my maid

Michael cast a final glance at the female villains—now kneeling—before sending them off to a secret base to await his command. With a snap of his fingers, he dissolved the darkness of the cells and materialized in the foyer of his own mansion.

The estate was spotless and immaculate, filled with a silence that exuded luxury. But what truly captured Michael’s attention was the sight awaiting him in the living room.

Alfreda, his housekeeper, had her back to him. She possessed a stunning appearance: pale skin, long silver hair cascading down her back, and an aura of cold elegance that concealed a volcano of lust. She was bent over an antique bookshelf, arranging the collection with meticulous precision.

She wore her full uniform—save for one deliberate omission: she was not wearing panties.

Her posture was an explicit invitation. Alfreda’s hands rested on the shelf, her torso leaned forward, and her buttocks—perfect, round, and firm—were thrust backward toward Michael, exposing the moist, pink intimacy that glistened under the light of the crystal chandelier.

Michael didn't say "hello." He didn't need to.

He walked calmly, the sound of his footsteps echoing against the marble, until he felt the heat radiating from those curves. Alfreda let out a shaky breath, sensing her master's presence, yet she did not move. She remained in that position of total vulnerability and surrender, knowing exactly what was to come.

Michael slid his hands along her waist, feeling the softness of her skin contrast with the firmness of her muscles. He gripped her tightly, pulling her closer, while undoing his own clothes with the haste of a man who had conquered kingdoms yet still craved the purity of that servitude. "You took your time, Master," she whispered, her voice heavy with sweet submission as she tilted her head to the side, exposing her neck.

"The city needed someone to set things in order, Alfreda. But now... I want my reward."

Without preamble, Michael positioned himself behind her. He felt her natural wetness welcoming the tip of his member before he even entered. With a single, powerful, and possessive thrust, he filled her completely.

Alfreda let out a sharp moan, her hands gripping the edges of the bookshelf so tightly that the books rattled. The impact was visceral. He began to thrust with a slow, deep rhythm, feeling every inch of that perfect body molding itself to his.

With every movement, the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed through the silent room. Michael was not gentle; he possessed her with the authority of someone who knew she was his down to the last atom. He buried his face in the nape of her neck, breathing in the scent of vanilla and lust, while his hands slid down to grip her buttocks, guiding the rhythm relentlessly.

Alfreda arched her back, her breathing becoming ragged and erratic. She was the picture of perfection, yet under Michael’s command, she was simply a woman consumed by pleasure.

"More... please, Master... use me..." she pleaded, her voice breaking.

Michael smiled. He increased the speed, turning the act into a symphony of friction and desire. The bookshelf became the anchor for this dance of power, where the only rule that mattered was Michael’s satisfaction.

At the height of the climax, he pressed her hard against the wood, feeling Alfreda’s intense contractions tightening around him. With one final, deep, and devastating thrust, he filled her, leaving her trembling and undone, while the silence of the mansion was filled only by the sound of the heavy breathing of two beings who, in that moment, were the only things that existed in the universe. "My lord, Lady Talia wishes to speak with you; she is upstairs."

(images created by Lawless)