Caught myself staring at the maid this morning while she was polishing the silver. Her apron was tied just a little too tight, and I could see the way her tits moved under the fabric with each stroke. She caught me looking and blushed so hard her ears went flat. For a moment, I imagined pulling her into the pantry, pushing her up against the flour sacks, and making her earn her wages with something other than dusting. Maybe I’d let her use her tongue first—teach her how a real lady likes to be eaten out before I fucked her with one of Mother’s crystal candlesticks. It’s pathetic how the help can make me this wet... but then again, isn’t that what we’re bred for? To want what we shouldn’t?