by Ray Gordon
INSTILLING OBEDIENCE & MAID TO SERVE
by
RAY GORDON
Instilling Obedience & Maid to Serve published as an eBook anthology in 2012 by Chimera eBooks.
ePub ISBN 9781780801667
mobi ISBN 9781780801674
www.chimerabooks.co.uk
Chimera (ki-mir'a, ki-) a creation of the imagination, a wild fantasy.
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Copyright Ray Gordon. The right of Ray Gordon to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This novel is fiction - in real life practice safe sex.
Contents
Instilling Obedience
Maid to Serve
Instilling Obedience
Chapter 1
Emily sat opposite her parents in the lounge, her brown eyes widening as she listened to her father in stunned silence. He was explaining the rules and regulations to Arthur, their next-door neighbour. This was extremely embarrassing for Emily. At eighteen years old she didn't need anyone to keep an eye on her while her parents were away on holiday. She didn't need babysitting. Wringing her hands as her father laid down the law, she felt her stomach sinking. She'd been looking forward to a taste of freedom, but it seemed she was going to be far from free for the next two weeks.
'Don't worry,' Arthur said, brushing back his crop of greying hair, 'I'll watch over Emily and the house.'
'No parties while we're away,' Emily's mother warned. 'And no one's to sleep over.'
'I take it I am allowed out of the house,' Emily sighed, despondently tapping her toe on the carpet.
'Of course you're allowed out, dear,' her mother replied. 'But I want you home by ten o'clock. That's quite late enough for a girl of your age with the amount of studying you've got to do.'
'Remember this, Emily,' her father said firmly, then looked out of the window at the sound of the taxi horn, 'behave yourself while we're away and you'll be allowed to go on holiday with Christine later in the summer. Look upon this as a test.'
Watching Arthur help her parents lug the suitcases out to the waiting taxi, Emily felt as though she were being treated like a child. But that wasn't unusual. Although she was an adult, a young woman, she was still a child in their eyes. They'd been in their thirties when she was born and she'd often wondered whether they'd planned to have a baby. Was she the result of a mistake? But a mistake or not she was their only child, their precious daughter, and they had trouble allowing her to grow up.
Emily's parents were old-fashioned in the extreme, and incredibly strict. So much so that she found it amazing that they should leave her alone in the house for two weeks at all. But, as her father had said, this was a test. She was really looking forward to going to Tenerife in early September with her best friend, Christine, so she was determined to pass this unfair trial.
Standing on the doorstep and waving goodbye as the taxi drove off, Emily felt a mixture of relief and anxiety. She'd hoped to have a great time while her parents were away, but with Arthur watching over her she wasn't so sure. She offered him a tight smile as he walked up the path towards her. He'd been a friend of the family for as long as she could remember. Working from home as a computer consultant, he lived alone and regularly called round for a coffee and a chat with her father.
Emily had often thought it odd that he'd never married. Despite being in his fifties he was reasonably good-looking and pretty good company. Perhaps he'd never met the right woman. And there again, he was a bit of a loner. He rarely went out or had visitors, and didn't look the type who'd enjoy a drink in the pub with the lads.
'I wish I was off to Spain,' he said, standing before Emily. 'Still, I have a lot of work to do.'
'The flight should only take a couple of hours,' she said, checking her watch.
'The flight's the easy part,' Arthur grumbled. 'It always amazes me to think that more time is spent messing around in the airport than on the aeroplane.' He focused on the fullness of her succulent lips and smiled. 'This is the first year you've not gone with them, isn't it? How do you feel?'
'I enjoyed all our holidays, but now I'm too old to build sandcastles on the beach and stuff like that.'
'So, you have two weeks to yourself. What have you got planned now?'
'Er... nothing, really,' Emily she, averting her eyes guiltily. 'I might ring Christine and see whether she wants to go out for a walk.'
'Remember you have to be home by ten.'
'Yes, yes of course.' Surely Arthur was joking?
'You know what your father's like. He'll ask me what time you went out, what time you got back. As he said, this is a bit of a test to see how you behave. Right, I'd better go and make myself something to eat and then get on with some work.'
Waiting until Arthur had returned to his house, Emily stepped back into the hall and closed the front door. She'd been waiting for this moment for several months, but now? Home by ten? Arthur wasn't serious, was he? He'd been a teenager once, she reflected; surely he wasn't going to report her every move to her parents. There again, she might have guessed that her parents weren't going to allow her even a little freedom. But at least she'd not been dragged on holiday to Spain as usual. At least that was something to be thankful for.
In her room she pulled a carrier bag out from beneath her bed and tipped its contents onto the quilt - a black leather miniskirt, a blue and white blouse, several pairs of white knickers and bras, make-up, and a scanty bikini. Running her fingertips over the cotton knickers she'd bought, she smiled. Skimpy knickers were going to make a pleasant change from the dowdy things she was used to. Holding the scanty garment to her face she felt her stomach somersault. Soft, sensual... she'd bought the clothes several days previously and had been eager to try them on, and at last the time had come.
Her mother had always bought her clothes, never allowing her to grow up. Emily had once suggested that she at least buy her own underwear, but her parents dismissed the idea scornfully. Her mother had been buying her clothes since she was a child, and nothing had changed or was going to change. Her father didn't like change. Strait-laced, staid in his ways, he didn't believe change necessary or a good thing. But at long last Emily was going to change. If only for two weeks, she was going to dress like a young woman.
Slipping out of her blue jeans and T-shirt, she slipped into her new outfit and stood before the full-length mirror. The transformation amazed her. Running her fingers through her shoulder-length auburn hair, she grinned as she eyed the reflection of an attractive young lady in the mirror. With the violin curves of her teenage body accentuated by her tight skirt and blouse, she felt really feminine for the first time in her life.
Emily was discovering herself, her individuality, her identity. She was a person in her own right, she thought happily as she focused on her shapely legs. Was the skirt too short? Other girls of her age wore short skirts. She eyed the deep cleavage of her firm breasts, the outline of her ripe nipples naughtily defined by the material of her blouse. Was it too reveal
ing? No, her new clothes were fine. New clothes, new image. But only for two weeks. When her parents returned she'd have to hide them and resort to wearing her jeans and baggy tops again.
Checking her watch, she sat at her dressing table and applied her make-up. Just gone six o'clock. She'd be meeting Christine in the wine bar in less than an hour. If her father knew she was planning to go to a bar he'd go absolutely mad. He was against pubs and alcohol. Pop music, dancing, short skirts, make-up... it was his upbringing, Emily reflected. His father had been a vicar, a religious fanatic. Emily's mother had gone along with her husband's moralistic ideals because she'd had no choice. Had she ever been a teenager?
This was like being released from prison, Emily mused, glossing her pouting lips. Eye shadow, lipstick, a short skirt; all things her father had forbidden; the evils he despised. With a sense of freedom and devilish excitement coursing through her, Emily was sure her neighbour wouldn't be watching out for her when she got home. Arthur was all right, a nice man. He wouldn't go running to her parents with tales of immoral behaviour and late nights. More like an uncle than a neighbour, Arthur was also a friend.
He enjoyed gardening, grew tomatoes and other vegetables in his greenhouse, and Emily had often helped him. Watering the plants, picking tomatoes, tending the grapevine he'd bought her for her fifth birthday; Emily had always got on well with him. If only she'd got on as well with her father, too. The grapevine had been nurtured and allowed to grow - unlike her.
But she was sure that Arthur would allow her to behave like a normal teenage girl for a couple of weeks - even if her parents wouldn't.
Wandering into the wine bar at seven o'clock Emily looked about her. People were laughing, joking, the chink of glasses blending with the music. A good-looking lad eyed her up and down and flashed her a cocky, lopsided grin. Feeling self-conscious, nervous, Emily tugged her short skirt down in a futile attempt to cover her thighs. She'd never been into a bar before, never tasted alcohol. This was a new and exciting experience for her.
'Hi,' Christine trilled, waving from her stool at the bar.
Again tugging her skirt ineffectually, Emily walked to her friend. 'This place is amazing,' she said, her lovely face beaming. Freedom was tasting good.
'It'll get busy later so grab yourself a barstool,' her best friend advised. 'You look great. I love your skirt.'
'It's not too short, is it?' Emily asked innocently.
'Don't be silly, it's perfect. Leather suits you. Drink?'
'Erm... orange juice, please. Do you like my new image?' Emily asked, desperate for her friend's approval. 'I must admit I feel rather self-conscious.'
'Of course you don't,' the girl giggled. 'You look fantastic, Emily. You look like a beautiful young woman rather than a...'
'A what? A frump?'
'No, I meant it's about time you got out and enjoyed yourself,' Christine said defensively.
'Yes, well, you know what my father's like.'
'Don't I just,' Christine scoffed. 'Anyway, your parents are away for two weeks so you can have some fun.'
'I suppose so,' Emily sighed.
'What is it? What's the matter?'
'My father has asked Arthur to keep an eye on me.'
'Arthur? Oh, your neighbour. He's okay, isn't he?'
'Yes, he's okay. It's just that... oh, I don't know. I might have guessed my parents wouldn't trust me.'
'Forget about them, Emily. You're free. Free to do as you like for a whole fortnight!'
Looking around the bar as Christine ordered the drinks, Emily tried not to think about her parents. Christine was right; she should forget about them and enjoy her freedom while it lasted. Sipping her drink, she let out a giggle as she imagined her father walking into the bar and staring at his little girl. Dressed in a miniskirt and tight blouse with make-up on... he'd disown her! Why did he treat her like a child? Would he ever allow her to grow up, to become an adult? She had to stop thinking about him, she knew, as the barman refilled her glass.
'This orange juice is nice,' she said. 'It tastes... I don't know. It tastes different.'
'I expect it does,' Christine laughed. 'It's vodka and orange.'
'Vodka?' Emily gasped. 'God, I shouldn't be—'
'Come on, Emily,' her friend quashed any protestations, 'chill out and enjoy yourself.'
'Yes, yes you're right,' Emily asserted. 'My parents are on holiday, and so am I.'
Gazing at Christine, Emily thought how attractive she was. With her black hair cascading over her naked shoulders and her dark eyes sparkling, she was a stunning girl. She was also very lucky. Her parents were normal, and allowed her to behave as a normal teenager. This would all be over in a couple of weeks, Emily thought dolefully. Her miniskirt and blouse would have to be hidden and she'd revert to the oppressed girl her parents knew and loved. But, she consoled herself, this was only day one - day one of fourteen.
'Why don't you move out?' Christine suggested. 'Move out and get your own flat.'
'I don't have any money,' Emily sighed. 'There's no way I could rent a flat. When I finish uni and get a job I'll move out. But I can't afford to before then.'
'That's four years, Emily. You'll be twenty-two by then. God, four years of your parents...'
'I was trying to forget about my parents, if you remember?' Emily sulked.
'Sorry. Okay, let's have another round of drinks. Live for the moment, Emily. That's what I reckon.'
Emily began to realise just how sheltered her life had been as the music and laughter grew louder. She'd never known privacy, never had the space to grow and develop. Only a mile away from the university, she lived at home rather than the halls of residence. No boyfriends, no fun. There had been one boy, she reflected. She'd met him at uni and really liked him. They'd gone to the local cinema together, and in the back row he'd put his arm around her shoulder. Eventually, almost accidentally, his hand moved slowly down and squeezed her breast, which she'd quite enjoyed...
'What do you think of that one?' Christine asked excitedly, breaking into Emily's reverie. 'Tight jeans, good-looking, good bum. What do you reckon?'
'He's all right,' Emily replied, trying not to catch the young man's eyes as he gazed at her.
'All right? I'll bet he knows how to make a girl happy.'
Emily turned away from the young man and gazed into her glass. She was a virgin, and felt uncomfortable talking like that. Downing another vodka and orange she felt dizzy rather than confident. She had hoped the alcohol would have brought her out of her shell, helped to loosen her up. Still a virgin at eighteen? Maybe after another drink or two...
'Alcohol always makes me feel horny,' Christine giggled. 'I wouldn't mind getting inside his boxer shorts!'
'Christine!' Emily breathed, her face flushing. 'He might hear you!'
'I hope he does,' her friend went on brazenly, 'I could do with a good fuck.'
Sipping her fresh drink, Emily realised she had a lot of catching up to do. Shy, naïve, nervous, self-conscious... hoping the lad wouldn't come over and chat to her she slumped her shoulders and lowered her head. She felt as though she was in the front row of a theatre, cowering in case the comedian dragged her onto the stage and made fun of her. There were several young men milling about in the bar, looking at her, eyeing her up and down. This was a stage, she mused. The men eyeing up the girls, thoughts of sex prominent in their male heads. But she had to admit that she rather liked the attention.
Swaying from side to side as she wandered up the path to her front door, Emily giggled. She'd thoroughly enjoyed the evening, had the time of her life. The lights, the music, too much vodka, the people. She felt as if she'd been to another world. Fumbling with her key, she finally managed to open the front door and stagger into the hall, where she gazed with bleary eyes at the stairs and imagined her father stomping down in his dressing gown, and thanked God he wasn't there to greet her as she swayed and almost fell over.
Her auburn hair dishevelled, she let out another giggle
as she imagined his shocked expression as he stared in horror at her miniskirt, her tight blouse, and the teasingly exposed cleavage of her breasts. He'd accuse her of being a tart, send her to her room and ground her for a month or more. What had become of his darling daughter? But he was a thousand miles away in Spain, and none the wiser.
'What time do you call this?' Arthur suddenly demanded, pushing the unclosed front door open and stepping into the hall.
'Arthur,' Emily gasped, her wide eyes staring in horror at her neighbour. 'You made me jump.'
'Emily, it's half-past eleven,' he told her dourly.
'Is it?' She smirked as she tried to focus on her wrist. 'I can't even see my watch, let alone tell the time.'
'You'd better sit down before you fall down,' he ordered, taking her hand and leading her into the lounge. 'I dread to think what your father will say about this.'
'He won't know,' she slurred, flopping onto the sofa. 'Not unless you tell him.'
'Of course I'll tell him.' He was stern, his expression severe. 'I'm not going to lie to him, Emily.'
'You don't have to lie,' she said, wondering what he was getting at. 'Just don't mention it.'
'It amounts to the same thing,' he returned, fleetingly eyeing the triangular patch of her white panties as she reclined untidily on the sofa. She wasn't aware of the man's gaze, his hooded eyes locked to the delicate cotton snugly cosseting her full sex lips. Her head spinning with the effects of the alcohol, she was oblivious to her careless exhibitionism or his intense attention. With her skirt rising a little more as she slid down the sofa, she inadvertently parted her slender thighs and Arthur's eyes narrowed as he focused on the neat triangle of white cotton between her lovely limbs. In her miniskirt and tight blouse, Emily was an extremely enticing girl.
