While she scrubbed his floors and cleaned his carpets, she never dreamt that she was his. While she did his laundry and made his bed, she never imagined his body pressed against hers. Despite the other employees' rumors and their flat-out lies, Susan never thought of him as anything but her boss.
But when she was alone, when Mr. Monroe was out of town and the other staff on a lower level of the house, Susan slipped off her uniform and gave in to what she coveted most.
Mr. Monroe hardly used the third floor bathroom. The seal on the bottle of bath salts was unbroken before Susan got to it, so she figured he'd never miss it. The whirlpool tub was an ivory giant hungry for her satisfaction. How could she refuse its generosity? She ran the water and gave herself over without a moment's regret. With her body massaged by eager jets, Susan could forget every other dirty job in her life: her alpile piles of bills, her louse of an ex-husband, her intrusive mother always hounding her to procreate (at this point, she didn't care with whom), and all of the rumors, of course.
Let the staff talk, she declared as the tub swallowed her sorrows. Let them spread their lies and say I'm sleeping with the boss. Hell, it's probably better to be known for sleeping with the boss than stealing from him.
Stealing. What a funny name for True Love.
Prompt: Girl Pool
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