Indenture: Termination of Service

Several weeks before the conclusion of my seven year indenture, I was called away from dusting the dining room in the midafternoon to Estate Office to speak with Mrs Le Clerke, the Mistress' personal secretary. I tried to hide my anxiety. My Indentured service was nearly up. A decision was being made by the Master and Mistress of the House on my request for an extension or renewal.

Only seven years earlier, my husband Jack and I arrived here at the Estate in street clothes from the Institute in the cab of a pickup truck driven by Joe, the Estate's cargo driver. A newly licensed teacher, I had given the seven year indenture required of young women entering service; Jack sitting next to me was a management student, commented, "The Family prefers to display a certain normalcy by engaging couples in service. The Family promised to be flexible on granting an extension at the end of Ellen's term so that our indentures begin and end together."

"Your rights and obligations too are," Joe commented, "Whatever your contract of Indenture provides."

"Are there any couples," I asked, "among the naked field hands and household servants cuffed in the back."

"That might present some difficulties," round face Joe with short black hair interjected, "Of the five guys, three are empty sacs, balls looped off for running from indenture. Castration keeps dogs, cats and indenturees from going astray, so they say."

"I hope," I chided Joe, "the time spent at the auction house's loading dock to take on cargo isn't added to our -- Jack's and my -- terms of service."

Now standing in front of The Estate office, waiting on permission to enter, I anxiously awaited the decision on my request for an extension.

Early that morning before anyone else stirred in the garret where professional caste household servants had quarters, my husband Jack and I crept out of bed. Jack reached for his nightshirt but I playfully grabbed it from his clutches. "We don't need them," I whispered in his ear. Leaving our room nothing more than an oversized closet with walls as thin as cardboard, we held hands as we headed toward the shower where the tiled walls and floors would shield some noise and provide us a bit of privacy.

Peering into the corridor, I could see the doors of the other professional caste servants were closed. I nodded to Jack the way to the showers was clear. Entering the corridor furtively I felt the excitement of an electric bolt shot down my spine setting my skin tingling as my body encountered the chill in the night air. "Just the night air," I assured Jack as I urged him forward. Or were we infected by the thrill of getting caught in the act?

Up the corridor, the doors of Nurse Charity and Mrs Le Clerke remained shuttered as we slinked through the darkness.

What would be the penalty for getting caught? The Master and Mistress of The Estate wielded absolute power. With an indenturee in household service or in the fields and gardens, an indenturee caught violating household rules could be whipped, lose privileges or shipped to market. Professional caste employees short of stealing were more likely to be admonished, but the power to do more contributed to the excitement.

At either end of the corridor, there was a large, undraped window. While other windows in the Mansion were covered in thick navy blue muslin drapes with black edging, the garret housed servants, though professional caste, were legally nothing more than property, subject to inspection as the master saw fit.

At the moment, outside was shrouded in darkness. The corridor was light by a single 40 watt bulb dangling from an electric cord. Daybreak was hours away, but right now, Jack was due over in the bunkhouse in an hour to rouse the field hands he supervised as the Manorial agent.

In the communal showers, I manoeuvered Jack into a corner where I nestled my body into his muscular frame. "Ever since you took on the job as Manorial agent, your muscles have firmed up so much, I'm afraid if you take me from behind doggy style you might break a bone. You're doing far too much of the heavy work yourself."

"Written into the script, I'm afraid. Empty sacs may hang around, The Estate can billet them with females, but without the `T' factor they tire and bruise easily." Presenting a sad face, Jack changed the topic. "We need to talk."

"I need to fuck," I declared. Jack put a finger to my lips reminding me that the showers weren't entirely sound proofed. "Feeling your cock grow and harden against my thigh, I think you do too."

"I'm talking about your prospects for a three-year extension that you requested. Why would it be turned down? You give good service," My husband assured me.

"I'd like to give you good service right now," I rubbed my nipples against his chest and went on my tippy toes to capture his pulsating penis and impale myself on it. "All I need is a few minutes, moments of pleasure, pure delight and I'll take from you about six inches."

"I'd like to talk with you before the rest of the loft starts waking," Jack pled, "and people start walking in here."

"Hmm," I murmured as I grabbed his penis to rub its head against my vaginal lips, "Getting caught fucking sounds strangely arousing. And it would be good all -- around as an educational experience for our professional caste colleagues in service of the manor. I take my teaching role here as former Governess seriously."

"The Family haven't any reason to refuse you," Jack expressed his frustration, "We came here as a couple, an indentured pair. Hopefully, we'll be permitted to stay that way."

"What will happen we can't control, Enjoy the moment let your juices flow. Come what may," I cooed, "now couple up, seize the day, I'm not scared of any who wander this way when I need six -- eight inches or so."

I gasped when he finally moved his hips for a deep thrust. After several thrusts, he disengaged and spun me around. Pinioned against the walls, I felt my breasts flattened into the cold damp tiles.

"I missed the long hair," Jack swore, "you use to wear. With my rod battering in, `Fuck -- me,' you'd declare. Alas, it's not quite the same, as when I grabbed your ponytail as I came."

"Words of love?" I chuckled.

Jack bent me over for a second helping, which required less coaxing from me but proved to be far less intense.

When I straightened myself, I turned toward him and gave him a full body hug. I whispered in his ear, "my magic is so strong that I can bring that limp thing to life a second time."

Jack laughed.

"Imagine," I invited Jack into my fantasy, "Nurse Charity has called you in for your yearly physical. You've been undressed. You were asked the usual questions about general state of health and injuries. Heart, lungs and reactions have been checked and found satisfactory. "`Now,' Nurse Charity announces, `we're down to the big organ. You know what that is?'"

"The proboscis?" Jack answered.

"Second choice?" I asked.

"Penis?" Jack responded.

"I would have hoped yours would have been as firm as your response," I tried to maintain a detached clinical tone, "The correct choice would have been the epidermis. And your skin appears not to suffer from lesions, discoloration, or scar tissue. But your second guess anticipated the direction of my examination," I took his flaccid penis in my hand, "the urinary -- genetical system. What brings you to pleasurably ejaculate on your own: watching pornography or manual manipulation or a combination of both."

"Hmm," Jack, after a pause to consider his answer, responded, "I suppose a little erotica to stimulate the imagination might work."

"Interesting," I posed the next question, "What genre do you prefer? I could suggest girl -- girl to release the furies. Then there is outercourse, mutual masturbation for those who want to work a sweat up, exchanging glances but nothing more. Then there's the excitement of spying in observing others undetected in voyeurism and the thespian pursuit of the limelight in exhibitionism."

"Nurse Charity," Jack replied, "during group male physicals tests the empty sacs by stroking their cocks gently and talking dirty."

"I can hear her voice chirping," I interjected, "her dejection in failing to bring the guy to a rock solid erection." Taking his projectile, I started to detect reaction as I lapped the tip of my tongue along the underside of his shaft. I teased him, "Are you holding back fate? You have only a few more minutes. A real man with a fully loaded sac should be able to cum in my face."

Jack's nut sack tightened against his body. The penis sprung to life for a squirt.

"Still spry, even I thought you drained me dry!" Jack declared.

As much as I wanted our encounter in the shower to last forever, I had to help Jack clean himself so that he could get to work before sunup.

"You get about two more hours of sleep," Jack reminded me.

"With a cuddly night dress instead of the warmth of live man -- flesh. Pity guys and girls who sign up together allied, their terms and conditions do not coincide. A gal volunteers for service obliged herself for seven years at a time," I replied, "Her man to ten years is tied."

"A male who remains intact," Jack spoke in a hopeful tone, "can conclude his two terms totalling 20 years while his woman with three terms totalling 21 years may be released young enough to produce a free born child."

"I hope you're right," I declared as I whacked Jack with a towel, "I've gotten used to wearing the black maid's dresses and the starched white apron."

"You were spoilt as the children's governess in the pinstriped business suit," Jack responded.

When we hugged, hoping for the best, I noticed how much time had changed him. As a Manorial Agent supervising the handymen and field workers on the Estate, Jack had developed powerful muscles, enough to crush a petite woman like me.

My working day began a half -- hour before sunrise. I was assigned to the informal dining room where the Family met for breakfast and dinner. The professional staff in service which usually joined Mistress and Master at table arrived first. Before the children went away to school, I would sit at a small circular table in a corner with the children and their nurse maid. Everything in the Manor was rigidly governed by ritual.

Nowadays I took orders from my former professional caste associates Nurse Charity, a 40 year old blonde with eyes as wide and bright as a teenager and Mrs Le Clerke, the Mistress' personal secretary, whom maids called fluffy -- head for the way her dirty blond hair was styled on top of her head. Placing their orders, both presented blank faces. Neither showed the flicker of recognition that until a few weeks ago I usually joined them at this table for coffee after the children's personal nurse-maid escorted the children to their classroom.

Breakfast done, dishes cleared, the Family and professional caste set about their duties, I would report for breakfast in the basement with domestic staff. Regarded as a spy in the lower depth, I would watch the real spy the Manor's Detective bullet haircut Mr Turnkey in a cheap black suit with white shirt and tie, slurp coffee as he entertained kitchen maids with his exploits combatting trespassers and poachers. I smiled when one of the male servants questioned why Turnkey wasn't included with the Family's breakfast. "I'm relegated to meals with household staff," Turnkey speculated, "I guess because the Family doesn't want me spying on them."

Shaking my head, I recalled Jack's reports of Turnkey rousting couples necking in the woods, but running from armed poachers. I finished quickly to get to work cleaning up the library, grand dining room and the Estate Office. Generally, other maids who worked with me said little but this afternoon at 2:30PM promptly, a maid with an expressionless face advised me that Mrs Le Clerke needed to see me in the Estate Office.

My question "Did Mrs Le Clerke call? I didn't hear the intercom ring" drew a blank face.

Reporting to the Estate Office, I remembered to stand outside and knock and await Mrs Le Clerke's permission to enter. Head down busy with her work on Estate accounts, deliberately ignoring me, Mrs Le Clerke, complemented her imperious air of authority, I mused, nicely wearing my old pin striped power suit. How Mrs Le Clerke coveted that suit! When I was the Governess, her eyes followed me whenever I wore that suit.

I shook my head. Oh how Mrs Le Clerke begged me for that suit when I accepted reassignment to domestic duties. As governess, I, like the Secretary Mrs Le Clerke, I had been treated like a member of the Family, right up to the day the children came of an age to go off to school. On that occasion came the last time Mrs Le Clerke acknowledged me with more than a blank stare.

The children had just gone off to school I declined Mrs Le Clerke 's request for me to accept a demotion, "Reassignment to other duties yes. As a voluntary indenture, I will not renounce my allowances, privileges, or accommodations The Estate's contract with the Institute provides. The alternative open to the beneficent Family, under my contract, is to free me from my Indenture and return me to the Institute with my husband."

In the present, looking up from her work, Mrs Le Clerke invited me into her office. "Stand in front of the desk," she commanded. There was no friendly smiled hint of recognition. Gruffly told in the Estate Office that my term was up and I would be returned to the Institute, for release, retraining or renewal.

"Regretfully, Ellen," Mrs Le Clerke deliberately used my first name, rather than the honorific Mrs Marm she had known me as when I were friends. Never looking up from her desk, Mrs Le Clerke announced the bad news, "the Family has declined to extend your tenure."

"But my husband Jack has three more years on his ten-year indenture," I protested, "I was promised that The Family would be amenable to an extension or renewal upon expiration of my term."

"Legally, The Family," Miss Le Clerke shook her head, "under its contract, is only obliged to provide bed and board. You once stood on your contract. The Family, in compliance with those terms, graciously allowed you to keep your quarters and entitlements despite your demotion..."

"Reassignment," I corrected her. "I specifically declined to accept a demotion. I refused to give up the privileges provided in my contract of indenture."

"As you wish, reassignment to Housekeeping duties," Mrs Le Clerke continued, "The Family's election to stand on the letter of its rights under contract should be understood by you who once did the same. This decision is neither an act of spite nor a reflection on your talents. The children are away at school; there is no need of a Governess and The Family does not need another maid. With the children gone, The Family does not require so large a Household staff."

"Not at the price tag I come with," I corrected her, "in my contract."

"Whatever," Mrs Le Clerke looked exasperated, "I've ordered your things gathered up and shipped to the Institute. I'll see if I can get Joe to drive you to the institute in one of our service vehicles."

"Can I at least get to see my husband before I leave?" I asked.

"Jack is out with his crew working in the fields, restoring the Estate's fences," Mrs Le Clerke shuddered, "You don't know how many breaches a public angered by the sale of park space makes on a daily basis and the amount of poaching that goes on," Mrs Le Clerke exclaimed. "I'll allow Joe to act on your request in his discretion."

Looking to the door, Mrs Le Clerke invited Mr Turnkey in. To me Mrs Le Clerke ordered, "Ellen, go with Mr Turnkey. Be assured The Family and I thank you for your service, dismissed."

When I didn't immediately move, Mrs Le Clerke prompted me, "Anything else, Ellen?"

"That suit looks very becoming on you," I replied.

"Regretfully, Ellen, I have other personnel issues to deal with this afternoon," Mrs Le Clerke sighed, "I haven't time to chat." Nodding to Mr Turnkey, Mrs Le Clerke ordered me to accompany Turnkey.

Grabbing my arm to escort me through hidden doors down the maze of narrow corridors light by light bulbs dangling from the ceiling, Mr Turnkey commented, "Backstage at the Manor house. Many a lass signs an indenture as governess, expecting to become mistress of the manor -- like that gal in the old movie." He snapped his fingers and grunted, trying to remember the title.

I nodded and forced a smile, "Jane Ayer. I sighed, "Not my story. I came here with my husband, him as a manager, me as The Family's governess."

"How the mighty have fallen!" Mr Turnkey quipped.

I knew I was being led to Nurse Charity's office for my exit physical. Like all other surnames among the professional caste servants who served The Family, the assumed surname merely referred to the job the servant held. Le Clerke, the clerk did all the Manor's paperwork, I, as governess, had been called Mrs Marm short for School Marm to The Family's children.

A bright plastered smile appeared on Charity's face when Mr Turnkey knocked and opened the frosted door of the infirmary. "Oh, Ellen, you'll be leaving us. Are you looking forward to obtaining a new teaching post?"

I feigned enthusiasm with my stupid nod.

"We do miss you at table with The Family." When I didn't choose to engage in small talk, Nurse Charity chirped, "Very well, now why don't you get yourself comfortable and wiggle your derriere over to the scales so I can start with your height and weight."

Shrugging my shoulders, I started toward the scales when Mr Turnkey, standing behind me, growled, "Don't play dumb, Sweet Stuff! Nurse Charity asked you to strip."

Nodding Nurse Charity in her mellifluous voice trilled, "Crude but accurate, I do confess." In a firm demanding tone, Nurse Charity commanded, "Ellen, get undressed."

I looked over at the table on the far side of the room. There were some separates, a blouse and pants neatly folded. On top of the pile were lacy frilly undies, white anklets and loafers, all gifts from the Mistress who never wore the same thing twice.

Legitimately, I recognized, as an indenturee, even though professional caste, I was just property. I could be stripped naked, cuffed and shipped naked like cargo on the back of a pickup. My contract provided me upon discharge from service to all the clothes the Mistress gave me over the years, but no right to wear them in transit.

Nurse Charity reiterated her order, "Ellen, I'm sure everyone here, and your husband Jack dear, combined, prefer you left gracefully, like a pleasant indentured volunteer, clearing the books honorably, at the end of her term fulfilled faithfully, and not like a rambunctious deadbeat disgracefully, shipped to market, shorn of hair, punished for insolence." Nurse Charity's rebuke was harsh. "Now everything off at once, including your underwear."

"Yes ma'am," I replied as I reached behind my neck to unbutton my pinny. That's what we called the white apron. The apron flopped to my waist. I reached behind my back to untie the bow.

"Hurry it along, Ellen. Will you undress any time soon?" Nurse Charity urged, "I'm advised unexpectedly I have a busy afternoon."

"Someone fall ill?" I looked up into those wide eyes of Nurse Charity whose eyes locked with mine, but blocked out any reaction or response. Shrugging my shoulders, I attempted to chuck the pinny away. Mr Turnkey caught my arm. Seizing the pinny, he shook it out, opened the pockets, and tossed the apron in a basket.

Deliberately, reaching behind me. I unzipped the black dress, lifted over my head and presented it to Mr Turnkey. Standing in crimson panties and a flaming red bra and thigh high black stockings, I folded my arms across my chest as Mr Turnkey turned the dress inside out and examined the seams. "No silver spoons hidden in there," I quipped, looking away in disgust.