Brandy stretched herself awake, lovely dreams about the lovelier women she now served fading into warmth. It was barely morning, but after getting up so early for the past few days, her body had decided that this was now the proper time for her to be awake. In a way, Brandy was thankful for that. She was a maid now. Early mornings were about to become her life. At least, for the next month, she reminded herself. 

And unlike where she’d been before, the bed didn’t squeak with rusted ancient springs when she moved. It was like she was lying on a cloud. She could afford a few more minutes of comfort, couldn’t she? She hugged her stuffed moose close, and breathed in deeply. Its aged scent made Brandy notice the starkly clean smell of her room - not in a sterile way, just... light, and pleasant. This place was far nicer than anywhere she had ever been, and especially nicer than anywhere she’d been since she left home so long ago.

Her stomach growled. Brandy realized with a start that yesterday had been so busy, she’d barely eaten anything at all.

“Okay, okay. Just let me shower first,” she told her stomach.

The shower (she had an entire separate shower!) was equally luxurious. There were all sorts of nozzles, multiple showerheads... the main one came right down from the ceiling, so it looked like it would feel like rain... but at exactly the right temperature. There was even a radio built right into the shower, if she wanted to listen to something, though she preferred the tranquil sound of running, dripping water. She read the labels of a set of tiny bottles she’d grabbed from the cabinet, almost at random. Soap, shampoo, conditioner, all from the same brand. The smell was incredible, and what she could only describe as tropical - something like apricot or mango. She wasn’t certain if that was right, but she liked it. She made a mental note to request this particular brand going forward. 

Still, she didn’t dawdle too long in the shower. Her stomach was starting to complain more insistently, and she couldn’t hold out for much longer. She grabbed one of the white towels to dry herself off, and once again marveled at how fluffy, cozy, and soft it was. The entire bedroom wouldn’t have been out of place at a five-star hotel.

All dried off, Brandy threw on her ‘nicer’ pajama set, which meant the long t-shirt and the bottoms that didn’t have any holes in them, and hoped that was acceptable enough attire for the mansion’s halls. They couldn’t blame her for not wearing her uniform, considering it hadn’t arrived yet. 

Her stomach drove her to the servant kitchen at a brisk pace. She smelled it before she had entered, and the sight was even more mouthwatering than the scent. The main table was stacked high, a buffet of eggs, bacon, waffles, with whipped cream and syrups for toppings. It smelled heavenly. There was fresh fruit and oatmeal, too, and coffee, and an astounding selection of teas. Even us servants get to eat like royalty, she smiled. 

A half dozen women were flitting around the table, weaving in between each other, as if competing for their favorite breakfasts. Brandy was relieved to see she wasn’t the only one not in her uniform yet. Another half dozen people, a few men included, were already seated at the smaller tables, and two more were looking over their schedules. 

There was the red-haired woman again. She was already in her uniform, and copying her daily schedule from the screen into a little notepad. She turned around and noticed Brandy there with a warm smile.

It was such a nice smile. Brandy waved in response, and she waved back with a blush before following behind her co-worker.

Food! her stomach reminded her. 

Brandy was self-conscious about how much she put on her plate. As tempting as it would have been to just load up on bacon and waffles, she noticed that the other servants were all quite fit. So she portioned herself accordingly, and grabbed some fruit and granola...and one waffle. She started looking around for a place to eat. Jenny caught her eye from one of the tables, and Brandy went to sit with the only person she knew around here. Outside of her uniform and wearing an oversized tee with some sport-team’s logo on it, Jenny’s personality seemed much more fitting. 

“Got your eye on Liz, huh?” She said, as soon as Brandy had started eating. It made her choke, and cough, and Jenny chuckled.

“Is... Is that her name?” 

“Yeah, it’s their name. They, by the way. I watched that whole thing. You two’re cute. Want me to hook you up?” Brandy flushed red, staring pointedly at the butter melting on her waffle. She nodded quickly.

“Cool. I’ll get you a dinner date. I’m 90, 95% sure they already like you, so you just gotta not fuck it up.”

“Lizlikesme?” Brandy whispered, more to herself than anything. Jenny smiled and answered regardless.

“They’re not the only one, y’know. You into dude-types? How about, like, poly stuff?” Brandy nodded both times. Jenny’s questions seemed... gentler. She was doing far less prodding and probing today.

“Cool, cool. You want me to tell any of the boys if they ask about ya?” 

Brandy shook her head. “I’ve never, uh... had a...” 

“A boyfriend?” Jenny supplied. 

Brandy nodded. “I don’t want anyone to be disappointed.” It always had seemed impossible to her, that a boy would want her, when they could have a real woman instead... She knew that wasn’t right, but the fear went deeper than rationality and logic.

Jenny reached out and touched Brandy’s arm. “Look, I won’t push. But... things around here... folks are way more accepting of things here than out there in the real world. There’s a party, Saturday night. Mistress and Her Highness let us use the dungeon on this floor for our own fun every so often. R&R, they say, as long as we clean up afterwards. If you want to, you should come. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, of course, but... I mean, you signed up to be a maid in a lesbian BDSM fuckmansion. You’re probably at least curious about that sort of stuff, right?” 

She was curious. More than curious, even. “I’ll think about it.”

Jenny nodded, a knowing glint in her eye. “Finish up, then go get dressed. I’ll fetch you once I’ve got our schedule for the day.” 

Brandy quickly cleared up her plate, and took no time in returning to her room. To her surprise, there was a large package sitting in front of her door. It was wrapped in white paper, and had her name on it in elegant pink script, with a bow and a white envelope taped to the front. Brandy brought it into her room. It was lighter than it looked. Setting the package on the bed, she started with the card. Inside was a metal pin with a magnetic backing. It looked like some sort of royal crest. The same elegant handwriting that adorned the package was inside the card. 

This pin is to be worn on the left breast of your uniform, and all your clothing, for your entire trial period. It indicates to our guests and to servants who are not familiar with you that you are new. This will prevent them from asking too much of you, and will make them less likely to react poorly if you do make a genuine mistake. However, you are still expected to attempt to follow any instructions you are given as well as possible. If you feel the request is beyond what you are able to skillfully fulfill, you may politely inform the guest that you are unable to meet their needs, and offer to locate another servant to do so promptly.

You can do this, baby bird.

It wasn’t signed, but Brandy suspected she knew who would have written a letter like this. The mixture of caring encouragement and stern expectation made it obvious. She placed the card inside her bedside table and looked back at the package. Carefully unwrapping it, she saw a set of seven maid uniforms tightly packed inside. It was all there: the hat, the stockings, the aprons, even multiple pairs of beautiful black shoes... Brandy touched the back of her hand to one of the dresses in stunned fascination. The fabric was so delicate and smooth.

Another sheet of paper, this one photocopied rather than handwritten, with completely different penmanship, listed the expectations on how all of this was to be worn. It took Brandy longer than usual to get dressed, since she was constantly referring back to the instructions, careful to ensure she was doing it all correctly. It also said that she would be required to take lessons on proper etiquette, which would be budgeted into her schedule.

When she was done, she looked down at herself. It didn’t even seem real. The uniform fit so well, flattered the few curves she had, compressed that bit of stomach down... 

She practically skipped into her bathroom, eagerly trying to get a full view of herself in the mirror above the sink. It didn’t really work, but just for fun, she spun around a few times, enjoying the feeling of the air lifting up the skirt. She might have been dressed as a maid, but at that moment, Brandy felt like a princess. 

She heard a quick knock at her door. Jenny didn’t even wait for her to answer, and opened the door shortly after.

“Hey, we gotta get going. Our rooms today are on the complete other side of the mansion.”

Brandy checked herself over in the mirror one last time. She made sure her pin was visible, that she looked properly presentable. That done, Brandy hurried out of the bathroom. She stopped, remembering to add something new to her item list.

“One sec, Jenny, I don’t want to forget this!”

Below the scratched-out request, Brandy wrote ‘full length body mirror.’

“Okay, I’m ready!” 

The morning passed quickly. Maybe it was just the new uniform, but cleaning seemed more fun than it had been in the past. A few times, Brandy caught herself humming a happy little tune.

She constantly thanked her lucky stars for the instruction book that was attached to the cleaning cart. It made her at least able to pretend that she was competent at her new job, and maybe even a little good at it. She didn’t have to deal with anything too important, though. Jenny had explained, to Brandy’s relief, that until the head maid gave her permission, trial maids weren’t allowed to touch anything that would be troublesome to replace, in case they used the wrong cleaner or knocked some piece of art off its stand.

“And, no offense, girl? But you walk like a newborn deer wearing lead shoes,” Jenny winked at her playfully. “That’s why you’re going to have lessons. I think your schedule said they’ll be replacing work in the afternoons for you until further notice.” 

Lunch was more substantial today. Another buffet had been set up, and Brandy scooped some roasted vegetables onto her plate. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Jenny talking to Liz, who was blushing and clearly trying not to be caught looking at Brandy. Jenny gave Brandy both thumbs up. Looks like she had a dinner date after all.

After lunch, Jenny led Brandy through the mansion to her lessons.

“I can’t go in with you. I’ve got my own duties in the afternoon, now that you’ve got this. Trust me, though. It’s really not as bad as what you’re thinking,” she reassured Brandy, then took off with the cleaning cart, leaving Brandy alone. She poked her head inside the room, finding what looked like a small conference room, a whiteboard at the front and only a few tables with chairs in the middle. The side walls and back were lined with cabinets. In front of the whiteboard stood a very well-dressed man with the straightest back Brandy had ever seen. His dark hair and darker eyes, along with his lined face, gave off the feeling of importance, that he was someone to be listened to. He looked to be in his fifties, or around there.

“Hello? Um, I’m here for, um... ‘lessons’?”

“Sit down, girl,” he said in a stiff British accent. He indicated a padded stool with a ruler, and Brandy sat down there, giving this man her full attention.

“Hi, I’m-” she began, but he cut her off.

“Speak only when spoken to by your superiors, girl. Consider that your first lesson. Your primaries are paying me a rather exorbitant sum to keep me as a retainer to teach you amateurs the basics of good service. I expect that, by the time I am done with you, you will manage to at least not be a complete embarrassment to your primaries.” He walked towards her and tapped her left knee with the ruler. It wasn’t a hard tap, but it wasn’t exactly gentle, either.

“Starting with good posture. Cross your legs, girl.” Brandy did so. She wasn’t used to it, though, and the position strained muscles she typically didn’t use. Before long, she started to shake with the effort of holding up that position.

“Unless there is an earthquake, you should never be shaking so much,” he tsked. She tried her best to still her leg, which seemed to satisfy him somewhat.

“Better,” he nodded, walking behind her and tapping the ruler against her back. The sudden feeling made her jump, her back straightening.

“Good. You need to sit up straight. Your presentation is a reflection on your primaries. Every scuff mark, every hair out of place, those... slouched shoulders...” Brandy tried to straighten up even more, and he nodded, then continued. “They all send a message to, and about, your primaries. To the Mistresses of this household, your presentation communicates how seriously you take your service. To their guests, your presentation indicates the quality of servants they accept.

“Your primaries have informed me that they expect you to meet their rather high standards, in time. Your failure will be my failure, and will reflect poorly on my own Lord. This is unacceptable to me, and therefore, must be unacceptable to you. Do you understand, girl?”

“Yes, I do.” Brandy was focused, trying to force her mind to absorb every single thing she was being told. It wasn’t complicated, but it still was a flood of information, and she had to pick apart the formal speech.

“Good service is a balancing act. You must learn to anticipate your primary’s needs, such that you may fulfill them without needing to be told. But never presume to know those needs better than they do. Such a thing comes only with dedication; and that is a dedication not all are capable of,” he said pointedly. He pushed her chin up with the ruler.

“Chin up, eyes down. I am Majordomo Seymour. However, while you are under my instruction, you will refer to me as ‘Sir.’ Do you understand, girl?”

“Yes, Sir,” she said quickly. He snorted.

“Excellent. She can be taught. Then I will teach you further. We will begin with the proper way to serve meals.” 

The lessons were difficult, even without his constant (and often accompanied by a painful slap to her calf) corrections to her posture. After four and a half hours of instruction, Brandy was certain both her legs were heavily bruised.

A small buzzer indicated that her lessons were done for the day. Seymour simply told her she was dismissed, and pointed at the door with his ruler.

Maybe it was how hard she was working, or maybe it was just the natural result of eating where they could afford the best cooks in the world, but that dinner was the best she’d ever had. It was nothing fancy, just chicken and veggies, but every morsel tasted divine. Though, maybe neither of those were the cause. Maybe it was the company. It was her dinner date with Liz, so she could finally get to know the person who’d been catching her eye.

“The Mistresses call me Lizzy, but nobody else gets to. I put up with it ‘cause they pay me. They/them.” 

Brandy nodded. “Jenny told me your pronouns, yeah.”

Liz chuckled. “She has a bad habit of playing matchmaker... though I don’t think either of us are complaining?”

That was how the date began. Over their own food, Liz explained that they applied for the job as part of a drunken dare. They’d just renewed their third contract period, and were probably going to stay for at least one more.

“It’s a good job, honestly, but I don’t wanna spend the rest of my life working for someone else. This one’s better than most, but... still. I was thinking about starting my own business, and working here for a few years is way better than taking out a loan.” 

“The weirdest thing I’ve seen here? Some person with a pussy dressed head to toe in latex, on the dining room table, repeating ‘drone is drone is drone’ over and over, with like 8 vibrators sticking out of them,” Liz rolled their eyes. “Honestly, I don’t think that even fazed me by that point.” 

And then they got to talking about Saturday.

“I’m pretty switchy. You?” Liz asked.

“Sub,” Brandy sighed. She’d always gotten mixed reactions from that, when someone said they were a switch. As if they expected her to reciprocate. “I doubt I have a toppy bone in my body. I mean... I guess sometimes I like biting, but that feels different. I don’t know.” 

Liz just nodded, reaching under the table and pulling out a couple of printed out checklists on clipboards.

“I thought maybe we could fill these out and figure out what we want to do?” 

Brandy blinked in surprise. That’s hardly mixed. “You’re, uh... awfully prepared.”

Liz laughed. “Yeah. Just a consequence of stuff being normalized here, you know? Seems better to get it out of the way right off.”

Brandy looked down at the checklist. It listed a ton of different acts, divided into categories - giving and receiving - with ‘yes’, ‘maybe’, and ‘no’ options. It was exhaustive, but it was also pretty fun - and kind of exciting - to sit there together, looking over it. Sometimes Brandy would hear Liz mutter ‘oh, yeah’ with a hungry look in their eyes. She tried to guess where on the list Liz was, though there were a lot of things that it might be. And then, when they were both done, trading and going over them... it made for a smooth negotiation about what they wanted to try. A lot easier than any partner she’d had before.

“What’s this ‘maybe’ mean, for receiving genital contact?” Liz asked. “Not, like, trying to pressure you. Just want to know where you draw the line, so I don’t step over it.”

“Sometimes it’s fine, but... it can get pretty dysphoric. I don’t know how I will feel on any particular day.”

“Good to know,” Liz replied, nodding thoughtfully. 

By the end of it all, Liz and Brandy could barely conceal their desire for each other. Brandy kept biting her lower lip, which Liz seemed to enjoy... but dinner was ending, and they had to get to their evening tasks.

“I am so excited for Saturday,” Liz whispered in her ear, before dashing off to whatever job they had that evening. Brandy just sat there in an infatuated haze until Jenny punched her in the arm.

Brandy flinched. “Ow! Why?!”

“Told you,” Jenny grinned. “Come on, time to get back to work.”

The rest of the week was a blur. She was still attached to Jenny, for the most part, and just followed her around, getting into a rhythm. Rooms were getting done much faster now. But, of course, half her day was also spent with Seymour. He focused on the sorts of things that couldn’t simply be written down in a note on the back of a cabinet. How to address guests’ needs when you don’t know how to do what they want, how to walk without making a sound... And as her posture developed into what he deemed acceptable - the highest praise he seemed capable of - he was even trying to get Brandy to be able to serve tea while balancing books on her head. It was... not going well. Oftentimes, she’d caught him muttering to himself: “Remember the money, Seymour.” 

Sometimes, his harsh tone brought her to the edge of tears. She was trying her best... But whenever it felt like too much, she just thought about what he’d said at the beginning. Her appearance, and her skill, would reflect on her Mistress and Her Highness. And she wanted to reflect very, very well on them. She wanted to stay here. She wanted to keep this job.

At night, she would find herself admiring the myriad purple hues blooming up and down her legs and thighs, imagining that it was Mistress who had given them to her instead of her lessons, in all manner of thrilling scenarios...

Saturday arrived in no time at all. Brandy didn’t get a day off at all in her first week, which surprised her, but she supposed it made sense. It was tiring, but it also let her distract herself from worrying about the party. Each meal, she got to sit with Liz, though they barely said anything to each other. They were too busy just meeting eyes, blushing and laughing, before finishing their food while pointedly looking anywhere except the other. Jenny kept finding new ways to tell Brandy ‘told you so.’

And now, it was Saturday evening, and Brandy had to figure out what she was actually going to wear to a BDSM party. Somehow, the thought hadn’t crossed her mind until now. She tore through her dresser, wearing just her nice underwear - a black bra and panties, with cute little bows.

“Ugh,” she groaned to her stuffed moose, “how did my work outfits become the nicest thing I own?”

“Cause you didn’t have any money before,” she replied in a falsetto.

“Okay, but it’s rude to say it, Mr. Moose.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Are you ready?” Liz asked from outside.

“No,” Brandy said frantically. “I don’t know what to wear!”

Liz’s voice had a playful edge. “It doesn’t matter, Brandy. You’re not going to be keeping it on anyways.” 

Brandy blushed, but still. She promised herself that when her first payday came she was buying something nicer to wear out... or in, as the case might be. Still, even with Liz waiting, she couldn’t decide! 

“Brandy... We’re going to miss all the fun...” Liz said in a singsong tone. They knocked on the door, and Brandy absently let them in, before she realized what she was wearing. Her entire body reddened a few shades. Liz, for her part, was dressed and ready. They had a tight leather outfit, the very picture of ‘Dominatrix.’ Domi-they-trix? It made Liz’s red hair seem even more vibrant. Their make-up was also very different from what they wore ‘at work.’ It emphasized their vivid green eyes, in a way that made their face seem predatory, like a stalking cat. It was paired with a deep red shade of lipstick that reminded Brandy of blood.

“I thought you said you weren’t ready?” Liz grinned.

“I, uh...” Brandy flushed deeper as she realized what they meant.

“Only missing one thing,” Liz held out their left hand. Brandy looked, and saw a thin black collar with a leash.

“I want people to know you’re mine tonight,” they whispered. Brandy’s cock strained against her panties immediately. Liz chuckled.

“So, Slut likes that, huh?” Brandy nodded, unable to even manage words. Liz walked forward and put the collar on around Brandy’s neck. The lead barely allowed for a foot of distance between them. Liz leaned in, her face softening, and whispered into her ear. “Was that okay?” 

“Very,” Brandy whispered back.

Liz grabbed Brandy’s hair and pulled her head back.

“Then we’re going. Now. I don’t want to wait to show you off anymore, now do I?” 

She wasn’t really the sort of person to be worth showing off, was she? She was all too aware of the extra weight she carried on her stomach. It was also weird to be so exposed in the halls of the mansion... Still, she followed as Liz tugged her through the halls by her leash, all the way down to the dungeon in the servant’s wing. Brandy recognized the butler standing at the dungeon door, though she still hadn’t memorized everyone’s names. He gave Liz a little nod as they entered.

It was quite the sight. The room must have been soundproofed, because only once they’d stepped in could they hear the cracks of whips, smacks of paddles, and the moans and groans of people lost in pain and pleasure. Brandy blushed, a little caught off guard by how much outright sex was going on. 

Huh, she noticed, cocking her head. I’m... not the only trans person here? She recognized Mitch from the first day - and he was getting eagerly eaten out by another butler she didn’t recognize. Nobody seemed to be paying him any more attention than anyone else in the room, even though he had a vulva. It made her feel far less uncomfortable about being a girl with a cock. 

Liz led Brandy over to an unoccupied area. There were multiple padded stools connected to each other, and soft padding on the floor. Liz forced Brandy down onto her knees. 

“Here’s what I am going to do to you,” they grinned down at Brandy, who found herself breathless.

“I am going to chain you up to this spanking bench. We’re going up to thirty. But I’m only going to count when you say the numbers. Every ten, I am going to switch to another implement. Do you understand?” Brandy nodded. Liz pulled her hair back.

“For tonight, I expect you to reply ‘yes, Mxtress.’”

Brandy flushed. “Y-Yes, Mxtress, I understand!” 

“Good girl,” Liz breathed, directing Brandy onto the bench. Her arms and legs were quickly locked into place. It was a lot more comfortable than she’d expected, for having her legs spread and her ass up in the air. Liz pulled up Brandy’s panties between her ass cheeks, and gave her a few firm swats with her left hand, rubbing and groping after each smack. Brandy breathed in sharply with each one, and then, after a moment had passed, breathed out, delighting in the stinging sensations on her rump.

“Aw, you forget how to count?” Liz teased.

“N-No, Mxtress.” I was supposed to start? 

“Oh, so you just want lots. Is that it? Are you a painslut?” 

“Yes, Mxtress,” Brandy said quickly. After a short pause, she added, “I’m a painslut.”

“Well, I am happy to oblige, you greedy little thing.” Liz grabbed Brandy’s hair again, and twisted it. Brandy groaned deeply.

“Ready?” Liz asked.

“Yes, Mxtress.”

Liz released Brandy’s hair, and walked around her a few times... trailing their fingers up and down Brandy’s back... once, they slapped Brandy’s face - a ‘maybe’ on the lists they’d gone through - and then leaned down to eye level.

“Color check.” 

“Green, Mxtress.”

“Excellent.” With that, Liz returned to the main event. They placed a few light and gentle smacks on each of Brandy’s buttcheeks, then followed that up with a firm swat right to the underside, the most sensitive part. And with each firm smack, Brandy counted.

“One, Mxtress!” Smack, smack, smack, smack! “Two, Mxtress...” When they finally got to seven, Liz seemed to really be going all out, and Brandy barely managed to count out the last three, one after the other. “Eight, Mxtress. Nine, Mxtress, ten, Mxtress, augh! Fuck!” Liz stopped for a moment, then returned to gently rubbing Brandy’s tush.

“Did you just swear at me?” Liz asked with exaggerated offense.

“No, Mxtress!” 

“So, are you calling me a liar then?” There was a wicked edge of glee to their voice.

“N-No, Mxtress!”

Liz walked back around. Brandy noticed they had a crop in her hand. When had they picked that up?

“Those are your two options. You either swore at me, or you called me a liar.” The crop smacked the top of Brandy’s ass, even though they were standing in front of her. They hit her again, slightly harder, to punctuate their next words.

“So. Which. One. Was. It?” 

Brandy screamed. Without the chance to recover between smacks, it was too much. Not in a bad way. She was just overwhelmed. Distantly, she realized she was drooling onto the mat. Liz was holding her face up by her hair.

“Well?”

“I, I, I swore, Mxtress. I swore, Mxtress,” Brandy forced out through labored breaths.

“I knew I could beat the truth out of you. Let’s continue. Color check?”

“Green, Mxtress.”

“Good,” they cooed. 

Brandy somehow managed to keep her focus as the crop struck her, barely missing any strokes as she counted up to ten.

Liz smirked, then was behind Brandy again, debating what implement to use so loudly it couldn’t have been accidental.

“Hmmm, This one... or maybe this one. Oh, I just can’t make up my mind...” They walked back around, holding a wooden cane and a large paddle in each of their hands.

“What do you think I should use for the last set?” they asked, smiling wickedly.

“P-p-paddle, Mxtress,” Brandy managed to force out. She noticed how foggy and light her brain was feeling. She knew that feeling. Subspace. It was... nice.

“The paddle, huh? Alright then. If you’re sure,” Liz chuckled to themself. 

The paddle had more weight to it than it looked. Each smack felt like going over a speed bump, and probably a few miles per hour too fast. A few times, Brandy forgot she was supposed to be counting. In the end, she must have missed as many as she counted, if not more. When she counted out thirty with a gasp, Liz stopped her assault, and started rubbing her asscheeks together, groping the flesh.

“Oh, if only you could see what a pretty red color your ass is... these are going to make such lovely bruises, I’m certain. What do you think?”

“Th-thank you, Mxtress,” was the only thing Brandy could think to say.

“You’re welcome, my good, good girl. Now, you took so much pain for me, I think you’ve earned a little bit of pleasure, don’t you?” Brandy nodded. Making words was hard now. That fog blanketed everything, making it so hard to do anything but want more.

“I’m so glad you agree.” Liz slid Brandy’s panties down to her knees, smiling at the trail of precum that followed. As they pulled the panties away, she felt cool wetness stick to her inner thigh as that trail fell back onto her. Her cock was twitching, and Liz wrapped their hand around it. 

“So hard for me aren’t you?” She was, but Liz’s voice was starting to sound... far away. Brandy tried to focus on the good feelings as she was stroking up and down... but... someone else touching... it... it was... it wasn’t what she was supposed to... this was wrong. Brandy drew inwards, retreating from the world. All she could feel was... the wrongness of what was between her legs, and that that someone kept reminding her of it all, that thing that was there, and...

“No! Don’t! Red!” Brandy cried out. Liz froze, then let go, moving around to kneel by Brandy’s front. Brandy was so lost in her own thoughts, her own pain, her tears, she didn’t even really notice as she was removed from all the ties and lowered onto something soft. She distantly realized she was wrapped up in a blanket. Someone handed her a box of orange juice, and she started sipping on it. She heard Liz whispering in her ear, gently rubbing her back. 

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m so proud of you.” Their voice was so, so comforting. She found herself leaning into Liz’s chest, who just grabbed them in a soft hug.

“I, I wanted to but, but I can’t, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

“Hey, hey, hey. I get it. Really. Look at me. You did the right thing. You said ‘no’. That’s a good thing. You’re a good girl.” Brandy opened her eyes, and realized that Jenny was sitting on the ground beside her too. She was the one who had given her the orange juice.

“She’s right. I’m sorry. Maybe this was too much, too soon,” Liz sighed. Brandy shook her head, touching the red marks on her thighs. They were warm, and she smiled, feeling the endorphin rush through her body fade and settle into a hazy bliss.

“No, no. I... I still had fun. I’m glad I came.”

Jenny kissed the top of her head, and Liz came closer to cuddle more. 

“Would you like to try something else tonight?” Liz asked softly. Brandy shook her head. 

“Honestly... if we could just stay right here... that... that would be perfect,” she said softly. They did exactly that. Jenny kept rubbing her back and kissing the top of her head, her neck, whispering quiet praise into her ear. It wasn’t a sexual gesture, and that felt oddly grounding. Liz would squeeze Brandy close on occasion, but mostly, they just adjusted themself to rest peacefully against Brandy. They snuck a quick peck on Brandy’s left cheek, though. Relaxing, they watched other servants enjoy themselves. The room smelled of sweat, leather, and sex. 

I hope I don’t have to be the one to clean all this up. 

The next day, Brandy noticed something unusual on her schedule. Jenny’s name wasn’t above her. And she didn’t have ‘lessons’ in the afternoon.

“Hey, Jenny?” she called out to her mentor, who came and looked over her shoulder. 

“Well look at that. Your first day all by yourself! Look who’s spreading her wings!” Jenny said with fake tears. “They grow up so fast.”

“Wait, seriously?” Brandy was incredulous. “I’ve barely been here a week!”

“You’re pretty good at doing what you’re told. Pretty sure you’re one of her Highness’s favorites, too. You’ve seen her more in a week than most of us do over the entire contract.”

Favorite? Brandy realized she was blushing. and turned back to the schedule. Partly to hide her face, and partly to actually see what she was expected to do. She was...in the basement? She checked the floorplan. It looked like she would be spending her entire day in the laundry room.

Laundry wasn’t exactly a hard job, but it was meticulous. Doing laundry was easy when you didn’t mind wrinkles, but the standards here were nothing short of perfection. Not only did she have to make sure that every single item was washed properly, according to its care instructions, but then she had to re-sort the items, so that nobody would get someone else’s clothing... to say nothing of the risk of damaging something that belonged to her Mistress or Her Highness. Still, as much as her aches were a nice reminder of the previous night’s fun, it did make Brandy grateful she wouldn’t have to do a lot of moving around the mansion today. 

Other maids brought in carts filled with dirty laundry. Some had just the maid uniforms. Another contained all manner of incongruous outfits: latex bodysuits in a variety of colors, men’s clothes, bodysuits with tails sticking out of them... That bin must have come from the harem’s wing.

The third bin was one part elegant gowns, one part tailored business attire, and sets of beautiful nightgowns. That had to be the Mistresses’ laundry. Brandy started sorting through it based on the type of washing it required, but something caught her eye. Lavender panties, with embroidered floral patterns. This was... her Highness’ underwear. The front was wet. Brandy looked around the laundry room furtively. The door was closed, but like every other room for servant use, it couldn’t be locked. 

“What am I doing,” Brandy asked the silky underwear in her hand. They didn’t answer.

Brandy lifted the panties to her nose, and breathed in. It smelled so sweet, and sweaty, all at once. It was euphoric.... 

“This is... such a bad idea,” she breathed, but Brandy knew she wasn’t going to be stopping herself, either. She put the panties to her mouth, sucking out as much of the wetness as she could... it was faint, but Brandy was sure this was the taste of Her Highness’ cum. Brandy let herself drift in bliss for a moment. Then, the door handle started turning. Brandy quickly threw the panties back into the bin, trying to look as innocent as possible. Another maid rolled in another bin of dirty clothes, and walked back out without even registering Brandy’s presence.

“Okay, Brandy. Stop that. Get to work,” she whispered. 

After the first week of the new schedule, things began to fall into a smooth rhythm. No longer attached to Jenny, she ended up working with the other maids a lot more. If there was a pattern to how they decided who would work together each day, Brandy hadn’t seen it yet. At first, working with each new companion, Brandy was worried they would find her habitual humming annoying. But then a few started joining in, singing or humming under their breath too. It was a gentle sort of camaraderie. About three weeks in, Brandy found herself correcting another maid for the first time. That day, she had been scheduled to work with the raven-black haired Beccy, and Brandy knew from seeing her at the staff play parties that she had a real sadistic streak to her too. Brandy realized that Beccy was about to make a small mistake, when they were cleaning one of the guest bathrooms, and pointed it out before she realized what she was doing.

“The book says you should turn off the lights before cleaning the mirrors and glass. It helps prevent streaking,” Brandy said quickly, then flushed.

“Oh right, thanks!” To Brandy’s relief, Beccy sounded genuinely grateful. She was only used to hearing her ‘Domme voice’, so appreciation was oddly unsettling coming from her. But it felt nice to actually help another maid, for once, instead of needing them to babysit her.

“I can never remember every last thing either. Even if I feel like I’ve got it, I still try to check the book whenever I can,” Brandy added.

Beccy nodded in agreement. “Makes sense,” she said simply, before returning to work.

Brandy didn’t see Mistress or Her Highness at all for the rest of the month. It was a bit disappointing, but she reminded herself not to get greedy. She was just one of dozens of servants in the household, and whatever Mistress and Her Highness did for their income, it probably kept them busy enough to justify the mansion. Plus, the harem probably got a lot more direct attention.

But at night, when she was missing the beautiful eyes of Her Highness, or the intense stare of her Mistress... Brandy would reread, over and over, the note that had come with her uniforms. She allowed her imagination to run wild, and as she did, her hand found its way between her legs.

Brandy had barely registered that a month had gone by. She had been so engrossed in trying to learn how to do the job well, and trying to absorb everything Seymour was drilling into her, that it just hadn’t occurred to her. It was only when Brandy’s schedule had her in the same office the interview had been in, and her task was listed as ‘assessment,’ that she realized what it must be. Walking to the office was the most harrowing experience Brandy had been through in quite a while, even more than the interview. Taking a few deep breaths, she stepped into the room. Mistress was sitting by herself behind the desk, flipping through a decent sized stack of papers. Brandy’s heart was going a mile a minute. Her mind ran through all the things she must have done wrong... but Mistress just looked bored, rather than upset.

“I was just reviewing the reports that have been provided on you so far. Take a seat. I’d like to get this over with as quickly as possible,” Mistress said dismissively, gesturing to the chair in front of the desk without taking her eyes off what she was reading. “My wife apologizes for being unable to attend today. Something requiring her attention has come up. So let’s skip the pomp and circumstance, and just get through this. 

“Your trial period is up, Miss Brandy.” 

She swallowed.

“Overall, you have impressed your trainer, the head maid, and even Majordomo Seymour. He had some scant praise for you, which he rarely gives.” That was genuinely surprising, and it must have been visible on her face, because Mistress continued. “That’s not to say there isn’t still room for improvement, of course. We still wouldn’t trust you with the most fragile of our possessions, but, on the whole, you have more than met our expectations from a new hire.” Mistress pushed over a contract to Brandy, who just sat there, dumbfounded.

“Therefore, if you are still interested, we are willing to offer you a full six-month contract, with the terms being as discussed during your initial interview, starting immediately.”

“Yes please, Mistress!” Brandy nearly shouted, quickly signing on the dotted line. Mistress looked amused.

“You can remove that pin, Miss Brandy. It is yours to keep, if you wish, as a memento of your progress thus far. But you no longer need it.” She stood up to leave, but stopped in the doorway, turning to face Brandy.

“Ah, yes, and before I forget? My name is Jasmine. My wife is Diana. Do continue to prove that you were worth our consideration.”

Diana and Jasmine.

That night, Brandy was moaning those names into her pillow.