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The Antebellum School Project (Ch 6 added 4/2/25)
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Hooked6
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Re: The Antebellum School Project (Ch 5 added 9/27/24)
Your rightrrh62 wrote: Sat Mar 29, 2025 3:01 am
There is a point in time when you just gotta let go of the dream. Mine and yours. If this story was ever going to be updated, it would have been by now.
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Sometimes dreams take a while to realize.
Look for a new chapter On Monday (3/31/25). I had hoped to publish 4 chapters but I am still not happy with three of them as I am at crossroads as to what direction the story will take. I know, I know, I need to just choose one and go with it but for me that is difficult. Thanks for bearing with me.
Hooked6
UPDATE:
On the advice of several readers who PM'd me today, I have chosen which road to take going forward and will make the necessary changes to the story planting the necessary details in the next several story chapters. For those who were kind enough to offer advice I decided I will stick to my original outline. I had second and third ideas that I putzed around with over the last several months and written and re-written pages and pages but I really wasn't satisfied and only really ended up wasting time. Thanks for those who helped me see what I really needed to do and to trust in my instincts that I started with originally.
Look for two chapters on Monday and two more next week. Thanks for everyone who has stuck with this story and your support in the many posts over the last several months.
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Last edited by Hooked6 on Sat Mar 29, 2025 10:46 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Mariax
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Re: The Antebellum School Project (Ch 5 added 9/27/24)
I'm so excited to read more. Life gets in the way sometimes. I've been sitting on 2 incomplete chapters of my story for months now and I've written half of a totally unrelated story as well... I desperately need to buckle down and finish some projects.
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cat93822
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Re: The Antebellum School Project (Ch 5 added 9/27/24)
Are you have posted the next chapter is it worth asking for views on which direction to take the story in? Obviously you need to be happy with the direction you choose, so just asking for wild suggestions isn’t that helpful, but thoughts on the ideas you are toying with maybe?Hooked6 wrote: Sat Mar 29, 2025 10:35 am I need to just choose one and go with it but for me that is difficult.
I remember how much research you said you put into this story, so the direction needs to be rooted in the research and how slavery would have worked, but also how the contracts might work and her father would be willing to go along with.
Having said that, I am already amazed with what her father was willing to accept and agree to, so I would love to see what you have written so far and are happy with
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shmeckle
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Re: The Antebellum School Project (Ch 5 added 9/27/24)
Only months?! I just checked the dates on two half-written stories I was going to update RSN and see that they're both coming up on 4 years since I posted. Damn. I have to do that too, before I start working on the other 2.Mariax wrote: Sat Mar 29, 2025 11:12 am I'm so excited to read more. Life gets in the way sometimes. I've been sitting on 2 incomplete chapters of my story for months now and I've written half of a totally unrelated story as well... I desperately need to buckle down and finish some projects.
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Hooked6
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The Antebellum School Project
The Antebellum School Project
BY: Hooked6
Chapter 6
Author's note: This chapter is dedicated to Legoman2 whose constant support is very much appreciated.
I was absolutely mortified as I made my way to the kitchen to set out breakfast. Of all the things my Step-mother could have done to correct my inappropriate display of my sexual arousal, the most undignified correction was undoubtedly getting spanked by 4 of my classmates and Mrs. Conner, the Principal’s wife. You have no idea how low I felt just then. I have been a good girl all my life and tried to do what was expected of me. Now I was treated like an unruly delinquent – a little kid at that. I was so ashamed.
I heard them all giggling and mumbling things that I couldn’t make out as I walked away from that Parlor. If I didn’t have that $30,000 to look forward to, I might just have quit the whole project right then and there – contract or no contract. But thoughts of how I would spend that money danced around in my head and eased my self-loathing, helping me to see things clearly.
I went to the warming oven and removed the ceramic bowls of scrambled eggs, sausage patties, sausage links, and buttermilk pancakes that I had made earlier that morning with the help of our maid and my step-sister, Angie. I covered the bowls with warm cloth towels to keep the heat in as I was shown before and arranged them on the table.
I took out the syrup, the pre-cut slices of Honey Dew, Cantaloupe and water melon from the from the antique, old-fashioned ice box and arranged them neatly around the table.
I placed pitchers of cold milk, apple and orange juice into the chipped ice that was in a metal tub and placed it on the side board. The only thing missing was the butter which I set upon the table.
Taking one last glance at the pre-set table of fine China, silverware, drinking glasses and coffee cups, I was satisfied that everything was in order, at least as far as I could tell. I knew my step-mother wanted to make a good impression not only on our guests but for the sake of Angie’s project as well. I counted the place settings – eight in all – for my classmates Rosie, Frank, Ellen, Clyde; my step-mom Susan and my step-sister Angie; and lastly my Principal, Mr. Conner and his wife, Carla.
Time was wasting and I knew I had to make my way back to the parlor before I got in trouble again.
As I approached the Parlor, I heard laughing and all sorts of simultaneous conversations going on all at once. I made a point to stop by the large mirror in the hallway to check how I looked and to my surprise, my hair and my face still looked pretty good for all that I had been through. I was sure my backside was a different story as although I couldn’t see that low in the mirror, I believed there must have been red marks from my hard spankings earlier. I swallowed deeply and proceeded to the Parlor.
The moment I entered, all conversation immediately stopped and all eyes turned toward me. It was as if they were all talking about something that they didn’t want me to hear. Surely that wasn’t a good sign.
“Breakfast is served,” I announced professionally trying not to show how uncomfortable I was standing there before them completely naked except for my shackles and collar. “If everyone would kindly follow me, I will show all y’all to the dining room.” I used the expression “All Y’all” in my best southern accent so as not to put on airs above my newly found lowly station in life.
As soon as I saw people getting up, I turned around and slowly headed out towards the front hall heading for the Dinning Room. I heard giggling once again and one of the girls – Ellen, I think – commented, “Would you look at how red her butt is?”
“Yeah, that will be around for awhile I’m sure,” said Clyde causing everyone to laugh at my expense. Despite their comments, I never turned around but kept a graceful posture and continued to lead the group towards their destination.
I entered the Dining Room, turned around to face everyone, and gently waved my hand towards the table indicating that they should each take a seat. The only places that had name cards were at the chairs at each end of the table for my Step-mom and Angie.
As people began taking their seats around the table, a loud slap echoed throughout the room as my step-mom struck my backside causing me to yelp. A second harder slap followed in rapid succession before she started chastising me verbally.
“Is THAT how you were taught to set a table?” she said loudly, clearly indicating that she wasn’t pleased.
“I . . . I mean . . . I did my best. It looks very elegant . . . doesn’t it?”
SLAP! Another, even harder strike was made against my naked bottom causing me to yelp in a high-pitched squeak which made everyone at the table laugh. I had absolutely no idea what she was upset about. The table looked the best as I ever recalled it looking – fine China, real silverware, freshly washed and pressed napkins and tablecloth – it all looked wonderful. I didn’t have to wait long to fine out what was bothering her though.
“This is a refined, upper-class house.” she lectured me in front of my classmates. “The people that reside here along with our guests are people of good breeding social standing. We do NOT dump the food on the table like some lower-class neighborhoods who haven’t the good sense to conduct themselves no better than dogs eating out of bowls! Do I make myself clear?”
“No, Ma’am . . . I mean . . . yes, Ma’am . . . that is to say, I’m not sure what you want me to do, Ma’am.”
My step-mother sighed deeply, clearly exasperated that I insulted her and her guests. But what did I do? I had tried so hard to make a good impression.
“In this house, we SERVE our guests. We do not expect our guests to SERVE THEMSELVES!”
“Oh!” I said meekly as if everything made sense all of a sudden. Why didn’t I think of that? “I’m so sorry ma’am. Forgive this inexperienced slave. It won’t happen again.”
“Get that food off the table and place it on the sideboard. Quickly now! Place a different serving spoon in each bowl. When the table is clear of those bowls, start with the eggs and make your way around the table asking each guest, “Eggs, Sir or Eggs, Ma’am.” If the answer is “yes” you serve the guest one spoon at a time until they have indicated that they have enough on their plate. Proceed to the next guest. Then serve the sausage and so forth until every item has been offered.”
“Yes. Ma’am” I said submissively. “I am sorry for my mistake but I will do better.”
“You had better, you worthless slave. One more mistake and you will be punished.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I quickly set out doing as I was told and eventually started serving. Each guest looked me in the eyes as I bent down and offered them something; and each guest chuckled before answering whether they wanted any of the item being presented. There was no doubt about it – they were all relishing my humiliation. Even Mr. Conner and his wife smirked at me as I was going about my duties. The only people that really got under my skin, however, were my step-sister, Angie and my step-mother, Susan. They had it within their power to ease my embarrassment, but it was clear they were only going to make it worse.
When everyone had their plates full, I started to serve the coffee and juices then offering the fresh sliced fruit. I was a little proud that I didn’t have to be told to serve the beverages. I was doing my best to recover from my faux pax and make Susan proud of me again. That is until . . .
“Honey?” Mrs. Conner asked. “By and chance, do you have any fresh bread?”
The look on my step-mother’s face said it all. I had done it again.
I thought to myself, bread? Yes, we . . . No, I didn’t make bread. What did I make? My mind was speeding through my thoughts like lightening. I know we had . . .
“Yes, Biscuits! I made fresh biscuits. They are in the warming oven. I am SO sorry, ma’am. I will serve them up right away.” I ran to the warming over and grabbed the hot bowl of biscuits which was very uncomfortable on my bare hands, but I wasn’t going to show that I made another mistake by screaming out. I dumped the biscuits into a towel lined new bowl so I could hold it while serving, grabbed a set of wooden tongs and made my way to Mrs. Conner and offered her some. I was so relieved when she just politely smiled and accepted one. I then ran to the other side of the table, grabbed the glass butter dish and offered her butter or jam. I then made the rounds offering everyone else the chance to partake of the bread.
Susan just scowled at me, but mercifully didn’t say anything. From her look she was giving me I knew I was in for it later.
As everyone ate, I just stood back by the sideboard making myself available in case anyone needed anything. The food looked so good and I was starving.
About 10 minutes later I heard Ellen ask, “Angie, you wouldn’t have a ‘Necessary Room’ handy, would you? Apologies, but I really need to go.”
“Oh yes, of course.” Angie got up and came over to the sideboard, reached down and open a cupboard door and pulled out a decorative ceramic Chamber Pot and quietly handed to me. I recognized it from our discussions before.
She leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Take Ellen to your room off the kitchen. Stay with her and attend to her needs. Do whatever she asks you to do including helping her with her garments. She knows what to do as she learned about chamber pots in preparing for this project. Don’t FUCK this up! You’re in enough trouble as it is.”
I knew this was part of my duties but I thought I was just going to be cleaning them, not watching guests use them! I swallowed hard and went to Ellen’s place at table, keeping the Chamber pot out of sight behind me so as not to offend the other guests. “Would you follow me, ma’am?”
Ellen just gave me a huge grin, got up from the table and proceeded to follow me. I led her to my closet/storage room that was now designated my slave quarters and waved her inside.
Ellen scrunched up her face and asked with an air of disdain, “Is this the Necessary Room? It looks more like a shelter for homeless people. What a mess.”
“It’s my bedroom room, ma’am. It also doubles as our downstairs Necessary Room for this project. I didn’t have time to clean it this morning as I had to prepare for company.”
Ellen, smirked. “Well, I guess you have had a lot of things to get used to in the last two days. I will need your help getting prepared,” she said as she pulled out a hemp rope and handed it to me.
“What is this for?” I asked not understanding.
“It is called a women’s sanitary rope. I am going to raise up my satin dress high above my waist then I will need you to wrap this cord around my waist and tie it so that the dress stays up and doesn’t get soiled. This is how women did it at high society social functions back in the day.”
Ellen reached down and grabbing the hem of her dress, she pulled it up as high as she could and nodded for me to do my part. Almost didn’t see her signal as I was astounded at all the white under clothes she was wearing. Did women really wear all of these things back then? The heat alone must have been stifling.
“Ahem,” she said as she cleared her throat. “I really, really have to go and if you don’t get a move on, I might end up peeing all over you!”
I snapped out of my fog and hurriedly tied the sanitary rope around her body.
“Help me with the Crinoline. Take it all the way off and don’t let it touch the floor.” Apparently, the crinoline was a white cotton, puffy garment that poofed-out or filled-out the dress giving the dress body. I did as she asked then and put it carefully on my desk. Next came her petticoat which I was also asked to take off and it joined the crinoline on the desk. Next came what she called her bloomers – which looked like above-the-knee underwear, much like the long jockey’s men wear today, except these ladies' bloomers had a hole in the crotch revealing Ellen’s vulva.
“I guess that hole is to make easier for women to pee, is that right?” I asked.
“Are you looking at my vagina?” Ellen asked with a wry smile. I was at a loss for words and just stuttered trying to think of something to say. She giggled and replied. “That’s right but I don’t want to get them wet, so take my bloomers off as well.”
Oh, I was so uncomfortable doing that! I mean she was going to be naked below the waist when I did that. It was so intimate and I just wanted to refuse. But I didn’t. I carefully lowered them to the floor – her vagina a mere inch or to from my face. I could actually smell her arousal and I really didn’t know what to make of that. This was as close to another woman’s business as I had ever been.
After laying her bloomers with the rest of her undergarments I handed her the Chamber Pot which she took and then turned around away from me facing my bed. I was ever so grateful that she did that.
Then I heard the sound of water hitting something. Not the sound water would make hitting a ceramic pot but the sound of water hitting . . . MY BED! Well, the blankets that passed for my bed. I looked around and she was missing the pot altogether and her forceful stream was raining down on my bed. MY BED!!
“ELLEN!!” I shouted excitedly. “STOP!!! You’re missing the pot!!”
She stopped her stream and let out a playful giggle. “Oh, silly me. Sorry. This is harder than it looks.” If I didn’t know better, I’d would have bet she pissed on my bed on purpose – that little bitch.
She turned around and said “Well, I guess you are just going to have to hold this for me. You can see better than I can. But you had better hurry. I can’t hold this much longer.”
I took the Chamber Pot, knelt down even with her naked pelvis and tried to place it to where I thought would be a safe place but it wouldn’t fit. “Open your legs wider, ma’am.” I said politely.
She laughed out loud this time. “You just want to get a better look at my Cooter,” she said coyly. She did as I asked and spread her legs amazingly wide. I am ashamed to admit it, but I actually did look. Her vaginal lips were spread wide open and her vulva was very wet – not from her pee, but from her obvious arousal. I couldn’t believe it. I was actually turning her on! YUCK!
Ellen laughed again as she looked down catching me staring at her vagina. I blushed and held up the pot between her legs about mid-thigh and shortly thereafter, I heard her stream hitting the bottom of the pot. Unfortunately for me, kneeling as I was, her stream was so forceful it started splashing all over my face – small droplets of her urine started coating my face, my neck and upper chest. I have NEVER been peed on before. It was weird, disgusting and, I don’t know, sensual. It was warm. I never thought about that before. Pee was pleasantly warm. Get ahold of yourself, Brooke. This is disgusting!
I couldn’t move as I would lose my balance and she’d end up peeing on the floor. At least this way most of her stream ended up in the pot. As the pot filled up, it got heavier and heavier. It was all I could do to keep it in position.
Finally, her urine trickled a bit then it stopped. I carefully put the Chamber Pot down and looked around for something for her to use to wipe herself with. Nothing. My rags were hung up outside.
I decided to get up and go find something suitable for her, but before I could move, she grabbed a hold of my head with both of her hands and started forcefully pulling my face towards her. “Lick it clean.”
My mouth dropped open and I shook my head in disbelief. “You heard me, Lick it clean. There is nothing in here to use and I sure don’t want that filthy blanket of yours to come anywhere near me.”
“But, Ellen . . . ma’am. I can’t do that. I’m not, you know, that way.”
“What do I care what way you are? You are a slave and you will do what I tell you to do. If you don’t, I am absolutely sure your mom will whip the hide off of your back side. And I am not exaggerating, either. You have 5 seconds before I walk out to the Dining Room just like I am – half naked - and tell everyone you refused to attend to my needs. Trust me. Your mom is already angry at you for embarrassing her in front of her company earlier. Imagine how she will be when she sees one of her guests walking out in front of her company half-naked because you wouldn’t help me.”
I looked up at her and silently pleaded with my eyes while shaking my head not to make me do that. I had never even thought about women that way and I didn’t want to start now. I knew she was right about my mom. Angie’s project was too important to her to have me screw things up. The only way was to hope Ellen would change her mind.
“5 . . . 4 . . .3 . . . 2 . . .”
“Okay!” I exclaimed. I’ll do it.”
Ellen let out what I can only describe as an evil laugh as she pulled my face toward her vulva. Then it happened. My lips made contact with her forbidden flesh.
“Lick, stupid! Don’t just breathe on it. I need it cleaned.”
I almost gagged, not because it tasted or smelled bad but because of the very thought of what I was doing. I reluctantly started licking – very slowly and very reluctantly.
Ellen decided to help and started rocking her pelvis against my tongue. Faster then faster still. I just held my tongue out and didn’t move. I certainly didn’t know what I was doing but she obviously did. Her breathing became faster too and more intense. Oh hell, she was going to cum! She was going to have an orgasm right on my face!! I tried to pull away but she held me tight against her pelvis. Then it happened. She actually did have an orgasm. I just kept my tongue out and held it still as she came down from her high; her pelvis jerking against my face with her sexual spasms. I was so angry that she did that to me. Still, it was amazing. I never made anyone cum before – not a boy nor ANY girl. It was kind of gratifying in a way. It helped my self-esteem if that makes any sense. I never had any confidence in my sexual abilities but this was kind of fun in a weird sort of way. I guess it wasn’t THAT bad.
When Ellen pushed my head away, I stood up and prepared to hand over her clothes. It was then that she looked down at me and laughed. It was a giggle at first then became more of a laugh.
“Look at you!” she mocked. “Your face is all slimy!” I had to take her word for it as there was no mirror in my room. But I had to admit it felt wet or “slimy” as she put it. I had her Cooter Juice all of my face! Disgusting.
Then she started laughing again. “You LIKED it, didn’t you?”
“What?! Hell no! You made me do it. I hated every minute of it.”
“I’m calling BS on that.” She said as she pointed down towards my crotch. “If you hated it so much, why is your clit so enlarged, sticking out of its hood even more than it did earlier today? Huh? Answer me that.”
I looked down and damn if it wasn’t! I felt my face get flushed with embarrassment. What are all those people going to say when they see that when I return back to the Dining Room?
Coming up: The public walk and the buggy ride to school on her first day back.
..
BY: Hooked6
Chapter 6
Author's note: This chapter is dedicated to Legoman2 whose constant support is very much appreciated.
I was absolutely mortified as I made my way to the kitchen to set out breakfast. Of all the things my Step-mother could have done to correct my inappropriate display of my sexual arousal, the most undignified correction was undoubtedly getting spanked by 4 of my classmates and Mrs. Conner, the Principal’s wife. You have no idea how low I felt just then. I have been a good girl all my life and tried to do what was expected of me. Now I was treated like an unruly delinquent – a little kid at that. I was so ashamed.
I heard them all giggling and mumbling things that I couldn’t make out as I walked away from that Parlor. If I didn’t have that $30,000 to look forward to, I might just have quit the whole project right then and there – contract or no contract. But thoughts of how I would spend that money danced around in my head and eased my self-loathing, helping me to see things clearly.
I went to the warming oven and removed the ceramic bowls of scrambled eggs, sausage patties, sausage links, and buttermilk pancakes that I had made earlier that morning with the help of our maid and my step-sister, Angie. I covered the bowls with warm cloth towels to keep the heat in as I was shown before and arranged them on the table.
I took out the syrup, the pre-cut slices of Honey Dew, Cantaloupe and water melon from the from the antique, old-fashioned ice box and arranged them neatly around the table.
I placed pitchers of cold milk, apple and orange juice into the chipped ice that was in a metal tub and placed it on the side board. The only thing missing was the butter which I set upon the table.
Taking one last glance at the pre-set table of fine China, silverware, drinking glasses and coffee cups, I was satisfied that everything was in order, at least as far as I could tell. I knew my step-mother wanted to make a good impression not only on our guests but for the sake of Angie’s project as well. I counted the place settings – eight in all – for my classmates Rosie, Frank, Ellen, Clyde; my step-mom Susan and my step-sister Angie; and lastly my Principal, Mr. Conner and his wife, Carla.
Time was wasting and I knew I had to make my way back to the parlor before I got in trouble again.
As I approached the Parlor, I heard laughing and all sorts of simultaneous conversations going on all at once. I made a point to stop by the large mirror in the hallway to check how I looked and to my surprise, my hair and my face still looked pretty good for all that I had been through. I was sure my backside was a different story as although I couldn’t see that low in the mirror, I believed there must have been red marks from my hard spankings earlier. I swallowed deeply and proceeded to the Parlor.
The moment I entered, all conversation immediately stopped and all eyes turned toward me. It was as if they were all talking about something that they didn’t want me to hear. Surely that wasn’t a good sign.
“Breakfast is served,” I announced professionally trying not to show how uncomfortable I was standing there before them completely naked except for my shackles and collar. “If everyone would kindly follow me, I will show all y’all to the dining room.” I used the expression “All Y’all” in my best southern accent so as not to put on airs above my newly found lowly station in life.
As soon as I saw people getting up, I turned around and slowly headed out towards the front hall heading for the Dinning Room. I heard giggling once again and one of the girls – Ellen, I think – commented, “Would you look at how red her butt is?”
“Yeah, that will be around for awhile I’m sure,” said Clyde causing everyone to laugh at my expense. Despite their comments, I never turned around but kept a graceful posture and continued to lead the group towards their destination.
I entered the Dining Room, turned around to face everyone, and gently waved my hand towards the table indicating that they should each take a seat. The only places that had name cards were at the chairs at each end of the table for my Step-mom and Angie.
As people began taking their seats around the table, a loud slap echoed throughout the room as my step-mom struck my backside causing me to yelp. A second harder slap followed in rapid succession before she started chastising me verbally.
“Is THAT how you were taught to set a table?” she said loudly, clearly indicating that she wasn’t pleased.
“I . . . I mean . . . I did my best. It looks very elegant . . . doesn’t it?”
SLAP! Another, even harder strike was made against my naked bottom causing me to yelp in a high-pitched squeak which made everyone at the table laugh. I had absolutely no idea what she was upset about. The table looked the best as I ever recalled it looking – fine China, real silverware, freshly washed and pressed napkins and tablecloth – it all looked wonderful. I didn’t have to wait long to fine out what was bothering her though.
“This is a refined, upper-class house.” she lectured me in front of my classmates. “The people that reside here along with our guests are people of good breeding social standing. We do NOT dump the food on the table like some lower-class neighborhoods who haven’t the good sense to conduct themselves no better than dogs eating out of bowls! Do I make myself clear?”
“No, Ma’am . . . I mean . . . yes, Ma’am . . . that is to say, I’m not sure what you want me to do, Ma’am.”
My step-mother sighed deeply, clearly exasperated that I insulted her and her guests. But what did I do? I had tried so hard to make a good impression.
“In this house, we SERVE our guests. We do not expect our guests to SERVE THEMSELVES!”
“Oh!” I said meekly as if everything made sense all of a sudden. Why didn’t I think of that? “I’m so sorry ma’am. Forgive this inexperienced slave. It won’t happen again.”
“Get that food off the table and place it on the sideboard. Quickly now! Place a different serving spoon in each bowl. When the table is clear of those bowls, start with the eggs and make your way around the table asking each guest, “Eggs, Sir or Eggs, Ma’am.” If the answer is “yes” you serve the guest one spoon at a time until they have indicated that they have enough on their plate. Proceed to the next guest. Then serve the sausage and so forth until every item has been offered.”
“Yes. Ma’am” I said submissively. “I am sorry for my mistake but I will do better.”
“You had better, you worthless slave. One more mistake and you will be punished.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I quickly set out doing as I was told and eventually started serving. Each guest looked me in the eyes as I bent down and offered them something; and each guest chuckled before answering whether they wanted any of the item being presented. There was no doubt about it – they were all relishing my humiliation. Even Mr. Conner and his wife smirked at me as I was going about my duties. The only people that really got under my skin, however, were my step-sister, Angie and my step-mother, Susan. They had it within their power to ease my embarrassment, but it was clear they were only going to make it worse.
When everyone had their plates full, I started to serve the coffee and juices then offering the fresh sliced fruit. I was a little proud that I didn’t have to be told to serve the beverages. I was doing my best to recover from my faux pax and make Susan proud of me again. That is until . . .
“Honey?” Mrs. Conner asked. “By and chance, do you have any fresh bread?”
The look on my step-mother’s face said it all. I had done it again.
I thought to myself, bread? Yes, we . . . No, I didn’t make bread. What did I make? My mind was speeding through my thoughts like lightening. I know we had . . .
“Yes, Biscuits! I made fresh biscuits. They are in the warming oven. I am SO sorry, ma’am. I will serve them up right away.” I ran to the warming over and grabbed the hot bowl of biscuits which was very uncomfortable on my bare hands, but I wasn’t going to show that I made another mistake by screaming out. I dumped the biscuits into a towel lined new bowl so I could hold it while serving, grabbed a set of wooden tongs and made my way to Mrs. Conner and offered her some. I was so relieved when she just politely smiled and accepted one. I then ran to the other side of the table, grabbed the glass butter dish and offered her butter or jam. I then made the rounds offering everyone else the chance to partake of the bread.
Susan just scowled at me, but mercifully didn’t say anything. From her look she was giving me I knew I was in for it later.
As everyone ate, I just stood back by the sideboard making myself available in case anyone needed anything. The food looked so good and I was starving.
About 10 minutes later I heard Ellen ask, “Angie, you wouldn’t have a ‘Necessary Room’ handy, would you? Apologies, but I really need to go.”
“Oh yes, of course.” Angie got up and came over to the sideboard, reached down and open a cupboard door and pulled out a decorative ceramic Chamber Pot and quietly handed to me. I recognized it from our discussions before.
She leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Take Ellen to your room off the kitchen. Stay with her and attend to her needs. Do whatever she asks you to do including helping her with her garments. She knows what to do as she learned about chamber pots in preparing for this project. Don’t FUCK this up! You’re in enough trouble as it is.”
I knew this was part of my duties but I thought I was just going to be cleaning them, not watching guests use them! I swallowed hard and went to Ellen’s place at table, keeping the Chamber pot out of sight behind me so as not to offend the other guests. “Would you follow me, ma’am?”
Ellen just gave me a huge grin, got up from the table and proceeded to follow me. I led her to my closet/storage room that was now designated my slave quarters and waved her inside.
Ellen scrunched up her face and asked with an air of disdain, “Is this the Necessary Room? It looks more like a shelter for homeless people. What a mess.”
“It’s my bedroom room, ma’am. It also doubles as our downstairs Necessary Room for this project. I didn’t have time to clean it this morning as I had to prepare for company.”
Ellen, smirked. “Well, I guess you have had a lot of things to get used to in the last two days. I will need your help getting prepared,” she said as she pulled out a hemp rope and handed it to me.
“What is this for?” I asked not understanding.
“It is called a women’s sanitary rope. I am going to raise up my satin dress high above my waist then I will need you to wrap this cord around my waist and tie it so that the dress stays up and doesn’t get soiled. This is how women did it at high society social functions back in the day.”
Ellen reached down and grabbing the hem of her dress, she pulled it up as high as she could and nodded for me to do my part. Almost didn’t see her signal as I was astounded at all the white under clothes she was wearing. Did women really wear all of these things back then? The heat alone must have been stifling.
“Ahem,” she said as she cleared her throat. “I really, really have to go and if you don’t get a move on, I might end up peeing all over you!”
I snapped out of my fog and hurriedly tied the sanitary rope around her body.
“Help me with the Crinoline. Take it all the way off and don’t let it touch the floor.” Apparently, the crinoline was a white cotton, puffy garment that poofed-out or filled-out the dress giving the dress body. I did as she asked then and put it carefully on my desk. Next came her petticoat which I was also asked to take off and it joined the crinoline on the desk. Next came what she called her bloomers – which looked like above-the-knee underwear, much like the long jockey’s men wear today, except these ladies' bloomers had a hole in the crotch revealing Ellen’s vulva.
“I guess that hole is to make easier for women to pee, is that right?” I asked.
“Are you looking at my vagina?” Ellen asked with a wry smile. I was at a loss for words and just stuttered trying to think of something to say. She giggled and replied. “That’s right but I don’t want to get them wet, so take my bloomers off as well.”
Oh, I was so uncomfortable doing that! I mean she was going to be naked below the waist when I did that. It was so intimate and I just wanted to refuse. But I didn’t. I carefully lowered them to the floor – her vagina a mere inch or to from my face. I could actually smell her arousal and I really didn’t know what to make of that. This was as close to another woman’s business as I had ever been.
After laying her bloomers with the rest of her undergarments I handed her the Chamber Pot which she took and then turned around away from me facing my bed. I was ever so grateful that she did that.
Then I heard the sound of water hitting something. Not the sound water would make hitting a ceramic pot but the sound of water hitting . . . MY BED! Well, the blankets that passed for my bed. I looked around and she was missing the pot altogether and her forceful stream was raining down on my bed. MY BED!!
“ELLEN!!” I shouted excitedly. “STOP!!! You’re missing the pot!!”
She stopped her stream and let out a playful giggle. “Oh, silly me. Sorry. This is harder than it looks.” If I didn’t know better, I’d would have bet she pissed on my bed on purpose – that little bitch.
She turned around and said “Well, I guess you are just going to have to hold this for me. You can see better than I can. But you had better hurry. I can’t hold this much longer.”
I took the Chamber Pot, knelt down even with her naked pelvis and tried to place it to where I thought would be a safe place but it wouldn’t fit. “Open your legs wider, ma’am.” I said politely.
She laughed out loud this time. “You just want to get a better look at my Cooter,” she said coyly. She did as I asked and spread her legs amazingly wide. I am ashamed to admit it, but I actually did look. Her vaginal lips were spread wide open and her vulva was very wet – not from her pee, but from her obvious arousal. I couldn’t believe it. I was actually turning her on! YUCK!
Ellen laughed again as she looked down catching me staring at her vagina. I blushed and held up the pot between her legs about mid-thigh and shortly thereafter, I heard her stream hitting the bottom of the pot. Unfortunately for me, kneeling as I was, her stream was so forceful it started splashing all over my face – small droplets of her urine started coating my face, my neck and upper chest. I have NEVER been peed on before. It was weird, disgusting and, I don’t know, sensual. It was warm. I never thought about that before. Pee was pleasantly warm. Get ahold of yourself, Brooke. This is disgusting!
I couldn’t move as I would lose my balance and she’d end up peeing on the floor. At least this way most of her stream ended up in the pot. As the pot filled up, it got heavier and heavier. It was all I could do to keep it in position.
Finally, her urine trickled a bit then it stopped. I carefully put the Chamber Pot down and looked around for something for her to use to wipe herself with. Nothing. My rags were hung up outside.
I decided to get up and go find something suitable for her, but before I could move, she grabbed a hold of my head with both of her hands and started forcefully pulling my face towards her. “Lick it clean.”
My mouth dropped open and I shook my head in disbelief. “You heard me, Lick it clean. There is nothing in here to use and I sure don’t want that filthy blanket of yours to come anywhere near me.”
“But, Ellen . . . ma’am. I can’t do that. I’m not, you know, that way.”
“What do I care what way you are? You are a slave and you will do what I tell you to do. If you don’t, I am absolutely sure your mom will whip the hide off of your back side. And I am not exaggerating, either. You have 5 seconds before I walk out to the Dining Room just like I am – half naked - and tell everyone you refused to attend to my needs. Trust me. Your mom is already angry at you for embarrassing her in front of her company earlier. Imagine how she will be when she sees one of her guests walking out in front of her company half-naked because you wouldn’t help me.”
I looked up at her and silently pleaded with my eyes while shaking my head not to make me do that. I had never even thought about women that way and I didn’t want to start now. I knew she was right about my mom. Angie’s project was too important to her to have me screw things up. The only way was to hope Ellen would change her mind.
“5 . . . 4 . . .3 . . . 2 . . .”
“Okay!” I exclaimed. I’ll do it.”
Ellen let out what I can only describe as an evil laugh as she pulled my face toward her vulva. Then it happened. My lips made contact with her forbidden flesh.
“Lick, stupid! Don’t just breathe on it. I need it cleaned.”
I almost gagged, not because it tasted or smelled bad but because of the very thought of what I was doing. I reluctantly started licking – very slowly and very reluctantly.
Ellen decided to help and started rocking her pelvis against my tongue. Faster then faster still. I just held my tongue out and didn’t move. I certainly didn’t know what I was doing but she obviously did. Her breathing became faster too and more intense. Oh hell, she was going to cum! She was going to have an orgasm right on my face!! I tried to pull away but she held me tight against her pelvis. Then it happened. She actually did have an orgasm. I just kept my tongue out and held it still as she came down from her high; her pelvis jerking against my face with her sexual spasms. I was so angry that she did that to me. Still, it was amazing. I never made anyone cum before – not a boy nor ANY girl. It was kind of gratifying in a way. It helped my self-esteem if that makes any sense. I never had any confidence in my sexual abilities but this was kind of fun in a weird sort of way. I guess it wasn’t THAT bad.
When Ellen pushed my head away, I stood up and prepared to hand over her clothes. It was then that she looked down at me and laughed. It was a giggle at first then became more of a laugh.
“Look at you!” she mocked. “Your face is all slimy!” I had to take her word for it as there was no mirror in my room. But I had to admit it felt wet or “slimy” as she put it. I had her Cooter Juice all of my face! Disgusting.
Then she started laughing again. “You LIKED it, didn’t you?”
“What?! Hell no! You made me do it. I hated every minute of it.”
“I’m calling BS on that.” She said as she pointed down towards my crotch. “If you hated it so much, why is your clit so enlarged, sticking out of its hood even more than it did earlier today? Huh? Answer me that.”
I looked down and damn if it wasn’t! I felt my face get flushed with embarrassment. What are all those people going to say when they see that when I return back to the Dining Room?
Coming up: The public walk and the buggy ride to school on her first day back.
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