Игорь Путин

He's one of the few butlers, or butlers-of-sorts, about third, but mostly second, place after Mrs. Winthrop.

"Sorry, but I don't remember your name," said Mindy.

"That's because I didn't give it."

He was leaning back.

"I'm Mindy Potts."

"and I'm Igor Putin" as he extended his hand.

"You-you, are..,"

"Putin; and no, we're not related—not that I know of at least;

and don't worry about me looking at your tits and pussy, because I'm gay."

He did somewhat resembled the other Putin.

"and you still have your hair."

"The man's in his 60s. I'm much younger."

"So you're gay."

"About 90% on the spectrum. It's largely how I got a job here: the psychological eunuch among all the pretty girls here."

[pause]

"So Mindy, why did I spend my breakfast face-to-face with your open pussy, as beautiful as it is?"

"I rather not get into it."

"Ah, so Missus Winthrop is punishing you for something." he guffawed and grinned.

"I also guess that's why your ass is a bit red."

Oh Fuck! Mindy didn't figure on that. "Everybody must have seen my whooped ass!" she thought.

"You must have had a decent ass-whacking." he continue to smile.

Mindy's embarrassment went up again, her face turned almost as red as her buttocks.

Igor laughed, enjoying it.

About 15 seconds later he got a bit more consoling, "Don't worry, Mindy. She likes you. If she didn't, you'd been fired. She tolerates error, but she doesn't take shit from people; and don't worry about the other people here. They certainly talk about you—with tits like yours, who wouldn't; but they like you too, and most of them are pretty good. They're just having a little fun: be a good sport and you'll do well here."

"Have others been made to sit on this table?"

"A few times, though the punishments differ. One girl was caught smoking marijuana. Missus Winthrop made her walk five kilometers through suburban streets in her maid uniform—tits exposed, panty-less skirt, barefoot, the regular maid outfit—while carrying a spliff, giving her an option to smoke it or not—replacing it where necessary, but she had to carry a spliff at all times. Another brought in a boom box and played Taylor Swift a little too loud, so Missus Windthrop got her naked on this very table and made her recite the lyrics of three Taylor Swift songs in front of 20 people, while two people tickled the poor girl and Missus Windthrop used a vibrator on her. She had to recite lyrics perfectly: no error, repetition of words where they didn't exist, or garbled vocalizations that sounded like words. If any of this happened, she'd have to start the song all over again. Recite the lyrics of the three songs, or make repeated attempts, until done or for 45 minutes. Naturally it became the latter."

"Fuck, Sally doesn't fuck around."

"or more aptly, she does," Igor smiled.

"Another was caught covering her tits and wearing platform shoes. Missus Winthrop made her walk twenty kilometers through the city naked. She refused after eighteen-and-a-half kilometers and Missus Winthrop had her fired. She sued and lost, even though Missus Winthrop fought at a economic loss out of principle—don't fuck with Missus Winthrop. Another was caught humping the statue of Mister Winthrop, and she denied it to Missus Winthrop's face: another one fired. If she simply fessed up and apologized, she'd still be working. Stupid cunt." Then looking up as Mindy after he was looking at her vulva, or at least appearing to, for about 5 minutes, and realizing he used a sexist term: "No offense to your genitalia."

"None taken. But by the way. Who is Mister Winthrop?"

"I'm not at liberty to answer?"

"If he's Missus Winthrop's husband, why is she a maid too?"

"Head maid, and I'm not at liberty to discuss."

"Is that statue in the museum of him?"

"That's the rumour, but I'll neither confirm nor deny. Nice cock though. I've been tempted to play with it myself, but I dare not."

"Why the bare feet and anklets."

"Foot fetishism: though only for women. Men are required to be shod."

"Is Missus Winthrop a foot fetishist?"

"Probing question, but yes: both giving and receiving."

"Are you a foot fetishist?"

"No. Not even for men's feet. Are you a foot fetishist, Mindy?"

She didn't expect that to be tossed back.

"Ah, I don't know. I suppose I could be one, I guess."

"Situational foot fetishism" Igor guffawed.

"Speaking, objectively, you have nice feet. You look young enough that your feet hasn't been too affected by things like high heels."

"In my second last job, we could wear sandals, flip-flops, and at time barefoot."

"Sounds good."

"But here, it's required."

"Uh huh. Got a problem with that?"

"Ah no: certainly not as bad as having to expose my tits and hoo-haa."

"Don't worry about it. No one's going to **** you and men can't have sex with you unless Missus Winthrop permits it."

[pause]

"At any rate, Mindy, your supper is technically over. You have the option of sitting on a chair like normal people."

For a second or two, Mindy considered if she should: she was getting comfortable on the table.

"Okay," and she climbed down.

They chatted for more, then Igor had to go.

Mindy was getting comfortable with the nudity.

It was a few hours until bedtime at 2 PM. Mindy decided to make the best of her last few hours of sunlight by going out. She asked if she could, and of course she could—as long as she stayed naked.

Another maid passed Mindy by, fully chest covered, but first she stopped.

"So you're Mindy. I heard about you and your gigantic tits." She give them a good lookover.

"So they weren't exaggerating."

Then looking at Mindy, she said, "I'd love to one day bury my face in them!"

Mindy smiled: it was definitely an appeasement smile.

"Have a nice day, Mindy: big tittted Mindy."

Now the women were doing this? Mindy thought.

Mindy stepped outside.