Good Help is Hard To Find
by: Gretchen Pferdchen
© October 2001

 

I awoke to the tap, tap, tap of my maid's heels as she crossed my boudoir to awaken me. My life has really changed since winning the 175 million dollars in the Lottery.

Now I can live as I've always wanted too. Having my own personal bondage maid is just one of the perks of having that kind of money. As Cynetta approaches my bed, I pretend to still be asleep. I can see her in my mind's eye coming towards me. Her completely non-regulation French maids uniform is swishing merrily. Of course, it takes her a bit to cross the large room due to the twelve-inch hobble chain between her ankles. Her large breasts are about to topple out of her uniform top. She will be wearing her black satin maid's outfit with its very short, flounced skirt held out with the matching pettis, a matching white cap and a short apron.

With six-inch, black patent leather stiletto heels enforcing a feminine walk, she wears a matching, wide leather belt locked about her corseted waist with her elbows chained to it with only a few inches of slack to make her work all that harder to accomplish. It makes me wet just thinking about being able to whip her later on when she irritates me for being so slow.

Of course I know that she couldn't do any job really fast with those restrictions anyway so I have to find some excuse, no matter how well she performs. She just loves it when I'm strict with her. I sometimes feel that I'm a bit too strict and heavy handed with my canings, but they do so relieve my stress levels and the little dear does seem to love them so.

"Ma'am, it's now six AM, you wished to be awakened now," Cynetta spoke softly. I slowly pushed up my white satin sleep mask and viewed my pretty maid. She was standing at attention with her hands clasped behind her back; awaiting my orders.

She's had to have been up since four o'clock for her and my downstairs maid, Greta, to have done their ablutions then assisted each other getting ready for the day. The poor dears can't even dress themselves properly, as tightly laced as I insist they be. They won't cheat on that rule either, as they'd never be able close the bodices of their uniforms were they to try.

"Very well, Cynetta, I'll have my usual breakfast in the dinning room," I said. "You will of course attend me before beginning your other daily duties."

"Yes Ma'am, very good ma'am." Cynetta curtseyed and began assisting me as I rose, helping me into my warm robe.

At breakfast I was reading the Wall Street Journal and began eating with only half a mind when I began to notice that my breakfast wasn't up to it's usual quality. I'd been in a good mood of late and had been lax with my spankings, so I think the lil' minx has deliberately undercooked my eggs this morning, just to piss me off. I looked at the plate, sure enough, my eggs were a bit thin today. Cynetta knows that I detest runny eggs. I looked off to my right; where she stands ready to attend me, and she is staring straight ahead as if nothing is wrong.

"Cynetta, how many times must I remind you that I DO NOT EAT RUNNY EGGS!" I ended up screaming.

With a contrite look on her face, she bowed her head and said, "I'm sorry ma'am, it won't happen again ma'am." Both of us knowing that it would happen again or something like it the next time she wished a caning.

"You know what happens when you make me angry! Now bring me my crop and assume the correction position!" Cynetta curtseyed and minced over to a cabinet along the wall to retrieve one of the many riding crops, canes and other such devices that are stored there. Similar cabinets are in other areas of the house, so suitable implements of correction are always handy.

She returns with a viscous looking, little riding crop that is my one of favorite toys when applying a correction to my maids. As I ready myself Cynetta lays across the table, spreads her legs as far as her hobble will allow and is barely able to reach back and pull up her skirt and pettis due to her arm chains. It's been awhile since I've given a good correction to her and I think this one calls for some welts to be raised.

As she lays there staring straight ahead, I pause to draw out the suspense and not let her know when the first or subsequent blows will fall. There is a hiss as I swing the crop and a loud crack when it lands. Immediately, an angry red strip forms across the back of Cynetta's thighs where it has landed. I make sure to vary the time and place of my delivery as I commence laying down a horizontal pattern of welts across the backs of her legs and round ass!

Her thin satin panties are in tatters by the time I'm tired and finally give up. A hatchwork pattern has emerged after I had changed to vertical strikes when I became bored with making horizontal ones across both cheeks and the backs of her thighs. Cynetta's eyes are almost glazed over when she manages to stand again. With a deep, but wobbly curtsey, she thanks me profusely for correcting her behavior.

In as stern a voice as I can manage, I tell her to see to it that it doesn't happen again or she shall get the same or worse. When she leaves the room to draw my bath, I can see a small smile curling her shiny scarlet lips.

'The uppity lil' bitch,' I think, with a smile, 'I'll have to get my 'Cat' out of the toy box and see what I can do with that the next time. *sigh* 'Good help is just soooo hard to find these days. I'm lucky to have found these lil' dears.'

I'm glad I've found at least one decent maid. I wonder what she has planned for supper. No matter how good I think it is, I'll need to find something wrong I suppose, hummmmmm...

Now where is that lazy assed Greta?

 

End

 

 

 

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© 2001 by Gretchen Pferchen. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.