Story: Contracted. Chapter 1-4.

A story from a new contibutor, Anastasia Devereaux. The first four chapters, there is more to come. Hope you enjoy it. 

CONTRACTED

by Anastasia Devereaux

CHAPTER ONE: LUNETTE 

The message on the card was simple. “The usual coffee shop. 1 p.m. tomorrow. Arrive drag.” 

As he entered the coffee shop, Stewart fingered the card and flipped over the other side. He knew what was written there — it was his own business card, after all — but it always made him smile a bit. 

“Anastasia Devereaux Household Services: old-fashioned service, old-world respect,” it read. It sounded so pretentious when phrased that way, but then, a certain amount of formality was inherent to the game. “Sounds like a stripper name, or maybe a drag queen,” Lunette had told him years ago, when he first made the proposal.

In three years, he had not yet come up with a phrase to genuinely describe what he was doing. He didn’t consider himself transgender, not really — when not dressed up, he felt quite male — nor did he think of himself exactly as a crossdresser. “I’m a drag queen who does housework rather than perform onstage,” he’d once said, and that felt as accurate as anything else. “Sissy maid” was a term he’d encountered, but it felt … inadequate … to describe what this was. He wasn’t in this for humiliation; he genuinely liked living as a servant. He called Ana “my other face,” and that was as good as anything. 

He had a wide array of housecleaning clients, more than enough to keep him busy full-time, but she was special. Lunette Stillwell -- a name no more real than Anastasia’s, but one that made their personal game all the more insular -- had been with Ana since before she’d had a name. The first person he’d come out to with his crossdressing-maid habit, and one who’d helped him come to terms with the identity. Six years now Ana had worked for Lunette, at least once per week and sometimes more frequently, as a housemaid, assistant, occasional home renovation labor and carpenter on Lunette’s house-flipping business. The latter task tested Ana’s versatility, but she was more than read to accept orders. 

Lately she’d been distracted by other tasks, and he missed their easy interaction, so this mysterious summons certainly had his attention. He knew the coffee shop she meant -- the same one down the street from his apartment, the place where he’d first come out to her. 

“Arrive drag,” it said, and he followed the instructions, so to speak. He was more comfortable in women’s wear anymore -- specifically Ana’s wide array of maid outfits -- but he could fake being a cis male with the best of them. And he appreciated Lunette’s habit of calling it “drag” when he dressed as a man. It made Ana’s identity feel all the more authentic to him. Ana’s face felt more real to him than Stewart’s did. 

He looked up as Lunette strode in, dressed in full business wear. He knew her well enough to pick her out by her stride and the distinctive click of her high heels on the floor. She paid no attention to him at first, taking her time ordering her coffee.

He waited as she assembled her order and came over. It took everything he had to stay seated. Ana always stood in Miss Lunette’s presence; Stewart did not. Nonetheless, she paused uncomfortably for a moment before pulling out her chair, then sat and pushed her sunglasses -- very expensive sunglasses, he was quite familiar with her tastes by now -- up on her forehead.

She wasted no time. “I have a business proposition regarding the young lady of both our acquaintance,” she said, using her old habit of referring to Ana as a separate person when they were out of character. Which, these days, was fairly rare. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d dressed as a male in her presence. 

“Well, as Anastasia Devereaux’s business manager, I’m all for hearing new prospects,” he said. He kept half an eye on her hands as she stirred cream into her coffee. It felt somehow … wrong … to be both sitting in her presence and not attending to her drink personally. 

“I’ll get straight to the point. I’m interested in retaining Miss Ana’s services exclusively, full-time, for the long term.”

He took a deep breath. “Define full-time.”

“My real estate management has gone better than I expected. That Victorian mini-mansion we’ve been fixing up? I’m not going to flip it after all. I’m planning on moving in there myself. And it’s a big place. I’m going to need help maintaining it, not to mention assistance just keeping this real estate stuff going.”

“So you want her as your assistant?” he asked. 

“Ohhh, no. Much more than that.” She took a deep breath. “I want Ana as my live-in maidservant. Very Downton Abbey, really. I’ll provide small quarters and all her uniform needs, and in return, she gives me 24/7 service and sees to every need around the house. Which, given its size, will be considerable.”

He tried to keep a poker face at the immensity of the offer. He didn’t think he succeeded. “And what, pray tell, does Miss Ana get out of this deal?” he asked. 

“Why, the lifestyle she’s always wanted, of course. The one I have heard about many times and inferred even more by watching. Immersing completely in the role as a loyal maid girl and leaving the rest of her life behind.” She pushed the empty creamers aside, and he saw her eyes flicker to him.  No surprise, he was doing the same. If Ana was on duty, she’d have already disposed of her mistress’ trash smoothly and silently almost before she noticed. Just like her hesitation expecting her maid to pull out the chair. Months and months of conditioning had trained them both about what to expect from the other.

“It seems to me,” he said, “that this is more than just about my - about Ana’s fantasy.”

She grinned. “I admit it. I’ve become very accustomed to the way Ana spoils me. I like having my doors opened, my drinks served, my coat put on for me. Makes me feel like royalty, or maybe The Godfather. Important, in any event.”

He leaned back, taking it all in. “And you really want this? It’s one thing to be a part-time game for us, but are you ready to go full-time? That’s a lot of responsibility, to be the mistress of a maid at all times.”

She regarded him coolly. “Remember what you said after I took Ana for that week on Key West? How much she loved it? Despite, or maybe because of, the fact she was on duty and in character nonstop, and that I never treated as anything more important than my random help?”

“I did indeed. I also seem to recall she got caned every time any of the resort workers annoyed you.”

“Well, I couldn’t very well beat THEM, now, could I? And I seem to recall myself that, what was the saying? Ah, yes. ‘Being the maid means never getting to call your treatment unfair.’ Point being, you spoiled the hell out of me that week. I only vaguely remember the details of the vacation, though to be fair I was drinking a whole lot, but I remember every detail of how well and how dedicated my maid was to taking care of me. I think I got addicted to being served and treated like, well, the Victorian mistress of the house.”

“I certainly admit, it CAN be intoxicating, on both sides,” he agreed.

“And I’ve been doing some reading and research lately. I found … a few interesting books on old-timey servitude and I have some ideas.” She bit her lip slightly, despite herself, at the thought. “I have to confess, they are some VERY interesting thoughts. But you’ve been my part-time maid for five years now, dear; you’ve learned to anticipate my needs very well. And honestly, it looks to be kind of lonely in a house that big. I do like company, from time to time.” She gave a crooked smile. “And I DEFINITELY enjoy the companionship of an obedient servant who goes away the moment i tell them to.”

He shrugged. “We enjoy what we enjoy.”

“Yes. And speaking of which, you can expect PLENTY of corporal punishment if you do this with me.”

“Is that supposed to sell me on this?” he said.

“It is, and you KNOW it’s working,” she said. “I know full well what your life is like. You barely feel natural appearing as a guy anymore, and you work for all those housekeeping clients precisely to keep the feeling going. This cuts out a lot of the middleman. This IS your hobby as well as your job. Being a maid is your life. This just … lets you go all the way with it.” She leaned forward and flashed a smile that he knew full well meant she was convinced she was going to get her way. “You know this is what you want.”

He couldn’t disagree with her logic. His bachelor’s degree in history was beyond useless, and he’d gotten into housecleaning as a side hustle for lack of anything better to do. Combining it with his crossdressing interest had turned out to be a more lucrative business than he’d expected. “I still have all those housekeeping clients, you know.” 

“I do know. And I regret that, but they can find someone else. Maybe not as good as Ana, but good enough. And if this doesn’t work out, it’s not like you’ve lost anything. You could move out and go right back to housecleaning for a dozen clients without any trouble.” She was right on that front as well. Thanks to word of mouth and Ana’s reputation around various subcultures from the bondage scene to roller derby, he had more business than he could handle. 

“I’m not talking about being your fetish dispensary here,” she continued. “This is serious. And long term.”

“I understand.”

“And once I get to the mental place to make this happen, I’m not easily going back,” she said. “We’re talking about a total lifestyle change for us both. Are you ready for that?”

“I am. It feels like the time I almost got married, except that didn’t have as much negotiation.”

“If marriages were negotiated this way, I think everyone would be happier.” Stewart had to admit, seeing her be this detached and businesslike about his own servitude was rather excitingin its own right. And he knew she knew, too.

He took a deep breath. “Okay, Miss Lunette. I’m in.”

She grinned brightly.  “All right. Down to brass tacks. How hardcore do you want the transition to be?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we started this out kind of easy but I also know you had a certain amount of non-consensual fantasizing you’ve never played with. Being forced into servitude and roughly treated from day one. I can offer you that. If you want. Because there won’t be another chance after that. So tell me. How hard do you want it?”

His eyes glittered as he took her hand. “How hard have you GOT?”

She smiled tightly. “Hard enough. We’re almost done. Listen carefully. I want you to be my maid, only my maid, and nothing but my maid, for the rest of your life. Do you agree?”

“Yes.” He knew the ‘rest of your life’ thing was an affectation -- wasn’t it? -- but it gave him a tiny thrill nonetheless.

“Say it. I want to hear you say it.”

He stood up, reached across the table and took her hand. He might have been dressed male, but his face was entirely Ana’s now. “Miss Lunette, I want to be your maid, only your maid, and nothing but your maid, for the rest of my life.”

The smile flickered, then vanished under businesslike veneer. “Granted.” She slid him an envelope. “This contains instructions for winding up your business, packing up your apartment, and settling up your mundane affairs. You have six weeks. Keep your crossdressing to an absolute minimum, only what’s necessary to finish your business. You’re Stewart for the time being. Ana belongs to me now and I don’t appreciate others having unauthorized access to her, including you.” She stood and put on her sunglasses. Instinctively and smoothly, Ana pushed her chair back in beside her. “There’s a phone number in the folder. Don’t bother trying to figure out where it goes. When you’re ready, and you’re sure you’re ready, text ‘All set’’ to that number and wait. You can back out right up until the moment you send that text, then you’re MINE, understood?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Excellent. Do not attempt to contact me again while you’re preparing. You’ll have six weeks to miss me and after that you’ll never have that problem again. You are dismissed.” She snapped her fingers in his face - a deliberately humiliating power play, and it made his heart leap - turned on her heel and was gone. 

CHAPTER TWO: TRANSFER

TWO YEARS EARLIER:

“I never thought I’d say this, but you’re too good,” Lunette remarked to Anastasia after wrapping up a hard day’s work. “And yet I know you crave a little discipline and corporal punishment as a reward, but it’s hard to punish someone who hasn’t actually been bad. What AM I to do with you, little lady?”

“It would not do for a maid to tell madam how to do her job,” Ana said primly. 

“Mm-hmm. I’m giving you a direct order, girl. Tell me the best way to justify discipline when you haven’t been bad, and without you needing to pretend to be bad. I like your dedication just the way it is.”

Ana thought on this a moment. She had often pondered this conundrum herself - she enjoyed being on the receiving end of corrective action, yet it went against all her instincts to fall short in her duties. “Well, madam, most of the time I only work for you one or two days a week,” she said. “It follows that I am absent and therefore madam is denied the service to which a lady of her esteemed station is entitled for the rest of the week. If madam wishes a valid excuse for particularly harsh treatment, she would be well within her rights to, upon her maid’s arrival for duties, address her absence as if it was an unauthorized running away, and follow up accordingly.”

“Hmmmmm.” Her smile was best described as ‘devilish.’ “You are a clever girl. Perhaps too clever and putting airs above her station. Come across my lap and let me show you what madam thinks of a bratty girl who scurries away from her duties …”

NOW

Stewart looked around his apartment. It was nearly empty. Following Lunette’s instructions, his few possessions were packed up and ready for the storage unit. 

The stack of papers and instructions sat on his kitchen table. Three were covered in post-it notes redacting everything but the signature line. “You’ll sign these without looking if you’re serious,” the instructions read. He did so. 

The weeks had passed swiftly, winding up all his housecleaning obligations, sending existing clients to new cleaners with his apologies, and generally shutting down Devereaux Household Services, including the bank account and final taxes. Same with his apartment and utilities. It was the sort of complete closure of affairs one would do when moving to the other side of the world. He would have told his close friends he was leaving, but he realized Stewart didn’t have close friends. Anastasia did. His masculine guise was just a face put on for the rest of the world, but his social life was hers. Everyone who Anastasia was acquainted with already knew she was working for Lunette full-time now. 

He’d expected to feel more emotional at this point. But looking at his possessions, he felt nothing. Stewart’s life was nothing more to him than a means to an end, and by assuming Ana’s face full-time, there was little need for him to remain at all.

Everything squared away except the text message stating he was ready, to an unknown number. His finger hovered over the “send” button. Finally he took a deep breath, closed his eyes and tapped. Opened his eyes at the tone of the ‘message sent” alert. After that, nothing happened.

He wasn’t sure what he had  expected. “Well,” he said to nobody in particular, “I suppose now I wait.”

He slept quite soundly that night, for the first time in a while. Even though he slept only on a basic cot, he found it quite comfortable. Miss Lunette had certainly required Ana to sleep in worse straits. Stewart realized as he awoke that this was his first morning in many weeks, if not months, with no tasks before him. And maybe the last such morning, too, he added to himself. 

He pulled on sweats and a t-shirt and headed to the coffee shop down the street. Lots of memories here, including coming out to Lunette for the first time.

“Morning, Stewart,”’ said Erica, the shop owner. “Been a while since we saw Ana around these parts!”

“Well, Lunette’s been on vacation overseas and I’ve been taking a bit of a break myself. But I expect we’ll be seeing her again sooner rather than later.” He didn’t bother making a coffee order; Erica already knew his preferences very well. “You know, you were the first to ever see Ana besides Lunette.” He hadn’t remembered that fact in a while, but pondering Ana’s past brought a lot to the surface.

“Really? I never knew that.”

“Yeah, it was early on. I’d been working for her for a few weeks on and off, playing at being her maid, and we were both feeling our way through it. Then one day she said ‘I want coffee, let’s go for coffee’ and before I know it, we’re on our way here. I was scared out of my MIND. I was still new to crossdressing and I’d never shown anyone else. And here she was just hauling me out in public for all to see. We came here and you were working that night.”

“I do remember that much! You looked so natural it never occurred to me it was your first time out. She ordered her coffee like it was the most ordinary thing in the world to have a maid at her heel.”

“For her, I think it WAS,” Stewart said. “I think you barely looked at me. You treated us like this was no big deal. And that meant a LOT at the time. Eased up my fear. So thank you for that.”

“Ha, you’re welcome! Glad I could help. Even if I had no idea I was doing it at the time.”

“A funny thing happened. Once I got used to it and relaxed, I found I enjoyed it. I saw her walking around like she owned the building. And I just felt such immense PRIDE at being associated with her. This whole thing started with me thinking it was a humiliation game, but it grew because I was so proud of it.”

Erica grinned. “I never once saw a guy try to bug her or interrupt her while she was doing her own thing and you were off to the side. More than a few women I know asked if having their own maid could do that!”

As Erica turned to attend to other customers, Stewart took a seat and sipped his coffee with one hand and scrolled through his phone with another. 

He scrolled back through their extensive text message history and found what he was looking for, about six months into their time together. Lunette had started thusly:

have you ever had a non-consensual fantasy?

And he’d replied:

-- all the time. I really enjoy actively going for it, but there’s a part of me that wonders what it would be like to be kidnapped or blackmailed and forced to be a maid for a while.

why?

-- Dunno. I guess i felt guilty about enjoying it so much and it took some of the weight off me if someone else forced me into it. But really, it’s about giving up the responsibility. It takes the whole idea of giving all the burden to someone else over to its logical conclusion. I wouldn’t be myself, I’d just be the maid.

hmm. We may have to investigate that sometime. If you’re still interested. You know I’m kind of harsh.

-- Anastasia would have it no other way, Miss Lunette!

Ha. Just remember that she asked for it!

She never brought it up again after that. Stewart began to wonder if she still remembered this. She probably did; Lunette had a way of remembering everything.

As did Stewart. He thought back to the first time he’d come out to her, in fact in this very chair, all awkwardness and hesitation and stumbling: “Well, you’re flipping these, these houses and you could use some help, and I-I would love to work my butt off for you … and all I ask is that you let me wear my, my maid outfit while I do it, and be a really haughty bitch to me in the process …”

He well remembered the surprise on her face, followed by the grin that spread across her expression: “I can DO that! But be ready to work!”

And work Ana had. From the very beginning Lunette had worked her relentlessly, everything from housecleaning to refinishing floors to painting rooms. Over their years together, Ana helped Lunette expand her house-flipping business from a small operation into quite a successful real estate business. Contractors eventually became used to Lunette’s eccentric ways and her strange male-presenting maid who showed up and seemed to devote endless energy to whatever task was placed in her way. 

Eventually, Devereaux Household Services began to spread as a professional enterprise, due in no small part to all the real estate contacts he made through Lunette. Ana became a popular housecleaner with homeowners more than willing to pay a healthy hourly rate. But all along, Stewart continued to provide Ana’s services to Lunette pro bono. He felt he still owed a debt for her irreplaceable help in his coming to terms with his feminine face, and the sheer vigor with which she disciplined and role-played her way through the task of being Ana’s Household Mistress was, in and of itself, more than sufficient payment.

And in the midst of it, Stillwell Manor. Lunette’s dream project, a magnificent four-story Victorian house -- bordering on mansion, really -- that she had purchased for a decent price because of its incredibly run-down condition. The two of them spent a year on it whenever they could find the time, slowly bringing it up to speed. Stillwell Manor wasn’t a flip; it was meant to be her longtime home when it was complete. Often she’d joked she would take on Ana as a live-in maid when it was ready. Clearly that had been less of a joke.

He’d stopped thinking of Lunette as his friend long ago. Lunette was the first client, his favorite client, the only one addressed as “mistress,” and Ana was her endlessly loyal maid. The roles simply made sense. 

When last Stewart had checked in, the house was far from done, but they’d completed about half the rooms. He wondered what she had done in the weeks since. 

When he walked back into his apartment, they were waiting for him. 

CHAPTER THREE: THE LADIES

He knew them both. Constance and Stella, old acquaintances from the BDSM scene. Constance was his own age, early 30s -- in fact, they’d dated rather disastrously while in college. They had, happily, remained cordial afterwards. Still, he knew her well as a dominant with a particularly cruel and ruthless reputation. And Stella, her apprentice of sorts, a few years younger but perhaps even more harsh. The two of them were a well-known and respected pair in the worldwide BDSM community, making an excellent living creating custom fetish videos on demand. Constance continually filled the role of somber and dignified mistress; Stella switched between professional submissive and dominatrix-sidekick depending on the situation, and both personae worked well.

Stewart knew them outside the scene, thanks to countless late-night trivia games at the bar and Stella’s inexplicable addiction to NCAA basketball. He knew their faces when they were not their BDSM selves, laughing, relaxed. He’d also scrubbed their home while they lorded over Ana’s efforts. He wasn’t looking at their off-duty faces now. 

Both, he knew firsthand, were capable of immense sadism and cruelty when the mood struck them. Stella had delivered the most brutal caning of his life when Constance decided Ana had done an insufficient job on waxing their floor. He was still a little intimidated in their presence, never moreso than here.

Constance was dressed primly in Victorian wear, looking like she could easily be the headmistress of a country school. She sat with dignified elegance on the one chair in his living room, while Stella stood by, wearing a full maid’s outfit that would have been suitable for 19th-century burlesque. Constance’s jet-black hair framed a somber, reserved expression framed by that belied her fiery temper. Stella, with tightly ringed blonde curls falling around her shoulders beneath a white maid’s cap, kept a sarcastic, severe glare that made it clear she’d just love it if her target tried something. 

He noticed a large wooden paddle leaning against the wall by Stella. No, not a paddle -- three holes and clasps at each end. It was a set of oak stocks and there was little doubt whose neck and wrists were meant for those holes. 

The two just glared at him for several seconds, and he felt unnerved enough to fill the silence. “Is … is this my pickup?”

Both giggled a bit. Constance spoke first. “Pickup? Oh, no, this is a straight-up kidnapping. Running away from your mistress was very unwise, and we’re here to put an end to this.”

“Though you’re welcome to keep running if you like,” Stella said. “You won’t get far.”

“I would say you could choose the easy way or the hard way,” Constance continued, “but I’m afraid the hard way was chosen for you long before you opened that door.”

Stewart’s heart pounded faster. It’s just a game, he told himself. You’ve played this game a hundred times. This is no different. 

The other times you didn’t close down your bank account and end your lease, another voice told him. Ana’s voice, in fact. This is real. 

He breathed harder, wondering if he should look for a way out. “You’re not going to put me in THAT thing, are you? Isn’t it a little … attention grabbing?”

Constance laughed merrily. “Maybe for anyone else but YOU. Your neighbors already know you’re a little weird,” she said. “Ana comes in and out of this place in all kinds of getups. If we took you out of here in handcuffs and wore sweats ourselves, it would raise questions and get the wrong kind of attention. Haul you out in stocks while we look like historical reenactors? It just looks like another of your bizarre games. Nobody will care. They don’t even gossip about you anymore, it’s just part of the scenery.”

In a flash Stella was upon him. She was stronger than she looked, and knew how to use her leverage. Stewart found himself shoved against a wall, face pressed hard against the wood, one arm pinned behind his back. Stella grabbed a handful of hair with her other hand and yanked sharply, forcing him down to the floor, and dug her knee into the small of his back.

“You don’t need … to be so … rough,” he said, struggling for breath.

She jammed her knee harder into his spine. “Nobody asked YOUR opinion.”

He was equal parts thrilled and terrified. These are your friends … you’ve fed their cat while they were away … this is all a game you asked for … Logical thoughts all, none of which slowed down his pounding heart. 

Constance strode over calmly and slid half the stocks underneath his head, wedging his neck into place. Stella grabbed both wrists and pushed them into the holes. Then Constance dropped the back half of the stocks into place and snapped the clasps shut on both sides. “There. NOW we know you’ll be well-behaved.”

Stella slid off his back, grabbed his hair again and yanked him to his feet. “Nobody cares,” she said. She leaned in close to his ear. “You see this outfit? This awful, ridiculous getup? My mistress has forced me to wear it or something like it and serve her nonstop for three days and whip me every time I fall short. She did it all for one reason and one reason only: to humiliate and degrade me knowing it was all YOUR fault so I’d be extra angry with you and treat you particularly harshly. And trust me, it’s WORKING.” 

She stepped back, hoisted her skirt, and peeled the black seamed stockings off one leg, then another, leaving a sheer shiny layer of pantyhose behind. “Two sets of hose on top of each other, then these damn things,” she said as she rolled the stockings together in a ball. Behind her, Constance tore a strip of medical tape from a roll. “You have any idea how uncomfortable that is to wear? Don’t worry, you will.” She squeezed the stocking ball together in her hand, then stuffed it into his mouth, wedging it tightly. Constance stepped forward and secured the strip of tape across his mouth. 

Stella perched herself on the top of the stocks, holding him down to the floor while she idly flipped the clasp of the stocks open and shut.

“One little click,” she whispered, “and it’s the difference between your free existence here and the miserable life of a slave. I could just get up and you’d be free, would you like that?” His muffled response gave away no information. “You enjoy the view from down there?” She giggled again, closed the clasp one last time, and hauled him to his feet. “We’ll have to do something about THAT.” She drew a dark blindfold over his eyes. 

“Playtime’s over, dear,” Constance said gently. “We need to get this runaway where they belong and back into her mistress’ home.”

They half-led, half-dragged him from his apartment and out the front door. Completely disoriented, he couldn’t tell where they were going as they hauled him down the street and finally stuffed him into an open car door. 

From the coffee bar, Erica watched them hustle him into the car and drive off. “Ha,” she mused. “He must be having the time of his life there!”

CHAPTER FOUR: THE MANOR

Stewart wasn’t sure how long he was in the car. He had a pretty good guess where he was going, though. 

They dragged him along, tugging on each side and keeping him well off balance, up a set of stairs, through a door and into a house. At last they came to a stop and shoved him to his knees. His kneecaps hit hardwood and he knew for sure where he was.

“We’ve brought your wayward servant back to you, mistress,” Stella said.

“Very, very good.” Lunette’s voice. As sharp, confident and delightfully imperious as he remembered. “Well. Well, well, well. Anastasia Devereaux. What ARE we going to do with you?” She waited a moment, then he felt a sharp slap across his face. “What, nothing to say for yourself? I hardly think a gag is a good excuse for ignoring your mistress.”

She pulled the blindfold from his head. He was able to glance around briefly to confirm they were at the base of the grand staircase in Stillwell Manor, part of the magnificent entryway that had been the first area they’d completed. A stained-glass window overlooked the polished oak stairway that led into a large foyer with hallways going to either side. “Looks like the Addams Family mansion,” he’d remarked upon first seeing it, and even cleaned up and polished, that was still accurate. Lunette sat at the base of the staircase, in an elaborate wooden chair set up in a thronelike manor, dressed in formal businesswear again.

“So,” she said, addressing Constance, “Is it true? Was she trying to escape me?”

“Oh, yes, m’lady,” Constance replied. “Disguised herself as a man and had everything looking like she had a long trip planned.”

“Tsk, tsk, young lady. Don’t you know you’re indentured?” Lunette said. ““By very old traditional rules of indentiture, running away is to be severely punished. I have the right to see you taken to the authorities and imprisoned for theft of my property, namely your labor. Is that what you want, you IMPUDENT, rebellious girl? Everything I’ve given you, a home, purpose, a place in the world, and you just run away like a little brat. Maybe I should just have you sent to prison instead of allow you back. Would you like that, girl? Trade ruffles and fishnets and a collar for handcuffs and concrete and a jumpsuit?”

Stewart knew better than to do anything but shake his head vigorously.

“Did you do as instructed and sign all these papers without reading?” Stewart nodded. “Good girl. You’ll be interested in knowing that the first of them is a power of attorney giving me full control of all your assets, such as they are. The second is a note indicating you’ve recently felt suicidal ideation and violent urges. More than enough to have you involuntarily committed if I called the right people. The last is an undated confession and apology for stealing some very expensive jewelry from me, which I myself have already taken the liberty of hiding in your storage unit. More than enough evidence to be hard to explain.”

She stood up, walked over and regarded him coolly. Then knelt down and whispered in his ear. “I had no idea blackmail could be so FUN.” She stood back up, yanked off the medical tape, and pulled the stocking gag out of his mouth. “Make your choice, jail or service.”

Stewart lowered his eyes. He could no longer tell if he was playing at being defeated or was actually defeated. “Servitude.”

She slapped him across the face, the hard crack of her palm surprising even his two captors, who exchanged a what-the-hell-is-this glance. “Ask it CORRECTLY.”

Tears of pain, genuine pain and more than a little shame, streamed down his face. “Servitude, mistress. Let me be your maid and property in perpetuity.”

“Miss Anastasia Devereaux, for your crime of running away from your proper place, I hereby sentence you to perpetual servitude. You will be my property and see to my needs for the rest of your life. Any complaints will be dealt with swiftly and in a highly corporal manner.”

“And my very first act will be to see you removed from those wretched rags and dressed like a proper lady’s maidservant. You look like a disgrace, not fit for a proper lady.” She waved disdainfully to Stella and Constance. “Take this girl out of my sight until she’s ready for respectable service. The salon is at your disposal.”

The blindfold went back down over his eyes; the last thing he saw before being hustled away was Lunette turning away as if none of this was worth her bother. 

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