Chapter 73 Confession No. 54: Housekeeping Rules

Chapter 73 Confession No. 54: Housekeeping Rules
At the Bellamy estate, the sheets aren’t the only thing getting dirty.”

When I took the housekeeping job at the Bellamy estate, I thought I’d be folding towels and dusting antiques.

I didn’t expect to be crawling on my hands and knees between two brothers.

I didn’t expect the rules.

It started with a note.

RULE 1: You will clean East Wing rooms only in lace panties. Nothing else.

At first, I thought it was a joke. Some arrogant, privileged playboy fantasy.

But the handwriting was precise. And it was signed with a wax seal: L. Bellamy.

I nearly quit that day.

But then I saw the envelope tucked beneath it.

$3,000.

Cash.

For one day’s work.

The East Wing belonged to Luca Bellamy, the older brother. Cold, unreadable, ex-military. He walked like a man who didn't waste time. Sharp cheekbones, always in suits, and a voice like winter.

The younger brother, Elias, lived in the West Wing. Shirtless more often than not. Careless grin. Curls falling over his forehead. Always watching me like I was dessert he hadn’t earned yet.

They were opposites.

And they both made my thighs ache.

I wore the lace panties.

And nothing else.

I was shaking as I cleaned Luca’s massive bedroom walls covered in dark wood, leather furniture, and a bed that could fit four people. I was polishing the mirror above his headboard when I noticed it

A camera.

Blinking. Watching.

I gasped, spun around, and covered myself, even though there was nothing to hide.

The tablet on his desk lit up.

RULE 2: Keep your hands behind your back. Do not speak unless spoken to.

And beneath that, a button:

“ACCEPT.”

I pressed it with a trembling finger.

That night, I heard footsteps outside my tiny room in the servants' quarters. Then a knock.

Elias.

Wearing only grey sweats. Shirtless. Holding a bottle of wine.

“Want company?” he grinned.

Before I could answer, he stepped inside.

He didn’t kiss me.

He just reached down, stroked between my legs like he was claiming something.

“I saw your performance in my brother’s room.”

My cheeks flamed.

“I didn’t know there were cameras,” I whispered.

He chuckled darkly. “You’ll learn. We both watch. But only one of us touches.”

I didn’t sleep that night.

Because I didn’t want to stop remembering his touch.

The next day, I found another envelope.

$5,000 this time.

And a list.

RULE 3: Mop the hallway blindfolded. On your knees.

RULE 4: Use the vibrating plug from the black box. No hands.

RULE 5: If either of us says “Red,” you stop. Otherwise, obey.

I stared at the words wet already, clenching around nothing.

What was I becoming?

A maid?

A toy?

Or something between the two, both desired and owned?

Later that evening, as I crawled across the marble hallway with the plug humming inside me, I heard footsteps.

Both of them.

Elias crouched down beside me, brushing hair from my cheek. “How’s our little housekeeper?”

Luca’s voice was behind me calm, stern. “She missed a spot.”

They made me lick the marble clean.

Then, they made me beg.

I didn't know who entered me first.

But I know who made me scream loudest.

Now, every room in the East Wing holds a different rule. A different game. A different punishment.

But the biggest rule of all?

RULE 6: You may never fall in love.

I broke that one last night.

And I think they both know.

“Some rules aren’t meant to be broken. Others are made to be rewritten in sweat, silk, and sin.”

The rules had changed.

Or maybe I had.

It had been a week since I let both Luca and Elias take me in that hallway. Since I’d stopped pretending, this was just a job.

Now, the house had a rhythm.

Morning: Clean the rooms. Afternoon: serve lunch on a tray, wearing only an apron. Night?

Night was when I was tested.

RULE 7: You will knock once at midnight. Kneel. Wait.

That night, I obeyed. I crawled to the heavy double doors of Luca’s study bare, blindfolded, plug inside me.

I knocked once.

The door creaked open.

Silence.

I knelt.

Minutes passed. Or was it hours?

Then a whisper by my ear.

“You disobeyed,” Elias murmured. “You wore perfume. That wasn’t in the rules.”

His tongue traced the shell of my ear. “My brother’s going to punish you.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Luca’s footsteps were soft. Measured. Heavy with promise.

A hand in my hair. A tug.

He dragged me inside. Closed the door.

“I asked one thing,” he said coldly. “Scentless. Clean. Blank.”

The next moment, I was over his desk.

Wrists bound to the legs. Ankles spread wide and tied. Face pressed to the cool wood.

The punishment was silence.

No words.

Just touch. Tease. Denial.

He used feathers, ice cubes, his belt, his voice that calm, cruel voice in my ear narrating every tremble of my thighs.

“Your cunt is betraying you. Slick. Desperate. Pathetic.”

I whimpered.

He laughed softly. “You love rules, don’t you?”

And then he left me there.

Alone.

Tied.

Blinded.

Soaking wet.

Until Elias returned.

But he didn’t untie me.

He slid inside me slowly, whispering things Luca never did filthy, reckless things that made me bite the desk.

He whispered about the way I looked with my ass raised like an offering.

The way he wanted to keep me here. Always ready. Always wet.

When I woke up the next morning, still aching, I found a new note on my pillow.

No money this time.

Only a rule.

RULE 8: Choose. One of us. Only one. The other will make your life hell.

And underneath, a question:

Do you want the man who makes the rules or the one who breaks them?

I stared at it for hours.

Then I did something I swore I wouldn’t.

I wrote a rule of my own.

RULE 9: You’ll both come to my room tonight. But only one of you will be allowed to touch me. The other must watch.

And I slid it under both their doors.

Now I wait.

Naked.

Plugged.

Blindfolded.

One will come first.

The other will arrive later.

But only one of them will win.

“In a house with too many secrets, the final rule is the one that breaks you.”

I didn’t expect both of them to follow the rule.

But they did.

Luca arrived first.

Always precise. Always ten minutes early.

He shut my door quietly, took in my naked body blindfolded, knees spread, plug still pulsing inside me and didn’t say a word.

Just stood there.

Watching.

That was the rule.

Only one of them could touch me.

Elias came next.

Late, of course. He never played by time.

But when he saw his brother standing there like a stone sentinel arms crossed, jaw tight he smirked.

“So I’m the winner tonight?” Elias drawled, dropping his shirt to the floor. “Hope you’re ready to lose control, sweetheart.”

He touched me like he was claiming victory.

Fingers rough, lips teasing. He whispered dirty promises into my ear, kissed every part of me Luca only ever ordered.

But I heard Luca.

His breathing.

His shifting weight.

His control slowly fracturing.

When Elias thrust into me deep, rhythmic, unrelenting I whimpered loudly on purpose.

I wanted Luca to hear it.

Wanted him to suffer.

Wanted him to break.

He did.

Halfway through.

With a low growl, Luca strode forward and yanked Elias out of me.

“I said one,” he snapped.

Elias just grinned. “She asked for us both. Deep down.”

Before I could speak, Luca bent me over the bed. Rougher than ever. One hand pressed between my shoulder blades, the other gripping my hip.

No more rules.

No more pretending.

He took me hard, savage, every thrust a punishment.

But I didn’t beg for it to stop.

I begged for more.

They passed me between them like a prize.

Rough.

Soft.

Commanding.

Playful.

By the time I was sprawled in the soaked sheets, crying out their names like prayers, I didn’t care who had won.

Because I had.

When it ended, I lay between them.

Silent.

Sated.

Broken open in the best way.

Elias kissed my forehead lazily. “So, what’s the next rule?”

Luca traced a finger down my spine. “She’s not the maid anymore.”

They both looked at me.

Waiting.

Wanting.

And I gave them the final command:

“Strip the sheets. This time you clean.”