Don't Judge Me Ch. 11

I allowed Mahogany to lead me by the hand, eagerly chattering as she drew me towards the bathroom, and I put the shopping bag down as she directed before we left the dressing room. She pushed the door open revealing several showers, handbasins, a couple of toilets, but no people. She dragged me straight across the space to another door, which took all her body weight to open. It was then I realized... when she said, "Bathroom", she meant, ok fair enough, the room for the bath.

Down several stone steps, the room was cavernous, tiled floor to ceiling with several large stone pillars supporting a relatively low ceiling. It was much larger than the salle de dressing by at least half, but it was difficult to see the far side because it was filled with misty steam. It must, I calculated, run all the way back from the front room of the manor house to the corridor behind, extending from the balcony in the opposite direction from Miss Havisham's office.

The bath room was dominated by a large raised square stone... it's not even fair to call it a bath, it was virtually a swimming pool! With easily enough room for 8, 10, or twelve or more people to sit comfortably around the edges, it was only a "bath" in the sense of a Turkish or Roman "bath". The entire surround was a broad stone platform with three low stone steps down to the surrounding floor in all directions.

A thick mist of steam rose steadily from the water, maintaining a hot, heavy, steamy atmosphere in the room. Two women were floating around in the large expanse of hot water, so the floor of the bath was obviously lower than the floor of the surrounding room. It was difficult to be sure I recognized them, with their wet hair, and through all this steam, but I made the guess they had been among the maids I met earlier. Only their faces were bobbing around above water, but they noticed us arriving, and both faces were turned towards us.

There were two other girls, whom I recognized immediately as having been among the maids. The taller of the two wore only a towel around her torso which barely met at the side above her breasts, before gaping open down that side, and in any case stopping well short of a length that would be appropriate outside this room. The other was reclined on a bench, leaning against the wall, comfortably naked and using her towel as a seat cover underneath her. They looked like they had been in conversation before our entrance drew their attention.

Almost immediately, my lacy, wafting little cotton dress began transforming into a bedraggled, flaccid, soggy clump. Having surveyed the room I turned to Mahogany for a cue as to what to do next. Her top was already off, and she was wiggling out of her little shorts, her breasts wobbling around as she rushed to strip off.

"Come and meet the girls. But you're gonna need to get rid of that," hopping a little because she missed her footing when trying to pull her shorts off her foot, due to trying to point at my sad-looking, clingy dress as she did so. It was soaking up steam in heroic quantities, and rapidly becoming drenched with it.

Falling against the wall before finally freeing herself of the shorts, which had snagged on her left heel in her hastiness, she was able, while leaning there, to reach into the shelving which was stocked with towels, and toss me one. She then pulled one out for herself.

Clearly, this was a pants-off zone, and besides, my garment was thoroughly defeated by the misty humidity anyway. So I reached around to release the hook at the top of the dress at the back. I wasn't immediately successful with it, because my hands were now slick with steam, and the fabric had become sodden, but in a heartbeat, there was Mahogany, just slightly shorter than me, naked, right up close to my chest. She was reaching around my neck to help me, but of course, approaching me from behind would arguably have been simpler. I dropped my hands and allowed her to fuss with it instead. I could tell she was using the opportunity to stand close, our bodies touching, as she ostensibly just assisted me with unfastening my garment by wrapping her arms around my neck, pulling her face so close we were even sharing the same air back and forth as we breathed. I didn't need to peek in her mind. I could read everything that mattered in her bright, happy eyes.

She managed to release the dress, but didn't just let it drop. She followed it down over my shoulders, sliding it off me deliberately, her hands tracing my contours, including a seemingly unnecessary excursion to include the side curves of my breasts, sliding deliberately and unhurriedly down my body, even to the point of crouching down to the floor to help me kick off my shoes and step out of it, having slid it purposefully down the full length of my legs. And just like that, I was finally as naked as she. I tied the towel around, just above my breasts, in the same manner as the other girl, finding it marginally less scanty on my smaller frame than on hers, but still gaping unmistakably at the side, and flipping around at about the same length as the dress Mahogany had just stripped from me. The towel would stay fastened around me only if my movements were modest, otherwise it would surely let go and fall down. Mahogany threw her towel over her shoulder, and happily proceeded naked, as she drew me again by the hand towards the others.

"Guyeeez! Come and meet Shynalee," she brought me to the two ladies who were outside the pool. "This is Luna and Celine," she gushed as we approached them. Luna was the taller, and was standing up, leaning on a pillar over Celine, who was lounging naked on the bench. I decided to follow their lead on the etiquette of greeting one another in this peculiar social setting, not knowing if we were huggers, kissers, hand-shakers, or awkward little wavers. Luna leaned in to exchange a kiss near the cheek on one side, while Celine, still unabashedly comfortable in her nakedness, extended a hand to shake. We all exchanged very pleasant, "Pleased to meet you" sort of comments, which seemed genuine. Luna, I noted, was the one to whom Miss Havisham had assigned the task of flogging Mahogany on the dining table. I couldn't detect any ill feelings between them, and my cursory glance over Luna's mind showed no complex interplay between the two.

"And in the pool, that's Pensee and Cordilia," they waved as they came closer, and presently took up seats in the water, in a spot near where the rest of us were gathered. We shook hands and greeted each other, as I had with Celine. I was able to see they were naked in the water and not at all self-conscious about it.

I felt ensconced in a comfortable feminine blanket of acceptance, as we all chattered together, exchanging compliments on each other's hair, breasts, or outfits from earlier in the day. I didn't need any contrivance to gush about how pretty the maid outfits were, and I asked all about the corsetry, which they were all happy to discuss. In turn, Luna remarked on my outfit with what I sensed was genuine envy, and crafted some wonderfully affirming complements about my figure (ok, she said the outfit really pops because I have a cute bottom. It might not sound like much, but it made me warm inside to hear her say it. Don't judge me).

As we chattered on, Celine seemed purposely to raise the subject of Mahogany's punishment session as a jab at her, but I instantly saw that it was good-natured, and Mahogany was enjoying squealing in protest. That's about when I pieced together that Celine was the one whom Mahogany had singled out for a smack on the bottom on the way into the manor when I arrived. I brought it up, in the clearly fun spirit of the conversation, and Mahogany jumped in with an explanation.

"Oh, I'll tell you why I gave that miscreant a good smack," she began, triggering Celine's mock indignation, surely for my benefit. In an attempt to block my view of Celine's response, Mahogany stood between us and continued, "We knew you guys were on your way from the park, and we were in the dressing room up there," she indicated the stairs by which we had entered. "As soon as we saw the gate open, this little COW," she pointed behind her at Celine, who responded with an exaggerated gasp of indignation and a sharp smack on Mahogany's bare bottom. "Ow!" she danced sideways and giggled, continuing, "yes, this little COW." This time she covered her bottom and dodged, "cut the laces on my corset! My whole outfit exploded, of course, and all these so-called 'friends'," she indicated all the others with a gesture, to their obvious comedic delight. "Just abandoned me! And all of them, ALL OF THEM," she glared accusingly, one to the other, at each of the girls in turn. "All of them knew exactly what would happen when I was late. Ever tried re-stringing a corset and putting it on yourself? So you wanna know why I gave the cheeky witch a smack? Yeah, that's why."

The girls, by now, were all chuckling along to Mahogany's theatrical histrionics. I nodded with mock gravity and replied, "Well, I can see that you've been betrayed, Mahogany. Handed over into certain peril. I imagine you have asked Celine to promise never to do something like that again?"

"Oh, heck no. That was awesome!" she quipped, and all the girls laughed together. It was a beautiful sound, a group of women, all at ease in one another's presence, happily laughing together in shared fun. The burbling, tinkling sounds of mirth echoing easily off the stone walls and floor, albeit dampened by the persistent mist, wrapped around us all, holding us securely in a moist womb of maternal warmth.

"Oh, look who's here", a new, sharp-edged, distinctly sarcastic voice sliced through the happy moment like finding the other half of a worm in your apple. The mood instantly transformed. Every one of the girls stopped laughing, and generally they were looking downwards, avoiding eye contact. Cordelia began drifting further from the edge of the pool, out to the middle of the water.

The source of the voice was the remaining "maid" I had met earlier. This was the one who had announced that lunch was ready on the front steps. The one apparently older than the others. Probably in her Forties, I had initially guessed.

"Tell me," she was speaking loudly from closer to the door, as she slid a long, flowing maroon skirt down to the floor, revealing suspenders and her lacy culotte as the visible part of what looked like it must be beautiful lingerie peeking out from beneath and between the lower parts of her tailored white blouse. "To where should we direct our deep gratitude that Miss Havisham's latest little plaything would deign to wallow among us, the misfits and perverts?" She continued undressing with deliberate motions, undoing the blouse buttons as her menacing tone hung in the mist, dampening all previous frivolity.

There was no real answer to a question like that. It was rhetorical, and designed to intimidate. After my initial shock at the change in mood in the room, I began scanning her mind for clues as to where this aggression was coming from, and where it was going. On its surface, my mind reflected a meek awkwardness in response to her bullying, while underneath I worked hard to discern what her angle was.

"Have they told you yet?" her mind was barbed, prickling with aggression. She left the question hanging for rhetorical effect as she removed the blouse to reveal a luxe lace camisole of simple elegance, which matched the rest of her immaculate underwear. The camisole was clinging to her now wet skin, but the effect was even more alluring, if that were possible, not like my sodden dress, which just collapsed in the same conditions. She was extraordinary.

"No, I guess not," she threw off the camisole, freeing her breasts, released the suspender belt, and peeled her way out of the remaining garments. It gave me time to survey her mind. I could easily see a lot of aggression, but it was difficult to discern what gave rise to it. I had thought perhaps she had a beef with Miss Havisham, but that's not something I could detect. Not directly. She had a lot of resentment or pent up anger, but I was going to have to work harder to figure out what it was about.

She strode towards us. Well, towards me I suppose, zeroing her attention in on me and directing her remarks to me, strutting as if on a catwalk, one foot placed just beyond the center line in front of the other, creating a maximum of feminine hip swagger. She flicked her towel over one shoulder and allowed her breasts to speak for themselves in sympathy to her exaggerated gait. They bounced gently, announcing their enviable shapeliness as they took up their part in the dance of her curves as she walked, a goddess bearing down on me. "So is Miss Havisham planning to tell everyone what's so special about you?" she demanded, through a gloriously bright, duplicitous smile one might see in a toothpaste commercial, or on an airline hostess. She reached the spot where I stood, and leaned in to my ear to continue in stage-whisper, "Or are we keeping that a secret?"

I froze. She knew? Why was she talking about it? How did it get out? Did Miss Havisham tell her? Could she tell? Did she have the Sight? Now she genuinely had me on the back foot. I didn't know how to respond. I stuttered, "I don't... she... I think she should be the one to..."

The woman's face abruptly changed into solemnity, "Oh, so you agree?" She pulled back and looked me up and down.

I was lost.

"You think you're special?" she had me skewered, in a social sense. She was playing the mean girl, the queen bee. Inwardly I was actually relieved, because it seems she didn't actually know anything at all about the Sight! And I had almost blurted something in response to her bullying. I needed to be more careful. I quickly amplified my posture of being cowed by her clever nastiness, and manufactured a meek, weak-sauce response that would keep her on the attack, "Oh, no. Not at all."

The battle had gone all her way. She was triumphing over me. Not that I cared about that for my own sake, but I could see that in this moment I had the opportunity either to gain the trust and allegiance of the other girls, or fail, and live under this woman's bullying henceforth as, apparently, they all did.

"So what's your name, darling?" she asked in an overly sweet voice, just pregnant with irony.

"Oh, um... Shynalee", I remained demure, as if beaten down by her as I scanned across her mind for clues. "Crystal," she replied curtly, extending a hand to shake. "If you're not special, I guess you're just one more little pervert like the rest of us. Right girls?" she looked around. The others were visibly uncomfortable. "They don't like admitting it." She said, eyeing each of the girls accusingly in turn, as they tried to shrink and disappear. She was extraordinarily pretty, and was giving the impression she was drawing me into her confidence with a winsome smile. "But we're all perverts here, and that's why Miss Havisham collects us. We're her little menagerie of twisted sisters, aren't we, girls?" she looked around again, seeming to enjoy how uncomfortable everyone was.

"This is a brothel, Shynalee. Don't you see? Miss Havisham is the Madam. She has uber-rich clientele who drop by for a 'social visit', to frolic with the pretty young stallions she keeps in her stable. You would have met the boys by now, yes?" Everything she said had a ring of truth to it. I wasn't able to find anything in it that was false. My mind was racing, trying to reconcile everything I had learned in such a short time, but Crystal kept going, "And in a brothel, my precious young thing, there's a Madam, and there's the talent, and there's the clientele. And we," She gestured generally at the girls, "... are not any of those things." She leaned in close to emphasize her next point, "So what are we?"

Fortunately, the question was again rhetorical, because were it to be asked for real, I didn't know the answer. She had a point. A lot of things were starting to make sense: providing exclusive personal services for very wealthy, powerful, connected clientele would be lucrative, and would provide access to other powerful people, including in industry and politics. The "brothel" model did make sense. So what role did the maids play? And what about me?

"So..." I dared to break into her diatribe. "Do you girls work for Miss Havisham or not?"

Crystal laughed condescendingly, "Oh, my dear. Has she told you nothing? We're not workers here. We're refugees! We're misfits. She takes us in and keeps us around as decoration. Bits of fluff. Hunting trophies."

Again, this had a ring of truth to it. If she was lying, it wasn't in the central facts she was laying out. She may be misrepresenting them, and mischaracterizing Miss Havisham's motivations, but it seemed she was saying things that were essentially true.

"We come in here and play roles, like maids or whatever. It's a pantomime. It's an escape from the outside world where perverts like us aren't welcome and can't fit in. Because every one of us is depraved," her voice started dripping accusation, venom, and disdain, "...maladjusted, degenerate, broken...

"Mahogany?" she called in a faux sweet voice and turned to face the poor girl, "You're a pervy little thing, aren't you? You love a thorough spanking. We all watched you earlier, wallowing around in your own cum. Doesn't that just make my point?"

There was nothing good-natured about this goading. Mahogany was deeply uncomfortable, but I was watching her mind carefully. I could see that, whereas previously these remarks would have weakened her, feeding into her dark places to provoke a lustful reflex that would undermine her resistance, now, with my rewiring, it didn't have that effect. She was still intimidated by the pushy older woman more generally, but it wasn't amplifying her own demons any more. She stayed silent, but her spirit was resilient. I was proud of her.

"And Luna, don't you have a thing for being tied up with ropes and having your brains fucked out?" Luna shifted her posture, blushing as Crystal made lurid thrusting motions with her hips to illustrate. "Celine, aren't you the one who likes being told what a dirty little fuck tramp you are while you're gargling cum?" Celine's arousal did, admittedly, respond to the provocation, but she was also embarrassed and wishing the scene would come to an end.

I felt for these poor girls. If what this mean woman said was remotely true, each of them had a reason to feel self-conscious in this unfair setting, and I wanted to wrap them in safety and reassure them of their worth, and affirm them as women. I certainly didn't want to stand by had have them kink-shamed by a sadist for her own twisted reasons.

"Oh, heck yes, I'm a degenerate," I stepped forward to interrupt her rhetorical flaying of these poor girls. This put her off balance momentarily. I was monitoring her closely for any helpful hints about where to go with this, but I just had to begin, at least to take the heat off the others. "I like flashing my knickers. I do it all the time, " I admitted. Her momentum was broken. She moved closer to me, clearly trying to think of an angle to take back the initiative.

"That's why MIss Havisham had me in that ridiculous little dress, " I was truthful. "She brought me up and over the main road pedestrian bridge in that thing with no underwear at all, and I'll admit it, it was the most exciting thing I've ever done."

I hadn't needed to embellish at all, and I was already starting to see an effect on her thoughts. She was getting some kind of thrill from what I was saying, but I couldn't discern exactly what it was. It was like it was under a thick blanket or something. So I pressed harder, starting to exaggerate a little, "A truck driver saw up my dress and blew his horn. It got me so hot I nearly died."