The Maid For Service Bundle Read online

  The Maid For Service Bundle

  Maid For Service

  Nadia Nightside

  Published by Nadia Nightside, 2014.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  THE MAID FOR SERVICE BUNDLE

  First edition. September 25, 2014.

  Copyright © 2014 Nadia Nightside.

  Written by Nadia Nightside.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  The Maid For Service Bundle

  Maid Laid Bare

  MAID LAID BARE 2: MILK MAID

  NOW:

  THEN:

  NOW:

  THEN:

  NOW:

  THEN:

  NOW:

  THEN:

  NOW:

  THEN:

  NOW:

  THEN:

  NOW:

  THEN:

  NOW:

  Maid Laid Bare 3: Maid To Obey

  Further Reading: Bimbo is Best

  Also By Nadia Nightside

  About the Author

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  Paid & Laid: The Taboo Heir

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  Maid Laid Bare 3: Maid To Obey

  Jonathan hires a new maid, and winds up with the most obedient and inventive sexual servant anyone could ask for!

  * * * * *

  Author's Note: All Characters Depicted Herein Are 18 years of age or older.

  * * * * *

  Maid Laid Bare

  After weeks of building up lust, his pent-up arousal finally boiled over, and Terrance had decided to take me for his own.

  We were in the study. Strong and proud, he pushed me down onto my knees, my tiny lace outfit ripped apart by his big hands. The swirling tattoos on his ripped, hard arms and chest pulsed. His hands roamed all over my curvaceous body, feeling me up at his leisure.

  The past few months had been too much for my morality. As much I knew I should resist, as much as I understood that I shouldn’t just let him have his way, all I really wanted to do was give in to his lusts and be everything that he wanted me to be.

  All those skimpy, sexy maid outfits I wore. All those hot fishnets and little skirts. The cleavage-baring dresses and the sexy games of lingerie dress-up with the lady of the house—Terrance had watched all of it, and he wasn’t going to be content watching anymore.

  But...but I had to save myself for marriage. I wanted to badly to be a good girl, a proper girl, even though everything about me looked like I was built for fertility and sex. My big breasts, my sexy wide hips, my long blond hair and big blue eyes...he could hardly be blamed for his lust taking him over when I had been teasing him so much.

  “I’m going to give it all to you, good girl,” he grunted, yanking my hair hard.

  My panties were soaked with lust and torn from his rough grasping. But still...I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t resist. Twisting, I slipped out from his grasp and pushed him to the ground. He stumbled down with a groan, banging his knees and head.

  I turned and ran—the door was locked! Scrambling, I yelled and pulled at the door.

  Finally it opened—I was saved! I rushed out, and straight into the arms of Mister Castle himself—the billionaire who owned the entire estate. The billionaire who had hired me as the maid.

  “Oh, thank you!” I was breathing hard, my heavy tits crushed up against his broad chest. “Thank you, thank you!”

  In my relief, I hadn’t noticed that he hadn’t said anything. I hadn’t noticed that he was completely naked, either, his enormously strong body completely ripped and stacked with concrete-like slabs of incredible musculature. And only dimly, after several moments, did I notice that his hands were pushing up my wet thighs and up toward my torn, soaking panties.

  I looked up, terrified...and saw that he was grinning.

  He’s the devil, I thought. The devil himself. I was completely in his grasp.

  And it had me more turned on than I could have ever imagined.

  There was still some resistance left in me, no matter how loud my submissive side cooed and moaned about how perfect and right this was.

  I tried to back away—but I ran directly into Terrance, who pushed me down onto my knees before Castle. The estate owner's enormous manhood was displayed before me. I could feel Terrance growing hard against my behind.

  There was nothing I could do. There was nowhere I could run.

  They were going to take me no matter what I said.

  * * * * *

  My name is Claudette. All my life, all I’ve wanted to do is be a good girl and follow a strict routine, the sort that I could thrive under.

  This would happen, but not in the way I expected.

  I began my employment at the Castle estate on a rainy Monday in March, some many months ago, now. I drove up the long, winding path to the estate in the beat-up, sixteen year-old bronze-colored sedan that my mother had given me as a high-school graduation present. I think originally its paint was blue, but time and hard use had taken its toll. As it pushed up the steep hill toward the Castle estate, the engine coughed and sputtered, hacking out what I feared were its final sounds.

  The rain had made the road slick, and I swerved more than once as I ascended the hill, but finally I made it up and circled into the drive. There was a tall, dark-haired young man in the garage off the drive, waxing a car in the dry safety under the roof. Intricate tattoos sleeved down his arms. He looked to be about my age. At the same time, I felt instantly that he was more mature than me—something about the way I saw men who worked with cars, who had that sort of rugged cast to their frame and face and hair. He had seen more than I had, done more than I had, held a wealth of experience about the world that I did not.

  I saw him, and I felt two things immediately: apprehension and excitement. Someone else my own age to interact with. Someone else my own age to be attracted to.

  My own spirits were high, despite the dreary weather. After a year and a half of cleaning up in hospitals all across the city, I was finally going to have a job where I hoped to expect a little more leisure and a lot more pay.

  Make no mistake: I am happy to work hard, and I understand that paying your dues is part of the system of benefits in the working world. But I was twenty years old, and I had been working my hands to the bone scrubbing out bedpans and dusting underneath hospital beds, as well as cleaning up vomit and blood and worse.

  So, a change of pace like this—where I would be serving as the primary housekeeper for an extraordinarily wealthy, childless couple—did not seem like such a bad alteration to my life. Sure, it wasn’t what I really wanted to be doing; it wasn’t going to the university and chugging away at a liberal arts degree while I figured out what I really wanted to do with my life, but that was okay. It would be money in my pocket.

  Good money.

  Despite its large size and clear beauty—the house was elegantly designed, made from gray brick, with white wood outlines for every window—there was a sense of some gloom to th
e place. I don’t claim any sort of clairvoyance or telepathy, but from this enormous house, I could definitely sense some cloud of foreboding over it. There was an unhappiness there, I just wasn’t sure why.

  I stepped out of my car and waved to the young handsome man attending the car in the garage. He gave me a slight nod and returned to his duties. I waited in the rain, looking at him, waiting to be told what to do.

  “Don’t mind Terrance,” came a booming, masculine voice. “We’re still working on his manners.”

  At the front door of the house, now, was a tall handsome man built like a mountain. He wore a silk white shirt, half-unbuttoned, where I could see the firm lines of his muscular chest and torso. The rain did not seem to bother him.

  “Sir?” I ventured. “Mister Castle?”

  “Yes,” he said. “That’s me. You must be Claudette?”

  I nodded, holding out a hand. His grip was firm, almost encapsulating my entire hand with just his fingers.

  “Wonderful to meet you.” He had a blue, steel-eyed gaze, as firm as his handshake. “We’ve been needing someone here to attend to the estate. I trust you’re ready to work?”

  “Yes, Sir.” I nodded, smiling. “Very happy to do so.”

  “Good.”

  Very quickly, I was introduced to the small staff. Besides Terrance, there was a bushy-haired groundskeeper, Elliot, and an old cook who went by Spoons. Both were busy with their duties when I arrived. Elliot was in a work station behind the garage, attending to the lawnmower, prepping it for work later that afternoon if it heated up enough to dry out the rain-wet grass. Spoons was making some form of stew for supper, deeply involved in his work. His shirt sleeves were pushed up past his elbows, stirring and adding in ingredients, growling in frustration as he had to step away and hurriedly pound or hack at some new fetch of meat.

  They had little to say. That was fine by me. I’ve never been much of a social butterfly, not even back in high school. I always preferred being left alone to do my work. Castle seemed pleased by this, and—though I instantly derided myself for being suspicious—I got the sense that he didn’t want anyone to get along with me in the household. I got the sense that he wanted me to have no one to depend on but himself.

  My mother had warned me about men like Castle. Rich, handsome, offering you the world. My mother had something to say about virtually every sort of man. What this started to mean over time to me, of course, was that really what she was worried about was girls like me.

  I don’t exactly know why. I looked nothing like my mother—who was short, dark-haired, and had dark olive Italian skin. I took more after my father, who was Irish, and ended up taller, busty, somewhat pale, and with long blonde hair that never quite sat right on my head. My suspicion was that once upon a time, my mother had some bad experience with some blond girl giving her hell over a man. So, I grew up under the lens of these dark resentments, told all the ways in which I made men go wild and out of control.

  Sometimes men would hit on me. They would admire my eyes, or my hair, or my smile. I know truly they were looking at my bust—this is what most men looked at when it came to my body. I had big 36D breasts, which at that time I mostly considered a sort of nuisance. Still, they were good for a free drink now and again—but that wasn’t exactly the best trade off for endless stares and probably being the star of a thousand different jerk-off fantasies.

  Not that I ever thought too much about men jerking off their cocks to my body. No. I was much too good a girl to do that—not even while I was hugging my pillows at night, trying to go to sleep.

  After we made the rounds, Castle brought me into his office. It was large, like everything in the estate was large. The walls had big animal heads posted on them in between sections of ancient-looking maps.

  The desk he had was enormous. It was more than four feet deep and twelve feet across. Only a small portion of that was taken up by his effects—a small laptop, pen and paper, an empty coffee mug. The rest was bare cherry wood, polished.

  I sat down across from him, feeling a bit exposed, which is silly in hindsight. I had no idea what exposed was, then, but I would soon enough.

  “Your employment begins today, after this meeting. There is much to be done.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  I tried not to let my disappointment show. It had been a six hour drive to get to the estate from my tiny apartment in the city. I had been hoping for some time to settle myself in my new quarters.

  “Is that a problem?”

  I didn’t say that it was, of course. “No, Sir. Not at all, Sir.”

  “I will expect many things from you, I hope you understand.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He leaned back in his seat, clearly ogling me. I allowed it—what else could I do? He was rich, and powerful, and he owned this entire place. I just wanted him to get it out of his system.

  Mostly. I mean, it's not as though he was unpleasant to look at himself. So, while he ogled me, I ogled him. He was easy to admire...the tight tuck of his torso, the perfect shape of his strong jaw, the size of his hands...

  For a few minutes, he talked at length about the duties of the house—cleaning the different wings, dusting and polishing and vacuuming and scrubbing. There were a few art pieces I was to leave alone, as he had specialists come in and inspect them every quarter to address their specific needs. He listed several such pieces—more than I could remember, in fact—and said that if I had any doubts about whether something was too valuable for me to touch or not that I should simply leave it be. I could easily do that, and the rest of what he asked, and I told him so.

  He leaned forward then, his massive frame pushing down on the desk. “There is something else.”

  “Sir?”

  “I have lost a great many maids over the course of my time. Not many last much beyond two or three months. I am a demanding employer, I suppose.”

  “I understand, Sir.”

  “Possibly it also has to due with my wife, as well. My wife and I...we are both very passionate people.”

  I had almost forgotten about his wife.

  “Will I meet her soon, Sir? Your wife.”

  “She’s out of town at the moment. On one of her little vacations. We had a bit of a conflict recently. As I said, we are passionate. We find it better to sort out our emotions away from each other, otherwise...” he shrugged. “Well. There are a lot of valuables in this house to throw, you understand.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “I expect your discretion in such cases if they occur.”

  “Of course, Sir.”

  “If you find any of these altercations...unsavory, you may leave immediately. Your guaranteed pay is five thousand dollars. But should you decide to stay on for the duration of your contract—that is, at the end of the year, then you shall be awarded an extra fifty thousand dollars.”

  I struggled to stay in my seat. An extra fifty thousand dollars, simply for completing a contract that I had agreed to already?

  “That’s very generous of you, Sir.”

  If he were to offer that much, though...certainly there was something wrong. I wasn’t completely stupid. Something he was doing was illegal, maybe. Perhaps he was some rich super stud serial killer, banding about the countryside and bringing back virgins here to sacrifice, expecting me to clean up the mess.

  Probably I would have run off if I found out that was going on. I don’t know, to be honest. Buried in debt as I was, I was desperate for money and I think I would have done anything at that time to dig myself out of the hole my parents had put me in.

  But, I calmed myself by remembering that this was a brilliantly rich man who came from a brilliantly rich family. He probably thought drying himself after a shower was too low-class of a duty for him. Who could even say what he thought was a nasty altercation? All this job would be was working as a maid—and I certainly was no stranger to messes. As I said, my job before this one had been working for a cleaning crew at a dingy inner-city hos
pital. I knew I could handle whatever was thrown my way here at this estate.

  The meeting was over. I stood up to leave.

  “Before you begin today,” he said, “I need you to go with Terrance. There are some tests that you must run through before your employment is complete.”

  “Driving tests, Sir?”

  That was the only thing that made sense to me, as Terrance was handling the car when I came in.

  “Driving...? No.” He shook his head, smiling. “Ah. You think he is just the chauffeur. No, Terrance has many responsibilities in my employ. He will explain the rest.”

  * * * * *

  I come from a small home in Texas. Despite the smallness of our home, however, we were a large family in number. There were ten of us in a small house that my mother and father had bought right out, after my father won the lottery shortly after his marriage to my mother. They had planned, at the time, for no more than two children. Luckily for me, that turned out to be an underestimation, as I am the fourth of the seven children in the household (though often I was made to feel as the oldest and youngest, depending on the moods of the other children and my parents).

  My father liked to say that the lottery win was the last of his luck. Some men, and some women I suppose, are able to grow emotionally when they obtain larger families. Their compassion for the people around them only multiplies as the number of people close to them grow. My father was not such a man.

  Shortly after the birth of my older brother—the youngest of the three boys in my family—father lost his hand at the factory, and then grew ill. He developed a strange lung sickness that compelled him to cough all throughout the day and night, and no medicine that we procured could do anything for it.

  As you may expect and in fact may in some ways excuse, he more and more often found his escape from the toils of life in drinking and in procreation. As I am the first of my parent’s many experiments in finding out whether a new child would reinvigorate their love for one another, I have always had what my schoolteachers would call a sort of “peculiar melancholy” about me. I knew that while I had been wanted, I was not actively desired. My younger sisters, all three of them, seemed to feel this as well, and all of them went out of their way to rebel to gather father’s attention and mother’s love.