Not the maid, part 2

Posted in: Authoritarian | Humiliation

“You’re not going anywhere”, Massimo said, as he dragged me along into the garden. He pushed me against a wall. “Please Massimo”, I whispered, afraid anyone might hear us. He slapped me in the face. “Who allowed you to use my name, you little slut”. I gasped panting for air. He waited a moment and continued: “When you’ re with me, you’ ll call me Master. Understood?” He saw the terror in my eyes, “Speak girl”. “Why Ma…” He raised his finger as to caution me. “Why erm… Master?” He smiled and patted my head and caressed the cheek he had slapped, “Good girl”. “Why are you doing this? What have I done to deserve this… Master?”, I added quickly. “I told you before, you’ re mine. Enough for now, there are two rules you must observe”. Rules? This was getting even more scary.

“First of all, take your panties off. Now”. As I hesitated, he warned me with a raised hand. I tried to get out of them as dignified as I could. Taking this for reluctance he impatiently reached down and tore them off himself. “No underwear when your Master is near”. He sniffed them and put them in the pocket of his blazer. As if it was a handkerchief, the lace sticking out. It was so obscene and degrading. I was petrified as he put his hand once more under my skirt. He softly touched and caressed my genitalia and slightly inserted his finger inside me. I shivered. “Mmm soft and moist”. Oh my goodness, I was moist indeed, I felt so stupid and ashamed. He saw my reaction, bent over and kissed me gently. “You should be accessible, at all time”. Accessible? At all time? Oh my god, he was making me his whore.
“Secondly, you’ ll obey me. No questions asked. Can you memorize that, my delicious little slut?”
I felt humiliated, naked and lost. “I asked you something!” “Yes, Master”. He looked at me, saw my tears and wiped them off with my own panties. “Listen, the day after tomorrow you’ ll come to me. I’ ll send a car around 6 pm”. An appointment? “But what shall I say my parents?” “You’ ll make something up” and then he went on in a cheerful voice, “Now let’s join your party, birthday girl”. As we entered the house, he said: “You may use my name now”. My mind was in a complete turmoil. Whatever happened the rest of the evening, I don’ t recall a thing, no recollection at all, I was completely numb.

The feared day had come. I made up a story about Massimo feeling embarrassed about his father’s remarks and that he had invited me to make it up. My mother said that he was ever so nice and would be a real catch for any girl. “Mum, he is an old man!” “Well not that old”, said my father who himself was 10 years older than my mother as he kissed her. “Just have fun, sweety”. I felt so alone, no one would understand, no one I could share my secret with. My Italian grandmother had some reservations, “Inappropriate, a young girl and no chaperone”. “Don’t be old fashioned, Dear Wife, these are the eighties and our families have known each other for ages”, Nonno replied.

The time passed by ever so slowly. My old nanny (my mother had taken her along home) was the only one who noticed the change in me. “Aja kesusu, ndhuk”, she whispered as she combed my hair to soothe me, “don’t rush, my girl”. She sensed my tension and massaged my shoulders. I relaxed a bit and fell into a dreamless sleep. Around 5 o’clock she woke me up “Come drink this”. It was one her ‘medicines’ as she called the foul tasting drinks. “What ‘s it for, Nenek, granny?” “To make that man love you as he should”. I looked at her trying not to weep.
I dressed very modestly, put on no make-up, not to attract any attention nor to bring him on certain thoughts. “Maybe, he has changed his mind”, I tried to reassure myself, not believing a syllable of what I said.

At six the car arrived and a chauffeur asked for me. “Enjoy yourself, Dewi, and lighten up. Show Massimo some gratitude for his invitation and give him our kind regards”. “Where are we going to?”, I asked. No reply. This was going to be a nightmare.

We drove to an old University city, close to our home. We stopped in the old Jewish quarters. The chauffeur didn’t open the door for me, just pointed at a restaurant. Despite my strange position I felt angry at his impolite behavior, the glances he casted at me, so I didn’t close the door behind me. I went inside and was guided to an upstairs dining room. There he was, Massimo, already enjoying his dinner. He looked at me, winked me to come closer and put his hand under my skirt. The panties, I had put on panties, how could I be so stupid. To my relief he said nothing. “Forgive me, Ma…” “Shhh” he said, “we’ ll deal with that later. Now put this on”. On a chair was a red and white striped box tied with a golden ribbon. “Happy birthday”, he said mockingly. I opened the box: a white blouse and a tartan miniskirt and red heels. Almost a decent high school outfit made utterly immoral by the heels. “Now”. I looked around for the bathroom. We weren’t alone in the room. In the shade I discerned two figures sitting at a table. “I said now, slut”. I wanted to sit on the floor and undress. Massimo hit me in the face, “Now”. I immediately obeyed and got the clothes on. Two sizes too small, so it made me look ever so cheap. I tried to pull the skirt down as much as possible, but it kept showing my buttocks. My rather modest boobs seemed to burst out of the blouse. The buttons just kept popping open. He had done that on purpose, I was sure of that.

Massimo had finished his dinner by now, he didn’t stop when I got dressed. He wiped his mouth, drank some wine and checked me: “That will do nicely”. I tried to block out my feelings, “this man can do to me what he wants, my mind is free”, I said to myself.
“Slut, you asked me why all this was happening. I’ ll tell you: someone must put in your place”. In my place? What had I done to him? “You have humiliated several fine man, pretending you were the servant and teasing the lot of them”. Oh dear, I clenched to a chair. “We’re going to teach you how to show respect…” So that’s what it was all about…we??? “Yes Master, I have been a bitch. Please forgive me. I’ve learned my lesson now”.
Massimo laughed, no, he roared with laughter. It scared me. “Forgive?”, he laughed, “you clever slut, it won’t be that easy. You have a foul mouth, you need to be taught”. He had apparently thought of something sick: “You may choose either starters, main course or desert”. Since he said it in English, I knew he meant it in a perverse way. “Don’t let me wait”. Quick thinking now: starters are small, appetizers, so I choose that: “Starters, Master, please”. He smiled “Not a bad choice” and he pushed his chair back from the table. Starters it was to be.

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