Marissa’s mistake was trying to carry too much back to the kitchen at once. It was about efficiency. The busty young woman with long, curly brown hair had been warned about the risk of falling over in the past at her other waitressing jobs. But in three years, nothing had ever come of it.

So of course the first time she tripped while trying to carry too much was in her second month working at the exclusive, high paying Covington Club. Of course it had been in front of a doze. influential Club members. And of course she ended up spilling some leftover wine all over one member’s daughter.

Of course.

Marissa’s many profuse apologies fell on deaf ears. The teenage customer and her mother had been beyond furious. Marissa couldn’t totally blame them. They were going overboard, sure, but that was a beautiful (and probably extremely expensive) yellow dress that she ruined.

Still, some of the things they said seemed uncalled for.

“You stupid, clumsy bitch!” The girl cried. Marissa guessed she was eighteen. Petite. Natural blonde. A real debutant looking girl. “I could fucking buy you, you know that? I could buy you right now!”

Her mother, a taller, thin woman with darker hair that was starting to show a little gray, had a least calmed down enough to simply give Marissa a withering glare.

All Marissa could do was keep apologizing.

It took a few minutes for the cavalry to arrive, senior staff that ushered Marissa away while they dealt with the angry guests.

“It was an accident!” She exclaimed to her supervisor, an aggressively friendly man named Mr. Rook, when he brought her to a out of the way room. She hadn’t seen any of her friends around, just more stony faced senior staff. Marissa was pretty sure she had never been in this part of the building.

“I know that,” he said with none of his usual good cheer. Now he just looked annoyed. “And I know how frustrating it can be when you get yelled at for accidents. But Marissa... did you really have to call them gold digging whores?”

Marissa stares, her mouth hanging open. “I... didn’t. Did they... did they tell you I said that? That’s a lie! I didn’t say anything except ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again!”

Rook held his hands up in a placating gesture. “I’m aware you didn’t actually call them any names.”

Now Marissa was just confused.

“That’s just what we’re going to tell your coworkers we did when they ask why you were fired.”

Marissa was grabbed from behind before she could express her indignation.

She hadn’t even realized anyone else was in the room. But now she was suddenly being wrestled to the ground, uncomfortable handcuffs being locked tight across her wrists, her ankles. Her elbows were cinched behind her back, then a chain was attached to her hand and ankle cuffs.

Marissa screamed and struggled the whole time, fighting furiously until she was all hogtied up. Then she kept screaming until an oversized ring gagged was shoved inside her mouth.

They carried her through a back door, through hallways Marissa had never seen. Her moans and cries were ignored. Before long they were taken to another room, where Marissa was unceremoniously dumped onto the center of the floor.

A minute later, two expensive looking sets of easy heels underneath two expensive looking dress hems stepped in front of Marissa’s face. She looked up to find that the yellow dress still had wine marks.

A second later, more wine came falling down, poured all over Marissa’s head by the teenager she’d spilled on.

“Dumb bitch,” the bratty rich girl snarled, right before she launched a kick at Marissa’s side. “I told you I could buy you.”

Still confused and scared, angry and struggling, Marissa was only vaguely aware of the older woman writing out a check and giving it to Rook, who apologized for Marissa’s incompetence.

“Hopefully she’ll be a better maid than she was a waitress,” the woman intoned.  

Marissa was carried out of the room by another senior guy. The full enormity of what was happening only just start to hit the former waitress as she was stuffed inside a car trunk.

She was being kidnapped. She’d been sold. What the fuck?

Hours passed. Marissa fell into a half-sleep state, too exhausted to struggle, too scared to actually sleep. By the time she was pulled out, she was in too much of a daze to resist.

The next few days passed in a blur. Marissa was stripped out of her clothes by burly security guards. She was unbound and washed. The smell of wine was eliminated from her hair. Then she was redressed in, of all things, rubber.

The black, right rubber suit was miserable. It constructed every part of Marissa’s body even before they added a corset. It was white, and it matched the rubber miniskirt they slid up her legs in a twisted parody of a maid apron. Her head was the only part of her body not entombed in rubber.

Then came the six inch heels, which were locked around her ankles. Then the massive plug gag, followed by another set of cuffs. Once again, Marissa’s ankle, wrists, and elbows were cuffed together. At least this time the ankles and elbows had chains long enough to give her some slack, and her hands were cuffed in front of her, not behind.

Finally, they locked a ridiculous white posture collar around Marissa’s neck. There were rings attached to it, apparently so she could be chained to other things.

Marissa saw herself in a mirror. She was mildly horrified to see that the outfit flattered her, emphasizing her figure, her breasts, and her ass very nicely.

Once dressed, Marissa was put to work. She was introduced to her supervisor, a thin dark haired woman in a similar ‘uniform’ as Marissa, but unchained. She had a slimmer, less restrictive collar around her neck, but that was it for bindings.

“You’re the one that spilled all over the young Miss?” She had a slight British accent. “Well. I’m sure you’ll improve soon enough. Don’t mess up, and you won’t be punished more.” Then she handed Marissa a duster, and sent her off into the house.

Marissa did mess up. She tripped over her heels, she bumped into things, and she knocked a few things down within the first few days. There were some other maids that were willing to help her, but they were often in different rooms.

It was on the third day that the teenage bitch who she’d spilled on found her. She saw Marissa on the ground and gave her an evil smile.

“Still a clumsy bitch, huh?” She cooed with false sweetness as she bent down over her new slave. Her fingers were upon Marissa’s cheek in a sharp pinch that made her cry out.

Most of her days progressed like that.

Months passed. Nearly a year. The girl, who Marissa soon learned was named Samantha Greenwood, delighted in tormenting her at first. She went out of her way to find reasons to punish the maid that had annoyed her so much. Marissa would get pushed around until she tripped or broke something. Then ‘Miss’ Samantha would flog her, or leave her in intensely uncomfortable positions for hours on end.

And a few times, she would give Marissa too much to carry, and then take a save delight in punishing her when she dropped something or fell.

But as time passed, Samantha lost interest in Marissa. She found other maids, and other slaves, to torment. She was given a puppy for her birthday about seven months into Marissa’s slavery. Not a real dog, but a human who was bound up and trained to act like one.

It was the only time Marissa felt glad she was a maid. She may never get to leave the mansion, but at least she wasn’t that.

One day, Samantha was escorting a young man through the house, chatting amiably with him.

“Oh, this is one of the clumsy ones,” she said with a laugh when she saw Marissa, who only whimpered. Samantha swiped the broom out of her hands and gave her a light thwack on the rump. “She’s a dumb bitch. Still screws up every so often. Needs a firm hand.”

“And what did this one do to piss you off?” The young man asked with a smirk.

Samantha gave Marissa a searching look. When the long moment passed, she turned to her date. “You know, I don’t think I remember.”