Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s been thirty minutes and already Ellen wants to be done with her shift.

Not because of Corin, of course. Corin’s great, she’s all the perks of having a little sister without all the annoying parts. Her stammering anxiety is kinda charming, even if it wears thin at times, and she’s an ace in a fight. Even if she has to push the other girl out of her comfort zone once in a while, Ellen appreciates having her around.

(Honestly, this was probably the best person she could’ve been sent out with tonight. Lycaon and Rina never let her get away with anything while she’s on the clock.)

Not because of the job either. Tonight is straightforward enough: the client, a wealthy speculator, has found a cache of old world artifacts in an incredibly small, weak Companion Hollow. It’s in a run-down garage waiting to be picked up. All Victoria Housekeeping has to do is keep watch over the cache until the client gets back to load it for transport, and prevent any interference from Ethereals. Which there probably won’t be, or so management tells them, because the etheric readings are so low as to be practically nonexistent.

No, what’s going to make the next four hours hell is Jill Dehré, who’s currently on the other side of the garage watching Corin clear away corrupted debris.

“S-so…usually, if you destroy enough of it, the ether in the air will reduce a little more.” Even raised, the little maid’s soft voice is difficult to hear over the roar of her buzzsaw’s engine. “Which isn’t really necessary, but…well…isn’t it the little things that make guard duty so much more bearable?”

Next to Corin, Jill has her hands clasped behind her back in a sort of faux-innocent stance. A full head taller than her senior, she bends at the waist all cutely to reply, bottle-blonde twintails falling over her uniform’s shoulders. “Oh, totally,” she answers in a low, throaty hum full of vocal fry. “Don’t wanna burn through our ether protection.”

“Right!” Corin lowers the saw. “Okay, now please clear out the rest, and I’ll put the kettle on.”

“Mmmm…by myself, though?” asks the junior maid with a skeptical look at the amassed clutter. Something about her singsong cadence feels playful, but…in a faintly acidic way, unpleasant. Like a taunt. “I mean, you’ve got a saw, Corin. Do you really think my needles can clear all of this out the same way?”

Even from this distance, Ellen can see the blush that reddens Corin’s cheeks. “O-oh, well…of course!” She demonstrates again, clearing away more of the wreckage. “See, even if you don’t use much force, it falls apart pretty easily. Ummm…because of the corruption.”

“Wow, you’re really good at this,” Jill purrs, the words practically dripping honey. Long lashes bat at Corin over deep turquoise eyes. “But what if there’s a spot where it’s really thick, like over…mmm…there?”

The watermelon lollipop crunches into fragments between Ellen’s molars, crushed by about two thousand pounds per square inch, as she watches Corin continue to do the job under the pretext of demonstrating it. She stashes the stick in an apron pocket with a hasty little shove, feeling a swell of agitation rise in her chest.

Context, perhaps. You deserve to be caught up on what exactly is pissing her off here.

So, Jill’s the new girl at Victoria - she just started last week, and has been shadowing Corin. She's Ellen’s age, from what Lycaon says, although they definitely don't go to the same school (this is the kind of person you don't forget running into). This is their first real field assignment together as a group, and from what Ellen’s seen so far, she has zero doubt that all of the “shadowing” consisted of finding ways to deflect responsibility. To her credit, Jill has picked the right target: Corin, bless her, is a sweetheart, and couldn’t confront a house centipede, let alone a colleague (even one she has seniority over).

“Ooooh, okay…” There she goes, turning a little pirouette to Corin’s other side, hands framing the swell of her hips, lower tentacles wrapped around her slender waist like a corset. “I see, I see…and over there too…”

Oh, that’s the other thing. She’s a fellow Thiren, a fellow aquatic Thiren at that. If that’s supposed to provoke any kind of solidarity in Ellen, it has failed spectacularly. Jill’s octopus traits are pretty limited, at least from what she can see: four tentacles, two from between her shoulders and two from the small of her back. They’re custom-fitted through frilly rings in her maid uniform, and she has a tendency to coil them around herself when she’s not using them for something.

Ellen shakes her head at the sight, lips pursing. It’s annoying, the way the coils emphasize Jill’s curves. Showing off like that while taking advantage of Corin, and being so smug about it. Ugh.

Any more of this and she just might get off her ass and do something about it.

Earlier…

“I’m not saying no to the pay,” Ellen says with a shrug. “It just doesn’t seem like a three-maid job.”

She’s in Lycaon’s study, getting a private briefing for tonight’s assignment. Her tail is folded gently around her side as she perches daintily on the edge of a chair, legs crossed with practiced grace.

Across from her, the man himself pushes back slightly in his chair and lays a broad hand on the desk’s mahogany surface. “As a matter of fact, it isn’t,” he admits. “According to our intelligence, the Companion Hollow is on the verge of total collapse, with no recorded Ethereal activity in days. Like as not, the greatest threat you three face will be terminal boredom.”

Ellen raises an eyebrow as silence creeps in between them. It all feels quite self-contradictory, but she trusts Lycaon implicitly - respects him more than anyone else in New Eridu, even. He has to have a reason.

“...But?” she prompts.

A grin tugs at Lycaon’s lips behind his muzzle. “Astute as always.” His other hand joins its mate, and his gloved fingers steeple together in an effortlessly elegant gesture. “But…well, you’ve yet to meet our newest member. I’ve assigned Miss Corin to show her the ropes, and as such she’ll be accompanying the two of you to protect the client’s assets tonight.”

Oh yeah, the new girl. Rina mentioned her impending arrival last week but, to be truthful, Ellen hasn't really been keeping up to date on all that. “Oh. So you want somebody keeping an eye on the important stuff while Corin trains the newbie.” It makes sense.

But Lycaon doesn't accede and move on, not right away at least. “Something like that, yes,” he replies, and draws in a slow breath as if preparing to say something. A long moment passes, uncharacteristically long - he's choosing his words with exceptional care.

Ellen waits. For him, she can be patient.

At last, her boss clarifies: “I’ll introduce you to Miss Jill presently, and when I do, you may note she has a rather… thorny nature. I'm not yet certain how deep it runs, but there’s some concern that she might cause friction with a client, or with our beloved staff such as yourself.”

She blinks, caught off guard; it makes sense as an answer, but knowing Lycaon’s mania for professionalism, one question immediately springs to mind. “Uh…why’d you hire her, then? If her personality’s not really suited for the job, I mean.”

“For the same reason I hired you, despite similar concerns,” he replies smoothly, lips twitching with amusement at the subtle blush that creeps into her face. “She has a unique set of skills that I think would be an immense asset to Victoria Housekeeping. And just as my faith in you proved to be well-placed, it's my fondest hope that Miss Jill will prove to be as good a fit for our agency.”

Again, Ellen waits. This is much harder than it sounds - she's a creature of drive, of momentum. She itches to be in motion, to stay dynamic; sitting perfectly still like this takes infinitely more of her concentration than a wild brawl with a pack of bloodthirsty Ethereals. It's a testament to her training that her self-discipline holds.

“Yet, though hope springs eternal,” Lycaon continues, “I find myself returning now and again to that old chestnut: trust, but verify . Miss Corin is of course a maid of the utmost quality, and I've no doubt she'll be an excellent teacher. But she lacks a certain steel to her, one which I worry she might need, as our latest recruit is, ah, something of a boundary-pusher.”

She’s familiar enough with him by now to translate that from Lycaon-speak: the new maid’s a huge bitch and she's probably going to walk all over Corin. Make sure she doesn't succeed in doing that. 

Which doesn't sound impossible. Maybe not even that difficult. But it's odd that he's picked her, of all people, for the job.

“Why me?” she asks, cocking her head with a quizzical eye. “Why not Rina? Isn't she, y'know, the motherly ‘ducks in a row’ type?”

“Quite so,” Lycaon replies. “Alas, Miss Rina is otherwise engaged tonight, as we’ll be attending a different client’s affairs. More to the point…” He pauses, one claw rising to stroke thoughtfully down the length of his muzzle. “...I have faith in your abilities, and in your judgment. Call it a professional’s hunch, if you like.”

At last, Ellen rises from the chair, letting her tail settle out behind her. An amused huff, not quite a laugh, escapes her. “So…you’re putting us together based on what? Just vibes?”

“...Vibes,” he repeats gravely, savoring the word. “A fine term. It will do for our purposes.”

This time, she does laugh.

Back to the present…

Anyway, the past half hour has established the vibes just fine, and they are rancid.

“Jeez, patrol duty?” Jill drawls; she passes a thin steel needle, like a sliver of metallic light, between her hands and her upper tentacles in a steady, practiced loop. “Isn’t that a bit much for my first time, Corin? And you said no Ethereals are gonna show up, so…is it really necessary?”

Caught off guard by the sudden resistance but unwilling to push, Corin wrings her hands together. “Well…i-it’s still important to make sure,” she argues, but there’s no real force in it, not even a semblance of authority. “Please…um…I’ll even go with you, if that’ll help! It’s actually very easy…”

“Yeah, which is why it shouldn’t require two people,” the other girl offers in reply, smooth and lilting. The needle comes to halt in one hand and she lifts it with a careless swish, twirling one of her twintails around its length. “Sooooo, I mean, if you want everything patrolled, you could always…y’know…”

Jill trails off meaningfully. Corin’s shoulders droop. Ellen feels her jaw tighten.

“O-oh…ummm…well…” The little maid’s lip trembles; she clearly wants to protest, but lacks the nerve to stand up to the girl she’s supposed to be supervising. “I guess it wouldn’t be too much trouble–”

And that’s the breaking point. Corin doesn’t even have time to totter over to the door and excuse herself before Ellen pushes off the wall she’s been leaning against, storming over to the two of them. Chin lifted and back perfectly straight, she meets Jill’s gaze, red on blue-green, over Corin’s headdress.

“Hey.” She puts some serious timbre into the word, the kind that rattles people down in the marrow of their bones, and is pleased to see Jill’s eyes lock to hers. “Corin’s your senior. If she tells you to go on patrol, you go on patrol.”

People usually fold here. Once Ellen flashes a little steel (figuratively or literally), situations have a tendency to defuse themselves.

Not this one.

“Sorry, who put you in charge?” the other Thiren fires back at her, a faint blush staining her pale cheeks with pink. She stiffens, wary-eyed - taking Ellen seriously, at least. “If it’s Corin’s call, shouldn’t you mind your own business and let us handle ourselves?”

“Oh no!” The famously conflict-averse Corin has turned the color of a wet sheet. “Um…please don’t fight! I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to start anything–” She jolts as the muffled sound of metal crashing echoes in the distance. “Oh! That might be, um…anything! I’ll investigate!”

Ellen half-turns to let her colleague push past her and flee the room, never taking her eyes off Jill. There’s about a meter between them, close enough to really take in the new girl’s measure, and at this distance she can see what Lycaon meant on several levels. There’s the surface-level stuff: the wiry muscles under her lacy skirts and petticoats, the appraising gaze that scans over Ellen in turn, the way the tip of the needle in her hand ripples with purple-tinged ether.

Perilous, sure. But that’s not the real danger.

The real danger is that look in her eyes. There’s some anger, yeah, resentment at having been called out on her antics. But Ellen sees the subtle signs. The little flare at the edges of Jill’s nostrils, the way the whites shine around her muddy irises. The motion of her lips, slightly parted, almost pouty - twitching, suppressing the urge to emote harder.

Something of a boundary pusher, Lycaon said. 

She's enjoying herself - seeing what gets a reaction out of Ellen, testing how far she can push this. It's a game of brinkmanship, and the odd manic light in Jill’s eyes, the eagerness to see what her colleague will do in response, gives that game away altogether.

Interesting.

She takes another step forward, keeping their eyes locked. They're about the same height, but her build is sturdier, more muscular, than Jill’s lithe frame and it makes Ellen almost loom over her in the small space, ominous like the waters darkening just before a massive breach.

“Seniority aside,” she breathes, hands settling onto her hips (and very deliberately not going for her shears), “if you don't get why I'm in charge yet, you're free to come find out for yourself.”

Like a call-and-response, she sees the answering gleam in Jill’s gaze, a wild sort of exhilaration at the unexpected challenge.

“Lil’ fish talks a big game,” the other girl croons, needles shining thirstily between her curled fingers (seriously, where is she getting all of those? was the talent Lycaon talked about sleight-of-hand?). “You sure that's a chance you wanna take?” That taunting sing-song cadence only intensifies. “I might be dangerous~”

Irritation prickles at the back of Ellen’s neck - but strangely, heat coils in her belly at the same time. She shifts in place, very deliberately letting her fingers trail down to the handle of her shears now, and lets her lip pull back just enough to flash a sparkle of razor-sharp teeth.

“Yeah.” There's no give in her voice, not an ounce of hesitation. “I'll take that chance.”

And Jill, to Ellen’s unease, grins back at her, delighted at having gotten a reaction.

No, this is exactly what she wanted. Trying to provoke me…

Empires rise and fall over the course of the staredown. Tension crackles like built-up static in the air between the pair, muscles tightening, bodies poised to launch into action.

Am I seriously about to fight the new girl?

I mean, it's not like she can back down now, not after all the less-than-subtle posturing they've been doing. And definitely not with someone like Jill - Ellen knows her type, the kind who spot weakness and dive on it from literal miles away like a hawk on a rabbit. If she doesn't shut this shit down now, it's gonna set a very bad precedent indeed.

But she's not going to make the first move. Nothing that'll paint her as the aggressor. If Jill wants to fight so badly, she can start it.

Ellen holds her ground. A second ticks by, then another, and she sees frustration start to bloom in the other girl’s eyes. Aha. Yeah, she wanted to get jumped so she could get Ellen in trouble with management. ‘My coworker assaulted me for no reason’, that kind of thing. Of course.

“Look,” she says sternly, letting herself relax now that she's pretty sure they won't have to throw down. “Enough of this crap, okay? We’re eighteen, not twelve. Stop trying to ruin perfectly good money with this middle school routine, and–”

The door crashes open beside them with a clatter that startles both girls from their standoff, and Corin bursts into the room in total panic. 

“Help! There’s a bunch of people outside!” she squeaks, wide-eyed and clutching her saw. 

Ellen blinks rapid-fire, momentarily forgetting Jill. “The client’s already here?”

“Not from the client! I-I-I-I think they’re Hollow raiders!”

In retrospect, it makes perfect sense. There's only one force in New Eridu that's stronger than the Hollows, and that's capitalism. Of course the Ethereals wouldn't be the only threat - of course the lack of them meant that a bunch of opportunists might see a chance to seize the score for themselves. Ellen’s willing to bet some loose-lipped dumbass from the client’s org let the location slip. Probably in exchange for a cut of the proceeds, even.

Well, the raiders may have accounted for the cache being protected - they showed up armed, after all - but they definitely aren't prepared for Victoria Housekeeping.

It’s the part of the job she lives for. Ellen doesn’t particularly enjoy killing - it happens, of course, but she tries not to revel in it, especially since Lycaon’s always warned them not to do it unnecessarily. But god, does she love fighting, the thrill of the struggle, of the hunt. Always in motion now, scything through the raiders’ ranks like a razored battering ram, ripping and tearing and slashing. A predator in her element.

She’s not the only predator in the fight, though. There’s a lot going on and it’s hard to spot her fellow maids, but there’s no mistaking the weird gait of the masked raider who comes staggering toward her out of the melee. Ellen pauses, puzzled, and the man stumbles to his knees in front of her - that’s when she sees the needles. Handfuls, maybe dozens of them are nailed into his back and shoulders, pulsing a sickly purple glow. 

Ether-soaked, she realizes with a shock, as the raider pitches forward and vomits violently (inside his fishbowl helmet, ugh) before collapsing altogether. The needles are poisoned–

“Boo,” Jill whispers, all throaty against her ear.

Ellen whirls. No maid in sight, just a horde of brawling raiders and a spray of blood as Corin shrieks her way through the crowd. She dives back in to make the assist, scattering their enemies with a full-body roundhouse whack from her tail. All around her, they’re continuing to topple, clawing at their throats, sparkling silver in bleeding patches of metal-filled skin.

She brings the shears down on a fallen thug who was reaching for his gun. Pauses. Reaches out with all her senses, watching, studying–

There.

The air shimmers behind the Hollow raiders’ leader, a hulk of a man wielding a cudgel the size of a door, and Jill simply pops into reality with a cloud of thrown needles. Her tentacles whip out in unison and pull her along the floor in a nimble dash, well clear of the frenzied swing that comes her way. Pivoting on one heel, she launches another handful at him with pinpoint accuracy - her upper tentacles feeding a steady stream of needles from her pouches into her hands - before ducking under another attack and simply vanishing altogether.

At last, Ellen understands. Of course - there’s the other octopus trait, optical camouflage. Lycaon wasn’t kidding about a ‘unique set of skills’; of course you’d want somebody who can turn invisible on your team.

She turns and mows down the final couple raiders, just a quick mop-up sweep in a shower of ice and a snap of the shears. The boss, already leaking corruption from dozens upon dozens of puncture wounds, turns and makes a break for it, only to flee directly into the business end of Corin’s buzzsaw.

It’s a good thing they double as a maid service, because by the time a hush falls across the battlefield, there is so much blood.

“I…I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to make such a mess!”

Ellen pinches the bridge of her nose. “Corin, it’s a saw. It’s gonna make a mess by default. Besides, it’s not like the rest of us were doing much to hold back.”

This seems to calm her friend and colleague a little; Corin nods reluctantly, shouldering the gore-splattered tool with anxious eyes. “Y-yes, I suppose you’re right. But we should still clean up before the client gets here. Ms. Rina would never forgive us if we left the site looking like this.”

“Yeah, you’re not wrong. Want me to get the mop?”

“I was going to ask Jill to do it,” the little maid answers, glancing around, “but I can’t seem to find her anywhere. I think I lost track of her in the fight…”

“...Really now,” muses Ellen, turning in place and slowly surveying the courtyard around them. The luckiest of the raiders have long since retreated, dragging their dead behind them. “Odd, she seems like she’d be difficult to lose track of.”

“You don’t think…” With a gasp, Corin clutches her hands to her mouth, paling. “What if she was carried off by the raiders? Oh no…Ellen, what are we going to tell Sir Lycaon?!”

“Corin.”

“He trusted me with looking out for her, and…a-and now…”

“Corin,” Ellen repeats, leaning down to grasp the other girl by her shoulders. Her tone is gentle, but firm. “Look at me. Jill’s fine, alright? She had a handle on things during the fight.”

Corin sniffles pitifully. “R-really?”

“Really really. Listen, you’ve been doing great tonight, you’ve been through a lot.” She smiles - not the open-mouthed kind, the kind that doesn’t terrify people. “I’m gonna go find Jill, and we’ll handle the cleanup out here. You go inside and sit with the cache. Just relax and take some you-time, and we’ll come in and find you when we’re done. Okay?”

“...O-okay.” She swallows hard, but after a moment, Corin smiles back, and then she surprises Ellen by throwing her arms around her waist, hugging her tightly. “Thanks, Ellen. You’re the best.”

Ellen stiffens, but quickly relaxes into the embrace and gives Corin a gentle squeeze. “You got it, girl. Okay, head on in.” 

A step back. A slow breath. Her shoulders rise and fall in one steady motion, resolve hardening in her core. Ellen takes a moment to study the courtyard around her, then lifts her shears up onto one shoulder and saunters - casual, unhurried - over to the eastern wall, by a stack of crates. She takes a moment to survey the aftermath of the fight, then, with a shake of her head, takes a single step forward–

–turns, pivoting on her heel–

“Gotcha!”

–and rams the shears into the wall with an ear-splitting crunch of metal, right at chest height.

There’s an undignified shriek and Jill bursts out of camouflage, startled from her concentration; Ellen has the satisfaction of a front-row seat to her look of utter bewildered shock. Her tentacles curl defensively around her upper body like a flak jacket, arms thrown instinctively up in a full-body flinch. “Wh-wha… how?!”

“Thought you could hide from me, huh?” Ellen snips, leaning in on the handle of her shears with a baleful red-eyed glare. “Spoilers: there’s only one way that ends–”

She doesn’t even get the full sentence out. Jill shoves her with surprising strength, hard enough to make Ellen reel back a step, and vanishes again in a shimmer of light. She practically throws herself to one side, away from the shears embedded in the wall, preparing to escape–

WHAM. Ellen’s palm slams into the wall before her, hard enough that it sends a tremor rippling all the way down her arm. Jill pops out of invisibility again with a yelp, backpedaling, and makes it less than half a meter before her shoulders touch the flat of the shears. 

She’s hemmed in. Knows it, too - those turquoise eyes are wide and alert now, full of newfound understanding. Her special abilities are no good here.

Because what Jill doesn’t know, apparently, is that every time a living creature moves its muscles, that generates a little bit of electricity. Just a crumb, really, not enough for most forms of life to even take notice. But there are a few exceptions, and the biggest one - the most sensitive set of electroreceptors in the animal kingdom - is the shark.

Lycaon must have known this, Ellen realizes. This, too, is part of why he sent her.

“What’d I just say?” she scolds, getting right in the other girl’s face. “Your tricks won’t work on me, so stay put and listen.”

“Yeah? Or what?” The tentacles are splayed out behind Jill, braced against the wall, ready for a fight. Her needles aren’t out, at least, but there’s no mistaking that wild exhilaration in her eyes again, the thrill of having pushed Ellen a little further. “Gonna run that pretty mouth at me and hope for Corin to save you again, or–”

The sentence dies stillborn as Ellen’s palm cracks across her features with a sound like thunder.

What happens over the half-second that follows is fascinating. Something like five or six different microexpressions flicker across Jill’s face all at once: fury, disbelief, shock, offense… excitement? Delight, even, the thrill of efforts bearing fruit? Her hand flies to her cheek, a reflexive gesture, and then just as readily it dives for her needle pouch.

Ellen’s faster. She surges forward, flooding into Jill’s personal space like a crushing seawall, and seizes that wrist before the pouch is even open. A quick back-and-forth yank spins the other maid halfway around, and one of her tentacles snaps down to wrap around Ellen’s arm - followed swiftly by an elbow, thrown backwards at her head as Jill violently whips to one side.

She’s strong - surprisingly so - especially as the rest of her tentacles begin to snatch and shove at her attacker. But she’s thin, wiry, not dense enough. Next to her, Ellen might as well be a cinderblock made of muscle.

Up against the wall they go with an impact that drives the breath from Jill’s lungs, her cheek flattened roughly against the cold metal. Ellen presses against her back, all muscle and corded steel beneath her frills and ruffles.

“Ahh - get off me!”

The rustling of their maid uniforms mingles with furious grunts as a tentacle batters at Ellen’s head, striking at her face like a biting cobra. She wrenches Jill’s arm up harder behind her back to keep her in position, and when the tentacle comes back Ellen catches it between her teeth, biting down just hard enough to earn a cry of pain.

“S-stop!” Jill yelps, a note of panic breaking through at last. “You’ll slice them! Quit it!”

Ellen gives the tentacle a good worrying with a shake of her head, but quickly spits it back out, disliking the fishy taste. “You know I could just bite ‘em off?” she snarls, keeping that lithe body pressed flush between the wall and her own sturdy frame. “Slurp ‘em down like noodles? Letting you walk away in one piece would be generous after the crap you’ve been pulling all night.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” the other girl hisses back at her. “I…I’ll tell Lycaon!”

She doesn’t even try to contain her laughter. “What? Which of us do you think Lycaon’s gonna believe? No, you’ve got one option here–”

Right in the middle of that threat, things take a new turn altogether. They’re still off-balance, limbs hopelessly entangled thanks to Jill’s tentacles. With her actual hand, the octopus Thiren pushes off the wall and twists away to get both arms free. Ellen scrambles in turn to maintain her hold, and their renewed struggles end up doing little more than rubbing their bodies together, hot and forcible and impossible to get away from.

The sudden contact makes Ellen straighten, spine rigid, sucking in a stuttered breath against her enemy’s neck.

Is she…?

That had to be at least partly intentional. Honestly, if she really wanted to escape Ellen altogether, those tentacles would be better used for pushing away - right now, they’re keeping the two girls practically tied together. So then…

She thinks back to that wild look in the room with the cache. The excitement at provoking a response. The constant boundary-pushing and line-stepping and little cutting taunts. A familiar heat simmers in her core, intrigued and hungry.

And then Ellen surprises even herself: she shoves a hand under Jill’s skirt, past all the leather straps and chrome buckles, and grabs a whole palmful of ass cheek.

A lot happens at once.

She gets all the feedback from her senses in a jumbled cascade of input: mmm, nice and firm mixes with hey, she’s not wearing the regulation bloomers. It’s just a lacy g-string under there - downright scandalous - and Ellen finds herself momentarily stunned by the warmth against her palm. An instant later comes the feedback from Jill herself: a yelp of indignation, oddly pitchy and almost performative in its outrage.

“What the hell are you doing, you–”

Smack. Ellen pulls back just long enough to snap her hand out with a blow that ripples the soft, firm flank. Jill lets out a sharp gasp, arching her entire back - either struggling for an escape, or pressing back against her captor again, it’s not clear.

“Like I said, you’ve got one option, and that’s doing what I tell you,” growls Ellen, drawing her hand back once again. “And I’m telling you: stop–” Smack. “–bullying–” Smack. “–Corin!”

Smack. Again and again the blows land, drawing cry after cry from the new girl - breathier and more urgent with every sting of Ellen’s palm against her ass. Full-body flinches, bucking against Ellen, equal parts grinding into her and trying to get away. It doesn't matter which. She's not going anywhere.

“Ngh!”

It’s satisfying, on more than one level. The jiggle of firm, yielding flesh under her hand, and perhaps even more, the way Jill’s defiance is steadily crumbling under the onslaught. There's gonna be a telltale handprint on that shapely backside when she's done - fingers perfectly defined, angry red against creamy white. Maybe she'll add a matching one on the other cheek. They'd look cute framing that tiny thong Jill's got on under there. Like twin brands.

“She might not realize what you’re doing, but I do, and I’ve had enough of it.” Ellen adds one more, a thunderous smack ringing out over the courtyard - this one lands with some real sauce, making Jill squeal and jerk backward against her captor like she’s been electrocuted. “How many was that?”

The response comes in a hoarse, bewildered stammer: “Wh…what?!”

Adrenaline roars, full-throttle, in Ellen’s veins. She cranes down over the other girl’s shoulder, lips brushing her ear, and growls, in the most don’t-fuck-with-me voice she can manage: “You heard me, you little brat. C’mon, don’t make me work any more than I have to here.” 

From here, she can see down the front of Jill’s uniform, just well enough to spot the telltale peaks of her nipples, standing to attention against the thin material of her bustier. 

Like any true shark, she smells blood in the water.

“I’m not the junior maid here. I’m not doing the counting.” Smack, just as hard, reddening the other cheek this time; Ellen digs in and squeezes a handful, fingers splayed in the tender pink flesh - possessive, demanding, urgent. “So. How many?”

A beat passes in silence, just the sound of their combined exertion and Jill’s shaky panting. Ellen feels her breathing still, poised right on the edge, anticipation singing in her veins.

And then the other maid shudders against her, pressing back firmly, and chokes out: “Uh…s…s-six?”

Ellen’s grin practically splits her face.

She answers with another smack, hard enough that it whiplashes her hand off the curve of that firm backside. One of Jill’s lower tentacles seizes at her hand, coiling in vain around her wrist. It doesn’t have the leverage to do more than slightly slow her.

“How about now?”

“Oh my god you bitch– guh! Seven!”

At last, a little cooperation. Ellen releases the hammerlock but leans her forearm on Jill’s shoulders and shoves her back against the wall. All the while, her free hand keeps roaming, groping, squeezing - testing the other girl’s reactions, feeling every jolt, every sucked-in breath.

“Better.” Smack. “Keep going.”

“Ah…eight!” There’s a growing desperation, a sort of wildness almost, to the choked cry. “Goddamn it, Ellen–” Smack. “Augh, nine! Ngh …p… please!”

“Oh, now it’s please.” Her fingertips knead possessively into the spot that she just spanked raw, soothing even as she torments. “So you do know some manners.” 

The arm that’s pinning Jill shifts to snake around her neck instead, pulling her body back against Ellen’s. Their momentum sends both girls stumbling backwards but Ellen plants her feet and keeps her balance. Her breath is hot against the other maid’s throat, and though her grip is iron there’s not much for it to fight; the resistance seems to have mostly died down at this point.

“Listen,” she continues. “You won the superpower lottery, and Lycaon wants you in Victoria Housekeeping. Cool. But nobody’s valuable enough to get away with what you’ve been doing.”

Jill says nothing in response, but Ellen feels her shift, rubbing brazenly against her again, exploring the boundaries of what she can get away with. The tentacles tighten around her shoulders, her thighs, with ever-growing need. 

She smirks and lets her fingertip trail along the curve of the buttock in her hand - gives it a little bounce, even, a teasing gesture.

“So here’s what’s gonna happen. You and I will clean up this mess. And then, we’re going inside, and you’re gonna apologize to Corin.” 

“Ugh, are you serious?” Jill whines, arching her back and grabbing at the arm around her neck. Her fingernails dig painfully into Ellen’s forearm through her ribboned white gloves. “I’m not apologizing to her! I barely did anything!”

Ellen pauses. Tightens her grip on her coworker. Lets one beat go by. Two. Three.

SMACK.  

Number ten lands like a thunderclap, full-palmed, hot and stinging. Her other hand slides around to cover Jill’s mouth, muffling the indignant shriek and forcing her head back to expose the ultrasensitive curve of her throat.

“I wasn’t asking you,” she growls against the other girl’s neck, letting the daggerpoints of her teeth graze lightly along the path of Jill’s pulse. “Corin doesn’t have a mean bone in her body, and you’ve been screwing with her all evening long.” She can feel hot breath, fast and unsteady against her fingers, oddly thrilling. “So the next part of your orientation is the part where you learn to get along with the rest of us.”

“Mm-mmph!” Well, the words themselves are stifled, but the meaning is clear. Ellen’s fingers are wet, hot tears starting to spill over her hand. And oh, how the writhing has resumed, more urgent now, more frantic. 

But when the hand that's been doing all the spanking drifts around the smooth skin of that thigh, sliding almost feather-light up the crease between thigh and groin, Jill doesn't fight it. She goes utterly still, poised, breath holding steady in her lungs.

Ellen’s stunned to realize how turned on she is. It's crept up on her gradually, hot and insistent, while she was preoccupied with disciplining this fucking psycho brat of a maid. Every beat of her heart is another throb between her legs: steady, aching, wanting.

“...Stop whining,” she manages at last, voice thick with arousal. A half-cough to clear her throat, and she swears she can feel a shaky snicker against her palm. “God, you’re just the worst. I dunno if invisibility really makes up for all this.”

Her hand creeps that last few centimeters forward, until her fingertips brush against the soft edge of a lacy frill.

She pauses for a long, torturous second. Gives Jill every opportunity in the world to struggle, to say no, to do anything at all.

And with this opportunity, Jill cants her hips upward - the audacity - trying to grind into the touch.

A snort of disbelieving laughter. Their momentary struggles end up leaving neither satisfied; her palm flattens out between the other girl’s thighs now, fingers stilling. She’s got Jill’s clit under the heel of her hand, judging from the way her breath catches whenever Ellen so much as twitches against her - different from how she gasped at the spanking, needier, more trembly. Perhaps more importantly…

“Unbelievable. You’re soaked.”

It’s not an exaggeration. The front of her underwear is plastered to Jill’s cunt; Ellen’s fingertips meet no resistance as they trace the outline of her labia through the damp silk, up and down, in one smooth motion. A needy whine vibrates against her other hand, but Ellen keeps her motions slow, clinical, exploratory - and when she’s finished her examination, her hand falls maddeningly still again, and no amount of twitching and squirming is going to get any results.

“You’ve been cruising all night for this, haven’t you?” she breathes, keeping her touch light, staying elusive as Jill tries to chase that friction. “Stepping over the line, waiting for somebody to put you back in your place. Ugh. Pain in my ass.”

The indistinct protest through her palm sounds almost like a “nuh-uh”, but it warbles tellingly upward at the end.

Licking her lips, Ellen makes another slow pass, up and down, rubbing a little more firmly this time. Jill shudders against her, supremely responsive, lower tentacles finally releasing their death grip on Ellen’s hips and thighs; she wriggles like a hooked fish, uniform askew and face flushed deep red, when the other maid applies the faintest pressure to her throbbing clit. But if she’s hoping for more, she’s doomed to frustration again, at least for the moment.

With two fingertips settled firmly against that sensitive little bundle of nerves, Ellen turns Jill’s head to get a better look. Oh, she’s coming apart - her mascara is streaked down flushed cheeks in blurry tear tracks, staining the hand that’s covering her mouth, and her chest is heaving with every ragged breath. If Ellen didn’t know any better she’d feel guilty.

But the eyes give the game away. Deep murky blue-green, almost iridescent…wild, eager, filled with anticipation.  

She leans in until the tip of her nose brushes her knuckles, eye-to-eye, pinning Jill in place with her gaze like a butterfly on a corkboard. “Let’s get something straight. You keep pushing Corin around and making me do all this work, and that was just a taste of the ass-beating you’ll catch.” There’s a very real possibility that’s a literal threat. “I’m a give-what-you-get kinda girl.”

Her other hand shifts, pushing in gently, and she glides her fingers down the front of Jill’s clothed pussy in a long, obscene stroke that makes the other girl shudder against her.

“So. With that in mind…” Ellen lets her voice drop to a sultry growl, and all the while, that blood-red stare holds, unbearable, inescapable. “Are you gonna be good for me?”

The second that passes is interminable. Time bends, twists, stretches out like saltwater taffy. She watches the muscles of the other Thiren’s slender throat bob up and down in a hard swallow, eyes heavy-lidded, brain churning through fevered calculus.

But at last, her head dips in a begrudging nod.

Ellen says nothing, not at first. Her eyes bore into Jill’s, watching, evaluating; all the while, she eases the strip of sodden underwear to one side and slips beneath. It’s no surprise, given everything she’s felt thus far, that her touch glides over smooth folds, immaculately waxed…and more importantly, soaked to the point that Ellen’s fingers can dive straight in with no resistance.

She takes her time, of course - all the way down, exploring between those lower lips, wetting her fingers in the other maid’s juices, letting just a single tip play at her entrance. It’s a slow game of push and pull, a feeling out process for what spots make Jill squirm against her, drawing unbidden whines that die smothered against Ellen’s hand.

“There we go,” she whispers, finally uncovering the other girl’s mouth (all the better to enjoy her little gasps and moans). “Finally taking direction. I can be nice, y’know.”

“God, come on,” hisses Jill - the shattering of her defiance has done nothing to make her more patient. She worms around with agitated rolls of her hips, trying and utterly failing to have some kind of say in their pace here. “Stop teasing me and just– ahh!”

Mid-sentence, Ellen thrusts in, her middle and ring fingers sliding all the way to the last knuckles. She bottoms out inside Jill with a force that rips a sudden choked cry from the other girl, made all the more dramatic by the way her knees buckle and her weight sags back against her tormentor. Good thing Victoria’s dress code keeps their nails short.

“There.” In earnest now, in and out with steady skillful strokes. With her other hand newly freed, Ellen reaches around to grab another handful, palming a breast roughly. “No more complaining. Just take it.” 

The motion adds a new counter-note to the symphony of filthy noises she’s coaxing out of Jill, and perhaps more importantly it gives Ellen an excuse to squeeze the other maid tightly against her, ignoring the wince of discomfort as Jill’s still-tender backside fills the dip between their bodies and gives her something to roll her hips against.

(She’s just as wet, in all honesty. Not that she’ll admit it, much less act on it, not when there’s a point to be proven here.)

They settle quickly into a rhythm, finally on the same page. Just as Ellen punishes defiance, so too does she reward submission, and every thrust, every curl of her fingers against the g-spot to drag all the way back out, is an obscene pop that punctuates Jill’s moans.

“Tch, keep it down. Don’t want Corin to come out and see me knuckle-deep in you, do we?”

But she doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow. Not when the other Thiren’s head lolls back against her shoulder, an oddly intimate gesture. Not when Jill’s upper tentacles lash out to grab at the wall above her, hoisting her slender frame in Ellen’s grip to row her down against the thrusts in steady bounces. Ellen marvels, unable to contain her delighted grin as the junior maid fucks herself on her fingers. 

If you believe in infinite universe theory, there's presumably a version of Ellen in another timeline who’s upside down in tentacle bondage right now, getting railed after overestimating her abilities. But this is not that timeline, and this is not that Ellen. Right now, she is the master of all she sees.

“Mm, there, right there–” Jill’s a mess: makeup smeared down her cheeks, spit shining on her lips, disheveled and red-faced with frizzy strands of blonde hair plastered against her forehead. She doesn’t seem to care at this point - there’s no trace of the sass Ellen’s been catching all evening, just a desperate, wild need. Her thighs clench together, back going taut all the way down the lengths of her tentacles. “S-so close, that’s it–”

Which is when those fingers withdraw, evading her attempts to get them back inside. Ellen’s smirk is audible, sly and lilting in the other girl’s ear. “Mm, I don’t know if you deserve that yet.”

The noise Jill makes in response is sublime. A bitten-off scream of frustration, fresh tears beading in those hypnotic eyes, thrashing in desperation against Ellen as the other maid smears her clit with her own juices, circling the little nub in lazy strokes.

“No, no, come on, please! Please, Ellen, god fucking dammit–”

Ellen sucks a livid red spot into the side of that porcelain neck. “Please what?” she prompts, keeping her touch infuriatingly light - just enough to be unignorable, not enough to get anything meaningful out of it. Her other hand tweaks a nipple through the apron and the bustier, kneading it stiff between thumb and forefinger. “Please let you go? Is that what you want?”

It gets another agonized cry in response, and Jill practically contorts back into a full-body arch like a drawn bow. “Ugh, no! Let me come, Ellen, please! I’ll do anything, I-I’ll–” Her voice cracks, stumbling hoarsely over the words, dignity crumbling alongside her composure. “–mmm, I’ll be good, pleeeeaaase, please please please just let me come–”

Hearing this, Ellen almost hands-frees herself; she has to disguise her shuddering moan as a (shaky) chuckle of satisfaction. Her tail swishes furiously from side to side, hips unable to resist the urge to grind up against Jill’s ass. Not too much - she can’t afford to get distracted, not this close to the finish line.

“Mmm… yeah, okay,” she pants, grip tightening. “Guess you’ve earned it.”

A final bop on the clit and she slides her way back down, slipping back inside effortlessly. Searching fingertips hammer at Jill’s g-spot, resuming their punishing rhythm; Ellen feels her bicep flex and bulge against the other girl’s ribs as she scissors in and out, ever harder, ever faster. Needy moans fill the air, catching in Jill’s throat like sobs, punctuated by the wet slap of flesh that every thrust brings.

It doesn’t take long. Jill comes completely apart, one shaky palm braced on the wall in a vain effort to keep herself steady. Her other fist is in her mouth, biting down on the knuckles to keep some semblance of quiet, and all the while, her tentacles bounce her up and down on Ellen’s steady thrusts.

“...ah!”

Ellen doesn’t let up. She can feel the other maid’s cunt clench tight around her fingers, spasming, as Jill’s climax wracks her in wave after wave of pleasure. Like a piston, she pumps in and out relentlessly, plunging those slick folds until her hand is soaked and shining, drinking in the half-bitten cries.

It’s only when she’s milked every last drop out of the orgasm, when a final shudder wracks Jill’s overwhelmed body and she sags bonelessly against the wall in a heap, that Ellen finally lets herself slow to a halt. She withdraws nice and slowly, dragging her fingers from the other girl’s battered pussy with a teasing languor that makes tender walls clench and spasm around them all the way out.

It’d be the easiest thing in the world to just let Jill collapse to her jellied knees. But Ellen’s not a monster. She flips Jill around with both hands until they're facing each other, then lets the other maid lean on her while she pants for breath.

The fruits of her labor are quite the satisfying sight. Jill’s mouth is hanging open, lipstick smudged; her eyes blink half-focused, blown pupils flickering in their blue-green frames. Flushed and entirely out of sorts, she shudders with every aftershock. The top button of her bustier has come undone, and sweat glistens in the valley of her modest cleavage as her chest heaves in unsteady breaths.

Ellen raises her soiled fingers and presses the pads against plump lips, wordlessly seeking entry. Again, zero resistance: the dazed Jill opens her mouth to accept Ellen’s fingers, mindlessly cleaning her own release off them in aimless swirls of her tongue.

The sight only makes it throb harder between Ellen’s thighs, hot and wet and aching. “Good girl,” she murmurs, lips thinning in a satisfied little smirk.

She could take her pleasure here - push Jill down to her knees, perhaps, grab hold of those twintails and grind out an orgasm of her own - but Ellen enjoys marinating in her own arousal, that feeling of hanging on the edge. She’ll satisfy herself later, on her own time.

Besides, they’ve still got work to do. Ugh, she is going to need such a nap after this.

“Now. You get the mop, I’ll get the buckets, and we’re gonna make this place spotless.”

After they’ve cleaned up, she takes a detour to fix Jill’s makeup, which got absolutely wrecked during their little tete-a-tete. The pair find a bench near the garage and Ellen settles herself onto the other maid’s lap, straddling her thighs and pinning her in place while she brusquely cleans away her handiwork with swipes of an alcohol wipe.

“You know, I have a compact,” Jill complains half-heartedly, although she’s turning her head pliantly as Ellen guides it. Her eyes stray to the other girl’s now and then, as if trying not to be caught snatching glimpses. “I could just do this myself…”

“Zip it,” Ellen replies, reapplying the mascara. Her tongue swipes over her lips as she concentrates, recreating Jill’s pouty aesthetic with surprising grace. “We’re strapped for time, the client’s gonna show up soon. I’m the senior maid here, so it’s on me if you’re not presentable.”

The octopus Thiren mutters some imprecation under her breath, but offers no resistance, even puckering her lips to let Ellen roll on a new coat of strawberry gloss. Thoroughly tamed. There’s a satisfaction to it that makes her pussy throb again; she shifts her hips as an excuse to grind slightly down on Jill’s thigh and ride the edge of that steady ache. Always there, always noticeable, like a pebble in the shoe. It’s unbearable in the best way possible.

The motion doesn’t go unnoticed. Jill’s eyes open, watching curiously, and her upper tentacles rise into view as Ellen’s finishing up the final touches.

“...You good?” she asks, her already-husky voice fried from all the moaning and begging. “I could, um…” The tentacles writhe suggestively behind her, rubbing against each other in shining coils.

It’s a tempting offer, but Ellen shakes her head.

“We’re professionals, Jill,” she says smoothly, “and we’re on the clock. Besides–” Her lips curl back, sharp teeth glinting. “–you don’t get out of owing me that easily.”

“Mrgh.”

Steadily onward she works, brooking no disobedience, like a cat bathing its kitten. When at last she’s finished, Ellen snaps the makeup case shut with a staccato click and tucks it away in her uniform. She rises and takes a step back, framing Jill’s face with her hands, scrutinizing until she’s satisfied with her handiwork.

“There,” she says at last, beckoning the other girl upright. “You look cute.”

Jill darkens with faint heat, biting her lower lip. “...Thanks,” she mutters, hastily rising to fix her twintails. A quick sweep to gather them back into their ribbons, and she fluffs the platinum-blonde ends out with little strokes of her tentacles while her hands rebutton her uniform and straighten out the lace.

A job well done. Ellen sets her hands on her hips and lifts her chin, squaring off once again with tonight’s roadblock. “So. Now that we understand each other…” She jerks her head toward the garage, where Corin awaits them. “Do I need to put you on a leash, or will you go apologize on your own?”

She’s not sure if it’s a legitimate threat. Maybe it’s more of a gauging question, a way of seeing how far they’re going with this.

It doesn’t matter either way. Jill sighs in annoyance, but she doesn’t call Ellen’s bluff, doesn’t even argue with her. “Fine,” she sniffs, pushing past the other maid. “Just don’t expect me to make a huge production out of it.”

Her stiletto heels echo on the metal flooring all the way towards the garage. Watching her sashay off, Ellen grins; she pulls a black cherry lollipop from her pouch and slips it between her lips. It’s the sweetest thing she’s tasted in a while.

“My apologies for the unexpected encounter,” says Lycaon with a formal bow. “It appears our client had no idea of the subversive elements within his own organization.”

Ellen’s shoulders lift in a lazy shrug. “Meh. We handled it.”

They’re back at Victoria Housekeeping’s headquarters, getting off the transport truck at the loading dock out back. Ellen dozed through the ride back and has just now finished blinking the sleep from her eyes, her shears laid over her shoulder at a jaunty angle. Next to her, Corin and Jill are lined up in a row, presented before their boss like soldiers in formation.

“It was a rough start to the shift…um, but everyone worked hard!” Corin announces, clasping her hands to her chest. “Thank you for trusting us, Sir Lycaon!”

He pats her fluffy curls with a fond smile. “Well done as always, Miss Corin. Everything went smoothly, then?” Lycaon turns his head, casting a questioning eye over Jill. “No issues with the team, or the assignment?”

Ellen turns her head slightly, craning to look while trying not to make it obvious - watches the way Jill shifts her weight from one foot to the other, tentacles flexing where they coil against her body.

“No issues, Boss,” she says at last, twirling a lock of hair around one finger. “We got the job done just fine.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” Lycaon replies. “Excellent work, ladies. Dismissed.”

Ellen hangs back while the rest of her team mills off the platform. Corin and Jill are headed for the interior doors on the other side of the loading bay, snatches of their conversation echoing in their wake.

“SIr Lycaon said you’re good at sewing,” Corin begins, tentative but emboldened by the mission’s success (and Jill’s recent, unexplained burst of helpfulness). “Um…I-I’d like to learn how to do it as well. Or perhaps knitting. Do you think you could show me how to get started?”

“...Yeah, I could teach you. Knitting’s good for beginners.” The swish is back in Jill’s step by now, but the early tension’s vanished. “Probably a little harder with only two arms, but…”

Their voices fade in the distance. Ellen hums thoughtfully as the master of the house comes to a halt beside her; he clears his throat, hands settling behind his back, and turns to watch Corin and Jill make their way inside.

“As I said, fine work,” says Lycaon. An inquisitive note slips into his smooth baritone. “And if you would, Miss Ellen, I’d like to solicit your professional opinion regarding Miss Jill’s first assignment. Did she pass the, ah, vibe check?”

She can’t quite contain her snort of amusement. “Seriously? Hearing you say that is so cursed.”

“I used it correctly, though, did I not?” he counters with a raised finger.

Ellen rolls her eyes, but: “You did.” A pause as she watches Jill turn and pull the interior door open, holding it so that Corin can scamper through first. The junior maid glances back at them for just a moment; Ellen catches her eye and holds her gaze until Jill reddens and ducks away through the door.

Heh.

“I’d say she’s a pass,” she finally answers. “Kind of a pain in the ass, like you said, but…” Hunger flickers deep in her at the memory, a pang so vivid it’s almost painful. “...I speak her language, I think. We were able to get on the same page.”

Lycaon studies her thoughtfully, a knowing smile tightening his muzzle. “Yes, I suspected you might,” he says. “Splendid job, Miss Ellen. I knew you were the one to send out tonight.”

A moment’s hesitation. She turns to peer at him, caught off guard. Does Lycaon mean…well, maybe he just means that she’s strong and protective of Corin, so he knew she’d maintain order. Surely he didn’t anticipate exactly what happened out there…did he?

Nah. Ellen prefers simple explanations for things. It worked out for the best - no sense complicating this any further.

“Thanks, Lycaon.” She lets herself smile at last. “You keep her swimming in my wake, and I think we’ll all get along just fine.”

end