For myself, I tried to be as obedient as possible, to do every last thing these two authoritative figures in my life asked for. Even so, I could never seem to earn their love. To my brothers and sisters, I was a goody two-shoes. To my parents, I was a snob for wanting to right by them and hoping for some affection in return. The lack of my father's income did not stop my mother or even him from spending as they had when they had first obtained their enormous fortune. Before I was fourteen, they had sent us wildly into debt, and to make money, he had all seven of us apply for student loans that went to supporting him. He, and my mother, were rather manipulative in this fashion. I wanted them to live, but I did not want to be responsible for it.
Finally, when I was eighteen, I left their home for the city. I didn’t care where I went, particularly, so long as it was away from them. I managed to find a small closet apartment in a duplex where I roomed with an older woman who smelled like anchovies and farts, probably because she ate lots of anchovy pizzas and farted quite a lot. I spoke to her as little as possible and got a job as a sanitation worker in short order.
Then, through the magic of the internet (which I was able to access only through the library, as my tiny home certainly didn’t have a connection), I found the job at the Castle estate. It was his lawyer who hired me—an attractive young Asian woman who had dressed in smart, tight-fitting suits. She said, after a very long interview that asked me all sorts of hypothetical moral questions, that she thought I would “conform well” to Mister Castle’s interests.
The night after my first day at Castle's estate was over, I lay on the bed and allowed my thoughts to collect.
The tests that Terrance ran on me were unnaturally intrusive. I stuck with them, however, thinking all the while of the money involved. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars, just for sticking with this for a year. I could certainly do that.
He took blood tests, several of them. The entire time, he would not speak to me. I got the feeling very quickly that he hated me for some reason. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t want to press it, lest I give him even more reason to think more of the same.
My stomach grumbled. After the tests, I had been required to do a full tour of the grounds with Elliot, so that I would know where to begin cleaning the next morning. But after the long bout of blood testing, my energy was completely drained, and I hadn’t been able to search the kitchen for a snack. Spoons guarded its interior with a crusty curmudgeonly attitude that was matched only by the amount of ladles he threatened to beat my behind with if I broke or touched anything.
My stomach grumbled again. I had heard of this before, read it in books and such, but I was too tired to even go to sleep. My brain lacked the power to shut itself off.
Struggling, I sat up in the bed. My busty, young form was covered by a slender pair of pajamas—sweats and a two-sizes too-small t-shirt that was one of the few things I had leftover from home. The shirt had on it the faded out color logo from a charity run I had participated in the sixth grade. In my tenure working at the hospital, I had not gathered enough spare income for a decent wardrobe, and certainly not one for sleeping.
Through stumbles and trips, I made my way through the immense mansion, searching out my prey—any food at all.
In the pantry of the large, luminously white kitchen downstairs, I found what I needed. Chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate. I didn’t want to eat a ton—it was so late, after all—but I certainly was going to down a few bars. Enough to tide me over till morning.
“How do you like it so far?”
I jumped. In the darkness of the kitchen, it was impossible to see who had said that. I heard a light switch flip on, and slowly the lights powered up.
It was Terrance. He was dressed similarly to me, in a small amount of clothing that was perhaps too revealing. Tiny boxer briefs—I could see the outline of his enormous manhood beneath them—and a short white undershirt. Little fingers of heat pressed against my body, seeing him like that. My nipples began to firm up. My crotch tingled. His body was hard and muscular, like a swimmer or a gymnast, with that kind of tight core that every other perfect piece of muscle so clearly wrapped around. Tattoos wrapped around his arms—pictures of interlocking skulls on one side, and the other held flames and flowers.
Let’s get this out of the way right here and now—there was something about him that reminded me of my brothers. Certainly he looked a bit like them—they were all handsome and tall like him, and in very good shape. But it was more than that. It was more in the way he seemed to dismiss me out of hand, the way he didn’t seem to care about anything I said. So, because I am completely unable to deal with my emotional past, I think a lot of my baggage got transferred onto Terrance almost right away—I wanted to impress him. I wanted him to care for me. I wanted him to want to do right by me.
I couldn’t help myself wanting to do this...and yet, at the same time, I could feel myself wanting it, and disliked it, and also disliked it the strange comparisons to my brother when I felt such a rush of sexual heat from Terrance’s presence...and so I decided I hated him.
Hate is so much like love. Either emotion just gathers up all the little minutia about a person; they just go into different baskets, that’s all.
“Did you hear me?” he asked. “I asked you something.”
“Oh,” I gulped. “Yes. I’m sorry. You just startled me.”
“You still startled?”
“No. I suppose not.”
“Okay then. How about an answer?”
“Um.”
I hadn’t had too much time to think about it, really. All day I had been busy. Not run ragged—they certainly weren’t asking me to do anything outside of my area of expertise or willingness—but busy nonetheless. It was a large estate. I figured that I would only have time each day to work through one of its four wings. By the time I made it around to the last, the one I finished originally would need another round of cleaning. The estate was, I noticed, was rather dusty already—the last maid didn’t seem to have done a good job of leaving everything in order.
But, that was all right. There was job security in dirtiness, if nothing else.
“It’s all right. Everyone seems...nice.”
“Nice, huh? That how I seem?”
Right away I knew I had said something wrong...I just didn’t know what it was. Who wouldn’t like to be called nice?
“I...yes? I mean, I don’t really know. We’ve only just started talking...and...”
As I said, I was instantly attracted to him, even though I felt dislike mounting a quick offensive to counter my growing desire. I think his attitude made me even more attracted to him. His muscles clearly visible underneath his tight shirt. The cut shelves of his pecs pressed against his shirt, the tight avenue of his abs trim and succulent.
So, when he came at me—rushed at me, really, I didn’t know what to do. He was bigger than me. He could pin me down if he wanted. I tried not to let myself get carried away with the eroticism of such a thought.
Instead of pinning me, though, or kissing me, he took some of the chocolate out of my hand and took a bite. He smiled at me.
“That tastes nice.”
I nodded. I was still so hungry. I wanted it back.
“Stop being a jerk,” I insisted. “That's mine.”
“Yeah? You want some?”
I nodded again. He slipped the chocolate forward, letting it run into my mouth. Feeling weak and helpless, I let my lips run over it slow, chewing it down. He smiled, watching me. The bastard was enjoying this.
“Here,” he said, rubbing the corner of my mouth with his thumb. He sucked the chocolate off slow. “You’re sort of sloppy at eating.”
“I’m better when I can be the one to hold it.”
“I’ll bet you are.” He put a hand on my hip and pulled me against his body. I didn’t know how to stop him. I didn’t know if I wanted to. “I bet you know just how to...hold it, don't you?”
“I don't know what you're tal
king about. Stop being so crude.”
I tried to back away, but he wouldn't let me, instead tugging me closer. My nipples brushed against his hard chest.
“You’re going to be seeing a whole lot of me in this place. Is that all right by you?”
“I don’t...” I kept gulping for more breath. “I mean, I...yes? Yes...yes.”
That seemed to please him. “Good girl.”
I whimpered a bit. That was something of a trigger word for me. It always had been. It was what I had always longed to be called.
He walked away then, leaving the chocolate on the counter. I was breathless, turned on.
It was only after I started walking back to my room that I realized he had been testing me. He wanted to see how far he could push me, how easy I was or wasn’t to take advantage of. It turned out, I was very easy.
“I’ve got to watch myself in this place,” I said.
I had no idea.
* * * * *
Wednesday, Mister Castle left the estate on business. That night and the night after, I had the entire place to myself, more or less. Terrance was busy fixing up a car for a trip the following week—Mister Castle liked to have specific cars for specific trips, and he expected them to have no trouble. No flat tires, no engine problems, no transmission issues, nothing. So, Terrance was consumed by that.
At first I thought this was fine—good! He was a brute. I was better off without seeing him. But the more I thought about him, the more I thought about all the good sensations he brought me...the way my nipples had danced on his chest, the strength of his hard, hot hands on my hips. I had decided, at the least, to try and flirt with him a little on my own terms. But, there wasn't enough time for it, and when I did see him, he was often too busy to engage.
I felt somewhat ashamed by how much I wanted to talk with him, spend time with him. After all, I had decided to hate him and his stupid, sexy, mouth-watering body and dangerous tattoos. But since our night in the kitchen, I felt more and more bold about doing so. I had been such a wreck then—the drive, the interviews, the tours, the tests, the hunger—that I had barely been functional. Out of a strange sense of pride, I wanted to show him that I was more of a woman than perhaps he thought.
Secretly, deep down, another thought shadowed my mind. It had been so easy for him to take advantage of me in the kitchen when I was already weakened—but what if it was still easy for him when I felt like I was at full strength?
Wouldn’t that be something? Wouldn’t that be...well, hot?
I tried not to think too much about it. I tried very generally not to occupy my head with too many sexual thoughts in those days. I believed, rather firmly, that sex was something only for the person you loved, and even then only after marriage. My sisters had made whores of themselves with the entire town, and my brothers had stuck their parts into every girl willing, and between the six of them, I was rather certain that the sexual disease rates of our town skyrocketed.
Still, at times I was jealous of them. Their easy grasp on all things sexual. It was something as far beyond me as responsibility was to them.
There was much to sexuality I didn’t understand. I didn’t quite know why some men turned me on so much, or why some women did too, even when I knew how incredibly wrong it was for a woman to be turned on by another woman. Feelings are not designed with the switch to deny them made easy to find, but still I tried, and tried, and tried.
The people in this house would try me even more than I could imagine.
On my fifth day of employment, Friday, the lady of the estate, Mister Castle's wife Lilah, came home. I was surprised to find how young she actually was. From the photos around the house—almost all of which I had cleaned by that time—I knew she was beautiful. She was an illustriously beautiful woman—the sort that you would imagine a billionaire marrying. She probably could have had an incredible career as a model or a movie star or anything else that had “fantastically good looks” as a prerequisite. She had gorgeous chestnut hair that she was always fashioning in some new expansive style, an incredibly fit body, and breasts that even rivaled mine for bodily real estate. Originally, she was from some small Eastern European country—though she spoke English perfectly. There was always, though, that slight accent that surrounded her words, dipping them into exotic honey before they slipped into your thoughts.
She was that sort of elegant, effortless beauty who appeared almost timeless, and so that even though she was rather young—just twenty-four—she appeared somewhat more mature. Still, I would have been hard-pressed to put an actual age to her if I hadn't known it already, as twenty-four seemed too young just as twenty-eight or thirty-five would have seemed too old. I just knew she was beautiful, almost defying the standards of aging with her jaw-dropping bust, her wildly expressive blue eyes, thick lips, and stunning jawline. It was very easy to think of sliding your head against that chin, that neck, in the space of their meeting, and melting away into nothingness. Very easy indeed.
I saw her at first from a distance—seeing her arrive in a town car from a window in the third floor of the estate. As she came closer, I made my way through the mansion, hoping to intercept her on her way to the Master bedroom.
When she didn’t arrive right away, I assumed she had stopped in the snack, or was refreshing herself with other members of the household.
I waited for nearly an hour before realizing she wasn’t coming that way—stopping for a snack or no.
It turned out that I was mistaken—Spoons told me, with his usual gruff attitude, that she did not sleep in the Master bedroom with Mister Castle. Due to some dispute unknown to myself or any of the rest of the staff, she stayed in the south wing, opposite his. This new sleeping arrangement was a recent development which had started shortly before my arrival and shortly before her trip. I wondered if the events were all related.
Her new part of the estate was enormous, as all the parts were. It was sparsely decorated, though, and while everything was elegant, it was elegant in a way that Castle clearly desired. Nothing about the decorations, from the maroon curtains to the intricate ivory doorhandles, really spoke to much about Lilah, giving the impression that she was as much a possession there as anything else. Perhaps this was true.
I bumped into her at last by accident, toward the evening. I was just finishing up my duties, and ran into a sitting room to check for any missed spots, where I saw her lounging in a small chair. Her lavishly gorgeous body was splayed outward, a small book on Roman history in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. She had on a sumptuously gorgeous outfit—a tight red sweater with a stylish black collar, showing off the swell of her hot young breasts, and a pair of tiny leather pants that clung unreservedly to every last part of her long legs and sculpted behind.
I noticed all of this, of course, because I quickly had to figure why the sight of her turned me on so much.
I decided, with very much internal debate, that it was just something in the air of this room. I would need to make sure to clean it thoroughly so that the air was flowing properly.
“Hello there,” she said. “Who are you?”
“Claudette, ma’am. I’m the new maid.”
“Are you, now? The one my illustrious husband hired?”
“That’s right, ma’am.”
“How very interesting.”
She sat up in the couch, one long leg still cocked over its top. Her expensive heel dangled, kept there effortlessly. Right away, her countenance seemed predatory. Her voice was smoky and dark, and seemed to raise the temperature of the room exponentially with the more words that she uttered.
“Oh, my.” She took a long sip of her wine. “You’re a lovely girl.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Very lovely, indeed. Do you think you are prettier than I am?”
I hadn’t expected this line of questioning. “Ma’am?”
“Are you hard of hearing? It was a simple enough question. Do you think you’re prettier than I am?”
“I...couldn’t say.”
“Of course you could. We’re only a few years apart, after all. It’s even a bit silly, you calling me ma’am.”
“Oh.”
“I do enjoy it, though, hearing the word coming out of your pretty little mouth. That deference. Do not stop.”
“No, ma’am.”
Her smile was slow and constant. She was in absolute control of the situation, and of me. We both could feel it. All the power in the room shifted on one specific axis, and that axis was Lilah. I could feel myself slipping into her gorgeous green-eyed gaze, taking in breath after breath faster and faster, feeling as though she was sucking up everything vital.
“That’s a good girl. Tell me, how good are you willing to be for this household?”
There were those words again. Good girl. I struggled not to whimper. I had more strength than that, I hoped.
“Ma’am?”
“We must get that hearing checked.” She raised her voice. “I asked how good are you willing to be for this household?”
“Very good, ma’am.” I hoped that was a decent answer. After a moment, I added, “As good as you need.”
“And my husband? Will you be good for his needs, as well?”
Almost, I had to ask her again what she said, but I stopped myself. “Y-yes, ma’am. I think so.”
“And so. Are you prettier than me?”
I examined her for a moment.
“I am...I am unsure, ma’am. My own tastes are...”
“You’re not a lesbian, is what you’re saying.”
“No, ma’am.”
“Not bisexual, either?”
“No, ma’am.”
I am sure that at this time, I was blushing bright red.
“A pity. I am.”
She stood up then, setting down her wine and her book, approaching me slowly. Her walk was deliberate—showing off the way her tiny leather pants let her hips flare wide. Her tight sweater only came down to the point above her belly-button—leaving a good four inches or so of sexy, hot torso and waist for me to admire. I did just that, even with shame rising in me.
The Maid For Service Bundle Page 2