Chapter One

June in Alabama

 

Like nails falling from the sky, the hammering rain stung what flesh remained unexposed and drenched the clothes that covered the rest of her slight body - all this in a mere five seconds between the taxi and the covered front porch of the sprawling house. With the taxi door slammed shut, the bright yellow vehicle zoomed through the puddle of water so fast that it splashed grey mud against the back of her legs as she made her dashing exit. Her hair in wet ringlets, the girl shook off the excess water and rung out her crocheted hat, which she then stuffed inside her knapsack. She wiped her hands against her skirt and took a deep breath to calm herself.

Although it was no time for being nervous, her heart still beat in a painful and uneasy rhythm, while her mind swirled with questions. She should stop now and turn back - the refrain had repeated itself a dozen times in the last hour, the only conscious thought she had. But turn back? How? She was far far from home where this foolish adventure began, and now far from the dilapidated clapboard house where she'd stayed six weeks while she was being processed. A two day car trip took her south to a small house on the outskirts of an unknown city; then she was shoved into the yellow taxi, driven another twenty-five miles to her final destination.

She rang the bell. What else could she do ...

But wait. How does one wait for Miles Covington Hitchcock? A stranger? The man who chose her from pictures, from a video Pavel's friend Nikolai made to sell her on the Internet? How does a man seeking a maid chose one? Mind riddled with crazy thoughts, she nearly bolted into the driving rain, but then the door swung open before her and a tall man appeared; at first like a ghostly presence on this gloomy fog-ridden day, then, as she looked up into his face, he came clearly into focus. Older. Middle-aged. Groomed to be perfect. And handsome - maybe for a woman twice her age. But no time to ponder that now.

"Daniela Zito, the agency sent me," she said, after nearly thirty seconds of awkward silence. This was what they told her to say.

 

***

 

The girl standing before him looked a bit like a drowned rat. So small, wet, her curly hair dripping, her clothes, yes, her clothes - what was this with her clothes? An odd combination. No. It was more than that, more than just the quirky clothes. This was not the girl he'd seen in the advertisement. That girl was blonde, pretty, dressed like a mannerly young woman, her smile bright and her eyes a sensuously soft blue. This girl was short and dark, her eyes a deep mahogany color. She'd dressed in a tiny blue suede skirt and slutty patterned tights; while her feet were tucked into a pair of grossly large boots. Although she wore a thin, grey, and now very drenched, sweater, it did very little to cover the lacy, low-cut teddy underneath. He supposed it was the current fashion, but he didn't like it. And of all things, in addition to her darkly-lined eyes and purple lipstick, there was a small but very visible nose ring through her septum.

"I believe there has been some mistake," he said in a voice deep enough to carry some weight and make the waiting girl shudder.

It took a moment for Daniela to understand this; not that she didn't understand English well; her mother had been English and she grew up with the language from birth. But these words were not what she expected to hear. Not now.

"No, sir, no," she shook her head, "there is no mistake. I belong here, I do. I'm your new maid." She stuffed her hand inside the pocket of the grey sweater and pulled out a piece of paper, shoving it forward so he could see. "Your name is here and my name. See that? Your address. Right here. Please!" She pointed her finger at what was once crisp blue writing - now a soggy but distinguishable blur. "I am yours." She paused. "You have to take me."

How boldly she spoke, he thought. Gutsy, if nothing else. But no, she was not the maid he'd made arrangements for. Completely unacceptable! He calmed his stirring anger, letting it simmer for later, when he contacted the agency. But, then what to do with her? he wondered.

A cold chill seemed to race through the girl's body and every bit of her shook with sadness and defeat. Oddly enough, her eyes were still filled with hungering want.

He looked around at the day as if it was the first time he'd noted its dreariness. Yes, of course, the weather was grotesque, not that cold but clearly wet and miserable.

"May I come in, sir, please," she pleaded with him, before he could decide on his own to offer her entry.

"Yes, of course. Come in and dry off," he smiled thinly. "Then we'll clear up this terrible mistake."

"But there has been no mistake," Daniela Zito shook her head as she moved inside, her clothes still dripping, quickly making a muddy puddle where she stood like a forlorn orphan on the foyer's smooth checkerboard tile.

Miles Covington Hitchcock stared at her, still awed, still wondering, still simmering with anger he tried in vain to mask with civility.

 

The January before in Slovenia...

 

"Daniela!" A sharp thundering noise crackled through the humid air of the butcher shop.

No answer.

"Dannnnnieellllla!" The barrel-chested voice boomed louder than before, and from the back room behind the counters and coolers the girl came running. Laszlo's raised arm came down and smacked across her face, sending the hundred-pound Daniela sprawling on the floor at his feet.

Laszlo stared down over his rotund belly, lip curling cruelly, "How you take of my shop reflects on me!" He pounded his chest. "You not scrub these floors, you not scrub these counters, you filthy little bitch, you not do your work. This is what I pay you for, you lazy girl. Get on in the back, I beat you there!"

"No, sir, please! Let me explain..." Daniela gazed up glassy-eyed, imploring him, but Laszlo had a stick in hand and swiftly cut her off. He used the stick to prod her along the floor, smacking her flanks, her ass, anything in the path of his weapon, until the girl at last scooted and slid and slithered fifteen feet into the storeroom. The man's wrath poured out against the girl, as he hauled her to her feet and then upended her over a wooden work table. She hung on knowing that it was useless to fight Laszlo's rage, so in preparation for what was to follow, she gripped the sides of the table, body cringing.

No mere stick would do to punish the bratty girl; Laszlo had a strap for that. Swiping the thick leather tool from the wall, he flung Daniela's short skirt off her ass, tore her panties down, then wailed on her upturned hind end. The blows never failed to shock her psyche deeply, turn flesh on fire, and produce a raging fury of misguided hormones in her sexual body. The shock of the first stinging smacks threw off any fight her mind might wish to wage. She gathered herself into a cocoon-like altered state, praying for the submissive strength to fall on her like a protective blanket. Only submission would get her through his holy terror. Only submission would produce - in the end - the ticklish thrill that would turn pain into her private pleasure.