3 comments/ 40172 views/ 2 favorites Lady de la Dia Ch. 01-03 By: Gabriel Orr This is a work of fiction, and is the first in a projected series of stories taking place within the walls of De la Dia Manor. This first entry will take a bit of reading to set everything up, so if you're looking for a quick come this may not be for you. I really appreciate feedback, and thanks for reading! Chapter 1: The Job Hunt "Four... thirty-eight... hm. Four thirty-six, thirty-seven, forty... dammit. Wait... no. Yes. Four thirty-eight Pine Terrace Road. Jackpot." Invigorated with the vivid empowerment of this small success, Amy Curtis momentarily forgot about the swarm of butterflies playing full contact tag in her stomach. This, after all, would be her first real job interview since dropping out of college a year earlier, and quite a bit rode on the success of it. At age twenty-two, with three years of schooling under her belt and little more than three years of outrageous university bills to show for it, Amy knew to count her blessings whenever a prospective employer acknowledged her existence. Wanted, the advertisement in the Sunday Herald's classified section had declared, Female in Good Health for Live-in Data Entry Position, no experience necessary. Send resume via postal service to 438 Pine Terrace Rd. Provide self-addressed, stamped envelope, photograph, criminal record (if applicable). Interviewed applicants must provide proof of recent physical or expect to receive medical exam on site. - the estate of Sarastra De la Dia, De la Dia Cosmetic Solutions Inc. The advertisement had conveniently omitted any mention of pay rate or term of employment, never mind the ridiculously personal information required for the privilege of sending a resume, but Amy had applied anyway. Actually, she and almost every one of her girlfriends had gathered the necessary articles and thrown their hats into the circle, along with dozens of professional women, hopeful teenage mothers, waitresses, starving artists... it was a cattle call, and they all knew it. They applied anyway. The lure was just too enticing to pass up; working for the De la Dia corporation in any capacity was like striking gold for any young woman with even the slightest shred of ambition. Local girls had gone from door-to-door saleswomen to corner office executive on more than one occasion in Amy's recent memory, and even those who didn't score upper management positions in the powerhouse field of cosmetics came out smelling like roses, far better prepared for the push and grind of careerism. They had nothing to lose and everything to gain, so why not try? Sadly, this news did not bode well for Amy Curtis. As a slightly chubby, vastly untalented, and somewhat antisocial twenty-two year old, her chances of succeeding in a race against throngs of model beautiful career women were closely akin to the chances of a fraternity geek winning a fist fight with a brick wall. In a battle of beauty and skill, she felt that she'd come unarmed - though this was a pessimistic and inaccurate view of herself - and would never hear even a whisper of a reply from the De la Dia corporation. It was for that very reason that Amy couldn't help but chuckle, listening to the sound of her work boots clomping along the walkway in front of Sarastra De la Dia's personal mansion that day. Against all those girls with their shiny highlights, radiant skin, and college degrees, a poorly dressed semi-goth girl had been one of only three to receive a reply. She had practically leapt out of her skin to hear the voice over the telephone, instructing her to dress casually for her interview at eleven in the as if the outcome of the cattle call had never, for a single moment, been in question. Despite all of that, despite her bountiful fortune, Amy could not help but feel sheepish standing in front of that polished oak door. The woman on the phone had said to dress casually, but she was beginning to doubt the wisdom of wearing tan work boots over faded blue jeans and a basic black tank top to any sort of interview. It felt like a stupid combination any day of the week, let alone this most important day in the entire course of her professional life. With unbridled trepidation, she lifted the heavy brass knocker at the door and let its weight slam down against its beaten old plate. A wry smile crossed her unpainted lips, the childish amusement of one who can't afford a knocker on her door. With a creak of hinge and wood, the oak tilted away from Amy's eyes, replaced by the figure of a woman who could not have been two or three years older than Amy herself. 'Girl' would probably have been a better word, as the soft cerulean Sunday school dress resting upon her petite frame and the matching bow tied securely into her ponytail gave all the semblance of a ten-year old just coming from church. "Can I help you?" inquired the girl in a tinkling voice that only deepened Amy's impression of her as a child. Amy nodded, stuttering just a bit as she sought the words to properly introduce herself. "Um," she began, "I'm Amy Curtis. I have an interview scheduled for the data entry job in about fifteen minutes, I think." The Sunday school girl nodded and stepped aside, holding out her arm with what came across to Amy as an unnecessary flourish. "Please," she said with a lordly smirk, "come inside then. Go straight down the hall and sit down on the green sofa. Please do not sit anywhere else, and do take off your shoes at the door. Also, are you wearing any religious jewelry? Crosses, ankhs, pentagrams, anything of that nature?" Amy shook her head. Her ears weren't even pierced, such was the extent of her personal disdain for ornamentation. This seemed to please the Sunday school girl, who smiled a pretty, freckle-faced smile, and waited for the prospective employee to enter the house. "Wow," Amy murmured as she stepped down the lengthy hallway, "the outside of this place doesn't even begin to do it justice." As a girl who spent most of her television time watching those do-it-yourself shows, she could appreciate the archaic taste that the owner of the house must have possessed. There was little in the way of carpet, but the endless walls full of antique furniture distracted her eyes from the floor in short order. The waiting room itself was like a museum gallery, stuffed with furniture that looked far older than her common sense told it to be. The aforementioned green couch, on the other hand, was obviously brand new and not well-traveled for a sofa. "It will be just a moment," Sunday school told her, just before swishing her way along an opposite hallway with an alluring shake of the hips gracing her every step. Amy was not, as a general rule, an admirer of women, but this particular girl had captured her attention with a walk that looked far more painful than the attention it might have garnered deserved. Briefly, Amy wondered if that awkward-looking trot was supposed to be sexy, but quickly blamed its tilting swish on the ivory heels torturing the poor girl's feet. For a half hour, Amy waited alone in that cozy little museum. Out of habit she continuously glanced at her wristwatch, the one with the long since dead batteries, sighing out of occasional bouts of malcontent. She had just made the decision to go looking for someone to question when Sunday school returned, this time sporting a gentleman on her pale arm. "This is Donovan, miss Curtis. He'll take you to see mistress De la Dia shortly." Donovan gave a courtly bow, smiling a toothy smile that sent a shiver up Amy's spine. Despite his Joe America good looks and classy black suit, this Donovan was eerie to her beyond all reason. He just felt... wrong, in a way she could not quite articulate. "Hi, I'm Donovan Simms, mistress De la Dia's personnel manager. I hope you don't mind the casual setting, but this is a special job opening and I thought that a traditional interview situation might not fit the grandeur that we're going to talk about here." After a handshake that was quite welcome in its brevity, Donovan sank down into another green chair just across from where Amy sat. She couldn't help but chuckle at his energy, despite how thoroughly unnerved she was by him. "Did I say something funny?" he inquired with genuine curiosity in his gravelly voice. Amy felt the warmth of blush invading her cheeks, and instantly recalled just where she was and how much rode upon this day. "Honestly," she began, settling her glacial blue eyes upon his burnt chocolates, "it just struck me as kind of funny, the way you described a data entry position. You make it sound like the most exciting job in the world." Donovan arched an eyebrow. "Isn't it?" Amy felt a smile creeping across her lips, bent a bit with anxiety. "No?" she asked rather than said. "At De la Dia Cosmetic Solutions, every job is the most exciting job in the world. I've got to say, that of the three girls we've approached for this position, you're the first one to give me an honest answer when I came in with that spiel. Mistress De la Dia is a great fan of honesty." He smiled at her again, this time his expression overflowing with warmth, and Amy's nervousness melted away. Maybe this guy wasn't such a creepy prick after all? "So Amy, you know what we're about on the surface. Right? You know that De la Dia Cosmetic Solutions is the finest purveyor of top-notch skin and hair care products the world over." Amy blinked again. "Well... actually, I don't really use a lot of makeup. I couldn't say for sure." Donovan laughed again, a friendly laugh that only served to refuel Amy's nervousness. He was being too friendly, too quickly. In her mind, she knew for a fact that Donovan was getting ready to start softening the blow in earnest. Instead, the personnel manager took up what looked like a file folder and began to rifle through it. "I love it. And she'll love it, too. Now. You know that this is a live-in position, right?" Donovan asked her this as he produced her resume and paperwork from within the folder, earning a nod of her head. "Great. Don't be so nervous, Amy, you've already got the job. We'd decided that long before we brought you in here, because you are what mistress De la Dia asked for down to the letter." A surge of impossible hope flooded into Amy's chest. "Really? What do you mean?" Donovan held up her paperwork, waving it back and forth in the air. "The mistress wanted to give someone a shot. Someone who had the right stuff for the job, but hadn't yet found the job for the right stuff if you follow. She specifically ordered me to screen applicants based on a few criteria that weren't mentioned in the newspaper ad. Any girl who sent us a professional picture was out. Resumes with a half-dozen references and an extensive work history are in the fireplace right now. We had a girl who could type a ninety-six words a minute, but she already had a job, and didn't need this chance as much as you. Do you see what I mean?" Amy shook her head, perfectly puzzled by all this. "Mistress De la Dia is a woman of older ways than you're probably used to. She doesn't hire people based on extensive education and ability. She loves a challenge, positively delights in taking unassuming young women with little in the way of personal or professional skills and transforming them into first class business women. She likes to think of herself as an artist, but since she's filthy freaking rich, we get to call her eccentric for it instead of crazy." Amy was beginning to understand at last. So that was why De la Dia hired unpolished young women almost exclusively... eccentricity could be blamed for any number of things, and she had no problem attributing this impossibly good fortune to that. "So, ah, when do I start? And what exactly will I be doing? Keeping ledgers, taking dictation," she asked, edging forward a bit on the couch. Donovan shook his head. "You start just as soon as you meet the mistress. That will happen after I show you to your new quarters and give you your job description." Donovan stood, smoothing out his fancy pants and beckoning for her to follow him. Without a second's hesitation, Amy did just that. "It's pretty spacious for what is basically servant's quarters," Donovan droned on, but the words were more or less lost upon Amy. Spacious's ass. The room was almost exactly the size of a basic high school classroom, only without the posing children and the desks, and decorated in much the same exotic fashion as every other room in the sprawling mansion. Blood red carpeting along the bedroom floor, sponge-painted walls with only one tightly shuttered window, and a two-fan ceiling offered a distinct contrast to the comfy-looking four poster bed sitting just away from the corner opposite the door and the plush computer station complete with rolling chair. Amy couldn't wait to put some mileage on that thing, but Donovan seemed more interested in telling her what it was that she would be doing in order to earn these amenities. "You will be doing some data entry, yes. But, it won't exactly be in the form that you expect it to be. What we need from you is for you to keep an ongoing journal while you are here," he explained, nodding absently to himself. "You'll need to write an entry by midnight every night detailing how you feel about your situation, and anything else that you might feel inclined to add. In addition, every day you will be given a quick physical, and you will record the data from that as well." Amy twirled in the squishy office chair, allowing that to sink in as she reveled in the amusement of her pallid blonde hair smacking her in the face. "So basically, I'm a guinea pig? You want me to change my lifestyle according to Miss De la Dia's instructions, and chronicle what happens?" To her, it really didn't feel as bad as her voice made it sound. Still, Donovan nodded. "Basically. Only, you'll be a well-compensated guinea pig. While you're here, you'll be encouraged to make use of our gym facilities and pool, you will get three square meals a day, and you will be given a whole new wardrobe free of charge. There's more, a lot more in fact, but the rest you get to find out on your won. The only real downside to all of this, and before you get your hopes up too far I'll tell you that it's a pretty severe downside," - Sarastra braced herself - " is that you will be forbidden to leave the premises. I hope you understand. We can't pay you for a job that isn't done, and outside factors affecting you will throw off our results. Is that okay with you?" Amy's face lit up. "Of course! It isn't like the outside world is that great, anyway." Donovan nodded, apparently pleased with her answer, but she wasn't quite finished just yet. "Honestly, with all the focus on money these days, I'd rather be shut in from it. You know?" "Oh yes," Donovan answered far too quickly. "I know. And mistress De la Dia knows, too. Just, ah, when you meet her in about two minutes, try not to ask too many questions about such things. She is a sensitive woman, and no matter what the public thinks, she is easily hurt and slow to forgive. Just mind your manners, don't ask any obvious questions, and she'll love you. Trust me." Chapter 2: Sarastra De la Dia Of all the spacious passages and chambers within the De la Dia mansion, Amy found the chambers of Sarastra De la Dia herself to be by far the creepiest and most off-putting section. She hadn't quite known what to expect when Donovan had knocked on her oaken door, having heard all sorts of rumors concerning the eccentric lady of the house. According to various sources, Sarastra De la Dia was a man, a hermaphrodite, a beastly fat woman, a serial killer, a supermodel, a vegetable, and any of a number of equally ridiculous possibilities, sometimes in combination. She quickly learned that the truth was far more complex than any of that. "Ma'am, I've brought Amy Curtis, your new data entry employee," Donovan hailed, while giving Amy a gentle push into the dimly lit office. She went willingly, drawn in by the soft scent of lilac and cool jazz playing over an old-fashioned record player. Without waiting for any sort of confirmation, Donovan shut the door behind her. What a strange man, she said to herself, her eyes darting all around the room in sudden disgust. A simple office dominated by a computer desk with a cushy rolling chair, the room's décor was nevertheless as exotic as any of the rumors might have led her to believe. Paintings and statues lined each wall, and each and every piece of art without exception depicted women engaged in various acts of... how would she have put it... lewd and frantic masturbation. Amy's disgust just managed to overwrite a dominating sense of curiosity, and she managed to keep her eyes on the prize. "Amy Curtis," hailed a soft, melodious voice from the other side of the cushy chair, "I cannot tell you how thrilled I am to meet you at last." Amy felt instantly humbled by that voice; with just a trace of a Spaniard's accent and a trembling tone that lent a sort of broken melancholy to the sweetness of it, it was the sort of voice that could command dozens of emotions in a person without intention to do so. It was the voice for which Amy herself had longed back when she cared for such things. "Well, I must say, it really is good to meet you, too. I've always wondered about you, like everyone else I guess." "I would be happy to assuage your curiosities once we have established our situation a bit more firmly. I trust that Donovan has led you to your quarters and given you his speech?" A tinkle of laughter punctuated her question, and Amy felt herself smiling, her muscles easing up a bit. "Yes, he has. The quarters are lovely, and so far, the job sounds just perfect for me. The speech was kinda dorky, but still good, too." Amy leaned over a bit, trying her hardest to sneak a subtle peek at the woman hidden by the chair's back. She could see a few wisps of devilishly black hair, but beyond that the woman's appearance remained a mystery. "That is wonderful to hear, Amy. I think I will very much enjoy having you here, and you will like your days as well. Hopefully your experience with 'dorky' will end there." Another chuckle, like sweet, honey-dripping music. "Tell me, though," Sarastara's voice paused for a moment, "what do you think of my artwork?" Amy cringed. She'd actually expected the question in a way... after all, the brazen art was right out in plain sight. It was probably a test of some sort, and one she intended to pass. "I'm not sure what I think, ma'am. The artwork is beautiful, but the subject matter is a little deviant for my tastes." Even as she said it, though, Amy felt her eyes kissing each and every piece of the naughty art. The little thrills tickling her nerve endings she could ignore easily enough... the gradual stiffening of her nipples, though, was something else entirely. Suddenly, her decision to wear black didn't seem quite so unwise. "Most of my household servants thought the same thing when they first applied. However, they have come to love the human form as I have," Sarastra droned on, her voice abruptly as mysterious as the rest of her. "The body, you see, is my canvas. I am enamored and enthralled by the softness of young skin, the fluid grace of a properly treated figure." Sarastra chuckled again, though melancholy still dominated her tone. Amy was beginning to feel awkward with the speech, though, and could not keep herself from fidgeting. Having grown up in a terribly Catholic home, she still knew the church's strict rules of physical intimacy to be the right ones even if openly practicing the religion had long since ended for her. "The business of cosmetics is the business of sex, no matter what the television says," lady De la Dia continued. "We sell products to enhance physical desire in others, to help them receive what their bodies naturally crave, and so, we study the subject fairly carefully." Lady de la Dia Ch. 01-03 "Um... what do you mean by that?" Amy asked, her voice trembling despite herself. Sex topped her list of uncomfortable discussion topics, partially because of her aforementioned upbringing, but mostly due to the fact that she had never experienced it for herself. During her years of college the boys hadn't shown a glimmer of physical interest in her, save for a few to whom she would never have given the time of day let alone her waning purity. As for the others... perhaps her antisocial tendencies had run them off. Perhaps modern men really didn't like full-figured girls. Whatever the reason, Amy Curtis spent her entire educational life knowing only the love of her own fingers... a trait made especially problematic by her sensitive, easily stimulated libido. If Sarastra noticed this discomfort on the part of her newest employee, she paid it no mind. "I mean that certain ranks of my employees are permitted and encouraged to make love to each other whenever they like, so long as it is documented for our records." Amy squeaked softly, her mind beginning to race. What sort of madness had she gotten herself into? "Listen, I'd really hate to cost myself a good job by saying something stupid, but I don't want to have sex with people for anybody's records." "Oh, no worries young lady," Sarastra countered the earnest admission in a easy tone with a soft click of her tongue. "It is completely voluntary. Only once was anyone ever involved in intercourse here against her will, and the servant who had forced her was terminated on the spot." Amy let out her breath in relief. "Oh, that's wonderful to hear. So... he was just fired then?" A pause was her answer this time. A long, uncomfortable pause. "She," said the cosmetics queen in a slightly acidic tone, "was more than just fired. Suffice to say that she'll never work in this industry again. Amy, sweetheart, just as hard work, loyalty, and drive have their rewards, so do disrespect for the rules and lack of self-control have their punishments. If you are uncomfortable with what goes on here, I can only suggest that you do not look, and keep yourself away when such things happen. You may do your job and never touch another person in this house, and you will have still met my expectations for you. What you do with yourself in the confines of your quarters does not demand documentation, unless of course you wish it to be so. How does that sound?" Amy had neither to pause, nor to consider. "It sounds perfect." "Then, you may leave now. Lunch will be served shortly." Chapter 3: Three Days Later ... click... and... save. There. Done! Amy wheeled herself away from her computer screen, rubbing her eyes as the monitor light faded for the day. Three days, and three absolutely massive journal entries... for all the free food, fancy bed, maid service, and impossibly generous amenities, Amy still felt that she was earning every single second of it. What she may have lacked in the physical beauty and personal skills departments, she certainly made up for it in work ethic and she planned to give Sarastra De la Dia her every second's worth. Now, Amy lifted only somewhat jiggly arms over her head and stretched, reveling in the exquisite agony rippling through her tummy muscles and her shoulders. As she'd quickly taken to the habit of getting her reports done before nine o' clock at night, three hours ahead of schedule, she now had time to go and make use of the private gym and pool facilities on the first floor of the De la Dia mansion. This, while not her favorite part of her new day's schedule, allowed her to unwind at her own pace after staring for hours at the translucent glow of her borrowed computer's screen. As she quickly stripped out of her jeans and blue t-shirt, the young woman let her mind wander over the course of her three day tenure there. Every morning at eight o' clock, Sunday school had shown up at her door - always attired in an equally cute pastel colored dress and matching bow set into her ponytail - with clothes for the day, a touch of breakfast, and various one-use cosmetic products set upon her little cart. Neither of them seemed to notice that Amy hadn't learned the serving girl's name yet, as she answered readily to Sunday school or just Sunday and would sometimes giggle girlishly when Amy called her those. Sunday school would draw the bath, and then take Amy's dirty clothes from the previous day onto her cart and disappear with them without a word of explanation or complaint. It had bothered Amy to no end that first morning, when Sunday had taken yesterday's panties onto the cart, as they had still smelled prettily of the physical release Amy had been forced to seek the previous night. However, the pretty girl in the pastel dress seemed neither surprised nor especially interested, and had gone on about her chores with a soft song rising from her naturally wide lips. After the morning's bathing, in a tub large enough for three or four people, Amy was allowed a few hours to do whatever she wanted... which generally consisted of exploring the massive house and trying to get to know the various servants who could be seen moving about in the course of their duties during the day. Despite her diligence, only about five of Sarastra's staff ever showed up twice in the same place; Donovan Simms, Sunday, a thirty something English woman named Beth, a black girl named Mia, and the always conservatively dressed librarian whose name, believe it or not, was Seven. Unlike the other servants, who were aloof though polite enough, the five of them always greeted Amy warmly and asked her how she was enjoying her stay in their own unique ways. However, beyond those short, randomly occurring meetings, Amy found most of her time would be spent alone. This would continue on until noon, when lunch was served. Amy, being a slightly husky girl, never had any problem with the delicious fare served in that mansion and was never given odd looks for asking for seconds as she would have been by most people she knew on the outside. It was a nice touch, one that made her feel more at home there than anywhere else. After lunch it was time for athletics with the mysterious, sensual Mia in the form of yoga every other day, alternating with kickboxing classes for which Amy had jumped immediately. Mia's dedication to her chosen arts was obscene, and it showed beautifully in the sleek tone of her limber body. The muscle definition in her shoulders was just evident enough to catch the attention, while her small, but well-formed breasts and perfectly round ass gave a powerful reminder of just how feminine she'd managed to remain. Amy had always wanted to learn some sort of martial art, but had held back for about a dozen reasons including a fear of losing her feminine curves in favor of blocky muscle... though she would not have admitted it, the firm globes of Mia's butt had convinced her otherwise and greatly influenced her decision to give kickboxing a try. After athletics, and the daily follow-up physical given by a different person each day, Amy was always offered a choice of warm-down sessions. The mansion's steam room, normally reserved only for executives in the company, was opened to her, or she could choose to receive a session of massage therapy until supper, which she happily agreed upon every single day. Sunday school, as it turned out, was the masseuse assigned to her (though after a bit of sniffing around, Amy had soon learned that Sunday and Mia had both been specifically assigned to her anyway, which explained the coincidences) and a very good one at that. She absolutely loved the way Sunday's soft, manicured hands felt as they worked hot oil into her skin, how Sunday never commented on Amy's weight, and by the second visit she was comfortable enough with the situation to accept Sunday's offer of a full body massage. Sunday, for her part, maintained a flawless level of professionalism, laughing and chatting in her pleasant little girl's voice while her hands danced blissful ballets up and down Amy's spine. Supper followed the massage, after which time Amy would usually hole up in her room to complete her duties for the day. Relaxed as she was, her fingers had not yet failed to fly over the keys and churn out a few thousand words describing the bliss of her new situation, and she would then spend a few moments entering her physical results into the log as well. She smiled when she did, thinking of how clear and smooth her skin had already become with the daily battery of moisturizers and cleansing lotions, and how, if she was lucky, her daily athletic sessions might eventually trim out her still chunky figure. In the reflection of the computer monitor, she could see the seeds of a truly pretty woman blossoming in herself, and it made her smile. Finishing her duties for the day usually meant that Amy had a few more hours of free time to herself. Day one had seen her perusing some of the tomes in Sarastra's sizable library, day two had taken her to the weight room, and day three, to the pool. It was to the latter that her bare feet carried her now. A respectable walk separated her quarters from the downstairs pool, giving Amy plenty of time to try and figure out just how her borrowed bathing suit's size was off. A simple red one-piece affair, it fit snugly over her shoulders but somehow loosened towards the bottom, causing the material to ride up and down with every step. She recalled Sarastra's speech about 'studying sex' and could not beat her conspiracy sense away from thinking that this garment had been designed specifically to rub her femininity when she walked in it. "Hello, you!" As Amy descended the staircase between floors, Sunday's voice broke into her thoughts and grabbed her attention. The serving girl's misty blue eyes looked her up and down, pausing at the towel slung over her arm. "Are you going swimming now?" Amy chuckled. Of course she was going swimming, the bathing suit pretty much explained itself. For all her charm and ability, it was apparent to Amy that Sunday school wasn't really all that bright. "Yeah, I am. Wanna come? I wouldn't mind getting to know the people I live with a little better, and this seems like a pretty good time to start." Sunday flashed her a quick smile before looking away. "I suppose I could. I was just getting off my shift, anyway." Side by side they headed down to the pool, a not-quite Olympic sized affair which was nevertheless well tended and heated to a comfortable temperature. No lifeguards served in Sarastra's pool, which disappointed Amy a little as she would have loved a bit of beefcake eye candy. Instead, a few security cameras hung in place at the four corners of the room. As the pool area held nothing of value, she'd immediately assumed that their function was as safety equipment, keeping an eye out for anyone who might have an accident. "You know, I just thought," Amy began as the glass door closed behind them, "I didn't bring a suit for you, Sunday. I could run and get one for you if you want." Sunday shook her head, her cute ponytail bouncing as she did. "That's okay, Amy. I think I'd like to sit down for a minute; my feet are killing me. You go ahead and swim, and I'll be with you in just a few minutes." Amy cooed her sympathy for the poor girl's plight... fast food jobs had taught her just how unpleasant aching feet could be. After kneeling to remove the pleasant servant's spiked heels for her, Amy took a few quick breaths and dove in. She swam a few quick laps along the width of the pool to warm herself up, stopping only once to shake her long, wet hair out of her eyes. "Wow, Amy!" Sundays clapped her hands, cheering and laughing. "You're a great swimmer. I wish I could be as good as that, but I'm like a little flower petal in the water." "How do you mean?" Amy wondered out loud, as she leaned against the wall to get her breath back. The temperature of the water was simply delightful, and it felt great flowing underneath that loose bottom. "Oh, I'm very pretty, but all I can do is float," was the giggling answer. Amy chuckled, truly amused, and swam closer to the deck chairs. "My sister was a swim teacher, so I had a little help. So, do you want me to teach you or what?" Sunday's eyes grew wide as dollars. "Really? Would you? I've always wanted to learn how to do more than bob around in the water." Amy assured her that she would. "We'll start tonight, how about it? We'll have a lesson every night, after I finish my journals." Amy smiled despite herself, feeling oddly benevolent at the moment. "You've been so sweet to me since I came here, so I think I can pay you back a little this way." Sunday school stood up, and actually bowed a deep, formal bow, almost all the way to the floor. "Thank you! I would love that. I want to start right now." Amy nodded, and backstroked her way towards the center of the pool to wait while Sunday got herself a suit. The serving girl, on the other hand, seemed to have a different notion of how this was going to go. She reached up and fumbled with a few straps and a zipper, until the subdued rose of her Sunday school dress opened enough for her to slide her arms out the top. Amy sputtered, losing her equilibrium in the water for a moment at the sight in front of her. As the cute little dress slid down Sunday's surprisingly toned figure, Amy realized that the innocent little servant had not a sight of anything on beneath the frills and lace of her outfit. Even as she shook her head to clear away the shock, she noted to herself that she would have practically killed for a body like that... soft and yet hard, slim but so indescribably female, highlighted by a set of perky B cup breasts that framed her soft pink areoles beautifully. Amy caught herself staring and shook her head so hard that her own hair slapped her face. "Honey, um, aren't you going to get a suit?" she nearly pleaded, if for no other reason than to spare herself the discomfort of trying to look and not to look. Sunday school, who had bent to pick up her dress, cast a puzzled look at her new instructor. "Oh, I'm sorry, you didn't know," she observed aloud as she folded and stashed the dress upon a tabletop. "Lady De la Dia encourages us to avoid undergarments of any sort, and that includes swimming suits. She says it keeps the tension levels up and makes us more confident when we go places." She faced Amy and smiled her charming little smile, taking the attention - thankfully - away from her radiant skin and carefully trimmed pubic mound. "It's okay. It's just us girls here, anyway. All the other guys except Donovan are on the other side of the house, and he's out checking on a shipment today." Amy was secretly glad when Sunday cautiously lowered herself into the pool At least the water would distort the serving girl's figure, and she could give her lesson without feeling so terribly awkward. Things went without a hitch. Sunday's assessment of herself as a swimmer didn't quite ring true, at least not from where Amy floated, and the obligatory 'basics' lesson came and went like spring in Siberia. It troubled her that Sunday's breasts brushed against her whenever she found need to support the serving girl in the water, adding fuel to the fire of her conspiracy theory; regardless, Amy enjoyed herself immensely. She liked Sunday, she really did, and truly hoped that her stiff-necked attitude wouldn't push them apart. "Tell me something, Sunday," Amy asked once they'd pulled their selves out of the water, "and answer me honest. You aren't... trying to come onto me or anything, are you? By exposing yourself, I mean." Sunday, who had been drying her lengthy hair with the borrowed towel, cast a doubtful look at Amy, her pretty face drawn up in an odd expression. Amy bit her lip; she knew that she had spoken too soon. "Um... no, not especially. I mean, don't get me wrong, you're really cute and you're definitely my type even if you are a little bit fat, but I'm not even allowed to intentionally flirt with you, Lady De la Dia's orders. She said that you didn't want to be part of the game, and I would never disobey her. But, I didn't know that you were into girls, Amy, you struck me as pretty straight." The serving girl blinked those gorgeous, misty blues of hers. "Are you? Into girls, I mean." Amy caught her breath, and had to turn her head to keep from dropping her gaze along the still-nude body of the serving girl before her. She ignored the 'a little bit fat' comment as well as the 'cute' comment, just trying her best to put them out of mind as her cheeks filled with blush. "No, I'm not. I just... you seemed..." she sighed a quiet sigh. "I'm sorry, Sunday. I'm just a little freaked out by the whole 'studying sex' speech that she gave me, and... never mind." Amy nodded once, as if to signify the sincerity of her words. "Forget I brought it up." Sunday tilted her head, smiled that baby doll smile, and nodded. "Sure thing. It'll take me a few minutes to get into this dress, so you don't have to wait up for me. You should get this chlorine washed off you anyway." Amy's heart finally slowed back to normal, and her eyes, if not her words, spoke of her gratitude for Sunday's understanding. She waved, and trudged back towards her quarters with a lightening spirit that only kicked itself a few times en route. Sunday wasn't a sex fiend or a pervert, nothing like Amy's mind had built her up to be. She was just an innocent young woman in a bizarre situation, much like Amy herself. She thought about it all the way back to her room, trying not to feel awful for being so forward in her accusations. She thought of her reasoning, and considered finding some way to repay Sunday for her indiscretion. Within a quarter of an hour, Amy finished laying out her pajamas for the night and getting her articles in order for bed. As she twisted the knobs upon her private shower, an abrupt realization struck her, and she cursed quietly. "I forgot the stupid towel," she grumbled. "Ah well. It's a short walk, and the water'll be hot by the time I get back." The path back down to the pool was uneventful for the most part. As usual Amy made it all the way down to the first floor without passing or meeting a single soul. This was an aspect of De la Dia manor she had wasted no time in embracing, as it suited her just fine. She wondered idly if Sunday had gotten that silly dress back on without a crane and a crowbar, and was chuckling to herself at that thought when she reached the glass doors of the pool room. She stopped dead in her tracks. Took a step back, hand flying up to cover her mouth. Inside, Donovan Simms leaned his broad, suit-jacket clad back against one of the marble walls, which should have been surprising enough considering Sunday's report of his location earlier. His jacket and undershirt both hung open, his tie loosened, displaying a smoothly chiseled chest that should have gotten Amy's attention in a big way. It would have, any day of the week, except for one little detail. Sunday, rocking on her knees in front of him. Amy wanted nothing more than to turn away in horror, to flee back up the stairs and bolt herself into her quarters. But something held her feet in place, held her eyes upon the generous lips of the serving girl as they slid so deliciously up and down Donovan's equally generous cock. Sunday's dress and hair bow were back in place but the shoulders of the little doll dress hung open, exposing her creamy white neckline while allowing her soft breasts to spill out, and giving her the look of a very naughty twelve year old. Her head bobbed back and forth in a sublime, sexy rhythm, the wet squelch of her suckling mouth mingling with his low moans and her deep, guttural whimpers of satisfaction. Amy watched in absolute awe, repulsed, attracted... and suddenly very, very excited. She hunkered down in the corner nearest the door, hiding herself from their view while providing herself a better vantage point to watch this spectacle unfold. Lady de la Dia Ch. 01-03 Sunday reached up with both hands and all but ripped Donovan's dress pants down to his ankles. Her hands disappeared behind him, and Amy knew from the way his hips moved that the same manicured fingers which danced up and down her spine every day were digging into his muscular ass cheeks, pulling his crotch against her so that she could suck down more of that wet, throbbing member. Her tongue snaked out every so often, sliding all over the glistening head before devouring him again, and again, until the personnel manager howled in delight. I shouldn't be here, Amy scolded herself as she sat back on her butt, but it's... that's so fucking hot. She suddenly became aware of a pressure against her chest, and looked down to see her nipples starting to push against the smooth material of her borrowed bathing suit. Oh, how they ached! With every breath they rubbed a little more as they grew hard and erect, and Amy wanted nothing more than to rip down the straps of that suit and fondle them, pull them, pinch them... whatever it took. But she couldn't, and she knew it, not without being caught... and the thought of that just made her even hotter. Inside, Donovan's hands clasped against either side of Sunday's hair, his head thrown back, whimpering. Amy leaned forward, breathing hard, her hands running up and down her bare legs, squeezing her thighs and calves. She knew that cry, and knew just what to expect when his hips started thrusting wildly against Sunday's busy mouth. Sunday closed her eyes and dug her fingernails into his ass, her chest heaving, her breath whining as she sucked him off with everything she had. His hands stroked and petted her, as if trying to take his attention away from the delicious pressure of her lips jerking him off, but it was too late, and she was too insistent. He gasped, eyes bulging, massive member bouncing in spasms as he came right into her sweltering mouth. Amy felt her stomach jump a little bit. Sunday's throat worked in and out, fighting to swallow every last drop of his boiling hot come, but she coughed and accidentally allowed a dollop to dribble down her chin. She let him withdraw his fading prick from her mouth, licking and kissing all over it to clean up what she'd missed before leaning in closer to kiss his hairless balls, too. She stared up at him, her eyes glazed and hungry with lust. Amy was mortified. How could such a sweet girl do... that? But the show wasn't over yet, as Donovan reached down and pulled the servant girl to her feet, his eyes full of fire as he took her into his arms. Then, to Amy's amazement, he leaned in and kissed Sunday full on the lips, not even blinking when his own come trickled from his mouth. She stared, entranced by the swiftness of Donovan's tongue as it swept his seed from Sunday's chin and they kissed more deeply, tongues swirling and wrestling in a passionate dance that was nothing but pure sex. It was so disgustingly erotic that Amy became abruptly aware just how wet this bout of voyeurism had made her. Her nipples craved attention, begged so loudly to be touched that they hurt. Inside, Sunday and Donovan were busily making out just like a couple of horny college kids. Her slender arms wrapped around his neck, and he had managed to pull her ruffled skirt up past her waist, exposing a smoothly rounded, perfectly bubbly butt and sopping wet pussy to Amy's lustful eyes. Amy finally had to turn her eyes away as Sunday began to grind herself against him, dry-fucking him through her skirt's front like her horny snatch was on fire. I can't watch any more. I can't. Amy tried to run quietly, but she couldn't care less if they caught her peeping or not. All she cared about as she raced up the stairs and down the lengthy hallway was the way her suit rubbed against her warm, slick cunny with every torturous step, the way her hips had drawn up so tight that she could barely bring herself to get to her room without dropping to the floor and fingering herself to a release. By the time she'd dashed through her door, the suit was already halfway down her body and falling fast. "Oh, fuck, the bath!" Once the door was securely locked and bolted, Amy raced into the bathroom and twisted the faucet handles off, a little too late. Water coated the porcelain-tiled floor all the way to the carpeting of the bedroom, and with a pang of horror Amy realized that the bath rugs were probably ruined. Sadly she threw down every towel she could find, mercifully stopping the flow of water into the bedroom before it could ruin that carpet too, and spent the next half hour trying to dry the floor with a combination of towels, linens, and a hair dryer (once she'd gotten most of the water cleaned up). Her body plead with her the entire time to take a few minutes for itself, but the distraction had gotten her rational mind going again. How could she face Sunday in the morning, having seen her kiss fresh come into a man's mouth? How could she live in such a place, now that she knew the true purpose of the security cameras hanging at every corner of the pool room? And what of Donovan? Would he expect Amy to do the nauseatingly sexy things that Sunday had done to him as well? And if he asked, would she be able to say no? One thing was certain. Amy could not leave the mansion, not until her tenure had come to an end in six months. If she backed out of the agreement she'd made with Sarastra De la Dia, it could be ages before anyone else was willing to give her a job and by then it would be too late. The bills would stack to her ceiling. With a determined grumble, Amy stripped her suit down the rest of the way and took a quick shower to clean the chlorine from her skin and hair. Her needy sex would have to wait until she could figure a few things out, and though it was difficult for her she managed to keep her fingers otherwise occupied throughout the entire shower and on into the rest of the night. How could she be certain that Sarastra De la Dia's cameras weren't hidden around her quarters, as well? With a soft sigh of malcontent she slid into her pajamas an hour and a half early and tucked herself into bed, her mind filled with questions, resolutions, and images that more or less guaranteed a restless night's sleep.