The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Francette’s tongue circled around the edges and searched the folds and bumps. When doing such things, she always envisioned a man in a rowboat wearing sailor raingear, the stereotypical yellow rain coat and hat. The pleasure giving strokes receiving the strongest reactions were always the tongue touches covering the area of the hat. However, to make those motions come across even stronger, the tongue had to vary its path and maybe hit the raincoat, not the hat directly, and include some indirection across the stern and up a rail onto the bow.

As the maid’s tongue found the perfect places, her back hurt from the awkward position needed to jam herself into the lower half of an open coffin. It was hard to bend her neck enough, so she could place her face in between the female vampire’s legs. There was no room, but the maid found space by setting her butt on the coffin’s stern and circling her arms around the coffin’s port and starboard. As she licked, she thought that she was taking the nautical metaphors too far and then she remembered she hadn’t even touched the ideas of a compass with its focused arrow or a ship cannons with iron cast balls -- so much material to choose from. She induced some more moans from her mistress vampire.

It didn’t help that the maid had to lift her large nose ring out of the way. She tried to keep it rotated up and against her forehead so as to not distract the mistress. Sometimes, though, the cold metal touched the vampire’s stomach just below the belly button. Fear of punishment hit the maid hard anytime that happened. When the servant realized the vampire’s body temperature was the same as the cold metal, she let the ring rub against the belly freely as she worked even harder.

“Slower,” said Vamps running her fingers through Francette’s hair. The black nailed fingers tangled and then pulled off the maid’s tiny lacy bonnet after snagging a couple more times.

Francette felt the hairpins painfully tugged out. The vampire didn’t care at all. The headpiece was probably thrown to the floor in frustration. The maid thought how carelessly her costume’s accessories were treated and that worry unintentionally sent her uniform into an angry tizzy. Now she had to ignore thousands of stabbing quills attacking her skin, all while licking Vamps. Such thoughtless treatment of the uniform was not allowed and the punishment stung, even though it wasn’t the maid’s fault.

Her tongue pressed inside. The vampire wailed. The maid continued. She wasn’t used to going this slow. It gave too much time to notice other things; the texture of the sensitive skin, the actual structure to everything, and then there was the slight flowery smell with a bittersweet, even sour, taste.

Giving oral sex was not Francette’s thing, but she had to obey. It was a duty she did without hesitation. She was trained and, of course, a mere servant girl such as herself had no say. That thought kind’a turned her on.

“Yes, now go faster you slut,” ordered Vamps.

The maid’s head began to bob to give more momentum to the oral contact. She would never admit it, but being called a slut was also a turn on. She felt the vampire’s nails dig into her scalp just as cruelly as her costume’s quills. The mistress’s thighs thrashed against the satin padded interior of the coffin. The maid was grateful that the lid hadn’t been closed. Being alone in a box with a killer would have been too much. As the legs jerked, the maid struggled to keep contact with the sailor hat. It was like the rowboat had hit rough seas and water was splashing inside. It was clear they would sink at any moment. The vampire’s hips now bucked harder. The maid prayed that this storm would hopefully end soon.

Suddenly the thrashing stopped. The seas calmed as the maid felt the need to find another figurative genre for any possible next time.

Francette lifted her head as the vampire relaxed. She would have thought the vampire to be more of a screamer during orgasm, but the killer went the other way, ninja quiet. The maid checked her own cleavage. Her costume held her boobs up and out as if on a serving tray. The corset and outer maid dress were firm and restrictive, but when challenged with doggy-style positions, her boobs needed to be settled back properly. She pushed her hands inside the bra cups and lifted and set her boobs properly. Pulling her hands away, she jiggled her boobs a bit to feel comfortable.

Looking around the room, the maid checked out six standing latex encased batmen. She didn’t like henchmen hovering anywhere near her, even though these muscle heads couldn’t see, except when they did their high pitch chirps and received the echoes. Basically, they could only just sense she was there. Vamps had wanted privacy, so she ordered them not to chirp, but surely they could hear everything. Maybe Vamps just didn’t like hearing the high pitch noises. The maid thought how vampire senses reached levels far beyond humans. Hearing, smelling, tasting; everything seemed to be enhanced as a vampire. And no, Francette clarified in her mind, she would never want to join their ranks.

She wiped her face as she looked around. She studied how the six men’s perfect physiques were smoothed over in latex. No openings were given for ears, eyes, nose, or mouth. The pointy bat ears on their heads may, in fact, actually work. She noticed that a couple of the guards actually showed some signs of weakness. The muscle bound batmen always seemed invulnerable, but some of these men held their own smoothed over bulges at their crotches. She then realized, they were turned on by the female-female sex and their costumes didn’t let them ‘express’ it. There was no room to grow and the men inside were in agony as they were forced to stand at attention on the sidelines. How cruel for them that their rubber costumes didn’t stretch at the crotch.

“Ouch, no?” she smirked and then covered her mouth. She didn’t mean to say that out loud.

Vamps only murmured, still too relaxed to care.

The maid began to climb out of the luxurious box for the dead. She reached down with her high heel shoed toes feeling for the floor. How high up was the coffin stand? She reached more, then some more, and then finally touched the floor. She looked at the vampire. Was she asleep?

“Go. Leave me,” said Vamps, naked and rolling onto her side.

“Yes mistress,” said the maid quickly doing her hair and bonnet. She loved any excuse to stay away from vampires, but appearance was important. She then folded Vamp’s Sluta’ween magician tuxedo clothes and set them properly on a chair. A clock said one in the morning. In 24 hours, the party would hopefully be over and she would be free of all this. She almost giggled.

As she walked out, a batman opened the door for her. She felt mischievous and cupped his crotch. She couldn’t see his face, but she knew he winced under the rubber hood.

Francette smiled keeping her mouth closed. The taste of vampire sex lingered and flooded her nose. She so badly wanted to wash up. She wondered if the house enjoyed watching her do someone else like this. She looked-up to the hallway ceiling as she tip-toed to avoid attracting attention.

“If you even the care, why do you let zhis ‘appen? No? Shouldn’t you do zhe utmost to protect moi?”

There was no response from the house. Her ‘maison lover’ only appeared when passion exploded. Or was she just making excuses for it? She hurried a little faster feeling her boobs bounce against the rigid corseted bra that cupped the essential spots for technical modesty, but still pushed them up and out for public inspection.

The servant bell rang. Blast. She wanted to gargle, scrub, brush, hose herself down -- something. She checked the board: it was the tower. The bell rang again and again. Someone was on the fourth floor? Who?

Ascending the dark stairs and then knocking on a door, she noticed light showing from under its threshold. It was the only meager light illuminating the staircase hallway. She waited a step below the small landing. When the door opened and Francette’s eyes adjusted to the bright candlelight, she gulped at the site of Danior. They had never met, but unknown to him, she had witnessed him suck dry all the blood from Wicky’s Playboy Bunny assassin. In seconds, the killer Bunny was reduced to powder and bones.

“I need a few,” said Danior stopping his request and changing his line of thought. “I smell something on you.” His eyes squinted. “Yes.” He leaned in to take a short sniff by her face. “Someone has been helping my wife, Vamps. So she’s here after all.”

“Oui, monsieur.” Francette concentrated on her stupid fake French accent. She certainly didn’t want to blurt anything out. No one knew that she knew about Danior and Wicky’s plans -- and that was best. “Zhe wife she is the ‘ere. I ‘elp ‘er and now I ‘elp you too, no?” Ooo, she didn’t mean it that way. “I mean, you rang? No?”

“You meant you fucked her.” He took another whiff. “Mmm. She is like a fine wine – a port wine.”

Francette looked down in shame. It was like she was brainwashed to feel shame in overwhelming amounts.

“Come-in child. I have a message for you to send back to her.”

The vampire touched her chin just below her large nose ring and led the maid inside the tower room. He tilted her head slightly up and back while studying her lips.

She didn’t think her lips, though nice and plump, were that fascinating. She felt a little repulsed thinking he was imaging her lips blowing his wife. His tongue went across her top lip. It tickled. She instinctively turned her face away. For him the taste confirmed or inspired – certainly, urged him on.

He held her arms firmly to her sides and directed her further back into the room. She was a puppet and he pulled all her strings. That was fine with her, but please, she thought, just hurry and let her go for the night. He sat back into a winged back chair. It was obvious what was expected now. Vamps had left an inspirational scent and Francette had to pay for it. Hell, the French-porno accent made her offer it. She felt so stupid. If she didn’t keep trying to focus so hard pronouncing her stupid French accent, she would have paid more attention to what she was saying. She wanted to kick herself for saying: “And now I ‘elp ooo too.” Stupid porno-French. No! That was not what she meant.

The maid kneeled and unzipped his paints. She began her work.

“I’m going to come into your mouth,” he said, “and I expect you to hold it in there.”

Francette’s eyes fluttered as she looked up at him. She gave a very tiny nod ‘yes’ while her mouth was full and moving back and forth.

It took just a moment and she felt the warmth against the back of her throat. It wasn’t her oral expertise that got him off so fast, it was Vamp’s scent and probably the idea the maid had just left his wife frolicking about in an after glow.

“Don’t,” he paused taking a breath, “swallow,” he reminded her.

“Mmm,” said Francette struggling not to gag. More liquid filled her mouth. And the strong taste was too much. She concentrated on baseball and she didn’t even know the game.

The throbbing stopped and she tried a couple licks to clean him, but it was difficult since she wasn’t allowed to swallow. He motioned her to stop. The maid stood, her hands clasped and positioned on top her fluffy skirted lap. She lowered her head in shame again, her mouth, after all, was full of cum.

“Go to Vamps and curtsy for her,” said Danior, smirking at her attempts to hide a look of disgust.

“Mmm,” she murmured curtsying for him.

It was a couple moments latter when a batman with a face smoothed over in latex opened a dungeon door. It creaked with a frightening cry that put a chill in Francette’s spine. She almost swallowed right then and there. The maid stared at the featureless face. Maybe the batmen were lucky. After all, what oral pleasures could they offer? They didn’t have to taste it, smell it, lick it or swallow it. She then remembered not to swallow.

“Who is it?” asked Vamps loudly from further inside the room. The maid could see the vampire standing in shear pantyhose, her tuxedo jacket draped over her arm. She was pulling a mesh layer of tights over the shear nylons.

The maid pushed passed the batman. She wanted to give his crotch a quick grope, a firm pat, maybe even a squeeze; but she focused on her orders and stood before the vampire and the ominous open coffin.

The maid silently curtsied.

The vampire looked puzzled and then knew. She stood so arrogantly, her arms akimbo, with a wicked smile. Even without heels, her feet in nylon set flat on the floor, she seemed tall, statuesque. Her head tilted back as she took in a faint smell from across the room.

“Come her, I have a return message,” said Vamps lifting a long leg into the coffin then climbing inside.

Francette approached the coffin and was embraced in the arms of the half-naked vampire reaching out from her satin-pillowed luxury box. The pantyhose let the vampire’s legs slide across the coffin’s interior satin as the two woman pulled together. The maid felt the vampire’s tongue push inside her mouth and lick everywhere. Vamps took in her husband’s sexual advances, every last bit. The maid felt her body lift off the ground and set effortlessly on the sidewall of the coffin. The vampire continued to French kiss, as the maid was pushed back into the box.

A sexual threesome had now been established, but with the meat of the sandwich having to walk back and forth between rooms where the top and bottom slices of bread resided. It was clear, each trip was going to add a new condiment. The maid winced at the thought. She, after all, was the meat. She kept her mouth open as her and the vampire’s tongues tangoed inside.

“Mmmm,” purred Vamps. “If me and him could stand being near each other, the sex would be great.” She held the maid’s head in both hands and kissed. “I like this idea though. Let’s pen a return message for him, shall we?”

The vampire thrust the maid down in to the coffin and pulled the maid’s feathered panties off. Francette raised both hands to her face not knowing what to do as her body was laid to rest – a phrase she didn’t like.

Vamps pulled the panties along Francette’s long stocking covered legs. The maid could see the vampire looking at the bare soft skin between the garters and above the stocking’s top. There was a look -- Vamps was thinking about biting deeply into the inner thighs. Fortunately, Vamps held back. Stronger sexual thoughts took hold. Now the maid could see she was about to be on the receiving end of ‘la collingus’ to use her ignorant French-porno speak. She had never been on the receiving end before. Was she expected to climax? Should she be noisy about it or quiet? Should she be quick and fake it? Should she even touch the vampire’s soon-to-be bobbing head of hair?

“I’ve learned over the centuries, the art of making a woman come,” said Vamps pursing her lips and smiling. “I’m going to show you something. Your next lover will be grateful.”

Francette felt wetness push inside her once Vamps’s head dove under the fluffy skirts. Fear filled the maid’s heart. Would the vampire use her fangs? The thought sent the maid on a fast and shallow hyperventilating series of breaths. She could only see her puffy skirts inflate and deflate with the head movements underneath. Her breasts began to vibrate with the rapid panic she threw herself into, until she finally relaxed and started to enjoy the intimate offerings made below her skirts.

It was fast and unbelievable effective. She grabbed a coffin pillow and bit it hard.

The maid’s body shivered. She screamed into the satin pillow pressing it hard against her face. She needed to let the overflowing orgasm pour out of her mind even though she so badly wanted to contain the build-up inside her soul. It was too much. She screamed again like a release valve on a pressure cooker.

Back at the tower room, Danior opened the door.

“I return with zhe message from zhe wife, no?” Francette tried to compose herself when she realized that she had probably said that a bit harshly. She was after all a little frazzled and a bit tired.

“Come-in,” he said looking down at the little French tart. He sniffed again. His hands ran under her skirts across her feathered panties. “Pull those silly frills out of the way, lean against the chair and bend over. I want to read my message.”

Francette didn’t know if she should be scared or excited. Vampires certainly knew everything about sex. She then worried what orifice was left for a yet another return message. She felt his nose press under her skirts. She arched her back to lift her hips a bit more. She didn’t know what was happening, but she felt her hands pulled to her head. She rested on her elbows, as her wrists were held together by one of his hands. He certainly could take control of her body. She loved that.

His other hand adroitly tugged free her long hair from her pinned-up hairdo, stroked free a long thick lock of her hair, and wrapped her left wrist with it. He did the same with her right wrist. She tried to pull her hands away. What had he done to her? Any movement painfully jerked the roots of her hair. The bastard had just tied her hands to her head using her own hair. He even used tiny locks of hair to quickly tie her thumbs down against her scalp along with a few random fingers. Tugs made against the tiny hair locks were the most painful. She tried not to pull even though her body was being moved about.

“Monsieur, please zhe ‘ands. Moi ‘ands zhey are zhe tied. Oui? No? Please?”

She felt his hands reach under her and grab her chest as she hunched further over the chair’s armrest in a weak attempt to protect herself. His fingers reached inside scratching her cleavage with his steal nails. Taking hold just above her corseted breasts, he yanked the layers of material down with a loud rip.

“No!” screamed Francette tucking her head under her shoulders to see her dress torn to rags down the front. Her boobs hung bare, her nipples pointed straight down ready to be milked. What was he going to do now?

She was amazed at how the thick corset material and boning easily shredded in Danior’s hands. He could do anything he wanted to her. The concern about her costume changed to fear when her body rapidly dropped to the floor. In a second, she found herself posed as a kneeling submissive. A ragdoll would be treated better, even if stolen by a sister’s petulant little brother. She dared to look-up. She loved a little ruthlessness and humiliating domination, especially when she could feign resistance against it. All this was too fast though. She couldn’t feign anything.

She found herself positioned between his legs. However, it wasn’t for another blowjob. His hands pulled her large prow of cleavage toward his vertical ship’s mast.

Once she realized the type of sex to be performed, she wanted to help and squeeze her boobs around his manhood and be of service in breast fucking his brains out. Unfortunately, her hands being bound to her head hurt her scalp with the slightest tugs and, with such restraints applied, her large eyes searching for a solution to help must have made her look shocked and clueless.

He ignored her inept participation. Her lost nature probably turned him on even more. His hands enjoyed her soft pillows of hefty flesh as he used the round orbs as handles and forced her upper body to slide back and forth. She helplessly watched her body being pistoned up and down. She felt like an object. His object. She drew pleasure from that and might have even smiled.

Oddly, her hands being stuck to her hair, posed like an executive interlacing his fingers behind his head while reclining in a chair, made the act seem more voluntary compared to past times with other masters who tied her arms behind her. It was strange. The pose made her feel like she was just letting him do this. It was like she wanted him to grope and manipulate her with his powerful vampire hands. She thought how she had just described his large wonderfully manly hands -- she did it again. She did like this – the lack of control, being used. She was just there, a human sex toy.

As he lifted her body up and down repeatedly, she pressed her chin down against her chest to see. Stuffed in her cleavage, a tip of a massive masculine weapon repeatedly exposed and buried itself. The tip aimed right at her face and on the downward stroke of her body, it almost entered her mouth. She turned away finding resistance from the lack of room for her elbows hitting the inside track defined by the wingback chair’s armrests. Her elbows, chicken-winged out from her head, could not bend further back to get around the obstructions, so she looked frontward again to the limited view of seeing his chest moving past her eyes as her boobs rubbed his stiff member.

Surely he was going to get off soon. When he stood and rotated the her body around, placing her underneath so gravity would capture any fluid painting her chest, she knew he was about to come.

With the door to the tower room closed and only a line of light emitting from the threshold, the vampire moaned and the maid gave a restrained shriek.

It was two in the morning and Francette felt Vamps’s face rubbing over her boobs where Danior had just breast fucked. His scent had splashed across the maid’s chest and now Vamps was enjoying every bit of the joy her husband had experienced earlier.

The vampire’s fangs grew.

“I can’t hold back. I still smell some human blood in you. I’ve got to feed, sorry Francette. You might not make it.”

The former blood slave tilted her neck to fully expose the jugular. She was programmed to do that out of habit. She wasn’t even certain if she would taste good. Cursed feathered French maids weren’t fully human. But why would she still want to taste good? It was probably best to taste bad. She stretched her neck more. If this was the end, so be it.

The dungeon walls shook. Pebbles and dust fell from the dungeon ceiling.

Vamps looked around the room. Her fangs retracted. “Someone likes our little French tart here.” She looked into Francette’s eyes. “The house likes you darling.” She licked across the maid’s face. The tip of the vampire’s tongue explored into the maid’s left ear and then traveled across the mouth while reaching the other side to enter that ear canal as well.

The maid cringed. She felt the cool wet saliva in the ear not presently being tongued. As more ear probing continued, the maid noticed a new item in the coffin. Vamps had been busy getting supplies while Danior had played with the messenger. A dildo and tube of lubricant sat on the white satin floor of the coffin.

The maid gulped. There was only one place on her body that so far had remained untouched. The return ‘message’ was probably going to hurt.

“Now for my reply to Danior,” said Vamps. “Let’s do a hat trick.”

Several more trips later and Francette found herself doing a zombie walk back to her room. She felt so dirty. She was certain no one had seen her sexual relay race of ‘messages’ between the vampire spouses, but there was still a nagging feeling everyone would somehow find out. She prayed no one would catch her now with her bare breasts, her torn uniform, her hands still tied to her head with her own hair, and her panties bridging her ankles. She pulled her feet apart a bit more. She didn’t want to loose her panties on the floor, but with her hands tied, she just had to suffer and do a wide waddle till she got to her room.

A trail of feathers fell from her destroyed petticoats. The vampires had roughly ruffled her layers leaving them extra flouncy and loose like a torn pillow.

She clicked in a high heel and then stepped with a squish in a wet stocking foot. She wore only one shoe as she did a lopsided walk. With the sex finished, the shoe that remained stayed securely glued. Her costume would not let it be pulled off even to level her step. As her wet right foot squished again, she thought how she never knew that vampires had such a foot fetish. She clenched her butt cheeks. Jammed between them, hidden under all the puff of her short skirts, was her second shoe with a broken dangling high heel that Danior had tried to use as a control handle.

When she felt her panties slipping further down, she stretched apart her legs even more. It appeared Vamps had torn the ruffled bottoms leaving them a mere stretchy rag. Minutes ago, the maid had to pick-up her bonnet off the floor with her mouth. The white lacey patch of cloth dangled from her teeth. She didn’t think she could pick anything else up, so she hoped her panties would stay till she got to the servant’s hallway. Her wider walk made things more difficult – she didn’t want to loose the shoe under her petticoats either.

The vampire husband and wife team had gone over her entire body in everyway possible. And now she felt humiliated while doing a slow walk of shame, her costume ruined. One long sleeve was torn from its shoulder, her arm bare. Forget that, her boobs were hanging out! She had been so good at keeping her silly costume clean and orderly. Now the costume that she was cursed to don, possibly forever, was ruined. She quietly walked passed the maids’ room. She was grateful the door was closed. They were asleep. A few steps further and she got on her knees and used a hair bound hand to turn the doorknob of her private bedroom door.

“Maison?” she whispered letting the bonnet fall from her mouth as she crawled in on her knees.

She so wanted someone to give her compassion; just some solace even if from a silent spirit that she knew, in its own weird way, loved her. She closed her door and searched the room. She stepped out of her panties and left them on the floor. What was left of them looked more like a white sash tied in a figure eight.

“Maisson?” Her lover, so far, only played sexually with her -- except for the warning given to Vamps a short while ago. She appreciated that.

“Please, maison.” The shoe stuffed under her skirt hit the floor.

Nothing.

She saw herself in a mirror. Was she stuck forever as a frayed shabby maid?

As she checked her skirts and hair, electrical shocks began to dance across her body. Her hair untangled and fell free releasing her hands. When she held her freed fingers before her face, an electrical spark jumped across their tips. One spark even tapped the tip of her nose. Blue lighting formed a webbed dream catcher in the large nose ring on her face.

Then the pain started. It wasn’t the invisible quills. The intensity surpassed any quill stabbing punishment. It was her costume’s material doing something she had never felt before.

Strong electrical shocks covered her, throwing her down to the floor. She got enough control to open her eyes and see the rips mending. The smell from layers and layers of vampire sex disappeared. The sweat and musk from the past two hours vaporized. Her hair preened itself into a perfect slutty bouffant hairdo. The torn sleeve hanging around her wrist pulled up her arm and sewed itself into place. The bonnet, once again on the floor, jumped to her hair and pinned itself in. The corset, ripped by Danior down the front, lifted its satin panels and snuggled against her breasts holding them firmly in place. Seams sewed themselves closed. Laces tied into neat knots. Fallen feathers flew into place. Feathers left in the hallway were even sucked from under the bedroom door as they rebuilt her skirts.

After a moment of recovery, she pushed up from the floor to sit surrounded in puffy happy content feathered skirts. She hadn’t known it before, but her costume was self-cleaning. Her body had been electrically bathed and refreshed.

She thought how Danior and Vamps had licked and rubbed everywhere, but now all traces were gone. Her perfectly pressed costume, nice a crisp, dazzled her. It was so amazing. Still she felt so dirty and used. Normally she liked that, but tonight had been too much. She wanted to bathe for hours, but her costume would only come off if poised to have more sex. She wanted a break. She saw under the logs in the fireplace piles of ashes. She crawled on her knees over to the black and white soot, took scoops of dust in her hands, and poured it over her head and down her dress between her breasts. She piled more into her hair, rubbed it in over her stocking legs into her shoes, shoveled more into the layers of her petticoats and even lifted the skirts enough to pour powder into her panties. The blinking whites of her eyes pierced her powdered black form, a match for Snuggles head to toe latex, but without the liquid shine.

The quills punished her harshly, but she didn’t care.

She waited.

The electricity danced over her body. Within seconds, she was breathing heavily, but once again perfectly restored. The dress looked like new, her make-up perfect, the apron sparkling white. She still felt dirty, so she grabbed more grime from the fireplace and did it again and again until she passed out from the electricity.

Francette woke. She saw the clock’s hands pointing a few minutes past four. Something had awakened her. She felt like a zombie. Her skirts rustled around her. A bent leg had stuck a high heel into a petticoat. A little more electricity fixed any damage.

“Baiser! That ‘as zhe sting.” She collected her thoughts. “Enough. Je le done already, no?” she said more in an American accent.

The servant bell rang. It was the master bedroom suite, Wicky’s room. This couldn’t be good. Not when it was this early in the morning.

“Oh no,” she mumbled. Switching back to her naughty accent, she cursed, “Zhe bitch, she wants zhe sex toot suite too, oui?”

Off the main hall, Francette knocked at the massive master bedroom door. It was Wicky who opened the intricate carved oak entrance, not Forte or some other plaything for the night.

“Francette, please get the other maids. I’ll need help,” said the witch. She acted all frisky and energized.

Did Halloween make everyone in this household horny?

Behind the witch, the maid could see two red latex clad women playing with each other on the bed. They were the two identical twin demon girls. Their tails slapped around the four-post bedframe. They looked at the French maid and flirted back with their eyes and pursed lips. They then locked their horns together and tail whipped the bedposts harder.

“Oui, mademoiselle.” Francette curtsied accepting her orders. The door slammed as the maid bounded off to find the other porno-accented maids. She wished she actually knew French, but at this point, she only needed to complete one more day here at the manor. Then she was done. She would leave, run, escape; even if the nose ring would be with her for life.

She clicked and clacked her heels down the hallway.

“Sacrebleu! I ‘ope I do not ‘ave to fuck zhe demons too. No? Maison? I need zhe rest. Oui? Maison?”

She felt so alone.

She quickly pranced down to the maids’ room.