Arranged: Bound By Contract (girlxintersex)

Chapter 6

Chapter 6
Stella POV

In Field, like a wild flower, perspiration erupted in my head and fell straight to my brows, and a few droplets took a road flowing right down my invisible whiskers, ending just at my pointed chin, and gently, just one motion, it drip on the counter.

The only thing was I couldn't fucking move. My ankles were dependent on the heels, which seemed to be needles. My fingers were trembling like a 9.5-magnitude earthquake.

I wasn't sure what I was doing. All I knew was that the coffee maker was terrible. I assumed I could just boil it in a saucepan, but I was too lazy. I couldn't get it to turn on, let alone boil the first cup of coffee.

I gazed at the complex machine. How can I repair this? The only place that could help me was YouTube. I've got one problem. I was well-dressed in my seductive maid attire, and my phone, if I recall correctly, was in my handbag on Mateo's car's back seat.

The last thing I want is for one set of prying suburban eyes to gaze at me with disgust, as my attire suggests. It was too early in the morning to play dress-up.

I rush up to the window, moving only a portion of the flap of the curtains to the side. I expected to receive more views than I really did.

All I could see were the first six houses across the street. I strained my eyes on all sides, hoping to see whether I had any roaming neighbors.

I had to do it the hard way. I had to quickly dash out the door, get the bag, and dash back in while holding my fingers crossed. I tightened the curtain against the wall.

I think Mateo understands that we need to introduce ourselves to everyone on this length of roadway. I've seen that in movies. And if we don't, they will believe we are superior to them—which we are.

I had no idea what Mateo was thinking when she moved us to take her to her 17000 square foot mansion—I knew she had servants. While I didn't anticipate spending 10 years in prison sitting on a sofa, I did anticipate having maids take care of everything and leaving the tasks related to bedroom whoring to me.

My dash towards the door was a warm-up. My ankle chose to pout and twist itself. I went flying directly into my knees, where it felt like a large ton truck had driven over them—excessively slowly.

I huffed, irritated of my wife's obligations position.

I looked down at my heels; I'd worn them all day yesterday and they weren't a problem, so what was the issue now?

I softly patted them, hoping that it would calm them down and let me to run the short distance to and from the car. I enjoy having nice heels on my feet. They make my small leg longer and my ankles appear like an expensive entrée. Heels are like make-up on my feet.

I forced the agony aside, there was no reason to scream because I would soon have to suck Mrs. Fat cock like my depends on it—my father life does. I slowly got to my feet. I clutched onto the door handle.

Against my mental projection of sprinting to the car, I peeled the door open. Leaning slightly against the frame, I gazed out at the scorching sun that was painting the road a vibrant shade of yellow banana.

I couldn't believe the sun was up and cracking like a slave-master's whip. I couldn't believe I was so relaxed, indulging the sun art painting in a dress that wouldn't fit a 6-year-old.

One battered, creamy-like corn leg stepped out first, followed by another. I did it gingerly till I reached the car's door.

I did not stop because I was at the door, but because a woman, who appeared to have retired from the streets, was gazing at me across the street.

I couldn't miss the Sacramento green hair, which was wrapped into a bun but appeared to have been wrecked by a wonderful sex session or sleep. I also couldn't ignore the robe, which knotted around her torso and revealed her sea floater waist.

I wanted to raise my hand and call to her. However, the garment was too short. She, on the other hand, strolled out on the road in her fluffy Monster Inc. bed slippers—a character I was unfamiliar with.

My gaze shifted to her grass, where I noticed a few toys scattered about. Great.

A suburban woman who bakes cookies, knows everyone's business, and has a cheating husband was approaching me—I was disgustingly judgmental, and I loved it. I could do it all day; I acquired this mindset from my mother.

"Howdy, neighbor," she said, like a cowboy but not sounding like one.

"Hey," I had to muster the excitement to greet her. I grabbed the door handle, still recalling my goal of grabbing my phone.

"I see you are new here."

Her gaze could not move away from my attire. I couldn't tell if she was staring at it with curiosity or disdain.

"One day old, in the neighborhood." I gave a hearty chuckle.

Her coffin-white pressed nails raced to her deep cotton candy lips.

"This house has been uninhabited for a year now. The Simpson family used to dwell there. A polite married couple with two children."

"And this is my problem, Ms..." I trailed off. As the sun moved steadily towards us. It lands on her greasy legs. I, on the other hand, was looking forward to getting a natural tan to match my makeup.

"Taylor. I am married. This area is notable for its children. A lot of them." She remarked, waving her fingers toward a few houses. "And the children would be devastated to witness anything like that." Her wiggling fingers scrunched up my clothes. I understand it wasn't the finest clothing to be wandering around in.

"Look, fashion police! I am not wandering around. I'm only going for my phone." I remarked as I opened the car door and grabbed for my handbag, as I had intended before.

"My kids don't want to witness all that."

"Cover their eyes or, I'm not sure, poke them the fuck out!" I remarked loudly, as I looked through my luggage to find my phone. I was more concerned about avoiding getting Mateo's coffee on her table than about the saintly woman in front of me.

"If you are spotted dressed like this again, the police will be notified, and I will have you arrested."

"I'd want to see you try it."

"I can contact them right now."

"Go ahead!"

"Please accept this warning." She said as she turned and marched away.

"Big back," I shouted.

Her wolf-like huffing was audible as she ascended to her porch, which resembled a forest—she has an excessive amount of flowers. We have none at all.

I was left chuckling to myself, or so I thought, until I heard someone's throat cleared—it nearly sounded like a vehicle breaking.

"What's so funny?"

I frowned as I resumed searching for my phone. I know the little shit was trying to hide from me.

"I'm trying to find my phone." I replied immediately, holding out my phone.

"Why isn't my coffee made?

'Why isn't my coffee been made?' I mocked under my breath.

"It's because the blasted coffee machine isn't functioning and a suburban, boring wife just targeted me."

She leaped over everything I said. "I want some coffee."

With a sigh, I retreated inside the home and made my way to the kitchen. "You are such a big baby."

"I am hooked to coffee and need it to operate."

"Then go order it at Starbucks, Peter Pan."

"That is poisonous. I want to have my coffee at home. That's wonderfully made, naturally black, and beautifully combined with my favorite spoon." She stated as she walked to the drawer and drew out a golden teaspoon.

"I am trying, Mateo. Can't you wait? This is all new to me." I exclaimed, sliding my hand down my attire.

Maybe if I hadn't been dressed so sloppy, I could have concentrated.

"It's not difficult to use a coffee machine."

"For me, it is." I have never brewed coffee. I've never drunk the item. I was a dragon fruit girl with bubba and milk, whether it was sunny or raining.

Her lips thinned as she approached the coffee machine. I watched with interest as she took up a pad, placed it in the pod, clamped the lid down, pressed a few buttons, and the machine groaned to life.

My mouth hung gaping. "If you know what to do, why rely on me?"

"Because I am the master, and you are the slave. Don't make me do this again, Stella."

"Not my concern."

"Then your father's small agreement gets lost in the wind. So make everything involving me your concern."

"Ugh!" I pounded my heels. I was shocked it didn't crack under my heel.

"Fine! Teach it to me." I snapped. I didn't want to have to ask her for aid, so I made sure to use a demanding tone. She brought me over and took one of my index fingers.

"You pick up a pod and put it in the pod holder."

"I got that part, jackass. I want to know how to start the blasted thing."

She appeared to be having a great time with what I said, as another smirk appeared on her lips.

"Kneel and beg first."


"I'd rather watch YouTube videos."

"This is a custom-built machine. This suggests the model isn't ready for testing."

My gaze shifted to the wicked black coffee machine. It didn't look brand-new like the other appliances and furniture, but it did appear to be custom-built.

I exhaled and lowered my knees to the smooth-cut marble tile. "Please show me the way to the machine."

She appeared astonished.

"What?" I snapped.

"You kneel quickly."

I gazed down at her shoes. I dislike how my bright eyes could be seen through them. "Just teach me, dogshit."

"Your lips would have been much nicer on my cock if you hadn't sworn and cursed so much." She tsks.

"Stand up."

I gave a raise.

She pressed a button. "The start button has been there the entire time. After you put the coffee in, you simply click the button, wait a few minutes, and you have coffee." She said as she shook the dark black coffee in the glass pitcher.

"I kneel for nothing."

"Don't worry, I'll make sure you kneel for something someday."