Housekeeper In A Dungeon Novels & Stories

They were quite few for cleaning and taking care of the big house. "This is Mrs. Nora," Reynolds pointed at the woman who looked to be in her late fifties. "She's the head housekeeper and chef," he added. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you ma'am" the woman replied, her voice tender, like that of a mom. "You too, Mrs. Nora," Amy said and shook the woman's outstretched hand gently. Reynolds went on to introduce the remaining few.

“I don’t go back on my words Isabella and whatever journey I embark on I see to the end. Favorable destination or not.” “I’m just saying I prefer the other house. The one that looked like it belonged to some celebrity and had cool furniture. This one looks like it’s from old England.” “And how would you know what an old English house looks like?” He gave me a funny look before turning to unlock the doors. Yes. Unlock. It uses a lock and key. Even the prisons in the dungeon had upgraded to fingerprints and passwords but this monstrous structure uses a lock and key. “You know I had a life before I was taken, all eight years of it. Enough time to watch Disney and get acquainted with…….” Whateve

It's the only thing I really hate about this work. "Thanks for the breakfast," I say with a swift kiss before clearing everything into the dishwasher. Which reminds me of something. "You cleared up the mess from last quite well." Dean rubs the back of his neck and gives me a little nervous look. "Actually, that was Cindy, my housekeeper." Wait, what? Housekeeper? Alright, let's face it, he's a hard-working man, and the place is spotless. But I haven't seen her. "Where is she?"

He explained that the other warriors were out standing guard and would only come back for meals. I didn't see any dirt. The kitchen counters were spotless. I thought maybe I would be done in an hour or two. But kellan had called this place the dungeon. Where were the cells? The prisoners? My heart thumped harder when he stopped in front of a metallic elevator door. Numbers above the door indicated there were four levels underground. Instead of stepping inside, he turned right, toward a set of concrete stairs. As we went down one level, a stale, heavy odor hit me. I scrunched my nose, wondering if the air got worse on the lower floors.

A modern-day Cinderella, except my fairy godmother is a desperate staffing agency and my Prince Charming is a ghost who signs my paychecks. The housekeeper, a woman named Mrs. Gable with a face like a clenched fist, had given me the tour this morning. Her voice was a monotone drone of rules. "Mr. Davenport's study is off-limits. You are to clean it only when he is not present and only the surfaces I specify. Do not touch his desk. Do not open any drawers. His bedroom is the same. You change the linens, you do not snoop. Am I understood?"

I took a step back, folding my arms across my chest and leant against the wall, watching as he scrubbed at the bowls and cutlery with a sponge. Struggling to equate this idea of him as a demon with someone who also washed his own dishes, I let my eyes wander, taking in the dingy, narrow room. It reminded me of the same type of kitchen often found in social housing, something I was quite used to having grown up in a few similar places. Standard issue tiles. Standard issue paint. Standard issue borderline squalor. Standard issue couldn't-give-a-shit- about-the-tenants.

There would be a dripping sound, a dank, putrid smell, a dirt or concrete floor, a chill that wouldn’t leave the air, and heavy chains. He’d not bothered to disabuse her of that notion. The scarier the dungeon was to her, the easier it would be to get her cooperation. In reality, the dungeon was none of those things. If what he’d been told by the servants who had gone to get her belongings was true, the dungeon was nicer than her apartment in the city had been. It was done in black and a tasteful deep red with occasional splashes of other colors like purples and greens and yellows. It had been an inside joke with his previous submissives that the dungeon was the color of death, blood, and br

“Ah, damn it! Okay, sadness is not great ... But now she will be able to look into that locked room. Is Rozzie there? He returns to the door, grabbing a small lantern from the kitchen, picks up the key ... Gathering a full chest of air, he pushes it and looks inside. A bluish electric beam snatches out of the darkness the same ring in the wall as in her room, with a chain. There is no one at the other end of it ... There is no bed and a washbasin in this dungeon either. As well as imaginary straw. Only the stone floor covered in terrible black spots and streaks...

she says and starts walking down a passage. I have no choice but to follow her. The house is massive. We make our way through different passages and hallways, passing by dozens of rooms before we reach a large kitchen. The comforting smell of freshly baked bread and roasted coffee beans have my mouth salivating. The kitchen is bustling with activity. The girl leads me to a stool at the kitchen counter. “Good morning Deary, I am Mrs Wells the housekeeper. Make yourself at home” an elderly lady says, making her way to the counter. She wipes her hands on the apron around her waist. She is covered in flour and her face is flushed from the heat of the oven.

She flashed a smile at me, revealing her perfect dentition, "But you can call me Dora," "Least I forget, I will introduce you and your friend to the other housekeepers," She said, cupping my cheeks. They were other housekeepers?! Urgh! Can today be any better?! They are other housekeepers? How would they treat Selene and Esmeralda? How would Esmeralda feel being a maid in her mate's Pack? Your comments are appreciated.