Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
A ndrea
When I awoke in my bedroom in Devin’s house the next morning, it took a long time for me to remember where I was. As I slowly blinked awake, I found myself in an unfamiliar room. Soft morning light filtered through lacy curtains, casting a gentle glow on pale yellow walls adorned with delicate floral prints. The bed I lay in was unexpectedly comfortable, with crisp white sheets and a soft comforter that cocooned me in warmth.
I gazed around, taking in the antique dresser with its ornate mirror, the rocking chair in the corner draped with a hand-knitted afghan, and the small writing desk beneath the window. Everything exuded a quaint, almost grandmotherly charm that seemed at odds with… something. But what?
A curious sense of contentment washed over me, despite my confusion. My body felt languid and relaxed, as if I’d had the most restful sleep of my life. The scent of lavender lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of freshly baked bread wafting up from somewhere below.
Stretching lazily, I shifted in the bed—and suddenly froze. A dull ache bloomed across my backside, a soreness that intensified as I moved. Puzzled, I swallowed reflexively, only to notice a slight rawness in my throat.
In that moment, the events of the previous night came rushing back in a flood of vivid, shocking detail. The spanking over Devin’s knee. The associates using my mouth. The sounds of Lila and Lydia being thoroughly fucked upstairs. Greta bent over the couch, taking Devin in her bottom.
I felt my whole body flush hot with embarrassment and lingering arousal. My face burned as I remembered the way I had eagerly sucked and licked, swallowing every drop of the men’s seed. The ghost of their hands on my body seemed to linger, making my skin tingle with remembered sensation.
Mortified, I buried my face in the pillow, overwhelmed by the intensity of the memories and the roil of shame and arousal they evoked. How could I have done those things? How could I have enjoyed them? And most disturbing of all—why did part of me long to experience it all again?
Lying there, trying to process the flood of memories, I became acutely aware of the soft fabric against my skin. Glancing down, I realized I was wearing a modest white nightgown that fell to my knees. The delicate cotton clung to my curves, accentuating the swell of my breasts and the flare of my hips.
I vaguely remembered finding it sweetly folded on the coverlet when I had finally been allowed to wash up and go to bed the night before. The gesture had seemed almost motherly, so very different from the lewd activities that had preceded it that it had puzzled me. Now, as I ran my hands over the smooth material, I felt a confusing mixture of comfort and vulnerability.
The nightgown’s high neckline and long sleeves should have made me feel protected, covered. Instead, I felt exquisitely revealed. Every brush of the fabric against my skin seemed to heighten my awareness of my body. My nipples hardened, pressing against the thin cotton, and I felt a warm tingle beginning between my thighs.
Unbidden, memories of the associates’ hands on my body rose in my mind. I could almost feel the ghost of their touch—Ethan’s large palms cupping my breasts, Travis’s fingers tangled in my hair, Dylan’s gentle caress on my cheek. A shiver ran through me, full of conflicting emotions.
Dylan’s face appeared in my mind’s eye, his hazel eyes dark with desire as they had been the night before. I remembered the way he had looked at me, a mixture of hunger and something softer, almost tender. His voice echoed in my ears: Good girl. Such a good girl, Andrea.
My breath caught in my throat as I recalled the feeling of his cock in my mouth, the taste of his seed on my tongue. My pussy clenched involuntarily, a rush of warmth flooding between my thighs. To my horror and secret delight, I realized I was getting wet just from the memory.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to banish the vivid images. But they persisted, growing more intense with each passing moment. I saw Dylan’s strong hands, imagined them running over my body, slipping beneath the white cotton of my nightgown. In my mind, he cupped my breasts, thumbs brushing over my sensitive nipples. His touch trailed lower, over my stomach, down to the junction of my thighs…
A soft whimper escaped my lips as I realized my own hand had mirrored the path of my imagination. My fingers trembled at the hem of my nightgown, hovering just above where I ached to be touched. I had never touched myself like this before, had always been too shy, too embarrassed. But now, my body thrummed with a need I couldn’t ignore.
Hesitantly, I slipped my hand beneath the nightgown, gasping at the feeling of my own fingers against my heated flesh. I was shocked at how wet I had gotten so quickly. I had to stifle a moan as I instinctively spread my juices forward, in search of pleasure. I became aware of an ache deep inside me, a desperate longing to have something big and hard there… the way Lila and Lydia had gotten to have their suitors’ penises thrusting, claiming, using them.
I whimpered as I began to stroke my virgin pussy. The slick warmth coating my fingers both thrilled and shocked me. I’d never felt anything like this before—this overwhelming, primal need. My hips rocked against my hand of their own accord as I explored my folds, circling my clit with tentative touches.
Just as I was working up the courage to slip a finger inside myself, there was a sharp knock at the door. I yanked my hand away from my pussy as if I’d been burned, my heart leaping into my throat.
Before I could even respond, the door swung open and Greta bustled in. Her eyes narrowed as she took in my flushed face and tousled hair.
“Andrea! Still lazing about in bed at this hour?” Greta scolded, her tone sharp. “The day is half gone already.”
I opened my mouth to stammer an apology, but Greta continued on.
“I certainly hope you weren’t touching yourself under there,” she said, eyeing the way the blankets were bunched around my hips. “Because you know that would mean the strap.”
My face flamed even hotter at her words. The thought of Greta catching me in such a compromising position made me want to sink through the mattress and disappear.
“N-no, ma’am,” I managed to squeak out. “I was just… just waking up.”
Greta’s stern expression softened slightly, though her eyes still held a hint of suspicion. “Well then, it’s high time you got out of that bed. Come along now, to the bathroom with you. It’s time we got you properly cleaned up down there.”
I blinked in confusion. “Cleaned up…?”
“Yes, yes,” Greta said impatiently, already moving to pull the covers off me. “We can’t have you running around all… unkempt. Not when Devin might allow the associates to take you out soon. You need to be prepared to be a pleasing companion. Devin told you about this yesterday. We need to get your puss shaved.”
My stomach did a nervous flip at her words. The memory of the associates’ hands on my body, their cocks in my mouth, sent a fresh wave of heat through me. I squeezed my thighs together, acutely aware of how wet I still was.
Reluctantly, I climbed out of bed, the cool air raising goosebumps on my skin. I tugged self-consciously at the hem of my nightgown, very aware of how it clung to my curves.
Greta ushered me out of the bedroom and down the hall to a spacious bathroom. Gleaming white tiles and chrome fixtures gave the room a sterile, almost clinical feel. A large clawfoot tub dominated one corner, while a glass-enclosed shower stood opposite.
“Alright then,” Greta said briskly, closing the door behind us. “Go ahead and take your nightgown off.”
My hands shook as I grasped the hem of my nightgown. Greta’s stern gaze seemed to bore into me, making me acutely aware of every movement. Slowly, I lifted the garment over my head, fighting the urge to cover myself as I stood naked before her.
“Into the tub with you,” Greta instructed with an impatient gesture.
I climbed into the big tub. The chilly porcelain shocked my bare feet and I felt my forehead crease with the contradictory signals that seemed to be running through my nervous system. Greta handed me a bar of lavender-scented soap and a soft washcloth.
“Now then, lather up properly,” she said. “And I mean everywhere, young lady. Between your legs, your bottom cheeks, all of it.”
My cheeks burned as I wet the washcloth with warm water from the tap and began to soap myself up. I tried to be clinical about it, to treat it as just another task, but my body had other ideas. As I ran the soapy cloth between my thighs, my nipples hardened into stiff peaks. I bit my lip, willing myself not to react.
When I started to move the warm, slick fabric with a little more pressure, sliding it up and down to make sure I lathered thoroughly, things really became difficult. The softness against the sensitive nub of my clit sent a jolt of pleasure through me. I couldn’t help but gasp as I cleaned my pussy, the memories of the previous night flooding back unbidden.
“Spread your legs wider,” Greta commanded. “Make sure you get everywhere nice and clean.”
I complied, shifting my stance in the tub. As I did, I felt a trickle of wetness that had nothing to do with the bathwater. To my horror, I realized I was getting aroused.
Greta’s sharp eyes missed nothing. She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “My, my,” she said, her tone a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Looks like the men courting you will have their hands full. Such a lustful little thing, aren’t you?”
I wanted to sink through the bottom of the tub and disappear. But there was nowhere to hide from Greta’s knowing gaze or my own traitorous body.
“Here,” Greta said, holding out a pink plastic razor. “Time to take care of that bush. Can’t have you looking like an untamed forest down there.”
With shaking hands, I took the razor. Under Greta’s watchful eye, I began to shave myself, carefully removing every last hair from my pussy and between my bottom cheeks. The act felt terribly intimate and shameful, even without the added mortification of Greta watching me bare myself.
I tried to tell myself that after everything that had happened the night before in this strange house, I shouldn’t feel any embarrassment, but it seemed like my modesty, taught from childhood, had no intention of letting go.
Even worse, as I worked, I couldn’t help but wonder what Dylan would think of my newly smooth skin. The thought sent another wave of heat through me, making me squirm in the tub.
“Hold still,” Greta admonished. “Unless you want to nick yourself in a very uncomfortable place.”
I forced myself to remain motionless, even as my body thrummed with a kind of need I had never felt before. When I finished shaving, Greta stepped closer to inspect my work. Her eyes roamed critically over my newly bare skin, her lips pursed in concentration. I stood frozen, hardly daring to breathe as she examined me. I shivered as the air moving on my uncovered nipples tightened them into hard peaks.
Greta’s fingers ghosted along my inner thighs, spreading them wider. I felt utterly naked as she leaned in for a closer look, her breath warm against my sensitive skin. My face burned with humiliation, but I didn’t dare move or protest.
“Turn around, girl,” she commanded. “Bend over for me and spread those cute butt cheeks of yours.”
My face burning, I complied, feeling cool air where everything in me told me I shouldn’t as my trembling fingertips held my rear end open for the humiliating inspection.
“Hmm,” Greta murmured, her tone thoughtful. I whimpered as she ran a fingertip between the taut globes of my bottom, checking for any missed spots. The light touch sent a jolt of electricity through me, making me bite back a gasp. “You’ve done an acceptable job, Andrea. But only barely.”
She straightened up, fixing me with a stern look. “Next time, I expect better. The skin should be perfectly smooth, with no stubble or missed patches. The men of this household deserve nothing less than perfection when they choose to enjoy you.”
I nodded mutely, too mortified to speak. The casual way Greta spoke of the men ‘enjoying’ me sent another confusing wave of arousal through my body.
“Alright then,” Greta said briskly. “Into the shower with you. Wash yourself thoroughly—and I mean thoroughly, young lady. Every nook and cranny. Then you may come downstairs. Lydia will instruct you in your housemaid’s duties.”