The Maid For Service Bundle (3 page)

W
ednesday, 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.

“Oh,” I said.

“I think you’re very, very pretty, my dear.” She cupped my face. “I think I should like to use you as my personal little dressing doll. I have so many beautiful outfits that Samuel gives me. I can’t possibly wear them all. It’s a shame for them to rot in the closet, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so, ma’am?” Everything was happening very fast.

“You know I am a tailor. A hobby of mine.” She let her hand slide down my hip, pushing tightly. Both her hands, now. They slipped around me—fingers dancing. We were in an embrace, and yet it felt like something different. It felt like she was measuring me and sounding me out at the same time. “Oh yes, I think I could use you for a great many outfits. I’ll be able to refit so many. You’re bustier than I am.” She laughed. “I didn’t even know that was possible! Look at you, in that flirty little maid’s outfit. I’ll bet you’re already turning Terrance’s head, aren’t you?”

I stumbled out some string of unintelligible words.

“Wouldn’t you like to look pretty for him? Wouldn’t that be lots of fun?”

Still red faced, I nodded. Her presence was so overwhelming.

“Then we have come to an accord!”

She stepped away and clapped her fingers together, very excited.

“We have?” I felt lost.

“You shall wear whatever I tell you to. Every morning, you will attend yourself to my door, naked.”

“Naked?”

She flapped her fingers a bit. “Wearing a robe, fine. But I must dress you from toe to tip. This won’t work otherwise. Undergarments included, yes.”

“Ma’am, I...”

“Oh?” She looked truly disappointed. “Backing out already? Your duties require you to maintain a certain appearance for this position, you know. I suppose you don’t really want this job.”

“I
do
, ma’am, I just don’t see what...”

“Don’t see what? Speak up, now, or I shall have to order a speech therapist for you as well as a hearing aid.”

“I don’t see how what I wear affects my duties.”

“Well, let’s deconstruct that, shall we?” She appeared delighted; something new to take apart. “Your duties here are to work as a maid. That means cleaning. But
why
do we want you to clean?”

“So you...so you live in a clean place?”

“Precisely! And why would I want to live in a clean place?”

“To live in a dirty place is...unseemly. Unpleasurable.”

She rushed at me then, almost scaring me—but her face was full of delight. “Un. Pleasurable. That is it, my dear. That is so, so very right. So you can see, then as well as I can—and no doubt my husband can as well—that this is entirely about pleasure. Your role is to provide us pleasure.”

She could no doubt see the guilty apprehension on my face. She drew forward, her face coming very near to mine. A kiss was a mere thought away.

“Terrance will no doubt adore what I put you in. Don’t you want to impress him? Wouldn’t that be grand?”

Her breath was so soft and hot. I turned my cheek, but that just let my lips slide right across hers.

Oh god. I had kissed her. Completely on accident, but I had done it.

“Oh my,” said Lilah, in mock surprise. “That was interesting. Did you just kiss me?”

“N-no. No ma’am. It was an accident, and—”

“I see. You don’t want to kiss me?”

“No, I mean, I don’t want to...ma’am?”

“So, you
do
want to kiss me?”

I stamped my foot a little, clenching and unclenching my fists. “I’m very confused overall, ma’am!”

Pushing against me, she delivered a soft series of kisses along my cheeks. They were dry, chaste almost, except for how rapidly they were delivered.

“Don’t worry, dear. Your job is safe. I’m finding you rather delightful. Just do what I say, all right?”

“Yes ma’am.”

My mind reeled. I felt drunk with lust.

“Now, take off your clothes. I want to see the canvas I have available.”

She stepped away now and returned to her cup of wine, urging me on with waving fingers. I expected her perhaps to turn around or leave the room, but of course she didn’t. She merely looked at me in anticipation.

I didn’t know what else to do. I felt my job was at stake. This woman—this urgent woman, this overpoweringly sexy woman, this completely manipulative woman—had taken my every sensational input by storm. I could feel myself
wanting
to have her see me naked.

And of course, at the bottom of all that was the knowledge that she could have me fired whenever she wanted.

So, soon, I was standing there in front of her, as naked as the day I was born. I tried in vain to bend over and cover my tits, but she would have none of it.

“Stand up straight, yes.” She nodded. “Arms at your side. There you are. Good girl.”

One hundred fifty thousand dollars, I thought. Enough money for a lifetime. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

“Relax, girl. You’ll never fit in anything of mine without relaxing a bit.”

I tried to do as she said, taking in a deep breath.