Maid for It (A Maids for It Novella) Read Online Free PDF Page A

its plethora
of weights should have signaled me that my employer would not be a
98-pound weakling, but at the time, I’d imagined it as more for
show, especially after the butler told me Mr. Hardcastle spent most
of his time working.
    Outside the workout room is a long, narrow
swimming pool, the end of which appears to fall into the Pacific
Ocean beyond. I thought before it was for show, too, but now I
suspect Sir has logged many, many miles in that pool.
    When I reach the designated room, Sir brushes
past me and lies on his stomach on a wide bench that’s about waist
high. The muscles of his back, ass, and legs stand out in high
relief as he settles himself.
    “I’ve been tense all day. Give me a
massage.”
    A massage? Once again, I’m flustered by the
unpredictability of his requests. Suddenly, I’m the one who is
impatient. The suspense and anticipation are going to drive me mad.
Does he want to fuck me or doesn’t he? Will he keep me or won’t
he?
    “You can start at the shoulders,” he
suggests, his tone a little terse. He’s giving me a chance to
pretend I’m simply not sure how to begin, but if I don’t start now,
I’ll be in violation of the one rule.
    No hesitation, no questions.
    I stand beside the table and place my hands
on his shoulders. I’ve given massages to friends and family
members, of course, but they were always brief and certainly never
when the person I was massaging was naked and sporting a physique
that literally made me weak in the knees. I knead the muscles
around his neck and shoulder blades uncertainly, not sure how much
pressure to apply—or how much I can apply with my small, not
particularly strong hands.
    “That’s it,” he murmurs in encouragement. “A
little harder.”
    I exert more force, though it isn’t easy for
me, and he groans with obvious pleasure. I like the sound, and so I
continue, working my way down his back to his butt and thighs and
calves. By the time I finish his feet, my hands are cramping up
until they look like claws, and I pull away, assuming I’m done.
    But then with a low rumble of satisfaction,
he rolls over onto his back and says, “Now this side.”
    My eyes widen with horror. I can’t go
on. My hands are aching. I can’t question and I can’t hesitate, but
I can ask for mercy. Except the stony expression on his face
warns me he’s in the mood to brook no arguments, and so I flex my
fingers and begin again, starting from the bottom up this time.
    When I reach his thighs, the pain in my hands
is so intense that tears well in my eyes. I know he sees the tears,
but he doesn’t release me from my torment. Not even when I gaze
longingly at his now fully erect cock and lick my lips in a
desperate attempt to signal my willingness to suck him if only
he’ll let me stop.
    Please, Sir, please. I won’t ask for
mercy. That might be all it takes for him to send me back to
Daniels, and then for Daniels to have me sent back to Mexico. It’s
too great a risk, no matter how much pain I’m in.
    I knead his marbled abdominal muscles, my
tears dropping from my face and onto his skin. He seems utterly
unmoved by my distress until I reach his pectorals, and then he
closes his hands around my wrists.
    “Do you want to suck my cock now, Slut?”
    It’s the first time he’s ever asked me what I want, and I don’t know how to respond. If I say yes, he
may be angry because it means I don’t want to finish the task he
demanded of me. But if I say no, he may be angry because, as his
whore, I should always want to suck him.
    “I want whatever you want, Sir,” I finally
manage to say.
    That makes him smile, and this time, the
smile reaches all the way to his eyes. “What a diplomat you are. I
may keep you yet.”
    Oh God, I hope so.
    He releases my wrists and circles his penis
with one hand, angling the head up toward me. “Take it in that
sweet little mouth of yours. I want it nice and wet before I fuck
you.”
    Wet heat flickers between my thighs.