textfiles/sex/EROTICA/P/parker4.txt

                           CHARLOTTE I
                        By Parker & ?????

     WARNING: This story contains bondage, non-consensual sex,
     d/s, humiliation and other similar elements. If you do not
     enjoy reading this sort of fantasy, STOP NOW (before it is
     too late). OK? You have been warned.
          Copyright 1993 by me (Parker) and ???. Feel free to
          distribute (unaltered), but be discrete.

=================================================================

     "Pardon me Madame, but we're in Port".

      Francesca D'Abrette opened her eyes to see the Captain's
bearded face on the large colour monitor that hung from the
ceiling of her opulent cabin.

      "Thanks, Bole." She stretched, catlike, working the sleep
from her body. "Give me an hour or so to get ready, and we'll go
ashore. Oh... and tell the crew that tonight's a party night."

      The corner of the Captain's mouth twitched in what might
have been a smile. "At once, Madame." He nodded and the screen
went dark.

     Yawning, the young millionairess slid off the soft bunk and
planted her feet in the thick carpet. The cabin was indeed
opulent, but the luxury went unnoticed; in her almost thirty
years of existence, she had come to expect nothing less from her
surroundings. Indeed, she would have tolerated nothing less. That
was why, upon inheriting the "Monaco Nymph" cruiser when her
brother died (in somewhat mysterious circumstances), Francesca
had personally ensured that it was completely refurbished.

      A large, mirrored wardrobe filled the length of one wall in
her large cabin/bedroom, and Francesca took a moment to admire
her reflection before opening it to select some suitable
clothing. She was not a beautiful woman, but she was a striking
one. Her face, under her short, dark hair, was a bit thin and
harsh, and her body, while lithe and muscular, was not really
curvaceous enough to be called attractive; indeed, she was almost
completely lacking in breasts. Francesca could easily have
rectified that with surgery, but on the whole she was not really
all that interested in attracting the kind of men who were turned
on by large breasts. Really, she was not all that interested in
attracting men in any case. Her pleasures lay elsewhere. And, if
she did decide that she wanted a man (as she did on rare
occasions), she had learned that money was far more effective an
aphrodisiac than any mere physical feature.

      And money was one thing she had in abundance.

     Smiling back at her reflection, she slid open the door to
the wardrobe. At one end hung a variety of night dresses, some
long and expensive, others short and slutty. Next to these were
her 'bedroom clothes'; a range of fancy dress costumes that might
be worn by herself or by a 'friend' in any fantasy she might
choose to enact. The remaining half of the closet contained day
and evening wear from the world's greatest designers. She pulled
out a short white Channel dress-suit, a present from an old
girlfriend. She loved it's perfect fit and simplicity, and
decided it would be ideal. In a place like St. Maxine, simplicity
often attracted far more attention than flash and glitter.

      And Francesca D'Abrette loved to be noticed.

     After a quick shower, Francesca slipped into a silk
camisole, panties and shear white stockings, put on her dress,
and applied some make-up. Preparations complete, she called the
Captain on the boat's intercom.

      "Are you ready to leave?" she asked. Upon hearing an
affirmative response, she strolled to the upper deck. Topside,
she paused briefly to survey the view. The Port of St. Maxine
consisted of a small bay nestled snugly in between a rise of land
to the east and an artificial breakwater to the west. The town
itself - long one of the lesser-known "getaways" for the rich and
famous - was spread out in a picturesque sweep of colour and
light, beginning on the north beach with the famous "Promenade
des Anglais" and sprawling on upwards through numerous
magnificent summer homes and on up into the gently rolling hills
of southern France.

      The Mate - one of the six men crewing the large cabin-
cruiser - nodded respectfully as he assisted her in her descent
down the short ladder to the launch bobbing in the choppy
Mediterranean water. She was popular with the crew. One of the
reasons for this was her habit of throwing small "parties" for
them at many of the various ports of call. This particular stop
was one of their favourites; five of the six men (short straw
stayed on watch - she would be sending out some "entertainment"
later on) would be joining her and the Captain onshore later,
once the relevant arrangements were made. As usual, Fransesca
would not be participating, but she did like to watch.

     It promised to be a memorable evening.


     The Captain, Nedrick Bole of South Africa, had booked a
table in one of the town's more celebrated restaurants - a
Michelin "3 Star" on the busiest section of the popular Promenade
des Anglais. The restaurant had, of course, been booked up when
he had called - one usually booked weeks in advance for this
particular establishment - but the D'Arbrette name opened a lot
of doors. As they entered the restaurant, the Maitre d' Hotel
came straight over to her, atypically ignoring at least one
gesture of request from another guest.

      "Miss D'Abrette!" he greeted her in flawless english. "It is
so good to see you here again!" He ushered the two of them to a
corner table.

     Over dinner, she and Captain Bole discussed plans for the
crew party later that evening. For these occasions, Fransesca
usually provided luxurious quarters, unlimited alcohol and a
number of prostitutes for the men to enjoy. She herself rarely
participated, usually just watching. Tonight, however, she felt
like doing something more. Something special.

      Just what, however, she wasn't certain.

     After the waiter had unobtrusively cleared away the remains
of their repast, Fransesca and the Captain made their way to a
public phone to begin making arrangements for the coming evening.
As was almost always the case in Europe, the booth was plastered
with an assortment of stickers pasted onto the glass
surroundings. Each had been printed in both english and french,
and advertised the services of various 'escorts' based in the
town.

CALL YOUNG BLONDE NIKKI
ON 755632
FRENCH IS MY SPECIALTY

MISTRESS HELGA INVITES YOU TO HER DUNGEON
PHONE 133598 - NOW!

SAMANTHA WILL BE YOUR 24-HOUR SLUT
TEL.613344

SCHOOL-GIRL SHERRI NEEDS YOUR PUNISHMENT
-166455-

48DD DEBBIE NEEDS YOUR BODY ON 314569
MASTERCHARGE AND AMEX

     "Captain... have a look at these!"

      Bole, who had been scanning the passing crowds for
attractive women while Francesca had examined the cards, peered
into the small booth. She held up a couple of the cards for
examination. "Which of these do you want? I think I might give
'School-girl Sherri' a ring!"

     "Ha!" Bole laughed. He like this part of the job. "I was
thinking of her myself! The men always like that sort of thing.
How about 'Debbie'?"

      "Why Captain," Francesca teased, "a breast man. I never
knew."

      Bole grinned, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm only thinking
about the welfare of my crew," he declared stoutly.

     Fransesca laughed. After a final glance at the other
advertisements, she slipped the two cards they had chosen into
her purse and left the phone booth. Something was bothering her,
though. She still felt like doing something different tonight,
but she didn't know what it was.

      Ah well... something would turn up.


     A few moments later, they entered the Hotel Adelphi, walking
into its large, marble reception area. It was there they
encountered an unexpected problem in the form of a stubborn desk
clerk.

     "I'm sorry Mademoiselle, but we are fully booked tonight."
The speaker - the creator of the problem - was a young blonde
girl standing behind the reception desk. Unused to being refused
anything (it was an experience as unpleasant as it was
unfamiliar), Fransesca stared at her. She saw a girl in her early
twenties: a tall, willowy blonde, with soft blue eyes and long
hair that fell in gentle waves down her shoulders.

      A girl who was in her way.


     The desk clerk - Charlotte - looked back, trying to maintain
a firm look on her pretty face. She saw only a rich woman; a
spoiled, rich woman who was all too used to getting her own way
in everything. A woman who had not been forced to scrimp and save
and work her fingers to the bone in order to get through two
years of business school; a woman who had not been required to
trudge endlessly from interview to interview, finally accepting a
position far below that for which she was qualified. A woman who
had no right to speak to her in that tone of voice.

      A woman she resolved herself to stand up to.


     As for Fransesca, she suddenly realized just what it was she
wanted to do that night. The reason - the source of her strange
restlessness - suddenly became apparent. A nasty smile flickered
across her face. If Charlotte had been a little older - a little
more experienced, a little more observant - she might have sensed
the danger in the woman's smile. But she was none of these
things.

      "Call me the manager" Francesca ordered, smile gone, glaring
at the poor blonde.

      Charlotte sniffed, but did as she was told. Henri would sort
this spoiled woman out. Soon a short frenchman - Henri Delacourt,
the manager of the hotel - appeared from a side door. Charlotte
turned to explain matters to him, but was cut off before she
could speak.

     "Francesca, mon ami!" Henri rushed forward, taking the
proffered hand and bestowing an elegant kiss. "But it has been
too long! How are you? How is your brother?" After accepting his
obeisance, Francesca cooly explained how her brother had
regrettably just passed away, and that she, as his only heir, now
managed the D'Abrette empire.

      "You have both my sympathies, and my congratulations..." he
said tactfully. Knowing what he did of the D'Abrettes, he had a
pretty good idea that her brother's death had not been an
accident. Still, it was not his place to question either the
motives or actions of the rich. He was, despite his senior
position in the hotel, a servant; and he knew it.

     He was also well aware that the D'Abrette empire included a
large Parisian holding company, which in turn owned a controlling
interest in the Adelphi hotels.

     "And how might I be of service, Madame?"

     "The 'Nymph' is moored in the harbour," Fransesca told him,
"But we were hoping to enjoy a night on dry land. However, the
young lady here informs me that you have no rooms available."

      "Mon dieu!" The manager turned and slapped his young desk
clerk across her slender wrist. "Charlotte! What nonsense. Do you
not know who this is? You will ensure that the penthouse is
immediately readied for her, and that her visit is made as
enjoyable as we are able!"

      Charlotte, amazed at this turn of events, blushed furiously,
but quickly nodded her head in obedience. "Oui Monsieur, je
comprend, je comprend!"

     Francesca smiled as the young girl stammered out an
embarrassed apology. "She's very pretty Henri. Perhaps she could
be our chambermaid for this evening?" Henri frowned; that was
highly irregular. "Oh," she continued, "And while you are here,
might I invite you and your wife to dine with us on the Nymph
next week? We will be returning to St. Maxine on the first of the
month."

     He was perceptive enough to perceive the implied promise; he
did not wish to spend the entirety of his career managing this
one hotel. "Mademoiselle," Henri said, beaming. "You are too
kind! Of course we will be happy to join you. Charlotte will get
changed immediately, and ensure that your room is prepared!"

      The manager was well aware of the eccentricities of the
rich, and neither knew, nor wished to know, why the young heiress
might demand a chambermaid in her bedroom. He had learnt the
importance of discretion, but realised that his blonde employee
might not recognize such values. As Francesca and the Captain
left to take a drink in the hotel bar, he pulled the girl to one
side.

     "Charlotte," he hissed, "Miss D'Abrette is one of our most
valuable customers. I will be asking her in the morning about
your performance and will expect an favourable report! In that
way, you may make amends for your unforgivable rudeness to her."

     "But Monsieur..." Charlotte felt like she was going to cry.
"It was not my fault. We were booked. And the way she looked at
me... it was if she was undressing me with her eyes!"

     Henri looked around to lobby; no one was nearby. He turned
back to Charlotte. "Indeed," he whispered, "she may well wish to
do such things or worse, so you should accept that now! If you
are good to her, and she speaks well of you, I can assure you
that your future within this hotel will be significantly
improved. I might add that she will likely reward you very well
herself."

     That was the carrot; time for the stick. "If, however, you
refuse to do this, I promise that you will never work in this
business again!" He stared at her. "This is a large chain; you
are aware that I have the means to do as I say."


     Charlotte wilted under his intense stare. She was one of the
many young hopefuls who had arrived at one of the resort villages
in the south of France from a poor farming family, searching for
riches. Despite her attendance at business school, good jobs  -
indeed, any kind of jobs - were scarce. And anything, she
reasoned, was better than the life of street prostitution that
had befallen so many of her contemporaries. One thing that was
always in demand in a place such as St. Maxine was female beauty.


     Charlotte shuddered.

      "Yes sir," she said quietly, "I will do as you say."

     "That is good. Go to the chief housekeeper and ask for a
chambermaid's outfit. She will dress and prepare you."

     He put a fatherly hand on her shoulder. "You may be shocked
at the activities that take place this evening but do not forget
my promise!" Nodding, the young girl left the desk, to go and
ready herself for the night that lay ahead. After she left, the
manager picked up the desk phone and punched a button.

     "Madame..." He spoke into the receiver. "This is Henri.
Charlotte will be coming by in a moment for a chambermaid's
uniform. I want you to give her one of the costume outfits...
Yes, the one we used for the longshoreman's party last year...
don't worry about that; tell her to put it on when she gets to
the penthouse..."


     In the bar, Fransesca and the Captain sipped their drinks
and made use of the bar's cellular phone to call the women
advertised on the cards. It was a matter of only a few moments to
contact them and set up the evening's activities; any hesitation
the prostitutes might have felt was quickly dispelled when
Fransesca mentioned the location of their assignment; the Adelphi
was one of the most expensive hotels in a town full of expensive
hotels, and anyone who could afford a night in the penthouse
could surely afford to pay top rates.

     Business finished, Fransesca relaxed in her seat while the
Captain informed the crew of the plans for the evening and
arranged for some company for the unlucky crew-member consigned
to watch duty. Word came, in the form of Henri himself, that
their room was ready, along with all the "special arrangements".
Fransesca and the Captain quickly they finished their drinks, and
took the elevator to the eighteenth floor penthouse.


     His employer didn't react, but Bole could not help but gasp
as they entered the penthouse.  The main bedroom was huge,
featuring two all-glass walls that afforded a spectacular view of
the sea-front all the way down to the eastern hills. The white
walls contained numerous specially-commissioned paintings by some
of France's most acclaimed modern artists. It was a suite, of
course, and polished wood doors lead to a library, a second
bedroom, and a large, brass and marble bathroom. The second
bedroom door was partly open, and they heard a rustling coming
from behind it. Francesca walked up to the door and knocked.
      "One moment, Madame." It was Charlotte. "I am getting
changed."

      Francesca turned to the Captain and giggled. "I think she's
shy!" she smirked. "We'll soon cure her of that. Still, we'll
play along with her to start with!" Fransesca felt a warm glow of
anticipation. She had been right; this was indeed what she had
needed for tonight. Her crew would have their party, and she
would have her's.

     The Captain walked over to a beautiful teak drinks cabinet.
After surveying the extensive collection of premium brands, he
poured himself a glass of Scotch and mixed a Martini for
Francesca. After he passing it over to her, he took an
appreciative sip of his drink.

     "Not ba..." he began to comment, but fell silent when the
door to the second bedroom opened and Charlotte walked out, her
cheeks flushed red with embarrassed self-consciousness.

      She was quite a sight.

     Her long, wavy blonde hair had been tied up in a high pony-
tail with a white lace ribbon drawn into a large bow. Thick, pale
pink lipstick and red blusher - applied by the housekeeper, in
accordance with Henri's instructions - gave her a beautifully
tarty look, that perfectly matched the effect created by the
skimpy maid's costume. The outfit itself was a thing of beauty.
It displayed her svelte figure perfectly, the tight, black silk
squeezing her breasts upwards, the twin points of her nipples
moulded and clearly visible beneath the thin material. The
plunging neckline and puffed shoulders were trimmed with white
frills, as was the thigh-length skirt's hem. White petticoats
flared under the tiny skirt, hanging clear from tight panties and
stockings. Gossamer thin, white net gloves went from her fingers
to upper arm; black stiletto high-heeled shoes clasped her feet,
and, as a final touch, a bib-like apron was tied around her torso
with a large bow, matching the one in her hair.


     Charlotte fought back the tears as she entered the main
bedroom, tottering slightly on the high-heels. She had belatedly
come to the realization that the outfit she had been given was
not the normal hotel chambermaid uniform. By then, however, it
had been too late to protest. She had known, when Henri had
pulled her aside in the lobby, that more would be expected of her
than simple maid's duties, and she had accepted this as the price
she would have to pay to keep her job. The costume though... she
felt like such a slut in it!

      'One night,' she told herself, gathering her courage as that
man and his hateful employer stared at her, him in open
admiration and the woman in... well, she didn't know what.

      It scared her, though.


     "How do you feel darling?" Francesca spoke at last, gliding
forward to inspect her new maid.

      "Umm, I feel embarrassed Madame" replied the poor girl,
acutely aware of the looks her breasts and thighs were receiving,
both from Fransesca and the Captain.

      "Don't worry," Fransesca assured her, fussing over the bow
in Charlotte's ponytail. "You look splendid." She stepped back,
taking in the full effect of Charlotte's maid costume. "Quite
delicious. And in about half an hour we'll have you looking just
as I want! Just stand there for a moment."

      Francesca went to the phone, and dialled the direct number
given to her by the manager. "Hello, Henri? Yes, this is
Francesca. Yes, she is perfect... just one more thing to complete
the ensemble. I need some... virile young men who can be trusted.
Just for about twenty minutes." Charlotte's face adopted a look
of fear, but she kept her position; there was no backing out now.
Not if she wanted to keep her job.

      Fransesca noted her expression and smirked over at her as
she listened on the phone. "That would be perfect. Oh yes... by
all means. Please do. The more the merrier."

     She hung up the phone and walked slowly over to where
Charlotte stood in her maid's outfit. Slowly, she ran one of her
long, painted fingernails down the frightened girl's cheek.
"Don't worry my dear," she purred. "We're just completing your
'look' for tonight's party."

     "Madame." Charlotte swallowed, gathering her courage. She
couldn't just let this happen without saying something. "I am
not... not a prostitute."

     Fransesca smiled at this. "Well," she said, glancing over at
the Captain who was trying, vainly, to suppress a chuckle, "I'm
glad to hear it. I'd hate to think that I was going to have to
pay extra for your services. You do come with the room, don't
you?" The Captain laughed out loud.

     Charlotte started to speak, but was interrupted by a knock
at the door. The Captain strode over and pulled it open. The
manager stood there, with five men who appeared to be from the
hotel's kitchens.

      "They're Portuguese," he announced, correctly interpreting
Fransesca's raised eyebrow, "and don't speak any English or
French. They can all be trusted." He led the five men into the
room.

      "Excellent," commented Francesca, motioning them over to
the where the Charlotte stood, now trembling. The cooks laughed
and pointed at their young co-worker who stood before them in her
new outfit. They knew who she was, just as she recognized them.
Charlotte, conscious of her position in the hotel as only one who
was used to worse could be, had made a point of ignoring those
whom she considered to be of a 'lower position' than herself. In
her few months as an employee, she had managed to alienate most
of the kitchen staff as well as many others with her haughtiness.
Hence, seeing her reduced to a mere chambermaid - a sexily
dressed chambermaid at that - was a pleasant surprise to these
men. One of them, bolder than the others, reached for the tail of
the large apron bow that hung from the small of her back, and
pulled it free as he passed. The apron dropped to the floor.
Anxious to retain what clothing she had, the humiliated girl
crouched down to pick it up.

     "Charlotte!" Fransesca ordered angrily."Stand up! As long as
you are my maid, you will NEVER bend your legs to pick something
up. They must remain straight, and slightly parted, with your
back arched inwards. Do you understand?"

     Flushing red with humiliation, Charlotte glanced over at the
manager. He just stared back, however, expressionless. No help
there. Trembling, Charlotte looked back at Fransesca and nodded.

     "Good.  Now try again. And do it slowly! We all want to
watch."

     Charlotte did as she was told, feeling the tiny skirt slide
up over her thighs as she bent at the waist, legs straight and
slightly parted. The cooks, as a group, moved around to get a
view of her from behind, laughing and jeering as her tiny panties
were exposed. They stretched against her shapely buttocks,
clearly outlining the shape of her vulva. The cook who had pulled
free the apron ventured forward to slap her hard across her
exposed ass. Charlotte gasped and tried to straighten up, but
Francesca, who had moved up next to her, gripped the girl's neck,
keeping her head low.

      It was time to begin in earnest.

     "Get your cocks out boys," she ordered, a cruel smile on her
face. The manager quickly translated her statement into
Portuguese, and then followed the order himself. Fransesca
examined the exposed cocks in satisfaction; they would do nicely.
One of the men even sported what must have been at least an
eleven inch monster of a penis. Perhaps later, she herself
would...

     The same bold cook who had earlier tormented Charlotte moved
forward and tried to press his cock against the girl's barely-
covered pussy.

      "No!" Fransesca spoke sharply, using a tone of voice
calculated to establish control, regardless of the lack of a
common language. "You're not fucking her. She's going to suck you
off." She waited while the manager translated her words before
continuing. "And none of you are going to cum until I say! Do you
understand?" Once again, the manager translated. The men looked a
little disgruntled at this requirement, but nodded their
agreement. The thought of that snooty little desk clerk being
forced to wrap her sexy lips around their cocks was irresistible.
They would have agreed to anything.

      Fransesca turned her attention back to Charlotte. Still held
down by the back of her neck, the girl had fallen to her knees
and was waiting quietly, head down, seemingly resigned to her
fate. The skirt, never particularly concealing, now rode high on
her rump, exposing long, slender legs right up to her ass crack.

     Fransesca leaned down to whisper some final orders in the
poor girl's ear.  "Keep your hands behind your back, holding up
the hem of your skirt, slut!" Charlotte, now crying, moved to
obey. Her trembling hands hesitantly pulled the short skirt up,
completely exposing her backside. "Now," Fransesca continued,
"I'm going to spank you until all of your friends here are ready
to cum, so you'd be well advised to give them your best efforts!"

     She shoved downwards and released her hold on the girl's
neck. Shaking her head in mute denial, Charlotte knelt on all
fours on the thick carpet. She looked up to see that the men had
formed a queue in front of her, the manager at its front; his
cock hung limply from the fly of his dress trousers.

      "It's not very clean" he said apologetically, smirking down
at his employee. "But don't worry, it will be by the time you're
finished."

     This was too much for Charlotte. Mouth held firmly closed,
turned her head away from his limp cock. Francesca knelt behind
the girl and raised her palm.

      SLAP!

      "Ow!" Charlotte, recoiling from the impact, instinctively
dropped her gloved hands to protect her reddening ass.

      "STAY STILL!" Fransesca shouted, "AND MOVE THOSE HANDS
AWAY." Sobbing, Charlotte obeyed, once again pulling the skirt up
on her thighs. "Now open your mouth," she was ordered. "The
spanking will continue until you are finished."

     SLAP!

     Charlotte trembled in shock as Fransesca's hand was once
again brought painfully down onto her exposed ass, but followed
orders, opening her mouth as wide as it would go. The manager
looked down at his subservient employee, enjoying the sight of
her pouting lips opening to accommodate his member. He decided
that he could get used to this. As he slipped his cock in,
Francesca brought down her palm again, and Charlotte started
energetically sucking on him. A few seconds later, as the manager
grew visibly harder inside her mouth, Francesca momentarily
stopped the spanking and grabbed the girl roughly by the ears.

     "Come on my petite bimbo! Open up; let me see your pretty
little tongue cleaning your nice manager's cock!" She pulled the
girl's head back, and watched in delight as the maid/receptionist
obediently ran her pink tongue all around the manager's still-
growing cock head, collecting lumps of smegma as she licked. The
man was soon groaning in pleasure at the sight of the girl
kneeling before him in absolute submission. Impulsively, he took
hold of her pony tail and yanked her head towards him, driving
his cock down her throat.

     "Let me feel your throat around me Charlotte!" he ordered,
voice hoarse, as he slid his nine inches of throbbing manhood
deep into her face. "Arggghh - the slut's gagging on me - merde!
it feels good!" The sight of the girl's slender neck contracting
around his cock heightened his feeling. Before he could come,
however, Francesca ordered him away, and gestured for one of the
cooks to take his place.

      The first cook was a huge, bearded man, his thick, hairy
arms covered with tattoos. He wasted no time in thrusting his
greasy cock between the Charlotte's still-parted lips and then
fucking her face, his cock driving down into her throat. Gasping
for air, Charlotte tried to pull back, but her assailant grabbed
ahold of her ears and pulled so that she had no option but to
take the whole penis down her throat.

      SLAP!

     Fransesca, delighted at what was taking place before her
eyes, had resumed the spanking.

     After a minute or two, Francesca ordered the man to the back
of the queue and allowed a younger cook - the one with the eleven
inch penis - to enjoy the sensation of Charlotte's moist young
mouth. Gagging and chocking, Charlotte accommodated it as best
she could.

      The sucking continued for some time. As each man looked like
he was just about to come, Fransesca got him to pull out and move
to the back of the queue. The rotation moved quicker and quicker
as each man was sucked again and again by the sobbing girl. After
each of the six men had enjoyed Charlotte's mouth three times
they were all visibly ready to orgasm.

      'Time for phase two,' Fransesca decided. She stopped
spanking and began to speak. "Form a circle around her. I want
you to cum in her hair, on her face or her dress. Charlotte, you
will lick and touch them until they cum all over you!"

      Charlotte, momentarily unrestrained, tried to stand up. She
had to get away! No job could be worth this price. It was a
futile effort, however. As she began to pull herself to her feet,
Fransesca grabbed her by her ponytail and pushed her back to her
knees.

      There was no escape. Hand firmly gripping the poor girl's
hair, Fransesca leaned forward and whispered: "I'm going to allow
you thirty seconds, slut. If they're not finished in time - if
they haven't cum all over you - then they will cumming up your
ass. It's your choice!"

     Fresh sobs wracking her abused body, Charlotte started
frantically licking and sucking at the circle of cocks, sweat and
pre-cum dripping down her lovely face and smearing her carefully
applied make-up. She used her long, slim fingers to masturbate
two men while bobbing her mouth up and down on a third. She felt
her hair being yanked cruelly as a man wrapped it around his cock
using it as a make-shift cunt. One man pulled open the
elasticated frilly arms of her dress, pushing his cock under the
lace and against her shoulder. Another pushed his cock down into
her cleavage, while the seventh - the Captain had at last decided
to join in - had wrapped her frilly skirt around his penis and
was masturbating it up and down his erect cock. She was now
servicing seven men at once.

     For Fransesca, however, it was still not enough.

     "You've got twenty seconds Charlotte!" she warned, pitching
her voice above the groans and sobs. "Say slutty things about
yourself while these nice men bring themselves off!"

     The terrified girl pulled her mouth of the cock and, after
coughing, began to speak. "I'm a slut..." she said, her voice
faltering as she cried in shame. "I'm..."

     "Be more dirty!" Francesca interrupted slapping Charlotte's
tear-stained face. Charlotte choked back her sobs and obeyed as
best she could. The man whose cock she had been sucking began to
run his hand up and down its well-greased length, all the time
keeping it pointed directly at her face.

     "FUCK... FUCK MY FACE. I'M A DIRTY SLAVE SLUT. HURT ME, MAKE
ME CRY - I DESERVE IT!" she cried. Desperate to make the men cum
before Fransesca carried out her threat of allowing them to rape
her ass, she began to lick at the cocks surrounding her, speaking
as best she could between slurps.

      "MAKE ME SICK WITH YOUR SPERM, DRIP IT ONTO ME AND MAKE ME
LOOK LIKE THE BITCH THAT I AM." Moving as quickly as she could,
Charlotte moved from cock to cock, licking, sucking, rubbing,
kissing... doing everything possible to make them cum all over
her.

      "I'M A SLUT... I'M A WHORE... CUM ALL OVER ME!"

     That did it. One of the cocks in her hand begin to jerk.

      "In your hair slut!" Francesca told her, grabbing the girl's
hand and directing the cock as the first string of sperm flew
through the air and landed with a audible splat in her pretty
blonde pony-tail.

      "Oui! I'm cumming," cried the manager, his cum spraying the
upper part of her tits and maid's dress and dripping down towards
the apron.

     "Make sure it all drips onto you bitch! Anything falls on
the carpet and you're licking it up."

      But nothing fell on the carpet.

     Thankful to have succeeded in making the men cum within the
thirty seconds, Charlotte squeezed every last drop from the men's
cocks, making sure that it all landed somewhere on her body. Jet
after jet of thick, white cum covered her face, hair and dress.
All in all, it took under a minute for all the men to empty their
balls over the cum-covered slut. When they were finished they
stood back to admire their work.

     Charlotte kneeled, gasping in the middle of their circle.
Her little silk dress was now covered with white sperm, the thick
fluid dripping down the material until it congealed and dried.
Smears of glistening white jism marked, slug-like, the trails it
had taken down her face and upper chest, and her hair was matted
with glistening cum.

      "You stink like a pig!" remarked the manager, laughing at
the kneeling, crying girl.

      "Good work!" remarked Francesca, motioning to the Captain.
As the cooks pulled up their slacks, he gave each of them a one
thousand franc note, thanking them for their efforts, and then
showed them to the door.

      While he did this, Francesca pulled the manager to one side.

     "Fancy finding Charlotte looking like this in a bedroom with
five men!" she commented. "What a slut! And for someone in a
position of responsibility at the hotel? Don't you think that
your other employees should be informed?"

      The manager was momentarily taken aback. What was this
leading to? His puzzlement showed on his face. Fransesca sighed
dramatically.

     "I hardly think that Charlotte could resume her former
position here if word got out about her... activities?"

     "Ahh..." Things were becoming somewhat clearer. "Perhaps I
begin to understand. But I promised her..."

     "I'm not suggesting you fire her," Fransesca smirked,
guessing at the promises the manager might have made to convince
the desk clerk to act as a chambermaid. "Merely that a... new
position might be a little more suitable for her. I'm certain
that, after a little training, her employment at the hotel could
be both long and... profitable."

     "Ah," the manager prompted, at last understanding the game,
"And you might be able to help out with this... training?"

     Fransesca laughed delightedly. "But of course," she
answered. "I would be glad to lend my assistance." She looked
over at Charlotte who, still dripping with cum, had struggled to
her feet. The Captain stood behind her, ensuring that she would
not escape. "With a little work," she murmured, "I'm sure her
career at the hotel could easily be advanced. The first step is
to ruin her reputation among the employees."

     "Ahh." The manager nodded in agreement. He would play along.

     Having agreed on a course of action, Francesca and the
manager turned and ordered Charlotte to approach them. She
obeyed, her head bowed in shame, still dripping cum onto the
carpet.

      "The manager is going to walk you through the hotel's back
rooms." Fransesca was all business now. "You will confess to any
man that should see you that this is your responsibility, and
invite him to enjoy your mouth. Only when every male member of
the staff has had the chance to enjoy you, and all the woman have
seen you, will I expect you back!" She expected some sort of
reaction, but the girl had lost any will to fight. Sobbing
quietly, Charlotte followed the manager as he left the room.

     Once again alone, Francesca and the Captain sat down and
fixed themselves another drink. Both were excited and horny from
watching the receptionist's humiliation, and took showers in
advance of the evening's entertainment.

     Within the hour, the five crew-members had arrived and were
awaiting the whores. They didn't have long to wait, and they
weren't disappointed. 'School-girl Sherri' turned out to be a
young-looking woman with long, brown hair done up in pig-tails.
And Debbie, the Captain's choice, measured up beautifully, with
curly, platinum-blonde hair and large, firm breasts. Drinks were
poured, rates discussed and payment made.

      Now, only one thing was missing...


     "But I don't know," the manager protested, having been
called back up to the penthouse. "I'll find out." Picking up the
telephone he dialled Housekeeping.

      "'Allo? 'Allo..." It was a woman. She had to shout over some
sort of commotion going on around her.

      "Is this Housekeeping?" the manager asked, also shouting.

      "No," came the answer. "This is Housekeeping."

      "This is Henri. What's happening down there?"

       "Oh... nothing monsieur.. nothing at all!" she said,
plainly lying.

     "Madame, I am the manager. I do not expect to be lied to.
You will tell me exactly what is happening or I will ensure that
you lose your job. You will answer at once!"

     Sensing some entertainment, Fransesca hit the 'speaker'
button on the telephone. Now everyone in the room could hear what
was being said.

     "Monsieur, I apologise! I did not realise!" the woman said,
clearly afraid for her employment.

      "Don't worry Madame! Just tell me what is going on! In
english, if you please." This was in deference to Fransesca,
whose french was limited.

     "Monsieur, I fear I cannot tell you! It is dreadful!"

      "Madame," the manager said, losing patience, "If you want to
continue as an employee of this hotel, I suggest you overcome
these inhibitions and explain yourself!"

     "It is the young receptionist, Charlotte!" the woman
explained, clearly distraught. "It would seem that she has
engaged in some sort of an orgy with the customers... and members
of the staff. Her body and clothings is covered with man's....
er, man's....."

     Fransesca grabbed the phone. "A man's semen?" she asked.

      "Yes Mademoiselle, Man's semen! It is shocking that she is
such a slut! I believed her to be innocent and good, but it seems
I was wrong! Now she has touched herself while many of the men
here make their, er, semen, onto her face, and other men make sex
with her mouth..." In her excitement, the housekeeper's english
began to falter.

     "Madame?" called Francesca. "I hear the sound of women's
voices. Are they shouting?"

      "Oui Mademoiselle. They are angry because the slut has had
love with their men!"

     "Are they? How did they find out?" asked Francesca, who was
now becoming very interested in the woman's account.

      "But it was obvious from her appearance. They also are
receptionists, waitresses, and maids here at the hotel. They have
tied Charlotte to the sinks!"

     "And what are they doing?" Francesca had hitched up her
tight white skirt and pressed the palm of her hand against her
pussy as she listened in anticipation. This was even better than
she had hoped.

     "They throw the rotting food and vegetables at her Madame!
No...wait! They have thrown cans of food at her, to make her
bruise. I fear that they might kill the slut!"

     "Do not worry," Fransesca told her. "The manager will be
right down."

      Taking his cue, Henri bustled out of the room.

     "You have been most helpful, and we shall ensure that you
are suitably rewarded!" Fransesca kept the woman on the line,
listening with malicious pleasure as the housekeeper gave an
account of Charlotte's continuing predicament.

      A few moments later, however, the manager's voice came onto
the line. "Hello? Mademoiselle D'Abrette?"

     "Yes Monsieur, I am still here. It sounds like young
Charlotte is having a rough time down there!"

     "Oui Madame... It is true. But I think you would approve!"

      "Yes," Fransesca agreed, "I rather think I would, but that
is enough for now. I do not want her damaged. Yet. You must tell
them that Charlotte will be temporarily leaving the hotel for re-
training. Let them know that they will be seeing her again soon."

     "Of course Madame. And then?"

     "And then bring her up," Fransesca ordered. "We still need a
maid for the party."


     By the time Henri arrived with his cum-encrusted charge, the
party was in full swing. Sherri was "entertaining" two crew
members at once while being energetically spanked by a third,
while the Captain exercised the privileges of rank on Debbie's
ass as she stood, bent over the couch. The other crew members
took advantage of the well-stocked bar, waiting their turns.
There was no rush; the party was going to last all night.

     Unexpectedly, it was the whore Debbie who reacted when
Charlotte was led into the room. Having sucked off a good dozen
or so men after her exploits in the penthouse, the young girl was
again glistening with fresh cum. Her costume, never all that
concealing in the first place, was stained and torn in a number
of places, exposing large patches of abused flesh.

     "My god," Debbie exclaimed (somewhat inappropriately) as the
Captain fucked her from behind, "It is her. The one who gave us
the trouble last week."

     Fransesca, grinning, walked over to the trembling girl.

     "Trouble?" she asked.

     "Mais oui," came the answer. "She got us kicked out of the
hotel. She makes trouble for all the prostitutes." Sherri grunted
her agreement around the cock in her mouth.

     "You don't like prostitutes," Fransesca laughed, running a
long, sharp fingernail down Charlotte's face. The poor girl said
nothing; she just trembled, looking at her tormentor with large,
frightened blue eyes.

     "Nothing to say for yourself? Ah... young girls are so shy.
Well, you have had enough fun for one evening. For the rest of
the night, you are to act as our maid, serving everyone at the
party. Do you understand?"

     Charlotte nodded, broken. It was not in her to refuse this
woman anything. But still...

     "M-madame," she stuttered, "After... after tonight; you will
let me go?"

     "But of course," Fransesca lied easily. "I have spoken with
the manager. He knows you are only to act as a maid for one night
only. I have arranged for him to place you in a special position
in the hotel as a result of your service to me."

     Somewhat reassured, Charlotte began her evening's duties.
She spent the next several hours moving about the room as
gracefully as she could manage, taking empty glasses, pouring and
serving drinks and generally acting the perfect maid while a
veritable orgy raged around her. She was touched and fondled
numerous times by the men, but she was not otherwise molested.
Even Fransesca ignored her, except for the occasional reminder to
keep her legs straight and slightly parted when bending over.

     The sky was visibly brighter in the east when the party
finally died down. The whores were paid extra and sent away.
Exhausted, Charlotte stood in the corner, waiting to be released
as the men got dressed and filed out of the room, anxious to be
gone with the tide.

     At last Fransesca turned to her.

     "You have done beautifully tonight," she told the girl.
"And, as I promised, I have arranged with Henri for you to be
placed in a new position at the hotel. This position, however,
will require some additional training."

     "T-training?" Charlotte's lower lip began to tremble.

     "Fortunately," Fransesca continued, "I have had some
experience in these matters, and have decided to look after your
education personally. The manager has agreed."

     "Noooo...." Unable to prevent herself, Charlotte burst into
tears. It was not over after all. She was still crying when
Fransesca and the Captain led her out the back entrance and down
to the docks, still wearing the cum-stained chambermaid costume.


     Henri surveyed the wreckage of his penthouse and frowned.
There were hours of work to be done here. Fortunately, the
D'Abrette pockets were very deep, and would pay for the labour
without even noticing the cost. Perhaps he would even add on ten
percent or so as a "tip" for himself.

     Sighing, he stepped to the window and looked southward to
where a small launch approached the 'Monaco Nypmh'. If he had
possessed a set of binoculars, he would have been able to watch
his young employee, still crying and struggling, being fondled by
Fransesca D'Abrette in the back of the launch.

     He didn't have the binoculars, however, and so turned away
and back towards the penthouse and work. Life went on, and he
would have to arrange for a new receptionist for the afternoon
shift...

     Ahh... and he must remember to inform his wife about dinner
with Fransesca next week.


                            EPILOGUE

     ONE WEEK LATER...

     Henri watched anxiously as Charlotte, still wearing the
frilly maid outfit, obediently followed along behind Fransesca
D'Abrette as the millionairess strode confidently into his office
in the hotel. The Captain, taking up the rear, came in after them
and closed the door. The manager studied his young employee,
looking vainly for signs of abuse. She was physically unmarked,
but her demeanour had changed considerably. Rather than the self-
confident young woman he had hired as a desk clerk just over
three months ago, he saw a frightened, subservient girl, blue
eyes cast downward, trembling body awaiting the commands of her
cruel mistress.

     Or, it immediately occurred to him, her master.

     "Monsieur," Fransesca greeted him brightly, "I have come to
return your property. The training is complete."

     "C-complete, Madame?" To his annoyance, the manager found
his voice catching in his throat.

     "Oh yes," she answered, smiling. "Quite complete. Perhaps a
demonstration, while we discuss legal matters?" Henri started to
ask what she meant by "legal matters", but fell silent when
Fransesca turned to the girl.

     "Charlotte," came the order, "the last time you were with
your manager you performed fellatio on him in a crude and
ineffective manner. Show him how you have improved." Without a
word or any other sign of objection, the girl moved forward, fell
gracefully to her knees, and pulled his cock out of his trousers.
Henri swallowed as he felt her lips, soft and warm, encircle his
penis. He had enough experience to recognize the level of skill
and effort she was expending; she had clearly had a lot of
practice over the last week.

     "Now Henri," Fransesca continued, satisfied with Charlotte's
performance, "we have a few matters to discuss." She handed over
a piece of paper. "This is Charlotte's new contract."

     Trying to concentrate, Henri scanned the paper. It was a
standard "personal services" contract; the employee - Charlotte -
was employed to provide "entertainment services" for certain
guests of the hotel, in return for which the management would
provide room and board; no salary was mentioned. The contract -
perfectly legal as far as he could tell - required only the
signature of the manager of the hotel to make it binding, as
Charlotte had already signed.

     Henri looked up from the document. "Entertainment services?"

     Fransesca smiled. "Charlotte," she said, "Tell your new
master what your duties are to be."

     Charlotte paused in her task and pulled her mouth from his
cock. Lips glistening with drool and pre-cum, she looked up at
him with her large blue eyes and began to speak. "Monsieur, I am
to be attached to a special room which will be set aside for
friends of my mistress; I will provide 'services' for them during
their stay. When the room is empty, I am to live with the kitchen
staff, cleaning their quarters and providing any other s-services
they require."

      The girl fell silent, still looking up. 'Waiting for further
orders,' the manager realized.

     "Very good," Fransesca praised her, giving her head a pat.
"Now back to work." Charlotte obediently slid her lips back over
the manager's penis and resumed her labours.

     "Special room?" the manager asked, suddenly short of breath.

     "Check with Paris," Fransesca told him, referring to the
head office. "It's all arranged. Two friends of mine from
Scotland - Nigel and Miriam Hammersmith - will be visiting next
week. They have expressed an interest in young Charlotte."

     The manager nodded his understanding. Twisting around as
best he could without pulling his cock free of Charlotte's mouth,
he set the contract down on the desk and signed his name with a
flourish. There; it was done. Charlotte belonged to the hotel
now, for... the next three years???

     "Madame," he raised his head. "The duration of the
contract..."

     "Is the maximum legal length for such a document," Fransesca
told him. "Any longer and it would not be binding. After the
three years are up, however, I have made other arrangements."

      Smiling, she produced a second contract and handed it over.
It was another personal services contract, identical to the
first, except that it was dated as beginning the same day the
hotel contract expired, and it was made for the benefit of one
"Sherri La'Rou". The manager was puzzled for a second, but then
he understood. "Schoolgirl Sherri," he exclaimed. "She will be
working for a whore!"

     "Indeed," Fransesca agreed, accepting the document as he
handed it back. "I have spoken to Ms. La'Rou, and our little
Charlotte here will begin her new career as a whore after
finishing here." She reached down and once again patted the poor
girl's head as it bobbed up and down on the manager's cock.
Charlotte groaned in humiliation, but continued her work. The
manager was just about to cum...

     "By the time her three years are up with Sherri," Fransesca
continued, "She will be such a hardened little slut that no one
will take her for anything but a whore."


     Despite the hellish experiences of the week-long "training",
Charlotte wanted to say something - to protest - but just then,
the manager came in her mouth. As she had been trained to do, the
poor girl sucked it all down, letting only a small trickle escape
down her chin for effect. By now, she had done this scores of
times, and her technique was flawless.

     Her efforts earned her a final pat on the head from her
mistress.


     Fransesca turned to go. "Don't forget," she called back as
the manager pulled his limp penis from between the kneeling
girl's lips, "dinner tomorrow night."

     "Of course," the manager answered after her, "my wife and I
are looking forward to it."

     The door swung shut. Henri fell silent, looking down as
Charlotte delicately placed his penis back in his trousers and
zipped them up.

      She had indeed been well-trained.

     "Well," he said, pulling her to her feet by her pony-tail,
"Let's get you set up in your new home; I'm certain the kitchen
workers will be happy to see you again." He walked out the door
with Charlotte, still silent, still sporting the thin trail of
sperm on her chin, following obediently behind. If he had turned
to look at her as she hastened along behind him, he would have
seen one, large tear well up in a sparkling blue eye, spill over
and run down her cheek.

     He did not, however, turn around.

      There was no need.

                             THE END

=================================================================

- As usual, I am interested in hearing anything you might have to
say about the story. You know where to find me.
-snip--------------------------------------------------------------------

Cheers,
-- 
Thomas Baetzler, bath0011@fh-karlsruhe.de, thb@spectre.ka.sub.org

Hain't we got all the fools in town on our side?  And hain't that a big
enough majority in any town?         --- Mark Twain, "Huckleberry Finn"