Chapter 2
"Yes, Mrs. Lloyd. Yes, we'll send another housekeeper to your home this morning. I can't understand why you've had no success with the ones we've sent thus far, but we'll keep working with you until we find just the right maid for your purposes.”
Marjorie spoke into the mouthpiece of the telephone and played with the folds of her vagina as she spoke. Her husband had gone to work and she felt free enough to lounge about the house wearing only her garter belt.
"Perhaps I'm more strict than the other women who call for hired help. But that's the way I am. I'm looking for an extraordinary housekeeper and that's all there is to it.”
"I understand fully, Mrs. Lloyd," - the receptionist answered into the telephone. "We'll send our finest over.”
"Perhaps you could make the one you send today a bit younger. The others were too old. A younger girl might have more respect. And maybe she'd be more able to stand up to the task I have for her. I need somebody strong.”
"We'll soon be getting hired help from Jamaica, in the West Indies," the telephone voice replied. "If we haven't gotten you anyone who suits your purposes before, maybe somebody from Jamaica will be right for you.”
"It's too early to tell about that yet," Marjorie said. "Today, just send me a young woman, preferably attractive and black.”
"Attractive and black?”
"Yes, I give formal dinner parties here from time to time, and luncheons for my girlfriends. I want an attractive looking woman to serve us. And I think that black women would be more, how do you say it, more subservient.”
Marjorie twirled a blonde sausage curl through her fingers as she waited for a reply.
"I think I have just the girl for you," the receptionist finally said. "Her name is Elouise and she comes from the Bronx, in New York.”
"The Bronx?" Marjorie replied haughtily.
"Yes, it's just a subway ride away and she has written on her application that she wants to work very badly. I'm sure that she could be at your home before noon.”
"Before noon sounds fine. And not a moment after," Marjorie said, "Punctuality is important.”
"Yes it is, well I guess I should telephone her first to make sure that she doesn't have other plans for this morning and ... ”
Marjorie broke in.
"Just get her here before noon and I'll see what I can do with her. If I can possibly use her, I will.”
"I'm sure you will, Mrs. Lloyd. I'm sure you will.”
Marjorie hung up and fingered the garter belt which circled her body. She went to her bed and reached between the box spring and the mattress. She found the key which she kept hidden there. Then she went to her private closet and unlocked it.
The door creaked open, revealing an assortment of black leather items, all hanging neatly in a row from a rack which stretched across the top of the closet.
There were buggy whips and riding crops, a leather covered paddle as well as a wooden one, various belts of different lengths, widths and materials.
Some of the leather belts were dotted with silver studs. One was an old army belt which Marjorie had taken from her husband's uniform, snatching it from his closet and placing it among the others in her special closet of pain.
Some of the items of torture had been purchased by Marjorie from various stores she haunted in her spare time. There was an umbrella shop, a fancy one, on east fifty-seventh street, and she was able to purchase several old-fashioned whipping canes there. These were the kind used in British disciplinary schools, and she kept her canes along with the yardsticks and switches.
Her pride and joy was a rubber strap which had been given to her for a small sum by a shopkeeper who claimed he had gotten it from a prison. It packed quite a wallop on naked flesh, as Marjorie knew. It was her practice to warm up a naked bottom with a thin leather strap, and when the bare flesh was burning and crimson with repeated whacks of the hot leather, she would use the rubber strap to really lay it on.
Usually she made her slave bend over and count out the number of blows given on each bare rump cheek. The slave would be instructed to say "thank you" after each and every hit. That was to show appreciation for the discipline received.
It was, Marjorie believed, only proper subservience from a slave to the mistress.
These were the things which Corbett never knew. She wanted to let him in on her personal world, but she knew that he would never understand.
She had always, it seems, had the need to be involved in this sort of discipline scene. She recalled growing up in New York where she was exposed to bizarre extremes much more than other girls her age ever were. Even Corbett, who grew up in a small town in Pennsylvania, a neighboring state, never was exposed to these things.
But after school, when other girls her age were dating boys or playing and working at home, Marjorie would take a bus down to forty-second street. This was the famous Times Square — once a theater haven, but even then, a haven more for sex than anything else.
Now it is lined with peep shows and dirty magazine stores, and hustlers, pimps, and people selling drugs, or people out for trouble.
There are the lonely people there, too, and that in a way was what Marjorie was. In high school, she was an extraordinarily beautiful girl, but she had no interest in the boys in her class. They were bores, out for one thing.
And she wasn't going to give that one thing to any of them. She respected her body too much to give it to a boy who would brag about it all over the school.
If she had the desire for sex and petting, she probably would have given in to the temptation. But as it was, she was happier telling her mother that she was going to visit friends for the afternoon — when in fact she went to Times Square to look around.
She could get lost in the crowd there. There were so many people that another girl could sort of hide out there. True, there were few girls who ventured down on that street. At least, few good girls ever did.
Even when the girls did go down there, it was rarely alone. They traveled more in groups, or couples. But not Marjorie.
She would stay by herself, avoiding the remarks of street punks who looked her up and down and talked about her tits or her ass or her cunt.
She never forget the reaction she felt inside of her when she saw a certain magazine in the window of a porno shop on the block. On the cover of the magazine was a tall woman of, it seemed, German descent. She was hugely built with full breasts which were trussed up into some sort of black leather contraption.
Black leather strips were wrapped around her powerful thighs, and she was wearing high boots of shiny black leather. The boots had high heels on them, and they came up to the pink, fleshy thighs of the blonde dominatrix.
It was a strange magazine for a young girl to get off on, yet, she couldn't keep it out of her head. The woman on the cover was posed with her long legs spread wide apart, inviting a lowly slave, perhaps, to feast at the meal between her legs.
But not without first paying a price. In her hand she held a threatening whip. It was a riding crop, actually, designed to bite into the flesh of an ample animal, such as a full-grown horse.
Marjorie wondered how that whip would feel against the flesh of a person - be it male or female. She was sure, judging from the look on the German woman's face, that the whip would sting. It would bite into the vulnerable flesh and leave the leather kisses of its anger.
Marjorie felt all flushed and hot the first time she saw it. She didn't know if she wanted to be down on her knees at the feet of this woman, or if she wanted, in fact, to be this woman, or to be in her place, holding a riding crop over her head, just demanding her slaves to take a chance. Just daring them.
That was the start of her interest in the bizarre world of domination and submission, and she went to the library to read up on it.
She knew that she would get the most accurate information from the various medical and psychological journals which were kept in bound volumes in the adult section of the main branch of the library. Or at least, that was what she thought.
She had to find her information in books which generally reported that such behavior was perverse, bizarre, and unnatural. Few, if any of the things she read at that time put forth the belief that such behavior was widespread.
She knew that she was different, but there were others who shared her interest, or should one say her lust, for the bizarre.
She found her mouth watering when the teacher at school, a mean old bitch named Miss (of course she was unmarried) Block took a sassy student, pulled his pants down, and smacked his naked bottom with a ruler in front of the whole class.
Marjorie could still see his bare bottom with its overlapping red welts after the teacher's work was done. As further humiliation, the boy was forced to stand with his face against the blackboard, showing his naked ass to the rest of the class.
Most of the kids were ashamed to look at the naked buns except in quick glances, because they feared that they would receive the same treatment if they were caught.
But of course, they all did get to witness the battered behind, and as far as Marjorie was concerned, the impression of that was a lasting one.
She didn't know why she was so excited by it. And she didn't know if she wanted to administer such a whipping on somebody else, or if she longed to be whipped and humiliated like that herself.
But whichever, she thought about it constantly.
She recalled the boys tears, as he turned around, shame-faced after his discipline was over. She recalled it even now as she stood before her closet and surveyed the secret items which she kept there.
Each day, she could hardly wait for her husband to leave the house so that she could masturbate herself with her erotic fantasies — fantasies which were also realities — fantasies which were spurred on by her collection.
She hadn't bothered to ask the woman from the employment agency if this Elouise from the Bronx was a .big woman or a slender one; a short one or a tall one. She had a number of different uniforms for her maids, and she should have asked the question so that she could be prepared with the proper uniform for the proper maid.
But she decided then and there that it really didn't matter and she wasn't going to waste her time picking out the proper uniform for a lowly maid. Any one would do.
She reached for the first one she could find: a short-skirted, black uniform with a starched, white collar and a little white apron in the front.
She didn't care if it would be too short, too tight or too small for Elouise. That was not her concern.
In fact, if she had to truss the new maid into the costume by pulling tightly on the drawstring, then that was exactly what she would have to do.
As the noon hour approached, she paced the floor, tapping her feet against it. She was getting irritated. It was getting late. If the maid walked in late, there would be hell to pay. The very first order was an important one as far as Marjorie was concerned.
It was a dark day because the clouds were heavy with rain which threatened to start at any moment. The apartment was large, but with the darkness from outside, the huge rooms remained shadowed in greyness.
Marjorie didn't bother to turn on any lights. Nor did she bother to dress any more than she already was. She was wearing the garter belt, backless, high heeled bedroom slippers, and a sheer negligee which moved back and forth over her voluptuous curves.
Suddenly, the skies opened up and the rain started to pour. Thunder rolled and lightning struck through the crowds.
Outside, a church bell chimed, signaling the noon hour.
"Bitch," Marjorie cursed to herself. "She'll pay for this.”
She went to the record collection and reached into the neatly-stacked album assortment. She knew exactly where to find the album she wanted. She always kept it at the very end, like a book-end. That was so she could find it easily without searching. Corbett never fooled with her collection of records, so it was pretty safe to keep this special album at the far end of it. It was in a plain, white album jacket anyway. There was no indication, except when the record was played, as to what its contents actually were.
She pulled out the album without difficulty and brought it to the stereo. She placed it on the turntable and started to play it.
There were clanking noises, like heavy chains being dragged across the floor of a dungeon. At least, that was what the clanking conjured up in Marjorie's imagination, and that was the idea. This was a record, reputedly recorded at a realistic discipline session.
It sounded like a male slave was next brought down and perhaps fastened to a table with his naked buttocks up. But Marjorie didn't bother to listen to that part of the record. The preliminaries didn't interest her. She was concerned with the heavy action, and she knew that, if she dropped the needle anywhere on the middle of either side A or side B, she would hear something that would arouse her.
She could feel her clit tingle as the sound of a torture instrument whistled through the air, landing sharply on the upturned bottom of the slave.
"Stick it up," a woman's voice command. "Come on, stick that ass up and take it. I like to see you take it.”
Plunk, plunk, plunk, plunk, plunk.
At first the strap, or whatever it was, plunked down on the naked flesh, eliciting a gasp from the slave, as if he were holding his breath and clenching his teeth in an effort to take the pain. Marjorie, feeling a trickle of sweat drip down her inner thigh, could imagine how sweaty and tormented the slave was.
Soon, the whipping became worse for him. The blows were coming as regularly, and as forcefully, but he had already taken so much, he just couldn't withstand any more.
He started to moan and cry.
"Oh, oh, no," he begged, but his mistress had no mercy.
"Come on," she said. "Stick it up.”
Smack.
Apparently he raised his ass and received another whack.
"Come on. Stick it up.”
"Oh, oh, no," he whispered under his breath.
He was rewarded with a string of blows.
Marjorie's fingers were exploring her cunt. Oh, she was hot. She was very hot. She thought that she would start to come, when suddenly, there was a piercing ring which filled the room.
It was the house phone, located in the hallway near the door. She hoped that the neighbors hadn't complained to the downstairs doorman about the whipping sounds and the crying coming from her apartment.
She had a paranoia about her secret fantasy life. She knew that the neighbors wouldn't understand, and she wondered if the vibrations from the speakers of the stereo gave her away as the whipping pounding through the floor. One could never tell in these New York apartments, even though Corbett was paying an enormous rent for this luxury one.
But no, she had lowered the sound and had placed her body up against the speakers so that others would not hear, but she would hear and feel the vibrations through her own voluptuous curves.
The buzzer rang again.
"Alright, I'm coming," she muttered to herself. In fact, she had nearly started coming, but was stopped before the first wave of orgasm by the sound the bell.
"Yes," she said, pushing the "speak" button on the intercom.
"Miss Elouise is here to see Mrs. Lloyd,'* the doorman announced.
"Thank you. Send her up.”
The room was still darkened. Marjorie turned off the stereo player and put the album away. She had to remember always to put it away after masturbating to it. Otherwise, if she left it out and forgot about it, Corbett would find it and that would be the end of her secret. She would have to make up some lie about why she had the album, and it would only be worse for her if other slip-ups took place which she'd have to account for.
When she first met Corbett, they had an immediate sexual reaction to one another. She was amazed at herself for being so turned on to a man, and she enjoyed it, and courted it, even though it frightened her.
He was free with her, and she felt that it would be alright to suggest certain kinky things to highlight their lovemaking. She brought up the subject of spanking a number of times, and she spoke about domination and submission.
Corbett always took the cues, but he didn't follow through. He couldn't, because he wasn't really interested in such behavior, and Marjorie found herself, more and more, following up on her own — in secret.
It was bad to do it that way, she thought, but it was her only choice at the moment.
Of course, with her practice of interviewing potential servants, she got her experiences during the day when Corbett was at work. She was able to do her thing then.
She looked at the clock. It was exactly twelve minutes after twelve — twelve minutes past noon. Elouise was twelve minutes late when she rang the doorbell.
Pulling her sheer nightie around her, Marjorie opened the door. She was pleased to find that Elouise was very young. She appeared to be no older than sixteen or seventeen. She was attractive in an unkept way. Her features were attractive, but she didn't keep herself up. She didn't have the time, or the money to do so, and besides, she had just gotten caught in the downpour.
"You're soaking wet," Marjorie said. Then, before Elouise had a chance to respond, Marjorie added, "You're also twelve minutes late.”
Elouise didn't get this at all. Twelve minutes didn't seem like such a long time since she had been informed of this job interview only this morning, and she had come all the way from the Bronx on the subway.
Marjorie looked the young woman over with a careful eye. She was wearing a white blouse which clung to her like a second skin now that it was soaked with rain.
She was wearing a bra - that could be seen, through the material of the blouse which became transparent from the water which soaked it The bra had pointed cups, and was well-filled with the abundant flesh of Elouise.
Elouise had a bit of extra weight on her. Marjorie thought about disciplining this young woman with the whip until she exercised herself down to a more trim figure and a better weight.
Her skin was a yellow color. Her hair, which had been treated with a straightener, was dyed reddish brown, even though her features were definitely Negroid, She was a large, big-boned woman with full hips and a strong body for heavy work.
That was exactly what Marjorie had in mind for her, although not without taking her through some disciplinary paces first.
"Take your clothes off," Marjorie said.
Elouise, thinking that Marjorie was inviting her to get out of her wet things so that she wouldn't catch a cold, was happy to do so. But when she asked where the bathroom was, so that she could change clothes in it, she was told that she need not worry about the bathroom.
"Here's your uniform," Marjorie said, tossing it to her. The skimpy little uniform missed Elouise's grasp, landing on the floor at her feet. "You can take your things off right here in front of me. We're both women. There's nothing to hide.”
Elouise found this all strange. She had heard about these white women. She had heard that rich, white women such as this would take advantage of her. But this was something different. This was something else. And Elouise could sense it.
But she was shy and unsure. She was nervous, and this was still one of her first times in Manhattan. She was uncertain of the ways of the sophisticated people who lived here.
Nervously, she started to undress, kicking off her shoes, unsnapping the hook of her skirt, removing her blouse and her slip.
"Go on," Marjorie said. "Take it all off.”
Elouise, standing there in her bra and panties, with her clothes folded neatly in a pile at her feet, did as she was told.
Marjorie sat down in a chair and watched Elouise's every move. She didn't care that this hawk-eyed vigil made the young woman nervous. She wanted to see the nervous perspiration soak into the lace and white cotton of the woman's bra. She wanted to watch the full breast globes fall out of the bra so that she could see the full jugs bounce up with their tawny nipples sticking way out.
She liked humiliating the woman with her stare.
When Elouise stepped out of her white panties, revealing her quivering quim, Marjorie snapped at her.
"That's enough. Now that you're naked, get down on your knees and crawl over to me.”
Elouise looked at her, dumbfounded.
Could there have been some mistake? Was it possible that the agency had sent her out as a slave, and not just as a housekeeper? It seemed that way. This treatment was like being in one of the slave horror adventures she had heard about — the kind which took place when white slave owners abused their black slaves.
"Come on, snap to it," Marjorie demanded.
"You already have twelve punishment strokes coming for being twelve minutes late. That will teach you to be on time from now on. Punctuality is something you servants have to learn. And I'll make sure that you learn it.”
It was just too intense for Elouise to even believe. But it was happening. It was real. And though she wanted to take her things and run out, or to talk with Marjorie to see exactly what it was she wanted of her hired help, Elouise found herself obeying the powerful order.
She got down on her knees.
"Now crawl," Marjorie commanded. "Crawl to me.”
Elouise felt the thick pile of the white rug digging into the flesh of her bare knees. At least the carpet was spotless. Being totally white, it took some effort to keep it so clean, that was for sure. And it was even more certain that Mrs. Marjorie Lloyd was not the one who cleaned it.
Elouise looked around her from her position on the floor. She felt that she was being treated like a dog. This was a dog's eye view.
Everything was out of reach. On her hands and knees, she was like an animal. She had to use her hands as a means of getting her from one place to another along the floor. She had given up her stance of humanity.
"I said crawl to me, dog," Marjorie repeated, this time baring her teeth.
Tears filled Elouise's eyes and she could feel herself steam up. Even though her skin was brown-yellow, she could feel the heat in it and she knew that she was red. She was blushing red with anger and humiliation.
She felt the beads of sweat as they broke out on her brow, making her hairline shimmer with droplets of nervous perspiration.
One of the droplets began rolling down her face, and she didn't dare take her hand to brush it away, as she normally would have. For some reason, she had allowed herself to be intimidated by this evil, dominating woman.
Marjorie Lloyd was the woman of the house. She was doing the hiring, and Elouise needed work very badly. She had three young children to support. Her husband, Ben, was a trucker, away much of the time. When he was around, he didn't give much help, despite the money he made. He gambled it all away.
There was a fear that he would be laid off from his job, anyway, so Elouise really did have to take care of everything. And with her young age, and lack of experience or training in any field, she was at the mercy of her environment.
This time, she was truly at the mercy of it.
The apartment where Elouise lived with her three children and her husband, when he was around, was smaller than the living room of Marjorie Lloyd's apartment. Literally, from one end to the other, the apartment could fit inside Marjorie's living room.
And even from her position on the floor, looking up, Elouise saw treasures , of home decoration which she could never ever hope to have. This bitch Marjorie was on to something. She was worth a lot of cash. She had everything. And yet, Elouise knew that she didn't work for it She didn't lift her finger for it.
All she did all day was lay around and be beautiful. That was her function, and her husband paid her well for that. For a young lawyer, he was quite successful, and he wanted only to satisfy the whims of his wife.
Elouise had no time to think about all of these things now, despite the fact that many thoughts were racing in her head.
She was confused, but there was nothing she could do now.
She had allowed herself to go this far. She had been intimidated by wealth, power, and the intense sexuality of Marjorie's commands.
Down on her knees, she began humping her way across the floor.
With her head straight forward, she saw Marjorie's high heeled bedroom slippers. They were backless, revealing a smooth heel. In front, the toes were exposed, each nail polished with a lustrous fire engine red polish.
The foot was tapping slightly in anticipation, or impatience. Perhaps a combination of both.
Elouise crawled toward her mistress. She felt like a dog. She felt like a fool, an asshole.
She was aware that her butt was sticking up and that her breasts were hanging down. She was aware that when she crawled along the floor, her butt was up and wiggling back and forth. That was the way she propelled herself, and she felt ashamed when Marjorie called attention to it with a smirk.
"Look at that big, black butt move back and forth. That's it, bitch dog. Crawl to me. Down on your knees and crawl. Arf, arf.”
Then the blonde woman threw her head back and swirled it so that her long hair moved back and forth and around like an ad for shampoo.
She sat on a satin chair in the corner of the room and poured herself a drink from the bottle which was placed on a table with a mirror for the top. She sipped from her goblet as she watched her slave girl crawl. Her expression didn't change. It was just as if she were being entertained slightly by the dog which she had just acquired.
When Marjorie saw Elouise at her feet, she raised her feet and placed them on Elouise's back. This forced the black woman's head down, and caused the tips of her nipples to brush against the pile of the carpet.
Her knees were scraped red from the crawling. Marjorie didn't care. She blew on her fingernails, totally ignoring the presence of Elouise at her feet. She dug her heels into her slave girl, but she paid the woman no mind.
It was then, from that humble position on the floor at Marjorie's feet, that Elouise saw the bowl.
It was a silver dish, and on it was the word "Mutt." Instantly, Elouise knew what it was. It was the dish a dog would eat of. It was a pet bowl!
And the dish didn't even have a regular name on it. It was marked "Mutt" — perfectly appropriate for any stray dog of mixed breed.
"I'll beat my doggie if she doesn't behave," Marjorie said, realizing, even though she barely glanced down at Elouise, that the woman had seen the bowl.
Perhaps she could feel it in her feet when Elouise's body tensed up at the vision of the waiting doggie bowl.
Elouise stared up from her position on the floor. She was looking right up Marjorie's nightgown. The gown was casually opened, exposing her naked pussy.
It was hairy and the fragrance of it filtered down to Elouise's nostrils.
Never in her life had she experienced such a scent. She had never gotten that close to the private sex part of another woman. Now, however, down on the floor, she was openly exposed to the female organ.
It shouldn't have frightened her, because being a woman, she had a cunt herself. It wasn't something entirely unknown to her.
But on the other hand, she had never had this kind of contact with one, and dealing with the likes of Marjorie Lloyd, there was no telling what she might be forced to do with it.
Was this scent the same scent she had between her legs?
Was this view of pussy the view that she would offer to her pet dog at home, unknowingly?
She had, at times, caught the dog she had at home looking up into her cunt. She had been embarrassed when other people were around and the dog made his way to her honeypot, nuzzling his head between her legs and sniffing in.
When she was alone, however, she didn't particularly stop the dog. It didn't bother her to allow the dog to sniff around. And once he had licked her there in her private place, and the feeling of his warm, wet tongue sliding over the lips of her little vagina was very pleasant, indeed.
Ben, her absentee husband, didn't lick her slit. Many black men wanted to, but she always refused. Ben said it was dirty — and he wouldn't put his mouth where his dick had been.
But the dog had no such qualms.
Suddenly however, the positions were turned around and Elouise was no longer mistress to a dog. Now she was the dog herself.
Another difference was that while the dog at home, a mutt named Spider, sought out Elouise's cunt, Elouise herself was being forced into this. Here the mistress was a cruel one, and she would use the strength she held over the dog to force the dog to bend to her will, to her ways.
It was humiliating, but she wanted this job. She believed, however naively, that this was just a test. She thought that Marjorie Lloyd might turn out to be a normal woman after all, and that she would be in the service of a typical employer.
She wanted to make some money very badly and so she was willing to extend herself to someone like Marjorie Lloyd, who obviously had the money to spend.
But when Mrs. Lloyd commanded a servant, she really commanded her.
"Lick it," Marjorie said.
Elouise felt her body stiffen .again, without her consent or control. Her tawny nipples were firm. Her cunt was wet.
"You heard me," Marjorie repeated. "I said lick.”
Elouise looked up, raising her eyes rather than her head. She saw the slit of her mistress waiting there to be serviced.
"Go on, bitch. Lick the foot of your mistress.”
Elouise heaved a sigh. She had thought that she was being commanded to lick Marjorie's cunt. She was afraid that she would pass put at the reality of that. She thought that she would never get the job if she did that. When she heard that it was Marjorie's feet that she had to lick, she was, for a moment, relieved. But then, when it came right down to it, she was unable to bring herself to do it.
Her face was right up against Marjorie's feet. That was not the problem. Her tongue was trembling. She felt her throat go so dry that she hardly extend her tongue.
"Bitch dog," Marjorie snapped, slapping Elouise across her naked back and rump. From the seat cushion of the chair, Marjorie had pulled out something she had placed there earlier, just for this occasion. It was a leather strip, studded with silver triangles. It was a dog collar.
"This is good for slapping naughty dogs and keeping them in line," Marjorie said. "It's also good for snapping around the neck of my doggie. Give it here. Give your mistress your neck.”
The leather and silver were shining in front of her. She offered her naked neck for the enslavement of the collar. It was a ritual for Marjorie to place the leather, warm from beating her back, around the neck of her new dog.
As she snapped the lock of the collar in place, a rush of energy flowed through her cunt. It was nearly enough to stimulate orgasm without even touching herself.
Her dog was at her comman, collared, and then, leashed.
The leash which Marjorie had in her hand, as if out of the blue (though it had also been placed beneath the cushion of the chair), was silver, made up of joined links.
It snapped onto the collar, and Marjorie had a dog on a leash.
Getting up from the chair without warning, she started pulling her dog along on the floor. It took Elouise some time to get adjusted to what was happening. She wasn't able to crawl at first. Marjorie, taking her by surprise, virtually was dragging her naked body across the floor, at first.
Elouise was crying, humiliated, and afraid. But she didn't fight back. She was too afraid to do that to this dominating white woman. The wealth, the beauty (cruel though it was) and the power which this woman represented to the humble, black maid from the Bronx, all kept up her resistance to giving into the anger which should have been brewing by this time.
But she had allowed herself to-be a slave and now she would have to go through with it. She tagged along at the feet of her mistress, seeing the. rooms from her position on the floor.
She was humiliated and ashamed, but there was nothing she could do about it.
She was dragged into the area where, the silver bowl had been placed.
"The employment agency said that your wages were to include lunch, isn't that right?" Marjorie asked sarcastically.
Elouise started to speak. She was kicked in her stomach by Marjorie's high heel.
"You can bark your answer," Marjorie added.
"Woof," Elouise barked meekly. "Woof, woof.”
"Then get your head down in that bowl and eat”
With that, Marjorie pushed Elouise's face into the silver dish marked "Mutt.”
Elouise felt the sticky, warm food all over her face. She wasn't being permitted to use her hands at all. She was just being treated like an abused dog.
She was naked, on the floor, on a leash, at a bowl of dogfood.
Oh, God, it tasted dreadful. She imagined what the food might be, knowing that dogs eat things which humans find impossible to swallow — bugs and everything else. She was afraid that she was going to throw up in the bowl. She was feeling sick.
She burped.
"If you vomit in that bowl I'll stick your face in it and make you swallow it all back," Marjorie sneered.
Elouise could tell that she meant business.
The telephone rang. Elousie was saved, for the moment, by the bell.
Marjorie left the scene and answered the phone. This was not the thing that Elouise had expected to do on her first day at work for the rich white woman. She had expected to be doing dusting, cleaning, and answering the telephone.
But Marjorie took care of the phone, and it seemed that if Elouise was to get any cleaning in today, it would be with her tongue!
"Yes, Corbett. Yes, the new girl is here now. She's not perfect, but she may be able to be trained. She had potential. I’’’ just have to see how she responds.”
Her handsome, young husband was on the other end. He looked at Marjorie's photograph in a golden frame on his desk. The picture was an eight by ten inch glossy, taken by a world famous photographer.
Corbett was cool in his air conditioned office, sitting back and collecting his lawyer's fees. He didn't even adjust the tie around his neck. His grey suit jacket was hanging behind him on the back of his chair.
"I'm going to be coming home early," Corbett said. "I just want to take some time off and spend it with you.”
"Don't you have important work to do?" Marjorie said. She had her slave here on the floor, and she was in the midst of the training session. She didn't always get the women sent by the employment agency to go this far on their first day. Most of them refused to take part in Marjorie's schemes of domination. They either laughed it all off as a sick joke, or took offense and walked out.
Marjorie depended upon the fact that many of the women who applied for jobs as maids through the employment agency were hot American citizens, and did not have much social or economic clout. They were unschooled and afraid, many of them, to complain about her bizarre antics. As for the ones who did complain, Marjorie stood her ground. She knew that even the employment agency was aware that she had money, and money speaks. Money keeps others quiet.
It would not get back to her husband.
But here she had a woman who did get down as her slave woman. Perhaps, she thought, Elouise was a natural slave. Perhaps she enjoyed this abuse.
Or, if she was just going through with all of this because she was really afraid of the threat Marjorie offered, then she was still slave material.
Marjorie wanted to follow through on all of this. Now that she had started with Elouise, she was hot to follow through all the way.
The presence of Corbett would not help things.
"I can bring whatever work I have to do home. I've got to get out of the office more often, anyway. I can do the work when I want to. Right now, I want to be with you. Let's spend the afternoon together," Corbett told his wife over the phone. He played with the bulge at the front of his pants as he spoke. Her voice and her breathing on the other end of the line made him hot and excited. He always started to get a boner when he spoke with her.
"Alright, you can come home," Marjorie said, almost as if it was a decree, or a clear case of her giving him permission to come back into his own house.
Corbett wanted to tell her that he was hot for her and that he wanted to fuck her. He wanted to tell her that he would like her to strip down and wait for him with her legs spread.
He fantasized about the way it used to be when they were first married. He would be dying to get home to her, and she was always waiting eagerly for him.
He remembered how he would come home and find her in the bedroom with her clothes off and her cunt up on the bed, waiting for his dick to start fucking her even in the middle of the day.
But he knew that she would be a cold bitch and refuse to even let him into his own apartment if he gave a warning of what he had in mind.
Sometimes he wanted to spank her.
He wanted to put her in her place.
But he was at her mercy, in a way. She was the one who could put out or close up. She owned her own vagina.
Well, he wanted it now, and he told her he was coming home.
"I am training the new maid," Marjorie added, once more trying to postpone his return.
"I won't interfere with that," Corbett said. "In fact, I think I should meet her, don't you?”
Marjorie looked into the other room where her black dog was down on all four, sick to her stomach as she looked into the doggie bowl filled with food.
"She's having her lunch now. I told her to gobble up every last bite if she knows what good for her.”
"If she knows what's good for her? That sounds like you're forcing her.”
"I mean, it's good food. If she knows what's good for her, shell eat it all.”
It was double meanings all the way around, but Elouise realized that this was all for her benefit. It was Marjorie's way of telling her to get into that food and eat it up, bobbing her head in the bowl like a mutt.
That was what she was.
Marjorie's mutt.
"I'll see you soon then," Corbett said.
Marjorie snapped her fingers.
Like the dog that she was, Elouise's ears perked up.
Marjorie pointed to her cunt. Then she snapped her fingers twice more.
With the chain of the leash dragging along the floor, Elouise waddled along on all fours with her naked butt high in the air.
Marjorie, still on the telephone with her husband, pointed directly into her own pussy again, and she licked her lips in an exaggerated manner.
Elouise felt a bolt of heat rush through her body. She felt hot and then cold, and she knew that this time she had broken out in a cold sweat all over. Marjorie wanted Elouise to eat her cunt.
She wanted her slave woman, just an ordinary girl looking for work from the poor part of town, she wanted her to suck and lick her pussy!
"Come home real soon," Marjorie said, suddenly changing the tone of her voice from that of a dominating bitch to that of a honey-coated vixen.
Corbett's boner was really hard now. He played with himself under his desk as he spoke with her, squeezing his cock and balls.
"That's the tone of voice I like to hear.”
"Oh, big Daddy," Marjorie cooed. "You get me so hot. My slit is wet and juicing right this very minute.”
Of course it was. The tongue of Elouise was down on it!
“Talk hot to me over the phone," Marjorie begged her husband, as Elouise licked at the hole.
"I wanna come home and get you in the flesh. I wanna feel your juicy tits in my hands and I wanna take those hot nipples of yours in my mouth.”
"Yeah, I wanna feel you flick your tongue back and forth over my stiff nipple. And my hot clitty, too.”
"Yeah, I'm coming home now to get at that love button of yours and push it for all I'm worth.”
"Oh, baby," Marjorie moaned.
She didn't want Corbett to come right home. She wasn't really going to follow through with the cockteasing she was doing over the phone. He was her husband, and perhaps, according to their marriage vows, she owed him something, but she wasn't going to give it to him, at least not that easily.
She preferred having her naked dog slave at her cunt while her husband talked dirty to her. She was getting off on the fact that she was humiliating another woman. That turned her on more than anything else. That was what was causing her cuntal juices to flow. They were flowing directly into Elouise's mouth!
Willing or unwilling, Elouise had to take it. She was gagging and choking, but Marjorie had her hand on the slave's neck and she was forcing her down, keeping her head on the openly-splayed pussy.
She insisted with the thrust and arch of her pelvis that Marjorie's tongue impale itself inside the juicy hole.
The thrill for Marjorie was in keeping her husband hot on the line, without his knowing that she was being eaten out at the same time.
He was completely unaware that Marjorie's cunt was dripping into the mouth of a woman who was being forced to be her doggie slave.