Take Me (A Steamy Short Story Romance) by Elizabeth Hawkes Page B

they possibly have in there
that was so off limits?   So
forbidden?    

 
    I quietly padded
down the hallway towards their bedroom.   “Just one minute,” I told myself sternly, taking a step forward into the
massive room.  

 
    It was beautiful,
with large French windows that opened to an expansive balcony overlooking the
mountains.   The bed was encased in
an ornate metal frame that closely mimicked delicate vines.   I touched the cold steel, admiring the
beauty, and I gently ran my hand along the top of the red satin bedcovers, the
kind you see in porn videos.  

 
    And then my eyes
finally raked over the reason why the room was off limits: it was dedicated to
bondage and submission. There were floggers, collars, corsets, binders, and an
assortment of shackles. Even the bed was specifically made for tying people
down. Now I understood why they didn’t want anyone in their room. I sighed and
glanced around a moment longer; I wondered how often Mrs. Stone made love to
him, and how it felt.  

 
    There was red satin
robe that hung from a huge, anatomically-correct ,
wrought-iron penis protruding from the bedframe.    I buried my face into the robe,
taking in its scent.   I put it on,
then slowly and deliberately climbed onto the bed, crawling seductively towards
the mirrored wall behind the pillows while pretending to be an erotic sex
kitten.   

 
    “You devilish little
thing, Clarissa,” I whispered to myself.   “You’ll be punished if Dr.
Stone catches you.”   I pouted my
voluptuous lips as I stared at my reflection.   I slowly slipped my panties off and
raised my skirt and robe to expose myself. I then turned my curvaceous ass
towards the mirror to stare at my sparkling wet, velvety sheath.   "Mmm, yeah, Dr. Stone," I
fantasized, "You want to fuck me?   You want to tie me up, spread me open and plunge your massive cock
inside of me? Mmm…I know you do."

 
    I sighed. If only
things were different, if only I was a hot, rich, sculpted woman like Mrs.
Stone, then I wouldn’t have to pretend. But as it was, I was just a poor house maid; a man like Dr. Stone wouldn’t even take a
second look at my plump, soft, curvy body.
      
    I let out a quiet
moan, collapsed into the silky fabric of the bedspread, and closed my eyes.   “If only,” I whispered longingly,
curling a tendril of my long blond hair delicately between my fingers as I
fingered myself.  

 
    Just then I heard a
door open downstairs.  

 
    My heart jumped: Dr.
and Mrs. Stone had returned.   I
hopped off the bed, threw the robe back over the wrought-iron penis, and
quickly smoothed the bedspread back to the pristine state it had been in.  

 
    “Clarissa?” Mrs.
Stone’s voice rang out from below.   “Clarissa, dear, could you please help Charles carry the new art pieces
we just purchased? They are rather heavy, and I’m afraid they’re simply too
much for an old butler.”

 
    “Right away, madam,”
I replied. I quickly and quietly ran out of the room and hurried down the
stairs.    

 
    “Good afternoon,
madam,” I said as I walked past her and made my way outside to assist the head
butler. I could feel my face burning red hot with embarrassment, and if it
weren't for my smooth, olive-colored skin, surely my guilt would have been
revealed.    

 
    I almost ran into
Mr. Stone as he was entering and I was leaving.   I begged his pardon and gave him a
slight curtsy. Our eyes met for a brief moment.   I tried to give him a polite smile, but
I quickly looked away out of shame.   I had been fantasizing about him—every bit of him—and I
irrationally imagined that if I looked too long, he would somehow discover what
I had been daydreaming about.

 
    Grateful for the
diversion I continued out to the car, taking a minute to compose myself. I
returned a short while later, struggling to carry a heavy, expensive-looking
painting into the antechamber. I had just set it down when my mind