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Ağu 04

Maid to Serve Ch. 02

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Cumshot

At first Eleanor thought it was the light streaming in through the narrow window that had woken her, but the awful feeling of discomfort that seemed to be spread out across the whole of her body soon made her realise that it had been responsible instead. The light, she realised had been in the background of her perception for some time and the more unpleasant sensations were only now coming to the fore.

Her awareness seemed to be growing ever more acute, as if she were returning to consciousness through a haze of some kind, her senses only now becoming clear and able to perceive her surroundings.

Memories of the past twenty four hours floated to the surface of her mind, slowly and fragmentary at first and then all too soon gaining in speed and clarity as she connected one traumatic image to another.

She recalled the walk by the pond, the man with no face, the chase and the struggle…and then nothing.

Eleanor tried to sit up despite the protesting of a headache that flared up as soon as she moved her head, but she found herself gently pushed back down onto what she now realised was a utilitarian and yet comfortable bed.

As her eyes became more accustomed to the light, she perceived that the push had come from a figure standing over the bed and looking down at her with mild concern. At least she would have said that it was a look of concern had she been able to see the face that was covered by a mask of red lycra.

Suddenly reminded of the men who had physically assaulted her only hours before, Eleanor let out a cry of alarm and tried to turn away from the featureless face.

In response the figure remained silent, but Eleanor felt a firm tug around her throat and was forced to turn her head back so that she once was once again looking face to face at the masked figure.

The woman, even before she saw the rest of the figure she knew somehow it was a woman, shook her head slowly and reached out with her left hand to gently stroke the side of Eleanor’s face. At the same time she noted that in her right hand, the masked woman was holding what looked like a leash made of black leather.

Eleanor’s hands found her throat and confirmed her suspicions; she was wearing a collar around her neck to which the leash was attached. While the inside of the collar felt as though it was padded in some way, the material was thick leather and tough enough to resist any effort she could make to strain against it.

The woman in the mask seemed to have noted her exploration of the collar closely and nodded when Eleanor glanced up at her. There passed between them an unspoken acknowledgement of the situation; one of them was wearing a restraint and the other was holding the leash, there was really no more to be said in terms of their relationship to one another.

Something in the woman’s manner seemed to subtly underlie the more obvious nature of the predicament in which the kidnapped girl found herself, despite the demeaning situation. She was sure that a measure of odd gentleness made up an element of the masked woman’s approach. It was not something Eleanor could have defined, but she was sure the woman was trying to treat her as kindly as was possible given the circumstances.

The bizarre nature of her situation numbed Eleanor’s mind to the horror of the reality that she had been kidnapped and for now she was simply unable to dwell upon the fact or even think of trying to escape her captivity. Instead she found herself wrestling with the more immediate aspects of her predicament, with which she was struggling from one moment to the next.

With the urging of the woman in the mask, she inched her way up off the bed until she was sitting on the edge. Her head was still thick from the effects of the drugs that had been used to keep her unconscious for so long and her stomach lurched from time to time with a mixture of hunger and nausea that was almost too much to bear.

It was then that she caught a glimpse of her legs as she stared down at the floorboards in an effort to collect herself.

Eleanor vaguely recalled what she had been wearing when she had stepped out of her front door, and she was sure that it had not been that shade of pink or made of something that shiny. Her head darted up and found a full length mirror on the other side of the room in which she saw her own reflection staring back at her.

She let out another cry at the sight of what she saw.

At first she had thought she was looking at some kind of life-sized doll or mannequin, but then she moved her head and watched in horror as the smooth pink head of the anonymous thing moved in reflected imitation. Slowly she raised her hands and gazed down at them, trying to come to terms with the smooth material covering them. For some reason she was instantly able to recall every crease and line that had crossed the palms of her hands, now concealed beneath the featureless pink she saw before her. She tugged at the palm of one hand with the pursaklar escort fingers of the other and found that there was no way to pull the material away from the skin, it was stuck in place and there was no moving it.

Eleanor was not ignorant of the stranger things that went on behind closed doors; she knew full well that some people liked to do what seemed to her very strange things in the bedroom. In the past she had been happy to live and let live so long as those doors remained closed and the odd people stayed hidden behind them.

Now it seemed that she had been plucked from her comfortable world of normality and dragged into that alien realm of what could only be depravity and perversion with no choice of her own in the matter. Worse than that she had been turned from a normal woman into a creature of that same disturbing world of which she had no knowledge or experience, her own identity hidden beneath layers of pink latex.

She looked up at the reflection once more and physically shivered at the realisation that she had become something less than human, something intended to be used mutely and without protest in whatever way her owner saw fit.

She was a doll.

A plaything.

An object.

Eleanor held her head in her hands, but before she could begin to let out the desperate feelings of helplessness that had seized her there was another tug on the collar around her neck. She turned to see the woman in the red mask shaking her head and motioning for her to get to her feet.

For the first time she actually regarded the woman in something other than a daze, taking in the details that had escaped her notice while she was fixated on her own strange appearance. It seemed that the other woman almost as bizarre as Eleanor herself in terms of the costume that she was wearing.

Red was the word that dominated any description of the woman; she was clad in the colour from head to toe. Though her features were hidden beneath the hood that covered the whole of her head, it was clear to see that she was petite of frame, standing no more than a few inches over four feet in height and that too being accentuated by the high heels of the neat red boot she wore. Her outfit seemed to be some kind of essay on the dress of a well-presented woman from the turn of the nineteenth century; fitted skirts that reached her knees hugged the shape of her thighs and a small neat bustle that concealed the shape of her behind. A tight jacket covered her torso, accentuated by a lace collared blouse that bloomed from between the narrow lapels. Leather gloves covered her hands and red fabric covered her legs, causing Eleanor to realise she must be wearing some kind of garment that covered the entirety of her body under her clothes. Her head was naked save for the hood and a small hat that seemed to be pinned in place rather like a fascinator.

Eleanor noticed that despite her calm demeanour, the woman had produced an object in her previously free hand that looked worryingly like a riding crop made of red leather. She motioned with it for her charge to step into the middle of the floor and stopped her when she was happy with the spot on which she stood.

It was clear now that the room was a small bed chamber, furnished with only a simple frame and mattress, the mirror into which she had just gazed and a large wardrobe that dominated the rest of the bare floorboards.

“I see that you can be obedient,” the woman in red spoke for the first time and Eleanor noted her voice had a musical quality that would not have sounded out of place coming from the mouth of a delicate fairy. “That’s a good place to start, believe me.”

She moved to the wardrobe and produced a small key with which she proceeded to unlock the door.

“You may call me ‘Alwyn’,” she spoke over her shoulder, “but the first rule that I have to impart to you is that you should only ever speak when you are given permission.”

Alwyn turned to face Eleanor, holding an armful of what she supposed must be clothes.

“You can speak now, girl.”

“Where am I?” Eleanor’s voice broke slightly as she spoke.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Who are you?”

“The person in charge of your training.”

“Why am I here?”

“For now all I can tell you in that regard is that you are here to serve as a housemaid,” Alwyn paused before going on, “beyond that what you are here for is not within my knowledge to tell or power to determine.”

“So who’s really in charge?”

“Clever girl,” Alwyn dropped the clothes on the bed and began to arrange them, “I’d be careful with showing off your brains around here. The best thing is for people to think that you don’t think at all. The person in charge is called ‘The Squire’, because he’s in charge and that’s what he demands that we call him. You’ll be meeting him soon no doubt, he knows all the comings and goings around here and it was him that gave the order for a new housemaid rize escort to be found to replace the last one.”

“So the last housemaid escaped?”

“There you go with that thinking again,” Alwyn shook her head, “but yes, one of the footmen was careless and she ran away. The Squire will have made sure by now that it’ll not happen again any time soon.”

Eleanor dipped her head and nodded as if accepting the facts as she was told them, but she noted the possibility of escape and stored it away in a corner of her mind for a moment when she could make use of it.

“Let’s get you dressed,” Alwyn held up a pair of latex knickers and handed them to Eleanor, “we can’t have you wandering around the place looking like a life-sized sex toy now, can we?”

Eleanor gingerly took the knickers from the little red woman and examined them for a moment before obediently stepping into them with a deliberate slowness. They were stretchy and shiny like the material that covered her body, but black in colour with a white heart on the backside and frills of the same colour around the leg holes. As she pulled them over her buttocks, the irony of what Alwyn had said to her sank in as she realised that there was little chance of whatever she was being made to wear making her look less like an object intended for sexual gratification than she did without it.

Perhaps that was one of the realities of life in a world as strange as this, that even garments as obviously designed to titillate as these were considered normal and mundane?

The next piece of clothing was the actual maids outfit itself, which consisted of a skirt that was so short and flared out to such a degree that it did nothing to conceal her underwear and a top that was ribbed like a corset and plunged low in order to allow her latex cleavage to be pushed upwards at the same time. Like the knickers, the outfit was made of heavy black rubber and slick to the touch with white frills running around the short sleeves, the neckline and the hem of the skirt.

Alwyn stepped behind Eleanor and tied a white apron around her waist before handing her a pair of rubber gloves that came up only as far as her wrists. They were white as well and ringed with the same frills that persisted throughout the outfit. Next was a pair of black rubber stockings that reached halfway up Eleanor’s thighs and finally a blonde, collar length wig cut to resemble a bob with the edges flicked up and outwards. This was topped with a traditional maid’s headdress and the outfit was complete save for the footwear.

“Now these will take some getting used to,” Alwyn handed a pair of terrifying black boots to Eleanor, “there aren’t many that are used to wearing something as extreme as this and from your face I can see that you’re not one of them.”

Eleanor shook her head as she stared in horror at the pointed heels attached to the boots, each of which must have been almost eight inches in length. The act of wearing them would force her feet into a position almost like that of a ballet dancer assuming the En Pointe stance and she was sure that simply standing still in them would be a challenge. For the moment she was not even prepared to imagine actually walking in them.

“Let’s get them on,” Alwyn cut through her hesitation by pushing her down onto the edge of the bed. She kneeled in front of the girl and slipped one of her feet into the first boot, holding both in her lap as she did so. Eleanor had no time to argue as the boot was laced up and the second followed suit in a similarly efficient manner.

The boots were tight and chafed Eleanor’s feet, but then the entire outfit was tight and she found that she was soon able to take a few tentative steps around the room with Alwyn’s guidance. The more time she spent practicing the easier it became to adapt to the delicate balance that the boots required and she was confident in her ability to keep from falling on her face some twenty minutes after the things had first been laced up on her feet.

“Now I think we’re ready to introduce you to your duties,” Alwyn led her to the door of the room and down a twisting staircase that challenged the progress she had made with the severe boots to the very limit.

“There are standards that must be kept to when in the house as opposed to when we are out of sight of the Squire,” the little red woman explained as they descended. “I can be indulgent and even kind when it is the latter, but in the case of the former you must expect harsher treatment and strive to do your best at all times. As I have told you, speak only when required to by the Squire, do not be surprised to feel my whip and most important of all do exactly what he asks of you quickly and without hesitation…that is the one rule you must keep to no matter what the cost, for your own sake.”

Eleanor was genuinely surprised to find that when they reached the door that lead into the house proper, her duties were actually those of a housemaid and involved ankara rus escort dusting, sweeping and generally making the rounds of the corridors and rooms with a perfectly normal vacuum cleaner in tow. She had expected the reality to be something totally different and that she would be told to crawl around on her hands and knees with a tray of drinks on her back or else batter some pervert’s genitals with a flyswatter.

She was constantly watched and given silent instruction by Alwyn, hovering no more than a few feet from her side. If she had entertained any hope of escaping from the house as soon as possible, they were dashed by the diminutive woman who dogged her heels for the rest of what she guessed was the afternoon.

Alwyn was true to her word, remaining silent and on occasion rapping her charge sharply across the buttocks in a show of disapproval when she erred in the execution of a task.

Eleanor managed to bite her tongue whenever the whip made contact, glad for the first time of the layers of latex that lay between her flesh and the leather.

When her rounds were completed, Alwyn showed Eleanor to a servant’s parlour that lay partly in the cellars of the extreme left wing of the house. She was allowed to sit upon a small wooden stool and given a glass of water and a small plate of bread and cheese, which she surprised herself with by eating it in no time at all.

When she was done eating, Eleanor glanced up to notice the rows of bells and the signs under each one that lined one of the walls in the parlour. She was well-versed in period dramas and of course knew that they were linked to the various rooms of the house, intended for the important residents to summon the servants to their side when they needed to be tended to.

“Those things work perfectly and the Squire makes use of them more often than not,” Alwyn had followed her gaze. “When he rings for service you will need to make your way as quickly as you can to the appropriate room and make yourself known to him silently and discreetly.”

Eleanor nodded as she counted the number of bells. There seemed to be so many of them and each one with a room that she was not sure of the location in this rambling house. How she was supposed to memorise them all she had no idea.

But why should she?

She was instantly angry with herself for even contemplating the task in the first place.

People knew her and soon enough they would miss her and contact the relevant authorities. This was the modern day, not the Middle Ages when a person could be carried off into slavery by some marauding savage, never to be heard of again. For now she would have to play along with this sick game, but there would come a time when she was presented with the chance she needed and at that moment she would take it.

The sound of a bell ringing desperately bought her back to reality and she found that despite the bravado of her previous thoughts, a shiver of genuine fear and trepidation suddenly ran through her from head to toe.

“The study,” it seemed that the task of remembering the rooms allocated to the bells was old hat to Alwyn, who hardly took the time to note the position of the one in question. “Let’s see, it’s the start of the afternoon, a Wednesday and he’s in the study.” She seemed to be weighing the elements up as if they were a mathematical equation. “That shouldn’t be too much of a challenge, even for someone as green as you.”

Alwyn turned towards the door and motioned for Eleanor to follow her once again.

They made their way quickly to the main hall of the house and climbed the wide staircase to the first floor. Once there a few simple turns along wood-panelled corridors brought them to a stout door before which Alwyn cam to a halt and fixed Eleanor with as serious a look as her concealed features would allow.

“This is the first time the Squire has seen you, so be prepared for his appraisal and be sure that it will be frank and less than subtle. If he’s not fond of what he sees then you’ll be out of there in the space of a minute or two once he’s told you what the supposed reason for the bell is. On the other hand, you could be in there for quite some time as he’ll no doubt want you to become involved in the real reason that he rang down to the servant’s pantry.”

Eleanor could do nothing but nod in response, the anxiety she was feeling at coming face to face with the head of this strange household evident on the parts of her face that could be seen.

“The best thing is to try not to think about it too much, dear,” Alwyn opened the door and motioned for her to enter. “Who knows, people have even been known to enjoy it from time to time.”

The room into which Eleanor stepped was at first no different to any other in the house in that it seemed at first glance to be perfectly normal before the finer details became apparent. The study was large and mostly dominated by heavy wooden bookcases; the leather bound volumes standing behind locked doors and visible through panes of glass. Large leaded windows gave a view out over the grounds below that was fading quickly into darkness and the light failed and the evening came on, but subtle electric lighting kept the room from fading into darkness.

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