by Ella Ford
The girl stood up and folded her arms beneath her modest chest. She studied me, chewing on her gum and shivering in the cold breeze. She looked around, perhaps hoping to catch the eye of her older friend, but the woman was still in the liquor store. “Ah hell, okay lady, lets go.”
I popped the lock on the passenger side door and opened it for her. She bent down and sat beside me. I offered her a warm smile, but she only gazed back at me blankly.
Suddenly feeling that I was making a terrible mistake, I put the car into drive and pulled away.
---
The drive to my house took half an hour and neither of us said a word, other than when she inquired how much longer it would be, then shrugged nonchalantly when I told her. Her expression said all that was needed: “it’s your dime”. Mostly, she sat in silence, chewing on her gum and gazing out at the passing neighborhoods as we passed from the run down slums and out into affluent suburbia, finally pulling into the driveway of my home.
The girl leaned forward when the car pulled to a stop and stared out at the large white house in which I lived, her eyes tracking across the imposing facade and faux-grecian pillars that surrounded the front door.
“You live here lady? Are you rich or something?” she asked, her mouth hanging open in a most undignified way.
“Yes Lillian, I live here. Do you like it?” I replied, attempting to set her at ease.
“Sure, whatever lady,” she shrugged, erecting a wall of indifference between us. “Hey, what’s a rich bitch like you doing cruising for ass downtown? High class pussy not doing it for ya?”
I sighed, saddened to hear such coarse language coming from her and resolving to correct that when we got her settled in. “Should we go in? It’s cold out here and we can talk when we’re inside?”
She turned to me and pursed her lips seductively. “Lead on,” she purred and then laughed.
Exiting the car, I led her up the path to the house and opened the front door with my key. I lived alone and had for the last five years, since my divorce. I had no children, and no house staff, so my home was empty and quiet, but it was warm and I hoped that Lillian would find it welcoming.
I stepped inside and ushered her forward. She followed me and stepped through the door into main hallway, glancing around at the unfamiliar opulence of my home.
“Christ lady, are you royalty or something?” she said, clearly not used to being taken to such a place by her customers. I shuddered as I imagined the flea-ridden motels and dives that she’d normally be treated to and the thought doubled my resolve that I was doing the right thing in trying to help her.
As I shut the door behind me, she turned and spoke, suddenly becoming businesslike and serious. “Okay, first up, I gotta ask ya lady - are you a cop?”
I shook my head, familiar with the question from the TV serials that I enjoyed. “No Lillian, I am not with the police.”
She nodded, and her face relaxed a little. “Good. Now, ground rules - I wanna see money up front, we don’t do nothing unless I say it’s okay and you pay for my time and a taxi back downtown. Okay?”
I nodded, numbly aware that she was still talking about a sexual transaction.
“It’ll be two hundred an hour, plus fifty if you want to fuck me with toys. For your money, I’ll eat your pussy, and you can eat mine if you want. I don’t do anal - I’m saving that for when I get married,” she quipped and then laughed at her own joke. “If you want me to dress up or pretend to be your daughter or some shit like that, then we gotta talk more money. You okay with all that?” she said, as though she was negotiating the cost to fix a leaking washing machine.
I shuffled on the spot, suddenly sure that I was out of my depth and regretting ever having met this coarse young thing. “I… um… listen, Lillian… I didn’t bring you here for… that…” I managed to say.
Her face tightened up and I saw a flash of anger sweep her pretty smile away. “What’s going on here lady? If you ain’t lookin for pussy what are you looking for?” she snarled, clearly annoyed to be taken away from her productive evening.
“Well, I…” I began, “listen, shall we go into the living room and talk. I have a proposition for you that you may or may not be interested in. If not, then I will pay you for a full evening and see to it that you are taken back downtown. What do you say? It can’t hurt to listen.”
She exhaled through her nose, and tightened her lips. “Okay, okay lady. You got five minutes of my time but then I’m outta here.”
---
“I want to offer you a job. As my maid,” I said triumphantly, as though I was offering her the elixir of life itself. In fact, that was how I saw it at the time.
The two of us were sitting in my living room, perched on either end of the giant sofa like bookends. She looked confused, her pretty brow furrowed up with tiny wrinkles. “You really don’t want to fuck?”
“No Lillian, though I’m sure it would be quite enjoyable,” I joked, hoping that a little humor would lighten her mood. In truth, I had no idea whether sex with Lillian would be enjoyable or not. At the time, sex with another woman was about as far from my mind as it possibly could have been. Oh, how quickly that changed.
Her face softened and I sensed that she was relaxing a little. “I don’t get it lady, what’s in it for you?”
I thought for a second, careful to phrase it right and not make her feel like a charity case. “Well, I need a maid. This house is too large for me to take care of myself, with my job and all. And I hope, if I’m not being too forward, that it will help you out of your situation as well.”
She narrowed her eyes and stared at me. “My situation?” she spat, her voice suddenly laced with venom and rage, “You rich folk are all the same, who do you think you are, telling me that my life isn’t good enough?”
I blanched under the force of her response, suddenly fearful that things might get out of hand. Then I breathed deeply and reminded myself that I was trying to do a good thing here. I sat forward and smiled at her as sweetly as I could manage. “Lillian, dear, I do not mean to insult you. I simply want to do something that will help us both out. I’ve made my offer, if you decide you don’t want to take me up on it, then I will call a taxi straight away and you can be back on the street within the hour.”
She bowed her head and fell silent, the brief flash of fire from her outburst replaced with a look of concentration, as though she was mulling over the choice of warmth, food and employment versus returning to the bitter cold of the street corner and her life of prostitution. In time, the fight seemed to go out her. Her shoulders slumped and she sighed deeply. The hard-faced banshee with the razor sharp attitude faded to be replaced by the lost girl with the spark of hope that had first attracted me to her.
“Okay,” she said, her voice barely a whisper and no hint of the rebellious street urchin to be heard, “I’ll do it.”
I smiled warmly and crossed my fingers around my knees. For that moment, at least, I felt immensely proud that I was doing something so selfless to help out someone so desperate.
The feeling didn’t last long.
Chapter 2
Now
The dining room is lit by the light of several candles placed on surfaces around the walls. The flickering light causes shadows to dance on the walls, adding to the palpable sense of eager anticipation in the room. The girl is breathing heavily and I’m sure that I can smell the subtle aroma of her desire, rich and musky and ripe with possibility.
I walk around the table, teasing my fingernails lightly up her back. Her body squirms under my touch and I hear her moan beneath the ball gag. Her muffled cries excite me and I enjoy the feeling of power I have over the helpless girl. Despite her apparent protestations, I know that she is enjoying her predicament.
Earlier today, I’d invited her to kneel before me in the living room and told her, matter of factly, that I was going to tie her up and fuck her over the table. The girl had gasped in anticipation, a hungry smile crossing her pr
etty face. She’d immediately excused herself and hurried upstairs to change into her playtime uniform. When she’d returned, she fell into her little girl lost persona that thrilled me so. All cute mannerisms and girly voice, sucking on her finger while fluttering her eyelashes. I swear, as much as I use her for my pleasure, the girl knows equally well how to manipulate me for hers.
The playtime uniform is what she now wears. Stockings instead of pantyhose, high stiletto heels instead of comfortable and practical flats, a frilly maid dress that is almost a porn caricature - too low on the chest, too high on the thigh for anything other than private use. It is the outfit of a sexual plaything, an owned pet. She knows it, I know it, and we both embrace our respective roles. Mistress and maid, owner and object.
I run my hand over the soft satin dress, over her bound arms, and think back to the first time I tried to dress the girl according to my wishes. The first time that I exerted my authority and took the rebellious beauty in hand. The true beginning of our relationship.
Before
“I’m not wearing that, lady, I told you!”
The conversation had gone on like this for ten minutes. My calm voice and gentle pleading, against Lillian’s steadfast insistence that she absolutely would not, under any circumstances, wear the uniform that I had laid out for her on the bed in her room.
It was the following morning. After she’d reluctantly accepted my offer, we’d chatted for a while and I’d given her something to eat. She seemed guarded and reticent at first, unwilling to give away too much detail about her life to me, a complete stranger. But she seemed grateful for the food and the warmth, and I soon saw her begin to relax and open up a little.
From our chat, I gleaned that she’d run away from home in her senior year at high school. With an absent father, an alcoholic mother and an indifferent education system, she’d gradually realized that if she stayed where she was, she would never break free from poverty’s deep hole. She decided to run away to the city and make her own way, leaving her home behind with barely a second thought. Inevitably, as a small town girl of eighteen in a big and uncaring city, she’d soon fallen in with an unsavory crowd. In no time at all, she’d found herself mired in a deeper hole than ever before.
As she talked about the prostitution, her face hardened, a mock wall of indifference to protect against the harsh realities of life on the street. She said that it was difficult at first, that she felt dirty and used, but she soon became numb to it. The other girls were nice, she said, they took care of her, especially the older ones.
I listened to her story, trying not to talk too much or offer my advice or sympathy. I sensed that she wanted nothing more to open up, to unburden herself after her ordeal. Instead, I studied her, noting how pretty she was when the rigid mask of street attitude fell from her face.
In time, she’d finished her story and looked at me, shrugging. “I’m kinda tired, do you mind if turn in early?” she asked politely.
I nodded and showed her to the room I had prepared for her, a modest guest room with an en suite bathroom. She marvelled at the size of the bed and the idea of having her own bath and shower. The way she talked about things, a mixture of relief and disbelief, was quite infectious and I left her alone with a spring in my step and a good feeling in my heart.
That was last night. Back to this morning and the confrontation about the uniform was testing my mood.
“Lillian, I insist, as your employer, that you dress appropriately,” I said, my voice adopting a firm tone that I usually reserved for wayward employees. I could feel a mounting frustration building in my stomach.
She reached down and grabbed the dress - a simple, modest length, black dress with a formal collar. Then she picked up the sheer black pantyhose and held them up. “But it’s so freakin’ boring!” she spat, clearly used to getting her own way on such matters.
I breathed in deeply, feeling the frustration begin to turn to anger. I steadied myself and attempted to soften my voice. “Lillian, as my maid, it is important that you maintain certain standards. One of those standards is that you will dress for the job and you will always appear presentable.” I said with all the composure I could muster.
She dropped the pantyhose to the bed and huffed, crossing her arms defensively ahead of her. Her face was a mask of childish rebellion, and for the first time, she looked younger than her eighteen years.
Looking back now, I identify this moment as a turning point - both in my life and in Lillian’s. It was the first time that I felt something beyond the simple feeling of charity and selflessness that had motivated me before. Something darker, something that was fueled by very different motivations. This wayward girl needed discipline, a firm hand. She was my maid, and I was not going to be disrespected like this.
I put my hands on my hips and straightened my back, then fixed her with an ice-cold glare. She seemed to shrink before me, shying away from my intimidating gaze.
“Lillian,” I barked, “I will not ask you again. Put the fucking uniform on and do as you are told. While you work for me, while you live under my roof, you will obey my rules, without question. If you no longer wish to work for me, then you are free to leave at any time. Do I make myself quite clear?”
She gasped, surprised by the sudden change in my demeanour. In truth, I was surprised myself, but there was something about the way the girl acted that set my teeth on edge. Her head bowed down and her folded arms fell down to hang at her sides.
“Y-yes, I-I understand,” she whispered.
I studied her, trying to ascertain how serious she was. “Very well, now take off your clothes and put the uniform on.” The command fell from my mouth unbidden, and I wondered if she would continue her rebellion and tell me where to go.
Instead, Lillian simply nodded and began to slip out of the loose fitting pyjamas that I’d provided for her the night before. In no time at all, she was naked, standing before me with her arms covering her breasts and her crotch. Her eyes were still lowered and her earlier spirit had entirely left her.
I gazed at her naked body. She was slender and short, perhaps a full foot shorter than me in my stiletto heels. Her skin was pale and unblemished, porcelain perfection that seemed at odds with the reality of her rough existence. Her breasts were modestly sized and perky, with puffy pink nipples that were partially erect. Between her legs, I caught sight of a patch of short blonde hair, trimmed into shape with inexpert hands. Her thighs and calves were toned and shapely, complementing her athletic physique.
“Lillian, could you bend over and pick up the pyjamas and fold them neatly on the bed, please?” I asked, intending to maintain standards wherever I could.
“Y-yes, of course,” she stammered and bent to pick up the discarded garments.
I watched her as she reached down, admiring the curve of her bottom as she bent over and the way her tiny foot kicked out behind her for balance. I caught myself licking my lips as she turned away from me and I caught the briefest of glimpses between her legs at the puffy bulge of her labia. I blinked, surprised by the feelings that were washing over me, feeling a secret shame at the way I was acting.
“Lillian, one more thing,” I said, catching her as she picked up the pyjama top, “I want you to refer to me as ‘mistress’ when you’re talking to me. Is that clear?”
She looked back and made eye contact with me. “I…” she began, and I sensed she was about to protest, but then she sighed deeply. “Y-yes … mistress.”
Satisfied, I told her to continue to get dressed and to meet me in the living room for her first duties.
---
I returned to the living room and sat down on one of the comfortable arm chairs, crossing my legs and sitting back to wait for Lillian. My mind was racing and my heart was hammering away in my chest. What had happened upstairs was so foreign to me, so out of character. Her reluctance to dress in the uniform was understandable, the whole situation was probably very strange to her. Picked up off the street by a strange woman
, brought to a house that was probably bigger than her old high school and offered a job with no strings attached. And then being asked to dress up in a particular way - it was hardly surprising that she had dug her heels in.
But for all that I understood her reluctance, there was something about the bratty way she had behaved that fired something up inside me. I have never had children, probably never would now, so I wondered if this was what it felt like to have an unruly child?
Yet there was something more than that. It wasn’t just the way she had behaved that had ignited my anger. It was more about what I wanted. From the moment I’d seen her on the crowded subway, for every long night spent in the darkened parking lot watching her from afar, I had assumed that I was motivated by altruism, by a simple need to pluck someone from the depths of despair and give them hope.
I still maintain that this was my overriding drive, a desire to do good. I’m not, despite what you might think, a complete monster. But why did I select Lillian specifically? There are countless people who need lifting out of their dire circumstances, most of them far more needy than Lillian was.
But it wasn’t until I’d seen her naked that I realized there may be more to it that. It wasn’t until I’d seen the way she responded to my anger and acted on my instructions with barely a question. My obsession with “saving” Lillian was borne of altruism but incubated in desire - I wanted to save her, but I also wanted to own her. I wanted to possess that delicate flower, to mould her according to my whims, to have her totally.
You probably think I’m sick, and you may be right. But until that moment, I truly thought I was acting with good intentions. Any deeper urges were instinctive and primal, never breaking the surface of consciousness. It is, I recognize, no real defence, but it is all I have.
The creak of a floorboard on the staircase roused me from these disturbing, invigorating thoughts. I turned to the door of the living room and saw Lillian standing there, her eyes lowered and her hands crossed in front of her nervously.
