(Originally posted as a $3/story exclusive to my Patreon on June 23,
2017. Check out the link for dozens of early-access photo captions and
We’ve dropped below the threshold for me to share these on Tumblr, so
if we don’t get back up by the end of the month this stream goes away!)
For weeks, the wealthy young heiress had been plagued with intense dreams of servitude. They had been terrifying at first, but with every passing day, they became more erotic, more powerful, more pleasurable. Soon they passed from dreams to waking fantasies.
When she found her outfit in her closet, she knew she had to try it on. It fit perfectly, and felt amazing. She sat on the edge of the bed, imagining herself as a maid in some manor, waiting in its master’s–her master’s–bedroom to be claimed, taken, used…
In terror, she stripped back out of the costume, stuck it back in the closet, and tried to put it out of her head. This wasn’t normal, wasn’t natural. Somebody was doing something to her. Someone was getting access to her bedroom to… play subliminals or whatever was causing her dreams. Someone was able to get into her closet and put the maid costume there. Somebody was trying to make her a slave, to take her body and her fortune.
But who? Someone from the board of her father’s company perhaps, worried that this inexperienced girl would tank the stock? Or a rival, trying to get control? One of the handful of wealthy young men she’d dated?
While she investigated, the fantasies persisted. When she couldn’t take it any more, she’d try on the costume again. It felt so good, so right. She wanted to serve, to be on her knees… she wanted to find the man who was doing this to her and… and…
She had to hurry. She was nearly gone, and it was getting harder and harder to remember she was trying to find the man who would be her Master not so that she could serve him, but so that she could bring him to justice. No matter how good serving would feel. How much he’d made her want it, and it was so much hotter that he was making her feel this way…
The door opened. She looked up, and understood. She’d been on the wrong track all along; it was someone who’d had constant access to her, to the house, who could go into any room when she wasn’t there, and no one would comment… and now she belonged to him.
The butler did it.
(Image removed because I couldn’t source it. It was a dark-haired woman in a skimpy and impractical maid uniform.)