Interview Ch. 01: The Maid

This story was a bit of an experiment, mostly with the perspective and tense. It will be another multi-part story, but not anywhere near as long as my others. As always, I hope it entertains, and I welcome feedback and comments.

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I follow Rose as she walks up the stairs. Her pumps click on the wood, which echoes in the large house. There's no way she could sneak up them, but she doesn't need to. I follow more quietly in my flats, observing and jotting down notes.

"Master wants me to do the guest rooms today," she says over her shoulder, "We've got the party in a couple of days and he has me clean them early so they're clean and fresh but there's enough time for the smell of the soap and stuff to go away."

We reach the top floor and head down the left hallway. The house is large, but not quite big enough to have "wings" like a full mansion would. That said, the top floor is arranged in a sort of "H" with bedrooms on the sides of the house and bathrooms in the middle, with the back given over to the library. There hasn't been any redecorating or updating the interior apart from what's required to keep it up to code. That means a lot of hardwood surfaces stained in various browns, molding everywhere, and carpets in the rooms. The hallways and stairs don't have runners, but that and the electric lights with LED bulbs are the only nods to the modern age in this part of the house.

We reach the first room and Rose unlocks it with a skeleton key. The doorknob rattles and the metal looks older than either of us. We're close in age, though I can't help but be envious of Rose's body. She's managed to keep her skin pristine and free of lines; her face looks at least 5 years younger than her 27 years, her pale skin free of any stretch marks or scars that I can make out. She has her hair braided. It's dyed to look red, and she could pass as a native Scot or Irish lady even with her brown eyes.

I'm able to make these observations because the only thing Rose has on is an apron.

It's a standard maid's apron, in the Edwardian style like you'd see on Downton Abbey or any of those period shows; shoulder straps, a half bodice that covers the front, a string tie around the waist, and a drape in front that goes down just below the knees. But walking behind her, her entire back is bared to me. I can see the sides of her generous breasts peeking out between her back and her arms. Her shapely backside is completely visible, and depending on when I look and where I am, sometimes I can see what's between her legs as well.

I'm in the home of Xander Talbot, a hedge fund magnate of modest fame thanks to his shrewd philanthropism and patronage. His fund focuses on a mixture of natural commodities and clean energy; most people would know him as the "don't touch oil" guy, who stock analysts and forecasters like to interview for the "unpopular opinion." He invests in clean energy solutions and companies, and he's backed political candidates that focus on environmentalism.

Then there was the scandal with Kyra, given name Samantha Lynn. Paparazzi spotted the two of them together. On the face of it, it was just another age gapped pairing among celebrities, and it matched Kyra's brand; no need to play songs backwards or research symbolism to find the meaning behind her songs "Silver Fox" and "From Spring to Christmas." But rumors started bubbling up about a darker side to their relationship, albeit not from any credible sources.

Charlie Bozeman was a household name for a lot of us right after the expose. He "blew up" social media with his pictures and video where Xander could be seen holding Kyra against a wall by her wrists, exposing her backside, and repeatedly spanking her. Her sobs and apologies were a landing page sound bite around every gossip and tabloid site on the web. The #metoo movement was convinced they'd found their next target. Two days after the pictures dropped, Bozeman was lined up to appear on major talk shows, and people were trying to figure out whose attorney general could bring charges.

But as the Bible tells us, the third day is a different story. Kyra's exclusive interview with our own Carol Masters was not what anyone expected. People tuned in to see a battered, scared woman thanking everyone for freeing her from her torment and exposing her abuser. Instead she lambasted her would-be saviors, revealed the mountain of legal action being brought against Bozeman and several others associated with him, and announced her retirement from the public eye, finishing up with the new soundbite of the story: "I hope you like the music I made, because you all [expletive] ruined it, and you aren't getting any more."

That was the last public statement Kyra made. Half an hour after the interview, Kyra's legal team released written statements that revealed, with permission, that Talbot and Lynn had a submissive and dominant relationship, the defining type of arrangement in the BDSM subculture.

The righteous backlash that built for two days vanished in two hours. People tore into each other, with accusations of ignorance, "kink shaming," and misogyny flying around. Bozeman was sued by Lynn for slander and libel, and by both Lynn and Talbot for damages. The cases are still pending, but legal experts and sources close to all parties have said they expect Bozeman to settle, with most of the money going to Lynn.

The former rising pop star hasn't made a statement in a year, and she has disappeared so thoroughly from the public eye that new suicide rumors arise weekly, and several sites and groups have devoted themselves to "Kyra spotting." Since any money Talbot lost during the initial backlash has since been recovered, it's assumed any damages Bozeman has to pay will mostly go to her, and the amounts being speculated would mean she could disappear for the rest of her life if she wanted. Her fanbase holds out hope, if posts and messages online are anything to go by, though some spend time assigning blame, fixating on Kyra's statement that "they ruined" her career.

But another thing came out of that interview, and it turned into the reason I'm where I am now. Kyra implored people to educate themselves, to understand things before they attack and accuse blindly. Her words were a little less restrained, but the sentiment was understood. And she made a plea to Xander Talbot directly. Talbot asked for me, specifically, to be the window into his current and Lynn's former world. I expressed my doubts; those of you who join me on Saturday mornings know the name Daniela Poacher but I'm certainly not the most well-known anchor on our network. But everyone assured me I'm the one for the job, so after a few meetings with Talbot and a fairly extensive set of ground rules, I agreed.

It was a long conversation with Talbot, and my producers were flummoxed most of the time. No video at all was a major stipulation, though I can appear for interviews as I like. He also demanded these articles be explicit, detailed, and unedited. It was funny because it's the reverse of what we usually have to deal with. Big names want to review our stuff and take things out all the time so they aren't embarrassed. Talbot wanted to prevent us from taking anything out. The rest of the rules were for me. I thought they were excessive, but then I arrived at the house this morning and found out I'm the least constrained person in it.

Talbot had told me I would follow Rose around for the day at first. Xander Talbot has three submissives that stay with him regularly, but the arrangement he has with them means they are called, and treated, as slaves. He refused to explain the difference to me, so instead I had to hear it from Rose when I sat down with her.

"So with most subs and doms there are starts and stops," she explained, "you start what we call a scene, the dom orchestrates it, and the sub follows their commands. But then when the scene's done, the rules are relaxed. And it's almost always around their relationship. Most romance, or sex, is done in the context of the sub/dom thing. Some people do longer term roleplay, but that's a different thing completely."

"Slavery is different again. Master and I, and the other girls, we never stop. It's 24/7. My existence revolves around serving and obeying him, all the time, for every aspect of my life. I own nothing, I am paid nothing, I have no job except what Master tells me. My whole life is provided for by him."

Through more questions and answers I determine that it's still a role, albeit a very involved one; though Rose has no property in her name, she still has bank and investment accounts that are hers, though Talbot's name is on them as well. Also, he does not have any legal control over her, such as power of attorney. The shocking thing, at least to me, is that was Talbot's rule, not Rose's.

"I would love it if my Master had that kind of power over me," she explained, "the idea that I almost wasn't a person anymore, that he had total say over what happens to me? It's...well, I'll just say that before we go anywhere else I'll need to freshen up, and I will have to wash this chair."

She wore the same outfit she has on now for our interview. Her arousal, apparently, was what dirtied the chair.

In the room, her actions are unsurprising and mimic those of professional cleaners. She carries a bucket of wipes and sprays for the room surfaces, and a vacuum cleaner is retrieved from a hallway closet to take care of the carpet.

I'm adding this part because it was another stipulation of Talbots; my real, unedited reactions are required.

I'll admit it is arousing. I'd been timidly trendy in my youth. There was so much negative emotion around traditional roles with gender and sexuality that declaring you were straight was almost seen as backward and out of touch. "I'm not sure yet" was my go-to response and it almost always got me encouraging responses up through college. To be fair, of my four relationships to this point there had been a girl in the mix, and one of the people I dated later turned out to be a trans girl, so arguably I had evidence to back up the idea I was bi.

I couldn't help being aroused at the image Rose presented. She is pleasantly curved and uniform. So many people trying to look beautiful focus on their "best asset." If it's their boobs all their attention goes to their bras and tops. If they have a killer ass, everything points to and emphasizes that. If their face is the winner they spend two hours prepping it.

Rose doesn't have a star asset. Her breasts are average sized, but a little too flat and droopy to show off and expect universal praise. Her backside is well shaped, but also droops a bit, and it isn't big enough for those who want a "bubble butt." Her face is average and while her smile feels special, it's the kind of thing that would be ruined by overexposure; if she went around smiling all the time it would lose its luster.

I watch Rose's cleaning intently. While I've gone back and forth on my bisexual tendencies, I'd never considered myself a voyeur, and regular porn viewing wasn't a habit I ever developed. Despite that, my eyes follow the nearly naked woman, glued to the key areas of her body. I strain to see if her apron falls forward far enough to reveal a nipple, or if her breasts shift to the side so one peeks out. And I follow her strides and bends as she walks and cleans, waiting for her thighs to part far enough to reveal the treasure between.

I continue my close-up, "victim approved" peeping Jane routine through three bedrooms of cleaning. It takes a while because she approaches it, again, like a hotel housekeeper; each room is inspected and cleaned individually before moving to the next, even though I think it might be more efficient if, say, she did the vacuuming all in one go.

Things escalate while she cleans the third room. I sit in an easy chair the room has at Rose's direction. I force myself to keep my hands immobile and shift around trying to get comfortable despite the dampness between my legs and the tightness I feel in my own breasts. My seat faces the bed, and I've just been treated to several long minutes of Rose bent over as she straightens and flattens the comforter. She'd kept her legs together. Had she been thinner, there's no way she could have hidden her sex from my view. The little bit of extra flesh she carries down below meant instead I am only granted glimpses of it when she moves her legs to lean or step to one side.

I am very worked up and frustrated, to be perfectly honest. I find myself resisting several inappropriate urges. I want to yell at her for teasing me when she clearly knows what she is doing and is trying to drive me crazy. But how can I, as a modern woman, possibly justify accusing another woman of leading me on because the sight of her arouses me? How many men use that same justification for assaults and rapes? How many laws and dress codes are derided for that same flawed logic?

I also want to just start giving orders. Tell her to stop, to work with her legs spread specifically so I can see her hidden sex, or to remove the apron so the teasing will stop.

Mostly, though, I want to excuse myself and take care of the frustration growing between my legs.

That is about when Xander Talbot ups the ante, so to speak.

He walks into the room without warning or announcement, not even knocking, though the door is open so perhaps he doesn't think it necessary. Also, it is his house.

Despite the brazenness of that, however, I'm only barely able to keep a shocked gasp escaping at his next actions. Rose is still working on the comforter and doesn't acknowledge Xander's entry. He walks behind her without preamble or greeting and pulls open the robe he's wearing. I suppose in older times it would be called a housecoat. I see a fashionable shirt beneath it and I wonder if he keeps that for video calls. Then he moves forward. Rose lets out a sound between a whimper and a groan and I realize Talbot has just penetrated her. She braces herself briefly as Talbot's hips start working.

He sets an average pace. He's not jackhammering into her, nor is he going slow and sensually. Neither of them speaks. To my shock, Rose continues trying to make the bed, shifting up to deal with the pillows. Talbot moves with her but doesn't let up.

Since I can see her face, I know she's not ignoring what's happening to her, nor is she suffering through it; her mouth is open and I hear her breathing hard as Talbot pumps her with his tool. When her eyes aren't closed, they seem wide with desire and lust. Her breasts shift back and forth, sliding in the apron still holding them against gravity and hiding them from my full view.

When I glance up, briefly, at Talbot, I see him looking at me. I briefly wonder if he's expecting me to give him some sort of show, or even participate, but that doesn't seem to be his goal. Instead he reaches forward and pulls a string. I didn't notice until then that the apron ties at the top. The front falls off, leaving Rose's breast to swing free. Her hard nipples pointing to the bed as the fleshy mounds swing freely from his thrusting.

She gives up on the pretense of still making the bed and drops to her elbows, leaning forward and showing me her backside can adopt something of the heart shape people who admire them look for. Her breasts rub on the comforter, and I can only imagine how her nipples feel as they rub against the bedding. Her mouth closes and she grits her teeth at one point, then opens to blow out a lot of air. I wonder if she's just orgasmed.

Finally, Talbot gives a few hard thrusts and then stops pressed against her. Clearly he's just orgasmed. He pulls back and tucks himself away. Without any other acknowledgement or mention of what's just happened, he says, "Fix your apron."

"Yes Master," is all Rose says as he leaves.

A lot of the arousal and excitement I've built from watching the scene is chilled by that exchange. I don't think of myself as overly needy or clingy, but I definitely like a good cuddle and a kiss after sex. The dismissive attitude and near cruelty of Talbot shocks me. I'm confused, though, by Rose's reaction. Rather than wistful, annoyed, or angry, she looks fully sated, seeming like she just had the best sex of her life as she fixes her apron to re-hide her breasts. She returns to her work with a small smile. I can't claim that it totally took me by surprise, because she covered it in my interview.

"I'm a submissive, obviously, but that's only my...sexual leaning I guess you could say," she told me, "I've got two specific kinks. The first is exhibitionism. Until I discovered BDSM I wasn't gutsy enough to try it. The fear of getting arrested obviously kept me from really acting out in public, but I was still too shy about my body to even do it around people who might not mind. My relationship to Master helps me with that. As his slave I don't get to decide or refuse to do something. If he tells me to mount him in a room full of his friends, I have to do it. It's like skydiving, I guess; I was too scared to jump from the plane, but once Master pushed me and convinced me he could keep me from crashing to the ground, it's an amazing rush."

"And what about the second kink?" I asked her.

"That I discovered as Master pushed my exhibitionism. I like to be what's called a 'free use' woman. Basically it means anyone can use my body for their pleasure at any time and I won't resist or prevent it. That's how Master and I get on most of the time. I will clean, keep house, and generally live my day-to-day life like any housekeeper. But I'm always mostly naked, and at any time, regardless of what I'm doing, Master will come in and take me, or make me service him somehow."

"And what is it about that?" I asked.

"For me it's like the thrill from the exhibitionism. I mean, most of the excitement from that is wondering if you'll be caught, or who can see you while you're having sex. With the free use thing I'm constantly anticipating it. I'm wondering every minute I'm working when Master will come in, or if he'll come in. Sometimes I go a whole day and he never comes to see me, and I get so worked up by the end it's like torture. But it's the best kind of torture you can imagine. And I mean, I call it 'free use' but in reality that's supposed to go both ways. But I'm way too timid to demand it of him. So maybe 'free use' isn't the best term, but it feels right to me."

I suppose it's the difference between hearing the story and seeing it happen. Reading about puberty can't prepare you for it. Same with sex, or love. I suppose I didn't really believe how into it Rose is until I actually witness the exchange.

I walk with her the rest of the day. She finishes cleaning the rooms and moves on to general dusting and maintenance of other parts of the house. Talbot visits her once more. He has a number of indoor plants Rose needs to water. Several of them are on the outside of the stairs off the main foyer of the room. When she's watered all of them on one side, Talbot approaches her, spins her around and pushes her against the wall. That's all it takes for her to get a wild look in her eyes and stare up at him looking desperate.

If it were me, I would be craving some sort of encouragement or acknowledgement of what happened earlier in the day. Rose only seems to be craving more of the same attention Talbot gave her earlier, and she gets it. Displaying flexibility I would not have credited her with, he lifts up one of her legs and settles it on his shoulder, putting her in a standing split. From my angle I can't see it, but there's a shifting of his hips and a slight lifting of her body. When that happens, her eyes widen and her hands go to his arms. It takes a lot to stay stoic when a man of any size enters you, and Rose has no interest in masking her reaction.