Her heart had nearly stopped. The alarming sound of the glass against the marble tiles agonizingly echoed in her ears. Then, there was the deep red liquid slowly slithering towards the carpet in the next room. She stared at the sight with large, powder blue eyes. She looked as frightened as a rabbit under the hunter's gun. She couldn't hesitate any longer, or the beautiful white carpet in the den would be ruined. She groveled and stopped the trail from going any farther, herding it back into the kitchen where it could be cared for a lot easier. The girl completely disregarded how the wine stained her dress. She knew she had to clean it up before the Master or the Madam could even think of walking in. There were guests to think about; they would be here any moment! She stood and retrieved a bucket, filling it almost to the rim with soap and water. Getting on her knees, she put a cloth into the water. She had really hoped that her mind was just exaggerating and that nobody else heard the glass break in the first place. Who knows what they would do with her? In the midst of her thinking, a sharp pain went into her bare knees. She winced before looking down. She was so concerned about cleaning up the mess that she had forgotten about the sharp glass shards that once formed a gleaming wine glass. While wine stains were hard to clean up, blood was even worse. She delicately began to pick up the pieces and she placed them on the table and then went about cleaning up the stain. She mustered all the strength that she could as she went in small circles. Her method was effective, and the mess was almost clean. But she had to keep going, as the Master wanted his floors so clean that he could faintly see his proud reflection smirking back at him. She sighed, blowing her bangs out of her face. What a relief. Suddenly, she heard her name being mumbled; in a particular accent that she recognized immediately, "Olivia…"

"M-Madam…" she stammered a little as she looked up. She didn't hear the woman walk in, but once she opened her eyes she saw a pair of off-white pumps. She continued upward, her smooth legs coming into view, only half of her thighs being hidden by a skirt. A dark red camisole hugged her waist and extenuated her full breasts—a place where Olivia paused for only a moment before proceeding. A cream jacket was neatly buttoned at the woman's waist and at her neck was a diamond necklace. Her madam's lips were the color of garnet and formed into a slight frown. An eyebrow was raised as she spoke finally, "What is this…?"

Olivia stood as she forced a smile on her freckled face. "I was cleaning up after myself," she explained. "I was preparing dinner and I knocked over a wine glass."

"You're bleeding. Have you no common sense, Olivia?" she mocked icily, eyeballing her scraped knees. "Why didn't you call the maid to clean this mess up? You have duties elsewhere—here and in the bedroom."

Olivia was the chef and prostitute. Well, she was one of them. But she definitely did not consider herself number one. She was mainly used for affection and stroking egos rather than sex. "But I made the mess!" she protested, trying to not raise her voice.

"You're just causing more trouble for yourself. Look at you! You're the mess!" she grabbed her wrist this time, causing the English girl to flinch. "Go clean yourself up then you'll pay for this mess." She ordered.

She yelped as the woman yanked her out of the kitchen. Olivia looked down at herself. Maybe I should clean up. Lord knows what would happen if the guests saw me like this… As she arrived to the bathroom door, she knocked to ensure that no one was there. Taking further precautions, she pressed her ear to the door, listening for any signs of life. She got the all clear and opened the door. She decided on using the guest bathroom. It was the rather neat although plain looking, had lots of sweet-smelling soaps (although she was responsible for putting them there, especially those that smelled like vanilla) stocked. She turned the knob and hot water flowed out. She turned the cold water on, but not by much. Not only did she want to clean out her wounds, but also unwind from the stressful ordeal of cleaning up. Once the bathtub reached her desired capacity, Olivia stripped and slipped into the water. She let out a content sigh as if all the tension was being lifted from her shoulders. She cupped some in her small hands and poured in onto her face. She grabbed the soap and started to scrub away at any dirty left behind. There couldn't be a single sign of filth, as it was unladylike. She looked down at her knees and the blood dissolved right into the water, as if it was never there in the first place.

Dinner wasn't as disastrous as she thought it would be. The floor was completely clean, no mention of being short of a glass, and the guests loved their meal. It was the Master's friend (along with his large extended family) Santiago who had come to visit. However, there was something odd about Olivia's Madam. Every time she would pass, the French woman would give her a seductive glance, lift up her skirt, or grab her rump as she discreetly as she could for the Master's sake. Madam Francine was known to be rather seductive and perverted. However, it didn't make sense since she had been so wicked to Olivia several minutes prior to the guests' arrival. What did the woman have planned for her? After dinner, the English girl got ready for bed. She slipped her favorite floral night gown over her lithe, freckled body. She looked at herself in the mirror and a childish grin spread across her face. She took her hair out of her ribbons and sat down, grabbing her brush and running it through her russet locks. She hummed a lovely, bouncy, nostalgic little tune to herself, staring lovingly back at her reflection. Then, an epiphany hit her causing her brushing pace to slow down. Oh! That was right; she had to pay her Madam back. It was good that she reminded herself. She'd have hell to pay if she carelessly allowed it to slip her mind. She lifted her pillow and grabbed a bag. She counted the treasures inside to ensure that it was enough to replace the wine glass. Just as she walked for the door, she was startled by the sight of her Madam, clad in a corset and laced panties. The ensemble brought a pink blush to her cheeks. She assumed that she was probably getting ready for bed, and nothing more. "O-Oh, hello! I was just looking for you, Madam Francine." She looked at the bag before showing it to her. "Here you are—this should be enough to pay for that glass."

"That's not how I want you to pay for it." She said, bringing her hand up to lower the bag from her face. In her hand was a Virginia Slim, the filter lit and smoke was billowing from it. She brought it to her dark lips and inhaled. "I've got something else that I want you to do for me,"

"Well what—" Olivia paused to cough as a cloud of smoke snuck right into her wind pipe, burning on its way down. She cleared her throat. "—do you want me to do?" as she took the next step, she wound up sitting on her bed. Her eyes widened as Francine got closer and closer to her face.

"I want you to pay…" she dropped her voice to a whisper, "…with your body."

"Wh-What?" she squeaked.

"It's an order." Before Olivia could protest, Francine captured the girl's soft, pink lips. Surprisingly, the English girl went right along with it like a good little whore. She knew she had picked a good one. And she had her all to herself. The French woman's tongue entered Olivia's mouth, feverishly kissing her, obliviously leaving lipstick stains all over her freckled face. Olivia wrapped her arms around her Madam's neck as she eased into her rhythm. She broke away from the kiss and Francine gave her a frustrated look. "Lie down, I'm supposed to be serving you." She pointed out. Slowly, the French woman slid onto the bed.

"If you are to serve me, you must be nude." She retaliated with a sly smirk. "Take the silly gown off."

She stifled a disgruntled remark regarding her "silly gown" and flung the gown onto the floor. Francine giggled as she unlaced the corset that hugged her body, her large breasts being fully revealed to the English prostitute. Olivia bit her lip. Goodness, she's absolutely ravishing. Come to think of it, Olivia was always attracted to the blonde. Not only for her physical features, but also her sophistication and how highly she carried herself. To her, Francine was a goddess walking the earth. But she couldn't exactly love her. She didn't know that she would want her more than just a servant, nor did she know that she was attracted to her at all. Her? Be attracted to a former peasant girl? No, impossible. A small gasp escaped her lips as her rump was grabbed and she was pulled onto her Madam's lap. She grinded against her, leaning in for another kiss. She increased speed as a barely audible "faster" came from Francine. Sighs and moans erupted from the two as the erotic scene pressed on. Olivia's fingers trailed down and stroked in between her legs. "Wet already, my lady? Who's the whore now?" she purred, despite the fact that she, too, was just as wet. She continued to rub as her Madam moaned sweetly and letting out quivering, ragged breaths. Francine sat up and ran her nails along her sides, playing with the girl's smaller breasts. She licked, bit and sucked on her nipple. A whimper escaped Olivia as she took hold of Francine's nipple and pinched. She grinned mischievously as her hand slid further, going beneath her panties and playing with her clit before putting in a finger. Francine shuttered and arched, biting her lip. Olivia then ripped her panties off and fingered her faster and faster. As much as she was enjoying it, the French woman couldn't let this prostitute dominate her. Without warning, she pushed her down and forced her legs open. She took her prize, snaking her tongue in and out of her and tasting her sweet fluids. Olivia gasped before moaning loudly, grabbing onto her blonde curls. She encouraged her to continue. The pressure inside her chest gradually grew as the French woman's experienced tongue delved deeper. As she panted, Francine went faster and faster, sucking on her clit and lips. Olivia's moans became louder and louder with each lick. Just as she was about to come, Francine stopped. She positioned herself between her legs and she started grinding against her. Olivia gripped the sheets as their clits rubbed against each other. She sat up, continuing to grind and locked lips with her Madam. They feverishly kissed each other, moaning in between breaks for air. With every thrust, there was a gasp and a small giggle from the English girl. Their sweet voices mixed together in a beautiful melody of pure lust. Pleasure was overpowering her whole body and causing her to shake. But she could go on all night; her French partner was amazing. "Just like tha…" she trailed off as another moan interrupted her. Francine was going faster and faster, moaning right along with her. She chuckled softly as she opened her eyes just a little to see the defeated look in her partner's light blue eyes. Victory was hers, and it tasted so sweet. Olivia let out an airy laugh before planting a kiss on her lips. She clung to her as she came closer to her limit. As she climaxed, she threw her head back. Her brown locks fell down her back and she looked into Francine's eyes. A grin spread across the woman's lips and she leaned in for a deep kiss. Her lips strayed along her jawline and down her neck. She nipped the skin on her throat and sucked, leaving behind a series of marks. She pulled away to take in the girl's body. She wanted her for a long while, and The Master couldn't have this one.

Olivia was hers.

Author's Note: Just in case there's any confusion, "Santiago" is the name for "2p" Spain. His extended family would be Belgium, Netherlands and Cuba, and Romano would be his son. The "Master" will remain anonymous for now, but gold star for anyone who can guess correctly! Madam is capitalized because it's the politically correct term for "pimp", and Francine is addressed as such even outside prostitution operations.