Mme Anne’s Home for Boys Ch. 01

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Residence Life: off campus. Women 18-35. Live-in position, expenses paid. Pay negotiable.
Contact Mme Anne.

That was all the ad said. I know what it looks like, and if I’m honest, I may’ve known, deep down, what it looked like back then, too. But it was the summer of 2009-I had graduated in 2008, at the worst part of the Great Recession. I’d spent the better part of a year sending resumes into what felt like an endless abyss. Responses were rare, and in all of my group interviews, me and my BA in English Lit were competing against people 10 or 20 years older than me with more experience. It was as if no employers appreciated my ability to analyze sexuality and gender in early modern literature or that I could churn out a 15 page paper on 3 lines of Browning.

That’s fair. I was tired of that joke by then too.

So I applied for literally every job I appeared qualified for, many that I did not.

And Mme Anne called back. Simple as that.

“You read the ad?” She asked, simple, curt, without even a greeting.

“Oh, um, yes, my name is,” I stammered.

“Mm. The address is 735 Jefferson. Come in the back.”


If you’re old enough, or young enough, to remember, you will probably understand why I went there, with so little information. My loan grace period would be over in 15 days. I had not had a job for more than a month in the past 9. My roommate had left earlier that month to go WWOOFING or Teach for America-ing or live in a yurt on a commune or some damn thing. So I put on my best interview clothes and took the train as far as I could, then walked. And walked. And walked. Back then, I could walk pretty far.

Walking wasn’t without its hazards, of course.

“Hey, baby, why you walking? Come on in here with them blowjob lips of yours,” Some white asshole trying to impress his black friends would holler from a passing car.

“You look skinny, mami! Got something for you to eat in here!”

“Fuck you,” I’d shout, from a safe distance.

“Come on in, then!”

I wondered then, like I wonder now, what would happen if a woman ever took one of those assholes up on their harassment. What if I had honestly hollered across the street and said , “Pull into the alley, I’ll suck you dry!”? What if I just hiked my dress up and presented to those hardhat asshats with jackhammers, spread my cheeks and told them to do what they claimed they wanted to do?

Pussies, the whole lot of them.


735 Jefferson was a nice, large house, but not much more could be said for it. Some Greek Letters I did not recognize out front, a big, brick mini-mansion identical to those around it. I walked to the back door, as per instructions, and knocked once.

A woman in a trim black pant suit opened the door at once, and motioned for me to come inside.

She raised an elegant hand over her shoulder and snapped, indicating that I follow her.

Her dark hair was pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head, her cheekbones high, her Tipobet skin uncommonly healthy for a woman who appeared to be her age. I’m not queer enough to call myself bi, really, but I was still sure I’d be thinking of her later, maybe even with the suit on…

“You are here about the ad?” She asked.

“Yes, my name is…”

She cut me off again.

“Irrelevant, for now,” she said, opening and office door and showing me in. “So. You read the ad. You appear between 18 and 25, and are willing to answer an ad that promises free living quarters and little else,”

I laughed nervously, “It’s hard out there.”

“Yes, quite. Tell me, are you on birth control?”

I was startled by this question, but answered nonetheless.

“Um, yeah,”

“What sort?” She said, not looking up from her clipboard where she made furious notes.

“Just the pill?”

She nodded , curt, “Our agency has excellent healthcare. We may provide for more permanent birth control, such as IUD, if you are willing.”

I shrugged “I’d never thought about it. I guess that’d be nice,”

“No diseases? Drugs?” she continued.

I had been asked stranger at interviews and answered without hesitation.

“No, not really,”

“Not really?”

I blushed. “Weed, a little. And a touch of asthma”

She shook her head, “Bad for you, but I hardly care about that,”

“Before we go any further, I need you to sign this non-disclosure agreement,” she said, pushing a paper across the desk, “stating that you will not disclose any information you may uncover in this interview to any person, publication or other media entity.”

A member of the digital agreement generation, I signed, without reading a word.

“Quite good,” she said, not even glancing at my name.

“Now, as for what this organization does,” she leaned forward, fingers tented, “we protect the education interests of certain young men,”

“Like, tutoring?”

She smirked.

“Somewhat like that. You see, our organization hosts the sons of some of the wealthiest families in the world. Oil magnates, sons of CEOs, minor princes. The odd American political son. They are, quite literally, the future of the global economy. The weight of this is quite the burden, as you could imagine.”

I could not imagine. My bra was held together with duct tape and I only still had internet at home because my roommate had forgotten to cancel it before she went to Tibet or Tuscon or wherever.

“The problem then, is that they are boys, rich boys, but boys nonetheless. And young men, they think with their cocks,” she said, not dropping her gaze from mine.

I laughed, “Am I right, ladies?”

She did not laugh.

“Ok, then what does that mean for your organization? Is this some kind of Christian abstinence thing?”

She did laugh then.

“I am glad you asked. You see, these silly boys’ parents pay us quite well to keep their sons out of trouble. Do you understand me, miss?”

I pressed Tipobet Giriş my lips together. It was an urban legend, of course, it had to be, but back in college, somebody’s cousin had a Chinese roommate whose International Jet-Line owning parents bought him one of those creepy sex dolls that look like lobotomized Lara Crofts. Maybe it wasn’t an urban legend?

“I believe I may understand.”

“Excellent. It’s so crass when I have to spell it out for younger women. The problem we are currently experiencing is a lack of young women. You may be aware that young ladies are the largest demographic of people with Masters’ degrees? It’s a brave new world out there, with so much opportunity and debt to ‘lean in’ to.

Mme Ann clucked her tongue in disapproval, and I could only imagine other things her tongue would be good at…

” But no matter. You see, they are very exacting, these boys, and there are just certain things that a young woman can do that a mature one cannot. I am also their Matron, after all. It would hardly do to let some of these young scamps ass-fuck their Matron, would it?”

“I…” I knew I should leave, and never speak of this again, but I was frozen to the spot, my panties growing wet.

“The healthcare and compensation are quite fair, though, for your duties,” she said, pushing a piece of paper across the desk. I tried not to gasp at the number.

“Tax-free, as well,” she added, “we are a non-profit, you are technically a volunteer.”

I looked up, shocked.

“Is this…legal?”

“I should hope, given the amount of senator’s sons here,” she smiled then, a genuine smile, and intentional crack in her ice-queen presentation.

“Health, 401k…dental?”

There was a knock at the door just then.

She smiled again.

“Ah, you’re in luck,” one of our young men is here now for his appointment with me. Come in,” she called.

A tall, blonde boy entered the room, looking startled at me. He could not have been a year younger than me, but looked more mature, healthier, glowing with wealth and health in his pressed blazer-the type I’d only ever seen on actors who play rich assholes in movies, that I had not known existed in real life until that second.

“If you have a visitor…”

“No, darling, come, sit. She’s trying for the new position.”

He smiled, laughed a little to himself.

“cool,” he whispered.

“Don’t be shy,” Mme Anne chided.

He blushed and unzipped his slacks. His cock, shrunken by nerves, flopped out pitifully.

She glanced at me, as she took it in her hands “Do remember this is an interview.”

I nodded , as I watched, fascinated, as she massaged his cock to half-firmness.

She swatted the head of his cock playfully.

“What is the matter with you? Shy, all of the sudden?”

He blushed.

“Perhaps she can make you feel less nervous?” she asked, nodding toward me as she started to stroke his cock.

He nodded.

“Use your words,” Mme Anne Tipobet Güncel Giriş demanded.

“I want to see her tits,” the boy spoke, a New England accent deep with young manhood.

“Say it to her then,”

“I want to see your tits,” he gasped, and his dick twitched upward. Mme Ann made a show of ignoring me.

Hesitantly, I pulled my jacket off, then my button-down.

“No,” he demanded “leave that on. Just open,” Mme Ann was stroking faster now, and his breath had grown ragged.

“Oh, god, you’re pretty,” he gasped “both of you,”

Mme Ann stepped away.

“Finish him,”

Without hesitation, I knelt down, pushing my tits together. I had Ds, just large enough for a decent tit-fucking. When this sent him into groaning hysterics, I dropped my head lower, took him into my mouth. It’d been so long since I had sucked a man off, I’d nearly forgotten the taste, that odd saltiness, I was positively nostalgic before he grabbed the back of my head, took a fistful of my carefully styled interview-hair and shoved my head down on his cock so violently I gagged.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” He chanted, but it was just the nonsense that enters mens’ heads as they begin to orgasm. He came in spurts, coating my face and breasts in his thick cum.

He rested a moment, breathed quietly.

“I really am sorry,” he whispered, and produced a tissue from his pocket, trying to wipe his cum from my chest.”

“Really, Jason, how chivalrous,” Mme Ann chided “but I believe this nice young lady can handle herself. You are dismissed.”

He zipped himself up, nodded politely, and left. Simple as that.

Mme Anne opened a drawer on her desk and produced some baby wipes.

“They underestimate the stickiness of their spunk, don’t they? Cursed evolution.”

I nodded as I wiped my face and breasts.

“So that’s how we keep the boys out of trouble? Fucking them? Sucking them off?”

She nodded. “Some of them. Others want…well, other things. But we are safe women, and that is the difference. It’s only natural that boys on the cusp of being such powerful men have these burgeoning appetites. They do not have time for dating, for getting some opportunist pregnant, for disease or perhaps most importantly, for love,”

I slowly re-buttoned my shirt, the trails the pretty young man’s cum left on me still a little sticky.

“We fill those appetites for those pretty young things. I the elder disciplinarian, and you…well, your role would be more flexible,” she said.

“And I don’t have to do everything, right?”

She raised an eyebrow. “For what we are paying you, you are allowed 1 hard limit, in addition to any illegal acts. You will have a trial period, in which you will be trained, of course,”

You understand, or you would, if you had been that age in that year. I was 22 competing with 30 year olds for temp secretary jobs, I hadn’t seen the doctor for a year, I was reasonably sure I needed a filling and my apartment had a cockroach infestation so severe I believe it must’ve been vital to the structural integrity of the building. And all told, was fucking rich boys really such a bad job?

“Of course,” I repeated, the taste of salty cock still on my lips. “Where do I sign?”

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