Amelia One-Ups

>Moving up in the world had its perks, and Anon was finally starting to see them
>Clawing his way through the workplace had finally started to pay dividends
>The young man was living a smoother life than most could hope for, trying to keep his nose clean his way and live it humbly
>Save for a small indulgence
>At home too much of his time was spent tidying and cleaning, only for the home to be ravaged by visiting coworkers and the odd executive who wanted to scout him out
>It was beleaguering, tiresome and frankly not what he figured would constitute the majority of his professional life
>Work was easy; cleaning up afterwards wasn’t
>And so he hired a maid, a live-in one
>She was reputed as… not the worst, and it was what he figured was good pay for someone who’d only be doing work once a week or so
>Her name was Amelia, a genial, glowing series of photos to introduce herself by on her page
>It was rather curious she’d been freelance-maiding for as long as she had with her roster of skills
>Curiosity, however, was not Anon’s strong suit
>He gladly invited the woman to work for him, excitedly exchanging an amicable and ostensibly *normal* phone call with her
>Head jumping up Anon rushed to the door, a curt knock letting him know she was here
>”Good afternoon! Anon, I presume!”
>”That’s me! Amelia?”
>”The one,” she smiled. “May I?”
>Welcoming her in she smiled again, blessedly warm and kind
>Guiding her through his humble home he pointed out the rooms of his house left and right, explaining that typically his home was very quiet, plain- simple
>No huge parties save for the off day every week or so, when she’d be needed most
>Shaking her hand he showed her to her own room, excited for the pleasant partnership the two had already formed



>And then Anon was ruined publicly, socially, but mercifully *not* financially
>Amelia had arrived in a fortunate lull in his party-hosting, having plenty of time to settle in and attend to the odd chores she knew to do
>Anon had never bothered to tell her directly to do anything and hadn’t learned before it was too late
>Her first party she was gussied up in a delightful formal uniform for such occasions, a deep skirt swishing past the floor with her hair pulled up into a stylish bun
>Anon didn’t know where she summoned it up from, but didn’t bother to ask
>He had guests to mingle with and schmooze- he was working, busy
>So when one of his bosses asked the passing maid to get her a fuzzy navel and Amelia forced the woman into the ungroomed bellybutton of another person in the circle, Anon was sorely surprised
>Surprised that any person could make that extreme a misjudgement and more so when the woman tried to have him fired
>Thankfully he was important enough to keep around, but certainly no one would be wanting to see or be seen around him for months, if ever
>That left Anon doing much of his work alone from home, no longer gracing the upper offices with his presence
>Being around Amelia so much more was opening his eyes now, though
>He’d ask simple things of her only to be outrageously and confoundingly misunderstood
>Sighing he’d try and clear up the mistake, fingers curling for calm
>He needed the help now more than ever with work slumping overtop him, and he didn’t have the heart to replace her, either
>Everytime she messed something up there was a gentle, coquettish smile peeking through as she apologized, Anon forgetting the trouble just as quick
>Enamored, her hair and her face and everything about her was warm and red with the tickle of green in her eyes
>Not to mention the healthy sway to her form, Anon helping himself to a shameful glance when she marched away to work
>He hated the conception forming in his mind, gnawing at the back of his head every time he spoke with her or corrected her
>He was in love with this woman- now he had to tell her
>And telling her, he knew, would be an entire ordeal of its own

>That led to a whole other problem he couldn’t figure out- aside from her increasingly maddening mistakes, he found himself stumped as to the why
>He was starting to suspect something was amiss (if he hadn’t figured that out already), though he wasn’t sure if it was on purpose or she was simply *that* ignorant
>He opted to test her, daring the maid to action in everything he did with a simple response in store
>Knowing how she’d misinterpret things was key to his plan, trying to yank her from whatever kind of joke she was playing and into some saner playing field between the two
>At his wit’s end with her he needed answers, understanding, an end to things- no more of the sheepish, soft smile and giggle when he corrected her
>Only the truth now
>”Amelia,” he called out
>”Yes sir?”
>”It’s getting late and, well…”
>”Sir?”
>”Well, you see,” he started, guiding her to the kitchen, “I’ve really been craving something… puffy, *airy*. Could you make some choux pastry?”
>The trap was set
>”Gladly, sir! I’ll have you know I’m a master baker!”
>He smiled wide, slipping away to his study to wait
>Finishing up a mundane spreadsheet she called him back to the kitchen, the heavenly, caramel-sweet smell of pastry hovering about the oven
>He was ready
>She laid the steaming delight in front of him, boxing the rest should he (or her) have a craving later
>The layers of puff, beautifully laminated and crackling open, looped and hooped together into a boot, stylishly heeled and well laced with ropes of spun sugar
>”My goodness Amelia, I- This looks wonderful!”
>”Thank you, sir,” she blushed, carelessly continuing. “Please, dig in!”
>That was it- all he needed had been dropped neatly in his lap
>”Right! Excuse me a moment…”
>Hopping away Anon sniffed around the garage, digging in still-unpacked boxes from his last move
>Seizing on a hefty one he whipped out a neat, unused little implement
>Tossing it from hand to hand he returned, severing the pastry in half with the trowel
>Shovelling the delicate, buttery hunk into his mouth he smiled, nodding
>”Mmmph- delishoush…”
>Amelia huffed quietly, trying to catch her breath
>She’d been suddenly winded, reeling as he sliced it apart with the weighty tool
>She bit her lip, toes curling
>”Amelia, are you alright?”
>She peeped in surprise, broken from the rolling line of thought he’d pulled her into
>”Y-yes, sir! Just a bit *feverish* all of a sudden!”
>”Oh, well, if you’d like I have some med-”
>”N-No need,” she panted. “Is it alright if I’m excused for the night?”
>”Of course,” he grinned, pointing to his plate, “though I’ll be right here, enjoying this. Please let me know if you need anything.”
>Smiling nervously she scooched away to her room, cheeks red as her hair, mind racing like her heart



>That was a week ago, Anon finding it a winning strategy to lay back and roll with the misunderstandings, avoiding them where he could
>It pained him to see Amelia avoiding contact as well but he had to press on
>She would carry about her daily chores like usual, finishing them fine- no orders, no mishaps
>Though Anon knew he had to wait, to test things gently and dip his toe slowly into the mess of misunderstanding he’d be forced to create
>Learning quickly, however, he knew he had to flip them on her whenever the opportunity arose
>He’d spent every night that past week up late and up earlier, doggedly grinding away at a narrow black notebook
>It was maddening, obsessive work but he had to get to the bottom of things, scribbling away at the pages and mapping conversations and replies, charting out the meanings and alternatives to as many words as possible
>He’d built up too much vacation time to let it go to waste, abandoning his work for the singular task consuming his mind more and more each day
>Clapping the notebook shut once more he resolved to try the next one tomorrow, a delicate web of lines splayed out on the page



>”Amelia?”
>”Yes, sir?”
>”I need you to do something for me right quick.”
>”Yes, sir!”
>Hopping over her frilly skirt swished about, hair swinging loosely beneath her bonnet
>”Could you go draw the blinds?”
>He eyed her deeply, those piercing little emerald spheres staring back
>A barely-noticeable twinkle sent her away as he slipped out of the room, the maid calling him back in a short moment
>There in her hands was an immaculate still life, the fluttering fabric frozen to the page in a gentle, enrapturing display of artistry
>”...Wow,” Anon spoke, agape. “That’s astounding, well done!”
>”Th-Thank you sir,” she blushed. She could tell something was amiss already, but pressed on. “Would you please pin it up then sir? I-If it’s that good…”
>”Of course!”
>Sneaking away to another room, relinquishing the pen from his hand, he set to work
>He wasn’t near the artist she was but he’d caught her in the perfect trap, slowly sketching out his addition to the paper
>It was foolproof, really, she’d see what it was like to be so thoroughly *bamboozled* by someone else when *she* asked for something
>”Here you are Amelia!”
>”Oh! O-Oh…”
>Anon held out the ludicrous drawing, a pair of legs creeping out from behind one of the curtains
>They called to the viewer seductively, enticing them in with gossamer stockings and a sneaking, waving finger beneath the curtain as well
>”Amelia?”
>”S-Sir-”
>She stammered, biting her lip
>”Pinned up, as requested! Here you go,” he grinned, handing the drawing over
>She flushed higher, trying to slow her breathing as her skirt crumpled and folded in her hands
>”Apologies, s-sir,” she mumbled, “I think I feel that fever coming on again.”
>”Oh, well, I hope you feel better!”
>”Yes! Y-Yes…”
>Excusing herself she slid away to her bedroom, Anon proud of another job well done
>He resolved to use her brief absence to his further advantage, planning out his next major play

>Today would be a busy one for Amelia
>Sunday
>Anon needed the groceries done and, to his pleasure, the daunting list seemed like it would hold Amelia down for hours
>Hours enough that the bus line carrying her there would be stopped early for the weekend
>It was cruel, perhaps, but necessary
>Waving her out the door, the dense list in her hand, he set to waiting
>She had the home number and enough change to contact him should things go awry
>It was a delicately arranged dance he’d put together, and he was relying on Amelia to unwittingly play her tired part in the afternoon
>Hours passed, the sun cresting overhead and to the horizon again
>Chattering loudly in the next room the phone rang, Anon dashing over to pick up the coiled-cord handset
>”Hello?”
>”Sir,” Amelia breathed across the line. “I got… all the things… on the list… but the bus… isn’t running…”
>”Oh, heavens! Anyway I can help?”
>”Could you come… pick me up? Sir?”
>”On my way Amelia!”
>Clicking the handset down again he grinned, throwing on his jacket for the long hike to the store

>It wasn’t a painfully long walk but she’d asked and he knew to respond
>”Sir!”
>She bounced over, smiling wide and tired between the deepening orange rays of the setting sun
>”Here, put the bags down a second.”
>”Sir- wah!”
>Anon twisted around and pulled her onto his back
>”Just coming to pick you up!”
>Grabbing the bags in hand he started the march home, the dazed maid angrily thumping his back to get off
>Not wanting to fall she clung to him, wildly confused, hammering his back still
>”Sir, I- I want you to put me *down*!”
>He kept walking, pausing to answer her
>”Amelia I’m not one for mean words, but, well-”
>”Well what,” she yelped, “put me down!”
>”Alright, you asked for it,” he warned, pausing. “I think you’d be awfully cuter without your bonnet.”
>”Why- oop!”
>Anon hopped her further up his back, the furious maid nearly falling backwards to the pavement
>People were looking by now but that didn’t matter to him, his plan was working
>”I’m sorry! I hate saying mean things and- oh.”
>Without a word she’d unstrung the bonnet from her head, tossing it into the plastic bags dangling from his arms
>Silently the two continued on, not daring to say a word to the other
>The sun languidly slipped beneath the purpling horizon, Amelia’s arms wrung around Anon’s neck, her head nestled sleepily into his shoulder

>Home again Anon set the bags down, Amelia still stuck to his back
>The gentle pulse of her breath pressed into his back as he unlocked the door, carefully setting the groceries down before returning the sleeping maid to her room
>Her frilly, messy hair swept about on the pillow, a splayed red mess unspooling around her head
>Pouting she rolled over in the bed, Anon slipping out the door and shutting it
>”Goodnight, Amelia.”
>She peeped quietly, rolling over again
>”Could you put the light out please?”
>”Right away.”
>Anon hopped up and unscrewed the bulb from the lamp and ceiling lights, opening the window and tossing them out into the flower bed
>”There we go.”
>She was sitting all the way up now, nervously crumpling the covers in her one hand, the other shamefully stowed beneath
>”Sir, please,” she murmured, “some priv-ah-cy.”
>Slipping out of bed she escaped to her bathroom, Anon stunned as she disappeared behind the locked door
>The faucet roared to life behind it, Anon worriedly knocking again
>”Amelia?”
>”S-Sir!”
>”Everything alright?”
>”Faihn,” she shot, “juss… jush brushing my teef!”
>”Oh, okay then!”
>Hopping away to his own room he snatched up an untouched comb, returning to the locked door
>A voice ooh-ed and moaned inside, Anon nervously pausing outside
>It would take a moron to not know what was going on, and thankfully Anon was a moron
>The door was locked but, slipping his thumbnail into the little screw, he cracked it open
>Amelia screamed in surprise, Anon’s forearm jammed in the door
>”Oomph! H-Here,” he muttered, biting back his own howl of shock. “F-For brushing.”
>He heard, *felt*, the haggard breathing on the other end of the door, steaming air brushing past his face as she yanked it from his hand
>Slamming the door after him without a word he was left alone in her room, slowly backing away from the roaring shower to the rest of his home

>Anon stewed in the kitchen, anxiously waiting on Bedelia to greet him as he stared out the window
>A fuming cup of coffee touched his lips once and again, the man flipping through the paper here and there
>Idly he set it down, playing with his hands in the cold, morning sunlight
>”Sir? We need to talk.”
>She was serious, he knew, turning to meet her eyes
>Wet, ruddy hair hung around her face, dirtied uniform exchanged for pajamas
>She’d packed her bag already, the heavy thing dangling in her off hand
>”A-Amelia? What’s the matter?”
>”You, you-,” she fumbled, “you confuse me!”
>”Sorry, Amelia, how-”
>”No! Yesterday was the last straw!”
>Her bonnet was still absent, fuming-red face staring back at him between the shaggy, unbrushed mess on her head
>Anon clenched his fist, not sure how to respond
>He caught that last snippet in her voice, wanting to pounce on it and double down
>But he’d never been one to gamble, just to slink backwards and apologize
>Staring into her steaming, emerald eyes, though, he knew it was the right thing to do
>Whether this was just ‘her’ or some game she played on the regular, or any combination thereof, it was better to fight it than let her go
>Hopping up, strolling past the now shouting maid, he fumbled about in one of the cabinets, digging past mugs and more
>Snatching a cardboard box he showed it to Amelia
>”We’ve got plenty more right here, Amelia!”
>She stared at the rattling box of straws in his hand, balling her fist at her side in anger
>Amelia wanted to slap it away, to pout and huff at his immaturity
>But in his eyes was a warm twinkling, the same he saw in hers those first few days
>”Anon… Am I too literal? Is that what you’re telling me?”
>His eyes widened- the jig was up
>”Amelia, I- No, no,” he cooed, brushing a lock from her forehead. He stooped forward to whisper. “It’s- it’s what I love about you.”
>She peeped silently, not sure what to do with those words in her head
>Flushing redder she stepped back, bag trembling in her hand
>”Anon, I-,” she gulped, finding her feet in the spinning world. “I’ll try to be less literal for you.”
>”Are you sure-”
>She huffed, nodding
>”Okay, then. What’s your first- ope!”
>Pulling his head close to hers she grinned impishly
>In her time she’d picked up a few of the raunchier double entendres from the television Anon watched
>”I want your *dick*, Anon,” she panted into his ear
>Slipping away to her room to unpack she left him in the kitchen, the man jumping to work for their night in

>”Mmph- ah, A-Anon! More!”
>”Yeah? How about a little *cream*?”
>”Puh-,” she smiled, swallowing, “Pleash!”
>She breathed hard, Anon keeping the pressure up, the heat yet to subside in the cluttered kitchen

>Anon had bust in, a brief chime filling the warming home, Amelia yelping in surprise as he hefted her up and pulled her to the kitchen
>The space was boiling hot as the two bent over the granite counter, bobbing and weaving together
>Burning hot and overwhelming with suppressed passion they followed their counterpart’s stern direction, Amelia correcting Anon and him her
>He fell back to quoting his grandmother, bless her soul- her advice and instruction paramount to pulling the two together
>Anon looped a hand low around Amelia’s hip, pulling her close as they stood together
>Breath slowing the sweaty duo stared together beyond the steaming cover to the boiling mass below, blue gaslight flushing their cheeks
>Hands mingling about at their sides they finally locked together, Anon unable to help planting a kiss on the woman’s cheek
>The second chime brought Anon forward, ripping the lid off as a simmering cloud of steam fogged their eyes
>”Oh it’s precious,” Amelia shouted, Anon neatly flipping the steamed pudding onto a plate
>Spoon in hand he divided it in half, the two settling down to have a bite each
>”Mmmph! Hawh-”
>Anon giggled, childishly blowing off his own spoonful of ripping hot dick before having a bite
>”Very good,” he chewed, Amelia rabidly digging at hers with a spoon
>”Sho *gooh*,” she moaned, taking another bite.
>”Cream?”
>”*Pleashe*.”
>Sliding the shallow saucer of custard to her she spilled a bit to her plate, wiping the pudding out in an instant
>Sighing contentedly she sat back, Anon scraping up the last few crumbs from his own dish
>”I know they say not to after dessert, but… you wanna *knock boots*?”
>Amelia grinned slyly, watching the man across from her rise from his seat
>”I didn’t think they were *that* muddy,” he said, marching over and reaching into the closet to smack them together. “But good thinking!”
>There was that twang, that choral, pizzicato pluck at her heartstrings
>Nervously shifting her legs she turned to the grinning man, his impish smile meeting her desperate eyes
>Nodding he clapped the boots together again
>She launched herself from her seat, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him to bed
[spoiler]>Amelia Bedelia wanted a second helping of dick[/spoiler]