Alastair

1

“Don’t take too long in there or you’ll be late! The agency won’t appreciate that, Maisie!” shouts my mum through the bathroom door. I’ve just lowered myself down into a hot, delicious bath filled with floral-scented bubbles, piling my chocolate-brown hair back into a messy knot on top of my head. I roll my eyes and heave an exasperated sigh. My mum means well, but she has a tendency to hover a bit, always worrying over me.

“I know, Mum,” I groan, staring over at the door, praying she’ll leave soon. I was hoping for a little more privacy, but living with my mother in such tight quarters does not allow for a lot of time for myself. We share a tiny two bedroom terrace house in Conwy, North Wales, and we’re constantly bumping into each other, driving one another up the wall. We love each other, of course, but there comes a point when you’re eighteen years old and you’re just ready to be on your own.

“And don’t use up all my nice bubble bath!” she adds pointedly. I grimace, glancing over at the now-empty pink bottle perched on the edge of the bathtub.

“I’ll, um, get you some more,” I say sheepishly. I can nearly see her crossing her arms over her chest and shaking her head in that oh-too-familiar way. “Anyway, you don’t want to be late for work, either! I’ll be fine. Have a good day!” I continue quickly.

I hear her gasp a little and say, “Blimey, the time! Okay, I’m off.”

I listen to her heels clacking across the linoleum floor, fading away as she finally leaves. With a sigh, I close my eyes and sink down further into the aromatic water, enjoying the rare silence and solitude. Today is an important day, and I need to be in tip-top condition to handle it. I want a chance to zen out a little bit before I walk into the housekeeping agency office for that interview. I have to be perfect in every way if I’m going to land a good job.

Reaching over blindly, my fingers close around the item I’m looking for: a squishy sponge. Opening my eyes for just a moment, I squirt some lemony-scented soap onto it and begin massaging my naked shoulders, then down my arms and back up to my neck. The hot water is utterly heavenly on my skin, especially since it’s getting rather chilly outside. I dip the sponge into the water and lift it up, wringing it out over my perky breasts, my soft pink nipples just barely peeking out of the water. They stiffen slightly at the sensation of hot water sprinkling tantalizingly over my chest and I lean back, biting my lip.

I never, ever get alone time… and it shows.

From the moment I wake up in the morning until the second I fall back into bed at night, I am awash in sexual frustration — and just frustration, in general, actually. Living out here in such a small town is idyllic when you’re a child. The sea is mysterious and the forests enchanting. The streets are friendly and safe, and everyone knows your name. But now that I’m a young adult, I’ve grown tired of looking at the same sights and faces every single day. I want more than this.

I’m eighteen now, and I should be at the prime of my dating life, but every guy my age in town has known me since I was ten, when I moved here to live with my mum full-time after a decade of shuttling back and forth between Ohio with my father and Wales with my mother. We all went to primary school together. We all went to secondary school together. It’s a small world, and I know everybody in it. Besides, none of them are particularly attractive to me. They’re all set on just living here forever, becoming the fishermen, butchers, and farmers their parents were, too. Hell, even my own mother just assumes I am going to continue working as a domestic servant for the rest of my sorry days.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s just a little pedestrian for my tastes. And I’ve gotten tired of seeing my mother mistreated and overlooked by the wealthy, snobbish people she works for. That’s the main reason I have decided I want to go to university in London next year: I’ve got to get the hell out of Conwy and do something more with my life.

Of course, I’ve got to somehow find the money for an apartment in the most expensive city in the world. And that means falling back on the very job I desperately want to escape.

I’m going to be a domestic servant. I’m going to clean some rich prick’s house and save up every pound until I’ve got enough to pay rent on my own out there in the big city. That’s why today’s interview is so important. If I can’t get a good enough job, then I might just be stuck here for even longer, and that is an outcome I am not prepared to face.

I reach down between my legs to wash my milky white thighs, feeling the corner of the sponge brush up along my pussy. I shiver involuntarily, my body tensing up instantly at this slight touch. It’s been a long, long time since I last touched myself, and as I’m still a virgin, that’s the only action I ever get. It’s a little embarrassing to be a virgin at the age of eighteen, I suppose, since all my school mates have been doing the horizontal tango for years by now. I know it’s like that I’m not cute or whatever, it’s just that I’m rather, well, picky.

None of the boring guys around here interest me even in the slightest, and if I’m going to give up my virginity to someone, it better be someone I actually feel attracted to. Plus, I’ve always been too busy to take the time to find a suitable partner. I’ve worked my ass off to make good marks in school, and every free moment has been spent studying or joining my mother on housekeeping gigs for extra cash. It’s difficult to make ends meet out here, and there are few opportunities.

With all of that hanging over my head, it’s no surprise that I haven’t made time to lose my virginity to anybody yet. But that doesn’t mean the desire isn’t there.

I close my eyes and let my fingers slide down between my legs, tentatively stroking along my pussy under the hot water. I shiver and let my lips fall open as I hook one finger and push it slowly inside of me.

Warmth runs up my body, adding to the warmth of the bath as I feel my pussy welcome the touch of my finger. I swirl it around, leaning back and letting the tendrils of my hair float in the water as I excite myself, feeling my cheeks burn a little.

It isn’t long before my lower abdomen starts to tense. I feel like

I’m always pent-up these days, everything as stagnant as the bath water I’m steeping in. I fill my head with the thoughts of some man towering over me, his hands roaming over my body, invading places I’ve never allowed anyone to touch, his fingers reaching down to where mine are now.

There’s no gentleness in this mystery man, not like I’m giving myself. My jaw hangs open as I picture him holding me down, his shaft a thick outlined in whatever pants tightly hug his thighs, and he unzips them to show me the virile, masculine treasure between his legs, pressing his lips to me as the crown pushes in while I push my own finger in, digging deep into my pussy as I feel the warmth of my honey around me…

I gasp softly as an orgasm ripples through me, my legs twisting and toes clenching as I close my eyes and feel my cheeks redden.

Okay, so I’m horny. The mystery man of my fantasy doesn’t even have a defined face. The thought of a strong, massive cock between my legs alone, comforting me on this rainy island gives me what I need to get by.

But I have an interview tomorrow that might just get me out of here and somewhere that matters in this bloody country, so I need my head clear. I massage myself as I come down from my orgasm, breathing heavily.

I need to be on my A-game for this interview, because if I stay here, I’m going to lose my mind.

2

Barely a week later, my train is coming to a halt in Surrey County, and I can’t believe any of this is really happening.

The interview went swimmingly. The interviewer, a young woman named Janet, couldn’t stop talking about how perfect I’d be for this position — still working as a domestic, or a maid, as she put it bluntly, but the position is under some high-profile, wealthy landowner. To me, that means old money, something I’m not used to.

Not everything about that is exciting. I picture in my mind some old codger in a stuffy manor, requesting his tea at such-and-such time, sharp. Probably a white-haired pianist with nothing better to do with his time than tell the staff what to do.

Still, it’s a paycheck, and the best part is that I got the job.

Mother had been leery. I was informed to pack lightly, as my new employer would provide everything, including my uniform. Mum thought that was all a bit odd, and I should have vetted the man with her first, but honestly, I don’t care who he is, as long as he can get me the hell out of my hometown.

And Surrey is beautiful, I realize as my train passes through the last bit of countryside before reaching the train station. It’s an idyllic scene of English countryside, something I’ve been taught to shun my whole life. But seeing it now, the wintery cold casting a chilly pallor over the otherwise rustic beauty, I feel a shiver of excitement run up my back at the idea of watching the English winter pass from the warmth of some old rich guy’s manor.