Message-ID: X-Archived-At: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: From: stbush@iglou.com (S THOMAS BUSH) Subject: BOMBADIL 1: "Panties" Part 1 "Panties" - Part 1 / 2 by Tom Bombadil (c) Nov 1996 Disclaimer: All the standard rules apply. If you are offended by explicit descriptions of sex or the human body, if it is illegal to possess such materials at your location, if you are under-age by law in your location, or if somebody else thinks you might have too much fun reading it, stop right now and remove this text from your computer. This is purely a work of fiction, with all characters and actions described by me coming straight out of my imagination. As a work of fiction, it does not condone or condemn any of the activities or actions described, nor does it relate to any type of real events in my life, or known to me in the lives of any of my friends or relatives. You've been warned. Author's notes: I've just finished reading a few dozen stories written by Deirdre. All of them were well written, most were interesting, and a few were downright intriguing. Here's my way of paying back a very talented author. My version of a Deirdre-style story. Thanks! ******************************************************************** [Trudy's tale] I think that was the scariest day of my life to that point. Well, maybe not *the* scariest, but definitely right up near the top of the list. Some people might argue that a job interview is a job interview, period. Most times I'd agree with them. That one was different. When was the last time you had an interview at a large, expensive house, in an exclusive neighbourhood, where you were to meet your prospective employer's husband and children? The children whom you would be in charge of for a year? Especially when you really wanted - no, *needed* - the job? I thought not. So I screwed up my courage, put on my bravest face, and rang the doorbell. I promised myself that no matter what happened, I wouldn't go running off screaming into the sunset. When I imagined that scene, picturing myself meeting the Munsters rather than the Carltons, it brought a bit of a smile to my face, and maybe helped rope in my fears a little. How bad could it really be, after all. They were people. Rich, a bit eccentric , but still people. I hoped. Fiona opened the door. She was dressed casually in a bright yellow sun dress and sandals. That, at least, quelled some of the butterflies in my stomach. "Hello Trudy. I'm glad you decided to come." We exchanged pleasantries before she invited me into the house. I followed her down a short hall to a nice living room. Everybody in there was wearing clothes, thank god. Fighting my nerves, and feeling giddy with relief, I looked at the other people as they stood to greet me. I tried to fit them in with the descriptions given to me by Mrs. Carlton, and her introductions a few seconds later showed that I was right on all counts. Mr. Carlton looked just as described. Tall, weathered, handsome, with lots of lean muscles. Black hair and pale eyes . Timothy, their son, looked almost nothing like his father, except for having the same hair and eyes. He was slender and soft, almost effeminate, despite his wiry muscles and height. And he was good looking. Very good looking. Hannah, his twin sister, was almost the same height , with the same short black hair, but looking at me with her mother's bright jade-green eyes. They had almost identical body structure, other than the obvious. Oh, and she was gorgeous. Her mother was striking, and a very good looking woman, but she was totally eclipsed by her daughter's beauty. The only other person in the room was Ms. Tiff, their housekeeper. She was probably about the same age as Mrs. Carlton and looked to be just as fit and toned. And just as striking. Height must run in her family too, since she was almost as tall as Mr. Carlton. I felt like a midget in there. At five foot one I'm not that small, but Hannah, the shortest of the bunch of them, was close to a foot taller than me. Mr. Carlton was much more than a foot taller. When everyone sat down, it felt like I'd stepped out of a dense forest and into an open meadow. "Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee? Ice tea? Some wine, perhaps?" Fiona was looking at me, and asking in a rather polite way. I decided that something cold would help. Definitely no alcohol. Because I rarely indulge, and because of some inherited family traits, even one drink is enough to make me giddy and light-headed. That, I didn't need. "Ice tea, please." Orders for bottled water and ice tea came from all the Carltons, and Ms. Tiff silently went to fetch our refreshments. Everyone sat quietly, waiting for her return. It was a very uncomfortable time for me, but they all looked perfectly calm. That made me even more nervous. I was glad when the woman returned. "Trudy," began Mrs. Carlton, "this is your final interview. If you do well now, you get the job. If anyone here feels uncomfortable with you, we keep looking. Do you understand?" Still fighting my nerves, I nodded, then said yes. My last job disappeared three months beforehand when the company I worked for went bankrupt. Despite a glowing recommendation, which is all I ever got from them in the end, I couldn't seem to find anything else. There were too many trained secretaries available. Becoming a waitress, or worse, was something to be dreaded. I was far too shy to ever enjoy working with the public. Sitting there, meeting those strangers, was about as wild and daring as I had ever been, especially with what Mrs. Carlton had already told me about their personal lifestyle. The lady was still speaking and I zoned back in part way through a sentence. "... expected to be on duty twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Is that acceptable?" Again I nodded my acquiescence, hoping I hadn't missed anything important. She summarized my duties in point form. - I was to be in charge of the house, the help, and the kids while the two of them were away on their frequent trips. - It would be up to me to handle any problems during those periods. Calling one of them was to be a last resort in case of something truly serious. - There was to be no wild parties or bacchanalia while they were away. Small parties were okay, as long as they stayed civil. If discipline was needed, either for the kids or the staff, I was to administer it. - The kitchen was my responsibility - keeping it stocked, keeping it clean, and preparing dinner Monday through Thursday, unless something else was scheduled ahead of time. Breakfast for the kids before school was also my problem. Everyone else's breakfast, and all other meals, were either free-for-alls, or were done on a volunteer basis. - Both kids were to be packed up and driven to school by me in the mornings. Getting home was their problem. A car was available for me to use both in my duties and for my personal use. Well, on the benefits side, I was to get free room and board, a generous salary, the free use of a car, and lots and lots of free time. A job heaven sent for someone trying to become a writer . I still wondered why they needed a housesitter for their obviously mature children. They were both seventeen, after all. Fiona had told me in our first interview that she wanted someone older, someone with a bit more life experience to be in charge while they were away. Me, at twenty five, with all my 'vast experience', would be perfect, in her opinion. She'd also told me that Ms. Tiff didn't want the responsibility. We talked for a while, or rather, they fired off questions and I answered as best I could. Most of the questions had already been asked by Fiona in our previous interviews, but I guessed the others needed to ask them again anyway. Towards the end, the inquiries started getting personal, and then became very personal and embarrassing. "Do you smoke?" "No." "Do you drink?" "A little, but rarely, and then not much." "Is there someone special in your life right now?" "No." Not since that ass Steve divorced me. I was too 'wild' for him. Me! Ha! "Do you do drugs?" "No." "Have you ever?" "Never." "Not even once?" "Not even once. My parents would have killed me if I'd even hung around people who might do drugs." "What about in university?" "Never been there." "No?" "No. My parents got me married off right out of high school. My husband wanted a perfect stay-at-home wife, and I was it." "But you're not married any more?" "No. We divorced two years ago. No kids, he got the dog." There were some chuckles at that. I didn't think it was funny during the divorce, because I loved that old mutt, but after two years I had come to realize there was some humour in the statement. "Can you cook?" "Yes. My mother taught me some, and I've learned a lot since. I like good food." "Have you had any partners since you divorced your husband?" This question came from Mr. Carlton. "Partners?" I asked because I was unsure of what he meant. "Partners," he replied. "Intimate companions."I blushed, and I'm sure I stammered a bit, but I did say no. I *think* I understood the question. "Have you ever had any partners besides your husband?" I stared at Hannah for a second, a little shocked by her question. She was supposed to be the kid, not me. "I mean, intimate partners," she continued. There was *no way* I was going to answer that one truthfully! "None except Steve, my ex." She smiled a bit at my answer. The way I blushed and stammered, it would have been a miracle if she'd really believed me. "What's the wildest thing you've ever done with your husband. Intimately, I mean." The room was quiet as I gaped at Fiona. They were all waiting for me to collect myself and answer. "I ... ah, we never ... I mean, Steve wasn't like that. Neither am I." Steve certainly never was. He had 'satisfied' me once a week the same way he had consummated our marriage - with the lights out, under the covers, in the missionary position. When he was finished, he would give me a peck on the cheek and whisper 'I love you' before rolling over and going to sleep. Most times I was just warming up when he packed it in for the night. Hannah cut in. "You mean you've never done anything wild at all?" This was getting to be a bit too much for me. "Mrs. Carlton, what has my past relationship got to do with the job?" "Trudy, we're inviting a complete stranger into our lives and our home. This is part of getting to know who you really are so we can feel comfortable with you. After all, this would be your first domestic position." I thought it made some sort of sense. And I really wanted the job. "Okay. No, I've never done anything wild at all." I was lying through my teeth again. I thought Hannah, and maybe Fiona, suspected something, but I wasn't going to give away my secret. Not even for a really good job. "Have you ever been spanked?" That got my attention again, as it was the first question Ms. Tiff had asked, and it was a very strange one. She was looking at me rather intently, with her eyes seeming to bore right into my skull. I stared back, summoning all my reserves of willpower to keep from looking away. Somehow I just knew it was a test. "Yes. By my father, when I was a little girl." Ms. Tiff glanced over at Fiona for a second, breaking eye contact, and I felt like I'd just gained some sort of victory. "Have you ever spanked anyone else?" Mr. Carlton was staring at me with the same look the housekeeper had worn a few seconds ago. I stared back, shaking my head, and whispered "no" to him. He ended up glancing over at Fiona as well before I took my eyes off him. Things were getting very difficult for me. I was almost ready to bolt, both from nerves and from embarrassment. "Have you ever wanted to?" Mrs. Carlton wore a slightly amused expression, but her eyes were just as intense as the others had been. All I could do was blush and turn my head away. I couldn't answer her! I don't know what kind of secret signals they used, but there was no more than a few seconds of silence and some strange looks passed between the five of them before Fiona spoke again. "Congratulations, you've got the job." She was looking at me rather quizzically. I imagined it was because of the way my mouth was hanging open. Composing myself, I stood to say thank you. Then I was surrounded by trees again as they all stood up. My hand was ignored, and they hugged me in congratulations. I almost lost it when Hannah gave me a kiss on the forehead. It wasn't the kiss so much, as the way her hand casually brushed across my bottom. I dismissed it as an accident, even though it did leave me a bit shaken. Fiona took me on a tour of the house and the grounds, showed me my new room, and we made final arrangements. I was to move in the following Sunday and start work Monday . The house was large, with at least fifteen or twenty different rooms. The formal living room (where we met), formal dining room, and guest bathroom were at the front of the house. Fiona explained that they were only used for greeting clients and guests. It kept prying noses away from the private areas of the house. Certain rooms were off limits to me until I had their full trust - rooms like their bedroom, their home/office, and their private recreation room in the basement. I didn't consider that a problem. My room, a fairly large converted workshop in the basement, was very nicely furnished. A big bathroom, complete with everything, was right across the hall. The only drawback was no windows, and no working lights in the hallway. She explained that some wiring somewhere had been removed during a renovation leaving the light fixtures as nothing more than decoration. A tiny nightlight plugged into the wall gave just enough illumination to keep me from walking into something. In the back was a decent sized pool, Jacuzzi, tennis court , and patio/barbecue area. As usual, and as I had suspected, a tall privacy fence, lined with evergreen trees, surrounded the place. They had a gardener coming in two days a week to keep the greenery looking good. It was when we were going back into their house from the back yard that I got my biggest shock. Fiona had explained to me that they ran a 'relaxed' house, and what that meant. Seeing it in real life was quite different than having someone tell me about it. Hannah and Timothy walked out from the kitchen, heading for the pool, with towels over their shoulders. Both were quite naked. I'm sure I looked like an absolute fool with my eyes bulging out and an expression of shock on my face, but neither one said anything. Fiona just looked at me and shrugged. I couldn't help myself. I turned and watched them walk to the pool and dive in. Timothy was smooth all over, with muscular legs, a tight butt, and a slim waist. He was completely hairless, except on the head and around his genitals. What I saw up front looked normal enough, but with only one other man to compare with, that didn't mean much . It was Hannah that I stared at though. Her figure was perfect, and her bottom was absolutely gorgeous. There was no spare flesh anywhere, and the way her muscles tightened and flexed made me almost gasp. My panties started getting damp. When I finally turned away I noticed Fiona staring at me with a strange look in her eyes. We walked through the kitchen and into the dining room without speaking. I'm sure I saw a slight red sheen on everything nearby. My face was glowing. For a strict Catholic-raised girl like me, getting used to their lifestyle was going to be difficult. After Fiona and I settled a bunch of minor details, such as expense accounts for food, shopping centres, budgeting, and paydays, she handed me a set of car keys. "Here you go. It's the blue Honda parked beside the trailer." "Huh?" That, and my rather blank expression, told her I didn't have a clue. "The car. The one you'll be using from now on. I'm sure it'll come in handy for moving, and it's definitely faster than using public transit." That her words weren't registering was obviously evident on my face. "Trudy, you're working for us now. You need a car to do your job. These are the keys to the car you'll be using. I expect you'll need it if you're going to be ready to move in here on Sunday." She spoke slowly and carefully, watching the words sink in one by one. "You mean, just like that, you're giving me a car?" "Not quite. We're loaning you a car. Use it, but don't abuse it." So, I had a new job, I had a nice car, I had enough left in the bank to cover all my outstanding debts with a small nest egg left over, and I still had my alimony coming in. Life was good. All I had to do was get used to my employers. I was sure that looking at naked bodies would become rather blase after a while. I thought I could get used to it. Mom and Dad might spin in their graves, but what the heck. Besides, Fiona had made it perfectly clear that I could wear whatever I wanted. Nudity was not a job requirement. If it had been, I would never have even considered working for them. Moving in was relatively painless - as painless as moving ever gets, anyway. So was learning the routines. Cooking was easy, since everyone there preferred barbecue to anything else. As you'd expect, they had every modern convenience, from a convection oven to a built-in dishwasher. Getting the kids to school was no problem. Helping with homework was no problem . Cleaning the stainless steel, formica, and ceramic kitchen was a breeze. Grocery shopping for six took some adjustment. Two jugs of milk three times a week, rather than one quart every few days, two loaves of bread almost every day, buying giant economy size everything when I was used to buying the smallest packages, and pushing around a full cart was strange. What I found hardest was getting used to everyone prancing around with little or nothing on. Even the kids' friends often stripped down to the buff when going for a dip. I used my nice, demure one piece suit whenever I went swimming or sunbathing, and tried to ignore all the tanned skin around me, no matter what my body and imagination said. I did *not* let Hannah take me out shopping for a new swim suit. She said I had a perfect beach bunny body - perfect for wearing a micro bikini. She said a new suit, and a new hairdo with some lightening and highlighting, would have all the guys drooling over me . No way was I going to make things harder on myself. Believe it or not, I wasn't a complete innocent. I'd seen two dirty movies and, after my divorce, even bought a few indecent magazines. Since I'd seen actors and models on the tube and in pictures, I thought I was prepared for the real thing. It wasn't the same. Neither Timothy nor Steve cared if they had an erection when they were in and around the house, so I couldn't help but get some very good closeup looks. Blase, I wasn't. I tried not to be too obvious with my staring. My imagination kept running wild. At breakfast I pictured myself as naked as Fiona, walking around like nothing was out of the ordinary, then casually sitting in Timothy's lap and sliding myself onto his manhood. Or sitting in the family room, watching TV in a chair with Mr. Carlton, casually jerking him off while he had his fingers buried inside me. Or out suntanning with Hannah, running my hands all over her body, especially that exquisite backside with those perfect glutes, while supposedly applying sunscreen. Or having her lay me down on the grass so she could use her fingers and tongue to excite me for hours and hours before allowing me any relief. Of course, I never let on about my fantasies. I never caught any of them acting in an improper manner either, but that didn't stop me from daydreaming about what happened when I wasn't around. After staring at any of their naked bodies for a while, with my mind getting lost in the erotic possibilities, my crotch would be soaked through and I'd have to go change my panties. Sometimes several times a day. After the first week I had to go buy more panties, since I didn't have enough pairs to last between washdays. Not while I was around them, anyway. My fingers were also very busy any time I was alone. I was sure Hannah knew I stared at her just as much as at her brother. I never said anything or did anything, and neither did she, but sometimes I caught an odd look or a glance when she thought I wasn't paying attention. Why was I looking, you ask? Why did she get my panties damp? That was my big secret. It's because she reminded me so much of Sally. Tall, skinny, athletic Sally. Same black hair, same flawless tanned skin, same wonderful bottom. We were friends from our first day in junior high. When I hit puberty at fourteen, I went from 'AAA' at the start of summer to 'B+' when school started again. The boys were merciless in their teasing, saying I was wearing falsies, or had tissues in there or water balloons or something. Some even tried to stick pins in me to see if I'd pop. Well, I've always been shy and a little less than physical, so all I did was cry a lot. The vice principal, the principal, some of the teachers, and even my parents, all made it seem like it was *my* fault - as if I asked for these things! Well, Sally finally got fed up with the way some of the boys were treating me so she beat a few of them up. Some more than once. They eventually got the message. She and I spent a lot of time together after that, and, well, one thing led to another. First she showed me the bruises and scrapes she got from the different fights. I *had* to put creams and ointments on them, of course. Then I started massaging out the pains and knotted muscles. I showed her the tiny wounds from the pins, and the bruises from the pinchings, so she proceeded to put some ointment on my sore spots and massaged it in . Things took a rather degenerate turn when Sally got kneed in the groin during a soccer game. Naive me, despite a lifetime of admonitions by my mother that I was supposed to keep my hands away from down there at all costs, decided that I could do a better job of fixing the hurt than Sally could. She let me massage in the medication and the next thing I knew she was moaning and panting and sweating and she wouldn't let me stop. It was the first time I had ever seen anyone have an orgasm. When she was finished, and she finally got over the shock of finding out that I didn't know what had happened, and got over the bigger shock of learning that I'd never had one myself, she gave me a few lessons on masturbation. And then a few more. Then I had to practice on her - just to make sure I was doing it right, of course. And she practiced on me. Repeatedly. By the time she moved away, a year later, I knew her body better than she did, inside and out, by sight, touch, and taste. Especially by taste. Of course, none of our parents knew anything about it. My parents would have killed me, and I didn't trust anyone else in school to keep that kind of a secret, so we never told. Nobody knew. After she was gone I retreated back into my shell, but by then I definitely knew what that little bump was for. I never had the guts to try and find anyone else like her, though. I've missed her ever since. It was about three weeks after I started that the Mr. and Mrs. went on a trip together, some sort of business thingy for him . They were gone for a week, from Sunday to Saturday. Tuesday, while they were gone, *it* happened for the first time. Hannah and Timothy got into a big fight, in the kitchen, and broke some of the China and glassware. Despite my nervousness and my fear I stopped the fight and got things ironed out. I don't remember exactly what it was about, but I do remember that it was over something trivial. That's when Ms. Tiff stepped in. "You need to punish them." She was looking at me with only the slightest shadow of a hint of a smile. Both kids had their eyes glued to the floor and their hands behind their backs - the perfect picture of guilty and contrite children. I half expected one of them to start toying with the mess on the floor with the toe of a shoe. I would have laughed, if they weren't all so serious about it. Ms. Tiff looked at Hannah and her brother. "Do you agree that you should be punished for this?" Both of them nodded, rather reluctantly it seemed. They looked so forlorn and woebegone I almost said no way, until I noticed the corners of Hannah's mouth twitch, like she was trying very hard to suppress a smile. That's when I decided to play their game. "Punishment it is, then," I said. I had to think fast. "What do you recommend, Ms. Tiff?" She looked at me, again with that same almost-smile. "There is only one punishment in this household. The only question is one of degree and severity. Children, go prepare yourselves. We'll meet you in the drawing room shortly." I watched them both leave, and I swear I saw Hannah crack a smile just before she disappeared from my line of sight. Ms. Tiff helped me clean up the mess and throw out all the broken bits and pieces. Then she made me sit and have a cup of coffee with her before going and seeing to the twins. "Patience. Anticipation is a big part of punishment, both for you and for them. You'll learn." Her words didn't help to calm my nerves. It was almost an hour later that Ms. Tiff said it was time. We went into the study. Both kids were there, naked, facing the far wall. Ms. Tiff sat me down in a large, old, very solid wooden chair and handed me something that looked like a ping pong paddle, except that it was covered in leather rather than rubber. I was very confused. "Timothy, you first," she said. He turned from the wall, walked over to me, and lay down across my lap! Bottom up! Right then, I knew what they were expecting, what that paddle was for, and what all those questions were about back in that last meeting. No *way* was I going to administer corporal punishment! At least, that's what *I* was thinking. Ms. Tiff had other ideas. "Ms. Hennersly," , "I believe twenty five strokes with the light paddle should suffice. Begin immediately." "N-no. No. I can't - you can't expect me to - no, please ..." Through my rather incoherent refusals, the woman just stared at me with that same almost-smile on her face. When I ran down, she was still staring, I was still seated, the paddle was still in my hand, and Timothy was still lying across my lap. With him there, I couldn't have gotten up anyway. She walked over, took my hand , lifted it up high, and then brought it down fast and hard on the boy's bottom. Up until then I hadn't realized just how strong that woman really was. I guess being over a foot taller and a good fifty pounds heavier than me did make a difference. She repeated her actions a second time, then a third, then a fourth. "We begin counting," she said, "when you are swinging the paddle on your own. Soft blows don't count. If you stop, we begin the count again. Both Timothy and Hannah are aware of these rules, and they know that if you balk or refuse or strike too softly, they will get worse later. Please continue." I could hardly believe what was happening. I raised the paddle and brought it down. The smack sounded loud in my ears. "Too soft" she said. I thought it was far too hard. I did it again, harder. "Too soft again. This is punishment, Ms. Hennersly, and these are big children. They need to feel the paddle for it to do any good. Now swing away!" I tried again, putting a little more force behind it. "Ms. Hennersly. Please. These children know what a paddling is. They knew what the punishment would be when they had their fight. If you cannot administer discipline, as is stated in your agreement, you will be terminated. Mrs. Carlton will see to that immediately. Your job is on the line. Please begin. We are still waiting for the first blow." Looking at the reddened cheeks of Timothy's backside, it looked like he'd already received more than his fair share. However, he hadn't moved, and neither had Hannah. Somehow I managed to figure out that those two were old enough to be on their own, but were still living at home despite what appeared to be brutal treatment. They obviously knew what was happening, and what to expect. It was my job on the line too, so, swallowing my misgivings, I reared back and let fly. The smack was almost deafening, and was followed by an almost immediate cry of "One!" from Timothy. Ms. Tiff finally smiled. I cut loose with another one, with the same results, except that the count was two. A pair of deep red marks, one on either cheek, showed where the blows had landed. Three followed two, then four, then five, and so on. I alternated sides, moved up and down, and generally targeted any area that was less red than the rest. By the time twenty five was reached, my arm was getting tired and I was getting quite warm. Timothy stood, turned to look at me, and through the tears and sobs he quite plainly said "Thank you Ms. Hennersly. I'm sorry for what I did wrong, and I promise not to do it again." It sounded like a scripted line, something he'd said many times before. It was hard to believe that I'd just paddled the bare bottom of a man much bigger and stronger than me, and that he was thanking me for it! Ms. Tiff sent Timothy out of the room and gave me several minutes to regain my strength before ordering Hannah into my lap. There it was, that perfect derriere, those exquisite glutes, tanned, naked, and right under my nose. I couldn't help myself. I touched and caressed her bottom, stopping only when I heard an "ahem" from The Battleaxe. Red-faced, I began. "One!" Hannah screamed. "Two!" "Three!" And so forth. Near the end, she was squirming around, wiggling, and practically bouncing up and down in my lap. I stopped at twenty five, hot and squirming myself, almost feeling like I was vibrating. "Again!" she shouted. Confused as anything now, I looked to Ms. Tiff for direction. She simply nodded. So I did. Her entire backside was glowing bright red. Once more Hannah shouted "Again!" That time when I hit, she nearly lifted up off my lap. She immediately shouted "Again!" despite the sobbing and moaning I could plainly hear. So I did, again. She went rigid in my lap, every muscle tense, and just hummed. I put my hand on her bottom, and she huffed and squealed and squirmed and panted. Finally she got up. "Thank you Ms. Hennersly. I'm sorry for what I did wrong, and I promise not to do it again." Despite the tears and moans, there was a definite smile on her face, and her entire upper body had a flush to it, almost as though she'd just, well, you know. Ms. Tiff sent Hannah on her way as well. "What do you think of our method of keeping an orderly house," she asked, still smiling. After thinking about it for a few minutes, I replied. "I'm not sure. Isn't it a bit, er, drastic?" "That depends on your definition of drastic. I know some parents prefer to drag the punishment out for days, even weeks, but not here. It's done, it's over with, and now everyone can get on with what they want to do." The way she said it, it almost seemed to make sense. I wasn't going to commit myself to liking it, not then, not for a while, and maybe not ever. "Okay, if you say so. So this is it? No more? No grounding, no docking of allowances, no curtailing of privileges, nothing. We all carry on as if nothing had happened." "You've got it! Mrs. Carlton was right, you do catch on fast. Come on, let's go have another cup of coffee. My treat." "You go ahead. I'll be along in a while." I had to sit there for some time, waiting for the fluttering in my stomach to settle down, waiting for the tickling in my clit to stop. Sure enough, when I stood up there was a large wet spot on the chair. I wiped it up with my skirt. I'd leaked right through my panties and everything else. There was also a wet spot on the front of my skirt, on the right side, just about where Hannah's crotch had been positioned. My imagination said yes she did, but the logical part of me said no, it's impossible. Nobody could get off on a paddling! So I promptly shoved that thought as far back in my mind as I could and tried to forget about it. I went and changed my panties and my skirt. Late that night, just before I fell asleep, a forgotten bit of conversation came back to me. Fiona had said I was to administer any needed discipline to the kids *and to the staff*. Did that mean I was to paddle Ms. Tiff, The Battleaxe, if she did something wrong? A shudder ran through my body, and I tried to convince myself it was just shock and a little fear. My buzzing clit and the sudden flood of moisture tried to convince me otherwise. The very next night something else happened. I got woken up sometime in the wee hours by someone touching my foot. With a high-pitched squeak and a sudden jerk, I was wide awake and crammed into the corner where the wall met the bed. "Shhhh" I heard. It was almost pitch black, what with no lights on except the tiny night light out in the hall, so I couldn't see who it was - just a vague blurry shadow on my bed. "Who is it? You shouldn't be here! You'll get me in trouble! Go on, git! Scram! Shoo!" No, I wasn't making much sense, but then again, it wasn't exactly something I'd expected or been prepared for. Whomever it was grabbed hold of my foot again and held on, despite my struggling and kicking. Like I said before, I'm not really a very physical person, and everybody in the house was in better shape than me, not to mention taller and heavier. He started stroking my leg and foot and making soothing noises. It was almost like he was trying to calm down a terrified animal, which at the time I was . I don't know whether that actually did any good, or whether I realized I couldn't really do anything anyway, or if I just ran out of adrenaline, but I did calm down eventually. That's when the kissing and licking started and I got scared all over again. He never did touch anything other than my feet and calves that night, but he definitely touched every part of them, and he soon had me calmed down again . An hour later, he left. Even when he was out in the hallway, all I could see was a vague shape. By then I was calmed down. Very, very calmed down. I never realized how sensitive my feet were. I had to change my panties again. Everyone was acting normally at breakfast the next day, including Timothy. Everyone but me. I jumped at the slightest sound, or any sudden movement - a raw bundle of nerves for sure. Maybe that's why he never came back that night, or for the rest of the week. When the Mr. and Mrs. got back, Fiona and I had a long talk about the events of the previous week. She seemed quite surprised when I told her about Timothy's midnight visit to my bedroom, but did promise to have a talk with him about it. Not about visiting, because she considered us both to be adults, but about not leaving when I told him to. That rather surprised me, since I had automatically assumed that fraternizing with the hired help would be a no-no. She laughed again, and said the only one she'd be mad at for visiting would be her husband, and she definitely knew where he was that night . As for the rest of it, she said "It's part and parcel of your duties as majordomo of the house ." She was satisfied with the punishment, so as far as she was concerned the event was settled and forgotten. She did tell me that all disciplining was handled by her when she was at home, so I shouldn't have to repeat that scene very often. Two nights later, my midnight visitor was back. That time I wasn't frightened. "What are you doing!?" I whispered towards the shadow. "You shouldn't be here!" All I got in return was some fingernails softly skimming up my calf, and a tongue licking in between my toes. "Stop that! Stop th... oh. Oh!" The fingernails were now tracing a line up the inside of my leg. They stopped short of my panties, circled around a bit, then started down the other leg. My mind said that it had to stop, that I should order Timothy out of my room, but my body had the deciding vote. It melted. All I could hear was a faint whine, and after a while I realized it was coming from me. He had his way with both my legs, caressing them, touching, skimming his fingers up and down, using his lips, and, what really started my belly fluttering, licking up the insides of my thighs. By the time he left, I was nothing but a quivering, shaking, leaking lump of gelatin. He hadn't even touched any of the naughty bits! I had to get myself off, twice, and change my panties, before I could even think about getting back to sleep. And the next day was a school day! Thinking about it now, I guess I could have locked my bedroom door after the first visit. There was a deadbolt on it, and it did work. Why I didn't, I don't know. I can only imagine that after being continually stimulated for several weeks, and not having had *any* personal attention for years, I was rather vulnerable. Other than that, I have no excuses. End of part 1 ******************************************************************** -- Story Submission: Moderator Contact: Newsgroup FAQ: Archive site (could be better):