Butler For Life - Ch. 01
This story has morphed somewhat from when I started it. Originally it was to be a story of non-con body modification and permanent femdom relationship. But the ending became much darker of its own accord, a natural progression of the narrative. So while this is filed under BDSM, it could almost be under Erotic Horror. Hopefully that does not diminish its appeal and interest, for I have tried to introduce some quite novel experiences within these chapters.
Chapter 1 -- The Position
It did not amount to much, for what would turn out to be such a life-changing thing. The wording was simple, minimal. The advertisement merely said, "Butler and personal servant sought by titled lady. Duties will include both personal and general duties. A high level of loyalty is expected. Successful candidate will join small staff on country estate.
In any other publication, the listing might have seemed somewhat short on detail for a serious employment placement. There was no indication of previous experience, nor of renumeration. But this was no ordinary publication; it was in the local BDSM listings online, and for George the brief phrasing contained plenty of keywords that aroused intense interest for him. It gave a post-box in his own city address for applications rather than a digital contact.
George Barrett was reluctant to admit publicly that he was even in his fifties, but in reality he would soon head into his sixties. After a solid career as a banker, he was very comfortable financially, but every day he felt that he was inevitably facing a long, lonely, later life. When he looked at himself in the mirror of his apartment bathroom, the lines on his face were accumulating even if he had kept his hair, and his sexual and emotional life was a barren landscape. Finally, he had come to realise that unless he took the initiative and tried to make his long-held fantasies come true, then he would reach old age dispirited and regretful of what might have been.
This advertisement seemed so promising that despite his reluctance to reveal these dark innermost secrets to the world, he forced himself to pen an application, using terms that were neutral but equally interpretable in a particular manner, if the lady involved actually was saying what he thought:
"I have long dreamed of being able to serve a lady of distinction.....am prepared to comply with any requests regarding behaviour or demeanour, or appearance, etc...."
He went on to list his more mundane accomplishments and knowledge base; things he thought would be applicable, including his languages, his knowledge of art and fine wines, his general fitness and health status. He thought it was cheeky to include the massage course he had once done, intending to practice on his dear wife, but that hadn't been successful on any level, for they had parted less than a year later.
It would be misleading to say he had a nervous wait for any response. Nor did he merely post the application and promptly put it out of his head. In reality, he wanted to assume he would get the position, because once he had written his application and posted it, he started to realise just how much he wished to be in service; but more than that, to be in servitude.
The idea of being compelled to kneel before a woman, to lie under her, to serve her body according to her orders, had filled his inner desires over many years, even if it had been something his wife had no tolerance for. She had wanted, apart from the affluent lifestyle he could provide, a strong, simple, straight-forward kind of man. Which George plainly was not. And so she finally left him and found one, taking a good proportion of their combined wealth with her.
So George mentally started to make plans; considering how he might let his apartment, how it would feel to retire from his corporation and what options he would choose for his pension funds, how he might manage his financial affairs from a distance, and so forth. The way he figured it, whatever outcome this first application resulted in, his little mental flirtations would better prepare him for the next time an opportunity arose for creating a similar realisation of his fantasies. He needed to take this seriously.
After a while he did indeed fear that he would receive no response at all. But after several weeks the mailbox bore a plain envelope, bearing inside a single sheet of typed paper indicating simply that the advertiser was interested in meeting with him. At the bottom was a meeting proposal; a top hotel in the centre of town, and a suggested day and time. The writer added that if he could not attend, could he please contact -- and here it gave a cell phone number and the name Pauline -- to make another time agreeable to both parties.
Once he had got over his surprise, he decided to attend -- was it ever in doubt? - and sent a brief text to the number indicating his acceptance of the interview rendezvous. Suddenly all his mental planning seemed far more immediate, and his head was spinning with possibilities. He wondered who this woman Pauline was, whether she was an English lady from a long family line, or someone who had gained her title through marriage.
But all that was peripheral. What drove his imagination into a frenzy was wondering what the estate and the house might be like, and what his circumstances would be. Would he need formal butler's clothes and would they be supplied? Or would he wear something kinky like leather? Would he be allowed to have physical contact with his employer? Would he be asked to service her body? He realised that he was getting ahead of himself; imagining any kind of physical interaction would be to extrapolate hugely the plain words in Pauline's advertisement. In truth, when he read the words over, there was absolutely no indication of anything like that.
The day came. George booked a day off, then wasted time all morning watching the clock and laying out clothes on his bed, trying to not be nervous but failing. He was horny and desperately wanted to wank, but dared not. This was unlike any other interview in his life. He finally decided on a reasonably smart suit, but not one of his most expensive 'bankers' suits; branded ensembles meant to impress his clients. Rather it felt more like the kind of suit in which an experienced butler would present himself.
He was meant to meet in the lobby of the hotel at 2pm, and dawdled around the block until the time came, gazing aimlessly at shop windows and willing his watch to move faster. Then finally it was time. The receptionist indicated him towards the far side of the lobby, where he could see a blonde-haired woman sitting facing away from him. There was a part-finished coffee on the table before her. As he approached, he could see she was young, attractive but rather hard-looking; confident, with a square jaw and blue eyes, and as he stood before her, she appraised him up and down casually without any pretence of politeness.
"OK. So you're reasonably well-presented, that's good. What are you in real life? You are something, no? Hopefully you're not 'retired', or 'in between jobs', or something like that?"
Her voice had a certain foreign edge to it, and she was challenging him; her expression was mocking him.
"Yes, Ma'am. I am a banker."
"OK. Good. That's quite acceptable. So, sit over there."
They conversed for perhaps thirty minutes, or rather George expanded on what he had included in the application in answer to her questions. Then the woman stopped him in mid-discourse.
"We need to understand ourselves clearly here. You can release yourself from your current employment? And you realise that the position is permanent, and also that the placement of that advertisement was deliberate?" She stressed the last word.
He allowed himself a slight smile at the corners of his mouth. "I had hoped it would be so, Ma'am, and yes, I have planned to retire soon anyway."
"You can call me Miss Pauline, and address her Ladyship as Ma'am. So that we are absolutely clear, permanent means that you are required to serve until her Ladyship no longer wishes your services, at which point you may be dismissed if you have displeased her, transferred to another employer of her circle of acquaintances, or perhaps disposed of more abruptly if your presence has become inconvenient. You would have no say in this. Of course, if you become seriously ill, you will be released into the hospital system of this country and your tenure will cease."
"So, continuing the clarifications, the position involves personal services, but also general work. You may be expected to help Lady Chr.......," she stopped herself, ".... intimately, for she is interested in your massage abilities, but you will also act as butler, and even will work outside on the gardens and estate. You will be expected to be intelligent enough to learn aspects of the job as you go, for she realises you are not formally trained in service. We also have a young man who runs the kitchen and shares in the housework, and myself. I am the Lady's personal assistant."
George cursed his stupidity. He had been thinking this girl was his future employer! But she was just the first interview.
"Of course, this is no ordinary butler position. This is a permanent, indentured position." She stressed the word heavily. "My employer has unusual tastes. She likes her male staff to be subservient and obedient. You will generally serve naked. You will serve wearing a metal collar, for when you enter into her service, you also take on the collar. But just so you don't get any wild ideas, the position is one of butler. There is no concept of sexual interaction with the Lady, or myself. In fact, for any demonstration of sexual arousal you will probably be punished. You may even lose your position, with all that implies. And, just so we are clear, there is no pay. You will be fed and sheltered and your health taken care of; that is all."
George sat silently, taking in everything this abrasive, brash young girl had said. While there still was not a lot of detail being revealed, the thought of being collared and naked was dominating his thoughts. Everything else seemed very peripheral or unimportant. He didn't even want to start thinking about punishment, but he had, and felt a slight treacherous tightness starting in his groin.
"So, have I deterred you?"
He stammered slightly, caught himself, and finally gained his composure. "No, er..., Miss. That all seems in order. It is substantially what I expected....what I hoped for," he dared add.
"OK. So now I am going to take a photo of you. Then I am going to talk to Lady......my employer. Have you the rest of the afternoon free?"
George nodded. She brought out her phone. "Look towards me first. Thank you. Now would you stand, over there beside that chair. Thank you. How tall are you?"
"Just under six foot, Miss."
"Is your body hairy?"
"No miss, I have very little body hair in fact."
"Good. Please wait where you were sitting." With that, she moved away engrossed with her phone, presumably sending the photos. She stood over in another part of the lobby talking on the phone for some time, then returned.
"We will be gone several hours. Is your car parked?"
"I came in a taxi, Miss, seeing as I didn't know what the agenda was."
She looked at him intently, frowning, as if searching his words. Was she sensing insolence? "Come this way."
She led him towards the elevators and they stood silently, not looking at each other, as the lift descended to the parking levels. He followed her confident strides to a large Mercedes. She clicked the locks, then sprang the boot open. "Get in please. You have to ride in the rear. We still need to maintain security."
The journey seemed to take over half an hour, George thought, but he had no idea in which direction they had headed. It was an unusual experience being in darkness and feeling the vehicle motion as he lay on his side on the carpet of the trunk trying not to slide around, hearing the road noise and exhaust right beneath him. Finally he heard the tyres crunching on gravel, then felt the Mercedes coming to a stop. The boot opened automatically, blinding him momentarily. He clambered out of the vehicle onto a gravel stand outside a most exquisite ivy-covered brick mansion. It was modelled in classic Georgian style, three storeys, with low, wide steps leading to a stone entrance-way. There were expansive lawns in front, and several out-buildings over to one side.
"Follow me."
The girl led him briskly through the corridors with no commentary, down some wide stairs, and onwards to the end of a passage. There an old wooden door stood open. Inside, the space looked forbidding, but it also matched many of George's secret fantasies, the kind of themes that had always aroused him the most. This was not a complete dungeon, nor torture chamber. But the plain stone walls and flagstone floor, the lack of any window, the lamps on the walls; all evoked those secret obsessions in him. It was sparsely furnished; a period easy chair, a storage unit and desk alongside, also in period style; a mirror.
Then he noticed the whipping frame. It was heavy, built beautifully of oak, he thought, and it stood nonchalantly facing towards one wall.
Miss Pauline was beside him. "Yes. You'll end up over that sooner rather than later, no doubt. Turn you on, Mr Barrett? Does that get your little prick hard? Her Ladyship will interview you shortly. Please remove all your clothes, you can place them over the frame!"
She laughed harshly. "But no playing with it. Or yourself! See that camera up there in the corner? It monitors this room every minute. So be a good boy and just wait."
With that she strode from the room without bothering to see him start to disrobe. The whipping frame was massive, heavy, with a padded top. There were wide leather straps hanging loosely at the base with heavy metal buckles. Their inside surfaces looked shiny with use. Once those were tightened, you would not be able to move at all. He felt his cock tighten again at the thought, and looked away quickly to think of other things.
He waited perhaps ten minutes, noticing with apprehension that his cock insisted on being semi-hard, and worrying about whether he was too flabby these days. Time after time, he had to resist the temptation to gaze again at that frame, to consider all the implications of its being there. He anxiously hoped his tumescence would subside before his potential employer arrived, but in the event it was again the PA who turned the corner, making him jump nevertheless. She appeared to not notice the state of his cock.
"Fine. It's good you didn't mislead us about being hairy. Lady Christina will sit there," she indicated the easy chair facing the whipping frame. "Kneel here." She pointed to a position in front of the chair.
His knees were getting a little old to be pressed on flagstones, but he managed. Within a minute, he heard steps coming along the corridor, but dared not turn and stare. Instead he kept his palms on his thighs, and his eyes down to where her shoes would end up.
Her Ladyship did not come directly to the chair. Instead George heard her heels clicking on the flagstones while she slowly circled him back and forth. Finally, high heels came into view; slim stockinged ankles with heavier muscular calves above, then a pencil skirt, and then the legs sat and the ankles crossed themselves. There was a moment of silence.
"Please stand. I wish to take a look at you." Her voice had a touch of the exotic in her enunciation, a slight foreign accent but different to her assistant.
He rose from his aching knees, relieved that his cock had subsided to a polite position.
"Turn around slowly."
He complied, and managed to catch a glimpse of her. She was perhaps ten, even fifteen years younger than he, with a slim build but generous hips and a full bust, which pressed against her blouse. Her face was attractive, with high cheekbones and a hint of Slavic ancestry in her slightly almond eyes; indeed, she must have been gorgeous when in her teens, but above all it was her air of authority that dominated her look. Her hair was dark, perhaps slightly wavy; formally drawn back in a bun. Their eyes met fleetingly, he realised she would know he was looking her over, and he quickly averted his gaze.
"Thank you. You may kneel again."
When he had resumed his position and had settled his palms again on his thighs in what he hoped was classic submissive posture, she spoke once more.
"Your résumé...," she emphasised the accents, "...impresses me. I did not expect to get someone as.......qualified as yourself......applying for this position. For you it is indeed a major change of career! But then, to be reading those online listings, you could hardly be ignorant of what might be expected of you, no?"
He dared look up at the direct question, finding her full eyebrows arched slightly, hinting at amusement. "...er, no, Ma'am."
She rose suddenly, crossing the room to a cupboard, and brought from it a heavy-ended crop. He watched the swatch of leather come close to him, right up to his face where he could smell the leather and wax. She tapped it insistently against his cheek, and against his upper lip right under his nostrils.
"Part your knees. Wider."
His cock hung heavily towards the flagstones, now quiescent, but threatening to betray him at the least provocation.
"I have a fondness for marking my male staff. But I have a greater fondness for playing with my toys. Like this one." The crop kept up its rhythmic slapping against his cheek, while he resisted the urge to look away or to wince.
"So, Barratt, does this .....implement....," she stressed the word, "....interest you? Would you like to feel it on your organ hanging there so innocently?"
He was still stammering an answer, trying to think of something appropriate to respond with, when she suddenly bent forwards and the crop slapped down hard, right on his shaft, bouncing it down. With the shock of the blow, he started violently.
"Don't move! Hands behind your back! Don't dare move! Ten! Count them, thank me; each stroke. That was one."
He managed to gather his fevered thoughts. Instantly he had been transported beyond his wildest dreams. It was real! It was happening! "One. Thank you, Ma'am." He blurted hoarsely, struggling to not curl forwards in defence.
By the time he had acknowledged six strokes, his cock was steel-hard, pointing ahead and florid from the blows. Before the tenth and final one, she paused. Then she moved behind him and grasped his shoulder to prevent him clenching forwards. Sheer nylon brushed his arm.
"This last one is going to be much harder, a test. I'm going to aim it right on your tip. I want no noise, no movement. Can you manage that, Barratt?"
He nodded reflexly, just as the crop descended on his organ at speed. Despite a slight reflex jerk of surprise, he managed to suppress his moan to the slightest whimper, a sharp intake of breath.
She returned to her chair, balancing the crop across her legs. "It seems that particular treatment has interested your sexual responses, Barratt? Is that so?"
He nodded dumbly, looking down at his rapidly darkening shaft and knob, inflamed marks covering its length, and willed the pain to subside. He could not believe he was kneeling here naked with a full erection in front of a titled lady who might become his employer. It was all his darkest fantasies combined.
"So. I am not going to give you days to think things over, Barratt. You are mature enough to know your own mind. Are you willing to sign the Tenure Agreement and enter service here, for me? To remain naked from here on, and to wear a metal collar, which will not come off as long as you remain here in my service?"
As if in a dream, he heard himself intone quietly, steadily. "Yes, Ma'am."
"I am not interested in your assets or wealth, Barratt. You will have time to finalise and convert your circumstances. I'm sure as a banker you will know how to arrange things so they flourish......satisfactorily.....independent of your day-to-day attention. But if you assent to the position, you will return here in a few days, and you will not leave for any reason of yours other than medical emergency. Certainly not family matters. You need to understand that clearly. Do you?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"So my advice, even though I'm sure you don't need it, is to keep some emergency money in a bank account." She didn't elaborate further. George nodded.
"So be it. Pauline will return you to the hotel. We will pick you up in the same place in two weeks exactly. You may wear what you have worn today. You will not need any luggage save a small boarding suitcase, with a toilet bag and some basic clothing -- underwear in case you are required to travel again, no more. You will not be allowed a cell phone, so lose it. Hopefully you can set your affairs up so that you can make occasional alterations online, and you will be permitted access through the estate's system upon request several times per year. Will two weeks be enough time?"
"I believe I can process my termination in that time, yes, Ma'am."
"Very well." And with no further comment, Her Ladyship left the room. For want of knowing what to do, he continued to kneel. Several minutes later, the younger woman re-entered.
"Well, get dressed, man. I want to be back before aperitifs."
In this new role, George was required to serve permanently, with no possibility of leaving until Lady Christina no longer desired his services. His duty as a butler would include personal and general tasks, as well as intimate massage sessions.
The mansion where George would be serving was a classic Georgian style estate, complete with expansive lawns and several outbuildings. Inside, the interview room was sparsely furnished, including a whipping frame for discipline.
As a symbol of his permanent servitude, George would wear a metal collar, a tradition which was a part of Lady Christina's unusual tastes and expectations. He was also informed that CBT (careful handling of the penis) was to be expected as a form of punishment for any signs of sexual arousal, potentially leading to loss of his position.