Clockwork Eden's Employee Appreciation Day

On the outside, Clockwork Eden, the lavish mansion of the God of Timelines, looked just as peaceful as it always had for countless years, with chirping birds in the gardens, gorgeous, well-maintained fountains running out front, and a warm sky above, dotted with a delicate brushing of soft, white clouds. Inside, the situation could not be more different: what felt like an eon of peace had been upended in a single day by a single innocent expedition into forbidden territory.

The Ex-Goddess of Whims, Extre, sat in a comfortable, cream-colored lounge chair, holding a tall, recently filled wine-glass in one hand and leaning on the opposite fist. She'd redressed in her classic ballgown after a little bit of frolic with the lady of the house, which she'd broken from so abruptly, she'd even managed to shock herself. In the place of the cameraman from earlier stood Doyl, the head butler-- a mountain of a man with a newly stern countenance. Extre was all smiles, but that was largely out of obligation-- she had to be wolfish, unrelenting, and predatory in her punishment of her one-time friend. The wine was helping her get there, but she'd had to do plenty of dial-turning as well. Her hand constantly went up to that pink, translucent disc in her hair, giving it a spin to correct impulsive actions she was on the cusp of making.

"How's the Clockwork Eden Guest's Union doing?" she asked the butler, turning her eyes upward and catching more of his mustache and blocky nose from bottom view than his eyes.

The crew had taken to calling themselves that, rather than "servants" ever since they realized the truth behind their imprisonment in servitude, far from the voluntary vow they'd always assumed it to be. "Hm... Not flawlessly," he admitted, sighing. His mustache seemed to be drooping in a way it never had before, ever since he got the news of Klotho's misdeeds. "I'd separate them into three categories. The first, like myself, were outraged. We found the tapes to be irrefutable proof of her misdeeds. I've allowed each union member to watch his or her tapes, at their leisure, with the exception of the sex tapes, which I have commandeered and hidden. No one has any excuse for watching those. They'll be held onto strictly as evidence. Suffice to say, about eighty percent of the union members stood with my decision to renounce our servitude, upon seeing those tapes."

He held up two fingers. "The second are those who are taking a 'wait and see' approach. They won't be satisfied until they speak to Ms. Klotho directly. Those are... maybe fifteen percent."

Finally, the third. "These are the troublesome ones. They are holdouts who assert that it must be tampered evidence. They suspect that you and I, Ms. Extre, are conspirators, plotting to take Ms. Klotho's Clockwork Eden away from her along with her powers. These I will have to deal with personally once we convene business here, to talk sense into them. For now, I could not forbid them from joining our union, but they are sure to be malefactors."

"But... But...!" the lady of the house protested, cutting into the conversation with a pitiable, babbling voice. Now dressed in silver-colored maid gear, including a frilled headdress, apron, and knee-length skirt, Klotho no longer appeared to be any status above a regular servant, apart from her unusual white eyes and porcelain-colored skin. "Only five percent took my side?! How could they? Don't they realize what fabulous lives I've given them, up to this point? I... I may have dragged certain things into a different order, a different arrangement, if you will, but it was all just as I said! It was in the name of giving them wonderful, happy lives! They were always smiling, weren't they?" Her makeup was streaked with tears down her cheeks, which seemed to be newly reforming at the corners of her eyes. The ruined makeup showed freckles on her cheeks and nose that were usually hidden, making her look even less like an inhuman goddess.

Extre sipped her wine, wearing an expression that said "I'll wait and let Doyl deal with this one."

Klotho turned her eyes up to Doyl, wearing a pleading smile and wringing her hands together. "You were my most faithful servant, Doyl! You always did so well by me, and I by you, didn't I? A fine salary! A-A team of butlers and maids who respect your authority and experience! You catch the eyes of even gods and goddesses that visit, because you live such a stately life-- a life beyond reproach! I set that up for you! And remember: I didn't ever kill anyone! I never even hurt anyone!" Feeling a new swell of pride, like she might actually have a moral leg to stand on, the woman pressed one hand to the swell of her breast hidden beneath the apron and gave a charming smile. "You two are down with the skinny, right? You know that other gods **** their servants, or routinely kill them, or burn them alive, o-or take apart all of their pieces and put them back together in new arrangements like Mr. Potato Heads! I didn't do any of that! I'm not such a bad person!"

"Ahem," Doyl spoke up, standing forward with one fist pressed to his chest, like a proper servant. "You say that you never murdered?"

"Never!"

"Ms. Klotho, were you not to have interfered in my life, I predict that Lenore, my would-be wife, would have born children for me, hopefully the first of a larger family. By this point in my life, I'd have seen them grow to adults, and circumstances willing, I would have seen them marry and produce grandchildren. You have deprived me of an entire family tree, shearing generations from its branches. Is that not ****?"

"No! No no no, you don't understand timelines at all! Th-That was harmless! That was... was some other Doyl that doesn't even exist! I can't wrong someone who doesn't exist, can I?" she babbled, seeming like she was about to start crying once again. "The you, the real you, I extended a hand of friendship! You and Ms. Extre are my greatest friends! I-I can't really twist fate that strongly-- no one could, god or otherwise! We were always meant to live together here, as the greatest of friends, making each other's lives richer by association! And... and you love cleaning!"

"Ms. Klotho, I watched back a tape where you appeared in my life as a child and convinced me that the 'Scrubbing Bubbles' mascots were just the neatest little creatures. You drew pictures of them when I attended Sunday church and handed them to me after the service, then had me join you in cleaning the church, all to deeply ingrain a nostalgic love of cleaning in me. In other words: I don't even know if I truly do love cleaning. It is going to take some time to tangle myself free from all of the changes you've made."

The goddess grew haughtier, crossing her arms and puffing out her chest. "So, is that it, then? You want to rewind time until you were a little baby and get out of your life? If I do, you'll never know-- you'll cease to be! The you, who's worked so hard over the years and grown so admired by all of his peers, will simply cease to be, like snap!" she explained, snapping her fingers. She saw him jump when she did-- that pleased her, inwardly. If he was frightened of her, that meant he still saw her as his master. "That little baby might have a totally chill, swinging life, but he'll never be the you that's standing in front of me now! That one's splitsville!"

"Enough!" Extre interceded, rolling her hand in a "get on with it" kind of motion. She flicked her long, blond ponytail over her shoulder, then placed down her wine glass. "Nobody's asking you to reverse time. In fact, I am watching you very, very closely to make sure you don't. We are staying right here, in the present, where everybody knows about all your kinky sex tapes, and we are punishing you for what you did. That's the reality you're in," she explained, putting on a sadistic smile. "So my sexy plan for how you do that has two parts, with more T-B-D. The first part is that as much as I like ogling you in this cutie patootie maid uniform, I am like... not wanting to watch you at all times for the entire rest of your life. But I can't so much as sleep without risking you rewinding time all the way back to this morning. What I'm going to do is use this baby..."

Extre paused here, rolling one hand in the air and forming another glassy dial, larger than her usual. She spun her finger again in a tighter circle, hollowing out the center so that it was shaped a bit like an over-sized donut. Its color changed from pretty pink to an ominous blue. Next, she grabbed it in both hands, shrinking it down to the size of a watch-head. Finally, she approached her old friend, then plucked the clock-shaped head off of Klotho's choker. She flicked it with one thumb over to Doyl, who caught it dutifully out of the air.

"Hey! Th-That was an iconic accessory for me!"

"Well, this is going to become your new iconic accessory," Extre snorted, before affixing the blue, hollowed out dial where the clock-face used to be. "I call this a Whim-Me-Not. As long as you're wearing this, I can deny a few specific whims at all times, no matter where I am. Specifically, this one denies two different whims. One: any desire to remove it by your own power will be instantly replaced with the opposite whim, a desire to keep it on. Two: any whim to rewind time without my permission, or the permission of a voting council of union members, will be denied."

"B-But it still works off whims! Dig this! If I have no desire to stay in this timeline, I'll still be able to use my power!"

"Oh, sweet Kloey... you've seen me work enough to know that won't be enough, haven't you? Somewhere in your heart, there'll always be a doubt, a hesitation, an arguing voice, whatever you want to call it. Maybe even a conscience! As long as it's there, I can keep you trapped here, with me, in this timeline," she chuckled dryly, backing up and patting her friend's hairband, ruffling her neatly combed red hair. "Next up, we're putting power in the hands of the people. I've given Doyl dials to distribute to every union member he's cleared that can be used to have you assist in a little recompense. I'm calling it... Employee Appreciation Day. Not that these are really your employees any longer."

"What do you mean? I-I do appreciate my darling employees, all of them," Klotho reasserted, before Extre hushed her by pressing one finger to her red lips, causing her to momentarily cross her eyes.

"That's for them to decide. With those pink dials, each of the Union members can choose to make you act on another whim of their choosing. You'll move from one room to the next, doing every little thing they want you to do. It's that simple. After you've done that, we'll reconvene just before midnight and decide how well they feel you're making progress towards earning your forgiveness, what terms of ours might be relaxed, etcetera, etcetera. Union business. Of course, this is all going to be a scoop for Myth Magazine, so their guys are all over the mansion too, taking pictures and la-dee-da."

Klotho wished to strongly protest. An article about this? Photos and video of this? Clockwork Eden would fall apart around her. All her work, entertaining (enslaving) guests, building business connections, managing other god's timelines (to look for resources to exploit), would be ruined in a single day. But...

She bit her thumbnail, using her fist to hide the small grin that threatened to spread across her face. "It doesn't matter. Eventually, she'll slip up. Eventually, I can rewind to that critical point in time and get rid of the evidence. He he he he he... Oh, poor Extre. I think our friendship is at an end. You may find your stay quite a bit less hospitable once my hands are back upon the reins!" She amused herself with the thought, to offset the grueling day that was ahead of her. Whatever happened to her now, it didn't matter, not really. It would all vanish when she found her opportunity! Her crying earlier had been an act, mostly-- she was an actress, after all. The pleading was just the same. All she wanted was someone to make a slip so that she could go back to the right point in time-- the proper point-- and restore Clockwork Eden to the paradise it was meant to be, with her at top and everyone else underneath. "I've got all the time in the world..."

---

Doyl and Extre both left Klotho and the woman found herself wandering strangely unattended through her home, clutching her apron with growing apprehension. Her bravado had gotten her through that awkward meeting, but it was starting to wear off, replaced with the cold realization that, for the first time in probably centuries, people close to her were very, very angry with her. She spotted a butler she knew and clapped her hands together, putting on her most charming smile. "Will! Dear Willy Boy! You don't believe all that hullabaloo they're saying about me, do you? C-Come now, you realize this is all some... very elaborate... joke, don't you? How about we meet in the entertainment hall and you show me your darts game, hm? I remember you were quite a hand at darts!"

"Yeah, I was," the tall young man responded with a grin, then awkwardly trailed off, rubbing the back of his shaved head. "Because, uh, according to the tapes, you went back in time and made me waste a whole semester of college shooting darts at bars, after which I had to drop out, which led me to apply to be a butler here, seemingly just so you'd... have a servant that was really good at darts here to play against whenever you want? Did I get that right?"

"Shoot. I mean. No! No, that dart arm of yours, ho ho, that's all your own! G-Game recognizes game, homeslice!"

It clearly wasn't working. The young man, still smiling as though he wasn't sure what expression to put on, turned and walked without speaking to her further. If even her chill as hell darts servant wasn't on her side any more, this was going to be a hard mountain to climb. If only she could find one of those five percent that still believed in her, she could exploit them. But who were they? If even someone as faithful as Doyl had lost his faith and even someone as chill as Willy had lost his chill...

"Wait. Hm. That's just five percent at present! If I show that I'm repentant, show good behavior... Yes! I'll win more to my side. One of them will agree to assist me, then I'll be back in business. Oh, there's that savvy brain of yours, baby, still present and accounted for!" she giggled to herself, feeling a little more confident as she entered the kitchen.

...

Something wasn't right. The kitchen was very, very crowded and there were servants all over, with every single eye fixing on her. They didn't have the same expression as Willy-- there was a mixture of excitement, apprehension, and other, more difficult emotions, as each union member assembled considered their personal feelings towards the master they'd adored just a scant few hours before. Dining tables had been arranged all around-- not the long, dining hall table, but rather, folded tables used for parties and the like-- with eight servants seated to each. Above the whole shebang was a banner reading "EMPLOYEE APPRECIATION LUNCHEON." Worst of all, she saw a few Myth Magazine employees setting up cameras and microphones.

"Er... What's the news, brochachos?" she asked, putting on her most fetching smile and using her most charmingly out of date phrase.

"Lunch time!" the head chef announced, smiling and waving his arm around the assembled lunch. "But first, since this is a Union now, I wanted to propose a friendly union vote." The chef was a big man, ordinarily gruff, but friendly, and a genius of the kitchen. His countenance seemed to have changed after discovering that every food he'd ever encountered at any good moment in his life had been one of his mistress's favorites, to gently encourage him to perfect the recipes, while other dishes were reserved strictly for the lowest points of his life, in order to make him associate them with sour moods. "I was thinking we'd have seafood. Calamari, maybe."

"Oh, but I hate calamari!"

"I know."

Rubbery! Flaky! So hard to chew! And those tendrils! Yuck! She tried to shake it out of her head. "Yes well... Okay! Calamari it is. What of the vote you mentioned?" For the first time, she noticed those pink dials in the hands of all of the union members and gulped nervously.

"You're going to serve us the food."

Klotho's eyebrows raised and a smile came back to her face. "Ah, well, I am quite prepared to do that! You fine, upstanding union members deserve that! It really is the least I could do-- I'd be happy to do it even were I not under duress!" she answered, giving a polite curtsy. So Extre's idea of punishing her and humiliating her was just making her act as a servant? Sure, it was a bit momentarily degrading to step out of her role as goddess, but this barely registered as a blip on her radar.

"Only thing is, we haven't put your server uniform to a vote yet. That maid get-up is cute, ain't it? Or do we think we want to have her look at some other options?" The others all voiced, rather predictably, that they'd like to see her peruse some other choices. "Course, in the end, it'll be your choice, ma'am. Always is."

Still feeling uncertain, but hoping that maybe the union had come together to decide to take it easy on her, she bowed to the assembly, then moved over to a rack of clothing they were point her to. These looked less like uniforms and more like costumes... and not the kind you'd ever be caught dead wearing on the runway. She remembered, feeling bile rise in her throat, that those dorks from the magazine were actually going to be photographing this. All the more reason she had to tough this out and get to a rewind point. She sighed deeply and began at one side of the rack, sorting through costumes. She wasn't sure where they'd gotten all these so quickly, but it seemed likely her outfitter was to blame-- that guy could get any sort of clothing from anywhere in the heavens with his connections.

It became apparent that a running theme with most of these was that she would never, ever, ever want to be seen in them while in decent company or those she wanted to be respected by. They were definitely not standard service industry, in most cases. With a smile, she found the most appropriate one she could, raising it in front of herself in both hands to sort of model it to the crowd, while placing the cap upon her head. "Hm? How about this? I believe there is a fast food mascot on most earths who looks quite a bit like this," Klotho suggested, as if the reasoning would help justify her decision. It was actually a little better coverage than her maid uniform, with a billowing, robin's egg blue skirt and white apron, fry-cook cap, and hair-ties, meant to braid the hair into long pigtails. It wasn't her usual style, but she might even look cute in it. "What say you? I think I could pu--"

"Put this away and find something else, something quite a bit more pleasing to your peepers! I'm sure I can do better. I am a fashionista!" she chuckled nervously, suddenly second guessing herself. Rather than putting it back on the shelf, she simply dropped the uniform at her feet, then got back to perusing the rack. This time around, she grabbed an outdated carhop's uniform, with roller blades and a wider skirt-- the kind that might very well blow up and show her panties while she zipped around. This would get them off her back, right? She held it up hopefully to let them consider it. This was the one, right?

Wrong! No, that was a little low-brow for this crowd. They were in the mood for something more exotic, the kind of thing nobody around here would ever wear! What would do... "How about this? It's rather, mmm, exotic, don't you think?" she questioned, holding up a Chinese dress, rich green in color with gold trimmings and a somewhat stereotypical dragon print lining it. There were massive slits up the sides, from the feet all the way to the waist, but she thought she could pull off the look for sure. It was almost fashionable! She could confidently rock something like this. That's right! Confidence!

No confidence! No no no, that was the wrong choice, for sure. Nobody had said a single thing in response yet or objected to anything, verbally, but she felt persistently drawn to throw outfit after perfectly serviceable outfit onto the floor in her hunt for the perfect one. "Th... This then! It's rather... er... patriotic... for Clockwork Eden, don't you think?" she questioned of the next one, holding it up, this time with both hands. That was because it came in two pieces: a very snug white tank-top shirt with 'Clockwork Eating' written across the chest and even snugger silver shorts, the kind that were actually a little low-riding than the panties she'd been wearing earlier. They'd give a great look at her midriff and a little peak at the dimples in her flesh just above her bottom, too. One member of the audience seemed extremely enthusiastic about this idea, clapping heartily, and some others joined him-- it'd probably been his idea. "Yes, well... Sure! I can wear, erm... a t-shirt," she said in an unintentionally derogatory voice, looking at the plain fabric with something between confusion and disgust, "and these cute little shorts if you'd like me to! What do you say? Seems popular! Okay! I'm going with it before I can second guess myself! I can-"

"Cannot wear a t-shirt!" she suddenly decided, throwing that outfit on the ground. Several of the audience booed loudly and it sounded like a fight was breaking out-- oddly, it didn't seem they were angry at her, but rather, each other. She blinked a few times, then began to understand what must be happening. These choices she kept making... it was those dials! Those miserable wretches kept turning the dial and making her second-guess every choice she picked up off the rack! She had to focus... She had to play this strategically! If things kept up at this rate, with her picking up everything decent and then throwing it to the floor, she'd end up in something truly abhorrent, an abomination of taste and fashion. She had to strategize carefully! The chef gave her an odd glance, holding her eyes with his own for a moment and squinting. When he seemed to understand what he wanted to know, he smirked and turned his dial.

"But that's what they want me to think! They're going to let me pick up the worst one, then they're going to stop, nobody turning the dial! That's how they'll **** me into something embarrassing! I won't fall for it. No, I'll stick to the original plan: pick out the best ones until they make up their minds to settle!"

...

It didn't go that way at all. With a growing sense of dread, she picked out continually more tacky or more revealing costumes, trying to imagine herself wearing them and presenting them to the crowd, only to throw them down at her feet as if they'd suddenly started setting off some unheard Geiger counter. The amount of second-guessing herself had her a nervous wreck-- she'd pulled the braid out of her hair with worry and was sweating profusely, looking all around the crowd for someone, anyone, to tell her that her wardrobe was okay. She was scared to even reach out and touch the next outfit for fear that it would end up on the floor before her brain had even reasoned out why she suddenly didn't like it. Putting on the most **** smile of her life, all teeth, she plucked the final costume off the rack and held it up in her hands, shaking it for the audience without actually spreading it over herself to model it. "This! This is it?! This has to be it! This is the one you want, isn't it?!" she questioned, hugging it close to her chest and dreading the moment when she suddenly decided it belonged on the floor as well.

For their part, the butlers were all looking exhausted as well. One guy started to turn his dial before the others dogpiled him, making it a fist-fight. Her dynasty... her glorious Clockwork Eden! What had become of it? "I have to make this right! I have to go back. Oh... Oh, look! Johnny, my driver! He's punched poor Carlton in the eye! That's his good bird-watching eye, the one he uses when we go hunting together! This is dreadful, this is most uncool!" she thought to herself, biting her own fingernails nervously as her precious playthings beat the daylights out of one another for no good reason. She wasn't going to give anyone else a chance to prolong this senseless ****, nor this terrible unease she felt, discarding one uniform after another. With nervous quickness, she clicked her fingers, immediately transforming herself into the latest fashion rather than giving anyone the satisfaction of stripping. This outfit was...

Dreadful.

The lower body was a scant thing in the shape of a shell-bikini, leaving as little to the imagination as you might expect, with an array of looped, clicking shells held together by thin, blue string. Where a half-shell or perhaps a sand dollar ought to be in the intersection on the front, however, there was what looked to be the shell of a whole crab, just dangling there. The placement! Tasteless! No one would ever wear something like this. The back was a thong style, showing off her cute bubble butt nearly to its maximum with only the coverage of a taut, not a bit thicker blue string, but she didn't care about that at all next to that damn crab attachment. She wanted to tear it off, and she probably would, if she could risk doing so without losing the whole thong.

Her eyes traveled upward and her nausea increased. The upper body was covered once again with a logo, but this time, it said "Clockwork Eatin'." Pronounced so casually, without even a "g!" Vulgar! Disgusting! It wasn't even a t-shirt this time. The lady of the house was "wearing" an over-sized white napkin, tied around her neck like a bib, and depicting a fork and knife crossed underneath the logo. It wouldn't cover a thing from the sides-- a few with the right positioning thought they could see her rosy nipples showing behind the thin cloth.

Her mouth hung open in dismay as something slapped her in the face... something rubbery.

"Gag me with a spoon..." she started to say, but the words caught in her throat. She pulled the artifact from her head, only to realize it was a black pirate hat with a very unusual adornment. The accessory was a big, purple, rubber octopus with tentacles hanging off every side of the hat, dangling in the wearer's face and jiggling whenever they moved their head. She physically hurled it across the room, then backed up to the window at the back of the cafeteria. The action left her with nothing more than the crab bikini and the bib, as well as some brown, raggedy pirate boots and gloves. "This is a crime against taste. I cannot wear this," she complained, crossing her hands in front of her chest and groin, unaware that her buttocks were also very much reflected in the well-shined glass of the wall behind her.

"I wouldn't call that a crime, next to the crime of intentionally giving a man gut-wrenching food poisoning every time he goes near a shellfish, so persistently that he thinks he has a shellfish allergy his whole life, when in reality, he fuckin' loves crab and calamari." The chef tapped his fingers atop his arm impatiently. "I was cookin' up today's batch, yeah? Heaven. I ate a whole plate just doin' the taste test. You ain't even allergic to the stuff, you're just a picky eater."

"I-I am not a picky eater! None of you like crab, so we have never had crab! It's that simple!"

"We don't like crab because ya won't let us like crab! And not just here! Ya intentionally modified all of our lives so that every one of us thought we hate crab!" he protested, banging his fist angrily upon the table nearby him. "But I think we're gonna get a taste for it now, heh heh, ain't we, boys?" His eyes drifted down towards the sea creature's shell that was currently guarding the most intimate spot on her body.

Klotho found that she was not, in fact, being made to appreciate her employees via Employee Appreciation Day. In fact, she was starting to think of all of the nasty things she would do to them once she reset this timeline. Harmless, fictional things, of course, because they would all be inflicted upon alternate timeline versions of them who were not the genuine articles. But very nasty fictional things. With a very put-on grin, she picked up a tray of disgusting, stinky calamari and held it delicately upon her fingers, then grabbed up a cluster of cups in her other hand. It was time to finally serve her servants, a few of them now sporting swollen bruises or black eyes from the earlier brawl. She tried to ignore the feeling that some of them were trying to count the freckles on her body as she walked by them, carrying herself with the grace of a real waitress. She wasn't without her poise, after all. She was born for the catwalk! She was in c-

Inclined to try to show off a little. These folks needed to be reminded that, however she might dress, she was still the lady of the house, a true gentlewoman, and a confident goddess! She began to sashay her hips, heedless of the equal swishing of the crab that threatened to show off the stringy business that was the front of her thong, more floss for her pussy lips than coverage. That was it. Catwalk strut! Chin up, shoulder tilted, switching those hips, clicking those heels (even if they were gross pirate boot heels). Fashion, baby! The union members seemed to be really getting into it, clapping their hands and whistling and... catcalling. Hm. Was that the emotion she was trying to drag out of them? It must be! It was her decision to start doing this, after all.

"Your cups, sirs!" she began, setting each down in front of one of her butlers. "And your... octopus," she gulped, holding back her gagging as she began to spoon it onto the silver plates. "I'll be back around in a bit with a round for the table-- beer, I believe it was." That word didn't sound good coming out of her lips either. No beer in the household, that was one of her rules. Yuck. Plain, vulgar stuff. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

An especially bold one clapped one hand to her bottom and squeezed, causing her to jump and nearly drop her serving tray. She thought she felt a shell fall off of one of the straps of her bikini from the **** of the slap. "I want a round of this for the table!" he suggested.

"Woah woah, wait. We can't put our hands on her, right? I mean-" another protested.

"You mean what? Look, Ms. Klotho, respectfully ma'am," the guy continued, falling back into his old habits for a single, ridiculous moment, "Ms. Klotho gave away my dog when I was six and had me adopt a cat. I have no idea what happened to old Barney, only that he was out of my life! With a newfound appreciation for cats that'd continue all the way until I became the pet groomer on grounds here! I loved those cats like they were my own... big... stupid... loveable Barney!" he sniffled. "Oh, Barney!"

"Uh, sorry, man," the other one apologized. "But what I mean is that it's union rules. We can't do stuff like that to her or there's not going to be time for her to get to everyone at Employee Appreciation Day. Plus, you know, moral high-ground, all that stuff. It's in your new union contract."

"You're right... I got ahead of myself. Was thinking of old Barney and just got carried away. Angry. Not healthy," the spanker admitted, hanging his head in a guilty manner.

Still in shock from having her bottom struck, Klotho had barely caught a word of that. All she knew was that it sounded encouraging. The butlers weren't allowed to really use and **** her...

"But that doesn't mean we can't still kind of goof around, right? I've been thinking about this! I got a good one!" the cat groomer chuckled, rubbing his hands together.

Thinking on it, Klotho thought his name was Jimm. He'd been a real womanizer back before she changed him-- a very rough fuck, too, the one time she'd tried it before erasing that misstep. She did not want to think about fucking him right now and chased that thought away.

Jimm raised one finger. "Ahem. Ms. Klotho, would you mind climbing onto the table and sticking your butt into the air?"

"I will! I will most certainly do that! I do owe you for poor Barney, I admit, that was rather callous of me, although he did end up in a very lovely home, I assure you," she lied through her teeth, unable to remember exactly what she'd done with the dog. The thought was so upsetting to her that the guilt spurred her to obey, causing her to climb up onto the tablecloth, get on all fours like a dog, and stick her very minimally covered butt up into the air. She gingerly covered her pussy lips with her fingers, knowing the crab wouldn't do the job from that angle, but the whole globe of her ass was really otherwise exposed. They could even make out a bit of the other hole she was failing to cover, thanks to the minimal coverage of the string. "I-Is this enough?"

"Ah, and now, I want you to recommend something for the table! Something to go with the food, I mean. Aaah, I'm thinking of something carby, soft... you know what I mean, right? Why don't you finish that thought for me? What do you want to offer us?"

"I want to offer you a nice slap across the cheek. You are killing my buzz and, probably, the buzz of everyone else here at the table! They're all gentlemen, not amused by this sort of savagery!" The sound of a dial twisting somewhere under the table grated in her ears and a dumb smile came across her face. She, improbably, found herself stifling a laugh, and clutched both hands over her mouth to hide the expression. It's just... the entendre was so saucy! She had to let it out! Not quite understanding what she was doing, she turned her eyes to Jimm and fluttered her long lashes. "Ahem, but... if I was to recommend something for the table. I would recommend the crab cakes, with supple meat, ready to burst right out of their shell casing." She wiggled her butt in the air for effect. That was embarrassing, but it felt good to have it out. Actually, she wasn't done yet. "When you get through with all that cake, you'll want to stick your tongue in there and suck the meat. Just lick out every little nook and cranny..."

"Nook and cranny of what?"

"Th-The crab's shell, silly! O-Oh ho ho, where is your mind, you crazy cat man?" she answered, suddenly red-faced. Why was she acting like she wanted to get laid?! This was the stuff for her sex tapes, not something to do in front of all of her servants! She had to run damage control and that meant undercutting the salacious joke by telling the whole truth instead. "My ass. I was referring to the possibility of you sticking your tongue in my asshole and just really cleaning house in there." Amazingly, clearing the air of her lie didn't have the effect of undoing her embarrassment.

Half the table grinned excitedly while the other half winced and pushed their calamari plates away, suddenly losing their appetites.

Everything after that was sort of a blur. It turned out the people in the cafeteria were too hungry to keep up this ruse for long. The serving was more simple after that, livened up by the occasional union member goosing her, only to be reminded of the rules, and the occasional genuine drunkard proving to be a difficult customer. Finally, the lunch finished, dragging on for a whole hour longer than it was intended to. Nobody seemed to mind the cold calamari-- the show had been worth it.

When Klotho was finished, with her red hair falling all around her shoulders in a disheveled way and cocktail sauce mixed all over the bib she was wearing over her perky tits, she stumbled out of the kitchen, headed towards her bed. A union member politely reminded her that she was needed outside to wash the cars. The whole staff had their own luxury vehicles-- a gift that reflected well on her, but was really all about her own desire to be able to show off a huge car collection and then pridefully boast that she'd donated all of these to her workers. They were all well maintained and really didn't need daily washing, but they got it anyways.

"I am NOT going to go outside dressed like this! What if the neighbors see me dressed this way? I-I'd die! I am instead going to request a more thematically appropriate car-wash uniform!"

Before she knew what was happening, she was standing outside, dressed in a sort of pit crew fetish uniform, with a red, billed cap, a matching belly shirt tied off under her breasts, and tiny shorts with a checkered flag print in stripes down the sides. V-style thong straps showed up either hip, with the shorts themselves low enough to reveal she shaved her pubes. A bucket hung from one hand and a wash-cloth from the other. She'd picked out the outfit, so it didn't bother her too much. This was just the sort of thing people wore when they washed cars, right? And the appropriate method... or well, she'd seen it somewhere before... was to let the drivers sit in their car and smush up her tits against the windshield as she washed. Perfect. Then, when it got hot, you untie the top, revealing a string bikini with checker print barely covering each breast, then you throw off the shorts, revealing the whole thong. Ah, nice and cool! Then, when you're nearly done, you get up onto the car and lean all the way across it, while squeezing the sponge all over your body, letting water and soap pour down from your slender shoulders, to your nice, round tits, rubbing it in at the teasing V of your nearly revealed pussy, before tossing your hair side-to-side like you're eye-candy from an old rock and roll video. Yes. That was the method.

"There has to be some easier method of washing cars. I wish I'd watch Chester do it a time or two. He's the bee's knees when it comes to car cleaning," she sighed to herself, squeezing water out of her hair as she entered back into the house, wearing just the race-pattern bikini.

Next, to cleaning the servants' communal bathroom. There was an audience there too. Then again, Klotho was pretty sure she remembered that in some part of the world, in some eastern custom maybe, it was normal to sit in the bathroom while it's cleaned? So she allowed that too. Wearing first a towel around her body, which she then swapped out for a pair of fluffy, monogramed hand towels, barely enough to cover her body as she squeezed them there, she began to slide her bare butt all over the floor, squeaking as her soapy body connected with the title to get all the day's grime off of the wet tiles. Scrub scrub scrub the floor with your bottom. Next came the tub, getting a thorough rub-down from her soapy tits once she dropped the towel covering them. Next, her tongue was out-- it was time to lick the toilet bowl clean while panting like a dog--

Somebody got smacked in the back of the head in the background, remarkably coinciding with her suddenly having a change of heart. She did not need to lick the toilet bowl just because she'd once seen it in a movie and wondered for a brief second how it would taste. Once again, a feeling of nausea came over her... Something was wrong. These changes of heart were so many, so frequent, she couldn't tell what her own thoughts were any more. It was like her brain was stuck inside an active blender, pulling up errant thoughts and making them real choices, while burying sensibility underneath a mushy soup of irrational decisions. "I um... I need to lay down. Would that be alright? I've been working for hours and I'm so sore," she pleaded, now self-consciously covering her soapy boobs and putting on her best puppy-dog eyes for the bathroom attendants.

The men hadn't lost their heart, nor fully their adoration of the woman that she was. They put it to a vote and agreed to let her take a break.

"Oh, you're perfect peaches, all of you. I won't forget you when this all settles," she encouraged them, batting her eyelashes and smiling with appreciation. She scampered to her room and threw the towels aside, then put on a silver, monogrammed bathrobe with a big K on the chest as fast as she could manage. Her heart was hammering in her chest. This was not right. How had she been reduced to... whatever this was? It didn't feel like a single thing had happened in the past four hours that was anyone else's power, and yet, the results made it obvious: she'd pranced around in near nudity in plain sight of her servants, now calling themselves "a union." They were all holding dials... Had they used them? No, she'd know if they had. She could tell, right? Which thoughts were her real ones and which had been switched?

The goddess's crystal clear, striking white eyes swirled with confusion as she laughed, half-mad. Her makeup was basically gone by this point, revealing all of her freckles and even the natural pink of her lips where the lipstick had rubbed off. The tasteful braid in her hair had gone "splitsville," as she would say, allowing the mass to hang freely around her shoulders. She didn't even look like the same person any more. "This is ****. What did I ever do to all of them, that I didn't immediately reverse and replace with a wholesome lifestyle and ideal events?!" she whispered to her reflection in the mirror.

"Ma'am?" A knock at the door.

"Oh, for the love of me! I'm on a union-approved break right now! Hit the bricks! Scat, cat!"

"No, ma'am. It's a friend. Eggbert."

"Eggbert...? No, I don't recall that name, I'm afraid. I am most frazzled right now and really do need to lie down. But I'd like to get to know you better. I need all the friends I can get! Please, come in, Eggbert."

A stately looking butler, tall and rail thin with a totally bald head, entered in. Klotho thought to herself, tastelessly, that his head really did look a bit like an egg. Ignoring that, she managed to put together his place in the mansion... a relatively new hire who she'd brought in as an accountant after torpedoing his whole company with a unique world economy specifically devised to torpedo it. She winced. He was probably mad about that.

"I'm sorry I had to use the dial just now, ma'am. This is important. I mean it: I'm a friend. I don't trust those videos. I don't trust Extre or Doyl or anyone in the union. I trust you, ma'am."

For the first time in a long time, her eyes actually lit up. Her fingers went to the blue Whim-Me-Not placed in her choker and fingered it slowly. Opportunity! This man was the window she'd been looking for! Klotho cleared her throat and did her best to fix her hair to be more presentable and her expression to be less half-crazy. "Ah, Eggbert! My dear friend. What a terrible time we find ourselves in. I should have sought you out. You, my dear friend, are a voice of reason, as you have been ever since you became my faithful accountant."

The man nodded, flashing a tight grin that was a little off-putting, not because it was perverted, but just because, in her personal opinion, it was ugly. This was probably one of the few people in the mansion she hadn't chosen to have sex with at some point, but his loyalty had been pretty promising. Now, it was paying dividends. "These other idiots... They don't get it. Asinine! I keep asking them: what is more likely? That Klotho, our great mistress, loveable, kind, gentle, and virtuous, has secretly been filming our downfalls behind our backs and fapping herself into a puddle in her room-- no offense, I know that's inaccurate-- or that Extre an ex-goddess hussy with a bone to pick, has been turning all our dials? Hm? Doesn't that make a lot more sense?" he asked, raising one eyebrow with a smirk. "We all had doubts, from the beginning, like any rational person would... and she's been turning the dials, making us mistrust you." He motioned sneakily turning a dial, as if that made his story more believable.

Oh, and how believable it was!

"Yes! It makes so much sense. Oh that is like... a mind blast from another cosmos, babe!" Klotho agreed, nodding hard. "You get it! I'm not allowed to say it, because of this collar, but now that you've said it, I... can say it! That's exactly what's been happening. My guest, friend that she once was, has grown jealous, and is currently using those dials of hers to turn the whims of everyone to betrayal! She fabricated all those tapes and had poor Doyl stumble upon them, then he rallied the others! It's dreadful, oh so totally uncool!"

"Most uncool," Eggbert agreed in a whisper, grinning wider. It was clear that this was the kind of thing he got really into. She thought she'd made a few mistakes in his life-long training, in hindsight, but you didn't get to be a really good business person without retaining some undesirable traits. "Okay so... I'm on your side, but I can't get the dials away from everybody. I can't even let you use your powers without wider union approval. We are in a tough, tough spot, ma'am."

"That we are. A real sticky wicket," she agreed, tapping one finger against her chin. "But... for industrious young mortals like yourself, there are all sorts of opportunities that might present themselves." Klotho grinned, seeming to regain a bit of the madness she'd tossed aside a moment ago. That was because, like she was unfolding a pop-up picture book in her mind, she saw it all appearing before her again. Clockwork Eden. Her paradise. Loyal butlers. Humble maids. Guests who have their every need attended to. Civility. Beauty. Perfection. Fashion! All of it, back in her hands from where it had been stolen. All back in its proper place, like today was just a bad dream. No one retaining a single memory of her covering her pussy with a crab, or squeezing a dirty sponge all over herself, or nearly being made to lick a toilet bowl. She was back in business!

"When I reset the timeline, Eggbert, know that you won't remember anything. But... If you do this one thing for me... We can be together."

It was her one little promise that always worked... with none of the pesky obligations of actually repaying the promise that an ordinary woman might face. First step back to godhood, baby!