Devil on My Shoulder - My New Life

Mom's death was ruled as a suicide. Even if she'd had any life insurance it wouldn't have paid out. Our apartment was rented and the only real asset she owned was a car that barely ran and was only useful as scrap metal.

Since she died destitute, it was left to Aunt Martha to cover the expense of her funeral, and as such, she felt it was her right to make all the decisions. She rejected my idea of a burial saying it was an "unnecessary expense" and "far from practical," opting instead for cremation.

As disappointed as I was, I was in no position to argue. I didn't know what I'd do if Aunt Martha decided to pull her money. At eighteen, there was no state support for me to turn to. As far as the government was concerned, I could drop out of high school and get a job. Even our landlord only gave me a month's grace period before threatening to throw me out for unpaid rent.

Aunt Martha was the only person in the world who could help me. There was no other family but distant cousins who lived on the other side of the country. When Aunt Martha offered to take me into her home, I had no choice but to accept. It was either that or end up on the streets.

The funeral itself was a modest affair. Mom didn't really have any friends, just a few old work colleagues. It saddened me to see the near empty church. Nobody there really cared about Mom besides me. Maybe if I'd been a better daughter this wouldn't have happened. I knew she was in financial trouble, but I had no idea how alone she must have been.

I had no friends of my own to offer me comfort either. A couple of my teachers attended, but I could tell they didn't really want to be there. They were obligated and wanted to feel like good people. They needn't have bothered. I wished nobody had bothered. I'd have been happier if it was just me.

While I was dressed in an old half-sleeved floral black maxi dress and black flats, Martha and Shannon had treated themselves to brand new outfits to mark the occasion.

Martha wore a statement white collar blouse with her best pearls under an open black blazer, matching pants, and a Gucci belt with a statement gold buckle. Large aviators covered her eyes and a wide-brimmed black hat embellished by a silk bow was on her head. She would not have been out of place sitting in the front row of the Paris Fashion Show.

Shannon was dressed in an adorable black Darlene dress with tonal pinstripes, a pleated bodice, and flutter sleeves. She was annoyed throughout the whole service, rolling her eyes and sighing, checking the time on her silver Van Cleef watch.

I tried to ignore her and focus on the service, but it was hard when I caught her glancing at me with irritation as if it was my fault she was stuck in this boring church. My mom's suicide was nothing but an inconvenience to her. It had completely ruined her morning.

You should probably apologize to her later.

I squirmed on the pew to rub my arousal over the wood. This was not the time or place. I was beginning to fear there really was something wrong with me. I couldn't even attend my own mother's funeral without getting turned on by my cousin.

Oh, there's definitely something wrong with you, freak.

"Stop it," I whispered, a little too loudly. I flushed as I realized the preacher had halted his service. Everybody was staring at me. "Sorry," I said. "Please continue."

Thankfully, it was chalked up to me finding his words difficult to hear. Although I could see Shannon staring at me with fascination, a slight smirk on her painfully pretty face.

Martha and Shannon hung around after the service just long enough for the guests to fawn over Martha's generosity and compliment her outfit, as though it was far more important than offering me condolences. It was surreal to be treated like wallpaper at my own mother's funeral.

It is more important. That outfit cost more than your mom's entire funeral and wake combined.

Martha gave me a formal hug and said she would fetch a car for me tomorrow morning to bring me to my new home. She would have liked to have stayed longer for the wake but offered no explanation as to why she was leaving her grief-stricken niece alone. Not that anybody cared. She was inundated with more compliments and gratitude for organizing the whole thing.

In fairness, I couldn't exactly picture Martha or Shannon sitting in a depressing beige room under fluorescent lighting, nibbling on cocktail sausages, deli meat, and cheddar cheese on sticks.

The guests stayed just long enough after Martha and Shannon departed to tell me how lucky I was to have an aunt like Martha willing to take care of me.

I didn't know what else to do but smile politely and thank them for coming.

Nobody thought about how I would actually get home, and so after helping the staff tidy up, I took my mom's ashes in the most basic urn they offered and walked to the home I'd shared with my dead mother for eighteen years to spend my final night alone with my memories and her ashes.

*

The car Aunt Martha sent to pick me up was clearly not one of her own. It was a mid-80s, slightly rusting, Volkswagon beetle. I knew my aunt would never have dreamed of driving a car like that.

A gaunt woman with dark rings under her eyes and thinning hair wearing a formal French Maid's outfit stepped out and smiled at me as I carried my case to her car. She rushed to help but I shook my head, assuring her I was fine. It wasn't as if I had much to pack. Just a few clothes, my cassette player, journal, a couple of mixed tapes I'd recorded from the radio, and my mom's picture and urn.

"Okay, Miss," she said warmly, opening the back door for me to get in.

"Thanks," I said, placing my case on my thighs and hugging it against my body. I immediately felt uncomfortable being called 'Miss.' Especially after spending the whole day at the mall calling Shannon and her friends the same.

"Would Miss prefer that in the trunk?"

I smiled politely. "No, thank you. I'd rather hold it."

She nodded and carefully shut the door after me. I gave the apartment I'd lived in all my life one last look as she slowly drove away.

I would never see it again.

The maid often checked on me through her rear-view mirror with something akin to sympathy. Not that she said anything. I was grateful for the silence. The last thing I wanted was to make small talk with this strange woman.

It wasn't until we'd reached Martha's mansion and parked on the driveway that she spoke, turning to me with a pitying smile. "I'm Susanne," she said, "your aunt Martha's maid."

I nodded. "Nice to meet you."

"I'm so sorry about your mom, Miss." She reached and placed a reassuring hand on my knee. "I want you to know that I'm here for you. If you need anything at all, just ask. Okay?"

I swallowed my sadness.

She studied me. "Are you really okay with this? Staying here, I mean."

I shuffled uncomfortably at the question. "What do you mean?"

"Isn't there anywhere else you can go?"

I slowly shook my head.

She didn't press the point.

I wondered at the time why she was asking me this. Now I know, I ought to have taken it as a warning.

She opened my door and offered once more to take my case which I refused. I felt awkward being served. I knew this was her job, but it seemed wrong to hand something over to someone when I was perfectly capable of doing it myself.

Susanne trailed me over the driveway, up the grand stairs, and under the classical canopy into the main foyer.

I was smacked by decadence. The floor was a glossy white marble patterned in diamonds. The walls were wainscoted and the high ceiling was an oval dome. There were stone columns and antique furniture that sparkled in polish. Fresh flowers bloomed in large crystal vases and two staircases with golden balusters and black marble handrails spiraled up to the second floor.

Martha greeted me wearing a black blazer beaded with pearls across the lapels and shoulders. It was buttoned just below her bosom to reveal a black vest top, fitted snugly over her bosom.

"Julia!" She said happily, offering me one of her formal hugs that lacked any hint of affection. I was treated to a strong whiff of sandalwood and lavender from her obscenely expensive perfume. "So glad you're here," she said, pulling away.

"Um, thanks," I mumbled, blushing down at her pin-heel pumps that showed the tanned arch of her bare foot. I was always anxious around her. I felt at any moment I might commit a social faux pas. She had a charisma about her that made you feel permanently bad about yourself. Like you weren't good enough to be in her presence. I could only imagine how much worse Mom had it.

"Maid," said Martha suddenly and firmly to Susanne who immediately lowered herself into a curtsey. "Why on earth didn't you take her luggage?"

"A-apologies, Madam Martha, but-" she glanced at me for help.

Martha inhaled, inflating her bosom, and regally lifting her head to look down her nose at the maid.

I had to step in. "Susanne offered," I said, turning Martha's attention back to me. For a moment I could see her irritation at being interrupted before her expression slowly brightened as if remembering who I was. "I just wanted to carry it myself."

"Oh? Susanne is it?" said Martha eyeing her maid.

Susanne flushed and shrank into herself, clasping her hands demurely over her half-apron.

Martha smirked and turned back to me. "You mustn't be afraid to ask her for help, Julia. That's what she's here for. Right, Maid?"

Susanne nodded eagerly. "Yes, Madam Martha. Anything you need Miss Julia, just let me know."

I just smiled politely in the hopes of moving on as quickly as possible. The way Martha spoke down to Susanne was difficult to watch. If this was how Shannon had been raised to talk to her staff, then no wonder she felt entitled to treat me like dirt. Look at who her role model was.

You also just deserve to be treated like dirt, freak.

"Follow me, Julia," said Martha, "I'll show you to your room." She turned back to Susanne. "We'll discuss this later."

Susanne curtsied again, her eyes glassy. "Yes, Madam Martha."

Martha dismissed her with a wave of her hand and then beckoned me to follow her up the stairs.

Across the wall was a painted mural in the style of ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. One scene in particular stood out. It appeared as if a queen or possibly a goddess was sitting on a throne while a line of female slaves bound to a chain were offering her tribute. The image sent a shiver down my spine.

"You, uh, really like Egypt," I said, trying to make small talk.

"Such a fascinating country," said Martha, stopping to admire the mural.

"You must be very knowledgable."

Martha smiled. "Yes. Egyptology is one of my great passions. I have a particular interest in the cult of Isis. Do you know what that is?"

I shook my head.

"You know who Isis is, though?"

I shrugged uncertainly. "The Moon Goddess?"

"Yes, but so much more. She was the Queen of the Throne. The Goddess of love, healing, fertility, magic, and of course, the moon. It's said deities derive their power from the sacrifices of their worshippers. The more worshippers, the more sacrifices, the more powerful they become. Isis, being unsatisfied with simply being second to her husband Osiris, sought to expand her influence. Owing to her beauty and allure, she became the favored deity amongst the powerful wives and daughters of the nobility. These women formed a dedicated cult known in the annals as "The Daughters of Isis." They believed Isis had blessed them at birth with exceptional privilege. In return for her blessing, Isis expected her daughters to spread her word and offer her sacrifice and tribute. Thanks to her daughters, Isis' influence spread abroad to Greece, Rome, and beyond. Eventually, she came to be considered Queen of the Universe. The embodiment of the cosmos with power over fate itself."

I knew enough about Egyptian history to know that these "powerful" women maintained their status off the backs of their slaves. This "blessing" my aunt seemed so entranced with was nothing more than the luck of being born rich. They had hundreds of thousands of slaves working so they didn't have to. I wasn't sure what was so admirable about that.

Martha smirked at me. "Now you've gone and gotten me on a diatribe. Come on. Your room is just down this corridor."

I followed her into a simple room with painted white walls and a hardwood floor. There was a single, small window that overlooked the lawn and swimming pool. There was a single bed, a desk, a chair, a wardrobe, a dresser, and a mounted wall mirror. It was perfectly adequate, if basic. A far cry from Shannon's king-sized double, home entertainment center, couches, en-suite, and walk-in closet.

Martha leaned against the doorframe, watching me as I took in my new surroundings. "It's important to me you feel at home here," she said. "This is the smallest room we have. I didn't want to overwhelm you with too large a space. Whatever you packed in that little suitcase of yours will struggle to fill even this room."

I blushed, unsure if my aunt was purposefully taunting me or if she genuinely thought giving me the smallest room in her mansion with the cheapest furnishing was a kindness.

I didn't feel like arguing about it. I just had to survive until I left for college. That was less than a year away. If I was polite and civil, I was sure I could get through this without incident. It wasn't as if I had any real alternative.

"This'll be fine," I said. "Thank you."

Martha shrugged a single shoulder. "I'll leave you to get settled in then. If you need anything, feel free to call for the maid. I've instructed her to make your stay as comfortable as possible."

I had zero intention of asking Susanne for anything. The way Martha spoke down to her was awful.

Martha continued. "Although, I'd prefer it if you refer to her as 'Maid' and not 'Susanne.' I don't know why she told you her name. She ought to know better than that. But regardless, I think it's important to maintain a strict separation between worker and employer. If they become too friendly, they will start to shirk their responsibilities and I can't abide laziness. Do you understand, Julia?"

I understood that was rich coming from a woman who had never worked a job in her life. Susanne must have been desperate to work for someone with that attitude.

"Oh," added Martha, not giving me a chance to respond, "I like my guests to be punctual and... how can I put this delicately? Neat." She looked me up and down judging my baggy flannel shirt and jeans as inappropriate attire. "You should probably change into something less... you know."

I fingered my shirt, ashamed.

"Anyway, I'll see you downstairs at seven o'clock sharp for dinner. Don't be late."

With that, she waltzed down the corridor with her designer pin heels clopping across her marble floor.

I sighed and set my case down on the bed. I opened it and took out my mom's picture and urn, setting them down on the desk.

For all the wealth Martha displayed, her mansion felt soulless and eerie. The whole Egyptian thing was creepy, and the way she treated Susanne was beyond disturbing. My mom may have been poor, but at least she treated people with dignity. I missed her so much it hurt. She was the one person in the world who loved me. Without her, I was truly alone. I covered my mouth as I broke down in tears. Everything was so fucked. Why did she leave me? I needed her.

Because she didn't care about you. Nobody cares about you.

"Ew," said Shannon from the corridor.

I spun to her in fright. She was wearing a low-cut, knitted white cardigan which showed her toned and tanned stomach. She had a high waist red, plaid mini-skirt and wore the white ruffle socks she had bought with the birthday money from my mom.

"Why are you crying?" she asked.

I sniffled and wiped my puffy cheeks. "Isn't it obvious?"

She scoffed. "Not really. I'd say you've gotten a pretty sweet deal. You've moved out of that hole into our mansion. You had what, like four rooms? Did you even have your own bedroom?"

"Yes," I said through my teeth, "I had my own bedroom."

She arched a brow. "Excuse me? Are you getting an attitude with me, peasant?"

I flushed, angry that Shannon wouldn't let me grieve in peace, and embarrassed I had declared her as my queen. I'd hoped she might have moved on from that after everything that had happened. Surely she didn't expect this to continue after my mom had died? That was psychotic.

"Shannon, please," I said weakly. "I don't want trouble. I just want to be alone right now."

"Is that how you address your queen?" She entered my room and closed the door behind her. She pointed down to the floor by her feet. "On your knees, peasant."

I glanced down at her socks. It pained me to admit, but she looked adorable in them. They really were worth every cent of my mom's money.

She stomped her foot, and I jumped, nervously looking back at her face. "Now!" she said folding her arms and pouting her pink lips.

Do as your queen demands, scum.

I slowly shook my head. It was hard to resist. My pussy tingled. The devil on my shoulder was willing me to obey. But this wasn't like before. I was stuck living with her. If I handed her that power over me, there'd be no escape.

"If you don't get on your knees right now I'll tell Mom everything. She'll know you were playing with yourself while sniffing my shoes. Wonder what she'll say when she finds out what a vile creep you are."

I gulped. The thought of being exposed to Aunt Martha was terrifying, but it wasn't as if she would throw me out on the streets. She had made a huge show of taking me in when nobody else would. She wanted to be seen as charitable. Appearances mattered more to her than anything. I had to stay strong.

But you're so weak.

"I won't just tell Mom either. I'll tell everyone at school. They'll all know what a freak you are. The teachers as well."

I gave a hesitant shrug. "We don't even go to the same school."

The smirk she gave sent a shiver down my spine. "Mom didn't tell you? She's paying your tuition. We'll be classmates from now on. Isn't that exciting?"

I paled. "Wh... why?"

"Oh, I might have said how lonely it would be for you at your school since you have no friends. I suggested it would be better for you to come to school with me from now on. You know, since I'm so popular. I could help you through this difficult time. Aren't I so kind to you?" She batted her long lashes and smiled sweetly. "You'll be starting next week."

Dread prickled over my skin. I knew how brutal Shannon and her friends were. It would be nothing for them to turn the whole school against me. They would enjoy it. This was a nightmare.

"If you want to have any hope of surviving until graduation, you'll do what I say, peasant."

Who are you trying to fool? We all know you're a pervert for your cousin's feet. Just do it. It'll feel sooooo good. I promise.

I glanced back at her socks. They were so white and pure. The socks my mom saved and sacrificed for. They were so... beautiful.

My stomach churned with excitement. My pussy was wet. The devil was right. I was weak. "Okay," I said, slowly slumping to my knees. "You win."

Shannon's grin grew wider. Her eyes gleamed with the thrill of victory. An experience I knew I would never feel again.

"I'm glad you've seen sense, peasant," she said, wiggling her toes. "Crawl."

I planted my hands on the hardwood and crawled on all fours to her feet. I pressed my nose against her socks and inhaled. They were spicy, but not in an unpleasant way. It was as if they'd been sprayed with fiery perfume. They were intoxicating - the smell of my own defeat.

Shannon laughed and placed her foot on the back of my head pushing my face to the floor, squashing my nose against the hardwood.

It suits you. A peasant to a queen.

"It's funny," said Shannon, "I thought I'd hate having you here. You're so poor and ugly. You don't deserve nice things. But then I got thinking, it might be kinda fun to have my own slave."

My eyes stung with tears.

"So," continued Shannon, "I'm your queen and you're my peasant. You'll obey my orders or get punished. If you entertain me, then I'll keep your filthy secret just between us. Are you listening to me, peasant?"

My voice vibrated off the hardwood. "Yes, Your Majesty."

She giggled and removed her foot from my head. "Good. Then assume the position."

I wasn't sure what she meant. I pushed up off the floor and looked up at her. She stared down at me with the same imperial expression I'd seen painted on the Egyptian mural downstairs depicting her as Cleopatra reborn.

She pointed to the bed. "Bend over."

I sniffled and shuffled to the edge of the bed, squatting over it.

Don't pretend like you're upset. You've been asking for this you dirty slut.

I unbuttoned my jeans and wriggled them down my thighs. The crotch on my boyshorts was damp with arousal. I pulled them down to show my bare buttocks.

Shannon slowly removed her ruffle socks to reveal her beautiful feet. Her toenails were painted the same cute baby pink as her manicure. There was a twist in my stomach. Her feet were just as perfect as I'd imagined. The feet of an angel.

"Open your mouth," she commanded, balling up her socks.

I did as she said, and she reached over to stuff them in my mouth.

"There," she said with a chuckle, "now you can taste what I spent your dead mom's money on. Aren't I good to you, peasant?"

Tears trickled down my cheeks. "Yesh," I said, my voice muffled by her socks, "Thwank you, Your Majesty."

I heard people who kill themselves aren't allowed in heaven. Do you think your mom's looking up at us from hell, right now?"

A horrible feeling of guilt swept through me. This was the last thing in the world my mom would have wanted me to do. She would be so ashamed of me. I felt the eyes from her picture drilling into me. At that moment, I prayed there was no afterlife. I couldn't allow myself to believe Mom might have been watching.

Shannon lifted her arm and struck her palm hard against my ass cheek. There was a vicious slapping echo. She laughed as I whined and sobbed into her socks.

"This," she said, striking my second ass cheek, "is for trying to stand up to me. The next time (slap) I tell you (slap) to do something (slap) you fucking (slap) do it! (SLAP.)"

I screamed - tears streaming down my cheeks. I circled my ass as if air might somehow soothe the stinging.

"And this," she declared, curling her adorable hand into a fist and punching my tailbone, causing me to squeal. "Is for making me get up at eight in the morning on a fucking Saturday just to attend your mom's boring ass funeral."

I felt sick to my stomach. It was too awful. I was being punished for my mom dying in front of the urn that contained her ashes. Pussy juice trickled down my inner thigh.

Shannon lifted her leg and kneed me cleanly in my pussy. There was a blast of pain and I slowly slumped back to my knees, sliding down the edge of the bed. I couldn't even breathe. Just when I thought the pain was subsiding, it came over me again in waves.

"And that's for getting turned on by all this you sick fuck."

You definitely deserved that one, freak.

Shannon gave me no time to recover as she grabbed my hair and forced me to follow her on my hands and knees, with her socks in my mouth, and my damp underwear and jeans around my thighs, to the corner. She shoved my face in between the crack in the wall, close enough to smell the paint.

"You're going to stay like this until dinner."

"Yesh... Your Majesty." I answered between sobs.

"I'm going to go relax now. Don't you dare move."

Remember to thank her, freak.

Something inside of me died. I closed my eyes as I continued to sob. "Yesh, Your Majesty. Thank you."

She laughed and smacked me across the back of my head before leaving me alone to stew with my guilt and arousal.

*

I spent the next six hours kneeling on the floor with my underwear around my thighs and my nose pressed into the corner, sucking on the worn socks she had bought with my dead mom's money.

It was not exactly how I'd imagined spending my first day in my new home.

No, it's better.

I dared not leave since Shannon randomly decided at various points to open my door and check on me. I felt a flutter of excitement and a tingle in my pussy every time I heard her. I was hoping for some praise for my obedience, but the only affirmation she gave me was a quick giggle before closing the door again.

It's more than you deserve, freak.

I tried not to think about Mom's picture staring at me from the desk. I was starting to regret bringing her urn with me. I should have scattered her ashes in the park so she could be at peace with nature. For all I knew, her spirit was tied to that urn. How horrified would she be to be trapped in her sister's mansion, forced to watch her daughter spanked and abused by her niece?

More horrified to know how much you're enjoying it.

Everything about this was wrong. But maybe that was why it excited me so much. Even as the stinging on my ass cheeks subsided, the tingling in my pussy remained.

I took a chance that Shannon would not catch me and sneakily circled my finger around my clit.

Waves of pleasure spread through me. I thought of Sannon's adorable feet and savored the taste of her socks in my mouth. I remembered how she and her friends had spat in my face. How Stephanie and Leah had stubbed their cigarettes on my cheeks and used my body as a footrest. I thought of how beautiful and bored Shannon had looked at my mom's funeral and the spankings she'd delivered to me.

My eyes rolled back as the devil on my shoulder whispered seductively in my ear.

She's so pretty. So rich. So popular and fashionable. Everyone loves her. She's perfect. A queen.

I bit into Shannon's socks and squealed as I came hard, squirting into the corner.

Those seconds were the best I'd felt since Mom died. They were pure ecstasy. For just a moment I'd forgotten about my loneliness and grief. My mind had escaped into a better, more liberating world as Shannon's peasant.

But once the pleasure subsided, I was left with that familiar feeling of guilt and shame. What if Mom really was watching me?

The emotions of the day overwhelmed me and I broke down into sobs. Why couldn't I just be normal? Why did I have to be turned on by feet and abuse? It wasn't fair. I never asked to be this way.

You were born a freak and you'll die a freak, alone and unloved.

"I hate you," I said as much to myself as the devil on my shoulder.

*

When Shannon finally allowed me to vacate the corner, my legs and knees were numb from kneeling on the hardwood for so long.

She had changed into a long-sleeved black bodycon mini dress with a white turned-down collar. Her elegant pearl earrings glimmered under the light. As I crawled closer my eyes slowly went down her tanned legs to her t-strap leather pumps. She was sockless as if to reinforce the point that I'd spent six hours with them in my mouth.

She giggled at me. "I can't believe you really stayed like that this whole time. That's the most pathetic thing I've ever seen. You really are my peasant, aren't you?"

I hung my head in sorrow and shame.

"I'd leave you there all night if I could, but Mom's expecting us for dinner. We have to sit at the same table so you're gonna have to try real hard to pretend like you're not a total freak. Can you manage that, peasant?"

I nodded.

She smirked. "Take those out of your mouth and come worship my shoes."

I removed her sock ball and carefully placed it on the floor like it was a fragile glass bauble before crawling to her feet, blushing.

"I guess you can throw those away now," she said, sliding her pump closer to me. "It's not like I'll wear them again."

I pressed my palms to either side of her feet and bent my face low to lay kisses over the gold buckles. My stomach writhed to think how hard it had been for Mom to save that money only for Shannon to discard them without a second thought.

Shannon continued. "Just because you'll be sitting at my table tonight doesn't mean you aren't still my peasant. You're going to agree with everything I say and do. And I want to see some enthusiasm."

"Yes, Your Majesty," I said, moving my worshipful kisses to her second shoe.

"Good. Because I have no problem telling Mom what a disgusting freak you are. I'll bet she'll have no problem throwing you out on the streets."

I suspected this was an empty threat, but even so, I couldn't risk it. I couldn't even return to my old high school without great difficulty if Martha withdrew her funding for me to attend Shannon's elite school.

"I promise I'll be good, Your Majesty."

"Humph. You'd better."

*

Shannon didn't want to get into trouble for tardiness so left me alone to get changed into something "less embarrassing."

There weren't many options from my meager collection of clothes. The best I could manage was the same black dress and sandals I'd worn for Shannon's birthday party.

I tip-toed down the stairs and headed to the dining room, feeling like an insect - an unwanted pest that didn't belong.

But that's what you are. You're a termite, a fly, a maggot.

I passed by more Egyptian-themed art and objects including expensive-looking statuettes of feline women, pyramids, and sphynx. There were papyrus, framed in gold and hidden behind glass. They seemed genuine, at least to my untrained eye, and I doubted Martha would deign to have anything in her home that wasn't.

But what really drew my eye was a solid onyx plaque, embossed by a golden ankh, built into the wall. I didn't know why, but there was something about it that frightened me. I quickly moved on. Lingering in the presence of that ankh seemed like a bad idea.

The dining room was fit for royalty. The rich wooden table and sleek white chairs contrasted with the black marble floor. More murals covered the walls depicting an intricate desert kingdom complete with temples and pyramids. Large jackal-headed men in shimmering armor, brandishing shields, and spears stood in the corners of the room as if they were Martha's personal bodyguards, poised to attack at her command. They seemed to stare at me with suspicion.

"Quite something, aren't they?" said Martha. She looked like a classic Hollywood star in her demure, black velvet dress with long sleeves, structured shoulder pads, and a plunging neckline that showed off her tanned side boobs. It was matched with a gold box chain necklace, bracelets, and Egyptian ankh earrings. She looked incredible, even if it seemed over the top for a family dinner.

I smiled nervously. "Sure are. So... lifelike."

"Oh, I know it's a little out there, but when I saw them I just couldn't resist. I had them shipped all the way from Egypt. Anubis was the Jackal-headed God. He would guide and protect souls to the afterlife."

I gulped, imagining my mom's ethereal soul following that silent and terrifying deity.

Martha placed her hand on her chest and gasped. "My gosh, I wasn't thinking about your mother."

I blushed and slid myself into my seat opposite Shannon. "It's fine," I mumbled.

Martha reached for her glass of dark wine. "Well, how are you settling in, Julia?"

"Um, good. Thank you."

Shannon leaned her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her knuckle, smirking at me. The thought of what we'd done upstairs made me blush even harder. I was sweaty with embarrassment.

"Such a pretty dress," said Martha.

Shannon scoffed. "It's the same one she wore to my birthday party, Mom. I don't think she owns anything else."

"That's not true, she wore an adorable sunflower dress that day you went shopping together."

Shannon giggled. "You mean the one she bought from a thrift store?"

Martha's lips twitched into a smile.

I shuffled uncomfortably in my seat. I wanted to divert their attention from my clothes as quickly as possible. "You, uh, look very beautiful, Aunt Martha."

Martha reached and tapped the back of my hand. "So sweet. This dress is Dolce and Gabbana."

Shannon laughed. "She doesn't know what that is, Mom."

Martha smiled. "It's a luxury fashion brand. Founded just six years ago in Legnano, Italy. The Italians have always had a sharp eye for what looks good."

Shannon scoffed at me. "Does your dress even have a label?"

I shrugged. "I don't think so."

"Now, now," said Martha, swirling the wine in her glass. "My sister could never have afforded designer brands, Shannon. You know that. She did her best, I'm sure."

She worked hard every day to keep a roof over my head, put food in the refrigerator, and keep me in clothes. No, she couldn't waste her money on designer brands. It wasn't fair for them to look down on her for that. Martha married money and Shannon was born into money. Neither of them had any idea of what it was like in the real world.

Struggling for scraps is for peasants, not queens.

I was relieved when Susanne entered, pushing a tri-shelved trolley. I didn't think I could stand to hear any more comparisons between Martha and Mom.

Susanne carefully placed warm plates of filet mignons, creamy mashed potatoes, and asparagus in a red wine just before us. I knew nothing about fine dining, but the filet appeared perfectly cooked.

I nodded and smiled at her as she set my plate down. "Thank you."

She froze and glanced anxiously at Martha. There was an awkward silence that made me immediately wish I'd kept my mouth shut. It had just seemed weird to ignore her like Martha and Shannon had done.

Martha sighed and shooed her away with the back of her hand.

Susanne curtsied and quickly left the dining room, taking her empty trolley with her.

Martha took a sip of her wine and set it on the table before lifting her silver cutlery. She sliced into her steak and investigated the pinkness. She guided her cut into her mouth and chewed. The way she ate was mesmeric. Every movement was elegant and deliberate.

"You know, Julia," she said, "since you'll be staying here for the foreseeable future, there are some social decorums you ought to understand. We never thank the maid. Praise should be something she earns. She must always strive to work harder to impress us. To thank her for something as basic as cooking dinner risks her believing our household could not function without her."

"If anything," said Shannon, "the maid ought to be thanking us. Everything she has she owes to us. Her clothes, her food, healthcare. She even lives here rent-free. She'd be nothing without us."

Martha smiled at her daughter. "That's true. Do and try and be more careful in the future, Julia."

I gaped, unsure of how to respond. That seemed so twisted. They actually expected Susanne to be grateful they allowed her to work for them? Did they not understand Susanne could always just find another job?

I didn't feel very hungry after that, but I didn't want Susanne to think I didn't appreciate her cooking. The steak was the most delicious thing I'd ever eaten. It was so succulent and flavorful. Was this what Martha and Shannon ate every day?

"So, Mom," said Shannon, eyeing me mischievously. "I know you said to wait, but I was too excited. I've told her all about her new school."

Martha tutted. "That was supposed to be a surprise, princess. Oh well. What do you think, Julia? I know you don't have the pedigree to attend, but I was able to pull some strings and get you in. This is a great opportunity to better yourself. Graduation from such an elite educational institution will enable you to attend any course at any college you like."

I hadn't thought of it that way. It would definitely help my chances of attending prestigious creative writing programs. And there was only so much Shannon and her friends could do to me. It wasn't as if I was unfamiliar with bullies.

"Um, I think it's a great opportunity, Aunt Martha. Thank you."

Martha shrugged. "No need to thank me. You're now under my care. I couldn't have you attending public school. You can pay back your tuition once you find yourself a job."

She expected reimbursement? I felt sick to my stomach.

"Incidentally," said Martha, "where do you intend to go after high school?"

"I've, uh, been thinking about Iowa?"

Shannon pulled a face. "Ew, Iowa?"

I blushed. "They have this creative writing program you see and-"

Shannon laughed. "Wait, you want to be a writer? For real? Why?"

"I've always liked books and-"

"That's because you're poor. You had to escape your sad life by reading about more interesting people. Are you even creative at all?"

I felt my eyes grow glassy with her interrogation. I knew I had to proceed cautiously. I didn't want to trigger a reaction from her for disrespect. I didn't want to spend another six hours kneeling in the corner.

"I... don't know," I said almost too quietly to be heard.

"What have you written?" asked Martha.

"Nothing much yet. A short story was published in a magazine. And I'm... trying to write a novel."

Shannon found this hilarious for some reason.

Even Martha had a slight chuckle. "A novel?" she said with fake enthusiasm. "My my. What's it about?"

I didn't want to talk about it. I felt foolish. I knew it was dumb. The amusement on their faces was hard to take. "It's... just kind of a gothic romance, sort of thing."

Martha and Shannon exchanged a look and they both burst into laughter.

I swallowed a lump in my throat and sipped on my water, blushing more furiously than ever.

"I'm sorry, Julia," said Martha. "It's just... what on earth would you know about romance?"

"Nothing," said Shannon. "Look at her. You think she's ever even kissed a boy?"

"Stop that," said Martha, despite her obvious amusement. "Be nice."

Shannon rolled her eyes.

I sat in glum silence, poking my fork through my mashed potatoes. I knew I ought to defend myself and my work. As a writer, I would have to deal with criticisms. It was part of the job. I wanted to tell them that gothic romance did not mean romance in the kissy type of love story they were imagining. Those stories were pain, horror, and heartbreak. But I knew they'd never understand. I'd seen no books in Martha's entire mansion. I was pretty sure the only thing either of them read were fashion magazines.

"I think that's very... nice," said Martha in a patronizing tone, "but you ought to have a backup plan. You know... something more practical."

I knew it was a long shot. There were hundreds of thousands of people like me who dreamed of being a professional author. Only a few of us would make it. But I had to at least try. It had been my dream since I was a child.

Martha leaned back. "You wouldn't want to end up like your mother after all, would you?"

It felt like she'd stabbed a knife into my heart. Tears welled in my eyes. I placed my fork down on my plate and slid it away. I no longer felt like eating.

"Hm?" said Martha, "is something wrong?"

It was hard to stop myself from crying.

Shannon scoffed. "She's fine, mom. She was telling me upstairs how grateful she is for you taking her in."

My skin chilled with dread.

Martha smiled. "That's quite alright, Julia. My sister left you in quite a financial mess. I'm happy to help."

"Well," continued Shannon, "she feels soooo grateful that she told me she wants to help out some around the house. You know, cleaning, fetching, carrying, that kind of stuff."

Martha raised her brows and stared at me.

I stared back, afraid. I should have known Shannon would have some evil plan in store for me. So this was to be the price of her silence.

Shannon kicked my shin under the table. "Tell her," she whined.

I whimpered a little and bent down to rub where she'd struck my bone. "S-sure," I said. "Aunt Martha, you've been so kind, taking me into your home. I want to repay you."

Shannon beamed. "She can dust the furniture, mop the floor, vacuum, whatever we need."

Martha shrugged. "That's sweet of you to offer, Julia. But we have a maid who handles all that."

Shannon glared at me. I knew she wanted me to try harder to convince her.

"I know," I said. "But to be honest, I feel like I'm kind of taking advantage of you. You're letting me live in this amazing mansion and eat filet mignon. I haven't paid for any of it. I'd feel weird if I didn't contribute in some way. I can't offer anything financially, but I can at least complete chores. Please let me do this for you. Please?"

Not bad. You sound appropriately pathetic.

Martha sighed. "I suppose. If you want it that badly. But just to be clear, you don't expect to be paid for this, do you? Because if you do-"

"No, no, no, no pay. This is just my way of giving back to you for everything you've done for me."

A little too eager there, weren't you, freak?

My stomach churned and my pussy tingled. Maybe I was doing this for reasons more than Shannon's blackmail.

"If that is what you want then you may help the maid with her chores."

"Thank you!" I said with more enthusiasm than I'd intended.

Martha waved her hand over the table. "Then you can start by clearing the table. Oh, and pour me some more wine."

"And me," said Shannon, pushing her glass toward me with a satisfied grin.

I smiled nervously and rose from my chair. I picked up the wine bottle, topped up both of their glasses and started gathering plates.

"Hurry up," ordered Shannon.

The sudden rise in her voice sent a shiver through my pussy. I found myself curtsying in the same manner I'd seen from Susanne. I blushed, realizing what I'd done, and glanced nervously at Martha.

Martha stared at me with interest.

"S-sorry," I said, unsure why I was apologizing but feeling like it was somehow necessary.

I stacked the plates and cutlery as quickly as I could and rushed out of the dining room with the devil on my shoulder laughing in my ear.