—-Authors note: this is a Selection fanfic. Just FYI. Also, there are two mentions of sexual harassment in the first part. It isn't too explicit, but if it makes you uncomfortable, please don't I own free to comment on the story!-
Three days after we celebrated the Great New Moon festival, our chubby post officer Brent, walking his daily route, handed me a thick white envelope and declared, with a twinkle in his eye, that it was "something special". True to our usual fashion, he handed me half of the sandwich his wife had crafted for him. As always, I thanked him and told him that I had to run. I was on my way to my dreaded job, and I was running late. I shoved the letter in my messenger bag, and started jogging while eating the sandwich. My family had barely enough money to put lunch and dinner on the table, so I hadn't gotten breakfast from home since I was a toddler.
After steadily running for five minutes through the familiar streets, I reached the mansion of my main employers, the Jensens. I quickly took off my comfortable running shoes, stuffed them into my bag, and put on the black heels that were a part of my servant uniform. They were a stark contrast to the light green dress that I had to wear. I walked through the door right after it was automatically unlocked, 5:30am on the point. I hung up my worn jacket in the Jensens' closer, closed it quietly, put my bag on the ground, walked into the kitchen, and officially started working by opening the huge fridge and taking out what I would need to make this family's breakfast.
My day went as it always does. Half an hour after I arrived, Mr. Jensen came downstairs, already wearing a suit, and started lingering around the kitchen. He stood behind me as I made waffle batter and groped my breasts. "I'm just trying to help you stir," he said, and chuckled deeply. Stay calm Anaba, I told myself. I was used to it— the groping of my breasts and my ass, the sexual comments and innuendos— and I couldn't do anything against it. If I were to be fired, my family would be screwed. And the Jensens knew that and used it. I had practically been their slave since they first hired me to work full time when I was 14, two years ago.
Later, Mrs. Jensen, carrying her baby which she immediately handed off to me, and the bratty children came. They ate, they made a mess, they annoyed me. I only had to watch the brats for an hour while their parents were getting ready. Mr and Mrs Jensen, and their two older children were going to an amusement park, and I would be doing yard work today and nannying their youngest son, who was still a baby. I watched them leave, cleaned the kitchen, dining room, and all bathrooms and heated up stale tomato soup from home for lunch, all the carrying the baby. I spent the rest of the day doing outdoor work, cleaning the pool, gardening, and cleaning the windows from outside.
When the sun went down the Jensens came home, and I made them dinner, brought the children to bed, and started cleaning the kitchen as Mrs. Jensen started watching TV in the other room. I was just wiping down the counter as Mr. Jensen returned. I had to lean over to get the middle of the kitchen island clean, and while I was busy trying to get all of the crumbs off, he snuck up behind me and stuck his hand into my panties. I inhaled sharply. Don't let this be happening again please someone help me come on. Come on! He leaned on me, making me feel his erection against my butt, and stuck a finger into me. Tears rushed to my eyes as I let go of the rag.
"You like that, you dirty little girl, don't you?" he whispered. It was phrased as a question, but really a statement. He pushed in two more fingers, painfully stretching me, and it took all my willpower not to cry out. "Adam, are you coming?" his wife yelled. Mr. Jensen straightened up and slowly removed his fingers. I closed my eyes in relief. He slapped my ass, hard. Don't wince. I felt the impact all over my body.
"Now get my wife and I some wine, will you?" He whispered the command into my ear, and I nodded.
I left the mansion at 9:30 and walked home in the dark. I was so exhausted from work that I just wanted to sleep. I reached my house and made dinner by slathering some butter on a slice of bread. My parents were already sleeping as I ate, savoring the food. It wasn't special, but it was good. Wait, I thought. Special. I had completely forgotten about the letter that Brent gave me that morning. I took it out of my bag and started reading. It's printed on official Illéan stationary.
To the House of Hoshnick,
The recent census has confirmed that a single woman between the ages of sixteen and twenty currently resides in your home. We would like to make you aware of an upcoming opportunity to honor the great nation of Illéa.
"Oh my god," I uttered. This must be a Selection! Of course, the twins are at that age now. Oh my god.
Our beloved royals, Ahren and Eadlyn Schreave, will be coming of age this month. As Eadlyn is the older of the two, she will be hosting a Selection.
Wait, Eadlyn? But then why did I get a letter? I wondered.
As she ventures into this new part of her life, she hopes to move forward with a partner, to marry a true daughter of Illéa.
Oh. Oh. She's a lesbian, I realized. But... I'm not.
If your eligible daughter, sister, or charge is interested in possibly becoming the bride of Princess Eadlyn and the adored princess of Illéa, please fill out the enclosed form and return it to your local Province Services Office. One woman from each province will be drawn at random to meet the princess. Participants will be housed at the lovely Illéa Palace in Angeles for the duration of their stay. The families of each participant will be generously compensated for their service to the royal family.
There's money involved. I was not interested in girls that way. I was not fit to be a princess in any way. But it was chosen at random. I had a chance. If I was Selected, and I stayed in the competition for even a little while, I would have money. I could quit my shitty job. I could ensure food for my family, have some money to fall back on in case anything happened, become a writer. It would involve lying. The big kind of lying, where I would deceive essentially the entire country. But I could be selfish. I needed this. I scribbled in my height, weight, interests, the languages that I spoke. The more I wrote, the less sure I felt about the whole thing. I decided that I should still speak to our medicine woman. Cherokee visit their medicine man or woman when they have a problem or need to make a decision. And I had a big decision to make.