her demerit from Mrs. Hardwick and hurried for the kitchen.

  “As for you—” Mr. Grimsley turned back to the unfortunate Annie. “Fetch clippers from the garden shed, cut five switches and bring them untrimmed back to my office. Have you ever made your own birch before?”

  The brunette visibly trembled. “No, sir.”

  “I would say this is your lucky day, but since I intend to apply the birch to your bare bottom until it’s nothing but a handle of frayed twigs, perhaps ‘lucky’ is not the best way to describe your current situation.” With a nodding gesture of his head, the head butler dismissed her. “Hop to, girl. You’ll be in my office within fifteen minutes or I’ll come searching for you and God help you then.”

  The undefined threat made Kaylee’s bottom cringe. Beside her, Lisette smothered a soft giggle behind tightly pressed lips. The brunette must have overheard anyway. Her back stiffened, but she didn’t look around. She simply scampered obediently away.

  Mr. Grimsley, on the other hand, locked a cool eye on Lisette and one lift of his eyebrow instantly erased her smirk. “Are these today’s Little Maids, Mrs. Hardwick?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As Mr. Grimsley’s gaze drifted past Lisette, Kaylee dropped hers to the floor. By the very authority of his mannerisms, the head butler intimidated her. And by the slight curl of his lips when he turned away again, she could tell he knew it.

  “Turn,” he directed them. “Face the wall.”

  As one, with Kaylee following uncertainly perhaps a half second behind the rest, the maids did as they were told.

  “Bend over.” Strolling down the long line of them, Mr. Grimsley took up his position at the head of the line, seven women away from Kaylee. He ran the switch through his fingers. “Legs straight. Knees together. Touch your toes.”

  Like marionettes with strings tugged all at once, the maids moved into position, long legs stiff and straight, bottoms rounded high in the air. Their skirts were so short and their panties so skimpy Mr. Grimsley didn’t need to bare them. With one sharp ‘snick’ after another, he moved down the line and suddenly it was like the schoolroom all over again. Only with a much shorter waiting period before he was standing right behind her and the switch was snapping back off Kaylee’s rump with a sting that nearly jacked her all the way upright. Lisette barely sucked a breath between her teeth; if Kaylee were more comfortable in heels this high, she’d have been dancing on her toes.

  The switch tapped a light reminder on the side of her hip until Kaylee came back to herself enough to realize what he wanted. Reluctantly, she bent over and grabbed her ankles again.

  “Sloppy,” Mr. Grimsley said, but he didn’t strike a second time. Instead, he returned to Mrs. Hardwick’s side. “We’ll start our Little Maids off this morning with a demerit apiece. All except for our mouthy Lisette: give her an extra for laughing inappropriately and another for sheer principle.” Abruptly coming back down the line, Mr. Grimsley tapped the small of Kaylee’s back with the tip of his switch. “What’s your name, young lady?”

  Oh God, she’d forgotten. Her mind scrambled. “Beth, sir?”

  “I’m sorry, you said that as if you’re unsure?” Humor touched his tone when he turned to Mrs. Hardwick. “Give our Maybe-Beth a second demerit as well, not holding position.” He tapped her again with his switch, instantly reclaiming her attention from the dismay of receiving her first demerit. “Four o’clock, my girl. Remember that hour and don’t you forget it. If you haven’t cleared all your demerits by then, I will expect you outside my office. I promise, by the time I’m through with you, you’ll have learned how to hold your position—no matter what!”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Little Maids worked the Rainbow Room and, for the life of her, Kaylee had no idea why it was called that. It certainly wasn’t because the room—although opulent and historically accurate in its furnishing—was more colorful than any other part of the castle. Nor did it seem based on gender or sexual preferences, since all walks of people with a wide variety of fetishes gathered here. Whatever the reason, this was where visitors could congregate out of character and make contact with the outside world. Wireless internet was available and cellphone signal was strong enough here to place a call without fear of being dropped. There was a television on one wall, permanently fixed (it seemed) on CNN and nearly every available seat surrounding it was currently occupied. Anyone and everyone was welcome in this room at any time, day or night. Between the hours of ten a.m. and 3:30 p.m., one could also find the Little Maids.

  Little Maids brought drinks and mid-afternoon snacks upon request. Little Maids did light cleaning and bent over to
pick up things that got dropped, allowing ample views of both barely-there panties and eye-popping cleavage. Little Maids chatted and laughed and sat on laps, with the understanding that ladies should be ladies and gentlemen should be gentlemen, and fingers should never wander into places they shouldn’t unless otherwise arranged and agreed upon in advance.

  This was where Little Maids came to work off the demerits they wore pinned to their corsets like little paper broadcasts of misbehavior, and they did this in a number of ways, but it always began with a Little Maid donning someone’s collar. For the next fifteen minutes (the price of a single demerit), that Little Maid was the property of that new owner and whatever was requested of them (again, within reason and by mutual consent), the Little Maids would do.

  With that in mind, Kaylee was prepared to see a lot of spankings. She was prepared for kissing games, light bondage and flogging. She was even prepared—or at least, not terribly surprised—to bump into Lisette on her way back to the Rainbow Room with her lipstick smeared around her mouth and a smile that suggested she was very much the cat who licked the…well, okay, one might call it cream.

  What she was not prepared for, were the other things she saw. Like Wanda, who spent her fifteen minutes curled up on the lap of an elderly gentleman with kitty-cat ears on her head, a long fluffy tail inserted into her rear, and little booties that turned her hands into paws and which she occasionally licked while he stroked her head and read his newspaper.

  Or like Kim, who lay on her back, shrieking laughter to the ceiling and fighting so hard to keep from kicking while her toes were kissed, licked and sucked. That was different.

  So was the man who offered absolution to anyone who could withstand seven of her fifteen minutes under the roving application of his electric wand—a violet wand, someone had called it. Each full minute was passed with different wand heads varying the intensity from gentle pleasure to serious discipline. The pops, snaps and hum of the wand, mingled with the yelps, moans and groans of each tightly bound victim was enough to set Kaylee’s teeth on edge. Why anyone would want to be shocked, even to clear a demerit, was beyond her ability to comprehend.

  She also had no idea what to make of the mistress in the corner, quietly applying fire to the skin of the submissive who lay as relaxed as she could be while the fluid was traced upon her skin, ignited and then softly brushed out again. There was a long line of Little Maids waiting to enjoy that sensation. On the far side of the room, Kaylee watched, picking at her hands, not at all sure why anyone would want to be burned.

  Or shocked.

  Or even toe-sucked.

  If she had to, she might try the cat thing. She looked down at her two demerits, wringing her fingers, a little despairing.

  There was a loud snap and a yelp from the girl writhing under the violet wand, and it was all Kaylee could do not to cringe.

  Eventually, Jackson appeared in the doorway and, at a crook of his finger, Lisette abandoned Kaylee with a grin and a wink. The two disappeared down the hall, leaving Kaylee to flounder in this unfamiliar sea of new experiences alone. She retreated into a shadowy corner, wringing her hands, feeling much more comfortable watching the others at play. Lisette never had given her the collar they’d talked about in the dressing room. Kaylee felt very alone and very exposed.

  The costume she had initially loved so much now felt like just that…an overly sexy costume. She was the only Little Maid in the room who couldn’t walk without wobbling, who felt as awkward as she looked, who in no way seemed to belong in this room. She eyed the door, wishing she could just leave, but if she didn’t work these demerits off somehow, she was going to end up in Mr. Grimsley’s office at four. It was almost noon right now. She wrung and wrung her hands, wondering if he was going to make her cut her own birch, too.

  She had to get rid of these demerits, but how did one go about initiating contact with strangers? What if she got asked to do something she didn’t want to do? What if she never got asked to do anything at all? She wished she hadn’t let Lisette talk her into this; she didn’t feel comfortable at all right now. She should have picked the middle costume. Was it too late to go back to Wardrobe and try again?

  “You must be new.”

  Kaylee jumped, startled. Standing at her elbow, a suave gentleman in formal Victorian-era wear had somehow managed to come right up to her elbow without her realizing it. Italian was the first word her mind supplied. His eyes were as dark as his hair and his skin had a natural tan that practically smelled of olive trees and seaside escapes. He even had a faint accent, although it hinted more of England than it did of Italy.

  He smiled and, when she didn’t answer, gently prodded, “Are you?”

  She’d already forgotten the original question. “I’m sorry?”

  “I asked if you were new.”

  She winced. “Is it that obvious?”

  “No, but I was here yesterday, and I don’t remember seeing you then. I’m Alan, by the way.”

  “Hi. I’m Ba—uh, Beth. Yes, I’m kind of new.” She offered him a hesitant smile, one hand stealing up to rub her neck where Master Marshall’s collar had clasped her but where she was now naked and bare. She shouldn’t be this nervous. Nobody else was nervous; they were all having a good time. Even the girl getting shocked on the far table seemed, upon occasion, to be enjoying it.

  “To the Castle, too?”

  “I really am being obvious, aren’t I?”

  His smile broadened. “Only a little. Don’t worry, everyone had a first time once.”

  That actually did make her feel a bit better. “Master Marshall said the same thing.”

  “You’ve met him?” Alan asked, dark brows arching in mild surprise.

  “Yesterday. Is that unusual?”

  “No, I suppose not. Naughty submissives often find themselves being sent to the Master’s office when they require something a little…extra to help them behave.” His dark eyes turned sultry; the way he said those words—naughty, extra and behave—sending tiny prickles like staticky fingers dancing up and down her spine. “Tell me then, Little Maid: Are you a naughty girl?”

  Somewhere in the very back of her mind, Kaylee realized this was the sort of conversation she should have found arousing. It was like a scenario straight out of one of her favorite fantasies: incredibly handsome foreigner, saying and doing all the right things, leading her up to the magical point where he would take her by the hand, lead her to a comfortable place where he could sit and she could lay herself across his thighs, and then give her bottom the kind of spanking that so thoroughly turned her on. So why wasn’t this working? Why did she feel scared instead?

  Another zap across the room heralded another yelp, louder than the last. The girl on the table was flinching now from the wand, straining to escape the crackling touch as it wandered around and around her breasts.

  Kaylee trembled and rubbed her throat again. “Sometimes.”

  Alan was looking at her throat, following the motions of her hand. Conscious of what she must look like, she stopped rubbing and abruptly stiffened when he reached for her. For a moment, she thought he was going to caress her neck and every fiber of her ached to pull away, but he didn’t. He took gentle hold of one of her demerits and lifted it just enough for him to read it.

  “You have difficulty staying in position during punishment, mm?” He tsked twice. “That is naughty.” He looked at her again and even smiled. “Would you like to work off one of these demerits with me?”

  He was doing everything right. He had the right look on his face—friendly, warm, confident and in charge. He had the right tone in his voice—it was The Look in audio form, the "little girl, does Daddy have to spank you?" tone. He even had the right hands—big and broad, the kind of hands that could comfort as well as punish.

  Why was she scared? Why did she want to run?

  Across the room, the wand crackled and hummed and the Little Maid writhed, flinching and arching in an effort to get away but unable to escape t
he bonds that held her tied to the table.

  Kaylee’s feet remained rooted to the floor only by sheer willpower alone. She had come a long way to be here. She had saved for months and months. The entire plane flight and bus ride here, she had been so excited by the prospect of meeting a man like this and hearing words like this being spoken to her and feeling—yes, definitely feeling—all the things he was implying that naughty girls should feel when they were on the verge of a spanking, and yet…Why was she this scared?

  Kaylee couldn’t breathe right. Each gasp shivered in and out of her. She didn’t feel like she was getting any oxygen. “Wh-what do I…have to…?”

  “I want to massage you,” Alan said, his voice soft and soothing. Still warm, still friendly, still authoritative and sure; she still could not breathe. She was inhaling and exhaling with increasing franticness, but she couldn’t breathe. “I want to take your pretty uniform off and lay you facedown on that table there in the corner. I won’t tie you; you can get up at any time. I only want to touch and caress you with my hands, the Hitachi wand and this.” He fished a metal tool out of his pocket—nothing more threatening than a pinwheel-like spur attached to a six- or eight-inch handle.

  “Oh,” Kaylee said as she stared at it, her stomach so tight now that she felt almost sick.

  He held out his hand. “Give me your arm.”

  She did, and it surprised the hell out of her to discover that it wasn’t shaking anywhere near as badly as the rest of her seemed to be.

  Lightly cupping the back of her hand, he coaxed her to roll her arm over and then touched the spur to her skin. It felt cool, like little pins trailing up the tender skin from her inner wrist to the slope of her elbow. The sensation was different, prickly but not really unpleasant, and yet her whole body shuddered.

  “Did that hurt?” he asked, though by his smile she knew he was well aware it didn’t. Rather, he was giving her the chance to come to the same conclusion.

  She shook her head—it hadn’t even left a mark—but she shuddered again anyway.