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“There’s my pretty maid,” grinned Tom. Eleanor narrowed her eyes as she strode past him.
“Lovely shade of pink,” she heard. “and adorable rosy cheeks.”
Eleanor’s tumbling locks had been tucked up inside the ugly flounced mob cap which sat atop the black silk mask. Looking at her reflection in the bathroom, she had been relieved at how anonymous she looked. She might be locked into tottering heels and dressed up like Room Service Barbie, but at least she could move among the guests without being recognised. Tom wasn’t entirely without pity, it seemed.
She opened the walnut box as directed and began to examine the silverware. There were several kinds of knife, fork and spoon in there, alongside a host of weird shapes that could have come from a dentist’s kit. Eleanor had no idea which items to set out, and how. She was no stranger to fine dining, and had visited plenty of Michelin restaurants in her time, but she usually went for steak. It was a practical, unspillable dish and she always felt it was a big-dick move to order something so plain and macho from a famous chef’s kitchen. Powerful men would watch in admiration as their glamorous companion devoured her rare cut. Many a deal had been closed over a plate of wagyu beef.
“What kind of food is it?” she yelled through.
“Come through if you have a question.”
She stomped through and asked again. Tom looked up from his desk and smiled.
“Lebanese sharing plates to start with, followed by lamb on spring greens with seven-grain rice, and whisky crème brûlée for dessert. Perhaps some coffee to follow.”
He looked at his watch.
“I’m going to take a shower before the food arrives. I’ll leave my busy little maid to get everything ready.”
Eleanor rolled her eyes, then wobbled her way to the dining room, already planning her sabotage.
She got out the largest knives and forks and arranged them in places around the table. They would need something small for the dessert, but they could whistle for that. She took out the small spoons and shoved them into the soil of a pot plant. As for the sharing plates, well, she would make sure only one in two people received a napkin. Let them wipe their hands on their Hugo Boss trousers.
Inspired by memories of grotty student flatshares, she set out red wine glasses for some of the guests, and ran her finger across them to create smears. She even put one in her mouth to leave a greasy lipstick stain on the rim. In the remaining places she left a jumble of tumblers and chipped mugs.
Let’s see how impressed they are with a guy who hasn’t even got a full set of grown-up wine glasses, she thought.
She’d been in rooms with board members before. The line-up had changed over the years, but the type was usually the same: privately educated men with impeccable tailoring who took merciless note of any gauche errors. Tom’s table would look like the mishmash of a clumsy pretender, or her name wasn’t –
“Elly!”
Eleanor froze, midway through wiping a little grease on the tablecloth corner.
“Yes! Uh, Sir!”
“The delivery driver just texted to say they’re outside. Go and help him in with the food, please! I’m still getting dressed.”
Eleanor breathed out in relief. She didn’t want Tom to see her handiwork before the guests arrived. But part of her still felt grumpy at being sent outside.
“Surely the driver should bring it all in for the customer?”
“They’re a man down, apparently, so I said my staff would help with the larger boxes.”
“Your staff?”
“Come on! Chop-chop!”
Eleanor put away the cutlery box and opened the front door.
“Evening, love,” said the driver, staring at his clipboard. “Mind signing this and then we can get the platters?”
He looked up as he handed Eleanor the pen, and did a double-take at the maid’s outfit.
“Um… nice… uh, mask.”
Eleanor had forgotten the black silk scrap across her face. This must look insane, she thought.
As the driver opened the back of the van, he pulled out a long platter and let Eleanor take the other end. As they shuffled it into the house, Eleanor huffing and puffing in her corset, the driver whispered:
“This, uh, one of those Eyes Wide Shut-type things?”
Eleanor was aghast. Who did this nobody think he was?
Mistaking her outrage for embarrassment, the driver chuckled.
“Ah, you’re not allowed to say. No worries.” He winked. “Wouldn’t want to earn you a spanking.”
“How dare you?” Eleanor blurted. “I do not get spanked!”
They set down the platter and before the driver could apologise, Eleanor’s heel caught on the dining-room rug and she stumbled to the floor.
The driver smothered a snort of laughter as Eleanor’s skirt flew up at the back and revealed several scarlet handprints on her bottom. Someone was a naughty girl and a liar!
He helped her up (for which she did not thank him) and wisely decided not to comment further. They brought in the remaining trays and boxes, with the sulky maid grumbling every step of the way, and the van sped away with some fun stories to tell.
Right, thought Eleanor, lifting off the tin foil. Time to fuck up a dinner party.
Tom came downstairs shortly before the guests were due to arrive. He wore a beautifully tailored suit in dark blue, a cream shirt and brown leather brogues, with a bold pocket square.
Damnit, thought Eleanor. He actually looks really good.
She stood outside the closed dining-room doors in her fussy dress, locked heels, mob cap and mask, her arms held neatly behind her back. As Tom approached, she bobbed a curtsey.
He appraised her, one eyebrow raised.
“What’s the game here?” he asked. “You’re being awfully demure.”
Shit, thought Eleanor. Too much. Too much. She didn’t want him to go looking at her handiwork beyond the glass doors.
“Fine,” she groaned, slouching. “I thought I’d practise being a fake little maid so it would be easier to get through this ordeal.”
“Oh, Elly,” said Tom, rumpling the frilled cap on her head, “You’re my real little maid! At least until you’ve completed your sentence. Granted, you’re not very good at it right now, but we’ll get you all trained up to my specifications.”
Eleanor mimed retching, then stood up straight again and smiled an exaggerated, very sarcastic smile.
“Still some way to go, eh?” said Tom. “Let’s just make sure your posture is correct.”
He walked behind her and reached his arms around her cinched waist, bringing them up to her pushed-up tits, which he poured out of her top. Eleanor blushed and her eyes closed involuntarily as he played with her nipples, his breathing heavy in her ear. Suddenly, he pinched so hard she yelped, and held on as she winced and stretched upward in pain. Once she was posing to his satisfaction, Tom slipped onto the sore nipples a pair of slim silver clamps linked by a chain. He pushed a sliding silver bar into position on each clamp, so they bit firmly and made her wince even more, then carefully tucked her tits back into her top.
“A little better,” said Tom. “But I think we can add another element, just to remind sulky Elly to be a perky, upright little maid for my guests.”
He reach into her cleavage and fished out the silver chain, tugging on it to lead her, yelping, to the kitchen worktop, where he bent her smartly over.
Eleanor’s nipples were burning under the clamps, so it took her a moment to realise Tom had taken down her knickers once more. She screwed up her eyes and braced herself, waiting for his stinging hand on her bottom.
She heard a plastic tube being squeezed, and some packaging rustling. Then something cold slid inside her bottom.
“What the – ?”
“Shh. Be a good girl or I’ll get the hairbrush.”
Tom’s finger was joined by a second, then a third. They worked away inside her and against her own wishes, she found herself moaning and pushing back onto them.
“My Elly likes that, doesn’t she? Little slut,” said Tom, affectionately.
He removed his fingers and told her to stay put.
Then she felt it go in.
“Wha – !”
“Relax,” he instructed, pushing the rubbery object a litttle further in, then a little further still. Eleanor bit her lip as she felt it stretch and fill her. Surely she couldn’t take any more!
Just as she was about to shriek at the width of the thing, the pain was gone and the plug settled inside her, leaving a flared base sticking out.
“Good girl! Taken like a true Pretty Maids slut. Now, panties up and skirt primped!”
Eleanor stood up, light-headed, and pulled up her ruffled knickers. She took a few steps. The toy put an embarrassing extra wiggle in her walk, and she was conscious of how full she felt.
Between the plug and the corset, she realised she had to wee quite urgently. Faced with no choice but to ask permission like a child, she gave in.
“Please may I use the bathroom?” she asked.
“Two minutes,” said Tom. “If you’re still in there when the guests arrive, I’ll link the camera to the main TV in the lounge. I expect you to ask for permission if you need to go during the evening as well.”
Eleanor glowered at him and minced off to the bathroom.
“And before you try it, no sneaking out that plug,” called Tom. “You’re going to keep that in all night if you don’t want to be punished in front of everyone. And I reserve the right to take you aside for inspections.”
Eleanor nodded and hurried off to the toilet. Thankfully the corset put so much pressure on her bladder, she finished peeing before the timer ran out.
When all this was over, she would find a way to humiliate him. She would win over the board and oust him; get back on top and start running things properly. Tonight would be very useful for intel-gathering. And making Tom look as bad as possible, of course.
The doorbell rang. Eleanor’s heart began to pound.
“Elly, see to that, would you? There’s a good girl,” said Tom.
Eleanor huffed.
“Not much point giving me a mask if you’re not going to change my name properly.”
“Fair enough,” said Tom. “Tonight, I’ll call you… Kimmy.”
“I hate it, but fine,” growled Eleanor. She glanced in the mirror to adjust her mask and cap, and as she moved toward the door, was reminded of her sore, hard nipples and full bottom.
“Just get through this,” she said. “Just move in the shadows and listen and do everything you can to sabotage it. Give those foul old white men on the board food poisoning if you have to. Just get through tonight and don’t let that bastard show you up.”
She toook a deep breath, which made her cleavage heave and the steel clamps brush against her bodice. Her nipples were like sore little bullets, outlined in the fabric.
“Try and ignore it,” she told herself, opening the front door.
To her surprise, the first two guests were not ‘foul old white men’, but pretty young women in colourful suits, and neither one was white.
“We’re, uh, here for the board dinner,” said one, showing an invitation on her phone as if she expected to be questioned. The name on her invitation looked Filipino. The second woman hurriedly showed her phone as well, flashing a long Thai name. Neither of them seemed to possess the haughty entitlement Eleanor associated with board members. Instead, they seemed slightly nervous, and a little nonplussed by the mask.
“Uh, welcome,” said Eleanor, trying to disguise her normal voice with a squeaky pitch shift. Her masterclasses online had been widely watched, so she didn’t want to give any rando a clue as to her identity.
“Please come through for a welcome drink, ladies,” called Tom. “Just leave your coats with the maid.”
The women took off their coats and handed them to Eleanor, who looked around for a place to dump them. She found a coat stand under the stairs and hurried back to the door. Two more women were walking up the drive.
Wow. Tom’s actually hiring some women to run this thing, she thought. I don’t recognise anyone from any Womentality networking events, though. Thought I knew all of my rivals.
The second pair reached her and explained they were here for the dinner.
“Invitations?” said Eleanor sniffily. She liked being able to gatekeep.
One of them shared the deference of the first pair, apologising and scrabbling for her phone. but her colleague was more confident.
“I deleted it, I’m afraid. We weren’t told we’d need to show it. My name’s on the guestlist, though. Mary Aneke.”
Eleanor didn’t have a list, and panicked. She drew herself up.
“I need to see the invitation, please.”
“Well then, I need to speak to your boss. Could you get him?”
Eleanor was incensed. After years at the top of the food chain, she was used to people wanting to speak to her when things needed authorising. How dare this person go over her head?
“I speak for my boss,” she said, stiffly.
Mary sighed, then called into the house.
“Tom! Your maid is being a bit of a jobsworth. Could you talk to her?”
“Ah, is that Mary?” Eleanor heard, and Tom appeared in the doorway. “So good to see you. What’s the problem?”
“She wants to see my invitation, and I don’t have it. Did you want her to frisk us and all?”
Tom looked at Eleanor like a disapproving daddy.
“Now, Pippy,” he said. “I know you’re not used to serving at important events, but in this house, we treat our guests with courtesy. Did I ask you to check invitations?”
Eleanor’s cheeks burned.
“I thought it might be a security risk,” she blustered.
“I beg your pardon?” said Mary.
“Pippy! That was very rude,” warned Tom. “Now answer me properly: did I ask you to check invitations?”
Eleanor frowned. “No.”
Tom waited.
“No, Sir.”
“Good girl,” said Tom, ushering the two women inside, past a furious undermined Eleanor. As they wandered through to the lounge, she heard Tom laughing and explaining that the new girl was not the brightest spark, and would need lots of training.
Oh, I will ruin this stupid party good and proper, she thought. Just you wait.
The rest of the board members arrived in dribs and drabs. All were female; not a snooty white man among them. Eleanor let them in without question, waving away any invitations shown to her. She took their coats, said very little and passed them on to Tom.
At last, Tom came through to take her off door duty.
“That’s everyone but one person, and they’ve already sent apologies for running late,” he said. “Pippy, run along and make us some white wine spritzers, would you?”
He gave her an insulting ‘get-going’ smack on the bottom, which jogged the plug inside her, causing a little wetness to pool in her knickers.
Eleanor tottered to the kitchen, tits bouncing. What was a white-wine spritzer, anyway? She’d consumed many glasses in her career, but never had to make the stuff. She began mixing up glasses of white wine and soda. Maybe these idiots would get smashed and start spilling their corporate secrets. Worth a go.
She took through the first tray and Tom looked at her, witheringly.
“Now Pippy, where’s the ice? And the mint?”
The women exchanged smiles.
“I didn’t know – “
“She does talk back a bit, doesn’t she?” said one of the women.
“Unfortunately, it’s a habit I’ve yet to break her of,” Tom said with a smile. He gestured for Eleanor to turn around with a flick of his wrist that stoked her rage. He was dismissing her like a fucking servant, in front of these other women!
“The mint is on the windowsill, in case you’d forgotten,” he called after her. “Such a little scatterbrain,” he confided in the women.
She tore the mint roughly and dropped ice cubes into the glasses before filling them with white wine and sparkling water. Then she took the glass she had earmarked for Tom and spat into it. Time to start fucking with things.
“Spritzers, ladies?” she beamed, as she carried through the bubbling glasses.