Chapter 8: Ivories tinkled

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Just another day in servitude as a maid, I helped prepare breakfast, served Mummy and Daddy at their table, cleared up, and started my cleaning chores.

That morning, I had to clean and polish the drawing room. 

While I was working, I pondered a question in my head. Why did they call it the drawing room? For most people, it’s a sitting room or lounge. Perhaps they thought it was posh, something a wealthy household with a fleet of domestic servants would have. Such is the mental process of a lowly maid engaged in her duties.

As I flicked my feather duster around in one corner, Daddy came in, stretched out on the big sofa, and picked up a tablet from a coffee table to read something.

I shuffled around slyly to see what was so interesting, and I was disappointed to see it was just a boring news website. Boredom seemed appropriate. I wanted some action, something to make Daddy happy and for me to feel I had done my subby duty for the day. 

So, from standing beside him, dusting the coffee table, I dropped to my knees and started to rub my hands over the front of his trousers. Daddy pretended to be engrossed in a news article, but I knew his mind was no longer on that as he had a hardening lump under my hands.

Everything was going according to plan until there was a huge crash in the kitchen. Daddy jumped up and bolted out of the room, followed by a very curious me.

In the kitchen, there was chaos. Great shards of china lay all over the floor, and looking aghast at the mess was a very frightened-looking Babaa.

"Clean this up, then come to see me in my office."

"Yes, Daddy. I’m sorry, Daddy, I tripped carrying a load from the dishwasher. I’m truly sorry, Daddy; please don’t punish me."

Babaa’s plea fell on deaf ears. Daddy had gone. I went to comfort him, wrapped my arms around him, and cuddled tight. The poor man was distraught, sobbing on my shoulder.

"Come along; I’ll help you clear up."

I went to the cupboard and pulled out brooms, brushes, pans, and bags before starting work on clearing the mess. After a while, Babaa stopped snivelling and joined me in the task.

When order was restored and everything was tidy, he looked at me balefully.

"I’m going to the punishment room for sure. I’m not like you; I won't last very long, and the pain will be horrible. Oh, Christ, I’m in deep shit."

With that, he shuffled out of the kitchen and headed for the study. I looked around and decided there wasn’t anything there for me, so I went to the drawing room to continue my cleaning duty. This time, the room remained unoccupied. Daddy did not return for a continuation of my loving attention to his cock.

As I worked around the room, piece by piece, my eyes were drawn to the baby grand piano in one corner. I loved playing, and from an early age, I always had an upright instrument at home and took lessons from a doughty old lady who rapped my knuckles with a ruler every time I hashed up a chord. By my mid-teens, I was quite proficient and knew many solo pieces by Chopin, Mozart, and Beethoven by heart. Somewhere along the line into adulthood, I gave up trying to be a perfect player and just played for my amusement. Sometimes I was paid a small amount in clubs where the style was jazz and blues; Joplin was my favourite then.

As I dusted the shiny, black wood, I lifted the keyboard lid and whisked my duster over the ivories. The temptation was too great; I dropped my duster and sat on the stool. My right index finger hovered over the D key, and then I was off, fingers dancing as the sounds of jaunty ragtime filled the space.

Completely lost in the music, I was oblivious to the fact that I was no longer the sole occupier of the room. I finished the piece with a flourish, lifting my hands from the keys like a concert pianist. In my head, there was thunderous applause from a great audience, but in my ears, there was just a single slow clap.

I twisted around to see Mummy standing in the middle of the room. Smartly attired in a knee-length skirt and crisp blouse, she walked slowly towards me until she stood beside the stool. Her hand floated down and cupped my chin, her soft fingers exploring my flesh. 

Suddenly, she jerked my head up and said, "Do you think you can touch my piano without asking? Don’t you know you are just a fucking maid here?"

"Yes, Mummy."

"Do you know you need my permission for everything?"

"Yes, Mummy."

"You deserve to be punished."

"Yes, Mummy. Thank you, Mummy."

"Tell me you deserve my punishment."

"I deserve your punishment, Mummy. I’m sorry, Mummy. Please forgive me, Mummy."

"I will punish you. You will beg me to stop. Now, come with me."

She grabbed a handful of my hair and dragged me out of the room, up the stairs, and into her bathroom. 

Then she yanked me across the room to face a long mirror. I stood with my head and shoulders bent towards her, forced down by her grip on my tresses.

"Look in the mirror. What do you see? Are you a mistress or a maid?"

"I’m a slutty, insignificant maid, Mummy."

She reached down and unclipped the chains on my wrist cuffs.

"Undress! Everything!"

I stripped off, then stood facing her, my hands crossed in front of my mound as if to protect myself from some expected punishment.

"Hands behind your back."

I complied, then felt her pull my collar around so the neck chain ran down my back before chaining me up again. 

"Stand with your feet apart."

Mummy moved around until she stood about a metre in front of me.

"Look at my eyes, nowhere else."

Locked on, I did not see her leg move, but I felt the pain when her foot slammed into my pussy. I doubled over, trying to absorb the agony.

"Stand up!"

Slowly, I managed to get vertical again. My eyes filled with tears, so I did not see the flash of movement when her arm swung with all her strength, her hand hitting my face with a resounding smack.

The reverse blow was even harder. I screamed from shock and pain. Then her foot crashed into my pussy again, and I collapsed onto the floor.

"Slut, you are nothing more than a slutty maid. Now get in the bath."

I crawled to the bath, somehow pulled myself upright, and stepped inside.

"Kneel down."

"Yes, Mummy." 

She moved around and turned one of the taps. Water gushed into the tub, pure cold water. I shivered as it crept up, covering my feet, shins, and lower legs. Higher and higher, up to my thighs, followed by the cold shock as my pussy was submerged. When the water reached my belly button, Mummy turned the tap off.

I watched her discard her shoes and, next, in her stockinged feet, climb into the bath behind me. One of her hands gripped the crown of my head, and the other pulled on the chain attached to my collar.

"My piano, not yours."

Suddenly, she pushed me forward, and my face went underwater. Completely unprepared, I could not help breathing water into my nose. My eyes were open, and my vision was just a blur of white enamel.

I felt her pull me up by the chain. I gasped for air, coughing and spluttering.

"My piano, not yours."

Pushed down hard again, I held the little breath I had in my lungs, but soon the ache was overpowering, and I felt the bubbles of lifegiving air cascade from my lips at the same time as she pulled me up again to emerge, my chest heaving for air.

"My piano, not yours."

"My piano, not yours."

Each time I swallowed a bit more water and each time I spent longer with my face underwater. Finally, I lost control when my lungs voided air and filled with water. I felt immense pain in my chest, and then there was nothing.

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The nothingness ended with me coughing and retching water from my body. I was out of the bath, on the floor, and Daddy was above me, compressing my chest with great thrusts.

"Say nothing, Baby; let me do everything; just stay still."

Daddy covered me with a blanket, then put his arm under my shoulder and gently lifted me into a sitting position.

I looked around; there was no sign of Mummy, but Babaa was standing nearby. Daddy cuddled me close. I was shivering badly from the cold and shock. Gradually, I calmed down and felt his warmth and love enveloping me.

"I’m so sorry, Baby; this is unforgivable. Mummy has made a serious mistake and must be dealt with severely. I want you to go to your room with Babaa; he will look after you for the moment."

So I staggered to my feet. Babaa came to me, and like Daddy, he wrapped his arms around me, led me to my room, and helped me into my bed, whispering sweet nothings into my ears while he held my hand tightly under the blanket.

I looked up at his face, concern written in every cell, as his free hand stroked my wet hair and gently brushed across my brow. Something changed for me in those few seconds; a feeling of love swelled up inside me, a love very different from the one I felt for Daddy because this was a love of equals.

"Drew, I love you."

"I love you too, Kathy."

"Hold me tight, Drew."

His arms enveloped me, and I fell asleep, dreaming of the day we would be together, free of our self-imposed servitude.

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In the next part, Baby K sees the web of fear.