(Tetora has kindly alerted me to her new novella that just came out so I am more than happy to share it with everyone here. She's quickly becoming one of my favourite transformation authors (or, rather, has become already)).
“I think you should see other people.”
I came very close to speaking the phrase men dread will someday come out of the mouth of their beloved. If my fiancé wasn’t listening carefully, he might have thought I wanted to break up. That was not accurate. My desire was to take our relationship in a different direction, one where the love of my life exchanged vows with another woman and relegated me to the role of his maid and occasional mistress.
We met in my home country three years ago. Seth was a handsome Westerner living abroad that was hired by my father to temporarily represent his company. There was a certain prestige in having a foreign business partner that was white. It impressed naive people, myself included. He was essentially an actor for hire and had no real position, however. All he had to do was to look the part of an important person in a couple meetings, tell a few lies in a speech or two and that was it. Typically, these kind of gigs lasted no more than a week.
When his contract ended, I made transparent excuses as to why his continued presence was absolutely necessary. My father acquiesced accordingly and put Seth on the payroll as an actual employee. His unofficial job description was to be my boyfriend. We were in love.
I couldn’t believe my good fortune. Seth wasn’t that well-off financially, but he was way out of my league physically. He was quite a catch and my aging father placatingly agreed. His preference for one of the many suitors I rejected was unmistakable. I think he grew tired of waiting.
My countrymen literally could not measure up to the famous actors I saw in Hollywood movies. They were too short. My sense of beauty may have been influenced by an exposure to their media, nevertheless, the heart wants what the heart wants.
As our romance blossomed, Seth was also promoted within the company based on his own merit. He wasn’t just a pretty face, he had a natural talent for the job. His marriage proposal happened to coincide with my father’s plans to expand into the American market, who recognized the value in having family overseeing operations there.
Things changed after I emigrated to the States with my fiancé. There was a bit of a culture shock and I struggled with being an outsider in his country. It was hard to make friends. No one in our exclusive gated community was from where I lived and we didn’t have much in common. I spoke the language, albeit with a thick accent that was hard to understand. That made the simplest of tasks, such as making small talk with the neighbors, difficult to impossible.
Work was not particularly rewarding as progress was slow going. It would take a while for our widgets to gain the same market share they had elsewhere. Seth did most of the heavy lifting in promoting our brand to retailers and investors as the language barrier was a significant impediment for me.
I was in a rut, not going in for work or leaving the house. To keep busy, I cooked and cleaned. I enjoyed staying active, it kept my mind occupied. If my father knew that we hadn’t hired people to do that for us, he would be furious. Back home, it would be a minor scandal for the daughter of one of the wealthy elite to debase herself by doing household chores. Over here, I was less than a nobody and not the heir to an enormous fortune. This was made all too clear to me when I answered the door and was regarded as one of the help.
Neighbors who I previously introduced myself to were persistent in addressing me as though I were a domestic servant when my fiancé invited them over. I guess I had that look, one of those poor undocumented immigrants they were so fond of employing in their own mansions. They were completely oblivious to the idea that we could be engaged, even with photos of us as a couple in plain view. What would a guy like him be doing with a girl like me? It was humiliating.
The embarrassment and shame brought back all my fears about not being pretty enough and how he could do much better. My husband-to-be tried to reassure me that he was committed. I had my doubts. Feelings of inadequacy drove me to order photoshopped versions of our intimate moments, where I was digitally erased and replaced by a more beautiful woman—a Caucasian woman. Someone of European descent who looked like him. They were so cute together it hurt.
Breaking up was out of the question. My father wouldn’t be able to save face without firing him and that would be a major setback to his costly expansion efforts. Seth was too vital to let go and yet, in my mind, he deserved a bride more worthy than me. It was my duty to make this sacrifice for the betterment of the company.
I couldn’t just fly back home to where I was most comfortable and alert everyone that I called the whole thing off. I had to live here with him, but how could I get a woman to marry him with me still in the picture? No wife would allow their husband to keep his ex-fiancée around.
The solution was obvious. I would be his maid. Most people around here thought I was already. Swallowing my pride, I ordered uniforms to wear as a test. Seth indulged me by letting me refer to him as Mr. Stevens and serve refreshments to our guests. With my new attire, I was practically invisible as I disappeared into the scenery, whereas before I was treated with some small courtesy.
The conversation that we should open up our relationship did not go over well. Mr. Stevens was more than reluctant to pursue a new spouse, he outright refused.
“I wish you’d stop calling me that,” he said. “My proposal didn’t have anything to do with my job or your dad. I asked you to marry me because I love you and I can’t accept that you want me to find someone else. You might not think you’re good enough for me, but you couldn’t be more wrong.”
It took weeks of nagging to wear him down. In the end, we compromised. He would go on one date at a local coffee shop with a girl of my choosing and see where things went from there. He wanted to be honest and upfront about everything. If he felt the need to share, that was fine. The one thing he couldn’t do was tell her about me. We wouldn’t attract the right person with that baggage.
I would never have imagined how much fun it would be to sell the virtues of my man to other women when I created his online dating profile. I wrote as if I were him and the feedback I got was positive; how I was unlike most men they talked to on the site. It helped that he was photogenic as I listed his income as moderate to weed out the gold diggers. I wasn’t going to set him up with some bimbo trophy wife counting down the days until she was entitled to alimony in the divorce. No, I desired a girl next door that he could envision spending the rest of his life with.
In the list of potential matches, there was one that looked promising. She had the warmest smile, the deepest blue eyes and her original hair color. In her early twenties, she was five years younger than me. That was a nice bonus for Seth, as she would retain her youth for that much longer. She was pretty, but not overly so from what I could tell in the pictures she supplied. The type of girl guys settle for only after they struck out with her friends first.
As fate would have it, her name was the same as the American one I picked out. My real name was hard for people here to pronounce, so I went by Sarah to make things easier for them. It didn’t work all that well as I didn’t look anything like a “Sarah”, who was a brunette of average height and build with a fair complexion. Tall enough for her and Seth to look at each other face to face. Our differences in stature made simple romantic gestures like a kiss goodbye a complicated task.
I found her to be very personable in our correspondence. She was kind and sweet and had recently gotten out of a bad relationship. I suggested that we meet in person so she could get familiar with the real Seth. I didn’t want her to fall in love with my mimicry of her prospective partner.
Half an hour before his date with Sarah was to start, he nervously paced around our bedroom. I calmed his nerves by placing my hand on his crotch and seductively unbuttoned his denim jeans. In my uniform, I got down on my knees, lowered his boxer shorts and began pleasuring him with my mouth.
“You shouldn’t be so anxious, Mr. Stevens,” I said, pausing to stroke his member with my hand. “She already likes you.”
My pep talk consisted of few words. His rational mind relaxed as I stimulated him sexually. He might say otherwise, but there was no faking his arousal when I pretended to be his maid and called him Mr. Stevens. There were no lies or half-truths with an erection, a man was either turned on or he wasn’t.
With an abundance of experience, I slowly and carefully brought him to the edge of ecstasy, though never allowing him to climax. Right before he reached the point of no return, I ceased all physical contact and teased him verbally.
“My apologies, Mr. Stevens. I almost took what isn’t mine. We should save some for Sarah.”
Frustrated, all he would be able to think about was sex for the duration of his date. It would make Sarah more attractive to him and our engagement a distant memory. The hormones raging in his male brain would demand release and wouldn’t care nearly as much as to who his semen ended up in.
“You’d better get going, you don’t want to be late.”
He checked his watch, zipped up and hurried out the door. I hoped that he would somehow sense my discomfort about the situation and come running back to sweep me off my feet. That didn’t happen and he was gone for hours.
The regret was instantaneous. I had a guy that was devoted to me and I directed his passion to another woman over my own insecurities. After crying off and on for an hour, I was sick to my stomach, worrying about what they were doing and wondering when he would return. When he did, I was inexplicably mad at him for staying out so long. Hadn’t I been the one who convinced him that this was what I wanted? I was the one who wound him up and pushed him out the door. It was my fault if he finished what we started with her.
I was unable to articulate my complex feelings as he promptly bent me over the kitchen table, lifted up my skirt and pulled down my underwear. He shushed me when I asked about how his date went, instead choosing to answer with his dick. He unbuckled his pants with one hand and kept the other on my back, pinning me in place.
Within a minute of penetration, he expended his seed inside me. It seemed that he was more in love with me than ever. I was so happy that he chose me over her.
During his level-headed refractory period, I got the full story with every minor detail. Nothing was omitted or obscured. Yes, he was attracted to her and admitted to wanting to see her again. He left it up to me as to whether he would or not. The power he gave me to control and direct his sexuality was strangely arousing. Infidelity was a hard pill to swallow for me initially, but the disparaging emotions of jealousy, anger and betrayal were diminished considerably if I was in charge of what he did and with who.
There was no reason we couldn’t continue to have sex after he hooked up with Sarah. And it wouldn’t be cheating either because I was with him long before they met. I was merely sharing him with her. That made it OK. Any promises he made to be exclusive, such as those in wedding vows, wouldn’t count because he was already compromised from the outset.
He was ready to go at it once more following a short reprieve. I made him stop.
“You don’t get to cum until after you’ve had your second date,” I said.
He was disappointed but excited. The prospect of potentially going a week or more without release would light a fire under him. There was a real imperative for him to ask her out and soon.
Over the next several days, he attended to me orally before and after work. My command did not preclude intimate physical contact, it merely put a limit on how far he could go while placing no such restriction on me. I rather enjoyed the reversal of having my needs taking precedence over his.
That was not to say that he was completely deprived of sex. He got 99% of what he usually did, he just wasn’t allowed to finish. That 1% was kind of a big deal for men, or so I was lead to believe. It was supremely satisfying to watch him restrain himself, even when every neuron in his grey matter told him to keep going. That was a good sign that I could trust him to do right by me when he was with Sarah.
Seth was a keeper. How could I have deluded myself into thinking that I had to give him away? He was mine, forever.
The important business my father sent me to the States for was completely forgotten. In the beginning, I did the bare minimum out of necessity. It was hard to be of much help when I had trouble communicating with the neighbors over brunch. Now, my contribution to that endeavor was in being a housewife to my husband. We weren’t actually married but had conducted a small ceremony where we went through the motions by ourselves. I considered it official.
Seth wasn’t upset that I placed the burden of growing the company solely on his shoulders or that he didn’t get lucky on his honeymoon. I was firm in my decision. If he wanted to orgasm, he knew what he had to do.
He made rapid progress with regard to each over the next few months. Our widgets were making their way into the hands of American consumers and Sarah was falling for him as I expected her to. She was his girlfriend. Having a beautiful woman desire what I had with Seth was intoxicating. I was the proud owner of a hot husband.
He was the ideal boyfriend, with one exception. He could maybe stand to earn a bit more money. For most women, financial security was a crucial component in deciding if a man was marriage material. Now that their relationship was getting serious, it was time for him to reveal that he was fabulously wealthy. I was the one with all the money, but that was an insignificant distinction. He made a date of it, bringing her to our estate blindfolded.
When the doorbell rang, I dusted off my uniform, straightened my black skirt and adjusted my apron before opening the door.
“Welcome home, Mr. Stevens,” I said in greeting.
“Sarah, this is Lydia, my housekeeper.”
It would have been weird to have us both be Sarah, so I chose a new American name to go by. The pictures Sarah put on her online profile didn’t do her justice, or perhaps she had put more effort into her appearance for their date. Either way, she was stunning. I stared at her in a daydream, imagining what she would look like on her wedding day. She was understandably awestruck by the revelation that Seth was loaded and likewise had little to say.
“I have prepared a meal in the dining area,” I said, breaking out of my trance.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lydia,” she politely responded.
Acknowledging my existence and using my name was heartwarming. The large grin on my face was hidden from her view as I led the way past ornate displays of affluence. She hit the jackpot in snagging a great guy like Seth. Too bad I found him first.
In the hours before their arrival, I slaved away in the kitchen to prepare a feast that would dazzle her senses. After avoiding the simple tasks of preparing my own meals and cleaning up after myself all my life, it was second nature to me now. No one told me that food tasted better when you made it yourself or the satisfaction that came from an honest day's work.
They were seated at a large oak table that I polished to perfection. I brought out an expensive bottle of wine and poured two glasses then returned with their main course—an assortment of fancy dishes only rich people with their cultured palates could appreciate. I didn’t expect that she would enjoy any of it and most of it would go to waste. That was the point, to show that Seth could afford to be wasteful.
“If there is anything you need, ma’am, please do not hesitate to ask,” I said, excusing myself.
“I am doing well at present, thank you.”
I think my English was improving as she was able to comprehend me through my accent.
Our secret was on my lips the entire evening. It was an altogether different experience to have her in my house and to be waiting on her hand and foot. A mixture of conflicting emotions swirled in my stomach. Every instinct I had told me that I shouldn’t allow my mate to take another partner. It was the leftovers of an evolutionary imperative to ensure that my offspring had a better chance of survival. As a modern woman, this was less important, though I couldn’t shake the feeling that what I was doing was wrong.
On the other hand, that was precisely why it was so arousing. Sarah was my rival, an opponent for me to displace as we competed for the affections of the same man. It was illogical to purposefully assist her in procreating with him, which would be to my reproductive detriment. I was the product of countless generations that had won out over their competition and was now on the verge of being on the losing end of that battle. My genetic line would end in favor of hers. Going against that was not easy.
When I brought out dessert and saw them open mouth kissing, I lost it.
“Get your filthy lips off my husband, you dirty whore,” I blurted out, uncaring as to the consequences.
“Mmm. Does it make you wet when I kiss him?”
I was taken aback by her nonchalant attitude. How could Seth have told her about us and lied to me? I shot him a scornful glance and he seemed just as surprised as I was.
“Don’t worry, Lydia or whatever your name is, he isn’t to blame. I stalked his Facebook page before going out with him. He tagged you in his photos and it said you were engaged. I figured I’d string the cheating bastard along and have him take me out to dinner a couple times before dumping him. Fortunately, things don’t always work out how we plan.”
Her fingers wrapped around his.
“Seth was too charming and an absolute gentleman. There had to be some reason why he would cheat on you. I was willing to give him a chance to explain and was hopeful that it was something innocuous, like if his fiancée got cold feet and called the wedding off. If that were the case, I would have felt sorry for him and would understand why he didn’t want to talk about it.
But when you answered the door this evening, in a maid’s outfit no less, and he introduced you as someone named Lydia, I didn’t know what to think. Over the course of our meal, I began to suspect that you might like to watch, so I kissed him to see what you would do.”
I failed her test. It was naive of me to believe we could keep a secret that big from her. It was never going to work long-term. She was smart, I had to give her that. The fact that she didn’t leave right away was a good sign, maybe this was salvageable.
“I’d like to discuss what happens now,” Sarah said, finishing her monologue. “Are you married, Darling? I don’t see a ring on your finger.”
“No, we’re not,” my husband truthfully admitted. “My former fiancée was interested in opening up our relationship. Would you be comfortable in exploring that possibility with us?”
I was a little annoyed that he was checking in with her before me after my outburst. My feelings were paramount to hers.
“That depends. Would I be expected to do anything with her?”
“I’m not interested in women,” I interjected.
“On that, we can both agree,” she concurred. “Lydia, you were upset earlier, please tell me what that was about. We can’t move forward if you’re not completely on board.”
I shyly looked away, not meeting her eye and spoke softly.
“I’ve never seen him with another woman in person before. I got angry. Why aren’t you resentful of the situation we put you in?”
“I try to keep an open mind. That, and the financial incentive. If I were to join in your union, I would want to be taken care of. It would be nice not to have to work another day in my life or worry about money ever again.”
“Oh, how I would pamper you and treat you like royalty for the rest of our days.” Seth kissed her hand in a courtly gesture. “Look, I have a servant at the ready who can attend to your every want and desire,” he joked, lightening the mood.
“I would like to be a princess,” she proclaimed. “Would you submit to my authority, Lydia?”
“Y-Yes,” I hesitantly confessed with the utmost sincerity.
We had gone this far, we might as well get it all out in the open. Seth helpfully spelled it out for her.
“She has an inferiority complex centering on her ethnicity and how it is a mismatch for mine. She wants me to be with a beautiful white woman like you.”
Sarah’s eyes lit up as she finally comprehended what it was that I got out of our arrangement.
“Tell me what it is that you find most appealing about me.”
The humiliation was intense. It was also a huge turn on to have them talk down to me.
“I like how expressive your blue eyes are. They are very pretty. I wish mine were like yours.”
“A fair assessment. Your eyes are that of a commoner, dull and bland. Nothing about them stands out. Is that why you go by Lydia, because you are embarrassed by your heritage? I can use your real name if you’d prefer.”
“Please don’t,” I pleaded.
“I am going to make love to your ex-boyfriend now, would you escort me to his bedroom?”
A tightness constricted my chest and I was short of breath. They were going to have sex in the same bed I slept in. I could put a stop to this if I wanted to.
“R-Right this way, ma’am,” I mumbled in a daze.
After dumbly showcasing our lavish accommodations, Sarah instructed me to find a chair so I could sit and watch. One-half of me wanted to wait outside so as to avoid the heartbreak and the other rebuked me for chickening out at the last moment. I was torn. The idea of a hot husband was more intriguing in the abstract. Putting it into practice was another thing altogether, especially when he would be inside her and I had to listen to her moan.
She was right to be concerned about me being upset. If we couldn’t get through a trial run, we would have to go our separate ways. I braced myself for the worst.
It was torture. I had to bite my tongue during their foreplay to prevent words I could never take back from escaping out of my mouth. I was a fly on the wall to them, an unobserved observer they deliberately ignored. It was inevitable that I would end up comparing her body to mine and hating the hand I had been dealt. I couldn’t measure up to that. The self-loathing was overwhelming.
They didn’t take a break to put on a condom and I prayed she was on birth control. Without that layer of protection, he would be able to intimately feel the most sensitive parts of her anatomy and his enjoyment of the act would noticeably increase as a result. I inaudibly questioned as to how long he would last. If he finished quickly, did that mean she was better in bed than me? Probably.
Their naked bodies moved in rhythm; they had done this dance before. The difference was, I hadn’t been around to see the performance. I learned what moves she liked to make and how they differed from my own.
When I couldn’t take it anymore, I slipped a hand down my skirt and began pleasuring myself. Heightening my sexual arousal by masturbating would make the affair more palatable. I focused on my husband, though my gaze was inescapably drawn to his lover.
As his body tensed up and trembled, ready for one last gasp before ejaculating into hers, mine surged with the exquisite agony of his lust. In the euphoria of his climactic release, he accidentally called out her name. It was over, or so I thought.
“Maid, I have a mess for you to clean up,” Sarah said, interrupting my opportunity to finish what I started. “Be thorough about it if you don’t want me to get pregnant.”
She was lying on the mattress with her legs spread apart, intentionally exposing herself to me. Did she really expect me to eat her out—to lick my husband’s semen off her cunt? Neither of us were bisexual, so why bother?
My eyes shifted to Seth and his expression was akin to that of a young boy discovering porn for the first time. He was practically drooling with anticipation, begging to see us act out the erotic fantasy of every red-blooded male, that of two straight women experimenting with each other. This was why she invited me to join in, we were doing it for his benefit.
Begrudgingly, I got up from my seat and planted my face between her creamy thighs. I stuck my tongue out tentatively. There was no going back after this. Once I gave her head, I would forever be branded a deviant in my father’s eyes. He might disown me if he found out. Never in my life did I anticipate being in this position.
Parts of her were mixed with the familiar tasting parts of him as I cautiously dove in. I hated it. This wasn’t what I signed up for. What kept me going was the knowledge that my husband was watching and how Sarah indicated that she wasn’t ready for children yet. I wasn’t either. And so, like a hungry squirrel, I dug up the nut that had been buried in her flower pot.
Unwilling to swallow, I kept the salty contents intact as I progressed. Seth would want us to kiss too and I had a surprise waiting for Sarah when our lips met. With my hand on the back of her head, I held her in place as I shot his load back into her mouth where she was forced to consume it. She must have wanted his money very badly as she took my petty revenge in stride.
“That will be all for tonight, Lydia. You are dismissed.”
I departed for one of our guest rooms as the two love birds nested together for the evening. This was to be my permanent position, subservient not only to my husband but also to his future bride. Ultimately, I was the one in control, though it didn’t feel that way sometimes.
Sleeping alone, I pondered as to whether Seth would stay faithful to me. His primitive mind would innately form a strong emotional connection with her the more they had sex. And the less affectionate he was with me, the easier it would be for him to rationalize breaking his promise to end the relationship if I told him to.
I was dangerously treading on thin ice by insisting that he sleep with Sarah. He might choose her over me and I would understand why. The thrill of losing everything to her was uncomfortably exciting. Back when she casually asked if it made me wet, I was too embarrassed to admit that it did.
In my isolation, I shamefully climaxed thinking of the downward spiral I had been in ever since coming to this country. I had fallen so far and yet, this was only the beginning. I was wonderfully afraid of what came next.
I was up early the next morning to provide breakfast in bed for the happy couple. It was important for me to re-establish what my place was in the household. My primary purpose was to serve my betters by cooking and cleaning, not be involved in an awkward threesome every night. Sex was one small component of our unusual arrangement.
I attended to my other chores so as not to disturb them with my presence. Before leaving for work, Seth went out of his way to give me a kiss goodbye. I tried not to let it show how much that meant to me as my eyes began to water.
A short while later, Sarah called out for me from upstairs. She basically arrived here as a guest and was unexpectedly given the keys to the castle. The newly enthroned princess would need some help in finding her way around and it was my duty to make her feel right at home.
“How may I be of assistance, ma’am?” I asked in deference to her status as my superior.
“You can cut that out. It’s just us girls here.”
I didn’t quite catch her meaning.
“I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”
“Does he make you do this with all the women he has over?”
“He’s not making me do anything,” I explained.
“I find it hard to believe that Seth didn’t sweet talk you into coming here with promises that you’d get married, only for him to lock your passport in his safe and force you into servitude and sexual slavery.”
My jaw dropped. She couldn’t fathom that this was my idea.
“I’m not a bad person, I swear,” she continued. “He’s just so rich. I tried to convince myself that I was OK with what he was doing. I’m sorry. This was a minor lapse of judgment, please don’t hold it against me. I’ll take you to the police and they can get in touch with your embassy. Whatever it takes. You don’t have to be afraid of him anymore.”
I walked over to the nightstand and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. I scribbled my real name down and handed it to her.
“Does this look familiar to you?”
“That’s your name, isn’t it?”
“And did you ever try Googling it?”
She had neglected to do so and immediately rectified the gross oversight by checking on her phone.
“Wait. So, your father owns the company Seth works for?”
“And it’s worth HOW much?”
The number on her screen was substantial.
“Suffice to say, I have more money than god.”
”But... you were clearly distressed by what we did yesterday.”
We discussed the matter at length and Sarah was incredibly apologetic about making me her bitch. It turned out that she was the one who desperately did not want to refuse him outright as there was a lot riding on her decision to play along. The opportunity to ingratiate herself to one of the wealthy elite overpowered her moral convictions. Had she known that I held all the cards, financially, she would have been the one to service me. It was a little late for that, yet that didn’t stop her from making a pass at me. I couldn’t blame her for trying.
“Save the charm offensive for your boyfriend,” I said, denying her sexual advances.
“You mean you still want me to go out with him?”
“Go out with him? I want you to marry him, Mrs. Stevens.”
She tried her new last name on for size, deciding if she liked the sound of it. She did.
“... and what about the money?” she hesitantly inquired. Her face scrunched as if it pained her to bring it up.
“You’ll be treated to whatever your heart desires.”
“Will there be a prenup?”
“I can’t make any guarantees, but I would hope that we can build trust with each other to the point that we wouldn’t need one.”
Remembering her claim that she was a good person, she suggested I try therapy instead. I politely declined.
“So, I’m in charge from here on out?”
“But if I go too far, you’ll cut me off.”
She was concerned that she might overstep her bounds.
“I gave you oral sex and you’re still here. It’s not that complicated.”
I impressed upon her the knowledge that she had unknowingly played her part flawlessly the day before and to not overthink things. There were unspoken boundaries for sure, but the girl next door would not be in the habit of crossing them.
“Very well. Lydia, I demand that you gather up every article of clothing you have that is not your uniform so that I may dispose of them... Please.”
This was good. I gestured for her to keep going.
“You are not to be seen in anything that reflects your former status. You are a lowly maid and must appear as such at all times.”
Head held down, I replied in the affirmative and scurried off toward the guest room I slept in last night. All my stuff was previously removed from the master bedroom prior to her arrival so that the space would look like it belonged solely to an eligible bachelor. The task of presenting her with my finery only took a few minutes as they were still in the boxes I packed them in.
“This is all of it? What of your jewelry?”
“There are diamond necklaces, gold bracelets and earrings with precious gems in that box,” I pointed out.
“Hold on. What is that on your hand?”
I clumsily folded my arms together to hide my engagement ring from her. It was Seth’s commitment to me of our future together. She could NOT have it. I wore it to bed as I was feeling down and forgot to take it off.
“It’s nothing,” I lied.
“Show me your hand, Lydia. Right this instant.”
I slowly extended my arm out for her to view. She wiggled the ring back and forth to remove it from my finger and placed it on her own. It fit her as effortlessly as Cinderella’s glass slipper. She was meant to have it.
“Your engagement ring will suffice for now, though I will not wear any more of your hand-me-downs. I doubt that they would fit, in any event. We full-figured American women eat a proper diet growing up so we don’t end up as short, thin and boyish looking as you do. I am going to need a wardrobe of my own. Bring the car around to the front door, we are going shopping.”
I was apprehensive about being seen outside in uniform as my increasingly realistic impersonation as one of the help had strictly been an indoor affair. My reluctance was short-lived. I had a job to do.
At the mall, Sarah’s demeanor as an affluent woman broke down somewhat. She behaved like a kid in a candy store. Nothing was off limits and no price was too high. Seth was doing well for himself, but he couldn’t afford to pay the bills she was charging to my credit card. This was all on me.
In addition to clothes, shoes and accessories, she also got her hair done. I suggested that she enrich her chestnut brown color to a golden blonde. That would help to accentuate our differences.
“Blonde would be a good look on you,” I said. “There would be a significant amount of upkeep involved and it would complement your fair skin and blue eyes.”
She played with her hair in consideration and accepted my recommendation. It was fun watching her undergo a makeover. In a way, I was living vicariously through her. She was the woman I wished I saw in the mirror when I woke up.
Seth was cautiously reserved in his appraisal of his girlfriend’s debut as an elegant socialite. He had to carefully balance his enthusiastic approval against my potential to explode if he said the wrong thing. He would drop his guard as we all became more comfortable with the situation. Sarah and I made no mention of the misunderstanding from earlier this morning.
As usual, the responsibility of making dinner fell on me. Unlike before, Sarah didn’t choke down food she found distasteful as I had emboldened her enough to speak her mind. She took one bite and was done.
“This is awful,” she said, shoving her plate away. “Make me something else. I want real food, not whatever this is.”
I apologetically grabbed her plate and went back to the kitchen, pondering what to make. We had a collection of ready-made frozen meals that Seth occasionally indulged in that might be to her liking. I heated one up and served it to her on a plate instead of the plastic tray it came in.
“This is a definite improvement,” she affirmed. “I don’t know what we are paying you, but it is far too much if the microwave is a better chef.”
I silently disagreed with her criticism. My cooking wasn’t bad, she simply wasn’t used to it yet. Besides, wouldn’t Seth have told me if he didn’t like the cuisine I prepared? She finished eating, yawned and announced that she was tired.
“I have had a busy day and will be turning in for the evening. Darling, would you attend to the maid in my absence?”
“Yes, of course, Dear,” he replied.
To make up for yesterday, Sarah graciously allowed me to privately entertain him, provided he wear a condom. I thought it made more sense for him to wear one with her. I knew my sexual history and moreover, was on the pill. It was her prerogative, however, and I acquiesced without complaint.
Inside my less than spacious quarters with his pants down, he brilliantly incorporated the inclusion of protection with a dash of roleplay.
“I know what you are after, Lydia and how clever your people can be,” he said with his dick in my face. “Do not take me for a fool. Men in my position do not get to where they are by writing child support checks to their mistresses.”
He handed me an unopened condom and made me put it on him.
“And if you somehow steal my genetic material, I will deny paternity and bury you in an avalanche of legal filings. You don’t want immigration officials digging up your past to find that you’ve overstayed your travel visa, do you?”
“No, Mr. Stevens,” I acknowledged, playfully bringing back the accent I worked so hard to get rid of. “I wish to stay in your country.”
One big disappointment was that he climaxed almost instantly. I didn’t get the chance to work up a sweat or undress fully. I suppose it was nice that he took longer with Sarah, but was it really? Maybe he didn’t feel the need to hold anything back as my pleasure was not a priority. I zipped up my skirt while he discarded the evidence of his adultery in the attached bathroom.
“Don’t you dare flush that down the toilet,” I chastised, breaking character. “Somebody has to clean those up at the sewage treatment plant.”
“Oops. Sorry, Honey.”
He fished the used condom out of the water with his hand and placed it in the wastebasket. After washing up, he stretched his arms out and yawned. He was getting sleepy as men are wont to do after intercourse.
“I’m going to turn in. Make sure you do the dishes before you go to bed.” He leaned in and kissed my forehead. “G’night.”
All that was missing was a firm handshake and a pat on the back. Could he really be this content so soon? I shared his bed two nights ago and now he was leaving to go cuddle with another woman like it was no big deal. I expected more pushback than this. Men weren’t naturally predisposed toward monogamy so perhaps his behavior was perfectly normal.
How was it that I got exactly what I asked for and was still not completely happy? Maybe that was why the suggestion to open up a marriage was often a precursor to a divorce. There was unresolved interpersonal drama that wasn’t getting adequately addressed and sex with other people wouldn't fix that.
As I scrubbed pots and pans in the sink, I reevaluated Sarah’s advice that I see a therapist. I shouldn’t have dismissed her insights so casually. Unfortunately, she quit her job this afternoon with zero notice. It wouldn’t be fair if I pulled the rug out from under her feet after I promised to make the world her oyster.
I guess I would have to learn to live with the fact that Seth was no longer exclusive. Talk like that didn’t make me much of a cuckquean, in my opinion. I kind of wanted to have my cuckcake and eat it too, if that made any sense.
At the end of the day, I tossed and turned in bed, unable to get a good night’s sleep in unfamiliar surroundings. I got up to use the bathroom where I observed that the condom we used earlier wasn’t at the top of the wastebasket. That felt odd, so I dug through the trash and discovered it hidden under a wad of toilet paper. On a hunch, I examined the used condom more closely by flipping it inside out. Where was the semen?
A profound realization dawned on me. I had been lied to and was the victim of a callous fabrication. Seth had worn protection so he could fake an orgasm then attempted to flush the proof of his deceit down the toilet. He did it with the intention to hurry back to Sarah and finish with her. She hadn’t been here more than a day and they were already going behind my back. I was slowly losing control of my husband to the homewrecker I invited over.
Surfing the web on my phone, I logged into Seth’s Facebook account and changed his relationship status to “It’s Complicated” because it was. He trusted me implicitly with the passwords to all his accounts, including his email. I let the truth stay up for a minute then promptly deleted his profile entirely. Consequently, the digital proof that we were once together went along with it.
I turned off my display and slept well after that.
I bid Sarah adieu when she departed for her day spa then went snooping in her bedroom. In one of her jewelry boxes, I found an item of incomparable worth—her birth control. This medical miracle was what kept our love triangle intact. Luckily, her brand of contraceptive wasn’t tamper-proof. After removing all the remaining pills in her dialpak, I reloaded it with the similar looking placebos that she took at the end of a cycle. Playtime was over.
Throughout the preceding month, I had been fantasizing about what it would be like if Seth was actually married to her. Waiting the requisite years for that to occur was not appealing to me. In an effort to speed up that process, I elected to sabotage her birth control. Seth was still an honorable man deep down and with a baby on the way, he would be compelled to propose, regardless of our prior history together. A shotgun wedding was not ideal, though it would get the job done. Reproductive coercion was not one of my proudest moments.
My father inquired as to my own wedding recently when I chatted with him over the phone. He was strangely persistent in his questioning as to when we would be tying the knot. I didn’t have an answer for him. There was no date or destination planned.
Sex with my husband was nothing to write home about. He was obviously saving himself for his bride-to-be. It was intellectually stimulating to see the male version of a fake orgasm. The misdirection he utilized in his magic disappearing cum act was easy for me to pick up on since I knew what to look for the second time around. He was a lovely little liar with no shame.
I was soon filled with joy laundering sheets and mopping hardwood floors with puke on them. Sarah’s morning sickness was severe and debilitating. I pampered her with genuine concern for her well-being and a curious thing happened to me as I attended to her unusual food cravings, gave her foot massages and listened to her with a sympathetic ear. It was the exhilaration men get when their partner is having a baby.
As a woman, I was emotionally unprepared for this. We were incapable of impregnating anyone and yet, I had done it. This was my child growing inside of her, one I would do anything to protect.
The expectant mother blamed my excessive microwave cooking for her stomach getting larger. I had the faintest of smiles on my face. Mood swings were part and parcel to the gestating process.
The most gratifying aspect was how the kid would look like their Caucasian mom and dad and not me. It was the duty of a parent to ensure that their child had every advantage in life and mine would be American born and bred. It warmed my heart to have played matchmaker, to know that I was personally responsible for bringing more beauty into this world.
When it became apparent to Sarah, and then Seth, that her missed periods and expanding waistline were part of an ordinary biological function, I was notified of their transgressions. They sat me down on the couch for a very serious discussion.
“Lydia, I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” he began, stoically holding back tears.
“We’re pregnant,” she interrupted, positively glowing.
Her hand was placed on top of his, which served as a way to flaunt the recent addition to her finger. The engagement ring she was sporting had a rock that was twice the size of my old one.
“Sarah and I have decided to settle down and start a family,” he said softly.
Like a gentleman, he made himself out to be the bad guy by lying about the circumstances in which the baby was conceived. I wouldn’t let him get away with taking all the credit.
“You didn’t plan this at all,” I accused. “I swapped out her contraceptive with sugar pills.”
Silence permeated the living room. They were both stunned by the news.
“I think it would be best for everyone if you moved out,” he hastily advised. The disgust in his tone of voice was unambiguous.
It was incredulous for him to ask me to move out of a house that was in my name. Nonetheless, I packed my bags and left for a hotel. A week later, I was invited back when they came to their senses. Seth had a responsibility to provide for his family and he was in danger of losing his employment with me out of the picture.
They were disappointed with my actions but allowed me back on the condition that I wear a pregnancy simulator for the duration that Sarah was pregnant. It was to help me empathize with the physical changes I was putting her through.
The bulky vest replicated the third trimester in weight with a water-filled bladder and foam breast forms. The faux stomach and chest were exceedingly large on my petite frame. It wasn’t so bad. The real challenge would come in performing my regular day-to-day activities with it on.
Uniforms in a more accommodating size were conveniently provided. As I slipped one on and belatedly got to work on my overdue chores, I contemplated what my life could have been. If I had married one of the men my father set me up with, I wouldn’t have emigrated to the States and become subordinate to my husband’s girlfriend. I didn’t regret going down this dark path as it was of my choosing.
Cooking and cleaning for loved ones was not such a horrible fate and I was excited for the child they were having. Presumably, I would get to help raise it as if it were my own. Seth had strayed more than I preferred, but I was still in love. I could forgive him as the passion of a new romance was altering his brain chemistry. In time, that euphoric high would fade and Sarah and I would be on more equal footing. I was down, but not out and hopefully, I hadn’t lost him forever.
One welcome surprise was that Sarah encouraged me to take care of Seth’s sexual needs while she was indisposed, as it were. No condoms were required either. It was not until I touched the hard metal enclosure of his chastity cage that I ascertained as to why that was. There was no point in wearing a condom if he couldn’t get an erection. Only Sarah had the key and she was not inclined to unlock him. He was guilty by association and had not escaped unpunished.
We tried to have intercourse with it on. It didn’t go well. If he wanted any measure of relief, he would have to ask to use my vibrator or consent to having me massage his prostate. Considering that particular gland was up his ass, it was a hard pill for him to swallow. I secretly prayed for him to gag on a suppository of vitamin dick.
Sharing my spouse would be far more palatable if I was entitled to hate fuck his tight asshole for every orgasm he poorly faked. I envisioned using a strap-on dildo bigger than his own cock, pulling his hair and telling him what a dirty slut he was for having promiscuous sex with Sarah. He would cry during penetration and then again when I forced him to lick the floor clean afterward. We had done butt stuff before, albeit with me on the receiving end. It was painfully messy. Repeating the act with our roles reversed had been a dream of mine.
He would come around and if not, I looked forward to him going down on me without having to reciprocate. The dissatisfaction he got from the chastity cage was singularly pleasurable to me. In our previous encounters, he pretended to climax. At present, he couldn’t get off to save his life. Within a month, he would be begging me to empty his blue balls by any means necessary.
As a result of the unexpected pregnancy, the newly engaged were on the clock with an accelerated timetable for marriage. Beginning in childhood, practically every woman cultivated a precise image of what their wedding will entail and Sarah was no exception. It may be intimate or extravagant, but the one thing frequently overlooked was the prospect of being knocked up. Years of meticulous refinement as to the dress and day, the anticipation of the announcement, the congratulations, the invitations, the ceremony and the unveiling. They were all ruined to one degree or another, thanks to the baby who had to be thrown out with the bathwater.
The special day would be undoubtedly less than with only a month to organize. The soon-to-be Mrs. Stevens declined all requests for further delay as she did not want to memorialize the event with photographs of her as big as a house. Slimming down wasn’t really an option either. Sarah could barely walk and moreover, that kid was her meal ticket for the next eighteen years at least. She would be eligible for child support no matter what the terms of her prenuptial agreement stipulated.
“There isn’t going to be a prenup,” she specified.
I was in the middle of rubbing coconut oil on her belly to prevent stretch marks when she made the demand. I was flabbergasted that she would be so bold. It turned me on to have her take charge like that.
“You are to inform Mr. Stevens that I will not be signing any papers prior to the wedding.”
I was speechless, which she interpreted as reluctance on my part. Her eyes narrowed with a fiery zeal in response. She stared at me then slowly drifted her gaze onto her stomach and asked a seemingly innocuous question.
“Do you happen to know what percentage of women miscarry, Lydia? It must be high for someone in my weakened condition, a precarious state where one wrong word spoken aloud can cause the life growing inside of them to be snuffed out.”
The threat was abundantly clear. Sarah would terminate the pregnancy if I refused to cooperate. She ruthlessly leveraged her privileged position to dominate me on what she perceived to be a contentious issue. Holding her baby hostage was a calculated risk. I could call her bluff, yet I had no desire to do so.
For one, Seth’s net worth was insignificant compared to mine. I told her as much months ago. He had a respectable job, though nothing approaching seven figures. Getting a portion of that in alimony after a divorce was a pittance, in my estimation. It was a fact she was well aware of, which was why she came to me and not him.
For two, I loved the power play. It was hot the way she strategically exploited my vulnerability to increase her influence and standing within the household. I burned for her to have my children and she knew it. I suspected she was merely testing the waters, as not having a prenup was a minor concession. In the future, the price of appeasement would undoubtedly increase as she progressed toward her ultimate goal—my inheritance.
It was wonderful to have money. The absolute power it gave me over people like her was indescribable, a thrill few get to experience. I was not ignorant of her aspiration to usurp my authority and supplant me as the matriarch of this family. She had the illusion of control, which was but a taste of the real thing and could be taken away in an instant.
I was playing with fire by inviting her to plot my demise. My husband had already fallen under her spell and allowed her to trap his flaccid penis in a metal cage. He voluntarily surrendered his most cherished body part without a fight. Even his sexuality itself was next to fall as I found purchase orders for a plethora of prostate stimulating toys and lubricant in his email inbox. She wasn’t unlocking him in private.
The upstanding woman who initially tried to free me from servitude and sexual slavery now had her eyes set on restraining me. I was corrupting her core values with the allure of wealth. Watching her give in to temptation was immensely satisfying. She threatened to kill her unborn child today. What might she do tomorrow?
“It should be my turn now,” Seth whined.
The flesh-colored silicone dildo my husband was fucking me with was positioned just above his own dick, which was aching to be free of its cramped confinement. The chastity cage was his punishment for my bad behavior. I got his girlfriend pregnant by exchanging her birth control pills with the equivalent of Tic Tacs.
I wasn’t sorry.
His vigorous thrusting with the sex toy was slowing as he tired from the repetitive motion. The intense stimulation would have caused him to climax long ago had he been using his original equipment. If I were in possession of the key to unlock him, I couldn’t say with certainty that I would. I think I preferred him better this way. He was more... compliant.
I sighed. I guess I had to throw the dog a bone. It was my turn to fuck him.
“Alright, let’s switch positions.”
He removed the strap-on and I adjusted it to fit my anatomy. I squeezed an inordinate amount of lube on the dildo and sat on the edge of the bed. With his knees straddling my hips, he gingerly lowered his bottom onto the life-like imitation. Face to face, I made him do most of the work. It was intimate and degrading at the same time.
We were still working on scratching that itch of his without resorting to a vibrator. He wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic about anal sex as he had been when I was on the receiving end. Back then, it was a kinky way to spice up our relationship. Now, we were doing it out of necessity as his primary sexual organ was off limits.
“I don’t want to marry Sarah,” he blurted out when I was balls deep inside him. “Please don’t make me. I want to be with you, not her.”
That sentiment would have been music to my ears when I was at my lowest. To see his desire to be with me after I persuaded him to hook up with another woman would have been charming, but not now. I was on the verge of eternally joining him to her in holy matrimony and would not be denied my match made in heaven.
“Your wedding is in one week and she is carrying our child. Getting cold feet is a luxury we can’t afford. If you ever want to cum again, you will go through with it, is that understood?”
“Y-Yes,” he whimpered in ecstasy.
I was hitting the right spot. Enforced chastity made him so much more agreeable. Could he be considered pussy-whipped if he wasn’t actually getting any? I continued applying delicate pressure to his prostate until he achieved his first true orgasm in lock-up. Engorged with blood, his member throbbed and twitched in its imprisonment then spurted a sticky substance onto my stomach.
“Be a good boy and clean up your mess,” I said in jest.
To my astonishment and arousal, he started licking his semen off me. His tongue tickled as it slid across my waist. I would have to do something about that. He was going to be a married man soon. I couldn’t have him be in lust with me like this. It was obvious why he had a sudden change of heart. Sarah was getting fatter, crankier and unable to have relations with him due to her pregnancy.
The cognitive dissonance in wanting him to both love and not love me was difficult, if not impossible to reconcile. I would be playing hard to get until he finally gave up. I didn’t want him to, but wouldn’t be satisfied until he did. It was a perplexing, no-win scenario that presented him with no avenue for victory. What man would put up with an insufferable woman with such low self-esteem? Seth, evidently, but for how long?
I heard the familiar sound of a bell ringing from off in the distance and groaned. The pregnancy simulator went back on and I felt like a pack mule with the heavy weight constricting my torso. The involuntary action of breathing was constantly apparent as I labored to take in each lungful of air. My back ached as I bent down to pick up the black flats that were part of my uniform.
* * *
“This is unacceptable,” Sarah remarked to the dressmaker with her hands accentuating the visible baby bump protruding through the fabric of her white wedding gown.
Off in the distance, a photographer fiddled with the lens on his camera, peered through the viewfinder and took a couple pictures. He surveyed the results and cautiously displayed them to the bridezilla.
“I can work around the um, obstruction, if I adjust the focal length and angle to alter the perspective. That should minimize its appearance.”
He was deliberate in his choice of words so as to not offend. Sarah did not want to be regarded as a pregnant bride, which carried with it the negative connotation that she wasn’t marriage material until her partner’s condom broke. At least, that’s what she thought her friends and family would be thinking.
“It’s easy to minimize the obstruction when most of the photos are headshots!” she angrily countered.
I stood by the door, silently waiting to be addressed.
“Lydia, you’re here at last. Make yourself useful and try this dress on.”
For what purpose did she want me to wear her gown?
“Hurry up! I don’t have all day. And take off that contraption you’ve got on.”
I dumbly looked around for a place to change. Sarah’s bare back was showing as an attendant helped her undress. I hurried to catch up, unbuttoning my uniform and dropping it to the wooden floor. The weighted vest soon followed, hitting with a watery thud and I was temporarily free of its undue influence.
I walked to where the dressmaker was holding up the expensive, elegant gown and stepped into it with the utmost care. She unclasped and removed my bra then zipped me up. Any pressing concern I had at not upsetting Sarah was quickly forgotten as I lost myself in a pleasant fantasy.
Seth confessed his undying devotion to me less than a half-hour ago. This could be our wedding and my dress, if I wanted them to be. We could go back to how things were before this seductress came along and pretend as if they never met and fell in love. The reality of the situation was that there were more important things in this world than our mutual adoration. They had a child together and he would learn to love her again and accept that it was over between us.
“With the addition of some padding up top, she has the ideal body type for this dress,” Sarah noted.
I blushed at the compliment. The full-figured American suddenly wished she could be shorter, thinner and altogether boyish for a day; to look petite and delicate next to the handsome, barrel-chested groom whose stature and physical prowess would be exaggerated in comparison. This was high praise coming from a gorgeous woman I idolized to a fault. She was right, it was almost tailored to fit me. I imagined she stipulated it be sewn that way, believing the tight-fitting apparel would compact her problem area.
“Let’s keep this one for her,” she concluded, “and make another for me.”
“I can make the necessary alterations, though I won’t be able to finish a second on such short notice,” the dressmaker replied.
“Hmm. I guess I don’t absolutely need two. How late can I keep this before you need it back?”
“Up to the night before.”
“You there,” she addressed the unnamed photographer who was patiently awaiting further instruction. “Can you work around her face?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Can she be a stand-in for me? I’d like to use her as a body double during the rehearsal. That is, if you can manage the simple task.”
“Uh, sure. Whatever you want. If you color her hair to match yours, I can use her for the wide shots in the rehearsal and you for the closeups at the wedding. With some planning, I may be able to seamlessly blend the separate pictures into composite images. That’ll cost extra. To be honest, it would be cheaper to digitally retouch the obstruction rather than use a stand-in.”
“The cost is inconsequential. I just want to look like her in the final product.”
I kept my mouth shut during the exchange. This turn of events was entirely unexpected. I was going to get the bridal experience of marrying Seth whether I wanted to or not.
The day before their wedding, Sarah and I had an appointment at the salon. The beautician assigned to me washed and dried my hair then commenced with the laborious process of attaching extensions. Everything was dyed a pure platinum blonde then cut and styled to resemble what they were doing with Sarah. She watched attentively as my hair was intricately braided. The pattern would be duplicated on her tomorrow.
We returned home and I slipped into her unaltered wedding dress. A pair of heels provided a modest increase in my height and my bust was augmented with the assistance of breast forms and double-sided tape. This was what my man deserved on a regular basis. I had the financial means, so why hadn’t I gone under the knife already?
Maybe it was because he could care less as to what my proportions were or if I had blonde hair, blue eyes and a fair complexion. Why had it taken me so long to comprehend that? Not once did he request that I enhance myself surgically or otherwise. I was the one who wanted him to have a Caucasian trophy wife. This was all on me and I would end it here and now.
With a spring in my step, I went outside to our backyard where the wedding would be held. Dozens of empty folding chairs were arranged on the grass to create an aisle for me to parade down. The appropriate music played in my mind as I approached Seth at the makeshift altar with a bouquet of flowers in my hands. Standing near the minister, he was ravishing as ever dressed in a tuxedo.
The photographer was clicking the shutter on his camera to capture the procession. From behind, I was Sarah’s diminutive doppelgänger. Less so from the front as the veil covering my head wasn’t opaque enough to obscure my facial features.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today...” the minister began.
I wasn’t listening. Seth held my hands and his gaze was fixed on mine. In that moment, nothing else in the world mattered. I unconsciously repeated my wedding vows and a ring was placed on my finger. The minister then pronounced us as man and wife. My make-believe husband lifted the veil covering my face and I closed my eyes as we locked lips.
“Marry me for real,” I whispered into his ear. “Tell him we’d like to make it official.”
“I can’t. I’m sorry. I have a responsibility that I cannot walk away from.”
The words of his refusal pierced my heart and shattered it into a thousand pieces. My makeup was ruined with the outpouring of emotion. It was absurd to think that I could object to their union at the last minute and convince him to leave his pregnant fiancée for me. I wasn’t anything more than his mistress, if that.
I implored him to marry her for months on end and had no right to feel betrayed. It was cruel what I had done; the callous disregard of his thoughts and opinions in favor of my own. This was always about what I wanted. His unwillingness to tie the knot reemerged recently and I proceeded to figuratively whip him into submission. What was he supposed to have done differently? I had no one to blame save myself for the heartbreak.
We hugged then he left me softly sobbing at the altar to go be with his bride. In less than a year, my upstart rival had taken him from me and the worst of it was, she did so with my enthusiastic support. I had this coming for a long time.
If the minister was puzzled as to why someone other than Sarah was doing the rehearsal, he was doubly confused as to why we embraced as lovers. Why had Seth kissed me? Was it to say goodbye or an unspoken promise that I would always be his? Perhaps it was neither. It could have been part of an insidious plot to keep me from immediately flying back to my home country. The newlyweds would have all manner of use for a diligent maid, not to mention her sizeable bank account.
On the spectrum from coldly calculating to sentimental sap, he was decidedly the latter. There was no deception at play here, just a hopeless romantic who was honor-bound to do what countless men had done before him—to marry the mother of his child and provide for them both. I wouldn't put it past his wife from engaging in a little subterfuge, however.
It was a bit strange how Sarah had me stand-in for her during the rehearsal. Did she really need an understudy that desperately? The photographer said he could give her the slender figure she craved without using me as a body double. I guess I could chalk it up to a pregnant woman acting irrationally. Could the reason behind our switcheroo be that benign?
She could conceivably have done it as a gesture of kindness. I was still afforded the privilege of seeing Seth in spite of what I did to her bodily autonomy. More than that, I was expected to have intercourse with him and admittedly, the sex was better than ever. What could be the harm in letting me go through a simulated wedding anyway?
I wasn’t sure if I completely bought the explanation that she did it to be nice. The girl next door had become something of a jezebel when she attempted to extort me. I would be a fool to take her generosity at face value. If this was a scheme, I was unaware of what was lurking beneath the surface.
The battle for the affections of one Seth Stevens had concluded, though I could not dwell on the bitter taste of my defeat as I also had an obligation to our child. Mine was more financial than familial, nevertheless, the role was a crucial one and I would stay with them for as long as they would have me.
Musings of this sort were largely academic, in any case. I was inescapably drawn to Sarah like a sailor to a siren’s song. I had no more choice in avoiding what lie ahead than Seth did in refusing to marry me. Even with the foreknowledge that my inclusion in their rehearsal was an elaborate setup wouldn’t have dissuaded me from participating. The opportunity to wed my beloved, fanciful or not, was a trap I would gladly fall into every time.
As the festivities were winding down, Sarah joined me in the room I was hiding in for another seated break. The blushing bride struggled to stand for any length of time. I was missing out on the indignity of serving guests at their wedding, though I fully understood her reasoning as to my omission. I was a liability, both in having someone on the groom’s side of the family recognize me and in my capacity for an emotional outburst.
“Can I get you a refreshment, ma’am?” I asked, disrupting the peace and quiet.
“No, thank you. I am visiting the bathroom every fifteen minutes as it is.”
Before she split for the celebration again, I built up the courage to express an inconvenient truth.
“I think my relationship with Mr. Stevens should be strictly platonic. It is inappropriate the way he has sought my company in bed instead of yours.”
It was in the best interests of the children that their father not be engaged in an extramarital affair. For their sake, he should also genuinely love their mother. Our therapeutic sessions to relieve the sexual frustration at the loss of his dick were not conducive to a healthy marriage.
“Be that as it may, I can’t let my wifely duties go unfulfilled,” Sarah said matter-of-factly. “We will be leaning on you more heavily in these coming months as I simply do not have the energy or libido at present.”
My composure wavered as I explored the depth of her statement. Just when I resigned myself to cutting off all physical contact with Seth, she was intent on sticking us back together. Could I be so fortunate? Questioning her mind games was tiresome though I couldn’t resist looking a gift horse in the mouth.
“Why not unlock Mr. Stevens so that he might take the edge off manually and at his own discretion?”
“I am of the belief that he will be a far more dutiful husband if I don’t.”
I was inclined to agree, but how was I going to direct that passion toward his wife if we kept having sex? As I considered several less than ideal options, I saw my blonde hair reflecting in a mirror and remembered how I had impersonated Sarah yesterday.
“May I suggest a method to lessen the impropriety then?”
“I am intrigued by your desire to compromise when none was required. Let’s hear it.”
“If he were to wear a blindfold when we were intimate, I could pretend to be you.”
A look of annoyance flashed across her face at the ridiculous recommendation.
“I am not exactly the silent type and your measurements are on the smaller side, notwithstanding my pregnancy, so how do you propose to deal with those discrepancies?”
I got up from where I was sitting and brought our hands together in a prolonged high five.
“Look, they are the same size.”
I had known this to be the case way back when she took my engagement ring for herself.
“I can fulfill all of your wifely duties with one hand and if I keep my clothes on, the weighted vest would take care of the rest. As for your voice, your supervision would be helpful.”
“That is not half bad, Lydia. I am impressed by your ingenuity and initiative. I will conduct the necessary preparations, so don’t go hurting your wrist before then.”
I was a bundle of nerves the next couple of hours. It was as if I was backstage at a concert hall about to perform in front of a crowd for the first time. A single slip of the tongue and the sexual symphony would become discordant.
After the reception was over and everyone had departed, Sarah retrieved me from my quarters and ushered me into the master bedroom. Once inside, I stripped down then assisted in the removal of her lavish garment. The traditional white wedding gown was a snug fit on me with the pregnancy simulator on underneath.
“Could you imagine if I had to wear these rags for a living?” she said of my distressed uniform. The outfit was unceremoniously put away as she grabbed a nightgown from her dresser to change into.
With a spritz of perfume to give me her unmistakable scent, I was primed to make my debut. We discussed what would happen and devised a sequence of events. The performance would abruptly go off the rails if my actions weren’t in sync with what she was saying. It very nearly did from the get go as I forgot a vital piece to my disguise.
“Put this on,” Sarah said, returning my old engagement ring. “It is not as ornate as mine, but should suffice.”
Seth would definitely have noticed if my ring finger did not have a metal band around it when I touched him. It felt like a lifetime ago since I had last worn it. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when she handed it to me. As a memento, the jewelry could either be worthless or precious depending on my mood.
Sarah and I locked ourselves in the attached bathroom and she texted Seth that she was ready to entertain him for the evening. He entered the bedroom and was instructed to undress, dim the lights and put the blindfold on that was laid out on the bed. Such requests weren’t out of the ordinary for a pregnant woman who felt unsexy and didn’t want their partner to see them naked.
She went out first to ensure that he had followed directions then gestured for me to accompany her when the coast was clear. Carrying a chair, I tiptoed toward the bed and set it down gently, careful not to cause any noisy squeaks in the floorboard. Sarah eased into a sitting position as I stood beside her.
“I am going to tie you up,” she said.
To maintain complete control, we would restrict his movements in case he got too touchy feely. I let the fabric of the wedding dress and the water-filled baby bump brush against him as I guided his left hand toward the headboard where I attached it with handcuffs. His right hand was locked into place then I repeated the process with his legs until he was secure.
I removed his chastity cage with the provided key and it turned out that Seth had a little performance anxiety of his own as his penis remained limp. It was like a caged animal that couldn’t function when returned to its natural environment. I tried to get his blood flowing with some mouth-to-dick resuscitation. When that didn’t work, I gave Sarah a look of consternation.
“I’ll bet you could get it up for our maid,” she improvised.
“I’m trying,” he replied, willing himself into arousal.
The admonishment seemed to do the trick and his dick doubled then tripled in size, overflowing out of my hand.
“It appears as though I’ve allowed you far too much leeway with your Ex. From this point forward, you belong to me. I don’t want to catch you with her again.”
“You won’t,” he readily avowed.
If only he knew that I was the one giving him an unenthusiastic handjob on his honeymoon. Now that they were married, Sarah didn’t have to put in the effort anymore. It wasn’t that unusual for a wife to lose interest in sex and she already had a history of deferring to me.
“Ugh. This is taking too long,” she complained. “My wrist is getting tired. I’m locking you back up in five minutes whether you finish or not.”
She was growing impatient as the charade dragged on. I, on the other hand, didn’t want it to end. The experience of getting to be Sarah was indescribable. I was with a man who thought I was a beautiful white woman. I almost wished I were mute and he were blind so it could go on forever. I could even have his children and he might never realize that they had a mixed heritage.
As the time limit expired, Sarah wanted me to literally wrap it up. Since I didn’t want to leave empty handed, I hurried to bring Seth to a less than satisfying climax. His happy ending was cut short when I stopped stroking his dick after he passed the point of no return. The ruined orgasm continued unabated, shooting out a rope of ejaculate that I caught with my palm.
Was I pressing my luck by making it unpleasurable? He might become suspicious if his wife and maid shared that distinguishing characteristic. There was no reason for him to associate what his bride had done with me. We were attempting to deceive him, after all.
“That’s all you get for at least a week,” she said, ignorant of the fact that he was unfulfilled.
Cleaning up in the bathroom, I flicked on the faucet to wash the semen off my hands. Before they reached the lukewarm stream, I contemplated using it to impregnate myself. Seth would then be inexorably tied to me for the rest of his life as he was with Sarah. I banished the childish thought and any potential kids as his seed disappeared down the drain.
Sarah resumed the mantle of Mrs. Stevens as I disrobed and clothed in the distinctive garb of a servant. I confessed to her in private that I purposefully denied her husband a satisfactory release. I could have withheld that information as the difference between wonderful relief and further humiliation was imperceptible to her. Keeping secrets was ill-advised. She had a right to know.
“Marriages are full of disappointments. He’ll get used to it.”
It occurred to me that I was teaching her on how to replace me in bed. She had her own repertoire of course, though with the inclusion of mine as well, there would be no need for any of my services when I was inevitably let go. It was important that Seth be content when I was gone so I would do all that I could to support Sarah in marginalizing me as his mistress.
The physical proof that my downward spiral wasn’t a bad dream arrived at 8:44 AM on a Tuesday. The marathon labor session was touch-and-go during the late hours of the early morning. For as great a pair Mr. and Mrs. Stevens were visually, Sarah’s fitness to bear his children was lacking. In a less civilized era, she could have died and taken the baby with her. For a fleeting moment, I prayed that she would; the terrible tragedy a costly cure for my depression.
Amid a period of mourning, Seth and I would be brought back together in our shared grief. He would remarry after his late wife’s death and gradually forget about their brief romance. As the years progressed, she would be merely a footnote in our relationship. Since I paid for Sarah to have the best neonatal care money could buy, she was fine. The newborn, a boy, was perfectly healthy as well. The only bad news delivered on that day was the doctor advising his mom against having any additional kids in the future.
I felt like a third wheel lounging in the hospital room, invited out of pity and serving no purpose. Perhaps Sarah wanted me to watch as Seth attended to her every want and desire. With the safe arrival of their son, they were connected to each other in a way that I would never be.
“Would you like to hold Julian?” Sarah asked when the two of us were alone.
“Y-Yes,” I hesitantly replied with a lump in my throat, fearful she would snatch him away and laugh in my face.
The girl next door had a radiant smile. Maybe she wasn’t the monster I made her out to be. Bittersweet tears slid down my cheeks as I cradled the bundle of joy in my arms. He was the culmination of all my fears about not being good enough for my fiancé. The sense of shame was overpowering. I brought an innocent life into this world for all the wrong reasons.
“You would have made a wonderful mother. I was saddened when I heard about your condition.”
I raised an eyebrow in puzzlement. What condition was she talking about?
“About how you can’t have children,” she said. “Seth told me after the unfortunate incident with my birth control.”
Oh. My. God.
I was spared the guillotine by a lie that made me out to be a different kind of sad and pathetic. Instead of wanting to see my head roll, she felt sorry for me. Had I completely misread her intentions as a conniving bitch out for blood, the mastermind set on stealing my family and fortune? That gave me a whole new perspective on the pregnancy simulator, the wedding rehearsal and conjugal visits.
My supposed barren womb prevented me from participating in the act of motherhood, but I got to go through some of the experience with the weighted vest. This was done to make me feel like I played an integral part in his creation, which I sort of did. I had a hunch that I wouldn’t be obliged to wear it any longer.
Obviously, all three of our names couldn’t be on the birth certificate and neither did the law permit Seth to be a bigamist. Despite that, Sarah was intent on including me whenever possible. She did more than I could have hoped for in allowing me to be her husband’s second wife in all but name.
The epiphany flipped a switch in my head, banishing the darkness and brightening my spirits. My happily ever after had taken a minor detour to pick up a passenger along the way. Now that Sarah was accompanying me in my journey with Seth, I couldn’t envision a tomorrow without her by my side.
“You don’t know how much this means to me,” I said, expressing my sincere gratitude.
I lifted my gaze to meet hers when I was greeted with silence. In her fatigue, she had fallen asleep. The handoff was such a non-event for her, she didn’t bother to keep an eye on me. Her actions spoke louder than words.
* * *
Seth’s paternity leave at work was abbreviated as he was too vital to lose for an extended period of time. That put me back into the caring role he had been filling in the days leading up to and after Julian’s birth. With him gone and the revelation that Sarah was a decent human being, I was energized with a renewed purpose. This was my child as much as it was theirs. He was the fruit of my labor. I was the one who made the online dating profile for my fiancé, found him a prettier wife and arranged for her to get pregnant.
A good night’s sleep was foreign to me over the subsequent month. The little one was running me ragged, up every hour on the hour needing milk, a diaper change or the soothing sound of my voice. At the other end of the mansion, his parents were able to sleep like a baby, which was to say that they were rested and relaxed come morning. I wasn’t ungrateful of being given this responsibility, just tired.
The spark I helped to rekindle between Mr. and Mrs. Stevens was aflame. Sarah was eager to reclaim Seth as her own now that her body wasn’t flooded with hormones. As the mother of his child, she was more beautiful to him than ever before even with the added weight and stretch marks. The best part was, I wasn’t even jealous! I had him all to myself while she was indisposed so she had a lot of catching up to do. We could work out a schedule for sharing later.
True to his word, Seth kept his distance. Our interactions proceeding the wedding were awkward. At present, they were bordering on cordial. The routine of living with him and his family, preparing dinner for them in my uniform and acting as a live-in nanny had a normalizing effect. I went from prospective partner to mannered maid with my adherence to not showing an ounce of impropriety. Absence would make his heart grow fonder.
After numerous delays, the photographer sent us the composite images assembled from our respective ceremonies. He did a fantastic job in turning me into Sarah. I couldn’t tell where I started and she ended. She was majestic, in no small part to my contribution. To my surprise, he personally emailed me several shots where he did the reverse of what he was paid to do. He photoshopped me into pictures taken at the actual wedding as a courtesy from one professional to another for use in my portfolio as a model. That was very confusing as I wasn’t a model and had no idea as to how he got my email address, for that matter.
This was Sarah’s doing, no doubt and what an incredibly generous thing to do. I got to commemorate a wedding that never took place. That made me love her all the more. She was definitely wife material. Were I a man and not already spoken for, I’d get down on one knee and propose. I was so enamored with the quality of the work that I forwarded the pictures to my father. He was ecstatic to learn that Seth finally made an honest woman out of me. I was happy to not have to listen to his nagging anymore. My reprieve was short-lived as our conversation inevitably shifted toward when he could expect some grandchildren. He was nothing if not persistent. Why the rush?
In addition to her creative gift, Sarah was exercising nearly every day. As far as I was aware, the decision to slim down was entirely her own. It was a certainty that most would want to regain the mobility they lost while bedridden, though few would work so hard at it. She was getting fit and trim and it was for my benefit as much as it was for her.
Jogging on a treadmill, the blonde bombshell’s ponytail swung like a pendulum as she struggled to keep up with the rapid pace. Her form faltered and she grabbed the handrails to steady herself. A purple sports bra soaked up the perspiration that was accumulating on her chest.
“Five more minutes at this intensity,” I encouraged.
It turned me on to see her reshaping her body to make it irresistible to Seth. When she was at her peak, there would be no competition. In her estimation, I was practically a boy with no curves to speak of. She, on the other hand, was the antithesis of an adolescent. Her femininity was on full display with wide hips and large breasts. I got wet just by watching her sweat.
“That condition of yours...” she began, utilizing what air she could spare, “does it also preclude you... from having one of mine?”
My mind raced as fast as her legs ran. Was she asking if I could be a surrogate? The specifics of my imagined inability to procreate were undefined so the answer could be whatever I wanted it to. It would be nice for Julian to have a sister and for Sarah to have a daughter. I think it was fair to say that I owed her one.
“It doesn’t,” I said succinctly.
The machine she was on beeped and initiated a cooldown. She caught her breath as she walked.
“I’m glad to hear that as you need to be doing more to earn your keep around here.”
The playful banter she came up with was invigorating.
“I am envious of the way you carried the weight of that vest so effortlessly,” she praised. “Your body was almost designed to carry my children. I mean, why should I ruin my figure when yours isn’t much to look at?”
The argument was logical. Nobody cared if a colorful flower absorbed all the precious nutrients in the dirty ground. I would be the soil in which her seed would be planted. My physique, such as it was, would be ravaged by a parasitic fetus while hers would remain unblemished and seductive. It was regrettable that we hadn’t done this from the beginning. Her derogatory comments made me wish she hadn’t confiscated all my sex toys.
The process of stimulating her ovaries to produce multiple eggs for retrieval took about a month. When combined with Seth’s sperm they formed embryos ready for implantation. The most promising candidate was selected for me and the rest were frozen. No gender screening was conducted. If Julian ended up with a brother, Sarah indicated that we would simply have to try again with the half-dozen still in cold storage.
There was no shortage of people like me in this world while the demand for what would be developing inside my body couldn’t keep up with the supply. The genetic material of Sarah and Seth was at a premium as they were an attractive couple. It was reasonable to assume that their kids would have all the same societal advantages that came with being good-looking. An upfront investment in their appearance would pay handsome dividends down the line.
While the humiliation of becoming an incubator with no protection under the law would have been amazing, it was not to be. The fertility clinic informed the biological parents that any gestational agreement would be unenforceable. I would be the baby’s legal mother until I relinquished my rights and consented to an adoption. They had no choice but to trust me.
I lugged Sarah’s travel bag down the stairs and set it next to the front door. She was embarking on a weekend getaway with her husband. They were throwing a farewell party of sorts. Seth’s vasectomy was scheduled for the following Monday.
I was supportive of his wife’s decision to have him snipped. It was an effective method of preventing pregnancy, which was a legitimate concern for everyone. The lie that kept our family from tearing itself apart would be exposed if on my due date a biracial baby popped out. Sarah’s medical complications with carrying another child also necessitated that he be metaphorically neutered. It was win-win.
That was not to say that Seth and I had consummated our marriage. Only fringe religious groups would deem jerking a guy off while pretending to be someone else an acceptable form of intercourse. And I hadn’t even done that in forever. Penetrative sex would have to wait until I gave birth and got back into shape.
The baby would be a girl, thank god. The prospect of going years without making love to my hot husband would be unbearable. He kissed me on the cheek before walking out the door to load their bags into the car. I felt the hard metal enclosure in his pants bump into my thigh when he leaned in.
Poor Seth. Like a lamb led to the slaughter, he was oblivious that the key to unlock him was hanging around my neck. We were quite fond of keeping him on a short leash. He thought this trip was going to be akin to a wild bachelor party. The crowning conclusion of his masculine potency before he started shooting blanks. Soon, the last vestiges of his vigor and vitality would exist exclusively within the unborn children chilling in a tank of liquid nitrogen.
The fantasy of depriving myself or anyone else from ever conceiving with him was exciting. He had one kid with a second on the way and that was it besides the limited number of embryos. All of his potential progeny would share the same mother regardless of any irreconcilable differences.
I handed Sarah my credit card before she left. The bill for their vacation would come out of my own pocket. I enjoyed giving them some quality time together. They would have the weekend to get out of the house, eat at fancy restaurants and be intimate without constantly checking in on Julian.
My dinner that night was a prepackaged meal heated up in the microwave. Some of them weren’t that bad. I was too exhausted to cook anything, which was happening more often lately. Dessert was a pint of my favorite ice cream, Americone Dream. I liked the symbolism—along with the caramel and bits of waffle cone.
In the master bedroom, I stripped down to my underwear and found a decent pair of Sarah’s clothes I could borrow. I raised the shirt up and took a couple profile pictures of my abdomen in the bathroom mirror. My father wouldn’t understand the complexities of the situation if I was wearing a maid’s uniform when I texted him the snapshots of my baby bump. The stress of finding out his daughter was a degenerate would probably kill him.
A week later, I got word that it did. They said it was a heart attack, which was not uncommon for a man of his advanced age. My grief vanished without a trace when I read a copy of the will. It sent chills down my spine. I got nothing.
The stated reason for my glaring omission was to ensure that my husband couldn’t take half of the inheritance in a divorce. It all went into a trust fund accessible solely by one of our kids on their eighteenth birthday. Preference was allocated to the firstborn son. Apparently, my old-fashioned father loathed the idea of leaving his entire fortune to a woman.
Said offspring would also gain control of his company when they came of age. Until then, it would be under Seth’s guidance, the enterprising CEO of the upstart American division. As a foreigner, he would never have been appointed unless he was married to me, which he wasn’t.
The pieces all fell into place and I had to applaud the masterful performance Sarah gave in playing me like a fiddle. She supplied the rope that I used to hang myself. I convinced my father that I was married using the duplicate wedding photos she forged. The dress rehearsal was just an excuse to get me into costume.
It was sickening how she scammed me into becoming a surrogate for her. I would be the girl’s mother on paper and that was enough for Sarah to steal my wealth out from under me. She could easily file for custody and win because I did not have the means with which to fight a protracted legal battle. All my money was gone, diverted to a kid that wasn’t mine.
The assumption was that Seth would provide for me. What my father couldn’t have foreseen was his vow to love, honor and obey Sarah. There was no doubt in my mind that she was the one pulling the strings in this heist. The ring on his finger compelled him to act in her best interest. I could rationalize his behavior and even sympathize with him for siding with that succubus. What I could not forgive was her backstabbing betrayal. That evil woman was content with sacrificing her son in order to deceive me. She was the first and only friend I made in the States. The dissolution of our camaraderie was more devastating than the loss of any material goods.
My pulse quickened as I contemplated my fate. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I wasn’t qualified for any high-paying jobs outside of the ones my father assigned. Returning home wasn’t an appealing option either. If I had to labor as a domestic to earn a living, the people here would be less disparaging than my countrymen. Over there, my fall from grace would be remarked upon without relent. They would intentionally mistreat a destitute daughter from the upper class.
I scoured the will in the hope of discovering a loophole. My heart sank when I realized what I would have to do. A long forgotten clause in the document stipulated that control of my father’s estate would revert to me in the event that I was unable to have children. A medical exam by a licensed professional would be required to verify that this was the case.
I could regain all that I lost. I need only have an abortion and then sterilize myself. A Faustian bargain if there ever was one. A deal with the devil and all it would cost me was my soul.
We had already picked out a name for the baby girl that was growing inside me. It was Faith. I would have to kill Faith to avoid going broke. Would a comfortable, carefree and childless life even be worth living with her blood on my hands? What Sarah had done would pale in comparison to what I was considering.
I agonized over the ethical dilemma for hours in secret. Before committing to a course of action, I brainstormed how I might get away with murder. Using the airport as a route of escape would be a gamble. I could be detained the moment I stepped off the flight. As a pregnant woman on an immigrant visa, it wouldn’t be hard for the authorities to justify if the right call was placed.
In my quiet solitude, Sarah called for me from somewhere in the mansion. I hated that I could’ve been Sarah Stevens if I wasn’t so insecure.
“Lydia, where are you?”
My urge to confront her overrode any aspect of self-preservation. I had to do this for my own sanity. In a blur, I stormed off to meet the hateful harlot and stare into her bright blue eyes. The whole sordid affair of treachery and deceit came spewing out of my mouth in a barely coherent rant. She plead ignorance in spite of the overwhelming evidence to the contrary.
“I honestly don’t know what you are talking about.”
Getting her to admit to a conspiracy before payday was a fool’s errand. That money wasn’t hers just yet and I wouldn’t be getting a confession out of her today.
“You said it yourself that there was a financial incentive for you to be here,” I pointed out. “This has always been about the money for you!”
“I’m sorry for your loss, but you are acting irrationally. No one is out to get you.”
I wanted to believe her and given my reluctance to terminate the pregnancy, I didn’t have a better alternative. I suppose having her masquerade as my friend for a little while longer was something.
“I’m only going to say this once. You are family and I love you like a sister. You will always have a place here with us.”
Perhaps as their nanny. She hid her cruelty well.
“Now get back to work. There are dishes piling up in the sink and I will hear no more of this nonsense.”
I put my faith in her after she did likewise and felt my grudge receding. Whether she was telling the truth or not, it wouldn’t be prudent of me to accuse my employer of theft.
At the sound of pottery shattering into pieces, I dropped what I was doing and hurried to retrieve a dustpan and broom. I headed toward the disturbance where the pretty perpetrator was waiting for me to arrive. I stood at the ready in my uniform and made no move to gather the fragments right away.
The spoiled princess, a brat really, loved smashing the valuable works of art around the mansion and daring me to stop her. It was such a wasteful display of affluence to destroy a porcelain vase worth more than my yearly salary in her service. She placed a hand on the lip of another and tilted it off its base to try and get a rise out of me.
“I’ll let you have this one if you scold me for breaking them,” she said.
To an ordinary maid, the offer would be tempting. As a humbled heiress, however, I wouldn’t debase myself by begging for the scraps of what I used to own.
“It is not my place to interfere, Ms. Stevens. You may do with your property as you wish,” I conceded without emotion.
She followed through with her threat and the vase unceremoniously tumbled to the ground. Watching me submit to her was her new favorite game to play ever since she came into money. I went through a similar phase when I was her age.
“Faith! Quit harassing Lydia. She doesn’t deserve to be treated this way.”
Sarah heard the commotion and came to my defense as I collected the debris and swept up the mess her daughter made. The teenage tyrant was displeased by her mother’s insolence.
“I see that you have chosen not to observe proper decorum. Lydia, would you please find a suitable uniform for her to wear and assign her your share of the housework for the remainder of the week.”
“I am your mother, Faith.”
“Make it two weeks.”
“Young lady, I will not refer to you as Ms. Stevens,” she objected, visibly incensed by how she had to capitulate to the whimsical demands of a narcissist.
“Three weeks. Would you care to make it a month?”
Defeated, Sarah sighed, lowered her head and decided to cut her losses.
“No, Ms. Stevens,” she mumbled.
“Speak louder, I can’t hear you.”
“No, Ms. Stevens, I would not care to make it a month.”
“Good. You are dismissed.”
I escorted Sarah to my room where I picked out an identical black and white maid outfit for her to wear. The zipper wouldn’t go up all the way as it was too tight for her to fit into.
“Your stubborn resistance isn’t doing you any favors,” I said.
“This charade has gone on long enough. I had to put my foot down.”
“Yeah, and look where that got you, doing my chores. She will eventually tire of throwing these temper tantrums.”
“Wake up, Lydia!” she exclaimed in frustration. “If it is this bad now, it’ll be that much worse when she actually has access to the money. She’ll keep pushing us to test her limits and by then it’ll be too late. No one will be able to stop her.”
“Just play nice and don’t do anything you will regret.”
“How can I when she exiled my boy?”
“You are exaggerating their sibling rivalry. Julian will be back at the end of Summer. Now come on, let’s get you outside.”
We left the air-conditioned interior of the mansion for the outdoor garden. The scorching heat of the sun was oppressive in the midday and twice as harsh with the garments we had on. I set her to work picking out all the weeds. Those soft, manicured hands of hers weren’t used to getting dirty doing manual labor.
“Aren’t you going to help?” she asked expectantly.
“I’m afraid that Ms. Stevens specifically instructed me not to,” I joked, pretending to abandon her in the sweltering humidity.
I walked a few paces in the opposite direction before turning around. I wouldn’t hang my best friend out to dry after she stood up for me. It was ironic that I was so worried about her plotting against me that I didn’t put much thought into the possibility that Faith would be her own person and not her mother’s puppet.
It would be overly dramatic to say that she was rotten, corrupted by the power and influence she wielded. I was proud of her willingness to challenge authority and found the melodrama to be entertaining. Forcing her mother to do chores was laughably juvenile.
“What are the chances that you would be up for having a second kid?” she casually inquired. “Preferably a boy this time.”
I chuckled at the absurd notion.
“You want to stage a revolt against our dainty dictator? You can’t be serious. I’m too old for that.”
“Your father’s will stipulates that the firstborn son gets everything. If we hurry, we won’t have to live under her iron fist anymore. Can’t you see that she doesn’t have the right temperament to lead this family?”
As a matter of fact, my duties were eased with little miss sunshine in charge.
“An army of lawyers would be beating down our door to represent her if we tried to subvert her inheritance at the eleventh hour. Moreover, we don’t know if the embryos you have in storage are still viable or that any of them are boys.”
“We wouldn’t be using my genetic material as your biological son would have the better claim,” she countered. “We will have to reverse Seth’s vasectomy and fix whatever is wrong with you, of course.”
Her scheme was farfetched to begin with and I didn’t want a medical exam reopening old wounds by revealing that there was nothing wrong with my reproductive system other than the onset of menopause. I had to shoot down her ambitious plan before it could take flight.
“I would have a high probability of miscarrying and there’s no guarantee that Seth’s operation would be a success. I think we would have better luck with counseling.”
She was annoyed that I didn’t immediately love her innovative solution.
“My husband IS going to impregnate you,” she asserted. “You WILL have a beautiful multicultural baby boy and he WILL respect his parents. End of discussion.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I wholeheartedly agreed, although I wasn’t interested in cooperating.
I had come to terms with my lot in life and she would too. Taking drastic action to replace Faith with someone more susceptible to suggestion was ill-advised. No one was hurt by her childish behavior, except her mother’s ego.
Sarah’s pale skin was a burnt red when we finished and came inside. She was having difficulty adjusting to her demotion and smugly refused to curtsy for her daughter. Another argument ensued and ended just as predictably.
“If you can’t adhere to the rules, Father will be fired when I take control of the family business,” Faith avowed. “Who will pay for Julian’s education then? Do you want him to end up in retail, working his way through community college like a common wage slave?”
It was brutal how she took a mother’s love for her son and used it to twist her into submission. Sarah hadn’t held a job in over a decade so she was under a tremendous amount of pressure to maintain her composure and not cause trouble for Seth. It was the least she could do given how important and precarious his continued employment was.
“I can say for certain that you won’t be allowed in our gated community unless it is to clean one of our neighbor’s mansions.”
The poor maid was quivering from the thought of how demeaning that would be. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying this. There was some small satisfaction in the knowledge that my inheritance was beyond her sphere of influence.
When Faith was getting ready for school the next morning, I politely knocked on her bedroom door to notify her of the alarming conversation I had with Sarah before she got wind of it herself.
“Just a minute,” she yelled.
The verbal defense all teens involuntarily use when they aren’t sure if they remembered to lock their door kept her room service at bay, although I was not bringing the young miss her breakfast. I had with me something of greater value—privileged information.
The door swung open in due course and the bossy girl who resembled her doe-eyed mother stood at the entrance, not inviting me in. She had grown taller than me in recent months as a result of her American parentage and would continue maturing until she reached her full height.
“What is it? What do you want?” she questioned, eager to send me away.
“May I speak to you privately?”
Faith took in a deep breath and exhaled, audibly indicating her irritation to anyone listening.
She turned and sat on her bed as I entered and shut the door behind me.
“Ms. Stevens, I regret to inform you that your mother is determined to permanently block you from your trust fund by any means necessary.”
“She can’t do that! I mean, not without your help she can’t.”
“I am acutely aware of that, ma’am. Nevertheless, it is my desire to keep you apprised of her activities.”
“I saw the way your face lit up with excitement when I berated her,” she said. “You want me to reward your loyalty by humiliating her further.”
“Your assistance would be most appreciative,” I admitted with a coy smile. “We could temporarily swap our positions. You would force me to wear her jewels under protest, dye my hair and strut around in her heels like I owned the place.”
“That can be arranged. I’ve got stuff to do so thanks for the heads up, Mom. You don’t always have to be so formal, you know.”
We hugged, our bond getting stronger the closer Faith got to her deceased grandfather’s money. My heart swelled with adoration for the angelic daughter I shared with Sarah, though the coincidental timing of our burgeoning personal relationship did not go unnoticed. I banished those intrusive thoughts when they appeared. Obsessing over what might happen was unhealthy, the vicious cycle of paranoia and suspicion inventing acts of duplicity and deception when there were none.
As Sarah had truthfully stated, no one was out to get me.
A gold chain around Faith’s neck sparkled in the light as I moved away from her.
“I haven’t seen you wearing that before, is it new?”
She pulled it up and off then held it at arm’s length for me to view. The shimmering metal chains dangled below her thumb and index finger. At the bottom was an ornate silver key.
“It was a gift from an admirer. You can have it.”
She callously disposed of the unwanted jewelry by dropping it into my hand, rejecting their declaration of love. A charming girl like her would break many a boy’s hearts; some of them intentionally.
“What’s the key for?”
“His diary, if you can believe it.”
“Oh, that’s sweet. I’d better hang onto it for when he asks for it back.”
I slipped it over my head and hid it beneath my uniform where I wouldn't lose it.
* * *
An hour ago, prior to Seth leaving for work, he quietly entered Faith’s bedroom unannounced. She pretended to be fast asleep as he admired his illegitimate daughter’s developing body from afar in a way that no father should, for she was not his daughter and he was not her father. The ruinous secret was on the tip of his tongue, begging to be set free so the stigma surrounding his lust would be lifted.
She consciously tossed in her slumber as he approached her bed. He gently ran his fingers through her bleach blonde hair, the same color her mother wore. The smooth skin on her face had a natural, youthful glow that was unsullied by any makeup. Underneath the covers, a pink nightie hugged her blossoming form. He was yearning to see her wearing it after he stumbled upon it in her dresser drawer.
His manhood surged with anticipation and was promptly confined by the cramped enclosure of his chastity cage. Any man would want the carnal pleasures of her nubile body, he reasoned. It was tragic then that he should be the only one forbidden from having her. A cruel fate made even more so because he was responsible for her very existence as the perfect union of Sarah’s Caucasian features and Lydia’s money.
He was the one who manipulated her father to amend his will and exclude her from the family fortune. He then procured sperm that was not his own, which enabled the fertility clinic to create for him an heiress that he had no blood relationship to. She was on the verge of a predetermined hostile takeover of his company and he was anxious to be subservient to her. He had been grooming her for the job, encouraging her to dominate the two older women she was supplanting.
“Faith,” he whispered in an effort to rouse her.
She opened her eyes in a controlled daze as if she wasn’t already fully alert and wide awake.
“What?” she faintly blurted out before gathering her bearings.
“Your mother had a bad day yesterday and is attempting to seize your inheritance for herself.”
She demurely pursed her lips in consternation. As a damsel in distress, she would seductively implore him to rescue her.
“You won’t let her take away my money, will you Daddy?”
“Don’t you worry, Pumpkin.”
“Ugh! I’m not a little girl anymore,” she cutely complained.
He brushed the hair out of her face and she tried not to flinch or shudder from disgust.
“I know. I hope you’re not too big for presents yet,” he said, giving her a shiny gold necklace that had a key attached.
“What does it open?” she asked, feigning ignorance.
He didn’t dare say that it unlocked his dick from the torturous prison he put it in. The ongoing thrill of secretly entrusting her with the sole key would exceed the excruciating pain he would endure from weeks or months without release.
“A lockbox at the bank with all the documents pertaining to your trust fund. Wear it around your neck to keep it safe as I may need to borrow it occasionally. You can tell your mother it is for your diary.”
She was relieved to finally have the undeniable proof that would send him away for the rest of his miserable life. Enticing him into her trap was a cinch. All she had to do was act her age and play hard to get.
“Thank you so much, Daddy. You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, Princess. Sleep well.”
He departed for work on cloud nine, blissfully unaware of the bombshell that she would drop on him, the incestuous creep who was most certainly not her father.