A Maiden Gamble
by Sydney Michelle    © Omphale Press, 2001

Part VII

Chapter Sixteen

 

Sharon juggled the portfolio under her arm as she walked down the hall. The cold hallway still gave her the creeps, even after having walked it several times. When she twisted the handle, the door opened, unlocked for a change. Inside she saw Marilyn sitting in a chair, legs crossed, watching Mercedes hold a video camera while Lyra Fredericks directed Maria.

"Chin up, Dear, project and let us see your face." Maria raised her head, holding the mike on a slight slant, looked at the camera, warbled the opening line of "I'm So Lonesome, I Could Cry." Her voice quavered, the delivery was unsure, but her eyes held steady. "Very good, Dear. Take a break."

Maria gratefully headed for a water bottle after laying the mike on a stool. "How's she doing? Can she perform?"

Mercedes shrugged. "She has a nice little voice, not prima diva quality and undeveloped, but passable. For a pageant, two, three years of voice, building a repertoire. Perhaps Lyra can speed the process."

"We haven't got years. How about now? Can she cut a decent enough presentation tape?"

"With a lot of cutting. She has an instinct for stage presence, and for one song, it should be enough. Not that anyone will mistake it for a professional songvid."

"And in two more months?"

Mercedes frowned. "You ask for much in a short time. Four songs, perhaps, no more. And basic presentation, especially to a camera. But she will just be beginning."

"I wouldn't expect more. And only you, Mercedes, you're the best, could take her that far. How does she dance now?"

"She's limber. If you don't ask too much, some back bends, some hand work, some shoulder rolls. And she points her feet well. But it's too early for a full dance."

"Can she shimmy at all?"

"Barely. A little."

"That's enough. We shoot what she can do, then loop the tape. We aren't promising a finished entertainer. Can she walk? Smile? Be presentable?"

"That she can do. She can do the model turn, induce a modest wiggle. And smile. She has a fetching smile."

"That's something. I'll let you finish shooting her as soon as I work her through the photos. With luck, edit will have a tape by Monday."

Sharon settled onto a stool, spread open the portfolio on the table. She picked through the folders, re-arranging the order one last time. "Maria? Come here, please. Help me pick out your best shots." Sharon patted a stool beside her, smiled faintly as the heavily made up blonde settled in beside her in a vee-neck black faux crepe dress, rhinestone bangles swinging from her lobes. "Your hair is very nice. They did you for today, I'm sure. Do you like it? And you're beginning to show nice, little cleavage."

Maria blushed, cast her eyes downward. "Thank you." She passed her fingers to her hair, pressed the wiglet curls pinned on her crown. "I do like having a nice head, I don't know why. Miss Mai makes me relax when she does my nails, and It's nice letting Miss Sylvia work with my head." She stopped, looked into her lap, embarrassed, then whispered. "Sometimes, usually, I don't know why, but I'm relaxed, a little excited when she's done with me."

Sharon patted her hand. "Don't be embarrassed. Most women, if we aren't distracted, are a little eager when we're done. That's one reason we like it. Do you, does, Miss Deborah, is she good to you afterwards?"

Maria blanched, then blushed. "I'm done the day she, she . . ."

Sharon squeezed her hand. "And is it any better? For you?"

Maria squeezed back, leaning close. "I, I let her. And she makes sure I come. And sometimes I want it so."

Some positive reinforcement. "The dress is nice. Do you like it?"

Maria nodded, more assured. "It feels so nice, especially with underthings. I wish I wore something nice when Miss Rania rehearses me."

"What about when she teaches you to dance?"

Maria sniffed. "It's just leotards, with trailing scarves. She put me in costume only last week. I dance in it later today."

"That's nice. Maybe I can talk to Mistress Marilyn. Perhaps she could put you in a dress when you're not exercising. Would you like that?" Maria nodded. "Good. Now let's see which are your best photos for your portfolio."

The two bent to the task, shuffling through the pictures, cutting the selection down by smile, head tilt, shadows. The set with the tiara gave them the most trouble, Maria's eyes smiled, her face was lit up and playful, she was responding beautifully to Betsey's banter. Finally they settled on a gently smiling head, face slightly turned, tiara gleaming subtly under her blonde curls. Sharon did not show Maria the art shots. "You're becoming very pretty. You've lost weight since your first shots. You're trimmer, firmer, it shows in your face. How much have you lost?"

Maria brightened. "Twenty pounds. I'm at weight ahead of schedule, and Mistress Marilyn is very pleased with that."

"You eat all your food?"

Maria nodded. "It's boring, even with the flavor changes, but I don't skip." She looked down, chagrined. "That's why I'm, I'm . . ."

"You're filling out very nicely. You really need a bra now." Sharon thought a moment, feeling Maria's hand tremble in hers ever so slightly. "When, when you're with . . . Does Miss Deborah, you know, play with them? And does it feel nice when she does?"

Maria squeezed harder before whispering, "Yes."

"That makes you ready?"

Maria laid her head on Sharon's shoulder. "Yes. I can't help it."

Sharon, placed her arm around Maria's shoulder. "Don't worry. It's natural. Just enjoy it as much as you can." It's better if she looks forward to being laid, it's a reward for good behavior, for being pretty. It will make her life afterwards . . . Sharon pulled back slightly.

Sharon looked at the coiffed head nestling on her shoulder. Slowly, softly, she stroked the nape, fingers trailing through the stiffly sprayed strands. Dimly she imagined Maria under a dryer, nails soaking as she bantered with the manicurist. Then sitting in the chair, little tugs as her hair was toweled, placed, sprayed in place until she emerged, eyes bright, nostrils a little wide as she anticipated the touch of a lover. Next enclosed within gentle arms, hair and nape gently stroked, nipples peeking through filmy material to press against a warm body, responding to gentle caresses until she was swept onto the bed, opening as a flower to receive her lover.

Sharon gently patted the off shoulder, rubbed her cheek to forehead. "Ready to go back to work, Maria? Do good, make me proud of you."

Maria slipped off the stool, stood hesitantly, fingers nestled in Sharon's hand. "Is there, are there many, can you place me? Safely?"

"The response is good. There's even a school that's interested."

"Thank you Mistress." Maria walked back to Mercedes Zorne, listening attentively to stage directions before resuming her spot on the mark.

Sharon turned back to the table, gathering the selected proofs into another folder. She turned, looked at Maria starting once more through "Lonesome", chin up, eyes closed, singing as clearly and precisely as her voice allowed. She's a trooper. I doubt I could do that under duress.

When Mercedes called "Cut!" and started to instruct Maria again, Sharon slipped quietly from the room, looking for Marilyn.

 

§§

 

"Marilyn? Your secretary said you could see me."

Marilyn Costello swung her chair around, laying aside the operations report. "Of course. You said you'd be by this afternoon. I'm just reviewing last month's P&L. I've got to get more customers in here. Vegas is steadily draining the handle."

Sharon settled herself in the wing chair, looking out at the mountains. The hunting eagle circled lazily on the currents, adjusting its route to cover the hunting territory. She waited for her old friend to start, there being no rush to get back to the office.

"So how's our little songbird doing? More to the point, how are you doing at scaring up bidders? This little operation is costing way more than I estimated."

"Fine. Just over a dozen have expressed an interest. We'll see how many respond to the tape and brochure. There's a girls' school in Oregon if you want to place her gently."

"I just need a profit. And they probably won't pay unless they need in house relief for their girls. Who else?"

"Several families. Personal maid, nanny, probably live in concubine for Papa. A couple of businesses seeking secretarial and client escort service."

"Sounds promising. Anything else?"

"A couple of bar and sin palaces. La Rosa Vida across from Texas. And Bourbon Street West in Tiajuana. She'll sing, dance, grease her tonsils and spread her cheeks in either one."

"So long as the check doesn't bounce. Anyone else?"

"Hhm. Mainly keep the bidding going, I suspect. But there is another possibility."

"What?"

"Keep her. Let her work it out. A little private titillation Vegas wouldn't dare match. It would increase your traffic."

"But that takes publicity. And publicity draws her friends. That's business I don't need."

"It was just a thought."

"Thanks, but no thanks. How was she doing on her vid?"

"Mercedes won't be satisfied, but I'd say we can splice up something decent. I'm satisfied. She does better than I would. Under the circumstances."

"You're not getting mushy on me?"

"A contract's a contract. She'll place. And she'll do alright. If you have her presentable."

"What do you mean?"

"Her hair's fine. She likes being done. And her makeup is more than acceptable. But she needs to know how to dress, to pour, to provide a class act. Cook a little, clean a little, but be a lady. Increase the Pygmalion bit."

"More expense?"

"Not much. I'm sure Mercedes can show her the fundamentals. In Spanish. But a dress or two to hang on her rack. She's responding well to her makeover, but breasts do not a lady make."

"What next? A year at that finishing school? Does prime rate mean anything to you?"

"It's the difference between a diamond in the rough and a rough cut. The bidders will be able to see better what they're getting. And bid higher."

"You really think that web auction's going to come off? On time?"

"Three to one. Tomas has talked to one of the guys who set up the semen auction. He says its doable with off the shelf software. And I've found a production manager. She says she can have equipment and crew with three weeks notice. Maybe two. Under budget. I just have to find a temporary site with installed connections. Shouldn't be hard. Somebody with web connections and phones is always folding around here."

"You've got just sixty days to set up."

Sharon shrugged. "Thirty's plenty. In and out. Hold the costs down. How are yours coming along?"

Marilyn groaned. "If I get out for twenty five, I'll be lucky. Plus medical. Plus your auction costs. Plus the original nick. I was guessing three months, two grand a month tops, plus making her physically presentable. I'm hurting. And every time I turn around, you have another little suggestion."

"You taken a good luck at her lately?"

"Every day. She's rounder, thank goodness. And since recovering from that little episode, she hasn't given us any real trouble. She's ahead of schedule on her weight, so she hasn't been slacking between sessions."

"Maybe you see her too often."

"What do you mean?"

"At the photo shoot, and today. She's really comfortable in her new skin. A little troubled by it, but comfortable. She has really nicely shaped tits, and she's intrigued by them. A little work and that comfort will have no trouble showing through. Then it's seventy-five thou easily."

"You really think so?"

"Hey, five years at $10 an hour at 12 percent, easy. And down South, with no vacation and no overtime, way easier."

"Maybe. Maybe."

"Look, she will still have a little equipment problem, but many a patron drops a couple thou pocket money on his concubine, over and above expenses. Point of pride that they can afford it. But they want 'em looking good." Not to mention a gringa blonde will do more business on the border than a transhipped Oriental or little Indian girl. God, I hope not.

"O.K, alright, I get your point. A little something to reinforce a point. But not expensive. She goes, it stays, and you know the value on resale."

Sharon looked out the window. The eagle circled, steadied, swooped down on its prey. Poor Maria. A rabbit to be served up for someone's dinner. "Fine. All the prospects know they'll have to provide a wardrobe."

The eagle struggled upward, flapping its wings mightily, the extended talons sensed more than seen.

 

 

Chapter Seventeen

Marilyn swung around to the desk, straightened papers to the side. She reached down and pumped up the chair a couple of notches, almost to the point of being uncomfortable, but she wanted the psychological advantage of as much height as didn't appear ridiculous. She buzzed the intercom for Carolyn. "I'm ready, Mrs. Nesbitt. Send him in. And hold my calls"

The tall padded door opened, not fully, but enough to admit Bernie Silbers, Bennie's old rival and competing casino owner. Slightly taller than average, trim, with a steel gray mane behind a receding pate, impeccably dressed in a gray pinstripe, the first estimate of him would have been a competent professional, and that would not have been wrong. But his profession was not law, or medicine, or accounting, but the profession of odds and enticing dreams backed up with ruthless enforcement. "How are you doing, Mrs. Costello? It's been too long."

"You know where I am. And I know where you stand. I take it this is not a social call."

"Now Mrs. Costello, as we are the leading businesses here, we should see more of each other. After all we have a common interest in not being swallowed up by Vegas."

"So what's this about? Another CofC ad campaign?"

"It's just been long enough, Bennie's been passed over now, what three years? that we should explore mutual interests and common prosperity."

"Two years this fall. Cut to the chase, Bernie. Why the sudden interest? You know I know that you always have an angle."

Bernie shot his cuffs, adjusting the diamond cufflinks so they did not cut into his wrists. "Marilyn, may I call you Marilyn? We have mutual interests. My angle is simply we should not waste efforts battling one another when we would do so much better in concert. It's that simple."

"It's Mrs. Costello, Bernie. And it's never that simple with you. If you swore the sun rose in the east on the Talmud, I'd want a second opinion. Especially since you haven't been to Temple since your grand-daughter's bat mitzvah. And that's only after your daughter vouched you in."

Bernie shrugged. "I'd hoped to be work this out nicely, help a grieving widow with her burden to our mutual advantage. But if you think you can be hard-assed about it."

"I don't think. I know. Now what's this all about."

"I hear you are considering a buyer, maybe."

"You hear wrong."

"Times aren't so good, traffic is down. My place too. And your count's worse. We're getting squeezed. If we were to join up, we could divide the market, that is target different segments. Appeal to a select crowd, maybe, who are willing to pay to indulge, shall we say, special tastes?"

"So why do you think my traffic's down?"

"I got my sources, you got yours. Hell, Marilyn, it's not hard to get a car count and compare totals. I know you know Vegas is killing us both slowly. Maybe not deliberately, but surely. If we don't do something, only one of us is going to be around ten years from now anyway. I'm offering you a chance to diversify, liquidate a little."

"With you in charge. Naturally."

"As the more experienced hand."

"Bennie, God rest his soul, would roll in his grave if you and I should partner up. Much less let you run things. How many people your boys kneecapped this year so far?"

Bernie shrugged. "We extend credit. And we collect. Some people just need reminding."

"That's what I'm afraid of. Bennie worked real hard to go from street skulk to legal, a good time, a little thrill, a chance for the customer to think he can beat the system. I don't want that messed up by playing over the line."

"That's not what I hear."

"Your sources are full of it."

"You been escorting a neat blonde around town. I hear she's connected. And likes it kinky. So don't give me any sanctimonious crap about not straying over the line. Prostitution around a casino, I don't care who's doing what to whom, is over the line for the Gaming Commission. So let's not have any of this b.s. about protecting Bennie's sacred memory."

Marilyn almost came out of her seat and across the desk. Almost. Her eyes squinted and she glared a hole through Bernie. Through clenched teeth, she muttered, "I don't know what you think you've heard from whom, but shove it where the sun don't shine, Bernie. I don't do whores, and I don't tolerate them here. And if you think you can prove otherwise, give it your best shot. The Gaming Commission doesn't look kindly on competing owners raising unfounded issues."

Bernie settled back in the chair, crossing his legs. Bingo! That got a rise out of her. "You go personally squiring a neat blonde around town, me personally I don't think you've suddenly developed a taste for the distaff side, but there's been a lot of strange purchases lately. So who is she? Part of Reynard's crew? Or Rheinfeld from St. Paul? He was nosing about last year."

Migawd, he's gotten wind of Maria. "Who?"

"Don't go dumb on me. The blonde you escorted outta here a coupl'a weeks ago. A day on the town I hear. A break from some rough stuff in the bedroom is what's on the floss."

Marilyn laughed, thin, forced, but ending in real relief. She shook her head. "Bernie, with sources like that, you'll be outta business soon. Maria? She's a niece of an old friend, back when I was a hoofer. The kid thinks she has the talent to make it as a singer, and I was asked to help out. I don't think she'll make it, but I just answered a marker call. A few pictures, a little coaching and a demo tape, and she'll be gone soon. Two will get you five that she's a happy housewife in a couple of years, on the way to married, with children, instead of her dreams. If you thought that was your leverage, just sign The Fortune's Wheel over to me now and save me the trouble."

"So she's here now?"

"For a little while. We keep her busy so she stays out of trouble."

"So why the muscle?"

"Huh?"

"On the trip out. My source says she was in the grip of your security chief, that les, Deborah Daniels. But on return, she wasn't exactly hostile."

"A little birthday joke. What's it like to be a star. With pub photos. But Deborah? I assure you she isn't sleeping with a woman. Unless you'd like to make that suggestion to her face, mano a mano, as it were. Just let me know where you want your pieces sent."

Bernie sat still in the chair, thoughts betrayed only by the light drum of his finger tips on the arm. "I know when I'm being b.s.'d, Mrs. Costello. That story doesn't start to pass the smell test. But vice might be interested in meeting your guest, just to find out whether she's contaminating the air. As a buyer or a seller. Unless of course, we can find our mutual interests."

Marilyn shrugged, working hard not to betray any concern. "Of course Lt. Bayonne could come talk to her. Have him call and we'll set a time around her training schedule. I'd rather not have her concentration disturbed, just as she's making progress, but what the Hell. It shouldn't take much time. Or should we just call him now?"

"No need to be hasty. Let's see what we can work out first." That story's just insane enough to be true.

"Let me be clear about one thing. There's no way you're getting part of the Silver Palace. Nor do I want to be sucked into your sharking and collections. But we do have a mutual problem with Vegas. They're a bonfire sucking up the oxygen, so if you have any proposals, let's hear 'em. Otherwise, I'm a busy woman."

"We need a reason for people to come. Not just casual tourists looking for a low rate and a quick turn at the tables, too many Indian casinos for that, but a real attraction for people willing to lay down serious cash. If your Miss Maria were really something, that's why I asked about Reynard, then we could give them what New Orleans hints at, only the real thing. A private stage, like the old supper clubs, for a few choice acts, followed by some private acts. Some very personal service, if you get my drift."

"What's the matter, Bernie? You got sex on the brain? Isn't Estelle doing you enough lately? Or have the bleach fumes gotten to her libido? Surely Marta can fill in if she's having a permanent JAP migraine. You know the Commission's attitude on actual sex. Anybody loses a load under with anyone they didn't bring with them and they have a cat. Bayonne would shut down anything that smelled of paid sex in the city limits. Hell's bells, you just got through trying to 'persuade' me with that."

Bernie started out of his chair, gripping the arms. "Leave Estelle out of this. She's a lady. What she sees in me, I'll never know, but you want a war, that's a way to start one."

"Easy, Bernie, easy. No harm intended there." He must not know about her riding instructor. Or maybe he just chooses not to know. "You know sex and casinos don't mix. Not long, anyway."

"Not on the premises. The supper clubs could be, or next door, membership only, song and dance, the old tease, black tie, very up scale. Berlin in the twenties. Transportation to the real action, outside of town. Up the canyons, a ranch, maybe a mine with a few hundred feet of good shafts, very secure, very private. Separate strokes for separate folks. B&D dungeons one place, TV's another, maids and schoolgirls some where else, Roman banquets another place. Maybe a lezzie shop. There's getting to be enough of that with money, although San Fran's pretty open. So what do you think?"

"I think you've lost your marbles. I think we'd be shut down in a heart beat. I think you're wired."

"Haven't touched a drop."

"Not that wired. Sorry, Lieutenant, but I'm not playing. Which lapel should I speak into?"

"Mrs. Costello, I'm hurt you would think I would stoop so low . . ."

"Bernie, you could crawl under a snake's belly and not show dirt. I don't think we have anything more to talk about. Good day." Marilyn buzzed the intercom. "Mrs. Nesbitt? Mr. Silbers is just leaving. Make sure he leaves the premises completely."

Bernie stood, shooting his cuffs reflexively. "So when do I meet the mysterious Miss Maria?"

Marilyn snorted. "You? Never. And I wouldn't give Bayonne a call if I were you. Not that he doesn't have this conversation on tape, I'm sure, but you wouldn't want me confirming your proposition to him, so he couldn't ignore it. And you."

Marilyn watched the door close behind him, heaved a sigh of relief. Ol Bernie got close, too close. The snake. I don't believe for a moment his information is from somebody who just happened to be outside. Somebody's a mole. And not just anybody. I'll have to put Deborah on that. And Sharon better not delay. She pulled out her scheduler, flipping over a couple of months. Fifty five days. I wonder if I can keep Bernie off balance that long?

 

 

Chapter Eighteen

Tammy looked at the young blonde dressed in a simple sheath. Simple but more expensive than a couple of dresses she had. The coiffed head, the precise manicure showed that cleaning toilets was not part of her daily fare. "Miz Costello said you were to help me with my rooms today. We better get you dressed first. There's extra uniforms in the locker room."

Maria followed Tammy to the employee lockers, standing patiently while Tammy found a gray maid's uniform that would fit her. She understood that when placed, cleaning would likely be part of her duties. Doing it properly, to hotel standards, might very well keep her from being beaten. Besides, it was better than another session with KiKi, trying to get her high kick fully above her head.

"Over there, Sweetie. You better get changed."

Maria came too, seeing Tammy standing there with a gray uniform dress, apron, cap, and gloves in her hands. "Oh. Yes. Thank you." She followed Tammy to a bench, laid the things down, reached back to unzip her dress.

"You better take that pretty collar off. Wouldn't want that getting wet."

"Thank you, but I have to leave it on."

"What for? Some kind of community service? Don't mind me, I've been bounced a couple of times for minor in possession myself. Had ten days monitoring last time. It was a drag. Two weekends blown. But mine was on my ankle."

Maria smiled, saying nothing. Tammy obviously couldn't help, no one could. There was no point risking a punishment session on the bars being strapped. She stripped to bra and panties before pulling the dress over her head, raising her arms to let it slide down her body.

"Here, let me help." Tammy tugged the dress around, straightening the seams before helping her into the coverall apron, a square bib reaching over her breasts, A solid halter strand passed around her neck, a pair of strings passed behind her waist. The square hem fell to just above her knees.

"Better put this on. You aren't going to get paid enough to have your hair redone. Nice do, too." Tammy held out a big, stretch band cap an all encompassing duster.

"Thank you." Maria tried stretching it to pass over her hair, grateful when Tammy showed her how to anchor it, then stretch one piece at a time to capture her curls. Heavy gloves reached half way to her elbows, thick soled clogs covered her toes, protecting her pedicure. She trailed out behind Tammy, carrying mop and pail as Tammy pushed the service cart.

They waited by the service elevator, counting linens for the change. "I thought maid uniforms were supposed to be cute, sorta sexy, not blah"

"Don't confuse it with a cocktail waitress. Practical, easy to clean, that's us. What's your name, by the way. I mean if we're going to work together, 'Hey, you' won't do."

"Maria."

"Nice ta meet ya. I'm Tammy."

The two girls started by opening a half dozen rooms, checking to see they had been used, emptying the wastebaskets, gathering up the dirty towels. Tammy took advantage of having a helper, keeping Maria hopping back and forth fetching fresh towels and clean glasses, replacing the complimentary stationery and toiletries. But she worked alongside, dusting and wiping up spills, making sure they stayed on schedule. After a quick mop and vacuum, she indicated it was time to change the sheets. "Top to bottom, so long as it passes the sniff test."

"Sniff test?"

"Yeah, no puke, no urine, no cum. Flip the sheet all the way back so you can see. Strip the bottom sheet and pillow cases. Skip the unused bed and pillows. Fold the sheet back. Hospital corners."

"Huh?"

"You know, triangle fold. Under, out, tuck back, fold under. All four corners. Our sheets are big enough. Fresh sheet, foot corners only. Smooth up. Spread the blanket. Fold back the sheet hem. Spread up the coverlet. Pillows. Cover. Extra blankets back in the closet. Next room."

Tammy instructed her to check the occupancy sheet before entering. More than one maid had walked in on couples in full flight, her legs wrapped around his waist, his cheeks bobbing for all they were worth, oh's and ah's echoing down the hall. "People here lose all track of time. Or they assume we've already been by. They can get real nasty about interruptions. Especially if they're doing something a little kinky. One time, there was this guy, he had on a nightie and a big swipe of lipstick, and she had on thigh boots and some satiny corselet thing, and she was whopping his ass with some itty bitty switch thing while he knelt on the floor. I tell you I backed out of there real fast, but they still bitched to the desk that 'the maid' had ignored the door hanger. Hell, you'd think they'd have left a tip for me to keep quiet, but no-o-o."

Maria laughed in spite of a vision of herself bent over in the near future, the object of Tammy's description of kinky sex.

Her first pass at being a maid found nothing more serious than a pool of barely wiped vomit in one bathroom. A scrub mop, some disinfectant, and a spritz of room freshener took care of the problem. All the towels, naturally were trashed. She learned to ignore occupant belongings, closing closet doors only to vacuum. The fuzzy wand passed over the curtains and dabbed the ceiling corners to discourage spiders. She learned Mondays were the day to dust cornices, recovering from the weekend traffic. Tuesdays were, well each day had its own special task to keep the cleaning down to the allowable time.

Twenty four rooms in four hours, ten minutes per room, no break and a sipping water bottle on the cart. That included noting obvious repairs for maintenance, the odd broken lamp shade, or cracked door. "We get a lot of couples here trying for a big weekend to make things better, or maybe they don't do well at the tables, and the room gets the brunt of the anger. At least the pictures stopped disappearing after they screwed them to the walls."

Maria headed back down the service elevator with Tammy, no longer sure that real maid work was preferable to a workout session. She wouldn't have believed it, but she had new places to ache, mainly in the shoulders and her pelvic girdle. "Not bad, Maria. Most newbies poop out after about two hours. A little break brings them back, but it usually takes a couple of weeks to do as well as you did."

"Thank you. I've been working out."

"How many more days do I get the pleasure of your company? Now that you know the ropes, we should finish up and have a little slack time."

"Six more days. Once a week."

"Well strip off and clean up, and I'll see you next week."

Maria had no problem stripping down, too tired for a revealing bulge despite a roomful of naked women, chattering about dates and husbands, teasing each other about who was doing what with whom. Maria slipped back into her dress, fluffed her curls, repaired her makeup. She waved goodbye to Tammy as she brushed out her thick auburn locks. Two hours with cook. At least I'll get to sample.

 

§§

 

"So how much do you think you know?"

"I can make toast. And punch a microwave. Little else, I'm afraid."

"A rank beginner. But at least I don't have to break you of bad habits. Miz Costello asked you be taught enough to cook for her on a vacation at her cabin. I hope you have other talents."

Nathalie stormed around in her whites, toque perched atop her wheat blonde head, hair coiled neatly on her nape. "You can read, no?"

"I can read. Yes. Look Miz Gallerne, I didn't . . ."

"Madame. Madame Gallerne."

"Yes, Madame. I didn't ask for this but I will be grateful for, I need in the worst way, whatever you can teach me. I'll pay close attention and do whatever you say, but we'll make more progress if we skip the insults."

"Peut-etre. It takes years to make a chef . . ."

"I don't need to be a chef de cuisine, Madame, I just need to be able cook something that doesn't kill somebody. Or make them throw up."

Nathalie smiled at her charge. "Bon. We understand one another. The reading, that is most important. If you understand terms and follow the directions of a recipe. you will produce something edible. Or on packages, the recipes, for the home have been tested to be almost proof against the imbecile. Almost. Remember that. I will teach you the differences so that you do not poach when you should saute, so that you know a rolling boil from a simmer. And you will learn to do a basic petit dejeuner, a difficult meal due to limited time. We have but seven sessions?"

"Oui, Madame."

"Then let us begin. This is a saute pan. This is buere, avec sal. Et sans. Taste each. And the margarine. And oils."

Maria was hard pressed to keep up, but by the end of the session she had managed to fry an egg, scramble one, and poach one almost to Madame's satisfaction. Eggs! She hadn't had one since that fateful day and now she was chewing three, listening to Madame discuss their failings in texture and doneness. With salt, and pepper, and buttered toast points. She had promised to never let margarine in her kitchen, on pain of starvation, and was happy to agree it tasted nothing like butter. Nor cooked like it. Food! She would have agreed to anything for food, that wonderfully sensuous, mouth watering, nose filling odor of food. The thought of the food supplements came back overpowering, and she turned green.

"What is wrong, cherie? Did you miss a piece of shell?"

"Mais non, Madame, c'est, well to get in shape I have had a lot of diet supplements."

"Mon Dieu. I would rather starve. If you must lose weight, red wine with every meal. It cleans the arteries, burns the calories, inures you against pain. Le vin rouge has kept les Francais healthy for thousand of years, et les Francaise tres heureux with their performance. So long as you do not let them overindulge. Un cochon dormant, il n'est pas utile, non par sa femme."

"Huh?"

"You are not married? Ou avec fiance?"

"Non, Madame."

"When you are, you will not want a lump. Afterwards, perhaps, but not before. Now for the cleaning. Most important. You cannot cook with dirty pans. Or if you do, they will spend most of their time bent over."

"I don't understand."

"The loose bowels. I believe those who go to Mexico call it 'Moctezuma's Revenge.' Now clean."

Maria scrubbed in gloves and apron, wondering where she heard there was nothing sexier than a beautiful woman cooking something for a man she loved. It had to be an act of love, for it was a lot of work! But Nathalie dismissed her as the supper staff arrived, and she dragged herself down to the basement, there to wait for Deborah and her weekly bath. She felt not at all beautiful, or desirable, only achingly tired, but at least fed.

 

§§

 

Maria lay back in the tub, shower cap protecting her head, sponge in her hand. "DeeDee?"

"Yes, Lambkins?"

"Am I beautiful?"

"Well, that's a relative term."

"I'll take that as 'No.'"

DeeDee knelt beside the tub. "Don't sell yourself short. You have a beautiful face, . . ." DeeDee bent forward and kissed her gently. "And beautiful legs." She took up the sponge and began to scrub under the water. "And a beautiful little belly." She moved up, scrubbing and tickling the navel. "And nice hands." She picked up a hand, kissed the palm and sucked the fingertips. "And a gorgeous mouth." She lifted Maria's head, pulling her to her, the French kiss devouring her, engulfing her. "And your breasts are perky, and warm, and sensitive." She traced a nipple with her fingertip, then rolled it between thumb and forefinger, before pulling it slightly, bending to wash it with her tongue.

Maria arched and moaned, opening her legs, offering herself.

"In a bathing suit, not yet, you wouldn't draw a crowd, but no one would move away. I'd say you're beautiful, within reason. You're beautiful to me anyway." DeeDee's hand slipped down, caressing the inside of Maria's thigh, cupping the sac before grasping, gently her growing rod. "Does Maria want to come out and play?"

"Maria is very tired, very stiff. But if you keep touching me, Maria will be screaming the top of her head off."

"That's my girl." DeeDee kissed her firmly, picking her up to press against the terry cloth robe. Breasts to breast, mouth to mouth, the two lovers lost themselves in one another, lost in the moment, lost in the touch that was the entire world.

Maria clung to DeeDee, head on her shoulder, fingers splayed across her back. She wanted her, hated herself for wanting her, succumbed to the need for a warm body nearby, holding her, loving her, definitely not un couchon dormant. A pig, maybe, but not asleep.

"DeeDee?"

"Yes, Lampkins?"

"Wash me. Dry me. And bed me."

DeeDee drew back, hearing Maria's first explicit request to be loved. "Your wish is my command, Milady." The words had no sooner escaped her mouth than DeeDee wished they had never been uttered. The look of pain on Maria's face at the jest tore into DeeDee. "You just lie back and close your eyes, Lampkin, and let me take care of you."

DeeDee cursed herself under her breath, taking extra care to tenderly bathe the tired limbs. She lifted Maria up, watching the water drain off her body, running from the teats, down her belly, through her mat to drain from her post, standing at half mast, its thickness promising fullness as she rocked slowly over the trim body beneath her. She dried Maria gently, removing the shower cap, drying nape and shoulder before moving down her flanks. She patted and rubbed the rounding pelvis, then bent forward to lay her head on Maria's belly.

Astonished, Maria stood unsure of what to do, then reached down to stroke DeeDee's mink brown tresses. She felt DeeDee's cheek stroke her still damp belly, lips flutter kiss her navel.

"Lampkins, I take it back. I wouldn't hurt you for the world."

"Take what back?"

DeeDee looked up. "Never mind. Just know I want to take care of you."

Maria smiled. "You will. Soon."

DeeDee wrapped the bath sheet around Maria's shoulders, engulfing her in soft warmth. An embrace, a bend, and Maria was swept up in her arms, feet dangling, arms clutched close as DeeDee carried her to the bed, laying her slightly damp form on the turned back sheet. Maria closed her eyes, opened her legs, lifted her hands. "Come to me, lover, come to me and make me cum for you."

She felt the bed depress under DeeDee's weight, her shoulders sliding inside her arms, weight settle on her, capture her, take her inside. Maria raised her legs, clasping DeeDee's slowly bobbing hips between her knees. "Yes. Oh, yes. Ooh! Ahh! Don't Stop! Yes! Oh, yes!"

The next day the bed required a full set of sheets.

 

 

 

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© 2001 by Sydney Michelle. 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.