Free Use Maid

I spent nearly ten years cleaning houses in one of the most affluent neighborhoods of the country, saving every dollar I could for fashion school. The bus rides from my city were long, but the pay made it worthwhile. Usually.

When my employer died and her children let me go, I scrambled to find another job that paid enough to keep my dream alive. That’s when I landed a position at the Alcott Estate, a lavish mansion by the ocean, offering double my previous wages, along with living quarters.

If I could stick it out, I’d skip having to take the bus every day and have enough saved in two years.

At first, it seemed like any other cleaning job, except for the skimpy French maid uniforms and the eerie quiet. That was until the afternoon I walked in on the owner taking another maid, using her body right there among the linens she was folding.

Shaken, I confronted her later, expecting outrage or shame. Instead, she calmly explained that he paid handsomely for such bonuses so large they could change your life if you were willing to surrender your dignity.

I told myself I would never sink that low, that no amount of money was worth it. But all that conviction vanished the day he mistook me for her, and in the charged, breathless moment that followed, I didn’t correct him.

Now, he has eyes for me and nobody else. Trapped between ambition and desire, I swear it’s only temporary. But as his obsession grows, so does my own, until I’m no longer sure whether I’m a prisoner or a willing accomplice.