Serving in her Blindspot Pt. 04

By the time everything's unpacked, the boxes folded to go out with the recycling and the cases stowed somewhere out of the way, the free people have just finished their meal, Kanda bowing as Toshi thanks her for the meal before the maid clears the table.

I make my presence known to my mistress, who rises and tells me it's time for the Tour.

It's a proper noun; an idea mistress had shortly after her housing arrangements fell through and Toshi made her offer. There's a folder among her things that I prepared to her exact specifications, with a packet of disposable wooden skewers, a measuring tape, glue and a large sheet of paper.

If there's one thing I admire about my owner, it's her mind. I know from my certification that there's no real truth to the idea that being blind supercharges your other senses, but what is true is that everyone figures out their own ways to adapt to their condition. From what I've heard, my mistress was already smart before diabetic retinopathy took her sight. On her best days, she treats her blindless like it's just another problem to solve.

Once the principle has been explained to her, Toshi insists on helping with the Tour and offers up Sphinx's help as well. Together, the two of them measure out the dimensions of the room, Toshi treating this like an arts and crafts project while Sphinx notes down dimensions with the professional fervour of a serious architect, which is impressive while dressed as a cat.

I help my mistress pace the room, finding a spot where she can walk from one end to another without interruption. She paces out length and width, then has me guide her around each piece of furniture that might get in her way. Toshi and her concubine measure the same distances after us, noting each down as I draw out a scale map of the room.

We repeat this meticulous process in every part of the condo, even the rooms that my mistress will probably never visit again. There aren't any hallways to worry about, just doors that open up onto the main room. Toshi's bedroom is across from my owner's and only a little larger. She has the same sheets on her bed, her walls covered in eclectic art and posters, none of them in a similar style to her own paintings. Her own work is conspicuously absent.

The room next door is Toshi's studio, its hardwood floor covered by a thin layer of plastic sheeting for ease of cleaning. The space is honestly a complete mess, with easels, supplies and even a few comparatively cheap armchairs scattered around the place. One pristine canvas has been laid out on the floor right in the middle of the room, for vital artistic reasons I'm surely too uncultured to understand. Even my mistress' determination fails her in there, on the grounds that there's no way the furniture stays consistent enough to be reliably avoided.

Toshi gets weirdly apologetic about that, given that mistress can't even see her art.

The kitchen is sandwiched between the studio and the inner wall of the apartment. It's a narrow galley, since the owners of a place like this would never be expected to cook for themselves. Kanda flinches a little as we all barge in armed with a tape measure, straightening up from where she'd been unloading the dishwasher and offering her mistress a confused bow. She stays confused until we leave, edging back little by little as though she's afraid she'll be pressed into whatever nonsense we're doing.

Directly across the main room from the kitchen is what might once have been a study, before it was carefully converted into a tatami room with a floor of springy woven mats and a low table in the centre. Elegant wooden boxes have been set around the edges of the room, no doubt containing cushions, tea sets and whatever else Toshi's parents clearly felt she needed to bring so she doesn't lose touch with her roots.

I'm not happy about the mats. They're a clear trip hazard, creating a two inch step in the doorway, but my mistress diligently tests out the difference half a dozen times until she's satisfied.

The quarters are next door. They're also floored with tatami mats, two laid out lengthways with an extra one set on top. Unlike the quarters back in Philadelphia, it has a decently sized window that actually has clear glass in it, though there are plenty of safety features to make sure it can't open far enough for anyone to use it as a final exit. It has a small bathroom of its own, just barely large enough that the shower and toilet aren't in the same unit. Judging by the way it's laid out, that bathroom is sandwiched between my owner's en-suite and the main room.

The space is almost devoid of furniture. Just a small table beneath the window and a combination dresser-wardrobe that doubtless holds futons for Toshi's two slaves, though I doubt Sphinx at least spends many nights in here rather than in her owner's bed. Oddly, the lack of furniture makes the space seem more comfortable, without a bed compressing down the available floor space to almost nothing. Even sharing it with Kanda I could see myself living out of here, if that's what mistress wants.

As careful as she's already been, my owner's exploration of her own room borders on some divine penance, like a vampire cursed to count grains of rice. She paces over every part of the room at least three times, focusing in growing amazement on the bed until she gives in and flops down onto it, shuffling forwards until she's in so deep she can't feel the edges.

"Holy shit," she murmurs into the duvet, at which point Toshi seems about to burst into laughter only to stifle it as Sphinx frantically mimes for her to keep it in, then bows her head in a silent apology for her disrespect. I give the cat a grateful look as soon as her owner isn't watching.

With the tour finished, I lay out the sheet of paper on the desk and get to work snapping skewers down to size, gluing them on top of the lines I've drawn until I've created a tactile map of the entire condo, down to the furniture. Toshi lets out an appreciative noise when I'm finished, disappearing into her studio before returning with a piece of board for me to mount it on.

From start to finish, the process took the best part of two hours, my mistress sinking into an armchair once Toshi and her concubine have left us in peace. She runs her fingers over the map -- carefully, because the glue is still soft -- again and again, brows furrowed as she commits it all to memory.

"Mistress," I begin, "should I sleep here or in the quarters?"

She looks up, a confused expression on her face like she doesn't understand why the question matters. She always looks like that whenever I admit to not being some self-sufficient robot, which is why I hate asking her for things.

"You might as well take the quarters," she orders, offhandedly. "They're only next door. Fetch me some water, would you?"

"Yes, mistress," I say, taking the opportunity to bundle up my belongings and store them in my new living space. Toshi is watching a film on the big TV, some drama-action thing with two mud-covered yet still impeccable starlets wading through a swamp. Sphinx is curled up on the couch next to her, head resting on her owner's lap, while Kanda kneels on a cushion in front of them, leaning back obligingly as Toshi posessively runs her fingers through the maid's hair.

I return to mistress with a glass and one of several jugs of water I found cooling in the fridge, serving her before swiping her phone and sitting on the carpet on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall and continuing the webnovel I've been reading.

I'm pretty sure the author is a slave who's managed to scrounge up internet access, something to type on and just enough spare time to write. The internet offers plenty of free entertainment and a degree of anonymity, both of which are valued by people who don't own any money.

Once my mistress turns in for the night, I fold her clothes and put them in the laundry basket, then leave her to spend the night alone for the first time in two years. For me, on the other hand, it's almost the reverse. As I thought, there's no sign of Sphinx, but Kanda is in the quarters, already naked and setting up her futon.

"Hey," I say, greeting her a little too late. Nudity isn't much of a taboo for slaves, for obvious reasons, and of course myself and my mistress have been naked around each other every single night, but I'd somehow forgotten what it was like when the other person can see you. It probably doesn't help that I only shared living space with family before I was sold.

"We haven't been properly introduced," I press on, grabbing my own futon and unrolling it across from hers. "I'm Clarisse, or Clara for short."

"Kanda," she says, almost bluntly. For a horrible moment I wonder if she even speaks English.

"That's a nice name."

"My generation are all named after rivers," she explains, as I let out an inward sigh of relief.

"You've done a great job with this place," I continue, more comfortable now that I've got some small talk flowing. "You wouldn't think your mistress had only just moved in."

She tries very hard to stop her reaction, but I can see the faint wince when I say the word 'mistress.' That explains it; my older brother went through a similar phase, before he was sold off to the military. It's a bastard thing, resenting what your half-siblings have, which usually includes the affection of your father. Very messy.

"I've been here for a week," Kanda says, professional pride pushing down her jealousy. "I came down with master's seneschal while the place was being furnished and made sure it was ready."

"Paid special attention to the quarters, right?" I ask, trying to tease her in a way that won't set her off. "Up till now I've been sleeping on the floor of my owner's bedroom. This is way better."

She gives me a real grin for that one, rolling back onto her futon with the satisfaction of someone who's work has been appreciated for its own sake, not the benefit it brings her owner. I'm sure she'll crash out at some point, but we all break sooner or later. That's what punishments are for, to fix the wear and tear. So they tell you in school, at least.

I strip down, take a leak and a quick shower, then brush my teeth before hitting the lights and falling gracefully onto my own futon, cherishing the extra softness from the slightly springy tatami mats. Like any overworked maid, Kanda soon falls into a deep sleep next to me, her heavy, regular breaths slowly drawing me towards my own rest.

When I'm on the very cusp of sleep, a quiet shape creeps into the room, kneeling down next to me. I feel her through the shifting mat before I see her, groggily opening my eyes to a female silhouette in the fragile blue light bleeding through the curtains. Sphinx places a hand on my shoulder, beckoning for me to follow.

The main room is just as dark as the quarters, Sphinx visible only as a shape the dark. Just the faintest impression of light on the curves and angles of her bodysuit, or visible between the silhouettes of each long leg.

"Something wrong?" I ask, suddenly conscious of my nudity. "Is your mistress-"

"Fast asleep," she interjects, pronouncing each syllable, "but she left me with orders for the night."

She takes a quick step forwards and suddenly her arms are wrapped around my waist, pulling me tight against her as I realise with a start that she isn't wearing her bodysuit at all. Her skin feels so warm, her breasts soft as they press against my sternum. She leans down, nestling her head against mine so that her lips are almost pressed against my ear. I'm frozen in place, too stunned to think.

"Miss Victoria is Arima-Sama's best friend," she whispers. "She was so afraid when your owner went blind, so guilty when that botched surgery left her that way. All the money in the world, and she couldn't help."

"Mistress thinks her insurance paid for that," I stammer, as Sphinx only pulls me in closer, cradling the back of my head with her left hand.

"I know, and she's going to keep thinking that, okay? The point is that my owner watched her best friend's life fall apart right in front of her, until you came along and gave your mistress the help she needed to pick up the pieces. My mistress has sent me to express her gratitude."

She pulls her hips back just a little, sliding her right hand between our bodies before hooking her thumb and two fingers into my pussy, snapping them right against my clit in a rapid gesture that sends an electric shock right up my spine.

"What the fuck..." I stammer. My legs almost fail me, the hand on my head suddenly looped under my shoulders as Sphinx laughs, half dragging me over to the largest couch like we're some drunk, four-legged animal.

"Been a while, right?" Sphinx drawls, shoving me backwards. My legs hit the armrest, sending me toppling back onto the couch. It knocks the wind out of me, and then it happens again as Sphinx pounces on top of me like the cat she pretends to be. "Even if she has you fuck her, owners never let you come enough."

"I've..." I stammer, trying to force the words out as Sphinx helps herself to a handful of my right breast. I wonder if she can feel my heart through it? "I've never... Not with someone else."

Sphinx stills, faint moonlight reflecting off her teeth as her mouth widens into an astonished grin.

"Never?" she drawls, amazed and hungry. "At your age?"

She presses her knee against my cunt, moving it up and down with agonizing slowness. Like a cat toying with her prey, she brings her mouth down to my nipple and presses her teeth against the nub hard enough to hurt, pulling her head away before letting my breast spring back into place.

"Fuck my orders," she exclaims, loud enough I'm terrified someone heard. "I'm doing this for fun."

She shifts her knee to the other side of my leg, leaning down and marking my breasts with love bites as she grips my left wrist with her left hand, using the flat of her forearm to press both my arms against the armrest above my head. Her right hand returns to my pussy, fingers moving in an effortless, complex dance that feels more electrically intense than anything I've ever managed on my own.

In my moments of lucidity, when her head is deep between my breasts and the moonlight allows, I can see right down the length of her back, along her curving spine and up to the taut mounds of her ass, swinging from side to side in satisfaction as she takes what she wants. I can almost imagine a tail there, swaying gently with the motions of her hips.

She's cruel, listening to my breaths and feeling my heart through my skin as she plays me like an instrument, letting a crescendo build before cutting it off just before the climax, pulling her hand out and drumming her fingers against my labia to prolong my suffering.

Finally, she decides I've had enough, her fingers plunging back in as she rolls forwards and toys at my collar with her teeth, sliding her tongue between the leather and my skin, feeling out the metal contact points that are my constant threatening companion. As I start to hyperventilate, feeling an eruption coming from deep within me, she suddenly shifts her head upwards, looks me dead in the eyes and kisses me on my awestruck lips, tongue sliding past my unresisting teeth right as I come.

It's hard to think for the next few seconds, held down by the stronger woman as my cunt spasms around her fingers. Even through that, it's the kiss that shocks me the most.

Free people don't kiss slaves. They make us suck them off, eat their ass, use our compelled obedience as an output for every depraved fantasy they have, but they don't kiss us. It has an emotional weight to them that even slaves tend to respect in our casual flings with one another.

I know the kiss doesn't mean anything, know that to Sphinx it's just another tool in her arsenal, but I never thought I'd get kissed at all.

"What the hell was that?" I ask, breathlessly, as Spinx lets me go and rolls to her feet, suddenly looming over my prone body.

"Well, Clarisse," she drawls, bending over at the waist and grinning down at me. "That was the most expensive fuck of your life."

I think I lie there on the couch for about five minutes, too sexed-out to move. Finally, I stagger to my feet, my own juices slowly cooling on my crotch, and lurch towards the kitchen on shaking legs in search of some paper towels.

Someone has to clean up the mess I made on the couch, and I doubt it'll be Sphinx.