Ms. Lynette Docea
I arrived at the Museum of Neolithic History. It occurred to me that an expert in the earliest beliefs of mankind might hold some clue on the Otherworld and the beings that become the Imprisoned. They could have been in existence longer than mankind.
Perhaps there was some clue to their origin. A chthonic bit of lore that I didn't know about.
I stepped out of my car in my maid's uniform. My skirts swished as I strutted on my heels. I felt so sexy in my outfit, my big boobs bouncing in the low-cut top. My red hair swished around my shoulders, adding a splash of color.
The bored woman at the ticket booth glanced at me. She didn't so much as bat an eyebrow at my outfit. "Our credit card machine's down. Cash only."
"I'm here on Hayward Manor business," I said, speaking clearly and looking her right in the eye.
"Then go on in," she said, hardly carrying. She waved her hand to the door.
I opened it and stepped into the museum. I took in a deep breath as the center of the room was full of wax sculptures of humans in their hunter-gather phase. It was an exhibit on the Kennewick culture found back west in Washington State. It was one of the most ancient humans ever found in North America.
But that wasn't why I was here. I had to find one of the curators. I flicked my gaze around, seeing shelf after shelf with artifacts dug up around North America.
I moved through the museum, trying not to be distracted by all the sights to behold. It was all so fascinating, but I was here for a reason. I had to remember that. I had to find a beautiful woman who had the knowledge I needed.
"You're early today," said a polite voice. "Even for a Saturday, it's a tad unusual."
I turned to see a young woman in a pair of khaki pants and a blue blouse. She had a certain scholarly air about her. "Are you a curator?"
"I am." She smiled. "Putting some of my schooling to work."
"Oh, wonderful," I said. "It's good to know all that college wasn't wasted."
"A bit." She shrugged. "While I have a Ph.D. in Aboriginal Mythologies, my focus was on Mesoamerica, not North America, but... I have studied the beliefs of most of the indigenous peoples of the Americas."
"Wonderful," I said, looking her up and down.
She was blonde and with glasses, which gave her an additional cuteness. She had a nice figure. Athletic. A touch of Nordic blood, perhaps. "I'm Lynette, and I think I might have a job offer for you, uh..."
"Abigail," she said, frowning. "Abigail Wright. But a job...? I mean, I did just start here. It would be weird to quit a job. I don't even know who you are or who I would be working for."
"Hayward Manor," I said and unslung the pack I had brought in. I opened it up, pushed aside the strap-on dildo in there, and pulled out a cedar box. I opened it and drew out a gray garter.
Her eyes went unfocused for a fraction of a second. "So, how's this for an offer."
"Yes!" she gasped. She was definitely fresh out of grad school. Still young enough to have that girlish enthusiasm.
She bounced up and down even as she started unbuttoning her light-blue blouse. She did not need that any longer.
She slipped out of her blouse, a big smile on her lips. She looked so happy. And that was what I wanted to see. Her happy.
So ready to just join the harem as one of Master Hayward's maids. Her joy was just outstanding.
She wore a white bra that cupped her round breasts. She reached behind her, twisting as she did to take off her bra.
I arched my eyebrow at the Wild Bitch tramp stamp she had. The words were wrapped in barbwire.
"My, that's interesting," I said as she unhooked her bra, baring them for any to see.
"Oh, God," she whimpered. "I, uh, was once a nineteen-year-old sorority sister. It's so embarrassing. I was so super drunk, and it was my first time being a sister. We just got done with the spring pledge and all, and we went out and... Now I have a memory to last a life time."
"Yes, you do," I said with amusement wondering if Nancy would have also wanted to recruit her.
But she was my sort of maid. Who cared if she was a slut or not. Her mind was important. She just had to be attractive.
Master Hayward needed a certain caliber of beauty serving him no matter what.
She kicked off the flats she wore and peeled off her socks. She unfastened her khakis. She had a pair of dark-red panties on, but the sort that came in a pack of Hanes. Comfortable to wear, not sexy. She peeled both off.
If she kept herself shaved in her wilder days of five or six years ago, she no longer did. She had a trimmed bush of golden curls that didn't do much to hide her pussy lips. She was dripping wet, of course. So excited to be Master Hayward's.
I held up the gray garter as she stepped out of her clothes. Abigail lifted her left, trembling. "I feel like Cinderella about to receive the glass slipper. I know it'll fit, but..."
"Still afraid your prince won't want you," I said. "But he will. Master Hayward will love you. He loves us all."
"I know," she purred as I slipped the garter over her leg. She gasped. Goose pimples raced up her shaved legs. "Oh, my, there's power in that. Real power. Magic's so real."
"It is," I said, rolling the garter up her calf and past her knee. I pushed it up to her mid-thigh. She quivered in delight. She was his. I had found him a beauty.
A big smile spread on my lips as I reached into my backpack.
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