~Subject: FANTASIA: The Servant  (fm, b/d, s/m)
~From: an117711@anon.penet.fi
~Date: Sat, 27 Aug 1994 : alt.sex.stories

                  * * * * * * * * * * * * *
                         THE SERVANT
                       by V.P. Viddler

    "You think I'm a bitch, don't you, Hopkins," Cicily Upshur
said, sitting in the large kitchen in her palatial home on Long
Island.

   Cicily was twenty-six, tall, slim, aristocratic looking, with
soft dark hair and hard dark eyes, and a striking lovly face and a
luscious, curvy body.

   "That is not for me to say, Madam," Hopkins said. Hopkins,
butler and general factotum of the Upshur house, was a compactly
built man who might be thirty or forty or fifty.

   "I'm asking you your opinion, Hopkins," Cicily said. "I know you
think I'm a bitch. You might as well say so."

   "It is not my place to do that, Madam," Hopkins said, continuing
to make preparations for that night's formal dinner party.

   "Poor Hopkins," Cicily said. "I do make your life hell, don't
I?"

   Hopkins said nothing.

   "Always giving you orders. Always snapping at you. Nasty,
impatient, imperious. And not giving a damn. Right, Hopkins?"

   Hopkins said nothing.

   "Oh, say it, Hopkins," Cicily said. "I won't fire you. I know
you hate me. All servants probably hate their employers, but you
must hate me in the worst way. Because I'm so bitchy and nasty and
overbearing. Right, Hopkins? Answer me, damn it!"

   Hopkins took a breath. "If you insist, Madam," Hopkins said.
"What you say has--a certain amount of truth."

   Cicily laughed. "How diplomatic! A certain amount of truth. You
hate me, don't you Hopkins?"

   "At times, Madam, I must admit," Hopkins said.

   "I'll bet. And what else will you admit, Hopkins? Do you think
about getting back at me sometimes?"

   "I'm not sure what you mean, Madam."

   "Yes you are. You think about putting me in my place. Don't you?
Of how it would be if you could give ME orders. Make me YOUR
servant. By way of punishing me for the way I treat you. Don't you,
Hopkins?"

   "Madam, I--"

   "Say it, for god's sake. You snivelling cowardly bastard, don't
crawl like a worm, I said I wouldn't fire you, didn't I? This is
your chance to tell me what you think of me. So say it, Hopkins.
You would like that, wouldn't you? To put me in your place. To
punish me. To make me obey you. You do think about that, don't you,
Hopkins?"

   "Yes," Hopkins said, stopping what he was doing. "Yes, Madam, I
do. I do think about that."

   "Of course you do," Cicily said. "Tell me about it."

   Hopkins took a breath. "It is as you say, Madam. All servants,
I suppose, think that way sometimes. About how it would be to be
the master. To show you how it feels. To get some of my own back,
if you will. I think how it would be to put you--to show you--"

   "To punish me," Cicily said.

   "Yes," Hopkins said. "I think of that too."

   "To hurt me," Cicly said. "To make me suffer. For what I've done
to you. Is that it, Hopkins?"

   "I--Yes, Madam," Hopkins said.

   "And what else?" Cicily said.

   "Madam?"

   "Do you think I'm attractive, Hopkins?"

   "Attractive, Madam?"

   "Attractive. Physically."

   "Why--yes, Madam."

   "Do you think I have a good body, Hopkins?" Cicily said.

   "Am I to answer truthfully, Madam?" Hopkins said.

   "By all means, Hopkins," Cicily said.

   "Then yes, Madam, I do."

   "Thank you, Hopkins," Cicily said. "Now--truthfully, Hopkins--
when you think about--what you'd like to do to me--do you ever
think about me in a--sexual way?"

   "Madam, I think I shall not continue with this conversation, if
you don't--"

   "Hopkins," Cicily said. "I don't care what you want to do right
now, all right? You are my servant, remember? And I want you to
answer me. I order you to answer me, Hopkins, do you understand? I
demand that you answer whatever I may ask you--and answer
truthfully--or I WILL fire you, Hopkins. Instantly. With no
references, no severance pay--nothing. Is that what you want,
Hopkins?"

   "No, Madam," Hopkins said.

   "Then answer me. Now."

   "The answer is yes, Madam," Hopkins said.

   "Oh?" Cicily said. "You do think of me sexually, is that right,
Hopkins?"

   "Yes, Madam."

   "You think of how it would be to possess me. Don't you?"

   "Yes, Madam."

   "You think," Cicily said, "of how I would look naked. Is that
right, Hopkins?"

   "Yes, Madam," Hopkins said.

   "Yes," Cicily said. "I'll bet you do, Hopkins. And when you
think about getting back at me, Hopkins--of punishing me for what
I do to you--you think of doing it to me while I'm naked. Do you?"

   "Yes, Madam," Hopkins said.

   "Naked," Cicily said. "And--bound, Hopkins?"

   Hopkins nodded slowly. "Yes, Madam. That too."

   "Ah," Cicily said softly. "I thought so. And, Hopkins--once you
have me that way--in your power--stripped naked--bound hand and
foot--what would you do then? How would you punish me, Hopkins?
What do you think of doing to me?"

   "Madam, I--"

   "And would you take my body--would you possess my body, Hopkins-
-would you do that first? Before you punish me? Or wait until
afterwards?"

   "Both, Madam," Hopkins said.

   "Both?"

   "Both," Hopkins said. "I would take you first, Madam, so that
you would be undistracted, as it were, and fully aware of what was
happening to you. Your mind unclouded by pain, still in the first
clear consciousness of your subjugation. So that you could fully
appreciate the horror of it--of having your body violated,
despoiled, by your own servant. And I would have you again
afterwards, to satisfy the lust that I have no doubt your
degradation and suffering would rouse; and to do it, furthermore,
on your already pain-wracked, agonized, brutalized and helpless
body. Madam."

   "I see," Cicily said softly. "In that case, I assume, Hopkins,
you would have me bound flat. On your bed, perhaps. With my legs,
obviously, spread apart. Is that right, Hopkins?"

   "At that point, Madam, yes," Hopkins said. "I do not, however,
envision your bondage as being limited to one position only."

   "I suppose," Cicily said, "that in such a fantasy, there is no
reason why it should. What other positions do you imagine me in,
Hopkins?"

   "I imagine you hanging by your wrists, Madam," Hopkins said.
"Hanging from the ceiling. With your feet right off the floor, you
see. Hanging free. With your body stretched taut. With your arms
straining. With your legs kicking. With your body pulled tight.
With your--with your--"

   "My breasts, Hopkins?" Cicily said.

   "Your breasts," Hopkins said. "Pulled high. Tight. Pointing. And
I would--"

   "What, Hopkins," Cicily said. "What would you do if you had me
that way?"

   "I would whip you, Madam," Hopkins said.

   "Ah," Cicily said. "Would you. Hopkins. Indeed."

   "Yes, Madam," Hopkins said.

   "Hard, Hopkins?"

   "Very hard, Madam."

   "All over, Hopkins?"

   "Yes, Madam."

   "Until I was screaming, I suppose."

   "Far beyond that, Madam."

   "Yes," Cicily said. "I know. You would want to hear me
screaming, of course. And hear me pleading with you for mercy.
Begging you to stop. And perhaps promising you unimaginable things,
if only you would stop. Is that what you want, Hopkins? To have me
that way, screaming for you, crying out with pain, begging for your
mercy, promising to do things for you--anything you want, Hopkins--
anything at all--if only you will stop hurting me. Is that it,
Hopkins?"

   "Yes, Madam. Plus, of course, the sight of you, twisting under
the whip. Twisting and squirming and writhing and flailing as I
whip you. Watching your agony. Savoring it. You see, Madam."

   "Yes," Cicily said. "I do see. And if you did all that, Hopkins-
-if you had me in your power, and you had me strip naked for you,
and you bound me on your bed and had your way with me, took my
body, and then hung me up by my wrists and whipped me, until I was
screaming and begging in agony, and then took me again--would you
still be my servant--afterwards?"

   "Yes, Madam. But it would be different, Madam."

   "Of course. Because you would have your memories, would you not,
Hopkins? Of my body. Of my pain. Of my screams."

   "More than that, Madam. I would know, you see. And I would know
that you know, Madam. That you know and carry in your mind also,
the fact that I, a servant, I, Hopkins, had been privy to your
body. Had possessed your body. Had had you helpless, bound,
twisting, had whipped that body, subjugated it. Had known your
agony. Your degradation. Your humiliation. And I would see it in
your eyes, Madam. Whenever you gave me an order, or made an
imperious remark, or simply passed by in your haughty way--that
knowledge, that memory, would be in your eyes. In your soul, Madam.
And I would know. And you would know that I know. And I would know
that you know that I know. Madam."

   "You would make me crawl, would you not, Hopkins?" Cicily said.

   "I would, Madam," Hopkins said.

   "My husband," Cicily said, "would never be able to do that."

   "I am not your husband, Madam," Hopkins said. "Nor would I be."

   "But you would be my master," Cicily said.

   "Most assuredly, Madam," Hopkins said.

   Cicily said nothing for a long moment. Then, slowly, she rose
from her chair. Cicily looked at Hopkins, who looked back at her.
Then Cicily's glance swept the room. And slowly, gracefully, she
was moving, moving to the arched doorway that led to the dining
room. A high horizontal bar ran across the top of the archway.
Facing Hopkins, Cicily slowly reached up, grasping that bar with
both hands, arms spread wide. With her feet spread slightly apart,
the position pulled Cicily's body tight, thrusting her breasts
against her straining blouse, outlining her legs through her skirt.
Cicily's eyes were on Hopkins', and his on hers.

   "It is a good body, isn't it, Hopkins," Cicily said.

   Hopkins allowed his eyes to fall and rise again, taking that
body in thoroughly. "It is indeed, Madam," Hopkins said.

   "It attracts you," Cicily said. "It arouses you. Doesn't it,
Hopkins?"

   "It does, Madam."

   "Particularly," Cicily said, "the thought of hurting it. Is that
right, Hopkins?"

   "Yes, Madam," Hopkins said. "Particularly that."

   "Hopkins," Cicily said. "There is a riding whip hanging by the
door."

   "I know," Hopkins said.

   "Is it that kind of whip that you would use on me, Hopkins?"
Cicily said.

   "It would do, Madam," Hopkins said.

   Cicily took a long breath, raising her breasts, tautening her
body through her clothes.

   "Get it, Hopkins," Cicily said.

   Hopkins did so. Holding the riding whip, he came to stand within
reach of Cicily, as she stood, body taut, hands holding on to the
bar. Now Cicily turned, facing away from him, but again placing her
hands at each end of that bar, planting her legs apart, holding her
head high.

   "Use it, Hopkins," Cicily said.

   "Shall I, Madam?" Hopkins said.

   "Do as I say, Hopkins," Cicily said.

   "Yes, Madam," Hopkins said.

   "And Hopkins."

   "Yes, Madam?"

   "Do not hold back. Do you understand?"

   "As you wish, Madam," Hopkins said.

   Hopkins raised the whip. Cicily stiffened. Hopkins struck. Very
hard. The riding whip slashed across Cicily's taut back, making a
long rip in her blouse, cracking against her skin, causing her body
to lurch forward. But Cicily did not let go of the bar. Her body
stayed as it was, tightly stretched, though the knuckles of her
hands were white as they clutched at the bar.

   For a long moment there was silence. Then Cicily said, "Oh, dear
god. Oh my dear sweet god. I didn't think--oh Jesus. Oh. I never
thought it could--oh Jesus."

   Silence again. Cicily stood, panting, holding on to the bar.
Hopkins stood, holding the whip. And finally Cicly said, "Hopkins."

   "Yes, Madam?"

   "Do it again."

   "As you wish, Madam," Hopkins said.

   And he did it again. A bit lower. Cicily's blouse split again,
and Cicily's body thrust itself lurchingly forward, and a sharp
hissing sound came from Cicily's mouth, followed by an unworldly,
animal-like cry.

   But Cicily still did not let go of the bar. And after a long
moment, Cicily said, "Christ help me. I think I--I can't--how could
it--oh god that hurts oh Jesus it hurts Christ in heaven how can I-
-Hopkins--"

   "Shall I do it again, Madam?"

   "You--oh--oh dear god--do you--are you--enjoying this, Hopkins?"

   "Yes, Madam," Hopkins said.

   "All right," Cicily said. "Go ahead."

   "Would you care to turn around, Madam?" Hopkins said.

   Cicily caught her breath.

   "I don't--I don't think I could stand it," Cicily said.

   "Madam," Hopkins said. "Turn around. Now."

   "Oh, god," Cicily said softly. "Oh god have mercy." And Cicily
turned to face Hopkins again. And again, as Hopkins watched, raised
her arms to grasp the horizontal bar. And waited. Her breasts
rising and falling rapidly against her straining blouse. Her taut
body trembling. Her eyes closing as Hopkins raised the whip.

   But unmoving.

   Until Hopkins swung that whistling whip sharply down across
Cicily's thrusting breasts, slashing it viciously across the
rounded flesh, across the nipples, ripping through the blouse,
grunting loudly with the effort of it.

   Now Cicily screamed. Just once, and very loud. And then Cicily's
hands slipped from the bar, and she crumpled, moaning, to the
floor.

   Lying at Hopkins' feet, body quivering, writhing in pain, Cicily
spoke. "Please don't do it any more. Don't hit me any more. I
can't. Please. Not any more. I'll do what you want. Please."

   Hopkins stood looking down at her. Cicily clutched at his feet.
"Please," Cicily said. "I can't do it. Just don't do it again.
Please don't do that again. I--tell me what you want me to do."

   "Stand up, Madam," Hopkins said.

   "All right," Cicily said. "All right. I--will you help me?"

   "No," Hopkins said.

   Cicily got to her knees. Then slowly, painfully, to her feet.
Hopkins did not help her.

   "Don't hit me again," Cicily said. "I'll--"

   "What will you do, Madam?" Hopkins said.

   Cicily said nothing.

   Hopkins waited. Still holding the whip.

   Cicily said, "Would--would you like to see me naked, Hopkins?"

   "Of course, Madam," Hopkins said.

   "If--if I--if I take my clothes off for you--will you--you won't
hit me again, will you, Hopkins?"

   "I will make no bargains, Madam," Hopkins said.

   "Oh god," Cicily said. "All right. All right, Hopkins. I'll do
it. I'm going to do it, Hopkins. I'm going to take off my clothes
for you. Just for you, Hopkins. Watch me. Watch me, Hopkins."

   Cicily was panting. Slowly her hands went to the front of her
blouse. Looking straight at Hopkins, she began to unbutton it.
Button by button the blouse was undone. At the final button Cicily
stopped. "I--I'm not wearing a brassiere," Cicily said, her voice
low.

   "I am aware of that, Madam," Hopkins said.

   Cicily took a breath, opened the last button, and took the
blouse off. It hung from her hand for a moment, then fell to the
floor. Cicily stood very still. Hopkins was gazing at her breasts,
his face expressionless.

   "Do you like them, Hopkins?" Cicily said at last.

   "I do, Madam," Hopkins said. "They are, in point of fact, still
more attractive than I had thought they would be. They look fuller,
and rounder, than when you are fully clothed. And most arousingly
firm, Madam, if I may say so. And the mark of the whip across them
only adds to that attractiveness."

   As Hopkins spoke, Cicily's nipples grew hard and stiff, a fact
which Hopkins could not but notice.

   "Shall I go on, Hopkins?" Cicily said.

   "If you please, Madam," Hopkins said.

   Cicily now took off her skirt.

   "I must say that I have always admired your legs, Madam,"
Hopkins said.

   "I know that," Cicily said. "I have seen you looking at them.
Well, now you can see all of them, Hopkins. You can look your fill,
can you not?"

   "Kindly remove the pants, Madam," Hopkins said.

   "Shall I?" Cicily said. "Well, after all, perhaps not. Something
should be left to the imagination, don't you think, Hopkins?"

   Hopkins raised the whip.

   "All right," Cicily said. "I will."

   But she stood still.

   "No," Cicily said. "Make me. Make me do it."

   Swiftly and suddenly, Hopkins slashed the whip down across
Cicily's thighs. Cicily cried out. Hopkins brought the whip up
again.

   "No," Cicily said. "I will."

   But Hopkins slashed again across her thighs. And Cicily,
moaning, took off her panties.

   "Don't hit me any more, Hopkins," Cicily said.

   Hopkins was just looking at her as she stood there.

   "Am I as you imagined, Hopkins?" Cicily said.

   "You are exquisite, Madam," Hopkins said.

   "And will you--are you going to--bind me, Hopkins? In the way
you spoke of?" And Cicily raised her arms high above her head,
stretching her body, standing on tiptoe, with her wrists crossed,
as though trussed that way by a rope.

   "I think not right now, Madam," Hopkins said. "I would like you
now to do something you promised to do earlier."

   "Oh?" Cicily said. "What was that, Hopkins?"

   "You said that you would crawl for me, Madam," Hopkins said.

   "Oh," Cicily said. "Did I?"

   "You did, Madam," Hopkins said.

   "And you wish me to crawl for you? Now?"

   "Yes, Madam," Hopkins said. "Now."

   "Will you whip me if I do not?" Cicily said.

   "Is that what you wish, Madam?" Hopkins said.

   Cicily said nothing for a long time. Then, slowly, Cicily sank
to the floor. First on her knees, then onto all fours.

   "This way, Hopkins?" Cicily said in a whisper.

   "Yes, Madam," Hopkins said.

   And Cicily began to crawl. Slowly, submissively, with her naked
haunches rippling, her breasts swaying slightly, her dark hair
hanging, Cicily crawled across the kitchen floor. Reaching the far
wall, she turned and crawled back.

   "Is that what you wanted, Hopkins?" Cicily said.

   "Please do not stop, Madam," Hopkins said.

   So Cicily crawled around the room. Around and around. Now, as
Hopkins watched Cicily crawling, he began to take off his clothes.
Soon he was naked. His penis was stiff and long. Cicily was
panting, but did not stop crawling.

   Hopkins lay down on the floor, on his back. Still holding the
whip. Without being told, Cicliy now crawled toward him. Hopkins
lay with his legs pointing toward Cicily. Cicicly crawled to him.

   "Will you make me give myself to you, Hopkins?" Cicily said.

   "Yes, Madam," Hopkins said.

   And Cicily crawled over Hopkins as he lay, crawling above him,
over his feet, his legs, upward. But as Cicily's head was just
above his crotch, Hopkins said, "Stop, Madam."

   Cicily stopped. Crouching that way, halfway up his body, Cicily
now looked at him, in surprise at first, and then with a gradual
realization. Cicily's eyes widened in shock. For a moment she said
nothing. Then she swallowed.

   "With--with my mouth?" Cicily said, half-whispering.

   "Yes, Madam," Hopkins said. "With your mouth."

   "Oh, dear god," Cicily said. "I will. Hopkins. I will. You'll
remember this, won't you, Hopkins? When I give you orders in
future. You'll see it in my eyes, won't you? See my mouth upon you.
Doing your bidding. Taking you."

   "Yes, Madam," Hopkins said. "I will see it."

   "And so will I," Cicily said. "I'm going to do it, Hopkins. Whip
me. I want you to. I want you to whip me hard while I do it to
you."

   And Cicily took Hopkins into her mouth, and Hopkins whipped
Cicily's back, very hard, and Cicily screamed and still did it, and
it went on until Cicily's husband came in...