by Lexie Syrah
“My wife and I recently got a divorce, and I need someone to cook and clean for me. I’d pay you a fair wage, and you could live in one of my spare rooms.” He turned his hazel eyes to me and became very serious as he continued, “I know that you don’t trust me. I know what it’s like to be afraid of every dark corner of the world, but this is a chance for you to get out of that hole that you’re in.” His voice was so deep and powerful, yet every word sung of truth and hope.
I was quiet as his offer rested in the air. “A very good friend of mine was homeless for several years, and it was only with a very kind soul’s help that he managed to crawl out of destitution. I’m offering you the chance to do the same.”
My natural instinct was still to run from his manipulative tongue. He was a man who’d just shown me how quickly he could lead someone into a trap that they couldn’t escape. Yet, his words were true. I’d never be able to crawl out of the hole that I’d dug for myself. I’d be resigned to live out the rest of my life as an insect scurrying from one corner to another as I searched for unwanted food in trashcans in alleyways. Fear and worry would be the only emotions that I’d feel.
He wasn’t offering me a job. He was offering hope, a future, and even the possibility of leading a normal life. Had I fallen so far into the shadows that hope was no longer a possibility? This decision would be the riskiest thing I’d ever done. He offered something for nothing. Yes, I would cook and clean for him, but he would be trading that small service for a life worth living. Was there still enough good in this world that someone would make that trade without any strings?
I would have to risk my life, as miserable as it was, for a life worth living. Was I willing to take that chance?
A waitress came by to give us the teas that we’d ordered, and I took a sip. It had been a long time since I’d had good sweet tea, and it reminded me of home. Visions of my past flitted through my mind as I stared out the window contemplating his offer. The day that I left home for college. Waving to my parents and seeing tears in their eyes. They’d spent every last dime to send me off to a prestigious college.
They’d gone without for three years while they tried to save up enough for their only daughter’s first semester. After that, I’d had to get a job to pay my way, but they’d done what they could. I hadn’t seen them since that day. There had always been some test or party that had come first.
When I’d been kicked out of school, I couldn’t bring myself to tell them that I’d wasted my chance, and so I’d tried my best to find a way out of homelessness on my own. When I’d finally come to accept that I would never find a way out of homelessness if I didn’t get help, I’d gone back home only to find that my parents had died in a car accident, and no one had known how to contact me. They’d rented their house my entire life, and their debts had been enormous, so there was no inheritance for me. I turned back to Mr. Sheffield.
He wasn’t much older than my father would be. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
“Mr. Sheffield, I think I’d like to work for you. You’re right about being stuck in a hole. I didn’t think that there was any way out, and until today, I’d resigned myself to my fate. I appreciate the chance at a better life.”
“I wasn’t using this as a pretense to help you. I need someone to clean and cook for me, and I will pay you a fair wage for it. It helps you, and it helps me, so there is no need to thank me. I just hope that you’ll work hard.”
I nodded to him. The time for talking seemed to be over now, and the waitress brought the food to our table. The professional and well-mannered part of me fled as the starving animal took control. Though I used a knife and fork like a human, I had no regard for etiquette as I stuffed large bites of steak into my mouth and chewed loudly.
I didn’t bother to wipe my face clean or pay attention to any of the looks that I received until the steak and side of mashed potatoes were gone. As I leaned back in my chair with a bloated belly from the 16 ounces of meat, I saw Mr. Sheffield grin at my response to the food. He had enjoyed watching me even though the rest of the restaurant had been disgusted by it. “Oh well,” I thought. They weren’t the one that had offered me a job.
Mr. Sheffield called the waitress to the table when he’d finished his salad and said, “We were told that the meal was on Mark, today. Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir. Your bill is on the house.” She turned to go, but Mr. Sheffield held her arm. “You didn’t take your tip,” he said and handed her a twenty dollar bill, more than the expected tip even if we’d paid full price for the meal. I was sure that she hadn’t expected any tip from the two people who’d made such a commotion.
“Thank you, sir,” she said and smiled.
When Mr. Sheffield stood up to go, I followed him, and he led me to his car, a spotless silver BMW, and he opened the door for me. While he was driving, he started talking to me about my life, and I told him how I’d gone to college and how I’d ruined it by partying too hard. My slow descent into poverty and then homelessness seemed to genuinely interest him, so I explained it all. He had questions like everyone did, and I answered them as truthfully as I could.
His home was only about fifteen minutes away from the diner, and as we pulled into the driveway, I marveled at the luxury. It may have only been three bedrooms, but it was probably 2500 square feet. I got out of the car and walked by the professional landscaping outside of his home. Ferns and shrubs were neatly pruned and framed the walkway to his door with greenery.
Chapter 2
Mr. Sheffield put his key into the lock on the eccentric door. On a first look, it appeared to be a beautiful hardwood door with an abstract stained-glass mosaic instead of a peephole. As my eyes glanced over it again, though, I could have sworn that a naked woman lay in the mosaic, but then the door swung open, and Mr. Sheffield ushered me inside. I was left wondering at what I’d seen.
The inside of the house was beautiful with ceramic tile and vaulted ceilings. Inset lighting flooded the room in brightness, and though it wasn’t the mansion of a millionaire, it was certainly the home of a well-to-do businessman. He showed me to the guest room and bathroom and said, “I’ll leave some of my ex-wife’s clothes on the bed while you shower and get cleaned up. I think that you’re similar sizes. Everything you need should be in the bathroom already.”
I was filled with disbelief. He was serious, and my risk had paid off. He really wanted me to live in this house with him, and he was going to pay me to do it. No more dumpster diving or worrying about being raped. I would be able to shower and shave every morning and use a clean toilet. For a 20 year old girl who’d spent the last six months homeless, this was a dream come true!
The bedroom that would be my new home was sparsely decorated with a small bookshelf and a full-sized wooden bed that had been painted ivory. Everything lacked color and personality, but it was “pretty”, and the word innocent seemed to crop into my mind. The room was bright and reminded me of my childhood bedroom.
I went into the bathroom and locked the door. While the shower was warming up, I stripped off the filthy rags that I’d worn for the last six months. They were covered in holes from wear and being caught on things, and they stunk horribly. Now that I was in a completely clean environment, the odor was overwhelming. They had been the last of my comfortable and warm clothing from college.
A Texas Longhorns sweater and a pair of designer jeans had been my only clothing for nearly six months. Now, the lettering had been scraped off, and the worn and hole-covered jeans barely clung to my shrunken waist. I’d become just another warning to the students of what would happen if you didn’t work hard. But now they’d be going into the garbage, and my soul rejoiced.
When the shower was billowing steam and beginning to make the bathroom look like a sauna, I picked up a washcloth from the side of the shower and stepped inside to let the cleansing warmth flow over my body. My hair had needed four washes before I felt like it was mostly clean. I scrubbed and scraped the rest of my
body until there was not a speck of grime left.
Every minute in the scalding water felt like it was cleansing a week’s worth of grime, and I shrugged the heavy weight of survival off of my shoulders. I would have food now. I would have shelter. I would be safe. All I had to do was make sure that Mr. Sheffield stayed pleased with me.
Last was the shaving. The six months’ worth of hair growth made it difficult and time-consuming, but the water never got cold. When I thought back to my days as a sorority girl, my former self would have been disgusted at my lack of grooming. Though it took a long time, I managed to shave my armpits and everything from the waist down.
Finally, I felt clean. Clean of the dirt and grime. Clean of my fears. But most of all, clean of my past mistakes. I was going to be able to rectify all of the problems that I had created for myself, and I wouldn’t let anything get in the way. A shower had been the first step, but now I had to let the past stay behind me. Now it was time to work and be as perfect as possible. Until I had enough money to survive without this job, I couldn’t give Mr. Sheffield any reason to fire me. I couldn’t imagine ruining my first chance at a good life.
Thoughts of Mr. Sheffield filled my mind as I let my purified body enjoy the hot water. For a man who could be my father, he was incredibly handsome with a chiseled jawline and such spectacularly strong cheekbones. I didn’t know why, but for just a second, I had the urge to touch my pussy as I thought of him.
Maybe it was his confident and manipulative smile or the way that he’d acted with the manager. Or maybe it was just the fact that I hadn’t felt a man’s touch in so long that I couldn’t remember the way a kiss felt. I let out a giggle at the thought of Mr. Sheffield kissing me. He was just so sweet that I couldn’t imagine how it would ever happen. It was time to get out, though. I was back in the human world, and I couldn’t just sit and fantasize all day now.
I turned off the shower and stepped out to dry off. Running the towel over my smooth skin was like being caressed by a lover. I hadn’t been naked since being homeless for lack of a shower and fear of being assaulted. I rubbed the towel across the mirror to clear the steam so that I could finally look at myself without any filth.
My face had grown thin, my waist was emaciated, and my old C-cup tits had shrunk down to a large B. That was what hunger did to a person, I guess. On a good note, all of my muscles had grown instead of shrinking from all of my movement and walking. All in all, I was still sexy even if my tits had shrunk a bit. At least I wouldn’t have to fix that.
I looked closer at my face, though. I’d looked almost like a child when I’d entered college. I’d been innocent, and it was obvious to anyone looking at me. I’d experienced many things while I’d been a part of the sorority, but none of them had caused me any stress. Though I had lost my virginity, I was still a naïve child in the eyes of the world. I’d been as young and blissful as ever until the day that I’d lost my financial aid and scholarships and had been thrown to the streets.
Now my turquoise eyes seemed just a touch bluer than they had been. I was harder now, more accustomed to the weight of the world being on my shoulders. There was no longer the same innocence in my young eyes, yet my body’s small stature and thin proportions conflicted with them. I’d seen much more of the pain in the world now, and there was no hiding it.
I wrapped the towel around me again and walked into the attached bedroom. On the gold and purple comforter was an outfit. I closed and locked the door to my bedroom and threw the towel on the floor. I held up the expensive black lace bra and matching sheer thong. Mr. Sheffield had been right about these at least. Perfect fit. It was strange that a man in his early forties would be married to a woman with a size 0 waist, but the thought didn’t last long. I had to look at myself in the beautiful lingerie.
The woman staring back from the full-length mirror was beautiful, more beautiful than I remembered ever being. I could have done modeling, and I ran my fingers over the lace that caressed all of my most sensitive areas. I brushed against the thin material that separated my pussy from the cool air of the room, and I felt something that I hadn’t in six months: a throbbing need.
I tried to push the thought out of my mind. I was living with a man, but he was my employer, not my boyfriend or lover. I couldn’t fuck this up. This was my one chance, and I wasn’t going to make the same mistakes I had in college. Sex had been my downfall then, and I swore that it was the last thing I was going to worry about now that I was making a life for myself!
I looked down at the ruby-red spaghetti-strap day dress that Mr. Sheffield had left on the bed. It was fun with sequins across the bust and a line of small lace bows down the front, but when I put it on, it seemed to have been made too short. The bottom rested only inches from the bottom of my ass and the top barely covered the bra, revealing a very large amount of cleavage. Mr. Sheffield may have been a kind-hearted man who was trying to give me a chance where others had forgotten I’d existed, but he was still a man. I didn’t think he was going to do anything to hurt me, and if he wanted to look at a pretty girl in an arousing dress, I couldn’t blame him. It was a small price to pay for a roof over my head.
I brushed my hair and looked into the mirror again. I looked like someone out of a magazine. I felt refreshed, and my skin seemed to glow. It was almost as though the last six months hadn’t happened. For the first time in a long time, I felt completely human instead of a beast living in twilight. I gave the mirror an ear-to-ear smile and left the room.
Mr. Sheffield was relaxing in a coffee-colored leather recliner with his laptop open and the news on the TV. I sat down on the matching distressed leather couch next to him and waited for him to say something. I was full of excitement, but Mr. Sheffield was intimidating now that I knew what I was risking if I made a simple mistake. So I just watched him and waited.
My pussy was unrelenting about its hunger, though. I hadn’t had sexual thoughts in months, and now that I was clean, it was craving to be filled. I’d never felt this overcome by desire before. Even when I’d been a drunken college student surrounded by sexy frat boys, the needs had paled in comparison to the way that I felt now. I couldn’t help staring at Mr. Sheffield. My eyes roamed over his body. He was wearing a concealing button-down shirt, but the ripples of toned, yet not obscenely large, muscles showed through the arms and shoulders of the shirt.
When I looked down at his pants, I could see a bulge that let me know that there was no doubt in his ability to satisfy a woman, and my pussy begged me to be the slutty sorority girl that I’d been. The tight lace thong pressed against my hairless pussy, and I had a hard time pushing the thoughts of Mr. Sheffield ravishing me out of my mind.
His salt and pepper stubble gave him an experienced and slightly rough appearance. The bright hazel eyes constantly blazed with intensity as he read and typed, and I couldn’t help but be drawn to them. I imagined staring into them as we lay next to each other in bed. I knew that I needed to stop thinking of him this way, but my newly awoken desires made it difficult.
Seconds ticked by in the silence; his fingers tapping away at the keyboard were the only sounds in the room other than my pounding heartbeat. Whatever happened, I was going to make sure that I kept my job. I would not give into my desires, and I would focus on what mattered: making sure that Mr. Sheffield was happy. I could masturbate in my room tonight, and then I’d feel much better, but for now, my cunt needed to stop begging. After what seemed like forever, but was actually more like five minutes, Mr. Sheffield closed his laptop and turned to me.
“Let’s sit at the table, Maggie. Then we can talk about the details of your new job.” He stood up, and I followed him to the embellished and stylish dark cherry dining room table.
“You look so much better after your shower. I bet you feel better as well, don’t you?” His arms rested on the table as he crossed one leg over the other.
“Yes Mr. Sheffield, I feel like a brand new girl.” I tried not to act as awkward as I felt. I was intimidated a
nd had no idea how to make idle conversation anymore.
“Well, let’s get down to it then. You’ll be responsible for making breakfast and dinner, maintaining a grocery list, and cleaning the house. For the first week, I’ll give you the chore list for the day so that you know the level of detail that will be expected. After the first week, it will be up to you to make sure that everything gets done at whatever pace you decide. I will make sure that everything is bought on the grocery list on Mondays and Thursdays, and you’ll be able to use anything in the kitchen. That means that you need to plan ahead for meals. Don’t get caught without enough food. Do you have any questions?”
“No sir, that all sounds reasonable.” It seemed like a lot of responsibilities to me, but I understood that it wasn’t that much for a normal housekeeper. My hand gently tapped on the tabletop as Mr. Sheffield spoke. I had so much nervous energy that it had to escape somewhere.
“Now I need you remember that I’m from a different generation. I expect you to be awake, dressed, and making breakfast by 6 am every morning during the week and 8 am on the weekends. That means that you need to look professional by that time. Don’t cook breakfast in your pajamas. You will also be required to wear professional clothing at all times if you are outside of the bedroom. Make sure that your clothes are being washed. I will not put up with you or your clothes stinking. You’re not homeless anymore, and I expect you to act like it.”
