chapter 1

I hope I don’t screw it up.

That single phrase was all that resonated through my head as I walked through the forest path in the twilight hours of a beautiful day in June. Birds were chirping, the wheels on my suitcase were squeaking, my heart was pounding. As a fresh-out-of college 24 year old girl, my worries had changed in the month since I graduated. Instead of fretting about the extra pounds I had put on or that my term paper was five thousand words too short, I was now concerned with finding the money to put food in my mouth and a roof over my head. My degree was in a saturated field, one that required at least a year of unpaid internships to get lucky enough to be considered for a paid position. I was broke. I couldn’t wait that long.

The road I walked down led to the Carawell estate. The family had been famous in my neck of New England for their wealth and for the scandal involving their missing infant son around fifteen years ago. Victor Carawell was something of a legend in the stock broker business, carrying an uncanny streak of investments that led to untold riches. Many would pay quite a price for his dedication and skill in the trade. Some accused him of being a cheat, an insider. Others proclaimed his intelligence and luck to be entirely self-made. I couldn’t tell you which was my opinion; I had never met the guy. To me, he was my future employer. My ticket to building up my savings account. So I could go on to bigger and greater things. That’s right, I had been accepted to be one of Mr. Carawell’s many maids.

I had done a bit of cleaning as a part time job in college for some extra fun money. It was never anything on the scale of serving a multi-millionaire. Thankfully my friend and former classmate James vouched for me, he had been working an apprenticeship in the stables ever since he graduated ahead of me a year ago. The thought that I would have a friendly face to see in this hidden in the woods mansion comforted me. My heart still pounded as I walked.

When I reached the front doors of the mansion it was 6:15. A full quarter-hour after my scheduled arrival time. As I knocked on the door my mind was fully prepared to make one of many understandable excuses for my tardiness. The bus was late, the hike from the main road to the mansion took nearly ten minutes; it was not an easy location to get to. But seconds after I rang the bell a woman appeared in my sights from behind the front door. She looked distinguished: perfectly parted hair, expensive grey sweater, tight black pencil skirt and the highest heels I had ever seen. No words initially, just a careful stare as her eyes darted up and down. I felt like a lion’s prey being scoped out for its next meal.

“April Thompson?”

“Yes Ma’am. I apologize for my lateness, I...”

“No matter. I’ll be your supervisor. You may call me Helen. Come, let’s get you sized up. Let’s hope we finish by dinnertime.”



Helen led me so fast through the mansion I barely had time to register each of the rooms. The echo of her heels set the pace as my eyes darted through each open door I walked by: The majestic entrance hall with grand staircase, the library with books that stretched to the ceiling, the smells and sounds emanating from the kitchen. As we walked Helen gave me a brief history of the mansion. Her voice reminded me of a cross between an overexcited tour guide and a traditional Catholic high school teacher.

“The Carawell Estate formerly belonged to the Elliot family. It was built in 1927 with renovations in 1940, 1977 and most recently in 1995. The last remaining survivor of the Elliot family, George Elliot, squandered away his inheritance and was forced to sell. Our staff could not be happier to be rid of the selfish git. Victor Carawell is a much more proper man to work for. He and his wife treat us very fairly.”

“Will I be meeting him tonight?”

“April, my dear, I should hope not. Mr. Carawell is a very busy man. Our duty is to make sure the drudgery of daily life does not inconvenience his career. Do the hands of the grandfather clock pay mind to the cogs? If you do your job correctly and efficiently, there will be minimal interaction with the master. And in return, he will compensate you accordingly.”

Part of me was a little disappointed. Victor Carawell was something of a recluse, conducting business entirely from home. To have actually met him in person and to have shaken his hand would put me in a very exclusive group of people. Still, the tone and words in which Helen carried struck true. I was the maid, just a small part in the functioning of this household.

“The mansion is divided into two wings, the east and west. The east wing is which where Mr. Carawell conducts his business. Due to his unique skillset, his trade secrets must be protected. As such, entering the east wing without express permission from Mr. Carawell, Mrs. Carawell or myself is grounds for dismissal.” “No entering the east wing, got it.”

“You will be spending much of your day in the west wing, which contains the dining area, kitchens, parlor, master bedrooms, and head staff quarters. Like the east wing, you are not to enter the master bedroom area without express permission from Mr. Carawell or myself. He occasionally would like dinners or late night snacks to be brought there.”

“Where would I be staying?”

“Our destination in this tour. There is an annex next to the stables outside that houses the maids, butlers and cooks. You will have your own bedroom to retire to at night. Technically, you will be on duty at all hours of the day, but we do try our best to make sure the workload is distributed evenly. You are allowed free reign over the annex, which also contains kitchens for your own use and a recreation area. If you feel like you are missing anything, contact me and I will see what I can do.”

At the end of the hallway there was a large wooden door that led to the outside. A small gravel path traveled for about a hundred yards before connecting with a small building that could easily house ten or twenty employees dormitory style. Helen warned me that the door to the mansion would lock automatically, but I would have my own key and should immediately report in the case of loss. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the stables on the side of the mansion. I wondered if James was working in there that very second. Helen and I entered the annex together.

“The annex will be fairly empty at this time of day. I will show you to your room, where you can unpack and settle yourself for the night. I will return with your uniform.”

Only the muffled sounds of hurried footsteps and doors opening echoed throughout the annex as Helen showed me my personal habitat. I don’t know why I expected it to be as lavish as the rest of the mansion, but it had the bare essentials: bed, desk, drawers, closet and my own personal bathroom. Helen went out to grab my uniform from the annex storage. I took the opportunity to appreciate the view of the mansion out the window.

The woods extended far beyond what I could see. Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement on one of the upper windows. There was a man, staring out into the distance as he buttoned up his white dress shirt. The paintings that peppered my initial tour match his face exactly. There was no doubt about it, I was looking at Victor Carawell himself.

Even at this distance I felt very small in his presence. Victor’s face was very youthful and boyish for his age; but the way he buttoned his expensive shirt, groomed his jet black hair, held himself filled me with a sense of power. The eyes that stared into the woods were cold and focused, hinting that he was thinking of a million different things at this very second. I could see why he was so good at selling his skills, just one look at him and I was convinced he was a pro.

The eyes of the billionaire snapped from the woods to the annex, straight at my peeping face. No longer holding the million unique thoughts, they instead focused on the strange girl spying his half dressed self. I panicked, practically leaping away from the window. So much for first impressions.

I unpacked the rest of my things, taking careful note not to look out the window again. Helen arrived right before I finished, carrying my uniform in her arms. She urged me to try it on in the bathroom immediately. There, standing on the cool stone stiles, I modeled for myself. It was a puffy little outfit: frilly lace skirt and a black bodice complete with cute little pink bows lining the hem. It looked and felt distinguished, yet I couldn’t shake the feeling I wouldn’t be out of place in a maid-centric porno. I wasn’t bothered; fancy clothes like these were a rarity and they showed off my curves rather well. I could get used to this.

“How does it feel dear?” Helen questioned through the bathroom door.

“It’s a little tight up front.”

Wrinkles spread across her face as she scowled.

“It used to be mine.”

Oops.

“I’ll see if I can get it adjusted later. I’ll leave you to your things, we start tomorrow morning at 5am sharp.”

Maybe I should have said nothing at all.



Mr. Carawell and I never crossed paths the entire week. Instead, I found myself in the empty rooms, trying my best to stay in the shadows while I cleaned. Occasionally I would catch a glimpse of Mr. Carawell or his wife walking from one room to the next; often with a whole cabinet of servants following them. These casual glances only fed my curiosity; I had never held a job before where I never met my boss. I wanted to greet him, get to know him, understand him. But he was untouchable, always with Mrs. Carawell or an assistant. What made it worse was the fact that aside from that first night through the annex window, he had never even glanced in my direction. I was a shadow in his mansion. 

chapter 2

 During my off hours I would often go down to the stable to talk with James as he tended to the horses. We would catch up on each other’s days, kick back and relax with some beer to unwind from the fancy environment. I tried my best to pry more information about our boss from him, but James was just as clueless. Occasionally, he provided bits of gossip that I obsessed over.

“Have you seen Mrs. Carawell lately? Cid is telling me that she’s been fed up with Victor. There might even be a separation.”

I felt my heart pound at the prospect of a single Mr. Carawell, even though my mind kept telling me why it meant nothing. I was confused as to why I felt this way about such an older man. I was a college graduate with no money, a plain face, and little to offer to a man like Victor. If he was used to women of Mrs. Carawell’s caliber, there was no way I could ever hope to compare. Still, my mind ran wild with fantasies of him coming into my bedroom late at night and having his way with me. I didn’t share my secret with James.

“Huh. I wonder if she’s going to do it before the Lockheart dinner party. Everyone is already stressed out as is.”

“Let’s hope she waits.”

I hope she waited too. From dawn to dusk, it seemed all that everyone talked about was the upcoming dinner party in hopes of securing a new account for Mr. Carawell’s portfolio. No one talked the exact specifics of the deal, but there were rumors of a thousand dollar bonus to all staff if the night ran smoothly. It wasn’t exactly charity money, but I still found his respect towards his staff endearing.

“They are looking for extra hands on deck. I can put in a good word for you if you want it.”

Standing at attention during dinner and serving. Placing napkins on laps. Refilling wine glasses. I could do that!

“Oh James, that’d be fantastic! Thank you so much!”

As I gave him a friendly hug, I thought about what this opportunity meant. I’d be in the same room as Mr. Carawell for an entire evening. Back against the wall and silent, of course. My mind judged my reasoning. But my heart pounded in excitement. Maybe, just maybe, I would be noticed in his eyes.



James certainly put in a good word in for me, and then some. The very next morning Helen tested me in my serving aptitude. Thankfully I had grown used to the heels I wore as part of my uniform and was able to walk in a straight, concise manner. Even when balancing five plates (thank you, teenage waitress job). The detail that Helen demanded was absolute, from my chin always behind held high to the way I held my hands when waiting for further instruction. Several hours of training later, I was accepted into the position for the night. It still felt like I was accepted by the skin of my teeth.

The day of the party I felt as if I could fall apart at any moment. I meticulously checked my makeup, my dress, my hair, my posture. And still I wished I had more time to prepare. By the time 7 rolled around I was already lined up with the other servers in the dining hall. Every single pair of eyes was focused on the entrance door. It opened promptly at seven fifteen. Helen was the first to lead; followed by Mr. and Mrs. Carawell, what I assumed was Mr. Lockheart and his wife, and several other men and women I assumed to be their lackeys. As Helen introduced the woodwork design on the walls of the dining area, I kept hoping his head would turn in my direction. No such luck, although Mr. Lockheart did give me a small smile when he passed by. I returned the smile as best I could while his body odor invaded my nostrils.

It was like a synchronized dance. I played my timing with the other servers to the second; setting down silverware, handing off food, lighting the candles. When placing Mrs. Lockheart’s napkin I noticed her husband staring down my chest. Combined with his increasing familiar smell of whiskey and sweat I suppressed the urge to throw up.

“Beautiful house, Victor. If your business sense is as good as your sense of decor, I see an very bright revenue stream in our futures..”

Laughing, Mr. Carawell continued his sell.

“I certainly am proud of this place. Though I cannot take all the credit, we have an exceptional staff here at the Carawell estate. Now, I understand you’re proposing a reverse split on Irvine Energy. I’ve seen this pattern before, the shareholders will come knocking about their value...”

The business talk bored me, so I focused instead on the atmosphere. Mrs. Carawell had not spoken a word since she entered and seemed to be avoiding her husband’s conversation at all costs. Mr. Carawell was clearly dominating the conversation, meticulously picking apart each and every point of Lockheart’s business plan. Even with a large prize on the line, he never shied away from being brutally honest. Yet he never jumped the line from critical to insulting. I could see why he was good as what he did. Lockheart raised his glass, signifying the need for a refill. I had hoped another server would assist, but the man was looking directly at me. Keeping my face straight and holding my breath, I grabbed the bottle of wine from the bar and paced back to the table. The man’s eyes violated me with great interest. I fought the urge to run away, instead focusing on pouring the wine.

My face ran cold as I felt the sudden sensation of Mr. Lockheart’s hand run up my skirt and grope my butt. It startled me so much that I lost control of the wine. It fell from my hands, spraying all over his suit. You would have thought a gunshot went off with how ballistic Helen went. Within a second she was screaming.

“Young April, you will take Mr. Lockheart into the kitchen and clean your mistake up!”

She continued apologizing for quite some time. With a brutally red face, I hoped someone had noticed what the pervert had done. Apparently not. Instead of outrage at him, there was only disappointment towards me. The stupid server who had spilled wine all over the important guest. The saving grace was that Mr. Lockheart was not outraged himself, instead insisting that it was a simple mistake over Helen’s profuse apologies. I looked up at Mr. Carawell. He looked back at me with cold, stern eyes.

At least I was finally noticed.



The sink was in the back area of the kitchen. My mind ran wild with fear. What if I got fired? I had no plan B. For the first time since I graduated I wasn’t worrying about where my next paycheck would come from. If I would have enough to buy food for the month. The fear of losing my job outweighed the fear of this repulsive man standing before me. I wet a towel with the sink and began patting his shirt down. My mind was so distracted that I didn’t even notice we were out of sight of the cooks.

“There there, you made a mistake. We all do. Your name is April?”

“Yes sir.”

“That’s a very pretty name. Do you have a boyfriend?”

The warning bells began to go off in my head. I felt frozen to the spot, unable to decide what to do.

“...I don’t think that’s appropriate to ask, sir.”

“Of course, you're a professional. Let's speak business then. Dear April, do you know why I’m here?”

“Of course sir. To reach an agreement with Mr. Carawell. I couldn’t tell you the details, the maids don’t concern themselves with that.”

“Aren't you precious? Then again, I doubt Victor would tell his staff. You see, he’s fallen on hard times recently. A bit of bad choice in investments. Of course, the public doesn’t know about this, but he’s losing credibility. He’s very good at hiding it, but he needs people like me to continue paying for the lavish life he lives. Which places me, the business partner, in a very good position.”

I felt his hand on my shoulder. Looking up into his eyes, I felt very small. He continued to speak to me.

“To be honest, I’m not sure I want to partner with Victor anymore. At least that’s the decision I’m leaning towards. He's lost his edge. Can't be trusted anymore. I’m a understanding man though, and I can be persuaded. Do you want your employee to have my business?”

I nodded silently. My body shook.

“I thought so. You’re very pretty. I think you can persuade me more than your employer ever could.”

“Sir, I...”

He roughly grabbed my hair, edging my face forward to crotch. It smelled worse than his odor.

“No talk. I’ll make it simple. You take care of me, I’ll make sure Victor doesn’t lose this home. You refuse, I not only will make sure Victor loses his home, but I’ll also make sure you lose your job. I’ll make sure you never work as a maid again. We wouldn’t want that, would we dear?”

Choking back tears. Head sweating wildly. My mind knew to run away, to scream, but his grip on my hair was powerful. To hell with my job. I screamed.

“LET GO OF ME!”

“Mr. Lockheart, what the hell is going on?!”

That voice. I turned my head to see Mr. Carawell standing not five feet away. His eyes raged with a fire I had never seen before.

“Ah, Victor. I was just sampling your staff here. Even with the little spill, I dare say they are quite exceptional.”

“Let her go.”

There was a pregnant pause before he released me. I stood back up, too overwrought to say anything.

“Come now Victor. Let’s not forget the person you were when we first met, you hypocrite.”

Mr. Carawell's face didn't change a beat. Still burning. Not even slightly unfocused.

“April, retire to your room. I’ll be there shortly.”

“Sir, I...”

“Now!”

All I could do was walk out of the back of the kitchen, crying and shaking. Both men silently watched as I retreated. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I’ve had hansy boyfriends before, I could always hold my own. But here, in such a different environment, with such high stakes... I was out of my element. I was ashamed of myself. Embarrassed, ashamed, and scared. The stares I got as I walked back to my room only made me walk faster. By the time I was lying in my bed the tears had stopped. 

chapter 3

Starring up at the ceiling in my uniform, the events of the evening repeated themselves over and over in my head. I was glad that Victor had stepped in to my rescue, but I was more ashamed that I wasn’t able diffuse the situation on my own. No job was worth getting molested over. But what about Mr. Lockheart’s statement about Victor being a hypocrite? They obviously had a history together. What kind of man was he then? What kind of man was he now?

After about an hour of reflecting I decided on three things. One, none of it was my fault. Mr. Lockheart was obviously a egotistical pervert, and if I was unlucky enough to cross paths with him again, I would call him out on it or avoid him entirely. Two, I would be smarter with putting myself in these situations. I had a lot riding on this job, but my safety was much more important. Third... Mr. Carawell was my savior. I not only needed to show him how appreciative I was that he stepped in, but that I had learned and would be more headstrong in the future. That I was not helpless and that I was not a liability in the his staff. This, of course, all assumed he wouldn’t fire me outright. Helen's words back after I spilled the wine still stung.



Knock knock. The moment I had simultaneously been anticipating and dreading had arrived. On the other side of my bedroom door Mr. Carawell stood alone. Apparently he didn’t stop to change from dinner, still dressed in his pristine tuxedo. His eyes had the palest of rings forming beneath them. I noticed his outfit looked scuffed and ruffled. Did things get violent between him and Mr. Lockheart? The way he stood was imposing, as if getting ready to scold a pet. The mood that filled the room told me all I needed to know. He did not want to be dealing with me right now. He was probably ashamed to do so. I broke the silence. Maybe fealty would inspire mercy.

“...I’m sorry Mr. Carawell.”

He silently pointed at the bed, motioning for me to sit. I obeyed, placing my hands on my lap; my eyes solemnly pointed towards the ground. Mr. Carawell pulled up a chair and sat down directly in front of me. He let the silence hang in the air. My lungs felt like they stopped working working. It took all of my willpower to meet his scornful gaze.

“April, was it?”

I nodded slightly.

“It’s been awhile since I inquired about one of Helen’s staff. You are a recent graduate of Wesleyan in an unrelated field. Tragically unable to find a suitable position, so you took a vacancy here as temporary help. My stable boy referred you, if memory serves me correctly. How has your first week at the mansion suited you? Overwhelming, I’m sure.”

Again, I could barely muster a nod.

“You are a bit of a rarity. Most professional maids would consider this a very desirable position. Some may even consider this a dream job; top of the line for their field. When I reviewed the applications, by all means, I should have glossed you over. Little experience. No referrals, Only a recommendation from a boy who spends his days working with the horses. And yet, here you are. Serving my estate.”

Where was he going with this?

“My speciality is predicting trends, April. Seeing potential for growth. On the surface it’s profits, revenue. But it’s a gift I’ve been utilizing all my life. With friends, colleagues, relationships. I’ve found when faced with a decision, my instinct is better than any other comparison. Though that application, my instinct saw you.”

Here it comes. How his instinct was wrong this time. How he manages to slip up occasionally.

“Mr. Lockheart has chosen not to use my services.”

Brace yourself...

“April, it is my fault entirely. I went against my instinct. He should have never been here in the first place.”

An enormous weight was lifted off me in an instant. I met his gaze wearing curious eyes. If he wasn’t here to scold me, why did he need to make an appearance at all?

“I’m... I’m glad to hear that, Mr. Carawell. I was so scared I had screwed up.”

“Mr. Lockheart was an old friend of mine. From another time, before I matured. I’m sorry you were compromised, I should have acted sooner.”

Reaching out, he took his hand in mine. My mouth fell agape as the electricity danced across my fingertips.

“Mr. Carawell... Can I ask you a question?”

He nodded.

“You were really once like him? He did call you a hypocrite...”

Exaspering slightly, he let go of my hand and stared out the window. It was if his next words were the most important in the world.

“I’m not proud of where I am now, but I’m still less proud of where I was. Yes, April, I was not a nice person. I was abusive, disrespectful, terrible. I thought it all was the normalcy of this cutthroat industry. Well, I suppose it is the normalcy. As you unfortunately saw earlier this evening. These monsters think themselves untouchable."

"But what about you and your wife? Were you really like that when you met Mrs. Carawell?"

Chuckling slightly, Mr. Carawell continued.

"Scarlet is just like them. Riding the contrails of success, no matter what the vilification entails. I've been trying to free myself for years now. But alas, my career is the only thing I have time to dedicate now."

His words. They seemed so sad. In an instant my attitude towards him changed from intimidated to pity. I couldn't bear to see such a powerful man in such an intimate state of mind. Even more, I couldn't bear not to do something about it.

"Mr. Carawell... Can I ask you one more question?"

Taking his time in answering, Mr. Carawell spoke.

"Only one."

"Is there anything I can do for you? Beyond my usual duties, that is. You saved me tonight. I want to return the favor."

As the words left my mouth I placed my hand on his thigh, rubbing with the lightest of touches. This world I adopted myself into still felt foreign. I couldn't handle an expensive dinner party or clean a mansion to perfection just yet. But I could satisfy a man I was attracted to. My mind raced as he didn't back down from my advance. Sure, he was my boss, but he was also a intelligent, powerful, handsome man. Sure, he was married, but he had just confessed the relationship had been dead for years. I couldn't help myself as my hands rubbed along the fabric of his pants. Smiling gently at his bewildered face. Yet still he didn't say to stop.

Taking his silence as an invitation to proceed, my hands danced towards the front of his pants. A noticeable bulge had already begun to form. I licked my lips in anticipation. Loosening his belt, I looked up at his eyes.

"Please Victor. Let me take care of you tonight."

I felt his hand on the back of my head, caressing it lovingly. My eyes closed at the sensation of him playing with my hair. Victor was so careful and delicate, like I was a fine work of art he was taking in. Deep under my skirt I felt my womanhood grow warm with desire. The back of my mind still screamed with doubts as to if this was right. I shut that voice out immediately.

Kneeling down on the chair in front of him, my fingers still gently circled the tracing of his member. It already felt like it was growing by this lightest of touches. I looked up into his eyes, putting on the sexiest look of pleading I had in me. Mr. Carawell stayed deadpan. Was he confused? Was he conflicted? I tilted my head to the side, licking my bottom lip seductively. It worked.

Taking my hand in his, Mr. Carawell led me to his belt buckle. It came off easily enough, and with astonishing speed I had his pants around his ankles. Still keeping the deadpan expression, he stared at me diligently. As if waiting impatiently for me to initiate. I had been bold so far in this tryst, but my heart still felt like it was going to explode. Still I hid it well, smiling gently as I feed his cock from the restrictions of his underwear. There, I couldn't help but get a good look.

Mr. Carawell's penis was half-erect at this point. I was still impressed and a little frightened. It was true that I had small hands, but I could barely get my middle finger to overlap around his girth. The length wasn't too shabby either: seven, possibly eight inches. There was a scary second when I wondered if I could take all of it in my mouth. That fear quickly turned to excitement as I started pumping the shaft with my hand. It pulsated with every stroke, growing bigger and bigger until I couldn't stand it anymore. I needed Mr. Carawell's cock in my mouth. I needed to make my millionaire employer come.

Biting my lip in nervousness, I slowly lowered my head deeper between his thighs. Mr. Carawell placed his hands on my back of my head. Guiding me towards the manhood I so desperately craved. It smelled surprisingly pleasant down there; a rich musky scent that reminded me of expensive aftershave. I decided to have a little tease first. Kiss the tip of the head. Dart my tongue along the bottom run of the shaft. Look deeply into his eyes as I stroked it with my hand. Surprisingly, Mr. Carawell still looked unfazed. Prior boyfriends at this point were always frenzied, begging me for more stimulation. Like the rest of his lifestyle, was he used to something more luxurious? Still, he wasn't asking me to stop. I felt a growing desire in me to impress. To perform better than I ever had before. Nothing but the best for Mr. Carawell.

I started slow, enveloping his head entirely within my lips. I refused to move for several seconds, instead circling my tongue, making sure there wasn't a single unstimulated nerve. He placed his hand on my back of my head again. Not pushing or forcing, simply placing it gently. I took this as a good sign and increased the intensity of my work. Bobbing slightly up and down. Moaning gently as I did so. The smell of Mr. Carawell's cock was incredible, and he tasted even better. Never before in my life had I wanted to suck a penis so intently. As I continued to bob and use my tongue to explore new territory, I felt subtle signs of the effectiveness of my work. Increased breathing. Tighter muscles. An actual grip on my hair. And of course, the fact that his dick had grown rock-hard inside my mouth. To pat myself on the back, I was sucking better than I ever had in my life.  

chapter 4

There was a gentle tug on my hair. Taking his member out with a gentle pop, I moved my head back to meet his gaze. There was a tiny strand of saliva running down my chin and a happy smile on my face. Mr. Carawell gave me one simple order.

"Deeper, April. Take it all the way in."

As I glanced down at the immense member under my chin I doubted I could.

"Sir, I..."

"No words, April. Ease into it."

Emotions ran through me. Doubt, at my own abilities. Fear at his directness. Anger, at his disregard for my own feelings. What won them all was desire. Deepthroating had never been something I was good at. It was time to learn. What better time to practice than now?

"Of course, Mr. Carawell."

Looking once again at the cock I had been so diligently sucking, my perception changed. What once had been warm and inviting, now seemed like a mountain to climb. A test of my abilities. A chance to go beyond my limits. I took his penis in my mouth and moved down as far as I could. Slowly, gently. It was still only halfway. I loosened my jaw the best I could, relaxed my muscles. But this was all I could do. I once again felt Mr. Carawell's hands on my back of my head.

"Relax, April. I have no doubt you can."

To my surprise, he began pushing on the back of my head. With any other man I would have been enraged. But I couldn't say no to Mr. Carawell. Instead I took his forcefulness as motivation, support for this endeavor. A miraculous thing happened. I felt the back of my throat loosen up. I was able to lower myself even more. It was an incredible, satisfying sensation to feel his cock hit the back of my throat. With his hands as forceful support, I managed to get every last inch of his penis inside me. It stayed like that for a few seconds as I breathed through my nose. Mr. Carawell stroked my hair.

"Good girl..."

That was all the support I needed to continue. Dragging my lips along his shaft, I moved my mouth back up to the tip of his penis. Without even taking a break I went back down to the hilt. It was easier the second time, once my mouth had loosened up. Soon enough I was back to a frantic speed, sucking and licking with an unfound desire. Mr. Carawell's reactions stayed the same; slight affirmations of pleasure but overall commanding. In a way, it turned me on even more. It made me feel used, submissive. Like I was only a toy to him. With any other man I would have found it degrading. But with Mr. Carawell... I was proud to be his slut.

There was no warning when he came. Only an increased grip on my hair and the salty tase of semen down my throat. I had been working the head with my tongue when it happened, so I quickly took the entire shaft down to his waist as the ropes of cum landed deep within me. To be honest, I didn't even register much of the taste. It was my duty to please Mr. Carawell, and I felt nothing but satisfaction from making him orgasm.

Mr. Carawell lifted me up by the chin after he was finished. I was breathing more than he was. Giving a smile, I spoke.

"Did I do well?"

He smiled.

"Oh April. We're not done yet. On the bed. On your back."

I was hoping he would say that. Obeying diligently, I laid on the bed as he took the belt from his pants on the floor. The familiar feeling of discomfort ran and was quickly shut out of my mind. Just think, I told myself. An hour ago I thought would be on the streets. Now I was preparing to have sex with an attractive millionaire. So what if he was a little rough? As evidenced by how wet I was, I was enjoying how commanding and intimidating he was. I loved how he took charge, how I was purely there to be used for his benefit. The feeling was liberating, in a way. No emotions. No feelings. Just pure, raw sex.

Mr. Carawell lifted my hands above my head; tying my wrists to the bedframe with his belt. I cooed and squirmed seductively, echoing my desire to be fucked as he slowly took off his clothes with professionalism. Each button on his dress shirt meant another second I had to wait. The anticipation just about killed me. Finally, he was naked, erect, and glaring at me hungrily. It was time.

The world stopped as he penetrated me. Goosebumps lit up all over my skin. I felt every last inch of his penis slide into me at a savored pace. Mr. Carawell had his eyes closed. Mine were starry-eyed, rolling back in my head as I arched my back. It felt entirely unlike any other man I had been with. Something about the suddenness of the situation, the power he wielded over me, the girth of his dick. It all combined to a feeling that satisfied my massive pent-up frustration. He stayed like that a while, cock buried deep inside me. He probably wanted to fully enjoy the sensation before moving on. I didn’t mind.

As his hips moved back and forth my breathing quickened as well. I had to keep as quiet as possible, there were other maids and butlers through these walls and passing by outside my door. But as his pace increased I couldn’t help but moan quietly. Back and forth, feeling the entire length of his cock move in and out of me. There was a very precise motion he was carrying himself with. He hit just the right distance before plunging back in, controlled his breathing as a professional runner would. Just as I was wishing my hands weren’t tied so I could rub them all over his bulky chest and back, he kissed me.

 

More specifically, he kissed my neck. Buried his face in the crux of it, biting in lightly. While the combined feeling of goosebumps and being tickled spread across my face, Mr. Carawell started to quicken the pace. His strokes were no longer cold and calculated. They were more frenzied, as if he had tested the waters and was now giving into his desire. The heat that radiated from his body was powerful. His breath filled my ear as he fucked me. I moved my head for a kiss on his lips. Almost as if predicting my movement, he ran his tongue downwards towards my chest. Licking and sucking on my breasts as his penis continued to fill me. A little disappointing, but the sensations ran through my body like lighting. I couldn’t help it, my moans grew louder throughout the room.

At some point while he was trusting from up top, he had managed to unhook the belt from my wrists. I didn’t even notice my hands falling down to the pillow until he dismounted me. In my chest my heart was pounding wildly. The room already reeked of sex. Looking at Mr. Carawell, his eyes wandered over every last inch of my ruffled uniform. I ran my fingertips over his chest, glistening with the sweat of a good fuck. My womanhood ached with the craving of his cock. Some might even say it was painful. Mr. Carawell knew this; the way he looked at me confirmed he enjoyed my anticipation. He loved the tease. He loved having this control over me.

“On top. Now.”

With a hold on my wrist I was dragged out of the bed. Mr. Carawell sat back down on the chair, myself straddling him precariously. I looked into his eyes. Eager. Yearning. Burning. From his eyes I felt far from the same. I felt pride in his eyes. Power. Desire. With his left hand he grabbed my hair in one fell clump. I buried my head in his neck and lowered myself gracefully. My skirt spilled over his legs as I impaled myself on his cock once more.

This was a different sensation entirely. As each inch entered me my arms tensed up, wrapped around his shoulders. In my ear I felt the heat of his breath caress gently. Mr. Carawell placed his hands on my hips, yet I still controlled the pace. For now. Another few seconds and he was completely buried inside me. The room was silent except for my gentle breathing. I took my hands and placed them on his shoulders, feeling the power of his muscles under my fingertips. I began to move.

It was slow work at first. My hips moved forward just enough to keep the angle right. I loved the feeling of my breasts pressing up against his chest through the fabric of my uniform. Then I moved backwards, touching my forehead to Mr. Carawell in the process. Feeling the exhales of our breath intermingle. On my toes I continued to rock back and forth. It was a new position for me, but the surrealness of the tryst still hadn’t turned me off. It was almost like an addiction; I just couldn’t stop. With each glance at Mr. Carawell I almost felt boredom from him. Was he used to slow sex? On that thought, I grinded faster for him. Gripping his shoulders tight, practically slamming our chests together. The pleasure I felt grew more intense and soon I was feeling the heat of the moment again. Faster. Harder. More passionately. In that moment, I felt like a sexual goddess.

Hands roughly grabbed my hips. I paused in the moment to see Mr. Carawell staring at me. He still wasn’t satisfied. I felt him pumping up from below. There were only a few thrusts before his pace became frenzied. Filling me to the hilt, pumping at an incredible rate. There was no way I could hold in the moans that flooded the room as he fucked me silly. With each thrust Mr. Carawell moved my hips to meet his movements. I no longer felt like I was making love. I felt like he was using my body for his own pleasure. In that second, in that room, the thought turned me on immensely.

It all happened in a blur. I buried myself in his shoulders as I felt the buildup in my womanhood. He roughly clawed at my back, tearing the uniform in certain places. The chair shook with such force I was sure it would fall over. My mind could only concentrate on the feeling of his dick continuously entering me at a frenzied pace. I couldn’t stop it.

“I’m coming!”

Mr. Carawell stopped thrusting. I started grinding again before he wrapped his hand around my throat. Not tightly, but firmly enough to enforce the idea that he was in control. It took me a moment to register what was happening.

“April, you will not come until I say so.”

I nodded my head while squirming as much as I could. It was futile though. I couldn’t defy Mr. Carawell. With his hand still on my throat, I leaned into his lips. He returned the kiss, but half-heartedly. As if I was swearing fealty to him; he was acknowledging my submission. Our lips still locked, he once again thrust up into me. The way he played my body was masterful. We danced the edge of my orgasm, denying me relief with seconds to spare. I held off as long as I could. My body was shaking from the anxiety. I begged.“Oh please, Mr. Carawell. I can’t take it anymore. Please let me come.”

“April, I still haven’t given you my permission. I’m still not done with you yet.”

“Oh... Ah! Oh please. I can’t... I can’t take much moreeeee Oh! Oh! Oh!”

Sighing, he spoke.

“Very well. You may come.”

The second the words left his mouth I felt a rush of euphoria escalate through my body. It cumulated in an explosive ecstasy that almost made me topple over. Mr. Carawell grabbed me to sit me up straight as he continued to pump away. I rode every trust through my orgasm before he came himself deep inside me.

It was quiet afterwards. No hushed whispers of voyeurs at the door. No murmur of confusion through the walls. Just the gentle breathing of us two as the blood rushed back to our heads. My head rested on his shoulder, looking right into his face. Mr. Carawell had his eyes closed. Meditative. Calm. It was almost romantic. Before his eyes shot open.

“I need to go.”

Picking me up and setting me aside, Mr. Carawell began gathering his clothes. As he meticulously put them back on I questioned him.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to help you... I hated seeing you in pain like that.”

Sighing once more, he spoke.

“It’s not that April. You did nothing wrong. It’s me.”

Putting on his clothes at an almost expert pace, he continued.

“It’s as I said before. My past self was not someone I want to resurface.”

“What? Did what we just did stir something in you?”

Mr. Carawell remained silent as he buttoned up his shirt. I decided to press the issue.

“I can handle myself. Everything we just did, I wanted. So you like to be a little dominant? There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Ignoring my question, he gave himself a once-over in the mirror. I wanted to keep talking. Show him that his past self was gone. But I realized that he was still practically a stranger to me. And as much as I wanted to, convincing him was out of my knowledge. For now.

“This won’t happen again. When we see each other tomorrow, there will be no mention of what transpired here tonight. Doing so will result in your termination. Are we clear?”

I nodded.

“Are you still ok with the incident with Mr. Lockheart?”

“Yes sir.”

“Very well. Good night April.”

And there he left the room, leaving me in a disheveled uniform and a sore body. I went to the bathroom and cleaned myself up, desperately wanting some sleep. Instead, I spent the night staring at the ceiling in the dark. What could he be hiding? What was going on with his wife? What was going on with his future? I would find out in due time. We would be spending much more time together.

After all, I was his maid. 

Imprint

Publication Date: 01-17-2016

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
A midnight tryst reveals several intriguing and possibly disturbing secrets about Mr. Carawell. Perhaps she is in over her head, but deeper into the rabbit hole she goes