Having just divorced my 2nd wife I sat at home doing laundry and cleaning the bathroom on a Saturday night. Not that I wasn’t capable but I didn’t do as good of a job with household domestic chores as a woman. I tended to wait until the laundry was at least 3 loads deep and the toilets had a nice brown ring formed above the water line – just so I would know where to clean, no sense cleaning the parts that didn’t get dirty.

As I sat, at last, with a TV dinner and flipped around the channels I thought about how much this sucked. Having a wife meant some occasional sex but quite frankly jerking off was quicker, less stressful and I could just go to sleep without all the bullshit afterwards. As I saw a maid service ad on the TV the thought suddenly hit me that what I needed was a paid maid to take care of the household chores. Making good money I could certainly afford one. Then I would have more time to do other things like my hobbies. That still left sex every now and then with a woman. Not that I had all the details of that worked out yet but I felt that sooner or later I could find one that wasn’t too much trouble. Looking back reflectively however I have to wonder at my own sanity of such thoughts since I didn’t have too good of a track record finding a woman who wasn’t too much trouble.

Having had some maids with the first wife I knew for a fact that they destroy. Having a maid is like hiring a wrecking crew for your house. On a single maid trip a decade before the maids had managed to run doorstops through three doors on the same day, scratch a thousand dollar bathtub, scratch a color matched toilet seat and twist the gaskets on a faucet to the point where I had to replace the faucet. For a mere $65 I had an amazing eight hundred dollar repair bill, not including the tub.

So I wondered if all maids were like that. Obviously not because a lot of people used them. Perhaps I was just being too picky. While talking to my mom one night she suggested that I find a live-in maid. That way she would be a bit slower and gentler on the house and its fixtures. Sounded like a plan. Now how do I find one?

My Spanish language skills sucked and my Vietnamese was nearly non-existent so it appeared as if I needed to find someone who at least spoke English well. I tried a maid service but they didn’t handle live-ins. So doing the logical thing I placed an ad in a local newspaper. “Wanted: Live-in English or French maid. Cook & clean for bachelor, weekends off.” The last I had placed thinking that if I ever did start dating again that I wouldn’t want her to cramp my style. Not that I actually figured I would get an English maid but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to advertise. Also knowing from the way people didn’t really read qualifications on my job qualifications at my office I figured I would get some Spanish speaking and Asian applicants as well.

To my surprise I didn’t get a single call that week on the listed answering machine attended number. Not even any hang-ups. I opted for a second week with the local paper, it was cheap enough. After the second week I dropped that idea and tried another maid service. $400 destruction this time – a broken lamp, chair and another door. I don’t know what it is about doors that maids despise but they slam them so hard that a one inch rubber bumper was shoved through the hollow core door. I was never under the impression that interior doors needed to be all that substantial in the first place so I just bent over and took it. End of maid service.

A month later…

I get a voice mail message from a lady who would like to know if the position was still open. She identified herself as Diana. The number she left was in France! I sat and wondered about that. I figured that it took several days for the local paper from Houston to arrive in Paris. Odd, she spoke very good English on the answering machine.

Later that evening, compensating for the time zones, I called Diana. She answered on the second ring. We discussed the job and her responsibilities. Eventually, with my many airline miles in mind, we agreed that I would go to Paris and interview her in person. Given the cost of the phone bill I later got this turned out to be a very wise decision.

Two weeks later I arrived in Paris and took a taxi to the address she had given me. It was a run down part of town that I didn’t want to be caught in after dark. Ringing the bell a female voice answered. The buzzer rang and I walked up to the 4th floor. I knocked gently at the door and a few moments later was looking at Diana.

“Hello.” She said demurely. She was perhaps five foot three and couldn’t have weighed even a hundred pounds. She had a sickly, skinny heroin junkie look to her. Her skin color was ok though. “Please come in Mr. Jones.”

“Thank you Diana.”

We then sat and talked for several hours whereby I learned her story. She was 29 years old and divorced. Her husband was French and had married her and brought her back to Paris. For some reason she didn’t want to talk about he had left her and she was now without any money, I got the impression he was in prison. She said her vision was poor in one eye and she had a hard time getting a job. She had apparently spent a long time in hospitals and court for yet another reason she didn’t want to talk about with me. The reason she was so skinny was that she had a bowel disorder which caused her to not be very hungry most of the time. She was an only child and her mother had died when she was 17, she never knew her father.

As to the reason that Diana had read my newspaper ad – she wanted to get out of France due to the many bad memories there and didn’t have enough money to start over in the U.K. She made enough money to get by as an assistant in a bakery. I queried her directly if she had any criminal record and she stated that she didn’t. Still unconvinced I decided to get a local PI to investigate her before bringing her back. However this didn’t stop me from making a commitment to her to bring her to America. Having a passport already all she really had to do was to close up her flat and close out her bank account. Aside from that she was ready to go. I stalled for two weeks citing the airfare which I would gladly pick up if she would wait until it was cheap enough. To prove my sincerity we went together to a travel agent and booked her a one way flight to Houston; in two weeks.

We had lunch together and discussed what she planned to do in America. She said she thought about maybe going back to college or something. She didn’t really want a full time job just now and was content to live with me for room & board plus $50 a week. In return she would clean, do laundry and cook. Having only a 2500 square foot house and being single I figured it can’t be too tough. Looking at her in daylight I decided she didn’t look all that bad after all. Still, she was very skinny and had a scar on her face and some on her hands. She had that dragged around the block look but only once, not the years of wear and tear that some burned out barmaids get. She didn’t have any wrinkles that were noticeable and her teeth appeared in very good condition.

After coming to an agreement as to what she would provide for me and I for her we parted company. I then found a private investigator and after giving him $500 he agreed to give me a preliminary report before I left the country. I enjoyed Paris for the next two days and then as promised got the report. Some details were missing and the PI promised to mail them to me later – school records and such.

The report was basically simple, she had been attacked by her ex-husband and severely injured. Apparently she was hospitalized for several months and he was now incarcerated for ten years. She was indeed broke and had no criminal record. No indication of drug habits as her records that he could retrieve were clean. She had a college degree in England but he was unsure of what it was. Her family records checked out also. One interesting thing did show up, the bakery job she told me about wasn’t her only job. She also had another one working in a sex toy store downtown. Apparently part time. She had no boyfriend and very few friends.

Two weeks later Diana arrived at the Houston airport where I picked her up. She only had 3 pieces of rather large luggage. Not surprising for an immigrant. Apparently something must have happened in immigration however as she appeared very upset. She wouldn’t talk about it and was nearly on the verge of tears. I asked but she just shook her head and said it was ok.

We drove with very little small talk to my home. I pointed out some of the sights to her along the way but I could tell she was very distracted. An hour later we arrived. I figured she would have been very tired. She wasn’t, having slept on the plane. I carried her luggage into her new bedroom and offered to help her unpack.

“I’m the maid, remember? I’m here to take care of you, not the other way around.”

“No problem, really. Look Diana, you’re upset about something. Why don’t you unpack and get somewhat organized and I’ll be in the den watching TV. Calm down and we can talk about it in a little while. Do you need a glass of wine?”

She looked at me and nodded slowly. Going to the refrigerator I selected my best bottle of wine. Well, actually it was my only bottle of wine. Not that I drink wine but chicks do and when presented with the opportunity it always helps to ply them with alcohol. Although most of the time I’m trying to get them in bed I though it was rather ironic that here I was pouring my new maid a glass trying to get her to talk to me. Damned, sure hope this isn’t an indication of things to come.

I brought her the wine and set it on the dresser. She was slowly unpacking her clothes. Nothing too sexy I noticed. “Thank you” she said with a sniffle but didn’t look at me.

I retreated to the safety of the den and the TV. An hour later she came out and refilled her glass from the bottle in the fridge. Then she came into the den and sat down. She appeared recomposed now. “Al, you really are a very nice man. I’m sorry for behaving the way I have been. I’m just sort of upset right now. I’ll explain later but please don’t press me for more right now.”

“Ok.”

Life settled into a routine over the next week or so. I would work and call her on my way home. She learned her way around my house and it smelled and looked very clean. I showed her how to use my computers and she played on the net when not tending to her duties.

A week later I came home from work one day and Diana had a grin on her face. She wouldn’t tell me what was up. She had baked a really delicious cheesecake and it had a wonderful white chocolate sauce with it. I had told her how I loved it but didn’t eat it much because it gave me an upset stomach since I was lactate intolerant. She had prefaced the cake with an excellent Swiss steak and vegetables. After we had finished dinner I was sitting in the den when the cheesecake kicked in. More like being kicked in the gut. She had made quick work of the kitchen cleanup and came and sat on the sofa beside me.

“Al are you ok?”

“Yeah, cheesecake doesn’t like me.”

“Tummyache?” she asked.

“Yep, I once again forgot to take my pills.”

“You know it is odd but when I was a young girl my mum gave me an enema whenever my tummy hurt.”

“Not that kind of hurt. The staying in isn’t the problem.”

“That too. Oddly enough even with diarrhea an enema will flush out whatever is causing the problem. Would you like me to give you one?”

“No thanks. However that isn’t a bad idea. It has been a while.” How I would have loved to have had her giving me an enema! However I wasn’t that comfortable with her yet. Not that we had anything like a close relationship yet, she was my maid for goodness sakes. It would have been awkward. However she knew full well I had an enema bag hanging in the large bathroom closet by now. I had merely pointed to the closet and almost forgot about the standard 2 quart red drugstore bag I left there for medicinal purposes. I kept the fun toys locked away in a spare bedroom. The bag in the bathroom had an extra strong stainless steel hook and a standard douche nozzle on it. Nothing unusual there.

“Ok, but if you want me to help just call. My mum taught me well.” She sympathized with my stomach wrenching.

“So did you ever help your ex?”

“Once or twice. But he hated it.” She said with a smirk.

I walked down the hallway wondering about the look on her face. It implied something else – like maybe she was trying to allude to the fact that I wouldn’t hate it? I closed the door, locked it, turned on the fan and took off my clothes. I then ran the tub water to get it warm, the sink faucet was too low to fill a 2 quart bag full. Normally if I had a house guest and just had to have an enema I would have been very quiet to prevent anyone from hearing me. I know it is nonsense but I am just paranoid that way. Better to not have to explain things.

I opened the bathroom closet and took out the bag. It was hanging on the cup hooks just where I had left it. The rest of the closet however wasn’t as I had left it. All the shelves had been cleaned and every bottle of either cleaning solution or spare bathroom supplies were neatly arranged and the labels facing outwards. Even the pile of crap on the floor had been picked up and neatly stacked or now sat in paper bags which were labeled in Diana’s perfect hand printing.

All of the shelves. I reached up to the seventh shelf which was some six and a half feet from ground level and retrieved the bottle of soap and lubricant. It was pretty much as I had left it. However the spare nozzles of various shapes which I usually scooted to the back of the shelf so my nosy mother wouldn’t find them were now neatly lined up near the front edge. So Diana had found my nozzles. Well no big deal that, being from England and with all the rumors about the English fondness for enemas I figured she should have been comfortable enough with that. Besides which most of the nozzles weren’t that outrageous – I kept the inflatables in the locked bedroom closet. All of these were plastic types. The water was hot so I put in some soap, added water, capped and hung the bag. I used the douche nozzle I usually left on the set up – this enema was more medicinal than anything.

However, I have a habit of preferring to do something while the two quarts of hot, soapy water flowed up my ass and normally that was looking at porn. If I were alone at home I would insert the nozzle and then go to my computer and look at fresh stuff. Being a practical sort of guy I knew there were times when I would need to fill up while a guest was in the house and it just wasn’t an option to go traipsing down the hallway with a full two quart bag and a nozzle stuck up my ass. For those occasions I kept some printed porn pictures on the very top, the eighth shelf in the closet. My first ex wife had been kind enough to leave behind an inflatable back pillow made of vinyl for lounging in the bath. It rested on the top shelf which had barely eight inches of clearance anyway and wasn’t practical for keeping cleaners or other items. Indeed my second wife had never bothered to venture up that high.

Beneath the blow up back rest were a few of the better porno pictures. Mostly girls taking a cock or dildo anally I liked to pretend it was me getting at her fudge brownie. However some were of girls getting enemas. I reached up to the shelf to lift the back rest and felt something that shouldn’t be there. I then eased the vinyl up and saw what looked like the spine edge of a notebook with about a 1” spine. At nearly seven and a half feet it was a stretch for me too to reach the top shelf. However I reached to the right and slid the notebook off. It was plain white vinyl. I opened it up and there were my prized printouts. All neatly encased in clear vinyl report covers with the 3-hole punches and set up double front & back. Diana had found my stash!

Now it all made sense. She must have been cleaning my closet and found the pictures and taken it upon herself to fix them up for me. So surely she knew I jerked off while looking at them. And she was a smart enough girl to know that I had to have been jerking off looking at them while taking an enema. Or did she? Most likely, after all at least a quarter of the pictures were of girls taking enemas and the printouts were only one shelf up from a better than average collection of enema nozzles. Now I knew why she had the grin today when I got home. Now I knew why the cheesecake. She knew it would make me sick and since I was predisposed to enemas anyway I would gladly take the suggestion at one. She intended for me to find out that she knew about my pictures. And having worked at a sex toy shop there wasn’t that much doubt that she knew that some people were anal erotic.

Now what?

I wondered about the stack of photos I had purchased from the web. I reached up on the shelf and sure enough the small envelope of pictures of the pretty black girl getting an enema wasn’t there. A small photo album had replaced it. The kind you would use for 30-40 photos. Inside were all the photos neatly mounted. Diana certainly had no doubt that I liked to see girls getting enemas after doing this.

Odd, my first ex wife had been so repulsed by my enema habits I had to keep them secret for the entire 14 years of our marriage. I had managed after about ten years to purchase a drugstore bag and left it in the closet under the guise of easing the pain of passing hemorrhoids. She bought that explanation anyway. No way however was I going to give her one though. My second wife had been a lot more understanding. She had actually taken up the red bag habit after only living with me six months. I even managed to give her enemas on several occasions. However she didn’t like taking the whole bag and even though I ate her pussy good while it was going in I suspected that she was still embarrassed at me doing it to her. She would take them solo however and quiet often. And she didn’t mind my weekly habits. Too bad she didn’t like me to eat her pussy and only ‘put up’ with me having sex with her or we would have still been together. That and the little comment one morning about how she was going to poke my eyes out with an ice pick while I slept pretty much torpedoed any chance at that marriage lasting. I hadn’t even cheated on her or anything and never did figure out where her hostility came from. Maybe it was some Lizzie Borden fantasy or something. At any rate I distanced myself from her as quick as I could.

I slipped the douche nozzle in and proceeded to flip through the printouts. After filling I let that out and then rinsed. Putting everything away I contemplated on what I was going to tell Diana.

Returning to the den I sat in my recliner, Diana was on the sofa. She looked over at me. “Thank you Diana for organizing my pictures for me.” I said almost casually.

“You’re welcome. Anytime you want me to help just ask.”

“I’m curious; you don’t seem to be disgusted by my eccentricities.” I said.

“You mean your enema nozzle collection and your pictures? I know you wank while you’re looking at ‘em.” She said with that cute England English accent that I so loved.

I looked over at her. She had a big, mischievous grin on her face. “You’re not going to give me a lecture about it being nasty?”

“No. Then you would be obligated to fuss at me.” Diana said with a smirk.

Ok, now I was confused. What in the hell did she mean by that? I was trying to figure that out. The only reason I could think of was that she masturbated too. However just masturbating wasn’t the entire story here. Not by a long shot. If that were the case she could still claim that me giving myself enemas was perverted and the pictures of the girls having anally inserted dildos and large dicks was way past just getting an enema and enjoying it. Might as well blurt it out and see what happens, “You enjoy getting an enema too?”

“Of course silly!”

“So do you.. I mean ..” I stumbled, tongue tied. My mind was going blank on me.

“Of course, I rub myself while I’m filling up too. You’ve got some pretty good pictures. I’m curious though as to where you got the black girl set from.” Diana said.

“I … I ordered it from a website.” I managed to say.

“Same place where you got the video tapes?” she asked.

“The enema ones anyway. In fact one of the tapes is the black girl. Old and from the late 70’s apparently.” I managed to say and just kept staring at Diana. She had apparently organized my video tape collection that was in the locked cabinet under the TV. Not that it was all that secure as the key was by the VCR.

“What about her fascinates you?” Diana asked.

“I don’t know exactly. Probably because I don’t have many of black girls getting a bag full. Lots of white girls, but she is the only black one. Cute butt too. I don’t know, maybe she just looks shy or something.” I paused. “Did any of the rest of the pictures turn you on?”

“Well…” she paused and grinned and sort of dipped her head a bit shyly, “if you mean the ones of the girls taking it up the arse yes. And the ones with the blow up nozzles too. And the one with the dildo with the ring in it.”

“Why does that one interest you?”

“I don’t know exactly. Maybe it is because I think about what it would be like if someone tied it into her where she couldn’t take it out.” Diana said commenting on one printout I had where a girl had a good size dildo buried in her ass with an eyelet mounted on the end.

“That is exactly what it was for. I had another one somewhere that had her tied over a sawhorse being whipped. The one after that one she was standing with a rope running between her legs and it was through the eyelet.” I said, still unable to break eye contact with Diana.

“That’s kinky! But ooooh so good. You know that they sell that blow up nozzle on eBay, don’t you?” Diana asked.

“Yes they do but there are cheaper places.” I said and then had an interesting thought. “Have you ever tried one?”

She bit her lower lip and nodded affirmatively.

“And?” I asked. She just smiled. “You liked it, didn’t you?” Again a nod. “Diana, have you ever had a lover spank you?”

She inhaled just a little, “not yet…”

Could it be that my little blonde English maid was a submissive? Life couldn’t get that good, could it? Time to find out. I got up and she watched me leave the den, however she didn’t follow. I went to the bedroom and dug around in the nightstand drawer, the one that was on the other side of the bed from where I usually slept. Surely she would have snooped in this drawer – at least by accident while putting away my clothes. I lifted up the top layer of junk and reached underneath and retrieved a collar, leash and furry cuffs that I had got for my 2nd ex-wife. Just like new, she had only allowed me to play with them on her about 2-3 times.

I returned to the den and set the stuff on the coffee table beside my chair and sat down to watch TV. Diana had returned to watching TV but started watching me when I returned. I didn’t say anything. Out of my peripheral vision I saw her reach over and pick the stuff up. I kept watching TV but couldn’t see her without turning my head. I could hear the buckle of the collar. Next the snap of the leash. Finally the clank of the short chain on the cuffs. Then the TV went off. I turned to see her rise from the sofa and walk over to my chair. She knelt down in front of me and hung her head while holding the leash out to me.

“Diana, my wonderful girl, what is this?” I said and took the leash. I tugged gently on it and she raised her head and made eye contact with me.

“Master, your loyal and obedient maid awaits your instructions.”

Damned! She was trained by someone. Either that or VERY well read with a lifelong fantasy that she wished to play out. There was no way that she could have thought that she needed to do this to keep her job. This had to be something she wanted.

“Diana, my dear, have you ever done this before?” I asked.

“No. You are my very first master. And, I hope, my last.” She said softly.

“Did you ever do this with your husband?”

“No master.”

So if she wasn’t lying then she may be looking for someone too. It is very difficult to find someone to share your fantasies with. Very difficult indeed. Had I found the perfect woman in my maid? She wouldn’t have necessarily been a girl I would have gone out with on purpose. I wouldn’t have avoided a girl like her but just not sought her out.

I led her by the leash to the bathroom…