Maid for It (A Maids for It Novella) (7 page)

Ben made love to me for hours. I don’t use
the words ”made love” lightly, and not because the sex was any less
down and dirty than it always is. Far from it. He fucked me
thoroughly and relentlessly in every orifice, until I was almost as
sore as I was after our very first night together.

And yet, something was different. There was a
sweetness to our coupling that I’ve never experienced before. Maybe
it’s my own wishful thinking that I’m really more than just a set
of willing holes to him, a convenient, willing vehicle for him to
use to slake his lust. Perhaps the collar doesn’t mean to him what
it does to me.

But I don’t think so.

My head rests in the cradle of his shoulder,
drowsy and content.

“You’ve never told me,” he says suddenly,
“how you came to speak English so well. If you didn’t have just a
trace of an accent, I’d never believe it wasn’t your first
language.”

My drowsy contentment bursts like a gum
bubble, sticky and uncomfortable. I stir uneasily. “My father lived
in the US from the time he was two until he was twelve years old.
He speaks English fluently, and he thought my brother and sisters
and I would have better lives if we were fluent, too. He always
spoke English to us when we were growing up. My mother spoke
Spanish. We learned both equally, watched a lot of English-language
movies, and read as many books in English as in Spanish.”

I say a silent prayer that this explanation
is enough for him. The whole story is a little more complicated.
And too dangerous to tell.

I did grow up speaking English from infancy,
but I didn’t gain mastery of the language until I studied English
and English literature in college. But if I explain that, there’ll
be other questions. And if he finds out I had a good job teaching
English in Sinaloa, he’ll want to know why I left to become some
stranger’s slave in the US. And that, of course, would lead to all
the rest coming out.

I know it will someday. It has to. Truth is
like gravity—it always has its way.

But, please God, not yet. Not today. Let me
be happy just a little while longer.

I feel him nod as his hand begins sifting
through my hair. He seems endlessly fascinated with it, as if it’s
a form of matter he’s never encountered before.

“Do you want to contact them? Your
family?”

I lift my head from his shoulder and look
down at him. “Really? You would let me contact them?”

A shadow crosses his green eyes and I realize
my incredulity has hurt him. “Of course. The only reason I didn’t
offer before is because I worried they might want to come and
‘rescue’ you from captivity. But now that you’re wearing this”—he
runs his finger over the collar—“I’m not worried about that. I’ll
always be able to find you.”

My brow furrows in puzzlement. “I don’t
understand. How does it mean you can always find me?”

“There’s a GPS chip embedded inside the metal
and another chip that monitors your vital signs. As long as you
have this on, I’ll know exactly where you are, that you're alive
and well”

In that instant, the collar takes on a whole
new—and sinister—meaning. It’s not a symbol of his devotion to me,
of my importance to him. He’s had me micro-chipped like an animal.
It’s little better than chain. The only difference, apparently, is
that it’s a chain long enough to let me go as far as China.

The haze of contentment I’d been floating on
vanishes completely. “After today, after I came back, you still
don’t trust me not to leave.” The words come out flat and
hopeless.

“What?” He sounds genuinely shocked by my
accusation. “Of course I trust
you
. It’s
other
people
I don’t trust. Beautiful women are always in danger out in the
world. I want to be sure I can always come to your rescue if
anything happens. Even if the anything that happens is that your
family decides you’re not safe with me.”

“Oh.” I’m not sure I completely believe him,
but it’s a lucid—if not entirely rational—explanation.

“So, do you want to contact your family?”

For a second, I hesitate. I want them to know
I’m alive and safe. They must be worried sick, imagining the worst.
But what else can I tell them? Certainly not that I’m living with a
man I met just six weeks ago, having sex with him—and not just sex,
but raunchy, dirty, no-holes barred sex—and letting him treat me
like a slave. And more, that I
like
it.

But in the end, it’s not even a point for
debate. I’ll find a way to sugarcoat the reality. They deserve to
know they saved my life. Even if things didn’t turn out quite the
way they planned.

As I enter my master’s private refuge—his
office—for the first time, I’m struck first by the sheer number of
screens and blinking lights and whirring machines. It reminds me a
little of Mission Control in the movie
Apollo 13
, except
that these devices are much newer and more sophisticated.

“You can use that computer over there,” he
says, pointing toward a sleek, modern monitor and accompanying
keyboard that sits on a desk on the left hand side of the room.
“You can email or use the IM program to send a text message to a
cell phone. I’ll just log in and work a little on a program I’m
doing for a client while you get in touch with them.”

Nodding, I sit down in the rolling leather
office chair in front of the computer and try to decide how to
begin. I ultimately open the IM program and type in my older
brother’s cell phone number.

My fingers tremble slightly as I type.

Luis, it’s Gabi. I’m here in LA and I’m
safe.

I wait. And wait. And wait.

The reply comes.

Gabi, is it really you? Mami and Papi have
been out of their minds with grief. We thought Cantavares must have
tracked you down and killed you before you crossed the border.

Guilt washes through me. I shouldn’t have
waited for Ben to offer. I should have asked him if I could please
contact my family. It was cruel of me to let them suffer.

Yes, it’s me. I’m sorry I didn’t contact you
sooner, but I couldn’t get to a cell phone or computer before
now.

My master’s fingers clickety-clack on his
keyboard as I wait for the next response, and I glance over to see
what he’s doing. He gazes intently at the screen as his fingers fly
across the keys. From this distance, I can’t make out the letters,
but I’m guessing I wouldn’t understand it anyway as there appear to
be lots of slashes and semi-colons and ampersands.

The dinging sound the computer makes when a
message is received draws my attention back to the screen.

Why not? There must be Internet cafés
everywhere. Are you sure you’re all right and not in any
trouble?

I’m sure, hermano.

I start to add that I’m a live-in maid,
cleaning a wealthy man’s house, but then I backspace over it and
send only the one sentence. Anything more will invite questions I
don’t want to answer. Like why my employer doesn’t pay me enough so
I can buy a cell phone. Like how it is I haven’t had a day off in
weeks where I could have gone to an Internet café and sent an email
to my parents to let them know I’m all right.

I need to talk to you. Mami and Papi will
want to talk to you. Is there a number I can call you at?

No. Not right now. Maybe soon.

Ugh, I know I’m lying. If I talk to Luis or
my parents or either of my other siblings, they’ll
know
I’m
keeping something from them. They’ll ask questions until they pry
the whole story out of me.

I glance at my master again. He’s staring at
the computer screen now, lost in thought. My heart swells with
conflicting emotions. I shouldn’t be ashamed of what we have
together. But when it comes to my family, I am.

Blinking back tears, I type a final message
to my brother.

I have to go now. Give Mami and Papi and
everyone my love and tell them I’m fine and happy.

I close the IM program and rest my head
against the back of the chair, trying to get a grip on myself
before I alert my master that I’m done.

Suddenly, a chirping sound issues from my
master’s computer.

“Damn it,” he mutters. He clicks on a box
that’s popped up on the screen over whatever it is he’s been
studying for the past few minutes and a new window displays. Even
from several feet away, I can see that the window contains a video
feed and whose face is on the screen.

The President of the United States.

“Sorry to bother you at this time of day,
Ben,” the President says, “but one of my aides noticed you were
online, and we’ve got a quick question about that program you
installed for us.”

My master works for the White House? I knew
he did projects for rich and important people. I had no idea
how
rich and important.

I’m so dumbfounded, I’m not even listening to
their conversation. The familiar cadences of the voice of the
world’s most famous leader and those of my master are all that can
penetrate my haze of amazement.

Which is why I almost don’t notice that my
master’s finger is crooked, beckoning me to him. As soon as I
realize he wants me to come to him, I immediately rise from my
chair and cross the floor as quietly as I can, being careful to
stay out of range of the tiny camera propped atop the computer
monitor. I’m not certain, but I suspect this video call works in
both directions.

As I reach the side of his chair, I realize
he’s been unzipping his jeans while carrying on his conversation.
He slips his partially erect cock from his pants and gestures with
it in my direction.

My pussy floods with desire even as my cheeks
heat with embarrassment. He wants me to kneel down in front of him
and suck his cock while he talks on a video call to the President
of the United States. Even if I can’t be seen on the video feed,
how does he think he’ll hide what he’s doing—or more accurately,
having done to him—for the entire time?

But…don’t ask questions, don’t hesitate.

I get onto my knees first, then crawl until
I’m in front of him. When I raise myself back up in front of him, I
give him a questioning look.

Is my head out of the picture?

He gives me an almost imperceptible nod that
undoubtedly appears to the President as respectful attention to
what he’s saying.

Sliding my hand over his length, I lower my
head and lick the silky head. I close my eyes and savor the taste
of him, so intimate and well-known. How lucky I am that it’s me he
wants, that we are so suited to one another’s needs and desires.
When he’s fully hard, I take him into my mouth and down to my
throat. I’ve learned over the course of the last six weeks to
accommodate his entire length in my mouth, all the way to the
hilt.

His hand comes to rest at the back of my head
as he continues to speak to the President in perfectly even tones,
but I can tell from the way he’s pushing my head up and down that
he’s not going to hold out much longer. My clit throbs painfully
now, the idea of what we’re doing so erotic and who we’re doing it
in front of so arousing, I feel as though I might come without any
direct stimulation at all.

I hear a hitch in his breathing, and I
massage his balls through the fabric of his jeans.

“Have I answered all your questions, Mr.
President?” he asks, a note of impatience creeping into his voice.
I wonder distantly if the President has talked to my master often
enough to recognize the tone.

“Yes, I believe you have. I appreciate your
time, Ben. You’ll be compensated for the consultation, of
course.”

“Oh yes, sir, I know I will,” my master
replies, and I know he’s not talking about being paid.

He leans forward and disconnects the video
call.

“Jesus, you really are the world’s dirtiest
and sweetest little slave,” he groans. “I really didn’t think you’d
do that with the President on the video feed, but you did.”

Without warning, he pulls himself free of my
mouth with a pop and helps me to my feet.

“I need to fuck you. Now. Turn around and
bend over the desk.”

I spin away from him and prop myself on my
elbows on the flat surface in front of me, taking care not to knock
any of the computer equipment to the floor. He lifts my skirt—I’m
wearing my maid costume—pushes aside the thong, and plunges into my
cunt. It takes only mere seconds of our bodies crashing together in
heated desperation for us both to come.

When it’s over, he pulls out and tucks his
slackening cock back into his jeans. Fresh, warm semen trickles
down my leg, a wet, sticky reminder of our joining. I don’t bother
to try to find something to wipe it away. I’m too stunned by what
just happened to worry about it.

He gives my bare ass a playful swat before
tugging my skirt back into place. “I’m reconsidering that bonus to
Daniels. I might just have to double it.”