Mom's voice was calm and calculated. "Rosa. You can start by cleaning Jessica's room. Come back when you're finished. As for you, girl..." Her eyes pierced through Amélie. "Clean the kitchen."

The trembling girl nodded. She paused, glancing around the room vacantly. "Un moment. Um, where is you are keeping les supplies de lavage?"

"Oh, she's good," Mom mocked. "Where do you think they'd be, girl? Check under the sink."

"Ah, évidemment!"

Mom followed the girl with her eyes as she began to tidy the kitchen. She studied the way that she moved, the way the hip joints swished with feminine sway, making the frilled hem sway upon her bare rear. As the girl moved to washing and drying the dirty crockery, she kept track of how easily the girl found the proper cupboard for each item, and how many mistakes.

And as perspiration began to bead on her cleavage, she outstretched a finger, drew it lazily across her plump breasts, and licked it. The girl shrieked.

"Such soft skin. And you don't taste like a man," Mom conceded, smacking her lips. "But that's easy enough to alter. The sweat glands could be treated with chemicals. They probably dunked you in the stuff, right?"

"Mademoiselle, please," Amélie squeaked. "Ey am just 'ere to clean!"

"Oh, would you knock off the act, Elliot. You're not fooling anyone with that stupid French accent. Stop trying. It stinks of desperation," Mom spat. "I've been married to you for twenty years - you think I didn't see right through you the instant you walked in here. Hiding behind those ridiculous fake tits isn't going to help you, so why don't you save us both the effort and admit it. If you do, split the money with you. 50/50. Perhaps not enough to get your cock back. But it'll buy enough testosterone to start to undo the damage. If not - if you continue to lie to me, Elliot - I can make things very, VERY unpleasant for you." She glanced down. "They don't teach women modesty in Paris? I suppose you couldn't expect a dress to fit a man correctly."

The girl jumped, noticing her slipped dress for the first time. She cupped her pink nipples with gloved hands. Convincing tears sparkled in the girl's eyes and she squeaked, "Ey 'am just 'ere to do a job, mademoiselle. Those men, they bring me 'ere! They say if I play their game - if I convince you!- they will give me ten thousand euro! But if this is 'ow they treat people in this country, ça n'en vaut pas la peine!"

With tears streaming down her cheeks, Amélie ran. She stopped outside the kitchen door, holding a hand to her chest to try to steady her shaking breath and breasts.

The other maid, Rosa, passed her into the kitchen. Wiping away her tears, Amélie lingered with her ear close to the door, listening to her mistresses' muffled words through the wood.

"- knock off the act, Elliot. You're not fooling anyone with that stupid Colombian accent, so stop trying..."