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Rose is an innocent, a young house-maid in the service of a powerful Lord. And she has no idea of the depravity he has in store for her. His friends are coming to visit. Young noblemen with a taste for fresh meat. And Rose is to be the main course... ~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~ The doorknob was turning, and so I straightened my back, forcing a smile as I awaited the arrival of the guests. Lord Evans was first to enter, holding the door open for four other men, all of whom filtered into the room with odd grins plastered on their faces. I observed them with a keen eye, trying my best to seem polite and demure in front of them. Lord Evans shut the door behind himself, turning to me and staring down at me. The sudden attention was a little concerning - I didn't know how to act under such a sharp gaze. I shifted awkwardly, folding my arms over my chest and averting my gaze. This earned a chuckle form one of the men, and I swore I could feel the blood rushing up to my cheeks. "Rose." Lord Evans spoke, voice loud and in stark contrast with the silence of the room. I promptly sprung to attention, spine straight and eyes glued to his own. He grinned, taking a step back and looking towards his guests. "These are my guests." I didn't know how to respond to Lord Evans stating the obvious. I nodded, unsure of what else I was supposed to do - although in that moment it suddenly became clear that Lord Evans meant to introduce these men to me. I knew not why, seeing as women of my social standing weren't necessarily meant to engage in small talk with male aristocrats - but I went with it, knowing that Lord Evans had a plan.
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Using The Maid - Part I
Victorian BDSM EroticaAnna Austin
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Anna Austin
Written by Anna Austin
~~ All characters in this book are 18 or over. ~~
The job had been a true lifesaver for me and my family - to become a maid at such a prestigious location was truly an honor. To be associated with the Evans name, even to the slightest degree, was a true symbol of social status for my family and I. My mother was supportive at all costs, writing me letters of encouragement on what seemed like a weekly basis. My father would send me reminders of home - boiled sweets from the shop near our residence, delicate necklaces and bracelets from his cousin's jewelry studio.
Really, everything was seemingly perfect. Were you to simply put my situation into words, it sounded utterly ideal. And for the most part, it really was ideal. However, the job itself was proving to be a little arduous. I was but a humble maid, and therefore my tasks should be simple, right?
That was what I had thought, but the job had looked much easier on paper. As it turned out, I was not to join the crew of staff that operated from the main Evans residence - no, I was to be the personal maid for Ernest Evans' son. This son - Arthur Evans - was notorious among the townsfolk for being quite pompous. His estate was relatively small in comparison to his father's, but it was still too large of a place for one person to maintain.
However, the pay was too good to pass up, and so I found myself slaving away, day after day, under the watchful eye of Lord Evans. I would dust, sweep, and polish until my feet felt as though they would fall off at a moment's notice. It grew increasingly frustrating, but my family's encouragement urged me to push forward at all costs.
The main reason for my persistent frustration was Lord Evans himself - a gentleman of extreme wealth, he was frivolous in the way that most rich people tended to be. He was not much older than myself, as far as I could tell - perhaps he had a decade or so on me, but he carried himself with a grace beyond his years, and that made me admire him quite a bit.
He also happened to be a very eligible bachelor - though he hadn't settled down with a woman yet, I constantly heard talk of him at his banquets. It seemed as though I wasn't alone in considering him attractive - nearly every woman he came into contact with seemed itching to get closer to him, and with good reason.
He was tall - strikingly so. I had to crane my head backwards just to make eye contact with him. And those eyes - what eyes they were! Grey like a stormy afternoon, framed by thick lashes that gave him an air of great dignity. His eyebrows, sharp and pointed, contrasted nicely with the subtle smoothness of the rest of his features. He truly was good-looking, and I couldn't ignore that.
Despite our class difference, he was always polite towards me, which only fueled my hopeless feelings. My heart sped up around him, my cheeks heated up - it was truly shameful, but I couldn't bring myself to stop thinking of him. I tried not to let it get to me, but my letters home were growing more saccharine by the day as I described my master to my parents.
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