Perfect Sunday
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Detumescence free porn video
DETUMESCENCE
By Rhayna Tera, copyright 2020
Warning: If you don't like reading Fiction Mania stories, then stop
reading now.
Author's Note: none.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses,
places, events, locales, and incidents are used in a fictitious manner.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is
purely coincidental.
RT
WHAT ANNE WANTS
The smell of coffee woke me --- again. I hated it now. It signaled the
start of another long workday. I groaned as I got out of bed. I took off
my nightshirt and went to the washroom: five minutes of reflection. The
shower was running to the correct temperature. I showered. The towel was
warm on the rack. I went back to the bedroom. My business suit for the
day was laid out on the immaculately made bed. I dressed and went
downstairs.
Breakfast immaculately presented on the warm plate on the table. Menu
Item B5 today. Sigh; the routine of this; I miss variety. I ate and read
the freshly ironed newspaper. I skipped to the business section. The
construction industry was doing well enough but not spectacularly. Hotel
occupancies were down. No schools were suffering major plumbing problems.
More of the dreary same, I grumbled to myself. I finished eating and left
the table.
I went back to my immaculately cleaned bathroom and completed my morning
toilet. My mind was already at the office. I own, run, manage, and do
just about every single office job for my plumbing supply company. It's
hard work running a business. I have two new clients coming in today. If
I can sign them to a contract, it might lessen the financial squeeze I
constantly find myself in. I went back downstairs.
My briefcase was on the tidy table and the dishes were already put away.
The kitchen was immaculate. I took the briefcase and left the house. The
door was closed behind me.
Immaculate. My house is immaculate. My fucking life is not.
-----000-----
"Anne, that new client just cancelled," my one and only office assistant
said. She's pregnant and will be gone in a week for several months.
Damn, I thought to myself. I went back to the books and tried to
reconcile the receivables. I think there are accounts owing that total
$45,935. I can't be sure. Accountancy is a challenge, even after trying
to do it for the past year. And I don't have the wherewithal to hire a
regular accountant, nor to face their inevitable inquiries about the
company's history, ownership, and management.
The second prospective new client arrived at 10. We chatted. I thought it
was a good discussion. Unfortunately, their farewell --- "we'll call you,
maybe" --- dimmed my hopes.
I despise the marketing aspect of the job. It requires too much sucking
up and politeness for my liking. I had once thought it would be a bit
more distinguished: "I am President Anne Smith of Smith Plumbing."
Frankly, the presidency is a burden.
My desk was a disaster. Buried somewhere on it was the folder for the big
supply delivery today. If I couldn't find that, then the delivery team
would not be able to sign off the delivery. Paperwork everywhere. I could
really use a secretary here.
And now Ted just quit. He complained about his hours and his rate of pay.
He's been here 12 years and just like that walks out. I know he'll get a
job. The reputation that he built up here will open numerous interview
doors for him. I should be happy for him; I'm not because he just made my
life harder. Why does life do this to me? What did I do to deserve this?
Mid-afternoon, the coffee maker broke. I had rashly economized several
months ago --- "percolated coffee is just fine" --- but even I regretted
its burnt taste. And that stench reeked throughout the office and supply
room. And the coffeemaker from the big discount store was made in a
manner commensurate with its price.
Closing time could not come fast enough.
My hopes of leaving the office at 5 vanished at 4:50. A telephone call
from the manufacturing plant down the road: flooded washrooms, numerous
parts required asap. I called the staff in and briefed them on the
imperative. Under our contract with the plant, we were required to
deliver needed parts within 90 minutes of being notified.
"Are we getting overtime for this?" John asked.
"We better get overtime for this," Mary added.
"You will get overtime for this," I sighed.
-----000-----
Exhausted, I finally parked the car in the garage at 7:20. I walked up
the well-lit path and the front door opened. I walked in and dropped my
briefcase, which got placed on the small foyer table. The foyer was of
course immaculate. The front door was quietly closed behind me.
I wearily made my way toward the dining room. The table was set, the wine
was poured, the ice in the carafe chilled the water. A small bowl of soup
was placed before me. Butternut squash. It was delicious but I couldn't
appreciate it. The bowl was removed.
I drank my wine. My glass was refilled. A perfect Merlot, probably; I
hardly tasted it though I drank it all. I wanted to drown myself with it.
A warmed plate of cauliflower Bolognese with mushrooms appeared before
me; it smelled rich, looked rich, and tasted rich. But it somehow made me
feel poor.
I could only finish half of it. How was I going to come up with the
requisitions in time? Why had Fred decided to have an accident with the
delivery truck? It's four years old and has already been in five
accidents. The insurance payments are going to increase. The staff wage
increases they've been hoping for may not be affordable. Some staff might
look elsewhere for employment. Can I ever let this job leave my mind?
Whatever happened to 'all hail President Anne'? It was supposed to be
that way.
I dropped my napkin on the floor and went upstairs to get changed. A
light gown and comfy slippers greeted me on the bed. The bedroom carpet
had been vacuumed; the lines were perfectly parallel to each other. I
didn't care.
I went back down to the TV room. The TV was already on my favourite
channel: the TeleTubby network. It placed no stress upon me. I didn't see
let alone hear the shows. Its merely being 'on' provided me some
distraction. I sipped my perfect Tequila and put it back on the side
table.
I felt lousy. I hadn't gone to the gym in several months; I felt how I
looked. I hardly ever saw my friends now; did they remember me? My life
had been reduced to the slavery of running a company and being
responsible for...for EVERYTHING!!!
I FUCKING HATE IT!!!
I got up and stormed into the dining room. It was immaculate. You
couldn't tell that there had been a place setting and complete meal
consumed there not 20 minutes ago. I went to the kitchen: yes, immaculate
and don't fucking remind me how nice that is. I am so sick of immaculate.
I finally found my maid in the basement rec room. The maid was on the
king-sized bed wearing a fleece outfit that looked cozy. The maid was
reading a mystery novel, one that I had wanted to read last summer but
couldn't. I envied my maid.
"I want to go back to how things were. I don't like this anymore," I told
my husband.
WHAT NIKKI GETS
"I don't think so," I told my wife.
"Two years ago, you discovered that I was wearing a dress trying to
relax. You didn't believe me when I told you how stressful my job was.
Crossdressing was a silly relief, harmless, I told you. You didn't
believe me and thought it was more than that.
"So, you did everything that one can commonly find on any transgender
sissification fiction site. You gave me low dose hormones to screw up my
body and my mind a bit. You got me in a maid's uniform. You cut me off
from most of my friends and then deceitfully tricked me out of my
company. Don't even get me going about the breast implants and laser hair
removal.
"Anyway, I adjusted and actually started liking it. Compared to founding
and running the company, this is easy. And you got all the stress! You
wanted it. You got it. In fact, this maid-thing you drove me into has
given me an education about work/life balance and quality of life. I
probably would've had a heart attack by now if you hadn't forced me to
become your maid.
"The maid's job is to die for! Once the house is clean, all I have to do
is to stay on top of it. I never knew being a housewife for you, sorry, a
maid for you would be so easy. I know what your routine is at work and
how strenuous things can be. Emergency last minute order or something?
Your problem. I'm really grateful that you bring home the cash. You
wanted my gratitude, you got it.
"Me? I wake up early, putter around to accommodate you, and thrust you
out of the house soonest. A quick tidy up --- it is immaculate, right?
Just like you wanted! --- and by 8 o'clock I have free time. I nap, have
a delightful cappuccino every day, I might go shopping and put it on the
accounts you established so that I would not have any cash. I might visit
the neighbours; they say you never had tea with them; I do all the time;
they're wonderful people!
"Best of all, I've had time to document every single thing you've done to
me. Video. Audio. Photocopies. Photos. Eyewitness statements. Everything.
"So, get out of this beautiful room, which I finally had the time to
renovate this past year, get your fucking ass back upstairs to 'Mistress'
Bedroom', get a good night sleep, and get back to the office tomorrow
morning.
"Or else I will divorce you and take you to the cleaners. Half the house.
Spousal support because I am a simple, enfeebled maid that you cruelly
created. And half the company. You better not run it into the ground
because you, as the sole President, will be personally liable for any
outstanding wages and such.
"No, Anne, no. You wanted control; you got it. Your little maid knows her
place and she ain't leaving it. Never. She loves it! Now, go do your job
--- Mistress!"
END
By Rhayna Tera, copyright 2020
Dottie
- 28.09.2022
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