The Year Package

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The Housewife Named Mae


The curtains to my new room fly open. It isn’t until the light begins to settle on my eyelids that I know whoever opened them wants me up. I roll over curling into a ball before I stretch my legs.

“What time is it Sybil?” I ask I sit up my hair falling over my face as I rub my tired eyes.

“It’s time to get ready for a day’s work,” Sybil replies. I groggily lift my head to look at her. Dressed in all black like she is in mourning, her hands are placed behind her back.

“I had forgotten Dominic wanted me to do stuff around the house.” I groan inwardly pulling myself off the bed and landing onto my knees with a soft thud. I lean forward stretching my back my hands opened wide in the child’s pose.

“I’ll be down shortly.” I sit up and smile at Sybil who only tuts and walks away, shutting the door quietly behind her, but I am sure she wanted to slam it shut.

I head into the bathroom, practically dragging my feet. I am rarely a morning person unless I was doing a full day or longer of work. This is how I approach the beginning of the day-- a plethora of creative curse words and matted hair.

I open one of the mirrored cabinets going out my way to cast my eyes away from my reflection. Dominic must’ve thoroughly read through my file as all my products were here lined in the order I have in my bathroom. I wash my face deciding to have a proper clean in my two-hour slot. I grab a towel peering out of the window just behind the railing to the garden.

Standing on the tips of my toes, I can make out the edge of the supposed pool with it being so cold a waterproof cover had been put over it. I would have to explore this place, see what it’s got to offer.

Knowing that Sybil was on the edge of her patience, I grab a flannel running it under the golden tap I wipe my face. By my neck, the rag traces over a bandage, I shut the cabinet, revealing my morning state. Oh, Lord.

Hair in all the wrong places defying gravity, my eyes look tired. You just need your morning coffee. There on my neck was a nude brown plaster almost invisible against my skin. I don’t want to linger too long on the plaster my insides turning when I run my hand over it. I’ll have to make sure Magenta gets rid of this before I see him.

I pick out a slightly thinner black jumper tucking it into the black denim skirt. I stare reluctantly at the hoard of various heeled black shoes: boots, pumps, stilettos, open toe, peep toe. This must’ve been what Dominic felt last night when he read through the character pack. I frown pulling out the chunky heel laced boots, heading out the now full closest to the bedroom to get dressed.

Why did he have to rip the paper? I lace up the shoe brushing my skirt. The whole act surprisingly made me feel quite deflated. Who am I supposed to be? I can’t be me. That’s not enough. I open the door to Sybil, who is inches away from banging it down.

“Finally,” she said, Sybil steps back turning on her heels and heads away. “Come along. I’ll show you around before breakfast.”

As we walk Sybil, points to the staircase we had first gone down when I had arrived yesterday.

“That is the main staircase, takes you to the front door.” She points to the door opposite. “I’m sure you know, Master Dominic’s room.” There is a hint of annoyance in her voice as she spoke like the mere thought of me here was poisonous. I do not doubt that she’s read the contract we signed.

Sybil continues walking to the end of the hallway, two sets of stairs on either side of her one went up another went down.

“Up there is the entrance to the gym, down here is the garage.” Sybil took the right descending the stairs, and I follow behind.

We step into the hallway, and three rows of cars grace me with their presence- from practical and straightforward Vaux wagon to the luxury ‘I have money’ Jaguars, Buegattis and any other obnoxiously expensive vehicles.

“Hmmm... pretty,” I said with a hint of disdain enough to have Sybil look at me. No doubt she’ll go scurrying off to Dominic to report. Sybil moves past the rows of cars against the wall closest to us opening the door to her left. Revealing the concrete ground and the chilly autumnal air.

Instinctively my hands cradle my chest as I follow her out. Instantly I shiver the wind whipping around my calves almost scratching at my skin, removing the warm air that was once enveloped it. I follow quickly after Sybil her small strides taunting me as she shows off her covered legs.

“The garden,” Sybil said.

The design cost money. There were strips of grass between slabs of white stone snaking around before reaching the perimeter that was decorated with small flowers and towering trees. Off to the left, around the back of the house near my room. The pool surrounded by white stone. I turn around, facing the house.

If I was looking down at the building from a height, a backwards C would be the best way to describe. A small patch of bricked flooring for the cars to enter and exit the garage. It is weird, there is an odd mix of innovation and old school with the exposed brick of the house that was a similar range of shades to the pavement outside the front of the house. Then he has the large ceiling to floor windows at the top of the house just under the roof. Where I am standing, I can see the rows of televisions and the edge of a treadmill — the gym.

“And where do you stay, Sybil?” I ask. I hadn’t seen any other places where she and her staff could be.

“I live next door while the girls live a few doors down. Master Dominic owns this gated community so we can live without hassle.”

“Is that why he wants me to stay here? Only leave when instructed to.” I turn to Sybil who had begun walking back inside, but the glance over her shoulder told me she was still listening. “Am I the hassle?”

Sybil sighs the age showing through her staggered breathing.

“Yes, Miss Mae, you are a hassle, indeed,” she replies.

Sybil is sure I knew my way back and heads to the kitchen-- an archway opposite the archway to the dining room. I walk in goosebumps on both my legs rubbing awkwardly against each other.

“Good morning Mae,” Dominic says his eyes to his phone a replica of his position yesterday morning. I sit down crossing my legs over which only made the rubbing of goosebumps even more cringeworthy.

“Good morning Dominic. How is your back?”

Dominic can’t help but smile at his phone, whether it was what I said or something he had seen because as he looks up, his smile fades.

“Nothing I can’t handle, how is your neck?”

My stomach churns as the plaster seems to throb, I rub it gently.

“I’ve had worse.” I smile at him, almost challenging his nonchalant attitude with my own.

“As fun as these mornings are, I won’t be having breakfast with you but will see you in the evening for dinner and...” He rubs his bottom lip.

“When you fuck me and bite into my neck,” I finish for him.

Dominic looks into my eyes. His silvery gaze stern and mean looking. It is what it is, isn’t it Dominic. His gaze narrows but only slightly, as though he was caught off guard by my brashness of our situation. As though stating that I was nothing more than a breathing sex doll and blood vending machine was a taboo topic and something that the woman should inherently deny.

Dominic pushes out of his chair. Grabbing his notebook slotting it under his arm, holding his coffee cup and phone between his hands. He gives me one lasting look expecting to pick up on any thoughts I had tumbling through my head.

“See you tonight Dominic,”

He dismisses me walking off, passing Sybil as she enters plate in hand.

She places the plate in front of me, leaving me to the emptiness of the room alone and very much isolated. I lean my head on my hand, pushing the food back and forth on the plate.

Not to say the food isn’t good— fresh fruit cut in delicate sizes all presented to stand out against the black plate it was sitting on. Sybil was no stranger to presentation. However, I’m already bored.

I take the empty plate and head for the archway across from me. There is a small hallway, a large chest of drawers to my right, taking up most of the walking space, I knock into it, and can hear the clinking of utensils and glass.

Wood and marble, the primary materials in the kitchen. There are exposed beams on the ceiling matching the cedar wood island topped with a black and white marble which Sybil is leaning over. Her legs are crossed hanging underneath the metal stool. She is accompanied by two others.

“Mae, finished already?” None of them look up from their distractions as Sybil speaks.

“Yes, it was lovely thank you.”

Sybil points to the sink placed on the island, and I walk over to it. I put the plate into the sink and place my hands on either side, waiting for the next instruction. One of the girls looks at me, her dark brown eyes studying me.

“We clean our plates here.” Her New Zealand accent seems to weave the words in such a manner that makes it feel like I am floating. There is a relaxing feel to it.

I bite the inside of my cheek as I grab the sponge on the side, turning on the black tap that extends upwards creating an elegant arch. I keep my eyes down as I wash the plate, looking around for something to dry it. The other woman chucks a cloth to me.

“Here. Plates go in the glass cabinet.” She brushes her ginger hair aside to point at the white cabinet with glass windows. I can see similarly coloured plates as my own stacked on the second shelf.

“Thank you.” I open the cabinet, twisting the copper rounded handle and place the plate inside.

“Come sit Mae.” The metal stool screeches as Sybil pulls it around the table at the head of the island to her right. I do as I am told the grooves on the bottom of my shoe slotting into the foothold of the stool.

“My name is Sybil,” Sybil announced.

I hadn’t noticed the large pearl earrings on her ears, taking up her entire lobe it made her oval face smaller. Her crystal blue eyes held my gaze momentarily as though she was trying to pick through my thoughts. She turns her head to the left towards the other two beside her.

“This is Amelia.” Amelia raised her hand, revealing herself to be the ginger one. Despite having a braided crown in her hair what wasn’t braided still seemed to cause Amelia problems. It’s thickness, and it’s length cascading down her shoulders and lying lifeless on the marble top forcing Amelia to sweep it over her back occasionally.

She attempts a smile but it looks more of a grimace, her jade eyes narrowing slightly as she takes me in.

“This is Constantia.”

“But you can call me Constance.” Italian, definitely Italian. I had my suspicions with the sun-kissed skin, the dark brunette hair and strong jawline all I needed was her name.

The girls are young or at least appear to be young. Sybil had already confirmed that they are all vampires.

As immortal as they are Mother nature always prevailed. During my six months of training and studying before I became a fully-fledged whore, I had been taught a lot of the supernatural world. Being one of six humans to enrol, we were given more information, more training and more safeguards being the delicate creatures that we were.

I remember distinctively from the vampire lessons that it wasn’t after the sixth century that the ageing takes hold. With the wrinkles and creases that decorated Sybil’s skin, she was at least heading into her first millennium.

“Right girls, head along to do your chores. At one point, one of you will need to go and get some ingredients for tonight. Understood,” Sybil instructed.

“Yes, Sybil,” the girls said in unison and with that they stand up heading out of the kitchen. I notice the trousers that Dominic so graciously allowed them to wear, causing a grumble to vibrate in my throat.

“Right Mae,” She pulls out a folded piece of paper from her dress pocket and slides it over to me. “Your chores for the day. Mainly dusting I’m afraid, I’m sure when Master Dominic has more events hosted here, there will be more things for you to do.

“Lunch is at 1:00, and it will be waiting in your room. Green bags can be found in the garage by the keys leave the bags in a neat pile. The laundry room is down there.” Sybil points to the archway behind me. ”Should you finish your list come find me, and I will give you more things to do.”

The “should” had been overemphasised and I don’t dare look at Sybil to see what face she was making as she says it. No doubt she believes I’m some “get everything done for me” kind of woman. With that, Sybil takes her tiny teacup and saucer and leaves the kitchen.

I open the sheet of paper expecting sheets to tumble to the floor but instead one sheet with delicate handwriting depicting my day.

Sweep the leaves in the garden

Vacuum the hallway on the first floor

Wash clothes and hang

Iron Master Dominic’s shirts

Change bathroom hand towels in Master Dominic’s room

Restock mini-fridge in the gym

Dust the bookshelves in the library

Well, it’s 48 degrees out so I should probably leave the leaves sweeping till midday...Perhaps just after lunch? Seeing as I’m by the laundry room, I should start that. Then while the clothes are washing, I could iron his clothes, take them upstairs along with fresh hand towels...oh but wait if I change the handtowels first I could wash them. Ok. Change hand towels, wash clothes, iron shirts, restock gym fridge, hoover, lunch if it’s one by then, hang clothes, dust.

I smile brightly. I have this strange obsession with achieving many things in one action at times this makes me efficient, other times it causes me to overthink and get very frustrated if I find myself going back and forth between places.

I check the clock on the wall opposite to me the large black frame decorated with golden roman numerals, hmmm just gone nine. I fold the sheet of paper standing up from my stool and place it back next to the seat Sybil had been sitting on.

With my schedule in place, I head out of the kitchen to Dominic’s room. I can’t hear anything— no rustling, no padding footsteps. Am I the only one here...nonsense like Dominic would ever leave me here unattended.

I head up the stairs, my strides slowing down as I approach his room. It felt almost unnatural standing outside his room fully clothed and with an agenda that didn’t involve sex and bloodletting. I turn the handle pushing the door open.

The last time I was in here, my heart was beating so fast I couldn’t see anything besides Dominic sat on the bed. The puncture wound seemed to throb in anticipation, and I rub it gently.

His room is the same as mine spacing wise, that is with an archway behind his bed in front of me and the door to his bathroom. The beige carpet is the same. He also has a desk in front of the window to my right.

I try not to linger too much on the décor of the room. How much darker it all felt the grey and black bedding on top of an equally dark headboard. I keep my head down, almost ashamed to be in this room without him. I head into the bathroom assuming it looks the same, I grab the handle towel that I gamble on being there on the handrail opposite the sink.

I pull them all down, draping them over my arm and scurry out the door. I step out of Dominic’s room and descend the stairs catching Sybil, Constance and Amelia by the door.

Sybil hands Amelia a card and Constance a sheet of paper. The girls link arms before heading out the door. I was sure Sybil notices my presence as she stands there momentarily before heading to the library just behind the staircase.

I had started not to take offence to the blatant disregard of my presence. If I get to hung up on it, I won’t survive the month.

With the hand towels over my arm, I go to the laundry room. I have concluded that each room was different. The bedrooms were natural, a comfort to live in, with paling colours and streams of light always entering. The dining room was grand, almost Victorian looking that exuded wealth. The kitchen a rustic farmhouse with wood and marble wherever you could put them and then there is the laundry room.

Modern and sleek, with no window they made do with off white coloured walls, and against the black furniture makes the room look larger, unnecessarily so because there’s nothing else in the room.

There is a long wooden table and above a railing decorated with hangers for me to no doubt iron and hang Dominic’s clothes. A washing machine sits on the bottom shelf of the large dark brown cupboard while the top is littered with the appropriate washing powder and detergent.

With the information that it was only Dominic who lives here, it made sense that there was only one washing machine. Does that mean I’m doing my washing as well? Would he request our clothes are separated? Come on Mae I’m sure a few bits of underwear and some tops won’t hurt the guy besides he doesn’t wash his clothes. I shrug my shoulder my bottom lip sticking out as I nod my head in agreement with my subconscious.

Sybil had so graciously left the washing basket by the washing machine.

I am no stranger to washing clothes. I can’t be when I lived on my own. I empty the container onto the floor, sorting the clothes from whites, darks and lights. Concluding that Dominic owned nothing light and white in this pile, I stuff the clothes in and fill up the machine before pressing start.

It whirs to life as it begins vibrating threatening to shake out of its cramped confinement on the shelf. On the wooden table was two piles of folded clothes. I’m guessing these are the shirts that need hanging. I pull the iron from on the top shelf and plug it in.

When I was younger, I found ironing very therapeutic. Most jobs that people found tedious I find relaxing it meant that I can go on autopilot not have to use my brain for a while. More times than not, not have to think about what I was going to do next.

I have only been here for less than a day and not to say that I expected to be held in a cage with a collar around my neck saying ‘bitch’, but I did expect something a bit more exciting. I feel more like a housewife than anything else-- cleaning the house while my husband was away on urgent business while simultaneously fucking his assistant because he had grown tired of my unadventurous ways.

And I am no housewife.

Besides our late night arrangement is this going to be my year? The thing I look forward to was seeing Stephen in a few weeks, despite actually being a housewife of sorts for him. The chase is always exciting.

With the all ten shirts ironed and hanging on the rail I still have another hour on the machine before it was due for a spin so, I go to the kitchen.

Now searching was an understatement. Where could water bottles be aside from in a cupboard or the fridge? I close the sixth cupboard for the second time as though relooking will magically mean the water bottles will be there.

“We don’t keep the gym bottles in the kitchen.”

I stand up to see Constance bags in hand as she saunters into the kitchen, she places them on the marble table the bags collapsing with the weight of its contents.

“Where do you keep them?” I ask watching as she begins unpacking her bounty from her travels.

“In the gym, you’ll notice that there’s a cabinet. Take a few bottles from there and place at the back of the fridge.”

I sigh in relief. I am down to my last cupboard before I give up and go onto the next task.

“Thanks, Constance,” I reply gratefully.

“You’re his whore, right?” Constance comments. The quick change of conversation stops me briefly from leaving the kitchen, Constance, however, does not seem phased by the change of pace as she continues unpacking.

“Well, currently it would seem I am his maid,” I correct.

Constance lets out a small chuckle taking me aback. She looks up at me her deep brown eyes almost trying to drown me.

“You’re always his whore, should Master Dominic want it he could request you now, and as to be expected you’d go running.”

This is not my first heckling, and it will surely not be my last. Women of clients tend to have an issue with my presence. As though I went out of my way to be on the arm of their boyfriend, their husband, or their ex. It is not my fault; this a job no different than that of any dull nine to five it pays the bills and does so well.

It was as if they negate entirely the man who’s hired me. The man who requested I be his plus one to the dinner function he knew his ex-wife would be at. The man who knew that his ex-wife would undoubtedly get angry as he requested that I be flirtatious and jaw-dropping and ultimately ruin the night by throwing a drink over both him and me.

The man who knew that would only make her come across as jealous and banshee-like as security escorted her out of the function being the talk of the evening. The man who knew for the rest of the night would be patted on the back repeatedly by other like-minded men while I continued to pretend that I can’t see the lingering gazes and the perverted smiles.

This is not my first heckling.

“Luckily Dominic has not requested me. Thank you for your help.” Without allowing Constance to bother me further, I walk out of the kitchen, heading up the staircase then towards the gym.

It is difficult not to allow these things to bother me. I have been doing this for six years now, and every encounter with someone like Constance was wearing. Even more so when I have to continue my work, it’s hard to fake an orgasm when your heart isn’t in it.

Constance hadn’t been lying. I open the glass cabinet taking out two bottles of water, Gatorade and a Lucozade cupping them under my arm.

For one person living here, it was strange why you’d have more than one of everything. Even if he had bought these on a chance of me staying there’s no need. There are two treadmills and elliptical bikes against the window the one where I can see from the garden.

The other wall has three mirrors with several beams stacked on the wall in between the first and second mirror. On the furthest wall weights line neatly painted black, and two benches evenly spaced within the room, with a dumbbell rack next to one of the benches.

The mini-fridge is placed near the door. I kneel looking through the transparent door at the rows of drinks. Doing as Constance suggested, I put the bottles under my arm to the back of the shelf.

I head downstairs towards my room, further down the hallway was a small door. I open it, revealing the broom cupboard of sorts. I pull the to be expected Dyson hoover, and shamelessly my heart leaps.

Besides enjoying cleaning, I like cleaning the most when effective a Dyson hoover was effective. I stroke the grey and purple coating seductively as though I was about to make love with it on the hallway floor. With no plugging needed, I hoover the first floor.

There wasn’t much needed to hoover. Dominic isn’t a dirty man so I can’t imagine him tracking dirt into the house and to be honest, I can’t imagine him being anywhere worth of dirt.

With the hoover away, I go into my room and somehow between my chores, one of the ladies had brought me my lunch. Placed on a silver tray with a lid on my bed, I sit on the bed with a huff suddenly my feet aching and my back sore.

I have not taken in the time, so as I place the first bite of grilled chicken and quinoa in my mouth. I glance at the small analogue clock on the bedside table. 1:00 exactly. My stomach flutters as my plan has gone exactly as I had expected.

With the food down, I’m sure no one will collect, I go back to the kitchen, leaving the dish on the side before heading into the laundry room to turn the machine on to spin.

I return into the kitchen to wash my plate placing the tray and lid in the correct cupboard which I discovered when I was searching for the water bottles and head to the front door to go to the garden.

I was right to leave it till the afternoon, with the autumnal breeze grabbing at my knees. The sun cast above me makes the chilly weather a bit more bearable.

It’s the winter sun that gets you the worst. With a clear blue sky dotted with clouds, on any other month it’d be a great day to go swimming but instead, here I am hauling the last green bag and slinging it onto a pile of other green bags. Why couldn’t all his trees be evergreen, at least then all the leaves wouldn’t shed at once?

For the most part, Dominic has evergreen trees but with the large maple tree that drops everything but it’s trunk I spend the hour raking and plucking leaves in the most inconvenient places.

My hands are dirtied, and so are my knees, no wonder he has us wear black. Any other colour would have highlighted the strenuous work I had just done. I wash my hands in the sink before finishing the last task hanging his clothes up.

Thankfully in less than an hour, I was dragging my feet to my room, why am I so exhausted? I could clean my whole apartment and not feel this way... oh yes because of these heels! Walking around doing mundane chores in three-inch heels makes even the most straightforward task that much harder.

“Sybil...” I call. I have an hour before my allocated two-hour free time, and she had mentioned that I should come and find her should I finish my tasks. A part of me doesn’t want more work-- my fingers feel raw, my back aches, I know I need a shower, my hair sags and there is a heartbeat on my puncture wound.

With no answer, I don’t bother to repeat myself and almost jog to my room in case she comes and finds me.

I dive headfirst into the bed trying to kick the heels off, but due to them being laced up, I flip over. I raise my leg too tired to raise my upper body and untie them before repeating it to the other shoe. I lay there briefly trying to will the bath to fill itself up, so I don’t have to do anything else.

Realising I was not Magenta. I roll off the bed, instantly regretting it as I crawl into the bathroom, turning on the golden tap and water starts streaming into the bath. I plug up the hole, grabbing the small bottle of bubble bath and emptying a worrying amount knowing that if I sit back down, I will forget.

I lean my head on the black tub. Legs stretch as I lazily remove my clothes almost slithering into the tub like slime. It is not seductive and certainly not sensual, but as the water and soap suds cradle my body, I couldn’t care less.

I curl into the foetal position as my eyes close. I am so exhausted that I don’t even care if I fall asleep and potentially drown. But as my conscious begins to leave my anxiety and OCD left one little post stick note on the inside of my brain.

You forgot to dust!


A.N. It’s crazy to think that my longest chapter is Mae doing housework. 😅 I thought it’d be a great way to see the kind of person Mae is when she’s alone. Tell me what you think. Most importantly thanks for reading!

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