“A Maid for All Seasons, Volume III” Deluxe Revised Edition

mfasFrom Chapter 7, A Maid for All Seasons, Volume 3

Education at Red Blossom College

Deluxe Revised Edition

Revised version © 2010 by Devlin O’Neill

(Original published by Blue Moon Books, New York, August 2004)

 

Next day Teresa sulked while she unpacked in the austere bedroom, then brightened when Dylan took her and Felicia to the mall and let Teresa loose in a lingerie store with his credit card. A large bag stuffed with expensive underwear in hand, she managed to be cheerful while she shopped for simple plaid skirts, unadorned white blouses and plain, sensible shoes.

The following Wednesday after lunch she got off the bus and glanced at the paper with the cottage’s address printed on it, then walked half a block along a shady street. The number painted atop a brick gatepost matched the paper. She pushed open the gate and went to the door, started to press the bell, then stopped, dropped her leather satchel and brushed specks of lint from her crisp white blouse. A maroon and silver tie hung, badly knotted, from her throat. She squeezed it tighter to hide it under the collar. Her plaid pleated skirt rustled as she smoothed it front and back, then took a deep breath and rang the bell. The door swung open on silent hinges and she frowned. A girl stood in the entryway.

She was shorter than Teresa by ten centimeters, and a blonde ponytail accentuated the youthfulness of a clear, scrubbed complexion. Her clothes were identical to Teresa’s except for a variation in the skirt’s plaid. A perfect half-Windsor held her tie in place.

“Hi, Teresa, I’m Lisa. Come on in.”

“Where is Professor Travis?”

“He had a meeting and thought it might go late so he asked me to show you around.” Lisa shut the door and Teresa followed her to the classroom. “You can put your stuff anywhere. It’s just us today.” She pointed. “The bathroom is through there.”

Teresa nodded and set her bag on a table. “You are also a student?”

“No, I just get off on playing schoolgirl.” Lisa laughed when Teresa’s mouth fell open. “Of course I’m a student.”

“But you seem so …”

“Much older?”

“You are older?”

“Older than you. Don’t let my baby face fool you.” She winked.

“It is not this, only your English, it is so colloquial. Why will you need such a school as this?”

Lisa smirked. “Colloquial doesn’t work in business letters and stuff, or that’s what my boss says anyway. I’m just here until my college grades get better.”

“You also go to university?”

“Well yeah, same one you do, or will, when summer session starts. What year will you be?”

“I am not certain. I completed the placement exam by post, but do not know yet the results.”

“I’m a sophomore technically, but I’ll be a junior as soon as I finish up some incompletes.”

Teresa blinked and twitched her lip. “I am not understanding a great deal of this.” She glanced to the side. “The WC is in there?”

“Uh huh. The professor oughta be here pretty soon so you better hurry.”

“All right.”

Teresa glanced at the chalkboard behind the instructor’s desk. Next to it on a peg at eye level hung a crook-handled rattan stick. Her heart pounded and she clenched her fingers as she went into the bathroom. She gazed at the bright lights while she sat on the toilet, then washed her hands with rose-scented soap, dried them on a fluffy hand towel and went back to the classroom. Lisa sat in the back row, her brown penny loafers propped on a table.

“Better?”

“Yes, thank you.” Teresa sat in the chair where she left her satchel and swiveled around. “Lisa?”

“Hm?”

“You are staying in one of the flats that Uncle Dylan … Professor Travis has rented?”

“I wish. Those are for the out-of-town students. Uh, the other out-of-town students. You live with your step-mom, right? I live with my boss.” Lisa wrinkled her nose when Teresa gasped. “I didn’t mean that. I stay at his house. I work there.”

“You are a domestic?”

“The word is maid. Yeah, I’m a maid, and I own a whole chain of boutiques.”

“I see.” Teresa rolled her eyes. “You must have a very busy schedule.”

“It’s true and you don’t gotta be sarcastic. The stores are in trust.” Lisa folded her arms and glared. “Aren’t you a trust brat too?”

Teresa’s jaw dropped. “I have never heard this term and it is most insulting. Who is telling you this in any case?”

“Nobody told me. All the girls here are trust brats. They never have to work but their trustees say they gotta at least learn grammar so they don’t sound like morons when they complain to Neiman Marcus.” Lisa sneered. “So, what? Is Uncle Dylan Professor Travis your trustee?”

“That is none of your concern and, and you are most impolite to ask.”

“Yeah?” Lisa shoes clomped hardwood as she stood. “That’s just typical, snotty, trust-brat attitude, and I know because Michael made me go to this stupid school for acting exactly the same way, so get over yourself.”

Teresa rose, fists clenched, and took two steps toward Lisa. “I am not snotty, and you do not tell me what to do!”

“Don’t think you can tell me what to do either, just ’cause you’re his niece.”

“Oh, then I suppose you are his teacher’s pet, his yellow haired lap dog!”

“Teresa!”

She gasped and twirled. Dylan stalked in, eyes ablaze, and Lisa moaned and fell into her chair. Teresa whimpered, stepped back, and sat down hard. His briefcase clunked the desktop and he glanced from one girl to the other.

“Well?”

Long, horrible, silent seconds ticked by. Teresa hugged her tummy to quell the nasty butterflies that dashed about inside. Lisa’s lips trembled as she struggled to form words.

“S-sorry, Professor.”

“I should think so. Come here, both of you.” He rounded the desk, shrugged off his suit coat and hung it on the chair back, then sat and shook his head. Neither girl moved. “Don’t make me say it again.”

Loafers scraped hardwood as Teresa and Lisa shuffled, jelly-kneed, toward him. They stared at the desktop and jerked in opposite directions when their elbows touched. Dylan studied their red faces for a dozen seconds and then leaned forward.

“Lisa?”

She coughed and covered her mouth. “Sir?”

“Is there any point in my asking who started this?”

The girl shook her head. “It just kinda happened. Sir.”

“Teresa?”

“Yes, Unc … sir?”

“Is Lisa to blame for your shouting match?”

“She said … and then I …” She knuckled an incipient tear from her eye. “No. I was shouting as well and I also am sorry.”

“I see. Then it was no one’s fault that you would have torn one another’s hair out if I hadn’t come in when I did. Is that correct?”

“But we wouldn’t, Professor, we just …”

“No, Uncle Dylan, it was only …”

“Hush! Did you read the handbook, girls?” He paused while two heads bobbed. “The section on fighting?”

They nodded harder and glanced at each other, then Teresa looked at him.

“But we were not fighting, Uncle … Professor, we merely …”

He raised a hand. “Fighting includes verbal assaults, and I heard a few of those when I opened the front door.”

Lisa gasped. “Nuh uh! I never called her anything, Professor, but she called me a lap dog and, and that’s kinda like bitch, isn’t it?”

Teresa squealed and glared at her. “And you think that snotty is a word of kindness, you …”

“Enough!” Dylan opened a drawer, took the paddle and stalked toward them. “Bend over the desk.”

“No, please?”

Two voices melded in appeal as the girls backed away, and four tremulous hands clutched wool-covered bottoms. Dylan clamped the board beneath his arm and grabbed their wrists.

“I said over the desk.”

Jelly knees turned to shaving cream when he dragged them forward. He pushed on their backs and the girls bent at the waist, round behinds clenched beneath wool and cotton. Dylan set the paddle down and scowled as he lifted skirts and tucked them into waistbands. Teresa kicked the floor.

“Uncle Dylan, this is not fair!”

“Quiet, Teresa. You know better than to act that way, both of you do, and I’m going to paddle both your bare bottoms so you remember that you are young ladies and not street hooligans.”

Teresa slapped the desktop and twisted. “Not bare, not in front of her!” Elbows clunked oak when he pressed on her shoulder.

“Don’t argue with me, young lady. Your naughty behind won’t be bare in front of anyone except me. Lisa is right beside you and her naughty behind will be exactly as bare and just as painful, so keep still.”

He leaned over to thumb white cotton panties down. Lisa groaned and chewed a knuckle, and Teresa squealed and covered her eyes with both hands as cool, moist air bathed naked, vulnerable flesh. Warm cotton bunched at thigh tops and Dylan picked up the paddle. He patted Teresa’s back with his palm, did the same to Lisa and then stood, feet apart, with his left thigh at the desk’s edge, and gazed at two perfect-peach bottoms.

Lisa’s plump mounds shifted as she twisted her ankles. Teresa’s cheeks, a bit wider, higher set, and more rounded at the crests, dimpled along the hipbones. Smooth, deep valleys divided both rears, and Dylan sighed as he stretched his right arm, ignored fretful, whiney pleas, and clapped the center of Teresa’s bottom with a two-foot stroke.

She yelped and reached back to rub. Dylan barked a stern no and smacked Lisa just as hard. Back and forth between their soft behinds he swatted while he scolded and told them not to cover themselves, until they squirmed so much he leaned over and pressed his forearm into their backs to steady them for the final quick dozen.

Ash wood clattered when he dropped the board onto the desk. Teresa sobbed and Lisa wept when he lifted and wrapped them in strong arms. They clasped paddle-stung cheeks while he whispered smooth syllables that failed to register over the painful shriek in their ears. The shriek diminished when he kissed their foreheads, turned them loose and leaned against the desk.

“No more of this nonsense then, hm?”