House of Pleasure

House of Pleasure

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


When her father dies, Trudi Styles is left to fend for herself in the murky back streets of Liverpool. Miserable and discontent, her life takes a dramatic turn when she goes to work at for a mysterious man in his large mansion. Her duties go beyond the normal ones you might expect of a maid, and despite her growing fondness for her new friends and creature comforts, something sinister lies at the heart of the house.


When her father dies, Trudi Styles is left to fend for herself in the murky back streets of Liverpool. Miserable and discontent, her life takes a dramatic turn when she goes to work at for a mysterious man in his large mansion. Her duties go beyond the normal ones you might expect of a maid, and despite her growing fondness for her new friends and creature comforts, something sinister lies at the heart of the house.

Chapter1 (v.1) - House of Pleasure

Author Chapter Note

When her father dies, Trudi Styles is left to fend for herself in the murky back streets of Liverpool. Miserable and discontent, her life takes a dramatic turn when she goes to work at for a mysterious man in his large mansion. Her duties go beyond the normal ones you might expect of a maid, and despite her growing fondness for her new friends and creature comforts, something sinister lies at the heart of the house.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: August 28, 2015

Reads: 5459

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Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: August 28, 2015






House of Pleasure

Trudi Styles

Copyright © 2015 Trudi Styles.

All rights reserved.



Growing up in a council estate in Liverpool had been difficult enough. No job, no money, no hope. My mother had died when I was young and my father had been in an accident with a printing press at work that had left him in a wheelchair. I had no other family in Liverpool and so I was left alone. I left school at fourteen to find a job. Being left alone to look after my father meant I didn’t have the luxury of an education. It was time to grow up, and do so in the quickest way possible.

The years passed slowly, in that way they do when every day means drudgery and depression. You never know anything else when your mind is closed to happiness. When the harsh reality of survival underscores your every decision, it’s difficult to imagine a world where people smile at you. A world where you are worth smiling at.

It was at the age of eighteen, when I got home from working in a horrible, dingy pub where the landlord regularly kept me behind to clean up, that my life changed--suddenly and completely. I felt the landlord’s eyes all over me all evening. I couldn’t wait to get away, and as soon as our last customer had coughed and wheezed his smoky exit I was out the door after him. The landlord, Bill Underworth was left gaping after me in frustration.

There was something different about the house when I arrived home that night. As I put my key in the door I sensed something wrong. Only afterwards did it occur to me that the edge of my father’s wheelchair was visible from behind the kitchen door.

Alarm forcing my heart to beat so fast I expected it to burst through my chest and my breath held as if the slightest sound might break some sort of spell, I rushed as quietly as I could to the kitchen. Maybe if I kept silent – a visitor to the scene rather than a participant – this might not be happening at all.

But it was happening.

The weeks following my father’s death are difficult to recall. It was as if I was taken from my place on earth and suspended outside of time, somewhere quiet and vacant, before being suddenly and forcefully pushed back into a noisy, turbulent place. A place swarming and teeming with people moving about their daily lives with no thought for anything real. Their lives seemed consumed by irrelevant decisions like what to wear or where to eat, who they met and what they said. Shallow gossip being spread by the town rats.

 I hated it.

One thing was certain; I was going to leave Liverpool. Pubs full of chanting men and the white noise of the supporters on raised TV screens, desolate streets, bookie shops with yellowed, stained walls. There had to be better.


Janice drove me to the station. She was a bawdy woman, battered by life, yet determined to squeeze every last drop from it. Her uncle lived in London and that’s where I was going. Apparently he was quite well off. He owned a large mansion in Surrey, where old customs still abided and the family kept a staff of cooks and maids. It had to be better than pub work, and I was determined to return one day when I could afford to tend to my father’s grave since I had been unable to foot the bill for a proper coffin.

I don’t know why, but I felt an incredible sadness as I waved to Janice through the window of the departing train. Train stations had always made me feel sad. So many people leaving each other. Who knew where they went? Or maybe I was welling up in the sadness of my life so far, as if making the emotion so heavy I might dump it there and leave it behind so that I may enter a new life – clean and unburdened. I left Liverpool full of both grief and joy.


Margaret met me at the station. She was the head of staff at Janice’s uncle William’s estate. She was a buxom woman – I describe her as so merely because it was the first impression anyone would have of her. It was only having already subconsciously taken in the view of her enormous breasts that anyone could possibly move their eyes to analyze her remaining features. She was broad and of an indeterminable age. Flaxen blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun revealed blazing blue eyes and full sensuous lips. She was a voluptuous woman, neither slim nor fat, but the type of woman who obviously enjoyed her pleasures too substantially to give much thought to anything else.

She bade me to the car she had been driven to the station in, and as I sat beside her on the soft leather seat behind the driver I could smell a lingering scent of perfume that shifted my senses. I was unprepared for the rush of wellbeing that warmed my chest. Without warning, I became aware of how comfortable I felt sitting on the soft leather seat; relaxed and warm. Margaret’s beautiful floral scent lingered everywhere in the car and bathed my brow into carelessness.

I began to feel flush and couldn’t concentrate properly on Margaret’s conversation as we were whisked from the station and driven through the streets of London. The sensations of warmth and comfort in the private world of that car were like a sunrise to a blind person. Each brought its own need for analysis so that I could carefully lift this new butterfly closer to my eye for inspection and carefully catalog my discovery.

Finally we broke free from the city and the calm of the inside of the car was mirrored by the outside view. It was enough to send me to sleep as I gazed in fascination at the countryside around me. Green, white, red, yellow. Fresh. Vibrant. A world so unfamiliar to me that it overwhelmed me and pushed me into unconsciousness.

It was late when we arrived at the house. Although barely out of spring, it seemed as though it were the height of summer there at the Boroughs’. The sun felt good as it warmed me when I stepped from the car, and I could hear – was it crickets? – as I took in the full details of the house. It was large, beyond my comprehension, with so many windows it was impossible to tell how many rooms it might conceal or how many people might live there.

At the door waited another young girl, Florence; dressed in a freshly laundered maid’s uniform. Florence looked young, maybe even as young as I was, and I felt a gush of hope that I might make friends here. Friendship was something I had always dreamed of, but never dared hope for.

Once shown to my room--my very own room in such a luxurious household--with such a high ceiling; such beautifully decorated walls; and warm, thick, red curtains abundantly framing a picture window gazing adoringly on such a wondrous garden that I felt as if I had stepped into a fairytale.

Left to my own devices, I unpacked. What belongings I had seemed grubby and unseemly in such surroundings and I put them away in the back of my new wardrobe where they might not be found under casual inspection. They would only give the game away – evidence that I was unworthy of my presence here. I suddenly felt out of place. I shivered. The room suddenly felt cold. Must be a cloud.

I must have slept again. God knows how I could have felt so tired. A series of hesitant knocks on the open door had woken me. A rather handsome young man stood shyly at the door; dressed, I presumed, as a waiter. As my mind roused itself from slumber I noticed with some embarrassment that I had been sleeping with my right hand pressed tightly between my legs and my left arm across my chest, my left hand pressed against my right breast. I had taken to holding myself in such a manner as if to give myself some form of comfort and warmth. Pretending not to notice my intimate situation, my new acquaintance escorted me to meet the lord of the manor: Mister William Burroughs.

Mister Burroughs sat behind a very large, very flat dark wooden table when I entered. The first thing I noticed about him was his well groomed grey beard. Accustomed to grey, nicotine-stained facial hair as I was; I was amazed to discover Mister Burroughs’ beard to be quite an attractive feature. He had black hair that was thinning, and wore fitted black suit that showed an impressive physique for his age. A red tie adorned by a gold tie pin decorated his immaculate, fitted black suit. His eyes were of a deep brown that I found difficult to hold contact with. I found myself looking at the floor as he spoke to me.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Trudi. You have come a long way, it seems.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant I had come a long distance, or if he recognized my journey from one world into another. I found it difficult to do anything but murmur my acknowledgement of his welcome.

“No need to be shy, Trudi, you’ll soon feel part of the family here.”

With that, he rang a small bell that had remained obscure among the papers and books laid out on his desk. Within moments Florence arrived. She smiled at me as she entered the room and I felt at home once again.

Despite Mister Burroughs lack of conversation, I felt a warmth towards him. He seemed a genuine man, with no malice. In fact I am sure that somewhere in the depth of those eyes lay a humour that would be quite engaging.

Florence smiled at me often as she brought me on a tour of the building. She seemed equally as delighted to make my acquaintance as I was hers.

“Did you really come all the way from Liverpool?” she asked, her eyes wide as if in disbelief.

“I’ve never been outside of Surrey. I had to come here when I was young to help my family pay off some debts. My mother.. Well I am a talker! I won’t bore you with my prattle.” She giggled.

“No, not at all. Please, tell me more.”

But there was no time for more. We had arrived at the kitchen, where Margaret was waiting.

“Hello girls.” She seemed in good form.

“And how are you today? Ready to work hard and earn your keep?” she asked in a mysterious tone.

I couldn’t tell if she was being jocular or if something darker lay behind her words.

“Now, Miss Styles – if you would undress, I believe we have a new uniform for you.”

She held across her outstretched arm a black skirt, a white blouse and a white hat and apron. I looked around to see where it was I was to undress, but neither Margaret nor Florence gave any indication of where I might find any privacy to do so. Somewhat embarrassed, I slowly removed my clothing under Margaret’s watchful gaze. Florence looked at the floor whenever my eyes flickered in her direction, but I could sense her eyes on me whenever I looked away.

The uniform felt starchy and rigid – rough against my skin. It was cumbersome and I fought against the urge to scratch. I didn’t understand why, but it didn’t seem appropriate to allow Margaret any hint of my discomfort.

Without word or hesitation, Margaret scooped up my clothes from the floor and swept across the room to dump them in a large plastic bin beside the window.

“You won’t be needing those anymore.”  She said in a dominant tone.

“What will I have to change into when I finish work?” I asked, confused at this sudden turn of events.

In truth I was already feeling ashamed at the embarrassment I would be caused by the clothes I had hidden at the back of my wardrobe. Though uncomfortable, my new uniform was fresh and new, and the physical discomfort would fade.

Margaret looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. She held me in her scrutiny for seemingly endless moments before she replied.

“Don’t you know, Trudi? Once you enter service in this house, you leave the rest of your life behind. You are now an employee of this estate. That is your only purpose and you will partake of your duties as is determined by your superiors here.”

She paused and turned as if to leave before she paused and spoke to Florence.

“Mister Burroughs is expecting company. Please look after Trudi and see that she understands how to serve afternoon tea.”

And with that, she turned and left.

My uneasiness at such treatment was deterred once again by Florence’s delighted smile.

“Come with me,” she said. “I’ll show you what to do.”

The morning passed quickly as Florence showed me how to prepare the silverware, dress the table and place the cutlery. The dining room was as large and impressive as the rest of the house. At its centre stood the biggest table I had ever seen. It stood surrounded by more than a dozen deep chairs, lined with indigo velvet padding.

I soon forgot Margaret’s strange behavior as Florence talked and talked. She told me almost every detail of her life. Her poor mother had been an alcoholic and her father a gambler. She had three step-sisters who were adults when she was born and had used her as their own maid without any consideration to her being their own family, let alone a human being. Her mother had drank everything she earned and fought constantly with her father, blaming him for gambling away the money she saw as her own for housekeeping. Her step-sisters leeched off their new father whenever he did have money and squandered it on makeup and birth control.

It had been one of her sisters who first found out about the Burroughs’ estate and how a servant at the house might earn money to send back to their troubled family. After a family meeting, they all voted that she be sent to work there. Among the horrid, leering faces that surrounded her, eagerly deciding her fate, Florence was sure that she could see a deep sadness in her father’s eyes.

Florence glanced at the ornamental clock that adorned the main dining room wall and gasped.

“Oh dear. I didn’t realize how much I'd been talking. Quickly, help me with this!” She indicated the glassware which hadn’t been set yet. “They’ll be here soon!”

Just who was to be there so soon I did not know, but taking Florence’s cue I stopped talking and set myself to the task of getting everything ready without any further distraction.

That afternoon there was a commotion at the door and I glanced from the window to see four large black cars arrive in a cloud of dust as they swept across the driveway. Their wheels crunched as the drivers slowed them and came to a halt in front of the house. Without hesitation, each driver leapt from their car and opened the rear doors of their cars to allow their passengers alight.

Four men stepped from the cars. All obviously men of wealth or influence. One, a foreigner of some kind glanced at the window where I stood and seemed to be looking straight into my eyes. With a shock I dropped the curtain I had held in my hand and hurried back to work cleaning the room I had been charged with. Soon Florence spilled into the room with some urgency.

“Quick,” she exclaimed. “They are here!”

It seemed an unnecessary warning when  the buzz of excitement about these new arrivals could be felt all over the house. I vaguely wondered what the atmosphere here had been like prior to my arrival and found that I had assumed it to always be as calm and quiet as it had upon my arrival. This new disturbance was exciting!

Under Florence's guidance I stood alongside her in the hallway. Beside me stood the shy waiter who had brought me from my room to meet Mister Burroughs and on his other side was another young man who I hadn’t met yet.

“He’s Mister Burroughs’ driver.” whispered Florence, as she gave me a quick wink that seemed never to have happened, it had been so fast.

I was curious about that wink and what it might have meant. I studied this newcomer to find some hint of what might be so unusual about him that might cause such interest in Florence, but I could tell nothing from the tall, aloof man who stood within feet of me yet seemed so unaware of my presence.

Margaret soon appeared. She seemed imposing as the doorway framed her voluptuous figure. She smiled at the men as they entered the house, although the smile held no warmth until her eyes met those of the foreigner and then her blue eyes seemed to burn with a cold, yet fierce fire.

The foreigner was sallow skinned. Jet black hair was combed back from his face, which was home to dark, Mediterranean complexion, dark eyes of almost black and a slightly long, tapered nose above a shrewd looking mouth. More of a contrast between two people as existed between Margaret and this man seemed impossible.

Florence glanced at me and with a slight nod of her head, turned and started towards the dining room. Taking this to be my prompt, I followed her. Having seated the men, with Mister Burroughs joining them at the head of the table, we began to bring warm plates of steaming food from the kitchen. Mister Hackey, the chef, had put in a special effort today explained Florence as she introduced me to Laurence. I barely had time to say hello when Florence began urging me to take the chef’s creations to the men and see that they were kept happy during their meal.

Once the meal had been consumed and the men sat back in their chairs, Mister Burroughs called for Brandy and ashtrays. He and Mister Hackey labored over the lighting of two large cigars while Florence poured the drinks. There was a pause in the conversation and as the men became introverted in their drinks and shifted in their seats until comfortable, Mister Burroughs ordered that we leave. Margaret left the room, a smile forming on her lips, and as I followed with Florence in my wake, I overheard her name being called.

“Not you, Florence,” called Mister Burroughs, “you may remain.”

I didn't dare look back, but left and did as Margaret bade me for the rest of the day – all the time curious as to why Florence alone had been called to remain in the dining room and had not been seen since.

Evening came slowly. It had been a long day without my new friend’s companionship and my muscles ached by the time I was allowed retire for the evening. Finding myself alone in my room, with no diversion, I gazed out the window at the garden as the evening sun set red upon it’s green. It’s color made me forget everything about the day and I suddenly felt at ease again. I lay upon the bed, enjoying the sensation of rest after my labors. Through my sleepiness I heard a knock at the door.

It must be Florence!

I was about to rise and open the door to her – eager to hear what she had been doing all day that kept her from my company – when the door opened and Margaret strode in.

“I’m sorry to startle you,” she said, as she sat on the bedside and smiled at me. There seemed genuine warmth in her smile this time, and I felt my tension disappear.

“How was your first day?” She asked. “I’ll bet you are tired.”

“Yes,” I responded, “but in a good way. It’s so nice to have such a comfortable bed and a room like this to myself. It’s like a dream come true.”

I had just realized that this was indeed like a dream come true. Although my muscles were weary, I had a place of my own to sleep and wash. It was warm and comfortable. And I had made a friend! I had no idea what was to become of me in the future, but right at that moment I knew, finally, what it might mean to be happy.

“Well, Trudi, let me help you get comfortable for the evening.”

And with that, Margaret leaned, reached behind my back and began to open the clasps that held my uniform to me. It seemed so natural that I didn’t question her actions, until suddenly I felt embarrassed. As she leaned forward I caught a hint of her perfume once more and I recalled my first impression of her at the train station. Her large breasts, barely restrained by her clothing. Clothing that she had obviously chosen to show off her curvaceous body.

I felt a strange tingling at the thought and became aware that Margaret had stopped and was smiling at me again.

“It’s good to unwind after such a long day.” She purred as she stretched back against the pillows and arched her back, her arms stretched above her head. Her breasts fell upward as she did so and the roundness of her cleavage drew my eyes. She caught me looking.

“Do you like them?” Margaret asked, almost coyly.

Blood flushed to my face and I said nothing.

“I’m quite proud of my tits,” continued Margaret. “They give me a lot of pleasure.”

She moved one hand to her chest and began to squeeze the area around one of her nipples. I could see it stiffen under her shirt.

“Here, see how stiff my nipples get.”

She took my hand and I let her. I didn’t know what else to do and there didn’t seem anything I could. True enough, her nipple was rigid and pushed itself against the palm of my hand. I felt a warmth spread rapidly between my legs, and my breath caught in my chest.

Margaret pulled her blouse open and looked at me before indicating her other breast with a nod of her head. I placed my hand there and felt her other nipple spring up to meet it. This was a new experience and I didn’t have any idea what to do.

“Do you like your tits played with?” She asked.

I didn’t respond. Taking my silence as admission, Margaret’s hands fell hungrily on me and I responded as she had. My nipples swelled and became sensitive. Margaret eased her hands beneath my uniform and began to knead my breasts, grasping my nipples from time to time and tweaking them. Subconsciously I mimicked her and attended to her huge, pendulous boobs.

They hung heavy in my hands as I played with her nipples. I don’t know the words to describe how I felt, but it was not unpleasant. At length Margaret gently pulled my face to her, and pushed a nipple between my lips.

“Suck my tits, Trudi.” She murmured, her eyes half closed and her breath coming quicker.

She moaned quietly as I sucked on one nipple, my other hand working on the other. She moved one hand beneath her skirt and worked her hand between her legs as I sucked, my nostrils filled with a different scent than the one from her perfume. Soon she gave a small cry and relaxed against me.

There was silence in the room. Neither of us spoke for a few more minutes before Margaret stood, and rearranging her clothing she left my room without a backward glance.

I had many questions circling my mind that night and sleep came only fitfully. I longed to speak with Florence and find out more about this place, yet I was reluctant to mention what had happened with Margaret.

Morning came upon me suddenly. I was woken by a knock at the door and I heard Florence call my name. Hearing my friend’s voice, I leaped from my bed and dressed quickly so as to join her. But her mood was different than it had been the day before and I found it difficult to enter her into any conversation. We made our way to the dining room where Margaret had bidden us. She was waiting when we arrived.

As we entered the room, Margaret moved behind us and closed the door. There was something different about the room, but it was hard to see as the curtains had remained drawn and the it was in near darkness. I could just make out the shape of the table and chairs which I recognized from dinner the day before. Once again my curiosity returned and I wondered what had happened Florence after she had been told to stay back with the men who had visited.

“Today, Trudi, I am going to teach you a lesson in discipline,” began Margaret. As my eyes became used to the gloom I noticed that she held a cane in her hand. “Stand against the table, Florence,” she commanded.

Hesitating briefly, Florence moved towards the table. She stopped as she approached it and leaned forward, her hands palm down on the wooden surface, her back arched.

“Yesterday afternoon,” continued Margaret, “Florence was given the chance to maintain this house’s reputation among society. However, she chose to let us down.”

Despite my confusion I watched as Margaret lifted Florence’s short dress and ripped the dainty white panties she had been wearing so that we could see her bum. Margaret grasped one cheek of Florence’s bum in her hand for a few moments. Breathing heavily, she pushed her fingers further between Florence’s legs much as she had between her own the night before. Eventually she withdrew. I couldn’t think straight. The sight of Florence, exposed as she was, made me feel strange unidentifiable things. My senses were in a tumult, my body hot and I noticed I was involuntarily holding my breath. I breathed out only to hear my own sharp intake of breath as with a suddenness that caught me off guard, Margaret had raised the cane and brought it whipping down on Florence’s backside. Florence stifled a yell.

Again and again, the cane rose and fell. Each time elicited a muffled cry. After five or six canings, Margaret stopped, apparently satisfied. She reached down to the remains of Florence’s knickers and with a fierce tug, pulled their remains from Florence’s body.

“You will spend the day without these,” she leered.

As she pulled the heavy door open and light spilled into the room I could see Florence’s reddened face. She kept her eyes held downward as we worked for the rest of the day.

The next few days passed without incident. I was so tired by the end of each day that I lay on my bed in the evening and enjoyed the ever increasing warmth of the sun on my face as spring left and summer came to take its place. It was a pleasant sensation; lying on my bed and drifting off to sleep amidst strange yet intriguing half dreams.

One day, I passed close to Mister Burroughs’ study door and overheard a whimper, as if someone were in pain. Curious, I drew closer and put my ear to the door. There was no sound for a few moments, but as I was about to take my leave I heard it again; a low whimper – coming from behind the door. Careful not to make any sound, I held my breath as I opened the door slowly and silently.

I almost gave myself away when I let out a gasp at the sight that awaited me. With their backs to me stood Margaret and Mister Burroughs – she bent forward over the low table, her hands placed flat on its surface, her skirt above her waist, her knickers around one ankle. Behind her stood Mister Burroughs; his hands grasping her by the waist as he pulled her back towards himself, simultaneously thrusting forward and into her. With every forward thrust, Margaret whimpered again. I watched, fascinated as Margaret was fucked against the table. The only sounds apart from her whimpers were the quiet slap of Mister Burroughs against her rump.

Suddenly he sped up and then pulled his cock from her pussy. Knowing what was expected of her, Margaret turned and dropped to her knees. Quickly, she grasped the hard length of his shaft in her hand and swallowed the head of his rigid cock into her mouth. She sucked greedily on it for a moment and then, as it began to twitch in her hand, she withdrew it from her mouth and turned her face upward so that Mister Burroughs could enjoy the view of his cum spurt over her lips and into her mouth.

With obvious enjoyment, Margaret held eye contact with the man who had just fucked her, as she licked his cum from her full, evocative lips.

Suddenly Margaret turned and looked straight at me!

I froze where I stood. Then it was Florence’s face looking at me, winking at me, as she licked cum from her face.

I woke suddenly, a strange warm wetness between my legs. Florence was calling me through the door. Alarmed, I jumped from my bed and dressed before joining her. She seemed in much higher spirits than of late and it was good to see her back to herself.

That afternoon Mister Burroughs sent for me. As I entered his office I found it difficult to keep my eyes from his desk, and as he spoke I found myself blushing. I was required to go into town and help secure provisions for the household. My companion was to be the young man I had seen previously who had so blatantly ignored me. I found out his name was James and that he was the catering assistant.

During the trip into town I held an aloof silence, determined to ignore James the way he had ignored me. My ploy counted for nothing though, as James seemed perfectly content to keep his own silence. His first, gruff words to me were only to indicate how I might shoulder a bag of salt and carry it to the car.

Upon our return journey I was surprised to find James address me in something of a friendly manner.

“Settled in yet, have you?” He inquired innocently, as if his previous silence was the most natural thing in the world.

At a loss for words I muttered something about having a nice room. James seemed to take that as conversation enough, and seemed happy to spend the rest of the trip home in silence. As we pulled up to the house and I stood by the car to help James unload the groceries, I glanced at the windows of the house that towered over me. It was almost as if the house had some kind of life of its own. It felt both eerie and protective at once. Just then a movement in one of the windows caught my eye and I looked again. There was nothing. No movement, no matter how I sought to find the source of my distraction.

As I helped James with the provisions, the young commis chef, Trent, appeared. He spoke gaily as he approached us.

“Hullo, had a nice trip into town?”

“Yes, thank you,” I found myself gushing at him. ‘Very nice, thank you.’

This last drew a look from James.

“We have everything you need for the week now, I think.”

Trent seemed pleased at my response and helped me carry the groceries into the kitchen while James sought out Margaret to go through the bill with her. Left alone with Trent, I found myself laughing at his jokes and enjoying the company of someone who seemed so simple and easy to be with. It was much alike my friendship with Florence, only with less mystery. As I was about to leave however, Trent grabbed me by my arms and forced a kiss on me before I could respond.

At first I resisted, his tongue pushing insistently into my mouth as I tried to push his hands away, but I could not. His masculine scent overpowered me and I could feel his prick harden against my thigh as he held my wrists together with one hand and used the other to squeeze my breasts – first one and then the other. My nipples stiffened the way they had at Margaret’s touch and I could feel once again the warmth between my legs that had been so pleasurable when last I had felt it.

I ceased to struggle, and stood silent as I allowed Trent to unbutton my blouse with trembling fingers. He dropped his head and began to frantically suck my nipples, murmuring how great my big tits were. I felt his hand then, between my legs, and closed my eyes to savor the pleasure. I didn’t know what was happening, drowning in waves of pleasure as I was, but the next thing I knew – I could feel his bare hand rubbing my pussy lips. I opened my eyes to see that he had opened his own trousers and left them hanging over his knees. He was stroking his cock in one hand while rubbing my wet slit with the other.

His cock was immensely long and stood rigid as he pumped it, his eyes glued fast to my tits. Curious, I reached out and grasped his cock and watched as his eyes closed and his back arched. His cock was getting harder in my hand as I imitated the way I had seen him wank himself. While he pawed at my breasts with one hand, he inserted a finger with the other. I could feel my pussy begin to drip onto his hand as he inserted a second finger and started to fuck me with them.

I thought of the dream I had the previous week, and spurred by further curiosity, I dropped to my knees. Steven opened his eyes momentarily to see what I was doing and then smiled as he watched me run my tongue along the hard shaft of his prick. I licked his balls and coated his perfect cock in saliva, wetting it and pumping it with my hand as I did so. As I licked higher I could feel his body tense and I wrapped my lips around the cock head, taking it into my mouth as if it were an ice cream I was joyously sucking on a hot summer’s day.

His cock smelled musky and it was hot and hard in my mouth. I took his balls in one hand and played with them, taking my time to enjoy these new sensations as I licked, then sucked. This cock felt so good I rubbed it over my face, savoring it’s skin as I rubbed it against my own.

Before long, Trent shuddered. His cock twitched and I felt a gush of hot, sticky cum across my face. I used a finger to collect it and making sure to keep eye contact with him, I licked his thick, gooey cum from my finger and swallowed it.

James’s footsteps on the gravel outside announced his approach and I was suddenly aware of my surroundings. Hurriedly, I buttoned up my blouse and pulled my knickers up, fleeing the kitchen before my slutiness could be discovered.

I found Florence wandering the house looking for me. She had seen me from the window and come looking for me. It didn’t take her long to reveal her crush on James and she wasted no time in asking if he had mentioned her at all during the run for provisions. She was disappointed when I made mention of his silence and I was unsure of how to best placate her.

“Can I ask you something?” I ventured.

Florence stopped in her tracks and looked eagerly to me. But I became too shy then, to ask about Trent. And maybe it was better I did not know. I wasn’t sure how to feel about the situations that presented themselves to me in this house and for the moment I decided to remain secretive about them.

“Why were you so quiet for the last couple of days?” I asked, in a moment of inspiration.

It was Florence’s turn to become shy. I had overstepped my boundaries, I could tell. But then she broke her silence.

“I was just tired. Some of the... tasks, here can be very tiring. You will see for yourself tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? What is happening tomorrow?” My curiosity was aroused now.

“We shall have visitors again tomorrow and Mister Burroughs says I am to enlist your help in service.”

“Well, I did help the last time…” I began, sure that Florence meant to dismiss my efforts at laying the table. But she continued.

“No, you will have greater demands made of you than laying just the table.”

She would say no more than that and so it seemed I would have to wait to see for myself what the next day had in store for me. There was a curious atmosphere about the house for the rest of the day. Margaret seemed somewhat tense and I began to wonder about Mister Burroughs, who seldom left his study. There didn’t seem to be a Mrs. Burroughs, or none that anyone mentioned, and I began to wonder how lonely it must be to live here among so many servants but no equals. Unless Margaret was to be counted as such. She did have the demeanor of one who was set above the rest of the household.

Every effort was to be made that day to clean the house and by the evening I was very tired. I had cleaned and polished all the silverware, dusted the dining room entirely and washed my spare uniform. Then Margaret stood over me as I scrubbed down the steps and cleaned the ground floor windows. I daren’t stop working while she was in such a tense mood.

That evening, as I lay on my bed, I was almost too tired to enjoy the view from the window that had kept me in such good company since I had arrived at the house. My mind wandered and I began to think about Trent. His masculine scent still seemed real to me, as if he were there beside me. Now that I had time to myself I began to think about his cock and I found my hand reaching between my legs without any decision on my behalf. But I was to be interrupted in my thoughts.

Margaret came to my room again that evening. Her manner was just as tense as it had been all day. Without preamble she grabbed my hand and pushed it beneath her skirt,

between her legs. She was bereft of underwear.

“Finger me,” she breathed.

Her eyes were glazed and distant as I obeyed, her hand firmly gripping my shoulder as her body shook. Her pussy was wet and my fingers slipped easily inside it, the smell of her juices filled my senses, to replace the imaginary scent of a few moments previous. I had to take hold of her ass with my other hand to steady my rhythm and as I did so she gasped. With one hand she lifted her blouse, exposing those monstrous breasts.

“Suck my tits,” she ordered.

I took one of her engorged nipples in my mouth and sucked. As I did so I began to feel a heat course through my own pussy and I moaned as Margaret ran her hands across my breasts.

“Lick my cunt.”

I was too delirious with pleasure to take offence at the word. In fact I was enthralled by the wickedness of it. But Margaret stopped suddenly and withdrew from me.

“No. That’s all for now. You have a busy day ahead tomorrow. Go to sleep.”

With that, she was gone, as quickly as she had appeared. My curiosity was now fully engaged and it was all I could do to get asleep that night. Eventually, I succumbed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next day I woke before Florence’s call. For a few moments I forgot where I was, and lay curiously listening to the birdsong from outside my window. Summer was in full swing and the sunshine that lit the room also warmed my spirits. I did not linger long in bed and rushed to dress so that I could begin the day.

I found Florence on her way to call for me and she was radiant. She chattered incessantly; just as when we had first met.

“You’ll enjoy work today!” she exclaimed as she winked at me.

Before I could find out more, we were met in the corridor by Margaret. She seemed more at ease with herself than she had the previous day and I wondered idly who else she may have enlisted to help ease her desires after she had taken her leave of me.

Shortly after breakfast had been served and the washing up done, Mr. Burroughs called for me. This was the big secret, I was sure. But soon I discovered otherwise. As I entered his study, Mr. Burroughs’ deep eyes looked up from his work and straight to mine.

“Good morning, Trudi. I do trust you slept well last night, without too much interruption…”

I wondered if he knew about Margaret’s visits and turned a blind eye.

“Yes, Mr. Burroughs.” I responded quickly. In truth my spirits were high today.

“Good. We will be having visitors today and I want you to assist Florence in looking after them. I hope I can count on you to do as required without fuss.”

I had no idea what he meant but I acquiesced.

“Yes Mr. Burroughs. I will do everything expected of me.”

“Good girl. I think you will fit in here quite nicely. Everything going okay for you so far?” he asked, kindly.

“Yes sir. Everything is... wonderful.” I couldn’t help but smile.

“Good. Good. Well hurry along and give Florence a hand with preparations. You may take a short break when the dining room is set for lunch. Make sure to get some rest.”

I thanked him and left. My anticipation was reaching its peak now and I hurried to find Florence. We chatted over preparations but both silently agreed not to discuss the afternoon ahead. Neither did Florence mention anything about James – though she seemed so enthralled by him before.

Having finished setting the table, Florence and I were given leave to rest for an hour. I lay on my bed and examined the room in which I slept. Once again I saw it through the eyes of a newcomer and pleased myself with fantasies of belonging in such a room, in such a house.

I must have dozed then, because I awoke to another commotion. The house was alive with business. I was ushered towards the door and stood beside Florence once again as four cars drew up to the door. I waited to see the foreigner – Italian I had surmised – but was disappointed. I didn’t recognize any of these men at all. They were granted every courtesy possible, and again Margaret led them to meet with Mr. Burroughs in the dining room.

The men fed with gusto. Their appetites seemed large for all the pleasures of the feast before them. Yet none of them were at all brusque towards us as we served them. The chef had prepared lamb with potatoes and fresh country vegetables and chosen a fine red wine from the cellar. He had chosen well, as the men duly complimented his choices. Chef was called for to be thanked in person.

Shortly after the dishes had been cleared, Mr. Burroughs indicated that Margaret and the chef should leave and that Florence and I were to stay.

When they had left, there seemed to be a slight tension in the room. A quiet – as if the calm before a storm. A moment of anticipation, and again I noticed these men glance towards each other much as the others had before.

Mister Burroughs broke the silence.

“Florence, if you could be so kind as to look after Mr. Smith? And Alice, you go and watch closely.”

Florence moved to Mr. Smith’s side and my heart pounded in my chest at what happened next.

Casually, as if it were the most natural thing to do in the world, Mr. Smith placed a hand on Florence’s backside. He went about making conversation with her as if nothing out of the usual was happening.

I could not focus on what they discussed as my mind raced. Shortly, I noticed Florence undo her uniform and lower it to expose her breasts. Mr. Smith, a large man, drew her closer towards him and lowered his mouth to lick her nipples. Her uniform must have been tighter than I had thought, as Florence surprised me in the generosity of her bosoms. I looked around the room, not knowing what to expect, and found the other three men watching in silence.

Florence unzipped Mr. Smith’s trousers and drew from them an enormous cock. It was bigger than anything I had ever imagined and it seemed to throb in her hands. Slowly, Florence wanked it while he continued to suck fervently on her tits.

Then Smith grasped his cock in his hand and ordered Florence to turn around.

“Bend down and show me your asshole,” he ordered.

Without comment Florence turned and with a quick wink to me, bent forward and held her ankles. The cheeks of her ass spread open and both myself and Mr. Smith were treated to the view of Florence’s asshole and pussy. Without hesitation, Smith began to lick her bum, slowly, sensuously. Then he dipped his tongue into her hole and began to fuck her asshole with it. I could hear Florence begin to murmur.

Smith began to finger her pussy as he continued to tongue her ass, and as if a spell had been broken, the other men began to move. The nearest--I did not know their names apart from Mr. Smith--turned his chair so that his crotch was level with Florence’s face. He pulled his own prick from his trousers and began to stroke it. Florence took the stiffening cock in her mouth and sucked on it hungrily. It wasn’t very big but that seemed to please both of them immensely, as she was able to take its entire length into her mouth.

“Come over here, honey,” the man spoke to me.

I moved closer to him and as I did so told me to strip. Without question , I obeyed. The man began to fondle my tits.

“Play with my balls while she sucks my cock.”

I grasped his heavy balls in my hand and began to massage them while Florence gulped on his rigid prick. Smith had finished with her ass now and I glanced over to see that he had thrust his cock into Florence and was gently screwing her as she sucked this other cock.

The other two men stood and circled to stand beside us. Each unzipped his pants and drew out hardened pricks that they began to wank as they watched us.

“I think you’ve had her long enough,” said one, as he drew me away and indicated I should get on my knees. I did so and as I did I knew what I was to do. Grasping a cock in each hand, I could feel the heat from them, the stiffness of their rigid flesh in my hands. I moved my hands up and down, stroking each simultaneously, wanking them slowly so as not to hurry their orgasms. Then, as I did so, I took one in my mouth and sucked it’s delicious flesh, my warm, wet tongue delighting in the masculine taste. I took turns sucking one dick and then the other, making sure to keep wanking one while I sucked the other.

The two men had begun playing with my tits as I did so and the sensations were setting my pussy on fire. As much as I was enjoying having two lovely hard cocks to suck, I wanted one inside me. They seemed to sense my desperation to be fucked hard and I was turned so that one could ease himself into me while I continued to suck the other.

I looked over to Florence briefly to find that she was now sucking on Mr. Smith’s dick while the other man had managed to slide his dick into her ass. Her asshole clenched tight around his cock and he gently but rhythmically fucked her ass. Her murmurs of pleasure were becoming more and more insistent and they in turn were having their own effect on me.

I remembered that Mr. Burroughs had been in the room! Oh god, what would he think?

I looked to find him and there he stood at the head of the table, smiling at me. I gazed into his eyes, unabashed now, as I sucked his colleague’s cock while his other colleague began to pummel me from behind, his balls swinging and banging against my pussy where my clit was burning with heat.

I was lost to passion and only vaguely remember at some point when the men swapped places and then again. I was presented with erect penis after erect penis, each for me to satisfy. My own needs were growing though, and they were becoming hard to ignore. It took Mr. Smith’s huge prick to tip me over the edge. It stretched my pussy lips wide as he slid it gradually into me and I lay on my back as he began to fuck me with increasing vigor. My tits bounced as I slid up and down the polished table, each thrust of hard cock bringing me closer to the relief I both desperately craved and feared would arrive too soon.

As the new girl I must have been the novelty. The other two men withdrew their cocks from Florence’s pretty lips and cunt and stood over me. The three men, balls bouncing and jiggling as they wanked themselves over my face and tits, stood watching excitedly as Smith fucked me harder and harder. My pussy juices were dripping on the table and I was close to screaming in pleasure. Smith’s cock twitched within me and I felt myself release a warm flood that engulfed it.

As he withdrew, the other men, having watched the show in its entirety, unleashed spasms of thick, hot sticky cum over my face and tits. Florence licked the cum from my tits as I lapped up what was on my face.

“Thank you girls, that will be all for today.” Mr. Burroughs smiled warmly at us and we took our leave.

I could hardly walk and as we made our way down the corridor, Florence put her arm around my waist. We looked at each other and suddenly laughed!

That evening I slept soundly, Florence entwined in my arms, both of us semi-dressed. We had been too tired to take our clothes off completely and having established some sort of bond that afternoon, we had chatted for hours before falling asleep together on my bed.


Things passed quit normally for a few weeks. If you can call it normal. I don’t know, but I was enjoying life at the house. My uniform didn’t scratch at my skin any more. I had become very comfortable in it. Mister Burroughs even suggested I wear some pretty white stockings and suspenders beneath my skirt on days when we had special visitors.

Trent and I became closer and closer as the summer matured. Often we went for long walks in the garden. It was so vast, we became lost within our own world of straw fights, buzzing bees and languorous naps beneath the apple trees by the river.

I hadn’t even noticed the river when I arrived. It was shielded from view by the trees. According to Trent, that was where the staff went to unwind during the warmer months.

“Oh, really,” I said, “and what do you mean by ‘unwind?’” I feigned an innocence I no longer felt. Strangely, Trent seemed awkward around discussing sex, but his growing erection told me enough.

I decided to tease him and make him wait, watch him squirm - but the noise from the house was so loud it broke through into our private world and caused us to sit up and look.

Unnoticed by us, a black car had drawn up outside the house. It was obviously the Italian man who had been there before, but he seemed angry. He was slamming his fist against the big polished wooden red door, pausing only to walk to the nearest window to shout in vain for Mister Burroughs’ attention.

“Quick,” said Trent, “we’d better get up to the house.”

We leapt to our feet and ran toward the house. My heart beat wildly in my chest as we approached. It wasn’t all because of the run - this Italian man fascinated me. He was strong, muscular - sinewy - and I had caught a glimpse of a tattoo beneath the cuff of one of his shirts. I wanted to see more.

As we approached, the door flew open and Mister Burroughs seemed to burst from the house, closely followed by Margaret, who seemed flushed even for the small run she would have had to get to the door. She seemed surprised by the Italian man’s presence, yet Mister Burroughs didn’t seem to think it out of place.

We couldn’t hear their initial interaction, but things became clearer as we drew closer.

“...committee decision,” Italian man was saying.

“I’ve already given you my answer, and it’s ‘no’” said Mister Burroughs. “Not with this one. You’ve been getting greedy lately and it’ll attract attention.”

It was then I notice Italian man’s shirt sleeves had been rolled up in the heat, and I could see the tattoos that had piqued my curiosity. Both were a deep black in color: an octopus and a scorpion. The scorpion’s tail was up as if it was about to attack.

Before I could give it another thought, Margaret’s voice broke through the argument.

“You two! Where have you been? Get inside and wait for us in the study.”

My cheeks colored as I blushed, and I walked awkwardly past the three at the door, Trent hurried along by my side. The Italian glared at me as I passed, some unspoken resentment in his eyes.

“Not so fast,” he said. “Send her to the dining room.”

Mister Burroughs hesitated briefly, but nodded and turned to me.

“Do as he says, Trudi. Thank you.”

There was something new in this relationship between the two men, and Margaret’s uncomfortable look didn’t inspire comforting thoughts.

Trent and I glanced at each other as I turned down the corridor and then I was alone in the dining room.

Who was this Italian man? And what hold did he have over Mister Burroughs? And what had Mister Burroughs meant: “You’re getting greedy?” Was there more going on here than I had thought?

What had I thought? I had closed my mind to what was going on at the house for so long. It hadn’t mattered to me why we were there or how anyone arrived. I had friends, a nice uniform, a lot of comfort, and a sense of belonging for the first time in my otherwise miserable life. I suppose I hadn’t wanted to know, to look too closely at the bubble in which I lived, in case I started noticing cracks.

Footsteps rounded the corner outside the door and without hesitation Italian man opened the door. Just as quickly, he closed it behind him and approached me.

His breath was coming hard and fast through his nose, and his eyes glared at me with a fury.

“Undress,” he seethed.

My fingers started to tremble as I unbuttoned my blouse. I dropped it to the floor and began to unzip my skirt.

“You can leave the head piece on and those stockings and suspenders,” Italian man muttered gruffly.

Feeling more naked than I had ever felt before I waited for his next command. He looked me over, his prying eyes taking in every inch of my bare flesh and I could see a twitch behind the fabric of his trousers. The bulge was growing and the size of what seemed to lie beneath almost caused my jaw to drop.

“On your knees.”

I obeyed, dropping to my knees as he unbuckled his belt, allowing his trousers to fall. Silk boxer shorts tried vainly to calm his erection, but to no avail. He slid them off and I was faced with his enormous cock. I knew what I was to do and set about licking it as he unbuttoned his shirt. As his clothes began to fall away I could see his body was strong, muscular and sinewy. He had the aura of a warrior. And his chest and arms held more tattoos. The octopus and scorpion were part of a theme. A large octopus spread across his chest and more scorpions bit into his arm.

He grabbed my hair and without a thought for my comfort, began to force his cock down my throat. I gagged and spat and he withdrew long enough to allow me a very short breath before fucking my mouth again and again.

His hard shaft was becoming more engorged as I deep throated him and I knew it wouldn’t be long before he would cum down my throat.

But he stopped as suddenly as he had started and ordered me back on my feet.

“Bend over,” he ordered, indicating that I should do so over the polished mahogany table.

I felt his hands grasp the cheeks of my ass and open them. I knew he was inspecting the most private parts of my body and I was proven correct when I heard - and felt - him spit on my bum, followed by his fingers rubbing the spittle into my asshole. His breathing was coming heavier than before and he continued to push a finger inside my bum while the other felt for my tits.

My dark brown nipples shot to attention at his touch and I felt a spasm through my back as I surrendered to him. I wanted him to stop playing with me and fuck me into total submission. I wanted that cock inside me. I wanted to dig my fingers into his ass while he drove that big prick into me for all he was worth.

But still he took his time. He noticed my arousal and smiled.

Without a word he pushed the head of his rigid prick against my anus and it loosened for him. I felt the length of his shaft steadily inch its way inside me until with a grunt he began to rhythmically pump it in and out. Each motion tugged at the ring of my anus and drove another spasm of pleasure through me.

I reached between my legs and flicked my fingers over my moistened clit while he used my ass for his pleasure.

I tried to hang on to this incredible feeling, to exist only in this moment of this world, in which I was a wanton lust-filled crazy woman. But too soon, I came with wave after wave of hot lust, each ebbing and flowing over the last. Each wave caused my buttocks to quiver uncontrollably and it was too much for him to take. I felt his cock quiver and spasm as he shot his heavy load deep into me.

I thought he had finished, but he hadn’t. He grabbed me and spun me from the table, back onto my knees.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered again.

As I did so, he stroked his cock, cum still ejaculating, and spraying hot and sticky into my mouth and over my face. I licked the last of it from the tip of his prick and then he was done with me.

“Go now,” he said.

I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed my uniform from the floor and almost ran to my room. Florence was waiting for me. Her red eyes and streaked mascara told me she had been crying.

“What-” I got no further.

“I have to go,” Florence interrupted. “I knew it was going to be my time soon. I just didn’t think it would actually happen.”

She threw her arms around me and the wetness of her tears mingled with the cum on my cheeks.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” she sobbed, her chest heaving and pressing against mine and our hair tangling together.

Tears came to me, unbidden. I didn’t know what was happening, but I did know I was scared.

Florence disentangled herself from me. With a quick kiss on my lips she disappeared. Only afterwards did I recollect her timid “goodbye,” spoken with such sadness that it left me motionless and numb.


The days passed in sadness after Florence had come to say goodbye. I had no idea where she was, or with who. It was just another mystery that surrounded the house. I knew the Italian man had to be involved. I was certain of it.

Nobody uttered a word about her absence. Trent, James, Margaret, none of the occasional staff. It was as if she had never existed. It scared me, because for some reason I felt that she had taken my place somewhere. I often thought back to the argument between Mister Burroughs and the Italian.

“Not with this one…”

Had he saved me from an unwanted fate, only to throw a different prey to it?

Maybe to try to cheer me up, Mister Burroughs sent me into town with James for supplies. Summer was almost over and the thoughts of autumn’s deathly grip on our environment caused my heart to be heavy.

Trent had begun to keep his distance from me since Florence’s disappearance and I had become closer to James, whose quiet nature hid a warm and lively wit.

Driving through the country lanes en route to the market, I felt at last as if I could put words to my feelings.

“Will you tell me what you know about Florence?” I asked James.

His silence seemed to betray a conflicting desire to speak yet say nothing if he could avoid it.

“There are things I can’t talk about, Trude. You know that.”

“How do I know that? You never told me. No one ever tells me anything!” I was annoyed.

But James refused to enter into any meaningful conversation throughout our trip and it soon became evident I would learn nothing from him. I gave up, and on our way home I leaned into him and hugged his arm as he drove.

I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I was aware of was shouting. I looked blearily for James but couldn’t focus properly. The shouting was coming louder, and there was another sound drowning it out. I felt incredibly hot, and as my vision righted itself I gasped in horror. James was shouting at me to wake up as he ran for the kitchen - the only part of the house that wasn’t burning.

He returned with a pail of water, but seeing how useless it was he dropped it and started shouting, calling out for Mister Burroughs, Margaret, or Trent. But there was no answer except the roar of the fire.


~The End~


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