Linda Madison wondered, as she often did when she got home from work to see her lazy daughter watching science fiction on television and her son loafing about not doing anything, why she had bothered to hire the maid at all. Sure, Jon did a great job, the house had never been as clean as it was since she had hired him, but hiring a crossdressing maid was such a luxury! She was sure she was spoiling her kids by just having him around.
She put her briefcase down by the front door, noting that she had beat her husband home again, and watched with interest as Jon scurried into the room on his high-heeled shoes, bent and took the briefcase from its resting place, welcomed her home with a lovely French accent, then scurried away to put the briefcase in Linda's office before he returned to his cleaning.
Another thing that made her feel uneasy with having Jon in the house was the way Mikey was watching him so closely. Was he getting to be the age where he might be curious about the other things that a French maid, crossdressing or no, might do for a living? It was bad enough that Linda's husband, Richard, was constantly looking down Jon's top (fake boobs or no), but to have to worry about Mikey too? That would be too much. Maybe she should reconsider Jon's contract.
Linda walked past Zoe and Mikey, down the hallway, and into her bedroom. Her feet were sore, and she would love to slip into some clothes that would help her relax. Flopping on her bed, Linda kicked one heel off at a time, allowing them to thump against the closet door. As if a bell had been run for him, Jon wiggled into the room with a glass of white wine on a tray.
"Pour vous, madam," he said, "I can see zat vous had a 'ard day"
She took the wine with a smile, "Thank-you, Jon."
He curtsied an answer to her thanks, then dropped to his knees before her, taking her feet in his hands and began to massage.
"Madam works far too 'ard. She needs some, 'ow do you say, pampered?"
"Pampering," Linda replied, closing her eyes and relishing in the feel of the massage. His hands felt like magic. The balls of her feet, the heels, everything in between.
"Ah yes, pampering," he said, "Sometimes zees words are tricky for zomeone like moi."
He moved onto her ankles. Linda downed her wine and lay the empty glass on the bed next to her as she lay down. Her calves, knees, then her thighs. Jon the French maid massaged her into full relaxation mode, hands creeping upwards and upwards.
As they reached her groin, Linda decided that no matter what the impact on her kids, she had to keep Jon on. He was just too damned good at his job.
