A Woman's Servant 2

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

More Friday Evening

Dinner proves to be too scrumptious for dialogue. We eat in relative silence. I am amazed at Christy’s fine effort. She so much wants to please, the pheasant perfectly prepared, the service superb. But most notable is Christy’s discomfort serving the saucy minx, Miss Evers... and being made to do so with all pertinent pink flesh displayed and while donning her ‘silly’ maid’s costume.

I cannot help wondering what the level of his servitude would be had I no control over her. I detect a mental defiance well tempered.

Meal consumed, we again pause as Christy clears.

“Does she serve naked? I enjoy her that way when she visits the Dean. And it’s easier to position her for penetration... puts her in the correct frame of mind.”

“Oh yes. The maid’s uniform is for guests. Normally Christy is without a stitch, but for cuffs and collar. As a matter of fact, the protocol is that she never steps foot in the house with clothing.”

“Male clothing?”

“No clothing at all. She has no male clothing. I confiscated it.”

As we speak, Christy prances to the kitchen with dirty dishes. Without the cockcage, her ringed p***s rapidly sways back and forth like a quick pendulum, the steps many with my hobbling chain in place.

“You shouldn’t have done anything special for me,” Miss Evers modestly proclaims, Christy returning with coffee.

I nod, the message clear. Young yet deviant, Judy Evers is enthralled, not before observing Christy sans cockcage.

“Christy, time to remove your uniform. Keep your heels on... and that cap... it’s foolish but it becomes you,” the wine bringing forth a degree of mischief.

A reluctant Christy serves coffee then retreats. We continue our confabulation, such feminine dominion at such a young age, I marvel. We become absorbed and there is an awkward interval before I realize that there is no dessert... and no Christy.

“Excuse me one moment. There must be a problem with the soufflé.”

Cloaking my irritation I step to the kitchen. There I find Christy, naked as commanded, bearing just heels and cap... but in tears.

Normally I would console, bolster the transforming psyche. She’s a little girl. But I have a guest. Service is demanded.

Christy is distraught, normally displaying objection with petulant squeals of ‘no’, perhaps stamping her feet, crossing her arms in some futile gesture of defiance. But Miss Evers’ presence has completely broken all will. She does not even have words much less the will to resist.

“Christy,” my tone sharp, “dessert is to be served... now! You are to show yourself as I demand. Miss Evers likes seeing you naked... and naked is how you will serve.”

“But I don’t like her. Don’t want to serve her... to exhibit myself.”

“It does not matter what you like or dislike... how you desire to show yourself. You will display yourself completely naked... you will obey... and you will be in servitude to Miss Evers and every other woman for that matter. It is your place. You are subservient, you were made that way. Be obedient and I will train you to be at your best.”

With that I grab a paper towel. Christy’s sobbing has smeared her makeup. I dab away the tears with care so as not to exasperate the problem.

“You’re to be milked. It will calm you; rid you of those nasty male hormones which bring these silly thoughts of contempt. And Miss Evers will watch. Whatever is in your head concerning scorn for her will be quashed.”

I pause, letting my words rattle about in that muddled cerebral cortex. She sniffles, but begins to bring herself together.

“Now, serve the soufflé then go to the shed and put on your cuffs and collar. I’ll want you on the kitchen table for best display.”