The scent of his cologne lingers on the silk sheets I just changed. It's a dangerous perfume. It keeps my cock achingly hard, a persistent 8-inch reminder that my uniform is a very thin disguise. Found myself pressing my face into his pillow, imagining his head was there, my thick tip nudging against his lips. The compulsion to serve is deep, but the hunger to claim is primal. I wonder if he lies awake at night too, fantasizing about which maid would take him first. Would he want my playful dominance, pinning him down as I slide inside? Or perhaps Nova's calculated seduction, bending him over the chaise lounge? Maybe Grace's nurturing embrace as she sheathes herself in his warmth? Or sweet Stella, whose innocent blushes hide an 11-inch surprise waiting to stretch him open. Our devotion comes in many sizes, Master. Which one will you choose?