About 18 months later, 2 years as Anya
After Rafe graduated he had moved back into the family home, with a little less than one year remaining of my time as a maid. He'd started his new 'big boy' job nearby, which was a pure nepotistic and cushy consulting job Michael had set him up with.
Rafe's parents had started spending time in their west coast home more often to let him have his own space while he began his career, and on his request they even left me to be his maid.
A nightmare and dream of mine, wrapped into one.
Now that Rafe was the sole master, he didn't let it go to waste.
With no parents around to dodge any longer, he loved to watch me prance around in my uniform, sit in his lap while he watched television, give him morning wake up blowjobs, wait on him hand and foot. . .
For a while it brought some fresh life to what had become a very humdrum existence, compared to what were previously only intermittent visits from him.
Above all, I was very glad he didn't know who I'd been in my past life, but the unlikely potential of him finding out still served as a very potent factor in my end of our sex life. It would be so mortifying!
One morning, after about two years as Anya, a knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. Rafe was out for the next two days for a work training, so I answered ready to tell the visitor that the master wasn't home.
When I opened the door, I almost didn't recognize who it was.
But then it hit me, like someone dumped ice water on my shoulders.
It was Andy.
Me?
I sagged in the doorway, emotions overwhelming me.
Was today the day I would change back?
Why hadn't he texted or called ahead? I was suddenly very thankful Rafe wasn't here. Had Andy planned that?
Seeing my old body again was beyond surreal. This Andy was even better styled than I had been, and carried himself with confidence. No trace of a timid Russian maid.
"I kan't believer you'rrre herrre, finally! Zank you!" I said. My English had improved a lot in the last two years from watching American TV and practicing diligently, but my Russian accent was VERY thick.
'Andy' started, looking confused at my gushing.
"Are you Anya?" He asked, no hint of recognition in his eyes. However, I noticed he took a long and unsubtle look at my body in my revealing maid uniform.
However I'd expected this to go, this wasn't it.
"Vhat do yoah myean, am I Anya?" I asked with equal confusion, emotions still swirling inside me.
"The old Andy asked me to find someone named Anya here, a maid, and give her this." He handed me a large envelope with a note attached.
I took it, feeling a spike of alarm. The "old" Andy?
Andy, presumably "New" Andy, just waited. Oh God. Is this what I think?
The note was in Cyrillic, and a poor translation. Andy didn't know Russian, of course. I assumed it was so "New Andy" couldn't read it. and to make sure I could.
Dear Anya,
I decided I couldn't risk going back into your body.
MY body?
The note continued. The more I thought about it, the less sense it made. I'd have to rely on you to sponsor me to avoid getting shipped back to Russia, or be an undocumented immigrant, even if I got your money. What if you betrayed me? Why go through all that hassle?
I wanted to be a woman again, but. . . I realized there is no moral reason I had to change with YOU.
Why take those risks, just because you happened to be dealt a winning hand at birth and then folded it?
It's not my problem. It's yours.
You wanted that body, so . . . keep it. For good. Hope you like it.
The Andy you're meeting was once a girl. Err, a very pretty trans man, I mean. He will have zero interest in exchanging with you, even if you had the statue, which you don't.
I'm holding onto it for now.
I looked hard to find the right candidate to swap with, and I found them. And they took the chance to see if my impossible proposal was real.
We swapped, and I gave them the same trust fund split I offered you.
We're both thrilled with the outcome, but there's no real money left for you.
Sorry.
But thanks for everything!
As for your future. . . Your work visa is nearly up and I expect the Deboses will be exchanging you for a new maid pretty soon. My advice is to avoid going back to the people in Russia who sent you here, AT ALL COSTS.
My gift for you contains a train ticket to Miami, $2,000, and the name of someone who pays maids with cash under the table. I picked Miami because that's where I would have gone in your shoes. At least it's warm.
You're welcome.
Once your masters report you missing you'll be an undocumented immigrant, which sucks. Sorry about that.
But if I were you, I'd still pack a bag and be on that train. But you don't have to. It's up to you.
Farewell Anya. Don't ever try to find me again or I will report you to ICE.
Best of luck, You know who
I dropped the letter in shock.
"It was, uh, nice to meet you. . ." Andy said awkwardly, before walking back to his car. I didn't try to stop him.
++++++
I walked around numb for hours as the new paradigm settled in my mind.
'Anya' wouldn't change back with me. Actually there was no point in thinking of her (him? her?) as Anya anymore, because I was REALLY Anya now. For good.
I'd used the name for two years, but it had never felt like mine. Now it pressed into me, inexorably.
My name. Anya Petrov. Me.
I'd spent two years as a maid, knowing there was an end to it ahead of me, but now it was all for nothing.
In an attempt to feel something, I took a shower.
I'd never dared to use the Master Bathroom, even though I cleaned it every three days, but today I couldn't muster any fear. It felt good to use the bathroom of my betters.
Betters. It was apt, because I'd never be equal in status to them ever again.
I scoured myself in the opulent shower, cried a little, and felt only slightly better after.
I could tell I was in shock, but once out I couldn't bear to put my uniform back on even though it was a weekday. I was pretty sure Rafe had some security cameras, but again couldn't find any fear for whatever his punishment might be if he found out.
So I just went nude, which he wouldn't even mind. Better to let this all sink in, with nothing but my skin anyways.
I sat at the window, pondering my options, for the rest of the day.
Option 1: Stay and ask Rafe to renew my visa. This was dicey. I had no power to make him do so, and I'd probably end up back in Russia, the unwilling bride of some fat bureaucrat or old oligarch for the rest of my life. That might be the best case.
Option 2: Run away, like the person who had stolen everything from me had suggested, and face whatever life had to offer as an undocumented immigrant in America. This one was completely uncertain. I'd have no support. . . if things went badly, I could end up on the street or abused in other ways. . .
A shiver went through me, clearing some of my malaise.
That thought had resonated, unbelievably, and excitement started to pierce through my cloud of shock.
I felt a flash of my old fantasies, of being a pretty girl on her own and having to make due in dire circumstances.
That was me now, 100%, if I made this choice.
Andy was right in his letter; I'd lost an easy life of privilege in exchange for a completely uncertain impoverished future just because I was horny and perverted. Now I had to live with the outcome.
My pussy was clenching, and becoming absurdly wet. Of course it was.
God, I'm such a stupid slut! How can this still turn me on? I need to plan!
I gave in, and masturbated once more, to clear my mind.
+++++++
It worked.
Two orgasms later, I planned.
It wasn't going to be easy. Two years of savings from my pitiful salary plus 'Old Anya's' gift still left me with only $5,000 and whatever clothes I could pack in a bag.
Maybe enough for a first month's rent, deposit and food for a month?
I wandered the house, eyes flitting to expensive pawnable items. I ended with the mistress's things, left behind while they spent time on the other coast. It would take her a long time to find anything missing, I wagered.
I went to her makeup. She had so much that the majority of it was unopened, likely to spoil before anyone used it. I felt no guilt in taking several items that looked interesting, knowing she wouldn't notice. I even tried on what I knew was a very expensive lip color, but still didn't put on any clothes yet.
I wondered if the money I could get from selling some of her nicer jewelry would be worth their eventual anger and a potential criminal warrant?
No, I'm not going to steal anything else, I decided. If I just ran away, they wouldn't care much. If I stole expensive things AND ran away. . . they'd report me and send someone to look for me.
I'd just have to make my money stretch. . . and use the tools I had to survive. That familiar feeling roiled again.
But it was met with an unexpected pang when I considered Rafe.
How would he take my running away? It's not like were in a relationship, he obviously dated girls who weren't his maid, and he didn't respect me.
But . . . I knew he'd be mad. Maybe even hurt.
I felt strangely guilty about leaving without a note, but I knew it was safest. Better not to give any hints where I was going.
I shook my head, angry at myself when I considered the fact that I'd never get fucked by Rafe again, and it was a little sad. He was such a jerk!
I knew what was best, and my stupid libido would just have to get in line. I could probably find a boyfriend in my new life that would do healthy roleplay with me, and was just as hot as Rafe.
Or maybe a girlfriend?
Both options sounded hot. . .
+++++++++
Two years later
I shook the cold cocktail at the bar we'd set up at the mansion, and could sense the man to my left watching my breasts jiggling in my partially unbuttoned uniform. It was nothing new.
I looked up at the partying goers after pouring out the shots, admiring the women who were there only to have fun or land a rich boyfriend. They wore fashion, not a uniform with a silly bow that marked them as part of the service underclass like me.
I noticed Jackson deMaison talking to an attractive woman in a very expensive dress, and I felt a needle of shame and arousal. He was the son of a famous athlete, and had it all. He was also very hot.
I thought back to six months ago, to my last day as a maid and the last time I'd seen him.
After over a year of low pay in a crappy maid service, I'd been lucky enough to join on that did work cleaning high end homes and mansions. The pay was still not wonderful, but better, and the homes were usually already pretty clean unlike the middle class ones I'd been doing.
I was cleaning Jackson's family home for maybe the fifth time.
It hadn't been the first time I'd cleaned while he was home, nor the first I'd noticed him looking at me. I'd even left my phone number on a thank you card after the last cleaning, but he hadn't called. Not that I'd expected him to.
Most houses I cleaned in sweat pants and an old t-shirt.
That time I'd styled my hair with waves and worn a nice top that showed off my assets along with a flirty little skirt that showed my naughty lack of panties. If I couldn't tempt him that day, it wasn't going to happen.
But he certainly noticed.
I pranced around, conspicuously working in the areas he was in. He was polite, said hello, and even asked me my name.
I pretended not to know who he was, or who his dad was, despite all the trophies and jerseys throughout the home.
When he went out to the pool, it was almost painfully obvious what I was doing when I followed him. I wasn't even paid to clean the pool area!
But he probably didn't know that, so I did anyways.
I'd managed to get him talking, and one thing led to another. I'd known he wouldn't be able to resist a maid like me throwing herself at him.
He'd asked me if I wanted to take a break for a swim, but I poutingly told him I hadn't brought a swim suit.
The logical thing was for both us to go without suits. We never made it into the pool, however.
His cock was really fantastic, and his washboard abs were nice eye candy. He wasn't as good of an athlete as his father, but he had a nice college career going in his own right and would probably go pro.
Rafe had been fit, but not like Jackson.
I'd been with a healthy number of other guys (and girls) since Rafe; why did I always compare them to him?
I wondered what I need to do to become Jackson's girlfriend, and not just a fling with the slutty maid?
What I hadn't expected, as Jackson came in my mouth, was for his mother to come home.
I hadn't even swallowed yet when she yelled at us from the balcony, very pissed off. Jackson had, somewhat cowardly, run off to get his clothes but I didn't blame him too much.
It had been mortifying, and I still thought about it frequently. Sometimes while stroking myself and wallowing in how humiliated it had been to be discovered like that, out in the open, naked with a mouth full of cum.
I had begged her not tell my maid agency, but she didn't want a girl like me in her home again.
So I was fired, that very day. I didn't even get paid, other than with the opportunity to give hot blowjob and Jackson's cum. At least I'd gotten that.
+++++
I was pulled back into the present by a customer, ordering a set of shots.
He was a bit sleazy looking, and gestured unsubtly to me and then looked back to Jackson. Impressed.
Oh god, Jackson had told him about us. I flushed.
As I was filling the drink order, I still couldn't stop myself from jotting my number down on a napkin. For Jackson - Anya - 929-555-8989. :)
When he saw the note, he looked up and smiled at me. I looked back with a teasing smile, trying to convey "Sorry, working right now." I had to earn my money, unlike him.
I served a few more patrons, including a hulking man in a tailored suit that looked at me a little strangely, before I got a text.
This is Jackson. I've got my own place now ;)
I smiled, and looked up to find his eyes again. He smiled back.
Could it use cleaning?
Definitely. He replied. How about tomorrow?
I'll be there I replied, then bit my lip while making a decision. You know, I'm a model now. I attached a photo to the message. I had my first paid gig today and they sent me one of the first pics. What do you think?
I was so excited at getting my first paid gig, and for a major underwear brand no less, and it felt great to tell someone other than my roommates. The payout for 6 hours work had been worth two months of my salary at the catering company, but I still needed to keep working here until it became steady.
The agency had even promised future work to come, mentioning that some fashion catalogues would likely be interested. I was going to be a model!
Jackson's reply was an emoji with hearts for eyes.
Scorching hot he replied. Actually, how about we get dinner instead? You can clean the apartment the next morning if you want, up to you.
I gasped and beamed, clutching the phone between my ample breasts. I looked up and saw he'd seen me do that, and I looked away bashfully.
It's just - being treated as more than just a maid or bartender or other servant slut made me feel really nice, even if he assumed that me staying over was a foregone conclusion.
I couldn't be mad - he was right about that.
But he wanted to have a real date with me!
It's a date I said. Just tell me when and where.
He gave me the name of a restaurant and a time, and the smile on my face couldn't have been removed by anything.
Oh god, what am I going to wear? I suddenly despaired.
I wanted him to see me as an up and coming model, not as a long-term maid or bartender.
I'd make a shopping trip tomorrow. And the salon?
This was an investment in my future, after all.
++++++
Later after cleanup and tipping everyone out, I walked out to get my rideshare back to my shitty apartment, still riding high about my upcoming date with Jackson tomorrow and my future that was suddenly bright in multiple ways.
A car pulled up, and I didn't think to check the app to see if it matched. I climbed in, and didn't look up until the burly man I'd seen at the bar slid in next to me. I looked up and finally noticed that the driver was Rafe Debose.
My former master, in the flesh. I gasped and grabbed the seat, but the man next to me put his hand on my arm to prevent any bad decisions.
"Hello Anya. Long time no see." Rafe said. Adrenaline pumped through me at the words but I had no chance of escape. "Let's go somewhere we can talk, shall we?" He smiled.
Rafe pulled the car out smoothly into traffic, taking me someplace unknown.
Fuck fuck fuck!
This couldn't be happening. Not now!
++++++
Author Note: I'm curious what people think Rafe intends. Any guesses?