As Jules set about his chores on that fateful afternoon, his image of the dominatrix sent to train him became more and more embellished in his mind. Even when ironing Damon’s shirts so firmly they were crisply prepared for the Bull, Jules realised that the dominatrix might well be black.
How about that?
He pictured a tall, dark skinned Goddess of a woman in a skintight catsuit of shiny black leather, flailing a long coiled whip. Of course, then the simple minded maid could no longer continue her chores. She held the steaming iron above the shirt, eyes closed, his little dick filling out like a beach ball in its tiny chastity confines.
Maybe maid training could be fun. Obviously, he wouldn’t wish to suffer the humiliation of being trained in front of a man, especially one as masculine as Damon, but nevertheless, if she educated him when the Bull was out of the house, then he’d love to know how to be a better maid.
You are right, observant reader, not for one moment did this foolish sissy think that perhaps the trainer might be male. In fact, not just male, but 6’4”, sturdy and one of those men who are full of masculine energy. Like a gale in full force.
But sadly, that is sissy maids for you.
A happy, distracted Marianne came downstairs yet, oddly for her, didn’t check the ironing.
Her eyes were sleepy from being shagged silly. She filled a glass with water and took a long draught before saying, with her back still to her husband:
“Maid, tonight, do your salmon salad. Everyone loves that.”
She gulped down the water as if she hadn’t drunk for a week, then refilled the glass.
Jules placed the iron carefully into its holder.
“Mistress,” he began.
She swallowed, turned and stared at him vacantly.
“Well, I’ve been thinking about this maid training for me, and well, I think I might give it a go. It might be fun.”
She giggled, “It’s very nice that you are happy to follow our instructions, maid. I am very pleased for you.”
Being too aroused and too anxious to make his own point, Jules didn’t hear the sarcasm in his wife’s words as he continued. “Thank you , Mistress. But the thing is, I think, and I’m sure you agree, that it would be nice if I did it with her in my bedroom, upstairs. Or perhaps when you’re both out. Well, at least when Sir is not here.”
Marianne appeared even more cute, with her wayward blonde hair and a furrowed expression. “She, maid? Who?”
Jules smiled patiently. “She, Mistress. The maid trainer!”
Obviously, his wife had so enjoyed the sex with the Bull that she had forgotten the conversation they had held just an hour previously. He thought it wise not to mention her foolishness.
Suddenly Jules was concerned. “There is a maid trainer coming isn’t there?”
Horrible thought, Damon could have been pulling a prank on him. There was no maid trainer after all! Suddenly he felt a gnawing of bitter disappointment.
Laughing, Marianne filled a second glass and carried them both back to the hallway.
“Don’t worry maid. There is a maid trainer. That’ll happen this evening.” She pecked her maid on the nose with a light kiss of amusement.
“She,” Marianne emphasised the ‘she’, “She, will be here tonight. As for training you in private, I’m sure that Sir has more important things to do than to watch you scrub the kitchen floor under the direction of an expert.”
“Scrub the kitchen floor?” Jules was shocked.
“Oh, you are so cute when you are trying to think!”
Marianne put her arms loosely around her foolish maid, careful not to spill any water.
“Maid. Swanning around looking cute is only part of your job. You have so much to learn.”
“Thank you, Mistress,” Jules said, overjoyed at the compliment.
“Oh,” she said as she headed for the stairs, “chill a nice white for the dinner, but also get out a red. Your maid trainer prefers red.”
Marianne was full of herself as she left her gorgeously, dumb maid of a husband in the kitchen. Did she have a story that would make Damon laugh! The dumb maid thinking her trainer was female. She’d love telling it and she knew he’d love hearing it.
While Marianne entertained the Bull with her tale, and her tail, Jules had an idea.
Knowing the couple upstairs would be busy for a while he quickly ironed the final shirts, and hung them on hangers as instructed, before tip toeing upstairs.
“Fuck me! Fuck me, you Bastard!”
It never failed to amaze Jules how his wife would play act for her lover like that. He had known her for over ten years and she never screamed out anything when they had sex. Nor would she use a profanity, Marianne was just too nice.
“Fuck! Fuck. Oh my God!”
Obviously, she said it to make the Bull happy. One day Jules would ask her to do it for him.
Once in his temporary maid bedroom near the rear of the house, he turned on his laptop. When ever he wasn’t busy he would settle down and go to his favourite porn channels.
The reason on this occasion was to look up the dominatrix stories he so loved. Whilst idolizing their erotic videos and pictures.
Misty was one of his favourites. She was so tall! Maybe, over six foot in bare feet, without heels. Often leather clad though some of the hottest pix were of her in basques, tights and thigh high boots, with heels that would require precision balancing capabilities.
Perhaps it was because he hadn’t cum for so long, but now, in his stirred imagination Misty would be his maid trainer.
He groaned, closing his eyes, his fingers slipping beneath his short skirt and petticoats. He rubbed at the steel object through the soft panties.
He didn’t know how long he played, nor how many little playlets flooded through his mind as Misty dealt with him, each time in a more savage manner than the last. All he knew was that by the time he heard the loo flush on the landing his hand was soaked, and he was as frustrated as an alcoholic standing outside a liquor store.
In a flurry of movement, he shut down all the web pages and quickly stood near his closed door, breathing as quietly as he could.
The last thing he wanted was for Damon and Marianne to catch him avoiding doing his chores. Especially after his horrible punishment earlier.
He heard Marianne moan and giggle. Clearly they were cuddling in the hallway. One having been to the loo and meeting the other on their way back.
“You are an incredible lover!” Marianne giggled.
Jules heard them kissing.
“The best,” she said breathlessly.
“And you’re a wanton slut,” he said in a low voice.
Jules would love to be able to fling open the door and tell Damon, that Marianne often complimented him on his love making. It was just that he couldn’t ever recall when exactly. She did once say that he lasted 5 minutes, so must be getting better. And he was sure that she orgasmed for him, just not in the big overly dramatic way she always did for Damon. But Jules knew all those noises and shouts were just to feed the Bull’s ego. Just pure pantomime to fluff the Bull’s fragile ego.
A few minutes later, it grew quiet, so Jules charily opened his door and peered out into an empty landing area. He noted that the main bedroom’s door was shut. Phew. Excellent.
He slipped out of his room, and as slowly and quietly as he could, he closed his bedroom door.
It shut with a satisfyingly barely audible pair of clicks.
Good. Now just sneak back downstairs and start preparations for the dinner.
Naked, save for his grey boxers, Damon was standing holding a barely dressed Marianne, who burst in to schoolgirl giggles.
Had they been watching him come out all the time? He closed his eyes feeling a complete idiot. Why hadn’t they said something? He knew why! They’d both enjoy surprising him. Making him jump.
“Shouldn’t you be downstairs, preparing dinner, maid?” Damon asked in that relaxed easy manner of his.
“Well, yes. Yes. Er, Sir. Yes, Sir. Exactly! But I forgot ….” Why did his brain always refuse to work when he most needed it? Why didn’t he think up his lie before he started speaking.
Jules looked hopefully at his wife, but she was finding it all too amusing for words. She started giggling again.
Damon gently asked, “Have you forgotten what you forgot?”
“Erm, yes Sir.”
Marianne guffawed a huge laugh and slapped Damon’s arm, “Oh stop it. You’re being mean.”
Jules didn’t want to look silly again in his wife’s eyes, so quickly cut in with, “No! No, Sir. I do remember. Of course, I remember.”
What could he have forgotten? Oh my God. He was too aroused to perceive any object he might have forgotten upstairs.
“Have you forgotten again, maid?” Damon asked innocently. “Forgotten, what you forgot, what you forgot.”
Marianne threw her hands over face as she laughed loudly.
“Sir, please,” she spluttered. “You’re killing me.”
“Coat hangers!” Jules announced, shocking himself.
Marianne straightened in the bare arms of her hunk lover, tears still running down her cheeks. “Coat hangers, maid?”
“Oh yes, Mistress. I need them for Sir’s shirts.” He turned to Damon and added, “I have ironed all the shirts you asked me to iron.”
Damon would be so pleased with him. Jules hoped to get his wig ruffled or a pat and the bottom. Perhaps lose some of the spankings he had in his suspended sentence.
So standing in his favourite maid’s uniform, Jules smiled winningly up at the Bull awaiting the praise.
“Well,” Damon said in his slow easy manner, “looks like you’ve forgotten them again.”
Jules actually looked at his empty palms with incredulity. It was almost as if he thought he could wish something into existence. Of course, they weren’t in his hands! He hadn’t picked them up, because he had only just made up the story.
His wife laughed so much, she was finding it hard to catch her breath.
“Oh yes Sir. Yes. Sir I’m just going to fetch them now.”
Damon swept Marianne’s nearly naked body up into his brawny arms and squeezed her. In return she ran her arms about his neck and within seconds they were in the zone.
Though Jules knew he hadn’t been told he couldn’t watch, he also realised he hadn’t been given permission to do so either. So he slunk back into his room, grabbed a few coat hangers.
Back in the hall he had to step over the two lovers grappling on the floor, who could have been two animals fighting in a woodland. When Jules reached the top of the stairs, he shook his head at the couple so amorously caught up in each other. Yet again his cock filled its confines and spurted into his damp panties.
It was Damon’s fault for making him feel so nervous.
More than anything else Jules needed to be released for at least a quick wank merely to clear his poor overstuffed brain. But he knew that wasn’t to be. So he prepped the meal, laid the dinning room table, all with his head swimming with sexual need.
An hour or so later, Marianne stepped into the steamy busy kitchen in a body suffocating, short grey dress, that flared around her amazing boobs and hips as if the material flowed over her skin.
“Something smells good,” she said, giving her maid a peck on the cheek.
“Mistress! You look amazing!” Jules eyes grew extra large to take in the sexy visage before him.
She laughed, pulling the lid from the veg pan to peer past the vapour at the vegetables.
“A quick shower, some lippy and I’m good to go. Now don’t let the veg get soggy. You know Sir won’t like that.” She put the lid back on the saucepan and grinned at the maid. “You know what will happen if Sir isn’t happy!”
“Mistress, this maid trainer. Is she nice? Or mean? I mean does she do corporal punishment or …”
She laughed easily, relaxed and cuddled her adorable maid.
“Oh maid, you are so amusing. Don’t you trouble that silly little head of yours …”
The doorbell sounded and Jules straightened with shock. She is here!
“Oh, look at you. My delectable maid, so flustered. You don’t need to trouble yourself about anything. Sir will sort out what he wants done with you and no doubt the trainer will also have some suggestions.”
“Yes Mistress, but …”
The doorbell sounded again, and Marianne shouted, “I’ll get it!” She then turned back to a flummoxed maid and said, now just be yourself. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Make sure the wine goes into the glass! Just stay at attention near the cupboards with the drinks. For refills.”
She patted her finger on his nose. “You look like a terrified puppy. You are going to love it!”
Then she was gone, closing door on the steamy kitchen.
An immobile maid stood, with mouth gaping, staring at the closed door. He heard the twang of blues guitar music start in the dining room. But he couldn’t make out what the voices at the front door were saying.
The timer tinged and the maid brought the warm plates out of the lower oven and reached in the main oven for the salmon fillets.
He laid it all carefully on the plates, used a tea towel to pick up two of the plates and set forward for the dining room.
What would this dominatrix look like? Tall and black like Misty on his favourite videos? Or a middle aged chubby woman you might see queuing at the post office?
Well, he was right about one thing: The maid trainer was indeed, black.