Heart skittering, Jane bent over and reached for her ankles, her body contorting, her muscles screaming. The first hard thwack of the wooden spoon against her ass nearly made her fall out of position. It hurt like hell, and she gasped as she tried to absorb the pain. She bit her lip, determined not to whimper. She wouldn’t give the bitch the satisfaction.
“Stay still,” Brenda barked. She hit Jane again, and then again. Each hard stroke brought fresh tears to Jane’s eyes. By the time Brenda had delivered the tenth blow, the tears were flowing freely but Jane had barely made a sound. Though it was a tiny victory, and one known only to Jane, she felt empowered by her ability to stoically endure the punishment. It was a small, silent fuck you to her tormentor.
The broom appeared in her line of vision. “Stand up and sweep the floor properly this time,” Brenda barked.
Jane took the broom. Bottom burning, she made her way around the large kitchen again, taking special care under the cabinets and in the corners. Brenda hovered behind her the whole time, making her nervous. Trying to ignore the woman’s presence, Jane swept up a few new specks of dirt and dust and dumped what little there was into the trash can under the sink. When she was done again, she turned to Brenda, eyes downcast. “I think I’m done, ma’am.”
Brenda grabbed the broom from her and moved it over the floor here and there. Again, Jane held her breath as she watched. If Brenda found something else, she didn’t know what she’d do. But, to her vast relief, Brenda only grunted. “All right then. Let’s go upstairs. I want you to change the sheets, make the bed, tidy up and clean the bathroom. Robert likes to, uh, help out sometimes, heh heh. Whatever he does, you just keep your head down and do your job.”
Help out, my ass, Jane thought bitterly, but of course she held her tongue.
They led her through a large, elegantly furnished living room and up a wide, curving staircase to the second floor. The first room on the right was the master bedroom. There was a huge bed with a cushioned headboard upholstered in crimson satin, a matching bench at its foot. The bedding was in disarray, pillows on the floor. The ceiling above the bed was mirrored, like something out of a tacky no-tell motel. There was a huge vanity set against one wall with a large mirror surrounded by lights, like something out of an old movie. Clothing was strewn around. The vanity was covered with an array of makeup, hairbrushes and jewelry. A red satin-covered stool was tucked beneath it. Two armchairs were set near the large, picture window that looked out over a vast, rolling lawn outside.
“Fresh sheets are in the linen closet in the bathroom,” Brenda said. “Put the dirty sheets and clothing in the hamper. Cleaning supplies are under the sinks. Upstairs mop, broom and vacuum cleaner are in the supply closet just down the hall.”
“And her uniform,” Robert interjected. “Don’t forget her uniform.”
Brenda chuckled. “Of course. How could I forget?” She gripped Jane by the back of the neck and propelled her out of the room and down the hall, Robert following close behind. “Can’t expect the French maid to do a job if she’s not in her uniform.”
They came to a stop in front of a door. Brenda pulled it open, revealing the supply closet with the aforementioned items, along with a black and white frilly thing hanging from a hook. Brenda removed the item from the hook. She held out a very short black skirt with a lacy white apron sewn onto the front of it, long white sashes dangling.
“Put this on.”
Jane took the skirt, feeling ridiculous as she pulled up the flouncy thing over her legs. The skirt was too big on her, but she managed to keep it on by tying the sash tight.
“What size shoe are you?”
“Six and a half.”
Brenda pulled out a pair of shiny black heels, much higher than anything Jane would ever wear. “Too bad. These are an eight. You’ll just have to be careful. Robert likes his maids just so.”
“Damn straight,” Robert interjected with a leer as Jane stepped gingerly into the large, wobbly shoes. “Let me see how the froggy looks in her maid uniform.” He gripped Jane by the shoulders and looked her over from head to toe.
“Very nice,” he breathed. Reaching out, he caught one of her nipples between thumb and forefinger and gave it a vicious twist.
As Jane involuntarily cried out, his eyes sparkled with malicious glee. “Zee leetle French maid is shy, yes?” he added in a poor attempt at a French accent.
Was she actually supposed to reply to that?
She was saved from deciding as Brenda thrust the mop, broom and vacuum cleaner toward her. “Let’s get a move on, girlie. We haven’t got all day.”