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Maid to Serve Ch. 01

By: Nate_Walis



The rain had eased off enough for it not to matter that she had forgotten her umbrella. As usual the path that wound down through the small wood was deserted in the middle of the afternoon as people with proper lives were busy doing whatever it was they did on a weekday. There were a few quiet little things in life that kept Eleanor walking on the right side of sane, and being able to come here and be alone with her thoughts was one of the most important.

She was bundled up against the imaginary cold, scarf covering most of her face and woollen gloves pulled over the hands that were rammed into her pockets. The fact that the cold weather was finally getting closer by the day made her need to cover herself as much as possible far easier to pass off as normal in the months towards the end of the year.

Eleanor still chose to cover herself as much as she was able, despite the common tones that her vibrant red hair shared with the turning leaves of the season. In her mind it was better that the whole remain hidden than a small portion that might have passed muster be seen and lead to the rest being revealed.

The broad surface of the pond was just coming into view as she left the woods behind, her brain running on the automated track that she had furrowed with the countless times she had completed the same route.

But today she was taken by surprise by the sight of a figure sitting alone and silent upon one of the benches that stood by the side of the pond.

The initial sense of surprise lasted no more than a few moments as she reminded herself that there was no sensible reason for another human being not to be sitting on the bench. It was rare, but not unheard of for her to encounter the occasional person on her daily walk and in any other circumstances she would simply have put her head down and walked past, quickening her pace until she was alone again.

Today was different though, for some reason the sight of the stranger had unnerved her and no matter how hard she tried there was no shaking the feeling of unease at their presence.

As she came closer, Eleanor saw that the figure was dressed in an overcoat and wore a fur-lined cap with flaps that drooped down over his ears. She assumed the person was a man due to the width of his shoulders and the fact that he seemed to sit with hunched shoulders, not caring about his posture or the image that he projected.

She was sure that the sound of her footsteps on the gravel of the path had reached his ears. How could they not when apart from her own breathing they were all that she could hear herself. That meant the idea of turning back was out of the question; he knew someone was approaching and now the battle of wills had begun.

Eleanor wanted nothing more than to be left alone with her thoughts as she walked her familiar route every afternoon, but as much as she valued her solitude there was no way she would allow herself to be challenged on these grounds. The way she saw it, if she turned and retreated at the sight of a single individual on her walk, then she had lost one of the few things that really mattered to her in the course of her day.

So she forced the odd feeling of apprehension down as far as she was able and walked ever closer to the figure on the bench.

She was sure that the feeling was nothing more than a reaction to his unexpected presence, her mind reacting in an irrational manner to something perfectly normal. His back was turned to her and in all truth he was probably looking for some quiet time as much as she was. Walking past and keeping herself to herself was the sane and normal thing to do in this situation.

By the time she had reached the bench, she was convinced that nothing was amiss as the man made no effort to move from his contemplation of the pond. Eleanor thought how irrational it had been to fill her head with such nonsense and instead returned to the more rewarding realm of her own daydreams as she walked on past the bench.

The sound of feet scraping on gravel caused her to glance back over her shoulder a few seconds later to see the man had sat up from his hunched position. He had turned to regard her, moving the whole of his body as he did so and allowing her to see that his face was totally hidden beneath a layer of tight-fitting, white fabric.

Eleanor jumped physically and let out a cry of alarm at the sight.

She was well aware of the fact that his face was concealed under the fabric of what must have been some kind of mask or hood. But the unexpected nature of the thing took her off guard and she was genuinely shaken by the bizarre nature of the featureless face staring at her from the bench.

The only thought she could muster was that perhaps this was some new kind of flashing, an evolution of the time-honoured art of perverts exposing themselves in front of unsuspecting strangers for a cheap thrill. If that were the truth, she was genuinely happy to have been surprised with a mask rather than an exposed penis.

The sound of her cry seemed to have had no effect on the man, who simply remained staring at her as she edged further away from him. Perhaps that discounted the idea that he had been looking for a reaction, but Eleanor was still unwilling to turn her back on such a strange character. She fought the instinct to run, sure that loosing sight of him would be the worst thing she could do at that moment in time.

When she was no more than ten feet from where he sat, the man on the bench slowly rose to his feet and turned to face her before beginning to walk slowly in the same direction.

There was no sense of urgency in his movements, no hint that he was about to dash towards her, but Eleanor was not about to wait and find out what his intentions truly were.

She turned and ran.

It was at times like this that she was happy to have been sensible enough to be wearing a pair of flat-soled and mostly boring boots rather than something totally impractical. All the same the purchase of her feet on the loose gravel of the path was less than perfect and she found the first few steps of her flight turned into a scrabbling effort to make headway before she regained her balance and made off down the track.

As she ran, Eleanor’s mind quickly totted up the distance to the nearest road and weighed it against the fact that she had been telling herself she would go back to the gym for the best part of a year. Normally there would have been little capable of spurring her on to cover that distance at her current pace, but she was amazed at the motivation having a bizarre weirdo chasing after her could provide.

Ahead the path began to rise gradually as it made its way back up into the woods and eventually to the better frequented roadside that represented her best hope of coming across a normal human being.

Eleanor risked a glance over her shoulder and saw that the man in the mask was still behind her, but he had not made any effort to quicken his pace. He merely followed at the same speed, falling behind as she ran.

There seemed to be no obvious explanation for his lack of speed, no visible limp or deformity that could have stopped him from running. She wondered if that was part of it, did he get off on following his victims at a snail’s pace like a zombie? If so there was no way she would give him the satisfaction of trailing after her much longer.

Though took some effort, Eleanor quickened her pace and rounded another corner on the path so that the man was lost from view. His vanishing from her sight lifted her spirits a little and she ploughed on up the hill towards the next point where the trail cut back on itself as it wound up the slope.

But as she rounded the second corner, she stopped dead in her tracks.

There he was, standing in the middle of the path and right in front of her.

Eleanor panicked at the sight, sure that there was no way the man could have managed to get ahead of her and distraught at her route to freedom being suddenly cut off by his appearance.

Had she been more in possession of her wits, she may have noted the fact that the man had also gained a few inches in height and some pounds on his frame. But such was her mental state at that moment that she totally overlooked to possibility of this being anything other than the man who was chasing her at that moment in time.

Unlike his seemingly sedate twin, this new masked man waited no more than a few seconds before he rushed forwards and roughly grabbed hold of the collar of her coat. She struggled as best she could, but he was taller, stronger and fuelled by adrenaline that made her efforts to break loose less than useless. His left arm slipped around her neck and as he brought the hand of his right towards her face, Eleanor caught the first hints of a stink that watered her eyes and heightened her panic.

The whites of her eyes showed as the man clamped a wad of white material over her mouth and nose. Eleanor was no expert on the subject, but she had watched enough TV to guess what the substance soaking the material was; chloroform, the most common of all dramatic anaesthetics. But while she may have been aware of chemical’s effects, she had no idea of its potency. In the black and white films that formed her only reference for the experience, the heroine always had a few moments to valiantly fight the effects before she succumbed to unconsciousness.

As it was there were perhaps five whole seconds between the wad covering her face and darkness closing in around her.


The masked man kept the wad of material pressed against the face of his victim until he was satisfied that the anaesthetic had fully taken hold. Unlike Eleanor, he was well versed in its use and all too aware of the speed with which a person not properly dosed could regain their senses. The last thing he wanted after the morning he had been forced to put up with was more cock ups to follow in the afternoon.

His mask was doing a very good job of concealing the fact that he was fuming mad and a great deal of his anger was directed towards his colleague, just coming into view around the corner of the path. He noted that while it was obvious that he was struggling to keep from dropping the unconscious woman in a heap, the pace of his anonymous double was no more hurried than it had been throughout the chase.

From his vantage point in the woods, the first man had been able to see perfectly the bench where the second had been sat. The plan might have been no more complicated than being prepared to jump out on the target that the second chose to follow; it might also have gone off without a hitch. But there was just something that got under his skin about the leisurely pace that his colleague had chosen to adopt, as though he was out for a stroll rather than playing a part in an abduction.

“Today would be nice,” he hissed as the second man came within earshot.

“Oh shut up,” the second man shook his head, “what’s wrong now?”

“Just grab the legs and help me get her to the car,” the first man cast his head around nervously.

“There’s no one around for miles,” the second man shook his head again.

“Never mind that, just do as you’re told.”

“You’re scared stiff,” the second man laughed as he hauled Eleanor’s legs up to his waist.

“I’m bloody not.”

“Yes you are!”

“No I bloody am not!”

“HELLO,” the second man bellowed at the top of his voice, “MY MATE AND I ARE JUST IN THE MIDDLE OF KIDNAPPING THIS POOR COW HERE…WE’VE KNOCKED HER OUT AND WE’RE HAULING HER OFF TO A PLACE WHERE SHE’LL BE RIDDEN LIKE A…”

“ALRIGHT…alright,” the first man gave in, “you made your point.”

Together they manhandled Eleanor’s unconscious form down the remainder of the path and out onto the side of a deserted country road.

A black Range Rover with tinted windows stood silently no more than a few feet from the end of the path and the men quickly hauled her into the backseat, the first climbing in beside her and the second making his way round to the drivers seat. Once inside they wasted no time in starting the engine and driving away at a moderate pace down the road.

Neither had bothered to remove their masks upon entering the vehicle out of habit more than a need to remain anonymous. They were driving a familiar route towards a remote destination and the chances of them being stopped were so small that it would have been a waste of time to unmask at all. Instead they attended to their individual tasks in silence, some irritable resentment still hanging in the air after the altercation on the path.

While the second man devoted himself to driving, the first set about checking their prize over with some deliberate care. He had strapped her in with the seatbelt and propped her head still with an inflatable cushion and was now measuring her pulse with his fingers. He was no doctor, but he had a basic understanding of how the tools of his trade worked and satisfied himself that the effects of the chloroform were such that he could take further steps to ensure Eleanor remained unconscious.

He reached under the seat and retrieved a small bag that clinked and rattled with the motion of the vehicle. Rummaging inside he produced a syringe and a small bottle of clear liquid, then proceeded to fill the former from the latter. He undid her coat, pulling off the scarf and yanking the sleeves off her arms to expose the pale skin of her forearms. As soon as he found a likely vein he injected the contents of the syringe, cleaned the area and taped some cotton wool over it.

With that he sat back in his seat and glanced out of the window, confident that the drug would keep her unconscious for a long time to come.


Perhaps half an hour later, the Range Rover drove through a pair of wooden gates that looked as though they were intended to resist an armed siege. Plain and unadorned, the gates were the only visible break in a ten foot wall of solid stone that stood at the end of a narrow lane bordered on both sides by thick woodland. Everything about the location spoke of privacy and it would have been almost impossible to stumble upon the location by mere chance or accident.

As the vehicle continued down the driveway beyond the gates, a discrete figure dressed in the tweeds of a groundskeeper and the black leather mask of a sadomasochist closed the gates and locked them firmly.

What could be seen of the grounds inside the wall as the Range Rover left the gates behind was dominated by a red brick house that was slightly too large to be called a manor and just too small to be considered a mansion. It rose to three stories in most places and spread over two and a half wings, punctuated with tall windows and the occasional attempt at a tower that instead ended in a garret. In the rough centre of the building stood an archway that led into a courtyard beyond and the vehicle passed under this just as it had passed through the gates.

The house itself comprised one half of the courtyard while the other was made up of various smaller buildings that in past times would have served a functional purpose in the daily running of the estate. But modern times had seen them fall out of their original use and be converted for more practical purposes. The Range Rover stopped in front of one of these buildings which had in a previous existence been a combination of a barn and a stable block, but was now fitted with modern doors and windows, shuttered so that there was no way to see what lay inside.

The first man climbed out of the back seat and waited for his colleague to join him before they manoeuvred Eleanor out of the vehicle and carried her through the nearest door into the barn. All the time they worked at their task there was no sign or sound of another human being in the courtyard and once they had entered the barn they closed the door behind themselves, leaving an almost unnatural silence in their wake.

Harsh electric lights flickered into life as they carried their burden inside, triggered by motion sensors so that they remained free to attend to the job at hand. The lights illuminated walls painted stark white and floors tiled in resilient plastic, original beams that had been scrubbed clean and hung with dozens of hooks, loops and shelves made of brushed metal. 

A casual observer might have been forgiven for thinking that the room into which Eleanor was being carried was still used as a stable, or at least to store riding tack. The walls, shelves and beams were hung with a myriad of straps, buckles and metal tools that bore a resemblance to equestrian kit. But closer inspection would have revealed the truth, betraying the fact that the leather straps were not intended for a horse, the whips more elaborate than anything used by a jockey and stranger objects of rubber and plastic that had no use other than in another world entirely.

The centre of the room was taken up by a table with a metal surface and it was onto this that the masked men deposited Eleanor before stripping off their coats and hats and pulling off their gloves to reveal hands covered with the same material as their heads. They looked her up and down for a moment as if making sure there had been no unseen damage done and then gave each other a nod that seemed to indicate that both were satisfied she was in one piece.

With that one man disappeared through a door at the far end of the room and the other busied himself with Eleanor’s inert form, whistling an unidentifiable tune as he worked.

Furnishing himself with a pair of monstrous scissors from a nearby shelf, he wasted no time in simply cutting her coat off her body by slicing the sleeves from cuff to shoulder and then up to the collar. He pulled the tatters of the coat out from under her and tossed the whole thing into a plastic bin in the nearest corner of the room.

He unzipped her boots and worked them off her feet, not harshly, but in a businesslike manner that saw him move at a brisk pace as they followed the coat into the bin. Under the boot, Eleanor had been wearing two layers of socks and these too were pulled off and thrown into the bin in short measure alongside her gloves.

The scissors travelled the length of her jeans from the ankle to the groin in a matter of seconds and soon the man had begun to strip them away from Eleanor’s legs. When they were gone, she was left wearing only her knickers below the waist and a pair of thick woollen tights that had been intended to serve as a final barrier against the cold.

The man stopped for a moment with the scissors held just above the waistband of the tights and contemplated the sight. Despite the need for him to seem a faceless drone as he carried out his work, he was a devoted lover of hosiery. There was no one else around and opportunities like this were surely, he thought, a perk of the job. He slowly stretched out his hand until his fingers were no more than an half an inch from the point where the tights began. 

He stood frozen for a moment, caught between temptation and guilt.

Suddenly there was a loud clattering from the next room and the man jumped physically at the shock, almost stabbing the scissors into Eleanor’s flesh as he did so.

The door to the next room remained closed, but the man had been suitably chastened by the surprise and the realisation that he had almost damaged the goods in his moment of distraction. He wasted no more time in lifting the waistband of the tights and slicing them off of Eleanor’s legs to reveal the pale skin beneath.

Next he made short work of her blouse, slicing the sides and then the arms so that he could remove that in a matter of seconds as well. Now that he had been spurred on to keep his mind on the job, it was no time at all until he snipped away Eleanor’s underwear and left her lying naked on the table. Only her jewellery remained and the man slipped off her rings and earrings, dropping them casually alongside her watch on one of the shelves nearby.


Maid to Serve Ch. 01



From another shelf he produced a bowl of water and a safety razor, with which he proceeded to shave Eleanor’s body of hair. He worked quickly and without pause, still guilty at the thought of being caught indulging himself when he should have been working.

Arriving at her head, he could not help but stop and shake his head.

It was such a nice shade of red that it was a shame to touch it, but he knew his place was not to question.

Putting the bowl and razor down, he returned to the scissors and set about hacking off as much of Eleanor’s hair as he could manage with each passage of the blades. Soon the long tresses of red were reduced to a choppy mass of uneven clumps and the man switched to a pair of electric clippers to complete the job. When he was finished, there was no more than a covering of red stubble to be seen on her head.

He turned away from the table, returning the clippers to the hook from which they had come and walked to the door through which his colleague had disappeared some minutes before. He opened the door and stuck his head in the gap, nodding to indicate that he was ready before returning to the table to wait, impatiently for the other man to follow.

When the second man finally returned, he was carrying over his shoulder what looked like a mass of shiny, pink plastic, which he deposited on a smaller table and began to rummage through. The first man stood back and watched as he produced what looked like a pair of shorts from the pile and stretched them like a balloon he was about to blow up. He glanced over at Eleanor, as if checking that everything was in place and then slipped her feet through the relevant holes and began pulling them up her legs.

Once the shorts were making their way up her legs, it was clear that they were made of thick latex that was a far darker pink than Eleanor’s own legs. Inside there was a curious flap of the same material at the front and the hint that something unusual had been built into the backside as well. When they were pulled up to her waist, the purpose of the flap became more apparent as the man deftly slipped his fingers into an opening in the front of the short and inside the flap itself. From there he eased the sleeve of finer latex into Eleanor’s vagina, where it would serve as an inbuilt contraceptive sheath. From there he slid the same hand under her buttocks to ensure that the concealed hole in the back that would allow her to answer the call of nature worked as well.

He paid minute attention to these details on account of the fact that the inside of the garment was lined with an adhesive that would be activated by the warmth of Eleanor’s skin. Once active, it would attach itself to her skin and stick permanently until a solvent was applied, and so ensuring that things such as the backside were aligned properly was a necessity.

The next thing he produced was a hood that wrapped around Eleanor’s head and ended about two inches from the base of her neck. He lined it up with as much care as the shorts and turned her head onto one side in order to seal the back of the mask with a small device somewhat like a soldering iron, which melded the two edges together perfectly.  Turning her head back so that her face once again looked up towards the ceiling, he made a last check over the alignment of the mask to be sure that it sat squarely on top of her own features.

Eleanor’s face was for the most part hidden beneath the latex of the mask, but her eyes and lips were visible inside holes provided for them and her nostrils were served by a triangular hole at the bottom of her nose. Each of the holes was picked out with a rim of darker pink rubber and exaggerated her features to the point that they seemed to diverge from the human and become something synthetic and unreal.

Now the help of the first man was required as the final part of the latex outfit was lifted from the side table and stretched out in preparation. This could perhaps have been mistaken for the skin of an oddly coloured human being, had they been somehow stripped of their hide and the entire thing kept intact. In reality it was of course a bodysuit made of the same thick latex as the piece that had already been fitted to Eleanor’s skin.

The garment was open at the back and the men began the task of fitting it over Eleanor’s body by slipping her feet into the legs of the thing and firmly puling so that her limbs followed. Once her feet were fitted into the bottom of the suit, it became apparent that the lower half resembled a pair of tights, in so much as there was no definition for the individual toes and the material clung to the body as closely as possible.

From Eleanor’s waist, they smoothed the latex out over her stomach, taking care to ensure that each of her breasts was accommodated inside the compartments upon the chest of the suit. As with the entirety of the inside, these compartments contained the same adhesive and once dry it was important that her breasts be in the correct position. Even her nipples were aligned as perfectly as possible with the replicas on the surface of the suit, formed of thicker latex and coloured darker than the rest of the outer layer.

Her arms disappeared into sleeves that ended in pink latex gloves and soon the adhesive bonded them to her own digits. The truth was that she had always been fond of gloves, liking the feel of them against her skin, but there was no choice with these and no way for her to remove them. While the suit was attached to her body, Eleanor would feel nothing but latex and in turn she would feel like nothing but latex herself.

Now that she was fully clothed in the bodysuit, the men turned her onto her stomach and began to use the sealing device to close up the back of the garment. It came higher than the edge of the hood and they used the device to seal the collar of the suit to the smaller piece of latex so that there was no gap between the two. Once the job was done they turned her over again and made a quick inspection of her groin to ensure that the holes in the bodysuit matched up with those of the latex shorts beneath. Satisfied with what they saw, they downed their tools in an unspoken declaration that their work was done.

They began to tidy the remnants of clothes and the last of the tools they had been using, leaving Eleanor on the metal table as they did so.

Of the red-headed woman whom they had kidnapped there was now no trace whatsoever. With the last of her clothes tossed in a bin and the adhesive silently bonding to her skin more tightly with every second, they had wiped away the last remnants of her existence. All that remained was the colour of her eyes and the shape of her body, everything else had been erased and replaced with featureless pink latex.

One could have believed that they had somehow heated Eleanor’s body, making it soft and pliable like clay before smoothing away every distinguishing feature. That they had smoothed her into an anonymous blank or pressed her in a mould to remove the imperfections of the individual.

The figure laid upon the table did not look like a woman; instead it seemed to have more in common with a plastic doll intended for carnal pleasures than thinking, reasoning human being. The shiny skin seemed to be intended to be grabbed and stroked, the curves displayed for no other reason than to advertise their shape and the points of entry emphasized for the purpose of entry.

Eleanor may have entered the room as a kidnapped woman, but as the men loaded her into a wheelchair and turned out the lights, she was leaving it as a human sex doll.



Maid to Serve Ch. 02



At first Eleanor thought it was the light streaming in through the narrow window that had woken her, but the awful feeling of discomfort that seemed to be spread out across the whole of her body soon made her realise that it had been responsible instead. The light, she realised had been in the background of her perception for some time and the more unpleasant sensations were only now coming to the fore.

Her awareness seemed to be growing ever more acute, as if she were returning to consciousness through a haze of some kind, her senses only now becoming clear and able to perceive her surroundings.

Memories of the past twenty four hours floated to the surface of her mind, slowly and fragmentary at first and then all too soon gaining in speed and clarity as she connected one traumatic image to another.

She recalled the walk by the pond, the man with no face, the chase and the struggle...and then nothing.

Eleanor tried to sit up despite the protesting of a headache that flared up as soon as she moved her head, but she found herself gently pushed back down onto what she now realised was a utilitarian and yet comfortable bed.

As her eyes became more accustomed to the light, she perceived that the push had come from a figure standing over the bed and looking down at her with mild concern. At least she would have said that it was a look of concern had she been able to see the face that was covered by a mask of red lycra.

Suddenly reminded of the men who had physically assaulted her only hours before, Eleanor let out a cry of alarm and tried to turn away from the featureless face.

In response the figure remained silent, but Eleanor felt a firm tug around her throat and was forced to turn her head back so that she once was once again looking face to face at the masked figure.

The woman, even before she saw the rest of the figure she knew somehow it was a woman, shook her head slowly and reached out with her left hand to gently stroke the side of Eleanor's face. At the same time she noted that in her right hand, the masked woman was holding what looked like a leash made of black leather.

Eleanor's hands found her throat and confirmed her suspicions; she was wearing a collar around her neck to which the leash was attached. While the inside of the collar felt as though it was padded in some way, the material was thick leather and tough enough to resist any effort she could make to strain against it.

The woman in the mask seemed to have noted her exploration of the collar closely and nodded when Eleanor glanced up at her. There passed between them an unspoken acknowledgement of the situation; one of them was wearing a restraint and the other was holding the leash, there was really no more to be said in terms of their relationship to one another.

Something in the woman's manner seemed to subtly underlie the more obvious nature of the predicament in which the kidnapped girl found herself, despite the demeaning situation. She was sure that a measure of odd gentleness made up an element of the masked woman's approach. It was not something Eleanor could have defined, but she was sure the woman was trying to treat her as kindly as was possible given the circumstances.

The bizarre nature of her situation numbed Eleanor's mind to the horror of the reality that she had been kidnapped and for now she was simply unable to dwell upon the fact or even think of trying to escape her captivity. Instead she found herself wrestling with the more immediate aspects of her predicament, with which she was struggling from one moment to the next.

With the urging of the woman in the mask, she inched her way up off the bed until she was sitting on the edge. Her head was still thick from the effects of the drugs that had been used to keep her unconscious for so long and her stomach lurched from time to time with a mixture of hunger and nausea that was almost too much to bear.

It was then that she caught a glimpse of her legs as she stared down at the floorboards in an effort to collect herself.

Eleanor vaguely recalled what she had been wearing when she had stepped out of her front door, and she was sure that it had not been that shade of pink or made of something that shiny. Her head darted up and found a full length mirror on the other side of the room in which she saw her own reflection staring back at her.

She let out another cry at the sight of what she saw.

At first she had thought she was looking at some kind of life-sized doll or mannequin, but then she moved her head and watched in horror as the smooth pink head of the anonymous thing moved in reflected imitation. Slowly she raised her hands and gazed down at them, trying to come to terms with the smooth material covering them. For some reason she was instantly able to recall every crease and line that had crossed the palms of her hands, now concealed beneath the featureless pink she saw before her. She tugged at the palm of one hand with the fingers of the other and found that there was no way to pull the material away from the skin, it was stuck in place and there was no moving it.

Eleanor was not ignorant of the stranger things that went on behind closed doors; she knew full well that some people liked to do what seemed to her very strange things in the bedroom. In the past she had been happy to live and let live so long as those doors remained closed and the odd people stayed hidden behind them.

Now it seemed that she had been plucked from her comfortable world of normality and dragged into that alien realm of what could only be depravity and perversion with no choice of her own in the matter. Worse than that she had been turned from a normal woman into a creature of that same disturbing world of which she had no knowledge or experience, her own identity hidden beneath layers of pink latex.

She looked up at the reflection once more and physically shivered at the realisation that she had become something less than human, something intended to be used mutely and without protest in whatever way her owner saw fit.

She was a doll.

A plaything.

An object.

Eleanor held her head in her hands, but before she could begin to let out the desperate feelings of helplessness that had seized her there was another tug on the collar around her neck. She turned to see the woman in the red mask shaking her head and motioning for her to get to her feet.

For the first time she actually regarded the woman in something other than a daze, taking in the details that had escaped her notice while she was fixated on her own strange appearance. It seemed that the other woman almost as bizarre as Eleanor herself in terms of the costume that she was wearing. 

Red was the word that dominated any description of the woman; she was clad in the colour from head to toe. Though her features were hidden beneath the hood that covered the whole of her head, it was clear to see that she was petite of frame, standing no more than a few inches over four feet in height and that too being accentuated by the high heels of the neat red boot she wore. Her outfit seemed to be some kind of essay on the dress of a well-presented woman from the turn of the nineteenth century; fitted skirts that reached her knees hugged the shape of her thighs and a small neat bustle that concealed the shape of her behind. A tight jacket covered her torso, accentuated by a lace collared blouse that bloomed from between the narrow lapels. Leather gloves covered her hands and red fabric covered her legs, causing Eleanor to realise she must be wearing some kind of garment that covered the entirety of her body under her clothes. Her head was naked save for the hood and a small hat that seemed to be pinned in place rather like a fascinator.

Eleanor noticed that despite her calm demeanour, the woman had produced an object in her previously free hand that looked worryingly like a riding crop made of red leather. She motioned with it for her charge to step into the middle of the floor and stopped her when she was happy with the spot on which she stood.

It was clear now that the room was a small bed chamber, furnished with only a simple frame and mattress, the mirror into which she had just gazed and a large wardrobe that dominated the rest of the bare floorboards.

"I see that you can be obedient," the woman in red spoke for the first time and Eleanor noted her voice had a musical quality that would not have sounded out of place coming from the mouth of a delicate fairy. "That's a good place to start, believe me."

She moved to the wardrobe and produced a small key with which she proceeded to unlock the door.

"You may call me 'Alwyn'," she spoke over her shoulder, "but the first rule that I have to impart to you is that you should only ever speak when you are given permission."

Alwyn turned to face Eleanor, holding an armful of what she supposed must be clothes.

"You can speak now, girl."

"Where am I?" Eleanor's voice broke slightly as she spoke.

"I can't tell you."

"Who are you?"

"The person in charge of your training."

"Why am I here?"

"For now all I can tell you in that regard is that you are here to serve as a housemaid," Alwyn paused before going on, "beyond that what you are here for is not within my knowledge to tell or power to determine."

"So who's really in charge?"

"Clever girl," Alwyn dropped the clothes on the bed and began to arrange them, "I'd be careful with showing off your brains around here. The best thing is for people to think that you don't think at all. The person in charge is called 'The Squire', because he's in charge and that's what he demands that we call him. You'll be meeting him soon no doubt, he knows all the comings and goings around here and it was him that gave the order for a new housemaid to be found to replace the last one."

"So the last housemaid escaped?"

"There you go with that thinking again," Alwyn shook her head, "but yes, one of the footmen was careless and she ran away. The Squire will have made sure by now that it'll not happen again any time soon."

Eleanor dipped her head and nodded as if accepting the facts as she was told them, but she noted the possibility of escape and stored it away in a corner of her mind for a moment when she could make use of it.

"Let's get you dressed," Alwyn held up a pair of latex knickers and handed them to Eleanor, "we can't have you wandering around the place looking like a life-sized sex toy now, can we?"

Eleanor gingerly took the knickers from the little red woman and examined them for a moment before obediently stepping into them with a deliberate slowness. They were stretchy and shiny like the material that covered her body, but black in colour with a white heart on the backside and frills of the same colour around the leg holes. As she pulled them over her buttocks, the irony of what Alwyn had said to her sank in as she realised that there was little chance of whatever she was being made to wear making her look less like an object intended for sexual gratification than she did without it.

Perhaps that was one of the realities of life in a world as strange as this, that even garments as obviously designed to titillate as these were considered normal and mundane?

The next piece of clothing was the actual maids outfit itself, which consisted of a skirt that was so short and flared out to such a degree that it did nothing to conceal her underwear and a top that was ribbed like a corset and plunged low in order to allow her latex cleavage to be pushed upwards at the same time. Like the knickers, the outfit was made of heavy black rubber and slick to the touch with white frills running around the short sleeves, the neckline and the hem of the skirt.

Alwyn stepped behind Eleanor and tied a white apron around her waist before handing her a pair of rubber gloves that came up only as far as her wrists. They were white as well and ringed with the same frills that persisted throughout the outfit. Next was a pair of black rubber stockings that reached halfway up Eleanor's thighs and finally a blonde, collar length wig cut to resemble a bob with the edges flicked up and outwards. This was topped with a traditional maid's headdress and the outfit was complete save for the footwear.

"Now these will take some getting used to," Alwyn handed a pair of terrifying black boots to Eleanor, "there aren't many that are used to wearing something as extreme as this and from your face I can see that you're not one of them."

Eleanor shook her head as she stared in horror at the pointed heels attached to the boots, each of which must have been almost eight inches in length. The act of wearing them would force her feet into a position almost like that of a ballet dancer assuming the En Pointe stance and she was sure that simply standing still in them would be a challenge. For the moment she was not even prepared to imagine actually walking in them.

"Let's get them on," Alwyn cut through her hesitation by pushing her down onto the edge of the bed. She kneeled in front of the girl and slipped one of her feet into the first boot, holding both in her lap as she did so. Eleanor had no time to argue as the boot was laced up and the second followed suit in a similarly efficient manner.

The boots were tight and chafed Eleanor's feet, but then the entire outfit was tight and she found that she was soon able to take a few tentative steps around the room with Alwyn's guidance. The more time she spent practicing the easier it became to adapt to the delicate balance that the boots required and she was confident in her ability to keep from falling on her face some twenty minutes after the things had first been laced up on her feet.

"Now I think we're ready to introduce you to your duties," Alwyn led her to the door of the room and down a twisting staircase that challenged the progress she had made with the severe boots to the very limit.

"There are standards that must be kept to when in the house as opposed to when we are out of sight of the Squire," the little red woman explained as they descended. "I can be indulgent and even kind when it is the latter, but in the case of the former you must expect harsher treatment and strive to do your best at all times. As I have told you, speak only when required to by the Squire, do not be surprised to feel my whip and most important of all do exactly what he asks of you quickly and without hesitation...that is the one rule you must keep to no matter what the cost, for your own sake."

Eleanor was genuinely surprised to find that when they reached the door that lead into the house proper, her duties were actually those of a housemaid and involved dusting, sweeping and generally making the rounds of the corridors and rooms with a perfectly normal vacuum cleaner in tow. She had expected the reality to be something totally different and that she would be told to crawl around on her hands and knees with a tray of drinks on her back or else batter some pervert's genitals with a flyswatter.

She was constantly watched and given silent instruction by Alwyn, hovering no more than a few feet from her side. If she had entertained any hope of escaping from the house as soon as possible, they were dashed by the diminutive woman who dogged her heels for the rest of what she guessed was the afternoon.

Alwyn was true to her word, remaining silent and on occasion rapping her charge sharply across the buttocks in a show of disapproval when she erred in the execution of a task.

Eleanor managed to bite her tongue whenever the whip made contact, glad for the first time of the layers of latex that lay between her flesh and the leather.

When her rounds were completed, Alwyn showed Eleanor to a servant's parlour that lay partly in the cellars of the extreme left wing of the house. She was allowed to sit upon a small wooden stool and given a glass of water and a small plate of bread and cheese, which she surprised herself with by eating it in no time at all.

When she was done eating, Eleanor glanced up to notice the rows of bells and the signs under each one that lined one of the walls in the parlour. She was well-versed in period dramas and of course knew that they were linked to the various rooms of the house, intended for the important residents to summon the servants to their side when they needed to be tended to.

"Those things work perfectly and the Squire makes use of them more often than not," Alwyn had followed her gaze. "When he rings for service you will need to make your way as quickly as you can to the appropriate room and make yourself known to him silently and discreetly."

Eleanor nodded as she counted the number of bells. There seemed to be so many of them and each one with a room that she was not sure of the location in this rambling house. How she was supposed to memorise them all she had no idea.

But why should she?

She was instantly angry with herself for even contemplating the task in the first place.

People knew her and soon enough they would miss her and contact the relevant authorities. This was the modern day, not the Middle Ages when a person could be carried off into slavery by some marauding savage, never to be heard of again. For now she would have to play along with this sick game, but there would come a time when she was presented with the chance she needed and at that moment she would take it.

The sound of a bell ringing desperately bought her back to reality and she found that despite the bravado of her previous thoughts, a shiver of genuine fear and trepidation suddenly ran through her from head to toe.

"The study," it seemed that the task of remembering the rooms allocated to the bells was old hat to Alwyn, who hardly took the time to note the position of the one in question. "Let's see, it's the start of the afternoon, a Wednesday and he's in the study." She seemed to be weighing the elements up as if they were a mathematical equation. "That shouldn't be too much of a challenge, even for someone as green as you."

Alwyn turned towards the door and motioned for Eleanor to follow her once again.

They made their way quickly to the main hall of the house and climbed the wide staircase to the first floor. Once there a few simple turns along wood-panelled corridors brought them to a stout door before which Alwyn cam to a halt and fixed Eleanor with as serious a look as her concealed features would allow.

"This is the first time the Squire has seen you, so be prepared for his appraisal and be sure that it will be frank and less than subtle. If he's not fond of what he sees then you'll be out of there in the space of a minute or two once he's told you what the supposed reason for the bell is. On the other hand, you could be in there for quite some time as he'll no doubt want you to become involved in the real reason that he rang down to the servant's pantry."

Eleanor could do nothing but nod in response, the anxiety she was feeling at coming face to face with the head of this strange household evident on the parts of her face that could be seen.

"The best thing is to try not to think about it too much, dear," Alwyn opened the door and motioned for her to enter. "Who knows, people have even been known to enjoy it from time to time."

The room into which Eleanor stepped was at first no different to any other in the house in that it seemed at first glance to be perfectly normal before the finer details became apparent. The study was large and mostly dominated by heavy wooden bookcases; the leather bound volumes standing behind locked doors and visible through panes of glass. Large leaded windows gave a view out over the grounds below that was fading quickly into darkness and the light failed and the evening came on, but subtle electric lighting kept the room from fading into darkness.




Maid to Serve Ch. 02



An antique desk stood off to one corner of the study and the fireplace was filled with a pile of blazing logs that spat and moved as the fire consumed them. A voluminous chair stood to the other side of the fireplace across from the desk and a collection of aged rugs and carpets covered the floor beneath its legs while the rest of the room made do with well polished floorboards that spoke of some age and history in their own right.

Spread out in front of the fire in the space that one might have expected to see a rug made from the hide of a magnificent animal, was a rectangular object made of what looked like plastic the colour of pewter. It was roughly the size of a mattress and seemed to be connected to a small device of some kind by means of a sturdy hose. Eleanor had no idea what the thing could be, but she was sure that there was a very good chance she was going to be enlightened on just that point in the near future.

"Well hello there," Eleanor realised that she had been so distracted by the prospect of what awaited her in the study that she had failed to notice the person sitting in the chair by the fire. In her defence, the high sides of the chair had almost hidden them from view and they had made no effort to speak until that moment.

She managed to perform something that was a hasty mixture of a nod and a little curtsey, but she was far too busy taking in the man who was now studying her with some interest to make much effort to appear demure and respectful as she had been instructed. 

The voice certainly fitted the dress, the former being educated and unmistakably from the better parts of Dublin and the latter consisting mainly of tailored tweeds. If it had not been for the fact that the man was wearing a latex outfit similar to Eleanor's own, but black in colour beneath it all he would have passed very well for an old fashioned member of the rural gentry. As it was the odd combination simply fitted into the rest of the strange nature of the surroundings in which she had found herself.

"I have the pleasure of being the Squire of this estate," he looked her up and down as he spoke, "and you have the pleasure of being the newest addition to my little collection of staff." The Squire smiled as he spoke, but she was sure that the look in his eye meant the expression was more to do with his appraisal of her than any attempt to be pleasant.

"So," he almost launched himself out of the chair and began to walk around Eleanor in order to see her from every angle, "big girl are we? There's noting wrong with that, nothing at all. Haven't had a big one for a while now, seems that they've somewhat gone out of fashion in the big wide world. I suppose the trend is for all those delicate little things that look good on the catwalk and all that. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with a thin girl either, but you can do some things with each that you really can't with the other. At least that's what I find anyway."

Eleanor tried to keep herself still and stare straight ahead as she was scrutinised and studied like a specimen under a microscope. She almost jumped in surprise when the Squire lifted her skirt and gave her backside a sharp slap with the palm of his hand before reaching around to weigh her breasts in his hands like a portion of fruit.

"Not too firm and not too floppy," he exclaimed, "I think the whole thing is probably up to muster."

Eleanor kept her face neutral and simply endured the experience of being sized up like a head of livestock; she was already filling her mind with wild flights of fantasy about the awful things that this man was probably only moments from doing to her. His casual approach to listing his observations about her appearance and the manner in which he simply placed his hands on her as though she had no right to object had cut her deeper than she had though they would. Used to hiding her own feelings from the world at large, she had come to think of herself as hardened and unmoved by such things. The reality was that now she had been stripped of any and all the talismans that she had been able to cling to back in the real world. Every comfort and consolation that had softened the blows that reality landed upon her was no longer available and instead she was left alone with only her own thoughts as protection. So far she had to admit that they had been almost no help whatsoever.

"First thing to do is get you out of those clothes," the Squire seemed to be oblivious to her building fears as he walked over to the desk and began fumbling around in one of the drawers. "I've had this thing lying around for a few days now and finally have someone to try it out with," he gestured absently to the rectangle of plastic before the fire without looking up. "It's all lubed up and ready to go, so if you'd be good enough to strip then we can be getting on with it."

He let out a cry of triumph a moment later and produced a device from the drawer that looked to Eleanor like the kind of thing that a mechanic might use to buff dents out of the bodywork of a car. She had no idea what the contraption might be, but she had enough imagination to conclude that it was intended to be an integral part of whatever the Squire had in mind for her when he plugged it into the mains and the bulb on one end began to vibrate furiously, making a noise like an angry swarm of bees.

The Squire returned to the front of the desk and leaned against the edge, the device in his hand as he watched Eleanor, waiting for her to begin undressing herself.

Eleanor began with the ballet boots, moving slowly more due to her trepidation than any attempt to make the process longer than necessary to tease her audience. She was hampered also by the unfamiliar sensation of manipulating objects through the thick latex that covered her hands, making her fumble with the laces and lose her grip numerous times. Not that her faltering progress seemed to bother the Squire, who simply watched from his vantage point as her efforts forced the already tight garments that she wore to pull even closer to her body and her heavy breasts to almost spill out of her costume.

She stripped off her gloves and then peeled the stockings from her legs before adding her apron to the neat pile of shed clothes at her side. She added the headdress and wig to the pile with the same care, folding what she could as though she would be marked on her attention to detail. As she pulled off her blouse and skirt, leaving only the black and white knickers behind, the Squire chucked to himself in amusement at her neatness and the sight of her pink latex body.

Before she could remove the last item of clothing, he motioned for her to stop and reached down to grab the edge of the plastic rectangle. He pulled it back to reveal the fact that the thing opened like a giant sleeping bag, the inside lined with a clear gel that covered every inch. Eleanor might have been an innocent as far as the world in which the Squire and his household dwelled, but she knew lubricant when she saw it and the reality dawned on her that she was about to be coming into very close contact with the stuff.

"Few things before we pop you inside," the Squire gave her a serious look. "That's a vacbed, as in vacuum. I stick you in there and then we seal you in and use that to pump the air out." He pointed at the device linked to the vacbed by the hose. "You really don't have a choice in the matter, but it'd be more pleasant for all concerned if you were alive when you came out. So you'll be using this to breathe," he pointed to a tube inside the vacbed that ended in a mouthpiece. "Put these plugs up your nose and this blindfold over your eyes as well; you won't need them in there anyway."

Eleanor nodded slowly and proceeded to push the plugs up her nostrils before covering her eyes with the blindfold, which was of course made of latex, over her eyes. She felt the tug as the Squire gripped her lead and guided her down onto the vacbed with a slow but firm hand. More than once she almost slipped and fell on the lubricant, saving herself by some unknown means and then inching her body lower and lower until she was laid upon her back in the middle of the bed.

There was no more than a few seconds between the mouthpiece being strapped into place and the ominous sound of the top layer of the bed being pulled over her prone form. Eleanor had no way of telling when the thing had been sealed and she fought off a rising panic as she waited for the air to be sucked out of the thing and the true torture to begin.

At first there was no hint at the air being pumped out from around her, the device doing the work seemed to be eerily silent though she was sure the process must have begun only moments after she was sealed inside. But then she began to feel the first hints of the material of the bed pulling closer to her body and she was under no illusions that the vacuum would soon be complete.

The view from the outside of the bed was far more impressive as the definition of Eleanor's body became ever clearer with the passing of time. She had been sealed inside with her arms at something like forty five degrees to her body and her legs slightly apart and so that was how she appeared in the stretched material of the bed. As the air finally left the vacbed and the material pulled as tight around her form as possible, every inch of her was visible beneath the surface, picked out in the pewter shade of the plastic.

Trapped inside the bed, Eleanor resembled a piece of erotic artwork that had been imbued with a life of its own as she began to move her body. All that was missing to complete the effect was a frame to surround her and a wall on which to hang the entirety of the piece upon.

In reality she had been unable to imagine what the experience of being inside the bed would be like as she waited for the air to be pumped out around her. The Squire's talk of lubricant and the sight of the slicked inside into which she had been sealed had failed to fully register so that the largest part of her mind still wondered if she would be rendered immobile once the vacuum was created.

But as soon as she made the smallest effort to move, Eleanor discovered that she was perfectly able to move her body thanks to the presence of the lubricant. At first she made only slight shifts in her position as she explored the alien sensation of slithering blindly within the confines of the bed. Her head moved from left to right and her arms slid to the edges of the bed and then back to find her own body as she traced her own stomach and breasts, marvelling at the curious feeling of her own flesh through latex and plastic.

The Squire had moved closer as she became more animated, leaving his perch on the desk and instead standing at the end of the bed where Eleanor's feet were just beginning to move with the rest of her body. The sight reminded him of a film he had seen some years before in which a character, the name of which escaped him, had been trapped inside a block of metal by the villain, his face and hands emerging from the surface in a rictus of helpless agony. He could not recall if he had enjoyed the film or not, such things were seldom on his mind these days, but he was far more interested in the sight of this trapped individual, writhing on the floor in front of him.

He knelt on the edge of the bed and placed the vibrating device in his hand onto the very tips of the toes on Eleanor's right foot. The surprise of the sudden contact made her recoil as much as she was able and push herself backwards until she reached the top of the bed, pulling her legs up after her.

Her reaction seemed to delight the Squire, a smile spreading across his face as he climbed onto the bed and pursued the retreating girl with his instrument of torture. He pressed the thing against the inside of her let leg while gripping the flesh of her right with his free hand and began to inch his way up her body.

Eleanor could only wriggle in silent protest beneath him as he stroked and stimulated her helpless form, excited as much by her impotent struggles as he was by the feel of her flesh through the many layers that lay between them.

When he reached her waist, he steered the vibrator slowly into the space between her legs and began to press down upon her vagina without a second of mercy. By now he was astride her thighs and adding his own weight to the downward force of the device, almost pushing it into Eleanor's body while his free hand massaged her breasts with a similarly harsh attention to nothing but his own gratification.

Now more than ever Eleanor experienced the indignity of being stripped of all choice and control over what became of her own body. She had been deprived of every sense that she possessed save for that of touch, but now even that was being overwhelmed and wrested from her control by the touch of the Squire and the incessant vibrations of his merciless appliance. There was no time for her to appreciate the humiliation of the experience as all other thoughts were crowded out by the inevitable effect that the vibrator was having upon the sensitive organs of her body.

There was no chance for a gradual progression from gentle stimulation and the slow building of arousal to more and more intense levels of sensation. The powerful force of the vibrator was simply dragged across her body and sunk into her groin where it began to have an immediate and irresistible effect. 

Eleanor had experienced the gentle attentions of an amorous partner, but this was nothing of the kind and the brutal waves of contractions and spasms that resulted could never have been described as erotic for her. Instead they overwhelmed her and manifested as what seemed to be an effort to physically swim whilst still trapped within the bed, her arms and legs sweeping up and down beneath the surface and her back arching upwards from the floor. Perhaps it was a small mercy that the intense nature of the stimulation drove her to a dramatic climax within mere minutes, forcing her to almost bite through the mouthpiece that allowed her to breathe as it took hold of her and consumed the last of her energy in its intensity.

Perhaps it was also a mercy that the experience of straddling Eleanor's body as she climaxed was enough to cause the same reaction in the Squire only a few moments later.

He dropped the vibrator from his hand and sent it spinning across the floor as he pulled himself to his feet and retreated to the chair by the fire. Slumping down into the cracked leather, he leaned back and watched as Eleanor's body continued to twitch and slide within the bed as the last of the aftershocks gripped her. The aggressive need to manipulate her flesh had receded with his own climax to be replaced with a perverse enjoyment of quietly taking in the results of his indulgence on his helpless victim.

The Squire watched Eleanor's confused and random movements for some time as little by little she slithered around less energetically. Soon she had slowed her body to the point where she seemed to be on the verge of coming to a complete stop and maybe even succumbing to an exhausted sleep.

He knew it was not a good idea to leave her slumbering inside the vacbed, but then he had a domestic staff to worry about such things. There was no reason to think that the girl would be left to her fate so long as he remembered to ring for assistance before he fell asleep in front of the fire himself.

Though he felt quite drowsy, the Squire was fairly sure he would remember to pull the cord.

Well, the thought, as sure as any man can be.



Maid to Serve Ch. 03



It had been two or three days since Eleanor had woken alone on the narrow bed and in room in the rafters of the house. She had no memory of how she had arrived there after falling into a state of exhausted torpor, drained by her ordeal within the vacbed. More worryingly she was genuinely unable to count the days that had passed since then, the monotony and isolation of her enforced duties as a housemaid occupying her physically and draining her mentally until the hours simply ran into one another and became lost to her memory.

Consoled a little by the fact that she had been left alone during that time, she had felt the aching in her muscles and the pain in her abused abdomen begin to retreat, little by little, until they were no more than a slight tenderness in her most strenuous tasks and chores.

For the most part, Eleanor did nothing more than what was expected of her during the days that followed her first encounter with the Squire. She was happy to have not seen or heard of the man in that time and though she was unaware of the fact, the mental after effects of his treatment had dulled her mind temporarily to the point where she could not truly have contemplated her escape from his estate if she had been inclined to try.

Instead she made her rounds of the house, attending to her tasks in silence and simply nodding when a response was required from Alwyn or another member of the household. The truth was that apart from Alwyn, she had seen very few others since arriving at the house and mostly they were figures glimpsed only for a few minutes and all as anonymous as the rest behind their masks or beneath their hoods.

Today she had seen no one at all and had simply begun the routine of her tasks in the manner of an automaton. So deeply was she sunk into a morass of lethargy and mental boredom that the sound of a cough from over her shoulder made Eleanor almost jump out of her skin.

"I hope this morning finds you well," Alwyn's voice had become familiar enough by now for Eleanor to know her by its sound alone. She was puzzled by the fact that she had not heard footsteps approaching, but the answer as to why was instantly clear as soon as she turned to face the smaller woman.

Dressed as usual from head to toe in her uniform red, Alwyn was sitting in a wheelchair no more than a few feet from where Eleanor had been dusting. The sound of the chairs tyres seemed to have been muffled almost completely by the thick carpet that lined the floor of the corridor as she approached. The question as to why the need for the wheelchair was silenced as Eleanor took closer note of the other woman's clothes and saw that the more common red tights did not emerge from beneath the tight pencil skirt as was the norm.

Today the length of Alwyn's legs below her skirt was instead sheathed in a single length of red spandex that stretched all the way down to her feet and covering every inch in the skin-tight material. Though her feet were visible at the bottom of her legs, from the point where her toes ended there flared out a wide flap of reinforced fabric that almost reached the floor where it spilled over the edge of the chairs footrests.

It took Eleanor a moment to shrug off her daze and realise what the strange addition to Alwyn's clothing was. But then she saw clearly as the sight awakened her curiosity, for some reason she was wearing a mermaid's tail. Suddenly there was a reason for Eleanor to shake off her state of resigned drudgery and she was soon feeling more awake and alert than she had in days.

Though she would have been slow to admit the fact, Eleanor had always been more than a little enchanted by the idea of mermaids, by their fairytale nature and elemental grace. As she had grown up, the fascination had receded as it did for most when the real world relegated fantastic things to a position of lesser importance. But there was always the allure of the flashing tail and the idea of swimming freely through the mysterious waters of the deepest oceans, hidden away and strangely strong in the back of her mind.

"I'll take it from your staring at my lower half that you're aware there's something unusual afoot," Alwyn twitched her feet so that the fin at the end of her tail flapped up and down, "if you'll pardon the pun."

Eleanor nodded.

"The fact that the Squire is somewhat eccentric in nature can't have escaped your notice," Alwyn shook her head, "if it had, then let's be honest, you would have had to be mentally deficient in some manner."

Eleanor nodded again, still more interested in the sight of Alwyn's legs moving inside the tail.

"There are times when he is gripped by the urge to indulge in one of his more complicated hobbies and pursuits, which the household is expected to help him with. Game shooting and riding are particularly onerous on the staff, but his passion for angling is slightly easier to accommodate."

Eleanor raised her hand slowly.

"I know what you're thinking," Alwyn shook her head, "why am I wearing the tail if all that's required is for him to catch a few fish?"

Eleanor nodded for the third time, wondering if she would ever be allowed to speak again.

"The Squire is not really interested in catching fish," she let out a resigned breath, "not interested in catching fish at all, if I'm honest. What he really wants to catch are creatures of a more exotic nature. In short, he enjoys the chance to catch mermaids and it's my responsibility to provide them for him."

Eleanor was almost afraid to hear what was coming next, afraid that she was going to be told that her role was to carry the tackle or clean the rods while the role that she hardly dared to think about was handed to someone else.

"Just one thing," Alwyn asked, "you can swim, can't you?"

When she saw the outbuilding that had been converted to house the pool, Eleanor was almost forced to admire whatever hidden aesthetic taste the Squire possessed in creating his own private playground on the estate. It was clear that the building had once been some kind of barn, but both sides of the sloping roof and most of the walls had been replaced with thick panes of glass in order to allow the daylight to stream into the interior space. The frame of the building had been reinforced with a framework of steel to take the extra weight and the oval pool that dominated the interior was instantly inviting to the eye.

The end of the building where Eleanor entered, pushing Alwyn's chair more so she could stare at the woman's legs as they went than to genuinely help, was mainly filled with a small number of changing rooms. The far end, visible beyond the pool itself was dominated by a man made waterfall. This was designed to emulate a rocky cascade over which the water crashed before running into the pool itself.

Alwyn pointed out one of the changing rooms and pushed the door open with the end of her tail as they made their way inside.

The interior of the changing room was made remarkable only by the wide variety of costumes that hung on racks against one of the walls. Eleanor noted swimming costumes, bathing caps, bikinis and what must have been even more elaborate outfits jostling for position alongside the unmistakable shape of costumes similar in nature to Alwyn's own. The mere thought of the possibilities sent a thrill through her body as she stroked the scaled surface of the nearest tail in anticipation.

"You'll have to excuse me this time," Alwyn gestured to her restricted legs, "for obvious reasons I can't offer as much help with dressing you as I have before."

Eleanor nodded, but for some reason she did not feel the same apprehension that dressing herself in the maids outfit had inspired and she was somehow pleased to be free of the other woman's complete control for this task. Perhaps the attraction that she felt towards the idea that she was about to turn herself into a mermaid was enough to override her fears and anxiety. But in addition it simply felt right that she would be the one to be in control as far as possible in this case.

While she may have been out of Alwyn's physical control, Eleanor soon found that she was not also to be spared the attention of the smaller woman's tongue as she laid out instructions and saw that they were followed to the letter.

The first item of business was for Eleanor to once more strip herself out of her maid's uniform and fold the shed garments neatly on the bench that ran along the wall opposite to the rack holding the outfits. Once she had been deprived of her clothes and wig, she stood again resembling a rubber doll, while Alwyn looked her up and down as if reminding herself of the dimensions and sizes with which she was working. Finally it seemed that she was satisfied with the scrutiny that her charge had been placed under and she pointed towards the rack, indicating the exact pieces that Eleanor should pluck from their hangers.

As soon as the elements of her costume were laid out in preparation on the bench, Eleanor could not help but start to become ever more excited. She had been directed to a tail that was aquamarine in colour and made of thick latex, its surface detailed with scales the size of coins and a wide tailfin that was picked out with thick ribbing while being contrasted with transparent material between them to give the impression of a more delicate membrane. The tail was accompanied by a matching corset that would reach up to her breasts, but not cover them and was the same colour as the tail yet smooth rather than scaled in texture. A pair of similarly smooth gloves would cover her arms well past her elbows and webbing similar to that of the tailfin spread between the knuckles of each finger. Her breasts would be capped, but not covered, by a pair of white shells and the costume was completed by a flowing wig of luxuriant hair that curled down its length in a shade of red that could never have been natural.

Eleanor barely heard Alwyn's instructions as she picked up the tail and gleefully held it against her legs. Even with such a cursory examination, it was clear to see that the costume would be exceptionally tight once it was pulled over her legs. But such practical matters were far from her mind as she took in the detail of the scales and the complexity of the tailfin.

Eventually the woman in the wheelchair was able to gain Eleanor's attention and instruct her to sit down on the bench so that they could begin the process of dressing her. As she sat down and rolled the tail back on itself as she was instructed, it became apparent that there would be no need to attach the thing to her with any form of adhesive. The fit of the tail would be so tight that it would be almost impossible to simply pull the thing off once it was in place.

Eleanor pressed her feet into the rigid plastic at the base of the tail and found that they sat for the most part within the shape of the tailfin, with only a few inches below her ankles actually being contained in the body of the tail. They were held firmly in place and forced into a line with the rest of her legs, but she was sure that the position would allow her a great deal of movement as far as the tailfin was concerned. Once the tail began to be rolled up further, she was genuinely surprised at how well the shape of her feet was concealed beneath the rubber, almost totally lost in the mass of the fin itself.

By the time the tail had been rolled up to her knees, Eleanor was already experiencing the restrictive nature of the costume. Her calves were forced together without the ability to move a fraction of an inch apart, and she was required to stretch her legs out rigidly as Alwyn almost fought to pull the tail up and over her knees. As with her calves, Eleanor's knees were now similarly pinned in place as the costume was unrolled over her thighs, the range of movement possible below the waist becoming more restricted with every inch that the rubber covered.

When the unrolling of the tail reached her buttocks, Eleanor was forced to lie down on the bench and allow Alwyn to stretch the last few inches of the costume over her backside. The feeling of the tail finally being fully unrolled and pulling her buttocks together created a strange sense of completion in her mind. It was as though the completion of the constricting and limiting sensation that now extended from her waist to the tips of her toes was transformed from the act of being dressed in a costume into something almost, dare she think it, magical.

She rolled onto her side and gazed down at the length of the costume, admiring the way in which it turned the curving shape of her legs into an elegant fishtail. A part of her knew that the feelings she was aware of beneath the latex scales were her own legs and the way in which the tail moved could only have been their own. But a more whimsical and at that moment dominant part of the same mind delighted in the idea that she had realised a dream buried in the depths of her subconscious for many years.

She had exchanged her legs for a mermaid's tail and she was not in the least bit disappointed with the result of the trade.

Eleanor was reminded of the reality of her surroundings when Alwyn rapped her backside with the short crop that she carried. The blow was not sharp enough to really hurt and the latex of Eleanor's tail absorbed most of the force. But she was suitably chastised and swung her tail around so that she was sitting on the bench and facing the smaller woman.

The stiffness of the tailfin in which Eleanor's feet were encased proved to be an issue when she tried to sit in the manner of a normal human being. Because the costume forced her feet to point downwards, she was effectively unable to do anything but balance her tailfin on the floor as if she were keeping En Pointe like a ballerina.

Her discomfort did not seem to concern Alwyn, who handed her the corset and wasted no time in securing the garment around her waist. Though there was some constriction on her stomach, Eleanor soon found that the corset seemed to have been designed for aesthetic purposes rather than to haul in her middle. She had to admit that she was fond of the way in which it continued the line of her tail up to the point where it met her breasts, drawing the eye to their naked shape and giving them a chance to compete for attention with the expanse of the aquamarine scales below.

The shells found their way onto the breasts some moments later, a strong adhesive spread across their inside edges in order to bond them to Eleanor's latex skin. Though they added a hint of amusing whimsy to the costume, she found that she was a little disappointed to see her breasts covered in any way. She consoled herself with another glance at the body that was being put together right in front of her eyes and gave a wriggle that sent her breasts dancing and her tail flipping. She smiled at the sight of her newly decorated breasts as they moved, happy that they could still express her sense of physical delight.

Alwyn smoothed the wig down over Eleanor's head and took care to ensure the thing was perfectly aligned. Like the shells, the hairpiece was held in place by adhesive and she wanted to be sure the effect was as good as she could make it. For her own part, Eleanor ignored the technical precision of positioning the wig. Instead she watched as copper tresses cascaded down her shoulders and framed the view of her mermaid body. For her the choice of a vibrant red colour was a reminder of the locks that she had been deprived of at the start of her captivity and the combination of that fact with the excitement she felt at becoming a mermaid was mixed with a strange sense of irony.

The final piece of the costume was the long, webbed gloves and Alwyn simply handed these to Eleanor, trusting her to handle perhaps the simplest part of the task. She accepted them and pulled them onto her pink hands without a moment of hesitation, slipping individual digits into the spaces between the webbing and feeling the sensation of them pulling against one another as she did so.

For some reason it was only when the gloves were finally covering most of her arms, that Eleanor felt she could allow herself to actually touch her own body. It was as if before she had been looking at the rubber mermaid slowly taking form as an observer, marvelling at the shape and texture of the strange creature and distinct from the thing as a separate entity. But as soon as the hands that she looked down at were webbed and coated in the same aquamarine latex, she seemed somehow to come alive to the fact that she was indeed the mermaid that she had been gazing at.

There and then the length of her tail seemed to become apparent to her, the tailfin moving in an almost unconscious motion and the weight of the thing changing her posture. The shells covering her breasts became as natural to her eyes as a bra might have been to the woman who had donned the costume. The red locks and webbed fingers that now did not hesitate to stroke and press the surfaces of her body could not have been more natural.

Perhaps it was her state of mental exhaustion, but Eleanor no longer felt exposed and degraded as she regarded herself in the mirror that hung from the back of the changing room door. Instead the shape into which she had been forced seemed to hold her and at the same time mould her so that her body was presented as a statement rather than an object. There was no escaping the fact that she was still a living, breathing sex toy, but now she felt as though she somehow agreed with the idea that she was desirable and worth the attention that she could attract.

Suddenly, Eleanor was shocked to realise that this time she wanted the attention.

"Okay," Alwyn opened the door of the changing room, "let's get you into the pool."

Eleanor's previous zeal and confidence at her rebirth as a mermaid was a little dented by the fact that she was forced to make her way out of the changing room and to the side of the pool under her own steam. This she did by lowering herself onto the floor and moving in the manner of a seal, pulling her body forwards with the strength of her arms and dragging her tail behind.

But the feelings of humiliation soon passed when she reached poolside and manoeuvred her body so that her tail dipped into the water as she sat on the edge. The water was warm enough for her to feel even through the layers of rubber. She moved her tailfin back and forth, feeling the different motions of the thing as it cut through the water below.

"You seem to be taking to this better than I hoped," Alwyn had brought her wheelchair to a halt nearby. "Seeing as how you'll be the only mermaid in the pool today, why don't you slip in and get used to the water. You'll need to be comfortable with the tail before the Squire gets here, so don't be afraid to dive in."

Eleanor had expected to feel trepidation at the mention of the Squire and his rapacious attentions, but she found that instead she was filled with an odd sense of relish at the thought of his inevitable arrival. Perhaps the change that she had felt creep over her as she was transformed into a rubber mermaid had something to do with her new confidence? There was certainly a part of her that seemed to have receded with the immersion in the identity she had assumed, the part that had burned with shame as she was forced into the vacbed and stimulated brutally with the vibrator. In contrast the persona of the mermaid positively welcomed the idea of being the object of such attentions, wanted her latex skin to be grasped, her shell-covered breasts to be massaged against her chest.

She stopped herself, hard though it was to do so.

For now she needed to do nothing more than indulge in the one activity that mermaids were intended for...she corrected herself as her mind wandered again, insisting to herself that the activity was swimming as firmly as she was able.




Maid to Serve Ch. 03



Eleanor lowered herself into the water, feeling the warmth as she did so and becoming more comfortable with the new way in which her body moved now that she was in her native element. She had always been a strong swimmer, and she soon found that the reality of having tail to manage in the water rather than a pair of legs radically altered the way in which she was able to move. Soon she discovered that she was best served by relying mainly upon the motion of her tail and leaving her arms by her sides as the deep, powerful sweep of the single limb was able to propel her without their aid.

With every second she spent in the water, she seemed to loose ever more of her previous fears and anxiety as though they were washed away as she swam. When she inevitably began to tire, Eleanor surfaced and surveyed her surroundings. Settling on the imitation waterfall and its man made rocks; she cruised over in their direction before hauling herself out of the water and onto the nearest outcropping.

The perch she had chosen was flat and wide enough for her to lie on her side and she did so, draping her tail over the edge and stroking her stomach lazily with one hand while the other played with her long red hair.

"Now what have we here?"

The sound of the Squire's voice caused Eleanor to glance up and see him regarding her from the far side of the pool. He was dressed in full fishing attire and a collection of associated paraphernalia was heaped at his side. It seemed that she had been so distracted that he had been able to enter the pool house and watch her sporting in the water without her noticing his presence for some time.

She propped herself up on one elbow and regarded him with a genuine feeling of disinterest that surprised the more sober part of her mind. This was the man who had kidnapped her and used her as a plaything; she should have been cowering in fear from him. But the voice in her head that had begun to speak since her transformation into a mermaid was not in the least bit impressed. 

So what, it said at the sight of him, all men are driven by that same urge to copulate that exists deep down in their most primitive core and he's no different. He may take hold of this body and have his way, but he would only be the latest of many to be lured by the sight of a siren and dashed on the rocks of his own desire in the process. So let him take this body, because after all, what else are mermaids made of rubber for?

Gripped by the spirit of her mermaid alter ego, Eleanor slowly liked her lips and sat up to meet his gaze before sliding off the rocks and into the water with a resulting splash.

"Looks like I need some bait," the Squire turned to Alwyn who had a fishing rod of massive length and solid construction ready to place in his hand. He took the rod and reached down into the tackle boxes at his feet, pulling an object made of black rubber from the nearest and hooking it to the end of his line. As he twirled the rod, preparing to cast the line into the pool, it became apparent that the object on the end of the line was a large dildo, ribbed and dotted with small protrusions along the length of its shaft.

The phallus arched out over the pool as the Squire cast off and broke the surface no more than a few feet from Eleanor's face as she swam beneath the water. At first she was confused as to what it was, but closer examination saw her eyes widen in surprise and her hands reached out to grasp the thing as she swam in a tight circle. Before she had consciously studied the dildo, she was seized by an urge that could not be resisted and slipped the head and then the shaft into her mouth. 

On the side of the pool, the Squire saw the bubbles released from her lungs as she opened her mouth and gave a cry of triumph as he began to reel in his catch.

Eleanor felt the sudden pull on the line and instinctively gripped it with both hands, her teeth biting down on the shaft of the dildo as if she were determined not to be deprived of its length. Soon she was drawn to the side where she felt the weight of a net cast over her and she was hauled, struggling from the water to be deposited on the tiled floor with her tail slapping against the ceramic surface and making a sound that echoed around the pool house.

"Spirited one, eh?"

The Squire laughed as he hauled the net and the indignant rubber mermaid across the tiles in spite of her incoherent protests. Eleanor had spat out the dildo and was now yanking at the net as if hoping to free herself with her webbed hands. She hurled what she thought was abuse at him, but in truth all she managed to vocalise were meaningless sounds of anger and frustration, as if she had been reduced to the mental state of an irate animal. The more she struggled and fought, the more he laughed, simply amused at the ferocity of the creature he had netted.

Eventually the Squire came to a halt and Eleanor felt something being tied around her tail, just above the fin. But before she could see what was happening, she felt something dragging her upwards by the end of her tail and she let out a screech of terror as the world turned upside down. Inch by inch she was hauled higher off the ground until she came to a halt, rotating gently and able to see that she had been suspended perhaps four feet from the ground, her arms hanging by her head and her breasts threatening to obscure the view.

Glancing through the mass of red wig and breast that was hampering her line of sight, she could just make out the Squire striking a mocking pose as he placed a hand on her tail and brandished his rod with the other. In front of him, Alwyn held up an old fashioned camera complete with flash bulb and snapped a picture of the bizarre scene for posterity.

A trophy, Eleanor realised, he's strung me up as a bloody trophy!

She could not control her anger at that moment and began to thrash back and forth on the end of the rope. How dare he treat her like this? She was a mermaid, a thing of beauty and grace that should have been painted in oils by a damn tortured genius rather than being treated like a prize turbot and strung up by her fins!

The Squire backed off a few feet and began to laugh once more at the rubber mermaid's impotent rage, safe in the knowledge that he was out of her reach. He retired to a folding chair that Alwyn seemed to produce from nowhere and took great delight in each jerk and spasm that Eleanor's body managed to produce.

But all too soon she began to tire once more and the fire that had been so intense faded to almost nothing, made only worse by the disorientation that she felt at being hung upside down. Mere minutes later her arms hung down limply and she finally stopped struggling as fatigue filled her from head to tail.

Once he was satisfied she was spent, the Squire got to his feet and walked over to where she was turning gently as she hung from the rope. He unzipped his trousers and presented her dazed features with his penis, semi-erect and sheathed in a similar shade of rubber to her own flesh.

Still in a haze from her exertions, Eleanor reached for the member with one webbed hand. Once she had a weak grasp of the shaft, he guided it into her half-open mouth and met with little resistance as he pressed it between her lips.

Eleanor had no energy left to do anything but submit to his demands and she began to massage his penis as best she could with her tongue. She had little experience of oral techniques, but the instinctive way in which she took him into her mouth and slowly built the pressure she applied spoke of her deferring to his demands and surrendering to his will. Perhaps he sensed her will to fight as it finally collapsed, his penis becoming stiffer in response to her attentions.

Eleanor had no recollection of how long he left her there, but eventually she felt the rope being lowered a little at a time until she was again laid upon the tiles, caught in the coils of the net. She sensed, rather than felt the touch of arms as they lifted her from the net and carried her a short distance to a reclining couch a few feet from the edge of the pool. She was laid down on her stomach and stroked, petted and squeezed as one might handle a tactile ball of clay.

All trace of resistance was gone from her mind and her body as the Squire played with his prize. She simply watched as he made her play with his penis, stroking the shaft with webbed fingers and thumbs. He kneaded her breasts together, pushing up the shells so that the adhesive tugged on her nipples below and she let out a tiny moan at the sensation. When he finally straddled her tail and sank his member into the hidden entrance between her buttocks, then beyond into the sheath that filled her vagina, it seemed that her entire body sighed in release and resignation.

Eleanor finally felt the length of his penis sink into her and knew in that moment what it was to be an object intended purely and simply for the sexual gratification of another. Every thought of self pity, anger and resentment for what had been done to her was gone in that moment, replaced not by a wonderful dawning of realisation or wonder in what she had been forced to become, but instead with a quiet acceptance of what was being done to her. There was no way to escape the fate with which she had been saddled, and so the parts of her mind that would only be destroyed and irrevocably eroded by that fate slowly receded into the depths of her soul. As she was penetrated in body and soul, her internal landscape restructured itself to cope as best it could with the treatment she received and the woman who emerged from the change was not the same one who had been snatched from her solitary walk some days before.

The new woman who wore Eleanor's face, but was not the Eleanor who had once lived behind the same eyes, began to smile as she made a good show of wriggling beneath the Squire's weight. He was enjoying himself and he was still full of energy, stimulating her bodily and sending ripples of pleasure down the length of her pinned tail so that her fin waved in the air and her webbed fingers clawed at the couch beneath her. 

She did not for one moment think of herself as a woman in a costume because she was simply whatever he demanded that she be. Right now she was a rubber mermaid with a slinky tail, she would not have tried to stand as if she had legs if her life had depended on it. It was fine to do nothing more than lounge around, flipping her tail and being ridden when the mood took him because that was all she was for.

What more could she want?

As the Squire made love to his rubber mermaid, she allowed herself to wonder what else the future had in store for her.

Whatever it was, she wanted to come back to the pool and be ridden again soon.

It would be so terrible to be bored.