Origins of the French Maid; in Curse of the Jade Mask

CHAPTER ONE

Milla was not enjoying herself. In fact she was fairly certain that this was indeed the most miserable night of her life. This unfortunately would be saying quiet a lot lately. She had graduated from high school six months early with full honors, and had giddily left for college on a promising scholarship. Once there however, nothing had seemed to go right. After her conservative, if not out right repressive, childhood under her aunts’ stern critical guidance, she had expected to cut loose and have a little fun. Instead she found her studies to be much heavier than she had imagined, and her instinctive wet blanket approach to social activities such, that in in her first year she had only managed to be invited to three, sort of, parties and each of those had been a dismal failure. She had gladly looked forward to the winter holidays and the subsequent return to her own small home town. In fact she was fraught with gloom at the appending return to school; admittedly made the worse by her wriggling attempts to not tell out right lies to her few hometown friends about the wonders of Big City college life. They were excited and egger to hear all her romantic conquests and adventures as a real woman out on her own. In point of fact she had none to tell and this with the thought of the crushing debt she was quickly acquiring in face of the scholarships limited scope, just added to her misery. Her aunt had warned her about reaching to high, and she felt trapped and foolish that the old woman might be right.

All of this had, however, been regulated to the back shelf when she had learned from her friends about the great new years eve costume ball being held in the Bayard’s grand mansion. It was held ever year and she had always dreamed of attending and being swept off her feet by some handsome man. Her friends couldn’t understand why she would be so excited about some dumb hick in the sticks party after a year in the Big City, but she convinced them that life was about grasping at all such opportunities, and soon she had them even more convinced that she was an outgoing party animal.

Her friend, Shelia, had an extra invitation, as her boyfriend had broken his ankle the night before ice skating with some friends. Or at least that was his story. Shelia’s’ father worked in the records room at city hall and a recent promotion had put him on the list this year, being a widower and something of a plain if generous and well meaning home body, he had passed the invite tickets on to Shelia. Milla had leapt at the idea of the two of them going to the party. Perhaps in some feeble hope of something ‘wonderful’ happening and preempting her ever having to return to that horrible college. In the very least it would keep her mind off the inevitable, and in the meantime, hopefully stop her friends from asking so many uneasy questions.

There had been one problem, well actually there had been several problems, but one had been paramount and unavoidable. She had no costume. The whole thing had been a flurry of false starts and rethinks, but in the end she was left with Shelia standing there with a sexy French maid’s outfit in one hand and a Little Red Riding Hood outfit in the other. Ken Shelia’s boyfriend had been planning as going as the Big Bad Wolf. As Shelia’s little bed room, crowed with Milla’s few friends looked on, Milla felt the lacy trim of the French Maid costume and her face flush. Shelia had explained that she had ordered the racy little maid out fit at Ken’s bequest, but a fight after it’s arrival had caused her to toss it into her closet unworn and forgotten. Shelia was always fighting and making up with her boyfriend. None of them could figure out what she saw in the lying creep. Shelia quickly offered to wear the maid outfit and let Milla wear the more conservative Red Riding Hood number, but an afternoon of embellishing her free reign adult Big City lifestyle would look all the more hallow if she accepted Shelia’s offer. After all Shelia didn’t even really want to go. Here Milla had been trying to convince her friends and her self that she had changed utterly and was no longer this weak limpid wallflower, but a full vivacious woman, and even Shelia who was always the brave and outgoing one of the group, had looked at her with some wonder and awe. She just couldn’t seem hesitant at a costume that showed a little skin. She had forced a show of excited glee and rapturous laughed declaring the costume to be wickedly perfect.

That had been at around five p.m. in a late golden orange sunset. Now it was nearing mid-night and Milla was bending over to vomit into what was in all appearances, a very expensive bronze planter, the large tropical plant shook it’s fronds in her face as she heaved. Ugh. What a miserable night. Everything had, of course, gone horribly wrong from the start of the evening.

Milla straighten up. Actually she was feeling slightly better. She looked down the long marble hall. This was actually the second expensive bronze planter she had upchucked into, the other one was several yards away near the large marble staircase from which sounds of many people enjoying themselves impossibly far too much dimly radiated. She groaned and clasped her forehead. Thankfully she was alone. She had asked a tuxedo butler (God! She hoped he had been a butler! He could have been the governor for all she knew.) Where the powder room could be found, or had she asked for the ‘can’? Ugh. She groaned again slapping her stupid forehead in disgust. Everything was a blur. But some how she had managed to stagger up the stair case looking for the bathroom, feeling the increasing rising of her gorge, but hadn’t made it. In fact, as the entire upstairs seemed completely void of anyone, she was increasingly and nervously certain that she wasn’t suppose to be up here. Suddenly, the idea of being found standing next to a rudely vomited upon palm plant seemed in no way a situation to improve the evening, and she hurriedly listed away. It took her a few wobbly steps to realize she was heading away from the staircase and the party, but by then she saw an open door and decided ‘away’ from everyone was ultimately the best for all involved. She slide around the open door and into another large open room in which she was certain she could have easily fit every other house she had ever been in before into and still had room for a decent size pool. She followed the course of the wall half slouching along it. Avoiding the room’s too ‘bigness’. She was feeling better. But everything was decidedly far too bright. She felt as if she where in an airport terminal, a place she had never been and felt she never would ever see. ‘Bus stations for me.’ She sighed again, just as her hand shot out into nothingness.

The wall had given way to a small door, which in turn gave way to a small room which seemed wonderfully cluttered, homelike, and most importantly dark. She weaved into it. There was no door to close behind her. So far the entire upstairs seemed composed of rooms without doors. She paused to let her eyes slowly adjust to the dimmer light. White flashes as they did so and a sudden sensation of the room spinning made her feel sick again for the moment, but it rapidly passed without further incidedent. It wasn’t fair, she thought, she was sure it wasn’t the amount of alcohol that she had imbibed in, that was making her feel so horrible. Every since she had hit puberty, she had been plagued with an apparently ever widening list of things which seemed to make her nauseous. She seemed to be allergic to everything, stupid genetics! It’s all her parents had left her. A body that seemed to be falling to pieces even before she got to use it.

Her parents had been young and in college when they had her. They left her with her father’s brother shortly after she had been born, to go on some ‘once in a life time’ trip to the Far East. They had never returned nor where they ever heard from again. After it became apparent her parents weren’t going to return anytime soon, her uncle, who was in the military, had shouldered her off onto her only other surviving relative, her aunt on her mothers’ side. After seven years her aunt reluctantly went through the process of officially adopting Milla. This hadn’t been easy, as Milla’s parents had never been married. The lack of parents was probably the reason Shelia, a relatively popular girl, had taken an interest and eventually friendship in Milla.

Shelia?! She had forgotten all about her? Milla tried to concentrate and think where she had last remembered seeing her friend? It wasn’t easy. Her brain was still in a champagne fog, and concentrating always made her eyebrows hurt. Ah! She was chatting with all those men by the billiards table. That’s right. Milla was suddenly stuck with jealously and consciously thought, ‘she’s alright, and I bet she hasn’t noticed I’m even gone’. Milla immediately felt a guilty pain at the selfishness of such thoughts, and wallowed deeper in her pathetic life’s miseries. ‘Enough of that,’ she thought, ‘got to think positive.’

Before her in the room she could now see a couch covered in clothes, or coats?’ Do rich people throw their coasts on the furniture? Hell, maybe this is a closet.’ The room had several other pieces of furniture; small tables, chairs, lamps, and so on, seemingly carelessly shoved into the room. ‘Maybe they moved this stuff up here to make room downstairs for the party? ’ The room must have been on the outer side of the house, as it’s far wall directly across from her was covered in large heavy brocade drapes, obviously covering up large floor to ceiling windows. The only discernible light slanted in behind her from the open marble sill door way she had entered from. She could see no other entrance or exit off hand. She saw the couch again amidst the pile of congested furniture and thought how wonderful it would be to lay down and rest her aching feet. But before she could shamble over and collapse down onto it, her eyes adjusted a bit more and were caught by a large heavy wooden framed standing upright mirror. ‘All these old places have these,’ she thought. Though, she couldn’t remember actually seeing such full length mirrors any place before, out side of movies about huge mansions such as this one. ‘In clothing stores maybe?’ But in really nice ones the kind she had never been inside of herself, but had given sideways glances at as she hurried by.

Milla now focused her spiteful eyes upon the large mirror and more over on the reflection of her self it there in contained, but the frowning quickly left her face. True, genetics had been unkind to her of late; in her seeming to be allergic to life it’s self and anything ‘fun’ in general. But she couldn’t completely complain with what it had also given her as well. Puberty had been both cruel AND kind to her. Her legs were too thin, but she had to admit they were long. Her butt was a bit too wide, but it was also incredibly round, even she marveled at how she could walk with such a thing. ‘I have a bubble butt,’ she giggled to her self. Her waist was tinny, and much the marvel of all her friends, even Shelia! Her arms were slim and long, thoe she kept breaking her nails and couldn’t seem to kick the habit of chewing on them whenever she got nervous. This lately seemed always! Still she had good long graceful hands. In fact her entire body seemed graceful. ‘Seemed’ being the key word here, as she was in fact a terribly klutzy clod, much to her perpetual embarrassment. Her hair was simply great; she had long natural curls that she wore loosely in great tumbling billows down past her shoulders. True they were a chestnut brown and she secretly always dreamed of being a blonde like Shelia, but she was afraid of what coloring might do to what everyone told her was; ‘hair to die for.’ Her face though, that was her best feature. It’s what tied it all together. She had a great face. True she did have some problems with the occasional zits, especially if she, like ate food or drank anything! Well, it wasn’t quiet ‘that’ bad. But she did have the super model full lips, small chin and the big sexy eyes. Yeah, her eyes where definitely killer, it was another reason she didn’t bleach her hair. She had deep dark brown eyes that glistened and flashed whenever she shot forth one of her giggly big smiles. Of course, it made a difference when she was wearing her contacts, as she was now. Other wise her thick glasses that she had to wear up until about a year ago sort of spoiled the whole thing. She still wore her glasses most of the time, as the contacts quickly tired her eyes and made them eventually redden and swell up. She saved her contacts for special nights like these. Her nose had a slight bump, she blamed years of wearing heavy glasses for it. Apparently no one else could see it. At least at the slumber parties no one said they could. Still she rubbed a finger over the bridge of her small nose and squinted into the mirror, she knew it was there. Yeah, her face was great. She had often joked that if she hadn’t also been born with brains she would have been a super model. She stopped saying such things when she noticed how it made Shelia, who was beautiful but had a lot of difficulty in school, cringe.

Milla’s face now was partially covered in a large black velvet mask. It was part of her costume. Left over from Shelia’s Mar die Gras trip a year back, in which she ended up on the cover of a popular guys DVD and on several websites proudly flashing her own beautiful body. Milla had been appalled at the time and shocked at Shelia’s unabashed conduct. But in truth she had secretly been envious of Shelia’s large upper body proportions, compared to her own rather slim pickings. But that had been a year ago, and what a difference a year had made. Milla’s eyes now descended to her own ample bosom, noticeably on display in the French maid outfit. She smiled warmly. Yes, she had no reason to feel in fearer to Shelia now, or many other women for that matter. She had prided herself on her face for years as her upper body had left off at a modest B-cup. On her thin frame it looked decent enough, but wasn’t anything to crow about. Then as if by magic, after seeing no further growth in her breasts, despite stuffing herself to ‘try’ and put some fat on her frame, just when she had resigned herself to be thankful for what blessings she had. Whoosh! And off she went on a belated growth spurt. Just in the right places.

Milla ran her black velvet and lace opera gloved long thin fingers and hands lightly over her impressive cleavage. Yeah, she had always felt her face her very best feature, with maybe her tight little bubble butt running a nice second, but now.. In the past month she had come to think more and more that her long bemoaned breasts were now her most outstanding asset. They had blossomed magnificently, if she had to say so herself. Privately, Milla suspected her sudden bodies re-interest in giving her the boobies she long deserved had something to do with her finally gritting her teeth and going to a campus recommended doctor and placing her self on the Pill. She didn’t have a boyfriend, but she had always believed in ‘being prepared’. Now if she could only find some boy scout to help her finish the job. Regardless, since going on the Pill she was certain it was somehow causing her recent growth spurt. In any event she surly wasn’t about to stop taking anything that might be granting her such a long desired effect.

The sudden thought of not having a boyfriend soured Milla’s brightening of mood. Looking at her self in the mirror or shower or while lying in bed had always improved her self esteem. Maybe she couldn’t make things work out with a guy, but it was their fault, not hers, after all she had the goods. But the whole ‘no boy friend’ thing sunk her down again. It reminded her of the half lies she had been telling everyone since her return, about wild parties, and hot nights of righteous sex. In fact her room mates were always running off to wild parties and the dorm rooms around her were seemingly constantly bustling with sexual rendezvous. As for herself, she faced her sexual frustrations as she always had, alone, with the help of her various ‘helpers’. These had increased both in number and size since she had moved out of her aunt’s house. Infact, she was always some what afraid someone would find her stash of sex toys that she hid in a plastic tote under stacks of books next to her dorm room bed.

Milla knew everyone thought she was a prude. ‘A sexless ice queen,’ she had over heard one stupid jock bastard call her. In reality Milla liked sex a lot. In fact, she loved it. Well, she loved cumming; she couldn’t really say she loved sex since she had never been with a guy. But at the same time she definitely wouldn’t call herself a ‘virgin’. How could anyone who masturbated ten or twelve times a day, and wore out so many vibrators, still be called such a silly and nonsensical name? Milla in fact prided herself in that she felt she had a very healthy sexual appetite, but still no boyfriend. In fact the only sexual encounters worth noting had been in her senior year of high school. Amounting to nothing more than a series of drunken heavy petting with a hot foreign exchange student from France named Wendy. The boys called her ‘Oui’, because apparently she couldn’t say no. Not for the first time Milla seriously wondered if she was ‘gay’? Her only sexual contact had been with another girl, she often found her mind drifting at the moment of orgasm, from the hot shirtless stud she had been fantasizing about to, sudden memories of sharing a shower after getting caught in the rain with Shelia, or some cheerleader across the hall coming over earlier that day in a t-shirt and tinny panties asking to barrow change for the hall way washer and dryer. ‘No’, Milla pushed it out of her mind, giving her body another perusal, ‘I’ll make some lucky man very very happy some day.’

Milla now turned her attention away from her taunt firm young body, to her costume it’s self. The mask was cheap, but it worked alright. It left her lower face exposed, and the eye holes were wide enough not to hide her great eyes. The mask was black crushed velvet, in the classic ‘it’s a party’ vein. She wore long black velvet opera gloves which pulled up to just bellow her shoulders, thoe they seemed to like to scrunch down to the middle of her upper arms. They were alright. Like the mask they hadn’t come with the original costume, they belonged to Shelia’s older sister Becky. Becky had decided to be a rock and roll star, much to her father’s constant worriment. She had gone from church choir soloist to alternative punk glam rocker. She was out, even now, on tour with her band, ‘Screaming Blue Messiah’ tearing up one hotel after another. The boots too were Becky’s. Milla looked down at them now, praying not to find little vomit chunks on the very expensive thigh high black leather six inch stiletto heeled shinny wonders, like she had disgustingly just found in her hair and rapidly scraped out with her gloved chewed up nails. The boots where killer, and cost about an entire months rent at her dorms condo, slick glossy they oiled up her thighs, and as her legs were thinner than Beck’s, she had them tugged all the way up to where they pinched a thin strip of her bluish white soft flesh just under each pert butt cheek. She kept them securely in place by tying some simple hair bandanas around the boot top and thigh, then hiding the bandanas by folding the boot tops back down over them. It gave it a slightly pirate look, but didn’t seem to overly hurt the cool, let alone sex, factor.

This just left the French Maid costume it’s self. It wasn’t the cheapest tackiest thing she had ever seen, but it came close. It was the typical shtick, with all the black satin and white lace and little apron, the whole nine yards. But it was, from the moment she put it on, obviously too small for her. How many sizes were any ones guess. And from some of the leering stares she had received this night; a lot of guessing had been done.

The problem as soon as she struggled to squeeze into it, back at Shelia’s bedroom, was that the top and bottom were connected, a sort of sadistic body suit. If she pulled the bottoms out of her crotch, the top came slipping down. And if she tugged the top back up, the bottoms wedged tightly up her ass crack. It was the sort of thing that would have rendered the idea of wearing such a thing at all, let alone in public, unthinkable, except for three principle additional factors.

The first of these was the costume it’s self. It was suppose to be skimpy, so complaining that it was, seemed kind of dumb to everyone present. Also, the costume consisted of several layers. There was the ill fitting body suit, a short sexy skirt, which in turn rode on several fluffy layers of white lace under skirting to poof the whole thing out. There was the ridiculously small white lace apron on top of that, and over the bust and mid-drift was a sort of black satin tube top with white lace flouting ruffles to accent the bust line. This didn’t take in to account the shoulder puffy short sleeves, which in Shelia’s bed room seemed to do much to sort of wedge the whole package together, nor the pre-resquite little hat which had to be so carefully pinned into her hair. In all, it seemed like quiet a bit of specialized clothing. Especially when compared to Shelia’s own sexy costume, which lying on the bed seemed to be little more than a hooded cape and a small flounced dress, also on the revealing side.

The second factor and undoubtedly the most responsible for everything that fell out latter that evening, was Milla’s overwhelming desire for her friends to think she was a big grown up success. This was very important to her, in that she didn’t particularly feel it about her self at all. In fact she felt her entire life was just one big failure, and the huge expectations she had held for her first venture out into a new life had been a grave disappointment. To this ends, Milla had used her ubiquitous fake college I.D. to buy several bottles of alcohol for her and the girls to celebrate the holidays with. ‘I’m old enough to have sex, get married, have a baby, get drafted and die for my country, and buy cigarettes, but I can’t drink a beer.’ Like most Americans her age she found this insane. To further prove a backing to her slightly adlibbed stories she drank heavily. Unfortunately, the gas station near Shelia’s home sold only beer and cheap vodka, evidently in case some one needed to strip paint at 3 a.m. Beer wasn’t quiet right, so the girls where mixing large glasses of screwdrivers out of vodka and Tang, as no one had thought to buy any orange juice. ‘Hmm, come to think of it, maybe mixing several tea glasses of screwdrivers and champagne wasn’t such a good idea? Was that why she had felt so ill?’ In any case the booze can be credited with being a deciding factor in the subsequent night’s events.

The third factor was simply Milla’s burning want to change her life. Her room mates called her a mousy prissy bookworm wet blanket. This is what she had been throughout all of high school. She had pretended to her friends that she had changed all of that. Now she really truly ‘wanted’ to change all of that. She had purposely went as far a way as she could in choosing her college to facilitate such a change. But her old ways and instincts had ruined it all for her. She was once again going to try to change things. She hated her life. Hated being the way she was, and was set upon changing things once and for all. Who knows, if she could just lighten up some, maybe she could return ‘to’ school the way she had hoped she would have returned ‘from’ school. What choice did she have? She squeezed into the tight little costume with liquored up determination. The fact that all her friends ‘oooed’ and ‘awed’ at the sight of her new body in the sexy little outfit also fed the greedy vain monster of Milla’s ego. Her one obvious flaw, which even she couldn’t help but note on occasion, was that she craved complements about her looks. And as she had recently become more and more fixated on her breasts; (she had even taken to naming them, ‘Pride’ & ‘Joy’!) the fact that the French Maid costume heavily accented her breasts, in the end made the possibility of begging off and taking the Red Riding Hood costume, in hind sight, impossible.

That however, doesn’t begin to explain a number of other elements which seem to have been invisible to the conscious eye of all involved in the moment, but seem blatant and incredulous in hindsight. Perhaps, that golden orange light streaming into Shelia’s bed room, so much like the Tang screwdrivers being sportingly swilled, was not the most conducive for proper viewing of Milla’s proposed attire. Perhaps, the buzzing girls felt some subconscious pangs of indignation at Milla’s long winded rapid fire tales of her flirting Big City night life? Perhaps the lady dose protests too much? Whatever the menagerie of cause and effect, some things can be stated without obvious qualms.

First off, isn’t it odd that Shelia never mentioned that the Maids outfit in question was not ordered through the mail from a normal adult costume web site, but was in fact purchased from an adult sex site? One which incidentally, and would have been much shocking to anyone who knew her, was the very web site which Milla had a rather large account from purchasing many of her ‘helpers’ that now lay snoozing in her half hidden tote. Whatever her reasoning, it might have behooved Shelia to mention this, as it may have drawn every ones attention to the less blurry eyed fact that said costume had never been designed to be worn outside of a well locked and dimly lit bed room. Perhaps if they had chose their apparel in the kitchen? Oh well, as it is the French maid’s outfit was much more risqué than the normal public party piece of wardrobe would be, which is saying something indeed. But it was never mentioned, and as such, no one seemed to notice how very sheer those various layers actually were. Very sheer, in fact the phrase, ‘see -through’ would not be out of place.

Still, this could be overlooked, as indeed it was, but there’s really no excuse for the other bit, really none at all. And yet, not one of those giggling slurring girls had mentioned it. Not even in passing. And how could Milla not notice? Well in fact she did, but that was when ‘to her mind’ it had become too late, in the car when she had plopped onto the cold hard back seat of Ken’s car. ‘You can drive a car to drop us off, but you can’t go to the party with us?’ Shelia had angrily snapped at him. He had dropped by Shelia’s house horny and hoping to find Shelia alone, with her father off to the party. As it was, her father was playing bass in his part time country band, ’ The Little Rascals,’ at a party for the old folks home. Becky got her musical talents from him. Ken had prudently agreed to give them a ride to the party when the whole mob of drunken girls had met his falling face at the door. As soon as Milla’s butt hit that frozen chunk of light blue plastic that was Ken’s back seat, her eyes flew wide open and she knew instantly what was wrong. But for what ever the reasons she said nothing and forced her fogged mind to think about the great party she was on her way to. A party she had often dreamed about attending, since she had almost got to go to in her sophomore year of high school. She had won yet another prestigious academic award and had been invited to attend the annual party. She had even picked out her costume, she would go as Cleopatra, or as a miniskirt ninja, she hadn’t really made up her mind yet, it turned out it didn’t matter because she ended up in the hospital the day before the event getting her appendicitis taking out. Ugh! What Milla’s butt had suddenly informed her rather addled and distracted mind, was a reminder that back up in Shelia’s bed room, while putting on the costume, amidst all those delicious complements about her body and especially her breasts. Milla had tried unsuccessfully to get the costume’s fishnet designed pantyhose on. It was one thing to squeench into a small cocktail style dress that was a few sizes too small, but there was no way to force on those fish net stockings. Since fishnet stockings seemed a big part of the all over effect of the outfit there had been some murrmings of misgivings about Milla being capable of pulling the whole ensemble off now. Shelia had beautifully countered by rushing half naked, half costumed out of her room and returning in a flash with a pair of Becky’s boots. Everyone including Milla had been utterly ecstatic and blown away by the combo of the boots and the French Maid outfit. It gave it a sort of dangerous vibe that everyone cheered. The somehow unforeseen and ignored dilemma in all of this was that the panty hose had a built in French cut bikini bottom to it. It was intended to be seductively stripped away for one’s lover’s enjoyment. Left underneath of this was the crotch of the body suit and very little else, in fact, nothing else that came shipped in the card board box. This wouldn’t’ have mattered so much if the unit in question had been ordered to fit Milla’s long lanky frame, instead of say, Shelia’s abet shorter, stumpier frame. As it was, it obviously wasn’t. And as Milla needed to cover as much of her ample breast as possible, which wasn’t very much as the sunrise poking up of her large puffy nipples’ areolas attested above the white fringe lace. It still had left her with a very thin strip of satin camel toed ribbon increasingly pleasantly and warmly nibbling into her groin. The cold seat had just reminded her of just ‘how’ much of her total package was on display down there, hidden there by only the thinnest of lacy frilly skirt. A skirt, that none of the girls did not seem to bother to point out, nor Milla to notice, stopped just shy of her very proud butt cheeks, just how much shy Milla would not really seem to notice until several hours into the party. When she finally caught a clear sight of herself in a large wall mirror in the billiard room, where all the men had been egger to fetch her more drinks and beg her to bend over and take another shot with the cue stick, despite the fact that she so obviously sucked at the game. In fact they had seemed to have abandoned all the rules, as it was always her turn to shoot. And she had seen why! She had suddenly felt very ill when she caught her reflection in the downstairs billiard room wall mirror and had excused her self clumsily and fled the room.

Milla now looked at her self in the upstairs mirror before her. Ken had said nothing, but then Milla and Shelia had both been wearing their heavy winter coats when they had rushed out to his car. No one had said anything when they had taken off their coats. In fact other than the stares of men, and yes some women, which she had equally greedily thrived on and devoured. No one had made the slightest comment about her costume. ‘And why should they,’ she thought as she looked over her self in the mirror with fresh eyes. Her hands played over her gorgeous body. Still, she had to laugh, the sheer audacity of it, the whole bodice of the piece where it didn’t reveal her white flesh, was so thin as to be see-through. She frowned and chuckled again, ‘How had she failed to notice that?’ Or had she? She gave her nipples a pluck. They were poking out through the white ruffle for the entire world to see, as they no doubt had been all night. The shoulder puff short sleeves attached the tube top and its lace ruffle actually worked to reveal more of her breasts than hide them, contrary as she had thought they would behave. The attached sleeves pulled at the tube top, which against the over stretched body suit ended up in just a few strides , ‘under’ her ample bosom instead of covering it; forming a sort of spandex trampoline, pushing her breasts upward and outward, and keeping them in a constant state of jiggling motion with ever breath. The lace alone seemed to be keeping her in the least bit of modesty, for the body suit kept slowly slipping to the sides of her penultimate breasts, even as she stared in happy frowning fascination, watching it transpiring before her. She readjusted the top, something she had given up doing downstairs only several minutes after arriving. She watched the top slowly peal back and reveal her amazing breasts. She repeated this action several of times until she broke out laughing. And she stopped short at the sight of her explosive firm globular breasts leaping about in response to her laughter. ‘No wonder they kept insisting on telling me so many jokes!’ She gave a deep smile. ‘This wasn’t really so bad. Let’s face it she looked hot! A little on the sluttish side, but hell it was New Years Eve. And besides she didn’t look near as bad as that Wonder Woman she had bumped into, please! If you don’t have the equipment to pull it off, why bother? Her top was all padding and her butt was flat and wide! Ugh! Go figure, she never could understand some women. Now, she on the other hand, had a killer body. And fashion wise could do no wrong.’

Milla looked down at the lacy ruffled hem of her under dress, which meant she actually looked down at a-peek-a-boo view of the thin strip of satin, deeply camel toeing her pussy. That was what had somewhat unnerved her downstairs. She had refused the last couple of drinks as her head was spinning wildly, and she had just widened her vision up enough from the pleasant tunnel of warm fuzzy booze, that she could just make out the reflections in the game rooms large wall mirror. What she saw was her butt hoisted up in the air as she bent forward to scratch another shot. With her entire round white butt cheeks glistening in the gaze of about a dozen horny men, and a tinny little strip of the body suit of her costume all but disappeared into the meaty folds of her neither lips. It had been a slight shock to see first hand exactly how much she had on display. But what had unnerved her, what had turned a warm buzz into a sickening sensation was seeing how obviously wet her snatch had been. All these men starring at her breasts had definitely turned her on big time, but she had hoped, thought, she had been playing it rather cool, coy, and empowered. Seeing her wet throbbing pussy up there on such obvious display, where all those men could see so surely how excited she was, somehow robbed her of the giddy feeling of sexual power she had been feeling and some how shattered all her self confidence. In a second she went from her deepest fantasy come true, to some kind of terrible nightmare. The room full of flirting men so obsessed with her and under her complete control and whim, suddenly changed into a room full of mocking predators. Her entire being seemed to cringe and shrivel up. And she had fled accordingly.

But now she felt very different. The vomiting had purged what had definitely been the cause of her temporarily vertigo and she felt a return of the reassuring warmth and happiness she had been feeling earlier. Milla genteelly lifted up the white lace ruffles of underskirts flounce, and stared admiringly at the way the body suit dug into what could only be called one juicy pussy. She laughed at the thought of it, and pulled with varying firmness at the body suits straps enjoying the sensation as the thin wet strip slipped teasingly over her swelling clittorious. A trickle of clear fluid leaked out the side of the twitching thong and quickly was rubbed into the thick thatch of her pubic mound.

Milla cleared her throat and thought, ‘that’s a bit much, I doubt the boys would be able to remain civil if gave them that much of a display.’ She smiled widely and smirked at her self. ‘No, I’d better dry this out a bit.’ The body suit wasn’t attached to the other pieces of the costume so Milla was able to squirm and wiggle out of it with surprising rapid ease, considering how hard it had been to get the thing on in the first place. She took the sodden garment and gingerly hung it up on the corner of the large wooden framed mirror. She readjusted her remaining garments, and quickly found how much better the costume both felt and looked with out the tight cumbersome body suit. The problem was, with out the body suit, although the tube top fit better, it’s sheerness left nothing to the imagination. And of course the peek-a-boo lace ruffles of her underskirt no longer enticingly hinted at thin strip of satin struggling to conceal her gentilia. It now gave a, now you see it now you don’t, flickering view of her naked pussy, with every stride. The skirt swinging up front then up back, just enough to give a tantalizing flash show. ‘Hmm, it wouldn’t be too bad if I had thought or had had the time to shave. It would have to be a rather close shave, mind you!’ Of course she had no intention of putting that much of her self on common display. There were laws! Just like that liquor law. No it would only take a minute or two for the body suit to dry out, and then she would wind her way back downstairs, find Shelia and take in the vibe, maybe it was time to call a cab, Ken, or… No, it wasn’t even midnight yet. It had to be getting close but it wasn’t there yet. There was an enormous old clock in the hall way, and she hadn’t heard it or the party revealers cry out that hour. She wouldn’t be a wet blanket. Besides she was finding she rather liked teasing men. Maybe it would become her new major when she returned to campus?

‘However much, these boots maybe killer looking! They are also killer on my toes! No wonder Becky left them behind.’ Milla reluctantly turned away from the old mirror and once again made a bee line for the couch. It took a few rethinks to navigate the piles of clothe furniture slips wadded up and the odd bits and pieces of brick- a -brack, but she finally managed to reach the sofa and crumple into it’s soft piles of coats. ‘They are coats! I guess they had to empty out the downstairs main hall closet to make room for all the guests’ coats.’ The coats where decidedly Unitarian and she couldn’t fully suppress her disappoint that there weren’t any furs or anything expensive or nice. Still she put up her aching feet. Closed her eyes and tried really hard not to let her fingers do the walking. For it was always her habit to slip herself into a nice sleep by a series of soft gentle slow fingering floods, so to speak, and she knew that if she gave in now and let herself have a ‘quick one’ she’d need another and another and so on until she had wrestled herself into a blissful slumber.

Milla was half sleepily congratulating herself about her unflagging willpower, when aloud noise shot her bolt upright and wide awake. Or was it a noise? She listened intently but heard nothing. Had she only half dreamed that she had heard something? Milla lay stock still straining to hear anything, but there was only silence; silence and an awful lot of dark. ‘Why was it so dark? Had the room been this dark before?’ She couldn’t tell from where she half lay on the couch but she thought the hallway light which had so brightly lit up the room next to this one and cascaded over into this one, seemed to be off.

Milla gave up listening and continued to sit upright out of the uncomfortable half prone position she had been caught in. As she did so she quickly noticed her right hand was firmly and stickily wedged up against her pussy. Her left hand was still grasping her breast, ‘some willpower,’ she grimly thought to herself. Milla had recently developed the habit of fingering herself while she slept, a sort of weird take on teeth grinding. She had once, in an angry exchanged with one of her college room mates, and snapped that the girl snored in her sleep. The girl had promptly replied that at lest she didn’t bang herself in her sleep. Milla had been horrified. And had just stalked out of the room praying to God no one else had over heard their exchange. She quickly made up with the girl and tried to stay on her good side ever since, fearing she might tell someone else. Milla had little doubt it was true. There were the obvious signs when she woke in the morning, but more than that, when she had been a young girl attending Shelia’s ritual birthday slumber parties. The other girls would often jokingly comment about Milla’s loud moaning and her humping the covers or pillows waded up between her legs as she slept during the night. They had all laughed it off. But many was the time Milla would wake at home in her own bed covered in delicious sweat, one of her favorite over sized stuffed animals clamped between her vice grip thighs, pulled out of sleep by powerful orgasms. The fake fur of her stuff toy matted with her thick wet pussy juice. The recent fevered rubbing of her self seemed some natural extension of this younger condition. Something else to embarrass and plague her!

Milla now stood up and gave a loud sigh, as she gave her red and swollen pussy one last tingling rub. She couldn’t tell if she had been giving herself one hell of a going over, or if all that red swollenness was due to wearing the too small body suit? As she puzzled over that thought, she heard a distinctive loud banging sound, which froze her on her wobbly legs. ‘Champagne cork must be.’

Even as she doubtingly thought this, three shadowy figures plunged into the other room from the hallway. They twisted and fought in grunting silence as a fourth rushed in with a glinting blade held high. Milla stifled a shriek, as she quickly made out the small revolver in one of the three original men’s hands. Obviously, the two men were struggling with the third, to press him to release the fire arm. The fourth man leapt into the fray, apparently on the side of the two men working in concert against the gun wielder. He slashed wildly, and seemed something of a menace to all involved, including himself.

Milla had seen enough. Willing her legs to unfreeze to further her own self preservation, she succeeded in tripping backwards onto and half over the small couch. Terrified, she continued pumping her legs, caught in a paradox frenzy; to both freeze to avoid any attraction to her, and to scamper out of line of sight of these violent figures. She ended up loudly flopping over the back of the couch, cracking her head against the thickly carpeted marble floor. She half rolled over, half somersaulted to her feet and made for the nearest cover, the large draped windows. Behind her she imagined at least one of the shadowy figures stopping to squint after her murky form. She could feel eyes blazing intently upon her back. And as she crouched into a partial run bent over scramble, she caught a boot heel in a billowy furniture throw and fell sprawling onto her chest. ‘Luckily I landed on my tits,’ she sarcastically thought. Pulling her self upright and rubbing her smarting nipples. Her breasts had always been extremely sensitive; they ached horribly as she forced herself staggering to the curtained windows.

Unfortunately, drapes in large expensive mansions are rather unlike say, curtains in smaller average sized domiciles. Where the average house uses window coverings to affect privacy and keep the occasional sun out when it’s undesired. Drapes in large old stone houses are there to minimize the drafts and deal with the enormous cost of heating or cooling the equivalent of a large stone barn. As such, unlike normal drapes which part confidently in the middle, large estate houses tend to have rather heavy single coverings much like theater curtains. They hang down in a single sheet and have to be pulled rather vigorously to one side. Where additional curtains are hung and tied up to give a harmonious balance to the whole assembly. Milla was finding this out in the most inconvenient and frantic way possible. All the while shouting in her head at her own stupidity and clumsiness, she finally managed to shuffle over to one side and burrow herself behind the weighty hanging. This inevitably helped her cause in no small way, for if she had been able to part the drape open even for the briefest of moments, the resulting flash of light could not have been missed.

Milla stood shivering with fear. Her hammering hart firmly in her throat and her hand clamped over her gasping mouth. She tried desperately to choke what had to be the loudest breaths she had ever taken. Then she suddenly thought of all those movies she had watched, in which the person was always caught because their shoes poked out underneath the curtain edge. She quickly began to back up onto the window sill. Though it was a ceiling to floor window, the actual window stopped a foot or two from the floor. The ledge of the sill however was only a few narrow inches. Milla found herself precariously balancing on her stiletto boot heels, her hands intuitively grasped at the drape in front of her, which she quickly let go to avoid shaking it into motion. Her arms shot out to her side to steady herself, as she slowly leaned back on teetering boot heels, to plump against the enormous lead milled window. Instantly, shocks of intense biting sensations whipped through her whole body as the icy cold window pane struck her nearly naked back side.

Milla remained motionless, spread eagle, expecting the cloth in front of her to be torn away at any second by a knife wielding mad man. But as the seconds silently passed, she found her initial fear subsiding and being replaced instead by the inescapable waves of undeniable pleasure that the cold window pane was causing on her backside; especially in the lower region where her buttocks were pressing firmly against the glass. The night, unlike Milla, was not a full moon but it was still uncannily bight. Glancing to her side she could make out that a slight snow fall had occurred sometime during the night and added it’s sheen to the blue silver glow that enveloped her. She suddenly became concerned that her silhouette would be noticeable to whoever would look at the curtained window. Then she remembered that the bright light of the outside window had been completely shielded by the heavy embroidered drapes. Still she thought it best to move out from the window’s center and slide towards the windows edge. As she tried to do this feat, she quickly realized the inherent danger in its attempt. But she also realized the thrilling sensation of mounting pleasure of her butt cheeks sliding across the cold glass. She caught her breath at the rising tingling thrumming through out her pussy, and raised away one of her supporting arms in order to give her cold hardened nipples a delightful twist.

Milla frowned, ‘what is it with me? Everything makes me horny anymore!’ Even the prospect of suddenly being found hiding here by a bunch of strange men gave her a wicked pleasure. ‘God, What would they do to her?! Surely they would recognize how sexy she was and not kill her or anything. They would probably gang rape me.’ She thought, and the pulsing in her pussy became a thudding rapid tempo she could now feel in her sumptuous breasts. ‘God, they would fuck me well.’ She raised her hand from her breast to use the back of it to stifle a low moan. Milla stood there staring at the moonlit drape just inches in front of her, her mind an utter blank.

Milla snapped to and frowned. There was a loud murmuring. It wasn’t coming from inside the room though. ‘What had she been about to do?’ She wondered. She pulled back her gloved hand that was hovering in front of the drape the noise grew louder and Milla realized it was originating behind her, outside in the moon lit night. She carefully raised her head and half twisted her upper body to look behind her. The act of this nearly caused her to loose her balance, but she managed it none the less. It took her awhile to make out what it was that she was seeing.

There where several men as many as six perhaps? They were staggering about and being insanely loud. Smacking each other on the back and howling with a sort of randy mirth. ‘What the hell?’ Milla frowned, all men were stupid. She was certain of this. They seemed to be climbing in and out of a car, with out much general success of over all accomplishment. It wasn’t until one of them began to honk the car horn abrasively, that she realized they were aware of her presence up on the second story window. The enormous vaulted downstairs of course made it more like a third story window and she had at first felt herself much removed from the commotion going on down below. Now that she knew they could see her she had no doubt that their drunken rancorous antics rested entirely on her standing there in the large window. More ever, she was certain that it was her butt planted so firmly against the glass that was the leading factor in their bellicose clamoring of both approval and gaining of her attention. Now they had her attention.

Milla felt a fire stirring in her loins the like of which she had never ever felt before, a great building swelling heady lust bursting in her. She smiled down at the men and slowly began to gyrate and thrust her hips against the warming glass. The men fell about themselves as they realized she was responding to them. ‘Poor bastards,’ she thought, ‘they can’t even get a good view from all the way down there! Let alone see my magnificent rack!’ Milla rubbed her round firm buttocks against the window, her breathing becoming heavy. ‘Can’t even see my pussy, poor assholes,’ Milla bent her crotch into the window, arching her back, her hands grabbing hold of the drape in front of her. It was obvious to her that her skirt was pushed up into the small of her back by the window pane, as she felt a small snail trail of her viginal juices smear across the glass.

Suddenly men appeared from within the house and stomped out to the group of drunken revelers. Milla was both disappointed her pleasure was being interrupted and suddenly aware that if any of these men glanced up; they would see her there in the window. Something told her that she shouldn’t be seen by these men just exiting from the house. For one thing they obviously weren’t guest as the drunks were. These were men in rolled up sleeves, and they quickly and roughly tossed her audience into the car. A few well placed clouts and the drunken guests roared off. Milla remained motionless, unsure if she should chance a move away from the delicious cool window lapping at her pussy lips. Just then her grip on the drapes began to slip and Milla crashed to the floor. ‘Lucky I landed on my tits,’ she grumbled. Getting up and cautiously peering back out the window she could only see the red taillights of the receding car weaving into the darkness. The other men had disappeared. ‘Did they see me?’ Milla decided not linger any longer at the window’s casement.

Milla crawled out from under the drape into the now pitch dark room. It took a while for her eyes to readjust to the rooms dim light. As they did so, taking what seemed a life time in the process, Milla began to try and put her thoughts into order. ‘Those were obviously the last of the guests and the last of the cars. I must have fallen into a sleep.’ Milla could now make dim shapes of the room out and hurriedly swam her way out of the twisted lumps of shadows. She made for the open hole of the lesser dark and rightly found it to be the door way to the large room. She quickly walked over its marble floor wincing at the clacking of her boot heels tread. She wasn’t sure wither to hurry up and thus make even more noise, or else slow down and tip toe, since it was the heels themselves making all the racket. As she debated this mid-stride, Milla suddenly slipped. Her right heel shooting out wide from under her, she once again went sprawling, landing heavily on her breasts. She rolled onto her butt, the cold floor only dimly registering buried under her nipples dull agony. ‘Luckily I landed on my tits,’ she painfully growled.

Milla looked angrily to see what she had slipped on, and could just make out what she took to be a small pool of blood on the marble floor. She pulled back from this and left off messaging her tender breasts. Suddenly she remembered the struggle of men she had witnessed and felt a pang of fear seep over her once again. The sound of men’s voices approaching snapped her out of her stupor. It was from the hallway, which now leapt into brilliant illumination. Milla found her self sitting on the floor of the large room in a slant of rectangular light. She scampered to her feet and tip toed as fast as she could out of that spotlight. She moved by instinct, there was obviously no going into the hallway that was where the men were approaching from. She didn’t relish the prospects of returning to the dead end little room she had just emerged from. ‘What if the men had seen her from outside?’ She moved across the room towards a large doorway that was directly across from the door of her little niche of a room. It also was defenselessly door less. ‘Couldn’t they afford doors in this place?’

Milla had just cleared the portal when the light snapped on in the large room she had just vacated. She quickly sidestepped into the new room’s darkness and shrank back against a near wall in panting fear. She listened as the men from the hallway entered the large room and began to walk about, still talking. The tone of their voices seemed at ease and she suspected they were ignorant of her prescience. She looked about her and made out two doors in the room. One had a closed door, the other another door less portal. The idea of closing a door between her and these men was very attractive right about now. But it was to her right and across the opening into the room where the men where moving about. She headed to the portal instead. Moving as quietly and as quickly as possible, she paused near the center of the room and leaned out to look back into the room with the men. Certain she was far enough into the dark ness as to be unobserved. The men where busy moving the furniture out of the small room she had been hiding in, taking it back down stairs. Milla suddenly remembered her forgotten body suit left on the mirror’s corner and wondered if they would notice it. Another man suddenly appeared from the hallway with a bucket and a sponge and started to clean up the blood on the floor. Milla hurried on towards the door. She had just passed through it when the light came on in the room she had just left again! A man she had been entirely unaware of had entered the room while she had returned to creeping out of it and flipped on the light. He looked around the room briefly and left, leaving the light on. Milla thought her hart had stopped!

Milla slowly gathered her self together and looked about the small room she had just entered. At first she thought it to be an exact mirror of the one she had hid in earlier, but there were no windows and she quickly found two doors, both with actual wooden doors firmly blocking them. She eagerly tried the one that she was sure would lead back out into the main hallway. However it appeared to be blocked by a small table and vase on the other side. It wasn’t meant to be used. She growled in frustration. Sneaking cautiously across the open doorway she reached the second small wooden door. It was locked. She whined in frustration and began to chew her nails through her opera gloves. She spit at the salty taste of the right glove and noticed for the first time it was crusted with a light glazing of what she recognized as her dried pussy juice. ‘Oh no, I’ll have to wash these before I return them back to Shelia and Becky.’ She thought briefly about Shelia wondering where she was and if she would ever see her again and if she did, how much of the costume would she have left to return? She had already managed to loose the body suit and the gloves where shellacked with what any healthy young girl would recognize to be the tell tale signs of a very happy time indeed. Then as Milla nervously checked over the rest of her costume desperately trying not to think about her frightening situation, she suddenly pulled a hair pin out from her small maid’s hat and began picking at the large tarnished brass lock. After several futile minutes she gave up. She moaned and dejectedly sunk to her knees, promptly hitting her breasts against the door latch. It loudly clicked open. ‘You got to be fucking kidding me!’ She gleefully thought.

The door creaked open onto an old musty dilapidated staircase, completely out of place in such a luxurious house. The wood was simple rough unvarnished cheap pine, crudely slapped together. Fearing all the noise she had recently made and considering her string of dumb luck about to snap, she quickly stepped into the dark stair well and promptly shut the door and locked it behind her. Feeling her way gingerly down the dusty steps she froze as she heard the door handle rattle behind her. She paused not trusting her boot heels or the dark below her for a mad rush. Nothing happened and catching her breath Milla continued her descent into the abyss. At the bottom of the stairs she found a light switch and deciding nothing could possibly induce her to wander blindly into such a moldy and dank smelling darkness, she flicked it on. Naked bulbs shone on a simple rough stone cellar. She looked back up the staircase marveling at how far she had climbed down in the dark. Obviously past the first main floor and down into the basement. She also wondered if there has been a light switch at the top of the staircase as well.

The room was cluttered with junk and turned out to be less of a room than a hallway. The hallway twisted and turned as she ventured into it, and seemed also to be its self sort of a rambling storage area. Small rooms where here and there, mostly unlit, and only a few with doors. The hallway in turn began to be lit by florescent strips scattered here and there and apparently left on at all times, since there appeared to be no way to switch them on or off. The whole place had an eerie frightening look to it, and she was greatly relived to stumble upon what was obviously the washing room. A large washer and dryer hugged an open niche, and the damp clothes hanging from numerous clothes lines suggested that the dryer was on the blink. A little further on Milla gratefully found another staircase leading up. It seemed older made of dark oak boards, yet was patched with more of the cheap pine planks as well. Half way up it Milla stopped to peer through some large vents in the wall. A red ominous glow filtered through them. Beyond them she saw several large furnaces loudly running in a room full of ducts and pipes. She had seen no door leading into this room though she had just passed along what must have been a length of its wall in the hallways serpentine labyrinth. ‘What a maze this place is, ‘she marveled and a shudder of apprehension fell over her. Something about that furnace room seemed sinister and she gladly left off peering at it and hurried up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs Milla found a thick door crusted with dirt and cobwebs. It had no handle or lock. She gave it several shoves before it creaked open. Inside she found a small pantry. Milla realized she was famished and dug through the shelves. Smacking her head into a lone dangling light bulb she pulled the chain while rubbing her smarting forehead. The bulb was dust cover and didn’t improve things much, but it was enough for Milla to feel confident in shutting the door leading down past that nasty furnace room. ‘I don’t fucking believe this!’ Every thing in the pantry was either in cans of else in some uneatable state. Sacks of flour, sugar, potatoes unmercifully stared at her. She clutched her grumbling stomach and groaned. Finally she found a lone lollipop on top of the largest can of yams she had ever seen, and ripping the wrapper off plopped it into her mouth. ‘Lime, I hate Lime. It figures!’

Milla found the second door at about this same time. It hadn’t been directly across from the first one, but set in the wall to her right some ways along. It slide open easily and she stepped out into a nice modern kitchen. It was empty of people and that’s all Milla really cared about at the moment. She was fairly certain that she had ascended back up to the main floor again. She walked through the kitchen noting the small window was covered in bars, ‘Must not want the hired help stealing the yams.’

Sucking noisily at the lollipop Milla found her self wandering into what had to be the great hall it’s self. It was only half lit now, and seemed smaller without all the crowd of men ogling her phenomenal body. She felt cocky. She couldn’t believe how stupid all men were. She sauntered along the edge of the hall glancing up every now and then at the large marble staircase and the small balconies leading off to various rooms. She saw the small metal panels just before she would have stepped in front of them. She had seen enough movies to know it was one of those infrared invisible beam thingies. It ran right across the main doors, designed to trigger when they opened inward. She back tracked and found the main security box. Smiling she took out her trusty hair pin, only to notice the push button key pad surface.’ Oh... Well that sucks.’ She put away the useless hair pin and looked at the bars on all the windows. Funny how she had not noticed all the downstairs windows had bars on them during the party. Obviously she wasn’t going to leave via the downstairs. She glanced back up the marble stairs to where she had left those busy men some time ago. ‘Why don’t I just call out and pretend I had passed out downstairs or something. Surely they would just let me go home?’ She thought how roughly they had treated the drunken men outside and then thought of her body suit hanging on the mirror upstairs. ‘Had anyone found it yet?’ As she wondered about all of this she quietly left the main hall and began walking down some of the downstairs passages that she hadn’t been in yet. ‘If I’m found I’ll just act drunk and groggy and hung over.’ As it was Milla felt definitely sober, though somehow different since she had awoken in the small upstairs room. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something had changed in her. ‘What?’

As Milla contemplated this, she rounded a corner and nearly fell on top of a man seated on the floor bound and gagged to a marble ceiling support pillar. ‘This palace really needs more doors,’ Milla thought. The man was disheveled in face and body. Rumpled clothes, rumpled hair, and rumpled face. The clothes where those of one of the waiters at the party, a nice non-descript tuxedo, its thin rented material badly torn in places, ‘He’ll never get his deposit back on that,’ Milla thought, and felt better about how her own costume had fared through the evening. ‘Shelia can’t get too mad at my losing half the costume and the gloves and all?’ The man was firmly, and what for all intensive purposes appeared, painfully bound with a thin nylon rope to one of the great burnished rose marble support columns dotting the downstairs. The Bayard’s had made most of their considerable wealth under the Emperor Napoleon’s reign, and the opulent house reflected the odd mix of Greco-Roman-Egyptian influences of that time. ‘That rope is from the wash room downstairs,’ Milla thought to herself. Her mind was clicking along now and she was feeling rather pleased with her self. Even the sudden apparition of a bound man couldn’t unnerve her now. ‘If this is how they treat their staff I’d better mind my manners?’

Milla gingerly stepped forward, instinctively thinking to untie the man. As she did so his head rose up off his chest and his dazed eyes fell into a struggle to bring her into focus. She hesitated at his movement. She had thought him unconscious and thus rather on the harmless side. Of course he was still harmless, providing he remained tied to the column. His mouth had a large swath of silver duct tape across it, and above it his eyes finally managed to pick her out of the half gloom. Milla recognized him as the man she had seen with the gun being attacked upstairs, but remembering the blood, she could see no visible wounds to account for it. Still, she was sure this was the man. ‘Maybe the blood had belonged to one of the other men?’

So far Milla was rather certain that no one had recognized her at the party. She hadn’t known any of the guests by sight, and she doubted they would have any idea who she might have been. She also felt rather confident that no one knew she was still in the house, that is, till now. Stumbling upon this man had changed everything. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had clung to the notion, that she had only to find some simple means of discreet escape and a cab, and she was as good as home with nothing but a bunch of questions to fend from Shelia and the rest of the girls tomorrow. Now things were decidedly fucked. She had been seen by this man. Luckily he couldn’t yell out or give her away, but he had seen her and she was stumped as to how she should proceed. ‘I could just walk away,’ she thought. ‘I could find a way out before anybody comes back and removes his gag.’ She began to feel slightly frightened again. Sooner or latter she was going to stumble into one or more of those men who had so obviously tied this man to this pole. The prospects of bluffing her way out seemed increasingly unlikely now that there was this to be seen down stairs as well as what she had witnessed up stairs. ‘Who knows what else was lying about that she wasn’t supposed to see? And what the hell is going on anyway?’ Both the men she had seen upstairs and this man were dressed as servants. She felt fairly confident the men who had bum rushed off the last of the drunken guests outside had indeed been the same group of men she had seen fighting with this man. ‘And where are the police? And where is everyone else? Such a huge house and so far it had seemed utterly deserted except for these few men she had seen.’

Milla remembered the kitchen she had passed through earlier, it had been spotless. The entire party had no doubt been catered. That would explain why no staff seemed to be busy cleaning up, just those few men upstairs moving furniture back into the down stairs rooms. She had seen some of the pieces set up in the hall way and several nice tables and chairs had been recently covered with the large clothe coverings that had been lying about upstairs in her little room. These men were obviously not thieves. They weren’t stealing anything. In fact they seemed like duteous servants setting the house back in order after a large new year’s party. In that case, this man here, must be the criminal of the situation, but if that where indeed the case, ‘where were the police? Why hadn’t the police been called to arrest this man?’ Something was very odd.

Milla glanced nervously about her and was still uncertain if it would be wise to have anything to do with a man who went about waving guns in rich people’s homes, when she noticed his wide eyes starring at her. At the same time she caught a rough reflection of her self in the polished column this man had been tied against. Fear had been nibbling away at Milla’s thoughts and she had been on the verge of out right panic. Only the lime green lollipop in her mouth had kept her gloved hand from reaching reflectively up to her mouth to have its covered nails gnawed at. But now in a glance that was all gone, vanished, something had happened to Milla that night, something had changed in her, she could feel it. She knew it was there, but couldn’t quiet work out what it was, what was going on inside of her, but she had felt it ever since she had entered the Bayard mansion, and she devoured it with a raw hunger. What ever was happening to her, she knew she had been looking for it her entire life, and she welcomed it, whole heartedly.

Milla Looked at her reflection in the polished marble, then down at the wide eyed man so intently gazing at her. ‘Of course, she had forgotten her mask, her costume; she had nothing to worry about. Milla was completely safe, no one even knew who Milla was, or for that matter where Milla was. Obviously Shelia had left the party thinking Milla had already left with some juicy cock. Shelia was probably home right now tossing and turning in her little pink bed, wanting everything she knew Milla was getting. But Milla was already at home asleep, safe and sound, because this was something else, not sure what it is, but it’s defiantly hot. And out of Milla’s league.’

Milla let her gaze drift down from her reflection to the man tied up at her feet. His eyes did not meet hers; they were glued to her body. ‘All men are so stupid,’ she giggled to her self. ‘Here’s one beaten, tied up, maybe about to be murdered by his captors, and all he can do is want my hot fucking body, so desperately.’ The thought of the man staring at her sent sudden fires raging through Milla the likes’ of which she had never imagined before. ‘God, he wants me so badly!’

Milla looked at the man so obviously wanting her, needing her, and felt a sweet swelling of pure lust that electrified her entire body. She slid a booted leg forward turning to fully face the man. His eyes lit up as they zeroed in on her skirts hem. ‘He can see my pussy!’ Milla screamed to herself, and wonderful throbbing aching jets of pleasure wracked her body. ‘He can see my fucking puss!’ She slowly casually rolled her pelvis forward, ‘Take a good look at my cunt you stupid man!’ She slowly slid her left foot out, opening up her thighs, ‘Is it wet? Can you tell how fucking hot and wet my pussy is, you stupid man? All men are stupid’

Milla began to speak, but the lollipop in her mouth slurred the start of her words and she stopped abruptly feeling slightly dorky. But the man was lost in the utter beauty of her snatch and hadn’t noticed a thing. She quickly reached up and plucked out the sucker, it made a loud popping noise, and her tongue eagerly tried to pursue it, darting out of her open reaching mouth, she struggled for a moment to regain some composure. ’I’m so fucking horny!’ She giggled to her self at the obvious tides of sensations rippling through her, ‘It feels good. It feels… right.’

Milla tried again to speak, but a sudden thought stopped her, ‘I should disguise my voice to further protect myself against anyone figuring out who I am.’ She was just brilliant! Not just the fucking greatest tits in the world, but brains to match! ‘Hey, how come he isn’t checking out my rack?’ She forced back a frown of anger, ‘Stupid men!’

“Well, what do we have here?” Milla whispered in the very best husky French accent she could manage. It was a rather convincing French accent that she had learned from Wendy, the foreign exchange student she had made out with a couple of years back. All night long men and a few drunken women had been making passes at Milla at the party in French, undoubtedly in response to the flavor of her costume choice. Unfortunately Milla didn’t speak any French, and hadn’t a clue what they had been saying, though she could deliciously infer what they had meant. Actually that wasn’t entirely true, about not speaking any French, from Wendy Milla had learned quiet a few French words and phrases, but only the kind a horny drunk young French girl tends to blurt out when another horny drunk young American girl is savagely rubbing the shit out of her crotches stain spreading panties while embedding her tongue down her ear. Milla had actually used several of those phrases tonight, sending men wide mouth and gapping deep into their drinks desperately hunting for courage to continue the conversation. The man before Milla was lost in her body and had apparently missed her perfect accent. She gave in to a particularly throbbing corkscrewing wave of pleasure and whispered out loud one of those phrases now. The man heard her this time and looked up into her eyes with a puzzled expression. ‘He doesn’t speak French,’ Milla disappointedly thought. ‘Oh well, his loss.’ Milla noted the man was striving to speak to her from behind his gag. ‘Poor boy, he’s probably choking on his own drool after such a sweet view of my little paradise down there.’

Milla carefully leaned forward, doing all she could to thrust her magnificent breasts into the man’s view, ‘after what he’s already seen this will probably just do the poor little thing all in,’ she smirked to herself. She reached out and slowly pealed back the duct tape; if it was painful it wasn’t showing on his face. His eyes remained fixated on Milla’s ample cleavage. She did all she could to keep her breasts swaying before him, as she shot glances at his occupied eyes to note the effects. Milla was very proud of ‘Pride & Joy’. They had always been wonderfully shaped and firm, but their recent growth over the last year from a meager B-cup into a more respectable DD-cup, had thrilled her to no end. True she wished they were much bigger yet, but they were spectacular none the less, having kept an almost gravity defying supple pert roundness to their jutting form, with just enough ample graceful arching curve to put aside any suggestions that they were fake or in any way unnatural. Her nipples were large and always full and puffy, she could hang a bike off her skyward pointing friends, she had often remarked. She was very disappointed when the man tore his stunned gaze from her natural wonders in order to speak, and she had stepped back to hide her disappointment in the motion of the act.

“Quick untie me!” The man hissed, struggling against his bonds. Milla merely smiled and waved a ‘no no’ finger at him “Who ARE you?” The man frowned in genuine puzzlement.

Milla was stumped by this, unsure how to answer and quickly tried to buy time. “Isn’t it obvious?” She replied, delighting in how well her French accent sounded in her husky whisper. She put her hands on her hips and gave a smiling frown, making sure to thrust her breasts out as she leaned back on one booted leg. Milla needed to buy time while she tried to get on top of this, ‘had it been a good idea to take the man’s gag off?’ She wasn’t so sure. She was a little concerned how impulsive her desires where making her.

“Well, you’re a French maid, right?”

“THE French Maid,” The French Maid rapidly corrected him! She liked that, The French Maid, yeah she liked that a lot! Milla felt much more secure now. She could stand back yet another step in her costume’s protective amnesty and reveal even more in its heady perfect trueness of her self without risking everything Milla already had in life. He interrupted her train of thought by speaking again, ‘men where so rude and stupid, huh!’

“Okay, THE French Maid. Sorry.” He looked around behind her. “Look, are you a guest from the costume party or…” his eyes darted back down to where the untrimmed damp pubic hairs of her crotch gently twitched under white lace trim of her dress, “do you, err, Work here?”

The French Maid hadn’t a clue what to say, so she gave the man a knowing grin and plopped her sucker back into her mouth.

“Listen, do you have any idea what’s going on here?” He sneered at her with some helpless desperation. The French Maid wished he would just go back to starring at her body, couldn’t he tell how much it was bursting with ache and desire? She began to wonder how best to start teasing him some more. He seemed to notice her lack of interest in his question and decided to try again, holding nothing back, after all what did he have to lose? He tried to ignore the large eyes being batted at him and leapt into a monologue that suffered several horse throat swallows as the French Maid decided to take these moments to readjust her thigh high boots snugness. Giving him several lingering looks at the most incredible long sexy legs he had never dreamed existed. He continued on though, only to have the French Maid stop adjusting her boots and instead grab one of her boot heels in one small gloved hand and pulling it up to her waist, carefully analyze it for any gum or dirt on its sole. The partial view of her soft downy pubic hair had seriously frazzled him, but it was the sudden shock view when the French Maid had dropped her lollipop and turned around bending over at the waist to pick it up, leaving her entire pussy shoved jutting right out at his face, that had left him literally speechless. How long he had gazed at that masterpiece of divine perfection he had no way of telling, as his entire mind had simply gone blank.

The French Maid had her blood booming in her ears, this was only partially do to her current position of being bent over at the waist with her head essentially between her knees. She had spent the last several minutes pretending to brush fluff off her retrieved lollipop, all the while glancing back at the man starring glassy eyed fixedly to a point firmly between her butt cheeks. She had slowly begun to sway her straddled ass back and forth, and was bursting with excitement at watching the man’s head hypnotically weave back and forth in concert with her. He had stopped speaking some moments before, and the French Maid was ecstatic with pride to see the little bit of saliva drip out of his open mouth and glisten down his chin. She couldn’t’ take it any more; her loins were almost purple with need for release. ‘He deserves something special for being such a good boy,’ she thought. Her head was swimming in fires, she could scarcely breathe, very slowly, almost imperceptibly she shuffled back a half step, bringing her swaying jewel tantalizingly closer to his needy mouth.

The French Maid was about to take one last luscious slow step back into bliss, when she heard it. Well, ‘heard’ is probably not as correct a word as ‘sensed’, with her blood pounding in her ears it’s unlikely she could have heard any small sounds. Never the less, she looked up, and then straightened up, causing the man behind her to whine loudly in unfair denial. She listened again, but heard nothing. Still she leapt into a hurried bustle of half confused action; she started to leave, then quickly returned and began to rapidly re-paste the silver duct tape onto the man’s surprised face. This accomplished she quickly on her boots softer leather toes, crept away, dissolving into the shadows and around the nearest open door frame.

No sooner had she done this, than a large man in a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and tuxedo pants strode around the corner pillar scouring. He stopped his large stride short and quizzically listened again, nothing. He frowned, shook his head and proceeded to return the way he had come, glancing at the prisoner. He did a double take, and spun around. He glowered and slowly stooped down. Pealing back the duct tape just enough he removed the lime green lollypop from the man’s mouth, who in turn grinned sheepishly. The Large man grinned as well, replaced the gag, and gave the sucker a good looking over, and then he popped it into his mouth and pulled out a large knife which he flipped open. The large man looked around the corner of the door jamb the French Maid had just diapered around seconds before, and set off into the shadows after her.

The French Maid was giddy. She felt so alive! So wonderful! So fucking horny! ‘God, she was horny.’ There was no fear, no fear at all, she was at an utter loss to explain it, but she did know it had slowly been happening to her ever since she had entered the house. She stopped and peered into the shadows behind her yet again. She knew that at least one of the men from upstairs knew she was here in the house and figured soon they all would. ‘They will expect me to return and try to free that man. Men are so stupid!’ She was thus moving as rapidly as she could manage to put as much twisting hallways and rooms between her and where that man was being held.

The French Maid paused to catch her breath and get some kind of bearings. She was back up on the second floor, having found yet another staircase and making use of it. She had also found the downstairs cloak room where they had stored the party guests’ coats. It had been mostly empty. What she had looked for was her own coat and Shelia’s, both, to her great relief, had been gone. She was in deep enough now that she didn’t want to leave a coat behind her that anyone could trace back to her. She reasoned that Shelia had seen her coat and making sure she had already left the party had taken it home with her. The French Maid heard some male voices whispering and soft leather shoes scuffing along the hall runner carpet. She gave the locked door she was working on one last effort with her hair pin. The large old brass plated lock clicked and the French Maid shot into the room and hushed closed the door just in time to avoid detection. She pressed against the door and listened to the muffled voices pass on down the hallway. ‘I’m getting rather good at this,’ she thought and gave out a breathy giggle.

She waited until she was certain that the men had turned the corner at the end of the hall, and then she exited the room, re-entering the hallway again. She quickly chased after the men. Stopping to peak around the L-shaped corridor, she saw no one and moved to a door at its end. This was unlocked and led up some old deeply varnished stairs up to the third floor landing. She was in a different wing of the house than she had been in earlier and felt confident that none of the men expected her to be any where nears this portion of the house. She could hear the men’s voices loudly talking as soon as she opened the door, and she waited until the drumming of them thinned out of the stair well and dissipated behind the third story landing. She ascended at once, keeping all her senses on alert. At the top of the short stair well she found it opened into rather plain cramped hallways filled with small simple doors. ‘Servants quarters,’ she imagined, and quickly searched for any unlocked door that would get her out of the exposed hallway and out of immediate danger of further discovery. The third door was the charm and it opened into a plain little room with a stripped down small bed and curtain less windows. ‘Obviously not currently being used,’ she entered at once and closed the snug door behind her. The lock was broken, so she couldn’t lock it. She paused to think.

The French Maid’s primary task was to get out of the house and get away. If she had a secondary task, she didn’t really have a clue what it would be? ‘Oh, maybe try and free that guy and help him escape as well, maybe?’ The more she thought about that secondary bit though the more she had serious misgivings about it. Getting out was what mattered most right now, it was getting very late and the sun would be rising soon. She moved to the window, as it was it was still dark out. The moon had set and the view outside was one of black and blue twisted shapes. As she stepped up to the small window, the French Maid invariantly stepped onto the floor heating grate. A warm steady gust of air deliciously crawled up her liquid legs, massaging her thrilled buttocks and pussy. ‘Oh,’ she moaned,’ I’ve never needed an orgasm as badly as I need one now.’ Still with s supreme will and shaking hands, the French Maid tried the window in its casement. It opened stiffly sticking about two thirds of the way up. There were no bars on the small window and as she squeezed to lean out of it, she could see it opened out directly onto the slate roof it’s self. The little window being something like a blister poking out of the roof joists. ‘I think that should be easy enough.’ She began to squirm through the narrow opening, and despite a momentary second or two when she had thought she had become helplessly wedged and stuck half out of the window, which spawned several fast fantasies of being found by the men in such a sexually helpless state, the French Maid managed to clamber out on to the snow dusted shale roof.

The footing was slippery in her boots and she half waddled half surfed across the peaks and valleys of the dark roof. Venturing further up to the central peak, her thrashing arms were met by an icy strong wind that drove straight into her bladder. Teeth chattering and gritting, she turned back down for the shelter of the lower peaks; when she felt both her boot heels give way. Down she went, straight on her ass, sliding a short distance on the snowy roof. The sudden icy snow was too much, and she scarcely managed to lift her self up into a crab position before she felt and smelled the urine splash forth. She had been holding it for some time and the release now amidst the icy numbing pain of her fall, caused her to breathe a great sigh of relief. She thought she would never stop and laughed at how big a stream she was making. The smell was a bit much, and she wrinkled up her nose at it, ‘lord, what the hell did I have to drink this night?’

The French Maid crouched on the roof, shuddering in the cold, wondering what the hell she was going to do now. There didn’t appear to be any sane or rational way down from the roof. She couldn’t stand the cold much longer; she gloomily considered a rapid return to the window and the warm interior of the house. ‘If only she could find the window again, and squeeze back through it with out getting stuck?’ She began a careful and dejected shuffle further down the steep slate roof. Then a bright golden glow caught her eye, it was a thin ribbon emulating from the surface of the roof it’s self. Puzzled she approached the small stream of light; reaching down a gloved hand she carefully brushed at the snow and found a glass skylight buried beneath. Her warm stream of urine had melted just enough of a trickle through the snow to reveal the lighted sky light underneath. The French Maid continued whipping the snow away, keeping clear of the yucky urine. Soon she had a small enough peep hole to peer into a warmly lit room below.

What the French Maid saw directly below her was a small room with three of the men she had seen earlier, talking to one another in animated gestures and sweeping motions. Unable to hear any thing and curious to learn more, she began to look about for another window leading into this room. She found one, just under the lip of the roof. To reach it she would have to dangerously lower her self down to a small ledge and then shuffle and inch her way along that several yards to bring her self up to the window. She compensated this because she could see the window was in fact open, and it was becoming obvious to her that she wasn’t about to climb down from the roof via the outside of the house. And what she had seen on the belt of the largest guy in the room was a large ring of keys. She would need those if she was going to affect an escape on her power.

The climb down and the traverse to the window were time consuming and hart stopping. It also had to be done with a very cold and grabby wind shooting up her skirt. The French Maid began to realize that there where serious limitations for her costume’s out door winter applications. Fortunately in hugging the wall for sure life as she inched across to the window, the constant brushing of her nipples against the rough stone work succeeded in keeping her body very warm indeed.

Reaching the open window, the French Maid looked inside. The room was empty. She quickly climbed inside, her body shaking from the lingering effects of the cold. The room had a rumbled bed, some old paperback books, a small dresser, and two doors. The first door was closed, it was situated in wall to her right and she guessed it led out into a hallway, very similar to the one she had found her own unlocked door leading her eventually to the roof. The second door was partially open and she could tell right away that it opened into a very small bathroom. Someone was in it now. Standing at the sink, she could make out the bare arm of a man in sleeveless t-shirt, half a cheek of tuxedo pants, and a bright ring full of jangling keys. She quickly turned and tossed out the window the ends of the small curtains. Then she crossed the room and opened the hallway door, glancing out into the empty hall. Then she promptly hid herself behind the door it’s self and waited.

She didn’t have to wait long. The large man exited the bathroom rubbing a towel over his face and neck, he’d apparently had just finished shaving. He took one look at the open hallway door, the window curtains hanging entirely outside, and he ran to the window. He leaned out and saw the obvious signs of someone trying to escape the house via his open window, and he leaned out even further to see if he could yet see the person as they couldn’t have gotten far.

The French Maid walked up behind the large man and paused to think of something witty to say. She never got a chance. Animal instincts kicking in, the man some how sensed her and spun around slashing with a knife in his hand. She hadn’t thought he’d have some kind of weapon and was shocked by it; but the speed of the motion had caused her own instincts to arch her body back. Her eyes watched wide as the large blade just missed her large breasts. The lunging slash had been off balance to begin with, and completely missing his target resulted in him falling back into the open window, his arms thrown wide to stop him, and push him back to close with his attacker.

The French Maid was furious. ‘That stupid man had just tried to cut her perfect boobies! It would have left a scar!’ In fuming rage she raised up her right leg and let loose a savage mule kick, catching the man full in the chest. He sailed completely out the window, a low thud shortly following his disappearance. She carefully looked over her breasts to make sure Pride & Joy where all right, and breathed a great sigh of relief when she found that they were. She saw the wicked knife lying there on the floor where he apparently dropped it as he had gone sailing out the window and she tossed the wicked thing out the window as well. She heard a low yelp and leaned out the window. There on the snowy ground bellow the man lay spread eagle the knife she had just tossed out lying stuck in the ground just inches from his crotch. ‘Sorry,’ she whined. He moaned and lay still.

The French Maid cautiously left the room and entered the still deserted hallway. In her hand she held the ring of keys she had nabbed onto as soon as she had walked up behind the guy. ‘That’s probably what he felt and made him aware of me.’ She had held onto the keys even as he had tried to slice her and during her subsequent rage when she had lost her temper and kicked the man. She had even held on to the keys as the man had fell out the window, which was no small feat as in doing so she had caused the entire front of the man’s pants to rip off and be left behind dangling from the key chain ring. She had left the pants on the floor of the small bed room and was now egger to find a small side door these keys would unlock and let her escape through.

So far things weren’t quiet working out as the French Maid had planed. For example that man was supposed to be seduced by her and she would then lightly nudge him out the window. ‘And this stupid house, where the hell was a stair case leading down?’ All she could find where more twisting hallways full of doors. She also began to feel the distinctive thinning of the air of morning’s approach, ‘I’m running out of time!’ Just then she rounded yet another corner and stumbled upon the two men she had seen from the skylight earlier, who had been talking to the large third man; they now were caring large heavy loads of boxes, walking side by side down the hallway towards her. Incredibly they were so engaged in conversation that they had not seen her as yet. The French Maid quickly backtracked down the hall way she had just come from, and darted into the first side branch she came to, in order to escape their direct line of sight. She had expected this to be another branching hallway; instead it proved to be a small niche containing not even a potted plant to hide behind. The voices of the men were right behind her; she debated her options. ‘I could make a run for it. They would see me and chase me. I could fight them. I have taken several rape self defense courses the years.’ None of those options seemed quiet ‘right’ for her. The prospects of being found by two strange men here and now fueled another flash of sexual fantasies in her imagination. This in turn, seemed to give her flagging energies yet another boost, her mind rapidly came alive, and her senses raced about her.

‘There,’ she saw a small metal door embedded in the niches back wall. Because of its frame and placement she had originally taken it to be some kind of painting or photograph, paying it little attention when she had initially passed by down the hallway. Now she saw it for what it was, a little chrome door. The French Maid rushed to it in two strides and yanked its handle. It opened swinging out and down, apparently attached at its base rather than on its side as a conventional door would. It was larger than she had originally thought, and she quickly peered into its yawning mouth. She could fit into it, but it was a chute of some kind, not a dumbwaiter as her first impression had leaded her to believe. ‘Garbage,’ she glumly debated? There was no horrible smell wafting up from the dark into her quizzical down turned face. The voices of the men were very loud behind her now, and she turned to see their shadows on the carpet swelling to meet with the niches and hallways junction. In she went.

The French Maid had simply wanted to fit inside the chute and close the door briefly; hanging onto the sides and the inside of the door until the men had passed by, and then returning to the hallway to continue looking for a staircase leading down to the first floor. It had almost gone as she had planed. But no sooner than the men had passed beyond her hearing than her entire tentative grip of smooth velvet gloves and leather boots on polished metal had given way and she had half slid half fell down the entire length of the chute. The last several feet of the chute had bent into a graceful arch; this had caused the French Maid to lose her desperate grip entirely and sent her tumbling. Out she thudded, straight into a hamper full of bed sheets and towels. ‘A laundry chute,’ she moaned! Slowly and unsteadily rising to her feet, she recognized the washer, dryer, and lines of hanging wash, from earlier in the evening. She was back downstairs in the basement. Untangling her limbs from frumpy bed sheets, the French Maid grabbed the nearest clothes line and yanked it down. Stripping it of pillow cases, she wrapped it up into a tight coil and carrying it in one hand and the ring of keys in the other, she made off in the direction of the staircase and pantry she had found earlier.

‘If I find another window, I’ll use it, just in case these keys don’t open anything useful after all,’ she grumbled to her self hefting the nylon rope. She had walked some ways shaking the ringing out of her head, when she realized that she surly had gone far enough to reach the pantry staircase. ‘Had she gone the wrong way?’ She doubled back, but now she couldn’t find the laundry area again. ‘What the hell?’ She could hear a low thrumming, ‘the furnaces.’ She had to be close to the stair case, the furnaces had been right next to the pantry stairs. She began wandering around letting a combination of sound and the large furnace ducts over head be her guide.

It led her into the enormous furnace room its self. She walked along its walls circumference looking for the large wall grates she had originally used to peer into this room. ‘If I can at least find those I can get some sense of which over all direction I need to be heading in when I leave this room.’ She found them high up on the far wall, and stood with her hands on her tiny waist, debating how she could find them again once she left the room. It was at this time that the French Maid heard a low moan over the thrumming furnaces and boilers. Looking about she found the prone figure of the man she had left tied and gagged upstairs. He was unconscious now, without any tape on his mouth or any bindings other than his hands being roughly tied. He was in bad shape. He had several unattended to cuts on his body and had lost a lot of blood. Nothing she could do could seem to arouse him from his unconscious state. She felt very sorry for the man and tried to move him away from the very ominous large furnace doors he had been placed in front of. He was too heavy and she could only drag him a short distance before finding her self winded and panting. ‘I’m a lover not a fighter’ she thought. She looked around to see if she could find some place to hide him from his captors to ward him some protection at least. She found at the top of a large pile of filthy coal two wide double doors. Trying them she discovered they were padlocked from the out side. Looking at her keys and back at the man returned and dragged him as far as she was able to the coal pile. She looked him over as she rested, ‘why had they changed his clothes’ she mused? He was no longer dressed as one of the party waiters but instead was wearing some kind of clown costume, as if he had been one of the guests. She looked at his open wounds and thought, ‘I can’t leave him like this, or he’ll bleed to death.’ She tried to tear some of his costume for bandages but the material was too coarse. In the end she removed her tube top and under skirting ruffles and quickly tore the light weight material into strips. It took all she could make, but it dressed all his wounds. Next she tied one end of the rope across his chest and under his armpits. Then she ran the other end up the steep coal pile and passed it through the gap between the two over head double doors. She passed out enough of the rope as to make it secure up there and then returned to give the man one last look.

The French Maid left the large furnace room wearing only her little hat, her mask, her gloves, her boots, a very well placed tiny apron, and a large smile. The ring of keys jangled in her hand as she sauntered along the hallways in the direction of what she hoped to be the stairs. She hadn’t gone far when saw a particularly promising door with a large new paddle lock on it. Since she had been lugging the keys around all night and they hadn’t been of any use thus far, she decided to try some on the lock. The very first key she tried opened it, ‘Fucking unreal,’ she thought. The door creaked into a crowded storage room, the sight of which initially disappointed the French Maid. She decided to investigate it any way and strolled into the dark room. Finding a light switch she flicked it on and glanced about the piles of junk. Moving some near by garbage bags filled with children’s clothes with a label marked ‘fund drive’, she uncovered an old nicked up glass top display case table. She recognized it once.

When Milla had been back in grade school, the Bayard mansion had been briefly held in trust by Lake City its self. During this time the place had been open to the public on rare occasions for scheduled tours. The local school had made a field trip out of this for a year, and Milla’s class had been scheduled to attend. Wandering around as a school tourist had not been milla’s idea of how she wanted to first visit Bayard Manor and so she had pretended to be sick that day. Her aunt didn’t force the issue and in fact was apparently pleased with her not going on the field trip. Never the less, Shelia had taken several photographs, and Milla had poured over them with secret fascination. She recognized the glass display cases in front of her from several of those photographs. The cases had been kept in the main hall back then. Having been put together quickly when there still had been some idea of turning the estate into some kind of history museum, this idea had fallen apart rather quickly as the Bayard history was decidedly seamy and still connected to many still living in the Lake City area. The house had been put on the market and promptly sold to its current owner.

The French Maid knew from those photographs taken so many years ago, exactly what she was looking for. She found them in a second burred case, and promptly lifted the glass top and removed the two items. She rearranged the remaining display curiosities in case any one should have any strange reason to glance into the case, and put everything else back as she had found it.

Back out in the hall way, and with the door once again securely fastened behind her, the French Maid now felt an over whelming compulsion to escape this house and it’s grounds. She hurried along the corridor and found the pantry stairs right where they should have been. Up she went and in no time she was back in the black and white checker board floored kitchen she had been in hours before. This time she didn’t follow its open door way into the dinning room and eventuating into the main hall, but instead approached a door that had been locked before. The keys jangled on the fourth one she tried the door clicked open for her. The door opened into a small hallway at the end of which she could see large glass doors leading into an enormous green house. To her left the wall was doted with paintings, photographs, and doors; to her right it was lined with large uncurtained windows, through which she could see a large swath of dark yard. The horizon behind the trees was just starting to lighten up from black to lavender and the entire yard was cast in soft blues and grays. The French Maid froze briefly as she saw a bizarre sight met her wondering eyes, out in the yard the two men whom she had last left upstairs carrying boxes, were struggling to carry a very loud and complaining man back into the house, the well lit open door behind them gapped to receive the trio. She recognized at once the man they were carrying was none other than the one she had kicked out of the window. He was loudly complaining and cuffing the men trying to carry his large frame, when they suddenly slipped and dropped him. In the ensuing scramble the large man got up and limping wildly began to chase after the other two men who scampered obsequiously before him. He chased them clad only in his boxer shorts and t-shirt into the house trying to catch and pummel the men, who in turn dashed away form his grasp. The last she saw of them the large man was pulling up the remains of his tuxedo trousers about his waist and waving his fist after the fleeing men, then he slammed the door closed.

The French Maid smiled at this burlesque and quickly raced on and entered the green house. She found a glass door leading to the outside that had a simple bolt lock on it; turning it back she finally exited the house. In front of her was the wide lake from which the city derived its name, a lonely path led down to the boat house and dock. Her aunt’s house was almost directly across the lake from the Bayard mansion, out of sight on the far shore. She turned and began sprinting around the large stone mansion looking for the coal doors leading to the furnace room. The sun was not yet up, but like a prowl pushing a splitting wake before it, she could fell the growing wind of dawn’s approach. ‘She was freezing!’ Passing by what she knew to be the door leading into the small cloak room that the guests had used, she turned abruptly to it and began trying her keys on the lock. It gave way and she thankfully entered, closing out the freeing winter behind her.

The French Maid found what she had been looking for, a heavy black wool hooded cape coat, either left behind by a guest or belonging to the current owners. She grabbed it and quickly covered her shivering form. She was about to exit back out side and make good her continued escape plan, when she heard a low gurgling moan sound from just beyond the rooms only other door, the one leading directly into the great hall it’s self. She decided to take a peek. There in the middle of hall trussed up like a turkey, lying on his stomach was the man she had left downstairs in the coal pile. She peered about her and rushed out to him; in doing so she caught sight of one of the servant men hiding behind a small table peering intently back across the marble hall.

The French Maid froze. The man hadn’t seen her as his back was toward her, he obviously was waiting to spring a trap using the tied up man as bait, and he hadn’t thought anyone would approach him from behind. The French Maid had some wicked thoughts but then she saw the small gun in the man’s hand and she decided not to overstretch her nights luck. It was at this time when the large man and the two others entered the hallway from almost its opposite end. They set up a howling argument, and the gun man stepped out from his hiding place to join the shouting and shrugging of shoulders.

The French Maid saw her chance and using the noise to cover her movements; she grabbed the hog tied man and proceeded to drag him back into the cloak room. Once inside she quickly shut the door and began to worry the knots loose. She knew that the man would be missed from his bait position in the center of the floor in a matter of minutes, so she only untied his legs. This done she lugged him to his unsteady feet and shoved them both back out side, locking the door behind her. The cloak room door lead directly to a path that in turn leads to a large gazebo and what in the spring and summer would be an elaborate formal garden running down to the lake’s edge. She ignored all of this and headed instead back to the boat house path. On her return along the house she noted the large cellar coal doors up next to the house, a large swath of gravel leading away from them around the house, she had some how missed them when she had ran by the first time, maybe because she had been so preoccupied with the intense cold. As she ran past the doors she noticed the end of her rope still firmly wedged between them.

The French Maid stopped abruptly, and the man who had been maintaining his feet by sheer momentum fell flat on his face. The French Maid looked down at him, he was barely conscious, and was again dressed in his party waiters outfit; moreover he had no wounds or her bandages. She left him and walked over to the large wooden doors. She fumbled through the keys and eventually got them open. A few tugs on the rope convinced her that there was something heavy still attached to the other end down there in the pitch dark. She returned to the fallen man and finished untying him. ‘I need your muscle,’ the French Maid cooed in her best accent.

It took several attempts as the weight had to be dragged straight up out of the almost vertical drop of the hole, but the French Maid wrapped the rope around a large round stone planter and the added leveraged got the job done. Sure enough on the other end was the very same man she had left in the furnace room. Upon dragging him free, the man helping, had burst into tears upon seeing this other man and promptly began hugging him.

‘It’s obvious, they are brothers, perhaps even identical twins,’ the French Maid thought. The three of them made their way down to the boat house and dock, the two carrying the unconscious third from the basement. Another key opened the boat house, most of the boats where in dry dock, that is, hanging in large slings above the water with their outboard motors removed. But the winter had been mild thus far and the lake had not yet frozen over, there where still three small boats in the water it’s self. As the man put his brother into one of the boats and prepared to get it ready for launch. The French Maid took a socket wrench from off a work bench and removed the spark plugs from the other two boats, dropping them into the water.

They pulled open the large water door and sculled out with paddles until they thought it safe to start up the outboard motor. It was then a twenty minute cruise across the lake to the nearest pier, once there the French Maid leapt over board before the man could dock the tiny boat, wading ashore in icy water up to her boot tops. By the time he had tied up, she had vanished up the beach, leaving him impotently calling after her.

CHAPTER TWO

The Bayard family history is a long convoluted twisted sordid story which fortunately we need only concern ourselves with an over view of the most recent generations. As such the Bayard’s wealth began under the first Napoleonic Empire, and fled to its new country at its fall. There it managed to catch the tail end of the still profitable, if somewhat irreparable, slave trade and its subsequent support structures in the West Indies. As money accumulated it bought respectability and further investments in more acceptable, if no more moral, business ventures which also turned heavy profits for all concerned. The Bayard’s were the first to buy up the cheap land around what would eventually become Lake City, and built a lavish home around the beautiful pristine secluded lake. Latter other wealthy families began to build summer residences around the Lake as well. Not to be out done the Bayard’s re-built their home into the sumptuous palace that remains to this day. With uncanny foresight, the wealthy elite families bought up all the land surrounding the lake and much of it inland as well; thus unwittingly preventing commercial developers from getting any kind of toe hold on the area. This insured privacy increased the over all desirability and soon the whole area it’s self became a sort of exclusive rich only hide away. There were however local people living near the lake, and even as they lost out their homes to soulless lawyers, they did not vanish all together as the wealthy families needed the small town to support them with necessary shops and servants. Frictions over the years and inevitable compromises resulted in a concentric ring of streets lying out side the opulent mansions like ripples in a pool ridging the lake edge with thrusting spokes of public (town citizens only) access strips leading down to a few beaches set aside for the local people.

The Bayard history that concerns us takes place in relatively recent times, three brothers, with the some what odd names of; Pierrot, Jean-Luc, and Armaund, and the complete destruction of the Bayard family fortune. First Pierrot, he was the youngest and his tragedy happened first, to put it bluntly, he simply vanished. There are two set versions of the tale; in one his brother Jean-Luc murdered him out of some petty jealousies concerning a woman and drowned him in the lake. In the second rumor, the family, i.e.: Jean-Luc had Pierrot locked up in a nut house because even for the sexually infamous Bayard family, Pierrot’s escapades in his early teens were too much for the family to withstand. In either case, Pierrot vanishes early on and set’s the stage for the next brother’s demise. This would be Armaund the eldest, who having a falling out (apparently over Pierrots disappearance) with his brother Jean-Luc who was in charge of the family affairs, ran off and got him self killed in some war some where. This leaves the last brother Jean-Luc, who among his limitless vices and shady dealings, still managed a single overwhelming fetish for French maids which ultimately lead to his down fall. Basically; a young woman undercover in the Bayard house, well bed rooms really, a scanty little maid’s outfit and a well placed wire tap and a few months latter the Federal agents were hauling Jean-Luc away to prison. This may have been the end of the Bayard wealth, but it wasn’t the end of the Bayard’s lineage. Jean-Luc managed to produce two sons through his opium addicted wife Madeline. ‘Mad Maddie’ as she was callously called managed to overdose during Jean-Luc’s trial just days before she was suppose to testify; Jean him self apparently hanged him self just months after his conviction and shortly after he had agreed to give states evidence in hope of some sentence reduction. Jean-Luc’s two sons were Malcolm and Jerome. The older, Malcolm ran off to join the army and escape his families ‘dirty blood’, and Jerome fell in love with one of his father’s numerous scantily clad French maids, ‘Susan’, and ran off with her. If Jean-Luc hadn’t been rather busy with being arrested and all that entails Jean undoubtedly would have expressed his upset state at his youngest son’s theft with something decidedly unpleasant, as it was the two managed to skip the country, but they too soon vanished. Malcolm was of course Milla’s uncle and Jerome and Susan were of course Milla’s father and mother.

Milla Bayard was crouched in Cindy’s tree house. Well, technically it was Cindy’s older brother’s tree house, he had built it down by the lake’s edge upon one of the town common lots and lorded over it, but he had been six years older than Cindy and when he moved away and began his own family, Cindy had inherited it. It was dilapidated now and falling apart, and before this night Milla had not been in it since she had been twelve. She hadn’t seen or heard or thought about Cindy in years, and in fact couldn’t quiet place her face anymore. But then Milla was here in Cindy’s old tree house not to revive old memories, but because it gave a great view out across the lake at the looming Bayard Mansion beyond. It was the closest structure to the Bayard grounds and the only one that gave any kind of commanding view of the place.

It had been five weeks since Milla had escaped from Bayard mansion and she had been extremely busy; sitting here now on her haunches she was mulling over her subsequent actions and debating both the purpose and sanity of them. It would be one of her last lingering moments of doubt that she would have for quiet some time; but when ever she would have brief qualms about the paths she had chosen, it would be the memory of sitting there in the cold winter dark in Cindy’s old tree house down by the water edge starring out over at the dark hulk of Bayard Mansion that would inevitably fill her mind’s eye. The little non-event in its own time would become the symbolic divider of before and after, the Rubicon of her life.

Milla hurried down the old plank rungs and up the wooded path to the small winding street. She had just enough time to make her next bus connection and catch the last bus to her aunt’s street, her shopping bags slapped against her blue jean legs as she rushed to meet the bus slowing to the stop ahead of her.

Milla had been back in college in Big City when her aunt had contacted her telling her that Milla’s uncle Malcolm had died in a military training accident in some foreign desert country. This made Milla technically the last of the Bayard’s. There wasn’t any family inheritance or anything, but Malcolm had willed his few belongings to Milla and these had arrived at her aunt’s house. Malcolm had also left his life insurance to Milla and she needed to return to Lake City and deal with these things as soon as possible. Milla was glad to leave school, after her incredible night in the Bayard mansion; everything else had seemed mundane and incredibly dull. Despite her very best efforts she just couldn’t be truly her self walking around as Milla college co-ed even in Big City. She found her self grateful and guilty to be grateful at having an excuse to leave and return to Lake City. Milla hadn’t known her uncle well at all, but she felt a natural loss and sadness at his passing, especially as it left her with only her aunt as her only other living relative, a woman whom she felt nothing in common with at all.

Milla would find out how utterly wrong she was about this upon arriving from college at her aunt’s house. Her aunt had been ‘different’ as soon as Milla had walked through the door. Gone were all the hostile lectures against the Bayard’s, and Milla’s own need to struggle against her ‘bad blood’. The death of Malcolm had changed the old lady completely. She had been kind, warm, every thing she had never seem to have ever been before in all of Milla’s memories of the woman. Then she had set Milla down one evening and began to talk to Milla, really talk to her, it had astounded her that the old woman turned out to be a real person all this while. Milla felt confused and guilty at the same time. This went on for several days, until one afternoon in the houses little back yard over looking the lake, the old woman had cleared her throat several times and after a few false starts began to explain to Milla two incredible things. The first was that the old woman was dying, had been for some time, but her doctor told her it was taking an unexpected turn, she had maybe only days left, and she said she could feel the truth in it. She went on to tell Milla that she was leaving her the small little house and all her other worldly belongings. This was quiet a shock as the old woman had constantly told Milla that she was going to leave everything to some charity and that Milla had better look to her own. But now the old woman told Milla how happy she was that Milla had beaten the curse of her bloodline and not been destroyed by it’s lust and vice, Milla had squirmed a bit at this and thought of her night in the Bayard mansion with some passing twinge of guilt. Next, the woman had slowly began to tell Milla a ‘tale of some importance’ which she only now related half reluctantly and only because she thought some where in Malcolm’s trunks still sitting unopened on the porch might be some mention of the truth and she thought it better to come from the living rather than the dead.

“You see,” her aunt began. “Your mother and father’s relationship had been a very complex one from the start. Jerome hadn’t just managed to fall in love with one your grandfather’s numerous little teenage tarts, but one who your grandfather had taken a whim enough to file for legal adoption. Technically they were step brother and sister, that’s why they couldn’t get legally married; but there’s more, in fact they were more than just related on paper as a few gossips teetered about all those years ago, they were in fact related by blood. Your uncle Jean-Luc was the father to both your father through Madeline, and your mother Susan through another woman. I know it’s all true because ‘I’ was that other woman. I am actually your grand mother Milla. That’s why we share the same name, you were named after me. I hope you understand why both your uncle and I thought it best to keep this from you as well as the rest of the world. You have to remember the immense power a family like that could weld in those days. And the stigmata of such a thing were unfair and inhumanly cruel to place upon such a young girl such as yourself what with the entire world before you. I had been afraid of, well so many things, but you have turned out so remarkably well, and I am so very proud of you.”

Milla’s grandmother died a few days latter and following her wishes she was cremated and her ashes scattered on the lake. Afterwards, awakened by an immense electrical storm that knocked out the entire power to everyone in Lake City, Milla had begun digging through Malcolm’s trunks by candle light. She was proud to see his medals and papers of service, he had been at the rank of a Captain when he had been killed and there where numerous commendations and certificates of honor. It was if Malcolm was laboring with super human resolve to balance out his family’s shameful history through his own life’s single pursuit of sacrifice and honor. Milla dug further and found old photos, letters, journals, scraps of papers, all obviously in hands other than Malcolm’s. It would appear Malcolm had become something of the Bayard’s last personal repository archive, despite his nomadic existence.

As Milla read by flickering light and lightning flash, she began to catch snatches here and there that suddenly triggered the memory of that man tied up in front of her in the Bayard mansion, things he had said. Just then an old photo fell out and into Milla’s lap, it was one she had only seen once many years ago, but it’s image had been ingrained into her mind ever since. It was a picture of Milla’s mother, the only one she was aware of that existed. Looking at it now she noted for the first time how revealing the little French maid’s costume had been, something that hadn’t registered to her as a child when she had first seen it so many years ago. Susan had been the one who had cooperated with the federal government, in order to bring her father down and allow her to escape with her true love Milla’s father Jerome. What had shocked the jury so much according to the old news paper clippings Milla found along side her mother’s photograph was how much Susan had so obviously enjoyed literally ‘pumping’ Jean-Luc on the reel to reel tapes they had to listen to at the trial for the bits of information she needed in order to do this. Milla looked up into the black window before her and the mirrored reflection of her self there in; she held up her mother’s photograph at arms length and compared the two images. Her mother was a short blonde with a salacious smile and large wet eyes, Milla didn’t look anything like her. One of the gossip columns of the day had reported that at times Susan’s own volcanic sounds of pleasure had been so loud as to drown out any information Jean-Luc may have been attempting to volunteer. In fact, most of the time Susan managed to drown out the purpose of the wire despite being aware of its existence too lost in her own moment’s pleasure. “I am my mother’s daughter,” Milla grinned.

That had been last night, with dawn and the storm’s break Milla had launched herself into the shops lining the rings of streets a giddy idea burning brightly in her head. Now she had returned back to what was ‘her’ home now, though it didn’t feel like it all, just catching the last bus in order to do so. She didn’t pause inside the small house for long but went out back to the little one room canning house her grandmother had had renovated for Milla on her sixteenth birthday in order to give her a more private space all her own. It had come with several rules, naturally, but none of those really applied any more. That world was gone.

Milla felt more comfortable out here in the small room of her own, and she snapped on the light and closed the curtains and door as a sudden welcome wave of warm familiarity that she had been missing for weeks now; since she had leapt out of the small boat that night of the Bayard’s party, the icy water totally ruining Becky’s boots, washed over her. Shelia and all of Milla’s friends had been insatiable in their curiosity about that night at Bayard mansion. Milla had simply said she had left with a willing young man, but nothing had come of it due to a little too much of the grape from before. He simply couldn’t perform and she had left him meekly calling after her. There was enough truth in this to let Milla’s conscious not badger her too much about it. The loss of the costume hadn’t bothered Shelia in the slightest as Ken had paid for it with his credit card and she had not been particularly thrilled at the prospect of having to wear it some day. The only thing keeping her from throwing it out had been the possibility of surprising Ken some night with it. But Ken was history, Shelia had met a rich young man at the Bayard party and spent much of the night in his car getting a long bruise across the small of her back from the steering wheel; they had been inseparable ever since. The boots had been another thing all together. When Shelia had handed Milla back her abandoned coat that Shelia had taken with her, Milla had returned Becky’s boots. It was obvious they were ruined by the water and Shelia had been suddenly very angry. Milla had offered to pay for the boots, but Shelia refused. It was one of those mood things women have where reality is instantly replaced with a warped abstraction of judgment of shifting intents and values. There was nothing Milla could do and she felt the slow disintegration of her friendships with all the girls in the room. They were beginning to grow apart with an alternating tired melancholy and an exhausted vehemence that only the paradoxical energies of the young can generate.

‘That world is gone,’ Milla thought. ‘I had never felt I belonged in it, but knew of no other, until that night. Even then I tried to find some way to take what I had found, what I had felt that night, and inject it piece meal into my return to college, but it hadn’t worked at all.’ Every attempt to ‘sex up’ Milla had been a dismal failure, trickling out in spurts and starts that would have been insanely comic if they hadn’t been happening to her. Milla looked into the large round mirror, one of her youth’s prized possessions , her aunt-grandmother had been reluctant to indulge Milla in her obvious vanity, but had relented and purchased the large round mirror for Milla after yet another perfect test score. Milla had promptly lugged the thing out to her one room play house (the old canning shed before her aunt-grandmother had renovated it for her years latter) and set it up on the only wall without a window. She would gather up her stuffed animals and declare she was going to have a tea party and off she would go to the old canning shed. Once inside she would strip off her clothes and staring at herself in the mirror begin what would often be several hours of explorative masturbating. As time went on having a ‘tea party’ became one of Milla’s many colloquialisms for pleasuring her self.

Milla looked into that same round mirror now and setting her shopping bags on top of other items she had purchased or gathered earlier, she began to slowly undress, staring with hungry eyes as her body revealed before her. After leaping out of the small boat those many weeks ago, Milla had scarcely made it to her aunt-grandmother’s little home and upstairs to her small pink bunny wall papered bed room before she gave into the desperate need throbbing through her body. She had barely got her gag on (a very necessary item since Milla had always been a ‘moaner’ and her aunt-grandmother had always been a light sleeper) before her fingers had been at work on her burning body. Milla of course hadn’t dared to bring any of her ‘helpers’ with her from college during her holiday break, and she bit down hard on the ball gag as her fingers proved unable to supply enough stimulation for the fires raging within her. With liquid knees she wobbled onto the hope chest at the foot of her bed and began grinding her crotch against the round bed post. ‘Polishing the brass,’ was also another euphuism Milla had acquired in her arsenal. A few hours latter her aunt-grandmother had found Milla lying in bed sweating and feverish; she ordered her to remain in bed since it was obvious that Milla had caught a fever chill. Milla remained in bed for two days before she was able to finally sate all the tremendous lust pent up in her body from her single night as the French Maid. It had been both terrifying, ‘she had serious wondered if she would ever be able to stop needing to cumm,’ and wonderful as she had never felt so complete and alive before. Every thing after that night had taken on a gray transparent thin quality that haunted her every waking moment, until tonight.

Milla gazed at her reflection in the mirror, and with her supreme will power that she was so very proud of, she pulled her hands away from her fantastic nipples and began to open up her shopping bags. Finding the items Milla needed hadn’t been any trouble at all, as the whole Lake City area was economically geared towards serving the hundreds of wealthy house hold mansions with their many needs, wants, desires, and out right fetishes. It had however proved trickier to buy the things Milla wanted without leaving an obvious trail back to her. True no one was looking for her now, but if she was indeed going to embark on this notion of hers then there was some possibility in the near or distant future that someone might try and trace her through any unusual tell tale purchases made. In any other city it would have been very difficult if not out right impossible to buy such items and not have left such an obvious trail, but in Lake City’s unique social and economical strata’s, she was able to find not only the items in question in large numbers and diversity but also numerous shops in which she was able to spread out her purchases and thin out the likelihood of anyone tracing an observed item back to her from questioning any of the local shop clerks. For the most part many of the items were of the kind and nature and style that young girls often buy for their lucky boyfriends’ pleasure. She had covered her tracks well, and Milla was quiet pleased with her self and how all her brains were paying off for her. She wouldn’t make any stupid mistakes and everything would be deliciously wonderful. As she thought this her hand reached up and began to unconsciously tease and massage ‘Pride’.

Milla finished unpacking and removing little tags and hangers here and there, and smiled over all her necessities laid out on the small little tea tray table in front of her. The first thing she reached for was a large jar of expensive body cream. Even with the small electric heater on in the little room Milla could feel the pressing of the late winter afternoon at the window panes, rubbing the lotion into her skin felt invigorating and spread tingling warmth through out her goose bumping body. The lotion was sold as a sex aid, any breath or breeze on the skin where it was rubbed caused a heating sensation. This one was much more expensive than the common variations sold, in that it had moisturizers in it and was said to last for several hours with just one application.

After this, Milla sprayed an expensive perfume all over her body, it contained sexual pheromones designed to stimulate men and women alike. Milla had been careful not to have chosen a scent she had ever worn before. From this moment on with each article of clothing or preparation to her body, Milla stopped thinking of her self as Milla and began to think of her self as the French Maid.

The French Maid next applied her makeup from a small makeup box; she liked her eyes heavily done and her mouth prominent, she added a beauty mark to her cheek, a crowning touch. Next the French Maid did her hair up into a large bun, with long shining curls hanging down here and there. She carefully pinned her little lace and velvet hat into her hair. This was the only piece of her original costume she had saved, she felt it was important to keep something from her first costume and she felt the little hat was about as perfect as one could get. Then she began to put on her new costume she had so carefully bought a piece at a time from so many different stores.

The first thing she put on was the very expensive white silk fish net stockings. They slid up her legs giving her shivers of pleasure and ended mid thigh. Next she put on a thin and lacy garter belt, with little garters which she promptly attached to the stocking tops. She wasn’t sure of the garter belt, she had never worn one before, but she felt things would be a test it as one goes sort of thing for a while. ‘She would give them a shot.’ Next she put on a small flounce of several layers of white lace, heavily starched, to act as an under skirting to poof out and up her little black satin skirt. This skirt went on next, it like the under skirting was ruffled and sheer. She had wanted to wear something velvety and yet as see through as possible, it had taken several little adult lingerie shops to find what she was after, and she had been stunned at the price of it, but she had come too far to hedge now. The under skirting was as next to nothing as could be found and the little black soft skirt was as sheer and as like crushed velvet as landing on the moon technology and a wad of cash could make available. On top of this she tied her little white lace apron into place. This was a definite improvement over the one she had worn before in that it had a large pocket and was as see through as the rest of her skirting. Moving the desk lamp back and forth before the shimmering gauze like layering, she could just make out her navel which was the most covered in layers, piece of her body. She liked the way the garments could almost become invisible depending on the angle of the light striking them, but couldn’t stand the idea of her sweet little ‘innie’ belly button being covered up. She re-adjusted the tops of the skirts until her navel was exposed. She then pinned the skirts in place at the top hem; she repeated this operation with her back turned towards the mirror, standing on a chair to bring her butt into view, and adjusted her skirt until the top of her butt cheeks and ass crack was viewable. She pinned the hem in place here as well. This done she removed the skirts and using a needle and thread she had brought for just such an emergency, carefully tacked the hems in place. She then put the skirts back on and checked out the effect. The tacking had made a scooping hem line now on her front and back just as she desired and she was satisfied with the over all look. It would have to be sewn at her grandmother’s sewing machine, but she had no time to do that tonight. Permanent alterations would have to wait.

The French Maid now attended to her magnificent breasts with lavished attention. They had proved the most difficult to shop for, nothing in any of the lingerie shops had proved just quiet worthy of encompassing her marvelous tits. In the end she had to piece together what she was after, from what had seemed about a dozen shops, many of them to her surprise being little bondage shops she had long been curious about in the past. Rather than a flimsy tube top, the French Maid first put on a very sheer laced strapless bra. It had built in support cups that the sales clerk had been perplexed that the French Maid had wanted considering her ample firm double DD’s. But the added padding added a lot of jiggle and bounce to her breasts response to her bodies every movement, it also forced her nipples up and slightly over the cups lip and into the lacy frill edging she had tacked into place there. It mimicked the appearance of the too small original costumes look that the French Maid had so marveled at in the Bayard upstairs large standing mirror. Under and slightly over this, she carefully added a black crushed velvet bustier of similar material as the black skirt and that tied in well to the over all look. It gave further support and spring to her tremendous breasts while not getting too much in the way of covering too much of her beautiful body up. She had carefully attached the requisite puffy pleated and lace trimmed shoulder sleeves to this, that gave the whole ensemble its French maid appearance. The bustier stopped just under the lacy white fringe of the first strapless bra and was over lapped by the next piece of clothing. This being a bondage corset, it stopped at the top just under the French Maids ample breasts slightly covering the second black bustier, and ended down bellow in a nice laced point just above her navel. She had further accented this by sewing on a large pearl to the bodices lacy point. This helped draw some attention to her belly button in her tight midriff. The whole corset thing had to be laced up and tied into place, which was very time consuming but it allowed a lot of detailed adjustments and the final effect was worth it. The strapless bra with its added lace frills, the second black strapless bustier bra, the bondage corset, the pearl from her grandmother’s ear ring, it took a lot of fiddling to get the layers right, but the look was astounding. Still she knew this wasn’t quiet what she was looking for, ‘two bras are just too many, no matter how skimpy they are,’ she frowned to her self. ‘It would have to do for tonight but ultimately she would need to experiment further’. The costume was still a work in progress.

The French Maid now put on her new boots, rather than the thigh highs she had won before, she had decided to try the more traditional ankle high shinny stiletto heeled button and hook maid boots. They looked alright, but she missed the thigh high boots, but to get those she would have had to specially order them in her shoe size and she wanted to wait on that. Uneasy about buying anything for her costume that wasn’t off the rack.

Now the French Maid put on the two items she had stolen from the Bayard mansion so many weeks ago. The first was a lace fringed garter; the second was a black velvet cameo choker necklace. Both had been her mother’s as could be seen by her wearing them in the photographed. Milla had long wanted them when she had seen them in one of Shelia’s photos’ from her class field trip lying there in the glass display case. The French Maid looked long at her reflection in the round mirror. Then she put on her new gloves. These were not the long black opera gloves like before but rather small white lace gloves that ended at the wrist with flounces of ruffled lace. She needed some kind of gloves to avoid finger prints, and this was the type of glove she had seen maids wearing at several formal functions, though hers were defiantly sexier and not designed for any kind of actual work. But unlike the black crushed velvet opera gloves, they wouldn’t show any dried crusty glazing so well, if the French Maid should happen to, well, need to rub her nose or any such thing. Or so she was hoping would be the case, again she wasn’t sure how any of these things would hold up.

The last thing the French Maid put on was her mask. This also was new, and unlike the cheap black velvet mask held in place by a rubber band that she had worn on her first night as the French Maid, this was a very nice starched lace mask that had a silk band with fasteners to hold it much more securely in place. It had come as an accessory set with a large powdered wig and a large lace fan, from one of the many costume shops. The French Maid felt buying her mask in such a supplemental set would lessen any one thinking of Milla at a latter date. Lake City was renowned for its costume balls and parties, and she was fairly certain no one would have much luck figuring out who had bought what mask, at what time, or at what place.

The French Maid gave her self a good looking over. The costume would do for now, but she would have to try some other things in the future, when she wasn’t in such a hurry. ‘Maybe the internet,’ she thought? As her eyes scanned over her costume they lingered on her large breasts. She liked the way the two bras caused her breasts to vibrate with ever breath, and how they leapt about in a hypnotic yo-yoing fashion when she moved about. Her nipples were poking out nicely through the elaborate lace fringe of her top, and the rubbing of the silk fringe was keeping them in a constant state of puffy swollen pleasure. ‘Yes, that will do nicely,’ she beamed. But now she forced her eyes to continue on down her body. The crescent cut of her skirts hem worked well, her belly button glistened directly under the large pearl, and she liked the way her firm bubble butt peeked up and out from behind. Then her eyes fell down upon the skirts themselves and the lower hem line, which stopped right at the connection of her long slender legs and her crotch. Depending on how the light hit the garments they responded with varying displays of transparency, from tantalizing milkieness to almost invisible.

The French Maid paused and smiled. Her tits were true wonders but that down there had to be a stroke of breath taking puckish geniuses. She had only shaved her pubic hair once before in her life, in preparation of wearing a skimpy bikini which her grandmother had confiscated before she had a chance to wear it to the school fund raising car wash as she had daringly planed. That shave had not gone so well and the result of trying to even out a trim had resulted in her shaving her self bald in the end. When the hair had grown back in it had done so thick and heavy and in an unruly wide patch. This had given the French Maid a lot of hair and area to work with, and she had in a moment of inspiration sat down with several newly purchased grooming tools, and this morning in just a little over an hour latter, had been stunned with her carefully worked out little masterpiece.

There peeking through the web of almost translucent lace ruffles was the unmistakable fleurs-de-lis neatly timed and sculpted out of her pubic hair. She marveled at how well the basic shape had turned out. She also liked how even as Milla she would be carrying with her at all times this blatant statement of her secret identity. There was boldness in it which thrilled her to no end. She carefully checked out how her skirt swung up and back as she walked flashing a fluttering strobe like hinting view of her fleurs-de-lis symbol right above her tight little other wise bald pussy. She practiced a few different struts before the mirror working out carefully what strides worked best for breast bounce and what ones flashed the most of her beautiful little trade mark down there.

Satisfied, she reluctantly put on the large hooded black coat she had taken from the Bayard’s cloak room. It wouldn’t do for the French Maid to be seen any where near Milla’s house. She would wear the coat until she got to Cindy’s tree house and stash the coat there; returning to recover it after she had finished out her evenings plan. She had already reconnoitered the tree house and it was obvious that no one had used it in several years. It would make a good forward base of operations for her tonight. As far as how she was going to get all the way to Cindy’s tree house, she had purchased a small boat this morning. Unfortunately in all the endless rush to get so many things done, she had left it at the main pier several blocks away from her house instead of sailing it back to her own small dilapidated boat dock. That milla had a small house now on the great lake it’s self had to do entirely with Milla’s grandmother and her relationship with Jean-Luc. Back during his hey day, Jean- Luc had given the woman the little house upon hearing of her pregnancy with his child, wither out of compassion or concern it remains unclear, but considering his usual treatment of sending his knocked up maids off to an abortion doctor and then off to some distant business of his to get rid of them, his treatment of the lady had been unusually kind and even somewhat romantic in his own strange way.

The French Maid left the small little one room building and quickly made her way into the surrounding woods. In a few strides she was at the privacy wall that surrounded the small grounds; with years of practice she quickly stepped up the crates piled there and easily dropped over on to the other side, lowering her self down gently so as not to risk twisting an ankle in her new boots. Another few strides through brush and under growth and she was on the tarmac path leading from a local public access spur down to the lake backup to the road beyond. She hurried to the road, and pausing before stepping out of the trees, she glanced about her, and then walked briskly through the newly arrived night. The road followed the irregular out line of the lake it couldn’t see, joining the wealthy estates driveways to the first concentric ring of streets and the scattered small residences and shops of the dispersed out town beyond. The French Maid made for one of these branching side streets and turned again into another concentric street this one being something of an alley way crossing the backs of several tenement houses, the area where Milla’s grandmother’s house was located had never been one of the nicer parts of the lake, and over the years the inland area had become increasingly seedy and run down. For right now this suited the French Maids wants perfectly for a nicer area would have had a bustling of cars and buses and people which is exactly what she hoped to avoid until she was well away from her own home.

The coat was bothering the French Maid, in fact, she was furious about it. Here she had this fantastic body and no one could ever possibly see it under this heavy shapeless coat. More over the body oil she had applied to keep her warm in her skimpy costume had her sweltering under the suffocating wrap. Just then the long winding back street intersected another branching off alley way and glancing down it the French Maid saw several figures struggling in the half dim incandescent fallout of a street light.

The young man held his aching ribs and knew he wasn’t going to get back up on his feet any time soon. The three other men standing around him didn’t seem finished pummeling him yet, and the young man felt a fear seep over him in a panic of how bad a beating he was really in for, ‘Please god,’ he thought, ‘help me through this and I will never look at another woman ever again!’ Apparently the girl with the revealing cheerleader’s out fit that he had been staring at as she had been bent over flashing her panties while talking to some of her friends through a car window, was the girl friend of one of these large angry men who had grabbed him and shoved him into the alleyway. These men where now occasionally kicking at him as he lay next to a trash dumpster, but mostly yelling at him about looking at what he shouldn’t be looking at, it was hard to tell because in trying to cover up his body in a fetal position his ears were mostly covered as well as his head by his arms and elbows. It was thus hard to tell exactly what was going on, but when the shouting and kicking both stopped, he cautious ventured a peek up at the three shadowy men. They were ignoring him seemingly transfixed at something past him further on down the ally way, he chanced a peek himself and saw a tall thin woman in what appeared to be a maid’s out fit step out of the shadows and walk in a sultry strut directly towards them, he heard her moan out in a thick husky French accent, “ooh la la, I have such an oral fixation, dose anyone have anything for me to suck on?” She continued to speak as she approached but he couldn’t hear her any more as his mind had gone blank as the largest pair of jiggling tits he had ever seen dominated his senses.

The French Maid tossed off her burdensome coat, and the cool winter night air hit her body bathed in sex oil sending pulsating sensations of ebbing heat through out her limbs. She strolled up to the small group of men, her body aching with desire. That she was acting entirely out of impulse and without any kind of rational plan didn’t seem to faze her, or in any way register as the paradoxical threat it might entail to the elaborate plans she had already carefully laid out for the night’s activities. She only felt only wave after wave of intense pleasure with every wiggling slinking slide, which erupted in volume when the group of stupid men ‘finally’ caught sight of her approaching them. Their stares where like physical gropes and her body shivered with a building desire that made any concentrating on her part very difficult. She stopped a few strides from them, “Three on one, care to make it four on me?”

The men all seemed completely confused, and the French Maid shimmed closer to them. The loud mouth of the three standing studs, the one who had been egging the other two on while doing very little off the violence him self, snarled a confused , ‘mind your own business bitch.’

The French Maid gave him a hard short slap across the face, “ah ah, ah manners, my little masters,” she cooed as she wiggled a gloved finger at him sending her entire body into wiggles of its own. There was a brief surprised pause, then the man had frowned removing his hand from his reddening face, he stuttered some uncomplimentary slurs and made a clumsy half hearted round house punch and simultaneous lunge at her. She responded with a pointed boot toe to his crotch and a knee to his head as he staggered forward. She stepped over him as he fell and kicked a hard heel into the gap mouthed man behind him. This one fell to one knee, clutching the partial boot print on his shirt front, gasping for breath; while the third ran out into the well lit street beyond stopping next to a parked car and starring wide eyed back into the dark alley.

The French Maid was disappointed; somehow this was not quite right. She whispered several French phrases she had pieced together from the language C.D. she had purchased, in her best pouting face and accent, but found her self even more frustrated when the two men she had struck crawled to their feet only to rush out of the alley and join their waiting companion. They collapsed leaning against the car, wincing in pain and gasping for breath. This only left the boy they had been beating on and masking her disappointment the French Maid turned to him now and tried to salvage what she could of the situation, “are you alright?” The boy didn’t respond he was entirely entranced by her dancing areolas swimming behind her ruffled lace top, She liked him immediately, ‘he may be a stupid man, but he knows proper worship of phenomenal tit flesh.’ “Do you need any of your boo-boos kissed?” The boy still said nothing, his dazed eyes in wide reverence as she puffed her large milky vibrant bosom at his face; bending forward, her little gloved hands planted firmly on each of her knees for leverage, she began taking deep breaths as she slowly swung her enormous breasts in front of his following mesmerized eyes. The lust and need building to an unbearable pitch inside her, she had just leaned one laced nipple in so close his hot breath caused it to pucker and harden even more and the white lace caught lazily on the drool at the corner of his mouth; when she had become aware of the commotion in the street next to her. She straightens up and frowned at it, “damn it!” In her sexual frustration she had forgot her accent. The street was collecting up with curious passer bys, glancing nervously into the dark alley way. This included a couple of cheerleaders who were rubbing the arms of the men she had beaten a few moments ago. She suppressed an urge to walk out into the street and confront those men and their sluts with a continuation of their lessons in manners. She had always hated those prudish cheerleader cock teases! She was about to saunter out there despite her self when she heard a low moan below her.

She looked down; confused in a mixture of lust, rage, and anxiety. Only to see the boy was now staring at her skirt hem just inches from his face. All her rage vanished under a pleasing surge of lust as she smiled at the boy’s involuntary moans at the sight of her specially trimmed mound dancing tantalizingly behind her laced trim. She rolled her hips forward to give him a good view. The boy moaned a high pitch squeal, his eyes rolled back into his flushed face, and a trickle of blood dripped from his nose.

The French Maid was stunned, ‘He’s passed out,’ she thought. ‘I actually made him pass out!’ She stifled a giggle, and then noticed the very visible stain spreading across the crotch of his tented tight blue jeans. ‘I made a man cum just by him looking at my perfect body!’ The French Maid was ecstatic, despite the growing commotion in the street beside her, she carefully removed a small laminated card from the ribbon tied wrist of her small white laced glove, and carefully placed it on the unconscious boy’s forehead, his perspiration made it stick. Completely satisfied in ego, if not lust, the French Maid proudly turned and strutted back into the further recesses of the alley from which she had come.

In the street, one of the gathering men pushed his way through the little mob of seven people and entered boldly the dark maw of the alley way. He wasn’t sure what had happened but curiosity had got the better of him and he had managed to ascertain that some kind of fight had taken place and at least one more man had been left behind wounded in face of the unknown attacker. He regretted his bold action as soon as he had made it, but with others pressing up behind him, he felt compelled to brass it out in the dark until his eyes adjusted and he could over come his blindness. Peering about he finally saw the injured man surprisingly close to the alley’s entrance. Cautiously scanning into the half light for a trap, he slowly knelt down and examined the prone figure, which seemed unconscious. He shouted to the others slowly creeping up behind him to call for an ambulance. He gave the alley way one more looking over and then turned to the unconscious body for a more through examination, it was only then he noticed the small card plastered to the boy’s forehead. A man behind him crouched down next to him and flicked his cigarette lighter on, in the half twilight jumping illumination, the two men puzzled over the object.

“What do you make of it,” the man with the lighter mumbled.

“I don’t know” the other man whispered deep in thought, turning the small card over and over in his hands, “appears to be some kind of business card.” The simple laminated card had probably been done on some home computer in that it bore no printer’s mark. In fact the only marks the lavender colored card bore was a purplish blue fleurs-de-lis motif over which a gold flowery script was embossed reading, ‘serviced by the French Maid’. The back of the card, also lavender in color, had a lone heavy puckered lip print and nothing more. Both men turned to look in puzzled silence down the alley into the shadowy darkness; they both jumped slightly at the low moan of the boy next to them. The man held his lighter close to the boy’s unconscious face where a large smile spread from ear to ear.

The French Maid reluctantly collected up her coat at the end of the alley way, but refused to put it on, she was just too flushed with frustrated sexual heat! Instead she carried it over her shoulder as she half hurried half strutted along the street, mulling over with brimming satisfaction her little side adventure in the alley. Her boot heels clicked rapidly as she shot a glance over her shoulder back at the intersection, but no figures emerged in pursuit of her, she frowned in disappointment. ‘Oh well.’ She was nearing the main intersection which would open into the street leading back down to the lake and the main pier, where her little boat was tied up and waiting for her. She would use it to take her across the lake to where Cindy’s old tree house was leaning out over the water and tie up there. ‘I’m getting ahead of myself,’ she thought. There was still the undoubtedly busy Pier Street and the pier it’s self to navigate. She was having conflicting thoughts as to how best to proceed, ‘should she try and sneak to her boat being seen by as few people as possible, or should she brazenly strut down the side walk straight to her destination?’ The last notion sent shivers of extreme pleasure throbbing through her, the idea of so many eyes turned lusting upon her made her giggle with expectation. She had already used up one of her cards! She had made up the cards to leave behind in her successful completion of her plans tonight, or if she should case any one to succumb to her charms so utterly as that man in the alley had. But she had only brought three cards with her and surely she would need dozens if she walked down the middle of a busy side walk! ‘No I’d better try and make my way unseen to my little dingy.’

The decision had almost come too late as the French Maid was only a few paces from the busy intersection when she wheeled and ran down into another alley way cutting behind the backs of the shops and little apartment houses lining Pier Street. There were a number of small family restaurants and small bars both trendy and seedy haphazardly scattered along the street. Zoning codes had never been a strong point of Lake City as they tended to bite the rich latter on in the ass with a mouth full of poison. Much of the alley was partitioned on one side by slatted wooden fences and little short side alley ways opening into Pier Street proper and on the other side a thick patch of wood and under growth that tangled on down to the lake shore it’s self.

The French Maid kept a watchful eye out, shooting searching queries down every cross alley way hoping for another much needed adventure like she had had earlier, but nothing showed it’s self and she found her self mentally cursing with disappointment as she came to the end of her own alley. She was now at the broad pier it’s self, which ended abruptly on her right giving way to the trees and shore line, it continued to her left into Pier Street and on past quiet some ways. Several jutting docks fingered out into the lake it’s self with countless crafts of all types and sizes tied up along side. A very large pier continued out into the lake a direct off shoot from Pier Street and it had several amusement buildings and rides built upon it. All of this was to her left and was well lit and crowded with loud milling people, she would have to venture out of her dark corner of the pier and cross all of this to reach her small craft tied up on one of the small docks on the other side of Pier Street.

With an effort of extreme will and teeth gritting furry, the French Maid forced her self to put back on her clunky coat and pull up its engulfing hood. With pounding heels she marched through the crowd and down to her dock and out to her little boat. She wobbly climbed down to her bobbing craft and cast off the lines. In a few minutes she had the little out board motor going and was puttering out on to the ice free lake. There were several party barges out on the lake and a few personal yachts as well as the lone patrol boat with its swinging spot light, she avoided all of these and aimed for Cindy’s tree house.

Other than a momentary fright at the explosive eruption of some sleeping water fowl she surprised as she neared the shore, she beached the small craft and quickly made her way back up into the old tree house, without any incident. Here she shed her coat, and uncovered a large pair of bolt cutters she had hid here earlier, as well as a small velvet bag which she promptly placed in her apron pocket. It covered up some of the see through show, but it couldn’t be helped. She climbed down from the tree house and reentering her small boat, used the oars to push it out into the lake again. She then set the oars into their locks and began to pull her way across to the Bayard mansion. She avoided landing on the grounds its self and instead landed on the near by public access beach. She hid her boat in the rushes and walked up the beach and its subsequent path leading to the road beyond. She stopped before she reached the road and set to work on the chain link privacy fence separating the public access spur and the Bayard estate, the bolt cutters soon made short work of the galvanized mesh and she dropped them aside and squeezed through the opening. She wanted any possible after investigation to search in land not out on to the lake.

For only the second time in her life Milla Bayard stood on the grounds of her ancestral estate. ‘And both times she had also been there as the French Maid,’ she smiled.

CHAPTER THREE

The Bayard mansion had been bought by the Choo family. The head patriarch being named Arnold and thus giving the entire family the humorous and unpleasant behind the back nick name of, ‘the Achoo family.’ Like all wealthy families the Achoo family had earned its enormous wealth prestige and power through generations of ruthless immoral legalized greed. And like most of the elite families living around Lake City the accumulation of continuing wealth resulted in transactions that the hired political parties often couldn’t keep reshaping the laws fast enough to keep legal. Thus at any time one could easily walk into any one of these upper class families many businesses or business ventures and find several out right illegal activities and countless others flittering about the edges of such questionable conduct. This commonality of crime gave the whole thing an almost natural permissible state of existence. More than power alone, the belief in ‘necessary evil’ shrugged off the exasperated and exhausted masses the care of overwhelming injustice and bred a state of helpless plight of indifference. ‘Greed is good,’ was continually hammered into them; but the constant presence of police was there to remind them, that it was only good for a select few.

The French Maid stepped cautiously through the enormous grounds of Bayard mansion. Though it should by all rights now be called Choo mansion, no one did, and in face of several generations of habit the Choo family had not sought to make any waves. In fact after a series of missteps in their first year of residence the whole family (father mother and son) where taking any visible changes slowly and keeping an as yet low key presence on the Lake City social scene. The first mishap that had brought out a howl was the discontinuation of the winter parties the Bayard’s had always held around the holidays. Even when the estate had fallen into trust to the Lake City Committee, a legalized body of wealthy families that had been drawn up years ago to prevent the sale of any part of the lake side property to commercial developers, it had kept the parties going. The Choo’s bowed to the grumbling at once and had compromised with a single party to be held for the express select on New Years Eve. This had been the very party that the French Maid had attended. However such a party wasn’t really the quiet Arnold’s style, though his son and wife loved lavish entertaining, and right after mid-night Arnold would gather up his family and a few well placed friends and they would whisk away on the traditional Choo family vacation to Waterfalls City or Big Bluff City or, as it had been the case this year, the Great Islands.

That had been why the Achoo mansion had been so deserted the last time the French Maid had been here, the Achoos had all scampered off on holiday. It was obvious they were back now; almost every light in the main house was blazing. The French Maid sneaked cautiously up to the main house, angling to reach the lake side back of the enormous building. She cringed at the sound of dogs yapping somewhere in the distance, ‘inside or outside,’ she worriedly wondered? The boy, a young man in his early twenties, kept several pet animals, none of which she had ever seen but had often heard about. She quickened her pace, wither the sex oil had worn off or the thought of several large dogs tearing into her naked white flesh, barely suppressed shivers ran up and down her spine.

The back side of the house seemed colder, a steady breeze was now blowing in from the lake and the temperature was dropping. Both sets of her cheeks felt numb in the darker shadows of the craggy house. The French Maid quickly approached the large silver green house. Here she removed with shaking fingers, the ring of keys she had stolen on her last visit, from the small velvet pouch in her apron pocket. Logically anyone would have set about replacing the locks of their home if the found out some stranger had walked off with a set of keys to them; but there was only two lock smiths, a father and one of his sons who had gone out on his own, in all of Lake City, and neither had been called out to Bayard mansion. She had cleverly checked on that.

The French Maid, as Milla of course, had been very busy during the last couple of days doing all the leg work in preparation for this night’s activity. Not all of this had been the rutting around in shops buying things, most of it had involved numerous back and forth investigating of the dreariest kind. She had spent a lot of her time at the modest public library where she was of course well known as a voracious reader and very studious. The truth was, she mostly read anything and every thing relating to sex, but this went so much against her dowdy appearance and mannerisms that every one just thought she had been this prim and proper student lost in diligent studies. Her greatest discoveries in fact had been an enormous archive of men’s magazines that someone had donated to the library. The librarians had buried them in the back stacks apparently not sure what to do with them. Milla had promptly set about stealing them during her high school years, an issue here and there, stuck in her clothing or in one of her numerous text books she always seemed to be hauling about. She had hidden them in her little one room brick house out back of her grandmother’s place. With her grandmothers passing she had slowly taken to pulling out her favorite centerfolds and plastering them on the walls. ‘It got her more in the right vibe,’ she thought, ‘when it’s time to get in costume.’ She had been only slightly surprised that all the women in the posters had the similar characteristic of possessing enormous breasts. Many were larger than hers and this would make her angry, she would toss aside the magazine sex story that was getting her hot and masturbate furiously while looking at her self in her magnified make-up mirror and glancing at the centerfolds whose breasts dared to be greater than hers., berating them cursing them and as she neared climax, whining in submission to their superior charms. This time she had spent most of her visits to the library on the computer doing searches for information and cross references on some of the things she had read in scraps and pieces in her uncle’s chests, and dim memories of what that man in the Bayard mansion had been trying to tell her. She had left her own lap top back at the college along with all her little ‘helpers’ and she would have to decide if she was going to return back to school in Big City or else at least go back and collect up her things there. Besides, she felt that using the public library computer to look up info that the French Maid would be interested in might somehow be safer than using her own lap top.

Not all the fact collecting had been tedious and boring. Getting the information that neither of the lock smiths had been out to the Bayard mansion yet had proved giddy and exciting. She had come upon the clever idea of getting the information form Ben. He was the teenage son of the younger locksmith, but his father had sent him to apprentice after school with his grandfather, as that had always been the family way despite the recent split between the two locksmiths. This put Ben in an ideal position to know what was going on in both camps as it were. Ben was a ziti awkward teen who didn’t stand a chance with anything remotely female despite his politeness and good graces. Milla had taken to abandoning her attempts to vixen up her appearance upon the decision to experiment further with the French Maid. She felt watering down her looks wouldn’t really be too noticeable compared to how she had dressed under her aunt-grandmothers tutelage, and it would further enhance her secret identities safety.

As such Milla had taken to wearing her glasses at all times (when not in costume) and putting on simple blouses, sweaters, slacks, or ankle length skirts. It was only the delicious prospect of the reverse image of the French Maid that let her put on such dampening garments and walk around in public in them. The split of identities was intoxicating and thrilling the one polarizing and fueling the other.

As such when Milla had carefully arranged to stumble on Ben and his friends and ask if his father or grandfather could come out and fix the lock on her garage door; Milla nor her grandmother had ever owned an automobile and in fact neither of them had been able to drive very well at all, but the garage was full of junk and the lock had always been broken, Ben had immediately volunteered to do the task himself. Everyone saw her as an average looking woman in frumpy clothes, but as soon as she entered Ben’s truck she began to expertly wiggle and shimmy and stretch her clothes into a nonchalant peep show of the incredible body just underneath. One of the compromises she had made with her self and her ever increasing exhibitionist needs, was to abandon wearing panties at all times, even as Milla. This meant the hiking up of her dress caused by Ben’s torn vinyl front bench seat of his old beater, gave Ben a lot of imaginative speculation. Milla pretended not to notice both the somewhat revealing state of her long gypsy skirt bunching at her thigh and buttocks, or Ben’s blatant corner of the eye stares. The fact that he almost ran a stop sign both thrilled her and shocked her at all men’s incredible stupidity.

Upon reaching her house, thankfully alive, she let poor Ben have it with both barrels. Leaving him working of the large over hanging garage doors lock, she raced inside the house to get them both a beer and to squirm out of her minimizer bra. She quickly undid some buttons and rushed back to give Ben the tit show of a life time. ‘He’ll be having wet dreams about me for years,’ she giggled to her self. In no time at all she had him a drooling gapping bumbling mess, and all the information she needed and then some. But it had gone too far, his hungry eyes on her beautiful breasts, the power of manipulating him so easily, it had set off raging fires of lust that had Milla’s head swimming.

When Ben had finished up the job and began to put his tools away to leave, Milla just couldn’t let him go. She pouted that she didn’t have any money to pay him. He had said to forget it, it was nothing. She had flaunted her best tit bounce and ass wiggle and said, surely there must be something she could give him, a trade of services of some kind, she just couldn’t take charity. But Ben only seemed confused and frightened by this; he mumbled his thanks for the beer and quickly got into the truck. Milla raced after him and leaning as much of her cleavage as would fit into his open window asked him if he could give her a ride down town, flushing, he agreed in only smiling nods. She kept her bright eyes and smile on him as she walked around the front of truck giving her best long practiced breast bounce display. She had him so worked up that she kept him driving around aimlessly as she chatted nonstop, every now and then calling out a rapid turn here! She had no idea where they were going, she just thrilled at how he struggled to obey her every directional command. Her lusts were boiling in her now and she desperately needed release. The problem was Milla was incredibly naive about sex in the practical sense, for all her book smart and desires and fantasies, she had no real interactive experience, the same could be said about most of her understanding of life. She could ace a math or history test, but in practical applications she was very much a ditz.

Unsure what to do she kept trying to invoke responses from Ben, who was as equally in the dark as to what to do as she was. Eventually these prompts degenerated down to her seeking compliments by saying how every one thought she was ugly or a prude and so forth. Ben hurting with lust and confusion of his own of course responded with the correct responses, clumsily telling her how beautiful and pretty she was.

Finally Milla snapped. “Prove it!” She snarled. “All you men are all alike full of lies that come so easily to you, but which mean nothing!”

This was the first time any body had called Ben a man and the tripping up over his own ego left him racing to catch up, causing him to run a stop light which thankfully was at an empty intersection and which neither of them noticed passing through. Milla angrily told him to pull over so she could get out. Ben was shattered. Some how everything had gone horribly wrong, the sexy beautiful woman next to him whom he had been getting to know so well was now furious with him and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what he had done wrong. He pulled slowly into a vacant parking lot behind a feed and grain store that he had never seen before, and began a begging apology for what ever it was he had done.

Milla fumed, and then shouted even louder before, “prove it!” She crossed her arms under her heaving bosom and glared at him. Ben was stumped, but at least she wasn’t getting out of the parked vehicle, that had to count for something.

His mind raced in circles and in stuttering frustration he snapped in reply, “How?” He suddenly wondered if she meant killing himself or cutting off a finger or such, ‘maybe she’s nuts,’ he thought?

“The only way a man can’t lie, the one thing he can’t control. You say I’m hot and gorgeous, then prove it by showing me your ‘thingy’!” Milla couldn’t believe what was coming out of her mouth.

“My what?” Ben stammered half laughing.

Milla pointed commandingly at his crotch, she didn’t like how he was laughing at her, she felt she was loosing control of things, and she really didn’t want to get out of the truck in the middle of no where. “If you’re telling the truth it will be hard. So let’s see if you’re lying.” Ben laughed again looking out the front windshield with arms hunched up and head shaking in confusion. “Fine,” Milla opened the passenger door to get out.

“Wait, Okay, Okay. Man I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Hesitantly and with some what noticeably shaking fingers Ben arched his body and carefully unzipped his blue jeans. Milla had never seen a man’s penis before in real life. She had only seen a few in medical text books and a few porno’s; compared to those this was rather small.

“You see it’s not even hard. You were lying about saying how hot and sexy you thought I was.”

“It was in my pants! It’s half hard,” Ben wasn’t sure if the way she was staring at his cock was appreciative or not?

“Then I guess you were only half lying, right?” Milla sneered, as she closed the truck door behind her and used the motion of the act to edge closer to him, she couldn’t take her eyes off his red swollen member.

“Gosh, what do you want?” ‘She had closed the door and couldn’t take her eyes off his prick, she definitely wants it, don’t blow it!’ Ben was hoping she would make some kind of move; he wasn’t sure what to do.

“I want to see it hard. I want to see how hot you think I am,” Milla’s voice was husky and thick with just a trace of a French accent. Ben made a clumsy grab at her, “No,” Milla pushed him away, “I want you to show me you’re self how much you think I’m hot.”

Ben kept staring at her face glued to his crotch, her open mouth, the lower lip wet with saliva, her heavy breathing. “Like this,” he began to stroke himself slowly. His stare falling down to her enormous breasts swaying with her every breath, lost in the deep valley of cleavage she was displaying. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes,” Milla whispered. The low ticking of her hammering hart could surly be heard in her throat through her gapping panting mouth. A trickle of saliva dropped on to one firm quivering breast. He made another clumsy grab for her, “No, don’t stop.” He went back to jerking his cock for her, it wasn’t as big as those others she had seen, but it had gotten a lot larger and more ‘purple?’ than it had been before. After a while he made another attempt to pull her towards him, this time a slow constant pull at her upper arm, his strength had been unbelievable, she couldn’t break his grip but her words had stopped him, “No.”

“But I’m going to cum,” he whined.

“That’s what I want. I want you to show me how hot you think I am. Do it for me, please.” He returned to beating his meat. The whole truck was rocking and her tits in turn were shaking, his eyes glued to them. She was surprised how hard he came, his face so red as if he were having a hart attack! She had cringed back in surprise and disgust as his sperm spurted out, not wanting it to get on her. It covered his upper chest in a thick oily stream and she blinked at him as his body convulsed. ‘Shit, what the fuck was that!’ She thought and couldn’t suppress her giggles. “I can’t believe you just did that, it’s so disgusting.” Milla laughed, and through post orgasm euphoria Ben looked at her with half lidded eyes and dippy grin. “Here,” Milla pulled a wad of bills from her skirt pocket and peeled off a fresh crisp twenty dollar bill and let it drop into Ben’s lap, right into his puddle of cum. “That’s for fixing my lock,” she opened her door and got out shooting him a backwards glance, “That’s so gross!” Shaking her head in disgust she left his door open and ran the few steps to the bus stop were a bus full of passengers had just pulled up, and quickly boarded it. Ben meekly looked after her, a slight frown hovering on his face. He noticed the people now getting off the buss were walking towards him and he hurriedly leaned forward covering himself up with his hands.

‘Cruel? Yeah, but if even the F.B.I. it’s self should ask Ben if anyone had been asking around about the Bayard locks and security systems, you could damn well bet Ben would be extremely reluctant to mention anything that had happened that afternoon. And besides,’ thought the French Maid as the key clicked open the green house glass door and she carefully stepped in, ‘ I’m the biggest sex fantasy that boy is ever going to have!’ The French Maid though unfamiliar with the male mind as of yet, was much closer to the truth than even she could possibly realize. Even as she closed the door behind her and moved quickly to the connecting door to the Bayard inner hall way, Ben was right then in his bed room lying in the dark entering the throes of his seventh jack off session centered on the whole encounter with that, ’big titted bitch! Man, she wanted me so bad! Take it, bitch! Yeah! Take it in the ass hard, you dirty cunt! Yeah! Titty! Fuck! Me! Hard! Oh yeah!’ Just as he was cumming his strongest deepest orgasm yet, his bed room door opened and his mother and younger sister stepped into the room flipping on the light, “Ben honey Claire and her friends just finished a batch of brownie - Ben!” Ben looked up, trying to open his orgasm squinting eyes, he was stark naked lying on the floor of his room, his hand gripping his spewing throbbing cock, just above which between geyser spurts he could make out the horrified face of his mother, the worried face of his little sister, and a hallway full of very puzzled and rubber necking girl scouts.

The French Maid opened the unlocked glass door leading into the hallway beyond. It was lit this time by a few chandeliers, but was empty of people and even better yet all the adjoining doors were closed. She moved away from the nearest window and crouched behind a small wall table, and took out the other item in the velvet pouch. This was a small palm sized computer pad that she had bought this morning. It was intended to be used as an office organizer, storing calendar, phone numbers, memos, graphs, charts, reports, and so on. The little memory card in it now only had three things on it: one was the entire blue prints of the Bayard mansion, the other was a small map she had found in her uncles trunks, the last was a file containing all the bit and pieces of information she had found out in her past few days of investigating. The little wonder came with its own scan wand which clipped to its side, and she had used it to scan in all the hard copies of stuff she had gathered at her home. She now called up the Bayard Blue prints and using the touch pad screen began to re-check her position to verify her memorizing of the prints was holding true.

Getting the copies of the original blue prints had also been another adventure for the French Maid, though again in her Milla role. To access blue prints of any ones house wasn’t hard and it was legal. Under federal tax laws all residences had to be kept on a public accessible display, now days that meant the internet. Clicking on the right web page brought up simple out lines of everyone’s house and property in the country. The tax page showed even the inside rooms divvied up and drawn to scale, but it didn’t show any of the detail the French Maid was after and it was easily traceable as to who was looking at what at when. No, she needed the original master blue prints which were kept in hard copy in Lake Cities Hall of Records, where Shelia’s father worked. Stopping and visiting Shelia’s father was innocent enough, the girls had done so countless times, and Milla’s fatherless state had made her own lone visits completely natural to all concerned. So she knew she could gain access to the area where the files were kept, and his recent promotion would mean he was in charge of that area in its entirety. So, she wouldn’t have to worry about any wandering supervisor getting in her way. Still how to get the plans, make photo copies of them, and manage to do so in such an invisible way as to prevent any possible future equerries finding her out?

The answer surprised Milla, it had been yet another teenager this time on the geek side, but it had been a girl named Win, actually Winnona, but she wanted every one to call her Win. As soon as she saw the girl Milla had just ‘known’ that she was a lesbian. Milla had arrived at the Hall of Records with no real plan, ‘hell, maybe it was a scouting mission,’ she mused. Shelia’s dad hadn’t been there, he had been sick all week. And that had left Milla stymied on what to do next. She had been certain that the three or four men working in the office would become suspicious if she tried to start flirting her way into the back blue print file room. It was then that Win had leapt to her rescue. She had walked forward with a portfolio file clutched to her chest and out stretched hand. She said hello and went into a long spiel about how Milla would probably not recognize her from high school or remember seeing her here at the office during her visits and so on. Win’s handshake had been moist and her whole manner nervous. Milla suddenly did remember flashes of the scrawny pale girl from school. Mostly she suddenly remembered how in gym class Win had always seemed to shower when she did and always right next to her. Every one had said she was a strange girl with few friends, but she had moved in a clique outside of her own and simply didn’t blip on her radar, until now.

Milla held Win’s hand and her eyes as long as she could. Win immediately blushed and tried to hide a smile behind her long fingers, and gave up on that only to begin playing with her long jet black hair. Milla let the girl chatter away like old friends, while Win lead them both back to her desk in the blue print room. Here Milla all smiles had set down on the edge of Win’s desk, her conservative long skirt magically revealing a long split seam on the side and all of Milla’s crossed legs up to her thigh. Win had flushed deeply and been unable to even pretend to be half working as she chattered on, her eyes darting compulsively to Milla’s long smooth legs, ‘Bingo! She’s into legs,’ Milla thought. It wasn’t entirely opportunistic, Milla was struggling hard not to let her own ‘juices’ get the better of her as they had with that Ben boy, that could have gone way out of hand! Milla would just flirt a ‘little’ until she could figure out some way to get the blue prints she needed copied. It would have been much easier to do this if Win hadn’t grown into something of a hottie on her own. Win had removed her glasses and taken off her blazer revealing an ample bosom of her own for such a small diminutive frame, and was showing Milla a photo of her kitten at home, ‘Mr. whiskers’, Milla was leaning in close her hair entangling with Win’s. “Hmmm, that’s nice you’re showing me your pussy,” Milla had purred.

Win had trouble breathing for a moment and then she dropped the framed photograph to her desk and had taken a step back, “I’m so into you. I think you’re so fucking hot.”

Milla was stunned. She stood there starring, her eyes swimming in Win’s huge brown flooding eyes. Win, though younger than Milla, was experienced and had several female lovers in her short life. While Milla stood dumbfounded her body swelling with desires, ‘I knew I shouldn’t have left the house without Jilling off first’, Win stepped forward and planted a deep kiss on Milla’s succulent mouth. That was all it took, Milla was a spinning compass after that. Finishing the deep kiss, Win had pulled Milla by the wrist, ‘or was it by those magnetic eyes?’ Milla hadn’t resisted at all, and Win had sat down in her office chair and raised her own short skirt and spread her legs. She pulled Milla until Milla was down on her knees before Win’s outstretched crotch.

“I’ve been dreaming of this for years,” Win moaned, as she slid her hand up Milla’s arm and firmly clasped the back of her neck. With the slightest pressure she guided Milla’s mouth down toward the ever spreading wet spot in the thin little white panties arching in pulses toward her. Just then Win’s phone had rung. It rang several times until one of the guys from the outer office yelled out to Win to, ‘stop gossiping with her friend and answer her damn phone, as it was the Governor on the line.’ Win had howled with frustration, Milla’s large pillow lips still inches from her crotch, and cursing on shaky knees she had managed to pick up the receiver on the third botched attempt. Win had to leave, but she begged Milla to wait for her, she wouldn’t be long, and she took her leave after rubbing Milla’s arm several times. She rushed out of the room cursing under her breath and lighting a shaky cigarette.

Milla had sat down obediently to wait for a second but then her senses cleared and she rushed about finding and copying the blue prints she needed. At the last, her pussy still pounding its frustrated need in her head, Milla had hoisted her own wet snatch up on the photo copier glass and taken a print of it smiling. She quickly trimmed out the right size piece of the color print and inserted it over the top of Win’s photograph of Mr. Whiskers. It was a full bottom view so her pubes where not visible in the picture. ‘Gosh, how close had she come to being on the verge of letting Win see her secret down there, the fleurs-de-lis! If Win had dropped to her knees instead of pulling Milla down, then it would have been all over as Milla never wore underwear anymore!’

The French Maid satisfied with her memory of the immediate layout, put the little palm pad away. She quickly moved down the hallway to the door she wanted and used her ring of keys to unlock it. She put the keys away back into the pouch were they wouldn’t make any noise and slipped through the open door. She entered the room and quickly found the door she was seeking. This in turn opened into a small crowed closet, moving boxes aside she began searching over the back wall of the closet. It began to take longer than she thought it would and she decided to close the closet door in case someone should happen by and see it open. Once closed the French Maid found the only light she has to work by came through the slatted closet door, it’s thin bars of light was just enough to make out the murky back wall. The small room was constricting and her on going failure to find what she was looking for caused beads of perspiration to gather on her forehead and arms. Just as doubts began to set in, she found it in the pitch dark shadows of the boxes, a small metal bolt at the floor, not a hidden switch at all! She drew back the bolt and shoved on the wall. The stealing of the house over the decades had pinched the secret panel in its recessed frame, and after making sure there were no more small bolts pinning it in place, she gave it several good shoves. The small door creaked open on stiff hinges. The French Maid stepped into the pitch dark of a wrot iron spiral stair case, pulling first some boxes back into place and then the closet door it’s self closed. She stepped off the tinny landing and began to slowly descend the surprisingly solid feeling steps.

It had taken the combination of both the original blue prints and the several scraps of drawings and notes from her uncle’s chests, to figure out where exactly these secret pass ways had been located. Wither her uncle had made the drawings him self or collected them from the scattered family archives over the years she was uncertain, but they were proving truthful enough so far and she desperately hoped they would continue to do so at least for a while longer. The French Maid stopped her downward trek as her gloved hand spilled out into the void of the next small landing. This would be the basement of the house proper, the drawings had shown the spiral stairs continuing down into a sub basement and a suggestion of something beyond, but this was as far as she was interested in for now. She moved forward with out stretched hands until she abruptly found the next concealed door. The small bolt this time was on the right side, and as she slid it aside she realized she had not slide the bolt home in the door up above her; the bolts being worked from either side of the door, and thus had left the door unlocked and easily opened with just a stern shove.

‘No time to go back and fix that now. Just have to trust to luck, speaking of which I hope there’s noting blocking this door on the other side.’ The door swung open with a hesitant ‘bang’ which nearly stopped the French Maids hart. Stepping through the door she saw a large sheet of plywood and a jumble of several two by fours lying in the tiled hallway. They had been leaning against the hidden doorway and had fallen away as it had been pulled in wards, the center of gravity and motion causing them to slide on the tiles. ‘Yep, luck holding up as well as always,’ groaned the French Maid. She quietly stepped through the door and pulled it shut behind her, the tiled door surface blending seamlessly with the tiled wall around it. The handle was a false copper water pipe and the bolt was a cleverly fashioned support strip of metal for this same pipe. She was careful to make sure and lock the door behind her this time. The noise would surely bring anyone near by to investigate it’s cause, and the French Maid scrambled to try and leverage the sheet of plywood back into position against the wall, but it proved in combination of being a little too heavy and awkward for her to manage and she left it in fear of being discovered grunting over it.

Moving in a half hunched rush down the tiled hallway, she came to the first major intersection of corridors and breathed a deep sigh of relief to find no one rushing toward her with guns blazing. She quickly slid into a small dark side room and rechecked her little palm maps, ‘to the right…I think?’ The French Maid ventured out of the small room and hurried to her right. Milla had never had a head for directions and she was already becoming confused and muddled despite her long mental practice of her proposed route, and the little technological wonder at her command. Still she managed to find the large round circular room she had been looking for after only three misdirected attempts, ‘not bad at all really. It had once taken her over an hour to find Shelia’s car in a Big City mall parking lot.’ The room had long been abandoned from any practical use, as its sunken floor was covered in several inches of murky water and large piles of dirt from buckled tiled walls spilled into moldering mounds here and there. The only light seeped in from the hallway behind and it fell about dripping in the suspended cobwebs above.

It was a nasty little place and the French Maid was ecstatic to have found it. She found the third support pillar against the far wall and fell to searching for the hidden switch. She found it, a third of the way up the column, several feet above her out stretched hand. It took some desperate shimming but she finally managed to reach and pull the stubborn switch. There was a loud grating tin sounding ‘pop’ and she quickly dropped back down to the sodden floor and began shoving and tugging at the pillars sectioned base. A large piece of the decorative molding folded inward and down, revealing a small niche containing a metal box. The French Maid grabbed the box and tried to yank it out of the secret cubby hole, but it was secured in place by a formable looking chain and lock. Exasperated she took a moment to catch her breath. The chains appeared unbreakable and the lock appeared… odd? She leaned in closer and puzzled over it.

Milla’s great grandfather had been an obsessive collector of ancient artifacts, in addition to the Bayard traditional obsessions of sex and money; it seemed every Bayard had their own unique fetish to add to the inherited stable of others. His brother in turn had gambling as his outstanding vice and her great grand father found that too costly in face of his own renowned purchases and many archeological funded expeditions; the brother promptly vanished one night after another usual bout of losses. This was also another Bayard family trait, the vanishing of family members and the numerous rumors that follow such occurrences. Her grandfather had built many hidden galleries in which to hide and admire his collections that for legal reasons couldn’t be put on display in the more public orientated rooms of Bayard mansion. His son, Jean-Luc, had inherited apparently both his father’s impulse to squirrel away items in hidden places and to do way with unwanted pesky fellow siblings. The small box before her was one of Jean-Luc’s, as her grand fathers secret rooms had been shown to so many of his peers during his proud life time, that with the Bayard financial collapse under Jean-Luc, the authorities had easily accessed and found these chambers and confiscated their illegal contents. Jean-Luc hadn’t cared about art works or broken bits of statuary, what he hid in his little bolt holes had been more practical items of use in case he fell into dire need. His sudden arrest had left most of these undiscovered and untouched.

The French Maid opened up her palm computer again and began to shuffle between the screens of scanned in pages. The lock had been custom made for Jean-Luc and consisted of a large flat box with radial dials set in it. However instead of numbers these dials spun letters into the counter set viewing niches, it was a ‘word’ lock, and she would need the right word to unlock it. Jean-Luc had apparently used ‘word’ locks on all his secret stashes as the little margins of each map page had dozens of small words scrawled there. In typical Bayard fashion, all the words and little phrases were obscene or somehow sexual in nature. She began to enter some of the words into the lock, spinning the dials and setting the word or phrase, and then giving the large lock several firm tugs. Nothing, she stopped and frowned, it would take hours to enter all of these possible word keys into the lock, and while it was unlikely anyone was going to stumble upon her here in this deserted and obviously seldom used section of the house, ever hour spent inside the grounds was dangerous indeed. She wanted to be gone before daylight, and preferably before the Achoo family went to bed and turned on its security alarm systems.

‘There had to be a better way, then just systematically entering in the word keys one after another?’ The French Maid looked around her distractedly as she pondered the situation. The chain was fastened on one end to a large hoop of steel set deeply into the stone and mortise of the column base, ‘there’s no moving that.’ The other end of the short chain was paddle locked to the ring and hasp of the metal box it’s self, thus both imprisoning the box to its niche and securing the box shut at the same time. The French Maid’s eyes fell on the top of the columns about the room and frowned; each column ended in a Greek Doric flourish at the top, but each column had been made more phallic in their design than would have been more normally acceptable and each pair of Doric embellishments had been rounded and pumped up in size and scale. It was the sort of thing that one wouldn’t notice at a glance but became increasingly strange as one studied them. The French Maid’s eyes suddenly widened and she hurriedly scanned through the list of words on each pages margin; she had seen something before, sure enough there it was, she care fully entered in the letters, “Titty Fuck.” With a yank the lock snapped open. The French Maid giggled and beamed as she quickly opened the box.

Jean-Luc had lived through several economic dips and crashes in various markets and ventures and he harbored a dread of being caught short in liquid able funds in a world of sudden inflation, despite the Bayard’s vast holdings and wealth. He also felt his own dealings might require a sudden need to flee the legal prosecution of major global powers some day if the shift in political power might lean away from him, and there was also a need to keep some wealth off the books and to have ready cash at hand in the odd moment where a ‘push’ was needed to tender a deal with out possible outside notice. This said Jean-Luc had set a side a few stashes of funds, ‘just in case.’ Jean-Luc was of course smart enough to realize that paper currency was utterly worthless in a world of such international dealings and had planned accordingly.

Inside the box, the French Maid found a leather pouch containing a small box of velvet wraps in which dozens of diamonds were sandwiched. There was also several documents, papers, and passports, she shoved it all back into the pouch and slid its drawstring strap around her wrist. She replaced everything back as best she could to conceal that anyone had been mucking about in the room and excitedly left. Milla’s financial situation were shaky at best, in fact she would soon be in desperate poverty when her school loans and property taxes and electric and heating bills and so forth came due. She was literally living on barrowed time thanks to her uncle’s life insurance policy, but that was rapidly dwindling away. The diamonds would let her keep the house and pay off her loans. The nature of the Lake City area was such that it wouldn’t be hard to sell the diamonds in a discreet fashion, but she would only get a fraction of their value that way. Still it should be enough, and her grandfather had several other such stashes hidden about the house and grounds, at least according to the maps.

All in all, things had gone remarkably well and the French Maid walked rapidly back to the secret door and its spiral stair case beyond, trying with out much success not to nibble on her gloved finger nails. She was debating if she should leave or attempt to go ahead with plan ‘B’? The recovery of some loot had only been the first part of her initial plan for the night. She had also wanted to try and find the master study up stairs and look for information that both her uncle’s papers and that man who she had seen tied to the pillar weeks ago had mentioned. She was nervously debating this when she rounded the corner and saw a man picking up the sheet of plywood and leaning it back against the hallway wall. He had his back to her and hadn’t noticed her, stifling a sudden intake of shrill breath, the French Maid whipped back around the corner, the leather bag striking the tiled wall with a loud smack! She knew he had heard the sound and she quickly tip toed down the corridor as fast as she could less her heeled boots give her away further. She ignored the open and closed door ways and made for the far intersection of hallways, she had just made it around the corner and paused to look at the floor behind her, when she saw the man’s long multiple shadows cast down the hallway she had just vacated. He hadn’t seen her and she watched his shadow stop and enter the first room he came to, apparently searching it. She had counted on this and breathed a sigh of relief, which stuck in her throat. With his shadow gone from the hallway, the florescent lights revealed small wet muddy boot prints on the floor leading to her. They were faint and hard to see but it was possible the man might notice them upon exiting the room. The French Maid quickly rubbed the leather pouch on her boot soles and rapidly continued down the hall way, double checking to make sure she was no longer leaving any trail.

The next secret door was in another wing of the house and she would need to access it from the second floor; since the second floor was also where the master study was located, it seemed fate had nudged her on to plan ‘B’. The French Maid found the stair case she needed and ascended it in a mixed dread of fearing the man closing behind her and some other appearing before her; neither proved to be the case and she entered the main floor hallway in an unfamiliar section of the house and crossed the hallway to where a second stair case brought her to the second floor. She needed a nice secluded place to check her palm computer and it’s maps, and her darting eyes and feet found a nice simple quiet inviting looking door soon enough. It opened into a nice elaborate bath room, with tile and tub and even live plants and sculptures; it seemed a little too open despite the extravagance of decorations and she moved to the a joining door which cautiously lead to a large bed room eclipsed in darkness. As she peered into the room from the bath room, another door leading into the bed room opened and some one began to enter. The French Maid quickly hushed her door shut and tip toed to the bath room’s hallway door, before she opened it she heard muffled voices outside in the hallway drawing closer. She moved away from the door and fearing the owner of the voices might enter her room she nervously looked around her for a place to hide. There was a several large closet doors embedded against one wall, and she opened these. One was full of shelves of towels and wash cloths, ‘she could not squeeze in there’; another was bath oils and hair dryers and so forth, ‘no hiding in there either.’ The last was a proper closet with bath robes and dirty clothes hamper, but no laundry shoot door in the wall as she had hoped for, still it was large enough to wiggle into and she promptly did this just as the door to the bed room opened and the bath room light snapped on.

Miss Choo entered the bath room and set about readying the bath tub for her obvious use; getting out towels, wash cloth, bath oils, turning on the bath tub’s water, even getting out several candles. She then frowned and crossed to the hallway door; opening it she called out and a man soon appeared talking intermittently into a small cell phone and began to talk to him in an authoritive air. Despite the conversation being muffled by the slats in the closet door, the French Maid had no doubt that on the other end of the man’s cell phone was the man she had left down stairs only moments ago. After some sharp retorts to the man, he nodded vigorously and turned his back to the doorway and crossed his arms, where upon Miss Choo closed the door and locked it. It was apparent that the man had been set to guard her bath room hall door. Miss Choo started to continue with her bath preparations when she paused and called out; from the bed room a small young woman appeared, surprising the French Maid for she had not known that any one else had been in the bed room, and she began to help Miss Choo remove her clothes.

Miss Choo was a woman well into her thirties but constant vanity and wealth had assured her a taught trim body despite her imposing stature. The French Maid found her body beginning to tingle as she eagerly watched the woman being undressed before her hungry eyes. The young girl dressed in a rather skimpy maid out fit of her own helped Miss Choo into the hot steaming waters of the bath and set about lighting the candles. This achieved she lit some strange smelling innocence sticks and turned off the lights. The French Maid craned her neck trying to see more of Miss Choos’s beautiful tan tall body, but it was hidden now under the foaming bath oil water. The young girl returned to the bath tub and set down a tray she had been preparing, pausing to turn the water faucet off, she then began to spread thick goo on Miss Choo’s face, next she placed what looked to be cucumber slices on her eyes, and then laid a damp cloth over the upper part of Miss Choo’s face. This done the maid proceeded to take a large sponge and pouring lotions on it began to rub it firmly on Miss Choo’s body. It wasn’t long before Miss Choo was moaning under the girls smiling attentions. The girl moved her efforts form the large islands of breasts floating before her and moved down under the surface of the water it’s self. Miss Choo’s knees rose up with a sudden deep moan and she tilted her head towards the girl, who responded with a deep kiss. The girl then pulled back and grabbing her shoulder straps easily shrugged out of her top letting it drop to her waist with the look of a long accustomed practice. The girl was a thin small blonde in curls and despite her innocent large blue gray eyes, the smirk, the flush on her face, and the small hard erect nipples on her tinny pointed breasts gave away her lustful egger state. She returned to her massaging of Miss Choo below the foaming waters of the bath, the large abandoned sponge bobbing in the rhythmically slapping waters at the tub edge. The girl was deep in another kiss when loud knocking from the bed room door made her startle and stand up, replacing her uniforms top with a comical frown. She went to the door and opened it, after some buzzing exchange of voices; the door closed again leaving the bed room and bath room in silence.

After waiting what seemed an eternity, the French Maid crept out from her hiding place in the bath room closet. Miss Choo seemed to have drifted off into a light sleep, her full lips slightly open as her head leaned back on a rolled up towel at the tub edge. The French Maid cautiously looked into the dark bed room it was deserted, apparently the other young maid had been called away. ‘Perhaps it was time for Mr. Choo’s bath?’ If memory of her maps served her, the bed room door should lead out into another hallway; across from it would be another master bed room and bath, probably belonging to Mr. Choo. Past that and a few more doors down would be the master study, she was very close, she would have liked to check her palm computer to be sure, but didn’t trust the silence of the rooms in face of the small clicking sound that snapping open and close the protective plastic lid cover made.

The French Maid stood in the doorway of the bath and bed room wandering if there was a guard posted out side the bed room hallway door as there certainly was posted just a loud cry away on the other side of the bath room hallway door? Her head was having trouble staying focused, the odd smelling sticks of innocence seemed to be clouding her mind and her body still tingled after the brief display she had witnessed between Miss Choo and her maid. The French Maid re-entered the bath room and looked down at Miss Choo in the flickering candle light, lying serenely in the warm bath suds. ‘Her tits are bigger than mine!’ The realization both angered and titillated the French Maid. As she stood there a slow fire spreading up from her loins to the rest of her aching body, the French Maid struggled with the odd sensation that she knew this woman, that she was very familiar to her. This was despite the fact that she knew that she had never met or even saw Miss Choo before. Then it struck her with all the force of a physical blow, ‘Miss January!’ The French Maid was certain of it, Miss Choo was also Miss January, from one of her many men’s magazines. She was certain of it, ‘she must have been in her teens when she had posed for it, but there could be no doubt!’ The French Maid carefully crouched down along side the tub rimmed in flickering candles, ‘how many times I’ve climaxed over those luscious tits of yours,’ she thought and startled again with the sudden realization that Miss Choo as Miss January was one of the select few she had chosen to mount on her little canning room play house wall.

Before she knew what she was doing the French Maid had removed her gloves and was massaging those massive tits in front of her, ‘how dare you have breasts bigger than mine, you wonderful bitch!’ The lusts bursting with in her were surging and over whelming her desperate all her constraints of control, if I cum I’ll need to cum again even more, and again, and again, each time with greater and more desperate needs to achieve orgasm. I can’t let myself cum!’ Under her pulling hands Miss Choo moaned. It was too much for the French Maid and one of her quick hands shot under the cloud banked water and found Miss Januaries bath oiled slit and curled around it. The French Maid had never touched another woman’s naked pussy before; she had always fingered Wendy through her wet panties not daring to push the moist and stretched thin fabric aside, despite her screaming minds instructions to do just that. Touching a strange clitoris and labia not her own, now sent her into a twitching spastic gasping shuddering state as she flashed to the brink of orgasm and spun helplessly around it’s edges not quiet achieving that last mounting step to a climax it’s self. In such a state of hot mind gripping torturous bliss, the French Maid was torn back out of her own swallowing pulsating rushes by the loud moans of Miss Choo and water sloshing out of the tub drenching her knees. Miss Choo was well on her way to one of the largest and best orgasms of her life and she was begging for a kiss. The French Maid obliged, their lips and tongues mingling in wet rasping pants; unlike the young girl or Miss Choo her self, the French Maid had considerable experience in masturbating, and she now brought that considerable expertise’s to the forefront of both her rapidly shuddering hands and egger mouth. Miss Choo was slightly frightened at the power of the orgasm threatening to engulf her and whispered a weak moan of needy reassurance, the French Maid responded with a gentle soft kiss that was just perfect then sent Miss Choo over the edge with a sinking finger unerringly wiggling to her ‘g’ spot.

The French Maid kept Miss Choo impaled upon a roller coaster of climaxes until the former centerfold’s body collapsed exhausted in a heap in the now almost empty bath tub, she clung almost imploringly with both clenched hands to the French Maids arm, her lower face and body convulsing in post orgasm spasms. The French Maid gently removed her hands from Miss Choo’s now too sensitive groin and breasts, she gave Miss Choo the long lingering kiss she needed and helped her lie back into the tub, where she panted to catch her breath, “Remind me to give you a much deserved raise my darling,” Miss Choo sighed, as she struggled to regain some distancing composure and hide the intensity of what had just left her both so puzzled and drained. The French Maid stood up despite her own unanswered needs playing havoc with her equilibrium, and eventually managed to remove her gloves from the apron sash where she had folded and wedged them into place. The floor of the room was covered in oily bath water and suds sloshed out during the intensity of both women’s crashing libidos, and the French Maid slipped and slide toward the bed room door only to catch her self in her dazed state and turn to remove and place with lust shaking fingers, one of her small cards upon Miss Choo’s vegetable beauty mask covered forehead, the towel had fallen away but the cucumber slices on Miss Choo’s eyes remained glued in place by the cream face mask. Gingerly stepping over a few gutted candles the French Maid headed to the bed room and hallway door upon wobbly legs. As she opened the door to a well lit but wonderfully empty hallway she exited the bed room and closed behind her the door cutting off the well satisfied snore coming from the bath room beyond.

The French Maid gritted her teeth against her bodies screaming desire and thrust her self quickly down the hall upon clicking heels. She wondered vaguely which was more soaked her knees and boots or her throbbing pussy? She dazedly clutched the leather pouch which had been shoved up and snared on her upper arm during the tryst, happy it had not been left behind in the bath room with the sexually sated sleeping woman. ‘How dare that bitch have bigger jugs than me!’ the French Maid fumed her sexual frustration seething for a second into vent able rage. She reached what she took to be the master study and tried the door, it was locked. Before she could fish out her ring of keys, she heard the tap of high heels approaching, she quickly slipped behind a large potted plant next to the door and watched the young maid and a large man approach Miss Choo’s door. They paused in front of it and whispered, the man bent down to kiss her but pulled back and the young girl laughed as she whipped what was obviously sperm from the corner of her mouth and sucked it deeply off her finger, then smilingly shot a quick peck of a kiss to the man’s cheek and turned to enter Miss Choo’s bed room. The man swatted her ass hard as she entered the room and she leapt in start of this, her voice breaking slightly as she called out to Miss Choo. The man closed the door and turned to lean against the door jam, effectively guarding both Miss Choo’s room and Mr. Choo’s bed room across the hallway from it. The French Maid removed her key ring and in her squatting position tried various keys until the door popped open with an audible ‘click’. With frantic eyes the French Maid shot a glance to the man leaning in Miss Choo’s door sill, but his head was leaning forward and he made no sign of hearing anything. ‘Men are so stupid,’ she thought, and crawled into the door, shutting it with her heel behind her.

The drapes in the large study were pulled to one side and a thin winter sky weakly lit the room; the French Maid crawled over to the large windows and peered out side. Down below a lone man walked with a dog on a leash, through random patches of snow and dead grass. The French Maid untied the drapes and with some effort pulled the drapes close. In the pitch dark she stumbled into the desk and turned on its small lamp. She paused, suddenly realizing that now she was here she hadn’t a clue what to do next? There wasn’t a large file cabinet in the corner or computer monitor and key board on the desk as she had half expected, just walls of books and folder binders. She attentively wandered about the room scanning the shelves in the semi-dark unable to read anything. The two men she had rescued during her last visit had apparently been intent upon reaching the master study certain of finding the information they were seeking, or so the tied up man who had stared at her so intensely had said, ‘god he had wanted to fuck me so bad!’ The French Maid caught her wandering hand and stopped it at her skirt hem, ‘must keep clear headed.’ The offending hand meekly retreated, then slipped up surreptitious to her nipple pertly winking over her lacy top and began to rub it between her laced finger and thumb, ‘they had seemed very keen on getting up here, but why?’ She struggled against the racing heating sensation coursing through her body and shook her head against the multiple visions of Miss January violently humping her hand in the bath tub, ‘bitch got her juicy pussy fucked hard.’ The French Maid gasped and staggered forward, her breasts and kneading hand smacking against the book case along one wall. She slide down to her knees, her other hand furiously working on her clit. “Owe!” the French Maid sent both hands up to rub her chest, several large binders had been knocked loose from the shelf by her spastic grinding gyrations and the falling tombs had smacked her directly on her sensitive breasts! She glared down and about her at the interrupting folders lying in a mess on the floor and began to pick them up and put them back on the shelves, ‘luckily they landed on my tits,’ she sarcastically hissed. Amidst confusing waves of thought and sensation, the French Maid noticed the words bluntly leaping out of one of the binders open page at her. She was stunned and moved over to the desk lamp to get a better look and make sure it was what she thought it was, but there it remained in bold typed print staring excitedly up at her. She slowly pulled out the leather desk chair as she continued reading and sat down on it, the cold leather shooting delicious stabs up her wet naked pussy and causing her nipples to leap upwards in gasping joy. Her smiling eyes looked over the page again, there was no doubt, the binder had the words she had been mulling over for days scattered about on several pages. She traced them with one damp gloved finger, ‘the jade mask.’

CHAPTER FOUR

The jade mask was many things to many people. To the men whom the French Made had rescued from possible death the last time she had been in the Bayard house, it was a large jade mask that Milla’s great grand father had unearthed in a privately financed dig in the Great Islands, and it’s subsequent disappearance from those islands led many to believe that the old man had ‘acquired’ another piece for his personal collection. The men were certain that the old man had whisked the jade mask back to his lake house and hidden it away there. This was quiet likely as Milla’s great grand father had done such things on several previous occasions and it didn’t seem unlikely to any one that he had done the same thing again. The men were the last living descendants of the gardening’s of the sacred temple which the old man had discovered and plundered. Most of the relics had eventually been returned to the Great Islands after Jean-Luc’s arrest made it possible to search the house and confiscate everything found there; his countless felonies and frauds giving the authorities enormous scope to devour with greed the moveable properties and holdings of the Bayard family. Only the combined power of the other wealthy families had been able to stop the government short of laying any claims upon the immediate house or lands, those would remain in the comities power and it would only reluctantly submit to its own greed eventfully to sell the remaining estate over to the powerful Choo family. The two men, brothers, had worked hard to get the return of the stolen relics out of Big City museum and back to the Great Islands, but the sacred mask its self remained missing. The men decided it must still remain in the Bayard family mansion, now the Choo family mansion; common sense would dictate continued use of the of the proper channels of government agencies that had ultimately led to the return of the other artifacts, but here the brothers had a serious problem, for the jade mask was cursed. And not just some normal every day common tomb burial curse but a really nasty one that made the brothers shudder to even think upon it. The last thing the last of the sworn temple guardians wanted to see happen was the jade mask to end up in any public place anywhere. It had to be returned to the original temple and ceremoniously hid there or else destroyed. Unfortunately no one except the two brothers believed in the curse and so they quickly decided to sneak into the Choo house and locate and remove the jade mask themselves. This hadn’t gone very well, and they had barely escaped with their lives.

That is what the jade mask had been to the two men; but to Milla’s uncle Malcolm, he knew the jade mask as something else entirely. The Bayard family had made considerable money off the tail end of the slave trade as it lingered through out the world both officially and unofficially. When it did finally peter out, the Bayard’s had expanded into other financial endeavourers and publicly bowed out of the dying evil trade. However it proved difficult to abandon such a well set up and complex net work in face of new promising profits. With the infrastructure already in place, the Bayard’s found there was new money to be had from turning away from the sale of bulk slave laborers to the select sale of individual sex slaves. In fact the Bayard’s soon had the lucrative market toughly cornered. The few in the know began to refer to this new enterprise as simply the ‘mask’. A reference to both the clandestine nature of the men and mechanics of the secretive trade and a half joking reference to the numerous masked balls the Bayard’s would throw in the winter season, the time in which prospective wealthy clients were invited to attend and unsuspecting girls were unknowingly being shopped to them. In Milla’s great grandfather’s reign, he had shifted much of the prospected clients from the sudden war torn harem countries to the more peaceful and reliably stable economies of the Far East. This meant merging with already existing sex slavers in the area, and it was at this moment of merging that the old man had simultaneously discovered the temple and its ancient jade mask. The two events were combined in the act of the old man renaming the ‘mask’ as the new, ‘jade mask’. Jean-Luc had inherited this after the old mans sudden passing, and had allowed the jade mask origination to continue primarily because it furnished him with an almost unlimited supply of young willing women to fill his house hold with, but he didn’t see any real future profit in the group and left it to be run by it’s Asiatic counter parts. Malcolm believed this was no one less than the Choo family which arrived quickly after Jean-Luc’s arrest and death and bought up the estate and moved in. He had no doubt, as well as no proof that, the mild quiet Arnold Choo was now the sole leader of the continued activities of the jade mask. This had some relevance to Malcolm in that he believed the Asiatic branch of the jade mask was primarily responsible for setting the wheels in motion for the governments take down of the Bayard family and of supplying the government with both the means and motive to accomplish this; as well as the likely murder of Jean-Luc in prison, staged as an unlikely suicide. Malcolm may have despised everything about the Bayard family, but it was still his only family and he didn’t like the idea of an equally nasty family like the Choo’s sweeping in and setting up in the old Bayard shop. At the time of his death Malcolm had only his suspicions, his scraps of paper, and nothing else.

The French Maid wasn’t sure what the jade mask meant to her, if it meant anything at all, but she did feel she owed Malcolm something after his kind, if some what removed, treatment of her, and she felt some sadness as to the tragic incompleteness of his life’s efforts on the subject. Then there was the lingering curiosity aroused by meeting and helping those two men, that the Choo’s had captured during their bungled attempt to find the jade mask in the Bayard mansion. ‘Men were so stupid,’ the French Maid sighed. But her only real interest in the jade mask was the single mention in one of Malcolm’s scraps that the jade mask may have helped Milla’s parents to escape from Jean-Luc’s wraith, this was entirely possible ‘if’ they had been the one’s behind using Milla’s mother to set up Jean-Luc in the first place. She was looking for just that sort of confirming information, that the jade mask was working with the authorities and had helped her mother and father to escape. If this were the case, maybe the two of them were still alive some where still in hiding for some reason. It was enough to make digging around in some dusty folders worth while, but not enough to get her chewed up by vicious dogs over. She had to admit her feelings concerning the Bayard family were mixed and erratic at best.

The folder before her quickly proved worthless, it was nothing more than a typed manuscript of the original discovery of the jade mask in the Great Islands temple, and nothing else. It seemed to have been culled from newspaper clippings and seemed to be the rich man’s equivalent of a scrap book. The messy clippings being replaced by some hired typist copping everything down for the binder. She returned the documents to their shelf with some disgust. Exactly why the men had thought the location of the jade mask could be further gleamed from the master study was a mystery to her, if the tied up man had actually explained this to her then she hadn’t quiet caught it as she her self had been a bit preoccupied at the time with a desperate need to cum, pretty much as she was now. She sighed deeply and thought it was time to leave the master study.

‘Perhaps,’ the French Maid thought as she turned out the desk lamp, plunging the room into darkness, ‘there were other reasons as well?’ She couldn’t help but notice how the discovery of the French Maid persona in the Bayard mansion had freed her to a discovery of a truer nature of her self. ‘What was she going to do with the French Maid if not use her to solve this whole jade mask question? The French Maid had already done much to solve her money woes,’ she shook the leather bag dangling off her upper arm. ‘What else could the French Maid do?’ She pondered this as she allowed her eyes to become adjusted to the darkness of the room. ‘Like the costume, the French Maid was still a work in progress,’ she smiled. ‘I’m not there yet,’ she thought, ‘there’s still pieces missing. Maybe in searching for the jade mask, those missing pieces will themselves be discovered? Shit, I’m so fucking horny!’ She stopped chewing on her gloved covered finger nail and found the door knob. This wasn’t the door leading out to the hallway with the guard in it, she found no reason to risk another chance at him seeing her, though part of her thrilled at imagined fantasies of him forcing her to do what ever he had made that peep squeak little blonde bimbo maid do to him. ‘I would be so much better than that little titless slut!’

This door entered into another room of whose purpose she couldn’t fathom from the weird assortment of contradictive furnishings. She paused to check her palm computer maps. ‘Maybe she should have scanned in those binders pages? No, it would have taken all night and she doubted it would have been of any real use.’ The little screen told her that the nearest secret door lay beyond the next door in front of her, across a hallway, into another room, and behind a wall carving at the back of that room. It was only then in the dim light of her palm computers LED. Screen, that the French Maid noticed a small secret marked door on her map back in the master study. It was not connected to any passage way, nor was it marked as a secret niche as all of Jean-Luc’s stashes had been. But there it was on one of the scraps of scanned in paper the little computer bringing it up in conjunction with the master study room. Perplexed the French Maid retraced her steps and re-entered the master study. It took a while to figure out where the little secret opening was suppose to be, what with her hand seemingly pressing the computer and it’s small blue screen into the magnificent cleavage she possessed. She did find it though; it wasn’t one of Jean-Luc’s she could tell by the rather simple design of the hidden switch that still showed some elegance and cleverness in its construction. The small switch clicked open a small panel behind which was a single key hanging on a hook and under it a large circuit switch. The French Maid eyed them both suspiciously, then pocketed the key and gave the switch a push. It was stiff and very hard to pry up, but once it rose past half way it snapped back down into place on to the other open copper circuit points with a loud crack and a small shower of sparks. ‘Did she imagine a low hum?’ The French Maid quickly shut the small hidden panel door on the switch and ran to the door leading into the next room. The noise the throwing of the switch had caused was surly too loud to pass unnoticed by the guard standing outside in the hall way. She quickly passed into the next room and closed the door behind her. She was half way across the dark room when the over head light in the Master study snapped on flashing a knife edge streak under the door sill behind her. She reached the door to the hallway and threw it open with out hesitation, ‘if anyone had been standing out in that hallway they would have already raced into the room.’ she frantically reassured her self. The hallway was empty and brightly lit compared to the rooms she had been so long in, she squinted against the light. She had just managed to shut the door behind her when she heard the door leading from the master study into the room she had just vacated, swing aggressively open. ‘No time to waste, he’s right behind me.’ She shot across the hall way and grabbed the door knob in her small delicate white lace gloved hand, it swung open easily and she closed it instantly behind her, even as she heard the door across from it lurch open.

The French Maid stood with her back pressed up against the door. Compared to the hallway the room was initially pitch dark, but it was far from silent. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light of a low ember fire, she began to make out what her other enflamed senses had already told her. There where four people in the room beside her self and she quickly stepped away from the door in case any of them had noticed her entrance. As she did so the door opened and the large man from in front of Miss Choo’s door way stuck his head in peering about. The light from the hallway spilled over the four figures and the man quickly mumbled apologies and yanked his head back the door following shut with equal speed. The four figures hadn’t noticed his prescience and the French Maid was relieved that it was there fore equally likely that they had not noticed her less overt slipping into the room. With the door closed again, the French Maid impatiently waited for her eyes to adjust to the red embers weak glow and impatiently crept foreword in order to see as much as possible when they would finally do so.

What her eyes slowly revealed to her were four withering figures on a pile of pillows in front of the small fire place. Three young girls in the tattered remains of maid uniforms and one young man, who wore no clothing at all; all four where wearing blindfolds and loudly moaning in various states of sexual ecstasy; two of the girls had their hands tied behind their backs and the young man him self was completely tied spread eagle to various legs of furniture in the room and the dog grate of the fire place. The young girls were reverently grinding and sucking at every square inch of flesh that fell before their drooling mouths, their naked feet kicking at empty wine bottles and crusted wine glasses. From the smell and flushed features the French Maid could tell the girls had cum several times already and at least two seemed to be racing each other to another series of climaxes. The young man hadn’t cum yet, but from his engorged member and the seizure like bucking of his hips into the pile of female flesh pulsating there; it was only a matter of moments before he would. The French Maid knew who the young man was because of what the large man had quickly mumbled in apology upon seeing him there; it was Mr. And Mrs. Choo’s only son.

The secret door was on the other side of that pile of quivering red flesh and the French Maid set off on whimpering legs to reach it. She tried hard not to let the aroma of sweet juicy pussy pull her eyes from their fixed location of the far wall. She just walked straight ahead not giving in to the thundering urge to, ‘lick that red heads downy ass cleft, that perfect round apple ass thrust up in the air at her, with such impunity, how dare she?. She needs such wanton brazen behavior punished.’ The little red headed girl was one of the two girls with her arms tied behind her back. The French Maid saw several more pieces of the same soft black cloth lying on the floor like little pools of mid night. She picked up one and placed it over the little red heads gapping mouth, gagging her. Tying it secure the French Maid lifted and pulled the red headed girl from the sweating pile of flesh, no on seemed to notice and the little red head eagerly tried to assist the French Maid in both her gagging and separation from the pile, but her limbs were obviously weakened by previous orgasms and she could only peddle her limbs weakly.

Once the French Maid had the girl safely pealed off to the side she began to rub and kiss the freckled glowing pale skin of the young red head. Face, neck, nipples, tits, soft belly, musty auburn pubic hair, every thing only caused both their need and hunger to swell and increase. The terrible lust boiled over in the French Maid as her watering mouth finally tasted for the first time a woman’s soft sour sweet slit. It exploded in her mind and she ravenously devoured the young girl’s pussy. She couldn’t get enough of the hot lips into her mouth, or nibble on enough of the moist tender clit, or lap up her fill of the tart juices that fragrantly milked out at her tongues ceaseless probing. She was lost in the young girl’s endless secret garden. How long it took the French Maid to swim back into a conscious rational state is impossible to say, but the poor girl shuddering before her had obviously never been subjected to such an intense tongue fucking in her short but sexually explicit life. The French Maid looked up at the sweat covered girl who seemed caught in a perpetual orgasm, and saw how she had almost chewed her gag in two in the spastic throws of climaxing. The French Maid took pity on her beautiful lover and removed the gag and kissed her deeply. The red head responded by rising up her quivering hips and licking her swollen thick pussy lips against the French Maids own throbbing clit. An electric spark shot through both women and with an animalistic growl they began to mash their pusses together in frenetic thrusts. The slapping of their wet meaty lips and grunting moans added to each girl’s needy response. ‘If I cum.’ the French Maid heard a distant feeble thought, ‘I won’t be able to stop and they will find me here humping the shit out my beautiful hot red head!’ With supreme will, and eyes rolled squarely back into her head, the French Maid stiff armed her self up off the pumping girl and with stiff jointed legs forced her self on to her feet. She wobbled there, her pelvis still thrusting into the air, her teeth gritting, her breath snorting in whines through her fluttering nostrils, with clenched fists , the French Maid pulled her self back from the brink of orgasm. Down at her feet the little red head whined almost in tears at being so close to a brink of climax of intensity she had never known before. If she continued such remorseful wails the others in the room might take notice and remove their blindfolds in curiosity, so plaintive was the mournful dirge. The French Maid couldn’t force her knees to bend yet, to reach down to the girl, and finally in desperation to the plea, moved the toe of her pointed boot to the seeking blindly thrusting pussy. Like a baby finding a nipple, the pussy swallowed up the toe of her boot, the girl gasped spasmodic, and came harder than she had thought possible. The French Maid had never seen a girl cum so hard that she squirted, but she watched now in jealous awe as the little red headed girl did just that; pulsating a hot stream out of her throbbing pussy that sprayed up her boot and drenched her ankle in thick splattering juices. The girl humped her boot for several seconds then fell into a post climax daze. The French Maid carefully removed her booted foot and set it beside the girls panting lips and chin; the girl nuzzled against it then cooing began to suck and lick the boot clean. It sent the French Maids head reeling and she forced her self to turn away from the girl. Pausing, she turned back around and refusing to look plastered her last card against the dripping wet snatch. With shuddering moaning breaths the French Maid stumbled to the far wall of the room and doing her best to block out the sounds of on going orgasms erupting from the bodies behind her she managed to find the small secreted bolt to the secret door amidst the carvings and opened it and thankfully closed out the scents, sounds, and images behind her.

The door had opened onto another small landing identical to the one she had used before when she had entered the first secret pass way from the Bayard first floor closet. With the door firmly bolted behind her, the French Maid began her descent down the iron stair case. This stair case proved rickety compared to the first one. It teetered and groaned in its moorings, ‘or maybe that was just her body?’ The French Maid cursed the unfairness of life as she descended. “Every one gets to cum but me!” She whined into the stale still air of the stair well. Immediately bellow her an iron step had rusted and buckled away, she shook her head at it, and grabbed onto the thin railing with both hands and cautiously stepped over it. She continued down the stairs in this manner, holding on to the rail with both hands and walking half side ways in halting strides. The heels of her boots threaten to catch in the grating of the steps, ‘this one is not as well made as the other one had been.’ After a few more steps she hesitated and paused, ‘but much better lit?’ But as she searched around her she could find no light source. The stair well was just as pitch dark as the first one had been, but she could distinctly see; just barely make out the hazy shapes of things. ‘And why was she going down instead of up?’ She mused, ‘because up leads to a small bed room where a servant is sleeping. And there are men up there waiting for me, because that is how they think I get in and out of the house, from the roof. How did she know such things?’

It took a while for things to dawn on the French Maid, the soupy mix of lust in her head clouding any one concise train of thought. And it did not help that the answers their self came in rapid rushing images, rather than an abstract dialogue of syntax. For example when the French Maid asked her self how she knew there were men stationed in hiding along the upstairs corridors waiting for her because they thought she entered and left the house via the roof. She found her self flooded with images of the men she had seen in the house to night, and could distinctly hear them saying just such things on their cell phones. Even though at the time she had seen them she had only heard indistinct muffled voices. It was like her mind had put the information away and now she could recollect it and constructs sense out of it, but how? And how did she know there was a girl sleeping just out side the secret door at the top of the stair well? For a brief instant when she had entered the stair well she had decided without deciding to head down the stairs rather than go up because she saw in flashes that there was a woman at the top door; lying there in her bed in fevered misery with a heating pad between her legs, suffering terrible period cramps. She hadn’t thought about this, she had just accepted it in her own very different fevered state, as…instinct, and acted upon it with out question.

The French Maid continued to mull over this last bit, and purposely reached down and pinched her clit. She began to roll the throbbing swollen moist member between her thumb and forefinger. She was still dangerously close to climaxing from the her encounter with the red headed girl in the room upstairs, this new stimulus was rapidly bring her back to the rushing edge of orgasm; The girl! The French Maid forced her self to focus her thoughts; it was like trying to swim against a rushing flood of churning water bearing flaming debris barreling down upon you. The girl something about the girl, images flashed of several of the girls she had seen tonight, all of them maids! The French Maid drew back her shaking hand; she struggled in sweating pants and grunts to push the climax away from her. When she could finally pry open her eyes, the stair well swam in flashes of white dots exploding silently like dandelion heads in a sudden summer breeze. The spots faded, the room was definitely brighter, and she could make out dripping water on the stone circular shaft of the coarse wall across from her. ‘The water is rusting out the stairs here,’ she absently thought as she gasped against the feverish ripples of desire coursing through her shuddering body. She moaned pitifully and let go one white knuckle grip on the stair railing to wipe at the mucus seeping from her nose. ‘There can be no doubt, the closer my body comes to an orgasm, the more heightened my senses become, almost to a supernatural level. My over all awareness seems to sharpen into an almost precognizant

‘Instinct’. And yet the surges of the on coming orgasm bury it in a haze of lust even as my mind tries to focus it into some semblance of use. And I dare not cum, if I go over the edge and achieve an orgasm, I know from experience I will loose all conscious will and awareness until my body and mind sate their lust, and that takes many, many, many climaxes indeed.’

The French Maid stood in the murky darkness and allowed her self to come down from the heights of near orgasm. As she did so her surroundings noticeably dimmed, ‘yes, there can be little doubt a near orgasm raises my collective senses. The effect, however, seems to fade with the swell of the approaching bliss ebbing away.’ She let her self cool down some more, and the surges began to lap down into the bitter dredges of ache, of need, of painful confusing frustrating wretched impulse to cum. She was always horny, since her first night in the Bayard mansion her already high sexual appetite had blossomed into a constant craving. The closer to an orgasm she neared the more confused and clumsy she was if she didn’t achieve that climax and came down from it unfulfilled.

The French Maid began to message her aching breasts, the lightning in her head began to dance again, and she channeled it amidst gasps, pouring the molten fires of her lust on to the previous fleeting images of the girls, the maids. The images came in churning buckling slaps, rapidly slipping away, crumbling under other random images collapsing in from the sides. She lowered her other hand down to her burning twat and began to savagely rub it with raw abandon. The images of the girls, reappeared, as if boiling up out of some thick black stew, but now the images had solidified for each girl, a sort of mental snap shot of each one. Yet so unstable, so transparent, so many parts over lapping and mingling; she was dangerously close to orgasm, but she narrowed her mind’s vision, trying to focus on just one girl, one snap shot. The blonde in the bath room, images of Miss Choo haunted the edges, towering at the peripheral, threaten to collapse and bury all in a gelatinous mass of breasts and pussy and lips and ass and hot cum. Then; the girl’s arm pit! A terrifying flash, and the French Maid feared she had slipped on the brink and had passed the point of no return; but the image of the blonde with her arm raised as she began to replace her top, was replaced by the red head’s pussy, and that by the brunette’s foot, and that by the other brunette’s back of her neck.

The French Maid tore her hands away from her body and grasped the iron railing hard. For several long seconds she teetered on the blink, her hips mechanically humping at the cold air, along string of pussy juice leading in a glinting arch from her glove tips to her loins refused to break. When it did finally snap like a soap bubble, so too did the threat of toppling into orgasm. With rasping heaving chest she straightened up and re-gathered her thoughts. She had seen it clearly; a small tattoo about the size of a pinky nail on each girl. It had been in the arm pit of the blonde maid in Miss Choo’s bath room, on the small of the back of the neck of the brunette girl who had her hands tied behind her back, on the pad of the foot of the other girl who had been hungrily competing with her on the son’s body, and it had been next to the labia of her little red head, obviously put there after a shaving and then covered up by the re-growth of her fiery snatch. A small green tattoo of a wide mouth snarling face with a long crack running out the left eye; she recognized it at once from the description from the portfolio binder she had read up stairs. It was the jade mask. The maids in this house all had been tattooed with the symbol of the jade mask. She had never heard of any of the girls sold by the Bayard family into sexual bondage as being tattooed or marked in any way, this must be something new. It did prove one thing; the jade mask was still in business, and doing that business in the Choo house hold. It also gave the French Maid an increasing sense of power in that she obviously had unique abilities, she was surly moving in the right direction in her life, the more she let her self explore and accept the French Maid’s persona the truer and more powerful she felt her self become. She wondered how much more exciting surprises and discoveries awaited her as she continued exploring her self through the French Maid?

The French Maid let go of the rail and purposely continued down the stairs to the door she could clearly make out at the base of the stone well. She suddenly felt cocky and alive like she had that first night in this house, all her little fears and aches and pains eroding away. She felt a swelling of confidence and pride and power as she stopped before the door, and she thrilled at it, “I like this, I like this a lot!”

This stair case ended at the basement level, unlike the first secret stair case she had been on which had hinted at another deeper subbasement level. She could see why this one didn’t go any further, the sunken floor that fell several feet beneath the last landing was a slimy pool of dank water, a few blind white lake crabs poked along the exposed jumble of rocks. She already knew what she was going to do; she would open the door before her, traverse through the basement warren until she reached the wing of the house where the other secret door was hidden behind the sheet of plywood and tile wall, enter that, and then head down to the sub basement and explore that. If there was anything more to be discovered this night it would be down there, where happily no large men with guns would be seeking her out. If there was nothing down there, she would pop back into the hidden stair well and escape the house via the same way she had entered it. With her bag of diamonds making it a successful night all in all; then she could take care of the more immediate ‘Milla’ problems and decisions; while working out what her best next move as the French Maid might be. ‘Maybe she should return and gather up all the stashes her grandfather had left behind? Before the Choo’s invested in an alarm system for the entire house instead of just the front main hall, the garages, the downstairs all the main floor glass rooms where old iron bars were not a viable luxury, and a couple of isolated rooms containing safes. The French Maid smiled, ‘she would really have to thank Ben for all that information some day,’ and her mind raced with all the sinfully delightful ways in which she could show her thanks.

The French Maid quickly found the small bolt and forced the creaking the door open. Light flooded in and she advanced against it. The hidden door opened into a small door less room of random clutter, ‘the Achoo’s don’t keep a very tidy house! Perhaps they need to have their maids disciplined,’ a smile snaked across the French Maids wet lips. She closed the door and secured it and sauntered over to the open portal and the florescent lit hallway beyond. She could feel the vibe now; the sexual swank of the French Maid. The powerful dizzy assurance that kept all the confusing aches and needs of her perpetual lusts capped under a simmering constant state of arousal. This was the equilibrium her new life needed now, this state of bubbling horniness that simmered in every aspect of the French Maid. She had it now, but it had taken most of the night to find it. She still had much to learn how all of this was working, but she could feel there was something definitely at work in her and around her, something of power and grace and pure pleasure and it was something she was desperate to embrace and become. The hallway split her attention for a moment and she was forced to step back into the small dim room and recheck the palm computer, ‘even the French Maid had her mental limits,’ she mused. With her bearings straightened out she began to move confidently down the hall ways. She thrilled at the powerful sway of her full round hips, and how the cool air felt electric against her exposed genitalia. Every stride sent warm splashes of joy through her booming hart, as well as throbbing hot lashes of pleasure through out her limbs. She was in her element, her skin, her world. The French Maid practiced her struts as she slinked along the winding hall ways, suppressing giggles as her breasts responded with increased jolts and leaps. She was desperate though to be seen. ‘There’s a crutch,’ she worriedly thought. She was beginning to realize that the French Maid was something of a selective exhibitionist. ‘I like to sneak around and watch like a voyeur, but then I also need to be seen as well.’ It was puzzling and the paradoxes would still need to be experimented with to figure it all out. It was important to figure out these things, because she realized she was not always able to remain in constant control of her self. In fact much of the French Maid’s powerful persona was centered on a constant state of riding the whirl wind of untamable desires that had awakened more fully of late in Milla. These both seemed to empower her and threaten to engulf her at any moment .As Milla the threat as well as the powerful rewards was minimal, but as the French Maid it was equally verdant, alive, lush, and unpredictable. She would need to experience some more trial and error before she could know how best to exist in this strange new manner.

The French Maid rounded another corner and smacked her ass with her hand just to feel the pleasing sting of it redden her firm cheek. The pine and oak stair case leading up to the pantry passed by on her left. The wall on her left now would contain the furnace room; she had been in this part of the house the last time she had been here. ‘If I cross my feet when I set them down in my stride, I can get a lot more hip sway and tit bounce,’ she thought. ‘And if I put more swing in my arms and leap out of every step on my toes,’ she was thrilled as she continued to try to master subtle difference in her bodies sexual enticing motions. ‘I want men and women to cum just by my shaking a tit or ass at them,’ she squealed in s sudden blush of resolve. “That is my power, to master and command the sex and wills of others.”

The laundry niche appeared at the end of the hall. The hall will turn in an ‘L’ shaped junction and continue down past several open door rooms. She pushed out the images of her disciplining the Achoo’s maids and tried to work out how far she still needed to go to reach the secret door. As she did so she rounded the corner and smacked her ass firmly again, ‘I’m going to swat my butt every time I turn a corner, because I need disciplining too!’ She could not suppress her giggles and doubled up slightly in the mirth of her self. ‘I feel so great,’ she bubbled, ‘like I’m drunk off my ass!’ And she laughed out loud. It was only then she saw the large man quizzically walking towards her from out of the hallways distant shadows. ‘So much for precognizant awareness,’ she berated her self. With out skipping a beat she turned to the laundry niche, which ran along the hall way some short distance and grabbed a basket full of folded clean clothes, ‘luckily someone has finally done the laundry.’ She paused to add several more folded piles from another basket, until she had a heaping mound. She picked up the heavy teetering basket and set off briskly towards the man who was approaching her. The French Maid felt she had several things going in her favor and thus felt no sense of panic; first she had already noted that several of the maids wore uniforms somewhat along the lines of the classic French maid uniform. True, they weren’t as reveling as the stereotype nor as extreme exhibitionist in nature as her own delicious out fit, ’surly the skirt could be smaller?’ But she felt there were just enough similarities to warrant the man to not leap to any adverse conclusions. Second, the hall ways were not well lit down here, ‘apparently servants don’t rate the need for decorative lighting.’ Third, the large laundry basket she was now carrying covered her up from mid thigh to above her head, ‘shit, he can’t see my fleurs- de- lis!’ She struggled to raise the basket up higher, but it was too heavy and she almost spilled out its entire contents in front of her. Fourth, by brazenly approaching him like this it had definitely set him off his guard. And this was all possible because: five. All men where stupid! With this thought the French Maid dropped the basket and lashed out a wicked side kick that caught the man fully in his abdomen. He had been in the process of lighting a cigarette, adjusting a machine gun hanging on a strap at his shoulder, keying his cell phone, and calling out some bit of doggerel conversation to her about being up at such an ungodly hour. His main intent though as the French Maid followed with a hard knee to the side of his head was to position him self so as to get a good view of her ass, as he was certain it was going to be a magnificent show as she walked by him. He was right about the show, but being in a hunched daze he failed to appreciate it.

The French Maid looked down at the dazed man and sighed. He was too out of it to play with. Her eyes darted to the weapon lying across his lap, ‘a machine gun!’ She was furious. She pulled it out of his weakly grasping hands and tossed it to one side, ‘ugh! Men are so stupid!’ She then set about tying the man’s hands and feet together with what she guessed were Miss Choo’s panty hose from the spilled pile of laundry. Then she shoved a pair of decidedly past their prime panties into his slack mouth, ‘must be one of the servants.’ she noted. ‘I doubt Miss Choo would be caught dead in such a non-descript worn out pair of panties!’ He was too heavy for her to move, but she did manage to drag him to one side of the aisle. She piled the clothes on him and set the basket over turned empty on his head. It was more a frustration of not having any more cards left to use on him than any real effort to conceal him, but it hid him well enough from any cursory glances down the patchy lit and cluttered hall way. She picked up the machine gun and threw it disdainfully into one of the side rooms and proceeded on her way. Her boot kicked something small and plastic but hard and she looked after the spinning cell phone as it bounced off the near by wall. She scooped it up with out breaking her long legged stride and began to ponder it.

The phone had an ear piece dangling from it and she wiped it off and put it in one of her delicate shell shaped ears. There were many men harshly snapping at one another, apparently the little cell phones could also be used like walkie- talkies and the men on their various ends were sending up war whoops to one another in aggravated hushed whispers. Some how though, the commotion didn’t seem centered on her, the men seemed to be congregating in some place away from her, using names that she couldn’t attach to any of the rooms she had thus far seen in the house. There was one man who kept calling out another man’s name, and then other’s called it as well, she felt fairly certain the man they were calling out to was the one she had poll axed back in the hallway behind her. With out batting an eye she keyed the cell phones talk button and whispered in her husky thick French accent, “He can’t talk now, his mouth is full.” She wished it was full of her pussy as she throbbed in excitement. They demanded to know who was talking so she eagerly answered, “the French Maid, you silly man!” She laughed and turned the volume down on the cell phone, she used the belt clip on its back to fasten it to her shoulder sleeve’s elastic band.

The French Maid continued along her way, she was very happy and proud with her self, and it showed in the pert pendulum swings of her round hips. They would send some one else down here to check on that stupid man lying back there, but she was only thrilled by such a prospect of another such an encounter. She was only disappointed in how once again it hadn’t worked out ‘right’. Violence just some how wasn’t her whole thing, both as Milla and definitely as the French Maid; true she had immediately enrolled in another women’s self defense class as soon as she had returned to college. Rightly figuring that the French Maid would need more self defense capabilities than Milla currently had at her disposal; she had even caused a lot of laughter amongst the other young girls there, when she had insisted on practicing her forms in high heels; she had retorted, ‘It’s almost zilch that I am going to be attacked by a street mugger in some parking lot while I’m bare foot, but it’s about a ninety nine percent chance I will be attacked while in high heels. And I doubt the guy is going to wait patiently while I take them off.” The instructor had just smiled at her and nodded without saying a word, the other girls had quickly shut up. The French Maid had worked on her kicks, she felt that was the only real attack of any value to her, punching and arm grabs only seemed to work in the movies, People in real life didn’t tend to pause and stand still, they had a nasty tendencies to fall against you and stumble and press up and smother you in such away to make most basic martial moves useless unless you spent many years of practice at them, which she simply didn’t posses the luxury in time of having. She had already caught hints of this in just her first few encounters. All that said fighting isn’t what she was about, ‘I’m a lover not a fighter.’ Ideally she wanted to some how seduce her opponents, but she was at a loss on how to accomplish this as of yet. For now she would continue to rely on her legs to keep her out of trouble.

With that she reached the secret door with the plywood leaning in front of it. She frowned at that, ‘If I push the plywood out of the way, someone’s bound to notice it, and deduce its second movement was intentional. They will search the wall for the door and even if I bolt it, they may find it.’ The plywood would have to remain in place. Luckily she could just manage to squeeze behind it and unbolt and open the door. It was difficult but she managed after several minutes of breathless struggle. She got the panel closed and bolted secure again without the stacks of lumber falling away in any tell tale signs, the stair well was pitch dark. The long struggle with gaining access had dimmed her French Maid euphoric buzz and the little benefit’s the seemingly went along with it. She began to tickle and tease her nipples and clit. Working her self into a hot dripping surge of gasping pleasure, it didn’t take long, ‘I’m such a horny bitch!’ The French Maid smirked as the flashes of heat lightning gave way to her increased sight. She now easily began her descent on the spiral stair case, giving off a sudden delightful gasp now and then as a current of air seemed to now be rising as she descended further, flowing up her legs and teasing her needy snatch. Her nipples screamed their excitement at the increasingly cool breeze puffing up her skirt from below. The stone block walls now seemed to give way to a more rough an irregular natural stone, in which the shaft seemed to be directly carved and sunk through. The descent down was much greater in distance than it had been between the previous floors above and she worried as the shaft narrowed and closed so she could no longer peer over the stairs railing and guess at the distance bellow yet to go. Eventually the iron stairs ended completely at an iron grated floor, at one side a simple opening revealed iron rungs set directly into the wall of the shaft. The cool moist breeze became a steadier gust as it passed up through the narrowed cut well. She moved over to mount the ladder and continue her descent, but the sudden rush of wind up her dress sent her racing to the edge of an orgasm. “Shit!” She staggered back from the rough cut opening, “that was too close!” She pondered what to do? The air it’s self seemed to be rather warm and constant in temperature, but the gusting breeze coming out of the narrow defile was cool and moist and very vibrant in it’s caresses. There was nothing to do about it but wait until her state of arousal had lowered enough that she could descend down the ladder, ‘I only hope I can make it all the way to the bottom without climaxing!’

The cramped little stair well soon fell dark and the French Maid decided to chance it. The thrill of the wind blustering up her skit was electric, and she finally reached the bottom of the ladder with slick thighs and gritted teeth. Once off the ladder she moved into a larger irregular stone room whose increasing expanse lessened the force of the wind back down into a gentle breeze. She spent several tense minutes focusing her self back from her desperately needed but cruelly deigned orgasm, before she could take in the room about her. It was less a room than a cave, though signs of excavating were evident in the gouged out walls. The far end was blocked by a natural wall of rock; it was far from solid as a steady stream of air whistled through the chinks and gaps in the slabs of cracked rocks. She began to search franticly for the door and even began to wonder if there was one, ‘maybe this had once been one of her great grandfather’s hidden galleries, though it was obviously deserted of any man made objects now. Just as her sight began to dim she found the door set to one side in the whistling fissured wall.

She had trouble with the door at first, and she pouted at it and cursed it in French. The problem resolved it’s self when she realized at last that the door didn’t have a bolt like the others had. It didn’t lock. She placed one small laced glove in the doors center and pushed. It reluctantly yielded to her will and roared open, but only part way until rusted hinges froze and would go no further. She just managed to squeeze through it and found herself in another large room, almost identical to the first except it appeared to be a more natural cave and it was long and more narrow than the one she had just left, in fact she decided, ‘it was nothing like that other room at all.’ She moved along it stumbling and sliding across the uneven floor doing her best not to fall. There was light up a head and she moved in its direction as rapidly as she could manage in high heels scrambling over rude damp stone. The room suddenly narrowed into a tunnel and then into a hole, she pulled her self through it and found her self in a large cavern.

The French Maid paused to take in her new surroundings. The little palm computer would be of no use to her, she was off the map. “I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole,” she giggled to her self, “and here might be dragons!” Even her whispers plunked in funny patterns off the walls. In front of her was a large body of water, from the smell she could tell it was connected to the lake. To her left the cavern rapidly dipped into darkness the water worming up and away to the irregular sections of the wall and undulating roof. To her right the cavern opened up and displayed a large shoal jutting out into the water. This was had in turn built upon it; several wooden sheds, a dock complete with a number of boats tied up along side it, several poles with large halogen lights glaring down providing the illumination, and beyond all of that a large wooden stair case leading up to another shack built into the cave wall, and another series of stairs, these made of metal and encased in chain link fencing, rising above the suspended shed.

Vents of fog and steam kept rising off the lake water; and as she tried to make her way to the buildings and light poles, she was repeatedly forced into the water by the irregular wall that seldom supplied any constant footing. As such she came to quickly realize how cold the water was despite the warm temperature of the air around her. Still she managed to make it to the shoal with soaks going no higher up than her knees, for which she was thankful.

Once she had sloshed up onto the shoal, she found a trail of wooden planks had been laid down, sort of mini-docks over the rough and water webbed rocks, to provide ease in movement between the buildings. These in turn were built on pilings of their own, giving the whole construction a stubby tree house appearance. The French Maid quickly moved along side and where possible, under these pilings and support struts; she hadn’t seen any one as of yet but the soft hum of electric machinery and the forest of intertwined shadows the few light poles were casting off put her on her guard. The cold water wade had knocked some of the French Maid’s cocky confidence out of her and she cowered in a crouch eyeing one of the small rubber inflatable boats tied up on the dock across the shoal from her. ‘It might be time to think of home and get out of this place.’ The real problem was she was certain her descent in the stair well had brought her a fair distance under ground. ‘How could this water be both under the ground and connected to the lake in such a way as to be accessed by a boat?’ It of course couldn’t, and she decided that stealing a boat wasn’t going to get her home this time. All the while she was working this out she had been creeping closer towards the small boats, she stopped now seeing no reason to continue and paused to get a better view of the near by sheds and the larger lone shed up the cave wall. The sheds on the shoal around her had no windows of any kind and where of simple clap board construction, the shed built up on the far wall, had two small windows out of which an oily yellow light bleed, but no signs of life. It was the chain link encased metal stair case leading above that shed that captured her attention, ‘that must be the way out. Obviously the way she had come was both unknown and unused by the Achoo family.’ She continued to ponder how best to approach the wooden stair case leading up the suspended shack without being seen by any one who might be looking out of one of those windows, when the shed nearest her opened its door spilling out light and two figures. Had she been on the planks above her crouched form she would have been seen for sure, as it she ducked her head and folded her upper body into her knees. The light went off in the shed and the door banged shut, as the two figures moved off away from her. The French Maid decided to cautiously follow them.

It wasn’t until the two figures stopped near the shoals edge and she closed up some of the distance between her and them that she recognized the two men. The larger of the two was the man she had kicked out of the Bayard upstairs window; he now hobbled around with a cast on his lower left leg. The other smaller man was another from that night that she had seen, one of the men who had helped or attempted to help carry the large man back inside the Bayard mansion after his fall. They peered into the lapping water and laughed and chatted, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. They were interrupted in their conversation by a cell phone ring and the smaller man answered the phone he had been carrying in his hand. The French Maid instinctively reached a gloved finger to the ear piece of her stolen phone only to find that the entire little phone was missing. It was no longer clipped to her puffy sleeve; she glanced around her in the pitch black shadows, ‘lost it, damn!’ In fact it had fallen off during her splashing slow wade and scramble to the shoal, which is just as well, as that kind of cell phone could be traced if in near by proximity by another cell phone of similar make. In its watery grave it wouldn’t be found.

The ring tone of the small man’s cell phone was apparently a bit silly to the larger man as he rolled his at it. The smaller man finished his conversation and snapped the cell phone shut and the two men headed in the direction of the wooden stairs and the hanging shack up above. The French Maid decided to take a peek at what the men had been looking at in the water and keeping and eye on the retreating men moved rapidly to the shoals edge. There she found the two twin brothers, bound hand and foot, sitting chest deep in the cold under ground water covered in small white lake crabs. They were gagged and naked and from their tears and wincing and bodies covered in tinny bruises, where in a terrible state of discomfort. The small crabs couldn’t do lethal damage to a strong living body but the French Maid knew from personal experience, as Milla growing up on the lake, that the nasty bastards packed a terrible pinch. Obviously the two men had returned yet again in their single minded quest for the jade mask, and had been promptly captured again, ‘men!’ She resisted an initial impulse to continue to the men and set them free, realizing she would easily be seen from any one in the shack above or by the two men as they ascended the wooden stair case. ‘The lake is certainly not tidal, they aren’t about to drown,’ and instead looked around her for some other possible plan of action.

The two men where a bout a third of the way up the wooden stair case, their speed hampered by the larger man’s cast, when all the light poles went out. Leaving only the weak yellow light from the shack above windows impotently glowing in the dark, “oh, not again,” moaned the larger man. They began to retrace their steps back down the stair case. “We’re going to need some light,” the larger man said turning to the smaller man as they reached the bottom of the stairs and the limit of the limit of the above yellow light’s visible edge of influence.

“Here,” the smaller man pulled out a flash light from his back pocket.

“It doesn’t work,” the large man growled as he took it and tried it.

“It’s a new kind of light, you shake it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Look, see,” the smaller man took the light back and began shaking it. “It never needs batteries or have to be recharged. You just shake it for a bit and then,” he stopped shaking the flash light and turned it on, a bright beam shot out, “wha-lah!”

“Say that’s kind of neat,” the large man took the light back and turned it over in his giant paw, looking it over. “Did the doc make this?”

“No, I saw it on TV and sent off for it.”

Both men continued walking, turning down a plank path towards a smaller wooden she. “It’s got to be the fuse again, what the -” the flash light quickly faded and went out.

“You have to shake it again,” the small man weakly offered.

The large man stood there in the dark shaking his head and staring at the smaller man as he slowly and pointedly shook the light.

The French Maid had managed to pull the two brothers out of the cold water but she decided to leave them bound for now. She put both shivering pale men into one of the small rubber rafts and threw a tarp over them. She would stop every now and then to give her self a little ‘special attention’ to help her see in the dimly yellow lit cave. She realized the two brothers couldn’t see at all in the darkness and there fore offered little amusement for now. This done she quickly moved to the two men who were making a poor halting progress to where she had removed several fuses from a large metal box on one of the light poles. She didn’t really want them to see that the fuses had been removed and know some one was down there and make any unwanted calls for reinforcements. Yet she was certain that taking out the big guy in any kind of fight would be difficult if not impossible. The French Maid crept up close to the two men and picked up a large rock from the craggy shoal, weighing it thoughtfully in her hand.

“What was that? “ The smaller man exclaimed.

“I don’t know some large splash.”

“Must have been a big fish,” the smaller man offered in a voice he tried to make sound more reassuring than his first girly out burst; he hated caves, closets, anything dark and creepy.

“There’s another one!” The two men stopped. The light went out. “That’s no fish.” When the light came back on the large man held a large knife in his other hand.

“There’s another splash. Hey, maybe it’s two guys, trying to get loose?”

“Maybe.”

“Has to be, there’s no one else down here, but us and them.” The light went out again.

“Maybe; here you work this damn thing!” The large man thrust the flash light at the smaller man.

“You have to shake it longer, if you want it to stay on longer, that’s all you have to do.” The smaller man meekly replied. “Ah!” A large splash right next to the smaller man caused him to jump.

“Well stop shaking it and give us some light already.” The large man fumed.

“I dropped it.”

“You what? Well, pick it up!”

“It went sailing out of my hand when I was shaking it. I don’t know where it is.”

“Huh, alright, we’ll just go back up to the main shed and get a ‘real’ flash light.”

The French Maid was struggling not to laugh. She had the flash light the man had thrown in his panic but she dared not use it yet. She went a head and gathered up all the fuses she thought she might need latter from their hiding place and dropped them into the water. The men where slowly blindly making their way back to the wooden stair case, and she decided she had better free the two brothers and see if they couldn’t perhaps all three surprise or rush the two men, now that she knew there was no one else in the above shack and that they only appeared to be armed with a single knife between them. However when she reached the dock and the little boat she had left the two men bound in, it was missing. She glanced around puzzled and finally saw it out on the water drifting away from the dock and shoal. At first she thought the two brothers had perhaps freed themselves and where making an escape, but even in the dim light she could just make out the tarp and its covered heap still undisturbed. The little rubber raft must have slipped its moorings.

The French Maid frowned, she would have to take another small boat out after the drifting one and retrieve it. This was becoming a lot more work than she was prepared for, but she couldn’t think of any other option and rescuing stupid men seemed to be her lot in life.

She decided not to risk the chance of any one catching her on the water, just in case something went wrong, and so she gathered up all the remaining boats, three in all. And tying their lines to her own craft set out as quietly as she could sculling after the lost raft. She had just drawn up along side it when a loud pop echoed in the cave and a sudden bright light snapped on. Turning in shock, she saw the two men had finally reached the suspended shack and had switched on a large search light. Its bright searing arching beam was panning out over the shoal and buildings below. Another pop and she saw that the small man had a .22 rifle shouldered and shooting at something down below on the shoal. For the life of her she couldn’t make out anything but shadows as his possible targets. She quickly abandoned her own boat and slipped into the two brother’s raft, pulling the tarp over her as best she could. There seemed to be some kind of current and with several risked paddle strokes she managed to distance her self from the string of small boats. They were well beyond a turn in the cavern when the spot light fell on the line of left behind boats, and other pop and this time a splash and one of the little boats began to rock and slowly sink.

The French Maid left off with silence and worked the oars energetically at the sight of the sinking craft. Even though they were out of direct line of sight she felt better in getting as much distance as rapidly as possible between her and that riffle. The fact that she didn’t have a clue here she was going didn’t help reassure her worries. She paddled on trying to let the increasing current guide the raft as much as possible. It took her to a low over hang of rock where some obvious effort had been done to blast or carve an opening wide and tall enough for a small boat to pass through. She entered it and after an agonizing timeless bumping and thudding in the rough serpentine tunnel she emerged into another cavern, smaller than the first and with a lone small dock and light at the far end. It seemed devoid of life and she quickly made for it.

Tying up her raft, she tossed the tarp aside and noticed for the first time that she was actually sitting on the heads of both tied and gagged brothers. A hot flash shot through her body as she realized both brothers had had their faces firmly massaged by her perfect taunt buttocks. She pretended not to notice and gave each of them another little wiggle, then reluctantly forced her self up and out of the raft. The two brothers moaned in longing disappointment despite their gags and forgotten bruised pinches. ‘Such horny naughty boys,’ the French Maid thought, ‘they will have to be punished!’ But it would have to wait, she was certain that cell phones were ringing all a round her.

The little round dock was made out of some kind of rubber coated metal and had a lone mercury lamp light fastened to the rock above it. It took several puzzling head turns to fish out the recessed shadow encrypted ladder rungs embedded along the far back wall. She returned to the raft and looked out over the small body of water of the little cavern. The tug at the raft suggested that there was an under water opening some where, but with out scuba diving equipment their only real option would seem to be up the ladder rungs to what ever awaited them above. She reluctantly untied the two twins and helped their sore stiff limbs out of the raft and onto the mall anchored dock.

Naturally the polite and thankful for being rescued again, brothers insisted the French Maid go up the ladder first and then proceeded to scramble and shove to see who would be the fortunate one to immediately follow her. The French Maid pretended a naive innocence at all of this and promptly did her utmost best to sway and shake her hips in full undulating circles with each drawn out step up into the hole in the ceiling into which the ladder quickly ascended. The cramped well of the shaft limited her gyrations, but she felt confidante that she was giving both arching heads below a good show. Occasional glances down ward confirmed this and the wide eyes welded to her choice display, had her quickly gasping, her limbs shaking under the sweeping fires ragging with in her, ‘naughty, naughty boys, my little naughty boys. What am I going to have to do to you?’ It was proving too much, her head was swimming, and she looked down with panting wide mouth just in time to see her swollen needy wet pussy shake loose a little juice drop which splattered silently onto a sweating up turned face below. She struggled against the demanding urge of stopping and reversing her ascent, shoving her hot screaming pussy into that face and grinding it savagely, shouting out commands to, ‘eat my fucking pussy raw!’ With iron will, she forced her self to climb the remaining few rungs to where a metal cover prevented her further advance. ‘Oh well, guess we’ll just have to rest her for a bit, maybe while a way the time in some healthy energetic activities.’ The metal cover wouldn’t budge; her sexual longings were sapping her strength. ‘Strange, how lust can sometimes make me feel so powerful and other times so weak?’

The man immediately below seemed to realize she couldn’t get the cover shoved open, and excusing him self, climbed up beside her and shoved on the lid. His naked body pressing against her was more than her already swimming sense could bear and she began to grind her wet snatch against any part of him she could. In the struggle to push open the heavy cover he failed to notice this, and with a plop it fell away and free from the stair well shaft. The French Maid wanted the two men to climb past her and out of the shaft so she could attack each one of their cocks as it swatted past her flushed cheeks; she had never had a man’s cock before and she desperately needed one, ‘or better yet two‘, now, but she was having trouble articulating this, apparently her cock hungry mouth was too busy making vast quantities of drool. The men simply thought the French Maid was exhausted from her rescuing them again and as she seemed to almost faint and lose her grip on the ladder rungs they quickly helped her out of the hole before them.

‘Stupid men,’ the dizzy French Maid thought, as she hunched over and panted her self back from another orgasm brink. The men managed to extract themselves from the opening and secure the hatch back in to place while she caught her ‘breath’. When she straightened up, she saw both men standing before her with their penises fully erect, they were too busy studding their new surroundings to notice this and suddenly she could feel the good cocky French Maid return to her, the one she had some how lost back on the shoal down below. She felt her power, her confidence, and her puckish spirit return along with the stable heady warmth of a thrumming sexual arousal. “Well, I see I have your full attention, now.” She purred in her French accent, smirking at the men’s engorged members, ‘these too, seemed a bit on the small side as well, perhaps only ten or eleven inches in length.’ The men quickly tried to cover themselves with their hands, faces blushing with embarrassment. “Well, at least I can tell you apart now, oui?” The French Maid waved a dismissing hand as she turned to check out the small dimly lit room they now found themselves in. It was little more than a pole barn of a building with a dirt floor and heaps of bags and what must have been broken flower pots. She moved around the small shed until she finally made out a closed door directly behind the two cowering men. The French Maid strode directly up to them and quickly reached out and gave both men’s hot ball sacks two firm squeezes as she made a “Beep, beep” noise, and then raised her hands making a parting gesture. The two shocked men quickly separated and let her pass through them. She smiled, nodded, and then thanked them in French. ‘Yes, she was back in control again and she liked it.’

The door opened into the large glass green house, she was right back where she had started out the night. She motioned the two men to follow her and the three of them began to make their way to the far glass door leading outside of the Bayard mansion. She had seen several sheets of cloth back in the shed but she had decided not to tell the two men. She wanted to keep them naked and subdued. Besides they needed to be punished for inconveniencing her yet once again through their silly antics. Her keys quickly unlocked the outer glass door and both men ventured after her bobbing buttocks after only briefly hesitating at the cold winter night beyond. The man with the dog made no further show after all her worries about it, once she caught his distant shadow wandering around an outer corner of the boat house. And in no time she had all three of them squeezed through the hole she had cut earlier in the chain link fence.

“We want to thank you again for coming to our rescue back there.” One of the freezing blue skinned men chattered as she led them up to the road.

The French Maid stopped; their obvious staring at her body was keeping her warm, the exhibitionist pleasure keeping her blood boiling. She retraced her steps back down the path and began looking about her on the ground. “You can thank me,” she began, pausing upon seeing what she was looking for and bending over at her tiny waist giving both men a full moon shot of her lovely hips and pussy. “By filling my hole.”

Both men gulped, and one of them managed to wheeze, “We shall truly try.” The other brother mumbled agreement.

The French Maid bit her tongue to keep from laughing and watched as each man stumbled into one another unsure what to do, as she continued to wiggle her behind at them. She stood up and spun around at them, the large retrieved bolt cutters resting on her hips. “Yes, fill the hole of my understanding, yes? Tell me what more you have discovered, if anything before your shameful capture, about the jade mask.” The men were egger to tell her all they knew or thought they knew concerning the jade mask, partially to defend themselves against her scowl as to their questionable competence, and partially to cover up any hint that they had been just about to willingly molest their rescuer due to a slight semantic misunderstanding. The French Maid had trouble not breaking into giggles at the two shivering teeth chattering men huddle naked before her. Finally she ended the interview and pointing behind the men told them that was where the road leading back to Lake City was located. The men looked apprehensively into the dark behind them, when they looked back to the French Maid, she was gone!

CHAPTER FIVE

River City was dank dark and dilapidated when Milla was born. It had been the largest crime ridden nest of nefarious dealings in the whole nation. It was the publicly acknowledged home of about every major crime syndicate, low level thugs, street creep gangs, and wandering vagrants the whole of the tired indifferent low income high labor job stressed capitalistic country could produce. Now it had been remarkably resurfaced with shiny marble and brilliant granite edifices, but the under belly was still the same murky skunk water swamp of unchanging corruption. Every thing had gone to hell big time when the politicians, (‘professional liars‘, the people called them,) had moved in. A very public white wash of hypocrisy had begun in order to cover up the even greater degrees of crime on unprecedented scales and scope. The congress and other branches of the national government brought with it’s move into River City a whole new dimension of greed and obscenity, now entire nations were being raped and swindled not just local businesses; and it warped the whole nexus of the lower level parasites into the ratchet up stakes of the international world of espionage and murder done on the scale of invading armies and navies.

The national government had moved into River City after Capital City had been destroyed after a terrible series of natural disasters; the last being a devastating hurricane named, of all things ‘Susan’. The move had of course been intended to be temporary while Capital City was slowly rebuilt at tax payers expense, but that had been ten years ago and the re-building had petered out as it became obvious that, much to the out rage of the general public, the politicians preferred living in the questionable luxuries and dealings of the much larger and more influent River City, than the sweltering insect ridden swamp that made up the costal barren strip of Capital City. Much of the re-building money for Capital City ended up going into the ‘new set up costs’ of the governments move to River City, and an exasperated struggling to make ends meet public turned back to their worn and frayed lives throwing back the usual dirty glances and angry mutterings, but otherwise ignoring the obvious lies of the politicians promise that the River City move was temporary.

Meanwhile, Capital City with no capital shriveled up into nothing. River City, which once had been a major port of trade on a principle ox tail of the Great River, had long burrowed up into the mountains and spread so that one could no longer see the river of it’s names origin from any part of the city it‘s self. Lake City was a rather dumb obvious name for a bunch of effluent houses and its supportive small strung out city of serfs plunked down in rings around a lake. Then there was Big City, but it was no longer the largest city in the country now that River City had sucked in the national governments juggernaut of offices and endless mazes of support staffs. Union City was once the hub of most government industries and its various labor unions, but those pork belly contracts had been parceled out to River City crime bosses and the unions themselves had long ago been destroyed by the factory owners lobbyist from places like Lake City; Union City had no unions any more, and thus no power to stop it’s factories from moving away to River City and a few bone tosses of appeasement to Capital City. Waterfalls City was a large town built around a world class wonder of a water fall, thus it was in the Lake City category of something other than ‘original’ names. The Great Islands, being a bunch of large islands off the coast also falls into the same book of lame names; and though the French Maid was not thinking bout all these places named in the past by long dead white slave owning men when she uttered her contempt in the phrase, she definitely could have been.

“Stupid men,” the French Maid mumbled as she lurched Ken’s car into a gated cow pasture. She was in fact singling out the men who had managed to make and market a map of River City and its immediate suburbs and somehow not include the gravel road and the farm house she had been spending the last four hours driving around searching for, but she had found it at last. And had now driven just far enough past it to safely hide her car; or so she hoped, as she removed the large non-descript poncho she had been wearing while driving and applied both the finishing touches to her make-up as well as pin-up her hair and pin on her little lace French Maid’s hat. She could have been talking about all men though, including Shelia’s ex-boy friend Ken who had loaned Milla his car, supposedly in an on going futile attempt at currying Milla’s favor in his bid to win Shelia back from her new boyfriend, Thad; but the French Maid was certain it had more to do with the way Milla’s butt had unerringly kept bumping into Ken’s crotch as she pretended to shop indifferent to Ken’s pleas of her assistance in talking to Shelia on his behalf in the matter. Milla had set up and planned the ‘chance’ encounter with Ken, knowing she would need a vehicle to cover the hundred and fifty miles from Lake City down to River City. Going by bus wasn’t going to work when it came to trying to find some remote farm house on some unpaved county road. And she had been too busy over the past couple of weeks to start shopping for a car for her self, a task she found a little intimidating and confusing. She had thought of hitting up Ben for his truck, but decided she might yet need him for more security information on the Bayard mansion and didn’t want to go too often to that well. It was about then that Ken had left yet another pleading phone message on Milla’s answering machine. He was bugging all of Shelia’s friends and they were all getting sick of it, now that the initial comedy of it had passed. It had been a simple matter to set a trap for Ken and confuse him into lending her his car for the night. A few little butt rubs, even as the dowdy dressed Milla, against his throbbing crotch was all it had taken. “Men are so stupid!”

Being further south and set in a natural gulf stream depression kept the winter’s more mild for the River City area than it’s more northern cousin Lake City, but it was still very chill despite this, and the approach of spring, and the over all unseasonably warm winter this year. And the French Maid noted it instantly as she left the confines of Ken’s car feeling the cold night breeze pinch her half exposed nipples into an even more alert state of arousal. She quickly left the car and closed the pasture gate. The farm in question was about a hundred yards back down the gravel road, just over a slight rising hill. She ventured back out onto the rut and water puddle pocked road and cautiously walked back to the farm house. The road was rimmed with thin wood on her left, and pasture and empty crop fields on her right, in the cloudless night everything seemed oddly brilliantly lit in a blue sliver wash of countless stars frozen in a celestial river of their own; to her they seemed to make up a giant wolf’s head of laughing tongue lolling wide eyed anticipation, which she found some how both approving and unnerving in face of her hart racing nervousness at the task at hand.

As the hill rolled out underneath her, the farm house set back up off the road to her right came back into view, and the French Maid fled the well exposed road and shimmied over the clap board fence and continued towards the dark derelict farm house, hunched over and seeking covering comforting shadows as she moved. The house it’s self was busted out windows and over grown with weeds and she didn’t pause to inspect it. Instead she moved on to the out buildings behind it; here there were a few sudden signs of life, recent car tire ruts in the half frozen earth, tarps covering large piles of shadowy shapes in open ended pole barns seemed freshly disturbed here and there. The French Maid grew more cautious as she passed grain silos with shiny new paddle locks on their hatches, and brand new plastic drums sitting on pallets still settling into the mud, a near by fork lift sat disdainful of it‘s lightly flapping tarp. She stopped completely when she saw the truck and car and the two men standing next to them. The men where talking to who ever were in the large car and they stepped back as both vehicles lumbered to life and awkwardly circled and left down a badly gravel patched tarmac road leading off in a direction away from them to the north west. The French Maid watched the two men who in turn were watching the tail lights of the two vehicles vanish in the gravel dust and night dimmed tree streaked fields. As soon as both cars were out of sight the two men walked back past the hidden French Maid and entered one of the smaller sheds that cast out a weak yellow light as it door swung open to their entry. A few minutes latter she could smell beef being cooked on a stove and hear a TV laughing sound track mumbling through the closed door of the small shack.

The French Maid smiled. She recognized the two men as the large man and small man who she had last seen in the cavern under the Bayard mansion. Apparently they had been demoted to guard duty of the ‘doc.’ The French Maid stood up felling more secure now and turned on the small light clipped on the front lip of her bra between her breasts. The light danced merrily on the ground as she walked up to and around the large solidly built barn in front of her. The light was no less than the one she had picked up in the cavern that these two men had dropped. She had seen its potential instantly and had modified it with ease to fit her needs. She had removed the works from their housing and left just the bulb, which now was clipped to her bra, and thrown away the lens of the flash light. She had also tossed away the battery and the switch, replacing the three ways; off, charge, and on, switch with a simple squeeze switch of her own making that turned the light on or off. The rest of the tiny mechanics of the light she had tacked into her bra. The result was a light that when she turned it on was instantly powered by her breasts almost constant jiggling motion. True it was not as bright in it’s illumination as it had been before and it’s intensity varied depending on the amount of bounce her breasts were generating; if she ran for example it flared dangerously close to burning out the bulb, and if she stopped and stood still even the jiggling of her breathing couldn’t quiet generate enough power to fuel the light, ‘if I had bigger tits this would work perfectly,’ she had lamented during her initial tests of her adaptation of the invention. As it was it worked fairly well in a decent breast bounce strut and she was both immensely pleased with her sharp mind to work out such a thing, ’it keeps my hands completely free!’ and deeply titillated by the idea that her fantastic breasts were capable of doing such a useful talent in addition to all their other miraculous wonders.

As the French Maid circled the barn looking for an opening that wasn’t barred with heavy paddle locks and chains, her mind drifted back over the conversation she had had with the two naked shivering brothers and her own information gathering over the past week to gleam any helpful tid-bit she might use now that she had found the building she had set out in Ken’s car to locate. In her own slightly shivering state she thought about the two brothers and smiled and giggled. She had secreted her self in the bushes and under brush along side the lake access path that night when both brothers had turned to look back up towards the road leading back to Lake City. The brothers had panicked to find her vanished when they turned back around and had rushed up and down the path until finally in chattering teeth resignation had forced them to making their way back along the road searching for some escape from the bitter winter night. She had followed them only a short distance before the large police cruiser she knew that patrolled the Bayard road to Lake City at night swooped out of no where and apprehended the men, who were too frozen to try and flee. She had laughed at the outrageous comic show of it all and having made sure the two men where now out of harms way had scurried back to her own little boat and eventually home. The local papers had a field day with the event of the two brother’s capture. After all, they were some what well known celebrities, from their public on going attempts to get the plundered relics of the Great Island’s returned back to them from the various nations which had taken them during their colonial days of conquest; and their success on the Great Islands bequest had put them on several magazine covers and rock and roll stages over the years seeking public support for their cause, which was much needed as many of these relics where in public museums around the world. Now that they had been arrested naked in a wooded lane, it was too much for the mirth of the world stage not to enjoy enormously at the cowering brother’s expense. To their credit they had managed to concoct a story of being on holiday in the Lake City area and being lead to the remote woods by two willing young women they had met earlier in the evening and in the course of events had managed to end up naked with the young ladies fleeing with their clothes and money. The whole city was rolling in the streets at it and even the judge had to struggle against smirks, but he proved lenient in face of the embarrassing nature of the situation the brothers had been through and would no doubt go on in facing, and left them off with time served and a small fine for indecent exposure and of course a witty warning against future such endeavourers with newly met young women. The Choo’s had of course said nothing and once released the brothers had quickly boarded a plane back to the Great Islands and vanished.

The French Maid hoped this would keep the pesky brothers out of her well coiffed hair for a while, but she doubted it. The rest of her week had been full of a flurry of Milla day to day activities. First there was the selling of her recently acquired diamonds, this had gone surprisingly well. The Lake City area was often awash with rich women in a constant state of buying loudly lots of jewelry and discreetly selling lots of jewelry. Milla had little trouble in convincing the merchant before her that she had recently inherited the diamonds from her recently departed ‘aunt’ and was forced to sell them to cover the also newly inherited bills. The dealer had promptly bought all she had brought with her with wads of cash and kept everything off the books for her. Lake City was small enough for Milla to be known by some of the locals and well liked, and the man who bought her stones was glad to help her out, especially as he was acquiring a small fortune in gems at a fraction of their value. She had promptly used this money to pay off any lingering outstanding debts and return by bus to Big City and collect up all her things left at the college there, including her much longed for little ‘helpers’. She had desperately missed them when she had returned from her night’s work at the Bayard mansion and finally allowed her self to sink into the long denied and desperately desired orgasms she needed. As before after her first French Maid encounter it took two days of feverish almost constant masturbating before Milla was able to fall into a quaking heap of satisfied jelly. Her eventual trap for Ken had only been partially a need for his car, she had managed to use just about every vegetable and produce in her kitchen to sodomize her self in those two days, and she needed to buy food desperately. Her little ‘helpers’ would be a necessity if she were going to keep up her French Maid persona. While in Big City she had decided not to re-enroll for the up coming college semester and had spent some time on the campus common computer ordering several new items and having them rush delivered to an assumed name to the generic dorms collective address, where she quickly picked them up and rented a U-haul to truck it all back to her new home in Lake City.

The second event to ruffle her week had been the sudden arrival of a summons from the Lake City ‘preservation’ society. They wanted to know what Milla’s plans for her ‘aunt’s’ house were; reminding her that they had to both approve any potential sale of the property and any building or construction done upon it. Milla had meekly played along with the snobbish game and played her part well, ending the meeting with coughing up of the various transaction fees and costs of her assuming entry of possession and it’s membership dues to continue living on at her aunt, now her own, place. She even wrote the separate check for the required unofficial ‘donation’ to the committee and left on the best of terms; the whole committee so happy that the last Bayard was going to live on in Lake City and do so in such a proper and subservient manner.

The French Maid was shaking with the night’s chill when her ‘head light’ jiggled upon a second story window boarded shut on the barn. She had abandoned the sex oil as it hadn’t worked out that well, and was relying on her own sexual heat to keep her warm against the late winter night, but it was proving difficult to manage this, as she was finding she needed to constantly think about sex or incessantly tease her own body in order to generate her apparent flush of steady warmth. She may be in costume but the ‘French Maid’ herself had not quiet shown up again, she still wasn’t sure how to slip into that persona and its apparent powers at will. Never the less, the French Maid returned to the metal ladder lying on the ground in a patch of weeds next to a grain silo she had seen earlier. It was a bit of a struggle for her without the French Maid’s slightly greater strength and grace and she stumbled it over to the barn in weaving stutters. The ladder banged against the barn and up she climbed on shaky knees, keeping her eyes closed as she had always been afraid of heights. At the top of the ladder she leaned her shoulders back and shook her tits in order to see the boards nailed across the window in the strobe light effect of her leaping bosom. ‘There was no way in hell she was getting in there.’ Just then she heard the indistinct sounds of the large man and the smaller man talking. Grabbing the rails of the metal ladder firmly she stepped off the rungs and set the toes of both her boots against the ladder rails as well and loosened her grip; down she slide hitting the ground hard on her heels and wind milling backwards onto her ass in a thud.

The two men paused out side the main door of the barn until the smaller man had entered in the key code and it pushed open. The larger man held a plate of steaming food and the two men quickly entered the spilling out light of the barn’s interior, egger to get out of the cold as both men had left their coats behind in the small shack while making their fast visit. Neither man saw the rush forward and catch the door before it automatically swung closed behind them. She quickly wedged a piece of plastic tarp into the receiving bolt hole of the electric lock and let it shut. She then ran back behind a palette of plastic barrels as both men emerged. The small man shut the door firmly behind them and keyed the lock. Then both men rapidly returned to their warm shed, the plate of food was gone. The French Maid crept back to the main barn door and taking a deep breath tugged on it’s handle, it held for s a second then slowly pried open, as it did the bolt of the lock plinked the rest of it’s length out into the nights air. The French Maid entered the well lit barn and pulled the door shut as far as the extended bolt hitting the door frame would allow.

The old looking barn of the out side gave way to a rather new looking if shabby cluttered large room on the inside. The plate of food was on a near by table of over flowing electronic odds and ends. Beyond it were countless other tables covered in heaps of gadgets and gizmos and well, junk! It all looked like useless junk to her. The French Maid stepped carefully through the warren of tables and piles of wires and boxes, craning her neck looking for the man she had come all this way to seek out and find. He was hunched over a particularly large table of gadgets in the center of the irregularly lit room when she finally managed to pick him out of the dusty trash into which he blended so well. She approached him cautiously and stopped at once when he spoke in a tired worn out voice.

“It’s alright Milla I’ve been expecting you would show up here eventually.” The man turned his head over his shoulder at her, “don’t worry my child we need each other to accomplish our similar goals.”

“How do you know me? Who are you anyway?” The French Maid had learned from the brother’s that a man called the ‘doc’ was being held by the Choo family at a farm north of River City and that he had the jade mask in his possession. How exactly the two bumbling brothers had managed to discover this information was beyond her but she suspected it was simply filtered out of the incessant conversation of the two men who had been their captors in the cavern and who now were residing in the shed not a hundred yards from where she now stood. The French Maid had doubted that the ‘doc’ actually had the jade mask the two brothers were looking for, but she believed the mysterious man might in fact be the leader of the jade mask sex slavers or a crucial component thereof, and it hadn’t taken Milla long to find a farm owned by the Choo family in the right general location in question after making another visit to the Lake City records office. She had waited until she was sure Winnona was on lunch and had stopped by and then pretended to be surprised every one was out to lunch, after a few flirting flashes of her cleavage to the one junior office worker left behind, he had of course let her go back into the records room and leave Win a note. After all she was not only Win’s friend but almost like a second daughter to the department head! She had found the information easily and left a little note to Win which read, “Sorry to miss you, I was hopping we could have ‘eaten’ together! Maybe next time, kisses, Milla.”

The old man straightened up from his table and smirking said, “Why Milla don’t tell me you don’t recognize your great-uncle Pierrot?” It was strange tale and the French Maid struggled to take it all in, forcing Pierrot to repeat parts of it many times. Still in her swirling mind it went something like this: “don’t worry about the security cameras,” Pierrot had waved a hand. The French Maid was dejected with her self to fail to have noticed them in the corners of the large room. “I wired up cable for them, and they much prefer watching that than me puttering about here or shitting on that pot-a-potty over there. Yes, “ he muttered his voice drifting off as only those who had long grown accustomed to talking to themselves can, the words and directions of speech rising and falling as the body shuffles about. “Yes. We’re safe for an hour or so. I have much to tell you so try and save your questions for a minute or two. First introductions, I suppose, well I am your much maligned great-uncle Pierrot; the youngest of your great-uncles. I had to disappear when my brother Jean-Luc decided I would suit him better dead. I can’t entirely blame him in that as I myself was becoming of a similar mind set about him, but he acted first. I turned, out of dire necessity, to the jade mask. That would be the Asian branch and they helped me to flee when I in turn promised to bring down Jean-Luc in a fit of vengeful rage. It was only a small matter to do this of course, but the jade mask betrayed me and brought down the entire Bayard family as well. They imprisoned me and only kept me alive because of my uncontrollable passion and interest in the biochemistry of all things relating to sex. The curse of the ‘real’ jade mask of course, the curse that haunts all the Bayard family since my father unearthed that unholy thing. Any way they kept me in various places, making up all kinds of ‘items’ for them. I lived well, I suppose, as well as any addicted slave can live providing those addictions are met. My addiction was the research and discovery of new sexual gadgets. It’s what the curse has done to me. It seems to have done something along a sexual line to all the Bayard descendants, each a little different than the other, but always with same undeniable obsession. Jean-Luc’s was young girls in little fetish costumes, mine was any kind of sexual invention I could wizard up, and poor little Armaund, his was perhaps the worse he had a compulsion for having sex with animals, though he eventually learned to some how sublimate that into a more acceptable homosexuality and fled to the army to leave me alone with Jean-Luc! If only Armaund had shouldered his responsibilities as the oldest brother and taken over for our murdered father, none of this may have happened. Who knows, maybe it would have been worse? Jean-Luc managed to father two legitimate sons; Malcolm, how seemed to be a mirror of Armaund and followed his example by fleeing to the army. Where sadly like my brother Armaund he managed to find his death and escape from the jade masks curse. How it may have inflicted him I can not say such was his incredible power of will that not even once was there any reported indiscretion about him! Or more likely the curse had made him a sexless drone in life, but I prefer to think other wise for I always liked him even as child. His other son Jerome had his father’s same lust for sex though he added a need for additional partners to the mix. I can tell by your breathing that you disapprove of my comments touching home about your ‘family’, but here me child for I know what Malcolm understood or misunderstood and what your grandmother Milla misunderstood about her daughter Susan and your birth, and they were all wrong. But I know the truth, now steady your self, Susan was undeniably your mother, but Jerome was never your father, those two only said that for the rest of the family’s sake. Your real father was Jean-Luc, he often had sex with his daughter Susan and she enjoyed that immensely, I suspect she originated the contact and played to the old man’s costume fetishes, her lust for him may very well have been ‘her’ curse, as she too was a Bayard through and through. As far as Jerome and Susan’s where about, Malcolm spent his life looking for them once Jean-Luc had perished; but they had disappeared into Far East with the help of the jade mask who had used Susan at my suggestion to bring about Jean-Luc’s down fall. I, as well have been unable to find any mention of them from the jade mask it’s self, even when I was held in higher esteem by them. If they are indeed still alive then the jade mask it’s self seems to have lost track of them, and as such it may be better that they remain lost as their knowledge of it’s existence would be easier secured with their deaths than the jade mask leaving it to their continued discretions. If you are searching for those two as well, then you had best search no further as long as the jade mask still exists as a power in our lives. Now Milla know this, I have sworn vengeance against the jade mask since they first broke their promise to me, to set me at the Bayard family head once I helped them destroy Jean-Luc. It has since then become even more of a personal crusade and when I tell you why, I hope you will see both that you can trust me and why I need your help in continuing my long denied revenge.

For a long time the jade mask as a sex slave procurer continued on under the Asiatic branch as it had under the Bayard’s that is until that bitch Mrs. Choo arrived on the scene. Oh I know you thought Mr. Choo was the head of the jade mask, but he’s not, that dolt hasn’t a clue about what’s going on under his roof. He’s out there worrying about his various illegal fortune five hundred schemes some day catching up to him and never once dose he suspect his behind the scenes wife and daughter are the driving force of the jade mask. Yes, daughter! Not their son, they don’t have a son, that’s a girl who insists on masquerading as a boy. The Choo’s have simply accepted this over the years; I even built her an electronic phallus she uses to have simulated sex with her jade mask sex slaves. Okay, it gets a little complex here about so try and bear with me. The young daughter of the Choo’s who wants to be a boy, is actually the high priestess of the cult of the jade mask, and her mother Mrs. Choo is the brains and leader of the sex slaver jade mask. Under the two of them both jade mask my father found and the jade mask sex slave organization has merged into this horrible abomination. Let me see if I can work this through for you? You see the mask my father actual filched from the Great Island temple was cursed. This was no ordinary curse, the first aspect of the curse was directed at my father and all of his direct blood line causing them to be plagued with various sexual uncontrollable lusts, which you have seen the dire results of yourself. This was however only the curse of defiling the temple and removing the jade mask. The jade mask it’s self had been sealed in this temple centuries before by the men of the Azurite tribe, who in turn became its long descending guardians. These Azurite had fought a long and grueling war against an island nation of female warriors who whished to enslave all men and conquer the world. Their high priestess leads them on this, their sacred quest, with tremendous success until their downfall and destruction by the Azurite. Who these women had been or where they had originally come from was wiped from memory by the Azurite. All that is known was that the Azurite feared the jade masks rediscovery by a woman and the rise of another women warrior race seeking to subjugate all men and conquer the world. As such only male Azurite was made guardians of the temple and no females were ever allowed near its hidden ruins. What ever we may think about such things, Mrs. Choo became the head of the jade mask sex slavers and quickly convinced her husband to purchase our home Bayard mansion; with her jade mask contacts this was easily accomplished. There she or her daughter managed to find the jade mask my father had hidden in one of his collector galleries. Immediately after wards everything in the jade mask organization changed. A complete restructuring took place, as women began to replace all the men in the hierarchies structure, I myself was commanded to stop working on the various drugs to make the girls more lustful and compliant, and instead set upon the task to come up with a drug that would make all males sterile and submissive. While others scattered out around the world found themselves being financed and obliviously working to the ends of perfecting a way to replicate sexual reproduction between a male and female, between two females. These collected efforts my own obsession and expertise caused me to figure out a serum that would allow two or more women to reproduce without male sperm needed. All vertebrates are inherently female and it was not that difficult to develop an elixir capable with in a single generation to cause the reproductive organs within a woman to spontaneously mutate the ovaries to both receive a jelly female version of male sperm produced by another female during sexual arousal and to produce said jelly from the same organs at the moment of climax. In short, women could now copulate and conceive without a male, by the rubbing of their outer genitals together and the transferring of the small amounts of spermal jelly born in the lubricating fluids of both women. The act of successful conception proved difficult however, but it was good enough for the two Choo women, who revealed their new twist on the old plot of conquest, by this time getting rid of all men and producing a strata master race of women to live alone on the Earth. This would be accomplished by the drug further being altered to causing all the women impregnated by the new jelly to conceive only females, as well as the other drug I had previously perfected that would cause all existing males to become sterile and submissive. This new requirement of all fetus successfully conceived to be female lowered the rate of successful conception even more, despite my pointing out this could reduce in just a few generations the number of living humane race to a population of such few numbers that a disease or natural disaster could possibly wipe it out, I was ordered to proceed with actual experiments on humans. The young girls were selected from the most promising sex slaves who had already received the drug I had made years ago that errantly heightened their sexual lusts while increasing their submissive tendencies and began injecting them with the genetic altering serum. Each girl was marked with a small jade mask tattoo and taken away by the Choo’s. Apparently the trails were successful enough as the Choo’s eventually returned and demanded I create a version of the drug that could be taken orally, the dame ‘request’ was made concerning the male sterile and submissive drug. My own needy compulsion to create and solve such sexual problems set before me drove me on, and I soon solved enough of the problems to make it easy enough for their won newly formed jade mask cult scientists to finishing the work. It was then that the high priestess had taken a sudden offence at my ‘leering gaze’ at her mother and promptly dug out my eye balls while her female warriors held me down.” Pierrot removed his sun glasses and showed his gouged out sockets. “Since then I have been left here alone, but I have not been idle. They think I am helpless here and they left me alive to suffer in my impotence amidst my tools, but for months now I have without their interruptions, been concentrating on my escape. An escape made the more real and possible by my hearing via my little gadgets,” he gently patted some of the lumps of wires and plastic on the table next to him, “of your little excursions in the Bayard house hold. Malcolm’s death and your grandmother’s Milla, the whole French Maid out fit, I knew it had to be my little grand-niece Milla the only other surviving member of the Bayard blood line, seeking her own revenge against the Choo’s as well. I couldn’t contact you by any direct means, couldn’t chance the Choo’s finding out about you, but I could get a little information to you via those twin dopes, who have been mucking about looking for that large jade wall mask of theirs. Some temple guardian’s, eh? Ah well, I managed to smuggle out some clues of my own making, into the local newspaper via a guard I’d become friends with over the years, I doubt he had a clue what it was, but I think they killed him or else became suspicious of him, because they replaced him with those two blithering idiots out there. Any way, the clue was harmless in his eyes and must have seemed harmless gibberish but I knew if the brothers saw it they would figure it out and return to Bayard mansion and use it to find out that the ‘item’ in question was being held out here on a farm. Naturally they thought the item must be the jade mask they were searching for, but in reality it was ‘me’ that the deeds and bills in the binder referred to, in the message I had managed to place in the news papers personals for a month. I knew the brothers read the papers personal column as that was how the other guardians kept in contact with them, and they would assume the info would have come from some brother guardian. I knew this because the Choo women knew this, and regularly kept tabs on the twins in their communications with fellow guardians. It’s one of the reasons they found it so easy to keep capturing the two idiots! As far as the binder in the Choo house hold containing information about this place, I found out about that from my former keeper who complained about the itemized paper work he had to keep concerning the expenses of this place. I had asked him what became of all that paper work he hated and he indignantly huffed that they just shove it all into a binder folder in the Choo’s master study. I left it to chance that some way this location would get back to you. And apparently it did because here you are!” Suddenly the old man reached up to his ear and paused, then rapidly removed and ear piece and began to hurry about collecting up already packed bags. “Hurry my child! Their program is about over and they will soon return out here to make another routine check on me. I installed listening devices in their shack back when I installed their pirate cable connection. It’s how I’ve learned so much about everything, that and the odd radio news bits I manage to access. Hurry now and help me with these things, we are going to need them if we are going to defeat the jade mask!”

The French Maid hesitated. She was utterly confused and uncertain of anything and definitely wasn’t sure if she wanted to help this strange old man who claimed to be her long dead grand-uncle to escape from a barn in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night and lugging his smelly old luggage at that! He sensed her hesitation and added quietly, “Milla I know this is a lot to take in all at a rush like this and I’m certain that you may even have feelings of hate for me, and being a woman under the jade masks curse may even have some compassion for the whole cults purpose, but we are talking the very likely extinction of ht entire humane race, and well, if not that then, how about just the thrill of it all, eh?” She grabbed the suit cases from his old bony hands and the two of them fled the barn, securing the door behind them.

The two men were enjoying their show immensely when the power went out. They both grumbled and exited the shack together, stumbling in the dark. The larger man carried an old fashioned oil lamp this time and he held it above him as the two made their way to the fuse box. It wasn’t the fuses, the French Maid had used the ladder and Pierrot’s instructions to sabotage the transformer sitting on a near by light pole. The men decided after trying various fuses that the entire power must be out in the area, ‘line must be down’. They had also decided to check on the ‘doc’ as they were required to do; neither of them was willing to risk another mess up and furry of the Choo women. They had to go in to the barn via a paddle locked side door now that the power was off and thus didn’t notice that the electronic door was still partially open the extended bolt not letting the door close properly. The two men set the lamp down on a pile of tarp covered boxes as the large man and small man both searched through their respective key rings for the right key for the lock before them. The French Maid turned off her light and crept up near the two men she weighed the rock in her hand carefully and let it fly! It shattered the lamp which fell upon the straw strewn ground and burst into flame. ‘You idiot, you knocked the lamp over’ both men howled at one another and then leapt back as the flames quickly spread.

By the time the French Maid and Pierrot had driven past the farm house with their head lights off, the entire barn was wreathed in flames. They swung down the gravel road and turned on their lights and the French Maid gunned the engine, behind them the horizon flared ominously with several explosions and Pierrot and the French Maid laughed despite themselves.

When a slightly pissed Ken pounded on the door to Milla’s house, while staring at his mud splattered car, he was all set to lay into Milla with a justifiable wraith, which he secretly hoped would get him some submissive sex from Milla, since it was obvious that the bitch was hot for him. He was completely undone by the sudden appearance of an old geezer in an old fashioned butler suit who answered the door. “Who are you?” The boy had stammered.

“I’m the Bayard butler, sir. I’ve recently been employed by Miss Bayard to assist her as she gets her affairs in order. And who might you be?”

“I’m Ken.”

“Ah, good you can kindly remove that heap of non-recyclable rust of yours from our drive way. The keys are in it, I was just on the verge of calling the police and having it towed, but Miss Bayard had insisted on giving you until noon to collect it your self.” The old man looked at his pocket watch which was mirrored in his sun glasses. “You made it by less than five minutes,” the man said as he felt the surface of the watch. Ken was about to argue when he noticed the white cane hanging at the old man’s elbow and realized he was blind, the confusing anger was dissipated and ken merely said he would call on Milla later. The butler promptly told him she was not at home. When Ken asked when she would be at home? The butler snapped, “for you sir, never.” And shut the door in Ken’s face.

“That was cruel,” Milla whispered from next to Pierrot, but couldn’t stop from giggling at it all.

“Wait for it,” Pierrot said holding up a finger. Outside a car alarum went off.

“You locked his keys inside the car and set the alarum?” Milla gasped, the car alarm was followed by the sound of crashing glass and then it went silent and Ken’s car started up and roared away. “Pierrot that was truly wicked of you!”

“Ah, Pierrot is dead, now I am Wendell the Bayard butler!” They both smirked as Milla glanced outside at the empty drive way.

Milla had been going over several of the boxes of stuff she had bought at Wendell’s instruction which were piled all over the little houses living room and the crucial reason why Ken could not be admitted into the house. When Wendell returned into the house holding a dust pan full of broken glass, a small kitchen broom under one arm and a broken ceramic figurine, “The little bastard broke one of our garden gnomes busting into his car window! I’m glad we left his gas tank bone dry now.”

Milla giggled, “Are you sure it’s safe for people to see you walking about and all? What if one of the Choo’s or their hired goons sees you?”

“My darling, the Choo women only visited me thrice and every time I was a bedraggled long bearded unwashed gnarled old bone. As far as the ‘goons’ only a handful ever saw me and none of them gave me a second glance! Except one and I‘m sure he‘s dead.”

“Hmm, I guess,” he truly did look incredibly different now that he was properly groomed and dressed. The metamorphosis was amazing and his slight snobbish British accent completed the transformation rather well. Milla returned to laying out the various boxes contents and paused to give her self a rest from that and look over the long winded forms she had picked up from the ‘preservation’ committee for filling out a request for building a new outer building on her property and refurbishing her small existing domicile. She was rather certain that providing the construction was rather on the lavish gaudy side and the committee palms sufficiently greased, there would be little trouble in getting her building permits granted. It might have been other wise if her home had been located on a more exclusive area of the lake, but being in a more run down section she was rather sure the committee would leap at the chance at seeing that area of the lake spruced up a bit. She was certain that is what they had in mind when they had first requested her appearance before them and had wondered if she had selling the property in mind? They had obviously doubted her financial ability to full fill their immediate hopes for her property. She would meet those hopes in spades, but it would take several more of her father Jean-Luc’s hidden stashes to be able to afford them to the end. “I can’t wait to get your quarters built and get all of your junk out of the house,” Milla muttered kicking at another of Wendell’s recently arrived ups boxes. She stepped carefully through the throng of stuff, “Your mad scientist laboratory I guess would be closer to the truth, I suppose.”

She chewed on her pencil eraser mulling it all over, as Wendell’s voice boomed out of the kitchen, “How dose Yellow Tail sound for lunch?”

“Yummy,” Milla replied, and stared out her back yard window out past her little brick caning shed and out over the silver lake where the lowering sky was reflected along with the upside down budding trees. On the far distant shore out of sight from her Bayard mansion waited, as if calling to her, ‘soon,’ she thought, ‘soon’.

CHAPTER SIX

The French Maid brought the sleek Wendell modified black super bike motor cycle she straddled to a rest in the hidden duck blind she had set up earlier in the woods just down the road from the Bayard mansion. The police cruiser roared by in pointless pursuit of her vanished form, the cops spent most of their nights chasing after rich teenagers in cars or on motor cycles and ceased using their sirens over the years after the numerous complaints by the wealthy households they raced past She smiled as she took off her helmet and stripped off her leathers. It had been almost a month since she had rescued Wendell from the Choo farm north of River City, and though his quarters were not any where near completed and much of her own small house was in construction shambles, both her and Wendell had decided that her next visit to Bayard mansion could not be postponed until they were more comfortably ready. Wendell had become alarmed by two things in specific; one was the increased activities concerning the Choo women’s scientist whom he kept discrete tabs on, the second was Milla suddenly remembering the large switch and key she had found in the Bayard master study and had asked Wendell if her knew any thing about it. He hadn’t but he was certain the throwing of the switch had opened up something important in the Bayard mansion and he felt an immediate investigation was warranted despite the lengthy time having passed. What ever made Wendell worry made her worry as well and so setting aside their on going preparations she had set off for Bayard mansion, ready or not?

Under her leathers the French Maid wore nothing at all, naturally, and the special almost silent bike with it’s special vibrating seat to keep her sexual powers heightened had left her throbbing pussy so wet that the leather made a noticeable slurping noise as she wiggled it down past her crotch. With her leathers and helmet and motor cycle boots in a pile, the naked French Maid gave a last quick look around the leafed out late spring forest and walked out of the duck blind and pulling a hidden cord running up a trunk of a near by tree, let slide down a large camouflaged duffle bag. This she dragged back into the duck blind and quickly opened.

First she took out her little make-up case and gave a touch up to her face. She smiled at the gorgeous woman who smiled back out of the little compact mirror at her. Next she carefully pinned up her hair in a loose French bun, teasing the long dripping coils of her brunette silky hair into place. Then she pinned in her little lace French Maids hat; this was the only article of clothing she had kept from the very first French Maid costume she had worn and it had taken on a special significance to her. So it was almost reverently pinned into place and she felt much more truly the French Maid once she had it just so. After this she put on her mother Susan’s cameo choker broach around her neck, this too made her feel very special and an increasing tinge of confidence chased some more of the butterflies away from her stomach. She then reached for her skirt and it’s under flouncing, here Wendell had shown his true talent in the understanding a life time spent at devising and studying sexual lusts, could offer her. The fabric was of his own design and though sheer at the out set it responded to the wearer’s pheromones increasing it’s sheerness in direct proportion to the wearers degree of lust. Both the white lacy stiff under flounce and the black silk skirt ridding on it responded to this. Size wise they were about the same shortness as her previous skirt, but Wendell had added a neat feature into the pleats and waist band that allowed the French Maid by putting her hand on the waist band and giving a little squeeze, the entire skirt and under skirting would rise up slightly. A two handed firm squeeze on her waist band sides could raise the entire skirting up to an almost right angle, giving a fantastic unhampered view of her freshly groomed fleurs-de-lis. She had practiced long and hard with this structural marvel in front of her new full length three sided mirror in her newly refurbished bed room at home, constantly amazed at the subtle differences of revilement it offered her. Now she stepped into and slipped up her garter belt, it slid up and then under her skirting’s waist band causing the skirts to flare out just slightly, which she liked. Next she pulled on her new boots. This where also of Wendell’s invention and consisted of a shinny thigh high boot of the lightest and stretchiest vinyl she had ever seen. The tops were held in place by her garter strap clips, but the material was so skintight she was sure she could have forgone the garter entirely, but she liked the look of it. The boots were incredibly breathable and suppliant and much easier to move in than the unforgiving leather boots of Becky’s had been. They looked great on her long legs and she liked the way they pinched up against the bottom of her butt cheek in a mirrored black sheen. Over the right boot she slipped up her mother’s black and white laced garter band, up to her mid thigh. It sparkled there like a Christmas halo and she smiled at it. She clipped a small card holder to the garter band, it fit snug between her latex shimmering thigh and the garter band; it held several of her calling cards. Now she put on her new gloves; these where a return to the black opera gloves of before but the new material was identical to her boots and the shiny gloves stayed in place running all the way up to her mid-upper arm. Wendell had added something more to these; the left glove had a small squeeze switch at its top inside seam, which in turn ran down in nearly microscopic mesh to her gloves fingertips. Squeezing the glove top just so sent a brief non-lethal electrical charge out of the finger tips. The glove only held about three good charges, then it need to be recharged it’s self. She had practiced on her stuff animals at home and had arrived at what she felt was a very cool pose, of extending her left arm out and touching her target while her right arm reached under her breasts and squeezed the glove top, all while in a wide leg stance with a big sneer on her face. It looked cool, but Wendell had warned her that the glove had only enough juice to ‘surprise’ an attacker, maybe stun the bastard if she got him in the face or neck, but it wasn’t going to render any one unconscious, ‘zap and run,’ he had advised. Considering her obvious panache for fingering her self absently, Wendell had made the switch to require a firm two finger squeeze so she wouldn’t have to worry about her accidentally shocking her own clitoris with her left gloved hand if she should end up squeezing her arms tight in a sexual spasm. Next she reached for her top. Here were the true geniuses of Wendell for the entire world to see. Yes the top was made out of the same material as her skit, and it would become increasingly invisible as she became increasingly horny. And yes, Wendell had loved the whole jiggle powered light and had made an even better micro version of the whole set up built into the top. And yes, it had even the little recoil power jack which she could plug into the top switch of her left glove and recharge it with her boob bounce if she needed to. And yes the top had a single bra design this time instead of the cumbersome two, and it had been improved with a special jell pad to increase her breasts jiggle and bounce. And yes, it had the lace white ruffled fringe that just tantalizingly hide her puffy nipples. And yes, it even had the large poof shoulder sleeves attached to it, increasing her breasts bounce and jiggle even more so. But none of this showed Wendell’s years of expertise as much as the French Maids breasts. During his many years coming up with potions for the pre-Choo women jade mask, Wendell had discovered many wonderful sexual drugs, but only a few had been of any real use to the jade mask, and a few he never told them about at all, choosing to keep the little secrets for his own ego to drool over. This included his on going unfinished master piece. A drug he had not yet perfected to his own impossible standards, but which was marvelous none the less. He had labored on it in secret in the various jade mask labs he had been whisked to and from, and it had been one of the many items the French Maid had helped him carryout of the old barn he had been left to rot and die in by the two Choo hags. The drug was an off shoot of the basic formula he had come up with for the jade mask, the one that made women more submissive and lustful. He had been trying to fix why when he increased the strength of the drugs effect it made the women test subjects more lustful, but stopped having any effect on making the women at all submissive. The jade mask wasn’t in the market for a drug that actually increased the willfulness of a sex slave no matter how horny it made her, and he had puttered along with it as a side project that gnawed at his need to understand and resolve it. In the end he discovered a whole new drug. The drug caused a woman’s breasts to swell and grow rapidly; in just an hour they could easily double in size. There were a number of draw backs, first the new growth only lasted about eight to ten hours once the breasts had peeked in their size, then the swollen breasts began to lactate and the breasts shrank back down to their original size. Second, the woman was flooded with intense lusts as long as her breasts remained increased in size; this seemed to be due to the drugs origin in the jade mask submissive sex drug. Third, the woman was far from submissive, in fact she became increasingly dominate in her manner and attitude as the drug wore on until in lactation it bled it’s self out of her, at which time she temporarily became utterly submissive to any suggestion for up to an hour. Fourth, once the lactation started, the subject would become helplessly undated with multiple orgasms of frightening intensity, until the lactation ended. Since the lactation could last up to several hours, Wendell’s subjects had required massive dosages of sleep inducing narcotics to keep them from literally dying in the sexual seizers. There were numerous other side effects including increased sexual sensitivity while the drug was coursing through the patient’s veins and arteries, and several other ‘little’ quirks that varied from girl to girl. Because of the over all nature of the tests time period and Wendell wanting to keep the drug unknown to the jade mask, he had little practical hands on time to experiment and had to rely increasingly on theory and leaps of intuition. The drug remained unfinished and they had run out of time when he had revealed it to Milla. She had begun experimenting with it at once.

The French Maid stared down at her fantastic breasts. They were easily a J cup now and she knew from her previous trials they would swell another cup size or two, maybe more. It seemed criminal to cover up such miraculous firm jutting quivering mounds of tit flesh, but she forced her self to squeeze into the top. The fabric would swell or contract remaining in a constant tightness depending on how she set the under mesh tension. She liked the way the tight top squeezed her breasts into a rounded buttock like cleavage, and she left the tension adjustment where it was, it wouldn’t squeeze her any tighter, the memory core of the bra mesh would expand automatically as her growing breasts heaved against it. She tried a few shimmies to make she was getting her desired yo-yoing effect in addition to her breasts constant state of jiggling with her every breath. Reassured the setting wasn’t restricting her breasts natural undulations, she returned putting on the rest of her costume. Next came the mask, it had the same glossy black shimmer of the gloves and boots and had to be carefully glued into place on her face by actor’s glue. This ended her fear of her mask coming loose accidentally and made it’s snatched forced removal almost impossible, thus re-leaving her of fear of being unmasked which was now becoming a frequent nightmare element in her dreams. Next she picked up the little white apron with it’s large center pocket, containing a Wendell improved palm computer and the single key she had found in the master study during her last visit. The large bundle of keys was gone, melted down by Wendell to avoid any possible detection. The French Maid knew that the Choo’s had finally replaced all their old locks and revamped their security systems. The aprons material was of the same fabric as her black top and black skit and white lace under skirting, and would slowly increase their already sheer state upon an increase in the body’s sexual arousal. Next she picked up a feather duster and slipped the loop attached to the non-business end up her right arm and snug it into place there, she would slide it down to around her right wrist once she was inside the Bayard mansion. The material of the black tube of the feather duster glued it’s self with an almost Velcro cling to her gloved arm. The little accessory had seemed dippy to her at first until Wendell had showed her all the little things it could do. ‘She would try it,’ she had said. Last she inserted a string of three small balls into her anus. This also had been Wendell’s brain child. In response to her being unable to ‘summon’ up the French Maid persona at will, Wendell had made various studies of her as she tried to ‘be’ the French Maid. In the end Wendell had decided Milla needed a constant state of arousal of sexual sensations to bring on the French Maid and then keep her there. However, with the new drug coursing through her body, any constant direct stimulus to her nipples or clitoris had proven to be too intense and brought her too rapidly close to orgasm to be of any value. In the end, no pun intended, Wendell had come up with the idea of the anal stimulation. It had taken three balls with the drug about twenty minutes into her system to work out unerringly. The French Maid grunted slightly as she slid the self lubricating balls up her anus. When the last one was swallowed up all that remained was a small little cord and her grandmother’s pearl ear ring that she had used on her last costume, dangling just out side her smooth soft butt hole. With a firm grip on the cord with one hands fore finger and thumb, she firmly grabbed the pearl with the other gloved fore finger and thumb. She gave a slow tug, and immediately the three balls began to vibrate inside her. An involuntary gasp escaped her and sweat speckled her face and breasts, when she raised her head upwards to the charcoal colored interior roof of the duck blind, a slow guttural moan escaped her pursed lips, and when her eyes opened wide, she was utterly and completely the French Maid!

With the drug rippling through her body both Wendell and the French Maid had found out that it uniquely affected her by intensifying her hormonal scents her body produced. She oozed a sexual musk that intensified as she her self became increasingly aroused, even Wendell achieved his first real boner in decades and was forced to excuse him self while he played with one of his many gadgets in the locked bath room. The drug also increased the over all effects of the French Maid’s sexual lust based powers, all her senses sharpened and even her strength, agility, speed, and endurance were notably improved. Wendell was fascinated by this, but there simply hadn’t been any time to do even the most perfunctory test, the French Maid would just have to experiment in the field.

As the French Maid boldly exited the duck blind she gave her nipple a twist and thrilled at the explosion of energies sent racing through her already pulsating body. It took extreme will not to race out of the woods to the near by street down the hill bellow her and flag down the first car she saw and proceed to ‘hump the shit’ out of its lucky driver! Instead she shadowed the road until it was even with the access road leading past the fenced off Bayard properties and down to the public strip of lake side beach. There was obviously little worry of any locals being down there as the road was blocked off with a large sign stating that the access road was closed for repair. She seriously doubted this to be the truth, but it seemed to work in her favor, and she quickly crossed the moon lit road and proceeded down the small side road until she was out of sight of any possible traffic passing by on the road behind her. She was careful not to venture too far down the tarmac lane as she knew from Ben that there was a new security camera waiting down there.

Before the French Maid had set off for another visit to Bayard mansion, she had decided she had better first check on any recent developments or changes in the Bayard family security systems. This had met another visit to Ben, but this time the French Maid had decided to kill two birds with one stone; she would both pump Ben for new information and give the new French Maid a quick little test drive before tackling the Bayard house and grounds. She would visit Ben not as Milla, but as the French Maid. Wendell had reluctantly agreed, it would certainly test Milla’s theory that the new breast growth drug was the ultimate disguise, in that no one would suspect DD cupped Milla in her minimizer bra was the J cupped or larger French Maid, not when they could so obviously see via her out fit how real those breasts were as they jiggled before them. With firm determination to put her theory to the test she set out to find Ben, the one man who had got a great long look at both her face and ‘pride & joy’.

Ben was working alone that night at one of the small mom and pop stores that littered the circular maze of streets and spokes of side streets that made up the confusing shopping markets and mercantile exchanges of Lake City. Shopping malls and strip malls were forbidden by the ‘preservation’ committee, and a simple thing like preparing a family meal might mean visiting three or four small grocery stores. For the wealthy with servants for mundane tasks and time to while away hours looking for a place to park along the twisting streets, it was ‘quaint’. To every one else it was a nightmare of chaotic paradoxical regulations and constant interference with their lives at all levels.

The shop Ben was working at had closed at seven p.m. and he was working alone in the small brick building; installing a new door chime on the front and back doors and replacing an old round corner mirror with a small security camera. The building was part of several connected brick businesses lining the street, of almost identical layout despite their unique surface appearances. Each building consisted of a small ground floor containing the store of saleable goods and a second floor where the living quarters for the store owners were kept. Except most of the upper floors had been converted into rented out apartments with access being limited to what had originally been intended to be fire escapes in the back alley ways. These fire escapes had been modified into small enclosed stair wells running up the back of the buildings. The shop owners, who actually still owned their businesses, most were owned by the banks which in turn were owned by the wealthy families in the area and subjected to their whim and control, preferred not to live in the tinny up stairs rooms and usually rented them out. The building Ben was working in that night was rather special in not only did the owner, a nice middle aged man who had been born and raised in Lake City and left for Capital City only to loose everything he had in the hurricane and had returned beaten to take over the family Lake City business, not only live in his up stairs rooms, but he owned the business, and the building it’s self, which was extremely rare. Because of the prescience of the owner up stairs and the refreshing warmth of the late spring night, Ben had not worried about the fact that he had removed the old locks from both the front and back ground floor doors, but had only replaced and locked the front door, and that mainly to keep the busy street traffic from trying to enter the closed store. The back door he had left unfinished and propped open to let in the first truly nice night of years breeze blow gently into the store from the back alley way as he tried to figure out how he was going to adapt the camera mounting to fit the unusual corner of the ceiling where the old mirror had been.

He was tugging up his baggy pants again with a hand containing a screw driver and turning the camera mounting around and around in his other hand before his perplexed face; when he heard a shuffling of feet behind him. He naturally assumed it was the families little girl again who had been called away to dinner but had been petering him every since he had arrived. “Have you finished your dinner already?”

“No, and I’m absolutely famished! Do you have a little something I can nibble on?”

Ben spun around at the sound of the heavy French accent and froze. His first thought was robbery when he say the shinny black mask, but then his eyes widened and all thoughts of burglary went out his mind with just about everything else that had been in it. Ben had lived in Lake City all his life and he was use to the constant costume parties that the area was famous for and the common sight of wealthy and middle class costumed revealers drunkenly teetering about the streets and shops on almost any night. That said this was ‘not’ a common sight. There before him was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, wearing the skimpiest maids out fit he had ever seen. And by god! She had the biggest tits he had ever seen! They had to be about the size of beach balls! And yet they seemed to wiggle in a gravity defying constant impatient undulating heavy firmness, the likes of which he had never imagined possible. He struggled to say something, and could only mange a dry throat wheeze about how he thought she wasn’t suppose to be in here. Luckily she didn’t seem to hear him and he screamed at himself not to say anything at all if he was just going to say dumb shit like, hey sexiest drunken horniest slut I’ve ever seen in my life, you really should be leavening now. Just say nothing at all; he continued screaming to him self. The fox before him had apparently grown bored with looking at him standing there spellbound and had absently picked up the security camera he had set down on the glass shop counter when he had become puzzled over how to adapt the new mounting, she pointed it at him smirking, he returned her smile as if it was contagious. She frowned when she tried to look through the view finder, he started to move toward her to help, but froze in place as she reached down and picked up a connecting cable, stopping him in place with a side tossed smile. She connected up the camera and pointed it at him again, she told him to smile, and he already was. Ben glanced nervously up at the new security monitor he had already installed and was glad to see it was still a dead gray screen, it wasn’t turned on and the recording device hadn’t been set up yet any way, but he was still glad the camera wasn’t actually filming him. He was still a little nervous about being ‘seen’ in a state of arousal, which he most definitely was, ever since his mother and his sisters troop of girl scouts had busted in on him while he was masturbating. He was still in the dog house with his mother about that, an unspoken cold shoulder had fallen between them, and he was uneasy about the prospects of being video taped with what had to be the biggest boner he had ever had saluting in his baggy pants.

The almost naked woman had set the camera down on the counter and raised one long gloved finger and slowly stroked the screw diver he had raised between them when he had moved forward to help her with the camera but had frozen in place. “Are you going to screw me?” She whispered, licking her wet full lips, “are all your tools so big?” She looked inquisitively down at his tented pants, breathing heavily, her oily sheen gloved finger still stroking up and down on the shaft of the screw driver.

Ben had never felt like this, a red mist tunneled his vision, he had trouble breathing, he felt both light headed and suffocating, he felt weightless and drowning, he felt like his skin was on fire, and he felt incredibly good and alive and powerful and wonderful and some how divine. He knew what this woman wanted, what all women needed, he dropped the screw driver and the camera mounting completely oblivious of them as they fell to the tiled floor, He undid the button on his baggy jeans and they fell to the ground in a limpid puddle abut his sneakers. Next he pulled his boxers past his boner and let them fall to his knees. The hot bitch moaned a deep sexy moan and he reached out for her but she fell back against the glass case, bumping the camera which fell on to it’s side, obviously too weak in the knees at the sight of his huge cock! He toyed with her, stroking his cock as she mumbled in French and drool came out of her panting open mouth, she couldn’t take her eyes off his cock, she was desperate for him. She whispered as gasped in need of his man meat, ‘I’ll give it to you bitch, don’t you worry, you want it don’t yah!’ His entire world was those enormous impossible tits before him and a haze of her overwhelming desire for him to ravage her. He grabbed for her again and pulled him self to her his knees and ankles fouled in his garments, placed her gloved palms against his chest and he leaned in on tip toe to push up against her throbbing quivering watery soft flesh. Unable to deny him she slide one gloved hand down and gripped his throbbing cock. The sensation towered in him and he grabbed her upper arms and squeezed her.

The French Maid quickly found the small gate set in the chain link fence of the Bayard grounds. It had been installed to allow temporary access for the workers who were in the on going process of replacing all the Bayard chain link fences with tall brick walls, to facilitate this a few small gates had been quickly set up in the longer run of fences. The lock was a small metal pad, and the French Maid quickly extracted a small plastic swipe key card from amongst her calling cards in her garter. The card was one of only three universal keys out side the Bayard mansion and it would only work until the major construction was done. It would only open the little temporary gates, the new down stairs locks, and one or two other doors also on the ground floor. Once all the locks had been changed the codes would be set by the Choo’s themselves by adding pin numbers to the various individual door key pads, but for now what with all the construction workers, this had been thought by Mr. Choo to be too incontinent for all involved. The result of this was that in face of all the new security being installed at Mrs. Choo’s instance and Mr. Choo’s reluctance, the Bayard mansion was actually easier to break into than ever before, providing you had a master swipe key, as the French Maid did.

The French Maid had taken the key card from Ben’ wallet several nights before and she would have to visit Ben in the hospital to night to return the card back to his wallet before any could guess it was missing. She felt slightly bad about Ben, but it was his own stupid fault. The whole test run had gone smoothly, but it had raised several questions that neither her nor Wendell could answer before she had to rush out to the Bayard mansion, before all her hard won information and key card had been rendered useless by the passage of time.

The whole time factor remained a serious problem. Ever time she managed to tap into the full prescience of the French Maids powers and persona, it built an ever increasing damn of lust, that eventually just burst in a rush that just flooded uncontrollably out of her in desperate needs of mindless constant want of orgasm. Wendell had done some tests and he found it wasn’t psychological but physical, much like his various drugs. There was a biochemical storm going on inside the French Maid and it created as well as her increased abilities, this sort of chemical toxins. The orgasms seemed to break the toxicants back down, it was very similar to his breast drug in many ways and he was of course very interested in it all. Wendell had been able to apply certain lessons learned from his own experiments with such sever orgasm compulsion fallout from his own drugs, and been able to cut the French Maid’s two day masturbation cycle to break down the toxins to a ten hour cycle, through a combination of drugs and replacing Milla’s little ‘helpers’ with gadgets of his own design. Part of the key was to increase the intensity of her ‘cleansing’ orgasms, as such her house now contained a small sound proof room; where she had removed all the stereo equipment and plasma TV that she had been forced to put in there to convince the workers that it was an entertainment niche, and placed in the room all her specialized equipment that would allow her to both survive her natural cleansing cycle of coming down from being the French Maid and the new additional burden of the almost simultaneous fallout of the breast enlargement drug, Still, until they could work it out, the French Maid could only operate for about eight to ten hours, then the breast drug would begin it’s lactation cycle, which always trigged an orgasm, and thus in turn began the French Maid’s cascade of orgasms. She always had to make it back to her house before those ten hours were up, or else collapse helpless in a state of orgasm and masturbation that with out her machines would last two days. It would then be another two days before her strength had returned were she could use the breast drug and reenter the state of the French Maid. This meant there was considerable down time for every jaunt out as the French Maid. It was one of the reasons Wendell had been against the French Maid visiting Ben, as it meant even with the machines and Wendell’s counter drugs, it would be a ten hour orgasm cycle followed by at least twenty four hours before she could use the breast drug to help her call up the French Maid again. Without the drug it took Milla several days to be able to mine up enough pent up sexual energies to call back up the still unknown powers of the French Maid in their full scope and glory.

All that said the French Maid believed the test run with Ben had gone well. He obviously hadn’t recognized her as Milla, and she had discovered the new breast drug inducing musk her body now secreted had a tremendously hypnotic almost rapturous state on other people. Ben had told her every thing she had wanted to know about the new security system his family were putting in for the Choo family, as well as about his master pass key that he had on him in his wallet; all the while with glazed eyes he stood there weaving and stroking his own cock! It had been very difficult not to laugh at him, but there had been a touch and go moment when he managed to get hold of her and the fire engines of the French Maid began to race dangerously towards climaxing. Ten hours or no ten hours, if the French Maid climaxed it was all over, she would be a mindless sex zombie much like Ben had been al little like before her. But the little stupid man had squeezed the trigger to her left glove just as she was pulling him in her gloved grip to trace out the pubic pattern of her fleurs-de-lis with the head of his purple cock. The jolt of electricity had caused him to stiffen up his entire body and fall back away from her, it had surprised her and cleared her head just enough to rummage through his wallet and take the swipe card and then replace the wallet and go staggering out into the alley, and shaking her head to clear it further, vanished into the night. Latter Wendell had fixed the switch on her glove to make accidental fires like that less likely; while listening to his new police scanner for any information concerning the boy. Apparently, though no one had seen the French Maid, dozens of people had seen Ben! The French Maid had unknowingly plugged the camera into the jack that fed all the TVs that were on display in the front window of the little electronics store. The street had quickly filled up with shocked passer bys staring at a wall of TVs that showed Ben lying on his back with his hands reflectively clutched about his cock and balls, as his body spastically arched, his penis spewing thick streams of sperm high into the air. Standing over him in wide eyed innocence, her finger to her mouth, was the shop owner’s little girl. Ben had been taken to the hospital where he was being held for psychiatric evaluation. From fellow gossiping servants buying groceries for the families they worked for, Wendell learned that this was not the first time Ben had masturbated in public. In fact he had been rumored to have been seen doing it in his truck by a whole bus load of people and he had done it in front of a whole Girl Scout troop as well!

The French Maid closed the small gate behind her and moved quickly through the piles of construction materials and machinery that now dotted the Bayard grounds. They provided excellent cover and she almost disdained to make use of it as the cockiness of the French Maid swelled along with her breasts. She had been upset when she had exited her little sound proof room staggering to her bed with Wendell’s assistance, to crash in exhausted slumber, the Ben experiment had gone reasonably well, but she had forgot to leave one of her calling cards. Wendell had pointed out that this was undoubtedly a good thing since the whole operation had been intended to be secretive on her part. “But I made him cum,” the French Maid whined plaintively as she fell into an almost coma like sleep. Wendell had shook his head and proceeded to remove the sacks containing the French Maids milk from the milking machine that was attached to the vibrating saddle that dominated the small sound proof tiled room. The smell of sexual musk was still strong despite the exhaust fans and he moved quickly so as not to be over come by it’s hypnotic power. On the saddle it’s self was an enormous dildo of his own design, when he had originally been setting up the equipment for her he had gone through her storage totes of her little ‘helpers’ to get a feel of what made her ‘tick’, and been surprised to find the smallest vibrator Milla had currently owned was a twenty two inch by four inch girth dildo. ‘You’re a size queen, my dear,’ he had called out to her and then had promptly set abut re-modifying the equipment to handle what was obviously a super humane sexual appetite even without the breast drug’s additional demands; he seriously wondered if the machines could handle her!

The French Maid giggled at the thought of all of that now. With each step her breasts surged enormous pleasure through her body, and underneath it all the base trilling of her anal vibrators kept her breath sharp and her eyes crisp with lightning. The vibrating balls little batteries were also recharged by movement and while there was the inevitable loss of generating versus use, the shaking of her ass extended the life span of the initial charge by several hours. Wither through subconscious knowledge that each hip shake extended the deep vibrating pleasure or just the ever increasing heady lusty thrill of the French Maid her self, she couldn’t help but notice how much roll and sway she was pouring into her hips, even though there was no one to appreciate it. The was a six foot trench dug out for a new drainage pipe before her and without skipping a beat the French Maid leapt over it in stride, “I’m a fucking super heroine!” the French Maid beamed in both wonderment and joy. Her breasts leapt in glee along with her buoyant unsuppressed laughter. “I need to unleash the ‘monsters!’” She whined to her self. She needed some one to see how magnificent her tits were! Pride & Joy were now her Monsters! Her beasts to unleash!

The French Maid approached the main front double doors of the Bayard mansion these were the only outer doors her pass key could open that didn’t have a working security camera yet. Up the stairs she flew, her heightened senses telling her that the single man with a dog had been replaced by a small group of women who were at that moment whispering quietly together as they rounded the corner of the mansion moving away from her. There was another woman sitting in a tree stand near the main gate and another was drinking coffee from a thermos on the roof no less! How many were hidden in the back grounds she couldn’t even begin to sense, but neither did she care. ‘Looks like the Choo women have finally begun replacing all those incompetent men with their new women warriors. I’ll have to be more careful, these aren’t a bunch of attention deficit males, these are jade mask warriors!’ The key card swiped the lock open and the little screen flashed; “Ben 11 pm”. “Oh,” the French Maid hesitated, “I hadn’t thought of that. I didn’t know the door locks would record ‘who and when’ a key card was used.” She decided she would have to locate the main computer for the security system and do what ever she could. ’I’ve already caused Ben enough trouble as it is; I can’t afford any one tracing a connection between him and the French Maid. Besides I may need him again!’

The large doors swung inwards, the little invisible alarm beams silenced by her card swipe, and the French Maid boldly sauntered into the great hall. She had a time schedule to keep, she didn’t need a watch of any kind, and she could feel the drug in her breasts and could tell she had about six hours before they would begin to lactate. The time period between ingestion of the drug and lactation varied some what and she was disappointed that the cycle was moving toward the shorter end of the scale tonight, she would have to hurry. ‘The up side of this,’ she mused, ‘was that the shorter cycle length tended to produce the larger and faster breast swell, not to mention the most delicious orgasms!’ Wendell had promised to eventually fix this irregularity as he continued to modify the drug from its general state to one keyed individually to her. ‘Wendell was proving to be very valuable to her, whish is odd since he was just a stupid man. But then he was a Bayard and that was what probably made the difference. After all the Bayard’s were descended from Napoleon him self, or so Wendell had told her .She half expected the next person she met to tell her that her father had been Napoleon him self the way everything kept going so topsy-turvy!

The French Maid shut the great doors behind her and reactivated the alarm with Ben’s pass key using the wall mount security box on her left. The house was mostly dark and lifeless; Mr. Choo had gone to Big City for several days on business, but she knew both the Choo women were in the house, and she had a pretty good idea where they were. Wendell had finally managed to get his computers set up in her torn up and cluttered kitchen, and re-establishing his old net work of false fronts and mazes from the pre-Choo era of the jade mask, he had began to mine the information they both needed to fill in several missing pieces. Surprisingly it was as Wendell the new Bayard butler that he had found out several important bits from the other domestic servants during gossip sessions in the local shops around town. Wendell had used the old tit for tat ploy, giving out little embarrassing fictions about Milla that wouldn’t damage her reputation publicly and in fact made her appear more reassuringly humane and less of a spinster ice queen to many of the other domestics. In turn he procured several inane but strange observations from the other servants of the various houses in the lake area, which when compiled with his own knowledge and gleanings from other sources he was able to bridge several gaps and make some alarming guesses.

From all of this both the French Maid and Wendell had discovered that several of the wealthy women in the area had already been recruited into the new jade mask cult under the Choo women’s leadership. The cult seemed to be a layered class based system with different layers being given different information as to the ‘groups’ purpose and goals and activities. For example recently the jade mask had begun recruiting women from all walks of life under the guise of being a sort of self improvement group; which could help in health, and job placement, and scholarships, and just offer wonderful perks in day to day life such as free day care for children, or transportation, and so on. The whole thing was being built up as a grass roots movement, billed as how women if banded together could solve so many of the worlds problems that the greedy corrupt male dominated governments had failed at. It was becoming increasingly popular and yet somehow was remaining off the political radar, perhaps because it was a women’s movement and not of any real interest to men of power.

The French Maid knew that this very night several of the wealthy women who were members of the inner sanctum of the new jade mask cult were down in the large subterranean cavern directly under her eight inch heeled feet. She had naturally told Wendell of the two under ground caverns she had found and he had informed her that originally they had contained art works his father had acquired illegally, and that the federal government had removed them all. In the process of finding what they mistook to be a sealed hidden passage discovered with sonar; they had attempted to blow a hole into it, it had turned out to be an under water pocket of the lake and had promptly flooded the two lower rooms of the galleries. The rooms she had her self had seen and found the two bumbling twin brothers tied up in; the steps leading up past the shack lead to the third and largest gallery which was principally accessed by a large hidden door on the main floor built into the back of one of the large fire places in the grand ball room. It was the entrance used to carry and transport the large works into and later out of the galleries and it was the entrance Wendell was sure the Choo women were using to access the great caverns. Wendell was certain the Choo woman were using this upper gallery for their clandestine jade mask ceremonies, and he was equally certain it was were they kept the large wall mount jade mask stolen from the temple it’s self hidden between ceremonies. They both believed the Choo women and their guests would be preoccupied down in this lair for most of the night and that it would give the French Maid ample opportunity to gain free access to much of the house and complete her night’s objectives.

The French Maid, unlike the two twin brothers, had little interest in recovering the large and bulky jade mask wall hanging. Her intent this night would be to locate Mrs. Choo’s personal office, of which Wendell could offer no real helpful suggestions. They both believed that the more immediate and important jade mask documents would be kept there. Once found she would need to try and discover where the large quantities of the serum that would render men impotent and submissive; and the other serum designed to trigger the biological mutation in female reproductive organs allowing them to reproduce homosexually, was being kept. Wendell believed the jade mask were planning to implement some kind of mass experiment on the general public some where, ‘probably contaminating some water supply,’ he had guessed. She needed to find out where the stuff was being stored and if possible what the potential target was, if any?

Before that though, the French Maid wanted to explore Wendell’s best guess as to what the large old switch in the master study may have opened, and what the key in her apron pouch may go to. The French Maid passed through a large door less marble portal on her right leading out of the main hall way into a series of long rooms richly decorated. She paused in one of these squinting in what even her heightened sense found too dim to see well in, and turned on her bras little light. Wendell had found that in her excited state as the French Maid, she could actually perceive spectrums of light that the normal naked eye couldn’t and he had built her little breast light to shine in one of these spectrums. Her natural vibration of just breathing let alone the thundering shimmies of taking a step or moving her upper body kept the dancing light bright. She ran its bluish beam over the wall until she found the sculpted relief that Wendell had told her about. With a few stern tugs the relief turned in place and an audible click echoed in the vast room. The French Maid pushed against the near by wall and it gave way before her, opening into another large stale aired room. The French Maid quickly stepped into the room and closed the hidden door behind her, the little relief spinning back into its original position as she did so. In the dark room the French Maid pulled back her shoulders and gave her breasts several hard shakes; the little light flared brightly and she found the light switch to the room to her right. Turning on the rooms main light, she turned off her own breast light and paused in wonder at the large cluttered room around her leapt at her wide eyes; the Eros room!

Wendell had seen his father enter the Eros room twice in his short life at Bayard mansion; both times the old man had been holding a key much like the one the French Maid had found in the master study. Since a key was not needed to enter the room and nothing in the room required a key, young Wendell had realized that the hidden room must have a further hidden room. Wendell had never been able to get the little carving to turn as it had for his father so he had never been in the room, but he had a good idea of what it contained. Shortly after his father had placed the jade mask wall carving in one of the secret art galleries; he suddenly developed a compulsive passion for collecting erotic works of art. These had been placed upon each one’s arrival in what the family simply referred to as the Eros room. Wendell felt the switch in the master study because of its accompanying unmistakable shaped key, ‘it was shaped like a phallus, though incredibly the French Maid had not seemed to notice this!’ was what allowed the relief to be loosened and the door activated. The federal government had never heard of the room in its searches and impounding of works and Wendell had never seen any reason to tell the jade mask about it either. Wendell had added it to her palm computers maps as well as other things of passing interest she might want to invest age on some future outing.

The French Maid let out several giggles, the Eros room was crammed full of erotic art works form almost every age. She ran her gloved fingers over thousands of decadent thrilling enticing marvels and couldn’t help laughing at the wonder of it all; to her this was her candy store and she felt a heady splash intoxicating her senses at each and every work that eagerly leapt up like excited puppy dogs about her. It was with extreme difficulty that she forced her self to try and ignore the mass of works stacked in haphazard piles around her, and focus her entire intention on the marble wall carvings. She had a pretty good idea what she was looking for, and found it several yards along one carved wall. It hadn’t been really hidden that well. In that most of the wall had stacks of rolled up tapestries along it; the secret door had been left clear of these in order to allow ease of access. Still you couldn’t tell there was a secret door by just looking at the carvings, it was expertly hidden. The carving in marble relief before her was of Aphrodite lying calm ecstasy amidst a withering orgy of figures; who ever had been the artiest he had definitely had a thing for enormous breasts and the French Maid was very pleased by that. The French Maid carefully inserted the phallic key into the life like open carved slit of Aphrodite and was rewarded with a slight moan sound issuing from the Goddess, but no door opened. She tried it again and got an even louder longer sexual sigh from the sculpture; catching on and smiling wide with joy at the cleverness of the lock she reinserted the key again and again. On the twelfth thrust to a cascading shower of climaxing squeals the marble floor beneath her began to descend slowly. She with drew her key and found the tile she was standing on was becoming the bottom step of a short marble staircase that descended to a narrow marble arched door directly under the Goddess relief. When the stairs had settled into place the French maid entered the long marble hallway they revealed and stopped at the first of several carvings along the wall, which had a satyr with an enormous erection that was obviously pointing awkwardly down ward, gripping it with a thrill at the decent size girth of the sinuous marble shaft she pulled it back up to it’s proper up ward readiness and was rewarded by the stairs slowly rising up behind her closing off the passage with a wall relief of nymphs and satyrs fucking with wild abandon in a glade of cypress. The little passage was well lit by lights which she had saw flicker on as the stairs had descended. The French Maid carefully proceeded down the hallway which fell at a sharp angle and eventually ended a small cubby sized door made also of marble that she had to search for its hidden lock, and then crawl on her hands and knees to squeeze through.

The little door emptied into a small room of marble with carved niches and benches that was dimly lit from the light shinning under its heavy oak door and from the light streaming through the small opening behind her. She closed the small door and noticed that in doing so it depressed a switch in the jam and turned off the hall way lights she had just descended. Turning around to study the room the French Maid turned on her bra light and shook it to life. The niches contained clothes, and she quickly realized this was some kind of dressing room. She opened the door to a well lit hallway and turned off her breast light. The French Maid followed the hallway, opening closing several heavy wooden doors along the way, which seemed to lead into irregular shaped rooms all made out of the same ubiquitous marble but dark and deserted as the first room she had encountered had been. It took her a while to grasp that the hallway was circular and that she was walking in a large circle back to where she started; when she came upon a large hallway radiating off towards what must be the center of the large circumference of what ever the hallway enclosed. She proceeded down this become more cautious as the hallway in creased in ornamentation and light. Soon sound was added to this and the French Maid sneaked the last few yards to the hallways large opening with her back and bubble butt deliciously sliding against one of the hallways marble walls.

Slithering up the opening the French Maid dared a peek out into a large marble theater that was surrounded by arched columns and descending stairs. Covering the stairs where hundreds of women in shimmering jade robes all chanting and starring down at the circular floor of the theater where a large alter with a jade mask mounted on one side; had Mrs. Choo, naked but for a jade mask covering her face, she would recognize Miss January’s body anywhere! And the high priestess her self, the younger Miss Choo, also naked and wearing a jade mask, her boyish body covered in sweat as she mercilessly pounded Wendell’s specially made double insertion dong for her, up the ass of another woman who was bent over the alter. The French Made recognized not only that woman but the other three naked women standing beside the little group obviously waiting their turn to be savagely sodomized by the high priestess. The woman she was banging so aggressively was reciting her learned vows through gritting teeth and flushed tear streaked face, but was definitely a willing participant in the ritual. ‘It must be an initiating ritual,’ the French Maid thought as she looked at the hooded crowd that thronged out chants, and back down at the group in the center of the little coliseum. One of the naked women waiting her turn was the head of the ‘preservation’ committee she had just spoken to less than a week ago about further construction at her property. Next to her was the withered bony congresswomen who made her yearly spiel about family values, here she was waiting to have her ass reamed and no doubt hoping the high priestess would show her kindness by using a large quantity of lube. Next to her was the leader of the religious moral reform committee, her plump naked body looking almost fish like in the yellow light of the arena. But the only figure that the French Maid couldn’t take her eyes off and which had honestly surprised her was the young woman bent over the alter below her. She watched the young girl struggling to grunt out the last of her recitation through a mixture of growing pain and obvious pleasure. The French Maid bit her lower lip as both the high priestess and Shelia spasm in orgasm and collapsed into a sweating pulsing heap. They slowly untangled themselves and Shelia was helped to stand and step into her jade robe by the older Mrs. Choo.

‘That should have been me, riding Shelia’s ass!’ The French Maid hissed as she turned away from the room and rushed down the hallway. ‘All the years she had secretly longed for Shelia and the little whore pumps up her ass and gives herself to that little tit-less Choo freak!’ The French Maid definitely needed to get out of here; this is not where she had intended on being this night. Apparently the secret passage from the Eros room had led to the first main gallery which the Choo women had adapted to their new purposes. The large stair case she had seen leading up behind the figures at the central alter no doubt led up to the secret fire place entrance and the large door in the marble floor next to the alter must lead down to the flooded caverns she had seen on her previous visit.

Seeing Shelia being indoctrinated into the jade mask sisterhood had thrown the French Maid for a loop and she found she couldn’t remember which heavy oak door led back to the little hidden door and the Eros room, ‘they all looked the same!’ Hearing the approach of some whispering women she opened the nearest door and closed it rapidly behind her. The room was dark and the French Maid turned on her breast light and searched for a hiding place in case the approaching group was by chance heading to this very room. The group passed as she was searching and the French Maid found she was in nothing short than Mrs. Choo’s private study.

The study was an unimpressive small affair, being little more than a desk and some odd bits of furniture; still the French Maid was certain the room was both an office and belonged to Mrs. Choo due to the sudden assertion of her instinct and the various vibe of clutter about the room, and the little desk plaque stating, “Mrs. Choo’s desk” didn’t hurt in arriving at the conclusion as well. The desk computer was an elaborate tower job and she knew in a glance it would be riddled with encryptions and didn’t bother to turn it on. Fortunately like most clever rather than cunning people Mrs. Choo’s intelligence was limited to the absorption of others abilities and experiences; as such there out in the open the French Maid immediately found the stack of plastic jewel cases containing Mrs. Choo’s computer disks. Pulling out her Wendell tweaked palm computer the French Maid slide a disk out of its case and into the slot on the palm computers side. Keying a button began the over riding copying of the disk to the compact but beefy little wonder’s hard drive. It took several minutes for each disk to be copied in turn and while this task was being completed, the French Maid wiggled about the office looking for anything of any interest. Her attention kept being drawn back to a large square three foot new looking safe sitting out in the open in the corner of the room. With nothing much else to do except swapping disks, she dropped to her haunches and eyed the brute closely. ‘No hair pin was going to open this monster,’ she mused as her breast light flared from her sudden movements in looking over the gray void of the safe’s surface in the blue and purple tinted ultra light. For all its impenetrable newness, it bore an old fashioned radial dial lock of numbers of 0 through 100. Thinking for a moment the French Maid entered some numbers and pulled the handle. The large weighted door swung open on silent well hung hinges. ‘Miss Januaries measurements!’ The French Maid giggled and began to burrow through the contents of the safe.

Disappointedly the safe did not contain large wads of desperately needed cash as she had hoped, and instead was littered with rather dull looking binders and folders of sheaves of paper documents. The last disk finished it’s up load onto her little palm computer and she began to use the wand scanner to scan in the more important looking documents into her palm computer. It would take Wendell quiet awhile to sort through all this stuff, as his own absurdly huge computer would first translate all the information into audio and brail mat tactile files so he could make use of them. She would help as much as she could of course, but Wendell tended to work and think on a level of intellectual conception far beyond her own that was often frustrating if not some what unnervingly rude. Her palm computer began to flash its memory warning signal and the French Maid began to become increasingly selective in the still enormous pile of documents left before her, ‘doesn’t anyone throw anything away in this house hold!’ She had just found a particularly interesting looking ream of papers when the little guy gasped and gave out. ‘Stuffed,’ she frowned, ‘damn, oh well, let’s hope I got something useful out of all of that.’ The French Maid noted that not only was her little gadget’s memory full, but his batteries were now empty. The little computer had shut it’s self into sleep mode and would not respond again until she returned back and handed it over to Wendell to fix. She could plug her breast generator into it, but it would not make much difference in face of the memory core being full, but she might do it latter if she felt a need to recheck a map screen.

In truth, it wasn’t the little palm computer being infectively ‘out of commission’ for the rest of the night, that had her nervous, it was the rapidly depleting time she felt she had remaining to her. Already one of her anal vibro-balls had quit working, its energy cell depleted, and another was fading fast. Her breasts were beginning to feel heavy behind her nipples and a small tingling burning sensation was slowly spreading in her lower belly over the top of her sexual euphoric buzz; the tell tale signs that lactation and it’s cascading orgasms were nearing.

Hours had passed and she quickly shut the safe door trying to tidy every thing back in order about her through lightning forests of sudden swells of roller coasting arousal. With the anal vibrations fading her ability to see in the bra light’s ultra spectrums began to fuzz and cloud; she was facing a dilemma she and Wendell had hoped would not occur this night. Without the constant sensation of the anal beads at work on her the French Maid felt her focus and powers slipping in to the erratic spurts she had been forced to deal with before. True the new breast drug coursing through her body would keep her lusts boiling along enough not to lose the French Maid or her powers entirely, but it also made manipulating those powers sexual sources of arousal much more dangerous. A simple nipple tweak might in adding fresh fuel to the fire simply and suddenly become too strong and push her over the very tenuous edge the breast drug danced her around and into the sucking abyss of orgasm and the loss of her conscious will for hours if not days to come.

The French Maid moved about the office, every step sent her swollen breasts into lacy jags of shuddering ecstasy as she tried to concentrate. Losing the steady base of the anal beads now left all her other sensual erotic zones screaming in a volcano of erupting back lash of unleashed desire. The French Maid staggered over to the desk and gripped it with both sleek gloved hands, sweat beaded on her face and body, as she leaned over the desk for support and leverage and began to desperately shake her ass. Her only real hope was to use her own body’s movement to try and put some more electrical charge in the remaining two vibrating anal beads. If the second one went out completely or even if they all three failed all together she would find her body desperately compensating by searching out and magnifying it’s other rivers of sensations, which she was not yet practiced enough to control and keep managed under her will. The French Maid raised up her ass and began to frantically pump the searing air. She had spent too long on her haunches in front of the safe, her natural body’s movement not being there to help keep the little dynamos in her ass quaking. She had been a bad girl and she needed to be spanked. Her ass quivered in the darkness as she ground it in the unresponsive air and simpered in need. Lightning bolts shot down through both her legs and locked her knees stiff, as the third vibro-ball began to meekly churn and join its brethren. Her ass cheeks clapped for joy, the taunt sweaty flesh slapping together in rich dark spasms of wet meaty smacks. As she stood in the warm spreading rapture and deep animal long low groans of rising pleasure, the door opened suddenly and a figure walked into the room. Momentarily a prisoner of her passions, the French Maid could only manage to weakly raise her head and turn heavily lust lidded eyes on the single woman, who completely oblivious of the French Maid, entered the dark room with arms full of papers and shut the door turning her back on the French Maid to find and turn on the light switch.

It took every ounce of gasping rattle throated will the French Maid possessed to weakly raise her sweat dripping upper body off the desk and spin slowly around to half face the young girl who was both turning and walking in one motion towards her and the desk. The French Maid raised her feather duster and the girl startled at seeing the French maid at almost the same instant. The French Maid keyed the omni-directional switch in the handle of the black and chrome plated duster and something the equivalent of aerosol cheese spread shot out in a large thin arching stream. ‘Think silly string,’ Wendell had told her when she had practiced with it. The French Maid whipped her wrists in the practiced manner and the string fell down and on the girl in an instant. The French Maid keyed the switch in another direction and a chemical current lashed through the liquid rope, steadily increasing its strength, the small charge causing the young girls body to tense up and squelching the near born scream in her throat. The French Maid felt her control over her wild bucking energies recovering and managed a yank on the feather duster that sent the girl crashing to the floor amidst a snow fall of paper documents. The French Maid forced her still unsteady limbs throbbing with tingling minds of their own forward with gritting teeth; half leaping half stumbling to the girl, who was about to recover from her slight stunned state of smacking against the hard floor. The French Maid forced the round bulbous end of the duster into the girls shocked mouth and it disconnected from the black and chrome shaft with an audible ‘pop!’ Two little cylinders tailed behind the inserted plug and the French Maid pulled each of these in turn to reveal and use their adhesive strips to secure the ball gag into place. This done the French Maid keyed the wiggle switch in another direction and the now strong rope binding the hapless girl was snipped from its connection to the feather duster. The French Maid fell back from the securely bond young girl and shook her head to clear out the last of the sparkles erupting in aftermath from the struggle to regain her control over her sexual powers. She had come very close to both losing control of her powers and then slipping helplessly into the sucking abyss of orgasm in trying to regain them. This new breast drug would take some time to get use to, but for tonight at least that time was running out.

The French Maid had planned on heading up stairs this evening after trying out the key on the down stairs room Wendell had suggested. She had thought to find Mrs. Choo’s study up there and she had memorized the location of another Jean-Luc stash place on the third floor. She had then planed on escaping Bayard mansion by opening the window in the room and using the feather dusters liquid rope to descend and escape. Things had not gone as she had planed. The study had turned out to be down stairs, but she had luckily found it. She had just used up the vast quantity of the liquid rope on the struggling young girl lying next to her, so there was no escaping via any up stairs window. And time was moving rapidly against her; she could feel the glands behind her puffy pert nipples growing steadily heavier with a whisper of the promise of her coming need to be milked.

The French Maid shook her head one last time, she had found the study and she could always find another route of easy escape, but she couldn’t leave Bayard mansion without a considerable amount of loot. Wendell had worked incredible magic in setting up dummy accounts for her and buying things they needed through mazes of black market fronts; but it meat paying ten or twenty dollars for any one dollar item, and it meant creating for the public money several complex inheritances and drafts to explain her public purchases and constructions. In the end Milla owed the government huge sums of money in taxes for sums she as of yet did not even have! Balloon payments on bank loans were coming due, day to day bills were pilling up, and she was only beginning to buy and build the basics of what she and Wendell would require. The financial nightmare was threatening to swallow her up and spit her out! Worse yet, many of the local women were selling their jewels and replacing them with paste, giving the money in turn to the new cult of the jade mask. It had flooded the market, so any further bags of gems she found would be of even less value than usual. She would have to think of something.

The French Maid’s thoughts were interrupted by noticing the girl’s struggles had changed some how. Leaning in over her, the French Maid saw the girl was no longer fighting against her bonds so much as grinding them against her body. The French Maid was suddenly reminded of the powerful sexual pheromones her new breast drug body emitted, as the girl looked at her with hungry longing eyes. The French Maid smiled at the girl and flicked the switch again on her feather duster, the feathers retracted back into the handle and the duster began to pulsate and vibrate powerfully. Both the ball gag and the built in vibrator had been put into the feather duster by Wendell in case the French Maid found herself unable to return to the safety of her home and had been caught in orgasm. It was hoped she could hide her self and use both the gag and the vibrator to try and help her through the orgasmic onslaught without being found. The French Maid now brought the super powered variable machine up to the young girl’s breasts and began to work them over with increasing savageness. By the time she was slithering its heavy large tip down to the young women’s thighs, there was no longer a need for the ball gag to keep her from calling out for help, only the French Maid’s luscious lips to smother a deep gasping moan or two. The poor thing had apparently never had a decent sized man before and it took several attempts and much squealing shimming before the girl had rapturously swallowed the dusters large shaft into her hart’s pleasure. The French Maid kept her in the throws of wanton abandon as she whispered questions into the girls flushed cheeks; the young colt bucked and struggled to gasp and whine out the answers the best she could, being rewarded each time with mouth and tongue and increased trusts spinning her into orgasm after orgasm. The girl was a limpid whimpering pool when the French Maid was done with her; still firmly bond but her clothing in tatters. The French Maid very proudly left a card from her garter stuck on the girls sopping wet pussy, and quickly retrieved her ball gag and duster from their wet insertions and put them back together. It was time to leave the room before the French Maid succumbed to her own desires and she slinked out of the room and into the hall way beyond; leaving the girl still bond on the floor too sated and lost in post orgasmic bliss and exhaustion to do more than mumble much less form a coherent cry of alarum.

In the hallway the French Maid quickly began to search out the little room leading to the hidden panel to the Eros room again. There were small groups of women in robes walking here and there and she had to doge them the best she could, but finally she found the room. She realized now it was a changing room for the women in the cult and she took a moment to rummage through the niches and shelves of clothing for any thing of interest. This done she quickly found the hidden door and entered it. The hallway lit up as she opened the door and she closed it behind her and rose to her feet. She felt a bit unsteady and couldn’t tell if it was a result of her recent ‘fun’ with the little girl she had just had, or if she was closing in on her own milking and orgasm time? In either case she felt incredibly horny, this was saying a lot for a woman who was perpetually horny at all times. She struggled and resisted the impulse to remove her feather duster from her upper arm where it snuggly clung to her glove, and instead hurried up the hallway’s incline back up to the large phallic statue. There, amidst lusty giggles she pulled the firm member down and waited for the stairs to finish their descent.

Back in the Eros room she looked around her; the erotica here in was worth several fortunes if she could just find something small and portable enough for her to make off with it. She settled on several small books and smoky glass cylinders containing scrolls. It was a large armful and she was forced to use up the last of her duster string-rope to secure it together and give her a handle to haul it around by. This done she went to the large hidden door that lead out into the room of Bayard mansion and noticed it contained a sliding peep hole for checking if the coast was clear. She used it. It wasn’t. Several women now back in their regular clothes were sitting about on the various pieces of furniture in the well lit room and chatting insatiably. The French Maid would just have to wait, she looked down at her breasts, as she closed the peep hole door, a small bead of milk dotted one perfect puckered nipple. ‘Oh God! She couldn’t wait!’ Frantic, the French Maid returned to the descending stairs, they evidently closed automatically once you leaved the room from the main hidden door, or else she simply hadn’t found the secret hidden lever to close them from the above room. She now closed the stairs behind her by raising the statues cock back up to its proper place, and lugging her booty down the passage headed back to the little door to the changing room. But her she froze the changing room was awash with the buzzing of women gossiping and laughing as they changed back into their clothes. Trapped! At both ends, the French Maid chewed at her gloved finger tips and moved back up the hall way, pausing about half way up the steep incline. She fell to her haunches, her breathing heavy and her skin shuddering with waves of ecstasy; it wouldn’t be long now. Her breasts felt heavy and had begun to pulse and throb rather than quiver as they normally did. The constant heat in her loins was now a steady heavy thrashing as if some one were beating her out stretched pussy with a liquid log chain.

Her head fell back against the marble wall, above her in the carved relief ceiling she saw a slight discoloration in the joining of marble panels. She stood up. The hallway was cozy and standing on top of her pile of books she could just manage to reach the carvings and began tugging and pulling at them. They gave way, swinging in, and a small chain ladder descended. She tied her loot to the end of the ladder and ascended it into the dark hole in the ceiling. The opening and ladder led her up into small crudely carved tunnel , she pulled up the ladder and her treasure; stopping to secure both ladder and trap door back into place before shaking her breast light into a flare; the magnificent teats splattering little droplets of warm milk onto the walls of the tunnel. She set off at once, her unconscious groans echoing off the eerily and flickering breast jiggle lit walls.

The irregular passage lead in winding switchback dives and crossings, but seemed to be singular in construct not intersecting any other passageway and singular in over all direction, it was definitely leading away from Bayard mansion. How long it took her to traverse the wet winding passageway she couldn’t say, but she was certain it was a combination of man made excavation and natural pockets of erosion. It finally ended at a small dead end, with a few old iron rungs set into the stone wall. She dropped her bundle and on rubbery legs dragged herself up to a small simple iron door. It had no lock of any kind and she forced it open with surprising ease. The door knocked over a small plastic storage rack containing several very expensive items that crashed and broke in loud bangs, startling Wendell who was working at his special computer brail touch pad into leaping to his feet in exclamation! The French Maid was back in Milla’s basement cellar. She felt her self sinking to the floor as she called out weakly to Wendell; just as her entire world ripped into blessed spasms of spurting milk geysers orgasms.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Milla shaded her eyes with a gloved hand from the glaring equatorial sun. The jungle’s leafy canopy had finally opened up to reveal the small hidden valley below that she had spent the entire morning cutting her way towards. “Daylight just isn’t my thing,” she sighed. And raised a pair of binoculars to her eyes and scanned the leafy floor below. The temple was there, directly across from her, hidden from above by the rocky over hang of the cliffs it had been built into so many centuries ago. She had no desire to go there and no choice but to go there. She returned the binoculars to their case and unsheathed her machete from her hip holster and began cutting a path of descent for her self; it was unlikely she would reach the temple before night fall, but that was alright with her, ‘the French Maid dose her best work in the dark.’

It had taken almost six months for the French Maid and Wendell to end up here in the Great Islands; six months of chasing lose ends, of running down red herrings, of failed experiments and missions and dead ends. They had stumbled into more solutions than pieced together puzzles, but in the end they had managed to remain in the shadows if not fully one step ahead of the growing cult of the jade mask.

During those six months many things had come together for the French Maid. Wendell had helped her through several seemingly insurmountable obstacles in mastering the complexities of the French Maid’s persona and erratic powers. She felt she owed Wendell for that, and primarily that was why she was here in the jungles of the Great Islands now, fighting her way to a temple she would have given anything to avoid.

It had taken Wendell almost the entire six months to decipher the encrypted disks she had copied onto her palm computer; ‘I’m a biochemist and bioengineer by nature, not a computer cyber hacker,’ he had meekly informed her as she had grown at first impatient and then indifferent to his struggles to crack the disks. Wendell eventually summed it up for her, though he had kept her informed with every little tid-bit as it surfaced, either from the files or his shadowy network of informants and contacts that he made his several purchases from. In the end it was these informants and black market merchants that had caused the current dilemma.

Milla paused to drink from her canteen. She was covered head to foot in camouflaged army fatigues, capped at one end by a floppy camo-jungle combat hat and at the other by heavy jungle boots. The heavy pack on her back would have caused many a grunt to stager after a few miles of bucking brush, but she was only now began to notice it’s bite. Luckily the temple was just up a head, and she could shuck all of this into a hiding place in the outer ruins and change into her costume as she rested and waited for the sun to set. So far she hadn’t seen any one let alone a guard of any kind, but she expected to find at least one once she entered the temple proper which lay in increasing shadows a few hundred yards of snaking ruins and rocks ahead of her. She had fought her way through what had been thought to be impenetrable jungle, crossing three ravines by shooting a bolt and chemical line she had rigged up from Wendell’s tables of gadgets, and had arrived at what was basically the ‘back door’ of the temple complex; the hidden Valley of Jade. The front door was a long winding tunnel that lead through the cliff it’s self which had it’s origin some where along the coastal reefs. Most of the jade mask guards would be guarding the maze of those tunnels and the temple it’s self, but she was certain the Choo women would leave little to chance and felt the back entrance that opened out into what had at once been the cultivated fields and male slave pens (one of whose ruins she now began to disrobe in) would be guarded as well. The jade mask had too much invested and at stake to get sloppy now.

Milla began to use a small pack of moist towels to freshen up her tan tone nude body in the growing soft twilight amidst the concealing ruble of back volcanic roughly hewn rock. She had arrived in the Great Islands for the large jade mask convention. For cover sake she had joined the jade masks outer echelon of members that worked to help out needy single women parents and worked to shatter the barriers of female discrimination, but she had resisted even Shelia’s efforts to convince her to join the inner cult of the jade mask it’s self, giving innocent shrugging reasons, which she hoped had pacified the jade mask’s voracious recruiters, at least for a while. The jade mask convention had been a good cover for her and she had used it to get a tan and have an excuse for Milla to be in the area, allowing the French Maid to be in striking distance.

Having freshened up her body Milla began to change into her French Maid costume and persona. First, she checked over her fleurs-de-lis neatly trimmed into her pubic hair to see if it needed any touch ups, it didn’t. Next she wiggled into her garter belt. Wendell had improved it’s simple design by making it’s waist band fit more as a base for her underskirt and top skirt to ride upon, which in turn increased their ability and ease of movement for it’s own waist bands clever little trick of raising up the starched pleated skirting hems at flaring angles to the waist band with just a firm squeeze of her hand. She put on the white laced under skirting and it’s deep shimmering black top skirt, and tried out the effect with a slight squeeze on the collective thin waist bands; the skirts lifted up and out their hems noticeably. She smiled and checked the skits transparency. The material was new but it still retained the previous materials sheerness and biochemical ability to increase it’s sheerness as she became increasingly aroused sexually. She had utterly insisted that the skirts be shortened and they now all stopped their hem lines directly in horizon to her clitoris, the lacy puffy under skirting tantalizingly shadowing her labia and her sweet little nectarine folds of her tight little tan mound. Her firm round hips made these to be very short skirts indeed, but the starch and pleats still allowed for a decent length of material horizontally if not so much vertically; it had taken on more of a ballerina’s tutu than a maid’s skirt but it worked on her curvaceous body and she liked the look and feel of it. Over the skirting she tied on her little lace sheer frilled apron with its large center pocket, it too was made of the same biochemical material and was pale white to match her under skirting flounce.

Next she pulled on her boots. Again Wendell had improved the design; they were no longer merely a stretch latex thigh high boot. Instead they were an ingenious heeled sock. Little more than a sandal sole with a six inch heel seemingly glued to an oily looking black high glossed sock. She wiggled her foot into it and pulled and rolled up the sock which easily stretched its skin tight breathable mesh material until it stopped just beneath her bubble butt’s curve. Here she pined it into place with her garter belt clips though this was entirely for looks as the boot would not slink down on it’s own accord but would lay against her skin as if it had been painted on to her leg. She repeated the process with her other boot and leg. Then she slipped on her mother’s laced garter band up her right thigh stopping at mid-thigh. She carefully inserted her laminated ‘calling cards’ into the band, and stretched to see if all the costume components were working in harmony so far. They were, and she removed her make-up case and the last of her costume from the large back pack. She hadn’t packed very well; she should have put the make-up case in last, so she could have taken it out first and made use of it before the light had dimmed so much. The make-up case had a built in little battery powered lighted mirror in it’s top’s underside and she risked using it now so she could get her make up on just right. She made up her lashes long and thick and her lips full and shinny, and added her little beauty mark, the cherry to her ice cream sundae.

Next she pulled up her long silky thick hair into a French bun; letting long coils carefully fall out here and there spilling across her shoulders and long neck in graceful joys. She then pinned in her little French Maid’s hat, this was the only piece left over from her original costume and she tried to take good care of it. She decided to put on her mother’s cameo choker broach next in order to use the lighted make-up case and then put the light out before some one might see it. This sort of disrupted the order of dressing she had fallen into the habit of, but she felt it was ultimately safer, as she wouldn’t need the lighted mirror to finish putting on the rest of her costume and she did want to get the choker on just right.

The cameo choker is one of the things Wendell had become so excited and then concerned about in the last few weeks. His research and decryption of the Choo files had let him push past much of the old temple guardian post win propaganda against the defeated jade mask and unearth more of the true history of the strange ancient society. As far as he could tell from the various fragments he had culled; the myth of origin the jade mask themselves had believed about their past went something like this: Once there had been an earth mother goddess, she had given spontaneous birth to four daughters, these daughters eventually began to fight amongst themselves for an ultimate position of power. Apparently each goddess had been represented by a carved mask of precious stone. The jade mask cult was big on representations of faces, i.e.; masks having the power to channel the power of the goddesses, so each goddess originally had her own mask in their temple. The green jade mask goddess quickly defeated the black and gold masked goddess of whom nothing is any longer known of them. The white mask goddess, actually carved also of jade, though milky jade, was apparently the joker or prankster of the sisters and the jade mask goddess left her alone for a time as she recovered from her victories over the other two sisters. The earth mother goddess was out raged her daughters were fighting and angry at the jade goddess for enslaving her other two sisters sprits and stealing their individual powers for her own; she set about trying to help her white masked daughter for the inevitable battle that was going to come. Apparently it hadn’t worked, because the jade goddess reigned supreme in the eventual cults following. She alone in the end had a facial mask set in the temple and she alone was worshiped by the jade mask warriors that set out in expansionistic conquest amongst the Great Islands many male dominated tribal societies. The other goddesses were represented only as faceless headless small statues in the temple, their powers having been assimilated by the great jade goddess. Well, all except the white goddess, she had been beaten and her small statue was faceless and headless as the others, but her mother and their schemes had made it impossible for the jade goddess to swallow her powers even in victory. Wendell’s concern had steamed from Milla’s broach; he had found out that Jean-Luc had unwittingly had it carved for Susan, Milla’s mother, from a large chunk of milky white jade his father had brought back from the jade mask temple. The rock had once been part of the white goddess statue. Wendell was concerned because the cameo had been carved with the profile likeness of Susan, a face, a mask! He believed this was enough for the white goddess to use as a window to help first Susan and then Milla in their struggles against the over all curse of the jade mask that had befallen the family with the jade masks removal from its sealed temple. The four goddesses had been primarily fertility goddesses at first and the curse of all consuming lusts was an extended reflection of this facet of their original powers. Wendell believed that the cameo was part of the reason the jade mask curse in Milla was some how being turned into a powerful collective of the Bayard individual lusts solidified down into the persona of the French Maid. The white goddess was helping Milla, slowly turning the destructive powers of the curse into more constructive powers of the French Maid. But he was also worried because he feared both the jade mask influence of thinking all males to be an inferior creature to be subjected if not entirely eradicated, which he saw signs of in both Milla and the French Maids increasing belligerent smirking towards all things male, and the uneasy thought that Milla’s beneficiary goddess was a well known sexual prankster who had delighted in constant sexual high jinks often at the expense of all around her. It could in the least be said about the white goddess that she had a lack of discretion and a constant appetite for causing perverse humorous situations. As Milla increased her abilities as the French Maid, Wendell worried that she was also increasing both the white goddess power in this realm and her subsequent ability to induce her whims upon the French Maid’s better judgments as well. In the end, with his increasing doubts about the French Maids willingness to pursue a true revenge against the jade mask cult, a cult that ultimately shared her growing belief in the silliness of males; he had started to make more and more ventures of inquiry out on his own. It had got him promptly captured by the jade mask during a solo attempt on his part to contact the two twin brothers of the temple guardians.

She decided to glue on her mask and then close up and put her make-up box back into her large back pack. It was a new mask, but had the same shiny black look to it as her last one had had. It had large cut outs to show off her wide bright eyes, and had a small slight ridge to ride on the beginning slope of her petite nose. She liked the mystique it gave her and she always felt particularly sexy when she had it on.

With her make-up case put away and its light off, she decided to put on her gloves next in the growing gloom of the on coming night. Wendell had redesigned these as well. They still had the shiny sleek opera glove look to them, but were made of the material similar to her new boots. She pulled them up to the middle of her upper arms where they snuggled in to stay until whenever she would decided to remove them. Wendell had noted that on several previous occasions, the French Maids reluctance to use the left gloves electrical shock against the various jade mask women warriors she had run into skirmishes with on her information and lead investigation jaunts to the various cities over the past few months. He had spent several weeks and an enormous amount of money in perfecting a new pair of gloves for her. The biochemical break through had been made possible by on going analyzing the powerful aphrodisiacs found in the French Maids milk. Wendell had devised a pair of gloves that would discharge some of the French Maids own orgasmic energy, upon contact with the target and an incredible amount of the French Maids concentration. The charge would induce an almost mind blowing orgasm in the target, providing the target was humanoid. Several charges usually rendered the target into a reflective coma like daze for several minutes. It was perfect for the French Maid exactly what she had been looking for as a weapon. It’s only real draw back was that every charge she emitted from the gloves, sapped her own sexual reserves and three large jolts, what it would usually would take to crumple a large male, left her sexual powers virtually wiped out for several frightening minutes. It took even her super charged lusts and various stimulations quiet a while to replenish her reservoir. Still she loved the gloves and smiled as she ran her long fingers lightly over them. Wendell was indeed a genius, even though he was a male.

Next she slipped the feather duster handle loop up her gloved right arm and let the tube Velcro it’s black and chrome shaft to her glove there. The feather duster had been heavily modified time and time again, and though she felt it was rather silly, she couldn’t deny its worth over her past few outings. Especially once Wendell had incorporated her palm computer into the feather dusters shaft. She no longer had to have that little plastic box sitting in her lace apron’s large center pocket, covering up her fleurs-de-lis ghosting through her sheer skirting! That had thrilled her to no end!

This just left her all important top piece to her costume’s uniform to put on. She and Wendell had struggled through several versions over the past months of trail and error, and the new one was perhaps not quiet perfect but it was better than its pervious compatriots. The basic material was similar in its biochemical construct of increasing in transparency in response to her bodies increase in sexual arousal, as the white lace layers of under skirting, and the white lace apron, and the black pleated skirt which it matched in color also shared. But it was no longer a midriff baring bra; instead it was now more of a classical bustier in initial appearance; which covered her tiny stomach leaving a thin pinch of flesh between its lower hem and the waist bands of her skirts and garter belt. The see through material allowed her belly button to peek through; where her grand mother’s pearl ear ring was pierced in to the lip of her belly button. The bustier corset like appearance was increased by numerous laced panels and bands and ribbons tautly binding the skin tight top to her lithe frame. The large puffy black shoulder sleeves were attached to it and these were laced in large white trim, as was the micro meshed cups of the top it’s self. The top that now snuggly encased her beautiful wonders no longer contained any kind of built in bra; she had no need of such things any more, and in fact it was simply a marvel of structural engineering and cutting edge technology that allowed the stretch mesh top to struggle to contain her vibrant breasts at all!

She no longer needed the breast enhancing drug. To both her and Wendell’s apt amazement her body had quickly learned to somehow manufacture its own vastly superior version of the biochemical compound. Through precise concentration Milla could induce her body to begin the swelling of her breasts and initiate the cycle the drug had once done for her. The process still only lasted eight to ten hours and would end in sever lactating orgasm spasms, but the growth was accelerated and she could will her breasts on to wonderfully beautiful larger sizes. She had also mastered the ability to move and ripple and in any way initiate vibrant motion in her engorged tits, that almost defied gravity and the laws against perpetual motion. She was very proud of all of this, of course, and had to struggle against using her new powers in her Milla form to tease men and women in her day to day activities. She didn’t always win these battles of the will and occasionally gave into to a particularly irresistible situation of flirtation that often resulted in sexually embarrassing side effects for her victims and almost tantalizingly incrimination of her own self. Still she felt she had things well under control and a little fun every now and then was alright; besides Milla had to suffer through the dowdiness of her alternate counter part of the French Maid’s sexual dynamo of flamboyant power, she had to throw the bitch a bone every now and then! It was only fair.

The top still contained an even smaller version of what she called her ‘jiggle generator’ which powered her ultra violet light, but now instead of a small light bulb, it was her entire top’s mesh fabric that could be switched on to glow in the spectrum of bluish purple light only her French Maid eye’s could see. It made it more of an aura glow than a flash light, but it worked well enough for her to see her way through a dark passage or room, but it wasn’t clear enough to read a printed page by; so Wendell had added a small light to her feather duster just in case she needed it. Her top could also recharge her feather duster batteries in an absolute emergency by simply placing the tube of the duster in contact with the fabric of the top, but the indirect bleed ratio of such a power up to the batteries was small and it wasn’t very practical. Still she had found by simply squeezing the shaft of the feather duster between the swells of her magnificent cleavage and then turning on her ‘breast light’, that she could power up the baser functions of the feather duster in about an hour of normal walking. It shrank the area of light her top threw off considerably though, so it was not an ideal situation to allow her self to get caught in.

The top still had its white lace ruffle trim that seductively revealed the engorged areolas of her constantly erect puffy long nipples, but she had added a crescent shaped ruffle of lace to the top’s natural décolletage whose starched upright folds were embroidered with a deep purple fleurs-de-lis. She didn’t want her delicious pussy to get ‘all’ the attention!

Night had rapidly settled by the time she had finished her transformation into the French Maid, and she stowed her back pack in a dark corner of the slave pen ruins and though the moon was already high and bright she felt more secure in switching on her breast light as she closed the finial hundred yards to the half shattered maw of the back entrance to the temple proper.

After Wendell’s capture both Milla and the French Maid had searched frantically for him. She had eventually found out he was being held by the cult of the jade mask in a suite of very nice new office buildings in River City. The jade mask had come to the conclusion that Wendell/Pierrot had managed to escape during the fire the fire two bumbling male guards had started, and that he had been sneaking around trying to seek out some petty little revenge on the cult ever since. They saw his biochemical sexual hand in the Ben boy’s indecent incident in the electronics store, where they assumed he had taken the pass key and used it with the help of the two equally incompetent twin temple guardians. Since they now had both temple guardian brothers under close watch and Pierrot in captivity they felt themselves rather safe again. Wendell, to his credit had never once mentioned Milla or the French Maid, and instead told the Choo women what they wanted to hear implicating the twin brother’s as his primary accomplices. The Choo quickly tired of torturing the old and weak man who they realized might be able to help them with a fresh new problem that their own scientist had not been able to solve. Relying on Wendell/Pierrot’s own jade mask curse of compulsive obsession to solve sexual riddles, they quickly set him to work in an uptown River City office building lab. To the Choo women and thus to the hierarchy of the jade mask, Wendell was never Wendell, only Pierrot lurking in the shadows; none of them made the investigation that might have led them back to Milla’s butler Wendell and thus to Milla and the French Maid herself.

By the time the French Maid had found Wendell he had solved their problem, and they seeing no need and no doubt being disgusted at needing a man’s help to begin with, promptly tied Pierrot to one of his own old gadgets. One of the early milking machines he had devised in response to his original jade mask sex slaver breast drug experiments. He was bound and gagged, with one of his own ancient male enhancing virility drugs injected into his body, his engorged penis trapped into the apparatus of the milking machine with the dials set not to stop until it had received ten litters of fluid. His hart had given out, and the French Maid had found him dead, the ruthless machine still humping veraciously his ancient corpse. She noted that he had only come short by a few milliliters and marveled at the sexual potency of the Bayard family. She had to leave him as he was, she couldn’t risk removing his body from where she knew the Choo women would return to recover and dispose of it, and she couldn’t risk exposing her prescience to them just yet. The French maid had found the arrows in ultra violet light that Wendell had cleverly placed her and there, leading her to hidden brail messages he had left for her. He had known she would find him, and he had known she would arrive too late. He had left her one last pep talk and several bits of warnings and information, but mainly he had struggled to try and wet her appetite for revenge against the jade mask, as the last surviving member of the Bayard family. She destroyed the messages after reading them and had left the building. Out side the building she had noticed the man shadowing the place from an ally way, but he hadn’t seen her. She had seen him twice now and she wondered if he was some how connected to the Azurites ancient order of jade temple guardians? What she didn’t know was the man was actually the same fellow who had picked up her calling card in the alley way back in Lake City when she had rescued that young boy from being beaten. He was a retired police detective, who after a serious injury on the force had left him with an artificial leg and a bout with addiction to pain killers, had taken an early retirement and set himself up as a privet investigator. No fee or client had him roaming around following small leads and collecting up the odd occasional French Maid calling cards she had been leaving during her frantic and some what sloppy searching for Wendell, but his own natural curiosity and a life of painful solitude. The French Maid had paused just long enough that night to follow the man to a near by coffee kiosk where the old man working there had called him by name: “Swansong” it had sounded like, and she had left him then, her breasts tight with the tell tale throb of a milking coming due. Besides Wendell had warned the French Maid about what his final project for the cult of the jade mask had been, and now with that and alone without Wendell, the French Maid felt truly afraid for the first time in a long while. And that fear had not entirely left her even as she had allowed herself to be recruited into the outer false front of the jade mask and embark on the vacation/journey to the convention of ‘female empowerment’ being held down here in the Great Islands. The convention was mostly a cover for the high profile inner sanctum members of the jade mask cult to have an excuse to attend the temple rededication to the jade mask and its return and refurbishment. The cover worked both ways, and it allowed Milla to be near enough to disappear from the hotel and embark on her own attendance of the upcoming ritual.

Even now the French Maid despite her sexual powers natural swagger of confidence felt the queasy misgivings of Wendell’s warnings of what lay inside that temple. She approached the silent dark maw of the blue black stones and swallowing hard, stepped forward to in turn be swallowed by the shadows of the temple of jade mask.

Wendell had found out from the arrogant Choo women during his capture that all the male submissive drugs and female sexual mutantagent drugs that the jade mask scientists had been churning out in vast quantities and which the French Maid and Wendell had been desperately looking for in the major cities, had all this time been shipped down to the Great Islands; where they had been steadily used in the very controlled limited water supply that the Islands relied on. While they had been trying to protect the large city water supplies and track down the location where the vast quantities of the drugs must being stored at, the drugs in fact were rapidly being used rather than stored, in the Great Islands. It had all been part of the Choo sisters plan to retake the Islands back as their power base and to turn the once temple then prison of the jade mask back, and turn it back into the temple seat of their global power. The temple had long been protected by the various descendants of the original male guardians, who ran rebel out law drug crops in the mountainous jungles surrounding it; keeping all away through bribing officials and simple violence to the unwary. Women especially if found any where near the area of the temple was systematically gang raped and tortured to death, their grim unspoken fates used as warnings to all. Now the gruesome thugs, had been thoroughly dealt with, through a combination of the pacifying male submissive drug in their water supply, followed by the ruthless hunting down and eradication of their lives by the jade mask warriors. The twin brothers, the clean civilized public presentable aspect of the temple guardian brotherhood, had simply vanished. What had allowed the Choo women’s cult of the jade mask to destroy these rough bands of thugs living in their hidden mountain conclaves had been the final work of the helpless Pierrot.

The jade mask warriors, even though they were often recruited from women who had combat experience and martial art interests, simply had been something of an ineffectual and sometimes laughable force. The French Maid had met and matched a few of them on the rare occasion in the past couple of months and they had posed no more of a problem for her than the male hired goons she sometimes had to deal with. To put it bluntly, the original jade mask warriors had developed over generations of harsh training under a closed strict warrior code of development since birth, one just couldn’t expect a similar result from a haphazardly gathered army of raw recruits who had only been ‘jade warriors’ for less than a year. In time they could turn into a lethal crack fighting force worthy of their name, but for now they were an uneven lot and best used as sentries and security personnel rather than as an army. Still it would take an army to root out and destroy the nests of the temple guardians, and the jade mask scientists had come up with an ambitious quick short cut to give the raw jade warrior the muscle they needed. The idea was based on the myths of the past, elite women warriors of the jade temple’s past and on Pierrot’s own decades of bio-sexual genetic experiments. And ultimately it would take Pierrot’s last hurrah of genius to solve the problem posed to him. Pierrot had come up with a component elixir that would transform over ten days an appropriate subject woman into a permanent jade warrior Mamazon of the temple myth. These women were once hand picked warriors who had been blessed by the jade fertility goddess with increased size, strength, endurance, and a sexual appetite to match. They were an elite within the original jade warriors who were assigned to protect the temple and their priestess; and the original Azurites had been terrified of them. Pierrot’s version was supposedly larger in both build and bust and when it wasn’t chasseing down hapless males to snap their necks like rotten twigs, it was engaging in savage sex with its peers. The Choo women weren’t sure about the sexual compulsive appetites of their seven foot tall large busted warriors, and wondered if Pierrot had let his male lusts get in the way of genetical necessity. But there was no denying the powerful results of the Mamazons once unleashed along side their sister jade mask warriors upon the unwary temple guardians. There were draw backs to be worked out; first the Mamazons were all rendered sterile by the process. Second, their life span was dramatically shortened; the drug kept increasing both strength and sexual appetite before simply burning out the individual’s body in about ‘six to ten years’ Pierrot had guessed. This tended to mean only fanatics would be willingly drawn to the process of becoming a Mamazon. Third, only a few women met the physical and mental paradigm needed for successful survival of the transformation. Fourth, even when the pentacle of pattern was matched in the subject, the survival rate of the transformation was inherently low. Of the hundreds of subjects the Choo had gathered and individually transformed in privet, only dozens had successfully survived. This low rate was kept secret from even the Mamazons themselves. The dead and the horribly disfigured were done away with, but Wendell had examined the autopsy results on his special brail and audio computer in hopes of perfecting the drug. But it had proved successful enough for the Choo women and they had dealt with Pierrot so as to make sure he wouldn’t be around to trouble them in the future. Only he had the power of knowledge to deal them any kind of significant blow and the entire inner order of the cult of the jade mask breathed easier to see his body burned in the Bayard mansion hidden lower gallery, his ashes kicked into the black water by the high priestess her self.

With the Great Islands now secure, the Choo women had decided it was time to cleanse and reclaim their temple. They made arrangements for a great gathering of the order to mass upon the Great Islands to attend the master ceremonies of the large wall masks return to the temple it’s self, and the proper anointing of the high priestess there in the re-consecrated temple. Then both Choo women would reveal their extent of success in their Great Island domination campaigns and out line the next phases on their way to global conquest of the eradication of the male race.

The French Maid really wasn’t that concerned with the whole eradication of the male race and all of that, but she did feel a personal grudge against the Choo women and some debt of honor to the two Bayard males she had briefly known to risk her own highly prized life in an somewhat futile attempt at taking the core of the jade mask down. The French Maid had used the surprising secret passage running from her own house under the lake into the subterranean hallway connecting to the Eros room to make several easy efforts to gather significant loot to solve her financial woes, and it was incredibly tempting to use her new found French Maid powers to enjoy the true fruits of the nocturnal world by a few subtle visits here and there, and having a rather hilarious time playing off the prudish hypocrisies of artifice society. Maybe even wrangling a few super hero ‘good deeds’ or ‘poetic justice’ as the whim of mood struck her, who knows! But she definitely didn’t fancy rushing into a temple full of huge Mamazon warrior freaks and an awaking goddess who was real enough to physically curse her own family when her great grand father had removed her mask from her imprisoned temple and whose sister goddess seemed real enough to have given her some powers of her own in turn. No, her own instincts screamed at her to flee this terrible place, and even the white goddess her self seemed to be telling her that another confrontation with her jade sister was a ‘very’ bad idea; wasn’t there so many interesting things to do and explore and try in the big old world out there? Why crawl around in the dark boughs of a dank dark place that had nothing to promise them but an offer of certain death? In fact, the French Maid would have certainly packed it up and gave in to her quaking fears, personal vendetta or no, if not for the last plea of Wendell there in brail hidden scratched dots for her to find on the under side of the table, a large ultra violet arrow only the French Maid’s unaided eyes could see pointing her to it, in his death room laboratory. He had reminded her that, once the jade mask cult gained power on increasing levels it would impose a slave based strata serf society upon the few surviving females. Both Milla and the French Maid would find themselves in an increasingly shrinking and restrictive totalitarian class based theological technophobe world, ever shrinking into a dwindling dark age of repressive fears and superstitions. With old world gods and goddesses battling personal agendas with the chafe of the humane race caught up in the irrelevant wake. The French Maid wasn’t too sure what she felt about all of that or even the likelihood of such occurrences, but she was certain that she didn’t like the idea of the Choo women dictating what she could or couldn’t do! As far as the course of humane history and all of that, she really didn’t like the way such thoughts caused wrinkles to appear on her brow, and wanted to thus avoid them as much as possible.

The French Maid was here to make sure the Choo women wouldn’t be able to ruin her fun in the world, and if need be to see that the jade goddess her self didn’t ruin the world so much in turn that there couldn’t be any more fun to be had in it! It was a moment of resolve the French Maid still quaking in the dark, shooting furtive glances behind her at the moonlit opening that she was about to round a corner and lose sight of, ‘possibly forever!’ that caused her to suddenly remember that night sitting in the tree house looking out over the lake at Bayard manor and the sudden wave of determined resolution she had felt then, she whished she felt it now. The French Maid turned her back on the moonlit gap in the dark, and amidst her bobbling ultra violet pink halo strutted around the corner and into the maze of the temple of the jade mask.

The French Maid got lost in the temple complex for quiet some time and was greatly relived when she finally came across a normal jade warrior obviously on sentry duty, as it meant she was close to where ever the ceremony was being held, and that she was in the ‘right’ temple, something her excited mind had been starting to suggest doubts about to her. The French Maid sauntered up behind the guard and quickly grabbed the young woman’s breasts and her crotch; giving her a few orgasm shocks. The girl shuddered in her arms and fell limp. The French Maid tied up the girl using some of her feather duster liquid rope, and dragged the body to a nice dark corner to rest. The girl had been wearing night vision goggles and this had slightly alarmed the French Maid, never the less she pulled down the girls camouflaged pants and her plain Jane panties and stuck one of her calling cards upon the girls sodden pussy. The French Maid saw no reason to try and save any of her sexual glove charges as Wendell had warned her in his final hidden notes that her gloves sexual energy burst would only increase the conscious drive of one of the Mamazons she was so dreading of meeting, not render it temporarily unconscious.

The dimly lit hallway quickly opened into a series of oil lamp lit rooms, that lessoned the fear of some night vision goggled Mamazon creeping up behind her. And these in turn had soon emptied into a large low ceiling stone bricked room. The roof was supported by short squat immensely thick pillars and the entire room had a cluttered claustrophobic feel to it despite its large expanse. The room was dotted with women in green hooded robes and jade warriors in simple green ceremonial tunics. Heavy incense cloyed the still air, and at the end of the long rectangular room, the French Maid could see the large jade mask hanging up in its ancient accustomed niche. She knew she had missed most of the initial ceremonies which had been going on for several days and nights now, but that was by plan and as she had hoped the temple was nearly deserted. In keeping up the public appearance of the convention front, the inner cult had to appear at several of the hotel meetings and public luncheons. Tonight there was a major gathering in the main hotel ballroom including several members of the press and foreign dignitaries, Milla had been certain most of the inner sanctum of the cult would be forced to attend in order to keep up appearances, and she in turn had feigned food poisoning to allow the French Maid her one shot at the temple in the hillsides. It appeared she was right and she congratulated her self on this bit of brain work as she clicked off her breast light and proceeded to slink a zigzag course around the occupants in the room.

The French Maids primary goal was the giant jade mask it’s self. If she could some how destroy the mask, the power of the cult would be disrupted for a short time. Talks with Wendell over the last few months before his capture had already convinced both of them that the curse on the Bayard family could never be broken or lifted by returning the mask to the temple or even destroying the mask it’s self. Wendell had then proven an additional point about the curse of the mask, in how it rendered any Bayard from thinking about it in any concentrated manner for more that a few seconds. Both Milla and Wendell had been unable to focus their thoughts about the mask for more than a hart beat of two. Wendell concurred this was part of the masks survival defense mechanism, in relating to its power over the Bayard family. The same quirk hadn’t seem to apply to the French Maid, true she became quickly bored when forced to think about anything other than sex, and the mask stirred up reflexive fears in her, but she could pin her attention on it for a few steady minutes. And this the French Maid did now.

She had almost reached the edge of the row of concealing columns, the mask it’s self hung in an opening in the room, that she could now see extended up wards in a vertical shaft; when she suddenly noticed the two tied up bodies of the twin brothers directly beneath the mask. The French Maid almost groaned to see the two idiots, as their position put them and their two large Mamazon guards directly in her path to the jade mask. Her plan of simply shooting the jade mask with her liquid rope and yanking it free of the wall, leaving it to it’s ponderous weight and gravity to smash it to bits was now gone. And she fumed in confusion as to what she should now do? She didn’t have long to ponder her options as she was suddenly dashed to the floor, pinned in a large cargo net, wielded by several robust Mamazons. For the very first time in her short life, the French Maid had been captured!

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Mamazons quickly cleared the main hall of the temple of the cult member and the jade warriors who they had quickly come to despise over the past few weeks. In fact they rather despised all the non-Mamazons including the two weak puny leaders. The Mamazons had been talking amongst themselves how only they truly deserved to serve the jade goddess and that something should be done about it.

Now they had a prisoner, who from her scent and physic was a worthy warrior like themselves. The high priestess and the other woman were not in the temple tonight, and the Mamazons thought they should decide what to do with this enemy warrior. Since they felt she was cut from the same elite cloth as themselves they decided she should be allowed to die as one of them, following their own ancient codes and instincts. The Mamazons had thus cleared the chamber of all the inferior women, leaving only those Mamazons currently left in the temple to guard it; four of their original twenty seven. Some had died in battle, some had been sent to the mainland to guard other things. The Mamazons didn’t like that. They didn’t like being separated from the other Mamazons. These two women leaders didn’t understand things. Things would be different, soon.

The Mamazons carefully tied up the French Maid before freeing her entirely from the net, they recognized her power, and would not take any uneasily risk. As she lay on the floor in the center of the circle they made around her they made sure she understood the language that she spoke, since she looked so much like them, yet different. She did, and they explained what was about to happen to her. She would fight one of them, chosen by lot. If she lost the fight she would be dead. This would be an honorable death, but not very pleasant. If she won the fight, the other Mamazons would then rape her until she died. This, they informed her would be much more pleasant for all involved. To win the fight she need not kill her opponent only beat her into submission, but there would be no hard feelings if she did kill the Mamazon, so she shouldn’t hold back. They assured her the Mamazon fighting her wouldn’t be holding back.

The French Maid was helped to her feet and fitted into what she was informed was the ancient Mamazon dueling harness. Since none of these women had been Mamazons for more than a month at most and that the Mamazons had not existed for several centuries, the French Maid seriously wondered where they were getting all this stuff about dueling harness and ceremonial rites and so forth from. What had Wendell or the Choo women done to these women? The battle harness she was put into consisted only of her hands being bound behind her back in ceremonial ribbons and a ceramic hollow bar with more ribbons running through it being tied to her knees making it virtually impossible for her to move her knees but slightly. Another long hollow pole with thongs ran down her back, her head being tied firmly to it and it in turn being tied to her waist, and her wrists, and in turn to the tube joining her knees. In short she found her self utterly helpless and unable to imagine fighting or protecting her self at all! They left her costume and mask complexly untouched, considering them her warriors uniform. Her opponent quickly stripped out of her green tunic and was promptly trussed up in the ridiculous ‘battle harness’ as she was. The other Mamazons stepped back into a natural ring of spectators and the French Maid found her self struggling to suppress outright laughter, ‘what in hell did they expect us to do now?’ The thought was smacked right out of her stunned ringing head by a sudden savage right tit slap from her opponent to her chin. The fight of the Mamazons was on!

Using the only weapons left to their disposal each warrior circled one another and lashed out brutal tit blows and blocks. The French Maids breasts were definitely impressive even in the eyes of the giant Mamazons, but she was seriously out cup sized by these massive breasted behemoths. It took everything she had to keep from losing her balance under the staggering blows, and she knew if she fell, it would be all over, she would never be able to rise in these strange bonds. Images of her opponent suffocating her helpless pinned body under her mounds of enormous tit flesh sent waves of new felt terror and odd hysterical energy through the French Maid. She had but one chance; she would have to match this woman’s arsenal pound per pound. Summoning up her full concentration and circling to buy much needed time the French Maid willed her bruised and battered breasts to swell and grow as she had never had before; her very life depended on it!

The battering and thrusting rubbing of their tit flesh had caused both women’s pussies to dribble and slick their aching thighs with the flood of their throbbing desires. Each woman now found it difficult to avoid long grinding clinches of nipple rubs as they mauled their massive mummeries into one another. The French Maid’s top had long since been yanked down by the heat of the battle and her swelling breasts were rapidly catching up to her opponents enormous shuddering endowments. The Mamazons were impressed not to mention turned by this and they cheered on both combatants in equal measure. The end came suddenly; her breath in passion gasping pants, her breasts bruised into a pulp, the French Maids opponent staggered and missed a desperate lunge. She plummeted to the floor and could not rise to the called out challenge, the French Maid had won!

Of course she had merely won a new form of death, but it was still better than being already dead. The Mamazons helped both exhausted women out of their ceremonial battle harness and excitedly rubbed healing oil and loud praise over both winner and loser, as it had been an epic battle. The healing rubs of her aching breasts quickly and seamlessly slipped over into the orgy that the Mamazons had promised the French Maid if she should happen to win the match. The French Maid knew if she was brought to a climax, she would be lost to her hopeless two day cycle of lactation and orgasm, nothing she or Wendell had discovered had as yet changed that facet of being the French Maid. As the hungry tongues and mouths of the Mamazons wrapped her eager body, the French Maid worried franticly how she would possibly escape her fate.

The answer came unexpectedly via the two twin brothers. One of the twins had finally been able to saw his tied hands free on a shard of rough stone while the Mamazons had been distracted with the combat of the two large breasted warriors. He quickly set his brother free, and the two of them managed to throw the cargo net over the pile of Mamazons, tying them up before they could recover from their distracting ardor and wiggling the slightly ungrateful French Maid free from the heap of sweaty bodies and from the brink of her much needed orgasm. The French Maid let the two brothers lead out her dazed body from the main chamber and they incessantly hurried her out of the well lit hallways into the dark where they stumbled blindly into walls. The French Maid recovered enough of her wits to take charge of the botched brothers bumbling escape efforts and brought them to a halt.

First they needed to go back and try and destroy the jade mask hanging on the wall. But she already was certain the Mamazons had freed themselves by now and were mounting a pursuit. The brothers quickly informed her that a short time ago, the brotherhood had realized that once the cult of the jade mask had become established again, it would inevitably return to claim it’s temple. In face of this, the brotherhood had secretly placed a large quantity of explosives under the temple floors. The brothers had been captured in a last ditch suicidal mission to set the timers on these hidden charges, which incredulously the two males had managed to do, but had been promptly caught in the attempt to sneak back out. All they needed to do now was get as fast as possible away from this place before half the mountain side went up in smoke!

The French Maid wasn’t so sure that mere men could destroy the temple of the jade mask, but she was sure her recent forced breast growth and battle had speeded up her lactation cycle, she needed to escape to some solitary place as rapidly as possible. The French Maid still had her hands tied behind her back, though the Mamazons had managed to remove her other bonds before subsuming to their primordial lusts and her powerful pheromones and enticing body. The brothers proved too incompetent to finish untying her arms in the pitch dark and in exasperation the French Maid instead instructed them to find and turn on her breast light. Her top was still yanked down and she told the brothers to pull her top back up so she could see better in its light. How ever the French Maids breasts had reached such a wondrous size that the top could not be made to fit back over her jutting protrusions. She was naturally very proud of this and it did much to reinstate her confidence and drive away the butterflies of fear that had been stirring around in her belly. She decided she would have to make due with the tops light as she could, though without it being properly in place the meshes ‘jiggle generator’ wasn’t producing much light. She ordered the two brothers to each grab a cup of her top and hold it up against her breasts as best as possible and to not let go of her tits no matter what! The brothers promptly did as she said with out a word of descent.

Down the dark twisting hallways the leaping breasts of the French Maid led them. Until finally they found themselves back outside in the moonlit slave pens of the back valley. The French Maid pointed out that the brothers could now remove their clutching hands from her still bruised and tender breasts, and each brother had hesitantly done so. It was only then that the French Maid remembered the small light in her feather duster, but she shook the embarrassing thought from her head and tried unsuccessfully to break the Mamazon strong bonds of ribbon. She ordered the two brothers to assist her and they managed to untie her arms. They had just continued down the path to her hidden back pack when the ground began to shake and the three found themselves rolling along the incline of the path as erupting showers of dirt and rock began to rain down upon them.

Mr. Choo stood in Bayard mansion with his hands on his slim hips and frowned over at the two men who were trying to get the mechanical winch to function properly. These two men, a large fellow and his constant smaller companion had been with him for years, their stupidity only matched by their undying simple loyalty to him. He had had an extremely difficult time keeping Mrs. Choo from killing the both of them when they had burned down the barn and at the time apparently killed off the doctor. “And the women?” Mr. Choo asked the busy men. They weren’t quiet sure what he meant. “Mrs. Choo and her daughter, are you sure they are dead?”

“Yes sir, they died in the temple when it collapsed. They had just rushed there after one of the jade mask cult had summoned them about some emergency concerning the capture of the two twins in the temple.”

“Good,” Mr. Choo replied. “Those two have caused me nothing but troubles from the get go.” The men nodded feebly and went back to back to work on the apparatus. They weren’t paid to understand and they liked it that way. “I met her here, you know,” the men were tuning him out and he went a head half mumbling to himself. “I met her originally in this very house, along long time ago. I couldn’t resist her power over me then either. But now they are both gone, and I’m finally free. Well as free as the last of the Bayard’s can be I guess. Hmm, that was so long ago, and when I left here I really had thought I’d never see this place again. I had left it all for her. Left everything, my family, my friends, even my name. I had been Jerome back then, and Mrs. Choo had been called Susan. We fled this place with the help of the jade mask, well, not the jade mask my wife and her daughter had resurrected, but one just as foul and evil I guess. They had set us up with new names, adopted into a new family, but old habits die hard I guess and soon Susan was indiscreetly humping her new adopted father. The daughter was theirs, but I couldn’t do anything, the power that woman commanded over me, gods! Oh well,” behind him the machine sputtered to life, and Jerome Bayard turned to watch the two men working at it.

“Think we got it now, Mr. Choo!” The smaller man wheezed over at him, the two idiots had been working at it for over half an hour now, but they were the only staff he still trusted and had retained after the cult of the jade masks collapse.

“Alright, let’s see if she works this time?” Mr. Choo/Bayard watched the winch laboriously raise the heavy stone mask from the recently torn up marble tile floor of the main hall way where his grandfather had buried it decades ago. It was twice the size of the fake mask the Choo women had found in the hidden gallery, hidden in a not very secret niche, where Jerome’s father had meant anyone looking for it to find it and mistake it for the real thing, which the Choo women had promptly done. “Alright,” Mr. Choo nodded at the ecstatic proud men, “now I want that taken down into the main galley and hung up properly, and all this muck cleaned up and the floor properly replaced. Understand?”

“Yes sir,” both men glumly replied.

“Yes, we’re going to do this right this time. No more of this male eradication bullshit! Back to the good sound basics of female sex slaves just as it should be, eh? Good lads, keep at it I’ll fix us up some dinner.”

Milla meanwhile was across the lake in her own house, Milla Bayard, equally convinced she was the last of the Bayard’s, was prompting on her own pair of hired laborers as they put fishing touches on her backyards privacy fence. She had it rebuilt with a new sun deck added along the top of one spot. The local workers didn’t realize Milla planed on using the sun deck to hide her shinny black French Maid motor cycle that was now under a tarp in her garage. She had already fashioned the privacy fence to swing open in a hidden manor, all Bayard’s were good at constructing hidden doors, and she smirked. It would allow her to slip the nearly silent machine on and off her property without being seen, and she was bribing and cajoling her hired men to finish up the job as soon as possible with several large beers a few well timed jiggles of her hour glass body and they seemed to be eagerly responding. The French Maid wanted to try out the new fence’s sally port tonight. There was much to do, including paying that female kook psychiatrist that had Ben locked up in a privet ‘retreat’ for the sexually dysfunctional. She felt bad and guilty for Ben, even if he was a stupid man, but Milla had found out there seemed something very fishy about this hospital and its staff and it seemed to be just up the French Maid’s alley to give the place a closer look. “How’s it going men?” She shimmed up to them with a beer in each hand book casing a quivering t-shirt stretching breast. ‘I’m finally free to do what ‘I’ want to do now. Well as free as the last of the Bayard’s can be I guess.’ Milla smiled at the two men who couldn’t take their eyes off her magnificent breasts. ‘Yes, I can’t wait for tonight!’