Learning to Trust: New Life

I woke up from a nap to find myself drenched in sweat. Roland had given me a room of my own, despite our romantic entanglements. He claimed it was more professional, and I didn't doubt him. There were some things about him that I still didn't understand at all, even though it had been several months since I moved in.

We actually did spend many nights together, but even if we did, I would wake up alone. Roland would be just as likely to disappear in the middle of the night as he would before I awoke in the morning. Normally he was just in the main room of the estate, but sometimes I actually had to go look for him. He was always excited to see me though, usually greeting me with a hug and tender kiss unless he was on the phone.
I was always happy to find him in the morning.

Roland had hired a number of domestic workers, the cast rotating on an almost daily basis.
There were both male and female servants, and although I was somewhat uncomfortable with the idea at first, I learned to be okay with it. This was a life of luxury, one that I had known nothing about in my previous life. And luxury could be strange sometimes.

I called my mom a few weeks after I moved in, not really sure what to tell her. "I moved in with a guy," I had said.

"Oh, are you getting married or something, Marisa?" She had been
asking
me that question for years and still I had nothing to offer in terms of an answer. "What about the job at the paper?"

"
I quit. This is
kind of a business thing...
but also kind of a relationship," I had said. The conversation with her really made me realize that I hadn't set any goals for my time with Roland, even if I didn't need any. My life had been going from one goal to the next until my burnout after I started the interview. I
was still
keeping notes in a journal—that was the only secret I kept from Roland.

"Will you go back to your old job, Marisa? You were so good." My mother's voice had sounded so weak on the phone, so full of defeat.

"Maybe, mom. I don't have these answers right now. I'm totally okay though. Things are better than ever."

Were they really?
Actually, they were. At the very least, I hadn't been working so hard. Roland's spell hadn't worn off at all either. He took me all over the house, anywhere we wanted to. With the most subtle touch of his fingers, he'd have me purring like a kitten, the moisture pooling between my thighs.
We still spent a lot of time in his dungeon as well. Roland pushed my limits again and again, taking me to places that delighted and intrigued me.

I had met a number of business associates by the time a few months had passed. Despite Roland's desire to be retired, his hands still remained involved in a number of vague projects that he promised he'd one day explain to me. There was one guy in particular—his name was Frederic and he was from France—that I had grown particularly fond of. His accent was incredibly cute, and he was gorgeous.
Of all the business associates I had met, he definitely was my favorite by a long shot.

So I was satisfied—
I guess I could say that at the very least. Things started to change, however. I won't say that things got bad, just different. I awoke one morning to Roland standing next to my bed, his arms supporting a tray that contained
our
breakfast.

"Good morning, Marisa. Looking lovely as always, I see." As usual,
his lovely, red silk robe adorned him
.

"Geez, Roland. I literally just woke up and you're trying to tell me I look great?" I pulled my hair out of my eyes and got a good whiff of the air—coffee, eggs, and bacon. "What, no pancakes today?"

"Sometimes the nose can't be trusted," Roland said. He lifted up a stainless steel cover to reveal a plate of pancakes. I giggled like a schoolgirl upon my discovery. Things could be so strange in the mansion.

"Thanks, Roland," I said. I dragged my body across the sea of blankets until I reached where he was. He leaned forward and met my lips with a kiss that was brief, yet meaningful.

"I thought I'd eat with you this morning," he said.

It was actually very odd for him to be up here with me, but I appreciated it—and so I said nothing. We sat and ate together, sipping coffee and gobbling our respective plates of food. There was some pleasant small talk. Nothing too serious, however. I had just woken up, but who knew how long he had been up. I wasn't ready for anything serious, that was for sure.
We finished, and by the time I realized what was going on, his curious fingers were already opening my robe and cupping my breasts.

"Oh, Roland," I moaned as he fingered that sensitive flesh.
By the time my breasts settled against my chest after he let them go, his fingers were already
exploring the soft fur on my mound.

He pushed me forward onto the bed, his hardness pressing into my thigh as his weight settled on me. His fingers gently stroked my clit, warming me up so he could do whatever he wished with me. My body immediately gave in to his advances—my panties would have been soaked if I had actually been wearing any.

"Ah, Marisa, I've been thinking about you all morning. This beautiful, sweet body of yours." His lips found my nipples and began to suck as his fingers parted my moist folds. He was pressing up against my g-spot, his fingers grazing the smooth walls of my pussy as he went. I was already soaking wet and it was obvious that he wouldn't be able to resist much longer.

Our robes covering our bodies like blankets, he positioned himself between my legs and eased his erection along my slit, teasing me as he brushed against my throbbing clit.
Then, he parted me fully with his cock and was rocking his hips as soon as he entered me.

"
Oh god, Roland," I pleaded. He felt so big inside of me, my muscles hugging him tightly, fitting around this man I'd grown so fond of like a glove.
His arms held my body against the bed as he fucked me, our feet occasionally bumping into the breakfast tray and causing a metal clanking sound. I had grown to love his cock so much, the way he lustfully pounded into me and still managed to hit all of the right spots.

The fingers of his left hand clenched the soft flesh of my buttocks while his right hand intensely caressed my breasts. His expression grew more and more serious, his body following the animalistic urges I could see in his eyes. Roland was totally overtaking me, controlling my body with his pure sexual energy. The second his fingers made contact with my clit again, I lost it.

"Yes!" I cried out, my fingernails digging into his back. I came hard, my chest heaving, my toes curled against the cold metal of the tray that still had somehow managed to remain on the bed.
Roland's hips slapped his body against mine again and again, a low growl starting to form in his throat.

He let out a moan that melted me from top to bottom, bringing my orgasm to a second peak. I felt that unmistakable feeling as his release shot into me, that first spurt always filling me with delight. My walls continued to clench around him, milking him, extracting every last drop. Had I not been coming as well, I probably would have been in pain from how hard he was holding me down.

His orgasm seemed to continue for an abnormally long time. Maybe he just didn't want to stop thrusting—or maybe something else was on his mind. Sweat had stained his brow.
Suddenly there was a loud crash downstairs that was followed by some shouting. The hairs on my body stood on end. "What was that?"
I asked, my interest piqued.

Roland promptly rose to his feet and swung the giant suite door closed. He responded like it was a basic human reflex.

"I wanted to tell you," Roland said, "but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. It's my uncle. He suffers from dementia and they brought him here from the
hospital
for the morning. Sometimes he gets a bit...riled up."

"Roland!" I said. "Why didn't you tell me?" There was another loud thud and a muffled bang that made me even more uncomfortable. I bit my tongue so hard that I tasted blood.
Was that a
gunshot
?
"That didn't sound normal at all!"

"The staff is down there with him
. I was down there earlier—before you woke, actually—but he tends to get out of control when I leave him."

"Then why didn't you stay down there with him?" I asked. It felt like I was just asking the obvious. All of this seemed
somewhat
strange to me, but aside from his larger, unintended crimes against humanity, Roland seemed to be
all right. This
uncle
business
was yet another secret he carried with him
.

"
I can't stay with the poor man forever.
Happens every time. They have to sedate him sometimes. It's a pity. We used to be so close and now he's just...vacant," he said. His face looked so grave, his eyes sullen, his expression so empty. I swore he might start crying.

"I'm sorry," I said. I hugged him from the side and kissed his rough cheek. "Mental illness is hard to deal with."

"All the money in the world can't fix my dear old uncle," Roland said.

Although I was still finding the situation a little weird—it had sounded kind of like a
gunshot
after all—Roland's performance seemed to alleviate my suspicions.
We sat there in silence for a short while,
until Roland finally rose to his feet. He slowly opened the door and listened.

"It sounds like they've departed," he said. "I must be on my way then."

"Al
l
right," I said. "We'll be having dinner together, right?"

"Of course," he said. Roland seemed happier—too
happier
actually. His figure disappeared into the hall and the door closed behind him.

I thought about what he had said, about his uncle and all of that. Yes, he still had secrets, but I was surprised this was the first time I was finding out about this.
Wouldn't he have mentioned it if his uncle was going to be here?
I put my robe back into place and walked out into the hall, hoping that I'd hear some sound that would validate his story—but there was nothing. Just silence.

Really, it was easy for me to get lost in the mansion, lost in the idea of being sustained by Roland's genius and financial superiority. Although my goal was relaxation—and I'd certainly had plenty of it—I wished that I had a purpose in going somewhere else.

Roland would arrange for a driver to take me anywhere I wanted and he had a private jet to fly me any place on the planet that I cared to go. There was no inspiration, however. I felt dull and lifeless sometimes, and maybe that's why I thought I heard gunshots instead of a physical altercation with a man suffering from dementia. Maybe I
was trying to invent excitement—and should just watch a movie instead of assuming Roland to be a murderer.