I’ve decided to develop yesterday’s fragment into a full-blown story. It intrigues me what will happen to the girl, Laura. I have my plans and thoughts. And I’m still working out the end in my mind. For now, though, the story begins:
Maid for Punishment – Laura’s Caning
Over the years, I’ve known many different masters and mistresses. Some of these people were kind and forgiving; the kind of person that I would want to stay with for years. Others were cruel tyrants who punished the slightest indiscretion. But in all of my years of service, perhaps none of those that I served was so violent – so sure of his own innate superiority – as Lord James Throttlemeyer.
I never knew whether Lord James (or his Lordship, as he preferred to be called) was an actual British Lord. The master loudly proclaimed his certainty of his birthright to any who would listen. But to be honest, in all my years as a manservant, I never knew an American with a true and natural claim to that title. I’d heard stories, and read news accounts, but I could not account for their veracity.
Yet, it’s not Lord James’ questionable claim to nobility that I mean to write about. Rather, it’s the cruel and wicked ways he dealt with his servants that I need to share. There were many instances throughout my short two years of service to him, but the most memorable example that comes to mind of Lord James’ cruelty is the time Laura was punished for tipping a glass of draft beer into the lap of District Judge Alexander Hoyt.
Laura had come to the house early in the year. She’d arrived one day, knocking at the back door, and asking whether we had any work for her. She had no real recommendations beyond her youth, a willingness to work, and a high school diploma. The nation’s economy had taken a serious downturn only months before, and it turned out that Laura’s family could no longer support the 18-year-old girl. Turned out onto the streets by her parents, Laura had come to Philadelphia to look for work. That was as far as her bus ticket would take her, and finding herself short of money, Laura was desperate to earn her keep.
She was lucky. Lord James had placed an advertisement only days before seeking a new house maid. His terrible temper had driven the last one out of the house. We’d had several applicants since the advertisement had appeared, but none were suitable. I didn’t think then that Laura was right for the job either, but we were short a maid, and she seemed to be a decent and honest girl.
(I’m still working on this story, but I’m sure I’ll finish it soon. I don’t write M/f often, but sometimes I feel the need to stretch myself.)