I pressed the intercom button. “Myra, Sir, how may I help you?” answered a not-yet-familiar voice.
“A small Bushmill’s, neat, in the library please.”
“Right away, Sir.”
A few minutes passed, then the door opened. Myra slipped in carrying a silver tray with a glass, and a small plate with a selection of cheeses and breads. I was impressed, and said so. “Your own idea?”
“Yes, Sir,” she replied, with a slight blush. “I thought, if you weren’t in the mood, there would be no harm in putting them back away later.”
I smiled at her. “I do appreciate initiative, my dear.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“It’s 5:20, Myra. Why have you not changed from your afternoon to your evening uniform?”
She glanced down at herself. A fitted dark-grey dress; a white lace waist-to-hem apron more for style than efficacy; high black heels, sheer black stockings, garter straps; lace in her hair and around her wrists. And, befitting her status as a new trainee, a short narrow leather paddle hanging from her belt. “I — I’m sorry, Sir. I’ve been so busy, and there just wasn’t time to — ”
“Busy with what?”
“Dusting, Sir. Sandy gave me a list of rooms that needed to be done over.”
“Sandy is your mentor?” She nodded.
“Wait here, please.” I tapped the intercom again and waited through one buzz.
“Kelly, Sir, how may I help you?”
“Find Sandy and send her to the library right away, please.”
“Of course, Sir. On her way.”
The wait was of a few minutes only. Sandy entered the library, properly attired — which is to say barely at all — for evening service. I saw her sizing up the situation, and then a little bit of a defeated slump of the shoulders. “Myra,” I addressed the apprentice maid, “You’ve made a few mistakes this afternoon and evening, and so instead of giving you the evening shift off, I would like you to work it. Go to your room, look up the evening service dress code in your manual, prepare accordingly, and return here. Take your time and get it right.”
“Yes, Sir; thank you, Sir,” she replied.
“Before you go —” She turned back to me. “Leave your daytime panties with me.” Without hesitation, Myra reached up under her brief skirt and tugged her panties down and off, dropping them into my outstretched hand. Then she left to take care of her instructions.
I turned my attention to Sandy. “Strip to heels,” I ordered, and she hurried to comply. I took my feet off the ottoman and with a gesture indicated that Sandy should stretch across it. She had enough experience to position her bare bottom on its right edge. I wadded up Myra’s used panties and stuffed them into Sandy’s mouth.
“As you know, your job is to help the new girls find their way. To guide them into good behavior, to call their attention to things that might be overlooked, to suggest and remind them of ways to offer superior service.” As I spoke, I rummaged through the drawer of the end table, finally selecting a wide two-tail tawse. “It is most definitely not your task to lead your charges into trouble, misbehavior, or poor performance. Remember, you are not competing with each other for a position here. I train servants for other households. Everyone will be most satisfied if everyone is performing up to her abilities.” Without further lecture or fuss, I began to strap the defenseless, naked, offered-up bottom before me, meting out a reminder of good behavior in very full measure indeed.
Myra returned, my evening servant for the next few hours, in time to see the last few minutes of Sandy’s first episode. There would, of course, be others through the evening. Something for Myra to call to mind some day in the future, when a skittish and easily confused new lass was put into her hands for special guidance.
It is true that, for the most part, I train to a professional level and then meet the needs of other households. Rarely, but occasionally, I do keep a girl for my own staff. I sipped my drink, watched the play of pinks shifting on Sandy’s bare ass, and thought that perhaps I might take Myra to bed with me. There are some talents that must be evaluated and developed personally.
— Frenulum
