Man Needs a Maid Ch. 02

MAID Chapter 2

- "You have to be careful, Mark." Gary had said, about two months earlier. "When women find out that you're wealthy, you could end up facing paternity suits, palimony, sexual harassment suits. There's an absolute epidemic of gold-diggers, and you have to protect yourself."

- "They would have to know that I have money, Gary."

- "Your picture is online. You changed your name, and your looks - a bit - but you live in an expensive building. You're not immune, you know."

I didn't drive a flashy car (I didn't drive at all). I didn't dress like a millionaire, or splash money around. I ate at inexpensive restaurants, much like the places I frequented when I was a poor student. I don't drink, hang out in bars, or associate with 'celebrities'.

Yet Alex found me. She was a gold-digger, and a fairly good one. She was a consummate actress, with a predator's instincts. She was clever, and most of all, patient. She understood the value of pauses, silences, of tactical withdrawals. Alex wasn't available all of the time; she would be busy at work, or otherwise occupied, so that I would appreciate the occasions when she was available all the more.

She seemed curious at first, then mildly intrigued. Intimacy wasn't even on the radar when she began stalking me. And when she finally got her lips on mine, she somehow instinctively knew that it was too soon, and pulled back, pretending to be embarrassed, or even ashamed.

Alex was smooth. She just never realized that she didn't have a chance with me. There wasn't anything wrong with her looks, her body, or her acting skills. I simply have no trust. There was a 0.0% chance that I would think she was interested in me for myself.

Did I feel bad about fucking her under false pretences? You're kidding, right? I wasn't leading her on; I simply accepted what she offered, free of charge.

We were supposed to go out for dinner one night. She asked me to come by at 6:30. But I remembered her 'rule', and waited until 6:45. She opened the door wearing only panties, with one arm in her top, and the rest held to cover - completely ineffectually - her boobs.

- "I'm sorry." she said. "I'm running late. I didn't want to make you wait outside, or go home. Help yourself to a drink from the fridge. I won't be long."

She headed back towards her bedroom, but then turned her head back to me. "Sorry." she said again. Only this time her arm had dropped a bit, and the top wasn't covering much above her navel.

Have I mentioned her breasts?

Seriously? This wasn't an accident; it was deliberate. It was the equivalent of peeling a banana in front of a starving monkey. Do not feed the animals. I followed her into her bedroom, and got a simultaneous hold of her boob and her ass.

Somehow I got her panties down around her ankles, and my pants below my knees - and yes, a condom on - before I put her on her back at the foot of her bed, and penetrated her. It was animalistic, and pretty crazy, but fun.

It was all part of her campaign to show me that she could be a cultured companion in the restaurant, a housewife in the kitchen, and a wild woman in the bedroom. I was not going to do anything to talk her out of trying it - not yet.

We spent a little too much time on her bedroom carpet, so I ordered some food delivered. We ate it at her table, and then she peeled off her top, and placed her tits on the table.

- "What should we do now?' she asked, with a very enticing smirk.

***

We had a few odd conversations. Well, they were odd because I knew (or suspected) where she was heading, and wanted to avoid or at least delay her plans.

- "You've never invited me to your apartment. You've been over here a bunch of times, but I've never seen yours."

- "I can't cook." I said. "Well, I can, a bit, but It's all pretty basic."

- "You don't have to cook for me. We could order in. I'd just like to see your place. It would tell me even more about you."

I didn't have a real reason to refuse. We ordered food, and I let her stretch out on my bed as I ate her for dessert. We fucked in the missionary position. A week later, I made a simple pasta and a cauliflower soup. She pretended to be impressed, and I fucked her doggy-style on my bed.

That was interesting. Alex had no way of knowing that I had security cameras all over the apartment. It was fun watching myself fuck her, but she had no idea that when she was facing away from me, she sometimes let her mask slip just a bit.

I tried to freeze the video at exactly the right moment, but I couldn't quite tell if the expression on her face was simple boredom, or pure contempt. There were times that I was tempted to just toss her out, to dump her. Then I saw those delectable breasts, and remembered that she was fucking me for free.

You think I should have stopped?

We got into a routine of sorts. She worked at the Law office Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. She didn't like to make commitments for a Monday or Wednesday. Friday evenings, she told me, were for socializing with her co-workers. In fact, it meant dinners with her boss, who she was keeping on her second hook in case she couldn't land me.

Tuesdays and Thursdays were for lunches with me. She would avoid 'dates' with me on those nights, though, on the grounds that she'd be tired for work the next day. We could fuck on Monday or Wednesday night, though, especially if I made or ordered dinner for us. She was effectively trying to seduce and train me at the same time.

Saturdays, she was available. Sundays (if we weren't up too late) as well. She put on a full-court press there, fucking me at least three or four times every weekend. But she was hinting for more.

- "Do you think..." she began, "maybe we should consider... I don't know... taking our relationship to the next level?"

- "I've never done anal." I said.

She slapped my arm, genuinely annoyed. "No! I mean... you know..."

- "I've never done bondage, either. I don't think I'd be into it, to be honest."

She slapped me again, but then fucked me.

A couple of days later, she tried again.

- "When I said 'next level', I was thinking about... you know... maybe moving in together."

- "That's a big step."

- "We're almost always at my place or yours." She grinned. "It would cut down on travel time."

- "But I only have one bed. Where would you sleep?"

She punched my arm again. It was cute.

- "We could give it a trial run..." she suggested.

Even I knew that it wouldn't be that. You can't go backwards in a sexual relationship. If she moved in, and then I wanted her to move back to her own place, it would be tantamount to the end.

Alex changed her tactics. She came over for dinner, fucked me, and stayed over. She was up before me the next morning, parading around in a pair of cutoff jeans. Short cutoff jeans. As in, very short. No top. Her secret weapons were on full display, and her nipples were hard. It obviously turned her on to walk around my apartment half naked. Or maybe she was counting my money in her head.

Well, it got her properly fucked, bent over the back of my couch. That led to a shower for two, and then back to the bedroom.

I thought about the whole issue with Alex. Boy, did I have mixed feelings about it. One day, she was going to wake up and realize that I wasn't going to marry her, or let her live with me long enough to claim common-law status. There was no way I was going to let her get a dime of my money.

But should I wait for that day, or set an end-date for the relationship myself? On the 'go' side, it would be a blast to let her know that I'd seen her coming from a mile away. But why rush things? I was getting regular (and excellent) sex. And those tits...

And when I ate her pussy on my couch, and then took her from behind... why would I want to give that up?

Alex kept pressing on the 'moving in together' thing. It made things awkward, because I just wanted to fuck her, while she wanted to talk about 'progressing', or moving forward.

I can't tell you why I gave in, and agreed to let her move in - on a trial basis. She squealed with delight, and immediately went down on me. That was nice. It was even nicer to fuck her on her couch, with her kneeling on the cushions, facing the back, while I pummelled her from behind, standing on the floor, with her tits in my hands. Epic stuff.

But I think I realized that I'd started the countdown. There was only so much time left in this 'relationship'. She brought up some clothes, plus her makeup and more toiletries than any developing nation needs. Then more clothes, including a purple bra and panty set that made our moving in celebration quite memorable.

Alex did her best to 'reward' me for giving in. I believe that it's called 'positive reinforcement'. She fucked me at least twice a day, and immediately blew me if I even looked like I was thinking deep thoughts.

She went to a tanning salon. I have to admit, I liked the results. She came in the early afternoon one day, and I peeled off her clothing in the vestibule. Like, just inside the front door. I pinned her against the door itself, and entered from behind.

I was enjoying it, but I don't think she was. So I let her get on her hands and knees, and banged her from behind until I came.

She was always down for it - except for when she was tired after a day at work, or the night before she had to work. The pattern couldn't have been clearer. But on Saturdays and Sundays, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, during the day, she did her best to fuck me into a coma.

But I watched a few of the video recordings, and I have to admit that some of them made me a little sad. I deleted at least twenty of them; it was a real downer to see her face while I fucked her from behind if the camera showed that bored or disinterested look on her face. There was one recording where she made that 'orgasm' noise, but the video clearly showed that she was faking it.

You may be wondering who would win this contest: my ego, versus getting to fuck a hot girl.

But I remember a video of The Doors playing the Ed Sullivan Show. They were performing 'Light my Fire". They'd been told to change the lyrics a bit, to avoid the suggestion of any references to sex or drugs. Jim Morrison just went ahead and sang it as it was written.

After the show, some executive told the band that they would never, ever do the Ed Sullivan Show again. Morrison apparently just shrugged, and said, "Hey man, we just did the Sullivan Show."

Right?

So Alex came home on a Friday night - she'd told me that the girls in the office had a 'Friday-night thing', but she'd actually gone to dinner with her boss (the guy she was grooming as a backup in case she struck out with me). She was surprised to find six garbage bags filled with her shit just outside my door.

She was even more surprised when her key card didn't work.

Alex rang the doorbell. Repeatedly.

I used the intercom. "Yes?"

- "Mark? What's going on? My key doesn't work."

- "That would be because I changed the locks code."

- "What? Why?"

- "Because we're done, Elizabeth."

She must have been taken aback, because she didn't answer right away. A few moments later, though...

- "Mark, I don't understand. What's going on?"

- "Elizabeth Wheeler? Does that ring a bell?"

She was quiet for a while, probably trying to calculate how much I knew.

- "Mark... we have to talk about this. I don't know what you've heard, but... it isn't like that. I love you. I want to be with you."

- "Bye, Elizabeth."

I didn't listen to any more. I didn't bother telling her that I'd sent pictures of her wedding, her divorce, and a short video clip of her riding me to her boss at the law firm. My face was obscured in the video, and the only person who would recognize the room we were in was Alex. I also sent the file from an old laptop, from an internet cafe (yes, they still exist). Her backup plan was now also pooched. Then I watched a movie, and fell asleep on my couch.

***

Here's the problem with sex: getting none is bad. Getting a whole lot, and then getting none, is also bad. Maybe worse, because you do know what you're missing.

I didn't miss Alex. I missed fucking her. That was offset by my satisfaction at having gotten the better of her. But is satisfaction better than regular sex? I watched a lot of my recorded videos (or 'Alex's Greatest Hits', as I called them) and masturbated like a fiend.

Then I made a mistake. I spent an evening listening to old music while reading. I recognized Neil Young's voice - it's certainly distinctive. He sang the same lines a few times, so that I couldn't miss them.

A maid

A man needs a maid

And just like that, I had to reach for a kleenex, because my eyes were brimming with tears, and my nose was running.

So, like an idiot, I started the song over. I needed another kleenex, but I heard the opening lyrics quite clearly.

My life is changing in so many ways, I don't know who to trust anymore

There's a shadow running through my days, Like a beggar going from door to door

I was thinking that maybe I'd get a maid, Find a place nearby for her to stay

Just someone to keep my place clean, Fix my meals and go away

Of course I just kept crying. Listened to the song twice more. I heard the rest of it, but I kept coming back to the first verses and the chorus.

Crying tires you out. I went to bed.

Being a complete moron, though, I listened to the song again the next morning. Same reaction. Why was it affecting me like this? I was all but useless for most of the next week. Oh, I went out for lunch, even started a consulting job. And listened to fucking Neil Young.

'Old Man' hit me, too. 'Twenty-four and there's so much more, Live alone in a paradise that makes me think of two'. 'Heart of Gold' didn't help, either. I used up all of the kleenex and had to start blowing my nose with toilet paper.

What a waste of a life. Paying it forward by buying a few people their lunch wasn't going to get me into heaven. Not that I cared about getting into heaven; I just wanted to be reasonably happy. And now that I'd had sex, my happiness would have to include as much sex as possible.

Simple enough? Except that I was a short, ugly dude with a repulsive personality. Finding another gold digger like Alex would solve one problem, but only create others.

I'm an asshole (I think we've established that), but I'm not completely stupid.

I needed a maid. Not to live nearby - but with me. I had a big, empty apartment. She could keep it clean, fix my meals, and not go away. Yes - she could have sex with me, too.

I could offer money, security, comfort, and maybe not be a complete asshole to her. Maybe I could even learn to be a decent person. If this all sounds incredibly stupid to you, remember who you're dealing with: a very rich idiot with possibly sociopathic tendencies.

The more I thought about it, the more I came to believe that there might just be a woman out there who could handle being my maid. The advantages, for her, would outweigh the negatives (having sex with me). And who knows? Maybe I wasn't that bad at sex. It was hard to tell from Alex's reactions if I was actually pleasing her, or if she was just faking orgasms every time. The only thing I knew for sure was that my stamina had improved. I lasted longer. But better?

I had plenty of time to consider the possibilities.

And then I decided to load the gun. I visited a lawyer, to draw up two simple agreements. One was an NDA (non-disclosure agreement), and the second was a contract for a maid. It specified cooking and cleaning duties, in return for $50,000 in salary, plus room and board. There was no mention of sex.

I took the second contract to Gary, my accountant.

- "Mark, what are you doing?"

- "A man needs a maid." I said.

- "You have a cleaning service."

- "A maid would cook. And provide some company. I do get lonely sometimes, Gary."

He frowned. "Mark, this is a bad idea. She could figure out how much money you have. She could entrap you. God forbid you got her pregnant..."

That wasn't going to happen, but I didn't tell him.

- "I just want to know the tax implications. What if I charged her for room and board? Could she deduct those?"

We talked over several possibilities. Gary wasn't happy with any of them. "Mark, it looks like you're throwing money away here."

- "There's more to life than money, Gary."

He looked at me as if I had lost my mind. I was talking pure heresy, of course, as far as he was concerned. He tried to talk me out of it.

But I had a plan. It might have been a stupid one, but hey - a man needs a maid.

***

I agonized over the advertisement that I was going to post on Job Search. In the end, I went with this: 'Man needs a maid. Cleaning and cooking. Live-in, room and board provided. $50,000 base salary, $100,000 in bonuses available. Two weeks holidays, Saturdays and Sundays off. Please send resume and recent photograph'. I didn't know if it would attract much attention.

I got 238 responses in the first 24 hours. One out of ten were applications; the rest were queries. 'Are you serious?' and 'Is this a scam?' were frequent responses. 'WTF?' Was another popular reply. The applications were interesting; I was able to quickly dismiss more than half of them, based on their pictures. One of them looked like my mom. Somebody sent me a photo of Alice, the maid from the TV show 'The Brady Bunch'.

The next day, I got 540 responses.

You might think that I was overwhelmed. Far from it. I simply started deleting the queries. Then I cycled through the applications, deleting any males, grandmas, serious uglies, and anyone who looked remotely like my mom. I narrowed it down to 52 possibilities, by including some women who looked halfway decent. You never know, right? Some wouldn't look anything like their photos, and maybe a few would actually look better. I didn't know if I could afford to be all that picky; at this stage, I was sort of hoping that they wouldn't be too picky.

I rented two offices from a firm I was consulting for, and hired a temp to act as receptionist and help me with screening the candidates. Then I hired a security guard, just to make sure nobody got hurt (me or the secretary).

I sent the 52 candidates an invitation to come for an interview. My invitation promised $500 if they completed the interview, but insisted that their resume had to be accurate. I got 28 responses.

Up until now, I had treated the whole thing as some sort of exercise, like writing a program, or solving a problem. But now it was getting real. I was going to meet real women. One of them might actually want to be my maid. Maybe. I was surprisingly nervous about the whole thing, for a guy who normally didn't give a shit what people thought of him.

My secretary, Mary, ruled out the first candidate; she didn't look anything like the photograph she'd sent in. The applicant protested that she wanted her $500. Benny, the security guard, escorted her out of the building.

The second applicant passed the first hurdle. Mary ushered her into my temporary office.

- "This is Sasha, sir."

- "Hello, Sasha." I said. "Have a seat. Did Mary explain how the interview would work?"

Sasha was a slender brunette. Flat-chested, but very cute. Young, too.

- "She said that I had to sign a paper first."

- "That's right. It's a standard NDA. That's a Non-Disclosure Agreement. It simply means that you can't discuss whatever we talk about during the interview. My name, for instance."

- "Oh." Now she was wondering who I was.

I passed the NDA across to her. "Please read this."

She did. It was neither long, nor complicated.

- "We just talk?" she said.

- "Yes. And you get $500."

She signed. And smiled very nicely when I passed her $500 in cash.

I started my rehearsed spiel. "As my maid, Sasha, you would be expected to keep my apartment clean, do my laundry, and cook my meals. You would have two days off a week; they could be Saturday and Sunday, but I'm flexible if you prefer other days. You'd have two weeks of holidays. For this I would pay you $50,000 a year. Understand so far?"

She nodded.

"Room and board would be provided. On paper, I would deduct a fee from your salary, but you wouldn't have to pay me anything; that's just a way to save you money on income tax."

- "Oh." she said. "Sweet."

- "Right. Then there's the, ahh... bonuses. You can earn an additional $100,000 a year if you agree to... ahh... have sex with me. Two days a week. They could be -"

- "Seriously?" she said. She stood up. "You sick fuck. Seriously?"

She stormed out. Mary was excellent; she reminded Sasha of the NDA she'd signed.

- "Fuck you." said Sasha.

***

Paris was tall, with long blonde hair. She had a mole, or a beauty mark, just above her lip. I could get used to that, I thought. She was slender, but trim and fit. I ran through the preliminaries, and she signed the NDA after a cursory reading.

When I got to the income tax dodge regarding room and board, she nodded approvingly. When I mentioned the additional $100,000, though - and what she would have to do to earn it - Paris flipped.

- "What? I'm not a prostitute!"

- "I don't want a prostitute." I said. "I want a maid."

- "That's solicitation!" she shouted. "You can go to jail for that! I'm calling the cops!" She reached for her phone.

I sighed, and reached into the desk for the sheets I'd printed out beforehand.

- "Paris, here's the maximum penalty for solicitation in Ontario. Note the part where it says they rarely prosecute if the alleged solicitation occurs in private. Morality is a public thing. I know it says that I could go to jail for up to five years - but that has never happened. First offence? I'm looking at a thousand dollar fine, tops. Maybe probation or community service. But you'd have to break the NDA you just signed. Then my lawyers sue you for a shitload of money. Breach of contract. Is that the route you want to go?"

- "You're an asshole!"

- "If you want to stand on principle," I said, "You can return the $500 I paid you for this interview."

Her integrity didn't extend that far.

***

My next interview was another fraud. Mary ruled her out, and Benny helped her off the premises. I was a little disappointed to be 0 for 4 so quickly, but then again - what had I been expecting?

- "Lunch?" I said to Mary and Benny. "My treat."

- "Boss?" said Mary. "What is this all about?"

- "Just trying to hire a maid." I said.

She wasn't buying it, of course. Job applicants usually don't tell prospective employers to fuck off.

My next interview was a lovely oriental girl named Yolanda. She was very slender, but pretty and well-spoken. I went through my spiel again. When I got to the bonus for sex, she blinked.

- "Did you just offer me money for sex?"

I nodded.

"No." she said. "I can't believe that you paid me $500 just so that you could insult me. This interview is over." She stood up. I decided to be at least a little bit of a gentleman, and got up to open the door for her.

She clocked me on the side of the head with an open palm, so fast I didn't even see it coming. Then she said something in another language. It didn't sound like Chinese or Japanese, but it didn't sound like a compliment, either.

My next interview was no more successful, but I wasn't slapped or sworn at. Then Lucky Number Seven stepped in. To be brutally honest, she wasn't the prettiest so far, but I remembered her photo. She'd sent in an upper body shot rather than a portrait, featuring a bit of cleavage. She was dressed in a similar way today; not slutty, but showing a little more cleavage than anybody else. Her eye makeup was the same: more than most, but just short of too much.

- "Cindy." she said, extending a hand over the desk, turning just slightly so that I couldn't possibly have missed her rack.

- "Nice to meet you, Cindy." I began the routine all over again. I was going to get sick of this, tired of the sound of my own voice, long before I was done. Cindy smiled when I mentioned the salary, and giggled at the tax dodge.

Then I mentioned the bonus for sex.

She looked thoughtful. "Really? That's like... a thousand dollars each time. Wow." Then she had another thought. "Umm... it would be with a condom, right? I mean..."

- "Of course." I said. My mouth was suddenly dry.

- "Yeah. Right, of course. Wow. That's... that's a lot of money."

- "I'm asking a lot." I said. "So, Cindy... do you have any experience as a maid?" I even managed to keep a straight face as I said that.

- "To be honest, most of my jobs have been waitressing. Restaurants and bars. But I had one office cleaning job, and my friends say I'm not a bad cook. I can learn more recipes and stuff, too."

- "Cindy, you've earned yourself a second interview. Same conditions - I mean the NDA - and same fee: another $500."

She grinned. "Alright."

- "I'll be in touch." I promised.

She shook my hand again, and offered another glance at her cleavage.

***

Now, I briefly considered shutting down the interviews. Did I want to be sworn at or slapped again? But Cindy might have a change of heart. I shouldn't be counting my chicken breasts before they were... whatever. There might even be a better candidate still out there. Some of the photos I'd looked at were pretty darn good.

Applicant number eight scowled at me. Number nine tried to slap me; I used the desk as a shield. Ten and eleven were no-shows. Twelve was a pretty redhead named Jill. She actually hesitated when I got the sex bonus. She thought it over thoroughly before shaking her head.

- "I'm sorry. I couldn't do that. I'm married."

Mary let me know that three of the applicants had called in to say they wouldn't be coming tomorrow. That still left thirteen interviews. Ah, what the hell. I decided to continue. I'd already rented the office for two days, and Mary and Benny had been paid up front.

I got a good night's sleep, after jerking off with Cindy for inspiration.

The next day, I really didn't know what to expect.

Well, Number One swore at me, Number Two spat at me, and Number Three looked around the room as if she was searching for a weapon. Number Four was a vast improvement: she didn't show up.

Number Five was a very pretty redhead named Alicia, who was broadcasting mixed messages right off the bat. She kept her eyes down, most of the time, and kept her answers short. But she was showing more cleavage than Cindy had, and I have to say I was impressed. Alicia didn't balk when I got to the bonus for sex. She didn't look up, either. After a lengthy pause, she shook her head.

- "I'm sorry. I can't do that."

I was sorry, too, but I didn't press her.

Number Six tried to kick me in the nuts. Seven and Eight swore at me. Nine was a different flavour altogether. Joy was sultry, smoking hot, and had a way of looking at me that had me imagining all sorts of things. But when I got to the sex bonus, she made a face.

- "No, no. I don't do that." she said.

Okay. Tease, smolder, inflame. But no happy ending.

Ten didn't show. Eleven scowled at me before I got to the sex clause. Twelve was different right off the bat. I vaguely remembered her from her photo; I thought I'd chosen too many blondes, and picked out a dark-haired woman.

Elise was tall - taller than me - and had straight dark hair. In person, her looks were... unusual. From her high cheekbones, I would have guessed at an East European background, but if you'd told me that she was half Asian, I would have believed that, too. The most interesting thing about her, though, at first? I couldn't decide if she was pretty or not.

She was here, but she didn't look all that happy about it. Most of the applicants had been cheerful and optimistic at the outset - at least until I told them what they had to do to earn the extra $100,000. Elise looked annoyed at me already. But my real first impression?

Elise looked like a fighter on a long losing streak. No, she didn't have bruises. It was in her bearing, her facial expression. She wasn't defeated; she was battling, but losing. That eats away at a person. It's not reserved to professional athletes. I could relate.

She shook my hand, and sat down. I started my act. Elise liked the sound of the $50,000 base salary. When I included the room and board, her expression softened. When I explained the tax dodge, she actually smiled, albeit without showing her teeth.

That transformed her face. She was better-looking than I'd thought. She didn't wear much makeup, and her clothing was a little worn, baggy and unflattering, but she seemed to be an intelligent woman. Really intelligent, I mean. Not like Alex, who merely thought that she was smarter than everyone else.

- "That's very generous." she said. "But... may I ask: what do have to do to earn the other $100,000?"

She was the first applicant to skip ahead of my script.

- "Umm... you have to... have sex with me. Twice a week. So it's like, $2,000 a week." Why was I babbling? I'd already said this stuff twenty times.

Elise closed her eyes for a moment. She might have sighed.

- "One year. $150,000?"

- "Plus room and board."

- "Right. Can't forget that." she said. "Alright. I accept."

I recovered a modicum of poise. "That... that's great, Elise. Now, you're not the only candidate to pass the first round, so I'll have to hold a second round of interviews. I'll pay you $500 for that, or course. Would you be available, say, in a week or so?"

She sighed again. "Would it be possible to have my interview a little later in the day? I don't know if I can get more time off work."

- "Sure." I said. "What time would be best for you?"

- "5:30?"

- "Can do."

- "Thank you, Mister...?"

- "Mark."

- "Thank you, Mister Mark."

Interview Number 13 was a bust. I barely remember it.

***

How to choose between Cindy and Elise? I re-read their resumes, and studied their photographs, but neither of those helped all that much. I was relying on my memories of their interviews, but that also went only so far.

Cindy was stacked, energetic, and apparently quite open to the idea of sex (with condoms). Did I mention stacked? Elise was... intelligent, beaten down by life a bit (or a lot), and more resigned to the idea of sex. It was pointless to talk about the money; of course that was the prime motivation for both of them.

I called them for second interviews. I rented the office again, and decided that I didn't need Mary or Benny this time.

Cindy was first. I reminded her that the NDA still applied, and paid her another five hundred dollars.

- "Thanks." she said, with a smile that I could only describe as... slightly lewd. Confident, assured, and sexy. You n' me, she seemed to be saying, we gonna be banging. An' you gonna love it.

Okay, I will readily admit that my imagination is sub-par. Lack of exposure? But Cindy's expression created quite a stir in my pants.

- "So, you're not the only candidate who has accepted the offer." I said.

- "Oh?" Her confidence slipped a bit.

- "That's why I'm going to hold auditions."

- "Auditions?"

- "Yes. We'll simulate a working day as my maid. You'll come over to my apartment in the morning. I'll show you where everything is. You'll have the entire day to clean, to shop for groceries, and to prepare a meal for us. After you've cleaned up, we'll... umm... have sex. To see if we're compatible."

Now her complacent grin was back. "I get it. Like a trial run."

- "Exactly. Of course, I'll pay you $2500 for the audition, whether you win the job or not."

- "I like the sound of that." said Cindy. "I think I'm gonna win."

- "Let me ask one more question. Why do you want the job, Cindy?"

She grinned at me. "Are you kidding? Great money, a chance to try something other than waitressing, and two weeks' holidays? What's not to like?"

***

I explained the same scenario to Elise, in her second interview.

- "May I ask, Mister Mark? Which is more important to you? The cleaning, the cooking, or the sex?"

- "They're all of equal importance." I said. Pompous asshole dick. What was I even talking about?

- "I see." she said.

- "May I ask, Elise: why do you want the job?"

She thought about it for a few moments. "Because I need the money, Sir."

- "What do you need it for?"

Elise looked down. "Do you really need to know? I'm in debt. Trying to get out of a hole."

- "Alright."

***

Cindy came over on a Wednesday morning. She wanted to get the shopping done first, so I walked her over to the local food store. The selection was only fair, and the prices were between high and extortionate, but I didn't have to spend half an hour to an hour driving there and back.

Of course I watched Cindy shop. She was cheerful, and smiled a lot. She had dressed to monopolize my attention. Her jeans appeared to have been painted on, and her halter top seemed close to structural failure every time she bent over the produce. She was happy to find freshly made pasta, and showed it off to me with a big grin.

She consulted her phone at every turn. It only made sense to have a shopping list, but I got the distinct impression that Cindy was not the most veteran of shoppers (unless maybe you counted snacks and beer). She was definitely aware that I was watching, though, and played it for all she was worth.

- "It's so nice of you to come along, and to show me where the store is. You could have just given me directions. I appreciate it, though. It's nice to get to know each other a bit."

She bought the most expensive olive oil, the ready-made croutons, and the prepared Caesar dressing. That wasn't the end of the world. I wasn't the world's greatest cook, either - hence my acquaintance with the cheapest restaurants in a six block radius, no matter where I lived.

Cindy smiled and chatted breezily as we walked home.

I gave her a tour of the apartment. The kitchen was big, clean, and well-stocked (at least I thought so). I showed her the second bedroom, which was presently my workout room.

- "Oh, you work out." she said. "I should have guessed."

- "We would furnish it as you like." I said. "This would be your space. Your bedroom. Private."

- "Oh my God." she said. "There's like a full bathroom in here. Shower, too? Wow."

I showed her every room, including my bedroom. She gave the big bed (queen size) an appraising look. Then I showed her where the cleaning supplies were.

Her audition included cleaning my apartment, preparing a meal, cleaning up afterwards, and then having sex with me. Easy, right? Well, for $2500 and a shot at $150,000 plus over the next year, it wasn't so bad. So I thought, anyway.

- "I have some work to do during the day." I told her. "But don't hesitate to call on me if you need something."

- "I'll try not to disturb you." she said.

So I sat in my den, and tried to work a bit on a consulting project. It was difficult to resist calling up my security camera feeds, to see what Cindy was up to - and how she looked doing it. So I didn't resist.

It was simultaneously very arousing, and very educational.

Cindy couldn't seem to go ten minutes without adjusting her halter top, re-positioning 'the girls' so that they showed to fullest advantage. She couldn't pass a mirror without checking her cleavage and making another adjustment. She also frequently looked over her shoulder to see if I might be coming by to see how she was doing.

She was dusting my big screen TV (which I barely watched), checking herself in the reflection. Cindy actually paused long enough to massage and pinch her own nipples. No, she wasn't wearing a bra.

I could only give her a C grade for her cleaning. She definitely wasn't keen on cleaning my bathroom. Then again, who would be? I wasn't hiring a cleaning lady. Or a chef. I was prepared to cut her some slack there, too.

Cindy was dusting the little table near the front door. I habitually dropped my keys there, or my gloves in winter. There was a mirror above it. Cindy lifted my keys, dusted the table top, and then checked her look in the mirror.

She stepped back a bit, and then turned sideways to check her profile. Then to my surprise, she lifted her halter top over her head.

Mothers of Invention... she had superb tits. Cindy turned to face the mirror, then went back to a profile view. I had to agree with her; while they were superb from straight on, her boobs were exquisite when viewed from the side.

She went one better, though, as she turned slightly, and put her hands on her hips. Skin-tight jeans? Check. Incredible breasts, surely in the top 20% of all boobs known to man? Check. Sultry smile, hinting at all sorts of...

Okay, I had to turn off the camera feed, or I was going to need a shower. Cindy wasn't the prettiest woman I'd ever seen, but she was ridiculously sexy.

She finished cleaning, and moved to the kitchen. She had more time than she needed, so Cindy amused herself by watching videos on her phone. I went in to let her know that the white wine in the fridge was for her, if she wanted it, and that there was a bottle of red in the cupboard if she preferred that.

- "That's sweet." she said, with a smile. "Umm.. do you want a glass?"

- "I don't drink - but please feel free. I bought them for you."

I went back to my den. Cindy had already cracked open the bottle of white wine. She sipped at it as she began preparing the meal. There was a lot of checking of her phone involved in the process. She finished the first glass, and poured herself another.

After watching Cindy cook for fifteen minutes, I'd learned all I needed to know. She came to call me a while later.

- "Dinner in ten minutes." she said.

- "Would you like me to set the table?" I asked.

- "Oh. Okay. That would help."

I put out the place settings, the linen napkins, and some cutlery. I lit a candle, and put it in the centre of the table. Why not?

"Nice." she said.

Cindy's meal was... nice. Caesar salad with croutons. Fettucine Alfredo. I had to give her full marks for including a sorbet for dessert, as a palate cleanser.

- "That was great." I said. "I'll be in the living room if you need me."

Yeah, I'm an asshole. But that was part of the deal. I watched on my laptop as Cindy cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher, and washed the pots. She worked fast. I could almost imagine that she was looking forward to the last part of her audition.

She came out to the living room.

- "I'm going to freshen up now." she said.

- "I'll wait here."

- "Good to know."

Cindy went to the bathroom next to my workout room. Fair enough: that would be her bedroom if I chose her. She stripped down, and showered.

I felt a little bad about watching her. Then and there, I decided to remove the camera in that room. My maid deserved some privacy, and that was going to be her bedroom and bathroom.

Cindy had a nice body. Valedictorian tits, though. She did some more posing and posturing in front of the bathroom mirror. She tried putting on a push-up bra, which I would have to say looked great on her. But when she raised her arms over her head - without a bra - the effect was even more spectacular.

She wrapped a towel around her waist, and looked into the mirror.

- "Showtime." she said.

I turned off the camera feed.

Cindy came out of the workout room, and turned to face the living room. She raised her arms, and took hold of the framework of the doorway to the kitchen.

The towel fell to the floor.

- "Are you ready for me?" she asked.

- "Oh my God." I said. It wasn't a feigned reaction.

Cindy sashayed over to where I was sitting on the couch. She stood before me for a moment, letting me admire her bare breasts at close range. Then she gracefully sank to her knees in front of me. Her hands went to my belt buckle.

- "Maybe you should stand up." she suggested. I did.

She undid my pants, and pulled them down, then got them off one leg while helping me keep my balance. She removed my pants entirely.

"Mmm..." She made an appreciative noise as she took my cock in hand. Then she used her other hand to cup my balls.

Alex had never acted like this. She'd pretended to be a semi-shy, only semi-experienced girl. Cindy had no such pretence. She immediately took me into her mouth. For two (or three?) minutes, she treated me to a marvelous blowjob. It was a new experience for me, to stand there, naked from the waist down (except for socks), while a naked big-breasted blonde slurped on my dick.

- "I dunno." she said. "I'll try to deepthroat it... but you're pretty big."

Cindy then proved that that was a fib; she had no trouble taking me all the way to the root. Alex had never done this; I groaned, and warned Cindy that I was going to come. She didn't stop; in fact she brushed my pubic hair with her nose.

I had a very intense, very satisfying orgasm, firing a load down her throat.

Cindy sat back on her heels. "Mmm..." she said.

- "You're not done." I said. I got up off the couch, raised her to her feet, and then slung over my shoulder. I carried her to my bedroom, fireman style. She giggled.

I tossed her onto my bed, and 'without further ado', lowered my face between her thighs.

I'm a firm believer in 'begin as you mean to continue'. If Cindy was going to be my maid, I wasn't about to simply 'use' her. I would want her to be my sexual partner, and I hoped to give as good as I got.

I ate her pussy, with every trick and technique that Alex had (apparently) loved. Cindy moaned, spread her legs wider, and then took hold of both my ears.

- "Oh, shit!" she exclaimed.

Had she come? I didn't know. But Cindy was already tugging at my arms. I rolled on a condom, moved up on the bed, and entered her...

Holy shit. This was already so much better than fucking Alex. Cindy was wet, willing, and welcoming. She groaned as I bottomed out inside her. I thrust in as deep as possible, and then withdrew all the way. I kissed her nipples, and sucked on them a bit. It was hard to keep my balance, propped up on one hand, because I wanted one hand free to squeeze her boob.

But I knew what I really wanted. I turned Cindy over, onto her hands and knees, and entered her from behind. I just started banging her, slapping her ass cheeks with my pelvis, trying to drive my cock as far as it would go.

I came with a roar.

Cindy cuddled close, making sure to press her superhero chest against me. I eventually recovered, ordered her an Uber, and sent her home.

***

I will readily admit that I watched the security cam videos of Cindy and me more than once over the next few days. More than once a day, I mean.

I didn't think that she would object if I watched them purely for my own pleasure. In fact, I came once again to the conclusion that I should remove the camera from my workout room, which would become her bedroom. She deserved at least a little privacy.

Or Elise did. It was, soon enough, time for her audition. She'd asked to have it on a Sunday, so that she didn't have to miss a day of work.

- "You work on Saturday?"

- "I have two jobs." she said. Now, I already knew that, but I wasn't ready to tell her so just yet.

At her interviews, she'd worn clothing that I would describe as 'office casual'. But she arrived at my place on Sunday morning, right on time (points for punctuality), wearing sandals, cutoff jeans, and a loose blue top that just about blew my mind.

Elise wasn't all that pretty. Well, neither was Cindy, but Cindy was very sexy. I was taken aback that morning, though.

For one thing, Elise's long, straight black hair looked very different when she was in casual clothes. It hung halfway down her back. And her legs... Elise was tall - taller than me, actually, by an inch or two. She had legs for days, even when wearing 'sensible' sandals (presumably so that she wouldn't tower over me).

There was a gap between her top and her shorts, showing a bit of midriff. She had a narrow waist and a flat stomach. If anything, she was even a bit thin. But the blue top revealed something that her interviews hadn't; Elise was stacked. I don't know if they were in the same league as Cindy's, but on her thin frame, they looked... wow.

I gave her a slightly distracted tour of the apartment (okay, maybe more than slightly). It was hardly my fault. She was so tall, and had great legs.

Elise spent a while in the kitchen, looking through the cupboards and drawers, occasionally making a note on her phone (her rather archaic phone, I noticed, in one of the rare moments that I wasn't looking at her legs, her backside, or her hair and back). Can a back be sexy? Duh.

- "Are there things I need?" I asked.

- "Maybe a few more wooden utensils." she said. "Better than plastic, and they won't scratch some of your pots and pans. Your wok is fine, but you could invest in a better one."

Then she opened the fridge, and looked at everything in there.

- "You're very thorough." I said, impressed so far.

Elise just shrugged. "It's the way I was taught."

We walked to the grocery store. On the way, Elise asked if I had any food allergies, or intolerances. Then she quizzed me about my favourite foods.

- "Do you prefer wine with a meal, or beer?' she asked.

- "I don't drink at all."

- "Okay."

- "You can keep wine or beer in the fridge, if you want."

- "I'm not a big drinker." she said. "Not in a long time. But maybe some wine for cooking."

It occurred to me then that Cindy had never asked me that.

Elise spent a lot longer in the grocery store than Cindy had, too. She frowned a fair bit.

- "Problem?" I asked.

- "I can see that this place is conveniently close to your apartment. And I suppose you're aware that it's insultingly over-priced -"

- "Insultingly?"

She rolled her eyes. "They're gouging people."

- "Okay. And?"

- "The produce is only... fair. And not all of it. The meat section is pretty weak. And the baked goods aren't fresh. I mean..."

- "No. Please - tell me what you think."

She sighed. "There's a Sobey's four blocks from here, with a decent deli and meat section. You could go once a week. Their produce is okay, but you also have the Market - literally just three blocks from your apartment..."

- "In the opposite direction."

- "Yes. So you just change your shopping habits. Instead of one-stop shopping for tonight and tomorrow, go for a week or two's worth of meat on one day, and fruit and vegetables on a couple of other days. Is there a decent bakery around here?"

- "Those are good suggestions." I had to admit it. "But for today's auditions, maybe just plan a meal around what you can find here."

- "Fair enough."

I followed her around the store, even more impressed by her adaptability. And yes, I was still staring at her legs. She didn't have a big ass, or a bubble butt. I'm not sure, though, that I understand the appeal of fat asses. Elise had a trim figure that ticked quite a few boxes for me.

"Stir-fry okay?" she asked.

- "Sure. But can I ask: why a stir-fry?"

- "I wouldn't serve you a steak from here." she said. "But some beef strips will be fine. They have bok choy. And you have water chestnuts in your cupboard, and sriracha sauce in the fridge."

- "Wow. You could have been a detective."

She smiled, with her lips together, without showing her teeth. I remembered her smiling the same way during her interview, at least once.

By contrast, Cindy was a smiler. During her audition, she had to have smiled at me a hundred times. That gave me a pause. Did Elise not really want the job?

I paid for her purchases, which only filled two small bags. We took one each, and headed back to my apartment. Once there, I showed Elise where the cleaning supplies were, and promised to stay out of her way.

Of course, I watched her on my laptop.

At first, I couldn't help comparing her to Cindy. Cindy wasn't any prettier, but she had great tits, a very attractive smile, and a certain... performance skill. I don't know how else to describe it. She moved as if she knew you were watching. She wanted to have your eyes locked onto her. She'd cleaned my apartment as if it was being filmed for a reality TV show.

Elise didn't waste movements. She was precise, economic - and that was while cleaning my apartment for the very first time. She was also conscientious, and thorough. She didn't dust around objects; she lifted them, cleaned underneath, and then replaced them.

That may strike you as a little detail. An unimportant little detail. But for a software designer and IT geek, there are no unimportant details. I admired her thoroughness.

She asked me which plates or bowls I preferred to use, and which cutlery. She'd noticed that I had an everyday set, and a finer set (which I had used all of once, because I'd never had company for dinner other than Alex).

She prepared our meal the same way as she cleaned. Elise didn't chop vegetables; she sliced them into perfectly-sized sections. It took a little longer, that way, but she knew the difference.

I also noticed that she didn't have to consult her phone, as Cindy had. Her precise movements and lack of hesitation suggested that Elise had experience cooking, at least for herself. If she was paying off a serious debt, she wouldn't have money to spare for eating out, unless she had a generous boyfriend.

Believe it or not, I hadn't even considered the possibility that Elise or Cindy might have a boyfriend. Or boyfriends, plural? I guess I just thought that no one would contemplate a job like the one I was offering if they had a serious love interest in their life. Never mind boyfriends: what about friends with benefits, or fuck buddies? I wouldn't want any of those anywhere near my apartment.

But I hadn't put anything about that in the contract. Should I add a clause? No male visitors? What about female visitors? I began to reconsider my resolution about removing the security cameras in the future maid's bedroom.

No, I'm just kidding. But I was a big enough asshole to feel jealous about what my maid might do with her time off.

- "Dinner in ten minutes." she announced.

I appreciated the warning. If I'd been working on a project, it would have given me time to reach a natural stopping point. Or I could go to the bathroom, wash my hands...

Just a little detail, right? See above for my thoughts on details.

- "Wow." I said, moments after sitting down. She'd put a knife and fork on the place mats, along with a napkin, but she'd also put out chopsticks. Elise then placed a loaded bowl in front of me. I was impressed again: strips of beef, two types of mushrooms, bok choy and water chestnuts, celery and bits of ginger, cauliflower and carrots for colour and crunch.

Some foods are all about taste, but presentation is important, and so is texture. I love the variety that Chinese food offers. Elise had picked up on that, consciously or unconsciously.

"This looks awesome." I told her. "Do you make a stir fry very often?"

- "Once a week, usually." she admitted.

- "Good to know." I said. "Oh, wow... it tastes as good as it looks."

- "Thank you." she said.

We talked about Chinese food for a while, with a sprinkling of Thai and Vietnamese. She admitted that she didn't eat out very often, but that she enjoyed cooking in the same style.

- "So, Elise..." I said. "How big is the debt you're dealing with, exactly?"

I might as well have let out a loud, smelly fart. The mood changed immediately. Our pleasant conversation died.

- "I'm sorry." she said. "I'm not comfortable discussing that."

- "I apologize. I'm... well, as you may have guessed, I don't have a lot of experience talking to women. I mean, not that debt is particularly female. That's..." I had to bow my head, and look away. "Sorry. I'm going to stop talking. Could you pretend that I never said any of that?"

Elise came close to smiling. "Alright." she said. "Would you like seconds?"

- "No. I'm looking forward to having leftovers for lunch tomorrow. This is really excellent, Elise."

- "I'm glad you like it."

- "I'll get a better wok." I said.

- "Or you could wait and let me get it. If you decide to hire me."

I didn't tell her that she was way ahead in the cleaning and cooking categories. That left only the... sex.

Elise seemed to realize that, too. Her semi-smile vanished, and she immediately busied herself, picking up her bowl, and beginning to pack away the leftovers.

- "That was excellent." I repeated. "I'll, ah... just finish up in the den. Please feel free to shower, and freshen up, and..." For fuck's sake, Mark: just shut up.

I went back to my den, and checked the security cameras again. It was better than just sitting there, berating myself for being an idiot as well as an asshole.

Elise cleaned up efficiently. Her movements were a little slower, though. Maybe she wasn't in a hurry to finish. It was hard to read the expression on her face, the few times she actually faced the camera.

Once the dishes were done, and the kitchen cleaner than it had been before she started, Elise went back to the future maid's bedroom. She stripped off her clothes, and went to take a shower.

Holy Mother of Mercy...

The body she revealed was well beyond anything I'd imagined. Elise could have been described as skinny, except that she had great legs, a tight little ass, and astonishing breasts. Heavy-looking, pendulous breasts, that hung low. I wouldn't have said that they sagged; it was more that they were so full and so heavy that if they sat higher, they would have had to be fake. Yet Elise was so tall, there was still a great distance between her boobs and her navel, and then her navel and her clean-shaven crotch.

I'd never seen a woman with a body like that.

Don't ask me why, but I cut off the feed. Those two cameras had to go. I felt a little guilty for spying on Elise, even as I reminded myself of what I'd seen.

Now, you know how limited my experience with women was. But I didn't need to be Casanova to know that Elise was very different from Cindy. And even if she was going to have sex with me for money, she wasn't a hooker. It was probably going to be up to me to take the initiative.

She came to the door of my den, wearing the fluffy terry-cloth robe that I'd left in the shower.

- "I'm ready." she said. "Whenever you are."

- "Thank you, Elise. I'm... I just have a couple of things to save and I'll be right with you. Do you want to wait in the bedroom?"

She nodded, and turned away.

That gave me a moment to consider my strategy. And have doubts. Should I have started in the living room, on the couch? Somehow, I doubted that she wanted a prolonged necking session. She probably didn't want to kiss me at all. Isn't kissing even more intimate than fucking, in some cultures? I couldn't remember if Cindy had kissed me even once.

Okay, then. Pretend to be confident. Fake it till you make it. I took a couple of deep breaths, and headed for my bedroom.

I was not prepared for the sight that met my eyes.

Elise had hung up the robe. She was kneeling in the center of my bed, stark naked. Her posture was excellent; her back was straight, and her hands were on her knees. That did little to conceal her breasts.

I realized then she habitually stooped a bit, or let her shoulders slump, to hide her impressive rack just a little more. But now she was perfectly upright, letting her boobs thrust forward.

She didn't have any hint of a tan, but her skin was creamy, practically flawless. I belatedly realized that I should probably have said something.

- "Wow." I managed to say. "You're... you're beautiful."

- "Thank you." she said. Did her voice tremble just a bit? So she wasn't all that confident, either.

I went around to the opposite side of the bed. She began to turn around, but I stopped her.

- "No - stay where you are." I said.

I kicked off my slippers, and climbed onto the bed, and knelt directly behind her. I placed my hands, tentatively, on her back, just below her shoulders.

- "You have the most incredible body." I said. "And your skin is amazing. I just want to touch you... like this. Is this alright?"

I rubbed my hands together, to warm them just a bit, and then began to gently rub her back. Elise didn't say anything, but she did reach up with one hand to pull her hair aside. I guessed that that constituted permission.

Elise leaned forward a bit, resting her hands on the bed. I rubbed lower down, stopping short of the crack of her ass. Her waist was so narrow that I could almost have my thumbs on her spine, and yet reach her hips with my fingers.

I'm not sure how long I rubbed her back. I know that I varied my approach, from sensual massage to a more chiropractic approach. I wasn't sure which she preferred, or if she liked either of them at all. She wasn't giving me many signals to work with.

I worked both hands up the sides of her back, and then the fingers of my left hand made contact with the side of her breast.

I snatched it away as if I'd just been burned. But Elise had shuddered, just the tiniest bit. Did she like it?

In the interest of scientific discovery, I slowly slid my hand around, and cupped her breast.

Okay. I liked it. Her boob was soft, and smooth, and weighty. Elise let out a little sigh. Her nipples, I discovered, were shockingly hard, and very sensitive.

- "Gently." she whispered. "Please."

I could do that. I could do that slowly, too, drawing out my manual examination of her breasts. She didn't sigh again, or speak, but she leaned back against me a bit.

- "Lie down, Elise. On your front." I could have said 'on your stomach', but with a chest like hers, I wasn't sure that her stomach would actually be touching the sheets.

I certainly enjoyed the view. She had great legs, as I said, and a tight little tush. I massaged her legs, and then unashamedly squeezed her butt cheeks. I was getting more impatient.

"Could you turn over?" I asked.

She hesitated, just a bit, but then complied with my request. Elise had a piercing in her navel, and her pussy was perfectly clean-shaven.

Patience, young Jedi, I told myself. It wasn't easy, though. I had to rein in the wild horses, and slowly kiss my way up her leg. I changed to the other leg, and reversed direction. When I headed north again, Elise ever so subtly spread her legs just a little more.

Now, I can't claim to be good at eating pussy. I'd gone down on Alex maybe ten times, and Cindy once. Everything I'd read on the subject, though, said to take your time. Elise had just showered, so she was quite fresh. There was nothing unpleasant about licking her. I was probably just too focused on looking for her reactions, as a guide to how I was doing.

That was the wrong approach. Do your best, I told myself. You don't have to unlock all of her mysteries the very first time. Be thorough - the way she cleaned and cooked. I smiled, with a face full of pussy, because that was such a stupid comparison.

And then Elise trembled.

She didn't make a sound, but she sort of shivered all over, and then shifted her hips, moving her pussy further away from my lips and tongue.

Was it because she was suddenly too sensitive? Had she just...?

I'd made her come. You have no idea how proud I was of myself. However muted her reaction, however mild it might have been, I'd given Elise an orgasm.

See, I never knew if I'd done that for Alex. I suspected that she'd been faking all the way, all the time. Cindy had made some ecstatic noises, but I didn't trust her either. Elise was trying to conceal or downplay her responses. I was pretty sure I'd made her come.

I went to the night table, and pulled out a condom.

When I climbed back into bed, I lay down on my back. Elise must have interpreted that as a signal that I wanted some kind of reciprocity. She slid down the bed, rolled on to her side, and took hold of my cock. She lowered her face, and began licking around the head.

She was liberally spreading her saliva on it, and flicking her tongue just under the crown. Technically, she wasn't in the same league as Alex, and she lacked Cindy's enthusiasm. But she was just getting me ready.

Elise took the condom package from me, tore it open, and rolled it on. Then she looked at me. She didn't have to say anything. The question was clear: how do you want me?

- "You on top." I said.

She dutifully swung her leg over me, and rubbed my condom-clad cock against her pussy lips. Then she sat down atop me.

I gasped at that. She was tight, but wet. But she did little more than sit on me, shifting her hips slightly. I looked up at her face, and saw that she had her eyes closed.

That wasn't going to do it for me. I know: I could hardly pretend that I was some kind of sex God. But I didn't particularly want to be treated as incidental in the whole process. I didn't want Elise to fake it, as Alex had, but...

I shifted her off me, and got her to lie on her side, with me behind her. Then I entered her again.

- "Nnh..." was her only reaction.

From this position, though, I could easily reach around and cup her breast. Elise's nipple was still hard. Nipples don't lie, do they?

I didn't fuck her hard. I didn't have to; I was already on edge. Cindy had blown me first, then fucked me. But I'd spent a long time massaging, caressing and eating Elise, while my own arousal slowly built. I wasn't going to last long.

I didn't. It was mildly embarrassing, but at least she wasn't looking at me. I pulled out, making sure that the condom came out too. Elise only waited a few seconds before she rolled her legs off the bed and sat up.

- "I'm going to get dressed." she said. "Is that alright?"

- "Sure."

I called her an Uber, and sent her home.

"I'll be in touch." I told her.

***

I had a lot of thinking to do. In fact, I found it hard to get to sleep after Elise had gone. It was a big decision, though, and it didn't have to be made in one night.

In the morning, I got out a legal pad. I divided the page in half, wrote 'Cindy' on one side and 'Elise' on the other. Underneath Cindy's name, I made three bullet points: cleaning, cooking, and sex. Then I gave her a grade for each one. She got a C for the first, a B for the second, and an A for the sex. Then I gave Elise grades in the same categories. She earned an A for both cleaning and cooking, but only a C for sex.

That was just a beginning, of course. There was a lot more to consider.

I had the report from Tom Mercier, too. I'd put my private investigator to work the moment the two women had agreed to an audition. Like I said, it was a big decision. If I was going to take one of them into my apartment, basically living with me, I wanted to know everything I could find out about them.

Cindy was originally from Belleville. She had a big family and wide circle of friends. She'd gone to Queen's University in Kingston, where she was (in Tom's words) a 'party girl'. Cindy finished her degree, but it didn't lead to anything more than a string of waitressing and bartending jobs.

Elise was from Hawkesbury, near Cornwall. She'd worked hard to earn a scholarship, and went to Ryerson (now Toronto Metropolitan). She was a good student, and being bilingual didn't hurt; she got a job with the provincial government in Toronto. According to Tom's report, Elise was highly respected in her office; she was thorough, conscientious, and never cut corners. She was also the one person everyone else went to with their questions, because 'she knew where everything was, and how everything worked'.

Unfortunately, after a few very successful years, which included a promotion, Elise made a mistake. A very, very serious mistake. A catastrophic mistake. She co-signed a loan application for her cousin. The cousin wanted to open a small business (a nail parlour), but had a bad credit rating and no collateral. No bank or credit union would touch her.

But there are private lending firms who will take you on. The Merchant Growth Company (of British Columbia) will lend you up to $800,000 - without collateral. The catch (of course there's a catch): the interest rate will be between 12 and 25%. That's for a secured loan. For an unsecured loan, the rate can be between 29.99 to 46.96%. Legal loan-sharking? Pretty much.

Elise's cousin got a 6% reduction in the interest rate when she got a co-signer; the lenders reduced the rate to 22%. Elise took on a share of the risk, for absolutely no benefit. She stuck out her neck for her cousin, the black sheep of the family.

Yeah, you can see where this is going. After a few months, the cousin relapsed into her old ways (substance abuse), and then suffered a complete nervous breakdown. She defaulted on the loan. The creditors came after Elise.

They took her starter home in Etobicoke, where she had $30,000 in equity. They took her car. They left her just enough money to find an apartment in Toronto, close to where she worked (as she no longer had a car). She got a second job, waitressing. After nearly three years of scraping, scrimping and going without to pay down the loan, is it any surprise that she took my offer?

Tom spoke to members of her extended family. Her parents (and the whole family) had warned her to cut off the cousin. She hadn't, so they cut Elise off. Her boyfriend, who'd been living in her house, rent-free, fucked off for greener pastures.

She needed the money, obviously. That gave her the inside track, as far as I was concerned. But I wasn't running a charity, or a bail-out service. I needed a maid.

So I spent two days reviewing all the video recordings from my security cameras. The results were... enlightening.

Cindy had fucked my brains out. She was a hottie, with great tits, and tremendous enthusiasm in bed. But the video told the story. Cindy had two modes: on, and off. When she thought that I might be watching, she smiled, and made sure to show off her body to best advantage. But if she thought I wasn't around? Or if she knew that I couldn't see her face?

Different game altogether. Cindy was an actress. She was nowhere near as subtle as Alex, but it was the same game.

Elise, on the other hand... when she was cleaning or cooking, she wore a look of intent concentration on her face. When she was showering, and then putting a robe and walking to my bedroom, she looked more like... a prisoner on death's row?

I'm exaggerating. It was more like she was resigned. I was offering a great deal of money, which could probably help get her out of debt. She knew that it was a good deal, except that she would have to have sex with me.

There was no fake enthusiasm with Elise. And yet...

I could have sworn that she'd had an orgasm (at least a little one) when I went down on her. She'd enjoyed the back rub - I was prepared to bet on that - and even my fondling of her boobs. She didn't want to blow me or fuck me; that was an obligation.

But two conclusions stuck with me. Cindy was faking, just like Alex. Elise was reluctant, but not faking. If I had made her come... maybe I could do it again? Maybe I could... win her over?

Two simple factors helped make up my mind. One, Elise needed the money. And two, if it was absolutely necessary, I could move on after a while, and get another maid.

Man needs a maid.

*****