Content warnings for this story (click here for guide):
Eleanor stood in the bathroom doorway and surveyed the scene. Various colourful marks were dotted around and strips of toilet roll were strewn everywhere.
“I’m afraid I had my three-year-old nephew over at the weekend,” said Tom. “He’s very keen on crayons and less keen on rules, so this really does need some work. Nothing my keen little Elly can’t handle, I’m sure.”
He patted her bottom, causing Eleanor to squeak with surprise and glower at him. Before she could tell him off, or slap him away, Tom waved his phone to remind her of the pictures he had taken.
Eleanor gritted her teeth. Fine, she thought. Just wiping down the walls. Not going to kill me.
But just as she was reconciling herself to an easy job, Tom seemed to remember something. He walked toward the toilet, peered in and rolled his eyes.
“Would you look at that? He even managed to draw inside the bowl, the mucky little scamp. Remind me not to buy him waterproof colours again.”
Eleanor looked in. The inside of the loo was a Jackson Pollock of colourful scribbles.
“You can’t be serious –” she muttered.
“I know,” sympathised Tom. “Like a good Pretty Maid, you’re probably worrying about keeping your nails perfect for your Master.”
Eleanor opened her lipstick-caked mouth, outraged.
“Ah,” said Tom, reaching into the cupboard beneath the sink. “Thought so. These should fit you very well and make sure your nails stay nice for inspection time.”
He brought out a pair of pink rubber gloves with gingham trim, little white bows, and the words “I’m Cuter When I’m Cleaning” printed on them.
Eleanor turned up her nose at the offensive gloves.
“Jesus – these are straight out of Stepford,” she sniffed.
“Hmm, wonder where I got them…” said Tom, peering at the inside of one glove. “Oh yes!”
He showed Eleanor the mark inside: “PrettyMerch, by Pretty Maids”.
“That is NOT from our store!” said Eleanor indignantly.
“It certainly is,” said Tom, reaching round to squeeze Eleanor’s bottom again, causing her to flush and close her eyes. “I thought you signed off every branded item yourself? Or was that just PR? Were you a lazy girl at your last job? Do I need to spank you for that in case you try it here?”
Eleanor composed herself, maddened that her frilly knickers were a little damp. What was wrong with her?
“No,” she protested. “I must have… been rushing that day. I would never endorse anything so –”
“So PERFECT for cleaning my bathroom,” said Tom, beaming. “You’re going to be SO cute when you’re scrubbing and buffing for my approval. Pop them on, Elly.”
“Ugh! I don’t think so.”
“Very well. You can clean that toilet with your bare hands.”
“Urgghh!”
“And you can be spanked for every nail you break.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake! FINE.”
Eleanor snatched the pink gloves and jammed her hands into them.
“Lovely,” said Tom. “Glad you saw sense, even if you were a little petulant about it.”
Tom gestured to the toilet.
“Right then, we’ll have you down on your knees, and I’d like that porcelain perfectly white.”
He handed her a little pink basket of cleaning cloths, brushes and sprays, each stamped with the Pretty Maids logo.
“Normally the maids are expected to bring their own,” he explained. “In fact, I believe you made them BUY them from you, and they weren’t allowed to use cheaper unbranded tools and treatments. Quite the extra money-spinner.”
“They’re more environmentally friendly,” said Eleanor, folding her arms. “All natural sprays.”
“Yes, sourced from your friend’s business, in which you had shares.”
“That is beside the – “
“– and when some of your employees raised the point that these sprays did no good and made their work harder, you fired the complainants.”
“That is bullshit! They were let go because they stretched out their sessions to make more money.”
“Of course,” said Tom. “More bad apples. Anyway, I know my little maid is going to be a very hard worker, eager to please me, so I thought I’d be nicer than you were. I’m gifting you your Pretty Maids starter kit, since you’re only a trainee. You’ll be keeping these with you at all times.”
“I have to take these home with me?”
“Oh no,” said Tom. “Didn’t you read the agreement at all? You’ll be staying here.”
“What?”
Eleanor closed the lid of the toilet and sat down. As she did so, her skirt flounced up to flash her knickers and she tugged it back into place.
“I can see I’m going to need to make several copies of your agreement and leave them in every room,” Tom tutted. Handing Eleanor the pages once again, he directed her to the relevant paragraph, and she read aloud:
“The offender being deemed a flight risk, they will reside at 113 Baxwell Gardens with monitor and supervision for the first month of their sentence…blah blah blah…This will be reviewed upon satisfactory completion of community order during that time…blah blah blah…This will be determined in consultation with their civilian supervisor…who’s that?”
Tom shrugged. Eleanor stood up, furious.
“YOU? You’re my Civilian Supervisor?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, I clearly didn’t see your name when I signed this, so it’s void.”
“Uh…” Tom pointed to the superscript number beside the words ‘Civilian Supervisor’, then flicked to the back of the agreement, where a dramatis personae list had been provided. Next to the relevant number, she read the name ‘Thomas Patrick Eastway’.
“But – but – “
Eleanor felt dizzy. She sat back down on the toilet lid and held her head in her hands while she assessed the situation.
“So you not only get me to work as your maid for free – wearing this humiliating outfit – but YOU get to keep me at your house in this state and YOU get to determine whether I get to go home? For a YEAR? And somehow this is not only legal, but ENFORCEABLE?”
“Yes, but it could be worse.”
“HOW?”
“Well, originally your house was going to be sold to pay your fines and fees, so you would have been homeless. I suggested this as an alternative. At the end of the year, you’ll be back there, providing you manage not to commit any further crimes (I’d say murdering me counts as a crime, in case you were wondering)”.
“Damnit.”
“If you’re very good for me, though, you’ll only be staying here for a month and then back to day-visits to do your year of maidly duties.”
“I really have no choice.”
“No. Much like your former employees, you do find yourself in something of a bind. Only yours is of your own making.”
Eleanor felt sick.
“I need to use the… facilities,” she muttered, indicating that she wanted Tom to leave.
“I’ll give you some privacy,” said Tom, pulling out a stopwatch. “Two minutes and counting.”
“What are you doing?”
“Timing your bathroom break,” said Tom, pulling out his copy of the Pretty Maids manual. “Got the idea from here. ‘Section 12: Keep your maid on her toes’.”
He pulled the door shut.
Absolute bullshit, thought Eleanor. What’s he going to do after two minutes – break down the door?
She pulled down her knickers and lowered herself onto the seat, heels wobbling. The corset pressed down on her abdomen and she moaned with relief as she peed.
Once she was done, she stood up and groaned; her skirt had become tucked up inside the bottom of the corset and needed to be extricated. Her knickers were on full display in the mirror. Damnit, but she still had the clumsy gloves on. She was about to remove them when an alarm went off outside the door and she tumbled off her heels, landing with her ruffled bottom in the air.
SNAP. An unmistakeable camera sound went off.
Eleanor froze. Then she yelled through the door.
“You have cameras in the bathroom, you pervert?”
“Only if you take more than two minutes in there,” came the reply. “Tell you what, I’ll delete this one, since you didn’t know, but the next time you go over your toilet time, I’ll save your adorably clumsy modelling for my files. Who knows where it might end up?”
Eleanor considered this for a minute. He wouldn’t fucking dare. She struggled to her feet, sorted out her skirts and yanked open the bathroom door.
“Where are you?” she shouted, tottering along in her heels, her boobs bouncing along in the cups of the corset.
She found Tom in the kitchen, making coffee and checking his phone.
“Ah, good. Is the bathroom done?”
“What? Of course it’s not!”
“Oh. I presumed that would be the only reason a good maid would leave her task: to report that it was complete. Disappointing, Elly.”
“Where is that goddamned photo of me?”
“Oh, this one?” Tom showed her his phone. On the screen, Eleanor was arse-up on the bathroom floor, mouth open, heels flailing, frilly-knickered bottom huge in the foreground.
“Delete it. NOW.” she seethed.
“I promised I would,” said Tom. I just wanted to enjoy your funny little tumble for a minute more.”
“NOW!” Eleanor was red in the face.
Tom was quiet for a second, and Eleanor worried suddenly that he might punish her for shouting. But he only smiled and deleted the photo.
“There we go,” he said. “I should model good management and active listening for you, shouldn’t I? Help little Elly to learn, in case she wants to work her way up to Boss one day.”
“I AM the Boss!” blurted Eleanor. “Me! And I shouldn’t be cleaning some brat’s crayon off your toilet!”
Tom grabbed and held her chin, bringing his face close to her own.
“Now Elly,” he said sternly. “I don’t mind so much when you’re lippy to me – we’re going to train all that out of you in time – but you do NOT say mean things about my nephew, however naughty he is.”
Eleanor stood, heart pounding, as Tom released her, noted the demerit in the book then went over to a drawer. Shit, what was he going to fetch now?
“Just the thing,” he said, pulling out a little blue bag. “Something to remind you who’s in charge here.”
He pulled out a leather collar with D-ring and a Pretty Maids tag. Eleanor shivered as he buckled it around her neck and clipped a tiny padlock around the buckle.
“Good girl,” he whispered in her ear. “I thought you might be a little stubborn, so I had a few points installed throughout the house. That way I can clip you in place to really focus on cleaning an area.”
Eleanor found her voice.
“You’re going to WHAT?”
“You heard. Now, let’s try that last task again. Back to the bathroom, Elly, and let’s get you nicely secured this time so you don’t take a tumble.”
“Noooo,” moaned Eleanor, as she was led, mincing in her heels, back to the toilet. A long chain was passed through the D-ring and padlocked, giving her the run of the bathroom and no more.
“Now,” said Tom, pushing her down to her knees beside the cleaning basket, “you work hard and clean this mess up for me. I don’t want to hear a peep out of you until everything is spotless! Press the button by the sink when you need me to inspect your work. And I will expect a sweet, deferent maid’s voice when you call. If you’re surly or slovenly, I will take this – he picked up a long-handled bath brush – and spank you for the camera. You’ll be wailing and kicking in a most unprofessional way, with your bare bottom on display. Do I make myself clear?”
Eleanor pictured the scene and imagined it going viral, with captions like:
CONVICTED BOSS GIVEN WHAT SHE DESERVES
FROM SHARES TO SPANKINGS
FROM CEO KENNICK TO NAUGHTY MAID ELLY
The thought chilled her to the bone, but for some reason, she still found her pulse climbing.
“Well?” prompted Tom.
“Yes Sir,” said Eleanor, meekly.