Alpha Omega M.D. – Episode #22
…Ferrell’s Folly – While the Cat’s Away…
John Ferrell’s (78 RPM) affection for Strauss comes to a scratchy end, begging attention; getting attention, diverting his attention from the balcony and Olla, who is frozen in place with an arm load of bedlinens. It takes a second or two, but he realizes that he is not alone in the house. With dress draped on his left arm, he ascends the winding staircase to speak to his maid in person.
“Would you draw me a nice hot bath, Olla? Oh—and would you hangs this on our bedroom door?”
“Yessir, Master Ferrell.” She boldly holds the dress up against her black satin uniform fancifully.
“It’s a dress fit for a queen!”
Her statement plants a seed in Ferrell, a thought that had not occurred to him. Change Martha’s hair color to black and deepen the hue of her skin and you have Princess Olla; she having a “Heinz 57″ blend of ethnicity. Her skin is quite fair, even considering her Seminole and black roots.
In fact, if she carried her breasts at a higher plane, with the aid of the newly engineered brassieres, the two women would be indistinguishable from a distance, that from a man’s eye.
Getting back to his original thought, before he began musing about what Olla’s body looks unclothed, he orders, “While I have my bath, please put on that dress for me—and let down your beautiful hair.” His musings are bleeding into his reality.
One hour into his bath, the ruminations remain unimpeded. His daydream fantasies have expanded parts of him at the thought. He has never seen Princess Olla, born Laura Bell, attired in anything other than her uniform and wonders how the satin finery of the privileged will look on her.
“Laura Bell?! Bring me a fresh towel; I seem to have gotten this one soaking wet.” He dips it into the cooling water to prove his point.
As you might think, Laura Bell arrives at the master bath looking every ounce her princess-ly designation. She even had the initiative to find high heeled, high buttoned white shoes that would match the dress. If facial makeup were applied to her face, any man would be proud to have her on his arm; whatever the occasion, cotillion or inauguration.
As a towel bearer, her garb belies an awkward gate, yet she complies out of servitudinal obligation. Aside from that commitment, she must fight her own female attraction toward her employer, having self-imposed chastity since leaving the Apolachee reservation at age 12; a female neo-slave now 20 and ready to fulfill her womanhood.
Any barriers on both sides are lowered. Troublesome as the situation is, they are spontaneously unaffected by the outside world.
“Go into the bedroom and turn down the bed.” A spell has come over him, all of his senses vacating the premises. “I will towel off.”
Alpha Omega M.D.