MY HOUSE MY RULES

A TRANSGENDER ROMANCE STORY

BY

NIKKI CRESCENT
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 COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

This book is a work of fiction. All the characters in this book are fictitious and any similarity to
any person, living or dead, is purely coincidence.
Published By Honey Wagon Books Inc.
Copyright © 2021 by Nikki Crescent
Model License Holder: Honey Hunter (Shutterstock Inc.)
Background Image License: Whiskey Boone (Shutterstock Inc.)
Cover by Fleetwood Lebowski (Honey Hut Designs Inc.)
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in
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 NAVIGATOR

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Table of Contents
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About the Author
TABLE OF CONTENTS

NAVIGATOR
-
PRETTY FEET
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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 MY HOUSE MY RULES

Kendall Baker needs help. All of the staff at her personal manor quit at the same time and she
has a big party coming up, with plenty of clients planning on attending. She'll take whatever she
can get, even Pete, the eighteen-year-old boy who shows up without a resume, desperate for
work.
What seems like a desperate situation suddenly doesn't seem so bad. Pete seems to be able to
do everything, even though he's a bit weird and doesn't seem to know boundaries. He can clean,
he can cook, he can garden, and he never seems to tire. He's the perfect fit, until Kendall catches
him dressing up in her clothes.
 CHAPTER I

I was down my butler. I can’t say I saw it coming. I came down the
stairs on that Thursday morning, still in my satin robe and Gucci slippers,
and he was standing there with his bags packed. I’ll never forget how red
his face was.
“I can’t take any more,” he said, tense all over. “You’re the worst.
You’re the biggest bitch on the planet. I can’t stand you anymore. I’ve had
enough. I’m gone!”
He’d clearly been standing there for a while, waiting for me to wake
up so he could yell at me before leaving. He looked like he had a whole
speech prepared, but all of his words left his brain as soon as he saw me. He
stuttered a bit and his face somehow turned even redder, then he turned with
his bags in hand and marched to the front door.
“You’re a horrible person, Kendall Baker!” he shouted. I didn’t say a
word. I just watched him go with a big smirk on my face. He probably
thought that he was making me feel bad, but he was just embarrassing
himself.
I walked over to the front door and watched him waddle down
towards my driver. Did he really think that I was going to let my driver take
him home after calling me a bitch? Not just any bitch, but the biggest bitch
on the planet?
He walked up to the window. Then the driver stepped out and opened
the back door for him. I waved to my driver and he looked at me. “Let him
walk, Daniel,” I said, still with a big grin on my face. I couldn’t help the
grin. My now ex-butler thought that he was screwing me over by leaving
me without any notice; he didn’t realize that I could easily have my maid
put out an ad for a new butler, and I would have someone before the end of
the day.
But my driver just stared at me, letting the ex-butler into the car.
“What are you doing, Daniel?” I said.
“I’m sorry, Miss Baker. I’m afraid I’m leaving too,” he said.
 I felt my smile disappear. “What are you talking about? You can’t
just take my car with you,” I said, starting to feel a bit vulnerable.
“I made sure all of your cars were stored away this morning. I put all
of the keys on the hooks in your driving room. I’m afraid I can’t work under
these conditions anymore. I wish you the best of luck, Miss Baker.”
“You won’t be getting a reference,” I said to Daniel, who had been
working for me for five years. When he came to me, he didn’t even have a
resume. Was he just going to start fresh with nothing? Had he lost his mind?
He could have at least given me a few weeks of notice, and then he would
at least have a resume with an amazing reference.
“Sorry Miss Baker,” he said.
I shook my head. “You’ll be replaced—easily,” I said, biting down on
the edge of my tongue. “You were a lousy driver anyway. I was just doing
you a favor. And by the way, I can see now why your wife left you, and I
don’t blame her for taking the kids with her!” I felt my blood turning hot. It
was a coup. They had this all planned out and they were trying to make this
sting as much as possible. “I’ll have Cordelia replace you all!”
And then Cordelia slipped by me with her head down.
“Where are you going?” I asked. “You can’t leave the house with
those shoes on. You look absolutely ridiculous.” She was dressed like a
peasant, in old running shoes and mom jeans and what looked like a man’s
workout sweater. I didn’t let my employees look like that on my property. It
was bad for my image. It looked like I was running a halfway house.
She turned to look back at me. “Goodbye, Miss Baker,” she said.
“You too?” I said.
“Sorry,” she said, and then she skirted off to the town-car, which
apparently wasn’t my car. And maybe it wasn’t my car. I was beginning to
remember Daniel showing up to his interview with the car. But if it was his
car, then why had I been paying for all the maintenance? Had he been using
it for personal use on the side? I would have my accountant look through
the records and then bill him for a percentage of all the bills from the past
five years.
“This is unacceptable,” I said. “None of you are getting references. If
anyone calls me about you, I’ll tell them not to hire you.”
 “Fuck you, Miss Baker!” my ex-butler shouted. I couldn’t even
remember his name. I always just called him boy because it suited him
better than whatever his name had been. And I thought boy sounded cuter.
He never seemed to mind, and it made me feel like a character in an Audrey
Hepburn movie every time I said it.
They piled into the car and zoomed off together. “Those fuckers,” I
said under my breath, even though I knew it wasn’t terribly ladylike to
curse. Nobody was around to hear me.
I had a feeling that I knew why they were angry. I made them work
through Christmas, even though they all individually asked for it off. But
what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t give everyone Christmas off.
Someone needed to clean the house and someone needed to prepare the
food and someone needed to drive me around town to do my Christmas
errands. “Why can’t you do it yourself for a few days?” my butler asked me
the week before Christmas.
They were asking for more than a few days—they were asking for a
couple of weeks. And I’d already given them their Christmas bonuses, and
they all accepted. What else is a Christmas bonus for?
And it wasn’t that easy. I had dozens of clients that I needed to host. I
had almost forty gift baskets that I needed to drop off, which I always did in
person. None of that was easy, especially with my condition. Very few
people knew, but I had a stroke when I was a teenager. Staying coordinated
was difficult. Driving for more than five minutes made my body sore, and
after ten minutes of focusing on the road I would get migraines. I didn’t like
to complain about my condition, so I hired people to work for me.
And by the way, they were being paid handsomely for the work they
did. All of them were making at least fifty grand per year, and that came
with a luxurious room, food, and access to my pool and gym and theatre
room when they weren’t working (as long as I wasn’t using it). I didn’t have
to pay them that much and I didn’t have to let them use my facilities.
I needed help more than ever around Christmas. What was the point
of hiring staff if they were all going to disappear during the busiest time of
the year? Sorry—not sorry.
I paced around my house, trying not to let the little coup get to me. It
had been a long time since I’d hired staff on my own: almost ten years. I
had to remember how to do it; and it was probably different now, with all of
the different employment services and websites that existed.
Noon rolled around. I looked out the window and noticed a few
weeds poking up between the flowers. Where was my gardener? I looked
up his number in the rolodex Cordelia left behind. I rang him three times
before he picked up and said, “I don’t work for you anymore, Miss Baker.
You’re on your own. I’ve never met anyone as rude as you in my entire—”
I hung up the phone before he could finish his unemployed sentence.
I was angry. I took a few deep breaths and then I let out a scream.
Nobody was around to hear it. I was alone in my house for the first time in
a very, very long time.
“This sucks,” I said, looking around. My house seemed emptier than
ever. I wondered if they stole anything on their way out.
I let out a deep sigh. Now I needed to hire a bunch of new
employees. And this time, I needed to find people who weren’t going to
desert me. I went up to Cordelia’s room, which was now empty, but she
didn’t bother cleaning up before leaving. There were candy wrappers on the
ground and dirty dishes on the large dresser to my left. I opened one of the
dresser drawers and found another stash of candy wrappers. “No wonder
she was such a pig,” I mumbled. She never took up my offer to use my
gym. I urged her to use it at least every week. Maybe it came off as mean,
but I knew that she was single and I was just trying to help. No man was
going to want her with that big gut. She wasn’t the cute kind of fat—she
didn’t have a big ass or big tits or nice curves—just a big gut and flabby
arms. An hour a day on a treadmill would have done her good, and was it so
wrong to tell her that? Was it really so bad to be honest with people?
Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not like I had a partner of
my own. I was alone in that house, so I probably shouldn’t have been
dolling out relationship advice.
“This sucks,” I said again. Then I went to my computer. I felt
embarrassed creating an account on a hiring website. It seemed like a task
that was below me. I’d worked hard over the years to create a well-oiled
system. I had Cordelia trained to do this sort of work for me, but now I was
reading through stupid website rules; it seemed like a such a tremendous
waste of time.
 I paid the extra money for the highlighted ad. I wanted everyone to
see my ad. Then I called up one of my favorite photographers. “Clear your
day today and come take pictures of my house. I need them for an ad.”
“I’m shooting a model in an hour,” he said.
“Call her and tell her you’ll do it another day. If you ever want my
business again, you’ll make yourself free for me.”
I felt a bit bad bossing him around, but I was his top client. Over the
years, I’d probably paid him close to a quarter million dollars. I basically
jump started his career—the least he could do was help me out while I was
in a tough position.
I had a big party coming up in just a few days. I needed staff. I
couldn’t just put out a bunch of booze in the kitchen and tell people to help
themselves. I wasn’t throwing a high school party at my parents’ house
while they were out of town. Big names were coming—as well as investors
in my various companies. They expected a certain image and I needed to
provide that image.
Richie showed up with his camera gear. “We were shooting that
model for a Vogue submission,” he said to me with a smile that I could tell
was fake.
“For Vogue, or for a Vogue submission?” I asked. “Because any idiot
can submit to Vogue.”
He looked at his feet with red, embarrassed cheeks.
“That’s what I thought,” I said. “I need pictures of the staff rooms
and the facilities. It’s part of an ad I’m putting up online. The website said
that if I’m offering housing, I need pictures of the rooms. Silly, right?”
He forced another smile. “That’s it?”
“What do you mean, that’s it? Does this sound below you or
something?”
“No, Miss Baker,” he said, tensing up. “I’ll take the pictures. Just
show me to the rooms.”
I showed him Cordelia’s room first. He stared at the candy wrappers
on the floor. “Um,” he said. “Will one of your maids come to clean that all
up? And what about the bed—it should probably be made.”
 “Just Photoshop it,” I said. “I don’t have a maid right now. That’s
why you’re here.”
He stared at me with a blank look, as if I was insane. I didn’t tell him
that cleaning up the room wasn’t so easy for me. All the bending over
would surely make me black out because of my condition. I technically had
brain damage, though I didn’t want everyone to know.
“You can Photoshop that out, right? I’ve seen you Photoshop girls’
pimples. You can surely Photoshop some candy wrappers.”
“It’s not easy. It would be easier to pick it up,” he said, staring at me.
“Whatever you prefer to do,” I said. “I’ll leave you to it. Let me
know when you’re ready to see the other rooms.”
It took him all day, and I heard him mumbling under his breath. But I
was sure that he wasn’t going to leave me like the others. He needed my
money and my work, and he owed me for jumpstarting his career. I used
him for all of my fashion websites and ads. When you searched his name on
Google, my name came up first.
So he took the pictures like a good boy and then he sent me the
edited shots later that night. And he was nice enough to make all the beds
and pick up all the garbage. “Thank you, Richie,” I said in a text message.
“You’re the sweetest photographer I know.” He didn’t reply. I could tell that
he was grumpy about missing his shoot, but that wasn’t my problem.
I posted the pictures online with my ad and then I made the ad go
live. It was late, and I was hungry. I hadn’t had a bite to eat since the night
before. So for the first time in almost fifteen years, I ordered a pizza from a
chain pizza store. I would have gotten a meal made by a professional chef,
but the three chefs I had in mind wouldn’t pick up their phones when I tried
to call, and I was too hungry to wait for them to return my calls.
It was a deluxe pizza and it was disgustingly greasy, but I ate it
anyway. I sat on my long leather couch in the living room and I stared at
one of my marble pillars. “This sucks,” I said again. Luckily, it was the last
day that I would be without help.
 CHAPTER II

I spent a total of fifteen hundred dollars on my ad, between the

photographer and all the options to boost my ad to the top of every search (I
bought every single possible ad-on, and posted the ad in every city within
one hundred miles). It was expensive, but I wanted to make sure I got the
right person for the job.
I was so desperate for new staff that I even drove to town for the first
time in almost a month. I didn’t leave my house a lot, unless I really had to
leave for work. The nearest town (where I grew up) was a total dump; the
people were rednecks and the shops all sold crap. Every second store was
an artisan, and I was pretty sure that the word ‘artisan’ just meant ‘hippie
who sells crap because they don’t have any real skills’.
The nearest city was an hour away. I went about once a month to get
a latte and to attend fashion shows. Socializing once a month was more than
enough for me. Sometimes I would send Cordelia an hour to town to get me
a latte from my favorite cafe.
I thought about making the long drive to the city to put up ads. But I
had a headache and I knew the long drive would just make it worse, so I
decided to focus my efforts on the small town where I grew up.
I put up a printed job listing on the old job board in the small town. It
was the same job board where I found the listing for my first job, when I
was thirteen years old. My parents were struggling to pay the rent so I went
out and pretended to be fourteen (the minimum working age) and got a job
cleaning bathrooms at a biker bar. It was a terrible job, being hit on by the
occasional pedophile. My boss caught onto the fact that I was underage for
the job, so he started paying me less, using my age as blackmail against me.
I hated his guts, but that job was the basis for the work ethic that would
eventually make me a millionaire.
After putting up my ad on the old board, I got back into my car and
drove home. Now, the main road was blocked because of construction.
“You’ll have to take the backroad, lady,” the construction worker yelled
from the dusty site.
 I sighed. I didn’t want to take the backroad, but I had no other option.
I turned onto the backroad and drove carefully so that the little rocks
wouldn’t chip the paint on my $250,000 car. I tried not to look left when I
passed Blue Rocks Academy, where my parents sent me for a year after
they caught me experimenting in high school. I still had nightmares about
those daily anti-gay lessons, where they told you all the terrible things that
the devil and his demons did to homosexuals in hell. It was a big price to
pay for some casual high school experimentation—something that every
girl in the world does at some point in their academic career.
I was excited to see an inbox filled with job applications… So I was
shocked when I only got a single reply, from a young eighteen-year-old
man who lived in the nearby town. “I really need a job. Can I start today by
any chance?” he said in his message. The idiot didn’t even have a resume.
Normally, I wouldn’t have bothered to reply or even finish reading his
dumb-as-hell message, but I needed someone to at least get started on
dusting before my big party.
“Come over now,” I said in a reply. “We’ll talk about the position.”
Maybe I could just hire him for the day and then fire him as soon as
someone better came along.
He showed up an hour later, on his bicycle, which he leaned up
against my fountain. He started walking towards the house. I stepped out.
“Do not leave that there,” I said. “That fountain was seven hundred
thousand dollars. Your hideous bike is rubbing rust all over that stone—
which, by the way, was imported from Italy.”
The young man looked back at his bike. “Oh. Sorry,” he said. He
grabbed his bike and wheeled it around to the side of the house, which
wasn’t much better. Lucky for him, I had no clients coming, and the wall of
aspens that had been planted two years before were finally starting to block
out the view of the closest neighbor, who was almost a half mile away. It
was unlikely anyone would see the bike, so I gave the young man a pass.
“Follow me,” I said, leading him into the house.
“Whoa,” he said. “This place is huge. It’s like a castle.”
“It’s not a castle,” I said. “It’s a manor.”
 “What’s the diff?” he said. I paused, trying to figure out what a ‘diff’
was.
“Are you still in high school?” I asked, turning to him.
“No,” he said with a big smile. “I dropped out two years ago.”
“A drop out?” I said. Now I was nervous having him in my home.
What if he stole something? Sure, I had a great insurance policy, but to have
to tell my insurer that I hired some homeless delinquent—I couldn’t think
of anything more embarrassing.
“You haven’t spent time in prison, have you?” I asked, keeping my
distance from the boy.
“No, ma’am,” he said.
“It’s not ma’am, you can call me Miss Baker.”
“Miss Baker,” he said. “They called me Mr. Baker in high school.”
“Is that your last name?” I asked.
He laughed, and then he looked into my eyes. “Oh, you’re serious?”
he said. “No. It was a different reason.”
“Okay,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Basically, I need someone who
can fill in until I find real help. This is a temporary gig, but I’ll pay you well
if you do a good job. I need the house cleaned—and that means all the little
crevices and everything. I need someone to answer my calls, but maybe I
won’t have you touching my phone—or answering the door, for that matter.
Maybe just stay hidden. If someone comes to the door, just hide somewhere
until they’re gone. Worry about cleaning the house. Just touch the cleaning
supplies. And like I said, this is temporary.”
“Sure thing, ma’am. How much money are we talking here?”
I had to bite my tongue. I desperately wanted to send him on his way,
but I really needed to get the ball rolling on cleaning. None of the cleaning
agencies would come to my manor—apparently, I was too rude to them
when they came ten years ago, and now I was on some sort of blacklist.
They said my standards were too high, and I made a single comment about
one of the maids being from Mexico. It was just a joke, but they took it very
seriously. But is it not a little bit true that all Mexican women who come to
America are only fit for cleaning bathrooms?
 “I’ll give you a hundred dollars today—maybe two hundred if you do
a tremendous job, but I don’t have high hopes. Start by getting that filthy
bicycle off of my house and out of sight, then work from the doorway, and
into the rooms that people would be most likely to venture during a big
party. Got it? I’m going to be in the office, trying to find real staff.”
“I thought the ad said that this was a full-time spot. Don’t you want
me to stick around to be your real staff?” he said.
I smiled and shook my head. “I definitely don’t want that. But please,
make the most out of today. You biked all the way here, after all. We’re
thirty miles from your town—that’s a big bike ride, even for a young man.
The cleaning stuff is just in that third door on the left, down that hallway.
I’ll be in my office.” I turned around, then I paused. “Oh, and I have many
hidden cameras around here, so please don’t get any ideas.” I didn’t actually
have any hidden cameras, but now I was thinking about getting some.
I went to my office, but I left my door open so I could keep an eye on
the front door, in case he decided to slip out with my belongings.
I posted new ads on new websites. I was still getting used to all of the
websites. I always had Cordelia make accounts for me whenever I wanted
to be on a website. She even ran my dating profile for me—even picking
out the men that seemed worthwhile. Maybe I should have done it myself,
but the stress of picking the right guy made me nauseous. It was easier to
leave it up to someone else—almost like leaving it up to fate.
I watched him scrub the lobby of my manor, and then I heard him
down the long hallway, into the kitchen. After that, the house became silent.
I tried my best to get my online errands done, but I was so distracted by that
silence. What was he up to? I didn’t want to spend the whole day watching
him clean. He wasn’t stupid enough to rip me off, was he? I had all of his
personal information, including a picture that he submitted with his original
email.
I stood up and walked through the house to find him. The lobby was
shockingly clean, and the kitchen was sparkling brighter than ever. “Boy?” I
shouted out, forgetting his name. Did he ever tell me his name? Did I even
bother to ask? It was on his original email, but now I couldn’t remember.
“Boy, where are you?”
 I walked through the house. All of the hallways were sparkling, and
the most amazing smell of lavender permeated my manor.
“Where is that young man?” I whispered. And then I turned a corner
and found him scrubbing the walls of one of the guest rooms.
“Hey there, ma’am,” he said.
“It’s Miss Baker,” I said, biting down on my tongue. “What is that
smell? I don’t think any of my cleaning products smell like that.”
“Don’t you like it?” he asked.
“I like it—but what the hell is it?” I said.
“When I was putting away my bike, I noticed that you had some
mature lavender along the side of your house. It needed to be cut back so it
could grow fuller, so I cut it back. I used the trimmings to make a fragrance,
with some rubbing alcohol.”
“Why do you know how to do that?” I asked. “And why do you
know anything about plants?”
He shrugged his shoulders. I liked the smell. It smelled so fresh.
“Well, carry on,” I said. “I’ll be in the office. Oh, by the way, what’s
your name?”
“Pete,” he said.
“Pete,” I repeated. “I’ll try to remember that.”
It was an hour later when I smelled something that wasn’t lavender. It
smelled like bacon. I paused for a moment, ignoring the odour, and then it
became stronger. I stood up and walked over to the kitchen. There was Pete,
standing by the stove, flipping bacon strips.
“What are you doing? You can’t just stop to make yourself a snack
with my food,” I said.
“It’s not for me. It’s for you,” he said. “I started the bread when I got
here. I made the mayonnaise with the eggs that were about to expire—it
seemed like a better idea than throwing them out. The arugula is from your
garden—it was also past maturity and time to be harvested. And the
tomatoes I got from your greenhouse.” He flipped the bacon onto a
sandwich and then he passed it to me. “It’ll be hot, ma’am, so be careful.”
 I stared at it. “A BLT?” I said. “It’s a bit… childish.”
“Try it,” he said.
So I tried it, and it was actually incredible. I paused as my mouth
began to water. Maybe I was just starving, or maybe the boy was actually
some sort of young genius.
I took another bite. He was standing there with a smile on his face.
“Okay,” I said. “Just clean this all up.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“It’s Miss Baker, not ma’am,” I said.
I went back to the office and finished my sandwich. He came for my
plate ten minutes later, also dropping off some fresh tea, which was a flavor
I didn’t recognize. “What is this?” I said when I saw him again.
“You had all of the ingredients in your garden to make a homemade
Earl Grey. It’s probably more fragrant than the store brand you’re used to.”
I was quiet for a moment. “Okay. Carry on.”
It was only three hours later when he came and said, “Okay, the
house is clean. What do you want me to do now?”
I didn’t believe him. Cordelia used to work all day and the house was
never clean. But I walked through the house with Pete, and sure enough, the
house was clean. It smelled amazing and I couldn’t spot a single speck of
dust or a smudge. “How did you do this?” I asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s just cleaning. It’s not hard.”
“Tell that to Cordelia,” I said.
“Who?”
“Never mind,” I said. “You did a good job. Uh, I guess you can have
the two hundred.”
“But it’s only three,” he said. “You wanted me all day, right? Can I
make you some dinner? Maybe I can iron some outfits for you—or I can do
some gardening. I’m good at that.”
“Um. Okay. Whatever. Just work until five—or whenever I told you
to work until, if you really want to keep working.”
 He worked for another four hours. He made me dinner, he weeded
the garden and watered the plants, he cleaned the kitchen again, and then I
found him ironing dresses I hadn’t worn in eight years. “Okay, Pete. You
can go home now.”
He looked up at me with puppy dog eyes. “Can I come back
tomorrow and work again?” he said.
I was silent. He looked like a vagrant, but he did a hell of a good job.
And I still didn’t have any new bites from any of my ads. “Okay, but just
tomorrow,” I said.
He smiled. “Can I stay in one of the guest rooms?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No way,” I said. “You can go home and come
back in the morning.” I was telling him to do a sixty-mile round trip on his
bicycle. How many hours of biking was that? He was in shape—maybe it
wasn’t a big deal to him.
“Okay, ma’am. No problem.”
He started towards the front door.
“But Pete,” I said. He turned around. “If you clean yourself up and
show up looking more… presentable—then maybe you can stay the night
tomorrow night.”
His face lit up. He perked up. “Really? Oh, thank you so much,
Baker. You have no idea what this means to me. I need a job so badly. This
is amazing. You won’t regret this. I’m going to go to the mall now to get an
outfit that you’ll be happy about. Seriously—thank you so much.” He
turned around and zipped out the door with more energy than when he
showed up.
I kind of hated him. He was too weird and too much of a spaz—but
he did an amazing job cleaning my house and making my meals and
trimming my plants. He was exactly the kind of hard worker that I needed,
and he was willing to work for less than any of my previous employees.
I went to bed with a smile on my face, and then I woke up to a
serious fright.
Pete was standing over me with a tray of food as I opened my eyes. I
nearly kicked him like a horse after I screamed. He jumped back, spilling
some of the coffee that was on his tray.
“What the hell are you doing in my bedroom?!” I shouted.
“I made you breakfast in bed,” he said.
“How did you get in?” I asked. “You’re lucky I’m not calling the
cops right now!”
His face turned white. “The lock on the back door is broken. I was
going to fix it today. You really shouldn’t leave a broken lock on your
door.”
“Pete, you idiot,” I said. “You’re a real idiot. I’m not paying you for
today. Get out of here. Go away. You’re done. That’s it for you.” He backed
out of the room, leaving the tray of food on the dresser. I stood up and
paced around, terrified. I looked out the window and watched him as he left
my house. “Jesus, what an idiot,” I mumbled under my breath.
I still ate the breakfast. It was delicious. It was the first time in ten
years that I had scrambled eggs—but those weren’t normal eggs. He did
something to them to make them amazing.
Then I took a long bath, staring up at the ceiling as I wondered what I
was going to do before my party, which was now just a day away. I needed
someone to serve drinks, at the very least. But there was no way I was
going to call Pete back. He was too creepy, and too dopey. I needed a real
professional. And I didn’t want to call Pete back—I couldn’t think of
anything more embarrassing.
I finished my bath and then I decided to go down to the kitchen to get
another cup of coffee, in the nude. I figured it didn’t matter if I was nude,
now that I lived in my manor alone.
So I was shocked when I saw Pete in the hallway, cleaning the floor. I
gasped and covered my pussy and my breasts. His eyes turned wide but he
didn’t look away. “What the hell are you doing here, Pete?!” I said.
“I’m cleaning!” he said.
“I told you to leave! I watched you leave!” I said.
He stared at me for a long moment. “I thought you meant your
bedroom. I went out to your garden to get more lavender. You have a lot of
mature lavender.”
 “My God, Pete, are you mentally ill?” I said. “Can you not take a
hint?”
“What hint is that, ma’am?” he said. I was sick of him calling me
ma’am. But the hallway was sparkling clean—cleaner than it had ever been.
And that lavender smell was amazing. And my stomach felt great, full of
eggs and freshly baked bread and steaming coffee.
I took a deep breath and tried to let my anger go.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said. “I really need this job. I’ll do better. I
promise.”
“Fine,” I said, shaking my head. “Just—Just act like a normal person
while you’re here. Quit being so… creepy.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“And it’s Miss—you know what? Never mind. It’s obviously not
getting through your thick skull. Just keep cleaning.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He continued to clean. I went to make some calls,
confirming attendance for my party.
“Hey Pete!” I called out. He came quickly.
“Yes?” he said.
“Do you know how to mix drinks by any chance?”
He nodded his head. “I can mix drinks that will get people drunker
than they’ve ever been. With a touch of lemon juice and a bit of sugar, you
can make someone down a whole glass of vodka without even realizing
their drinking alcohol.”
I stared blankly at him. “What about nice cocktails for a party?” I
said.
“I’m sure I can figure it out,” he said with a smile.
“That’s what you’ll be doing tomorrow night.”
 CHAPTER III

Pete worked like a horse. He never seemed to get tired. The day of
the party, he showed up at 6:00 AM to start cleaning and gardening. He
made me breakfast, lunch, and then he started preparing dinner before I
could tell him that I had a chef booked to cook for everyone. At 8:00 PM,
fourteen hours after he started the day, he started mixing drinks for the
arriving guests. He zipped around handing out cocktails to everyone, and I
even caught him doing a bit of cleaning on the side.
Maybe he was addicted to amphetamines and cocaine, or maybe he
had some sort of neurological disorder that made it so he was unable to rest.
I didn’t really care what his issue was—I was just thrilled to have someone
doing the work of three people for the price of half a person. I wasn’t about
to complain.
It was 1:30 AM when the party finally ended. “You can clean this all
up tomorrow, Pete,” I said when I saw him collecting glasses.
“It’s okay. I’ll do it now.”
“You must be exhausted,” I said.
He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m fine, ma’am. Just happy to be
useful.”
Of course I paid him extra for the day. He deserved the overtime,
seeing as he saved me hundreds of dollars by doing everything himself.
I gave him a little pat on the back and then I went off to bed. Maybe
he wasn’t so bad. Maybe I didn’t need to find a replacement. It would be
next to impossible to find someone who could do as much as he could—
though I still couldn’t have him answering my calls or interacting with my
clients. He was a bit too much of a small-town hillbilly for any human-
contact work. But he was my small-town hillbilly.
I fell asleep immediately, and then I woke up only five hours later to
a gentle knocking. “What’s going on?” I asked, rubbing my eyes. He
opened the door and walked in with a tray of food.
“Breakfast, ma’am?” he said, stopping two steps into the room.
 “Pete, it’s only six. What are you doing?”
“I thought you might be hungry,” he said.
“I want to sleep for at least four more hours, Pete. Do you have
autism by any chance?”
He stared at me for a long moment. “I don’t know anything about it,”
he said.
“Well maybe you need to get tested,” I said, rolling over. I closed my
eyes. “I’m going back to sleep. You go ahead and eat that. Don’t wake me
up again, or you’re fired—for real this time. I need four hours.”
I heard the door close. I took a deep breath and began to doze off.
But now I had a guilt swelling inside of me. Maybe I was too mean to him.
Maybe I should have just eaten the food and gone back to sleep. Maybe I
was being the ‘bitch’ that all of my ex-employees seemed to think that I
was.
I spent the next ten minutes trying to fall back asleep, but that guilt
was starting to nag at me. I wasn’t used to feeling guilty. I hated
apologizing more than anything, but now I really felt like I needed to
apologize to him. After all, I was fairly certain that he hadn’t slept in over
twenty-four hours. I was pretty sure that he worked through the night—
something that none of my employees had ever done before.
So I pulled myself out of bed. I stretched my arms into the air and
groaned with a tiny bit of a hangover. Then I started looking around the
house for him.
He wasn’t in the kitchen, so I checked the garden, but he wasn’t there
either. I thought about calling for him, but I was too tired to yell. So I just
wandered the house as my body slowly woke up.
I walked by a door and heard a shuffling inside. It was my laundry
room. Pete was inside doing laundry. I grabbed the door handle and pushed
the door open.
“Hey Pete, I’m really sorry about—” I stopped speaking as I saw
him. He looked up at me and froze.
He was wearing my clothes and putting on my makeup. On his head
was a wig from my style room. I bought a dozen wigs of different lengths
and colors, and I often used them before getting my hair styled, so I could
try out different looks before committing. “Pete?” I said with parted lips.
He remained frozen. His face was quickly turning white. He was
wearing an old blouse that I forgot I owned, along with a red checked skirt
that I used to wear a lot during the summer of 2018. In his hand was a tube
of deep red lipstick. He was giving himself the Taylor Swift look. “What
the hell are you doing in my clothes? Is this some sort of joke?”
He remained frozen, like a deer that thought he was invisible as long
as he stayed still.
“Answer me, Pete,” I said.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said in a strange, soft tone. It almost seemed
like he was trying to do a girl voice. He cleared his throat and tried again.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” Now his voice was deeper and more normal.
“Pete, you’re a man and you need to dress like one,” I said. “I said
you could use my facilities—not my clothes. Please don’t tell me you’ve
been using my toothbrush too.”
“No, ma’am,” he said.
“Are you going to tell me why the hell you’re dressed up?” I said.
He froze again, consumed by fear. I don’t think he was smart enough
to come up with a fake excuse. I let out a long sigh and shook my head.
“Whatever,” I said. “If you’re going to insist on doing it, clean
everything when you’re done. I don’t want my clothes smelling like you.
And if you rip anything, it comes out of your paycheque, and that blouse
you’re currently wearing is worth more money than I’ve paid you, so I
would be very careful if I were you.”
“I won’t do it again, ma’am,” he said. “I was just—I was fooling
around. I was just seeing something.”
“Whatever, Pete.” Had I caught one of my previous employees doing
the same thing, I would have fired them immediately. And maybe I would
have fired Pete too, but I still had that bit of guilt inside of me after turning
down his breakfast. Pete was the hardest worker I’d ever had and I didn’t
want to lose him over something ridiculous like this. If he wanted to dress
up like a girl, that was his own strange business.
 I left the room and went back to bed. I have no idea if he continued
dressing up or if he put everything away with a stomach full of shame. I
didn’t care—I was too tired to care. He wasn’t wearing clothes that were
even on trend anymore, so it wasn’t the biggest deal.
Pete didn’t strike me as a homosexual, but it did explain his knack for
gardening and cooking and preparing cocktails. Maybe he liked boys; it
made no difference to me. In fact, it was a bit relieving to think that he liked
boys, and that he wasn’t going to try to catch a glimpse of me in the shower.
I had a gay friend a long time before, but he stopped hanging out with me
because he claimed that I acted too homophobic around his friends, even
though I only ever made jokes that were supposed to be funny. I wasn’t
actually homophobic. I liked the gays just fine.
The next time I saw Pete, he was in the kitchen, making lunch. The
house was sparkling, as it had been since he arrived. I thought about
bringing up the cross-dressing incident, but I could tell that he was still
embarrassed—unable to look me in the eye.
He served me a delicious lunch, and then he walked over to clean up
the pots and pans. “The house is immaculate, Pete. You’re doing just fine,”
I said. It felt weird to compliment an employee. He was just doing his job.
He was being paid to do it, so why was I complimenting him?
“Thanks, ma’am,” he said.
“I can’t imagine there’s anything left to clean here,” I said. “Why
don’t you take the afternoon off. Hang out in the pool or something.”
“That’s okay, ma’am,” he said. “I really want to tackle the basement
today.”
“The basement?” I said. I often forgot that I even had a basement. It
was basically a dungeon down there, filled with boxes of crap that I never
touched. Most of the stuff down there was gifts from old clients. People
were always dropping off gifts, but I had use for less than a single percent
of any of it. “You can probably just throw it all away down there. I wouldn’t
even bother, if I were you. Maybe just make sure there aren’t any spiders or
rats.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
 It should have been a simple job, but Pete was overthinking it. It was
only ten minutes after he started the operation when he came upstairs with a
handful of things. “Do you want to keep any of this, ma’am?” he asked,
holding up an old hair curler and some prototype board games.
“No. It’s all trash, Pete.”
And then he came up ten minutes later. “Do you want any of this?”
Now he was holding up lawn chairs from 2008.
“No, Pete. It’s trash. Everything down there is trash.”
“We should have a yard sale,” he said.
“I’d sooner die in a fire,” I said. “Throw it all away.”
And ten minutes later, he was back. “This stuff looks important,” he
said. “You might want to keep it.” He was holding up an old DVD player
and an even older TIVO box.
I sighed. “In the trash, Pete.”
It was thirty minutes later when he showed me a box. “Do you, uh,
want me to throw this out too?”
“What is it?” I asked.
His cheeks were red. And then I recognized the box. It was from a
bachelorette party that I threw at my house for a friend, back when I still
had friends who liked hanging out with me. Everyone at the party got a big
box of sex toys. Now I was blushing too, looking at the box. “It’s garbage,”
I said.
He turned towards the door. I suddenly started to think about the last
time I had any action. It had been a while—too long. Maybe I could have
used the toys. Maybe it was time to start fooling around a little bit. It would
be easier now too, now that I only had one employee instead of four. The
house was much emptier and I had more privacy. “Wait,” I said. “Just leave
it in my room.”
I looked down at the table. He paused for a moment before turning to
head to my room. Then he continued with his basement operation.
“Pete, if there’s anything you want down there, you can have it.”
“Really, ma’am?” I said.
 “Sure. I don’t care. It’s all garbage to me. One woman’s trash is some
simple boy’s treasure.”
He smiled, and then he stopped bugging me as much throughout the
day. He only came up a few times to ask if I wanted to keep strange items,
like a tarot card set and a life-sized Chia Pet, all crap that I got for free from
clients over the years.
I urged him to use the pool when he was finished. I just wanted to see
him relax. His constant go-go-go restlessness was making me feel restless.
“Just relax, for the love of God, Pete,” I said.
“I don’t have a swimsuit, ma’am,” he said.
I sighed. “I don’t know, Pete. Put on one of mine.”
“One of yours?” he said. His face was turning red. I could tell that he
was thinking now of the embarrassing cross-dressing incident.
“Nobody will see you, Pete. It’s just to swim in. I’ll grab one that will
probably fit.” I went up to my second dressing room and grabbed him a red
one-piece with white polka dots. I paused for a moment, worried I was
emasculating him, and then I remembered that he was probably gay and
probably didn’t care. “Here you go. You know where the towels are, right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Are you sure I can’t just do some work in
the garden?”
“No. Go and swim. It’s an order. You need to relax.”
I went by the pool thirty minutes later and saw him in the bathing
suit. It actually looked pretty good on his smaller frame. That particular suit
had always fit me funny because of my large breasts, but it looked good on
his flat chest. He was wading in the water, and then he started to swim laps,
unaware that I was watching from the balcony. I couldn’t help but notice
that his legs were shaved, making me think that the cross-dressing thing
was more than just a one-time incident.
I didn’t love the thought of him wearing my clothes when I wasn’t
around, but if that’s what kept him happy, then I could live with it. I needed
him around, after all.
While he was swimming, I slipped into my room and opened that old
red box. There were six dildos inside: two vibrators, one strap-on, two hard
plastic shafts, and one pink floppy thing, which was supposed to be a
flaccid cock—I’m not sure why any woman would want to play with a
flaccid cock.
I grabbed one of the vibrators and leaned back. I pressed the tip
against my clit and let it buzz. It felt nice. I took a deep breath and pushed it
harder against my clit. Then I grabbed one of the thick plastic shafts and
pushed it into my hole. It was the first time in a very, very long time that I
was masturbating.
I moaned. A gush of warm fluid fell out of me. I pulled my knees up
and bit down on my bottom lip. In my mind, I imagined a thick hunk
bending me over, pinning my arms down on a bed so I couldn’t move. He
pressed his giant cock inside of me and I could feel it throbbing. Then he
gently began to thrust. I did the same with the dildo in my hand.
More fluid gushed out of me. “Shit,” I moaned, wondering why I
hadn’t gone to the basement to get those toys sooner.
I began to pump the toy in and out of my hole. Then I opened my
eyes and gasped as I saw Pete, in the red one-piece, standing in my
doorway. His eyes were wide. “I’m so sorry, ma’am,” he said.
“Get out!” I said.
He jumped back and slammed the door, leaving me with a pounding
heart.
I opened my mouth to scream ‘You’re fired!’, but I stopped myself. I
hated how much I needed him. I hated how useful he was. He was such an
idiot. I don’t think I’d ever met a bigger idiot in my life. Why did he have
to be so good at cooking and cleaning and gardening?
“What the hell do you want, Pete?” I called out.
He was still on the other side of the door. “Um,” he said. “I noticed
the pool’s main filter hasn’t been changed in a while. I was wondering if
you want me to change it out.”
“I don’t care, Pete! Do whatever the hell you want.”
“Well, it means draining the pool and then filling it up again, so you
won’t be able to use it until tomorrow afternoon.”
 “I don’t care!” I shouted, feeling more vulnerable than ever. Did he
see everything? Did he see the toy pushing in and out of my cunt? Did he
see the fluid gushing out of me? How long had he been standing there?
That embarrassment just wouldn’t go away. I went downstair to pour
myself a drink, hoping it would help—but now I felt sick with humiliation.
Nobody had ever seen me masturbating before. Now I was stuck in a house
with a young man who walked in on me pleasuring myself. God, I was so
embarrassed. How pathetic did I look? I was a grown woman—thirty-five
years old. I should have been with a man, but instead I was alone with a box
of dildos.
Pete wasn’t able to make eye-contact with me, even when he was
serving me my late-night tea. He didn’t mention the incident. And maybe he
felt the same way after I walked in on him dressed up in my clothes.
I kept drinking, long after he went to his bedroom for the night. I
stared at myself in the mirror. Maybe it was time to start looking for a man
again. Maybe my loneliness was starting to take a toll of me. I couldn’t help
but notice that people seemed to hate me more and more as the years went
by. I was probably getting a bit more bitter and jaded. I definitely found
people to be less and less tolerable—but maybe that was just my own
jealousy, seeing people happy together all the time while I was stuck alone
in my big manor.
It wasn’t fair though. Most men had no interest in being with me
because I made more money than them. No guy wants to make less than his
partner. And I was a busy woman. I had a lot of clients to keep happy—and
maybe that was a turn off too. Maybe I was just destined to be alone
forever. Maybe I was destined to be stuck in that big house with Pete, the
small-town idiot who liked to wear my clothes.
I had another strong drink.
Maybe I was being hard on him. I always called him an idiot, but he
was good to me. He was always going above and beyond for me, and I was
always calling him names. He didn’t deserve to be called names, even if he
was into weird shit. I felt bad for him. Why did I feel so bad for him?
I looked over at my box of dildos. Maybe I could give him something
special. Maybe I was drunk. No—he deserved something special.
 I got up and nearly fell as I walked over to my closer. I was definitely
drunk. I took my clothes off and changed into some expensive lingerie. I
never got to wear that lingerie. I never had a man to wear it with. It felt nice
on my body, hugging my curves with all the little straps. Then I grabbed the
strap-on dildo and fastened it around my hips. I swayed from side to side,
watching that big plastic cock slap my thighs. I giggled and then I almost
stumbled again.
I was too drunk. I probably needed to stop myself and drink some
water. But Pete deserved a treat.
I stumbled down the hallway towards his bedroom. I didn’t bother
knocking on the door. I let myself in, giving him a taste of his own
stupidity. “Pete,” I said. “Wake up.”
He sat up in his bed. I turned on the light. He covered his eyes.
“What is it, ma’am?” he said.
“Get dressed—wear whatever you want,” I said. “And do your
makeup, but don’t take long. You have fifteen minutes.”
“What are you talking about ma’am?”
I let a small burp slip. “Excuse me,” I said, giggling. “Get dolled up.
Fifteen minutes.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. That’s okay. I think I’ll go to sleep.”
“No,” I said. “It’s an order. You have fifteen minutes to get dressed
up for me. Did I say that it’s an order, because it’s an order.”
He started blankly at me for a moment before standing up. He skirted
by me while staring at the floor. He left the room, leaving me alone. I sat
down on the edge of his bed, then I fell onto my back. I yawned and began
to doze off. I turned my head to the side as my eyes began to close, and then
I saw my erect cock: the plastic dildo standing straight up, as if I was a
man. I giggled, and then I let my eyes close. The next thing I knew, I was
being nudged.
I opened my eyes. “Huh? What is it?” I said, looking around.
There was a girl standing over me. She had a cute blonde bob and
thick eyeliner around her eyes. Her lips were red and plump. “Who are
you?” I asked.
 “You asked me to get dressed up, ma’am,” she said with a slightly off
voice. What was off about that voice?
“I did?” I said.
“Yes, ma’am,” she said. She talked like Pete, saying ma’am with
almost every sentence. And then I remembered everything: she was Pete,
and I was still drunk. I started laughing. I looked down at my strap-on cock
and saw that it was still erect in the air. “You look cute, Pete,” I said. “Now
suck my cock.”
“What, ma’am?” she said.
“I said, suck my cock. I know you want it.”
“I don’t really want to do that,” she said.
“Do it.”
She paused and then she sunk down between my legs, opening her
mouth around my dildo. She pressed her face down and began to suck,
bobbing her head up and down. I couldn’t feel anything, of course, but I
played along. I grabbed my breasts and squeezed them, tilting my head
back and moaning. “Oh, Peyton, that feels so good.” I squeezed my breasts
hard and moaned loudly. “Suck me with your whore mouth.”
I looked down and saw that her cheeks were dark red. She was
embarrassed, but I had a feeling she liked it. “Keep sucking, slut.” She kept
sucking.
I giggled. “Consider this punishment for wearing my clothes,” I said.
“Yes, ma’am,” she said, muffled by my cock. She sounded a bit
disturbed, as if this was actually a punishment and not actually something
that she was all that into. Was I being mean again? Was I humiliating her
instead of giving her a treat?
“Do you like it when I call you Peyton?” I asked.
She didn’t respond.
“Answer me, you dumb slut,” I said. I could still feel that vodka
pulsing through my veins.
“Yes, ma’am,” she said.
“Call me Kendall,” I said.
 “Yes, Kendall.”
“Roll over onto your tummy, Peyton. You need to be punished like a
proper slut.” She rolled over, off of me. Then I stumbled up to my feet. I
felt dizzy, and a bit worried I was going to lose the contents of my stomach.
I paused for a moment until everything settled inside of me. Then I looked
down at Peyton. She had a great body. She was wearing one of my sluttier
dresses: a tight red number with a tiny skirt and no back. I put my hands on
her butt and caressed up and down before pulling up her skirt to reveal her
panties. “You’ve got a tight ass.” Then I remembered that she was only
eighteen.
“Thank you, Kendall,” she said.
I paused for a moment. “Go back to ma’am. I liked that better.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said. I tugged down her panties so they were
around her thighs. Then I climbed up, planting my knees next to her legs
and pressing my plastic erection between her butt cheeks. That cock was
slick with her saliva. I giggled. “Now you be a good slut and take all of it,
okay?” I said.
She was silent.
“Answer me, whore,” I said.
“Yes, ma’am,” she said.
I used my hands to pry her butt cheeks apart, revealing that tight,
puckering hole. I spat on it, even though my cock was already well-
lubricated. Then I pressed my tip against the hole. Her body became tense.
“Relax, whore.” She took a deep breath, then I started to push the toy into
her body. She groaned. I giggled. I kept pushing until I penetrated her, then
I pushed some more. I sunk that shaft deep into her rectum, stretching her
hole wide.
“Ouch,” she said, clutching the bed sheets.
“Don’t pretend like it hurts,” I said, slapping her on the ass. “You be
a good girl and stay quiet.”
“Okay,” she whimpered.
I pushed in deeper and she clutched the bed sheets tighter. I had to
admit: she looked cute in that outfit—cuter than I ever looked in it. It
wasn’t fair: she had the perfect body. She was small and curvy, with long
legs and a big tush. She looked like a model; I should have sent her over to
Ritchie for a Vogue submission shoot.
“Relax, Peyton,” I said, feeling her clenching my shaft, stopping me
from going any deeper. She relaxed and I pushed in another two inches.
Now I had eight inches inside of her. I giggled again. “How does that feel,
my sweet little whore?”
“Good,” she said with a soft whimper.
“I knew it,” I said. Then I started pumping, holding her down by
pressing on her lower back. She started moaning and clenching, but now
her clenching was stopping nothing. I couldn’t stop giggling. There was
something so funny about her being dominated and humiliated like that. I
still suspected that she liked it more than she’d ever liked anything before—
she just wasn’t admitting it.
I kept pumping: thrusting hard and plunging deep. Her legs began to
tremble. I slapped her on the bum, leaving a red mark, and then I did it
again. “Take it, slut,” I said. I kept pumping. Then I grabbed a pillow and
took off the pillowcase. It was something a guy did with me once, when I
was young, and I loved it. I pulled the pillowcase around her throat and then
I pulled back, making her head tilt back as I gently blocked her airway. She
gasped for air, so I pulled harder as I thrusted harder into her body.
“Oh God,” she muttered, unable to breathe.
“Come for me, beautiful,” I said, thrusting hard. I could feel sweat
forming on my forehead and the back of my neck. I pumped harder and
harder, and then I looked over and saw that her face was starting to turn
purple. Maybe I was getting carried away. Maybe I needed to stop.
I let go suddenly and stepped back, slipping my fake cock out from
her body. She was limp for a long moment. “Are—Are you okay?” I asked,
worried I just killed her.
She managed to nod her head.
“Roll over,” I said.
She was still for a long moment.
 “Roll over, Peyton,” I said. Finally, she rolled, revealing a giant wet
spot between her legs. “Ew. Did you piss in my dress?”
She shook her head.
“What is that then?” I asked.
Her cheeks turned dark red and that’s when I realized that I made her
come in the dress.
“Oh,” I said, biting down on the edge of my tongue. “I see. Uh… I
guess you can clean yourself up now. Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” she said gently.
“Okay. Goodnight,” I said. I backed out of the room, starting to feel
sober. I was quickly realizing what I’d done. I definitely crossed a line. I
basically forced my employee to dress up like a girl and put out for me. I
mean—she could have said no. She knew that I was drunk, and she even
found me passed out on her bed—but she woke me up anyway.
I crawled into my bed, starting to feel sick: the beginning of a bad
hangover. And to make it worse, I felt guilty. I felt naughty and wrong.
Hopefully Pete liked it. Hopefully it wasn’t something that would make him
quit, leaving me alone once again in that big, lonely manor.
 CHAPTER IV

He didn’t look at me when he walked into the kitchen the next

morning. He didn’t say anything either. It was horribly awkward. Even
though I couldn’t remember every little detail, I knew that what I did was
wrong. I wished he would have turned me down. I wished he would have
taken me to my room and put me back in my bed so I could go to sleep.
Why did he let me fool around with him? Did he think that he had to
because I was his boss?
“What do you have planned for today?” I asked. “There isn’t much to
clean and the garden is looking better than ever.”
“I’m going to try to create an automatic watering system for your
plants. I found a bunch of PVC pipe and sprinkler heads, so I assume that
your last gardener was planning to do the same thing.” He still wouldn’t
look at me.
“Do you know how to do that stuff?” I asked.
“It’s pretty straight forward,” he said.
I watched him as he cleaned the breakfast dishes. “Get me a cup of
coffee—something stronger than this,” I said.
He paused without looking back at me. Was he waiting for me to say
please? I wasn’t paying him two hundred dollars per day so that I could say
please like I was begging him. But I’d seen that pause before. It was the
same way my past employees would pause whenever I was getting under
their skin.
So I bit my tongue and forced a smile. “Please,” I said, trying hard to
make it sound genuine.
“Yes, Miss Baker,” he said. He went to the coffee maker and changed
the settings before starting a new cup.
“I can’t be around the coffee machine. The humming hurts my head,”
I said.
“It’s definitely a louder unit,” he said.
“I had a stroke.”
 He turned to look at me. “A stroke?” he said.
I nodded my head. “When I was a teenager. I had a stroke while I
was walking to school. I fell down and hit my head and then I spent three
weeks in a hospital. I had to relearn how to walk, and they told me I could
have another stroke at any moment. Loud noises give me terrible
headaches. Certain smells make me sick. I still struggle to walk properly
sometimes, as if I can’t remember how to do it. If I try to bend over, there’s
a chance that I’ll fall down.”
“Are you serious?” he asked.
“Yes. But I haven’t told many people, so please don’t go telling
anyone—especially my clients. I don’t want their pity—and I don’t want
your pity either.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“I’m lucky to be alive. And if I want to stay alive, I have to be careful
with certain things. So that’s the main reason that I don’t do my own
cleaning or cooking. It’s just safer. That and I’m obviously busy with my
client work.”
“I understand,” he said.
I stared at him for a long moment. “Do you like my clothes?” I
asked.
He stared back. Then he shook his head. “I was just trying something
out. It was just a curiosity.”
“What does that mean? Who just tries out cross dressing?” I asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, that TV in my room has all those
channels. At home, we don’t have a TV or internet. It’s too expensive. So I
was going through the channels, and there was this show where they take
men off the street and dress them up like girls. I don’t really know what the
point of the show is, but there was a fellow that looked like me and they
really made him look like a girl. So I couldn’t help but wonder if I could
look like a girl.”
“And what do you think? Do you think you looked like a girl?” I
asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Not really,” he said.
 “Well, I thought you looked pretty good,” I said. “I mean—you could
use a bit of work. I would use less eye shadow and less eyeliner. Maybe put
a bit of highlight on your cheekbones, and then contour your jaw a tiny bit
—that would go a long way.”
“Okay, ma’am,” he said.
“Go get the makeup now. Try it,” I said.
“What?” His face was turning white.
“Now I’m curious, and I have nothing to do today. So I want to see
what it looks like when you do it right. Get the makeup, and grab that
blonde bob—it looked right on you.”
“I don’t know, ma’am,” he said.
“Just do it. You were curious, now let’s settle that curiosity.”
He paused again before going to fetch the makeup. Then he set it all
up on the table and sat next to me. He started to doll himself up. “You’re
too heavy with the brush. Light swipes,” I said.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. He needed a lot of direction. I was shocked
that he made himself look so convincing the night before with these heavy-
handed techniques.
We probably spent an hour at that table. I taught him to properly fill
in his eyebrows and then I taught him how to contour like a model (I used
to do a bit of modelling as a teenager). He was pretty good at blending, and
he had a careful hand with the eyeliner. Once he had that bob on his head,
he looked like a proper girl.
“Perfect,” I said. “Now let’s try on different outfits.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. I brought him up to my main closet, where I
kept my best clothes. I made him try on a number of different outfits until
we found the perfect one: a pretty pink dress with a pleated skirt.
“Cute,” I said. “Do a little spin.”
He spun around, making the skirt lift into the air.
“What do you think?” I said.
“It’s fine, ma’am.”
“Do you like it or not?”
 He shrugged his shoulders.
“Just give me an answer, you idiot,” I said.
“I don’t know, ma’am. It feels weird.”
“Well spend the day in it. Clean my house and cook my meals like
this. See how you feel at the end of the day.”
I watched as his face turned that familiar dark shade of red.
“Oh, don’t get all humiliated on me. Just try it out. I’m not judging.”
So he got started, cleaning the manor in the little pink outfit. I
watched for a while, trying to think of ways to make him look more
feminine—but he already looked shockingly girly.
After a while, I went to my office. I started catching up on some
work, and then my phone rang. It was Ritchie. “What is it, Ritchie?” I said.
“I have this model that wants to do a shoot today. She has a million
followers on Instagram.”
“So what? You want a cookie or something, Ritchie? You think I give
a damn about Instagram?”
“No, Miss Baker. I was just hoping that I could maybe use your
house for the shoot. It has the perfect look that we’re going for. I promise
we’ll stay out of your way.”
I was silent for a moment, thinking about how annoying it would be
to have some ditsy Instagram whore prancing around my house in some
skimpy outfit.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I knew it was out of line to ask—I don’t know
what I was thinking. It’s okay, we’ll find somewhere else. I hope that I
didn’t put any pressure on you.”
“It’s fine, Ritchie. Just shoot her here. I don’t care. Do me a favor—if
you’re going to have sex with her, bring her back to your own house.”
He laughed. “Seriously? Okay—thank you so much. This means so
much to me. You’re the best, Miss Baker.”
“You can call me Kendall, Ritchie. You’ve known me for long
enough.”
 He was silent for a moment. “Okay. Thank you, Kendall. This means
a lot to me. We’ll be over in an hour or so.”
I hung up and went back to work, answering more emails.
“I’m just pulling up,” Ritchie’s text message said an hour later. I
looked over at my video feed of my front gate and saw his car pulling in. I
could see the young blonde model in his passenger seat, looking left and
right at my property. She looked particularly dumb but perfect for a
magazine submission. I rolled my eyes and turned my attention back to my
computer screen. Then Pete poked his head into the room and I realized that
he was still dolled up in a girly outfit and makeup and a wig. He was still a
girl.
I felt my face turning white. “Can I make you lunch, ma’am?” she
asked.
I stared at her for a long moment, realizing she was about to be very
embarrassed. I wanted to tell her to go and get changed, but it seemed too
late. I didn’t want Ritchie to see my house empty and without staff—I
didn’t even want his model to see that I was alone like some nasty old
woman.
“Lunch would be great,” I said.
She smiled and nodded her head. She turned to head towards the
kitchen.
“Wait,” I said. I stared at her for a moment. She really did look like a
girl. I couldn’t help but wonder if anyone would be able to tell the
difference. Maybe her best bet was to pretend to be a woman, then nobody
would think I had some cross-dressing weirdo in my home. “I have guests
showing up in a minute. I need you to answer the door and let them in, and
then make lunch for three—not just me.”
I watched as her face turned white and her lips parted. “Excuse me?”
she said. The doorbell rang.
“That’s them. Please don’t keep them waiting. And don’t let them
know that you’re really a boy. That would be embarrassing for both of us.”
I smiled and turned back to my work.
I couldn’t help but smirk as I sat there, listening as she walked
towards the door. It was kind of funny, teasing her like this. I knew that she
was embarrassed and overwhelmed, but that just made it more entertaining.
I was curious to see if Ritchie—a photographer who specialized in taking
pictures of girls—could tell that Pete wasn’t actually a girl.
“You must be Kendall’s new maid,” I heard Ritchie say. I couldn’t
hear Pete’s reply. If she was talking, she was talking quietly.
I watched Pete zip by with small, quick steps. A minute later, Ritchie
poked his head into my office. “What’s your new maid’s name?” he asked
with a big grin. My heart fluttered down into my stomach. Could he tell that
she wasn’t actually a woman?
“Peyton,” I said softly with a little smile.
“She’s cute,” he said. “Wouldn’t mind getting some photos of her one
day. Does she model at all?”
I couldn’t tell if he was being serious at first, and then I realized that
smirk was actually the smirk of a teen boy who just talked to a girl for the
first time. Not only did he have no idea that Pete wasn’t actually a girl
named Peyton, he had the hots for her.
I did my best not to laugh. “I’ll check with her and maybe I can find
an opening in her schedule for you.” It was very hard not to laugh, thinking
of Peyton dolled up and posing for Ritchie. Maybe Peyton would be into it.
Maybe she would like the excuse to put on some skimpy outfits. Or maybe
it would be absolute torture for her and amazing entertainment for me.
“She’ll fix you and your model some lunch,” I said.
“That sounds wonderful,” Ritchie said. “I’m going to start setting up.
I hope you don’t mind; my model is just checking out your garden.”
I did mind, but I wasn’t in the mood to make a big deal out of it. I
couldn’t understand why a complete stranger would feel comfortable
wandering through someone’s private property without permission. “Okay,”
I said.
Ritchie smiled and then he went away to set up his lights. I kept an
eye on my security monitor, watching to make sure that model wasn’t going
to try to steal any of my flowers. They were looking better than ever, and I
didn’t need anyone whimsically plucking them.
Fifteen minutes later, Peyton came back with a large tray of food. I
watched as she held the tray out for Ritchie, and then she turned to come to
me. As she turned, Ritchie looked down to inspect her ass. I snickered.
Then I remembered that Ritchie had a diverse portfolio, which included
nude photoshoots for magazines like Playboy. I imagined him shooting
Peyton. I imaged him telling Peyton to take her panties off, and then I
imagined Ritchie seeing her penis. I could perfectly picture his shock and
horror, and it was hilarious.
“Why are you laughing, ma’am,” Peyton said, still with red,
embarrassed cheeks.
“No reason,” I said. “Lunch looks great. Thanks Peyton.”
“My pleasure, ma’am,” she said before turning away. And now I
found myself looking at her tush. She had a pretty good tush considering
she was actually a boy. I guess I couldn’t blame Ritchie for staring at it. It
had a nice bounce to it, and it was perfectly round.
Ritchie checked it out again as she went by, back to the kitchen to
clean up the dishes.
It was twenty minutes later when I saw Ritchie on my security
monitor, looking around the garden for his model. He searched for a good
fifteen minutes before taking his phone out to make a call. Then he showed
up at my office door. “You don’t happen to know where my model is, do
you?”
“You lost your model, Ritchie?” I asked.
His face was dark red. He bit his lip and shrugged his shoulders. I
checked all of the exterior cameras. I didn’t have any inside, so I had to
help him look around. “She’s not answering her phone.”
I sighed at the thought of some dumb girl snooping through my
house. Then I had the idea of checking the recordings outside. We went to
my office and went through the last hour of footage at 5x speed. Finally, we
found her leaving the property and getting into a car at the street. “What the
hell?” Ritchie said. “She left?”
“What’s wrong with her?” I asked.
“I don’t know. This happens from time to time. Models get cold
feet.” He sighed and shook his head. “I’m so sorry.”
 “I don’t care. It doesn’t affect me.” I turned the footage off and went
back to my desk. But Ritchie continued to linger. “What is it, Ritchie?” I
asked after a minute. “Why aren’t you taking down your lights.”
“Well,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “I thought that
maybe, since I’m set up, I could shoot your maid.”
I looked up at him. He was smiling big, showing lots of teeth.
“You’re joking, right?” I said, once again trying not to laugh. I tried hard,
but it was impossible to hold back.
“I mean, I’m used to working with non-models. I’m sure I can work
with her to get something—even just one picture to submit to some dinky
magazine. If you think it’s inappropriate, I totally understand. In fact,
pretend like I never asked. I’ll just take everything down. It’s not a big
deal.”
“No—please, shoot her. As long as you don’t mind me watching—I
don’t think it’s something I want to miss.”
“Really?” he said. His eyes lit up.
“Yes. Please. It would be my pleasure. I want nothing else than for
you to shoot Peyton in my grand foyer.”
He nodded his head. “Okay, great. Maybe you can go make the
proposition for me, and then I’ll be ready whenever she’s ready.”
“I will go do that right now.”
I laughed the whole way to the kitchen, and then I managed to make
a straight face once I was standing in front of Peyton. “Peyton,” I said. “I
have an unusual task for you, but it’s very important. Our good friend’s
model dropped out at the last minute and now he needs someone to pose in
a few outfits. So you can put a pause on cleaning up the lunch dishes and
get back to that later.”
She stood with parted lips and frightened eyes, staring at me as if she
was waiting for me to tell her that I was joking. But I wasn’t joking. “Go
on. He’s waiting.”
Ritchie was now standing twenty feet behind her. She turned around
and saw him, and then I finally had a chance to let out a quiet laugh into the
palm of my hand. Now Ritchie was showing Peyton the outfits he brought
and they were all perfectly skimpy. This was going to be a blast.
 CHAPTER V

I honestly thought that the photoshoot was going to be much more

embarrassing than it was. It was perfectly embarrassing for the first fifteen
minutes, as Peyton tried to pose for the professional photographer as I
watched from the sidelines. But then, as they moved around the room and
tried more shots, Peyton started to relax, and it wasn’t long before she
actually started posing properly, as if it was something she’d done before.
And I couldn’t help but wonder if it was something she’d done
before. After thirty minutes in front of the camera, she was a natural. She
was thriving in front of that camera. She knew just how to seduce the lens,
and how to bend her body to show off all of her curves—curves I didn’t
even know that she had. At one point I even started feeling embarrassed.
The shoot was going too well. Ritchie seemed to happy.
Even when she left and came back in one of the tinier outfits—which
was bordering on being lingerie—she still seemed comfortable, though a bit
rosy in the cheeks.
She was looking through Ritchie’s suitcase of outfits when Ritchie
said, “I think we’ve got enough. I have over a thousand shots here.”
She looked up, almost looking disappointed that it was over.
“Really?” she asked.
“Yeah. It will take me days to grade all these shots. I’m sure we can
get at least a few of them into a decent magazine. These are great. I’ll get
Miss Baker to shoot me your contact info.” He started taking down his
lights while Peyton stood still and quiet.
“Go get changed so Ritchie can have his outfit back, Peyton,” I said.
She looked at me, looking like a fragile little doe.
“It’s fine,” Ritchie said. “I don’t need the outfits. Once I’ve shot
them, I’m done with them. I usually just let my models keep the outfits as a
bonus.” He smiled.
Twenty minutes later, he was gone, and Peyton was still lingering.
“Why aren’t you going back to work, Peyton?” I asked.
 She looked at me with those wide eyes. It was obvious that there was
something profound going through her head, something she just couldn’t
wrap her head around. “Oh,” she said. “Right. I’ll make some dinner. Sorry,
ma’am.”
She stayed in her outfit, maybe not sure if she was allowed to change,
or maybe she just didn’t want to. I had a hunch that she was thriving in her
female persona. I had a feeling that she liked being Peyton more than she
liked being Pete.
Ritchie sent me a few of her photos later that evening. “These are just
the first couple I’ve gotten to. Your girl is a natural,” he said.
And the photos were quite stunning. I couldn’t believe I was staring
at Peyton—at Pete, the dopey, poor young man who showed up on my
doorstep just days earlier.
“I’m all done for the day, ma’am,” Peyton said from my office
doorway. “You should probably stop working. You’ve been in front of that
computer all day. It’s not good for your healthy, you know.”
“Thanks, Peyton. Why don’t you go get changed? Feel free to relax
by the pool or use the theatre room. I’m going to keep working. I still have
lots to do.”
“Okay, ma’am,” she said before turning away. I kept looking at those
photos.
I just couldn’t believe those photos. I couldn’t believe how
comfortable Peyton looked in all of them. But why was I still calling her
Peyton—even in my head? She was Pete. She was a young man that I was
forcing to dress like a girl. But why? Why was I torturing the poor young
man? Did I really think that he liked it, or was I just being a bully and
justifying it with the lie of good intentions?
I ended up staying up late, staring at my computer screen. I was
trying to get work done, but I couldn’t stop going back to those photos,
finding myself in that strange conundrum.
She was cute. She made a good girl. Staring at those photos of her in
that one skimpy pink dress, I could feel my pussy starting to get wet. I
reached down and gently rubbed my clit through my panties.
 I wasn’t a lesbian—no, it was wrong to be a lesbian; that’s what my
parents always said. That’s what they told me when they caught me kissing
my best friend in the basement. “You’re just experimenting, Kendall.
There’s nothing wrong with experimenting, but you’d better stop before it
turns into bad ideas in your head. You need a man. You’re supposed to be
with a man.”
And I liked men. I liked the thought of muscles sometimes—and I
usually liked the thought of a nice cock. But whenever I reached down to
rub my pussy, I couldn’t fight away images of girls. I always just told
myself that it was a matter of envy. I liked pretty women out of respect, not
out of lust. I wanted to be a pretty woman and I wanted men to think of me
the way that I thought of women.
Or maybe I was just confused. No—I wasn’t confused. I was a
straight woman, and that’s all there was to it. But Peyton wasn’t a woman. I
could look at those photos and breathe knowing that I was technically
looking at a man, right?
My heart skipped a beat. I closed my computer screen and went to
my room. I pulled that box out from under my bed and looked for a
particular dildo that I had my eye on a few nights before. But that dildo was
gone. Where did it go? Did I take it out from that box?
I looked under my bed and then I began looking through my drawers.
How could I misplace something I never used? I wanted that particular
dildo, with a built-in vibrator. It was perfectly thick for my pussy. The
others were all shaped funny or too small. I needed that big dildo.
I paused as I remembered Peyton cleaning my room earlier in the
day. Did she take my dildo? Was she using it? Was she putting my sex toy
into her own bum?
I went down the long hallway and down the stairs to Peyton’s room.
The light was on inside. I crept up to the door and put my ear against it. I
could hear a gentle humming: the humming of a vibrator. After a moment I
heard a moan.
An anger surged through me. She stole my vibrator and now she was
sticking it in her bum! Was she planning on secretly returning it without me
noticing? Even clean, I didn’t want some used toy going into my snatch. I
grabbed the door handle and threw the door open.
 I stepped into the room and saw her frozen on the bed, dressed in my
lingerie, on her back with her knees in the air and my vibrating dildo in her
ass.
“Miss Baker,” she said with a pale face.
“Explain yourself,” I said, clenching my hand into a fist as I pressed
my lips thin. I took a deep breath. She’d crossed a serious line.
“I—I’m sorry,” she said. “I just—I was curious. I saw it there under
your bed when I was cleaning. And I found the lingerie. And—I’m so
sorry.”
I opened my mouth to fire her, but then she beat me to the punch.
“Please don’t fire me,” she said. “I need this job. This is all I have. I’m
really so sorry. I couldn’t help myself. There’s something wrong with me—
but I need this job. It won’t happen again. I promise!”
I shook my head, still wanting to yell ‘You’re fired!’, but something
was stopping me. She had a different wig on: a short blond wig with
straight bangs. The bangs looked stunning on her. And she had her mascara
just right: nice and thick and hard to look away from.
“Roll over,” I said gently.
She stared at me. “Do it now,” I said.
So she rolled onto her stomach. I walked over and looked down at
her soft, young body. That bum was perfect—no man should have a bum
like that. “Now roll onto your stomach.”
She rolled onto her stomach. Now I could see the erect bulge in her
lingerie. She was staring at me with scared eyes. I reached down, slipping
my fingers into the lingerie. I grabbed that warm shaft and I pulled it out
into the open. My heart fluttered again. I needed that reminder that I was
straight. I liked the cock. I wanted to squeeze it and stroke it and suck it. I
wasn’t a lesbian. But then why was I also so captivated by the rest of her
body? Why did I love seeing her in that lingerie? I took a deep breath. I
clutched that cock and gently pulled back, pulling her foreskin off of her
round tip. I bit down on my lip.
“What are you doing, ma’am?” she asked.
 “Shut up,” I said. I loved the feeling of it throbbing in my hand. I
picked up the dildo from the bed and handed it to her. “Fuck yourself with
this.”
She was frozen for a long moment. “I really am sorry, ma’am,” she
said with a quivering bottom lip.
“I know. Just be quiet,” I said. “Put it in your ass and pump it.”
She followed the command, penetrating herself with the toy. She
groaned and squirmed, biting her lip until the toy was deep in her ass. I
reached down and turned on the vibrator, making her tense up. A small
moan escaped her lips. “Go ahead,” I said. “Don’t just sit there.”
She began to pump the toy in and out. I watched her amazing
feminine body as she squirmed and moaned. I reached down and caressed
her chest, which was being helped by some silicone pads, which felt almost
like the real thing. “Don’t stop,” I said.
She kept sodomizing herself for my viewing pleasure. I could feel a
dampness in my panties. I was so wet that it almost felt like I’d peed
myself. I reached under my dress and slid my panties down. Then I grabbed
Peyton’s shaft and stood it upright before climbing up on the bed. “Don’t
stop,” I said again as she paused. So she kept plunging herself as I squatted
down on her tall erection. It went in easily into my tight cunt. I closed my
eyes and took a deep breath.
Was I relieved to feel a warm cock inside of me? I had no idea. My
head was swirling with confusion. I couldn’t be a lesbian, but it seemed
hard to believe that I was properly straight now, as I couldn’t look away
from her girly body.
I started to bounce up and down. Euphoria quickly grew inside of
me. I wasn’t drunk now. I hadn’t had a single drink, and neither had she. We
were both sober, fooling around in the most inappropriate way possible. I
fell forward and pressed my hands on her breasts. I squeezed and she
moaned. I kept bouncing. I could feel her hand below me, pushing that fake
cock in and out of her body while I hopped on top of her. The pleasure was
too intense to handle. I started screaming, then I let out a warm gush all
over her soft body. She didn’t seem to mind, so I kept bouncing.
 I clutched my hand around her throat and looked into her eyes. “Look
at me,” I said so she would open her eyes. I loved how she had her makeup
done. I loved how stunning her eyes were. I loved how perfectly feminine
her body was. And I loved that she had a cock. Maybe there was something
wrong with me. Maybe I was crazy—or maybe I was a lesbian. Maybe I
couldn’t choose between men and women and that’s why I was single and
alone in that giant manor.
“Come inside of me,” I said.
“Okay,” she said with dark red cheeks.
“I want to feel it inside of me. I want you to empty your fucking load
in my tight pussy.”
“Are you on the pill?” she asked.
“Fuck the pill. Just come inside of me. I need to feel it.”
I felt her cock bulging and twitching. I knew it was close. I stuck my
thumb into her mouth and she began to suck. Then I bent over and pressed
my lips against hers, pressing my tongue into her mouth. She kissed back,
putting her hands on my back, caressing gently. I was making love with a
woman and I liked it. Now it seemed like I was definitely a bisexual—
maybe with a female preference.
She thrusted her cock deep into me and then I felt the warm goo
unloading. I gasped and groaned, sinking my nails into her soft skin. She
held me tight as she poured her seed into my body. After a minute, I rolled
off, onto my back. I pressed my hand between my legs as it came pouring
out. I pulled it up and spread it up, over my pubic hair and up my abdomen.
I kept spreading up until there was nothing left inside of me. Then I turned
to Peyton. “Lick it all up. Clean my pussy, slut.”
She paused for a moment before rolling over and burying her face
between my legs. She started licking up her own cum that had poured out
from my cunt. I watched as I squeezed my own breasts and played with my
nipples. I’d never been so aroused in my life. Why was I so aroused? Why
couldn’t I look away from the sight? Why was she so stunning? I loved the
feeling of her tongue nestling into my pubic hair to get all of that cum.
“Oh God,” I moaned.
“Are you okay?” she asked, looking up at me.
 “I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “There’s something wrong
with me, but that’s none of your business. Keep licking. I still see cum.”
She kept licking, going up my abdomen. She even licked the smears of cum
off of my breasts. Then I made her kiss me deeply so I could taste it too.
I rolled off of her bed. I pulled my dress back on properly and then I
took a deep breath. I walked to her door. “No more fooling around behind
my back in this house,” I said. “I won’t accept it anymore.” I grabbed the
door handle. “If you’re going to fool around, you come and find me first.
And I don’t want this to be a discussion. This is the end of the discussion.
I’ll see you in the morning. And I expect you to be Peyton tomorrow for
work. You can access my third closet—the one that’s three doors down
from my bedroom. It’s all clothes I don’t wear anymore, so you’re free to
use anything there. But try not to look like too much of a slut for work.”
Before I went to bed, I went through my lingerie closet and picked
out a few dozen outfits that I thought she would like. I quietly placed them
in front of her bedroom door for her to find in the morning. My heart was
still pounding awkwardly. I still didn’t feel right. I still hated the thought
that I was allowing myself to turn into a lesbian, just like my parents
warned me against. Maybe I just needed to fire Peyton. Maybe I needed to
get some older, unattractive woman to be my maid, like Cordelia, so I
wouldn’t have any urges that I didn’t like.
 CHAPTER VI

I was feeling urges that I hadn’t felt since I was a teenager

experimenting with friends. It didn’t help that Peyton fit perfectly into all of
my little outfits. We were even the same shoe size, but for some reason all
of my shoes looked better on her.
Now, she was cleaning my lobby. I could see her from my office,
standing up on a step ladder in tall heels, dusting the various ledges. I could
see right up her skirt. Her round bum made me jealous and damp at the
same time. I bit my lip, trying to push those weird feelings away. Then I set
my sights on her bulge and felt a bit better about myself.
But it almost seemed like she was teasing me. “Can I clean up in
your office? I’ll be quiet,” she said.
“Sure, Peyton,” I said. Then she started cleaning up around. She was
being quiet, but still very, very distracting. She would bend over in front of
me, showing me that bum and her slutty panties. And she was wearing a
perfume. I had no idea where she found it—I didn’t recognize the smell.
Maybe it was in one of the basement boxes.
I had to step out while she was doing the bookshelves in my office. I
was getting too hot, and I needed a new pair of panties seeing as my current
pair were soaking wet, as if I sat in a pool of warm water. I fanned myself
and took a deep breath. I went to grab a new pair of panties, and then I saw
that box of sex toys under my bed. I pulled it out and took out that strap-on.
My heart was pounding. My urges were over the top.
I was just like my first boss, when I was thirteen years old. He never
tried to have sex with me, but he would blackmail me without overtly
threatening me. He always mentioned the job board and the labor laws.
Whenever it was time for me to go home but the work wasn’t quite
finished, he would tell me about what they did to kids who lied about their
age. It was all lies, but I didn’t know that and it kept me doing what he
wanted.
Now, I was using Peyton’s desperate position to satisfy my unwanted
urges.
 I took a deep breath. How could I resist? I was fairly certain it was
what Peyton wanted. She seemed happier than ever in those outfits. She
was practically prancing around my house with that duster.
I strapped the dildo to my waist, slicked it with lubricant, and I went
back down. She was now perfectly bent over my desk, reaching across the
wooden surface with Pledge. I came up quietly behind her and flipped her
skirt up onto her back. She looked over her shoulder at me. “What are you
doing, ma’am?” she asked.
“Shh,” I said, using my hands to turn her head back forward. Then I
pulled her panties to the side and pressed the plastic cock deep into her ass.
She gasped, clenching hard—but too late. The toy was deep in her body,
stretching her wide. She dropped the Pledge and clutched the edges of the
desk.
I pumped hard, giving her no time to get used to the sudden
penetration. I couldn’t help it. I wanted to see her squirm and I wanted to
hear her moan. I got what I wanted. Her body quickly started trembling. I
looked down to watch the toy pumping in and out. I watched the ribbed
shaft massaging her anal walls. Each moan was louder than the one before
it.
I ran my hands up and down her thighs. Then I pushed a hand in
front of her and grabbed her erect cock. It was throbbing. I smiled. If she
was hard, then she must have liked it. I squeezed it firmly and started
stroking it. Holding that cock was the relief I needed: a reminder that I was
still straight. I wasn’t going to let my late parents down. I wasn’t a lesbian.
But my God, was she ever beautiful. Now her back was curved and
her head was tilted back. I could see her moaning face in a nearby mirror:
her gorgeous eyelashes and her plump lips. I wanted to make out with those
lips. I wanted to push my tongue into her mouth.
But for now, I was fine just fucking her and watching her have her
orgasm. She came within a few minutes, coating my desk with cum. Of
course I pulled her down and made her lick it up while I caressed her back.
I think she liked it—or maybe I was just trying to justify my terrible
behavior.
She looked back at me. Her chin was glistening with cum. I leaned
forward and gave her a small lick. “Go get cleaned up,” I said. “And then
get back to work.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said.
“You can call me Kendall you know.”
She nodded her head. She was smiling. Her cheeks were rosy. I
wanted to kiss her, but I knew that was a line that was better left uncrossed.
While she was upstairs cleaning, my gate bell buzzed. I walked over
to the small television security monitor and saw a black car waiting to be let
in. I wasn’t expecting guests. “Can I help you?” I asked through the
intercom. “I’m not looking to buy anything, so if you’re selling something,
you can just turn around.”
“I’m looking for a missing person,” the woman said. “It’s very
important. We believe they may have come through your property.”
I paused. Then I buzzed them in. I hid my strap-on and fixed my
dress. I checked my makeup in my mirror, and then the person was at my
door. Peyton was still getting cleaned up, so I let them in myself.
The woman was familiar: old, grey, and thin. She was wearing a
black overcoat even though it was a hot day. “Your property is very large,”
she said. “And you have many cameras. Perhaps we can review some
footage from the past week.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But what is this about? Someone went missing?
No offence, but you don’t look like the police. Isn’t this a police matter?”
She stared into my eyes. Why did she look so familiar? “The police
are doing what they can. Unfortunately, this particular person has somewhat
of a runaway history, so the police don’t seem to think it’s a priority. Can
we see your footage?”
“Um. I guess so,” I said. “Come this way.” I showed her to my office,
which still smelled like a mix of Peyton’s perfume, Pledge, and anal sex. I
don’t think the old woman noticed the smell. “We have fifteen cameras
outside of the property—none inside. Each save recordings for two weeks.”
“That’s perfect. He went missing about ten days ago,” she said. “Can
you rewind the cameras to ten days ago?”
I stared at the woman. “This sounds like it could take a while, going
through hours of footage on fifteen different cameras. Maybe I can just give
you the tapes and you can do this yourself.”
“That’s fine,” she said. “I’ll wait in your lobby.”
“Okay,” I said. She walked out, and then it dawned on me who she
was: she was my instructor when I was a teenager, at Blue Rocks Academy.
She taught Bible Studies. Her classroom was covered in posters about the
dangers of homosexuality: mostly the death rate of AIDS and other sexually
transmitted diseases.
I tried to remember her name. “I’m sorry. What’s your name?” I said.
“Margaret.”
“Margaret Gleeson?” I said as the name returned to my brain.
“That’s right. Do you know me?” She narrowed one eye as she stared
at me.
I shrugged my shoulders. “I think we met a long time ago,” I said
with a small smile. My heart skipped. “This missing person—are they from
Blue Rocks Academy?”
She nodded her head. “Unfortunately. He slipped out in the night.”
Blue Rocks Academy had a strict curfew, along with many other strict
rules. During my year there, I didn’t see the world outside of those steel
gates. We were cut off from the world, only occasionally getting our hands
on the newspaper. It was a full-blown indoctrination camp, and maybe that
was necessary to accomplish the end goal.
“What’s the boy’s name?” I asked.
“We’re keeping that private at the moment,” she said.
“Well maybe I can help. It’s hard to help if I don’t even know the
name,” I said.
She stared at me for a long moment. “We aren’t looking for this to be
a public matter. As you can guess, it’s quite embarrassing for us, having lost
a young man.”
“How old is he?”
“A few weeks over eighteen,” she said.
My heart skipped a beat and my stomach groaned. “What does he
look like?”
 “He’s a young man. Shorter than average, and a thin build.”
I knew she was talking about Pete. I don’t know how I knew, but I
knew it with absolute certainty. I opened up my security system and saw the
stack of tapes, all ready to be removed. I knew that there was tons of
footage of Pete on those tapes, working in the garden.
“And you have no idea where this guy went?” I asked.
“We have some ideas,” she said. “We know he went in this direction.
We have some footage of him coming this way.” She looked at my stack of
tapes. “I’ll take those and be on my way.”
I paused and bit down on my tongue. “Well, I mean—he is eighteen,
right? Can you really drag him back to the Academy?”
She stared into my eyes for a long moment. “We have contracts,
which he signed when he was admitted three years ago.”
“But he’s an adult now,” I said.
“I’m sorry, but I really shouldn’t be discussing the matter. Could you
please give me the tapes?”
I looked down at the tapes. “Um,” I said. “Is he a criminal or
something?”
“He’s a young man in our care, and right now it’s my job to bring
him back. The tapes, please.”
“No,” I said.
“Excuse me?” she said.
“I’m sorry, but it doesn’t sound like this guy wants to be with you,
and he’s old enough to do what he wants. So why don’t you just leave him
alone?”
Now, I could see Peyton standing behind Margaret, in the stairwell.
He paused and stared at Margaret from behind with wide eyes. I tried not to
alert Margaret to the fact Peyton was behind her.
“I’m asking very politely for your tapes. We just want the boy to be
safe.”
I knew what they did in that school. I knew how the punished the
people who broke the rules. I knew how extreme they got when their initial
methods didn’t work. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Gleeson. I can’t give you the tapes.
We’ve had a problem with a pesky raccoon, and I’ve actually been meaning
to go through the tapes to see where the raccoon is coming from at night.”
“That doesn’t sound nearly as important as tracking down a lost boy.”
“He’s not a boy—he’s a man, and he can do whatever he wants to do.
You can’t change him—especially now that he’s grown. So if you don’t
mind, I’m going to keep these and you can move along.”
“I’m sorry, but I really am going to insist that you give me those
tapes,” she said, taking a step towards me. “
“Get lost, lady,” I said, “before I call the cops. In ten seconds, you’re
trespassing.”
She stared at me for five more seconds before turning to leave. I
followed her to my front door, to make sure she left properly. At my door,
she turned to me. “You know, I recognized you when I saw you,” she said.
“I remember you when you were young.”
“No kidding,” I said.
She looked from me to Peyton, who was still standing stiff in the
stairway. She didn’t seem to recognize her. She looked back to me. “We
saved you, so I’m surprised you’re not helping us save someone else.”
I smiled. “You didn’t save me,” I said. “You just left me very
confused for a very long time. I would call it a delay before anything else.”
“A delay?” she said.
“Well, I still do love a good pair of tits,” I said. “And every now and
then I touch myself while thinking about beautiful women. But I guess our
definitions of saved are different, right?”
Now she looked horrified as she stared at me. Her lips parted as if
she had something to say, and then she turned to leave. I turned to look at
Peyton, who was awestruck in the stairwell.
“Kendall?” she said with a soft voice.
“What is it?” I asked.
“You didn’t have to do that for me.”
 I shrugged my shoulders. “I wanted to do it. It felt good to do it.” I
went back to my office and she followed me.
“I should have told you. I’m not actually from around here. I’m from
a long way away from here, but my parents sent me to that school a couple
of years ago. I couldn’t take it any longer. I needed to get out.”
“I understand, Peyton,” I said.
“You never told me that you went there,” she said.
“It never came up.”
“Did they do bad things to you too?”
I looked at her. “They did what they did.”
“So are you, like, a lesbian then?” she asked.
I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know what I am. I used to know,
and then I went there, and then I had an idea, and now I just don’t know. I
guess I just like what I like.”
“I think that’s fine,” she said.
“Me too,” I said.
“I like what I like too,” she said.
I smiled. “That’s good. I’m happy for you.”
“I like working for you. I like living here.”
“I like you being here,” I said.
She smiled. We were both silent as we stared into each other’s eyes.
“Why don’t you finish cleaning my office?” I said.
“Okay,” she said.
She picked up her Pledge and cloth and came into the room. “Wait,” I
said. “Maybe you can go change into something a bit… sexier. Feel free to
go into my main closet.”
“Really?” she said.
I nodded my head with a small smile. “Only if you want to.”
“I really do want to,” she said.
We shared a smile and then she turned to get changed.
 A strange euphoria was pulsing through me. I felt weirdly satisfied
and vindicated. I felt like a giant weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
I felt like I was doing something good. I felt like I wasn’t just being the
crabby bitch that everyone thought I was. In fact, I felt a strange urge to
donate money to a good cause—one that helped young men and women
with identity issues. I sent them twenty thousand dollars and then I sat back
in my chair with a smile on my face. It felt good to be nice, though I had a
feeling that Blue Rocks Academy didn’t think I was so nice.
I went into my security system and erased everything, just in case
they tried to get some police warrant to apprehend my tapes. Then Peyton
came back and started cleaning while I casually worked (and mostly
watched as she moved around the room).
For once I was happy in my house, and for once I had help that was
happy with my rules

THE END