Part One

I stood on the porch of the countryside manor at sundown, working up the courage to ring the doorbell. I looked at myself in the reflection of the window, and noticed my light green sweater was untucked from my forest green skirt. I fixed it, and scanned the rest of my outfit for anything else awry. My sheer black tights were pulled up all the way; my black leather ankle boots were unscuffed; my blonde hair was up in a neat bun, with little pieces hanging down to frame my face. But the question remained–was the whole ensemble professional enough for a job interview? It would have to do.

I pressed the doorbell, and a loud, deep sound rang through the house, as if an actual bell had been rung. Moments later, a butler answered the door. “Kaitlin, I presume?”

“Just Katie’s fine,” I said. “I’m here for a job interview?”

“Yes, right this way. The lady of the house is waiting for you in the dining room.”

I followed him into a gorgeous entryway, with rich navy blue carpets and mahogany wood paneled walls. At the end of the room there was a marble statue of a nude woman kneeling before a winged goddess. He led me into a room to the right of the statue, where a woman sat at one end of an ovular mahogany table. She was gorgeous, with straight brown hair and piercing brown eyes. She wore a clever navy suit jacket, a navy pencil skirt, and a white button up with the top two buttons undone. She reminded me of the goddess in the statue–either because it was in her likeness or because of the air of power that she exuded. I wasn’t sure which.

“Katie, do sit down.” She gestured to the chair across from her, and I took my seat. “I am Anya Orwell, but you will refer to me as Miss Orwell, Miss, or Mistress.”

“Yes, Miss Orwell.”

“Good girl, you’re a quick learner.” I blushed slightly, but I didn’t know why. “Now, I’m sure you have some questions about the exact nature of this job–the advertisement was a bit vague, wasn’t it–and I will answer those questions in due time, but first, I have a few questions for you.” In all honesty I didn’t much care what the exact details of the job were. For the salary she was offering, along with room and board, I would have done almost anything.

“For your first question,” said Miss Orwell, “Are you obedient?”

I was caught off guard–this certainly wasn’t the typical kind of question asked in job interviews. I gathered my thoughts for a moment before responding. “Yes,” I said at last. “I’m very attentive to detail, and I always follow instructions to a tee. At my last job I always showed up on time, I kept my boss’s appointments for him, answered his phone calls, and made his tea just how he likes it.”

“You know,” said the interviewer, “I’d quite like a cup of tea myself. Would you make one for me?”

I stood up promptly. “Of course,” I said. “Where’s the kitchen? And, er, how do you like your tea?”

“No er’s and um’s, lovely, I want you to be precise and formal in your language when you speak to me.”

“Yes Miss.”

“I want a cup of earl grey with the bag removed. Just a splash of oat milk, two teaspoons of sugar, and I want you to add a vanilla bean and a dried lavender blossom. The kitchen is just in there, I’ll trust you can find everything yourself.”

I hurried through the door, as I was sure this was all part of the interview. It took some trial and error finding the ingredients, but I emerged with a cup of tea on a saucer a few minutes later. I set it down in front of her, waiting for her to taste it before I sat down. She took a sip. “Very good, Katie, you may sit.” I did. “Now for your next question. Can you keep a secret? Just a yes or no answer will suffice.”

I was taken aback–a question even more unusual than the last. My mind raced with ideas of the kind of secrets she would need me to keep. “Yes,” I said quietly. “Yes I can.”

“Good. Then, as I promised, I will share with you the nature of the job. This,” here she tapped the table with her hand, “Is the secret you will need to keep.” I leaned forward. “I have a fetish for girls in a particular sort of clothing doing exactly what I tell them to. That is the job. Do you still wish to move forward?”

I was stunned. I imagined myself in latex and bondage gear being ordered around by Miss Orwell. So this was why she had asked for my measurements. “Can I see the clothing first?”

“May I,” she corrected, “And yes, you may. I’m sure it’s nothing like what you’re imagining. Follow me.” She got up and walked to the door I had entered through, leading me up the grand wooden staircase and to a closed door. “Your outfit is folded on the bed. I want you to take off all of your clothes–bra and panties too–and put the outfit on. You will meet me back in the dining room.”

“Alright,” I said. I didn’t think I was gonna have to put it on.

“Yes, Miss Orwell,” she corrected.

“Sorry. Yes, Miss Orwell.” And with that she turned and walked back down the stairs. I opened the door tentatively and peered inside. It was a small bedroom. On the bed, which was made neatly with a powder blue blanket, was a stack of clothes with a pair of navy blue leather flats beside it. From what I could see the outfit looked typical enough. I set to taking off my clothes. When I was naked, I paused to look at myself in the mirror on the back of the door–my breasts were small but perky; my hips were round, but not very wide; my penis was tiny and uncircumcised. Was I really gonna do this? I could put my clothes back on and leave the way I came. No, I would at least try the clothes on.

I took the first item, a soft white collared blouse, and unbuttoned it, putting it on. I buttoned the sleeves first. They were tight around my slender wrists. Then I buttoned up the front to the second to last button. The next item was a powder blue cashmere sweater. I pulled it on over my head, neatly tucking it under the collar of my blouse. The next item was a lacy white thong. I pulled it on, tucking my penis neatly inside. Below the thong in the stack was a navy blue skirt, short but not exceptionally so. It fastened with a set of hidden buttons on my left hip. I tucked the sweater and the shirt into the skirt and buttoned it up. Finally, there was a pair of white no show socks. I put these on, before sliding on the flats.

I looked at myself in the mirror. The outfit was cute–it wasn’t far from something I might have worn on my own. I might as well show the interviewer how I look. It would be interesting to see her reaction. I opened the door and descended the stairs, before walking back into the dining room.

She looked me up and down, smiling. “You look very beautiful, Kaitlin.”

“Thank you, Miss.” I blushed.

“However, you have made a few mistakes. How was your blouse arranged when you entered the room?”

“It–” I pictured the scene in my mind. “It was buttoned to the top.”

“And what might that imply?”

“That I should button it to the top when I wear it.”

“Very good. Fix it now.” I quickly did as I was told. “Second, your socks are showing.”

“Sorry, Miss Orwell, I didn’t notice.” I bent down to adjust them.

“That’s okay, love, but I can’t let you off without a bit of… instruction.” She paused. “I find that with the proper administration of pleasure and pain I can train a servant quite nicely. If that is not to your liking, you are free to put your clothes back on and leave, but you will not be getting this job. Otherwise, I need you over my knee. Please make up your mind quickly.”

I was stunned. There was a part of me that wanted to walk away right then. There was another part of me that needed the money and the housing. But the part of me that made the decision was the part that was deeply turned on by the idea of being punished by this gorgeous woman.

Numbly, I felt myself walk over to her and lay myself in her lap, my face framing hairs dangling against the floor. She hiked up my skirt and brought her palm down hard against my butt. I let out something between a cry of pain and a moan of pleasure, and to my horror I felt myself growing erect. If she felt it, she did not mention it.

“Count for me, Kaitlin,” said Miss Orwell.

“One,” I said weakly. She brought her hand down again, this time on my other cheek. “Two.” Another hit. “Three.” Though it hurt, there was something so pleasurable about the pain. It felt amazing to give over my control to this woman, to let her punish me as she saw fit. It was nothing like I’d ever experienced before. She brought her hand down again. “Four.” She spanked me again, harder this time, I let out another noise, before remembering to say “Five.”

“I think five is plenty for your first spanking,” she said, caressing my butt as if wiping away the punishment she had just given me “Especially for such a small infraction. You may stand.” I stood up and quickly pulled my skirt down, hunching over to hide my erection.

“You are to always stand up straight for me. Don’t be embarrassed.” Reluctantly I straightened out, my penis pressing against the front of my skirt. She reached out and pet it through my skirt. “Such a cute little cock.” Then, she said “Sit down, lovely, let’s discuss the terms of your employment. I think that if you can agree to them you’re hired.” I sat again, grateful to be able to hide my arousal.

“You would be working for five days at a time, week days. The weekends are yours to do with what you please. You can wear what you want and go where you like. The other five, you will be entirely under my control. Whatever I tell you to do, you will obey. Whatever I tell you to wear, you will wear. You are not to masturbate or have sex whatsoever while you are under my employment. This is so that I can give you your pleasure as a reward for good behavior. If you wish to terminate your employment at any time, you only need to let me know and be on your way. Does that sound agreeable to you?”

“Yes,” I said, without a second wondered. Tonight had been unlike anything I had ever experienced, and I wanted–no I needed–more.

“Good,” she said with a smile. “Then go upstairs and change into your pajamas. You will find them in the top drawer of your dresser. Meet me in my room, at the end of the hall. I think you deserve a reward for taking your punishment so obediently.”