Chapter 1: The Beckon Call of the Boudoir
Chester's brow crinkled as he looked up from his meticulous cleaning of a stained glass window depicting an emerald green bush with ruby cardinals hidden throughout like shy berries. The doorbell of the Humblewood Manor rang out with a merry tune, deep ringing bells and charming chimes that tinkled long after the visitor had been escorted inside echoing through the cavernous halls.
This visitor had elected to not only ring the bell three times in a quick succession, but was now also pounding on the door. Chester was not a young man and he did not appreciate having the song of his home, to say nothing of its peace, abused so. Anyway, whatever the visitor's business they would have to wait for him to shuffle his way slowly out to the antechamber.
As he opened the heavy oak door, twice as tall as a man and arched like the gates to a fairy cottage, his frown deepened; standing on the expansive front porch was a rather unwelcome face, that of the incorrigible Miss Miranda Featherwick, and she was wearing her most manic smile.
"CHESTER! Hello. Is she in? Please say Scarlett's around! I have news that can't wait a moment more." Miranda scooted inside past Chester, taking advantage of his decorum and unwillingness to block the path of a guest. "Wow wow, this old palace always amazes me no matter how many times I see it. I'd love to go poking about, but I know it would make you crazy so I'll be a good girl and wait here. Pinky promise!" She wiggled a pinky at Chester gaily, which he ignored.
"The mistress is in," he said, "I will check if she is available to meet."
"She doesn't need to be deeeecent~" Miranda sang after him with a giggle.
Chester winced inwardly, the flirty editor's words highlighting a very real concern and fanning a spark of dread in his stomach. Dread and guilty anticipation in equal measure. Scarlett Sojourner had a peculiar malady, only arguably a malady, really, that necessitated her working from home and remaining in solitude much of the time. It also required her staff to be wise and disciplined enough to control themselves around her, which generally meant older staffers like himself.
As he climbed the third spiral staircase up to his mistress' chambers, an especially eclectic one with dragons and nymphs cavorting in intricate carved reliefs along its iron framework, he heard the first shriek. Rather than increase his pace, he immediately stopped and sat down, heart already hammering wildly in his chest. He knew Scarlett's cries of ecstasy quite well and there was no mistaking them for distress. Problematic distress, that is. His own happy distress was rapidly reaching iron hardness in response to her siren song, and he stood for a moment to adjust himself down along his thigh lest he come into strained conflict with his zipper.
"Oh gods, sweet fuck I NEED it! Harder, fuck me harder! Be rough, take me, please! Faster, d*EEP*.....eRRRrrr~" Scarlett's voice thickened with a soul-deep groan and then rocketed to high pitch before peaking in a squeak that set Chester's heart pounding blood to his turgid member and finally relaxing into a languid purring growl.
His mistress's breathily breathless voice sang out loudly enough to carry through the entire manor, and probably also the neighborhood, so Chester's proximity made her beckon call nearly irresistible. While his manhood had always been striking at attention it achieved a truly astounding prominence when inspired by her power and her passion. It was twenty-six centimeters long and thicker than his lady's fist, and still growing. She could take him, he was certain; he'd seen her monstrous toys. Of course, she took her painfully sweet time with those and he was in no condition to ease into her. He shut his eyes tight and shook his head, angry at himself for letting his lust carry his thoughts off to dangerous realms of possibility.
Chester had served the Sojourner bloodline for centuries and he had a hand in raising Scarlett and her mother and her mother's mother... She was like a daughter to him. Or a great big granddaughter. Which was worse to desire so desperately, he wondered? Too often he found himself wondering such things.
As Scarlett's cries drifted off into deeply contented humming, Chester gathered himself up and stood. The tension in his balls was so painful it made him nauseous, but he determinedly arranged the obscene tent in his trousers to minimize its profile. Or at least keep it from pointing straight at the woman he wanted more than anything to flood with his seed. More than *almost* anything. He wanted her happy and well even more, and he was certain any dalliance with him would prove detrimental to the household. Maybe also her womanhood. Nevermind that she had never looked at him as anything other than a father figure. He was almost sure of it. The two of them together was a terrible idea. Monstrous. Scarlett's Lady's Maid Annie would have to take a few days off for bed rest when he finished with her tonight. Finished in her. Thankfully that relationship was well established, Annie was enthusiastically accommodating, and was at her time of life where contraception was no longer a point of interest. He smiled quietly; age wasn't all bad.
Striding as obviously as he could towards his mistress' bedchamber doors, Chester knocked with the perfect blend of polite gentleness and noticeable firmness. Speaking of noticeable firmness, he adjusted himself in his trousers anew as thoughts of Annie and the state of Scarlett in her private moments of afterglow and maybe both of them at the same time had him diamond-hard once more.
The bedchamber doors were lavish, ancient mahogany cut in delicate sweeping arches with a stunningly detailed carved forest motif; shy dryads peeked out from the shadows cast by the curve and swell of the forest, seeming to move about and appear in different places with different regions of their glorious nudity on display every time he beheld this portal to passion made manifest, the boudoir of love itself in the guise of a woman. And said woman of elemental loveliness was recovering from a wild orgasm, likely the latest of many in this most recent masturbation session, only a few meters away, likely naked or at least bottomless, bountiful chest heaving and glistening with the sweat of her energetic amorous efforts, large blush-pink nipples strikingly erect. Even if he were to barge in suddenly and she covered herself with a blanket, her arousal would be unmistakable. Chester gave up on corralling his member and merely stepped back from the door to give it room to point towards his desire.
"Oh! Just a moment, please," came Scarlett's small voice, high pitched and tremulous with her audible blush.
There was the sound of hastily rustling sheets and covers, likely hiding the puddles Scarlett tended to generate beneath her delectable derriere as she came, followed by the padding of bare feet over plush carpet and a tantalizing swishing as she donned her silk robe with beautiful lace trimming. She opened the doors a minute later, her waist-length auburn hair mussed and damp, wearing a sheepish smile. Chester had to grip the doorframe to keep from being bowled over by the overwhelming scent of sex that rolled out languidly from all around her.
"Hiya, Chester! What's up?" She quipped, not bothering to fib about her activities; she was still shy about sex around him, but with her needs it was impossible not to catch her at it pretty regularly, so she had long ago made peace with letting the obvious truth lie bare between them. Speaking of what lay between them, her eyes flicked to his crotch, as they did with every man she encountered, and they widened to saucers at the enormous tent aimed directly at her own nethers.
"Forgive me, Mistress. It is a natural reaction beyond my control." Chester must have apologized for his erections twenty times a day since Scarlett flowered into womanhood, but he still insisted every time.
"Not a problem!" Scarlett responded dreamily, eyes still glued to the package he had for her. She knew better than to ask if she could see it; she'd done so as a teenager and again as an adult woman a few times, and Chester always grew terribly flustered. She knew he thought of her like a daughter and truthfully she thought of him like a father -- to her, however, this was no obstacle. She'd never understood why or how the incest taboo extended to family beyond blood; it was clear that it did for most, but nothing tamed her ardour. She sometimes wondered if she would be attracted to her blood relatives, had any of them survived. From the perspective of a healthy gene pool, perhaps it was best she was the last Sojourner. On the other hand, genetics wouldn't be bothered by eager coupling with a female relative. Well, neither fate nor the Reaper had asked for her opinion, so here she stood as sole heir to a vast fortune, to a wondrous blessing and terrifying curse. She was the heir to a power that had buried her entire family before their time for millenia, but she was determined to master it. Except, of course, when she felt like being submissive.
