She is drunk enough

I’ll stay on mama bear’s good side.

I look over all the items on the table, souvenir items, coupons, gift certificates, and gourmet snacks. I start opening the bags, and setting them up in rows, not wanting to do more without her approval.

I walk into the living room, about to call out to ask where a suitable bathroom is when I notice something. She has an antique roll-top secretary that is open, with mail and office supplies in it. Sitting in the back corner, I see a small silver key. It looks like a key on her keyring... I think it is for her desk at work. I check over my shoulder quick, then grab it.

Victoria comes back. To my overwhelming disappointment, she is wearing regular clothing. A loose cotton shirt with a collar so wide that it keeps slipping a few inches down one shoulder. She has simple black leggings and is barefoot. She is still hot as hell, but not enough to make me spontaneously spout poetry.

“What bathroom should I use?” She directs me to a small one near the back door. It is very small, maybe triple the size of an airplane restroom, at most. I get the servant’s bathroom, I muse. After relieving myself, I return to the kitchen to see Victoria has reorganized half of what I had already done. Nothing is good enough for Victoria.

She finishes straightening a pile. Then starts to direct me. “Empty bags here... We work from opposite sides of the table and move down this way.., filling bags... tissue paper here...” She yawns. “Then put them in these boxes here. Full boxes go against that wall in the living room.” It all makes sense. I nod along. There are hundreds of bags to fill and it is 10:30 pm. That part was bad planning.

We get to work, filling the first box pretty quickly, other than the lecture over how I was crinkling the tissue paper wrong. After I moved the filled box to the living room, I see Victoria is looking at the bottle of wine. She pulls out two glasses, then looks at me. She thinks better of it and fills the glasses with water. “You aren’t going to spill it, are you?” My immediate reaction is feeling insulted, but when I think about everything going on at the table, I have to admit, She does have a point.

“No, I’ll keep it over on this counter,” I say, pointing to a clear area near the next box we will be filling. She seems satisfied by that. I take a sip. No sooner do I set it down than she chides me again.

“Use a coaster or it will stain.” I look at her stone countertop and realize that I don’t know if it does or not, so I assume she is right. How many etiquette rules are drilled into her head? How many times has she been chided this way growing up? I look around until I find a stack of white coasters near the sink and use it.

We plow through another two boxes when she gets up and turns on some bluetooth speakers and syncs her phone to them. I watch from the corner of my eye as she bends over the counter, tapping at her phone. Her legs and ass calling to me. Music kicks in, the her ass starts gyrating. I can’t even pretend to work. I am transfixed. She does a lazy spin then comes back to the table to work,

We get back up to full speed on our production line. Every hour or so one or both of us stops to pee. As I get up to the ‘servant’s’ bathroom, I realize Victoria’s phone is still unlocked and unattended on the counter. And from where Victoria is, she can’t see it. I pick up my glass, take a swig, then swap it with her phone and walk into the bathroom. I sit on the toilet and browse. I open her contacts and search for her ex-fiancé. It takes me a minute to remember his name is Terrance. I copy his contact information to my phone. I have a couple ideas about how this could be useful for me or for Penelope.