Chapter 14
Arbella, the goddess of them all, was holding court in the large room. She was dressed, as before, in her head-to-toe suit of leather. She sat in a futuristic chair of chrome and black leather, situated on a raised platform, and around her and below her sat her fawning admirers.
"Ahah!" Arbella announced with deep satisfaction apparent in her voice. "We have a young maid to serve us. And what is your pretty name, may I ask."
Robin could have used the opportunity to assert his manhood. He could have screamed his defiance. He could have thrown off all the absurd feminine clothes in which the old crone had draped him. But he did none of these things.
Robin blushed under his make up and crossed one foot in front of the other and fumbled with fluttering fingers at his waist and did a little curtsy and said: "Robin, Madam," as polite and as deferential as you please.
"Well, Robin, all I can say is you look a lot better than when we had you here earlier in the evening and you were pretending to be some sort of a man."
There were loud peals of laughter and some clapping that was quickly taken up around the room.
"Yes, madam!" Robin lisped and curtsied again.
"Stop that silly 'yes-madam, no-madam' and get on with your work...The place is in a mess. The guests want to be served. Quick! Quick!"
Robin was in a daze. He didn't know what to do first. He started by emptying all the ashtrays and then one of the women demanded he bring her a cigarette and when he forgot to light it she called him "silly wench" and that made him blush. Then someone demanded a drink and complained of his stupidity when he put in the wrong amount of ice. The canapes he served to another guest were thrown down in disgust. Robin fought hard to keep down his tears. Nothing he did seemed to be going right.
He went into the serving pantry and came back with ice. The guests asked for champagne. He went out to get the champagne and got shouted at for opening it the wrong way, then for spilling a drop, then because it was too warm. He went to fetch some more scotch and club soda and got called back to take away the empties. He came back, arranged the drinks, served everyone, and got reprimanded for a dozen new infractions.
He brought nuts. They were too salted and the woman who'd asked for them threw them on the floor in disgust.
Robin was in tears. The mascara was running down his face and streaking the rouge. He got down on his hands and knees to pick up the nuts one by one. When he'd finished and put them all into an empty bowl someone threw down a bowl of potato chips. He made a 'broom' with both hands to bring the chips into a manageable heap and the woman called Ann stepped up, scattered the chips and crushed them into fine powder. Robin wanted to cry and he felt the sobs building up at his waist under the tightly boned waist-clincher and felt the heave of his breasts inside the heavily padded brassiere. He dutifully picked up everything.
As he rose to go with a bowl full of crushed potato chips a pretty ankle was thrust out and he was tripped. He fell forward right into the lap of his mistress and the crumbs flew in all directions.
Arbella gave instant expression to her rage. She pulled the hapless servant girl in her black uniform and white apron over her leather-clad lap. She pulled up Robin's black poplin dress, seized the white panties in one hand and pulled them taut so that it grabbed his crotch.
Then she hit him on his upturned bottom with the flat of her hand.
"Naughty careless girl!" Arbella said, punctuating each word with a slap on his buttocks.
"Careless and inconsiderate!" And she slapped his thighs some more.
Robin was crying. What embarrassment, what shame, what a let-down! He had wanted to love this stern woman, he had been willing to become her servant, her very slave-but as a man. Now he was serving her as a woman, a chippy, a silly girl, and even as that he was incompetent to the nth degree. He cried with warm tears of despair and disappointment.
"Silly goose! Abominable girl! Wretched maid!" The slaps rained down on Robin's upturned bottom as fast as the insults were rained down out of Arbella's angry lips. His botty, under the tight-pulled panties and the upturned dress was sore and fiery. The sanitary napkin was pushed tight into his crotch where once his cock might under entirely different but yet so similar circumstances have proudly protruded, and the strap of his sanitary belt dug painfully into the skin.
Arbella varied the spanking she was giving Robin's reddened bottom. At her request one of the women passed her a wooden paddle and she applied her blows with that. Robin's face was pressed into her leather breeches and his senses took in from them the power and mastery that the mistress exerted over him. It increased his shame the more to find himself so humiliated before and by this powerful woman.
When Arbella had quite finished the spanking, she brusquely shoved the beaten "maid" off her lap, and told Robin to go on with his work.
Serve here, serve there. Drinks, ice, soda, cigarettes. Sweep, clean, wash, bring new. Then it was time to serve the cold buffet-roast turkey sliced and put back on the frame, ham, smoked Nova Scotia salmon, potato salad, knishes (this, after all, was poly-ethnic New York), Chinese egg-roll, smoked viands, exotic cheeses.
Robin, the maid, was kept running hither and thither, serving, taking away, picking up trash, giving seconds and thirds, lighting cigarettes, filling up glasses. He was starved, absolutely starved, he hadn't had a bite to eat since breakfast.
Breakfast. That seemed like a week ago. He had no idea how much time had elapsed since he'd walked out of his hotel in the morning, how long since Lizbeth had seduced him away from his sidewalk table just as the waitress was about to take his order for lunch. He was starved but the only food he could allow himself was the occasional scraps of food left on the plates that he took out to the kitchen-many of them with cigarette butts stubbed out in the middle of the choicest morsels he wanted to eat to assuage his ravenous hunger.
Serve, serve, serve. Walk around with downcast eyes. Serve in all humility. Wipe back those tears as they flowed. Absorb the kicks and abuses of everyone. He was nothing but a skivvy, a drudge, a wretched serving girl whom everyone could abuse at will.
He finished serving and then he cleared away and took the dishes into the kitchen. Passing a mirror, his hands weighted down with laden trays, he caught a reflection of himself in the mirror: a bedraggled girl, her white maid's cap askew in her short blonde hair. Her face smeared with tears and washes of mascara and eye shadow. The lipstick smudged. Stains on her white collar, her white apron dirty. Runs in her black nylon stockings. Was this the girl that had turned him on a couple of hours earlier? Was this what he had been willing to exchange his manhood for?
He went on into the kitchen and while he wiped the dishes on behalf of his imperious mistress the tears coursed down his face without respite.
Before he had even finished the dishes, the old hag was back for him.
'Come girl, be quick, don't take all year! They're waiting for you. Quick! Ice! Champagne! Scotch! Brandy!"
But she wouldn't let Robin go in to serve the ladies until she'd helped him fix his make up and straighten his white cap and then she insisted on changing his stockings, spending endless time rolling the smooth black nylons down his softly skinned legs and then up again, clearly obtaining her obscene pleasures from this act.
While she was helping turn Robin once more into an attractive presentable maid, the calls kept coming in from the large room. "Where is that wretched maid? Where's my drink?" and so on, so that the moment the old hag in her obscene three-quarter nudity had finished with Robin, he rushed into the main room to see how he could serve his bosses.
He almost dropped his tray with surprise when he entered the big room. Everywhere, wherever he could see, couples were stretched out in lecherous poses. But-and this was what shocked him and surprised him-there wasn't a man to be seen. Every single one of those present was a woman.
Lying back, in the center of it all, he saw the magnificent Arbella. She was reclining on her back on a huge water bed that sloshed around underneath her and set her body a-bouncing with its wavelets. She had opened some of the fastenings of her suit: her breasts were exposed, full ripe cups of loveliness encircled by the leather around them that forced them into blood-gorged fullness and delectability and set their nipples to vertical points. Her legs were up and the zippers down the front of her thighs had been opened. The crotch piece, triangular in shape, had been removed to that now Robin could see her clearly, her legs raised and spread, the opening in the leather revealing the dark red wetness of her gash set in its triangle of hair, and the creamy soft thighs that seemed to act as a pointer to her hungry twat.
Sitting between her legs was an apparition in transparent chiffon, an angel with fair curls, a creamy complexion and luscious lips. She had full thighs and slender legs under the almost transparent chiffon that shaded from yellow through gold to pale orange. She was looking at the glorious Arbella with eyes that combined the childish innocence of a little girl with the cunning seductiveness of a born wanton.
There was no mistaking those eyes or that expression.
It was Lizbeth.
Somewhere inside the maid that Robin had become, there was shed a tear for times long passed and opportunities long-ago missed. It was past, it was done. Lizbeth belonged to another period and another epoch. Lizbeth belonged to a time when there was still a Robin and Robin was still a man.
That was all gone now, all gone! At best, Robin could hope to turn into a more efficient maid, could learn to please her mistress better and do her work more efficiently. Perhaps, one day, he might learn from Lizbeth and others like her and become an attractive woman who could attract the love of others.... One day, perhaps...
Perhaps even in a setting like this. In a lesbian scene, making love with other women....
Robin couldn't afford to let his imagination wander. Arbella had called.
"Grapes!"
Robin picked up a silver bowl and filled it with grapes. Luscious grapes bursting with juice and sweetness. Dark purple grapes and sturdy green ones. He teetered over to the reclining figure of his mistress, walking as delicately as he could on his high heels.
"Peel me a grape!" Arbella ordered. "No, a purple one!"
Robin did as he was told. He passed the peeled grape to his mistress who held it up between thumb and forefinger and fed it sensuously into the pursed lips of the girl kneeling between her raised thighs.
Lizbeth brought her lips forward, parted them slightly, allowed them to be touched by the grape, then slowly and sensuously closed over them as if in slow motion.
Robin had peeled another grape and handed it to Arbella; that, too, was pressed gently into the young girl's posed lips-and so it went on until she had consumed a whole bunch.
Robin found it difficult to focus on his task, peeling grapes and passing them on to Arbella. His eyes wouldn't focus on the grapes. His eyes were on another grape-sized object, purple and glistening wet like the grape.
His eyes were looking elsewhere. His eyes were focused in the direction pointed to by Arbella's legs and thighs, towards the triangle surrounding her cunt. He was looking into that triangle, into that slit, watching Lizbeth dexterously use the fingers of her left hand. like Arbella she was using thumb and forefinger to hold the purple-grape-like object, rotating it just between those rich moist lips that formed Arbella's cunt.
But whereas the grape in Lizbeth's mouth needed replacement as soon as it was swallowed, the grape that Lizbeth teased between Arbella's pouting nether lips was forever regenerating. It disappeared into the cleft between the lips but just as quickly reappeared each time.
What Lizbeth was holding between her thumb and finger was none other than the seat of Arbella's passion: her clitoris.
When Arbella had pressed the last grape into her young lover's mouth, she waved Robin away. Robin turned-but stayed to watch.
Elizabeth had swallowed the last of the grapes.
Swallowed it and then, as if by reflex action, her lips were posed and pouted for more. She reached out expectantly for the offering fingers-and found none. Without pausing she continued pressing her lips forward, forward and down, forward and down.
Her lips were poised in erotic expectation of the sensual grape. They kept on reaching in expectation until they had fastened themselves unerringly on the red, wet, purple-swollen bud between Arbella's leather-covered thighs, until they'd fastened themselves hungrily on the glistening clitoris at the very top of Arbella's pouting cunt-lips.
And there they stayed, sucking and suckling, chewing and mauling the quivering clitoris of the stately Arbella.
Robin looked on with envy and longing. This was how he wanted to serve his mistress. This was what he wanted to do for her. He felt the longing rise up like fire from the empty spot in his groin. He felt himself longing for her and felt his longing to replace the young girl worshipping orally at her cunt. He wanted to get right in there and take over the role of that girl, that Elizabeth, and worship in there at that fountain of Arbella's masterly sensual-
Down there he wanted to be. Kneeling between Arbella's upturned thighs. He saw himself getting down between those thighs, adjusting his nylons so they would not run, hitching up his black poplin dress, getting down on his nylon-clad knees between those beautifully booted thighs and legs and placing his red-lip stick painted mouth at the rose-red petals of her portal, getting his teeth on that quivering grape of a clit. His face in there, soaking up the juices and the aroma while the masterful mistress clamped her thighs around him and over him and pressed the heels of her boots into the back of his dress, into his shoulders and wasp-thin waist.
He'd be serving her there. A maid serving her mistress the way a mistress ought to be served.
While gazing in longing and admiration at the lesbian scene being enacted before him, he became aware of a subtle truth, a subtle change. He was beginning to see himself as a woman, a woman in erotic situations, a woman in servile situations. His imagination was already making him into a woman and seeing himself primarily from a woman's point of view. His intellect told him to rebel; his instincts told him to acquiesce. They had turned him into a woman, into a maid; it hadn't been his doing and it wasn't his fault, they'd decided his fate for him; he might as well accept it. It seemed to fit. He could be a woman, he would be a woman, he was a woman. He wanted to make love as a woman, he wanted to be loved as a woman. He bit his lips with resolve and swallowed back the lump in his throat and smiled valiantly through the tears that had caught in his long curving lashes. That's how it was, that's how it had to be. That was O.K. with him; he'd be a woman from now on . . .if only he'd be allowed to serve women as a woman his wishes would be fulfilled.
With envy still gripping his throat he turned away from the fucking-sucking couple on the water bed. He gave one last, long, lingering look. Arbella was on her back, her leather suit squeaking over the bloated plastic that contained the swirling water. Her pony tail, sticking out of the back of her leather helmet, was spread out behind her on the bed. The seams at the front of her suit were opened to reveal her full ripe breasts. The seams at the top of her thighs were opened to reveal the creamy whiteness of her thighs. Her crotch-piece was removed and in its place, covering what there might have been to see of her cunt and its hairy triangle, was the golden head of the Elizabeth he had once beaten and had once fucked, the Elizbeth who had once seduced him and had caused him to be here. He wasn't angry at her. If that was preordained duty to bring him to this spot and find his new identity here, so be it.
He took one last look at Elizabeth, his Lizbeth, eating out the cunt of Arbella, his Arbella, his mistress, and the sadness again clouded his eyes, the longing again arose from his empty groin. He saw the heaving thrashing bodies and he knew that the pleasures they were deriving from and giving to each other were pleasures he would have liked to give and take-and pleasures he would not be granted.
There were impatient shouts for the maid's service. Everyone was calling him. "Robin!" here, "Robin!" there; "Robin!" high and "Robin!" low. Fill up with champagne here, with scotch there, with rye there. An apple, a banana.
"No, idiot, a harder one. This is too mushy! Peel it for me!" said one fat woman with rolls of fat bulging all around her body and thighs. A sprightly nude girl, a glorious brunette, was sitting on her chest, flattening the ballooning breasts with her rounded ass, and facing forward, toward the fat woman's bulging thighs. "A peeled banana!" she screamed under the weight of the young girl that compressed her chest.
Robin peeled the banana as ordered and gave it to the fat woman, she gave it to the girl above her who plunged it deep between the fat woman's thighs, right into her layered cunt. The woman smiled as the girl pushed it in and out until the jaws of the woman's cunt had entirely masticated it. Then the girl slid her ass back, right on the woman's face. The woman started lapping at the dark hairy twat right over her fat face, and the young brunette bent forward, letting her long straight hair cascade over the woman's thighs, and applied her face to the lumpy space between the hideously fat thighs that had come up to meet her. The two of them humped like that, mouth in cunt, cunt in mouth, and Robin saw with a mixture of excitement and disgust how the fat woman underneath practically swallowed up the thin girl on top in the layers of her blubber, saw her huge elephantine body heave and wallow and then slowly subside as she reached orgasm.
Robin was forced to interrupt his absorption in the sexual couplings of the fat woman and the young girl. Someone else was clamoring for the maid's service. Robin, in his starched cap and white apron, walked over on his high heels to take the order.
"Ice! Two buckets! Quick!" The woman who had given the order was dressed in boots and leather shorts rather like those that Robin had worn earlier, so much earlier, when the orgy had first gotten under way. The crotch piece had been removed from the woman's shorts and in their place she had strapped a wicked looking dildo. It was made of heavy black leather, stitched all around with prominent stitches. It was black and glossy as if it had recently been deeply immersed in a runny, gooey cunt. It must have been two and a half inches in diameter and eight or nine inches long. Beside her, with legs and arms and bodies intertwined with hers, was sprawled a young hippy-looking girl whose features could not easily be distinguished since she was covered in body paint from head to toe. The only features that could be readily noticed-in fact noticing them was inescapable-were her breasts and her ass, which had been turned into eye-catching targets with concentric circles of day-glow paint.
When Robin had returned with the ice, he found the two women already fucking. The painted hippy was crouching on all fours, her target-painted ass sticking out at back. Behind her was the woman in the leather shorts and the dildo, who was humping her doggy-fashion with her giant dong dug deep into her cunt from behind, while she held each of the painted breasts in her hands as if guiding her mount. They were humping at great speed and Robin had to admire the painted girl's stamina and fortitude to be able to take so gigantic a simulated cock into her cunt.
Under such humping and thrusting it didn't take long before the painted girl came in a wild orgasm and the woman on top, in sympathetic reaction and helped no doubt by the pressure of the dildo, one end of which was located inside her own twat, soon came too with a wildly rocking movement and loud yells and screams.
Robin looked on humbly and politely as was his job as maid, holding out the buckets or ice for their needs when they were ready. The woman in the leather shorts did indeed deign to take a few cubes and she used them to cool off her brow after she had first sucked at them, then she cooled various parts of her body with the ice after she had withdrawn from the girl beneath her. She cooled off her twat around the end of the leather dildo with a handful of ice and then presented the ice to the other girl, letting it cool her lips and forehead, then her circled breasts and other parts of her anatomy.
They lay apart for a moment, panting, then the older woman once more mounted her partner, but this time from the front. The painted girl put up her thighs and Robin watched with admiration the look of ecstatic pain that crossed the girl's face as the woman on top inserted her fake cock inch by loving inch into the dilated cunt, dilated and delighted, both. When she had the leather cock in, all nine inches of it, she spread her hands under the painted girl's ass, lifting it and molding it and opening it to her fingers and her nails. She dropped her chest toward the girl's and her long pear-shaped breasts, deeply tanned all over and with flaming red aureoles seating her pointed nipples, she brushed against the targets of her companion's breasts that seemed to point and rise up to meet hers. They slowly closed the embrace and Robin, still holding the buckets of ice, stood by watching as they pressed their mouths together slowly and sensuously and poked out their lips and thrust forth their tongues to curl them in ecstasy inside each other's oral cavity as if they were cunts to be lapped.
After a while of sensuous kissing and tiny little humping movements that couldn't have moved the black dildo inside the painted girl by more than an inch at a time, the women disengaged their mouths from each other but continued their kissing sucking and biting, roaming over each other's faces-nose, eyes, cheeks, ears, throat, forehead. Then the woman in the leather shorts and boots sat up a little and she took the painted breasts in her mouth, chewing first this one then that one while the owner of those breasts moaned and groaned in unintelligible sounds.
From kissing and biting the breasts, the woman on top again came to a semi-sitting position and, with her hands raising the other girls bums, she started fucking her in long, slow, easy movements, just like a man with lots of patience and lots of experience.
The girl underneath brought up her painted thighs to grasp the woman above and as she tightened them around her waist the woman gradually lowered her body again against the painted girl, chest against chest, breast against painted breast, face against face, mouth against painted mouth. They continued fucking, the girl crossing her painted feet over the tight leather shorts of the other woman. Their fucking got faster and the range of movements longer.
Suddenly they paused.
The woman on top raised her head and said to the 'maid' in imperious tones. "Quick, the ice! Can't you see?"
Robin went down on nylon knees and held the two buckets of ice within convenient reach, not quite knowing what to do.
The woman with the dildo scooped up a full load of ice in her right hand and closed her fingers over it. The painted girl picked up a load of ice too. The woman on top put her mouth back down on the other girl, covering her moans and sighs.
Suddenly the fucking got fast and furious. Both women seemed to be almost out of control. The painted one was thrashing her head from side to side and kicking with her painted legs; the other one was bouncing up and down, up and down, in and out. The one underneath started screaming and at that moment the woman on top took her fistful of ice and thrust it straight and unerringly into the crotch of her partner, right between the ass cheeks, tight in the depth of the groove where the cunt ends and the ass begins.
The girl underneath seemed to go completely out of control. She screamed loud in the agony of delight. She thrashed and kicked and flayed. But she had presence of mind to do one thing: she took her own ice-laden hand and thrust it right into the crotch of the woman above her, into the area bared in the back of her leather shorts by the missing crotch-piece, right into the root of pleasures between cunt and ass.
The woman on top, screamed too. She screamed and yelled and whammed up and down on her boots and her thighs. Her head flew up and her hair scattered loose. Her face was distorted. She bounced up and down and Robin could see the glistening leather tool between her legs as it emerged to almost its full length dripping with juices and emissions, then plunging right back again into the gaping gash of the painted girl's cunt. Again the woman on top grabbed a load of ice and thrust that at the girls crotch and the painted girl did it back to her, and both reached new heights of ecstasy.
Robin waited around politely with his buckets of ice until both women's passions had subsided and then the one on top signalled to him that he might go. She was panting deeply and the muscles on her body were still twitching of their own accord. The painted girl was lying flat out, her legs straight and rigid, her arms thrown out at either side behind her head, and her mouth was open with protruding tongue while she gasped for air, and her eyes were glazed over.
Another woman was calling angrily for Robin's service, and he walked rapidly on his elevated heels to do her bidding.