“Part of being a good dominant is taking responsibility for our errors. Your lack of obedience can, and will, be remedied.” Trent held out his hand. “Ethan, may I?”
Ethan handed over the ruler.
Maisie took several steps back as Trent approached her.
Displeasure lit his eyes. “Come here,” he ordered. “Accept your punishment like a good submissive.”
Tears overflowed her eyes and coursed down her cheeks. The room was silent except for the sound of the little sobs she tried and failed to repress.
Her legs shook so violently that she doubted they could hold her weight. Her first step almost sent her tumbling to the floor.
Her bosses made no move to catch her.
Maisie understood. This was her punishment, and she would have to face it alone.
She didn’t know where she was drawing the strength from, but somehow she managed the short but arduous distance.
When she was within reach, Trent pulled her sideways into his arms.
The reason was obvious, of course: he planned to simultaneously brace her and spank her.
“It’s going to be all right,” Trent murmured. “After we finish your training for the day, then we can all move past this. Isn’t that better than harboring resentment?”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered as she looked up at him. The tears on her cheeks were drying, and her skin felt cool. Trent was so handsome. So intelligent and powerful.
She loved the idea that through punishment, she could be forgiven for her sins.
But also, it turned her on.
He slammed the ruler against her ass, and the shock of the impact made her kick her feet in desperation. She tried in vain to wriggle out of his firm grasp, but he was too strong.
“Feet flat on the floor,” he said.
The second she obeyed, he spanked her again. The ruler was a cruel instrument; it had no soft edges. It was hard and relentless.
Each strike seemed to resonate like thunder in her ears, and the pain felt like streaks of lightning ripping across her skin.
Three strikes on one buttock, two on the other.
“Do you know why I had to do that?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.” She nodded and raised a hand to wipe away her tears, but Trent pushed her arm down.
“No. You’re beautiful when you’re messy and crying. Tell me why I had to spank you.”
“Because I was supposed to keep the ruler in my mouth.”
“It’s because you disobeyed. Now, get dressed.”
Sniffling, she walked to the pile of monstrous clothing on the sofa and picked up the shirt. It was a horrid, stiff thing, synthetic fabric, and at least three sizes too big.
She only had to undo the top two buttons, and then she was able to pull it over her head. The fabric was already making her skin itch.
The pants fit a little better, but that wasn’t saying much. The outfit didn’t even reach the level of frumpy. She’d always taken pride in her appearance, and now she felt like some essential part of her identity was slipping away.
“Building regulation code is that the shirt must be tucked in,” Trent said, “and you will have to wear a belt. If you’d like to wear an undershirt, that’s acceptable.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said dully.
Ethan lifted her chin. “You don’t seem very happy,” he said. “Isn’t this what you wanted? For all of us to be in the same building so that you could check up on us?”
Heat shot up Maisie’s face, like a match touched to a pool of lighter fluid. She couldn’t hold his gaze.
Brushing his thumb over her lower lip, Ethan said, “You have a lot of maturing to do, Maisie. We talked about this on your first day of work. We’re fond of you. But you need to start acting like an adult all the time and not only when it suits you. If you don’t, this relationship will be nothing but empty sex, and it will fall apart.”
Her chin was quivering, which Ethan could surely tell because he was touching her. A choking sob rose up in her throat.
“When you’re at your best, you’re intelligent, witty, and kind,” Raphael said. “Because of your potential, we extended a certain amount of trust that you hadn’t yet earned. You need to earn this.”
Maisie had never felt so humiliated before in her life. The thought that the three of them had discussed her personality and concluded that she was immature was devastating.
Worse, she was disappointed in herself. Her bosses had only pointed out the shortcomings she’d been ignoring.
Emotion overwhelmed her, and she burst into sobs.
“Ok,” Ethan said uncomfortably. “Are those real tears or a submissive’s play tears?”
“Real tears,” Maisie wailed.
Raphael shouldered Ethan out of the way and took Maisie into his arms. “It’ll be fine,” he said as he sat on the sofa with her. He smelled faintly of coffee.
Her tears slowed.
“It will be fine,” Raphael repeated, rocking her gently. “We’re here for you. Prove to us that you’ve learned this lesson, Maisie. Earn this. That’s all we ask.”
She nodded. It felt good to have someone holding her so tenderly.
“That’s our girl.” He cradled her and stroked her hair for a few more minutes.
And then, instead of fucking her, they allowed her to change back into her nice clothes and go home to lick her wounds.
14
Maisie clutched the offensive plastic bundle to her chest as she climbed to the fifth floor of her apartment building. Horrifyingly, the smell of the trash bag wasn’t stronger than the reek of her new uniform.
She planned to wash it in hot water. With any luck, that would shrink it as well as get rid of the smell.
During her trip home, she’d taken the time to think about things.
The men wanted her to prove herself. They’d taken a chance on her. On some level, they must have believed she was capable of being the submissive they needed and wanted.
If some part of her resented the idea that she needed to change, another more rational part of her had to admit that they were right. If she wanted to explore this very adult relationship, then she needed to grow up. Being an adult wasn’t about having a car and living alone in a nice apartment. It wasn’t about paying the bills.
It was about accepting responsibility.
That realization had dawned on her while she was staring at a subway ad about responsible alcohol use. Of course she’d first thought of Mrs. Donahue, who clearly had a drinking problem.
But then she’d started thinking about responsibility in general, and she’d realized something that felt rather profound, at least for a subway epiphany. From her first day of work, Raphael, Trent, and Ethan had trusted her. They’d given her responsibility.
That was what hurt about this punishment.
She had disappointed them.
And below that layer of shame was a strange paradox. When she was with them, submissive to them, her actions and decisions were dictated by her lovers, and it was easy to behave.
Without the feeling that they respected and trusted her as an employee, the dynamic was too unbalanced. It would be unhealthy.
Therefore, she was going to earn their trust. She would be efficient and competent, and she would prove to them that they hadn’t been wrong about her.
She now had a basket of lemons? Great! She was going to make the sweetest lemonade in the history of the world.
For starters, she could wear sexy lingerie underneath the uniform. That wouldn’t make it any less hideous, but at least she’d feel less gross.
And it would remind her of why she was embracing the punishment.
The idea turned her on. A garter belt, lacy bra, stockings…
As she opened her front door, she noticed a manila envelope on the floor. She dropped the trash bag and turned over the surprisingly stiff envelope, fully expecting to see an address on the other side.
But it was blank. So this wasn’t a misdelivered piece
of mail that one of her neighbors had brought over; someone had slipped it under the door.
Frowning, she glanced into the empty hallway.
She wanted to open the envelope immediately, but in a few minutes the post-work crowd would be arriving home, and there was only one functional washing machine in the basement; it was always a fight to get it.
Laundry first. Otherwise she might not get to wash the horrible uniform at all, which meant she’d probably have a migraine from the smell by the end of tomorrow.
She hurried into the bathroom to grab the bottle of laundry detergent, then rushed around her bedroom, scrounging up quarters.
Her cell phone started ringing. She ran back to where she’d dropped her things, but the phone quieted before she could reach it.
Ethan’s number showed on her screen.
She would call him back after taking down the clothes, she decided. But then a text popped up from Trent. Did you receive an envelope? Don’t open it.
Maisie looked at the envelope sitting on the table and wondered what was inside.
But she didn’t have to wonder. She could open it and find out.
Except… Her bosses had told her not to.
And hadn’t she just decided she was going to be more trustworthy from here on out?
“Shit,” she muttered. If she’d opened it right away, she would have already seen the contents.
She carried it into her living room. Plenty of light was still streaming through the windows.
She held up the envelope but couldn’t see anything. Tilting it, she studied the flap. Didn’t people sometimes use steam to open an envelope? Then it could be resealed.
Her bosses would likely be fooled, but it would feel… wrong. On the other hand, whatever was inside must be important.
She went back and forth a few times. There really wasn’t a good solution.
If only she’d opened it the second she saw it.
Hm. Maybe that was an angle.
With the right phrasing…
She could text Trent back and say she’d already seen the envelope before they contacted her.
Technically true.
Maisie started chewing on a fingernail, then shoved her hands between her knees. If she was going to go that route, she needed to do it quickly.
Why didn’t her bosses want her to know what was inside? For her own protection, or for theirs?
Suppose someone had filled it with some toxic substance? No, Trent would have said so in the text.
She needed to make a decision.
Ok, she wasn’t going to pretend she’d already opened it. That would be a hard sell now that several minutes had passed. Her bosses weren’t stupid, and anyway, lying was a bad idea.
Might as well take the laundry down before that got screwed up, too.
By the time she returned, she’d made a decision.
She sent a text to Trent. If I see an envelope, I won’t open it.
It was true, and it would prevent her bosses from confiscating it. She could always open it sometime in the future.
Then she sent another text. Why? What’s inside?
Of course he didn’t answer right away. Her bosses were strong, decisive men, but their legal games… They seemed to put their heads together and only ever come up with complicated, diabolical solutions.
Finally, her phone chimed with his response. That would be something to discuss in person.
So formal. And look how he hadn’t said they’d tell her tomorrow.
Fucking lawyers.
Maisie hid the envelope in the back of her closet. Just in case.
But the entire evening, she could feel its seductive presence.
She’d never been good at resisting temptation.
15
The next morning, she thought about the envelope while she showered, while she dressed in the uniform—still smelly and too large.
As she walked to the subway, she couldn’t help feeling like everyone was staring at her. There wasn’t anything wrong with working for janitorial services, but she’d attended an Ivy League university. She’d gotten good grades.
If she’d wanted to scrub toilets, she could have saved herself four years and tens of thousands of dollars.
The only thing worse than thinking everyone was staring at her and smirking was when she realized they weren’t looking at her. At all.
The realization brought with it hefty portions of shame. The outfit made her invisible. When people did notice her, they were probably thinking she’d made poor life choices.
It’s a noble job, she told herself. She had family members who would have been thrilled to take any full-time job, but they couldn’t get hired.
And to think that not so long ago, she’d been irritated because she had to fetch dry cleaning and make coffee. Now, she’d weep with gratitude to be able to go back to that position.
Tomorrow she would wear normal clothes and change in the building.
As she was walking up the subway steps, she became aware of someone keeping pace beside her. It hadn’t been immediately obvious in the crowd, but it was now. She glanced over.
The man, who looked to be pushing thirty, was wearing the same uniform she was. Probably the same size, too.
He seemed pleasant enough as he gave her a smile. “I’m Finn,” he said. “Which department do you work for?”
“General cleaning,” she said. She’d forgotten the official name, but that’s what it was. Scrubbing toilets and wiping away fingerprints.
“I’m in maintenance. Are you new?”
She nodded.
“Thought so. I’m surprised they’re bringing people on. I heard they were going to hire a contractor to do the cleaning, like all the other downtown office buildings. Welcome.”
Then he began telling her his life story.
Maisie was happy to listen—she didn’t feel like sharing the woeful tale of her fall from favored status—and when they arrived at Fortune Tower, she was even happier to go her own way.
After a quick and uninspired orientation in a drab basement, Maisie was assigned to work with an energetic woman named Ginelle. She had so many colorful clips in her drugstore-dyed orangish-blonde hair that it looked like she was being attacked by a swarm of rhinestoned butterflies.
Ginelle handed Maisie a clunky black pager. “That’s for when there’s an emergency. Like a spill, or someone pukes.”
“Ew.”
“You’ll get used to it. I worked in a hospital for a couple hours. Now, that was nasty. The ink on my name badge wasn’t dry before I was running out of that place. It’s not bad here at all.”
Maisie nodded.
“Stick with me,” Ginelle said. “I know all the ins and outs of this building.”
“All right.”
“I mean, all of them.” Ginelle made a circle of her thumb and forefinger, then thrust her other index finger in the hole. “People think they’re so slick.”
Wheels began to turn in Maisie’s head. “Yeah? What about that law office on the top floor?”
“Oh, not them. They use some special cleaning service.” Ginelle’s disgusted expression made her thoughts on that clear. “They say it’s because they’re lawyers and have all these hoity-toity clients, but I bet they get up to some nasty shit. The richer they are, the dirtier they are. If you know what I mean.”
Maisie sure did.
“There’s no locker for me,” Maisie said. “Is there any way I could lock my clothes up in yours?”
“Yeah. Where are they?”
“Well, starting tomorrow.”
“Sure, when our schedules match. What days are you?”
Maisie frowned. She hadn’t been given a schedule. “Every day, I guess.”
Ginelle nodded. “That’s a good way to make money, right? I’m off Wednesdays. And Sundays, of course. Sometimes I pick up extra shifts. Like tomorrow, for example. I got my daughter into a special school, but it’s pricey. She’s got some learning delays. Let me gr
ab the day’s assignments.”
Maisie’s head was spinning. She’d never met anyone before who was so comfortable sharing private details of her life.
By lunchtime, Maisie had learned all sorts of things she’d never really wanted to know. Like what happened when people tried to flush plastic cups.
Most of the heavy-duty cleaning happened in the evening. The mopping and vacuuming. She and Ginelle cleaned up two spills (on the same floor, less than an hour apart). Maisie personally replaced several dozen rolls of toilet paper.
“People steal them,” Ginelle said as she restocked the paper towels in the first floor’s wheelchair-accessible toilet. “That’s why all the public bathrooms get the huge rolls of toilet paper and paper towels. Can’t put something that big into your purse.”
“You haven’t seen my mom’s purse.” Maisie flushed the toilet. The water bubbled blue with cleaning solution.
Her back ached, and the chemicals were making her nose run.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her hair was pulled up into a bun, but not the sexy-messy kind.
No, this was a practical bun. Ginelle had given her a few clips to keep it in place because “the last thing you want is your hair to jump free when you’re bent over a filthy urinal. Trust me.”
“How long have you been working here?” Maisie asked.
“About five years,” Ginelle said. “I got my associate’s degree last year, but I’ve got a ways to go before I can get a job that pays better than here. It’s not so bad, as far as these things go. The lights are on and I’ve got food in the fridge. Oh, it’s lunchtime. Time flies when you’re working in teams.”
Maisie wondered what people were doing up in LB&B Law. Some of them would be going to lunch soon.
She’d better keep away from the food trucks and delis for the next few hours.
“Am I allowed to take my lunch later? To avoid the lines.” To avoid people from LB&B seeing her.
Ginelle shrugged. “If you want, but then you won’t get a chance to meet everyone. The way we’re all scattered, we don’t get much time to shoot the breeze. That’s why I always volunteer when there’s a new girl to train. Or guy. But it’s mostly girls. The guys try to get jobs in maintenance. All right. You’ve got the list. When you do take your lunch, make sure to punch out first, then punch back in after.”
Willful Violation (Lawyers Behaving Badly Book 3) Page 7
