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But then I hear him rising to his feet, closing his pants, and I turn over just enough to see him regarding me coolly. “Go,” he says simply, and I blink in confusion.
“Did I-” start, thinking maybe he’s angry at me for not responding to him quickly enough, but he offers me a smile, shaking his head as though reading my mind.
“You’ve performed excellently, Maisie,” he says simply, folding his hands behind his back. “And now, you will return to your quarters. Do not wash,” he says, narrowing his eyes at the mark of his seed on my back as I rise to my feet uneasily. “You will sleep with that on you.”
I swallow hard. I should be infuriated by this absurd man, and in some way, I am, but that part of me is overwhelmed by my lust. Something primal in me is warmed by the feeling of his seed in me, and I know I need more.
So I cross my feet and bend my knees in an awkward curtsy, and he smiles bemusedly before turning to the fireplace, just as distant as the last time he left me. Hastily, I gather my shoes and scurry out the room, my head swimming.
This is just the first day.
It’s been a month since I got hired at Lord Alastair’s estate, and god almighty, has it awoken something new in me!
I’ve learned more than I ever thought I would about housekeeping work in my time here so far, short as it’s seemed, but I realized very quickly that actual domestic work was definitely the secondary reason I was hired, if that.
I’m here for Lord Alastair’s needs. His urges that that masculine, virile body has to act upon. And every second of it has been bliss. The other employees were all right in that Lord Alastair is a demanding employer, but I’ve grown into my role like a natural. I’ve started to learn what he really likes, and the meanings behind his commands.
Of course, I owe it partly to him that I’ve learned so quickly. The first day was only average—he’s fucked me four times in one day on occasion, and never less than once.
He’s such a mysterious man! Even when he holds charity events, he presides over the little dinners from the shadows, running things and planning with other important figures like a phantom. Everyone who talks about him speaks of him with reverence. But nobody knows what the two of us have, I don’t think, but he makes no show of hiding my body. For public events, he has me dress in my usual maid’s outfit, which draws more than a few eyes. None more than his.
He’s swept me away into the shadows on more than one occasion while entertaining guests to finger me, eat me out, even come inside me between acts of a play he hosted last weekend.
And I haven’t failed to notice that he’s learning about me, too.
After he dismissed me from his room the first night, I assumed this was going to be the usual employee-employer relationship. And for a few days, it was, but he kept prying me about my life, asking what kind of person I was between sessions of emptying himself into me. As our sex got more familiar, he seemed to look at me differently.
I started finding gifts in my room. Outfits, always skimpy and lacey ensembles—he’s fond of fine cotton and bows—would be laid out on my bed with notes instructing me when and where to wear them. Then came sex toys. First, they were strictly for us: a riding crop, a blindfold made of handwoven silk, or Florentine leather bindings. Then I found things for private use, like dildoes and vibrators that I’d seen online for more money I could dream of. I even found some vintage designer clothes that seem to be just for me—a genuine, personal gift!
Whether he really feels something for me other than primal lust, I don’t know, but I have my suspicions. What has me more worried is whether I’m starting to feel that kind of thing for him.
That’s where this Sunday morning finds me, dreaming of him taking me onto his yacht across the Irish sea, and I feel his tongue stroking my pussy as Dublin looms in the distance, my naked back pressed against the railing as salty water fills my nostrils. I’m dressed in some old dress I fantasized about in a book, restored and glorious as my Alastair claims me, tasting every bit of me I have to offer…
And I awaken to the sound of the door being thrown open, feeling my wet fingers between my thighs, massaging my clit in my dream’s arousal.
My heart starts to race as I look up, and my eyes widen. Lord Alastair is striding into my room, closing the door behind him, but as soon as he sees me as I am, he flashes a wicked, triumphant grin.
“Well good morning, Maisie,” he says charmingly, his long legs carrying him forward before he throws the sheets off me just as I withdraw my hands, but my fingers are incriminatingly wet. “My my, we’ve been rather bad this morning, haven’t we?”
“L-lord Alastair, I…” I stammer, blinking awake and only just now realizing he’s carrying a covered outfit on a hanger in one hand. But he sets it aside and kneels on the bed, glowering down at me with a dark smile. “I wasn’t expecting-”
“Wasn’t expecting me to catch you, dove?” he says, stepping towards me and I start to cover myself, but as soon as I see his hungry, accusatory eyes, I feel myself wanting nothing more than to open myself to him, and I feel a smile play across my face as I let my hands slide to the sides.
“I was dreaming of you,” I confess as he puts a knee next to me, looming over me and making my heart pound ever faster. Wordlessly, he reaches down and takes a handful of my hair, pulling my head back and exposing my neck, and I feel him lean into my neck and breathe softly, hungrily, a rumble in his chest.
“You thought you could get away with that without my noticing, did you?” he mocks me, and I can feel the grin on his face. “Shame on you, girl.” The next thing I know, his fingers are at my already wet pussy, and my eyes spring open.
“W-what are you doing?!”
“Finishing what you started, my shameful little bird,” he growls, and I whimper as his fingers hook into my pussy, his thumb roving over my clit and rubbing in a circle. As his teeth start to graze my neck, I’m suddenly back in my dream, swimming in my bedsheets as Lord Alastair toys with me, tormenting my clit and sucking at my flesh. I know it’s going to leave a mark, and when he comes to me this early, he won’t give me time to put on makeup to cover it up.
Whatever we’ll do today, everyone will know what I did with him. What he did to me. And the thought sends chills up my back, my whole body waking at his touch, revitalizing, all grogginess leftover from the night fleeing me at his presence.
I’ve grown to crave his touch over the past few weeks. If I go too long without him brushing against my back, without feeling his hardness, without his lips locked with mine, I start to feel...needy. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to move on from this job — or if I ever will.
My heart races at the thought as he feels me up, his greedy hand exploring my body invasively, groping at my thighs on his way up my back, then to my neck, where he turns me around however he pleases, torturing my poor clit.
It isn’t long before his touch in the haze of the waking morning makes me start to feel tight, and warmth grows in me more rapidly than I thought it could. Suddenly, I feel myself clenching, and honey floods his hand as I come, gasping for breath as he moves his thumb around my clit, then brings his wet fingers up to it to massage it more as pleasure ripples through me.
