Chapter 4
four
. . .
rupert
My quarters look like they belong to someone else when I return home.
Every surface is shining, highlighted by the bright light streaming in the open windows, where the curtains have been pulled aside and bound with ribbons.
The fireplaces are clean, and the baskets beside them have been refilled with wood and tinder.
When I step into the shower to wash the reek of Giancarlo’s incense off me, the drain works far better than before and doesn’t overflow after a few minutes.
Even the broken lightbulb over the mirror has been replaced.
In my bedroom, there are fresh silk linens on the bed, and the rugs are almost a different color without my fur all over them. Even the handle on my wardrobe has been tightened.
All by one person in one day.
My study, too, is spotless, but it doesn’t look like she’s opened any of my drawers. I believe Ms. Austin is a smart woman.
Who is she? How did she come to be driving that beat-up old heap of metal? Surely any cleaning company would be happy to have her. Why did she need Stella to recommend her?
After my meeting with Giancarlo, I came home wanting to put on a better face than I have, which is important when I can’t show her my face at all. As she is clearly struggling to make ends meet, I told Mr. Castle to issue her a cash advance.
After the marvelous dinner she cooks for me—which leaves me with even more questions than before—I hope my note brings her a small modicum of joy.
Though there remains the scent of cleaner, I also detect something else. That is one benefit of this form, I suppose: having a far superior nose. With it, I can pick out Ms. Austin’s scent all around. It’s everywhere she touched, everywhere she lingered, and it is entrancing.
To say it “smelled like lavender” would be an insult to this scent, something so distinctly feminine. It fills up my nostrils, and strangely, a shudder ripples through me all the way down to my groin.
Damn it, I can’t sit here and get a stiffy just from smelling a strange woman in my home. Though in particular, it is the smell of the two combined, hers and mine, that is most intoxicating—
I stop the thought in its tracks. But now I’m hard under my trousers, and I roll my eyes at how pathetic I am, the mere scent of a woman driving me into a frenzy. It’s been far too long since the last time I pleased myself, and my body is angry with me for denying it.
It just feels… dirty, to do it in this form.
At least I have the decency to remove myself to my bedroom first, where I take off my custom-tailored trousers and unbutton where they clasp over my tail. Then I drop them to the floor, allowing the monster free.
My cock is large. I hate how large it is, how much it would strain any normal person to take it.
It’s animal-like, too, only emerging from its furry sheath when excited.
Then it protrudes—a slimy, wet thing—and has a ring partway down, as well as a head with a foreign, blunt shape.
The edges of the crown have texture on them, like tiny pebbles hidden under the skin.
I wrap my clawed hand around it, careful with the sharp tips. I used to file them down, but they grew so fast it became pointless rather quickly. Now I just exercise caution.
When I stroke myself, my cock wets my palm, something I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to.
Cum is already leaking from the slit at the tip.
I pin my ears back and sniff the air again, picking out Ms. Austin’s thoroughly intoxicating scent as it wafts around my bedroom.
I feel almost drunk on it, and my hand speeds up as it floods into me.
I remember watching her get into her car, with her plump rear and thick thighs. It’s no wonder she smells this way when she’s so ripe to look upon.
I throttle my cock thoroughly as I stroke it, until I can’t bear any more and I finally let loose. My climax is so powerful that I spurt into the air, to my surprise, and it lands on the freshly vacuumed carpet.
Sighing, I head to the loo for some cloths. I can’t let all that good work she did today go to waste.
peony
My car.
Not my car. Anything, anything but my car. It’s all I have besides this coat and the wallet in my back pocket.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. The Thrifty Mart is still open, so I run inside and nearly throw myself over the front counter.
“Where is my car?” I ask, gasping for air, whether because I just ran or because I think I might die.
They can’t have towed it. They can’t.
“Was that your car that’s been parked at the back of the lot for the last few weeks?” the attendant says, a round guy with a scrappy beard who works here half the time. He rolls his eyes. “The manager found out. It wasn’t me.”
I gape at him, my heart slowing to a stop in my chest.
“Here’s the tow company’s phone number,” the guy says, a hint of pity in his eyes as he pushes a business card across the counter to me. I’m numb as I pick it up, glazing over the number and back up to his face.
“Can I use your phone?” I ask.
He looks at me like I just came down from another planet. “You don’t have one?”
I shake my head. With a sigh, he pulls out his cell phone, unlocks it, and hands it to me. I dial the number, but it goes to voicemail.
“Hello, you’ve reached Cam’s Tow Company. I’m not here right now, but if your vehicle was towed, you can pick it up the following morning at nine a.m.”
“Nine?!” I demand of it, my heart rate suddenly exploding. “I have to be at work by eight!”
The attendant leans away from me, and I sigh.
“I’m sorry.” I end the call and pass his phone back.
I don’t even have Mr. Castle’s phone number on me to try to call him and let him know, because it was on a scrap of paper in my car. Unless I’m willing to hike all the way out to Edgewood Manor. I don’t even know if it would be possible in a day’s time.
I snap my mouth closed, willing back angry tears. This can’t be happening. Who knows how much it will cost to get my car from the impound?
I trudge out of the convenience store and stand under the streetlight, gazing around at the empty parking lot. Eventually, the attendant clocks out, turns off the lights, and locks up the doors behind him.
There’s nowhere to go. I don’t even know my own father’s phone number, even if I wanted to call him.
Eventually, I sit down on the bench next to the smoking station and lie on my side, balling the hood of my jacket up under my head. It’s frigid cold tonight without my blankets, so I pull up my legs under the shelter of the coat.
I don’t know when I finally manage to fall asleep.
The tow truck company is a mile and a half away, so I trudge there early the next morning so I can stand and wait until “Cam” arrives.
I can tell the moment he shows up that he doesn’t give a flying fuck about my circumstances, so I give him $250 of my cash—which nearly empties me out—to get my car back.
He takes his sweet old time getting it for me, and it’s nearly eleven by the time I make it out to Mr. Edgewood’s house, sweaty and dirty. I had gotten used to using the truck stop showers on the outside of town, but I didn’t have time.
When I arrive, Mr. Castle emerges from the front door, a deep crease in his brow and his mouth angled steeply down.
“I’m so sorry,” I burst out the second I emerge from the driver’s side door. “I’m sorry I’m late. I didn’t have any way to call you, and—”
“At least you’re here in time to make Mr. Edgewood’s lunch.” Mr. Castle was a tad grumpy before, but today, his gaze is like a laser beam carving me open. “This is your first and last warning, Ms. Austin.”
I knew being late would be a big deal, that my job might be at risk, but I’m irritated that I haven’t even gotten the chance to explain myself.
Mr. Castle turns on his heel and snatches my keys from me.
I don’t make excuses, or tell him how my car was towed, because then I’d have to reveal that I’m sleeping in said car and still haven’t had a shower this morning.
The chance of losing my job becomes much higher if I do that.
So once an irritable Mr. Castle takes my car away, I scurry inside the house with my vacuum and caddy in tow, ready to tackle as much as possible without any delay.
I just manage to whip through the first bedroom on the west side before it’s time to make lunch.
I feel out of my element today, exhausted from sleeping on the bench all night, and I have a hard time coming up with anything creative to cook given the last of our grocery store ingredients.
The cilantro is already bad, so there goes one recipe out the window.
Eventually I come up with something simple, a cheesy pasta, and send it off with Mr. Castle, who doesn’t have anything to say to me as he takes it.
I promise myself I won’t be late ever again.
That afternoon, I tackle the next bedroom, and then the next, each of which comes with an attached study, closet, and bathroom. This place could house an army, but I’m pretty sure none of these beds has ever been slept in.
Before I know it, the afternoon is gone, and I’ve made very little progress compared to the last few days.
I trudge back to the kitchen to make dinner, mixing up meatballs and cooking polenta.
After throwing together a fun sauce to drizzle over the top, Mr. Castle appears to take away the meal.
Then he returns to eat from his own plate, sitting in silence at the counter while I clean the dishes.
“I’m sorry,” I say, turning to face him as I scrub a pot. “It really will not happen again. Today was…” I trail off, because I can’t tell him what really happened. “Today was a fluke.”
Mr. Castle lifts his head from his food, his silver eyebrows raised. He scans my face, then lets out a sigh.
“It’s not your fault.” He gestures over his shoulder, in the direction of the east wing. “It’s just that Mr. Edgewood was very angry when you didn’t arrive on time this morning.”
I didn’t realize Mr. Edgewood paid that much attention to my comings and goings. I thought I certainly wasn’t important enough.
“And when the master is angry,” Mr. Castle continues, “the whole house feels it. He demanded I go look for you to make sure your car hadn’t broken down on the way, so I drove all over.”
Fuck. I stare down at my plate with guilt.
“I’m so sorry,” I say quietly. “I didn’t think he would take it out on you.”
Mr. Castle waves it off. “I’m past it now. I know you meant no harm, and you would’ve been here if you could’ve been.” He peers at me as if he knows the truth despite me not saying anything. “I get the sense you are otherwise very reliable.”
I nod hastily. “At my last job, I always got to work on time, and I never took vacation. I promise I’ll be here every day at eight on the dot.”
Mr. Castle sighs. “I appreciate that you’re dedicated, but please take your vacation days. You get ten of them a year, paid.”
“What?” I gape at him. A housekeeping job with paid vacation? “Really?”
“Of course. I get fifteen days, which you’ll get after you’ve been here for a few years.”
A few years. That’s a surprising thought. By then I could have an apartment of my own, maybe, and a better car. Not to mention a phone.
As if he can read my mind, Mr. Castle says, “But you really ought to have a phone, Ms. Austin.”
I cover my face. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m working toward it, I promise.”
He cocks his head like he wants to ask me a question, but it halts in his mouth.
“All right,” he finally says. “Perhaps when you get your first paycheck.”
I’m glad that he understands.
When Mr. Edgewood’s dinner plate returns, there is a note sitting on top.
Very good. Don’t be late again.
-R
I crinkle my nose. He doesn’t have to tell me twice. But I’m glad he enjoyed the meal, and I hope it means he’s forgiven me. I need this job.