Teyla

I had just lost my last job because of my poor English. What an idiot I was! I should have listened to my mother when she told me to focus more on my studies. I hadn't dared tell her that helping her was taking up all my free time, but I couldn't help it. I loved her so much; I would have done anything to support her.

I was looking at the classifieds and I saw an interesting message:

"Live-in position in a prestigious home, various services, high salary and benefits, no experience necessary.
Serious and absolutely meticulous, hardworking and disciplined, English preferred but not required, training possible, fixed-term or permanent contract possible after a trial period.
Interview after initial contact by phone at: 07 12 11 12 11, ask for Philippe Benedict."

I never thought I'd be hired for such a job, yet I was ****. My mother needed me; her health required help, and I wasn't eligible for social assistance. There was no way she was going to be placed in a dreary, neglected place.

I called the number:

"Hello, I'd like to speak to Mr. Benedict about the advertisement. My name is Teyla Rousseau."

"Hello, miss, could you tell me a little more about yourself?"

"Oh, yes. My name is Teyla Rousseau, I'm 19 years old, and I'm willing, disciplined, and ready to learn and meet the requirements of the position you're offering. However, my English is no more than just passable."

I heard the man's smiling voice.

"That's alright, you'll learn. At least you're honest, which is important to us. Come see me tomorrow at 2 p.m. Please be punctual. I'll send you the address by text message. The salary will be €3,000 net per month plus bonuses based on certain performance. You'll be provided with room and board, and laundry services. You'll have to sign a confidentiality agreement."

I almost choked. €3,000 when I'd only ever earned minimum wage plus bonuses.

"Hello, are you interested?"

"Oh yes, very much so."

"See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow, sir."

He hung up. The text message arrived; it was in a luxurious neighborhood.

The next day, I arrived in my most elegant and professional attire. I rang the doorbell at the appointed time, the door unlocked, I entered, and found myself facing a woman behind a desk.

"Hello, who are you?"

"Teyla Rousseau."

"Good, I'll let Mr. Benedict know." She pressed a button on the intercom, and I heard a voice say,

"Bring her in." Within seconds, I was ushered into the large, bright, and comfortable office. A friendly man in his forties gestured for me to sit down, which I did after shaking his hand, which was frank and honest.

"You're Teyla Rousseau, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, you should know that you're applying for a prestigious and demanding position that justifies this salary, one that requires exceptional dedication. I recruit for exceptional profiles, those who stand out from the crowd and meet unusual conditions." The man paused for a moment, looking at her.

"It's a standard job interview. You'll fill out a questionnaire, I'll take your picture, and since your appearance is important, my secretary will take pictures of you from different angles, including nude. This might seem strange, but you'll understand that the services that justify such sums require a 'friendly' experience, do you understand? If so, do you want to continue?"

"This isn't prostitution?"

"No, but a lot will be asked of you. Will you stay?"

I took a breath and nodded. I was backed into a corner, and for that salary, I should have figured it out myself. I was ready to do anything for my mother.

He handed me an imposing questionnaire. I'd never seen anything like it. The questions were very intimate: fantasies, rejections, fears, hopes...

My fingers trembled slightly as I held the pen.

I scribbled clumsy answers, my cheeks burning with shame with each question more intrusive than the last. Have you ever had a relationship with a woman? Your pain tolerance, my level of obedience—I shuddered, and yet at the same time I felt a state I couldn't explain. I had the impression that, for once, I wouldn't bear the burden that had weighed on my shoulders since my father's ****. I had so wished to be freed from the daily weight of having to make choices; I would no longer belong to myself, I would only have to comply with instructions.

Mr. Benedict left as I finished answering. He took the questionnaire, and the secretary returned with a professional camera, her heel clicking on the polished parquet floor. "Stand up, by the window," she ordered in a neutral voice. The sunlight pierced me as I heard the click of the shutter.

"Now, the jacket. Slowly."

I blushed, I was ashamed, but her tone relieved me of a burden. I obeyed instinctively. Quickly, I found myself naked. She photographed me from several angles. When she wanted to take a picture of my genitals, I unconsciously covered my hand with modesty.

"Stop acting like a child, will you stop right there?" I shook my head.

"Then obey,"

which I did, apologizing.

The secretary's cold gaze chilled me, but I lowered my hand, exposing my trembling body to the merciless lens. The click of the camera sounded like a verdict.

"Spread your legs. Wider."

My breath caught in my throat, but I obeyed, the muscles in my thighs aching. The cool air in the room caressed my bare skin, reminding me how **** I was.

It lasted a while; she photographed me from every angle, even the soles of my feet.

"Get dressed," she said.

I obeyed, always submissive to her natural authority. Mr. Benedict returned.

"Very well, I'll contact you again as soon as a decision has been made."

He shook my hand. I was dizzy, yet relieved. I felt ready for the position, whatever it entailed.