Title:           As Of Yet Untitled Shimmer Story
Author:          Anonymous
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/r1Y8vpBL
First Edit:      Saturday 28th of March 2015 09:16:27 AM CDT
Last Edit:       Saturday 28th of March 2015 09:16:27 AM CDT

>You are Sunset Shimmer, and you are cold.
>The first snow has come, but it's been getting colder and colder for the last two months.
>Now you shiver all the time, rather than just when the wind hits you.
>Your coat is worn, and offers little protection from the cold.
>Your shoes have holes in them, your socks are barely there, and the rest of your clothes are as dirty as your skin.
>You curl up and hug your knees to your chest as you try to stay warm.
>Your stomach growls. You adjust your dirty cap to better cover your ears.
>You sniffle as the biting chill reaches you again, carried by an uncaring wind.
>It wasn't always like this.
>Once, you were a powerful unicorn, a personal student of the ruler of an entire realm.
>Then, you fell off the path. You strayed. Became something you're not.
>Exploiting people... stealing, threatening... controlling their minds.
>This is your punishment. You know that now.
>When your home in the school was found, you were kicked out.
>They changed the locks, barred the doors and rebuilt the school after your little power show to even better withstand an attack.
>And your friends... the ones you thought would forgive you...
>Their kindness didn't last.
>Initially, you stayed with them. But, when it became clear that you had no way of repaying their kindness...
>No marketable skills... no job history or experience... and rumors of what you had done... in a town where everyone knew each other, they all knew you, and hated you.
 
 
>You moved from home to home for a while. Until finally, they wouldn't see you anymore.
>You know that the girls, Twilight's friends, didn't mean to truly treat you the way they ended up doing...
>It was everyone else at the school who came to hate you, to resent you and ruin your every effort to remain there.
>So, you didn't.
>Without so much as a goodbye, you struck out on your own, heading to the big city.
>You were confident that you could start over here, make a new life for yourself.
>Instead, all you found was a new kind of hell.
>Cityfolk are nothing like townfolk, except for their contempt of you.
>In almost no time at all, any money you had was gone, and you were out on the street.
>With no way to get back and no way to contact anyone, you were truly on your own, alone.
>And it's been like that ever since.
>You deserve this.
>Good people have good things happen to them.
>Bad people have bad things happen to them.
>Twilight became a princess... you became a homeless alien from another dimension, trapped in a body that wasn't even the one you were born in.
>And now, you'll probably freeze to death.
>You keep hoping that someone will come by to save you.
>To pick you up, to hold you, to make you warm again.
>You remember basking in the evening sun in Equestria, feeling the last light of Celestia's magic washing over you...
 
>The sunsets were so warm back home...
>You've done so many horrible things since coming here, and not just to the students.
>Left with no recourse, you began selling your body...
>It pains you to think about all the times you made yourself let them use you for cash.
>You once made love with Flash, back when you were an item... it was nice.
>But the way they used you... hard, fast and painful. Cold.
>It made you feel disgusted and sick to your stomach. You often threw up everything they made you swallow.
>You'd take the money, buy some food and then it would be gone again.
>Rinse, wash and repeat, only without the "rinse and wash" part.
>Unless, of course, you counted the rinsing your cheeks got from your tears as you get bent over a box and fucked raw by another stranger.
>You deserved it.
>Even when you "made love" with Flash, all you were doing was securing his loyalty... and even that didn't last.
>You used him, like you used others.
>Like others are using you now.
>You deserve it...
>A noise startles you. You turn and see three men approaching.
>You recognize them. They, too, are homeless, but just as cruel and jaded as the rest of the people here.
>One of them used you once, forcefully, without any pay. He fills you with revulsion and fear.
>You crawl backwards as they near you, their beady eyes set upon you.
"G-go away," you say.
>Their leader, the one who used you, shakes his head. "Oh no, girlie, we'z cold today... feel like warmin' up a bit."
 
>He grins lecherously, as do his companions. One of them starts to unzip his pants.
"No, NO!" you cry as they reach out, grabbing the back of your jacket as you try to run.
>They pull you, kicking and screaming futher into the alley.
>Their hands are rough, and they rip your clothes.
>You cry out for them to stop, to let you go. They paw at you, groping and grinning ear-to-ear as they start to strip you.
>Your bare ass hits the cold, wet concrete as they rip your pants off. You cry as they tear your jacket open, and your shirt, too.
>You struggle, but you're too weak and they're larger and tougher. You can only feel helpless and sob as the lead man readies himself, fiddling with his belt.
>You wait for the inevitable to happen...
>"Excuse me."
>The three of them stop and look back. You can't see what's happening.
>"Piss off," the leader says. "None'a your damned business."
>His two companions shout similar things before turning their attention to you.
>The stranger's voice speaks out again, louder and more confident.
>"You don't want to talk to me, fine. How about you talk to this?"
>The leader cranes his head back, ready to fire off another insult, when his face turns white. He lets go of you and stands up, as do his friends.
>Now, you see who it is. It's a young man, with a clean-shaven face, a nice jacket worn on the outside of a clean suit with shiny black shoes, the kind business people wear.
>In his black gloved hand is a handgun, pointed right at the leader. The stranger's eyes are narrowed, determined and his hand is unwavering.
>The leader nervously chuckles. "Boy, git outta here. I ain't afraid 'a no pea-shooter."
>"This is a .45 AMT Hardballer, stainless steel, loaded with hollow-point rounds. Trust me, it's no pea-shooter."
 
 
>You stare wild-eyed at this stranger, your hope rising. He doesn't look at you--he just keeps staring at the leader.
>The leader puts his thumbs through the loops of his filthy pants. "Boy, I ain't afraid 'a no guns. I was in the war."
>"Which war?" the stranger asks without hesitation.
>The leader's bravado fades. "What?"
>The stranger repeats himself. "Which. War."
>"The... the Korean one," he says.
>"What year did you go?"
>The man doesn't reply. "I... I don't, uh..."
>"The war was in 1950!" one of his friends says.
>"Yeah, yeah! 1950. That's when I went, I did."
>"You don't look 80 years old to me."
>"What?"
>"1950 was 64 years ago. Let's say you were sixteen when you joined. That makes you 80 years old."
>"Ah, I meant the damned Vietnam War, I did!"
>"Better. What unit were you with?"
>"What?"
>His eyes narrow. "What unit were you with. Company? Battallion? Brigade? Division?"
>"I... I... uh..."
>"You probably put on the whole, "I was in the war!" act to get more dollars as a begger, don't you? People like you make me sick. So, here's what's going to happen. You're going to walk away, and I don't shoot you."
>He makes a motion with the gun and they react, scared.
>"Get out of my fucking sight," he says, low and threateningly.
 
>They quickly turn and run away, vanishing out of sight around the corner.
>The stranger puts his gun away, tucking it inside his coat. He walks up to you.
>"How badly did they hurt you?"
>You stare into his eyes, unsure if what was happening right now was real.
"Not... not too bad..."
>"Good. Showed up at the right time. Get dressed," he says, pointing to your pants.
>You stay silent as he turns around to give you some privacy. You scramble into your pants, noticing that they're even worse than before.
>Your shirt and jacket are ruined.
>He turns back a moment later, noticing that as well.
>"Here," he says, taking off his expensive, nice-looking coat and sliding it around your shoulders. You instantly shudder from the warmth.
>Suddenly, you realize... you know this person. He's walked by you before, always ignoring you, always leaving you alone and never turning back.
"I... I know you... I-I've seen you, I mean... why did you...?"
>"Time for that later. Now, I'm only going to ask you this once: why are you homeless?"
>You pause, unsure of what to tell him. You don't know him, and he doesn't know your past. You can't explain to him all that you are in a short time. He'd probably think you mad.
>"Is it drugs?"
"No!" you quickly reply, sounding perhaps a little bit too desperate to deny it.
>He narrows his sharp eyes in suspicion. "You don't look like a drug-user... I've dealt with them in the past. You look hungry."
"I... I am..."
>"Then, let's get you some food. Come on."
 
>He slides an arm around your shoulder and starts walking. You struggle to keep up with him at first, then keep pace.
>You start feeling much warmer with his coat around your shoulders. You pull it tightly around your chest.
>As you leave the alley, he turns right and takes you with him.
>A part of you should feel worried about where he is taking you, but right now, you don't care.
>All you care about is the warmth he is giving you, rather than the cold, disgusted, violated feeling those three men would be giving you right now.
>The man leads you down the streets, passing by people who give you odd looks.
>You come to stop in front of a large building. Actually, it’s a very large building.
>It looks like the living rates here are huge.
“W-what are we d-doing here?” you ask, stuttering from both being nervous and cold.
>”I live here.” He holds open the door. “Come on, get inside.”
>His voice is firm and unwavering, much like he was with your rapists.
>You move inside, immediately feeling the warmth and nice scent of the place reach your nostrils.
>The lobby is beautiful, with plants and a fountain. A sharp-nosed desk attendant looks at you, disgusted.
>You’re used to that kind of look.
>The man enters behind you, pushing you along towards an elevator. As he passes the desk, the man working there coughs.
>Your savior shoots him a narrow look, but says nothing.
>You get the idea that you’re not welcome here due to the way you must look.
>He presses the elevator call button and you wait. You look up at him.
>He just stares at the doors, waiting for them to open.
>After a moment of silence, they do, and he ushers you inside before pressing a button.
>You can’t help but notice that it’s on the top floor.
>As the doors close, you rise them up in silence.
>He says nothing and doesn’t look at you, just staring straight ahead.
 
 
“My name is… it’s Sunset,” you say, trying to converse. “I… I really appreciate what you did for me, back there…”
>”It was the right thing to do.”
>Another moment passes.
“Do… You do have a name, right?”
>”Anon. Short for Anonymous.”
“And… I’m sorry if I’m asking too many questions right now, but…”
>”We’re here.”
>The elevator stops and he steps out onto the top floor. There’s a single door here, which he unlocks.
>Immediately, the small entryway is flooded with dim sunlight peeking out through the winter clouds.
>His penthouse has a gorgeous view over the entire city.
“This is… it’s amazing…” you say, approaching the doorway and looking past the room, out the large window.
>He stops you at the door, and for a moment, you think he’s going to tell you to leave, as cruel as that would be.
>”Shoes off.”
“Oh, oh right,” you say, slipping them off. Your socks are just as filthy.
>He frowns. “Go barefoot. The bathroom is down that hall, first door on the right. Leave your clothes in one of the empty baskets.”
“And… and shower?”
>”Yes, that should be obvious,” he says, unamused. He moves towards you and takes the coat from your shoulders, hanging it on a nearby coatrack.
>You quickly follow his orders before he feels the need to repeat them. As you approach the door, he calls out again.
>”Do not be conservative with the soap, shampoo and conditioner. Use as much as you want, not as much as you need.”
>You nod and enter the bathroom.
>It’s the largest bathroom you’ve ever seen. The floors and walls are white and clean, with a plush blue carpet on the ground.
 
>A large shower, big enough for practically three people, dominates one wall. A large sink with a mirror above it takes up another.
>There’s a shelf with reading material, candles and all kinds of things.
>You slide open the shower and observe a large collection of soaps, shampoos, conditioners, body washes…
>You feel bad for wanting to use them all… but he said use what you want.
>You strip and place the dirty clothing in one of the baskets. You look at yourself in the mirror.
>Bruised, dirty, weary. Nothing like you used to be.
>You look away from the mirror. You can’t stand the sight of the girl who did all of those horrible things.
>You step into the shower and close the door, turning the handle to warm.
>It hits you like a wave of relaxing heat, washing down your skin and through your hair.
>You can’t help but sigh as you feel it clean you. You haven’t felt like this in a long, long time.
>You smile as you wash your skin and hair, cleaning it of dirt and grime.
>You use the soap, the body wash, the shampoo, the conditioner, and even a few things you don’t know, but smell nice.
>You take your time, washing every inch of your body, stretching and feeling it renewed and happy.
>When you stop, you turn off the shower head and step onto the floor, grabbing a large, white towel to dry yourself off with.
>You hear a knock at the door. You quickly wrap the towel around your body and answer it.
>He’s there. “Are you done?” he asks.
“Y-yes, sir…”
>”No need for ‘sir.’ Follow me.”
>You nervously step outside, holding the towel tight to your chest. He takes you into a luxurious living room, complete with a large fireplace, a TV bigger than you and a small mini-bar.
>How can this be where he lives?
 
 
>”Sit here,” he instructs you, pointing at a large leather couch.
>You do, and sink right in. It’s the most comfortable thing you’ve sat in.
>He sits opposite you in a different chair.
>He reaches into his jacket and pulls out the gun. Your eyes go wide and a pang of fear shoots through you until he places it on a nearby table, atop a small white cloth.
>Then, he stares at you. Unblinking, unemotional, unspeaking.
>You feel very vulnerable under his discerning eyes.
>”Your name is Sunset?” he finally asks.
“Sunset Shimmer,” you reply with your full name.
>”You look much better without all of the dirt. Do you feel better?”
“Yes… I do,” you say, shuffling your feet a bit.
>”You’ll receive new clothes tonight. If you require medical attention, I can arrange it. It’s just about lunch time, and you are still hungry, so we’ll have an early lunch.”
“Wait,” you stop him. “Why are you… doing all of this, exactly?”
>”If you’d prefer me not to,” he begins.
“NO! No! I just, I just don’t understand, is all. And… and your gun…”
>”I use it in my line of work. I will not talk about my line of work, and you will not ask questions. Do you understand?”
>The firmness of his voice causes you to inwardly shake.
“Y-yes,” you nod. “But… can you at least tell me why you did what you did?”
>”I already did, didn’t I?” he asks with the same unamused tone. You think he almost sounds annoyed. “It was the right thing to do. You were helpless, and about to be violated.”
“Yes… but… not everyone would do such a thing…”
>”I’m not like most people.”
 
 
>He pulls out a cellphone from his suit pocket and dials a number. He stands and walks to the window as he overlooks the city.
>He’s talking to someone. Ordering food. Steak, crab, vegetables, drinks…
>He shuts it off and slides it back into his pocket. “Food will be here in thirty minutes. Until then, I have some questions to ask you.”
“O-okay,” you reply.
>He sits back down and stares. “First question: do you have any existing family or relatives? Long-distance relations?”
>You shake your head, feeling sick to your stomach.
“No… I’m alone.”
>He nods. “Second question: do you have any medical conditions, ailments, or sexually transmitted diseases?”
“No,” you quickly reply.
>His expression doesn’t change as he says, “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m—I’m not!” you stammer. “I don’t… not that I know of, anyway… I’m just hungry, and a little beaten, I swear.”
>His scrutinizing eyes scan you up and down. “Alright. Third question: are you a trustworthy and good person?”
>You think about this.
“I’m… not,” you say. “I hurt a lot of people once because I betrayed them… I think I’m being punished because of it.”
>You close your eyes and tilt your head down, pretending that you aren’t here, that you’re somewhere else and that you haven’t done the things you’ve done.
“And… in the streets, I stole some things sometimes… I did horrible things…”
 
 
>”I assure you, there are worse things,” he says, making you look at him. “Fourth question: how much experience do you have as a maid?”
“As a… maid? N-none, at all…”
>He nods. “Final question: what is my line of work?”
“I’m… I’m not supposed to ask about your line of work,” you say, hoping it’s the right answer.
>”Good. I’ve made up my mind.” He stands and takes off his suit coat and folds it over one arm. “Congratulations, you’re my new maid.”
You almost can’t believe your ears. “I’m your maid?”
>”Yes. You’ll clean my home, wash my dishes, fold and press my suits, organize my belongings and any other tasks I assign to you, without question. In exchange, you’ll receive free lodging, food and hot showers, as well as your own bed. I will also start paying you, but only once you start to earn it. Do you understand?”
>You nearly choke on the words in your throat.
“Y-yes, yes! I understand perfectly!”
>”Good. And one more detail: from this point onwards, you will refer to me as “Master” and nothing else. Understand?”
>You quickly nod.
”Yes, M-Master,” you say, getting used to the word. “I’ll do whatever you say, Master.”
>”Good. The food will arrive soon. Until then, relax here in the living room. I’ll ensure your room is prepared. Your duties start tomorrow.”
 
 
>You nod. He walks out of the room.
>Your heart is beating very fast. You can’t believe your change of luck.
>Sure, it’s a little odd the way he insists you call him Master, but you can take that. You’ll be the best maid he’s ever had: you’ll clean, clean and clean some more.
>If it means getting to live here, with regular meals, warm showers and a good, comfortable bed, you’ll take it without question.
>Then, you look at his gun again.
>He left it in here, with you.
>A part of you thinks that odd—wouldn’t he keep it with him, considering he just brought a homeless stranger into his home?
>And why doesn’t he want to talk about his job? Is he some kind of bodyguard? A government agent?
>An assassin?
>You shake your head and try not to think about it. Despite his firm and somewhat cold demeanor, he’s shown more kindness to you than anyone else in this city.
>Don’t screw this up, Sunset. This is your chance to make some money and get back on your feet.
>You’ll be the best maid he’s ever had.
 
>A moment later, Anon returns. That is to say, Master Anon.
>He motions for you to follow him.
>You do so quietly as he leads you to your room.
>It’s nice-looking, especially the bed. It’s large enough to fit two people. “Here’s your closet,” he says, opening it up.
>Your jaw opens slightly. It’s full of maid outfits—classical, revealing maid outfits.
>”Here are your new uniforms. Most of them should fit you, but if not, we can have a tailor modify them. Doesn’t cost much. You can change whenever you please, but tomorrow your duties begin and I’ll expect you to be in uniform.”
>He looks at you. “Understand?”
“Y-yes, Master…”
>There’s a knock at the door. “The food is here,” is all he says, leaving you in the room.
>You look at the outfits. It almost seems… degrading… but, you are going to be a maid, after all…
>You pull one out, observing the low-cut skirt and revealing top.
>Does he want you to… expose yourself for him?
>You haven’t been able to get much of a read on him or his emotions since meeting him.
>Does he find your attractive? Well, you doubt he’d hire an ugly maid…
>But, does Anon… Master… find you sexually attractive?
>Would he… take advantage of you?
>You shudder at the thought and hope he doesn’t. So far he’s been honest with you, and you’ve been promised a steady rate of pay once you begin to earn it.
>Once you begin to earn it… Now that you think about it, is there a deeper meaning to that?
>You shake your head. He probably just meant once you begin working to his standard. It’s completely understandable.
 
>This is your chance, Sunset. He’s giving you food, shelter, a chance to turn your life around…
>You close the door and begin to change. You drop the towel to the floor and stand naked before the closet.
>You pick one of the maid outfits and slide into it. There’s a drawer with socks and underwear alongside a small rack of shiny black shoes of various sizes.
>Why does he own this? He did call you his “new” maid… did he have one before? Or multiple maids in the past?
>If so, where are they now?
>You decide to investigate later.
>The underwear is lacy and sexy, making you feel slightly vulnerable, and the revealing nature of it all doesn’t help…
>But at the same time, wearing it is a little empowering. It makes you feel more and more like you’re actually working at a job, especially given that all you’ve been wearing is dirty clothes in recent memory.
>There’s a body-length mirror in the corner. You step in front of it to examine yourself.
>You actually look… very nice, by human standards. Your hair has nearly dried and looks better than ever.
>Hell, you’d go so far as to say you look sexy… except for your bruises.
>Another reminder of where you were just earlier today.
>As you check yourself out, you suddenly see yourself as a pony again. Your unicorn horn, your coat and mane…
>And behind you is Celestia, looking so proud of you.
>Then the vision is gone, and all you feel for a moment is despair.
>You place your hand on the mirror. A mirror… it’s how you first came to this world.
>How you wish you could go back…
 
>You open your eyes and look at yourself again. You don’t feel particularly sexy.
>In fact, once you got onto the internet here and found a rather… explicit website.
>Driven by curiosity, you explored the surface of the pool of human perversion.
>One of the videos was about a lovely maid… She was cleaning, playfully exposing her legs, ass and breasts, and then her boss came home.
>While he initially worked on some paperwork or something, she rubbed her chest against his back while rubbing his shoulders.
>Soon she was grinding against his lap, and within moments was on her knees, greedily swallowing his cock.
>Her face was painted with his cum… then she was bent over the desk and fucked, long and hard.
>You… masturbated to this. Your human body felt so foreign, so alien, but your fingers helped ease and encourage your arousal so much…
>A knock at the door interrupts your memory. Anon speaks through it.
>”I have arranged your lunch in the living room. Come get it when you are ready.”
“O-okay, I will, Master,” you say, almost forgetting to throw in the “Master” at the end.
>You sigh and look once more at the mirror and wipe a tear from your eye.
>Stay strong, Sunset. You can do this.
>You leave the room and walk into the living room.
>There’s a small table with a white cloth over it on wheels. It must be some kind of room service that delivered the food.
>There’s silverware and trays with large portions of gorgeous-looking, sizzling food.
>Your stomach growls as your eyes look upon the feast.
>Suddenly, Anon speaks.
>”You look very nice in your uniform,” he compliments you, though he still doesn’t smile or betray a deeper emotion. “Help yourself to the food.”
 
>He himself is eating crab, breaking open the legs and eating the juicy meat inside.
>You quickly grab a plate and fill it up. Steak, broccoli, mashed potatoes, soup, ice water…
>You give yourself large helpings and sit in a nearby comfortable chair, and proceed to chow down.
>As you eat, you can’t help but be a little bit sloppy as you eagerly wolf down your food.
>”Chew your food, Sunset,” Anon says, not unlike a strict parent. “I know you’re hungry from being out in the streets, but it wouldn’t do well to choke.”
>You feel a little embarrassed that he was watching you, and slow your progress on the meal down a bit. You take time to enjoy it a little more.
>You smile as the painful cramps in your stomach go away. As you finish your meal, you feel more full than you’ve ever felt before.
>You harken back to a memory of eating at a royal banquet at Celestia’s palace…
>The sad memory fades as Anon collects your dishes.
“M-Master, should I clean these up?” you ask, uncertain of what he wants you to do.
>”No. Take this day and this evening to heal. Tomorrow is when your responsibilities begin.”
“I, I understand, Master.”
>He nods and collects the dishes, putting them all back on the table. He pushes the table out the front door and leaves it in the lobby near the elevator.
>”Someone will be along soon to collect it,” he tells you. He walks over and sits back down opposite you.
>He takes reaches over to a bottle of scotch, pours some in a glass, adds a few ice cubes and takes a small swig.
>He looks at you again.
>“Now that you are clean, clothed and fed, we have some more time to talk. Would you like to talk?”
“Yes, I would, Master.”
 
>”I’d like you to tell me more about yourself. Start however you’d like and be as detailed as you wish. I like to know my employees. And for now, you needn’t call me Master with every sentence.”
“O-okay,” you say, stopping yourself from staying Master. You think about where to begin. “I grew up far away from here. I was a very promising student once… but I fell out of my studies when I wanted more. I thought I had a chance to make it big, but I hurt a lot of people and stole and lied and I…”
>You sigh.
“I failed, I was caught and stopped, and ever since, people who knew me hated me. I moved here to try to get a new start and then I just… I ended up on the streets and have done whatever I could to survive… even if I didn’t know why at the time.”
>He nods.
>”If you don’t mind me asking,” he says, growing a little bit softer in voice, “when I stopped those men… that wasn’t the first time such a thing has happened, is it?”
>You slowly shake your head and say nothing.
>He stands up and walks over to you. You look up at him as he places a steadying hand on your shoulder. Somehow, his firm grip and unwavering voice bring a measure of comfort to you.
>”I promise you that those days are gone from you, Sunset. I cannot help everyone in the world, but I can help you. You should know that up until now, I haven’t told you about when you can leave.”
>That’s true… he hasn’t.
>He points at the door.
>”You may leave at any time. But I urge you not to until you have enough money to get back on your feet. You may stay here as long as you wish, provided you do your job. I’m not concerned with how well you do your job, unless you do it sloppily. Do you understand?”
“I do,” you tell him.
>He nods, takes his hand off of your shoulder and goes to sit down. “Now, I have already informed you of my policy in regards to questioning my line of work, but you may now ask of me anything else you’d like to know.”
 
 
>You think for a moment.
“Have you had other maids work here before? I just noticed that there’s a variety to the sizes of the clothes and shoes in my closet.”
>”Yes, I have. I currently have none, except for you. I often employ maids as I am…” his voice trails off and he looks out the window, “…not always good at cleaning up my own messes.”
“And… if you don’t mind me asking… this place, the food, the, well, the luxury of everything must cost a lot. Are you… rich?”
>He nods. “Yes, I am. Some of it comes from inheritance, some comes from investments, most comes from my work.”
>He takes another drink.
>”I also sometimes work in favors. I help someone with something, they help me, or vis-à-vis. In this case, you are helping me by being a maid, and I will pay you.”
“I don’t mean to pry, but you also seem very… different from most people I have met.”
>He cocks an eyebrow. “And how would you describe me, Sunset?”
“Confident… but a little cold… if you don’t mind me saying such…”
>”No, not at all. I suppose it comes from my professionalism. I’m not always like this… truth be told, I’m a little on edge.”
“Why?” you ask.
>”Work-related stress,” he says in a way that means you shouldn’t ask further.
>You receive the message.
“I… I can’t thank you enough for this, An—Master,” you say. “This is a big chance for me to get things right again, and I really appreciate it.”
>”I’m happy to help. Now, I’ve arranged for someone to come by later tonight. She is an associate of mine, and she is going to assist you. I expect you to give her your full respect and attention and be on your best behavior.”
“I will,” you quickly say. “Who is it, may I ask?”
 
 
>”You know how soldiers, when they go off to learn to be soldiers, are trained by people who are trained specifically on how to train soldiers? This woman is not unalike them, but for maids. She specializes in training of the proper etiquette and duties of a maid.”
>You think about this for a moment. What will she be like, you wonder?
>”She is strict and professional and will not tolerate failure to learn. She has trained many of my maids, and will be bringing along her current class, maids who are further into their training than you are, to help demonstrate. Pay close attention to everything she says; she reports directly to me.”
“I will, Master.”
>”Very good. Understand that I only feel this to be necessary as you said you had no prior experience to being a maid. They will be arriving in about an hour’s time, at which point I will leave. I have some business I need to conduct this evening. Like I said, pay attention to her and her students and learn well.”
>He stands, finishing off his drink and sets the empty glass on the stand near the seat.
>”Until then, make yourself comfortable.”
>He leaves you to think.
>A professional maid instructor? You gulp down a small amount of fear.
>Come now Sunset, it can’t be that bad.
>After all, how hard could being a maid be?
 
>You try to keep calm. You don’t know why this maid instructor fills you with such dread.
>You just need to listen and do your best. You don’t want to disappoint Anon.
>You look out the window. Anon is rich… he’s handsome… and despite his somewhat odd behavior, he’s been a gentlemen to you.
>What is his work? You can’t help but wonder.
>After all, what kind of person wouldn’t be curious about his job after being denied knowledge of it?
>Curiosity killed the cat, Sunset.
>You remember how quick and confident he is with his gun. He’s clearly used to working with it.
>A government agent? A bodyguard? An assassin? A mafia hitman?
>You just don’t know… but maybe that’s for the best.
>You stand and decide to investigate the apartment a bit more.
>You’ve explored your room and the bathroom, which leaves the living room, the kitchen and Anon’s room.
>You walk around the chairs and explore the large fireplace, the television and the tables.
>He has a bookshelf here. You think that you might be able to get a better idea of who he is from his reading material.
>There’s a lot of historical texts, as well as medical books and records of architectural engineering. There’s biographies of some famous people, and some works of fiction.
>There’s one book here that looks more worn-out than the rest… possibly one he’s read more often?
>You pull it out and look at it.
>The collected writings and works of Edger Allen Poe. There’s a bookmark in one entry, the Tell-Tale Heart.
>You’ve never read this. You find yourself enraptured by it.
 
>The story of a man who kills another man, and desperately tries to convince the reader of his sanity.
>Soon, it is done, and you are about to dive into another, when you hear a knock at the door.
>You put the book back and approach the door, but hesitate, uncertain if you are meant to open it in Anon’s home.
>Another knock, this one louder and more impatient. You open it up.
>There is a woman here; tall, imposing, with a stern face and blonde hair done up in a very simple business-like style.
>She looks at you with, from what you can tell, a mixture of disgust and indifference.
>Behind her are four other women, about your age, all dressed as maids.
>She speaks. “So, you are the new maid, then?”
“I-I am, ma’am,” you stutter.
>She takes out a small riding crop and slaps your arm, causing you to flinch. “No stuttering. Keep your back straight and eyes forward. No excuses.”
>You immediately do so and move to let her pass as she enters.
>She turns and looks at her four students, who fall in line in front of her.
>”You all know your duties. Begin cleaning.”
>They all nod once and separate to begin their work.
>The woman approaches you. Her gaze could bore through mountains.
>”I am Ms. Harshwhinny, but you will refer to me as ma’am. You are going to learn from me today. Anonymous has not paid for anything beyond today’s lessons, so you will need to take heed of everything I tell you today if you expect to please him. Understood?”
“Yes ma’am.”
>At that moment, Anon enters and walks past one of the maids. “I have business. I’ll be back in six hours,” he says, leaving without a goodbye.
 
>He turns to you and says, “Learn well, Sunset.”
“Yes, Master.”
>He leaves and one of the maid students shuts the door behind him.
>For the next six hours, your life is hell again.
>Ms. Harshwhinny is strict, unforgiving of mistakes and intolerant of those who need things repeated.
>She takes you through a variety of tasks, from cleaning, to setting the table, to arranging things, to making beds and folding sheets and doing dishes…
>Every time you mess up, she whips you. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to sting and make you remember.
>The other girls are looking at you. You think they feel sorry for you.
>Perhaps your short time is making her be much more strict than usual?
>At one point, she leaves you in Anon’s master bedroom to go tend to something else. There’s another maid here, one with long, lustrous black hair.
>”I don’t envy you,” she says in a thick, upper-class British accent. “Ma’am is being very rough with you.”
“Yeah… I never knew being a maid would be this in-depth…”
>”You get used to it,” she says, trying to sound encouraging. “But the outfits they make us wear… I swear, every time I bend over, I’m giving the whole world a feast for their eyes.”
“Why do they make us do it?”
>”Because it pleases them,” she says. “I’m Octavia, by the way.”
“Sunset Shimmer.”
>”This is just my temporary job,” she explains. “I’m an accomplished cellist. I just get sick of the people I get hired out to trying to paw and grope at me.”
“Does that… does it happen often?”
 
>”Unfortunately,” she sighs. “Something about these maid outfits drives men up the wall. You’re lucky, though. You’ve got Anonymous. The girls he hires are never mistreated… usually.”
“What do you mean?” you ask, very interested.
>”Nobody knows much about him, but he’s a big client for our service,” Octavia tells you. “The girls we send him never report mistreatment, but he often fires them. We don’t know why, and neither do they.”
“Does he ever say why?”
>”No, he doesn’t. Personally,” she says as she leans closely in, “I think it’s because they don’t meet his standards, whatever they may be. I hope that doesn’t happen to you. Where were you before all of this?”
>You’re about to answer when Mrs. Harshwhinny reenters and drags you away.
>You spend an hour on your knees, scrubbing the floors while she harshly educates you on proper conduct, manners, titles of address, when to speak and when not to speak…
>There’s another student, a beautiful young woman with pink hair and an absolutely knock-out body.
>Her name is Fleur de Lis, and she makes a show out of exaggerated movements, liking bending over to show off her ass.
>When Mrs. Harshwhinny leaves again for a moment, Fleur walks up to you and smiles.
>”So, learning the ropes, eh?”
“Yeah, so far…”
>”Listen, take it from me, if you want to go far in this business, flaunt yourself.”
“You mean…”
>”Yes! Show off your goods, girl! That’s what the boys hire us for. They want shining trophies they can look at, not boring statues. When you lean over, press your breasts with your arms and wiggle your ass.”
“Are you serious?”
 
 
>”It’s how I get all of my tips! And they always request me first,” she says with a wink. “I’m the maid who runs the most charge, and everyone knows that it’s for good reason.”
>She winks again and whispers, “And as long as they aren’t too bad about it, a little “handiwork” and putting those lips of yours to good use will always make your “Master” happy. Trust me.”
>She turns around and returns to dusting before Mrs. Harshwhinny returns, again bending over and showing off her frilly pink panties to anyone who looks.
>You’re stunned. Did she just tell you to jerk and suck Anon off?
>You think about all the times you had to do just that to other strangers out in the street and you feel like vomiting.
>The next few hours until Anon comes home aren’t any easier.
>Mrs. Harshwhinny continues her training right up until the last minute.
>The rest of the girls fall in line behind her as Anon comes in. Mrs. Harshwhinny directly addresses him.
>”She should know enough to pick up the rest as she goes along,” she says.
>”Good. I trust your work will pay off, as usual,” Anon says, giving her a nod. She nods back and the girls leave.
>Octavia shoots you a final glance as she leaves, seemingly wishing you good luck.
>You feel very nervous. Octavia and Fleur’s words are still ringing in your head, giving you doubt about how well your place under Anon will turn out.
>Anon approaches you. “And how are we?”
“Very good, Master. I learned much.”
>He nods. “I know she’s tough, but I hope she wasn’t too rough on you. How about dinner?”
>His tone sounds lighter than usual.
“That would be lovely, Master.”
 
>He takes out his phone and prepares to put in another order. “Is there anything in particular you would enjoy for dinner this evening?” he asks.
>You quickly respond, not wanting to keep him waiting.
“Yes, please. Do they have spaghetti?”
>”They have everything.” He dials the number and orders two spaghetti dinners and a bowl of hardboiled eggs.
>”The eggs are for tomorrow morning,” he tells you. “The dinner will be here shortly. Would you like a drink in the meantime?”
“I… I would, please,” you say, then quickly correct yourself, “that is, I would please, Master.”
>He goes to the fridge. “I don’t have many non-alcoholic drinks, unless you’d like some.”
“That’s fine,” you say. “A-anything you think, Master.”
>He pauses. “It’s alright, Sunset.” You tense up a bit as he turns and looks at you. “I’m not going to kick you out if you don’t call me Master at the end of every sentence. Just in response to orders. Alright?”
>You breathe a sigh of relief.
“I understand. I’m sorry, it’s just the classes, they—”
>”Yes, I’m sure she drilled some stuff into your head. But I’m not going to get rid of you. I know you have nobody else to turn to and nowhere to go. It wouldn’t be right of me. Now… how about that drink?”
>You smile and take the cup from his hand and drink a little bit. The liquid burns in your stomach, but it makes you feel good.
>”We’re going to be spending a lot of time together, Sunset,” he says. “How much we get to know each other will be up to you. I’d like to think we can become quite close.”
>You pause as you look up at him.
“Y-you do?”
 
>”Indeed. In regards to your work, I expect you to be a professional and adhere to my standards, but you’re also living here and my guest. What I’m saying is, I don’t want you to feel that you must always watch yourself around me. I will not be obtuse or give you pointless orders for my own amusement. Do you understand what I mean?”
“I believe I do,” you reply.
>”So, let’s just relax until our dinner arrives,” he suggests, taking your hand.
>You blush a little as he leads you into the living room. He motions for you to sit on the couch, and he sits next to you.
>He turns on the television. He turns away from the news, finding instead a classical film channel to watch.
>You sit with your hands in your lap, rather stiff compared to how he is relaxing.
>”You are free to make yourself comfortable,” he invites.