I heard the horn honking insistently in the driveway as I hurriedly slipped on a new pair of sheer, seamed stockings, taking care not to ladder them as I inserted my foot into the delicate fabric and rolled them up my freshly waxed legs. From practice and out of necessity, I had grown adept at dressing quickly. Even so, I was running late that evening as my niece, Daphne, expressed her displeasure with what seemed to me the inordinately loud horn of her mother’s BMW. I knew that Mason was triggered by the sound of a car horn loudly blowing, but I also knew that he would blame me for it rather than Daphne. The fact that I was late for my scheduled pickup by Daphne only because he demanded that I clean the bathroom off the master bedroom (the bedroom and bathroom I used to share with with Natalie, but which Mason and Natalie now occupy) for a second time that day after finding a stray hair in the shower – that fact would do nothing to mitigate the punishment that I knew he would later mete out to me for the offense to his delicate ears. In fact, I was certain that the irony of that injustice would only make his inevitable chastisement of me more enjoyable for him. The bastard.
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However, I didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on the unfairness of it all at that moment. I quickly dried my now shoulder-length, dark brown hair (Natalie had insisted I let it grow out to appear more feminine), still dripping from my shower, and put on one of my formal serving uniforms and high heels. I put my corset into a bag, hoping Daphne might spare me tight lacing for one evening, and hurried to the kitchen to get the trays of kale salad and brussels sprouts I had prepared earlier that day as well as a large serving bowl of mushroom soup. This was the evening that I was scheduled to serve Daphne and her girlfriends, and for them to taste and critique three of the dishes I had been trying to perfect for Thanksgiving dinner, now less than a week away.
I twisted my ankle – not badly, fortunately – when my high heel got caught in a crack in the driveway as I walked rapidly to the car, carrying three bags. When I sat down in the passenger seat next to her, Daphne glared at me.
“We’re going to be late. My parents are out tonight, so no one will be home to let Riley and Leah in if I’m not there. You better hope we get there before they do!” She actually peeled a little rubber as she accelerated on the long driveway of the mansion.
“My sincere apologies, Miss Daphne. I was unexpectedly detained when Master Mason directed me to clean the master bathroom for a second time today.”
“So now it’s Mason’s fault. I’m sure he’ll be interested to hear that.”
“No, no please! Of course, it’s not his fault. The fault is entirely my own. Please don’t tell him I suggested that my unacceptable tardiness was in any way his fault, Miss Daphne, I beg of you!”
“I’m sure Mason wouldn’t have ordered you to clean the bathroom a second time if you had done it right the first time. I won’t say anything to him if you are obedient tonight and make me and my girlfriends happy.”
“Thank you, Miss Daphne.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Uncle dear. I haven’t agreed to anything yet. The next time I tell you to meet me at a certain time, your ass better be on time. Got it?” She was driving quite rapidly on the winding back roads, making me more than a little nervous.
“Yes, Miss Daphne. Wasn’t another one of your friends planning on joining you this evening?”
“Bella couldn’t make it tonight. She has a hot date. You’re lucky, because she has more shoes than Riley, Leah and I combined. You’d have been cleaning shoes all night if she came. Ha ha. You didn’t forget your shoe shine kit, did you?”
“Of course not, Miss Daphne. It’s in one of the bags in the backseat.”
“Good. Oh, fuck!” As soon as she uttered those words, I noticed the blue and red flashing lights in the passenger side mirror.
After the cop issued a citation 20 minutes later, Daphne was livid. I could see him eyeing me through the window, trying to figure out whether I was male or female, no doubt. Fortunately, it was dark out and my coat covered most of my maid uniform, if not my stocking-clad legs.
“Fuck, fuck fuck! This is my third speeding ticket this year. My parents’ insurance bill is going to go through the roof. And when he finds out I got another ticket, my dad is going to literally go through the roof. And it’s all your fault! Now we’re definitely going to be late. Damn you!” she said, as she steered back onto the road.
“I’m deeply sorry, Miss Daphne. Perhaps I can help pay for any increase in your parents’ insurance rates out of my allowance.”
“Yeah, right. How much do Aunt Natalie and Mason give you each week?” Daphne asked, driving more cautiously now.
“One hundred dollars per week, Miss,” I answered, ashamed. “Assuming no deductions.”
“How much have you managed to save up over the last six months?”
“Six hundred dollars, Miss,” I replied, more ashamed still. “There are many deductions.”
Going from a ten figure net worth to a three figure net worth practically overnight is quite a jarring experience, let me tell you. But such was my riches to rags story. Well, not rags. My riches to nylon and satin story. And Natalie insisted on only the finest quality nylon and satin. But quite the downfall, nevertheless.
I believe that of all of the myriad humiliations Mason and Natalie subject me to, financial control is among the most stingng. They, of course, don’t need to pay me any allowance whatsoever. Indeed, most slaves – and, for all practical purposes, that’s exactly what I have become – receive no compensation of any kind. However, dispensing a paltry weekly allowance – one that they can, and frequently do, reduce or even eliminate for the most arbitrary of reasons – provides my wife and her lover a recurring opportunity to humiliate me in ritualistic fashion.
Mason and Natalie are both quite fond of ritualistic humiliation. Or, to be more precise, Mason is very fond of it and Natalie is tuned on by watching her lover humiliate me in whatever manner he chooses. Every Wednesday evening, after serving them dinner, I enter the sitting room where Mason and Natalie like to read or talk, resting comfortably on the sumptuous, handcrafted leather sofa Natalie and I had purchased a few years ago. I enter with a serving tray of wine or cocktails, and curtsy to them, without speaking. I am typically ignored by them. After serving their drinks, I stand silently at attention in my heels – legs pressed together, arms at my side, head erect – and wait for Mason to acknowledge my existence. At some point – sometimes after only a few minutes, sometimes not for 30 minutes or more – Mason snaps his fingers and points at the floor near his feet, usually without looking at me. That is the cue for me to pick up a small silver plate on the side table, get down on my knees in front of Mason, and hold the plate out in front of me with my arms out straight, and my palms turned upwards. In other words, a stress position. Mason and Natalie then often continue their conversation or their reading, and ignore me for another period of time, as my discomfort increases. Eventually, they condescend to address me, reviewing the performance of my housekeeping and other responsibilities as well as my behavior over the prior week. Mason then announces how much of my $100 allowance I have earned for the past week and begins counting out the bills (usually singles that he gets from the bank for this specific purpose) at a slow, meticulous pace (often as my arms become increasingly unsteady with the stress) and placing them one by one onto the tray I am holding. After he has counted out the number of bills he determines that I have earned, I am either dismissed or asked to get them more drinks and/or to massage their feet.
My niece rubs salt in my wounds, saying, “Your life savings would barely cover the increase in my insurance rates for a quarter. How pathetic. Maybe my mom and dad will allow you to work off your debt by cleaning our house once a week? Assuming Aunt Natalie could spare you.”
“That is an excellent idea, Miss Daphne.” Being required to clean the house of my brother-in-law, sister-in-law and niece, especially on top of all my other responsibilities, seemed, in fact, to be a horrible idea to me. Yet another example of being compelled to say exactly the opposite of what I actually thought. My new normal.
You can see that it was a less than promising start to the evening. It didn’t get better from there.
Daphne’s iPhone, resting between us on the center console, lit up with a text message. She glanced down, and said, “Great. They’re at my house, waiting in the cold, and wondering where the hell we are.”
Fortunately, we were just a couple of minutes from arriving at Daphne’s house in Wilton, a 3,500 square foot colonial. Daphne’s parents, Scott and Miranda, were out for dinner and drinks with friends that evening. Miranda was Natalie’s sister, only a year younger, at 39. She was a moderately successful fashion designer. Her husband, Scott, owned a small construction company. A former minor league baseball player, he had never graduated college, and always struck me as sort of a dumb jock. He remains quite muscular, even at age 40, and still frequently plays sports on weekends. My athletic, sports loving son, Ryan, always looked up to him; they liked to play catch and bat balls on the expansive lawn of the mansion. Scott is the kind of guy who likes to walk around shirtless as much as possible, in contrast to me, who typically wore a T-shirt or rash guard even at the beach or pool, to hide my scrawny body – that is, back when I used to spend time in the mansion’s enormous pool, rather than merely walking around it in my heels, serving cocktails and snacks to Natalie, Mason, Daphne and her parents over the summer. The pavers surrounding the pool certainly are not conducive to walking around in high heels; my heels would frequently get caught in the crevices between them. After tripping one afternoon and spilling Mason’s Pimm’s Cup – resulting in a humiliating spanking over Mason’s lap in front of Natalie and Miranda – I humbly petitioned to be permitted to wear flats while serving poolside. My request was summarily denied by Natalie, who is a real stickler when it comes to what she considers proper maid’s attire.
“Besides,” I recall her adding at the time, “I enjoy hearing the clicking of your heels as you serve us, Henrietta.” The sound of heels walking on a hard surface has a peculiar effect on a feminized, submissive male such as myself. When I hear Natalie’s heels clicking on the hardwood floor as she approaches me from behind in the mansion as I work, it is a projection of her dominance that instantly causes me to grow weak in the knees and hard in my chastity cage. Yet, paradoxically, when I hear my own heels click as I wait on my betters, that very same sound kicks my submissiveness into high gear, accompanied by the same futile hardening of my cock against its prison. The sound of her heels projects strength; the sound of mine, nearly identical, projects weakness. It really doesn’t make any sense, does it?
But I digress. The point I was making is that Scott likes to show off his body. I resented it and resented Ryan’s admiration of Scott, and before my downfall, I used to retaliate by frequently making snide remarks about Scott’s lack of education and his and Miranda’s relative lack of wealth. And, although I knew he disliked me (the feeling was mutual), he deferred to me and put up with my insults. It’s funny how being a billionaire makes you the alpha in the room by default, even in the presence of physically more imposing men. But since being stripped of my wealth, and my dignity, it has been quite a different story. Like Mason, Scott had built up a vast reservoir of resentment towards me, and with my downfall, the dam floodgates were now open. I was not looking forward to being blamed for another hike in Scott’s auto insurance bill, I can assure you.
As we pulled into our driveway, Daphne said to me, “Now, remember to address them as Miss Leah and Miss Riley, and to curtsy to them just the way you do to me. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Miss Daphne, of course.”
“It better be. You’ve already fucked up big time and the night hasn’t even started.”
The two girls, both 18-year-old high school seniors like Daphne, were shivering on the front porch.
“We’re fucking freezing. Where the hell were you?” said the taller of the two, who I soon learned was Riley.
“I’m so sorry guys. It’s all his fault. Or I should say HER fault. Because she was late when I picked her up, I got a fucking speeding ticket on the way here,” Daphne said, staring angrily at me. “I thought you’d be waiting in your car, Rye, with the heat on.”
“My car’s in the shop, so my brother dropped us off. Wow, so this is actually your uncle? The big shot hedge fund guy?” Riley asked, as she and Leah looked me up and down with a mixture of disbelief and glee by the light of the tacky porch lantern.
“Yes, Uncle maid. Through marriage only. I’m not really related to this loser, thank god. He’s not a big shot anymore, that’s for sure. You can call him Henrietta, or just maid.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Riley, Miss Leah,” I said, with a deep curtsy. “May I please express my sincere and deepest apologies that my tardiness caused you discomfort.”
“Nice to meet you, too, Henrietta. I have a nice, big bag full of my shoes and boots here for you to clean,” said Leah, with a snicker.
“Me, too,” added Riley.
“Of course, Miss Leah. Miss Riley. I brought my shoe shine kit with me and will get started as soon as I serve you refreshments.”
Both girls giggled and exchanged incredulous glances and smiles with each other.
“Let’s get inside, it’s freezing out here,” said Daphne.
Once I removed their coats, it was clear that both were very attractive young women. The more overtly sexy of the two, Riley was tall, slender and shapely, like Daphne, and had wavy, long chestnut hair. Leah, a blonde, was a little shorter than her two friends, but slightly more buxom. All three wore short skirts and tights, with high heels. They looked almost like caricatures of young vixens dressed to tease the cocks of older men – or in my case, the captive cock of an older sissified man – with their long, firm, nylon-encased legs. My strong suspicion was that Daphne was behind their selection of attire and, as the evening went on, behind their entire attitude towards me: a mixture of girlish giddiness and quite intimidating imperiousness and contempt. Young women only just becoming aware of their sexual power over men, they now had at their disposal a man – or at least the remnants of one – over whom they had actual power. What fun! For them, at least.
Once we were inside and I removed and hung up each of the girl’s coats in the closet, Daphne ordered me to make and serve them hot chocolate. After that, I began shining their shoes, kneeling on the floor next to where the three of them were sitting in the living room, talking. I was discussed as if I wasn’t present, another now routine experience for me.
“So, he’s – or she’s – your aunt’s slave now?” asked Riley, her high heel dangling off her foot, only a few inches from my face. I was buffing a pair of black ankle boots that I was fairly certain belonged to her, based on their size.
“Yes, my aunt’s and her boyfriend’s slave. Who is your master, maid?” asked my niece.
“Master Mason, Miss Daphne.”
“Didn’t they used to work together?” asked Leah.
“They did. In fact, the maid here used to be Mason’s boss awhile back. And Mason said he was a real prick of a boss. The tables sure have turned, haven’t they, maid?”
“They have indeed. Miss Daphne”
Leah said, “Wow, that’s gotta be pretty harsh. Becoming the slave of your former employee, who’s also fucking your wife. But he asked for this didn’t he? Didn’t you tell me it was his idea to be your aunt’s maid?”
“Exactly. He didn’t just ask Aunt Natalie if he could be her maid. He got down on his knees and begged her. He told her that his life as a man and as a big deal hedge fund executive had been a total lie. He gets off on this shit,” explained Daphne. Daphne knew the real story of my enslavement, but she was very skilled at convincingly conveying the bogus, official story. The one that encouraged everyone to humiliate me, because that’s exactly what I wanted.
“Eew, what a perv,” said Riley, with contempt. “I’m surprised your aunt puts up with it.”
“Are you kidding? She’s got it made. He signed over everything he owned to her. And now he waits on her and Mason hand and foot, like practically 24 hours a day. Besides, she’s really turned on by watching Mason punish him. And I’ve got to say, having seen it several times now, it’s pretty fucking hot.”
“Oh, tell us more!” said Riley.
“Well, Mason’s about the same age as my uncle. But, he’s in really good shape for an older guy.”
“Just like your dad, you mean,” said Leah.
“Yeah, your dad is hot, Daph. Not like my dad, with his big beer belly,” said Riley.
“Guys, stop saying that. He’s my DAD. I can’t think of him that way.”
“I don’t see why not. If a guy’s hot, he’s hot. No matter who he is,” said Riley. “I wish my dad looked like yours.”
“Stop, guys! You’re embarrassing me. But anyway, as I was saying, Mason is really good looking and muscular – yes, okay, sort of like my dad,” Daphne giggled. “There’s just something really sexy about seeing an alpha male completely dominate a beta male, like my loser of an uncle.”
“We want details,” said Leah.
“Well, sometimes Mason canes him. Sometimes he spanks him over his knee. But, the best time was over the summer once, when Mason was wearing riding breeches and boots – he’s an equestrian – and whipped him with his riding crop. And those breeches were tight. They left NOTHING to the imagination, if you know what I mean,” said Daphne, with a wicked grin. “Let’s just say Mason’s got nothing to be ashamed of in the cock department.”
“It sounds super hot. I wish I had seen it,” said Riley, as I continued to buff her boots.
“Me, too,” added Leah.
“And, this happened outside by their horse stables. It was a very hot and humid day, so when Mason whipped him, he took off his shirt, and his whole torso was covered in sweat. I mean, I don’t usually like sweaty guys, unless they’re really ripped, like Mason. Then it’s pretty sexy,” my niece elaborated.
“And what was your uncle wearing? His little maid uniform?” Riley asked.
“No, not that day. Usually he’s wearing one of his uniforms. But that day, Mason had him only in a pair of black pantyhose. He was really sweaty, too, but that wasn’t sexy. The opposite, in fact. But the whole scene was super hot. My uncle’s little cock was hard, and was tenting out his pantyhose. Getting his ass beaten by Mason got him all excited, didn’t it Uncle Henry?”
“Yes, Miss Daphne,” I answered, deeply ashamed.
The truth was more complex than that, of course. My cock is always hard when it’s encased in nylon. And I’ve always been especially aroused by being humiliated in front multiple people – on that occasion, my wife, Daphne and her parents. Did Mason’s riding breeches and muscular torso add to my arousal that afternoon? Probably. It’s hard to say. But I do remember that by the end of my beating, I was no longer aroused. Rather, I just remember the raw pain emanating from my back and buttocks, where Mason’s crop had repeatedly struck. By then, my cock was shriveled up, as I was focused only on the pain.
“Eew. Gross,” opined Leah. “So, he’s a fag then?”
“Probably, at least partly. But he’s attracted to women, too, I think. He especially loves our feet. I’m surprised that he’s not drooling right now, being so close to all three of our feet. But that day Mason whipped him by the stables was unusual. Most of the time, Mason and Aunt Natalie keep his baby dick locked up in a cage, so no one has to see it stick out.”
“You’re kidding,” said Leah. I had now started polishing a pair of long black boots that I believed were hers. Like Riley and Daphne, she was also dangling her shoe off her foot, in close proximity to my face.
“No, really! It’s called a chastity cage. Aunt Natalie and Mason are the only ones who have a key to unlock it. Henrietta only gets unlocked periodically to clean his little pee pee. Or, occasionally, for good behavior, they will unlock him and allow him to beat off. I know, disgusting, right?”
“SO disgusting,” said Leah.
“Yeah, but fascinating too. Is he wearing it now?” Riley asked.
“Is the Pope Catholic?” answered Daphne. “Of course, he is. I’ll bet his little cock is trying to get hard this very minute because of our feet, but it really can’t because of the cage.”
“You mean, he can’t get a hard-on while wearing it?” asked Leah.
“He can a little, I think, but not fully. The metal bars prevent him from getting fully hard.”
“That sounds painful,” said Riley.
“Tell Miss Riley how it feels, maid,” commanded Daphne.
“It hurts a little, Miss, but is mostly just very uncomfortable. And frustrating.”
“I’ll bet,” said Riley. “Can we see it, Daph?” She was like a little girl in a candy store.
“Of course. Stand at attention, Uncle Henry. And then lift up your skirt.”
I did as ordered, absolutely mortified. The cage was readily visible beneath the sheer white nylon panties I was wearing.
“Oh, my god!” said Riley, smiling and covering her mouth with her hand.
“Pull down your panties, so my friends can get a better look,” said Daphne.
Leah got up off the couch and walked close to me, peering down at my crotch. “I can see the flesh of his tiny cock trying to poke through the metal. He’s trying to get hard, alright. This is awesome!”
“Not for him it isn’t,” said Daphne, and the three of them cracked up.
After I cleaned another 4 to 5 pairs of Leah‘s and Riley‘s shoes, with occasional interruptions to bring the girls a fresh cup of hot chocolate or water, I was sent off to the kitchen to warm up the soup and brussels sprouts, and to dress my kale salad. I was genuinely nervous about their reaction to the dishes, as I had spent hours working to improve them over the prior week.
After serving each of them a bowl of soup and a plate of brussels sprouts and salad, I curtsied and stood at attention by the table, anxiously awaiting their verdict.
“I think this soup is delicious. It may be the best mushroom soup I’ve ever had,” said Leah.
“I agree,” said Riley, mercifully.
Daphne, who had been quite critical of my soup up till now, also reluctantly agreed. “It is a big improvement over the last version, that’s for sure. You really have me to thank for pushing you to do better,” she said to me.
“You are completely correct, Miss Daphne. Thank you so much for encouraging me to improve my cooking. I want to make sure Thanksgiving dinner is truly special.”
The kale salad got similarly rave reviews, but whereas Leah liked my brussels sprouts, Riley thought they were too dry, and Daphne thought they still lacked flavor. Overall, though, it could have been a lot worse. I was relieved, not only because I didn’t want to face their displeasure that evening, but because Thanksgiving was less than a week away, and I still had several other dishes to perfect.
After the meal, I resumed my shoe cleaning duties, as the girls continued to talk with each other. Their gossip about some of the other students in their class led me to believe that Daphne and her clique were the popular, “mean girls” at their school, who enjoyed lording it over less attractive and socially successful classmates, both male and female. In any case, they certainly enjoyed lording it over me.
At one point, the conversation shifted over to my son, Ryan, and his impending return from the UK.
“Ryan is your hunky cousin, right Daph?” asked Riley.
“Yes. We’re the same age. The last time I saw him was before he went off to boarding school when we were both only 14. He was cute then, but I follow him on social media and all I can say about him now is WOW.”
“What do you mean? He’s gotten even cuter?” Leah asked.
“Oh my god. He’s SO cute. I know I’m not supposed to say this because he’s my cousin and all, but he’s hot. He’s got dimples and thick dark hair. And he’s gotten into bodybuilding. He posted some pictures of himself on his Instagram account recently and he has really filled out. He looks like a fucking Greek god.”
Ryan’s bodybuilding was news to me. Even before my downfall, I was never much into social media. I had never even been on Instagram. Now, of course, I am denied access to any computer/websites except on the rare occasions when I am temporarily granted use of one to do research on recipes, cleaning techniques, or other things of that nature. I’m sure Natalie was aware of Ryan’s newfound interest in bodybuilding, but, given our estrangement, she did not share news about our son with me.
“I’ll bet he’s filled out in more ways than one. Well, you’ve heard of kissing cousins, haven’t you?” asked Riley, with a giggle.
“I don’t think I’d ever be comfortable kissing him, but I sure can enjoy looking at him,” said Daphne. “Maybe one of you two bithces can seduce him?”
“Game’s on,” said Leah. “I can’t wait to meet this rich stud.”
“Me neither,” said Riley. “But how could he possibly be related to this pathetic specimen at our feet?”
“That is the $64,000 question. It doesn’t make any sense. My guess is that Aunt Natalie was cheating on him even back then and that somebody else is Ryan’s father,” said Daphne.
“You never know,” said Leah. “I learned in biology that genes sometimes skip a generation. Maybe your uncle’s dad was a stud. Or your grandfather, Daph. Maybe something just went seriously wrong with Maid Henrietta here?”
After a couple of hours together, Riley was comfortable enough to say to me, “Maid, after you finish polishing my last pair of shoes, I want you to massage my feet.”
Leah responded, “Hey, no fair! I want my feet massaged, too.”
Daphne laughed. “Don’t worry. There’s plenty of time for uncle maid to massage all of our feet. My parents shouldn’t be home for at least another hour or so.”
Daphne then got up and returned with a bottle of Jamison’s whiskey and began pouring some into their three glasses of hot chocolate. After she refilled their glasses with whiskey a couple of times, the girls became increasingly giddy and increasingly uninhibited.
As I pressed my fingers into the ball of her right foot, Leah said, “If your uncle’s into feet, I’ll bet he likes to smell them, too. Like that little dweeb, Phil Evers.”
“Ha ha. He really had a thing for your stinky feet, Leah,” said Riley, laughing.
“My feet don’t stink. They have powerful pheromones that bring losers like Phil and Daph’s uncle to their knees before me, right were they belong. We studied pheromones in biology. Watch.” And with that remark, Leah boldly placed her stocking-clad foot directly over my nose and mouth, adding, “Now, I’ll bet his little cock is REALLY uncomfortable in its cage.” Apparently, Leah’s biology class had made quite an impression on her.
The three of them were still laughing at my expense when we head a car door slam in the driveway.
“Shit. My parents are home early! Maid, take our cups and and put them into the dishwasher. Quick. Here, everyone take a mint.” She handed a box of Altoids around as I gathered up the cups.
When I came back into the living room, Miranda and Scott were taking off their coats in the adjacent foyer.
I rushed over to them. Curtsying, I said, “Good evening, sir and ma’am. Please let me get your coats.” They did not bother to acknowledge me, other than Scott saying to Daphne and her friends, “Was the Thanksgiving dinner taste test a success, girls?”
Daphne answered, “It was pretty good, I guess. But his brussels sprouts still need work. Why are you guys home so early?”
“I have a headache, honey. I’m going to go to bed, but you girls should continue to have fun. Just don’t be too loud, please,” Miranda said.
I began cleaning the kitchen while the girls chatted among themselves. That alone made me nervous. I had a sneaking suspicion that they were plotting something, but I didn’t know what. I was soon to find out.
Just as I came back into the living room to ask my three lovely tormentors if I could get them anything else, Scott came downstairs. He had changed into a tight fitting t-shirt and pair of sweatpants, also tighter than would seem comfortable to me.
“Have you girls been having a good time? Behaving yourselves, I hope.”
“Yes, daddy. But something really bad happened earlier tonight. You’re going to be super pissed, but it’s totally not my fault,” announced Daphne.
“Great. What the hell happened?” asked Scott.
“Well, you know I’ve had this date planned with Riley and Leah for a week now. They were nice enough to agree to help me taste test some of Uncle Henry’s Thanksgiving dishes. Which is really a great big favor to him.”
“Yes, I know. Go on.”
“Well, Uncle Henry knew all about it for days. I told him that I would pick him up at 5 PM sharp at Aunt Natalie‘s house, and that he’d better be on time because Riley and Leah would be waiting outside in the cold, right?”
“Yes, I’m listening.”
“Well, I get there and he keeps me waiting in the driveway for almost 25 minutes. Then he tries to blame Mason for him being late. So, knowing that you and Mom weren’t home, I figured Riley and Leah would be freezing to death outside if I was late getting here. You know how cold it is tonight.”
Leah added, “And we were. We were freezing our butts off, Mr. Rollins.”
Scott said, “You girls are 18 now. You don’t need to keep calling me Mr. Rollins. Scott is fine.”
Riley said, “Thanks, Scott.” She then coughed a couple of times, or at least feigned a cough. “I think I might’ve caught a cold waiting so long for you to get here tonight, Daph.”
“See what I mean. It’s all his fault,” said Daphne, with righteous indignation.
“What’s his fault?” asked Scott, with growing irritation.
“Driving here, I was trying to make up for lost time, and I got pulled over again. All because of him,“ she said, glaring at me.
“You got another speeding ticket!? Do you know what that’s going to do to my fucking insurance bill?”
“But it really wasn’t Daphne’s fault, Mr. Roll….I mean, Scott.” Here, Riley coughed several more times. “She was only thinking of us.”
“That’s true, daddy. I’ve been super careful ever since my last ticket. It would never have happened but for him. You know how Aunt Natalie is always telling him how he needs to learn how to manage his time better.”
I had been standing silently at attention while this disturbing conversation unfolded. Confronted with a no-win situation, I felt the best thing to do under the circumstances was to accept responsibility and hope for some mercy. I knew from experience that pleading my case, and insisting that I wasn’t really to blame, would only make things worse for me in the long run. With Mason. With Daphne. With everyone.
So, I spoke up. “Sir, if I may. Miss Daphne is completely correct. It is I who am entirely at fault. Not Master Mason, and certainly not your daughter. I suggested to her that perhaps I might be able to pay for any increases in your insurance rates out of my allowance.”
“His allowance won’t be nearly enough, daddy. I already checked. But maybe he could come over and clean our house every week until he pays you back, if Aunt Natalie would agree to it.”
“She had better damn well agree to it. I’m fucking furious! Do you realize how much that ticket’s gonna cost me, you stupid pansy?” he said, turning to me, his face growing red. “I’d like to take it out of your hide, right now.”
“Oh, please do, daddy! I was telling Riley and Leah about how the maid is punished when he’s naughty. And, naturally, they were curious to see it for themselves.”
“Yes, please, Scott. It would make me feel better about the cold I think I caught waiting outside in the cold for so long.,” Riley chimed in. Which was pure nonsense, of course, but she was playing her part well.
Still visibly seething with anger, Scott said. “Why not? He certainly deserves it. Bring me one of the chairs from the dining room,” he ordered me.
As I scurried into the dining room to fulfill his command, I heard Riley say, “Scott, Daphne told us that you got her and her mom’s names tattooed on your chest. Can we quickly see while we wait for the maid to come back?”
“Sure,“ he replied, as I reentered the living room and set the chair down next to him.
Riley and Leah walked over to him to admire his new tattoos. “That’s so cool, Scott. I sure wish my dad would get tattoos of my and my mom’s names on his chest,” said Leah. “But he couldn’t pull it off like you.”
I could see Scott eating up the flattery and attention from Daphne’s sexy friends. I wanted to barf (for more reason than one). Now shirtless (which was the whole point of Riley’s request to see his new tattoos), Scott proceeded to give the girls a memorable show.
When Daphne asked him if she wanted her to retrieve his leather belt, Scott said, “No thanks, honey. I’m so fucking pissed off that I think I might do permanent damage if I hit him with my belt right now. My hand will be more than enough, believe me.”
“Oh, we believe you, Scott,” said Riley, giving him a flirtatious smile as she sat down on the couch next to the other two girls to enjoy the spectacle.
Scott sat down on the chair and pulled me roughly across his lap. He then lifted up the skirt of my uniform and pulled down my panties. He used his left arm to push my right arm up against my back, in case I had any notion of trying to shield my bottom from the impending assault. With his right hand, he began forcefully spanking me, alternating cheeks. Scott was correct: with the force he was using (showing off, no doubt, for his young admirers), his hand hurt like hell. The sound of flesh smacking against flesh filled the room, interrupted only by the occasional giggle or commentary (“Ouch,” “Look how red his ass is getting,” “I can’t believe I’m actually watching your dad spank your sissy uncle, Daph. What a trip.” etc.”) and the occasional moan or whimper from me. Around the 20th blow, I began involuntarily kicking my legs, causing Scott to drape one of his powerful legs over them as a restraint. After about the 30th, I felt tears begin to streak down my cheeks. After about 50 spanks, Scott pushed me unceremoniously onto the carpeted floor.
He then ordered me to stand in the corner, my red ass on display, while he had a nightcap and chatted with the girls.
When he finally went to bed, Riley said to Daphne, “That was awesome, Daph. I told you your dad’s an alpha stud.”
“Stop, Rye!,” said Daphne, covering her ears with her hands, but looking pleased nevertheless.
“Well, if that’s anything like it is when Mason punishes your uncle, I can see why you say it’s incredibly hot. I know what I’ll be thinking of when I jill off tonight in bed,” said Leah.
“Tonight, and for the rest on my life,” added Riley, theatrically fanning her face with her hand to cool down.
Well, at least I knew that I had two really solid dishes for Thanksgiving dinner. The night wasn’t a total bust.