by Jennifer Harrison
"Wanted - Secretary/PA/Maid"
The curious personal ad attracts my attention, making my heart flutter a little. But then I remember I am looking in a quality national newspaper, not some kinky magazine. However, I read on.
"Young (20-35), attractive female sought for private employment by professional couple. Duties include secretarial (typing and mail), personal assistant (diary management) and domestic (cleaning, cooking). Other personal services will be required, and the successful candidate will be on call 24/7. Position is live-in and uniform, plus other required dress, will be provided."
By this time, my hands are shaking and my breathing shallow and rapid. I can't believe what I'm reading! The implication that this is far more than just a secretarial position is overwhelming. Is this the position I have been fantasising about for longer than I care to remember? I swallow hard and try to focus as I read to the end of the entry.
"Salary is XXX per month, paid in advance, with twice times monthly salary at the end of each completed month of service. Serious applicants only, please, send curriculum vitae and recent photograph to the following e-mail address."
I can't believe how much they are paying! They are clearly very wealthy, but this surely confirms that they are looking for something much more interesting than a domestic servant cum office worker! I read the whole thing again, and just get even more excited. I know I have to apply, even if it goes no further than that, but I would kick myself if I didn't at least try!
I edit my CV to emphasise any secretarial work I have done, and describe my experience of domestic duties, albeit just keeping my own house tidy. I read it back three or four times, trying to improve it, then choose one of my photos. I attach them to an e-mail and, holding my breath as my finger hovers over the send button, I have one last think about whether this is a good idea. But then I press send and giggle to myself at how daring I am being.
I watch my inbox impatiently for the next two days before the reply finally arrives. Feeling nervous and terribly excited. I open and read it.
"Ms Harrison, Thank you for your reply to our advertisement. We will interview you via Skype or similar communications medium, enabling us to see you in person. 4 PM tomorrow. Please dress accordingly."
I am rather taken aback by the abruptness of the e-mail, the fixed time without any acknowledgement that it might not be convenient for me, and the instruction on dress code for what is basically a telephone interview. The impression is that they are very controlling, and that thought excites me incredibly. I have a secret fantasy about being controlled, about being submissive, and everything I have seen from these people so far (which is very little, I know nothing about them, not even their names) just fuels my excitement.
It takes me ages to work out what to wear, and in the end I decide to go for simple and professional - a white blouse and a black skirt to just above the knees (even though I know they won't see below the waist anyway. I wait nervously for 4 PM and then, exactly on time, Skype bursts into life and I rush to answer it. As it fires up and my webcam comes on, I realise that they are not sharing their own webcam view. It reinforces the fact that this interview is all about them, assessing me, I will learn very little about them. My needs are not important as far as they're concerned.
The questions come thick and fast, a male and a female voice interchanging, hardly letting me finish one answer before the next question arrives. The tone is sharp, businesslike, almost hectoring, and I become flustered under pressure, feeling my cheeks redden and a little perspiration on my brow. They question everything - my work record, my upbringing, my family, my marriage, my divorce, where I live, who are my friends, my work colleagues, my neighbours. Am I willing to travel, can I cope with being away from everyone I know for a prolonged period of time, the interrogation goes on and on. Eventually, there is a break, silence from the other end, and then another question.
"Are you wearing panties, Ms Harrison?"
I'm stunned! Such a personal, intimate question! Then I remember what I think this is about, and the question doesn't seem so ridiculous, just very embarrassing.
"Y-yes, sir," I stutter, having fallen into the habit of calling them ‘Sir’ and ‘Ma'am’ quite naturally.
"Take them off and show us."
I feel myself blush even more, and I hesitate, but I know I really have no choice. I awkwardly reach up under my skirt and pull my knickers down to my ankles. Feeling deeply ashamed, I hold up my rather old and worn-out undergarment.
"Put them in your mouth."
Oh my God! This time, my surprise and shock at being ordered to do such a thing is overwhelmed by my arousal at being commanded to perform such a disgusting act. Slowly, I bundle the panties into a ball and then, parting my lips, stuff them deep into my mouth. Well, I think, that's pretty much the end of the interview!
I do is I am told, having realised that they can now see my skirt.
"Turn around and bend over."
I do so, knowing that I am now giving them an excellent view of my arse.
"Stay like that and hitch your skirt up to your waist."
As if in a daze, I pull up the hem of my skirt and expose my bare buttocks to the camera, hardly able to breathe.
"Open your legs."
I feel like some kind of porn star or hooker as I spread my legs, giving them a perfect view of my pussy, which I realise is dripping wet. I wonder if they can see it glistening in the light…
"Thank you, Ms Harrison, we'll be in touch." And with that, they are gone!
It is several excruciating days before I receive an e-mail.
Ms Harrison - you will attend a trial period at our house here in the Netherlands. The trial period will last for two weeks, at which time we may decide to terminate your service, paying you one month’s salary, or to confirm your contract, which will continue immediately. You will receive plane tickets in the post. Please ensure your passport is up to date. You will be met at the airport. Bring the minimum of luggage (hand baggage only) as all your uniform and other clothes will be provided.
Again, the peremptory tone just reinforces my submissive desires, and makes me giddy with excitement. I get everything in order and pack little more than toiletries, make-up, nightwear and fresh underwear. I take the train and a taxi to the airport, more nervous than I have ever been in my life. The flight is crowded with business people, but relatively short. At the airport, I am amazed to see a man holding up a sign with my name on it. I wonder if it is my new employer, but I realise it is not him when he speaks.
He takes me to his car and I sit in the back while he drives me through the city and then out into the country. After maybe an hour or so, he pulls into a private drive, at the end of which is a large country house. I finally realise just how wealthy my new employers are! When I get out of the car, the man drives away without a word, leaving me standing outside the front door.
I think, this is the moment of truth, but in reality that moment came and went a long time ago. With my heart pounding in my chest and having difficulty breathing, I check myself one last time. I am wearing the same white blouse and black skirt as I did during my Skype interview, but I have new, sexy bra and panties on underneath, both pure white.
Taking my courage in both hands, I ring the bell.
“You must be Jennifer Harrison? Welcome. Come in, we have been expecting you.”
You look very nice and quite fresh for a woman who already has been married and divorced. Beautiful open eyes and full bodied red hair. I watch your expression carefully as you enter our wide hallway with its large winding double staircase and its glass-twinkling multi-armed chandelier, hanging from the ceiling. You seem amazed. I guess you’ve never before been inside a home of people who have some money to spend. I take your coat and a slight and quite agreeable whiff of your odour tickles my nose.
Taking your soft warm hand, I show you into our large living room, with its white carpeted floor, its luxurious sofa and easy chairs standing around the smouldering fireplace and, of course, our grand piano. Your eyes wander about in awe until they fix on the photograph above the piano, depicting a young nude woman with her hands tied behind her to a tree trunk. You blush.
“Welcome Miss Harrison.’ It’s Mary rising from one of the chairs. “I’m Mary, Robert’s wife.” It’s obvious you have not noticed her before, as she had been sitting with her back to you. Her voice makes you startle out of your fascination of the photograph.
Mary steps towards you, her hand outstretched. She is wearing her black, tight fitting, sexy dress and her high heels. “Sit down please, Miss Harrison, or should we call you Jennifer?”
You seem a bit taken aback and disoriented. And you are still blushing. Both Mary and I politely do as if we did not notice.
“You may call me Jennifer, if you wish, madam, or… eh… whatever…” you say awkwardly. You do not finish your sentence and, remaining before Mary, let yourself be scrutinized from top to toes. The only movement you make is to lower your gaze and then your head.
“Something to drink?” I ask, when Mary finishes looking you over. Raising an eyebrow I point to the half-filled wine decanter and the three glasses waiting on the low table, between the couch and the fireplace. Hesitantly you let yourself down on the sofa, looking alternately at me and Mary. Your expression betrays that you can use a little alcohol.
“I’m Mary,” Mary says with a kind smile, as she hands you your glass. You’ve already met Robert, have you?”
“Well…” you answer, still a bit red in the face, “We haven’t been introduced really…” Your voice quivers slightly, but is otherwise clear like spring water.
“Robert,” I say, pouring dark red wine into the glass you hold.
You answer: “Jennifer… or Jenny, sir, Harrison.” It seems there still is a need to break some tension.
But before long Mary succeeds in making you relax. She’s good at that sort of thing. And the wine helps. Soon the two of you are chatting away about your cooking duties and how doing some of the cleaning works in the house. But I notice that you are still a bit nervous, and see how once your gaze steals very briefly towards the photograph over the piano. When Mary finally stops talking, another silence threatens to fall over the room. But then you take the initiative and, taking a deep breath, address yourself to me: “Any other… eh… duties… sir?”
I just smile and Mary and I exchange a brief glance at each other. “Yes there are some,” Mary answers for me, “But we’ll talk about that later. First let me show you your room and around the house. She gets up and you follow her silently, but not before turning your head in my direction, as if to assess me before you lose sight of me.
Then the door closes. I take another sip at my wine and smile at myself. ‘Quite a sexy woman,’ I tell myself, 'wonder what you may have thought of that photograph. Didn’t look as if it frightened you off. To the contrary…’
I don't know what I was expecting, maybe some leather-clad sex fiend wielding a whip, but you look very… normal when you open the door. You are polite, and I begin to wonder if I've got this all wrong. Maybe I misread the signals? But then I remember having to lift my skirt and show you my bare bottom…
Wow! This is more like a stately home than a house that regular people live in! That staircase! The chandelier! It's just stunning!
I give you my coat, and I’m quite surprised when you take my hand, leading me like a child into another room. Wow, I'm overwhelmed again by the luxury, the opulence! A roaring fire, a huge sofa, a grand piano, and… what's that? A picture, of a naked woman?! Not only that but she's tied to a tree! Is it a commercial picture, bought in from an art gallery? Or did you take the picture? Did you tie that young woman to the tree? Did you strip her naked? The questions are tantalising, I want to ask, but…
I'm taken by surprise by the woman's voice behind me. Of course, I'd almost forgotten that you were a couple, and now you are together. Your wife, Mary, seems equally friendly and pleasant. I stumble over my words, still terribly nervous, trying to equate those anonymous, commanding voices from the interview with the nice, hospitable people I now see before me. I'm terribly confused!
I take the glass of wine you offer gratefully, drinking a little too much, a little too quickly, but it eases my nervousness, starting to relax me…
So you are Robert? When I look at you now more closely, you are quite handsome, tall and rugged. Your wife is very attractive as well, now that I have calmed down a little, very well and expensively dressed. The house, the clothes, the car, the flight, all talk of money. But the bearing, the poise, the confidence, the social ease, they all talk of class. If I didn’t feel submissive and overawed before, I do now! My rightful place here, my only place, is that of the servant.
Mary tells me all about the house, how old it is, how long you've lived here, then describing the rooms and how they need to be kept, how often cleaned and so on. I try to listen intently, but I keep finding my mind, and my eyes, wandering back to that picture on the piano. What can be the story there? Is she your last servant? Is that what you will do to me? What else did you do to her? What else will you do to me? Naked, bound, outdoors - my head seems to be spinning, and I'm not sure whether it's from the alcohol or the excitement…
“Any other… eh… duties… sir?” I blurt out when Mary finishes. I look up at you, hoping to get some clue as to what you expect of me. My breathing is shallow and rapid, and I'm sure you can see the swirl of emotions, of fear, nervousness and excitement inside me.
But you just smile, exchange a look with your wife, and she leads me out of the room. But what about the picture, I want to ask!
Patience, Jenny, patience, you’ll find out everything eventually, just try and calm down and listen! You have to learn how to run this house or they’ll throw you out and the picture will remain a mystery.
Mary takes me around the house – so many rooms! I’ll never find my way around, I’m lost already! I try to take it all in, to listen to all the information, but it’s too much. I think she realises, and she cuts the tour short with a smile. She takes me up a back stairs where the rooms are smaller and more sparsely furnished.
“This will be your room, Jennifer, Robert has brought up your bag. Why don’t you rest for a while and then come back down in an hour or so.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” I say, and go into the room. It is quite small but comfortable, with a nice bed, wardrobe, chest of drawers. I unpack my things, but when I go to put my underwear in a drawer, I find them all locked, the wardrobe too. How strange. I go to the small window, and look out on a patch of grass and woodland. I wonder if that’s where the photo was taken?
I lie down on the bed and stare at the ceiling, wondering exactly what I have got myself into. Perfectly nice, wealthy couple, looking for a live-in maid, what could be more innocent? But that advert, that interview, that picture, it’s all so… tantalising, so erotic!
I look at my watch and make my way back downstairs.
“I think,” Mary says, “I think that I hear her come down. Maybe you should give her the papers. Want to come?” I smile and nod eagerly and we both leave the room. In the hallway we are just in time to see you come down the stairs.
“Hello dear,” Mary says, “have you rested a bit?”
You nod without speaking. “Now then, let’s get some formalities over,” I say, when you step onto the floor, and I get the papers from my jacket. “Here is the contract. Read it carefully, please, and then decide if you want to sign it as it is.”
You blush again, but then take the papers. We re-enter the living room where you sit down on the couch once more and start reading. Both Mary and I remain standing before you. The more you read, the more your hands begin to tremble. I like that. The contents of this contract seem to arouse you. That’s a good sign. We put a lot of work in it, trying to find the right wording, not saying anything explicitly or offensive, but still making it clear that you are expected to behave not only like a maid, but like a very obedient one, allowing us to take our pleasures with you, any pleasure we wish to take. It’s not an easy thing to swallow, I guess, and I do notice that you are swallowing indeed. The other thing is that clause saying that once you have signed, you lose the right to amend or annul it. We of course do, but you don’t. Those issues make me a bit nervous as to whether or not you will decide to really put your signature on it.
I hand you my fountain pen.
You look up at me, and then at Mary, back at me, and at Mary again, but then you take the cap off my pen and sign. It’s almost as if I can hear your heart beating.
“So that’s settled then,” I say, and I see that you are quickly reddening like a lobster.
“That’s settled indeed,“ Mary repeats after me. She looks you straight into the eyes. “Why are you blushing, Jenny?” she says.“ From now on you are our maid, twenty four hours a day and always at our disposal.”
“Or at least one of us.” I say and add, ”but you are not dressed like a maid, are you?”
“No sir,” you say with a somewhat shaky voice, “if you would like me to wear a maid’s uniform,… well… you said I should come here without luggage.”
“No problem,” Mary says, “we have everything you need. Come with me, please. You should indeed be dressed more properly,” When I see your questioning eyes direct towards me, I add: “I like what you are wearing, Jenny, but it’s far from a maid’s uniform.”
The three of us go up the stairs and enter your room again. Mary puts a hand high on the cupboard and fetches the key to the drawers. “Sorry,” she says, “I forgot to tell you where the key is. You must have wondered what’s in this cupboard, locked up like this.” But she opens only the lower drawer and takes the garment out which I bought yesterday, putting it down on the bed.
Your eyes grow large when you see it. It’s a black maid’s dress, very short and with a tiny white piece of apron up front. I can see you blush. “Should I wear this? It’s very short, ma’am, sir.”
“Yes and purposely so. Now undress, take off your underwear and put this on.”
Mary’s voice is still kind but nevertheless rather commanding. You look at me with embarrassment. I do not appear ready to leave. ‘Go on,” I say, “and please give Mary your bra and panties, you won’t be needing that kind of stuff here.”
You hesitate. But then I take those signed papers out of my pocket and wave them in the air. “You signed this, and you did so of your own free will, so if you don’t obey us we ourselves will rip those clothes off you, and who knows what will happen then. Come on. Get out of those clothes.”
Mary slaps your face hard. I see tears well up in your eyes, those beautiful eyes.
Mary smiles when she sees it too, and retains her calm and kind voice “We own you now dear, do as you’re told. You want it as much as we do.”
And thus you obey, flushing beet-red again while gradually revealing to us a most exciting and beautiful body. When you are naked, you try to cover your breasts and crotch with your hands. And as you look at me there is fear in your eyes. “Well, what are you waiting for, take the dress,” I say, “and put it on that fine body of yours.” Without taking your eyes off me, you slowly remove your hands from your delicacies and take the dress from the bed. Putting it on makes you gasp. The dress is not only so short that it will quite easily reveal your feminine secrets to whoever is watching, it also has no backside.
Slowly you put the strap loop over your head and bind the other straps behind your back. You turn around and now face Mary, moving your nude backside with its two exquisitely small and round buttocks into my view.
You bow your head and softly I hear you ask: “You want me like this, sir… ma’am?”
I reach the bottom of the stairs and meet you both, immediately feeling nervous again. There is something about the two of you together, I find you very intimidating, like you are going to gang up on me.
You hand me the contract - we need a contract? I thought we had an agreement? This looks very legal and official, and I start to read through it.
Robert and Mary Hawk, hereinafter referred to as ‘The Masters’ and Jennifer Harrison, hereinafter referred to as ‘The Servant’, enact this Contract dated the ________ day of _________, 20__ according to the terms and conditions set out below.
Just that sentence has me bubbling with excitement - The Masters and The Servant! The words seem almost erotic! I read on.
1. Terms: ‘The Masters’ is taken to mean either party acting individually or both parties acting in unison. ‘The Property’ comprises the house and all gardens and grounds attached.
2. Contract Period: the Contract shall commence immediately on signature by The Masters and The Servant and continue unabated, unless and until terminated according to the terms set out below.
3. Contract Termination: the Contract may be terminated at any time with immediate effect at the sole discretion of The Masters, or on the death of either party.
So, my only way out of the contract is dying, while you can dismiss me at any point?! Whatever happened to the trial period?
4. Unauthorised Termination: if The Servant terminates the Contract at any time, she shall be liable for all payments received, and The Masters shall instigate proceedings to impose punitive damages comprising, but not limited to, all assets of The Servant. Under Netherlands law, failure to pay court-awarded damages may lead to criminal proceedings and a custodial sentence.
Wow! So, if I try to quit, you will ruin me and get me sent to jail! The threat is real and credible - money usually gets what it wants, especially when what it wants is revenge!
5. Confidentiality: at no time during the term of the Contract or subsequently shall The Servant publish any account, image or other record, nor give any interview, whether public or private, in which the terms or operation of the Contract are mentioned.
No book deal and lecture tour for me, then!
6. Remuneration: payment will be monthly in advance directly to the Servant’s bank account. A bonus will be paid of two times monthly payment in arrears for each calendar month of service completed.
7. Normal Duties: The Servant shall be expected to perform manual Labour, comprising, but not limited to, cleaning, washing, ironing, cooking, and serving, for up to Twelve (12) hours in any Twenty Four (24)-hour period, between the hours of dawn and midnight. Normal Duties will be performed on The Property.
Twelve hours! That's a pretty long day doing ‘manual Labour’!
8. Special Duties: The Servant shall be expected to perform other tasks as stipulated by The Masters, at any time during each 24-hour period. Special duties will normally be performed on The Property, but The Servant may be required to perform them off The Property.
So you can make me do anything, anytime, anywhere?! Nice!
9. Authorised Absence: granting a leave of absence for vacation, personal circumstances, or any other reason is solely at the discretion of The Masters.
So I get no holidays or time off for good behaviour unless you grant it to me out of the goodness of your heart!
10. Clothing Privileges: The Servant shall wear the clothes, and only such clothes , as provided by and stipulated by The Masters at all times.
Clothing is a privilege, not a right?! Wow!
11. Waiver: the Normal Duties may be waived in preference for Special Duties at any time and for any period at the sole discretion of The Masters.
So, you might let me off my jobs so that you can spend all day doing ‘other stuff’ to me…
12. Obedience: The Servant shall carry out all Duties, whether Normal or Special, in a timely and satisfactory manner to the best of her abilities at all times. The Servant shall obey all orders given by The Masters in a timely and satisfactory manner.
So basically do as I'm told…
13. Punishment: any failure to perform the Duties required or to obey an order shall result in the Punishment of The Servant at the sole discretion of The Masters. There shall be no obligation on The Masters to explain the decision to Punish The Servant. Punishment shall comprise, but not be limited to, revocation of Clothing Privileges, incarceration on The Property, and corporal punishment. The Masters undertake to make their best efforts to ensure that Punishment does not result in permanent disfigurement, disability, or death.
Oh great! So you can strip, beat and imprison me for no reason, and you’ll try not to lop off an arm or a leg or kill me, but no promises!
14. Welfare: The Masters undertake to the best of their abilities to maintain The Servant in good health, including provision of sufficient nutritious food and sufficient rest periods. If outside medical assistance is required, The Masters shall provide such assistance in a timely manner, transferring The Servant to external medical facilities if deemed necessary. Under any such medical assistance, The Servant shall be bound by the Confidentiality clause.
Well, that's reassuring - if you beat me senseless, you’ll get a doctor for me, how thoughtful!
I read the contract with growing disbelief. I've never read anything so one-sided! It gives you absolute carte blanche to do whatever you like to me, and to make me do anything you want, and I have no rights whatsoever. It would be madness to sign this thing! But… I can't stop myself thinking, it may be the thing I have been looking for all my life…
I feel so conflicted, on the one hand, scared out of my mind about what might happen, and on the other, excited beyond belief, also about what might happen! I see you both looking at me expectantly, silently urging me to sign, pressuring me to make a decision quickly…
Suddenly, the excitement overwhelms the caution and I grab the pen, signing quickly before I can change my mind, and pass the document back to you. Mary signs, then you sign and put the contract into your pocket. It's done! My fate is sealed!
I follow you upstairs in a daze, unable to come to terms with what I have just done. We are in my room, and you are telling me to take off my clothes. So, this is it, the first test under the contract. Will I do what I committed to do only a few minutes ago, or will you exercise the punishment clause?
I feel I have to put up some resistance, to protest if only weakly and ineffectually. I still have my pride, and I need you to know that. But eventually, I submit to the inevitable, and take off my clothes. I try to cover myself as you both stare at my naked body, assessing it, judging it. I wish I had trimmed my thatch of pubic hair, it's an embarrassing, straggly, ginger mess.
I hand my underwear to Mary, and she puts my bra, along with the rest of my clothes, into the drawer from which she took the dress and other things. She puts my handbag, with my passport, money, credit cards and phone inside, into the drawer and closes it, locking it with the key which, I notice, she puts into her pocket rather than back on the wardrobe. She hands my panties to you, and you raise them to your nose, inhaling my aroma, before putting them in your jacket pocket. That action seems to me to be highly erotically charged, an act of ownership, and it makes my breathing become shallow with arousal.
I quickly pick up the dress and pull it on, slipping my arms into the tiny puffed sleeves. It is only at this point that I truly realise that the back of the dress is totally non-existent! As I pull the laces which criss-cross my back between the shoulder blades and the small of my back, the material leaves my spine, and large swathes of flesh on either side still bare, while the ludicrously short skirt leaves my buttocks and the cleft between them utterly exposed!
The front of the dress is somewhat better, in that it covers me, if just barely. I'm surprised that the dress provides sufficient support to push my breasts into forming an impressive cleavage, fully on view due to the low neck line. The thin, black, shiny material covers my nipples, but the outline shows through, and it is obvious that they are stiff and erect. The dress is pulled tight across my stomach, and the skirt flares out from my waist over my hips, but the hem line is only an inch or so below my uncovered pussy! Despite my efforts to pull the dress lower, I feel totally exposed. I also feel two sets of eyes following my every move, and I blush in my embarrassment.
“You want me like this, sir… ma’am?” I ask hesitantly, "is this all you wish me to wear?"
"No, don't be silly," Mary laughs, "let me hand you the other things."
She passes me a pair of stockings, black, fishnet hold-ups which reach to mid-thigh, leaving a large expanse of bare flesh between them and the hem of my dress. Next is a pair of shoes, and my mouth gapes in astonishment. They are black patent leather, with 2 inch platform soles and high heels which are at least 6 inches! I've never worn shoes like this before, but I sit down on the edge of the bed and put them on, fastening the straps around my ankles. Mary bends down to help me, but when she straightens up and moves away, I see that there are now little golden locks on the buckles.
"You need to get used to wearing those shoes," she explains, "this will stop you sneaking them off to give your feet a rest. Don't worry, I'll unlock you at the end of the day." I stand up to try and get the hang of moving in the heels, something I'm not used to.
My outfit is completed by a black, velvet choker around my neck, an Alice band in my hair with a piece of lace on it, and a pair of lacy, white gloves, which stop at my wrists.
I guess I am ready to perform my Duties, whether Special or not…
End of part 1
Copyright© 2014 by Jennifer Harrison. All rights reserved.