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6 — Sunday
There was a problem with success; sooner or later you had to face the reality that it was happening, and happening to you. Kim re-read her earnings statement for her last ‘confessional’ novella with a growing sense of dread. ‘How I Became a Catgirl Maid’ had sold enough copies that it almost paid her rent by itself, it had enough positive reviews to get some traction on a few websites specializing in that sort of fiction and, to Kim’s complete bewilderment, people thought it was good! Maybe not perfect, but they liked the idea enough to consider purchasing another one for a friend.
It should’ve been something she was excited about, but the only thing she could think about was Sylvia’s stern expression boring down on her as Kim attempted to sell their family secrets through thinly veiled characters and amateur writing. She couldn’t even say it was some of her best work- there was no justifying what she was doing.
And yet. . .
Kim leaned back in her chair, listening for a moment to the pre-sunrise ambiance of her little apartment– the coughing old man upstairs, the distant thrum of cars trundling by her building, the soft creaks and groans of a world that was just starting to awaken to a new day. None of it knew about what she’d done, none of the people involved had either. Even the pen name Kim had set up was far enough removed from her actual identity that no one could find who’d originally penned it. She’d done everything right and she’d been rewarded for it.
Slowly, as if they’d disappear if she moved too quickly, Kim hoisted her foot up on to her desk and inspected the rosettes she’d pained on her leg. Upon her thick thigh, they were a sign of grace and some measure of dignity that only amplified the quality of her satin uniform. Like her tail, they were part of her persona as the McKenna’s maid. Hadn’t she earned those, too?
Hadn’t she demonstrated a willingness to serve and likewise been rewarded for it? Wasn’t this part of her reward? Would they even care if they knew? Kim traced a finger over one of the patterns as she stared at the spreadsheet that was documenting her future’s history in plain black and white. The numbers didn’t lie, the marks on her body didn’t either.
This was what she wanted. All of it.
But part of being a good maid was being honest, wasn’t it? Kim pouted her lips. To be honest and to serve the family. Maybe she was wrong to think she knew what she was doing, but that didn’t stop her from wanting it to be right. There was something she could do to set this right, something she could undo if it wasn’t wanted and would still help the family no matter what; yes, a small act of contrition.
Kim picked up her old cell phone and dialed her Internet provider. When the pre-recorded message picked up telling her they were closed on Sunday started, she mashed her way through the menu to leave a message. “Hi, I’d like to get service activated at an address out in the Pines area. It can go on my account. . . .here’s the address.”
Kim pulled up to the McKenna’s household to find Elliot and Sylvia sitting on the porch beside one another. With no furniture, they looked like teenagers sharing some private moment away from their parents, murmuring about what they’d do when they were finally old enough to run off with dad’s pickup truck and make the world theirs.
Sylvia had her hand behind Elliot’s back and his was upon her bare knee. It poked out from her house coat- a glimpse at the private treasure of her lithe outline. Yet when Kim pulled in they both stood and wandered inside, leaving the door open for their maid. A brief flash of panic surged through Kim as she approached– had they found out? Were they upset?
But the moment she crossed the threshold, Kim began to understand that there was indeed something different about the couple. It wasn’t necessarily something she’d done- something about the way they looked at one another, something in the way they strolled confidently through their kingdom with their servant in tow.
They were masters of their domain and all they surveyed, aware of everything within their reach and all the possibilities those things held. Something had changed between last night and this morning, though Kim couldn’t figure out what it was, there was an undercurrent of warmth to her masters that made them new people in her eyes. Something she hadn’t quite seen before, but something that made them all the more.
As they passed Sylvia’s studio they parted, Elliot continuing down to the study. Their pinkie fingers lopped around each other briefly, tugging playfully before their owners split up. Kim stood there in the throat of the hall wondering about the full ramifications of what she’d just seen but unable to think of any possible downside to that kind of closeness. If anything, it was probably a healthy- and rare- display of affection they shared.
It was that image that started her day and carried with her as she went about her daily chores, that warmth and güvenilir canlı bahis siteleri contentedness the McKennas shared was something missing in Kim’s life usually but she’d long ago resigned herself to the idea of being alone. Not that she was upset about it, she just had different priorities and when push came to shove, she liked her independence and being able to come and go as she pleased. . .
Between cleaning the bathrooms and recovering the laundry the thought occurred to her that she was maybe more feline than she’d given herself credit for. With the exception of having an aversion to water, she had the other traits– independence, a fleeting interest in the company of others, and maybe the occasional desire to claw someone when they tickled her belly. But then there were the other aspects, too: wanting to see a good job done well, to see a home clean and- if she was being really honest- approval of someone, validation that she’d done something well.
It hadn’t just been the McKennas grooming her to be their catgirl maid, it was a fit for her on some deeply personal level she’d never realized. Kim had to smile at that idea, though her smile faltered when she saw the note on Elliot and Sylvia’s bedroom door: “Just leave this be for today.”
Maybe their early morning affections weren’t so out of place after all. The older maid shrugged and finished up collecting the laundry she could. She stopped outside of Rebeca’s room and gave a quick knock.
The girl opened almost instantly- hair splayed out at odd angles and eyes ringed with exhaustion. Oh, but that smile lit up her face the moment it took shape and for just a split second Kim almost forgot where things stood. A passing fancy, but Kim was quick to correct it; she hefted up the laundry basket by way of explanation.
Rebeca looked confused briefly before it clicked. “I uh, I’ll take care of my stuff. But uh, thanks!”
“Are you sure? I can–“
“All right, how about lunch?” After a beat Kim glanced down the hall and lowered her voice to a whisper. “And I’d like to talk to you a bit later if you’re not busy.”
That seemed to throw the girl for a loop, she rubbed at her eyes and, as if they were sharing some earth shattering secret, she eyed Kim with theatrical skepticism; squinting. “Is that code for ‘hey, let’s talk about opening a maid cafe?’ Because if it is, I’m not sure I’m ready to commit. I need to paws and reflect.”
“Really?” Kim groaned.
“What? Cat got your tongue?”
Kim shook her head with a smile, “I wanted to talk about your Internet situation and-” She paused, uncertain. “I ah, asked the cable company to come out here and install a connection for you. . . .I can still cancel it, and I need to talk it over with your father, but I wanted to let you know. I know it’s important to what you do.”
Rebeca looked at Kim oddly for a moment, as if it never occurred to her that someone would do something like that for her. Then, to Kim’s surprise, she stepped from around the door and wrapped the older catgirl maid in a hug. In that moment it was almost all worth it, the thought that Kim could gain acceptance from the entire family all the way down was a heady concept and something she’d never considered.
It also occurred to her at that moment that Rebeca might’ve been skipping out on wearing something under her thigh length hoodie. As the grey fabric rose higher and higher, cresting her butt, Kim realized she definitely wasn’t wearing anything under it. Half way over her butt, Rebeca realized what she was doing too and drew back, pulling her hoodie down with a furious blush.
Kim did her best to pretend she didn’t see anything, putting on an easy smile and measuring her words. “I’ll need your help to convince Elliot it’s worth it, but I don’t think that’ll be too hard.”
“U- uh. Y- Yep. Yeah.” Rebeca nodded. “Noproblem!” She blurted. “I uhm- I’m gonna go get a shower and get dressed.”
“Sure,” Kim drew back a bit more. “How about lunch?”
“That sounds great. Anything’ll do, thanks. Yep. Thanks!” She smiled bright and disappeared back into her room. No sooner did the door close than Kim could hear Rebeca’s weight slump against it and the telltale scraping of fabric sliding down the wood. Kim did her best not to laugh when Rebeca thumped her head against the door a moment later.
Kim should’ve been ashamed of herself, but there was no harm done, really. Besides Kim knew where things had to stop and she wasn’t about to forget it, either. Her place was to serve the family, not seduce it- with the possible exception of Elliot. . .
After Kim put the laundry in the washer she took orders for lunch and started cooking, delivering a plate of finger sandwiches to Sylvia, a burger for Elliot who’d cooped himself up in his study with a plastic model kit of a World War two fighter plane. He was in the process of assembling the landing gear when Kim set the plate down on his desk.
“The Master has many hobbies, it seems.”
Elliot güvenilir illegal bahis siteleri glanced up with those deep eyes and for just a moment he looked ten years younger, like the man in the photograph. But just like that the moment passed and he had that slightly guarded expression and firm mastery of himself that she’d come to associate with the post-soldier Elliot. Some part of her wondered if this was how he dealt with the world; was it creating things that set him at ease?
Maybe it was therapy for both he and Sylvia. Now there was a thought.
The younger man set his work aside, picking up the burger and plate, leading Kim out to the porch. “My grandfather worked for Bell, they made a lot of aircraft for the allied powers during the second World War. So, every once in a while I like to fool around with something and imagine what it might’ve been like for him to be working on it.
“Like, did you know, that the P-39 had was the first fixed wing aircraft to have the landing gear in a tricycle configuration?” He took a bite of his burger, eye’s half closing for a moment. When he looked to Kim that same flicker of youth lit new with excitement. “It also had a pretty revolutionary engine configuration- sitting behind the cockpit.”
“I didn’t know that,” Kim admitted. If only to keep that spark going, to bask in the moment, she took a position beside him. “Who ah, who used it?”
“Ready for this? The Soviets- back when they were an ally, they scored more wins in dogfights than any other allied power. The Thirty Nine’s were absolutely devastating in low and medium altitudes. But, one of the coolest features– are you familiar with the A-10? Big, ugly bathtub with wings and bombs?”
Kim chuckled. “Is that the one that usually has the snarling face on the side?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.” He set his food down on the railing and stepped away. “So the P-39 and the A-10 bucked a common trend at the time they were being developed in; they both built the plane around the main gun instead of the engine- engines in the A-10’s case. Usually you built the plane first, then figured out how to arm it.
But the gun that Oldsmobile had made was enough to get the folks at Bell a bit stiff in the pants, so they put this massive cannon in the front where the engine usually went and just ran a long shaft from the prop to the engine– set the cockpit in the middle between the gun and the engine and you’re good to go.”
“Huh, that’s neat.”
“Yeah, it really was. This was in the late thirties, too, you had a lot of stuff just coming into the world. Like nylon, ball pens, and-” he picked up his his burger, “canned beer.” At Kim’s incredulous look he grinned and took another big bite. “Mph, this is great.”
“I’m glad the master approves,” Kim smiled.
Somehow that reminded him of their unspoken contract; his expression softened somewhat and he became more acutely aware that he might’ve been lowering himself in the eye of the family’s maid. He even blushed a tiny bit. Good god, he actually blushed. Kim wanted to laugh but she knew that’d only make it worse, so instead she wandered over to his side and leaned against him, looking up with a small smile.
She whispered in a sultry purr, “May I do anything else to please, master McKenna?”
Just like that, all was right with the world. His gaze traveled from hers to her neckline and the swell of her cleavage, reminding him of what was ostensibly the family secret. He smirked, confident in the knowledge his secret life was protected. “I think I’m going to finish up my project– just let me know when dinner’s on, hm?”
“Of course, master McKenna.”
“Mph,” Elliot pushed off. “Thank you, kitten.”
Kim smiled to his back.
For Rebeca, it was finger sandwiches and chilled tea. It was a shot in the dark, maybe, but it made all the sense in the world to Kim; if the girl was going to be playing games and making videos, quick food would be the life blood that kept things moving smoothly. It’d been how she’d survived her multi hour marathons at the keyboard, after all.
The walk up the stairs was gloriously torturous as the heavy tail attached to her plug swayed and bobbed, teasing her private shame with every step until she knocked on Rebeca’s door. A shameful thrill ran through the older maid at the briefest notion she might see more of the girl than she should have–
It seemed that her time in service to the McKennas had warped her perceptions of what constituted ‘service’ in the first place. Maybe that wasn’t an all together bad thing, but it still made Kim’s heart tense. Maybe she should’ve just left this stuff at the door and gone back downstairs.
She gave another knock.
“Uh, yeah come in!” Rebeca said.
The entire air of the room had changed between their last conversation; a box light hung in the corner shining a diffused warmth over the girl while a the camera beside it stared her down with a sharp red LED, it’s aperture wide güvenilir bahis şirketleri open and drinking in everything she did. Beside her laptop was another screen with dozens of quickly scrolling chat messages and a real time feed of Rebeca herself and a sliver of the door in frame.
Rebeca was lounging in her chair clutching her gamepad while the screen of her laptop spewed out images of some swat team entering a house. To complete the quasi-tactical appearance of the situation, the girl was muttering into a mic mounted on her headset. “Four on balcony, looks like a shield on the stairs and he’s got two gas grenades.”
Kim edged around the field of view of the camera and held up the lunch by way of offering, earning a grateful smile. She reached out to accept the food just as some light flashes in the game burst up. Quickly Rebeca fumbled for her control, muttering. “Shit, shit. No! Not the face!”
In a moment she was ducking and weaving in game, returning fire as best she could. Her and her opponents traded fire while the girl relayed the situation- presumably to her comrades- with masterful precision: “Shot! Face! Nuuu- shit.” After she died in the next split second of a firefight she tossed her control down with mock frustration. “So ends the kill streak of ‘button butt’, guess when she said she wanted to get gauges in her ears, someone thought she meant 12 of them.”
Accepting the food with another gracious smile, she gave Kim a brief ‘want to try?’ motion with the control.
“No thanks, uh. . . .I haven’t played anything since like Mario. Even then I was terrible at it.”
“Be right back!” Rebeca said to the camera, she hit a button on her computer and removed her headphones. “You don’t have to be good at games, you just have to be entertaining.”
“It’d be like watching a cat in a tumble dryer.”
“Or puss in boots.”
Kim felt heat rise to her cheeks. “Stop.”
“Not even for charity?” She waggled the control suggestively. “No? Fine, wuss. Thanks for lunch, though. . . .maybe some other time.”
For some vague reason Kim felt a brief wash of shame at that– this girl didn’t have anyone to play with and from everything Kim had seen, neither she nor her father talked much. She was probably lonely. There was still work to do, though, Kim reminded herself. Still dinner to start and laundry to put away.
“Maybe some other time,” Kim repeated with more weight behind it before turning to leave. She got as far as the door before Rebeca called out.
Kim looked back. “Hm?”
“I’m gonna guess my dad doesn’t have a good rice cooker, so if you’re going to do that, could you let me know? I’ll give you a hand.”
“Uh, sure. Thanks.”
She was all smiles as the door closed- some private, mischievous kind of smile. Kim didn’t give it much thought until the girl showed up outside the laundry room about ten minutes later all harried and exasperated. “Neko-Milf!”
Rebeca giggled. “I know! My chat is losing its shit begging for the return of Neko-Milf.” She strode forward with her hands spread, the forearms of her long sweater drooping down like noodles. “Wanna play a quick round?”
Then it clicked. The smile, the playfulness. She was setting Kim up! “You did that on purpose.”
A cheshire smile lit the girl’s features as she closed in a little and pivoted on her heel to turn her head up with a look of innocence that would’ve fit a hungry shark just as well. “Totally didn’t- okay, maybe I did, but come onnnn it’s for Make a Wish.”
Kim frowned at that.
There was a line Kim should’ve been able to draw in the sand, but that only really extended to the masters of the house, didn’t it? “You asked and I said no. I don’t want to be on camera and–“
“But Kim,” she whined pathetically in that way that had no sincerity behind it. “You’re beautiful in that uniform- and think of the kids!”
“The only kid I’m thinking about right now is the one I’m about to strangle. I said no.”
“Harsh! Okay, you’re right and I’m sorry. . . .kind of.” Rebeca looked reasonably admonished but Kim wasn’t buying it. After a moment her suspicions were proven right when Rebeca stepped back. “I’m still calling you Neko-Milf.” Right before she sprinted back upstairs leaving Kim to stare after her with no clear idea what to think.
What the hell was ‘neko’, anyway?
For dinner- and, honestly, just for spite- Kim prepared a large meal of rice, steak and seared peppers with peaches and cream pie for desert. Elliot had finished his plane project and was the first to emerge from his den. Kim didn’t even hesitate to ask him about the neko thing.
“Neko? It’s a word for cat.” He stepped around behind her and, with a gentle push, pinned her against the kitchen counter to whisper in her ear. “Kim the nekomimi. Our very beautiful cat girl.”
Kim’s breath hitched as she held the bowl of peppers she was going to put out. Tentatively she leaned back. “The master is kind to say so. . .”
“Its a shared opinion.” His hands traced her curves, clutching her hips just for a moment. Trailing back. Further with those powerful fingers that could’ve had anything and done no wrong. Trailing down across her meaty flanks to cup her ass. And just like that in the next moment he was gone.
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