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After a few minutes, a slow, trudging tread could be heard coming down the stairs.
Tom suppressed a smile as the figure came into view.
Eleanor Kennick, fearsome CEO of Pretty Maids in a Row and architect of humiliation for hundreds of women, was livid.
She wore a cutesy black dress with puff sleeves and a fussy apron, cut low in the front to show her cleavage. Her perky little skirt had a frothy petticoat underneath, and her ruffled knickers peeped out below the hem.
She wore thigh-high black stockings with bows on the thighs and carried in her hand a pair of impossibly high pvc heels with bows on the toes.
“Dear me,” said Tom, “coming downstairs half-dressed? This is very unprofessional. I’d better just check something.”
To Eleanor’s horror, he went to lift her skirt and she slapped away his hand.
Tom smiled. “We’ll revisit this later. Now, why aren’t your shoes on your feet?”
“Nobody can walk in these wretched things!” complained Eleanor. “Bad enough that you’ve forced me into this cheap bimbo maid outfit. Now you’re trying to injure me too?”
“You designed the uniform, my dear. Now, do I need to repeat my lecture from earlier?”
Eleanor’s bottom still stung and the indignity of being bared and spanked by her rival stung even more. She glowered at Tom and jammed her feet into the ridiculous shoes. Fastening them up, she wobbled on the pinpoint heels and clutched at the banister for support.
“Good girl, Elly,” said Tom, enjoying Eleanor’s fury at the nickname. “And just in case you planned to sneak them off later…”
He bent down and swiftly snicked locks onto the straps.
“What the fuck?” said Eleanor, tugging at the locks.
As she stood up, Tom slapped her smartly on the thighs causing her to blush and gasp.
“Enough,” he ordered. “Now, let’s check the rest of your outfit is up to scratch. What should a good maid wear to please her employer? Maybe I should ask the oracle herself.”
He picked up a copy of the Pretty Maids manual Eleanor had put together for new recruits. Her heart sank.
“Ah yes,” said Tom. “‘All domestic workers must wear the Pretty Maids apron, as well as the frilled bow-tie… “
He dug out the frilled choker and tied it round Eleanor’s neck, primping the satin bow.
“‘… and the lace cap.’ Well, let’s get your sweet little cap on, Elly. Then you’ll be the perfect Pretty Maids representative.”
Eleanor seethed as he tied the ridiculous white headpiece on her, tying a bow under her chin.
“Now,” said Tom, “Let’s revisit the section on conduct.”
Eleanor folded her arms, furious.
“‘Posture is paramount,'” quoted Tom. “‘Pretty Maids employees must present with hands behind their backs, shoulders down and chest out. Clients are entitled to correct poor deportment.'”
Eleanor winced as she remembered copying in the section, stolen largely from a brochure for a 1950s boarding school. She had added it in after a request from a famous director with a kink for reformatory scenes.
“We both know I’m not actually a maid,” she scowled, “so how about I just do some work and knock off some of my hours?”
“Oh, but you are a maid,” said Tom. “You’re my Pretty Maid until your service order is paid. And according to Page Five…’ He held up the page in front of her. ‘…the customer is master.’ So let’s see you stand up straight.”
“Fuck you,” hissed Eleanor under her breath, as she stood up tall.
“Hands behind your back, Elly.”
She gripped her hands together at the base of her spine, feeling them rest on her silly little skirt.
“Chest out. Let’s see those cute little tits held out nicely.”
Eleanor reddened with rage and held his stare, but remembered the face-slap from earlier, plus her sore bottom, and held up her breasts, which were framed by lace ruffles in her pathetic uniform.
“Lovely,” said Tom. “Now, it says that clients can perform a uniform inspection at any time, to include clean knickers, runs in stockings and properly fluffed skirts. I think I should check you’ve got the correct panties on, shouldn’t I?”
“Fuck you.” This time she was audible.
“Oh dear,” tutted Tom. “We’ll get onto attitude later in the manual but I will be recording this insolence in your demerit book, Elly.”
He waved a PM branded book and jotted down a note.
“That’s not how a Pretty Maid talks to her master,” he tutted.
“You! My master?” Eleanor guffawed.
Suddenly she found herself pulled over a nearby table and pinned in place by Tom’s strong arm, gasping as her skirts were flipped up.
“Please!” Eleanor was shocked to hear herself pleading. She bit her lip. “No more spanking…”
“No more spanking… what?” Tom’s hand brushed the swell of her bottom beneath her underwear.
“Ughhh. Please, no more spanking… Master…”
“Excellent. Good girl, Elly!” Tom gently patted her cheeks. “’Sir’ will do as well.”
He helped her up.
“I wasn’t going to spank you anyway. Just wanted to check you’ve got on your cute ruffled knickers, and you have!”
Eleanor fizzed with indignity, straightening her skirts. How could she have caved so easily at the mere threat of a spanking?
“Enough!” she declared. “This is harassment, assault… “
“No, it’s just paragraph 7a,” said Tom, showing her the page on ‘reasonable chastisement.’ “See? You deliberately made it nice and vague to give clients free rein over your employees.”
He pulled out a hairbrush and tapped it against his hand.
“Read it aloud, Elly. Be a good girl.”
Eleanor winced and began to read:
“Pretty Maids clients may instruct employees as they see fit and may enforce reasonable chastisement if standards are not met, or work is deemed unsatisfactory. Pretty Maids employees signing the Code of Conduct are deemed to have accepted these terms.”
“You can’t do anything you like, though, surely!” she said. “I wrote that with common sense in mind!”
“No, you wrote that with money in mind. You knew very well that sending young women to certain clients would harm them, but that particular client paid a premium to do so.”
“But – but there are laws!”
“Yes, but your clients were wealthy enough that no hourly-paid maid could take them to court. And until recently, you saw no consequences either.”
He nodded for her to continue, and she read:
“In working for Pretty Maids in a Row, you agree not to discuss any aspect of your work or details of clients’ private lives with the press. Any attempt to reveal such information will be subject to legal action and damages of up to £100,000.”
Eleanor ruminated on the countless voicemails he had received from sobbing women who had been spanked, caned and pressured into sexual favours after taking on Pretty Maids jobs. She had never called a single woman back, and had instructed her PA to email them a copy of the contract, highlighting the clause on chastisement. Terrified of being countersued, not a single maid pursued action against her.
“So you see, Elly,” said Tom, slipping his hand around her waist and running it up her side to graze the underside of her breast, “You really do have to behave yourself.”
“Ha! But I haven’t signed this!” said Eleanor, triumphant. “I’m not an employee!”
“Oh, really?”
Tom produced a sheaf of legal documents. Eleanor remembered sitting in her wooden pew after the judge’s verdict and signing twenty pieces of paper, blinded by her fury at the judgement. Sure enough, in the middle of the pile was a copy of her own contract for employees, with Tom’s details substituted for her own. It was signed, scrappily, but unmistakeably: Eleanor Kennick.
“Nooo!” she wailed. “It can’t be!”
“Aww, don’t worry, Elly. I’ll run the business while you’re busy cleaning my house. And you’ll be glad to know that after you’re finished working for me, we’ll be changing the manual to improve workers’ rights. You’ll be the last woman to sign up for this trap.”
He ran his hand up onto her breast, skating it across to her nipple and gently brushing it. Eleanor was alarmed to discover her nipples were hard, standing out beneath the satin bustier.
“Oh my,” mocked Tom. “I think you might even be enjoying this. Just a little. Is big, bad Eleanor Kennick looking forward to tottering around as my adorable little maid? I can see her now: eagerly cooking, cleaning, smoothing her dainty little pinny, and getting down on her knees to scrub, scrub, scrub?”
Eleanor blushed hard, furious at her body for betraying her.
“Watch that posture, Elly,” warned Tom. “Hmm, but I might have something that can help you get that perfect Pretty Maids stance… ”
He dipped into a linen bag and pulled out something wrapped in tissue paper.
“Turn around to face the mirror,” he instructed. When she hesitated, he delivered a stinging swat to her thighs and she turned around with a yelp, seeing herself in the full-length mirror.
She looked ridiculous, from the frilly little cap on her head to her glossy black shoes.
Suddenly Tom’s hands passed some stiff fabric in front of her waist.
“What the – ?”
Before she could think straight, the corset busk was closed and Tom began yanking the laces tight.
“How fucking dare you?” she gasped, wide-eyed. “I don’t need a fucking cor–”
Tom leaned in close to her shoulder and delivered a single slap to her cheek.
“That’s another demerit for dirty words.”
Eleanor’s mouth hung open in shock, and suddenly she felt his hard cock press against her bottom. To her embarrassment, her heart pounded and she felt wetness in her knickers.
Tom resumed lacing her up and Eleanor breathed shallowly as she watched herself transform. Her waist went from slim to tiny as the bones of the corset gripped and squeezed her into shape. Her breasts were thrust up so they were practically bursting out of the lace-framed bodice. She looked like a cheap whore.
Finally Tom was satisfied, his strong hands knotting the laces in the centre of her back.
“Perfect. Since you treated your employees like objects, I thought I’d make you into a doll for my entertainment. This steel-boned corset will ensure you walk like a ditzy little bimbo. Talk about an undercover boss! Who would recognise Finance World’s #1 Female Entrepreneur Eleanor Kennick in this adorable maid’s outfit, tottering around in plastic heels, with her waist all cinched to please her boss and her perky little tits spilling out of her top?”
Eleanor felt her face flush as the air conditioning caused her nipples to harden further.
Tom stepped back and dropped his keys on the ground.
“Pick those up for me.”
Eleanor hesitated, feeling the corset squeeze like a huge hand around her waist.
“I’m waiting,” said Tom, getting out the demerit book and tapping a pen against the cover.
Fine. She would pick up his stupid keys. Eleanor went to bend at the waist and felt the corset refuse her. She gagged as Tom waited, checking his watch.
“I can’t – ” she complained, her breath catching.
“You can and you will,” said Tom. “Pick up my keys or I’ll think of something worse.”
Gingerly, Eleanor bent at the hip, her back held arrow-straight. Her high heels and corset caused her bottom to stick out appealingly. It was hard to keep her balance as she scrabbled for the keys.
“Oh yes. That’s very cute.” Tom took a photo, but she was too breathless to protest.
He slipped behind her, pulling her frilly panties up into the crack of her bottom and baring her cheeks. Eleanor gasped at his touch, and reached the keys, utterly humiliated.
She dumped the keys into his hand without a word.
“Thank you, Elly. That was simply priceless. What do you think to this image for a Pretty Maids billboard campaign?
He showed her the photo he’d taken. Eleanor was bent over like a stripper in her plastic heels, tits pushed juicily up by her corset, waist tamed and trained, and bottom obediently presented.
“No,” said Tom. “I think we’ll keep this as insurance, in case little Elly does anything silly.”
Eleanor fumed, realising she was utterly trapped.
“Right,” said Tom. “Let’s put my Pretty Maid to work. I think you can clean the toilets first.”