Cindy Sherman: Untitled Film Still #3 (1977)

MADAME'S MAID
(by Sylvie Belli)

My mind was set on seeing her unusual, impassive face again. I cannot forget the first time I met her. I had gone to Madame's for my weekly class in Renaissance Art. I was late and I knew how bothered Madame could get at my lack of punctuality. Running upstairs, panting like a mad bull, I could see her in my mind's eye clad in her silk chemise pacing the room and cursing me with that Madame voice of hers. I did not care for this crass display of impatience. After all, this weekly visit was supposed to be for my own enlightenment, so why make it into a nerve-wracking experience.

I knocked, preparing a warm smile for her French maid. "This is taking too long," I thought, growing more irritated. Suddenly, I heard unequal footsteps and the door slowly opened. I found myself facing not the habitual Frenchy but this new chick staring at me with icy blue eye and an expression that could freeze hell over. I shuddered, but not of fear - something had enwrapped me.

After the initial shock that sent chills to my bond and nearly paralyzed me, I uttered something inaudible and stormed into Madam's room. The lesson was not profitable in the least, as I was too obsessed by the strange bird-like face at the door. Upon leaving I mean to question Madame but refrained. Will she be here next time around? Can we have another lesson tomorrow? Those were the unspoken questions. Needless to say the week went by slowly. Time can be a trickster.

Finally came the day of my lesson. I was not late this time, believe me, but early. My heart was pounding as I reached the door. Will she be here? I hesitated then knocked with impatience. The same uneven footsteps came creeping from behind the door, which opened ever so slowly. Here she was with her iceberg face and her short cropped-up hair like that of a Samurai warrior. Emboldened by her martial look, I asked, "Is Madame here yet?"

She replied in a voice that made my hair stand on end, "you are much too early, Madame is out and will not be back before six." In my haste, I had read my watch wrong. Here I was standing straight-up but about to vacillate, with an hour to kill. I must have looked pathetic because now the girl ushered my in and closed the door.

"You need a drink," she said forcibly. I could only nod. As she was walking away, I suddenly understood why I kept hearing those unequal footsteps behind the door. The girl had a limp! Well, I thought to myself. It's the same difference. I might even add to the charm. She came back with a drink. I guzzled it and noticed a slight glimmer in her eyes. What was it? What was she getting off on?

Her face remained motionless her eyes transfixed on mine and again this chill down my spine. She felt it, I was sure, and moved closer. She sat next to me on Madame's sofa. She shifted her gaze down my throat to my breast unabashedly outlined in a tight spandex top. I remained motionless struck by her persistent gaze. Her hand was traveling towards my body. Her fingers were long and thin, sickly pale and cold.

I let her fondle my nipple thru my garment, then her ghost-like face bent over me forcing me to slide on my back. She swiftly lifted my shirt with one hand pulling off my pants with the other. Staring at her still glacial face I began to lose my restrain. Her coldness was generating vitalizing heat.

I felt her cold fingers run along my crack, melting in my sultry cunt then penetrating me with fierce boldness. Her mouth on my tits, she was stroking my entire body with her free hand. With my remaining strength, I opened her kimono-like robe, which exposed her white nudity to my sight - she pressed against me. Her tongue interlaced with mine until I felt her ice melt into torrid waters, until I saw her icy eyes torched in hellish flames.