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Two thousand spare dollars in the household budget. Gold watch. White gloves. The good shorts. He’s all dressed up and nowhere to go.
“Jerma,” he says to himself, “the ball’s in my court.” He makes his best moves after teasing the thought out aloud. They aren’t necessarily good moves, but they’re at least better than the decisions he makes when he doesn’t think out loud. Woah, has he made some stupid fucking decisions. “Two thousand dollars for a sexy maid. And that’s with a friendly discount! That maid said they’d drop their prices down to two-kay for you! Probably fuckin’... twenty-five hundred otherwise. Still. Five hundred dollars. Nothing to turn your nose up at.”
He slaps himself.
“No, man. That’s fucking crazy.”
Another day of overtime at the job factory, and it’s getting hard to keep his thoughts straight. He’s been on the verge of passing out for at least an hour. He’s just gotta keep it together until Emilia leaves, and then it’s straight to those sweet gamer-themed bedsheets...
“... for ol’ Jerma,” he mumbles, facing the corner for a little peace and quiet. “You know what?”
Let’s keep it simple: he’ll just narrow down his thoughts—frenzied and many as they are—to two or three options, and then go with the one that feels most immediately correct in his gut.
“That’ll do it,” he nods, “that’s what you do. You keep it simple, Jerma. That way you don’t do something fucking stupid like, come onto the maid. Not come—come on —like come—”
Be Flirty | 81%
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Use Toilet | 13%
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Go to Sleep | 6%
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He’s in the bathroom. “Hey.” Emilia is in the bathroom, dusting the keyboard of Jerma’s desktop computer. “I should have put that away before the maid got here.”
Emilia turns to Jerma in a graceful spin, their black loafers making small squeaks against the bathroom tiles while the hems of their skirt lifts with a flourish. “Hi, Jerma.”
“Jesus Christ,” he coughs, “ough fuck.”
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing,” he grins, leaning ‘casually’ against the wall. That cough really got at his throat. He can feel the flush going over his face. “You look. Really great! I love your outfit, and the—” He gestures to Emilia’s uniform. “—the, the uh, the—”
They spread their apron in a near-curtsey. “The dust and grime and oil stains?”
“Yeah, they look so great on you.”
“Oh, thank you,” Emilia smiles, all dimples. “I picked them up cleaning your garage.”
“I have a garage?”
They twirl the duster in their hands. “Say more.”
Jerma nods, waving again from Emilia’s sandy blonde hair to their patterned socks and everything in between. “You—the apron. I love it. Is that to keep dirt off your uniform? Or is it part of the uniform? I never really got that.”
“Does this mean,” Emilia hazards to ask, contemplatively bouncing the handle of the feather duster against their chin, “you like the sexy maid service?”
“ Mmmmh ,” Jerma half-hums half-groans. “Well I gh —I suppose this means I do!”
“Okay!” they chirp.
Then Emilia closes the gap between them, reaching into the pocket of Jerma’s shorts to find a considerable wad of bills clipped inside. “I was wondering was that your entire household income in your pocket or were you just happy to see me,” they smile. “So that’ll be… two thousand dollars. And you still want me to come back every other day?”
“ Heheheeeyyyup guess I do! ” Jerma chokes out as Emilia slowly and carefully returns the remaining bills to the pocket of his flamingo shorts, confidently making their hand known through the thin inner lining keeping their fingers from his thigh.
Use Toilet | 48%
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Work Out | 44%
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Go to Sleep | 8%
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“Emilia,” he grimaces, “would you leave the room? Please?”
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Think About Life | 52%
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Catch Butterflies | 44%
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Use Toilet | 4%
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Fucking front door’s jammed. He knocks his head against it a couple of times just to get the frustration out.
He’s dying on his feet working overtime again. And for what? What even is there to save up for? A bespoke coffee table? Silk curtains? A shitty antique cabinet full of god knows what trash? How long will that furniture last him? Will he outlast it? How permanent is any of the furniture in this house? How permanent is the house? How permanent is he? His thoughts? His body? Sure he could throw open the furniture catalogue and get more stuff , but how much joy will it even bring him in the long run? How many surfaces can you zerk off against before it loses its appeal?
As he walks into the house, Jerma nods to Emilia cleaning the window before collapsing onto the couch that still lets out a miasma of Ted smells anytime he sits on it. He’s just grateful it doesn’t make a whoopee cushion sound in front of the maid. This time.
“Two thousand bucks in the bank,” he mutters under his breath. “What for.” The shit TVs are shit and you can never get the pricey ones to work right. God, work makes it feel like he’s never felt fun in his life. He’s gotta get up and do something.
Decorate | 40%
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Dance | 37%
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Work Out | 23%
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Jerma rolls his head back on the brown sofa cushions, frowning at the curtains on the window over the kitchenette. They brush on the cuff of Emilia’s sleeve while the maid scrapes hard dots of dirt from burst mac’n’cheese bubbles off the window. The curtains don’t even reach the bottom of the window. That’s always bothered him. Fuck it. He can get some fun out of this. A little demolition never hurt.
“Ah,” he mumbles, scooting up next to Emilia at the kitchen countertop, “‘scuse me there Emilia.”
Emilia gives Jerma a sidelong glance. But he’s only paid them $150 today, so they withhold contact. They step to the side so that Jerma can get at the curtain, bringing their curvy legs together at the heels so their skirt doesn’t even brush Jerma’s bare knee.
Jerma makes a noise through his nose. “Hnmh.”
He gets to work wiggling the curtain off the rail, standing on his tippy-toes to reach the top of the window.
Emilia glances over at him from what is, at most, a two-inch height advantage. “Do you… want me to get you one of those stools from your bedroom?”
“No thank you Emilia that’s absolutely fine,” he replies in one breath.
The maid shrugs, mumbling under their breath as they move to the kitchen sink and make busy, repetitively washing what looks like a new and unused plate.
With one curtain wrenched off the rail, Jerma tosses it aside and throws his hands up questioningly. “Do you need to go clean the bathroom or anything?”
“Why?” Emilia asks, still running the same dry sponge over the same dry plate, with the smooth mannerisms of a dancer or a robot. “What have you done in the bathroom, Jerma?”
“Nothing!” he snaps after making a strangled noise something like ‘gyah’. “I did nothing weird in the bathroom. I do no weird bathroom things. I don’t do any weird bathroom things.”
“Okay,” they shrug, gazing airily out the window, “because I already thought it was interesting that you had a personal computer set up in front of your toilet so maybe you—”
“I don’t pay a hundred and fifty dollars to have you critique my fucking—feng shui! It’s just—forget about it.”
Jerma moves to the other side of the curtain rail, where he tries reaching at the hooks while both standing on his toes and contorting not to touch Emilia. It would be great to say it’s one of the most physically awkward experiences of his life, that would reflect really well on him, wouldn’t it, but it’s unfortunately not even a Top 10.
Still, it feels very weird to avoid Emilia so stringently after how close they came to his junk not two days ago. Jerma can feel himself break out in an actual sweat, drops rolling down from his hairline.
Emilia says, “You could stand behind me.”
“Yeah well,” Jerma grunts impatiently, “wouldn’t be stuck like this if you’d just get out of this weird fuckin’ sponge loop and getouttatheway—”
Jesus Christ, he knew this would happen, but he went and did it anyway.
Jerma leans one hand on the counter to Emilia’s left, reaching his right hand as high as he can over their head to catch the curtain rings. His chest comes up against Emilia’s back. Emilia’s wrist keeps turning in the sink. They just go in circles, ‘doing the dishes’. Not noticing or not acknowledging Jerma’s leg between their knees or his hips against their thin skirt.
“Did you know the guy next door to you in 983 does some video game stuff too?”
Jerma practically shouts in their ear. “WOW is that so. That’s very interesting. Mmhn. ”
Emilia looks over their shoulder to Jerma, whose chin is practically resting on their shoulder. Their cheeks brush. It’s quiet enough that Jerma can hear the faint scratch of his beard on their skin. Emilia keeps talking, like it’s nothing. “Yeah, I heard he streamed for a month straight once.”
The curtain comes off the rail. It falls into the sink with a clatter. Jerma loses his balance and drops his other hand to the counter on Emilia’s far side, encasing them in place, their back flush with Jerma’s front after jumping back in fright. Life idles momentarily.
Be Flirty | 90%
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Dance | 6%
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Be Rude | 4%
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“Emilia,” he says.
They look over their shoulder with naked hope in the shine of their eyes. “Yes?”
Jerma sighs and bows his head, his cowlick coming to rest on the nape of Emilia’s neck, at the soft bristles of their shaved hair. “I’d like to pay you the two thousand dollars today.”
Emilia smiles shyly, turning their head back to the kitchen sink and the window in front of them that shows a day as clear and bright as a Windows XP desktop. Jerma watches rays of sun through the silhouette of Emilia’s cat-ear headband.
It’s surreal. It’s unreal. It’s not real. He’s working too much overtime. Emilia rolls their hips back against him.
“Oh.” Jerma’s grip on the countertop edge tightens.
Emilia moves their hands out of the sink and slides them over Jerma’s for purchase.
“What were you doing?” he mumbles against their neck, absentmindedly noting how soft and dry their hands are, not even remotely pruny from the make-believe water in the sink. “You’re not even wet.”
“Give it a minute,” they smile.
Emilia never hikes the uniform up, but the shape of their ass is obvious when they press it through the flimsy fabric of their skirt, pushing his dick back against his own body where he can feel it hot and hard. He’s feeling more of it than Emilia even is. He’s got them pinned against the sink but they have him trapped with his own bad decision.
He comes fully clothed in no time. His breath seizes at the last second. His arms wrap around Emilia and he bucks against them.
Dance | 63%
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Think About Life | 20%
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Make Food | 17%
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Emilia takes their money out of a cupboard under the sink while Jerma crumps fretfully in cumstained shorts. “I’ll let myself out. Looking forward to our date, Jerma.”
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Another day passing out on stream and a new double bed in his room.
“When did I buy that?”
Where did the money come from? Where did it go? Did it matter? Did he still have enough for the sexy maid?
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Zerk Off Thinking About Emilia | 93%
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Go Outside | 5%
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Use Toilet | 3%
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“You know,” comes their voice, “you could have called.”
Jerma sticks his head out of the shower.
“Are you vacuuming?”
Emilia forcefully thrusts the vacuum cleaner over the sparkling tiles of the bathroom floor. “I waited up, Jerma. I waited for you to call me.”
“I don’t think you’re supposed to have electrical appliances in the bathroom, Emilia.”
“I’m not crazy, right. I didn’t think we were in love or anything but a date is a date! ”
“Maybe if the shower wasn’t on? But there’s a, a lot of water in here—”
They throw the vacuum aside so it clatters against Jerma’s streaming setup. He might have winced more if not for the semi-permanent Twitch ban.
“Is that all I am to you?” Emilia cries out. “A maid?!”
“No, y—”
“A sexy maid?!”
“Right, I was gonna say, yeah, that adjective cost me two thousand dollars.”
“Oh, give me a break Jerma.”
With empty hands and anger overwhelming, Emilia storms out, tearing the shower curtains off the rack as they go. Jerma rushes to cover himself before realising he’s been showering fully clothed. And he’s dry.
“Did I forget… Did I forget to get undressed? I—” The door comes to a close after Emilia. He frowns at it. “That’s my house. That’s more of my house. Did they just run away from me into my own house?”
In the bedroom, Emilia has theatrically thrown themself on the double bed. They seem to be imitating crying but not actually shedding any tears.
Jerma looks around the room for any sign that this is in fact still a zerk off dream, but all four walls remain around him, and he’s alone with this thespian gigolo who’s been ruining as many of his waking days as they have his nights.
“Emilia,” he says, coming to sit at the edge of the bed, “no, c’mon, I just fell asleep after work at the… at the place where I work, the jobs factory, don’t—”
He puts a hand on Emilia’s shoulder only for them to turn over, hugging his dachshund pillow to their chest, fuming and woefully chewing a plain slice of bread.
Open Self up to Sexual Humiliation | 87%
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Give Sincere Heartfelt Apology | 9%
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Think About Life | 4%
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“What,” he starts before he knows what he’s starting, “can I do to make it up to you?”
He mouths: What? Fuck.
Emilia turns around slowly, looking over their shoulder first before propping themself up on their elbows. They look Jerma straight in the eye.
“Lie down.”
Do What Emilia Says | 95%
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Catch Butterflies | 3%
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Go Jogging | 2%
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Emilia shuffles over on the bed so that Jerma can lie down next to them. The pillows are sideways, at least one bed slat is broken, the sheets haven’t been washed because Emilia doesn’t seem to do any real cleaning any time they come over, but then, it’s on Jerma for telling them to keep coming anyway. Coming over , not like com—
“This is funny,” Emilia says. They kneel next to Jerma as he lies flat on the bed, his eyes darting around the room, checking for any sign that the world will fall away around him before this dream can finish the way he wants. Emilia smiles. “Usually when I’m on the job, I don’t get my own needs bars filled—”
“Needs bar? What are you—”
They put a hand over his mouth. “—but let’s say you’re giving me a tip .”
He lets out a muffled, strangled giggle of shock.
Emilia lifts one leg over Jerma’s lap and he doesn’t know why but he looks away. They’ve made him come in his cargo pants, but god forbid Jerma take a glance up their skirt. It just feels dirty. It just feels like
Eyes Down | 66%
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Upskirt | 33%
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Go Jogging | 1%
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he isn’t allowed.
Emilia settles down over Jerma’s hips, their ass resting against his covered hard-on. He rolls his eyes. Of course he’s hard before Emilia’s even touched him. That’s—that’s just embarrassing.
Emilia puts both hands on the round of Jerma’s belly, angles their hips, and grinds against his cock.
Their voice stays as mannerly and even-keeled as ever. “Have you ever thought about woohooing with me?”
By comparison to Emilia’s placidity, Jerma sounds like he’s dying. “I’ve—I’ve thought about f- fucking? You? Is that—”
Emilia plays up an astounded gasp and comes down to speak quietly in Jerma’s ear, his short stubble scratching at their cheek. “Well, I don’t use language like that, I’m a professional. Now, are you listening?”
Jerma nods.
“Kiss me.”
And they lean back. They hover a hair’s breadth over Jerma’s lips, their cock tenting the cheap fabric of their skirt and their exhales rolling over Jerma’s lips with the slow consideration of a cat’s blink. They hang in the air like smoke.
KISS THEM!!! | 82%
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Kiss Them | 10%
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Kiss Them! | 8%
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He sinks his elbows into the air mattress, leans up and kisses them as hard as he can muster with Emilia’s hands still pinning his stomach to the bed and every shift of their hips casting a frenzy on his nerves.
Emilia shuffles forward slightly. Jerma can’t tell why at first, until one of Emilia’s hands finds his, guiding him under their skirt to their cock.
Make Them Come | 90%
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Look for Condom | 8%
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Zerk Off | 2%
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“Make me—”
“Okay,” he inhales, “Yeah yeah for sure you got it.”
He goes too fast first, the eagerness building in his muscles making him give the most confused, spasmodic handjob Emilia has likely ever had; they reach under their skirt, wrapping over Jerma’s wrist to slow his course, and putting the other hand behind them to keep balance as they arch their back. Their palm rests against Jerma’s crotch. He’s so hard he wonders if they can feel his heartbeat through his cock.
Emilia keeps that same straight face at first. Even with their tattoo choker. Even with the plastic cat ears. Even with the remaining half of their tantrum bread lying on the floor. Nothing fazes Emilia like it fazes him. They can say ‘woohoo’ without a hint of a joke and still make him want to come over the small of their back again. They look beautiful, calm, collected, in control.
Jerma almost doesn’t want to break that. But more than he wants to watch Emilia, he wants to satisfy them.
He reaches under their skirt with his free hand and pulls Emilia’s wrist away, stroking them up and down at his own speed. His left hand stays under the skirt, resting a thumb in the dip of their hipbone and the rest of his fingers digging with lascivious desperation into their skin.
He thrusts his hips. Not to do anything for himself, but so Emilia will feel that hot friction under their dress, pressing achingly, wantingly against their ass.
Their brows slant first, and their whole expression caves in after. They take their bottom lip between their teeth to stifle any outcries for more but still look greedy, look wanting. It’s a face worth so much more than two thousand dollars.
“ Yeah ,” they let slip softly, before keening in small stuttering moans and coming over Jerma’s hand.
An idle moment passes with Emilia basking in Jerma’s lap, Jerma’s hard-on still standing beneath them. They take his limp hand and use it to wipe off any cum on the underside of their skirt, then lift a leg up and get off him. He still doesn’t look under their skirt.
Jerma wheezes a tired laugh. “I uh, I guess that’ll be two thousand dollars.”
Emilia leans down and gives him one long, smiling, open-mouthed tongue kiss that he hardly has the energy to reciprocate before they go. “You’re not worth it.”
Go To Sleep | 100%
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