Punk Taming

And yet, her stomach was full of butterflies.

The punk girl tried to rationalize. She needed to stay on Wexler's good side, after all, if she wanted to make it through the next two weeks without any problems. She was probably just keen to stay on Wexler's good side - out of pure self-interest, of course. Plus, Wexler wasn't pressing charges. She was practically doing Max a favor. Maybe Max was a little bit grateful. That made sense. In a way, Wexler was looking out for her.

That thought made her feel extra warm.

"Hmmm." As Max was grappling with her own thoughts, Wexler was staring intently at one of the kitchen counters, wiping her finger over it and inspecting its surface. "Yes. For a first-time maid, you did well."

Max had to fight down the smile that came to her face, buoyed up by an irrepressible bubble of happiness at even that mild praise. What the fuck was going on with her?

"But I'll expect better tomorrow," Wexler said, in a tone that let Max know she was being dismissed for the day. "And I'll expect you to have dinner on the table for me when I get home."

***

One week. It was amazing how the one week Max had spent working for Miss Wexler felt like an eternity. Everything about performing housework for the CEO now felt utterly routine, like she'd been doing it for years, and it seemed like in that time, so much had changed. Or maybe so little; Max wasn't really sure. She couldn't seem to remember much of what had come before.

It didn't trouble her, and she didn't have time to dwell on it. Max had much more important things to worry about, like making sure she got every speck of dust in Miss Wexler's office, or learning how to polish her expensive shoes just right without damaging them. That morning, as usual, she was arriving early at eight in the morning, carrying a bag of fresh groceries she'd bought on her way. They were for making dinner for her and Miss Wexler later. Miss Wexler always took care of the bill, which was very generous of her.

The CEO was there waiting to let Max in when she arrived. Max took off her shoes as she entered, and then went to put the groceries away in the fridge under Miss Wexler's watchful gaze. The way the CEO looked at her always made Max shrink and feel small, but she didn't dislike it. It just made her body feel a little warm. The only thing she didn't like was the sharp displeasure in Miss Wexler's eyes when she noted Max's clothes. She knew Miss Wexler didn't like her outfits. Max wasn't sure she liked them very much either, these days. They were all so rough and grimy and cacophonous. The punk aesthetic didn't seem to suit her mood. But she had nothing else to wear.

"Time for your medicine," Miss Wexler said, once Max was finished.

Max simply nodded, and allowed Miss Wexler to lead her through into the dining room. There, on the table, was a now-familiar metal box, which Miss Wexler opened as Max took her seat in one of her chairs. The sight of the canister and mask within made all the hairs on the back of Max's neck stand on end, but she forced herself not to show any fear. Being scared would be ridiculous. It was only a little medicine.

"Ready?" Miss Wexler asked.

It took Max only a few moments to fix the mask to her face and tighten the strap to hold it in position. She couldn't imagine refusing, not with Miss Wexler there watching her so sternly.

"Remember," said Miss Wexler, smirking, as she pressed the release switch on her device. "It's for your own good."

Max nodded, and made herself relax into the chair as she started to breathe in the pink gas.

Within moments, the drug swallowed her consciousness. Max choked in fits and starts as she gave herself to its sweet oblivion, her body instinctively rebelling against the foreign substance. There was no fighting it, however. It was far, far too potent. It didn't take long for Max's body to surrender too. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she slumped limply to one side, almost slipping out of her chair until Miss Wexler moved to catch her.

A couple of minutes later, Max drifted back to herself. She lifted her head groggily, and then blushed bright red when she looked up and realized that she was in Miss Wexler's arms.

"How do you feel?" Miss Wexler asked, not unkindly. She didn't push Max away, so Max took comfort in how safe she felt in the CEO's embrace.

"Um... good," Max answered, and it was true. Her head felt desperately foggy and bleary but she had learned that there was a strange comfort in the fog. It made drifting through each day feel light and effortless, even as she was working hard for Miss Wexler's sake.

"Excellent." Miss Wexler graced Max with a rare smile. It was like the sun coming out from behind clouds. Its warmth banished even Max's embarrassment.

"Thank you," Max murmured.

There was still a flickering of doubt in her heart. She didn't know why Miss Wexler made her feel this way. It didn't seem to make any sense. It went against everything she'd thought she knew. That should have made her angry. It should have. But anger was so far beyond her, now. All she felt was contentment. Max was starting to wonder if Miss Wexler had been right all along - about rehabilitation. About everything.

"I need to get to work," Miss Wexler told her after a moment had passed. Max immediately and regretfully pulled away, suddenly stung with shame at the thought that she could ever have made Miss Wexler late. Miss Wexler was such an important woman. "But first," the CEO added, "I have something for you."

Max blinked. "Oh?"

Her employer reached under her dining table and dragged out a pair of huge shopping bags, each one full to bulging. Max's eyes went big and round, and she was already shaking her head, mortified. She didn't deserve these, whatever they were.

Miss Wexler opened one of the bags and pulled out a dress. "New clothes," she stated. "Put this on."

A gift from Miss Wexler was too precious for Max to refuse. She stood up, the pink fog in her head bubbling a smile up to her lips. She gingerly took the garment from Miss Wexler's hands. It looked more expensive than anything she'd ever owned in her life.

"While you're in my house, you represent me," Miss Wexler said, guessing at Max's thoughts. "And I won't have you looking cheap. Now, hurry up."

Chastised, Max tore off her clothes. Being in front of Miss Wexler in her underwear was incredibly flustering, but she couldn't make the CEO late. As quickly as she could, Max put the dress on. It was frilly and old-fashioned, with a mid-length skirt and a cinch belt that she pulled tight around her waist. It was pink - not Max's color at all, but that didn't matter. She fell in love with it at once. It made her heart flutter, and the sense of delicacy and femininity it filled her with was oddly thrilling.

"Very nice," Miss Wexler purred. Max blushed harder. "I was wondering if that might be a push too far. Evidently not."

Max tilted her head. She didn't understand.

"Perhaps it's time for this, then," Miss Wexler said to herself. She was already heading out towards the door. "You know, 'Max' really doesn't suit you anymore. It's far too coarse. Your full name is 'Maxine'. I'll expect you to answer to that from now on."

Then, she was gone. Max's chest tightened. She couldn't keep still. She started bouncing one leg, sending the skirt of her new dress flapping.

Maxine.

Why hadn't she thought of it before?

***

Maxine stood in the kitchen, watching the pot of sauce she was cooking like a hawk as she stirred in the cornflour mixture. Miss Wexler was going to be home at any moment, and she had to make sure her favorite dish was thickened just right. Maxine was proud that she'd gotten so good at cooking in such a short amount of time; until just a few weeks ago, she'd seldom done anything more than reheat leftover takeout.

Weeks...

How long had it been, exactly? Maxine made an idle little mental attempt to count the days and months, knowing full well that she wouldn't be able to, and that it didn't really matter. She didn't have a head for things like that. She'd have been hopeless without Miss Wexler to guide her. Vaguely, she remembered a man telling her that her agreed rehabilitation period was up, and that she could stop working for Miss Wexler if she wanted to. That seemed like quite a long time ago, now.

Maxine had refused, obviously. Homemaking for the CEO was more than just a job, at this point. It was her calling. Nothing made her happier. Nothing had ever made her happier. Besides, where would she go? Miss Wexler had generously allowed Maxine to move in with her recently. It had made perfect sense. Maxine spent all her time at Miss Wexler's house anyway. And moving had been easy, once she'd thrown away all her old clothes.

A key turned in the lock of the front door. Immediately, Maxine turned the pot down to a simmer, scampered to the front door, and checked herself to make sure her dress and her apron both looked smooth, neat, and presentable. The entire house was spotless, and so was Maxine. She'd been growing her hair out; it was still shorter than a lady's should be, Miss Wexler said, but now that it had some length to it she was able to get it styled in lavish, voluminous waves.

"Welcome home, Miss Wexler," Maxine greeted her when the door opened, her hands folded neatly in front of herself.

"Thank you, Maxine," Miss Wexler replied, swooping into her home.

The CEO's presence made the air feel electric. Maxine was always in awe of her. She was so beautiful, and more than that, so powerful. So confident. So poised. Maxine couldn't dream of the responsibilities on her shoulders, but Miss Wexler always carried them like they were nothing. She provided for everything Maxine needed. How could she not feel grateful?

Miss Wexler took a moment to look around, inspecting Maxine's handiwork. Maxine knew that the entire house was perfectly clean, but she was still a little nervous. Miss Wexler was a perfectionist, after all.

"Good," Miss Wexler murmured, and then looked straight at Maxine. "I think you're ready for the final step."

Maxine shivered, filled with a mixture of anxiety and trepidation.

"Come with me, Maxine."

This time, Miss Wexler led Maxine to her home office instead of the dining room, but she picked up the cube-like device Maxine was now so familiar with on the way. Her office felt to Maxine like a chapel. It was the place Miss Wexler handled all of her important work. Maxine had only been in there to clean it, reverentially wiping the dust from her expensive desk, careful not to disturb any of the papers. Miss Wexler sat herself down in her comfortable, throne-like, leather chair. Maxine just stood.

"I've decided that we should make our arrangement permanent," Miss Wexler announced. "Here are the documents."

Maxine blinked and looked down at the sheets of paper Miss Wexler slid towards her. It was a marriage contract.

"Your signature is all that's needed," Miss Wexler added, by way of explanation. "My lawyers have made all the other preparations."

Maxine didn't know what to say. She could barely believe what she was hearing. Her? Married to Miss Wexler? It sounded absurd. Miss Wexler was just so... so far above her. So wealthy. So intelligence. So forceful. She always made Maxine feel so timid and awed. How could Maxine ever be a worthy wife to her?

Wife.

She shivered.

"Hurry up," Miss Wexler told her impatiently. "Sign."

As always, Maxine couldn't disobey her. She lifted Miss Wexler's pen from the desk and scrawled her signature on the dotted line.

"Excellent," Miss Wexler purred. "There won't be any need for a wedding. And don't worry, I'll handle all of our shared finances."

Maxine nodded. She trusted Miss Wexler to look after her and provide for her.

"There's just one more thing to discuss." Miss Wexler's voice changed as she said that, becoming sultry and hungry. "One more new duty for you. Something you can get started on right away."

A shiver ran down Maxine's spine. She could tell exactly what Miss Wexler was referring to.

Sex.

Maxine licked her dry lips. Lately, she'd been far too busy with her household duties to seek satisfaction with anyone else, and she'd never imagined she would get to share Miss Wexler's bed. Her body was starting to burn with excitement. Miss Wexler was magnificent, and Maxine was sure her skills as a top hadn't faded. She'd do whatever it took to satisfy her new wife. Maxine reached down to slip out of her panties, and then started to lift her dress off over her head.

"What are you doing?" Miss Wexler said sharply. Her eyes were flickering with a mix of irritation and amusement.

Maxine froze, and let her dress drop back into place. "I thought-"

"That's unnecessary," Miss Wexler cut her off. "I'll teach you what to do. Your mouth is the only thing I'll need. Now. Kneel."

"H-huh?"

Despite her confusion and dismay, Maxine sank to her knees. Obeying Miss Wexler's commands was utterly instinctive. From that position, her wife looked even more indomitable, but the mocking leer on her face awakened something in Maxine. Was she really going to do this? To obediently kneel and worship a rich CEO? The woman whose car she'd keyed? Maxine kept blinking rapidly. Where did that memory come from? She hadn't thought about it in a long time, but it seemed so important.

"Wait," Maxine said, the truth slowly dawning on her. "No, no, this isn't-"

As always, Miss Wexler was too quick for her. There was a click, and then the telltale hiss of gas, and then Maxine's struggles were over.

Miss Wexler loomed over her, pressing the mask onto her face. Too confused to resist, Maxine simply breathed in the gas. Her susceptibility to the pink, mind-warping pheromones had only grown, and it took mere seconds for any doubts she was harboring about Miss Wexler to dissolve into fog. She slumped, legs splaying apart messily underneath her. Without thinking about it, she reached out for Miss Wexler's leg to steady herself. Now-familiar instincts were returning with irresistible intensity: submission, servitude, fidelity. Maxine embraced them, and filled her lungs with more and more of the sinister medicine.

When Miss Wexler removed the mask, Maxine started scolding herself. How could she have been doubting her wife? She only had one purpose in life: making Miss Wexler happy. Whatever it took.

Fortunately, she knew Miss Wexler wouldn't hold it against her. She was always so patient whenever Maxine was being foolish.

Miss Wexler spread her legs apart and, still in a drug-induced haze, Maxine pressed herself into the space between her thighs, looking up worshipfully at her owner before she started to kiss and lick.

This was a housewife's duty.