The Princess and the Servant

A METAMORPHOSIS OF PRIDE or THE RISE AND FALL OF CATHERINE

Chapter I

The Princess and the Servant

I've never harboured any romantic desires for anybody of the female gender; I am a straight woman, but I have always enjoyed dominating weaker women in a sexual way.

Any kind of physical torture is out of the question. Psychological is the only way to go for me and I only blackmail, nothing more. Nothing gives me more satisfaction than watching another straight woman sacrifice her sexuality to me for the sake of her own reputation. That is the most satisfactory thing I can get from another woman because it is an irreversible sacrifice on her behalf.

Even if my victim remains straight after I have forced her to worship me, her heart will always jump with fear every time she sees me, or every time she hears the name Catherine, which is my name. I will remain forever her superior. I will have scarred her forever, because the only person who scars a woman deeper than the man who has taken her virginity is the woman who has made her forget that man's relevance.

I didn't know this inclination in myself until I turned eighteen. That was when I blackmailed another woman for the first time. A few days after my birthday my parents hired a third chambermaid for the house, one who was assigned to tend to only my needs and thus take some burden off the other maids' shoulders.

Our house was very big and I'm an only child. I must admit that being the daughter of the wealthiest man in our town I was quite spoilt and very demanding, so I very often tormented the poor woman.

For some reason, I didn't like her from the start. A young Croatian immigrant, her English also wasn't very good, so I would often interrupt her ruthlessly when she spoke to me and told her in a demanding tone to articulate and speak more clearly. If I was in a bad mood I would make her tidy my room twice, even when she had done it well the first time. I was immature and was starting to develop a taste for dominating others, and I thought that being mean was the same thing as being strong.

One day the maid brought my clothing freshly folded from the launderette. Current trouble with my first boyfriend back then played a vital role in me being in a terrible mood that day, so I snapped at her. I told her poisonously that if there should be but one of my mother's garments mixed in with mine, I would take my panties off and use her mouth as a tumble-turner to wash them. She understood perfectly and made a slightly disgusted face from the image I described, but she didn't argue with me.

Once my bad mood was gone I thought of finding her and apologising to her for my rudeness, but I didn't. In fact, as the days went by I kept treating her just as harshly, and the fact that she never fought back made me grow ever bolder.

A few days later she came to my room with the trousers I had told her to iron for me. That was all the excuse I needed to exploit her and I got the impulse to blackmail her, just for sport. I made her come in and closed the door behind her. Then I asked her where the five hundred quid were that I had left in the pocket of the trousers. She said she hadn't seen any money. She was being truthful, but even though I was lying about the money, I was very convincing.

Soon she was sure she wouldn't just lose her job on account of theft, but also that she would never be able to find another job again afterwards, in addition to having to pay the money back. Once I had her at my mercy I told her that I pardoned her and I wouldn't tell anyone about her theft, but that she would have to apologise to me in return. She said she was sorry, but I didn't settle for that so I made her apologise in another way.

A few moments later she was kneeling in front of me as I sat on the armrest of one of my sofa-chairs. I separated my legs and raised the front of my black leather skirt for her. As always, I was wearing a pair of standard white satin knickers underneath which she would have to kiss and lick until I told her to stop. I don't know how I came up with such an idea, but I reckoned it was one of the worst possible psychological punishments for her as the straight, married woman she was, so I made her go through with it.

I still can't forget the insulted look on her face as she knelt before me and started to lean forwards towards my crotch. I enjoyed how she blushed with shame as her lips and tongue began to mop the surface of my gusset. Soon my clean white knickers became wet with her saliva and somewhat stained with her lipstick, but I didn't mind. My dirty manoeuvre had been an utter success. I was now dominating her and showing her who the better woman was.

As I monitored her humiliation, I was delighted as I thought of her marital status. She was a straight and married woman and yet there she was, submissively licking another woman's knickers to avoid the shame of unemployment. The whole situation was very surprising, and in fact she licked my knickers very well.

Despite her obedience though, I saw how deeply she was suffering and how much she longed to stop. I still savoured her ordeal a few more minutes and made her carry on, as I had never taken so much pleasure in somebody else's humiliation. Her mouth felt ticklish on my vagina as she touched the satin fabric with it, and her humiliation soon began to arouse me.

Her traumatising torture lasted a while more and then I told her to stop and ordered her to leave. As she got up slowly she avoided looking me in the eyes, and then she left the room in shock, looking like a rape victim. The next day she left the household deliberately and returned home to her husband for good. The reason she gave my mother for quitting was that she had found another job, and she didn't tell her what had really happened.

Mother suspected that the real reason most likely had something to do with me anyway. She knew I was mean and so she took away my internet privileges for a week as a punishment. I also wasn't assigned a new maid for a long time, but in the end I got away with my bad deed, and I knew there would be more to come after I graduated from school that year.

Three years later a strange but beautiful brunette sent me a message on Facebook. Her Facebook name was something like Marta Krsic. She asked if I remembered her and wrote me that now she was modelling for living. She also told me that her marriage was over and that she would love to see me again someday too, and that I had changed her life forever.

I could tell by some grammatical errors that it was actually her, it was the chambermaid, the woman I had wronged all those years ago. I was very curious about meeting her but I didn't respond to her message or her friendship request and avoided contact with her deliberately. I had a serious boyfriend now and I thought it best to avoid any complications in our relationship.