TO THE MANOR BORN....... A FANTASY

"I'll not be asking you to wash windows or take on any chores that my household staff handles," he explained, already certain that he was going to hire her. The manor was entirely too full of stodgy old servants long past their primes.

"Yes. That sounds fine," Velvet replied. Her large breasts heaved just slightly with her intake of excited breath. She couldn't have been more than 40 years old.

"I'll expect you to maintain my schedule, see to it that my clothes are dry cleaned, and do rather tedious things like reminding me to phone my mum," he said, grinning at her.

"You'll fill in where others' responsibilities end. Are you amenable to those arrangements?"

"Oh, yes, sir." At her enthusiastic nod, the ends of her long auburn hair brushed her shoulders. She uncrossed her long, shapely legs when he got to his feet.

"Then I should like to have you begin tomorrow," he said, extending his hand to her. She took it awkwardly and held it too long.

"Yes, of course!" She curtsied and he smiled to prevent the escape of a delighted laugh. Seconds later, a flash of panic crossed her face and her eyes darkened.

"What is it, dear?"

"I was just wondering about my uniform. Am I to supply my own?"

Again, he stifled his amusement. Did the sweet woman believe she'd be trotting about in a French maid outfit? He checked his naturally quick impulse to answer her, though – if she was ready to wear whatever he supplied, the possibilities could be most entertaining. Alas, the innocence in her gaze squelched his wicked plans as quickly as he concocted them.



"There is no uniform," he advised her gently. "Just wear your professional best."

She blushed and got to her feet. Her five foot five inch stature and curves, more than a little distracting, almost made him forget his manners. He averted his eyes from her healthy set of breasts and led the way to the door of the drawing room.

"Tomorrow, then, Miss Velvet," he said in his most gracious employer voice.

As she walked down the hall behind Angus the butler, he closed the door slowly so as not to miss a single sway of her firm derriere.

His dreams of her began on the eve of her first day of work but they did not impede his ability to maintain a professional distance. In his dreams, she did all manner of sexual bidding, always scantily clad, and always performing her duties to exhaustion. In real life, however, he was the consummate gentleman. Outwardly, that is. Under his trousers, a persistent erection was his constant companion.

On a certain Tuesday, as he prepared himself for the arrival of his masseur, a timid knock sounded at the door of his bedroom. Because he was alone in the room, he answered it himself. He opened the door to the sight of a frightened looking Velvet, who stood bravely in her pale pink sweater set and short black skirt. A billowy pink and white silk scarf adorned her neck.

"I'm so sorry, sir, but your masseur has phoned to report some car trouble. He's waiting for roadside assistance but doesn't believe it will arrive in time for him to honour his appointment with you."

Her complexion, a deeper pink than her sweater, mystified him at first, until he realized that the sight of him in only a towel must surely be discomforting to a sweet, shy woman like Velvet. The hours spent in his private gym culminated in this shining moment – the strong, sturdy slant of his shoulders had never been more important to him than right now. He saw her looking, felt her looking, and ached for her touch. Decorum demanded that he shut the door or don a respectable robe, but he was quite oblivious to its voice at the moment. A tension quivered between him and his assistant that was not at all unpleasant. In fact, speaking would somehow disrupt it, so he waited a few seconds before responding to her message.

"Damn. I was looking forward to my massage today. Would you help me put away the massage table and such?"

They both knew such duties fell under Angus's purview, but they also knew it was not her place to point that out. He stepped aside so she could walk in. Once inside, he closed the bedroom door behind her.

"Have you ever had a professional massage, Miss Velvet?" He had to tread carefully near the topic, but his hopes were high; high enough to inspire him with confidence.

"No, sir," she said, eyes fixed on some apparently fascinating pattern on the Tiger skin rug in front of the hearth.

"I'd like to give you one today. Would you like that?"

Her eyes met his now and in their depths, he read compliance as well as curiosity. Her words caught in her throat and she bit her lip.

"I would like it, sir, but I don't know if I should, it's not really appropriate when I am working."

He loved the sound of his title on her lips. "You should only if you want to. I always want you to be comfortable."

"I'm a bit embarrassed," she said, knitting her brows together as she grinned.

"I cannot imagine why. Your figure is one of the finest I've e'er seen." His accent always got stronger when he was aroused.

"Thank you, sir."

His hard-on threatened to tent the towel at his waist in a downright comical fashion. He didn't want to frighten her with it so he thought desperately of a way to keep her from seeing it. "Would it help if you were blindfolded?"

Relief passed over her pretty face. "Oh, yes. I think that would be very helpful."

He stepped closer to her and unlooped the scarf from her neck. He'd never stood so close to her before and was surprised by the heat that rose up from her body. He tied the scarf around her head, covering her eyes and inhaling the subtle aroma of perfume at the nape of her neck.

He allowed his hands to follow the graceful curve of her back until they reached the feminine indentation at her waist. Then, his palms gravitated forward in search of the glorious swell of breasts that had been the object of his fantasies for days. How warm they were through her pretty sweater and how perfectly round and firm. He let his towel drop to the floor. Though he wanted to push his raging manhood against her, he fought the urge and dedicated himself instead to the process of disrobing her. Cardigan pulled down along her soft but sculpted arms, sweater up and over her head. He wanted to see her in her bra so he walked around to her front with his erection leading the way.

"Oh, Miss Velvet," he said quietly, mesmerized by the soft flesh so tenuously trapped in her lacy white bra. "You are a vision. May I watch you undress yourself?"


"Yes," she whispered and wasted no time in stepping out of her shoes, skirt and panties. She saved her bra for last, as if she knew that what lay inside was the piece de resistance. When she unhooked it and freed her breasts, he bent immediately to kiss them, worship them. Her nipples puffed for him, responding to his gentle licking and sucking by giving him more to play with.

He guided her not to the massage table, but to his four-poster bed, where he warmed some herbal massage oil in his palms before spreading it over the voluptuous expanse of her breasts. He rubbed it sensually into her skin, continuing through the adorable moans and groans that warbled in her throat.

With his hand behind her head, he laid her on the downy softness of his bedspread. The way her hair fell around her head like a dark halo, the way her luscious form so naturally adapted itself to a supine position… the sight prompted him to retrieve several silk scarves from a nearby drawer. One by one, he tied each of her wrists and ankles to its own bedpost. The moment she was fully restrained, he straddled her torso. Then, in one deft manouvre, he pushed her breasts together and inserted himself between them. The visual effect of this position set his mind reeling and his scrotum to tightening.

He had planned to massage every inch of her, to leave no pore untouched. But now, enveloped in the fiery heat of her womanly charms, watching the tip of himself disappear and emerge between her fleshy softness, he wondered how he'd maintain any semblance of self-control. He, with all his experience with women, all the confidence that only money and position can invest in a man, was now completely at the mercy of this sensual, trusting, exquisite woman.

The scent between her legs wafted up to his nose and triggered new desires. Reluctantly, he slid out from between her breasts and walked on his knees down to her thighs. Once there, he parted her legs and gingerly touched his fingers to the source of that delicious aroma, not at all surprised by the lush, juicy sweetness he found there. She did not object when his tongue emulated the movements of his fingers, and traced the swells of her labia, lingering on the hardening clit at the center of it all.

He grew harder as she abandoned herself to his mouth. He heard her clutch the expensive Egyptian cotton and silk comforter, listened as her pleasure worked its way up from somewhere in her tummy, up her ribcage, through her throat and out of her beautiful mouth. He ate her until she screamed and writhed with happiness. He licked her sensitive center until she grunted her need for more than his mouth.

He responded instantly to that need, pushing himself gently into the hot, tight opening she presented to him. A new wave of dizziness consumed him and to his profound joy, his orgasm careered through his body with no warning, working in concert with her grateful, pulsating wetness.

Later, as they lay wantonly on his bed, restraints long dispensed with, he knew he could never again ask her to comply with a request such as the one he'd tendered earlier that day. Yet the thought of never having her again, never seeing her naked fullness, weighed down on him like a debt that had no discernible end. He stroked her hair and she looked at him with a wonderfully sated glow.

"Miss Velvet, I have no choice but to fire you."

Her eyebrows shot up and her colour deepened to that of Merlot. "But, I only did what you asked."

"Yes, and I had no right to ask it. Rather than be my personal assistant, I would like you to be my friend. Will you join me for dinner tomorrow night?”

Velvet nodded with an uncertain sense of possibility and anticipation.

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