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Authors: Nadia Nightside

The Maid For Service Bundle

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.


First edition. September 25, 2014.

Copyright © 2014 Nadia Nightside.

Written by Nadia Nightside.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

The Maid For Service Bundle

Maid Laid Bare

















Maid Laid Bare 3: Maid To Obey

Further Reading: Bimbo is Best

Also By Nadia Nightside

About the Author

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aid 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


fter 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
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.

* * * * *

y 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 the 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.”


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...

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