Ada Employed · Part 2 (2/3)
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fabric that comes down to a couple inches above my navel. The lower edge is fitted with garters, stretchy cording edged with more frills. The bustier sits higher than most garter belts, so they're pretty long, and they pass through my legs to attach at the front and back, hanging limp until I pull on the white nylon stockings that go with them.
When I do that and clip them on, the garters trace a long oval of bare skin that arches over my navel and down my thighs, passing between my legs almost halfway down to the knee. The ruffled frills spread outward from that oval, just to frame it with some extra emphasis. The stockings themselves are higher on the sides, reaching to just under my buttocks, and clip onto the garters beneath the frills at the front and inside thigh and at the butt.
There's also some satin stretched between the cording at the top of the garters to make the openings onto my belly, flanks, and ass more rounded, and a little white bow sits at the top of the front opening where the frills would have to be upside down to be lined up with the rest.
Wearing this base layer, I reach for an apron. It's made of sturdy white PVC; even the trimming is PVC instead of linen, totally waterproof. It's held up by plasticky belts attached to the edges, no wider than a finger. One goes around my neck like a halter, holding up the narrow top edge which widens just enough to cover my pierced nipples.
Another belt connected to the corners there passes around under my shoulder blades, and a third goes at waist level just over my belly button where the apron's about the same width, and then from there it narrows rapidly to pass between my legs, becoming another strap that sits between my buttocks and is connected to each of the other belts on its way up to the one around my neck. In short, it's pulled taut over my curves and exposes about as much sideboob, belly, and pubis as it can while covering my junk and nips, with next to no coverage in the back.
Stiff frills decorate the narrowing lower hem in a gesture toward a skirt, although they don't go lower than the belly, and a shiny red bow is fixed to the collar at my throat.
I glance at the clock over the door, anxious, but I still have time to get dinner on the table. The outfit doesn't take all that long to put on compared to some of the more skintight latex ones, and Charlie didn't slow me down as much as she might have.
I comb out my damp hair and divide it into two short ponytails high on my head. Then I put on the hood. It's much like Charlie's, thin latex rubber, except white and it leaves most of my face uncovered. I pull the ponytails through the holes in the sides and make sure the brush of my short bangs is sticking artfully out from the upper edge before doing up the zipper and the black collar. It's even got its own frill running across the top like a headband, just for that French maid realness. I find the black two-inch heels with ankle straps and little red bows and slip them on. Lastly I slip a red dildo gag into my mouth. It's not too thick, but it's uncomfortably long. It's got a simple strap that buckles behind my head, and I'm even allowed to remove it myself if asked to speak, but I'd get in big trouble if I were caught without it.
The kitchen is on the first floor, not large but kitted out with a variety of nice equipment. I grimace at the mess that greets me when I enter. Clearly Byron did all his meal prep for the next week earlier today; he doesn't usually eat with Miss but he uses the same kitchen as me, and doesn't make the slightest effort to tidy up either. So it's on me to get the kitchen in a usable state, on top of making a dinner up to Miss's standards.
I do nearly manage, turning out a pumpkin bisque and a few cornbread muffins just in time to serve Miss as she takes her seat in the dining room. She brings Charlie in on her hands and knees at the end of a leash, leaving her to sit on the floor where I've set out her food dish. Miss has dressed her in a full coverage bodysuit of thick but skintight white vinyl with integrated kneepads. Her mitts have been replaced over it, and it's footless except for a stirrup passing under the arch. Apart from that her only exposed skin is her lower face and neck and her ring-pierced nipples. I pour Miss some whiskey from the bottle on the sideboard.
"Take her gag off, would you?" she orders as I place the tureen on the table. I curtsy and gesture to my own gag, indicating I'd like to speak. She nods and I undo the strap, pulling the dildo from my mouth.
"Miss, when I went to release Charlie after we got back, she was humping the mattress again." I notice Charlie go stiff, but I can't afford not to rat her out – we'd both be in for it if I was caught covering for her.
"Ah. Take it off regardless." I nod, replacing my own. Charlie reaches up to paw at me when I approach, but I get behind her to undo the harness and pry out her dental gag. She doesn't want to be too loud about it while Miss is eating.
Back in the kitchen I work fast to clean up some of the dishes that are still left, and like an idiot I get distracted and leave the chicken marsala in the oven several minutes too long. I curse to myself – it's not ruined, but I'm sure Miss will notice. Still, I don't have time to do anything but serve it as-is.
When I return to the dining room Charlie's eating messily from her bowl, a ladle-full of bisque poured over half a corn muffin. I serve the chicken to Miss and return to the kitchen to finish cleaning up. Everything is spotless by the time Miss has had time to eat, or at least I hope I haven't missed anything.
Once again I enter the dining room, where Charlie is finishing the piece of chicken Miss dropped in her bowl. My place at Miss's left, where I left an empty plate and bowl, is now supplied with the portions Miss has set aside for me. She nods to indicate I can clear the table apart from that, which I do before returning with the small plate of cookies I've assembled from a few different packets. At a gesture from Miss, I remove my gag and my apron and sit to eat. She picks at her dessert and fiddles with her phone while I make haste to finish eating before she gets bored. The chicken is as dry as I feared.
At last she pockets her phone and stands, taking Charlie's leash. "Alright, girls, let's go downstairs and review." I follow her to the dungeon, grim. As Miss watches from the doorway I strip out of the maid uniform and remove the leg restraints from Charlie. Miss indicates I should leave her bodysuit, and with me fully nude, Charlie and I prostrate ourselves on the concrete floor.
At a word from Miss we straighten up to a kneel, sitting on our heels, heads bowed, hands laced behind our heads. She's wearing a casual tan button-up shirt, short-sleeved, which hangs open to reveal a black t-shirt bra. Her knee-length skirt and her flats are black as well.
"Well, let's see then," she muses. "Charlie, you were a good girl during our bath, but you went at the mattress again while we were away, didn't you? Not a bad day, but we do need to address that. And Ada, you were getting on my nerves at work today even with that nice fuck in the bathroom. And that main course could really have used some work. So I'm not pleased with how you did today at all.
"Why don't you two bring out the bench with the adjustable angle and we can get started?" We spring to our feet and I take Charlie's hand to lead her over to the device Miss wants. It's heavy, but the wheels on two of the legs allow us to move it without too much trouble to the center of the open area. I secure the legs to anchors set in the floor. Miss fixes a modestly sized strap-on dildo to Charlie's hips over the bodysuit, and then at her direction we get Charlie lying on the bench face-up. Her legs are spread to get her knees over the sides, where I strap her ankles to the supports. Another strap, inch-wide leather, goes across her hips. The top is lightly padded and there's a joint in it so that half of it is raised at a 45-degree angle, so that she's half sitting up.
Satisfied with Charlie's position, Miss lubes up the dildo and helps me up to sit on it, facing Charlie and straddling her hips. I let out a soft groan as it slides into my asshole; my feet don't reach the ground and Charlie, still ungagged, sighs at my weight on her. Miss then ties my arms straight behind my back with a silken rope and pulls the end through a ceiling anchor. It's not that harsh as strappado goes, but it makes it uncomfortable not to lean forward. She also clips thin, stretchy cords between our nipple rings, which tug lightly when I sit at the equilibrium point I've found. Then she puts a leather harness on my head that includes a thick rubber bit gag, which immediately has me drooling, and a padded blindfold. With all arranged to her satisfaction, she gets things started.
Out of nowhere a stiff cane strikes me in the left flank, the tip catching my stomach. I yelp and buck, which has the unfortunate effect of yanking the cords attached to my nipples, driving the dildo up into me, and wrenching my arms. The next blow, to the top of my boob, is more painful still, but I'm less surprised and more able to restrain my reaction.
Apparently Miss has removed Charlie's constraining mittens. The bodysuit she's wearing doesn't cover her hands except for a stirrup between her thumb and forefinger, so it's her bare fingers that find my tits. I hate her for her lust, knowing she won't stop until Miss makes her. I want to lean away from her, but of course that's even worse. So I keep as still as I can as her digits quest over my tits, belly, dick, neck, face, and as Miss swishes her cane at all the most tender parts she can reach. Occasionally Charlie is hit and her frantic writhing has her fucking me rough, but it's obvious that I'm the one Miss is really pissed at.
Miss abandons the cane for a set of four tiny claw-knives that fit over her pointer and ring fingers on each hand. The first prick of my collarbone has me begging for mercy, incoherent through the gag. Without mercy Miss scores trails down my sides and up my spine, pricks my thighs and butt. My struggles only invigorate Charlie, who wraps her arms around my ribcage and hauls herself against me. Her lips and then her teeth find the soft flesh of my breast and I scream, trying to pull away. The dildo bumps around inside me and the chains tug at my nipples as I squirm.
Then Miss's clawed hands close around my throat and I freeze, knowing the knives are sharp enough to slice an artery even by mistake. She squeezes just hard enough to slow the blood flow; I shudder and gasp for breath. Charlie finds my lips and kisses me around the gag. I'm crying now, and she licks at my tears and then bites my chin for some reason. I'm dizzy with breathlessness before Miss lets go of my throat in favor of slicing at my stomach as she hugs me from behind.
They keep at it for more long minutes. I can't stop crying now, even when Miss stops and helps me off of Charlie. When she takes the blindfold off, I don't want to meet her eyes, but she gazes steadily into mine until I can't help it anymore. When I do, she smiles. "There now, it wasn't so bad, was it? Let's get you two ready for bed." I nod through my tears and then I help her get Charle down.
Despite what sounded like an intention to help out; Miss only sits and watches while I strip Charlie out of the white bodysuit and replace her mittens, slippers, and gag. Once again I shower both of us while Miss goes out for an evening smoke. I don't put on clothes before I go up to Miss's bedroom, leading Charlie by the hand.
The bedroom is on the fourth half-floor, its windows overlooking the tiny backyard, the roof of the garage-cum-dungeon, and the alley behind it. It's a large open space, taking up the whole floor's area except that reserved for the bathroom. There's a sitting area with a sofa and a couple armchairs in dark leather, surrounding a coffee table where a whiskey bottle sits out. A decorative screen stands beside a dresser and a vanity stocked with rarely-used cosmetics. The bed is king-size, with wine-dark silk sheets and a curtain hanging around it to keep out drafts. Next to it, and used as a bedside table by Miss, is Charlie's cage. It's a crate for a big dog, made of closely-spaced wire and appointed with a thick blanket folded at the bottom and a large hamster-style water bottle.
Charlie and I kneel at the foot of the bed, backs straight, hands on knees, butt on heels. We wait for only a couple minutes before Miss comes inside. "Yeah, get her in the crate," she says as she goes into the bathroom.
Charlie seems to feel uncooperative suddenly; I end up having to practically drag her into the cage and then pry her arms away from my leg. I close and lock the door and kneel again.
After several more minutes in the bathroom Miss emerges, nude. She stands over me, considering, and then sits at the end of the bed. She beckons and I turn and shuffle toward her, still on my knees. I start small, kissing and lapping at the tip until it hardens. At that point Miss grabs my ponytails and pulls me against her, using them as handles while she facefucks me. For the third time today I'm struggling to breathe. Then she wraps her legs around my head and finishes. I swallow and lick her clean and only then does she pull out, leaving me to catch my breath and stand up.
A black ball gag sits on thy little table by my side of the bed, opposite Charlie's cage. I stick it in my mouth and do up the strap behind my head. Miss's taste lingers in my mouth and I wish I could've had some water after.
Mss indicates with a gesture that she's not interested at the moment in fucking my ass again. A relief, since I'm exhausted and super sore. I grab the small ceramic plug from the bedside table and stick it inside me. Then I lay down. There are leather cuffs tethered by silken rope to the headboard and baseboard; I fasten and lock the ones on my ankles and Miss does my wrists. I'm left lying face-up, legs spread and with my arms bent, wrists held right behind the crown of my head. Miss helps me with my pillow, then pulls a sleep mask down over my eyes. She yawns, turns out the light, and sprawls over her side of the bed.
I'm used to sleeping like this, and my eyes are heavy with sleep under the blindfold. I fall into sleep quickly.
I think I got an uninterrupted sleep cycle in, and at least part of a second. Not bad. By this point in the night Miss is snoring in my ear as she spoons me. Even in her sleep her hands wander – she woke me up by tweaking one of my nipple rings. I gasp through the ball gag as she does it again. I close my eyes and try to count sheep, to focus on anything besides the sensations in my own body. She's got a leg thrown over mine and an arm draped across my chest, and I can feel her sweat where our skin touches. Mine too, probably. Miss prefers a sleeping temperature a few degrees warmer than I do. The air is thick with our mingled scents.
The minutes wear on into hours, or it feels like it, and I can't escape my body. Aches and itches run through me and I can't move to address them. Every little noise brings me back to full consciousness.
As they sometimes do this time of night, my thoughts turn to a place I keep them from at any other time. Tears come to my eyes under the sleep mask almost instantly at the thoughts of my sister. The man who killed her did so by committee, impersonal, one line item in a ledger filled with blood, not a drop on his own hands, and without her where could my life possibly go? He deserved what he got, it's not even a question, he deserved it hundreds and thousands of times over, and even so the red that blooms in my mind's eye makes me want to throw up. I never thought I'd get away with it, was planning suicide by cop, I guess, because I couldn't go to prison. So when, a month later and half a country away, I found pictures in my mailbox so much clearer than anything the cops had…
Having successfully distracted myself, I drift into sleep again. Where my first sleep was dreamless, this time I've walked myself right into a recollection of my first meeting with Miss.
I played dumb at first but she had no patience for it, I offered everything I owned, which was nothing to her, and finally I even threatened her. She only laughed. Maybe that was a bluff, but in fact there was no way I could kill anyone ever again, the first time was too horrible. So when she laughed at me I knew she owned me utterly.
"Take off your clothes," she told me. I'd known the meeting would be my funeral in some way and had arrived in my finest, which back then was a little black dress, a dark pink bomber jacket, light pink tights, and black knee high boots. In the dream the zippers of the jacket and dress, the buckles on the boots, make no sense and I find I can't breathe as I try to pull them off, but then they fall apart and I'm left in the pink tights, dark cotton panties over them, and a mismatched blue bra. She made me take the rest off too, and I trembled to know how deeply I was in her power.
Miss studied me closely, inspecting me, even checked my teeth like you would with a horse. I couldn't meet her steel-grey eyes as she looked into mine. She wore a tight red dress, knee-length, very femme fatale.
"I have a job opportunity for you," she said. "It pays twenty-five thousand dollars a year, plus room and board. It's an eight year contract, and if you leave early – or if you refuse me – well." She leaned in to whisper in my ear, one hand on my shoulder, and I jumped as the other found my ass, fondling it. The seductive purr of her voice was at odds with the threats she laid out to me, a life sentence in the nastiest, most brutal men's prison her connections in the justice department can arrange for, she'd barely have to lift a finger to do it, and her lurid depictions of my life there were punctuated with slaps of her hand. I flinched every time, but she held me in place with her grip on my shoulder, and by the time she was done my ass was stinging and I was shaking in fear, tears in my eyes.
Miss straightened then, and went back to sit behind her desk. "On the other hand, you can be a good girl for me for eight years, I'll destroy the evidence, and you can be out at thirty-two with two hundred thousand dollars."
I tried to regain my composure, not really succeeding. "How do I know you'll let me go then?"
"I think you understand you have no choice but to trust me. I do keep my word."
"I don't even know your name."
I was taken aback when she gave me her name. I later surmised that the man I killed had been her cousin, the photos of me likely taken by one of her private detective associates sent to tail him over an inheritance dispute. "But you will simply call me Miss," she added.
So I signed some papers and got dressed and went home for a night to put my affairs in order. I quit my fast food job, terminated my lease, buried a few personal items in a state park (where I can only hope they remain to this day) and dumpstered the rest of my meager possessions. All I kept was one set of clothes and my vital documents, which I turned over to Miss when I met her at the airport. She threw out my clothes and had me dress in a sluttier outfit, and then fucked me in the first class lounge bathroom. In the dream I can feel her cock in me…
So vivid it wakes me up and I realize it's my butt plug, vibrating hard to wake me up without disturbing Miss.
The timer mechanism behind the headboard has released the rope connected to my wrist cuffs. I pull off the sleep mask, ease Miss off me and hit the little wireless button on the bedside table that turns off the alarm, then grab the key to undo my cuffs. I blink sleep from my eyes as I stand and pad over to the other side of the bed. I unlock Charlie's cage and reach into the dark interior. My hand finds her leg and I shake her awake. She stirs, soundless, and clambers out onto the hardwood floor. I help her stand and lead her out of the bedroom.
Charlie is probably as sleepy as I am, or at least enough not to give me any nonsense on the way down to the dungeon room. There, I remove my gag and butt plug, washing and rinsing them and setting them aside to bring back upstairs later.
Then I get myself and Charlie into our workout leotards. They're made of a thin, stretchy, slightly see-through lycra, though it's tight enough to prevent any bits from bouncing around. They've got short sleeves and a modest enough neckline, but the high leg and t-back leaves our butts pretty exposed. Charlie's is green, matching her hood and such, while mine is golden.
I take off Charlie's slippers and redo my hair as a single ponytail, then we head into the home gym. That's the other room of the semi-basement. The windows, high on the wall, look onto ground level outside, giving a view through the flowers and grasses of the backyard – when it's not dark out, as it is now. A door leads out to a sunken flight of stairs. The gym is equipped with an elliptical machine, a couple versatile weight machines, a bench, and a rack of free weights. The other half of the space is empty but for a stack of floor mats and a single floor-to-ceiling pole toward one end. The wall along that section is entirely mirrored, and a bar like those found in dance studios runs along it. The floor is soft wood and the ceiling is hung with track lights, a big fan, and a none-too-discre
