The Chronicles Of Power

Molly stood a meter behind Stephen, staring at the floor. The look he had given her after she failed to avert her eyes immediately while he entered the door code had been terrifying. Ice-cold. Ma’am’s gaze could be just as cold, but there was always someone behind it, something alive. Behind Stephen’s eyes there was only death. She was terrified of that man.

She tightened her grip on the handle of her small cleaning cart when she heard the door unlock.

“Close it behind you.”

Stephen’s voice was deep and precise, as though it came from a computer. A computer with a faint British accent. He turned and walked away. His assignment was finished. Hers was just beginning.

Carefully, she lifted her gaze and, for the first time, looked inside Sir’s and Ma’am’s bedroom.

She had been in the house for a month. Cleaning had become hers and Lucy’s primary responsibility. The house had nearly twenty rooms that had to be cleaned every single day. She started first thing in the morning and worked until lunch, stopping only for breakfast. At lunchtime she often helped with serving before returning to her cleaning duties. If there were guests—which there usually were—she also had to help Tamara in the kitchen.

Tamara ruled the kitchen like an absolute dictator. She acted as though she owned the place, barking orders, swearing, and pushing everyone around. Except when Ivan was helping. Then, suddenly, she became sweetness itself.

Molly and Lucy had each been assigned one half of the house, and Molly had finally begun to know her section well. But when Stephen handed her the day’s schedule that morning, she saw that their assignments had been switched. The constant knot of anxiety inside her tightened. She had only just started getting used to things, and now everything was unfamiliar again.

There was one advantage, though. She wouldn’t have to clean Sir’s office.

The room itself wasn’t difficult to keep spotless. Not at all. The problem was that Sir was often inside, and he had an annoying habit of standing—or sitting—exactly where Molly had to squeeze past him. Sir couldn’t keep his hands to himself. Nothing serious, but certainly nothing that would have been acceptable in the real world.

A world that was slowly but surely fading away.

She took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The room was large. Enormous. One of the long walls was almost entirely made of windows. Fortunately, it was still morning, and the sun hadn’t yet reached this side of the house. Along the opposite wall stood the massive bed. Two doors were set into the wall beside it, presumably leading to a spacious walk-in closet and a bathroom. Against one of the shorter walls stood Ma’am’s vanity. Next to it was the ugliest piece of furniture Molly had ever seen, overflowing with jewelry. She had never laid eyes on anything like it. It would take a lifetime to wear every piece.

Near one of the windows stood a small desk with a laptop. That was probably where Ma’am created all of her schedules.

Molly walked over to the window. The bedroom was on the second floor, offering a spectacular view of the steep mountainside and the glittering sea below. Just beneath the house, Sir and Ma’am were playing tennis.

She glanced at the clock.

They would play for exactly five more minutes. Then Ivan would arrive with cold water and fresh towels. After that, they would sit in their lounge chairs and rest for twenty-five minutes. Then came showers, followed by lunch.

She had half an hour.

There wouldn’t be any problems.

She got to work. Everything was already immaculate, but she had learned the hard way that it didn’t matter. It still had to be cleaned. She could still remember the tongue-lashing Ma’am had given her the last time she’d questioned it.

After a while, the sound of tennis balls stopped.

Now they were downstairs, resting exactly as the schedule dictated.

Molly was dusting a mirror when she heard light footsteps behind her. She turned and saw Ma’am enter the room, flushed and glowing from tennis, still dressed in her athletic clothes. She kicked off her shoes.

“Ma’am.”

Ma’am smiled and spread her hands.

“What a beautiful day,” she said as she unbuttoned her tennis shirt.

She slipped off the shirt and continued casually.

“I just wanted to see how you were handling the change in assignments.”

Then she stepped out of her shorts. She was now standing before Molly in nothing but a sports bra and panties. Molly didn’t have time to answer before Ma’am continued, removing the last of her clothes as she spoke.

“But I imagine you’re managing just fine, aren’t you?”

Ma’am stood naked before her, and Molly found herself looking for a few seconds too long.

She was stunning.

Not stunning for a woman in her mid-fifties—simply a beautiful woman. Slim, fit, and deeply tanned. Her breasts were still rather firm, and the blond triangle between her legs looked meticulously groomed.

By the time Molly finally snapped herself out of it, Ma’am’s expression had already hardened.

“Are you staring at me, Molly?”

Her voice was quiet, but the coldness in it made Molly’s stomach tighten.

Panic surged through her.

No. No. No.

“No, Ma’am. Of course not.”

She dropped her eyes to the floor.

Don’t stare.

She turned away, only to realize her mistake at once.

No. I can’t turn my back on Ma’am.

She turned back again.

I’m finished with the mirror. If I walk over to the wastebasket, I’ll have a moment to think. Please don’t send me home, i need this.

She took a couple of cautious steps.

“‘Of course not’?”

Ma’am’s voice remained icy.

Molly froze mid-step. She heard Ma’am approach from behind.

“So you think I’m ugly. Not even worth looking at. Is that what you’re saying?”

The words were whispered close to her ear as Ma’am’s fingers brushed gently along her cheek.

“No… not at all. I think you’re beautiful, Ma’am. Incredibly beautiful.”

“Incredibly beautiful? In what way?”

Ma’am took a step back and waited.

“I-I th…”

“Look at me when you’re speaking to me.”

She didn’t raise her voice, but the tone alone was enough to make Molly obey instantly.

When she turned around, it felt as though Ma’am had grown taller. She was still the same woman, yet her anger filled the room, making her seem both taller and broader. Her naked body radiated not vulnerability, but effortless authority.

“Well?”

Molly swallowed.

“Your hair is very beautiful, Ma’am. And your face. You’re slim… and strong.”

Ma’am’s expression softened ever so slightly.

“More?”

Mollys mind raced.

“I… I think you have beautiful breasts, Ma’am.”

Now Ma’am smiled.

“Do you? You like my breasts. How interesting.”

Molly swallowed once more.

Maybe she’d made it through.

Ma’am gently took her by the arm and guided her over to the large mirror. Molly saw her own reflection standing beside Ma’am’s. She looked young, pretty, red-haired, freckled, and a little plump. The black uniform, her hair pulled back into a bun, and the dust cloth in her hand made her seem small and ordinary. Beside her stood Ma’am—naked, older, beautiful, and strong.

“Do you think I’m more beautiful than you are?”

Ma’am looked at Molly through the mirror.

“Y-yes, Ma’am. I do. Much more beautiful.”

Ma’am let her hand glide across her right breast.

“And you think my breasts are beautiful?”

Molly nodded.

“Yes. Absolutely, Ma’am.”

Even though Molly could see both herself and Ma’am in the mirror, everything happened so quickly that she had no time to react. Ma’am seized the neckline of her shirt and yanked it straight up. Pain shot through Molly’s shoulders as her arms were jerked over her head, and a heartbeat later Ma’am was holding both the shirt and her bra in one hand. Her other hand clamped tightly around Molly’s left breast, her nails digging into the skin.

“Then explain. In what way are my breasts more beautiful than yours?”

There was unmistakable triumph in her voice.

Molly understood instantly that she had been trapped. Her own breasts were young and firm, her nipples pointing almost straight upward. No matter how hard she tried to think otherwise, they were more beautiful than Ma’am’s. But whatever answer she gave now would be the wrong one. This had been planned from the very beginning. Ma’am had known exactly how it would end.

Tears began to sting behind Molly’s eyes.

This wasn’t right.

Ma’am was being cruel.

It wasn’t fair.

For a fleeting instant, anger flared inside her before turning against herself.

She remembered why she was here. It was her own fault. Her own weaknesses had brought her to this place. She didn’t deserve to be treated kindly after what she had done.

She couldn’t hold it back any longer. Tears streamed down her face as sobs shook her body.

Ma’am released her breast, gave a contemptuous snort, and slipped on a silk robe. Then she climbed into bed and absentmindedly began leafing through an issue of Vogue, as though Molly’s crying had nothing to do with her.

Eventually the tears subsided. Molly drew a deep breath and wiped her face with her arm.

She had to finish her work.

Ma’am would be satisfied with the cleaning.

That was all that mattered.

If she could just make it through one year, she would be able to set everything right.

Everything would be all right again.

She bent down to pick up the shirt and bra lying on the floor.

“No.”

Ma’am’s voice, muffled behind the magazine, was gentle again.

“Leave them there. You’ll manage without a top until tomorrow.”

Molly left the clothes where they were and finished cleaning.

“Thank you, Molly. Now go help Tamara in the kitchen. I just remembered we’re having guests for dinner tonight, and you’ll be serving.”