Confessions of a Naughty Maid

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Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1985-2016 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

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Confessions of a Naughty Maid

(****, F/F, Severe, mast, strapping, caning)

A maid learns her mistress' secret. (Approximately 4,703 words. Originally published 1995-10.)

"Just what the hell do you think you are doing?" said the icy voice.

Every hair on my skin stood on end and my face flushed such a deep crimson I felt hot. Involuntarily, I shivered. The Mistress had returned early! I began to cry, my hand still thrust down my panties, fingers itching to continue rubbing my crotch.

"Oh, uh, M-m-mistress, y-you're back," I said leaping off the bed and rapidly smoothing down my skirt, tears running down my red face. "I didn't hear you come in."

"Obviously," she said dryly, without any trace of a smile, but I knew she was gloating. This was her way. "I do not pay you to masturbate on my bedspreads, girl!"

"Yes, Mistress. I am terribly sorry. It will never happen again."

"You can believe that! How often has this been going on? Perhaps every time I leave you alone you come in here and play with yourself?"

"Oh, no Mistress. This is the only time, I swear!"

"All the same I think I shall punish you double, just in case I didn't catch you some other time."

I could feel the twisting in my stomach as I thought of what she intended and I began to cry again. "Mistress, please, have mercy. It shall never happen again, I swear!"

The lady stood there, cold, dark, and strangely beautiful, in a distant, dangerous manner. Her expression had not changed since she had first seen me. "Go get me the strap."

"Mistress, please!" I fell at her knees and kissed the toes of her shoes, weeping and begging.

"All right then. Go and get me the strap _and_ the cane."

My horror knew no bounds. With haste I didn't know I possessed I raced downstairs to the punishment closet to retrieve the items she had requested. Obviously, she meant to punish me. There was nothing I could do to escape it. The only thing I could do was to cooperate and hope that my obedience might lesson her anger.

We started with the strap, of course. She had me stand at the foot of her bed and bend forward until my rested on the mattress. My legs were kept wide (almost as wide as the bed) and I was not allowed to bend my knees. I had to keep my hands folded behind my back for the duration, or really enrage her. I could not bear her any more angry so I obeyed her quickly and with almost an eagerness. She calmly flipped my short dress up to expose the delicate white panties that protected my bottom.

She stood behind me and to my left with a cold, smug expression and lifted the wide leather strap as far back as she could reach. It was an excellent stroke, if I may humbly be a judge of such things. I think the gardener must have heard my cry. I yelped at the second one, too, it was so fierce and I was so frightened, even though I knew that the strokes didn't count if I spoke. By the third one I had myself a little more under control and I was silent, but my buttocks flared with pain. I could not help dancing a little, trying to shake off the sting.

It was a long, thorough thrashing. I lost count sometime around twenty, and I doubt that was half of what I got. Perhaps because of the circumstances of my disobedience, or perhaps because of its severity, I was more sexually aroused during this whipping than on any other occasion. My pussy dripped and throbbed and it was more difficult for me to restrain from squeezing my legs together than to keep my hands across my back. I ached for sexual satisfaction and all I received was a deeper itch.

"All right, girl. Now for the cane."

I began to sob again when I heard that. I desperately felt like I was going to piss in my panties I had to go so bad. But there was no chance of that.

"Take off your panties, you naughty maid!" scolded the Lady sternly. "You know that a proper canning must always be done in the buff."

Weeping, I obeyed, wishing, desperately wondering how I had gotten myself into this mess. I mean I'm a good Catholic girl, or at least I used to be. I am a senior at Walman University, planning to graduate next spring with a degree in economics. Ironic, but I was unable to find a job and my finances were in a dire situation. One of my scholarships was cut back and I received only half of what I had been expecting, and I could not afford to borrow any more money.

There were no jobs in the entire county. Imagine my excitement at discovering this wealthy, eccentric widow on the outskirts of town wanting to hire a live-in maid for eight dollars an hour, meals included, no experience necessary! It was just for the summer and the days would be long, but with all the overtime and virtually no living expenses I figured I could clear about $6000 after taxes. With that much coming in I wouldn't have to work all school year! I accepted without any hesitation.

Her estate was huge. The main building had over a dozen bedrooms, each with a private bath, several with hot tubs. There were two dining halls, and four living rooms. It was my job to clean them and serve the meals that the Lady's chef prepared. It seemed simple enough. But I did not know at the time that I am a terrible maid. I'm clumsy, I knew that, but I didn't realize what it would cost me.

"$312? That's it?" I couldn't believe my first paycheck. Apparently the Mistress had deducted for damages. Who knew that those fragile crystal goblets cost $75 a piece? Or that the tapestry would cost $185 to clean? Or that... well, you get the idea. Like I said, I'm a terrible maid.

Fortunately for my pocketbook but unfortunately for a certain part of my anatomy, the Mistress and I worked out another payment plan: she takes out her compensation on my ass. I don't know exactly how she calculates how severely I should be punished--I'm in no position to argue--but she promised to be fair. At any rate I can always take the pay cut if I prefer. Usually I don't. The pain can sometimes be excruciating, but it passes. The money will last me all year.

For that first week's worth of damages she decided to spread out the punishment over a two-week period. Every morning after breakfast I'd go to her and she'd take me across her knee. She'd flip up my skirt and paddle my rump with a big wooden paddle. Twenty hard strokes, no matter how sore I was from any other punishment. Mercifully, if I wanted I could postpone 10 of the smacks for the next day, but the entire 30 that morning would be given to me on my bare bottom.

I think it was during those morning spankings that I first began to feel aroused. I couldn't believe it when it happened. Here I was, a healthy, attractive, 21-year-old woman, naked from the waist down, stretched across the lap of a 45-year-old widow, being paddled like a naughty 12-year-old. I was embarrassed and ashamed. What if the chauffeur came inside and saw us? Or the cook? They had to hear it, that was for certain. I did my best but I could not keep silent.

But my sex was dripping. I couldn't figure it out. My buttocks were on fire, my face flushed, my brain scrambled by the rush of blood to my head, and all I could think about (in a very vague fashion), was how sexy I felt, how how naked and exposed and raw I felt, and much I wanted to slip my finger between my legs and touch myself.

After that first week of morning spankings it became a permanent habit--after every spanking I would retreat to my quarters and give myself orgasm after delicious orgasm, many times doing it while bouncing my raw bottom on the bed, reviving the pain and stimulating me uncontrollably.

The sudden swish of the thin bamboo through the air brings me urgently back to reality with a painful crack that hurts my ears. As usual I don't even feel it for a few seconds, and then it comes, a sudden rush of nausea as my body is flooded with feeling. It feels like a red-hot poker being pressed against my ass. In moments I am crying far more frantically than I had earlier under the strap.

Again and again that cane cracks into me, leaving blazing lines across my rump as I wonder how many strokes she intends to give me. She finally stops at twelve, more canning than I'd ever gotten before.

"All right, you miserable excuse for a maid," she scolds. "That's enough punishment for now. Go to your room and take care of those welts--you'll need plenty of cream, I'd say. And I think we'll have a little session with the paddle before you go to bed, just so you really remember your lesson."

Slowly I stand and stare at the floor, my buttocks itching and trembling as my dress falls down against the burning skin. I could feel the moisture spurt between my legs when the Mistress said "a little session with the paddle" and I almost had an orgasm right there! Just the thought of bending across her thighs and that paddle going up high, ready to slam into my sore bottom... it sends chills down my spine and I am frantically aroused. I rush to my room and strip off my black and white maid's uniform and throwing myself on the bed, I masturbate myself silly.

When I dimly come back to consciousness, I rise and put cream on my bottom as the Mistress suggested, looking in the mirror at the vivid red stripes across my ass. I try to think back to how many spankings I've received in the last month and I lose count. At least one a day, many times more. The punishments frighten me, yet they attract me like a bad man. Why am I so fascinated by the punishment? Wouldn't it be more logical for me to crave to hold the stick in my hand, to have the Mistress naked and bent across my lap, ready for her paddling? The idea appeals to me, true, but the thought of what she'd do to me if she knew I was thinking such a thing makes my stomach feel weak and my sex begins to drip again. It would surely be the worse spanking ever!

A few days have passed since my caning in her bedroom. I've been punished several times since then, though not so severely. The Mistress did not forget her "little session with the paddle" Monday night and I did not sleep very comfortably, let me tell you.

Today is Thursday, and I'm in here again, making her bed and putting away her clean clothes. The Mistress has gone to town so except for a few servants, I'm alone. I'm a little nervous being so near her bed, where she sleeps. She had a lover over last night and I can't help but imagine what they did in here. He's a very handsome man, perhaps a little older than her, with gray in his hair. But he is very kind and generous, always greeting me warmly, and making clever jokes that cause the Mistress to blush. I was surprised to notice how beautiful the Mistress looked when she was with him. She looked radiant, smiling and giggling like a school child, her cheeks filled with a rouge that brought life into her normally pale face. I had always thought of her as harsh and cruel, but now I saw she was really good natured, though strict.

The couple snuck off to bed immediately after supper and the Mistress gave me the evening off. Though of course I tried to be good, I couldn't help but sneak up near her door and listen, my sex dripping like a leaky faucet. I heard the belt smacking bare flesh and a loud moaning and I realized with a shock that the Mistress abused her lovers as well as her maids. The thought of that dignified man stretched across her lap, his fine ass bared for her to spank really aroused me and I rushed to my room to masturbate in privacy.

These thoughts whirling through my mind, I open her massive closet to hang up some of dresses that just came back from the cleaners, when I notice that the door to her other closet is ajar. She has always kept that door locked and I have been forbidden to even wonder what is in there. Glancing around me fearfully, I quickly hang up the dresses and hurry to the second closet. I cautiously open the door. It is pitch black. I find a switch near the door and a bright light illuminates everything.

It's a room, not a closet! And the stuff inside! I gasp and stare in astonishment. I have no idea what most of the devices are for, but many look rather painful. There are several large pieces of wooden and leather furniture that look like torture racks or gynecologist examination tables. I can see leather restraints at various points, presumably to fasten the victim in place. There are similar leather cuffs dangling from cords and pulleys from the ceiling, and I can see a whole work bench on the right side of the room covered with leather strips and pieces of rope.

My gaze shifts to the walls. They are covered with canes and whips and paddles. The variety defies description. There are at least fifty paddles, and many times that in whips and belts. Some are thick, some thin; some are long, some short. Many are split into tails, and some of the tails even have small knots at various points. There are even several giant bullwhips, with handles so thick I can barely put my hand around them. I notice a few light cat-o'-nine tails are made from cloth or light leather. These wouldn't hardly hurt at all.

There are also, to my dismay, a huge collection of giant dildoes. I've never seen these before but I know what they are: their phallic shape is unmistakable. There are many sizes and shapes and colors (one purple one looks truly grotesque). On the far right of the collection there are two "dual-dildoes" the purpose of which I cannot quite fathom, though I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I know how it is to be used. Let's just say that it could only be used on a woman.

"Oh!" There's the sound of a car! I rush to the window and sure enough, the Mistress' limo is returning. I close the window (I'd opened it specifically to hear if she was coming) and rush to the bondage room. I turn off the light and push the door almost shut. I quickly finish with the room and smile at the Mistress when she enters.

"Good morning, Mistress. Did your shopping go well?"

The woman's steel gray eyes turned to me with surprise, as though she hadn't noticed I was there. "Uh, sure, Emily. Now please go someplace else. I want to be alone. Richard is returning for supper this evening and I must prepare."

"Certainly, Mistress. I'm finished in here anyway."

It's Friday, almost two in the afternoon, and I haven't seen the Mistress all day. Not that I'm looking forward to it--she surely will discover I dropped another spoon down the disposal after breakfast and spoons are ten smacks with the paddle.

The paddle does not sound so good today--my bottom is still sore from the six with the cane she gave me last night at dinner. I was so mortified! She caned me right in front of Richard, her handsome lover, and I almost quit on the spot. Even worse, I hadn't really done anything wrong, at least as how I could figure. She said I was slow and clumsy and to fetch her the cane. She was looking at Richard when she said this so I couldn't tell what she was feeling. Richard didn't appear to be at all surprised and smiled at me encouragingly.

The Mistress bent me right across the dining room table with my face looking right at Richard who watched me intently. I forbidden to close my eyes, too. As each stroke of the cane landed he practically drooled at me he was so lusty. He seemed very pleased with the punishment I was getting, though his eyes still seemed kind and his smile was gentle.

The only good thing was that he could not see my naked bottom, but that was short lived. As soon as the caning was over, the Mistress ordered me to stand and show Richard my caned bottom, to let him "inspect" me. I waddled over awkwardly, holding my skirt up to keep my rump exposed, my panties down around my knees. He studied my ass for several long minutes, not touching me, just looking, while I fidgeted unbearably and wept in misery. I was desperate to run to my room and fuck myself and I just knew that Richard would see how wet I was. He finally said, "Excellent job, Margaret! A superb caning. You may go, Emily."

With incredible nerve I took my panties completely off. I couldn't bear to have them covering my tender bottom. I bowed low to him and the Mistress. "Thank you, sir, thank you Mistress. In my humble opinion, it _was_ an excellent caning!" I ran from the room.

My bottom tingles now when I think of last night and I timidly knock on the Mistress's door. There is no answer. Perhaps she went out without telling anyone. I myself let Richard out early this morning. He gave me a gentle kiss on my cheek and said he'd be back tonight. With a broad wink he asked if I could put on an even better show tonight! I blushed furiously and turned away. When I looked back he was gone, his Porsche roaring up the driveway.

I cautiously opened the Mistress' door a crack. It was empty. The bed was mess and I set myself to the task of making it. Various other parts of the room were disheveled, so I cleaned everything up and took the Mistress' old clothes to the dirty clothes hamper. I returned to the room and studied it. It was clean and neat. The Mistress would be pleased.

My eyes strayed to the forbidden door, closed as always, and I felt my heart beat wildly. Perhaps it was unlocked? But I couldn't! Slowly I approached the door and my hand touched the door handle. The house was quiet, the Mistress gone. No one would know.

The door opened!

I flipped on the light and gasped. The Mistress was there! Incredibly, she was completely nude and bound to one of the wooden frames. A thick red scarf was wrapped around her head, covering her eyes. Her lips were parted by a large white rubber ball with straps that fastened behind her head, holding it in place. She could breath easily but could not speak.

I shook my head in amazement. My first inclination was to run, but then I realized that Mistress could not see me or know who I was. Perhaps she thought I was Richard, obviously the one who had left her in this position. I stepped forward and studied her predicament.

She was bent across some kind of wooden trestle. Her legs were straight, buttocks facing me, bent at the waist so her head was slightly lower than her butt. Leather cuffs anchored her ankles and knees to the trestle. Her arms were stretched out far in front of her, elastic bands clipped to her wrists pulling her forward. Another elastic band was attached to the leather collar around her neck, pulling her head forward. She was completely helpless, unable to do much more than wiggle.

Her breasts dangled beneath her, and I was astonished to see large alligator clips pinching the nipples, the two breasts connected by a tiny chain. A small lead weight pulled the chain taunt, cruelly tugging on her nipples. As I peer between her spread legs I see more clips pinching her there, but there was no weight, only a little bell that jiggles as she wiggles in discomfort.

I think that I have seen everything, but I realize this was just the beginning of the surprises in store for me. I smell a faint unpleasant odor but I can't identify it. Then I see the bucket. It was placed right between her legs, and it is about a third full. Leaning closer I immediately know it is urine. So he'd kindly thought of all her needs!

I walk around the bound woman, still in shock at what I am seeing. She knew I was there--I could see her wiggling, and she moaned slightly. I did not say anything, but began to admire her naked body. She was an incredibly beautiful woman, even at her age. Sure, I could see the inevitable signs of aging, but there was something rather elegant about her body. Even bound and naked as she was I could sense a certain dignity, a noble suffering, that showed on her face and in her posture.

Then I realized with a start that her buttocks were red and marked just like my own! I was so used to seeing them in the mirror that I hadn't really noticed them at first, but obviously she'd spent a long night under the strap and cane. Her punishment looked far fiercer than anything she'd given me. My sex began to tingle and stir as I looked at her, and I suddenly saw the leather strap lying on the floor next to a cane.

I picked it up without thinking. I held it in my hands and felt its weight, its texture. It was very wide and heavier than the one she used on me. I felt a sudden tremendous impulse to wallop her a good one right across the ass. She'd never know. She'd probably think it was Richard.

But I couldn't. It would be wrong. She'd find out and I couldn't imagine what horrible punishment she'd give me. Perhaps she make me take her place on the trestle with those nipple clamps and that pussy bell and flog me all night long...

That did it. The image of me bound like her with her whipping me broke a dam somewhere inside me and my pussy juices began to flood down my legs. Without hesitation I ran the leather strap between my legs and in seconds I shook with a powerful orgasm. When I took the strap away it was dripping with my juices and I didn't even care. Biting my lower lip as I thought of what an insane thing I was about to do, I pulled back and walloped my Mistress a really hard blow across her rather generous backside.

Smack! The sound was loud and it felt delightful to hear it but not feel the pain. My sex tingles and drips as I watch the Mistress moan and begin to struggle frantically, her prominent butt quivering. I gave her another stroke, and then another. The Mistress was really moaning now, my strokes enflaming an already sore bottom.

What the hell, I think. In for a penny, in for a pound!

I whip her then, a long, thorough whipping, just like those she'd so often given me. In minutes her buttocks blaze a brilliant red and she can not keep silent or still, moaning loudly, her whole body shuddering with each stroke of the leather. After a couple more minutes I see her red scarf is wet with her tears and I know this is really hurting her, but I do not care. She'd never had mercy on me before. I whip her some more, harder and faster, until my arm began to ache and I find that I am panting heavily. I hadn't realized how much work a whipping was. I drop the strap to the ground and pick up the cane.

THWACK! It sounds like a gunshot in that small room, and I wince myself, a deep shiver passing down my spine to my bottom. The cane left a thin red welt across the center of the Mistress' ass and I grin and give her another. I wait until she has calmed down and give her another stroke, this one lower and closer to her thighs. She knows were I am going and begins bucking frantically. For a moment I think she might break out of her bondage but the restraints are strong. All her movements gain her is to make the bell between her legs ring constantly, and cause the tiny weight between her breasts to bounce and tug on her nipples.

Throwing caution to the winds, I give her several delicious cracks across her thighs, the angry red welts frightening me as I think of how much that must hurt. I can almost feel them myself and I know that if she discovers it is me doing this to her I shall not escape experiencing such a fate. Yet once again the thought of me taking her place fills me with a passion I scarcely know I possess, and I again I easily bring myself to orgasm. These feelings terrify me. I feel I cannot bear being bound and caned and tortured in such a fashion, yet the concept arouses me fiercely.

With a sudden burst of daring I bend close the Mistress' ear and whisper, "Take _that_ you naughty Mistress!" and I give her one last stroke as hard as I can across the fullest part of her rump. She gulps and almost swallows that ball gagging her mouth and I can see the tears pouring down her face underneath the blindfold. She wiggles and moans delightfully and I laugh and go turn out the light and close the door, my heart pounding so loudly I'm certain the entire world can hear it.

I rush to my room and take off my clothes and spend the afternoon masturbating, giving myself orgasm after orgasm after orgasm until I can't think straight. I know what is coming and soon I heard the gentle roar of the Porsche in the driveway and I know I will soon be found out. This causes yet another spurt of liquid between my legs and I'm going at it again, blissfully lost in an orgasmic fog when I hear the loud pounding on the door. I come immediately, my body jerking with spasms of wild pleasure.

Slowly I rise as the door opens, Richard and my Mistress standing there, a strange smile on his lips. I am sitting in my drenched bed, the room filled with my smell, as the two enter. I am terrified as she Mistress smiles at me, the warm, friendly smile of a co-conspirator.

"You have been a frightfully naughty maid, dear Emily! Come. You must be severely punished. I don't think you'll need your clothes."

Richard winks at me as I nervously rise and follow them to my dreadful fate. For some inexplicable reason even after my entire afternoon's sexual stimulation I am wet again and I can feel my sex stirring towards another orgasm.

"Please don't tie me up," I beg gently. "I can't bear that, I know it."

And the smiles of the two let me know that I will bear it, one way or another. A delightful shiver passes through me. Oh, what a wonderful Master and Mistress I have found!

The End

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