steel trap. Eyes closed, head back against my pillow. If I’m not interrupted…maybe I can start my afternoon off right.
After many years the image remains crystal clear. I was sitting in the living room of the large, elegant brownstone on Lyme Street in Boston. Beacon Hill. Prestigious neighborhood. Mr. Johnstone walked in…tall, ramrod straight posture, distinguished, full head of silver hair, perfectly attired in a charcoal gray, double breasted suit and blue tie. He possessed the angular, fine features of a patrician, which he was. I was twenty two, and in these surroundings, in the presence of this man…I was impressed.
The interview didn’t last long. There were the standard questions in Mr. Johnstone’s impeccable, formal British brogue, about my prior employment and method of managing the cleaning and general upkeep of a residence of this size and quality. My work ethic? Could I accept the fact that I would be rewarded for being efficient and resourceful? And disciplined for errors of judgment, carelessness, and neglect? Whoa! My first clue, but his line of questioning quickly moved elsewhere after I instinctively nodded and murmured “yes”.
It would be my second job as a housekeeper after becoming disenchanted with secretarial school, and my experience and enthusiasm must have hit the right chord, because he handed me an employment agreement, told me to look it over and sign and bring it to his office if it met my approval.
The pay was excellent. I would have quarters, a room of my own, and based on the size of the living room and rich furnishings I assumed I would be significantly elevating my standard of living. I would be the only housekeeper and have both responsibility and leeway to make decisions. There was a section of the agreement which dealt with acceptable standards of work, attention to detail, the requirement of obeying orders or directions from both Mr. and Mrs. Johnstone, and treating them with respect and reverence for their position. Position was never clearly defined, but in addition to being the Lord and Lady of this very fine house, they were apparently also a Lord and Lady in some official capacity, as members of the gentry in their native land.
There was a short, two sentence paragraph stating something like initiative, efficiency and exemplary completion of assigned duties will be rewarded with either cash bonuses and/or compensatory time off. Neglect of duties, failure to meet required standards in all tasks, and any signs of disrespect will result in discipline, which, if warranted, will take the form of a reasonable application of corporal punishment.
Well…there it was. I had a choice. I looked around, read the agreement again, felt a twinge of fear…the slightest tingle of something else…apprehension, maybe? I wasn’t sure…and signed it.
When I walked into the study, directly off the living room, to return the signed agreement to Mr. Johnstone, Mrs. Johnstone was standing by his desk. She was also tall, stunningly beautiful for a woman who looked to be in her forties, with a trim figure, perfect, fine, sculpted facial features, and a bun arrangement of thick, blond hair. She nodded and offered a faint, regal smile when Mr. Johnstone introduced me. I was aware of her eyes never leaving me as I accepted the position and handed the agreement to her husband.
I was told to report the following Monday, with my bags, ready to move in and begin work. I was then shown the door.
It was at least two weeks, during which time I earned an afternoon and evening off, along with a crisp twenty dollar bill for my exemplary work and attitude, before Mr. Johnstone confronted me with a problem. I don’t remember the exact problem…just the result. I was told to report to his study after I had finished cleaning from the evening meal.
Concentrating was difficult for the rest of the day. But I didn’t want to make matters worse. Thinking back, it’s difficult to separate my thoughts then from what I know and feel now. There was certainly some fear…and a good dose of anxiety…and again a hint of something else.
The ritual never varied from that first time. I walked in at the appointed time and found Mr. Johnstone sitting at his desk. He described the problem, then told me he was going to discipline me. He stood to his full, erect height and regal bearing, opened his desk drawer and took out a brown leather belt without a buckle, then told me to bend across his desk and raise my skirt. I had been issued three uniforms when I arrived for work that first day. Short, light blue skirts and blue and white blouses. A fairly standard, but classy, housekeeper outfit.
I remember thinking I should protest…refuse…but I stayed silent and obeyed. I was uncomfortable…but not only scared. Something else. Confused feelings.
My mother spanked me. I didn’t like it, but I didn’t dread it. Mainly a nuisance. She loved me too much for it to really hurt. I’d have to go across her knee, or for serious misbehavior I was sent to fetch a switch from the backyard willow tree.
Mom remarried when I was twelve. The last time she spanked me I was fourteen, and a bolt of panic shot through me when she announced my punishment in front of Frankie. Was he going to watch? When I was ordered to my room he didn’t follow, but after she finished and I glanced at my red bottom in the mirror, I thought of him again and felt a tiny shudder. There would be thousands of those shudders throughout the rest of my life. Many not so tiny. My body and thoughts had been changing rapidly. Frankie was Italian, dark, handsome, really built, with a full head of wavy black hair, and five years younger than Mom. He was hot. The thought that he could have watched… seen my bare bottom arched and squirming over her lap… or even spanked me himself. An early…confusing image… and feelings.
Mr. Johnstone was very formal and reserved, with slow, measured movements as he walked around the desk and stood in back of me as I was bent forward over the massive, hand carved, antique desk. I raised my skirt and held it above my waist…then waited. For a few moments nothing happened, then I felt his fingers slip under the waistband of my panties and lower them to just above my knees. Now, suddenly, I felt panic…and something else. I was bent forward, my bare bottom and likely my pubic hair and lips of my pussy in clear view of a very handsome, distinguished gentleman…and he was going to spank me. I still remember that moment I realized the something else feeling was sexual arousal. And the almost instantaneous thought of confusion that flashed through my mind.
The spanking hurt. But not that much. After the first couple of blows and the initial sting - I was fairly certain I was safe. Then I felt the first hint of warmth. Before he was finished I pressed my legs tightly together so he couldn’t see the wetness I felt between my thighs. Later, in my room, lying in bed, my mind raced with contradictory thoughts and feelings as I relived my punishment. My hand slipped under the waistband of my pajamas and I again felt the wetness I had sensed while being punished. Within seconds of finding the tiny knob of my clitoris with my finger I exploded with a rush of ecstasy.
After lying very still…with my eyes closed…I realized I wasn’t ready to sleep. Again my fingers slipped inside my waistband. My other hand found the nipple of my breast. I was quickly wet again. It took a bit longer the second time. I pulled my knees toward my chest and spread my legs. The convulsions were almost as strong… and they lasted longer. I went to sleep confused…but content.
BJ was the house chef, and the only other full time house employee. He was an Indian boy from New Delhi, a couple of years older than me, and very handsome with his dark skin and eyes, narrow, angular face, and slender, muscular build. He was a very accomplished cricket player, and spent his off hours in Cambridge competing with Harvard and MIT students with a similar love and passion for the game. The Johnstones had spent a good deal of time in India, loved the food, and hired BJ from a local restaurant.
I was hesitant to discuss the discipline I was receiving on what seemed like a fairly regular basis, but I was also curious about what BJ knew or experienced. There was, I perceived, an attraction or connection of some sort between us from the first day I was at the house, but we initially kept our distance and were formal in our interaction.
