Free Maid for It (A Maids for It Novella) by Lucy Rodgers Page A

slave. And your Master says you need to go home.”
    I bow my head, blinking back tears. Even now,
I can’t defy him.
    A rustling sound tells me he’s gotten to his
feet, but I don’t dare look. I imagine he’s leaving me alone again,
but instead, I feel him push aside the hair at the back of my
neck.
    I tense, every muscle in my body going rigid,
poised for flight. I know what he’s about to do. No, no,
no.
    But it’s already too late. The key is already
in the lock, the lock is already turned, the hinge is already open,
and the glorious, defining weight of the collar is gone.
    He was right when he told me his punishments
would be worse than anything I might experience in that
room . Nothing could be worse than being free.

    “Aeromexico Flight 934 to Culiacan will now
begin boarding. Please have your boarding passes and passports
ready for inspection at the gate.”
    The loudspeaker announcement repeats in
Spanish while I rifle in my handbag—Coach, a parting gift from
Travis of all people—for the Mexican passport Ben procured for me.
I can only assume he has as many important clients in the Mexican
government as he does to the American, because it’s the genuine
article, not a fake, delivered by a high-level representative from
the consulate who arrived in a liveried limo.
    “We will begin our boarding with passengers
seated in first class.”
    I stand up, sling the bag over my shoulder,
and grab the handle of my rolling carry-on bag. My feet are leaden
as I thread my way through the throng of coach passengers who crowd
the path to the gate, waiting to charge when their “zone” is
called. I fall in line behind a tall, neatly dressed businessman
with graying hair. The gate attendant is scanning his boarding pass
when the full import of what I’m about to do comes crashing down on
me.
    Once I get on this plane, I’ll never see Ben
again. Never touch him, never kiss him, never suck his cock, never
sit in his lap on the pool deck while unsuspecting passersby watch
us fuck. Never feel him trail his fingers through my hair as though
he’s discovered some mysterious new element or lie in his arms
while he falls into one of his all-too-rare, all-too-brief
slumbers.
    Even if he’s right and I would never have
chosen to become his slave if not for the threat of deportation and
death, those threats no longer exist. Cantavares is dead. And
there’s no reason for me to worry about deportation. If Ben can get
me a legitimate Mexican passport in two days, he can get me a visa
to stay in the US at the snap of his fingers.
    Free will. I have it again.
    And there is no way I’m getting on this plane
of my own free will.
    “Miss,” the gate attendant says expectantly,
holding out her hand for my documents.
    “I’m sorry,” I say. “I find I’m in need of
the ladies’ room.”
    The attendant gives me a sympathetic look and
points to the left. “The closest one is that way, miss.”
    “Thank you.”
    I walk as sedately as I can in the direction
of the ladies’ room. As luck would have it, it’s also the same
direction as baggage claim and the exit. Once I’m past the entrance
to the restroom and out of sight of the gate, I break into a
jog.
    Ben was right when he said I needed to go
home. He was just wrong about where home is.

    I swing the door to Ben’s office open,
knowing that’s where I’ll find him. It’s his retreat, his
sanctuary, and the only place he’s going to be on a day like
today.
    I’m not wrong. He’s sitting in front of his
computer, but he’s not working. Instead, he’s looking at a picture
on the screen.
    My picture. The one Evan Daniels had
taken of me for the Maid for It website. The website is long
gone, shut down on the day Daniels was arrested, but Ben managed to
save my photo.
    Confidence swells in my chest. He didn’t send
me away because he didn’t want me anymore, but because he did.
    I’m not sure if it’s the sound of the door
opening or the sudden flood of light as