Chapter 6
Dinner was deadly. There was an incredible amount of work to do and Manon was left entirely to her own resources. Tyne wouldn't lift a finger and she pooh-poohed anyone else who even tried.
"Let her pour your wine," she snapped, grabbing Len's hand by the wrist as he attempted to reach for the decanter in the center of the table.
"Manon! Mrs. Wasterson has dropped her napkin. Crawl under the table and get it for her."
"What's taking you so long out there, are you doing your nails between every course?"
"Where is the cheese tray? I distinctly told you to have it here before desert. My guests are used to service and so am I. If you can't perform any better than this, I'll have to follow you around with a switch."
"Lousy little serving wench! Butter knives don't go on the left. They go across the bread and butter plate. What an ignorant cunt I've got waiting on us this evening. Pat, did you ever see such an ignorant cunt? I'm surprised they let her out. Probably keep her locked in a cage at the agency. Last job she had was serving gladiators at a Roman orgy. They're not exactly fussy, just bring them a side of beef and dump it on their loin cloth ... "
And on it went. On and on. Manon watched the faces of the others as Tyne's mounting attack of humiliating built and built, gathering steam and momentum as the courses followed one upon the other.
By the time it came for coffee, Manon was nearly exhausted. Then, she heard the coffee pot boil over. It hit the flames, shooting loud spurts out the percolator spout and hot grounds in every direction.
"That does it!" Tyne said, throwing her napkin down and standing up at the head of the table to face all her guests. "I'm going to have to march out there and let her know who's boss."
"Please, Tyne," Len said, trying to pat her hand. She grabbed it away and turned on her heels toward the kitchen.
She entered the room just in time to see Manon try and grab the hot handle of the pot off the stove and succeed in dropping it. The hot pot flew open letting the brownish liquid flow out, into the burners and cracks of the stove and down the front, spilling out onto the waxed floor in every direction.
"Spastic cunt!" Tyne roared, nosing her way in the room and coming up to Manon like a charging bull. A bull who led with her tits.
"Oh, dear," Manon said, wiping her brow. The tension of the night had built up a sweat now and it was rolling off her brow. She patted at it with her apron, bringing her head down close to her lap as she did so.
"Now see what you've done," the mistress of the house shouted.
"I'm sorry," Manon said, pleading to her with her eyes. "I'll clean it up."
"You certainly will," Tyne said, curling her lower lip up and standing over her like an executioner.
Manon started for the broom closet, only to have Tyne run after her and yank her up short by the skirt.
"No," Manon shouted turning around and feeling the savage little vixen's sharp fingernails dig into her arms.
"Where do you think you're going?" Tyne shouted, shaking the maid as hard as she could. No mean task, considering her maid towered over her. But she was a wily, hellcat of a woman and she persisted. She always did.
"To get a mop, Ma'am," Manon said, casting her eyes down to the linoleum and trying not to fight the little she-devil. It was like trying to attack a wiggling worm.
"No, you're not," the woman shouted back, shaking her blonde curls and glaring hard at her. "I don't allow scum off the streets to come in here and use my kitchen utensils and mess them up and then walk into my broom closet and act like they owned the place. That's the problem with you, Manon, you don't know your place!"
"Please," Kay Wasterson said from the dining room table, "back off her, Tyne."
"It's an honest mistake," Lance said in his deep bass voice, "give the girl a break."
"She hasn't given me a break yet," Tyne shouted back to her guests, "why should I give her one?"
"Because she's innocent," a voice shot back.
Manon recognized it as belonging to Carl.
"She hasn't caused any lasting harm. Besides, she's a cute kid. She couldn't possibly have any evil motives. Why don't you give her a break?"
"Why don't you march out here and see what kind of a break I'm gonna give her?" Tyne roared defiantly. "I think I'm gonna start by breaking her neck."
"Please," Manon shouted, "I can't stand violence."
Tyne gripped her hips hard and stared up at her. Her mind must have been playing tricks tonight. She thought she heard her maid tell her she couldn't stand violence. Her maid, Manon, who was really her friend Mandy, who was really the toughest, meanest most muscular, blood-thirsty hockey player she had ever seen on ice.
"I'll show you violence," Tyne said, whispering now hard between her teeth, gurgling down inside her throat.
She stepped up to the shocked, startled girl and made a bee-line for her cheek with the back of her hand.
SLAP! The sting smarted her cheek so hard Manon couldn't even rub it right away, it hurt too much to touch.
"Now get down there and rub that coffee stain out ... " the blonde bitch paused deliriously, "with your fucking hair."
"Oh, no," Manon sighed softly down to her, "why are you ... "
"Shut up or I'll slap you again, little tart!" the haughty hostess snarled.
Manon rubbed her cheek now, feeling that she would indeed do as she threatened.
She fell to one knee and began the sordid business of wiping up the coffee off the kitchen floor. It hurt her to get down like this in this position. Crawling, bending, groveling in front of this lurid blonde queen. It hurt her pride, it smeared her sense of herself. and inevitably, it made that old rugged war horse of a pecker stand up and salute.
Tyne stood over her like a marble statue, fixed to the spot, as she watched her charge mop the floor with her locks. Those soft, raven locks of hair that Tyne herself had purchased for her. How she loved to humiliate this big, hard human. This cuddly bear of a poor wretch who now was lying on the floor, practically in tears because she was wiping the floor with her hair.
It made her pussy quiver. It made her hot, moist cunt lips shake, rattle and roll with desire.
Manon circled the floor with her jet black tresses and wished to hell she had remembered to grab a hot holder before she picked up that handle on that pot. Things hadn't been easy up to that point, but now they were more impossible.
The blonde savage warrior queen was gonna have her way with her no matter how much it degraded her in front of her friends. What would they be thinking now? How much of this humiliation could they take?
Plenty, if one could believe what was coming from the dining room table.
"If she were my girl, I'd treat her a lot better," Len said, loud enough for Manon and Tyne to hear, "cute little thing like that. She deserves better."
"Personally," Lance said, nibbling at the cheese on his plate, "I'd keep her out of the kitchen and let her tend to more gentle work. Like making my bed."
"None of you know how to handle a fine spirited girl like that," Carl cut in, "she's got to be shown a lot more love and affection than that woman in there is showing her right now. If you expect to get any kind of performance out of her at all, that is."
"I'd like to rent her out for a night," Kay chimed in, nudging against her husband's elbow. "I think the two of us could have a great time with her. She's so sweet and willing. Willing to please I mean."
"I'd like to get a good look at her in her underwear, myself." It was Pat who was speaking now. "I think it would look even better than it looks now."
"There's a thought," Lance responded, "how much would your adorable little serving girl charge a night, do you think, Tyne?"
Manon heard him shouting out to his mistress. She whirled her head around and spoke back to him in quick, disturbed tones.
"She doesn't charge anything. She's not permitted. I rent her out. She is my girl. You can pay me."
Manon kept mopping, wiping, not daring to look up or act even as if she had heard the little discourse taking place in the next room.
"Faster," Tyne said, nudging the tip of her high heel toward Manon's face. "I'm not paying you by the hour, you don't have to take so much time doing that."
Her hair was wringing wet. The curl had gone out of it completely. It hung down and slapped her neck in wet, heavy strands.
"Come out here, everybody," Tyne called to her guests. Apparently, she was not going to be pleased until she had ground Manon's face into it. And in front, of everyone there!
"What gives, Ty?" Pat said, the first to emerge into the kitchen.
"Look at that drowned rat, will you?" Tyne said, walking over to the kitchen counter and leaning against it to take in a full view of the pathetic picture Manon now presented.
"Why did you make her do it?" Pat said, admiring the bulge under Manon's apron as much as her beautifully proportioned body.
The sight of her down there on the floor, wiping, bowing, scraping, that luscious she-male brought so low, gave her a hot, rushing impulse. An impulse she wanted to carry out.
Kay was the next to walk in. She was carrying a dessert plate with her. Still munching as she spoke. "I can't believe the way you treat your servants, Tyne."
"This one deserves it," Tyne shot back.
"I don't agree," Kay said in a quiet, calm voice. It was working against the passion she felt building up under the sheath she wore over her body. It was building up to a lather. That poor wretch of a thing, down there, acting the part of a lowly serf. She was more than a slave. She was a desirable creature. A big, loving creature. A creature she would liked to have brought home and put in a cage and taken out from time to time to play with. The bulge under her apron compelled her. It made the frilly little starched thing tent up suggestively, drawing her even more into the action, more into the maid.
Manon looked out one corner of her eye to see the three women huddled together.
She knew better than to ask what they were talking about. But she felt so bare, so naked, so defenseless sitting down there on the floor like a wet puppy. Waiting for the three of them to decide her fate. To decide what to do with her.
A few minutes later, the buzzing ceased. The three of them came out of their tight little circle and faced Manon.
"My girlfriends want to play with you," she said haughtily.
"What?" Manon said, blinking in disbelief of what her ears reported to her.
"Well, it's evident you're not much good for house work. Let's see how you make out in the other department. Let's see if you're suitable for other tasks. More ... shall we say ... intimate tasks."
"I don't know what you mean," Manon started.
"Nonsense," Tyne hooted back, "you do, too. You know perfectly well. Now stand up."
Manon stood up slowly, her joints aching from the punishing they had been given down there on that hard, brutal floor. "Go into the living room," Tyne snapped and when Manon didn't hustle her ass in there immediately, she yelled at the top of her lungs, right into her face, "I said, 'Go into the living room', Christ I can't stand to be disobeyed under my own roof. And from a slave, a little upstart of a street slut!"
Manon felt the sting of humiliation torture the cock that was now ramming against the underside of the starched nylon apron. That translucent little heart-shaped piece. That silly, frail little patch of material he wore was the only thing that stood in between his throbbing prick stick and plain sight of everyone in the room.
"Sit over here, girl," Tyne said, patting the sofa as if she were coaxing a pet over.
"Yes, Ma'am," Manon answered, heading for the seat that had been indicated for her.
Tyne grinned with triumph. Now the time had come when she would show off her maid's charms to the assembled guests. The time she had been looking forward to all night. Her time of glory.
Manon took a seat on the sofa and tried to keep her eyes fixed down low. It proved tough going. The girls on either side of her, Pat and Kay were definite distractions to her concentration.
They were both beautiful, desirable women. Hot, lusting ladies with plenty going for both of them in the looks and physique department. That Pat and her red, streaming hair, now so properly done up in a bun.
And that Kay. That honey-voiced little kitten with the firm little knockers poking out of her dress and those insanely round buttocks. She'd probably had them massaged by experts at beauty salons around the world.
"You hair's all wet," Kay said, pointing to the adorable maid's strands of wet hair. The tips hung down so petulantly below her neck. She felt sorry for this innocent creature.
But she would be quite willing to lead this same innocent creature to slaughter. In a flash. That tent pole jutting center stick up from under that tiny maid's apron intrigued her beyond words.
She felt her clit throb, her pussy lips grow plumper, more blood-engorged by the moment.
"You look like a little girl with those long, straight masses of hair," Pat cooed into her face, "I can show you how to set it again so it'll look curly. Why don't we go into the bathroom and I'll help you with it?"
Pat felt a familiar stirring in her pussy slit. Way down deep inside it. It was lust, sex, intrigue and curiosity rolled into one. This warm, live hunk of flesh plopped down next to her was somehow more than a woman, more than a man. Strange, confusing and utterly electric. She felt the charge dart into her thigh as she rubbed up against the girl's patterned stocking.
Tyne sat confidently perched on the edge of the sofa. Sitting there watching the little trio do their show.
The men in the room were growing eager, too. And no less aroused. Ken felt his cock play havoc against his briefs, threatening to disturb the peace of his pants line.
Lance knew a good mount when he saw one. He had raised too many horses not to be able to spot champion stuff. And this appealing creature was blue ribbon. He wanted to go over onto the sofa himself and get a better look, but he also wanted his wife to have first crack. She had, after all, been the first to suggest such an amorous game.
Carl sat calmly, coolly, collected. Confident that his time would come with the ravishing maid. And when it did, make no mistake about it, nobody in the room would forget he had been there. He was gonna see to it that these country club types got their" socks knocked off. He was gonna rock this place to the rafters.