Maid to Order, Made for More

I never used to be this vain. I never used to be such a slut, but things changed. I changed. My life wasn't what I'd thought it would be.

My parents always said I was destined for greatness. I don't know if it was a reaction because of how my siblings turned out, or if they genuinely believed it. But that always stuck with me.

My name is Gabriella Garcez, and I am 25 years old. I was born in a small town in southern Mexico. I think I was an unplanned child, because both of my parents were in their late forties when I was born. I never had much, but I was always happy. Mom and Dad doted on me, and my sisters always complained that I was the favorite. I couldn't blame them though. I was the favorite. I was the only one of their kids with a head on their shoulders. My brother had joined a gang after he left home and we barely ever heard from him, except when he wanted something. My sister's were both idiots, and they ended up pregnant by the time they were 16. I was young at the time, and even I knew how irresponsible that was.

As I got older, my sisters left, so I was the only child left at home. My Dad worked multiple jobs to get us by, and my Mom was kept very busy at work as well, so a lot of chores fell on me. I cleaned. I washed clothes. I did lawn work. I even cooked. I grew to hate these chores, but I understood why I had to do it, so I never resented my parents for it.

I was a very idealistic child. I knew I was poor, but I figured if I worked hard, and if I studied hard, it would all work out. I would save my family. I was a bookworm. A straight-A student. I was fluent in both Spanish and English. I wanted to go to College and get a good job to rescue my parents from the tiny house we shared.

I had been so focused on school that I ignored boys for the longest time. I focused on my school work, or my house work, and eventually, my job. So that left no time for relationships. And I was fine with that. I was happy with that. Even though I wore hand-me down clothes, even though I had very little I could call my own, I was happy. I was so focused on my dream I wouldn't let myself get down.

Mom had her own plans for me. She wanted me to go to the land of freedom. The great beacon of hope: America. She told me she wanted me to go to America, live a happy life, and marry a nice, rich American man. I always laughed this off. That wasn't my type of plan.

It wasn't until my last year of high-school where that dream died. I applied to schools all over the place, and I got accepted to every one of them, but I didn't have the money. I applied for scholarships, but none of them came through. I had to choose between a lifetime of debt or giving up my dream. So it was then that my dream died.

I was definitely depressed for awhile, as I had to come to terms with the fact that I would be stuck in squalor for my entire life. For the first time in my life, I felt like I deserved better. I didn't deserve this! It just felt wrong. It felt like my life wasn't supposed to turn out this way. It truly felt like I was meant for better. The things that didn't bother me before bothered me now. The constant work. The shitty house. Living in poverty. I suddenly hated it all. Being stuck in a house with my parents suddenly became the last thing I would ever want. I stopped trying in school, and my grades suffered. But it didn't matter anyway, so why bother? Now that my focused had shifted away from school work, I could no longer ignore that burning desire inside of me. That un-ignorable, unquenchable desire to fuck!

One other thing my parents always thought about me was that I would be trouble. I surprised them by being so studious and such a straight arrow, but I had the looks to cause some trouble. And my looks became hard to ignore as I matured. I would freely admit I was a great looking girl, but I was not the type to flaunt it, at least not back then. I had a pretty face, a hot body, and some nice big jugs, so it was inevitable that I would get the boys attention. When I was being studious, I ignored the boys. They were pesky distractions. But once I stopped caring about my grades, I began to give the boys more thought. That tension coming from my cunt was too much to ignore. I had heard rumors that people thought I was too uptight. That I needed one good fuck so I'd stop being such a bitch. And, although it sounds crass, it kinda was the truth. I eventually gave in to a boy's charms, and even though the actual sex was nothing to speak of, it tapped into something deep inside me. I suddenly had this itch inside me that needed to be scratched. And the only thing that could was a giant cock!

I don't know how I ignored the pleasures of cock for so long. I had looked down on my sisters for so long for being such sluts, but it became clear that I had something in common with them. I loved cock! All that time I spent studying before was now spent boy hunting. Unfortunately, I never had that incredible, life changing sex I was hoping for. High school boys were only capable of so much. But they did teach me one thing that stuck with me to this day. Boys were willing to shower me with gifts so I would stay with them. It was as if they realized I was better at sex than they were, and they had to give me gifts in order to keep my attention. It was a bit intoxicating to witness. And believe me, I was much better at fucking than they were. I don't know if there was a girl in Mexico who could suck cock like I could. But, anyway, for the first time, I was being given things. Presents. Things that were mine and all mine. It made me realize how easy men are to manipulate. How just a little bit of pussy could change them. How just a little bit of pussy could make a man yours. And from that point on, I just had to think, if these boys were willing to give me gifts for how well I could fuck in high school, I could only imagine what men would give me once I got really fucking good.

By the end of the school year, I had cut myself off from sex, knowing I needed better than what these boys could offer. For the first time, I agreed with my mother's plan for me. I had to go to America. I had to find a rich American man with a big fat cock to take care of me. That was the way forward. That was my plan.

With the border control tightening up, it became hard for a lot of people to cross the border. It took some people years. It took me two days. All it took was my magic mouth. I sucked cock all the way across the border, into the land of the free. Into my new home. America.

Unfortunately, work doesn't come easy for illegal immigrants. They weren't looking for someone smart. They were looking for some brainless 'wetbacks' to do grunt work. I tried for a few jobs, but I could tell how put off they were by my intelligence. So eventually, I realized I had to create a character, a dumb airhead Mexican bimbo who could barely speak English. And the jobs came rolling in. Some of my friends worked as maids, and they were the ones that helped find me the job. I hated the idea of being a maid, I hated all the cleaning and that shit. It reminded me of a past I should be beyond. But it was all part of the plan. I needed to keep myself afloat until a man came in and swept me off my feet. And once I did, I would make him mine. I thought again about the couple I would be working for.

I smiled as I realized that Irene wasn't just hiring a maid. She was hiring her replacement.

***********

(Irene)

I rolled my eyes as I watched Gabby show me how she dusted.

"No, Gabby, here, let me show you." I said impatiently, grabbing the rag out of her hand and scrubbed the dresser in the correct manner.

"You see what I am doing. Circular motions to make sure you get everything. No streaks of dust." I said. She looked up at me with those big eyes of hers.

"Yes. I see." Gabby said with a smile as I watched her replicate what I did. I nodded and left the room to take care of some business. I walked back in to where she was after about twenty minutes to inspect her work. She stood proudly as I walked in. I looked at the dresser, and as soon as I lifted a jewelry box, I saw a big patch of dust.

"Gabby, you have to dust under this stuff." I told her.

"Uh, why? You don't see it." Gabby said. I rolled my eyes right in front of her.

"Dust gets under things." I explained like I would to a slow person, illustrating my fact. Annoyed, I left her to finish her job, hoping she wasn't this bad at cleaning.

The next day, I went to grab some laundry to see how she did. As soon as I opened the washer, I saw what was wrong. I stormed into the lounge, where she was vacuuming. I watched how she was doing it, and I cringed. She wasn't vacuuming in neat lines, giving the carpet a clean pattern of lines formed by the vacuum. But no, she was vacuuming in random lines from one corner, making the carpet look like a jumble of lines. It drove the organized side of me crazy.

"No, no!" I said, annoyed. I grabbed the vacuum from her hands. "Neat lines. Straight lines." I said, showing her the proper way to vacuum, with perfect parallel lines.

"Oh, okay." Gabby nodded.

"Second, what's this?" I said, holding out a pink shirt.

"What?" she said.

"You put a red shirt in with the whites!" I said. "I told you the whites are whites and light colors!"

"But, the shirt was light red." Gabby said naively. My fists clenched.

"No, red is a dark color. Whites are white and grey, maybe. No red." I said angrily.

"I sorry." Gabby said, sensing my anger.

The next day, she had made me lunch. While the food was admittedly very good, as I opened up the dishwasher, a wave of smells hit my nose. I looked into the dishwasher, and saw all the dishes were caked with food, and there were chunks of food along the bottom. I approached Gabby, who was putting food away.

"Gabby, you wash off the plate and scrape off the food before you put it in the dishwasher." I told her tersely, roughly shoving a dish under the spigot and running the plate through the water, making sure every bit of food was removed from the plate before putting it back in the dishwasher.

"But, it dishwasher. It washes dish." Gabby said.

I had to walk out of the room or I would scream in annoyance. I tried to be patient with her. I did. But, I shouldn't have to do this much hand holding. Every little thing she did began to annoy me. Her positive, cheery, girly attitude. Her second hand t-shirts that were a size too small. The ones that were so thin you could see her nipples and see that she clearly was not wearing a bra. Even though she didn't need it, since those tits of her infuriatingly perky. And when I caught her listening to a CD and dancing to it as she cleaned, I couldn't help but be aggravated. I know what she did was not a sin, but I couldn't help but tell her no music. This was work. It didn't help that her tiny jeans molded to her butt, and she was shaking it in time to the music. For some reason, that is what set me over the top. Her smile dropped as I turned off the music, but she still bopped around as she cleaned in silence, the beat still echoing in her tiny brain.

***********

(Troy)

"Here you go." Gabby said, putting plates in front of me and Irene on the table.

"Thank you, Gabby." I told her, causing her to smile and blush slightly. I didn't recognize the plate in front of me. Gabby said it was a dish her mother would always make for her. It was her favorite. I took a tentative bite, and my eyes opened wide as the flavor hit my tongue. It was spicy, but not overwhelmingly so. It was much different than what I was used to.

"Oh my God! This is so good!" I said, marveling at the dish in front of me.

"Oh. Thank you." she said meekly, blushing girlishly, turning to clean her dishes.

"You never say that to me." Irene whispered to me. I looked back at her, noticing her hurt expression.

"Well, that's cause you're cooking is terrible." I said, causing us both to laugh. Irene was always the first to point out her own faults, so she was very open with the fact that she was a terrible cook, and she joked about it often, so I felt no hesitance to joke about it to her face.

"You got me." she said, resuming the meal.

Even though she joked about it, I could tell there was some part of her that kinda resented that Gabby was a better cook than she was. Irene was the type of woman who liked to be the best at whatever she did. She was constantly looking to improve herself, but to me, she was perfect as is.

I had never been the type of guy who loved high-society girls. My parents always tried to fix me up with those types of girls, but those relationships never lasted. Those girls were just so shallow and vapid and had nothing to say.

Some people had told me that I acted like I resented coming from money. I wouldn't agree with that; I felt lucky to be born into such blessings; but I just never felt comfortable having so much money, more than I would ever need, while so many were struggling to get by. I wasn't the type of guy to reject my family's money and make my name on my own terms. I didn't want to disrespect my family like that. So, I just felt like I could play the role I was given, with a beeline into my father's company, and I knew I wouldn't have it too bad. But I vowed to give back when I could. I vowed not to get lost in high society.

Like I said before, I didn't like high-society girls. I liked girls with character. And Irene, she had more character than most. She wasn't raised with money. She had to get where she was trough hard work and dedication. And so when I first met her, I could immediately tell this about her, and that attracted me to her. It didn't hurt that she was darn cute as well.

She had shoulder length blonde hair, and a strikingly pretty face. Some might see her and view her as looking kind of bitchy, with her thin, pointed eyebrows and expressions that made her look upset, but I was able to see the soft side of her. Her body was thin, svelte, and fit. She was a petite girl, a real girl. Not like those high society girls with their endless curves and jaw dropping bodies. No those girls were all-show. They had the best bodies money could buy. But they were not genuine bodies. I didn't need a girl with huge, round boobs, plump, firm, asses, and sexy long legs. Those were things a shallow guy would want. Those were the things a rich materialistic guy would want, and I was never that guy. Even though Irene had little boobies, and a tiny, cute ass, I loved it. I loved her body. I loved every bit of her body. It had character. And she had character to match.

I loved every bit of her. He perfections and her imperfections. Her talents and her flaws. Her quirks and her foibles. Her idiosyncrasies and her normalcy.

Nothing made me happier than seeing her experience the life I had. Seeing her so wide-eyed and awestruck reminded me of the blessings I had. And I was happy to have her move into this life permanently. And seeing her freed from having to scratch and claw for every penny, and the pressure that added to her, warmed my heart.

I'm capable of self-reflection, so I didn't want anyone to think I was the type of guy to want to rescue someone. That I wanted to heroically rescue a girl from poverty and debt, and have her be so grateful to me that she owes me something. That was not my style at all, and I think everyone that got to know both me and Irene learned that as well.

Irene and I are a great match. We have a very playful relationship. I was typically a lot more easy going than she was, so I had my fun trying not to make her so serious all the time. I would prank her constantly, and even though she would get pissed when I did it, she would eventually come around to see the humor in it. These pranks started small, typical pranks, like water balloons, or loosening a salt shaker. But a prank war ensued, and it had escalated. She would try to get my back, but I could see her tricks coming a mile away, so she rarely pranked me. But occasionally, she could get me. Last time she did, she replaced all the files in my briefcase with candy bars. I was heavily embarrassed at work, and I vowed revenge. I hadn't got it yet, but I vowed to get her good.

In a way, we were mis-matched. She was serious, I was jokey. But that kept it fun. She would make me take things more seriously, and I would try to loosen her up. Even though she at times acted seriously, I could tell when she was fooling around. She had a snarky sense of humor, a little mean, but not too bad. She was the type that would say things that people wouldn't receive as jokes, but I did, as I understood her sense of humor. It was a little dark, a little mean, but my sense of humor was a little darker than some might think. So like I said, we were a good match.

That translated to the bedroom as well. Irene and I had a great sex life. Me trying to loosen her up carried over into the sack. I was more experienced in the bedroom than she was, so I was the one trying to get her to try new things. She was open for new things, to a point, but those points were lines I would not expect any sensible girl to cross. Lines that I would feel guilty about crossing. Lines that if I crossed, I would know that the girl was a bad girl, a nasty girl. So there was not any part of our sex life that left me wanting more. Irene was everything I could hope for and expect from a woman. She was open for new things, and things were always kept interesting. Usually, I was the aggressor, but occasionally, she was the aggressor, and those were the times that we had the most fun.

Anyway, Gabby had been working here for a little over a week. To be honest, I only interacted with her before I left for work, and after I got home, so I wasn't the one around her most of the day, Irene was. There was definitely an adjustment period for her working here, and Irene was always trying to make sure things were done to her liking. That was her style. So, Gabby struggled for a few days, as she tried to meet Irene's standards. She was a hard worker, and open to advice. But, according to Irene, there was... room for improvement. Sometimes, she would miss certain aspects of the rooms, and also she would run late. This one was understandable, as she would have to take the bus to get anywhere close to this side of town. But I could tell Irene was annoyed by this. But one thing that Gabby was excellent at was cooking. Her food was amazing. Every breakfast she had made had been different, but all were delicious, and she always had dinner ready as soon as I got home. It was never anything I expected from Irene, but it was a nice thing to have.

The striking thing about Gabby was that she was such a sweetheart. I never saw her without a smile on her face. She was sweet and cute and funny. She was a welcome presence around the house, and I was happy to see that. Like I had said before, I liked girls with character, and she had a lot of it. It took a little digging, as her English wasn't so good, but she had a fascinating story. Hearing her tell about her small poor family, and her trek to America, it was all fascinating stuff, and I enjoyed hearing about it.

But, like I said, I was not the one around the house most of the day. Irene was. And Irene was the one who wanted the maid, so it was her opinion about Gabby that mattered.

**********

(Irene)

Gabby was a sweetheart. She really was. But she was so... dumb. I mean, she was as sweet as they come, but I had to show her again and again how to dust the way I expected, how to do the laundry the way I liked, etc. Again and again, I would show her the proper way to dust, and she would smile sweetly and nod, but I could tell it wasn't getting through. I could tell she wasn't much of a student.

My goal was to not have to be here to show here these things, that I could go out and do my own thing during the day, but I was stuck looking over her shoulder and making sure she did things correctly. And with the tops she wore, being over her shoulder meant having a primo view down her expansive cleavage, which just pissed me off. They were so big and perfect. I hated her. It was hard to scold her, because she seemed so sweet and fragile, and it felt like if I scolded her, it would be like slapping a puppy. So I bit my tongue as she tried her best, even though it didn't match my expectations. I would vent to Troy, and he eventually talked me into taking it slow, taking it easy on her, and letting things go, as he tended to do when I got upset.