MY DEMON BUTLER SERVES ME

“Suck my d*ck.”That sentence was the last thing I remembered when I woke up from a deep slumber.Such vulgar words, I know, but I found it surprisingly arousing. Not that I could remember all about my dream in detail. What clung in the recesses of my brain was a blurry face of a man, standing in my front, his black slacks pulled halfway down his long legs. I was kneeling, my face meeting his erection.Yes.His very impressive erection.No wonder it made me feel hot the moment I opened my eyes. Like wet hot.It surprised me because I am what you would normally call, ‘untouchable’.Seriously. I am proudly a member of SNBTVM - the Society for Never-Been-Touched Virgin Maidens.Yeah, like that group of people actually exists.Anyway, guess I am that sexually frustrated in my mid twenties age huh? Probably that’s why I am hav

Aunt Marcella’s house can be called a boast if you ask me. The big - no - huge fancy house looks just like those you normally see in Beverly Hills complete with a swimming pool. This one however has a touch of old Renaissance taste, all elements of it including the building, the main facade and the interior. They were all designed into perfection. The marbled floors, the high ceilings, even the furniture were eye-popping. It doesn’t fail to surprise me though considering that her late husband, my Uncle, was a filthy rich man.When I visited here for the first time, I remembered playing house on my own, treating myself as a princess inside a big castle. I enjoyed it very much, especially when my Auntie plays with me, acting like the queen of the castle. They also had a ranch located a kilometer away from the main house. This was where I learned to ride a horse, taught by Uncle Michael Winner himself.By the time Aunt Marcella saw me in the foyer, she

I immediately spun around to exit the store feeling partly infuriated, partly embarrassed.Infuriated - with Eriol of course, because he didn’t so much as warn me beforehand that it was a flipping pleasure shop! What kind of a butler is he?!Embarrassed - with myself, because obviously it was my poor choice. How would I know? I am innocent on these kinds of erotica equipment. Never had I seen one before. But now, my eyes felt like it was being ripped out of its sockets and tossed into the holy water to be cleansed.When I was some distance away from the store, I turned around and shot Mr. Hot Butler a cold glare.“You want something Milady?” he smoothly asked. Freaking smoothly asked! The cover of my simmering pot immediately sky-rocketed in the air.“I can’t believe you just let me walk into that store!” I shouted but instantly regretted my move. I immediately looked around and found that some pass

~ Andrea ~ I blinked twice, thrice. Many times, actually. Until my mind registered that I was truly back in my room. Eriol was still holding my arm, so I yanked it free quickly. Lucky for me, he released it, but I had the notion he was hesitant to do so. He cast me a dark look, so intense, so burning that I believed 'phase one' of his threat was on the move. What else would I think? Out of all the places we could go, why in my bedroom, right? But wait, how did we get here in the first place, anyway? “Ho—how did we?” I sputtered, my voice laced with disbelief. I wasn’t dumb not to notice something supernatural had just happened. I certainly don’t believe in vampires, but I feel this was the case. Yeah, me and my brain, and I owe it all to my True Blood and Twilight fangirling. How crazy was that?! “Milady, could you explain to me why you were babysitting that pathetic man?” he asked, ultimately disregarding m

~ Andrea ~ I woke up in the morning trying to figure out what to do besides doing my routine morning care. I hoped to skip breakfast and just directly leave the house just so that I could avoid him, but when I checked on my iPhone from the bedside table, I found a message from my aunt telling me she wanted to see me first thing in the morning, and by that, she meant taking breakfast together. I wasn’t hungry, though. Eriol, just as you would expect from a butler, sent a maid into my room with a tray of dinner. That was after he left me feeling, well, full in a different sense. I thought it was kind of him to do that. He knew I wasn’t able to eat at the charity ball because of Mr. DaisVita’s apparent attention-grabbing stomachache. When I opened the tray, it was full of special dishes better than what I saw at the party. There was also a card in it with my name written on the front and it said, “Thank you