Never in a million years

As I lay the plates on the table, Hannah smirks at me and lifts her phone in her hand as if to tempt me to take it from her.

I snort. "I would not make a deal with you in a million years. No way. And I don't know what it's capable of." I don't want her friends to know what I'm talking about, of course.

Her guests snicker, confused by the confrontation but even more intrigued to see Hannah's maid talking back to her.

She stretches har arm toward me, bringing her phone dangerously close to touching me. "Come on."

I back away.

She becomes agitated and stands up, wielding it. "Touch it!"

I move further back. "Never."

"Come back here." She swats it at me, trying to make contact.

I try to run away but she's too fast with her flat shoes. I feel a zap from her phone as it makes contact with the back of my shoulder and wince. With closed my eyes, I brace myself for the **** but I don't feel anything. There's a ruckus at the table, so I open my eyes and check myself. I seem fine; just confused, now.

"Were you wearing that under your clothes the whole time?" Her friends are in hysterics.

"What?" I ask aloud, unintentionally. I turn back to the table and can't help but laugh, even under my own circumstances.

Hannah is stood, fidgeting, in the exact same kinky maid uniform as me. "Are you fucking kidding me?!" She screams, reaching for her phone, almost tripping in her heels on a pile of the clothes she was wearing moments ago.

Both of our phones buzz. Excitedly, I tap at the notification and read what I presume she is reading too.

"I'm not an idiot; that was entrapment. She has a list of chores to complete, after which she can return to her normal attire and privileges."

The entire assembly watches her back as she bashes at the screen of her phone, cursing. She hops and grabs her ass. I don't need to check my phone to know that the app had made her plug bigger.

She freezes as she remembers where she is. I can see her calculating how she's going to spin this. She takes a second to **** her anger down before she pivots to face the table to speak.

"I, er, thought it would be funny if-" She tries to lower herself onto her seat but freezes and stands up again, confused. She regains her composure once more and continues, "If I dressed up like the help. I can show her how it's ... done."

I could tell from her inflection that she isn't convinced that her excuse has landed with the group. I watch her pick up some plates.

"See?!" She says, manically, to her friends as she takes a few empty plates back toward the house. She stomps her way back to the house as melodramatically as her outfit allows.

The party starts to lose interest as she gets further away but I keep watching.

She gets to the doorway and jumps as she notices a person was blocking the doorway. Her father. He looks down at her and her outfit with a raised eyebrow.

She stares back at him for a second, calculating a way out before she screams in frustration. "YAAAAAAGH!" She drops the plates, letting them shatter on the tiles, and runs away into the house, probably along with any hope of an orgasm for me tonight.

I wonder if he can sense my joy, or the twinge of arousal seeing her punished is giving me. He gestures to me to clean the mess up, which gives me an excuse to hang in earshot of her confused friends. I listen to them debate between breakdown, elaborate tantrum or exhibitionist. Either way, it surprises me to hear that they don't seem to have a particularly high opinion of her. Maybe they're friends because they want the connection with her rich father?

I'd almost feel bed if the bitch hasn't been denying me my orgasms for days. I'm still so damn horny. I know I need to use my turn to get some leverage back, but I can't think of anything vicious enough to make me feel better about her taking away my one freedom in this job: my evenings to myself.