A Story of a Femdom Maid

A Story of a Femdom Maid

by OneWhoAdores

I had just passed my 30th birthday and I was already wealthy beyond my wildest imaginings. I had always been a bookworm and intense student in my school years, a nerd if you will, and I was easily able to translate my single minded focus to excel and succeed in any challenge placed before me into an entry level job as a junior financial analyst at a major hedge fund. I have to admit of course that luck can often play a significant role in anyone’s success, and that I began my career at the ground floor of a major stock market surge as it climbed out of its most recent severe recession. But I must also say that I have an innate talent and instinct to analyze often esoteric financial data to discover obscure corporate strengths and weaknesses and spot trends before they become obvious to all. So my recommendations, even from the very beginning, were very frequently ahead of a wave as the market crested upward. This did not go unnoticed, as my rapidly rising salary and progressively increasing bonuses clearly attested. I also rose to full and then senior analyst, and was a full fledged ‘Master of the Universe’ in very short order. Banking and betting on my own acumen as well, I invested heavily and often with my own funds, and as I approached my 30s my net worth easily measured in the tens of millions.

Femdom maid

But I was growing increasingly tired of the 16 hour work days, which usually included even more time on the weekends. And although I was very good and successful at it all, I came to realize that I had no great love for it, or even doing it, and it was not how I wanted to spend the rest of my life. And I also knew that I now had more than enough money that if I just carefully managed my own portfolio I would never be required to ever work again. I could retire most comfortably and use whatever time I needed to seek some other life challenge in which to excel and conquer and fully ensnare my desire and devotion.

And so I did. At first I did nothing at all, allowing myself a well deserved rest. It wasn’t very long however before I became bored, but instead of spurring me forward I became even more indolent. And without some immediate urgent task in front to engage me, as I had always made sure to be the case in the past, I came to understand what I always had refused to acknowledge. I was crushingly lonely.

I was an only child of a pair of professionals who divorced when I was only ten, who obviously cared and were more dedicated to their careers than to each other. Or to me. I spent most of growing up years in boarding schools and then college before embarking on my own career. I maintain a correct but not close relationship with both parents, and while they both profess happiness at my success, I suspect this is in large part because they no longer feel any financial obligation for me.

Given this upbringing I had never developed much in the way of social skills, nor ever had much of a social life. During my school years it wasn’t that I was unpopular as much as that I was invisible, spending most of my time in books and studies, and later on totally enmeshed in my career work at the fund. In idle moments I did frequently think desirously of women, but I had never had a girlfriend or even ever been on a date. I always had the feeling that women all had some knowledge and understanding that I sorely lacked, which they would see, and which would never allow me to measure up.

But now I had money and plenty of it, which I thought might go a long way to leveling the field for me and at least get me to first base, if not hit a home run. So while I took this time to discover a new life challenge and path, I also decided to try to develop a social and personal life. To aid in that regard I moved out of the functional but drab apartment in which I had been ‘living’ and bought a swank three bedroom condo with spectacular harbor views on the lower west side. I also seriously upgraded my wardrobe, although I must admit that my fashion sense was very limited. Still, I was soon ready to plunge forward and make my too long delayed mark on the social scene.

Unfortunately, as I soon painfully learned, having the financial wherewithal does not automatically confer successful know how or ability in this realm. Despite numerous forays to different clubs and bars with their many opportunities to meet and interact with women who were seeking to connect there as well, I not only never could get to first base but consistently struck out time after time. I just didn’t have any idea on how to approach any of them, either being totally tongue tied, or apparently saying wrong or stupid things. Whatever the reason the lack of interest in me proved universal, serving to daunt me even further. It wasn’t long before I became so intimidated that I stopped trying.

Instead I retreated back to my condo, which had been meant to be a ‘playboy’s lair’ but now was rather a ‘loser’s sanctuary’. I was clearly good at making money for people but apparently little else. And it appeared that this was all anyone would ever want or need of me. While I might desire more, I was coming to the dismaying conclusion that I really didn’t have anything more to offer of myself. To anyone.

I began going out less and less often, even ordering in delivered take out for all of my meals. While never a ‘neat freak’ I had always been orderly in my daily activities and existence. But now, even with an overabundance of time on my hands, I had no energy or motivation to clean or tidy up after myself, as the rising accumulation of empty food containers, unwashed dishes, and general disarray in the apartment amply attested. It finally reached the point where even I realized that something had to be done, even as I had no inclination to do anything in this regard myself. So I went onto the web to search for domestic cleaning services and found there a local company called ‘Maid to Order’. I called them and arranged for someone to come for three hours, three days a week.

As I was sleeping later and later each day, there being nothing I wanted to do or anywhere I needed to go, I scheduled this new cleaning person to come on Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons. Except for the initial session when they recommended that I be there to assure that everything was to my satisfaction, this would also force me to get out more often as I had no wish to be around, annoyed and bothered by someone bustling around underfoot.

When the first Monday arrived though I had completely forgotten. Fortunately I had previously alerted the condo doorman about the schedule, but when my front door buzzed I was surprised, and as I opened the door in response I was even a bit irritated by this unremembered intrusion. I was immediately brought up short however, and stood there gaping and speechless. Standing in front of me in the hallway was a young Latina, whom I judged to be in her mid to late twenties, 27 I later learned, who was absolutely drop dead gorgeous. Not that she flaunted it in any way. Indeed she was dressed very austerely in her femdom maid uniform down to her nondescript flats. She wore no makeup and her long dark hair was pulled up into a professional bun in the back. But there was denying her beauty. I remained motionless as she offered up a most dazzling smile.

“Good afternoon Sir. I’m Maria from ‘Maid to Order’. I hope you were expecting me.”

“Yes … ah … yes…” I stammered but still unable to move.

“May I come in, Sir?”

“Yes … of course … please.” I finally stepped aside allowing her to enter. “My name is Thomas.” I sputtered once she entered.

Her smile brightened again. “I know, Sir.” She looked around the room quickly. “I’ll get to work right away and try not to get in your way.”

“You would never be.” shot out of my mouth before I could even think of saying anything else. “Please, do whatever you like.” I added quickly to try to cover myself but knowing that came out wrong as well.

“What I’d like,” she continued to smile in a most agreeable way, “is to get started cleaning or you’ll fast be showing me the door.”

‘Never,’ I thought, but was fast enough this time to not blurt it out.

“Please don’t mind me Sir.” she continued. “I’m sure I can find everything I need, but please let me know if there’s anything special you want done.”

‘If only I could.’ I couldn’t help but further ruminate as Maria made off to the kitchen first. When she had gone on I looked around and with new eyes became acutely aware and embarrassed at what a pig sty my place had become. This didn’t stop me however with coming up with a variety of excuses to go out of my way to enter rooms in which she was cleaning. She always greeted me with her smile but after a while I thought I sensed a bit of anxiety in them, and I realized that she likely was concerned that I was monitoring and evaluating her. So with a great force of conscious will I stopped following her. Still, her three hour session passed far too quickly, and as she was leaving she offered a very tentative “If that’s all you need done today Sir, I’ll be back on Wednesday.”

‘Please God Yes’ I thought urgently as I vocalized back , “Yes of course, Maria”, savoring her name, spoken by me for the first time. I could see the visible relief register on her face as she graced me with her full smile as she left.

There was now no question now of me going out and not being present whenever she came. Her employment sessions became the shining highlights of my otherwise drab and meaningless weeks. I even began to tidy up extensively before she would come so she wouldn’t think me a total slob. Once it became clear to me that she no longer feared for her job I couldn’t help myself but to begin to frequently follow her around again as she efficiently and expertly performed her duties, and although she never seemed to mind and always met me with her smile it became obvious very quickly that I was the one underfoot. Not wanting to appear a complete fool and nuisance I started to spend most of the time sitting on my couch in the living room, where I could still discreetly watch her room to room comings and goings.

At first I would just read a book or magazine but after a while I started to do some long neglected research on my lap top, to again start paying closer attention and manage my holdings. After a few months I think we had become more comfortable around each other, but except for exchanging the usual greeting and leaving pleasantries, or her asking if there was anything more I might want or need done, we seldom spoke. If she only knew how much more I really wanted. She was a femdom maid and I was her wealthy employer. Surely this had to put me on a more equal footing. But I still didn’t know how or where to begin.

Then one Friday afternoon, near the end of her shift and before she left to go onto her next client, her third of the day, I ventured into the kitchen to get a glass of water and found her leaning back against the seat of one of the kitchen bar stools. She had one shoe and sock off and was rubbing her foot with her hand. When she saw me she instantly stood up, bare foot notwithstanding.

“Please forgive me Sir, I’ll get back to work right away.’ she said urgently. “I was just taking a moment to rub my feet. They just get a bit tired after being on them all day.”

I think I was even more shocked than she when I immediately responded. “Then I think what you need is a real foot massage, and I’d be very happy to give you one.”

“Oh no Sir, I couldn’t” she answered, clearly taken aback.

“You can and you will.” I insisted far more confidently than I felt. I just couldn’t let this opportunity get away. I bid her sit up on the bar stool and I pulled over a step stool and sat down on the lowest level. I then picked up her one bare foot into my hands. It was so soft, light brown and slender, perfect in every way. I began by caressing its entirety, but then remembered what I was supposed to be about and started to more firmly knead with my thumbs, first her toes, then her sole, deeply into her arch and finally around her heel. I then more lightly massaged the top before putting that foot down and picking up her other, and after taking off that shoe and sock I performed the same service to that one even more diligently.

Throughout the entire time neither of us spoke. I was too fully entranced, but as I reluctantly finished with her second foot I suddenly became terrified of what she might be thinking.

“That was very, very nice Sir. Thank you.” she said softly.

Emboldened by this I pressed forward hurriedly, “Then from now on we’ll just have to make this a regular part of your work day here”

“Oh no Sir, that isn’t necessary.”

“Of course it is, Maria. I can’t have you going on to your next job footsore and weary. What would people think. Consider it part of your work duties here, and my responsibility as your employer.” I said with as much authority as I could muster. “I won’t take no for an answer.” I tried my best to emphasize as I put on her socks and flats.

“I … I guess. If you put it that way, Sir”

“I do. And there’ll be no more said on the subject.” I concluded as firmly as I could. “I’ll see you next Monday and we’ll set aside the last fifteen minutes for my ministrations … Agreed?” I asked, now almost plaintively.

“I … Okay Sir … I agree.” She acceded with a very tentative smile.

It was all that I could then think about, day and night, the entire weekend. When she finally arrived on the following Monday afternoon, I purposefully stayed out of her way as she went about her business. I didn’t want to seen pushy or forward, but I did start to wonder if she thought I might have forgotten. There was no chance of that, at least on my end. Twenty minutes before she usually had to leave I called her into the kitchen. As she came in I nodded , a bit nervously, to the bar stool I had set up facing forward. She smiled, also a bit nervously I thought, and walked over to sit upon it. Pulling up the step stool again I sat down myself and carefully removed her flats and peds and, thrilled to my core, set about my task.

Once again, except for her sincere thank you when I finished, neither of us spoke, but on the following Wednesday as I started my kneading she broke the ice and began to cautiously ask me about myself, where I was from and what type of work I did. As I considered myself distinctly uninteresting and feared that she would find me even more so, I just gave her my bare bones background and rapidly steered the conversation to be about her. Although somewhat reticent at first, over the next days and weeks, as I tended to her feet and toes, she opened up more and more and seemed genuinely pleased to be talking to me. To my amazement I found that I could often make her laugh, and she had the most wonderful laugh. But of far more seeming importance to her was that I listened. And I did. Avidly.

I learned that she lived with her two sisters who were twins and seven years younger than herself. They all been born in America although I gathered without her ever explicitly saying it that her parents had come into the country illegally. Her father, she sadly admitted, had abandoned them and disappeared shortly after the twins were born, leaving her mother to struggle to keep them all together, working multiple jobs also as a femdom maid to try to make ends meet.

When Maria had just turned seventeen her mother developed pneumonia and refused to go into the hospital. She even tried to continue to work but got sicker and sicker and one night just didn’t wake up. Ever again. Maria then became the head of their small family with the two ten year old twins, and she was staunchly determined to keep them all together, and the twins out of the child social services system.

She dropped out of high school and began working as a maid herself. Over the years they had to move often, to smaller and smaller apartments that she could afford, but she always insisted that her sisters remain in school throughout, and while she had them contribute to the household chores she made sure that they spent most of their time with their studies. And they not only finished highschool but did so well that they both earned full academic scholarships to a local prestigious college and were already well on their way to graduating early.

I could see the pride in Maria’s face and hear it in her voice as she talked about her sisters’ accomplishments, and when I tried to point out that their success was as much hers as theirs she would lightly laugh and adamantly demur. Still, it was obvious that she was the rock, undeniably solid in strength and will, and I became more and more in awe of her, sadly realizing that in so many more ways than one that I was not in her league.

Yet I couldn’t help but become more and more enamored with her and obsessed with the time we were together, most of which for me was at her feet. At those moments it was the work of my hands that was most gratifying and exhilarating to me, but I came to doubt that it was of much import to her. Rather it was my ears, to listen and share her story with, perhaps even to help validate it, that was the most valuable to her, and I think the major reason that she allowed it all to continue.

It became clear to me that this was likely all that I would ever have of her, even as I might want so much more. But I strongly doubted that she ever would. Why would she? I could offer her money, which was the only thing of me that had any worth, but I now knew her well enough to know that she would in horror refuse any such offer, as if she could be bought. And as had been demonstrated to me so many times before, I had nothing else to offer that anyone else would want.

Still, I yearned to find some small way to show what I felt, to demonstrate my ardor, not in any way that would drive her away, or even suggest that I expected or deserved anything more. Just a symbol perhaps of my small place in her life. In one of my more heated moments a furtive image flashed in my mind, and once there expanded unchecked, day by day, finally even in my dreams until the image became all consuming. I didn’t know if I had the courage to dare, but my hunger grew so strong that I just had to try.

I played out a contemplated approach in my mind time and again before on another Friday afternoon, as I raptly listened to Maria happily recount one the twins’ latest achievements while I sat below rubbing and caressing, I finally took the fateful plunge.

“Maria,” I mumbled hoarsely, “before you go, I … I was wondering …”

“Wondering what, Sir?” she answered lightly.

“whether … well … ah, I … I might be allowed …”

“Allowed what, Sir?”

“Allowed …”

There was no turning back.

“… to kiss your foot.”

There was no sound for several long, long seconds. Then softly …

“Why would you want to do that, Sir?”
In all the myriad scenarios I had of this moment … herolite refusal, her mocking laughter, her indignant departure, or worse …or even my greatest hope, her improbable permission … I had never contemplated this question, and it left me at a total loss. I grabbed for the first thing that entered my mind.

‘To say thank you … for all the things that you do here … for who you are … and …and …” I couldn’t go on except for “…please.”

I lowered my head and waited for what seemed an eternity before …

“Yes Sir, you may.” she said very quietly. “You may kiss my foot.”

The world receded around me as I slid off the stool and onto my knees. I stared down at her foot, still in my hands, and then raised it slightly as I slowly bent down to press my lips just at the base of her toes. All of my frenzied imaginings of this moment were the barest shadows of its glorious reality …the scent, the texture, the taste … as I seemed transported to another time and space, where for the first time ever I fully felt a part. How long I lingered there I could not say, but finally, reluctantly, agonizingly, I pulled my lips away. As I did I could only utter a whispered “Thank you”.

 

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