A Maid’s Tail Ch. 08: The Next Week

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1 – Tuesday

It wasn’t hard to imagine that in some dusty crypt lay a book that outlined the rules for what a proper maid should have been. It would likely outline expected behaviors– how to tip a kettle or prepare a sandwich, for example– and above all, how to be on time.

The writer of that tome would have wept if they’d seen Kim right now; leaving the apartment only partially uniformed, still trying to choke down a bagel and barely awake. She stumbled down the rickety steps aiming for the back door and trying to balance her weekend’s worth of trash and her bag of accouterments she’d need to do her job properly.

Not only would that writer have wept, he– because of course the author would have been a man, it only made sense– probably would have bitch slapped Kim with the ‘Codex Madicus’ and he would have been right to do so; she was a wreck.

Maybe not entirely.

Kim hid a secret under her baggy sweat pants– one that not even her employers knew about yet. Forty years on this planet might have seen a woman fail to make it as a writer– so far, anyway– but that didn’t mean she hadn’t learned a thing or two about exceeding expectations and keeping a job. Oh, no, the world may not have realized her talents just yet, but that ignorance didn’t extend to the older blonde.

As Kim chucked her trash in the dumpster, she mentally went through her checklist to ensure she had everything she needed. By the time she got to her waiting Pontiac and climbed through the driver’s side, she knew she was ready. She had everything she needed and all that remained was to get herself straightened out– something she’d do at every stop light along the way.

The first to get done was her makeup; she could have passed for early-mid thirties, there was no question, but a touch of blush highlighted her eyes and made her straw blonde mane all the more radiant. If only in her own mind.

Eagerly, Kim checked the dashboard clock, trying to remember how to get to the back roads– city traffic wasn’t bad, but if she wanted to open up the old car and stand the remotest chance of getting to her client’s home on time, she’d need to go a hell of a lot faster than she could on the main roads.

Of course, that carried its own set of risks– God how could she have been so stupid? Maybe it was having gone weeks without her cupboards being stocked and scraping by on condiments and handouts from the church– having actually had the money to get her bills and rent caught up, she’d splurged and gorged herself in a carb-fueled stupor over her ‘weekend’ and now? Now it might have cost her the first job she’d actually enjoyed. What kind of idiot risked that for extra cereal and ham and cheese sandwiches?

It wasn’t like she couldn’t have stood to loose a few pounds, anyway. That might have been her darker side speaking, though. She was reasonably fit, but for a few extra pounds that made her body soft; thick thighs, a voluptuous figure that her employers seemed to enjoy and had taught her to appreciate, too.

“Mmm. . .” Kim adjusted her velvet uniform to accent her cleavage that little bit more, treading a dangerous line between alluring and outright perversion. A few more miles and she pulled into a gas station at the edge of town, ducking into their bathroom.

It wasn’t just the job she loved, she was coming to realize– her entire weekend had been taken up with thoughts of her employers and the new skills she’d learned under their guidance; the respect and dignity inherent in servitude and the confidence that could come from the most unexpected of places.

After she ran through brushing her teeth she dug into her bag and grabbed the other accessories she’d need for the day: the satin choker with the little bell on it, the half-apron that cinched neatly around her waist and then the velvet cat ears which she took pains to conceal the band in her hair, topping it with a lacy frill ‘crown’ to protect them.

It was still a strange transformation to witness, but the further Kim went, the less she found herself caring; she was paid– quite well– to be their maid and even if she wasn’t, the exotic nature of it made her heart beat just that little bit faster.

After double checking she was cleaned up and primed correctly, she reached under her uniform and began stripping out of her sweats. The plastic wrap she had taped to the outside of her meaty thighs was still holding, still protecting her latest additions to her uniform. Running down from her ankle to her pelvis was a cascade of leopard styled rosettes that dotted her flesh like freckles. It had taken her hours to paint them correctly and now, seeing herself in near full uniform, she realized it had been time well spent.

Then came the tail. . .

Kim grabbed her bag, fishing out the plug it was attached to. She’d bought a longer tail than what the McKenna’s had provided her, nearly the length of her thigh and a slightly larger plug to keep it in. She’d practiced over the weekend, but even as she lubricated it with saliva and Astroglide, she had to wonder if it would be too güvenilir canlı bahis siteleri heavy for her. Her employers expected a lot more than just walking around from her.

Carefully, Kim slathered herself up and then leaned forward against the sink, touching the narrow tip to her anus. A slow breath and she pushed– easing gently into her own body with a comfortable familiarity and that thrill of naughtiness of something so wrong it was right. She had first done so out of necessity, but now. . .

Now it was an honor.

Kim bit her lower lip as she met her eyes in her mirror, pushing deeper. Deeper. The swell of the plug stretching her open further and further until she hit the widest part– she breathed a soft moan that fogged up the mirror for a second and then gave the final push. Cementing her will with the black tail dangling from the end of it, she was almost complete. Kimberly pushed it in deeper until she could feel the base of it resting firmly between her cheeks. She lowered her gaze, giving her body a moment to adjust before she rose.

Once settled in with a few laps around the bathroom, Kim grabbed her bag and slipped on the sheer white nylons she’d bought to accessorize her uniform. They allowed her rosettes to be seen, but still had that air of dignity that came with the uniform, matching its frilly lace perfectly. The final touch came with the contact lenses she’d bought, soft green slit irises that truly completed a catgirl look.

Kim stepped back, turning her leg out a little bit and studying her reflection– hands on her generous hips and her body cocked to the side, she looked like an entirely different person; confident and brazen, ready to take on the world. She knew better, of course, but her place was to serve her clients and look good doing so. . .

She blushed a little bit at the lurid smirk worming its way across her lips. “Oh, yeah. . .”

In a little gas station along the southern interstate, she went from being Kimberly Williams to something more. Something that her normal-self almost envied. Even if she knew what was coming once she got to the McKenna’s, it didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate herself any less. She grinned at the mirror and bundled up her stuff on her way out the door.

Right into the arms of the young female station manager who was just starting to look up from her phone as she reached for the handle and was now looking at Kim blankly. Kim blushed, turned away, managing an ‘excuse me’ as she scampered for her car and sensing the girl’s gaze on her the entire way. Once back in her car, Kim took several deep breaths and got herself back on the highway.

So much for being confident. . .


Pulling up the drive at quarter past eight– a full fifteen minutes late– made Kim acutely aware of every inch of the gravel path leading up to the colonial styled house. Sitting in the middle of the ten acre grass land, it was a beacon. . . A reminder that even though someone made a good but modest living, they could have a lot if they were careful with their money.

In a way, it was something to strive for, but at that moment, the only thing Kim would think of was how much she was dreading going up those stairs. Even as she pulled into her customary parking spot on the side she tightened her grip on the steering wheel. This wasn’t going to go well.

She needed to keep this job, she loved this job. She had been late. She could face the consequences– she wouldn’t run home. She would be a good maid

They paid her for that.

They had expectations, she couldn’t very well let them down, now could she? Kim checked her mirror, noting that Elliot’s work truck was gone and feeling only a mild relief. Then a sudden tension when she saw Sylvia’s car parked along side the house.

It was a silly thing– a week ago, she probably would’ve thought it beneath her to acknowledge the sweat on her palms and her racing heart at the thought of being late. She’d never let it bother her before. But this? This was different.

Kim climbed out of her car and rolled the window up as best she could, taking a moment to center herself before she started up the steps of the porch. The wrap around porch echoed like thunder as her low heels clattered. She took a deep breath, knocked.


Her heart slammed against her ribs. Thump, thump, thump. Were they going to like what she’d done with her uniform? How much was she going to be punished for this? Would she even have a job any more?

Sylvia opened the door after a moment, wearing nothing more than her bathrobe and a sour expression– typical. Her sun kissed skin was glistening softly in the muted light of the hallway, her brown hair clumped to her scalp in patches dotted with shampoo. The most striking feature of the younger woman was her heterochromatic eyes– one green and one brown both looking at her with very evident disinterest.

Her voice was firm; hard as steel. “You’re late.”

“I am.” Kim looked down. “I– I’m sorry, mistress.”

“No you’re not.” She leaned against güvenilir illegal bahis siteleri the doorway. Her mismatched gaze never left Kim’s even though Kim could barely stand to maintain eye contact– when Kim opened her mouth to offer an apology, the shorter woman stepped in to her space, eyes narrowed. “Do you even want this job? Hm? You didn’t even ca–“

“I don’t have your phone–“

“Did. I. Ask. You. A question?”

“N- No mistress.”

“Then why are you speaking?”

Kim licked her lips, a wash of shame crushing her. She lowered her head more.

“Now I suppose you want to come in, hm?” Sylvia touched Kim’s chin, raising her head just a little so she had no choice but to look at her. “I suppose you’re going to spend the rest of the day telling me how sorry you are and how it won’t happen again?”

Kim started to speak but the woman stopped her with a finger to her lips. The catgirl maid’s heart slammed into her throat at the contact as Sylvia’s blistering heat and barely contained anger started to boil to the surface.

“Maybe I should just send you home instead. We can try again tomorrow. . .”


“I didn’t ask your opinion.”

“Yes mistress. . .”

They stood there for a moment, eye to eye, the shorter woman leaning into Kim’s space yet holding her chin just so that shrinking away seemed as dangerous as staying put. Kim whimpered when Sylvia was a hair’s breadth away, looking down. Her breath smelled faintly of syrup and eggs. After nearly a full minute, Sylvia said in a liquid, throaty purr, “I had to make breakfast this morning. Do you know how humiliating that was when we have you?”

Kim frowned.

“You have until the end of the day to make it up to us. . . Or I’m going to start getting creative.”

Kim dared look up.

“And take those contacts out, you look ridiculous.” The shorter woman turned on her heel and headed upstairs to finish her shower. Kim braced her hand against the door frame sucking in deep breaths. She was an idiot. A stupid, stupid woman for not coming prepared. Little did she realize at the time that that feeling was going to be a theme for the day. . .


It had started with doing the laundry when she’d not realized that the lacy panties that Sylvia seemed to prefer were delicate enough to warrant a gentle cycle on the washer. Surely it couldn’t have gotten any worse, she’d promised herself.

Of course, if that was true, she wouldn’t have hidden the tell-tale marks of her screw ups. The dancer she’d be able to replace, but there was no way she was going to go shopping for panties like that– even she had limits. It struck her as she was making lunch for her mistress that she wasn’t doing herself any favors; she was actively trying to hide things from her employers. . .

“Stop that” Kim whispered to herself. She just had to do it long enough to find a replacement, they’d understand. If it came to it, she could always bring it up tomorrow when she was on time and Sylvia wasn’t being such a pain in the ass.

A pang of guilt roiled through her while she finished up the sandwiches, itched at her as she made her way to Sylvia’s art room and then all but exploded when she bumped into the younger woman between opening the door and stepping in. Sylvia had been stepping back to examine her painting– or perhaps the field beyond her window– when Kim had eased in.

She jumped forward by reflex, a tight coil sprung full force, her sharp eyes turned on the older maid with a mix of anger and surprise. Kim didn’t have time to apologize before her mistress pounced on her, shoving and cursing– Kim slammed into the wall opposite the door with Sylvia’s short form pinning her to the plaster.

It was unlike anything Kim had seen in the woman– “The hell are you thinking!? Don’t you knock?! You don’t just walk into my space without invitation, my home!” – It terrified her. This wasn’t the Sylvia she knew. It wasn’t that controlled firmness of her mistress but the naked fury of a stranger threatening to hurt her. She was loud, shouting face to face so the words ran into one another and for a moment– just one– Kim was sure Sylvia was going to hit her.

Then Sylvia stopped. Abruptly and in mid word.

She looked at Kim as if seeing her for the first time, then to the tray of finger foods she’d prepared. Another brief glance up at the taller blonde and her entire posture changed to one of resignation– too proud to apologize, she simply took one of the sandwiches, turned and slammed the door shut.

Kim stood in the hall for a moment trembling in the wake of her employer’s anger. What had she done wrong that would’ve warranted that reaction? Could she have done something differently? A week ago, she would’ve shrugged it off and probably thought Sylvia was just some unstable pain in the ass– but this.

This woman was more than just a face in the crowd, she was Kim’s mistress– Kim couldn’t just abandon her employer, but how could she make things right when everything in her told her to curl up and avoid Sylvia? güvenilir bahis şirketleri Kim’s fingers clenched around the lip of her tray, she sucked in several deep breaths and then looked to the door.

She could do this. . .

Carefully, breath held, she knocked on the door.

After a few moments Sylvia opened the door just enough for her green eye to be seen, looking up through her bangs with an unreadable expression. It took the younger woman a full minute to acknowledge the tray. There was no shame or concern in her voice when she stepped back and said, “Come in.”

Kim eased herself into the room, set the tray down on the empty table beside the door and started to offer apology for not having knocked first. Sylvia beat her to the punch by picking up one of the sandwich fingers and stuffing it in Kim’s face.

“They’re good. Try one. . .”

Kim took it, looking at the woman dubiously. At her encouragement, the maid took a bite. Sure enough; nothing beat ham and cheese. Sylvia turned back to her painting– a riotous mass of browns and dark blues outlining a boardwalk in front of turbulent waters. Kim had never seen the woman paint, but she understood that there was a reason Elliot allowed her to stay home all day and indulge; she was damn good at what she did.

When she saw Kim’s attention wandering, Sylvia stepped in between with a sandwich, she popped it in her mouth looking Kim up and down. Finally she gave a little approving nod, “The paint the reason you’re late?”


“Your legs. . .” She moved into Kim’s space and reached out but didn’t touch. She knew she’d scared Kim, she knew she’d put up a new barrier between them– this wasn’t like the previous week, this was like slapping the family cat. She wasn’t going to give Kim an apology, that wasn’t her style, but what she was going to do. . . That was what Kim feared. Sylvia turned her head seeming to take her time appreciating the work Kim had put into it. She glanced up at the maid and smirked before she leaned back. “I approve.”

“T- Thank you, mistress. . .”

They stood there with the heavy silence between them as Sylvia chewed her lunch. Slowly, as if each moment was valuable, she turned to the painting. Her shoulders were tight under her t-shirt, her entire body tense and uneasy. “Probably my best work. . .” She said absently. “Can only polish a turd so much, I guess.”

Kim pressed her tongue to the back of her teeth. Was this her way of offering an apology? Showing the slightest hint of weakness– some might say humanity? Kim wasn’t stupid enough to take that particular bait. She waited. Sylvia picked up another sandwich bite and for just a moment she looked about ready to say something more. . . Maybe even to apologize.

When her mismatched gaze came upon the catgirl maid, she was back to her usual bravado; calm, controlled. “I should punish you for being late,” she started. “I thought I’d trained you better than that– you even showed up early a couple of times, what happened?”

“Ah. . . I–” Kim fidgeted. “I overslept.”

“That right?”


“Yes, mistress.” Sylvia stepped a little closer, testing the waters between them. Kim held her ground uneasily. “We have company coming this week, we can’t have you here if you’re going to be misbehaving. . .”

“I- I’m sorry, mistress.” Kim blushed, glancing away. “I– I guess maybe I should leave–“

“Stop that.” Sylvia took a deep breath. “I–“


“No. Listen, You’re here, I don’t think I have to spell it out that I– we expect you here on time in the mornings, do I?”

“No, mistress.”

“We want you here or you wouldn’t be here and so long as you decide you want the job, it’s yours. . . But under no circumstances do you let anything I say–” she paused, fishing for the word– “hastily, make you think you don’t have a job here.”

When Kim didn’t immediately acknowledge that statement, the shorter woman pursed her lips.


“I understand, mistress McKenna.”

“Good.” She glanced away for the briefest moment. “I’m going to want a massage this week. . . Feel up to it?”

“O- Of course.”

“Good. . .”

That damn awkward pause clung to the air a moment longer, eventually broken when Kim cleared her throat, offering a weak smile and a mumbled excuse to finish cleaning the living room. Sylvia nodded her off and once outside– and with the door shut between them, Kim let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

The unsettling experience left Kim struggling for breath, slightly off balance and more than a little concerned about whet might have happened during Kim’s weekend to have upset her so much. This was supposed to have been a day of enjoyment and maybe even celebration.

Now? Now Kim was wondering what kind of future she had as their catgirl maid. . .


Walking on egg shells was something Kim had never been good at, but if it kept her on her mistress’s good side- and out of her way- Kim would have learned to tap dance through the damn poultry farm all the way through to the end of the day. She’d always been a quick learner and while she might’ve been wearing heels, she still managed a steady rhythm from one egg to the next; dusting, turning down the sheets and the grand finale that saw her starting dinner in between folding up the laundry and setting the table.

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