Dad's Maid

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boundBinder
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Dad's Maid

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I am going to dip my toe in, and post some of my stuff. I used to have my stories posted on my Deviant Art page, before I closed my account. There were some that I toyed with continuing with sequels, but never got around to it. I may still do that, if anyone is interested enough.

DISCLAIMER: All of my stuff is almost exclusively F/m, and the female lead(s) will be wearing a particular clothing style that gets my motor running. If any of that appeals to you, then by all means, read on. I really hope you folks enjoy it ;)

Dad and mom divorced when I was around fifteen years old. I was actually quite fortunate, because while they no longer wished to live as man and wife, they didn't hate each other, as so many ex-spouses do. They split amicably, with me living with mom most of the time, and staying at dad's on alternating weekends. There was friction here and there, regarding holidays, but not a whole lot—they managed to remain friends through it all. Dad even showed up at mom's folks' place once or twice, for Thanksgiving. It was a little weird, but it meant that I got to have my whole family together for it. That all stopped when mom started dating, because dad didn't want to make things awkward, despite being invited.
For dad's part, he never again started dating anyone. I think mom was the love of his life, and when it fell through, he had no interest in trying again. I could tell that he was lonely, but he never complained. He just rattled around his big house, all alone, except on the weekends that I was there. I think he went out with friends from time to time, or had them over, but that was it. I guess at some point, he decided that he couldn't keep the house up and work full-time-plus, so he hired a maid. It wasn't until I came to stay with him for a long weekend that I found out that it was a "sexy maid" service. It was kind of jarring.
I had just turned sixteen, and was going to stay with him over Labor Day weekend. Why my father didn't have plans was beyond me, but he didn't. He said he'd rather hang out with me. It was all good on my end, because I loved spending time with him, and I was almost where I could kick his butt at Injustice 2(I main Green Lantern...fight me). That Friday, I showed up way before I was expected, because school let our earlier than it was supposed to. I said goodbye to my mom, hopped on my bike, and took the dirt trails to my dad's house. As the crow flies, he couldn't have lived more than three hundred yards from my mom's house, but driving there was several city blocks, because you had to go around a wide swath of "protected land". However, there were dirt trails(not strictly legal, but the cops really didn't care, as long as you didn't trash the place) leading all through those woods, if you knew where to look. I typed in the code that opened his garage on the outside keypad, and spotted the strange car. A little, light blue, Volkswagen Beetle was parked in the left side, and my dad's black Challenger was missing from its spot on the right.
I tried the garage door, and found it locked. Not too unusual. It was still early, and dad was probably still at work, but he had given me a key, so I let myself in. The washer and dryer were humming along noisily in the laundry room—also strange. My guess was that dad had a girl over...or a boy. I didn't care. Dad spent far too much time alone, for my liking. I dumped my duffel bag and backpack onto the kitchen table, and cautiously called out "hello?" I kicked off my shoes by the side door, and tried again. "HellOOooo? Is anyone here?"
I walked around, calling out, not wanting to spook whoever dad's visitor was. I walked around the corner, and almost ran right into the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I knew dad had hired a maid, but I never expected a stunning blonde, dressed as an honest-to-goodness French Maid—heels, fishnets, garter, short, frilly, black, off-the-shoulder dress, white, lace apron, headpiece, and gloves, and a black choker. The works. I stood in stunned silence as I drank her in with my eyes.
She on the other hand, shrieked in terror. She certainly hadn't expected a grungy, unkempt, teenager she had never seen before to be standing in her boss' house, bold as brass. "Who are you? How did you get in here? I'll call the cops! Get out!" and a string of other threats and demands fell from her perfect, scarlet lips, as I just stood there, dumbfounded.
As I watched her fish a cell phone out of..someplace, it snapped me back to reality. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I said frantically, palm out in front of me. "I'm Mr. Davenport's son! I'm here to spend the weekend with him!"
"You're Hunter?" she said, warily.
"Yeah. I can prove it. Just look at the pictures on the wall."
That was my first meeting with Cassiopeia Janelle St. Clair, 'Cass', for short. Cass was a late-twenties, college Business Major, who got the bright idea to start a cleaning business—HawtMaydz Housekeeping Service—to help put herself through college. She cleaned the houses of a select clientele, dressed in whatever costume or uniform(within reason) her clients liked her in. It just so happened that my dad had a thing for French Maids. Who knew? Anyway, she was making good money—REALLY good money—and was three semesters into a decent G.P.A. Master's in Business at a local college. Given the demand for her services, she could afford to be VERY selective in who she took on as clients, and dad was a member of that short list. That meant that if someone wanted her to wear something she didn't like, she could afford to say 'no'. I kind of thought, at first, it was kind of creepy of my father to have a girl half his age prancing around his place in sexy clothes, but Cass told me that he was always a perfect gentleman. Never said or did anything lewd or crude to her, and was always respectful. In fact, over the years, they became good friends, and my dad told her more than once(much to my chagrin) that she was welcome to clean his place in regular clothes, if she liked. Cass, being the consummate professional that she was, refused—it was, after all, part of her service.
Fast forward a couple of years, and Cass and I had become fast friends, emphasis on that last word. I had a SERIOUS thing for her, and tried to make sure I "showed up" at dad's, whenever I thought she would be cleaning. I had even done something that neither of my parents had managed to get me to do, in fifteen years—clean myself up. I always made sure I was at my absolute best, when I thought she would be around. Dad had himself a good laugh more than once, at my expense, over my newfound interest in male grooming. It was the summer of my senior year in high school, when I went to spend a few weeks at dad's place, while mom and new stepdad were overseas on vacation. I was stoked at the idea of seeing Cass more often, particularly in her 'uniform'. I was less enthused, when I found out that dad had to work every day. That meant two things: first, it meant that I wouldn't get to see him nearly as much as I wanted, and second, there was every possibility that Cass would elect not to wear her customary outfit, with just her and me in the house. I was bummed, but at least I would get to see her. Romantic, unrequited longings or not, she was still a friend, and a good one. Plus, she was at least as good as dad at Injustice 2. She rocked my world with Catwoman, and I was not at all distracted by Catwoman's appearance, while being controlled by someone who had become the woman of my dreams.
Yes, I'm lying. She cleaned dad's house dressed as her, one Halloween. I went through a lot of hand lotion, that week.
That first week, I had been hanging out, surfing the net—Deviant Art, Gromet's Plaza, etc.—reading a couple of stories, and looking at pictures. I was knee-deep in some Femdom stories on Deviant Art, when she came bobbing in, all black and white, and hot all over. I took care to minimize the browser, when she came near, chatting as she paused her work now and again. I also made sure I kept my lap, and its obvious bulge, firmly under the desk, so she wouldn't see "other things" that I didn't want her to see. I had just gotten to the part where the woman in the story was gagging the guy, when I hear a call from the other room. Cass was deep cleaning dad's house this week, and she asked me if I could help her with some boxes that were too heavy to lift.
I, being the heroic gentleman that I am, happily obliged. I ended up helping her out with various things for a large part of that afternoon, so happily, that I entirely forgot what was still open on the browser. From here, a lot of things happened at once. I was just finishing stacking some re-packed boxes that she had organized while she finished up the dishes, when dad came in. I didn't figure dad would immediately jump on the PC, so I had time to cover my tracks, but I didn't figure on Cass making a request.
"Oh, hi Mr. D! Welcome back," she said, pulling off the rubber gloves.
"Hey, Cass. I told you. Please call me 'Chuck'," dad replied, clearly weary from the day.
"Would you mind terribly if I jumped on your computer for a moment? I need to update your account, and do a couple of school things," she asked, brightly.
"Not at all," said dad, disappearing into the upstairs bathroom.
That's when realization hit me. I was upstairs, in the back bedroom. Cass was in the kitchen, and the computer was twenty feet from her, in the den. I was sunk, and I knew it. I shoved the last of the boxes into place, and went downstairs quickly, resisting the urge to vault over the railing, trying desperately to both break the sound barrier and to appear nonchalant, so that I could maybe do some damage control.
SO many things could have gone wrong. She could have told my dad. She could have fled the "little pervert" in the house. She could have dressed me down, right there, for my browser habits. She could have told me, point-blank, that she no longer wanted to be around me, if that was the sort of thing I looked at.
She didn't do any of those things.
What she did do, was sit there, intently reading that story, click through my open tabs one at a time, look at each of them briefly, then close them all. Then, my friend, this angel, this heaven-sent goddess, right-clicked on the icon, and cleared the history for me. She turned in the chair, and saw me standing there with a look of terror mixed with sorrow on my face as I shook my head 'no' desperately, Cass looked at me, smiled a smile that said "it's okay. I understand", winked at me playfully, and turned back to the computer to do what she asked my dad if she could do, without a word of what she had seen.
She had not only caught me red-handed, she had covered for me, and erased all evidence of my transgressions. To top it all off, dad never said a word to me about it, so it's safe to assume that she never told him what I had been doing. If I hadn't had it bad for her before, I was REALLY smitten, now.
Things went bad—really bad—a month and a half later. It was a week before my eighteenth birthday. Dad came home early, and gave me a look that said something was very, very wrong. I was sitting on the couch, an off-duty Cass next to me in ripped jeans and a sweatshirt, embroiled in some race game or other on the PlayStation. Dad's face told me that something terrible had happened. He sat down next to me, and began gently. "Son, I got a phone call at work, today..."
I'm a smart kid. I put it together from there. "Mom?"
He nodded, and I froze. Time slowed to a standstill, and only my dad's mouth moved. The only words I remember from the conversation were, "hurricane", "hotel", and "no survivors". I was a basket case for weeks, but dad was a rock. He took care of everything. I moved into the spare bedroom, and that was my new life. I tried to find a silver lining, and Cass was it. At least I'd get to see her more often.
Winter holiday break hit me hard, but dad made it all better. Even Cass made an appearance on Christmas Eve to eat dinner with us. She even came dressed as a "sexy Mrs. Claus", white fur-trimmed, red-velvet off-the-shoulder mini-dress and all. I hadn't even smiled, let alone laughed in a long time, and those two made it happen.
I found myself alone in the house, the Monday before school resumed session. Cass wasn't due until Tuesday, and dad had to leave on a business trip right after New Year's Day. I had practiced self-bondage before. A LOT. It never failed to get my mind off my problems. I had gathered a lot of supplies over the years, and dug out some soft, sturdy rope. As luck would have it, my four-poster bed was perfect for a budding bondage enthusiast. I like to be naked, when I'm tied up, so I stripped. I slipped on the black, leather dog collar I'd purchased, and buckled it snugly. I had managed to swipe a pair of Cass' panties once, when she was doing her laundry at my dad's place, an adorable black, silk pair. I gagged myself by stuffing them into my mouth, and sealing my lips shut with a few pieces of duct tape. I tied a few turns of rope around each ankle, and, with much grunting and panting through my nose, managed to get them tied securely to the posts of my foot-board. I tied a similar rope cuff around one wrist, and tied a piece of rope to the opposite post of my headboard. Working one-handed, I managed to get my cuffed wrist pretty securely tied off to one post, and grabbed the loose end of the other rope. I held it in my hand, and wound it around my wrist until I didn't feel like I could stretch any more. It wasn't really secure, but it would serve well enough. It certainly felt inescapable enough. I lay back, and relaxed, and let whatever fantasies that decided to wander through my mind take me away. Naked, gagged, and bound, spread out on my bed, and vulnerable, I imagined all sorts of things. I thought of Cass, and what I hoped would happen, if she found me like this. I imagined that I somehow got my wrist tangled, and couldn't get free, forcing me to wait for her to rescue me. I was alone in the house until she showed up, the next day, so I could certainly "make" myself stay like this, until just before she arrived.
At some point, I guess I must have drifted off to sleep, because I awoke to the sound of someone coming into the house, having no clue how much time had passed. I had no idea who might be coming into my dad's place. Had I locked the door? I legitimately couldn't remember. I looked at the clock, and realized that it had been two hours since I had laid down like this.
That's when I looked at the date.
It was Tuesday, not Monday. Between everything that had been going on, and not having to worry about school, I had somehow mixed up my days. Right on cue, I heard Cass' voice. "Hunter? Are you here? Hunterrrrrr?"
Every expletive I knew raced through my head, along with a couple I made up, as I frantically tried to undo my wrist. I was naked, gagged, and tied to my bed, with a hard-on as big as it gets, and Cass could walk into my room any second. I hadn't even bothered to shut the door, because I thought I was alone. I jerked and twisted at the rope. In my panic, I wound my wrist the wrong way, making it tighter, and the rope rolled over itself, tightening dangerously. I HAD to hurry! I still had to undo my other wrist, and ankles. I jerked and twisted my “escape wrist”, only making it worse. She was in my doorway for a few heartbeats, before she spoke.
"OH MY WORD! HUNTER!!"
I looked at my door in alarm. French Maid Cass stood there, hand over her mouth, eyes wide with fear. I looked back at her with an equal amount of dread and embarrassment.
"Who did this to you?!? Hang on. I'll get you untied in a second."
I hummed at her uselessly, but there were no words behind it, just sounds. While I tugged at my wrist, I was also trying to come up with a feasible lie.
She must have seen what I was trying to do with my wrist, so she gravitated toward it. Cass is a smart girl, so it didn't take her long to put some things together: One—the wrist I was working on was simply wound, not tied. Two—I was hard as a rock. Three—I was wearing a dog-collar Four—when she looked at what I had been doing on Dad's computer, there had been a couple of self-bondage links. ...aaaand five—I was beet-red. She stopped what she was doing, and held my wrist, keeping me from unwrapping it.
She looked me sternly, straight in the eye, one hand holding my wrist, and the other resting on my bare chest. "Hunter. Did you do this to yourself?"
I 'mmph-ed', and shook my head 'no'.
"Hunter Davenport, you tell me the truth. DID you. Do this. To yourself?" Her gaze caught mine, and held me as securely as any rope.
I closed my eyes, and flushed even more red, out of embarrassment. I nodded 'yes', twice.
I kept my eyes closed in humiliation, as she continued to unwind the rope from around my wrist. I certainly wasn't going anywhere until she was finished. I felt the cord fall free, and flexed my hand a bit, before reaching over to untie my other wrist.
I shouldn't have hesitated.
Without a word, she caught up my wrist and sat on my forearm. Cass quickly wrapped the rope around my wrist tightly, tied a secure knot, and then tied it off to my bedpost, hauling it taut. She then went over to my other wrist, loosened its tether, and tightened it, as well. She went to each of my ankles in turn, and did the same. When she was finished, my ankles were literally bound right against my bedposts, and my wrist ropes were like bowstrings. My bed was queen-sized, so I was stretched out tight, like a drum head. My muscles were shaking with the strain, and I was starting to sweat, despite the cool air from the air conditioner.
I hummed at her the whole time, but she ignored me. When she was done, she left the room, and returned with a bath towel, which she tossed over my rapidly-deflating rod, to cover my modesty.
"Now, mister. We're going to have a talk. You scared the life out of me. I thought someone had come in. What would you have done if I had called the cops?"
I started to try to explain, 'mmp'-ing into my gag, but stopped, because it was useless. I just had to lay there and endure her scolding.
"This sort of thing is dangerous, Hunter. You read all the time about people who have gotten hurt or even killed doing this stuff on their own."
I nodded, but still had not opened my eyes. I couldn't look at her. I had never been so mortified in my life.
"Look. I'm going to take off your gag, so you can participate in the conversation, and hopefully apologize to me. Okay?" I felt her fingers on my cheeks.
My eyes widened, as I remembered what was stuffed in my mouth. I jerked my head away, and hummed frantically, shaking my head 'no', like a madman.
"Oh, come on. You NEED to be able to talk. If you want, I can put it back when we're done, okay?"
'Did she just offer to re-gag me??' I thought. My libido betrayed me when she said that, as the deflation process at my pelvis stopped and reversed a little. I froze. I locked up at the very idea of it.
That moment of distraction was all it took for her to get a French-tipped nail under the tape and pull it off in one go. I had a smooth face, so it didn't hurt a lot, but it still hurt enough for me to yelp, and that was enough for her to reach in and pull out the panties.
I shut my eyes and mouth, in an expression that suggested that I was enduring series of inoculations. I waited for the storm.
She stayed quiet for a long time. I opened my eyes a crack, to see her looking down.
"Why would you do this?" she said, staring at her hands in her lap, where they held the damp cloth. She couldn't look at me.
"Cass, I..." I didn't know what to say.
"Hunter, why? I thought you were my friend. I thought you, of all people, wouldn't treat me like...my clients."
"Cass, please."
"No. They ALL look at me like an ornament. Out of ALL of them, there is only ONE that doesn't make me feel like less of a person, and that's your dad. Do you know that I only charge him a quarter of what I charge everyone else? Do you?" Her voice was rising.
I shook my head 'no'.
"Because I catch all of my clients looking at me out of the corner of their eyes. Staring at me like a piece of meat. Leering at me. Sure, I know that I set myself up for it, and this business was my idea. I charge the hell out of them for it, too. The only reason I still do it is because I make so much money at it, and the work is child's play. Your father has never once left out anything lewd for me to 'accidentally find'. He's never once said a single inappropriate syllable. You know what he said, when I asked him why he hired me, instead of normal maid service?"
I shook my head, again.
"He said that he hired my service because he wanted to feel like a beautiful woman wanted to be around him again. He offered more than once for me to not dress," she pulled part of the neckline of her dress that had slipped off her shoulders back down, "like this. I do this for him, because he is a decent guy. If this makes him feel less lonely, then I am happy to do it. He is the ONLY one that made me feel like part of the family, and he is the ONLY one that is still paying the same rate that I charged when I first started this venture. I have gone up 500% on everyone else. EVERYONE. I get a little more disgusted with myself almost every time I go to work, but I can't stop now, because it pays the bills I have made for myself."
I winced.
"I guess the son didn't take after the father." She threw the underwear on my chest, and got up to leave the room.
"Cass please, wait!"
She still wouldn't look at me, and I hardly even noticed that I was still bound spread-eagle on my bed, and naked except for a towel over my now-limp masculinity.
"Cass please, I..."
She looked at me at last, and I don't believe I have ever seen a look so cold as the one that regarded me out of those icy, green eyes. "You will address me as 'Ms. St. Clair', sir."
That tore it. I broke. I started crying. Not 'tears welling up in my eyes' crying, I mean ugly crying. It all came out. Everything. I told her the whole shebang. I started with trying to deal with the loss of my mother, and the bondage stuff helped me get away from it—cliche' but true—and eventually, I told her how I felt. I told her that I had been smitten with her from the moment we met, and how I couldn't think of anyone else, and sometimes, anyTHING else, but her. I told her that she was my silver lining, when mom died. The whole time, she stood in the doorway, arms folded, and regarded me with that judging stare. It softened infinitesimally, but I would take what I could get. When it came to the underwear, I pulled the ripcord on my parachute, and prayed it would open: I told her the truth.
"Why did you steal them? Do you know how violated this makes me feel?" she asked accusingly, pointing to the silken evidence on my chest.
Deep breath. "I have no defense. I took them, because they were yours. I wasn't living here, yet, and I had it bad for you then, and still do. They looked like you. They felt like you. I knew that someone like you could never be interested in me, so I stole a little piece of you, and I am sorry."
"What do you mean, 'someone like me'?"
"Come on, Cas..uh..Miss St. Clair. You're perfect." She smirked, and snorted in derision, but I soldiered ahead. I had already bared most of my soul. Might as well go for broke, because I stood to lose my best friend over a moment of weakness. “You may not think you are, but I do.” I couldn't look at her, again, and I was still crying. “You're beautiful, brilliant, funny, clever...you brighten a room...you're compassionate, caring, intimidating, strong, willful, sexy, and successful. Who am I? A high school loser, just shy of nineteen, who's never even had a girlfriend, who doesn't have a single friend to his name, except you. I'm a scrawny, geeky, nerdy dork, and you're someone who could have any guy she wanted, any time she wanted. You're so far out of my league, and my reach. What could I possibly offer you? So yeah, I took them. I am ashamed of it..”
“...and rightly so..” she interjected.
“...but the ugly, unvarnished truth is, given the chance, and the same circumstances, I would do it again. I know at any time, some company is going to snap you up, and I'll never see you again.” The tears had all but subsided, my throat was raw, my nose was running, and my eyes burned. I have to admit, I felt cleansed.
With a sensual shrug of her bare shoulders, she sighed, her eyes downcast. She could not even look at me! “I have a lot to consider. I'll be back in here, in a bit.” With that, she walked into another room. What could I do, but lay there?
I stared at the ceiling, at the walls, at the underwear on my chest, and at the clock. My muscles and joints were aching. My erection had long since faded, and with it, the adrenaline that staved off such concerns. The clock said that I was about to hit my fourth hour since I tied that first knot, when she came back in the room and silently sat on the bed by my left side. She picked the panties up off of my chest, and considered them for a long time. She looked at the bedside table, where my roll of duct tape, and clock were.
“How long have you been tied up?”
“I don't know. A little less than three hours?” I lied. I didn't want her to be worried about me.
She stared at the cloth in her hand for many long moments, and finally said, “I think I understand.”
“Miss St. Clair, I am...,” I began, carefully.
“'Cass',” she said, gently.
“I am truly, deeply sorry.”
When she spoke, it was quiet. Almost the voice of a little girl, scared. “When I was in fourth grade, I stole Steve Dillon's stocking cap out of his backpack. He thought I was being mean, but I wasn't. I did it because I liked him, and lacked the social skills to express it.” She took a short, but deep breath.
I waited the space of a few breaths. “Cass, I..” She silenced me with the light touch of a finger on my lips. I didn't know what I was going to say, anyway.
“Shh. Let me think,” she said, almost at a whisper. I think she was trying to decide if she was angry at me. My shoulders and hips were beginning to ache with the strain of being stretched out so tight, but I was afraid if I were to ask her to untie me, I would derail whatever train of thought she was on, good or bad, and do damage to our friendship that could not be undone. I elected to remain silent, and patient. I dared not even move. She sat at my side, and turned the underwear that I had stolen over and over in her hand, while she stared at them. “He was so angry with me. It was his favorite hat, and I reached into his backpack and took it. He was so mad. He yelled at me, and I just stayed silent and handed it back to him. ...then I ran off and hid. He never knew I liked him, because I was too scared to say anything.” She got up, and walked to the door to my room, still staring at her stolen panties. “At least you were brave enough to say something.” She shoved them into the pocket of her skirt, and was gone.
I squirmed, but still stayed quiet. My body was aching, but I looked at it as penance for violating my friend's trust. I dimly heard her in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher. She couldn't have been gone for more than a few minutes before I heard it turn on, and she was back at my door. She had the underwear in her hand, once more. “I'm still mad at you,” she said quietly, staring at them.
“I know,” I said, as she crossed the room to sit beside me again. She still sat with her hands in her lap, holding the panties and staring at them.
“Why did you do this to yourself?” she asked, finally looking at me, and gesturing at the rope around my right wrist with her chin. She never moved her hands from her lap, still turning the cloth over in her fingers. “It's obviously sexual, or you wouldn't be naked.” I blushed hotly, again. “But why? I remember that story you left open, and I went back and read more of what you had on that screen, later, so I know it is a sexual thrill. Explain it to me.”
My throat seized up. I groped around in my head for an answer, but I might as well have been searching for a grain of sugar in a bucket of salt. Even if I came up with a response, I wasn't sure if my voice would work. A groan, halfway between “Err” and “Uhh” was all I could manage.
“Don't you know?” She was looking me straight in the eye, now. I could see the redness. She had been crying. I had hurt her—a lot. She deserved an answer—even a lame one—so I started babbling, trying as best I could to explain.
“I don't think I do. I've enjoyed it, ever since I was a little kid. I remember seeing this 'Detective' magazine that had a woman tied and gagged on the cover, and wondering what it felt like. I've been doing stuff like this, ever since,” I said, making an uncomfortable attempt to shrug. “The more I did it, the better it felt.”
“Okay, but that doesn't explain this,” she said, laying her lace-gloved hand on my bare chest. “Why naked?”
I wondered how red I was getting for the umpteenth time. “Umm.. I.. Uhh..” She still hadn't moved her hand.
She pressed on my chest a tiny bit. “Go on. It's okay,” she said with an great amount of care in her voice, “you don't have to be embarrassed.”
I took a deep breath. “As I got older, I did this more and more, and it started to make me...umm,” I stammered, looking away from her, then back again.
She glanced at my towel-covered crotch, and back to me, a halfsmile curling up one corner of her cherry-red lips. “Aroused?” she finished my sentence. I nodded. “It really is okay, Hunter. You don't have to be ashamed.”
“It's not just that, though. This,” I waved my bound hands, “kind of relaxes me, too. It lets me switch off, and shut out..well.. everything else.” She nodded in understanding. I closed my eyes, and forged ahead. “I do fantasize when I'm tied up. A lot.”
“What do you think about?”
My eyes widened. “What? I couldn't tell you th...” My voice trailed off, when I saw her arched eyebrow, and semi-stern look. Another deep breath, and, “I mostly think about women doing...things... to me. Kind of against my will, kind of not.. ...being told I have no choice in what they do..no say in it.. stuff like that. Sometimes I imagine being captured, and held prisoner, or for ransom, and them deciding to keep me as their plaything, even after the money is paid. Sometimes it's like I'm locked up with a bomb or something, and I have to get loose before it goes off.” I let out a breath, to stop myself from babbling my innermost fantasies. “...and yes. it makes me...hh...h..” I stumbled over the word, and looked away from her.
“Horny?” she giggled, but not in a mocking way. I nodded. “It's all right, really. You're a guy. It kind of goes with the territory,” she said, kindly, finally moving her hand back to her lap. “Is it always women?” I nodded. “Okay, next question; WHO do you think about?” Her look was halfway between amused and accusing.
Like a deer in the headlights, I stared at her, and stuttered. “Uh...you know..celebrities, and stuff.”
“Like who?” She wasn't letting it go. I rattled off a couple of objectively-hot famous women, some of which I'd actually thought about once or twice. “Who else?” she probed. I opened my mouth, and closed it, again. “Me?” I closed my eyes, and nodded. “Often?” she asked. I couldn't lie to her, but at least I did not have to tell her that it was almost always her. I nodded again.
“Often?”
Crap. I nodded, and blushed deeper. “Hmm...” She reached up and played with the delicate lace around her neckline. “Is it me, or the outfit?” I shrugged again. “It's fine, Hunter. I won't be offended if it's the costume. I know it's sexy. That's why I offer it as part of my maid service.”
“It's not just the costume.”
“Okay, let's test that theory,” she said, getting up, and leaving the room. To my horror, I heard her leave through the garage door. For one terrifying moment, I thought she was about to drive away, but I heard her come back in and go into the bathroom. A few minutes later, she came back in my room in ripped jeans, sneakers, and an old t-shirt. Her golden hair was down in a pony tail, now, tickling the small of her back. “How about now?” she said teasingly, “still the same, without the outfit?”
It was my turn to be a little peeved. “Come on, Cass. I like you, not your clothes. Sure, I like the costume, but I told you how I felt.”
She left the room once more, and came back with a box of tissues and a warm washcloth from the bathroom. She had me blow my nose a couple of times, and wiped away the evidence of my tears. “Thank you. Now, can you please untie me, so I can get dressed? My shoulders and hips are starting to hurt.”
She smiled, but it was a mischievous smile that I had come to know, all too well. “No. I'm not still mad at you, but you need to learn a lesson...so you're going to stay tied up like that, until I'm done cleaning your dad's house. It serves you right, for invading my privacy.” She got up to leave, turned her head to look back over her shoulder, and said, “besides, it'll keep you out of my way, so I can get my work done.”
I was struck mute. I could not believe what was happening. She winked at me, and walked away, disappearing from view. Just like that, my body got a fresh shot of that wicked, bondage-adrenaline. “Cass, wait! You can't leave me like this!” I called after her.
After a moment, she came back in, a sly smile on her face. She walked over to me, her hand behind her, where I couldn't see it. “You're right,” she said, reaching behind my head with her other hand, “I can't leave you like this.” Without warning, the hand behind her came around, holding the wadded panties. “Since you like these so much,” she said, shoving them in my mouth, “you can keep them.” That hand clamped firmly over my mouth, keeping me from spitting them out, while the other retrieved my duct tape from my nightstand.
“Wmmph?!” I tried to say, 'what?'.
She lifted her hand, and tore a strip free. “Don't you dare spit those out, or I'll tell your dad what you did,” she threatened, “Close your lips.” Of course, I complied. She pressed two strips firmly over my mouth, and then shocked me completely, by proceeding to wrap the tape all the way around my mouth and the back of my head at least three times, pulling every turn very tight.
“Mmm!” was all I could say.
“Sh,” she said, putting her finger where my mouth should be, “you don't get a say. After all, you're gagged.”
My heart was pounding fast, now. I was more turned on than I had been when I first started. When she dropped that “you're gagged” on me, I thought I would explode. She got up from the bed, waved to me cheekily from my door, and left amid my frantic humming and head-shaking. Twenty or so minutes later, she came back in, once again in her oh-so-hot French Maid outfit. “One more thing,” she said, picking the roll back up, and ripping a long strip off of it, “you can just lie here in the dark, and think about what you've done,” she purred, as she smoothed the tape over my eyes, pressing down, firmly. My eyes were now sealed shut completely, just like my mouth. With that, I felt her get up from the bed, and then I felt the towel covering my modesty whipped away from me, leaving me bare and exposed. “I'll need to wash this, with the rest of the laundry.” I didn't know it at the time, but she had snatched up all of my discarded clothing, as well.
I honestly don't know how long she kept me like that. I lost all track of time. I heard her vacuuming, doing dishes, and a host of other chores—when you're naked, bound, gagged, and blindfolded, your hearing gets VERY sharp. Every so often, I would hear her from about where I thought my door was, asking if I was okay. I hummed into my gag, trying to get her to release me, but she ignored my attempts with, “good. I'll check on you again, in a bit.” My shoulders and hips were on fire, and my jaw hurt, but heaven help me, that thing at my crotch was still pointing straight at my ceiling fan. I tried struggling, but the absolute inescapability of my bondage was just driving my arousal more. I felt like, if I could have seen her even looking at me, I would have burst.
Eventually, all good things must come to an end. I heard her across the room. “Have we learned our lesson?” I nodded and hummed into the underwear filling my mouth. “Are you going to steal my stuff again?” I shook my head, frantically. “Okay. Would you like me to untie you, or would you like a little longer?” It was not lost on me, that the woman of my dreams was standing in my room, offering to cater to my kink, but after so long, stretched out so tightly, I needed out. I nodded. She giggled. “Sorry. I have no idea what you nodded to. Let me try again. Would you like to stay tied up a while longer? I've kept you like this for about three and a half hours.” I thought about it, and shook my head. My joints were killing me, and I REALLY needed a 'different' kind of relief so badly I couldn't think straight.
I felt her toss a freshly-washed, soft towel back over my midsection, as she sat down on the bed. That touch was all it took. I tried for a moment to contain it, but it was no use. I exploded all over myself, fountaining my hours-long frustration into that towel like my life was being siphoned out. My muffled yelling of relief from the pent-up need filled the room. “D...D...Did you just...?” I nodded weakly, my humiliation absolutely complete. She let out the tiniest of giggles, and then, “oh, honey. It's okay. Here. Let me get you out, so you can...take care of...it.” I felt her nails searching for the edge of the tape, when she stopped. “Hmmm. Maybe I'll leave the gag for you. That might hurt, coming off.” She reached up, and ever-so-gently peeled the tape away from my eyes. I blinked in the light. “There. Better?” I nodded mutely, blushing deeply. She laid her hand on my cheek. “It's fine, really. Try not to be embarrassed. Let me get your hands. Oh, no...Hunter... They're positively purple. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have tied you so tight,” she stammered as she released my right hand, then my left. She took my hands into hers in turn, and rubbed the feeling back into them. The one she had tied was especially bad—she did not know how to tie a proper rope cuff. Once I could move my fingers again, she started releasing my ankles, while I worked gingerly on removing my gag. I avoided looking at her, as I peeled the layers of tape away with many a wince. Once my lips were unsealed, I spat the sodden cloth from my mouth, and bunched the towel around my rapidly-cooling loss of control.
I picked up the underwear, and handed them to her, just as she finished the last knot on my ankles. I would untie the cords from my bedposts, once I wasn't covered in my own shame. “Here. I am sorry I took them, and I am also very sorry I scared you.”
She held out her lace-covered palm toward me, and said gently, “no, you can keep them, and it's okay. I forgive you.” My heart felt a bit lighter, at that. “Besides, it's not like I could ever bring myself to wear them again, after this,” she said, with a smile.
I looked at the livid, purple marks on my wrists and ankles, while she rubbed my left ankle vigorously. “I really am....sorry, I mean,” I finished, still not looking at her, as I got up and fished a pair of shorts and a shirt out of my closet with one hand, while I held the towel in place with the other. I rushed into the bathroom across the hall, and cleaned myself up. When I came out, she was standing in the hall, waiting for me. I still hadn't managed to meet her eyes. I could see the wadded panties in her hand, along with my ropes. The roll of tape was in the other. She shifted the tape to the other hand, and placed her fingers under my chin, in an effort to draw my gaze to hers. I turned my head, so I wouldn't meet her eyes.
She caught my chin in her hand, and turned my head to look at her. “Hey,” she started, “it really is all right...what you did in there. You have no reason to be ashamed. I don't mind, and I'm not mad. On some level, you might say I'm a little flattered. ...and I forgive you, for stealing my underwear.” She handed me the items in her hand. “Here's your stuff.”
I took it carefully, and looked down again, then back up at her. “Thank you...for...what you did.”
She smiled at me. “You did most of it.”
She turned to retrieve her street clothes, and slip on her overcoat. I had completely forgotten that she had finished her duties, and it was time for her to go. I was still standing there, when she went to leave. “I really do forgive you, and you don't have anything to be ashamed of,” she said.
An inquisitive expression came over her face. “Soooo.. How many times have you...you know... 'used' those?” she asked, indicating her panties wadded up in my grip.
“That was the second time,” I replied, looking at them, forlornly
“Hm,” she said, as she set her clothes down on a nearby table, and pulled me into a firm, forgiving hug. “Maybe we can make it three...or even more, some time. It was awfully nice not having you underfoot while I worked, and not gabbing to me all the time,” she whispered to me. My eyes must have been the size of coconuts when she pulled away. She kissed me lightly on the cheek, smiled at me conspiratorially, said “ciao, my friend,” and left.

JustMe68102
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Re: Dad's Maid

Unread post by JustMe68102 »

I enjoyed the story very much. I hope you continue to post your stories (new or old) here.

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boundBinder
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Re: Dad's Maid

Unread post by boundBinder »

Thank you. That means a great deal to me. I have an idea for a continuation of this one, but it has yet to be written. I will try to get around to posting one or two of my others, after the holidays.

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JaniceNoyb
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Re: Dad's Maid

Unread post by JaniceNoyb »

I really enjoyed reading this one, and would love to read a sequel.

I'm curious - why did you close your DA account? I have some stories there, and wonder if it's OK to post them both on DA and on here?

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boundBinder
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Re: Dad's Maid

Unread post by boundBinder »

JaniceNoyb wrote: 18 Jan 2022, 21:03 I really enjoyed reading this one, and would love to read a sequel.

I'm curious - why did you close your DA account? I have some stories there, and wonder if it's OK to post them both on DA and on here?
Oh, it was okay. It was not an issue with DA. I was having some personal issues that required that I "sanitize" my personal history somewhat. This necessitated cancelling my account, and taking down all of my erotic content.

This is actually one of the ones I would like to pen a sequel to.

spedoman
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Re: Dad's Maid

Unread post by spedoman »

I would like to voice my support for continuing this story. Its an amazing start and I cant wait to see what happens next.

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boundBinder
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Re: Dad's Maid

Unread post by boundBinder »

spedoman wrote: 12 Mar 2022, 19:21 I would like to voice my support for continuing this story. Its an amazing start and I cant wait to see what happens next.
Thank you for this. I will start writing on a sequel to it, then. Please be patient, as my free time to write is severely limited. Also, I will try to format the sequel better, to make it easier to read, not mention attempt to avoid grammar errors more. :)

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