Annabel and Mr. Nash Pt. 03

ANNABEL AND MR. NASH

(Author's Note: If you want to find out how Annabel became entangled in this humiliating trap, please first read Part One -- 'Annabel's Initiation', and Part Two -- 'Annabel's Transformation')

PART THREE -- ANNABEL'S DESCENT

Chapter Twenty-Seven

"Annabel, the sausage rolls are ready," said Mrs. Craddock.

With a weary sigh, Annabel stopped what she was doing, picked up a dishcloth, and crouched down in front of the oven. It was a maneuver that she found both awkward and embarrassing, due to the bizarre and kinky costume that Nash had assigned her for the morning.

She wobbled on her absurdly tall pumps as her round ass cheeks settled just above her heels. In the reflection of the glass door, Annabel could see the old woman scrutinizing her bare back, and was grateful that Nash had at least allowed her to cover her front with a blue apron. Other than that, her only other attire was a pair of black satin panties and a white cotton cap, under which she had been instructed to tie up her auburn hair. So far this week, Mrs. Craddock hadn't displayed any lesbian tendencies, but the way she constantly examined her new charge was somewhat disconcerting, to say the least.

Nash had hired the stern, gray-haired woman to teach Annabel how to cook and clean, as well as give her lessons in etiquette and deportment. At first, Annabel had welcomed the idea, thinking that for at least four mornings a week, she would be spared Nash's lewd and intimate attentions.

But Mrs. Craddock had turned out to be a hard and relentless taskmaster, and any illusions that Annabel had harbored of receiving some feminine sympathy were quickly dispelled. This was their third morning together, and it had been no less physically or mentally tiring than the first two. After spending three hours on her feet in the living room, practicing how to bow, curtsey, kneel, and speak to her master in the correct manner, Annabel had passed the remainder of the morning learning how to make sandwiches, dips, salads and snacks under Mrs. Craddock's watchful eye.

Placing the tray on the counter, Annabel felt the stern old bitch's hot breath on her neck and she automatically stiffened.

Why does she have to stand so close?

"Not bad," the old woman said. "I think we might just about have you ready in time to receive Mr. Nash's guests tonight. Now, go upstairs and change into your leotard."

*

Darius settled into a garden chair with his Canon Sure Shot at the ready, and watched as Mrs. Craddock put Annabel through her paces. It was a crisp, clear afternoon, just cool enough for Annabel's nipples to poke proudly against the green latex leotard that she was squeezed into. Right now, Mrs. Craddock had Annabel holding a rather comical and uncomfortable-looking pose -- her left arm held out straight to the side, her right arm aiming at the sky, and her legs bent slightly at the knees with her feet pointing outwards. The posture had the effect of accentuating the bulge of her mons, and certainly merited a couple of pictures.

Annabel had been motionless like this for over a minute, and already her slender arms were beginning to tremble. However, Mrs. Craddock appeared to have no intention of giving the hapless girl any relief just yet.

"Now we are going to work on facial muscle control," she said from the comfort of the other garden chair. "I want you to open your mouth and poke out your tongue as far as it will go."

Darius watched gleefully as Annabel's eyes briefly flickered in his direction and her cheeks glowed a deeper shade of pink. As her pretty features contorted into the absurd expression, Darius could have clapped with delight.

Oh, Mrs. Craddock, you are priceless!

There could have been no useful purpose in having Annabel display herself like this -- the sole intention being simply to humiliate her!

Darius was very pleased that he had invested some of Sissy's payment money in procuring the sadistic old housekeeper's services. She had been recommended by an acquaintance who shared Darius' warped sexual tendencies, and her presence acted as a buffer between himself and Annabel, helping to consolidate their master-slave relationship. To further enhance the illusion, the old bag never once dropped her officious demeanor, even though it was quite evident that she got her sexual kicks from directing Annabel's escalating debasement.

As Annabel struggled to maintain the excruciating pose, Darius realized that he was watching a master of cruelty at work, and from whom, over the coming months, he hoped to learn so much.

*

The aching in her jaws, arms, and back, were becoming intolerable, but Annabel knew from her previous exercise session that if she moved without Mrs. Craddock's permission, a painful and humiliating ass-whipping would ensue. She had only been laid across the old woman's lap once before, but the red stripes that Mrs. Craddock's crop had left on Annabel's buttocks were still visible. On that occasion, Nash had not been present, but now, the possibility of having her bottom flayed in front of the dirty lecher seemed unthinkable!

While her tormentors waited for her to slip-up, Annabel avoided their eyes and tried to concentrate. Her mind had been such a ragged mess over the past few days that she wasn't thinking coherently any more. Between Mrs. Craddock and Nash himself, she had been kept constantly on her toes -- often literally -- and her only time alone had been spent in an exhausted sleep whilst handcuffed to her bed. The only positive was that Nash had not touched her since she had so shamefully offered herself to him -- although his apparent indifference both baffled and worried her. Even she wasn't naïve enough to believe that that would be their last physical liaison.

"Very good, Annabel," Mrs. Craddock said grudgingly. "You may close your mouth and stand up straight."

Grateful for the relief, Annabel did as she was told, but then Mrs. Craddock added, "Now we'll have twenty minutes running on the spot. Hands behind your head, and knees up high!"

Annabel jogged in place and tried to remind herself why she was still here. She hadn't lost sight of her goal, but there were other factors now -- the punishment chair and the terrifying rubber hood, Mrs. Craddock's painful crop, and of course Nash's ever-growing collection of pictures.

With her breasts bouncing wildly, and her bare feet pounding on the grass, Annabel stared at the back door of the house, and out of the corner of her eye, saw Nash raise his camera once again. 

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Showered and shaved, dressed in a pressed white shirt, gray slacks, and highly-buffed loafers, Darius settled into an armchair and waited for his delightful maid to bring him his drink. He was quite honestly astonished at how readily Annabel had buckled down over the past few days. He had deliberately reduced their personal contact, preferring to take on the role of occasional observer -- and photographer -- while Mrs. Craddock molded Annabel into his subservient plaything, and he had to admit that the results so far appeared to be beyond expectations.

In their few exchanges, Annabel had been courteous and obedient, kept her lovely eyes lowered, and had followed his orders promptly and without complaint. Ever the connoisseur of delayed gratification, Darius had refrained from instructing her to do anything of a sexual nature --but that would all change this evening, and he was interested to see how she would react. Having come this far, she would undoubtedly do her utmost not to allow her efforts go to waste, but by bringing three other equally-depraved players into the game, Annabel would once again soon be breaking unchartered territory.

While he was dwelling upon the delicious possibilities ahead, the beautiful young girl timidly entered the living room with a tumbler of bourbon on a silver tray. She was back in her skimpy maid's outfit, complete with cap, garter belts, fishnet stockings, and five-inch pumps, the only addition this time being a matching black lace bra and panty set, which was plainly visible under the see-through uniform. Mrs. Craddock evidently knew a thing or two about make-up too, because Annabel was wearing just enough scarlet lipstick, black mascara, and green eye shadow to look slightly tarty without obscuring her innate beauty.

Averting her eyes, Annabel placed Darius' drink on the coffee table whilst remembering to keep her legs straight, and her rump thrust out. Admiring the smooth curves of her thighs, Darius was just contemplating giving her ass a squeeze when the doorbell rang.

"Ah," he said. "That will be the first of my guests. Be a good girl and see them in."

*

Even though Mrs. Craddock had explained in chilling detail the dire consequences Annabel would face should she fail to perform her duties exactly as instructed tonight, she was still swamped by a sudden attack of stage fright as she approached the front door. Thus far, Nash's vulgar sport had been conducted in relative privacy, with only two witnesses to her steady fall from grace, but tonight there would be three other strangers in the house, and although the new list taped to the refrigerator merely outlined her responsibilities as a hostess, there was a lurking dread in the back of her mind that she was going to be the object of a more debauched form of entertainment.

After taking a series of deep breaths, she opened the door with trembling fingers. Two men of about Nash's age stood on the doorstep and eyed her hungrily.

"Good evening, sirs," she said, following Mrs. Craddock's script. "My name is Annabel. Welcome to Mr. Nash's residence."

Then, trying not to blush, she dipped into a dainty curtsey whilst holding out the edges of her flimsy miniskirt. The first man entered the room as Annabel straightened up, and then holding her breath, kissed him on the cheek. She had to reach up to perform this demeaning greeting because he was a tall man, with a square, stubbly chin, and striking gray eyes that were currently fixed upon her well-supported cleavage.

"Very nice to meet you honey," he said, giving her cheek a playful squeeze. "I'm Eddie Yeats. I have to say, Darius is a lucky man to have such a sweet-looking maid!"

As Yeats went into the living room, Annabel turned towards the second guest, a squat, balding old guy, with a bulbous red nose. Resisting the urge to retch, she went to press her lips against his cheek, but at the last moment the dirty old pig turned his face towards her so that their lips connected, causing her to pull away in shocked surprise.

"Hello, Annabel," he grinned, displaying a row of yellow uneven teeth. "Tom Craddock. I believe you know my wife."

*

Alastair Barclay decided to park his car a block away from Nash's house and walk the rest of the way. Oddly, despite his eagerness to discover how much Annabel had been altered during the past week, he was also a little nervous. Nash had promised him on the phone that he would soon be living out his lifelong sexual fantasy, but he couldn't quite bring himself to believe that it was really going to happen.

Over the years, Alastair had watched Annabel grow up and develop into a most desirable young woman -- and the inspiration for most of his dirty dreams -- but he had never even remotely considered that she would become anything other than that. As he walked, Alastair reminisced over some of the disgusting acts that he had visualized Annabel performing during his frequent masturbation sessions -- was it really possible that he was about to see them happening in the flesh?

He climbed up the steps of the modest brownstone and shaking with anticipation, pressed the doorbell. When the door swung open a moment later, the heavenly apparition standing before him, almost took his breath away -- Annabel was dressed in the most provocative maid's outfit he had ever seen! The black, low-cut, semi-transparent top was trimmed with white lace and stopped just below her thrust-up breasts, leaving her flat midriff bare. The tiny skirt and apron barely reached the tops of her thighs which were adorned with white garters, and her long legs were wrapped in black fishnet stockings, their shape accentuated by a pair of high-heeled pumps. Her make-up was heavier than she usually wore, enough to make her look cheap but not comical, and the stunning image was crowned by a cute little white cap on her head, under which her glorious red hair had been pinned up into a bun.

My God, just look at her!

Alastair watched open-mouthed as without preamble, Annabel pulled her miniskirt outwards with her fingertips, and bent her legs into a low curtsey.

"Good evening, sir, my name is Annabel..." she started, and then her eyes grew wide and her face twisted into a mask of horror. "Barclay!" she shrieked, and in the next instant, she fled up the stairs. 

Chapter Twenty-Nine

As soon as she reached the landing at the top of the stairs, Annabel stopped, her breasts heaving. The dreadful repercussions of any transgressions on her part had been deeply ingrained into her over the past few days, which was why she had managed to dredge up the inner strength to demean herself in front of the other two guests. She hadn't meant to run, it had been a spontaneous reaction when she had seen Barclay standing in front of her. This was a man who had been catering to her every whim for as long as she could remember! For her entire life, she had barely given him a second thought as he had chauffeured her to school, served her food, and obeyed her orders without question. It hadn't entered her head that he might be one of the guests tonight. Now the tables would be completely turned. How could this possibly be happening?

I'm going to have to serve him!

"Annabel!" Nash bellowed up the stairs. "Get back down here this instant!"

Slowly, she turned around. Her pumps were at the foot of the stairs where she had kicked them off in her panic. Barclay remained in the doorway, a bemused expression on his face. She needed time to think. There had to be a way to avoid this. But Nash was waiting, and Mrs. Craddock's ominous words still echoed in her mind.

"Annabel! This is your last chance!" Nash yelled from the living room.

Her mind enveloped in a fog of confusion, Annabel skipped down the stairs in her stockinged feet and put her pumps back on. Then she tottered along the hallway and stood once more in front of her former servant. Swallowing hard, and unable to meet Barclay's gaze, Annabel lowered herself before him.

"Good... good evening, Sir," she croaked, feeling her cheeks on fire. "My name is Annabel. Welcome to Mr. Nash's residence."

Then she straightened up and, for the first time in her life, kissed Barclay on the cheek.

*

Darius had no idea if Annabel understood anything about the rules of poker, but as the delectable young girl hovered around making sure that their glasses and plates remained full, she appeared unaware of the absence of money or chips on the table as they played out the first hand.

Alastair and Craddock folded, but under the previously agreed rules, they couldn't have cared less -- they were all going to be winners tonight. Yeats beat Darius with a straight and then said, "So let me see if I've got this right. Now I get to choose -- a shot, an item of clothing, or a forfeit?"

"That's correct," Darius said, glancing at Annabel for a reaction, but she either wasn't listening, or didn't understand. "But before you do, Annabel has a special little gift for us."

Now she looked at him nervously as he continued, "Annabel, would you be so kind as to fetch the little tray from the coffee table?"

Darius had left it there earlier amongst the plates of snacks and bottles of liquor, and although she hadn't said a word, she must have noticed the blue, diamond-shaped tablets on the silver tray. Again, he wondered just how naïve the pampered young lady had been before her arrival here, but surely she must have known what they were?

Remembering to keep her legs straight, Annabel bent down and retrieved the tray.

"Now, when I explained to Annabel that we would be playing strip poker tonight," Darius smiled, "she came up with a delightful idea."

Annabel looked at him, her face a picture of anxiety and bewilderment. "In order to ensure that the forfeits won't be a... flop, so to speak, she is going to feed each of you a Viagra, aren't you Annabel?"

Darius observed the panic in Annabel's eyes with delight as he went on. "And you can start with Mr. Eddie."

*

Oh, this is too good to be true! Alastair Barclay thought as he watched Annabel pick up the first tablet with her slender little fingers. Darius Nash is wicked beyond words! Not only are we all soon going to be sporting rock-hard erections, but he has managed to create the illusion that Annabel will be responsible for them!

She stood awkwardly before Yeats, her ever-present blush intensifying as she waited for him to take the pill from her. The big fella had no intention of letting her off that easy, however! With a twinkle in his eye, he simply opened his mouth and offered her his long tongue.

Alastair watched in fascination as the wretched girl warily placed the tablet on his tongue, and then whipped her fingers away quickly, as if he was going to bite her.

"Offer Mr. Eddie a drink," Nash prompted.

Almost in slow motion, Annabel picked up Yeats' glass of scotch and held it to his lips. After he had swallowed, he moved the glass aside and held her gaze, before leaning forward and kissing her on the lips. Incredibly, Annabel didn't scream, jerk away, or even close her eyes -- it was as if she had been hypnotized.

"Mr. Tom's turn now," Nash said, breaking the spell.

Mechanically, Annabel moved around the table to where Craddock was eagerly waiting. As soon as she reached him, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her onto his lap. Now Annabel did react with a yelp, but Craddock held her in place as he opened his mouth and waggled his tongue at her.

As he sucked the Viagra pill from her fingertips, his other hand slid up over her stomach, pushing up against the underside of her bra and jiggling her breasts. After a brief struggle, she managed to worm her way off his lap and then stood in front of Alastair.

If hand-feeding erectile-dysfunction medication to middle-aged strangers wasn't bad enough, Alastair could only guess at the inner turmoil Annabel was suffering as she offered him his pill. For Alastair, it was a highly symbolic moment as he opened his mouth and allowed her to pop the blue tablet inside -- they both knew what this meant, and where it was all heading. As Annabel's pretty blue eyes brimmed up, Alastair felt a stirring in his loins that couldn't possibly have been caused so soon by the Viagra. 

Chapter Thirty

Standing numbly to one side, Annabel fought back tears of shame as she tried to process what was happening here. Of course Nash had lied when he had told his friends that she knew they would be playing strip poker. But what did that mean? Were they all going to get naked in front of her? And what would happen when the Viagra kicked in? An unwelcome image popped into her head of the four old men with their penises jutting out from under their fat bellies.

"So now that the naughty little maid has given us our medicine," Yeats caught Annabel's eye and winked, forcing her to look away. "I get to choose."

"An item of clothing, a shot, or a forfeit," Nash confirmed jovially.

"Well, that's a no-brainer," Yeats said. "Shots and forfeits come later." He rubbed his chin and looked around the table and Annabel held her breath. She still hadn't come to terms with Nash's nudity earlier in the week, so she most definitely didn't want to see this!

"Let's see," Yeats said. "I choose Annabel's top."