As requested by an anonymous Ko-fi commissioner
This is an NSFW blog. The following post is raw, unedited, and contains taboo discussions and lewd thoughts that include unbalanced power dynamics, coercion, sadomasochism, and sexual relations in a professional relationship. If any of that makes you uncomfortable, then please do not continue to read this. This story was requested by a commissioner and is not reflective of my own views or personal interests.
Sometimes, life takes the things that you want–the things that you worked your ass off to obtain, the things that you treasure dearly. Life will take those things–be they people, pets, or possessions–and snuff them out without a second thought.
And sometimes, the absence of those things will push you over the edge, making it so you feel that you have no choice but to take what you want, to unleash your aggression on a poor, unsuspecting victim.
Me? The thing in question was a possession: a television. A seventy-seven inch OLED flat screen smart TV, to be precise. Sure, call me materialistic, but that beauty cost me over three thousand dollars–and that’s not including the fees for shipping, handling, and installation. The loss of a possession with that kind of price tag would be enough to drive a Buddhist monk to chuck Molotov cocktails at his local Best Buy. Hell, customer service probably would have had to deal with my wrath if they were the first ones I saw after it happened, but they weren’t.
In order to give you the full story, I have to take you back to a few days before the incident. I work from my home office most days, and that Friday was no exception. There I was, click-clacking away at my keyboard, logging data from various client accounts, when there was a knock at the front door. I hadn’t ordered lunch yet, and the delivery personnel always left my packages with the cute girl who lived in the first house of our gated community. She managed all of the properties, and stopping by her place gave me the opportunity to lean over the front desk and watch her bend over to pick up my packages.
“Who the hell could that be?” I grumbled as I pushed my chair back and stood. I stretched my arms across my chest as I made my way to the front door. Once there, I lowered my head and peeked through the peephole.
Standing outside was a brunette I had never seen before; her brown hair framed her heart-shaped face in thick ringlets, most of which were pulled over her left shoulder in a ponytail. She was shorter than me by at least half a foot, and her curves were wrapped in a deep V-neck sleeveless dress. I say deep because the torso portion had enough buttons to cover her chest, but the woman had the top two buttons undone, putting her cleavage on display. Her skin was like a smooth tawny beige, flushed a warm pink on the apples of her cheeks. Her lips were cherry red and pouted, and she gazed off to the side through long black eyelashes.
I watched her through the peephole, stunned by her presence. I had never seen her before in the complex–what was she doing at my door?
The woman let out a huff–the sight of her large breasts rising and falling with the movement made me smirk–and turned to step off my stoop.
The curiosity was killing me. I had to know why she was there. I unlocked the door and swung it open, startling her. “Yes?”
“Oh, hi!” she smiled wide. “My name is Yasmin, and I’m from a local housekeeping business. We offer house cleanings, pet care, automobile detailing, and we can even throw in some basic garden maintenance. Could you tell me when the last time your home was cleaned?”
“Uh…” I was dumbfounded. What kind of question is that? Who just asks about something so personal?
She smirked at the expression I wore. “I know, that seems like a really personal question, but considering that you don’t seem like a hoarder,” she gestured to my home, having caught glimpses of it from between myself and the doorway. “I’d say you take care of the major stuff, like sweeping and mopping, at least once a month?”
“That’s giving me too much credit,” I blurted out.
She giggled. “Hey, I get it. Busy people don’t have time for things like cleaning. Sounds like you could really use a maid.”
I chuckled, uncomfortable. “I-I don’t think they’re really called maids anymore, right?”
Yasmin cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “You kidding? I’ve had so many customers beg me to clean their houses while wearing a slutty maid outfit, and it’s not even noon. And I mean, like, lingerie and everything. One dude even offered me a bonus up front.”
“Oh, yeah?” I remarked. “So what did you say?”
“Well, after I confirmed that I got the bonus on Venmo, I said I’d start on Monday,” she winked. “And what about you?”
I felt my eyebrows furrow. “What about me?”
“I can be here first thing Tuesday to do all the dirty work you don’t want to do,” Yasmin offered. “Throw in an extra fifty bucks, and I’ll wear this maid outfit.”
She held up her phone and showed me a photo of a voluptuous woman with a thin waist wearing a French maid outfit of black silk ribbons and white lace and frills. My jaw actually dropped, but I recovered fairly quickly.
“I don’t mean to sound rude, but won’t that be a little tight on you?”
“Yup,” she disclosed. “Tight, short… Not much coverage. It’ll be quite the sight.”
Yasmin then handed me a pamphlet that had a business card attached by a paperclip. While the pamphlet was for her employer, the card had her name, phone number, and email address. I pulled the card off the clip and flipped it over, only to find a QR code labelled, “Venmo.” I glanced up just in time to watch Yasmin give me a coquettish wave from the sidewalk as she resumed her stroll around the neighborhood. Her big ass bounced from side to side as she strutted over to my neighbor’s home, and it wasn’t until she turned into their yard that I shut the door and pulled up my Venmo.
That was last Friday. Let’s skip ahead to this morning, where all that’s passed is a weekend filled with flirty text conversations and the promise of a lewd housecleaner.