Maid's Desire Pt. 01

Maid's Desire (1)

Roseanne had been cleaning the Nicholson's home for fifteen years, and at forty-five, she had never known a moment when she wasn't content. Their children were well-mannered, excelling in school and dominant in their social circles, and they all treated Roseanne with the utmost respect. She was paid handsomely, and her own children's college tuition had been directly taken care of by the Nicholson family. She had no reason to be vindictive like many of the other maids in the Hills, and had recently committed to being an au pair since her own children were off to their dormitories. She had no husband, never married, and considered herself a single mother.

Romance had always been pushed to a later time and date for Roseanne, so most of her free time was spent with her family or with the one whom she worked for.

It was during spring break that the Nicholson's eldest son, Braden, came home. It was his first time being back in two years, as he and his friends had a house off-campus that he typically stayed in, even during holidays. Most of his college mates had chosen to go to Miami, but with Mr. Nicholson's bi-annual charity gala so close to that time, Braden was coerced out of going with them. Roseanne had seen Braden in passing since he was five years old, and it had been difficult for her and his family to say goodbye to him when he went off to Stanford.

His arrival meant lots of exaggerated preparations, a roast chicken dinner with five of Braden's favorite side dishes, and freshly baked blueberry pie, also his favorite. Roseanne had helped the cook the entire day, and by the time that Braden arrived her cheeks were flushed and her clothes were sticky with sweat.

She made to go upstairs and change, but Braden's charming smile awaited her in the grand foyer.

"Rose!" He shouted, his baritone voice stopped her in her tracks, and she hardly had a chance to collect herself before the 6'4" college junior had swept her off her feet and into a full-bodied hug. He smelled of rich musk and cardamom, and Rose smiled at the fact that he was wearing cologne as she had suggested so many times before.

"It's good to see you, young man," She teased as he set her back down on the floor.

"I missed you the most," he professed jokingly, one of his broad hands skirted the underside of Roseanne's chin affectionately. She was just preparing to ask him about his studies when his mother came down the tiered staircase.

"Braden, honey!" Mindy Nicholson pulled her son into her petite arms and lovingly kissed both of his cheeks. "Every time I see you, you get bigger!" It was true, Roseanne agreed; in two years, Braden's once-wiry frame had filled out, and his brown hair had grown to be long enough that he had to tuck it behind his ears.

"I think that's your imagination, Mom," Braden quipped, gently removing his mother's hands from his tresses. "Not quite," Roseanne remarked, "You're growing up to be quite the looker, Braden." Mindy smiled in agreement, but Braden visibly paused at Roseanne's compliment. His muted blue eyes looked the au pair up and down subtly, before saying, "And you look exactly as I remember, Rose."

Roseanne had no clue what the twenty-year-old meant by saying such a thing, but she was perfectly content with maintaining that he was as innocent as he had been at the time of his departure.

"Shall we sit down and eat? Your father will be running behind tonight but I'm sure Rose wouldn't mind eating with us."

Roseanne couldn't object to that request. Typically, the Nicholsons always allowed her to eat from their food supply or even to cook for herself if she wished, but she often ate alone for fear of imposing. Even after over a decade of housekeeping for them, she was still somewhat wary of staying in her place. However, with such a blatant invitation and the event of Braden's arrival itself, she was inclined to sit at the table.

The cook had set the table per Rose's instruction, and dinner went by relatively quick. Braden's father, Eric Nicholson, arrived around the time that the pie was being served, and the conversation turned over to Braden's involvement in his fraternity.

"It's not as if we bullshit all day, but we do like to have a little fun--" Braden looked over at his mom sheepishly, but still finished his sentence, "--with some of the girls from the neighboring sorority."

"Braden!" Eric scolded laughingly, "We have a lady at the table," he gestured toward Roseanne, earning a light smack on the arm from his wife who sat beside him.

Roseanne swallowed her own shock at Braden's revelation. She knew that college wasn't exactly a nunnery, but to hear him reference sex so brazenly was unlike the Braden she knew. It wasn't her place to object, though, not with his parents' acceptance being so evident. So, she continued to observe.

____________________

She truly was exactly as Braden remembered. She still wore her dirty blonde hair in a bun at the base of her neck, and dressed modestly in a long skirt and always, always a white button-up. She used to drive Braden crazy with the fact that she never allowed even one button of her blouse to remain unsnapped. Even so, her way of dressing didn't hide her voluptuous breasts from him, nor did the globes of her spectacularly round ass get lost in the swaths of her skirt. Since he was thirteen, Roseanne had been the object of his desires.

He still recalled the time that he accidentally walked in on her using the restroom. She had just finished and was fully bent over to pull her underwear up when he entered before apologizing profusely and slamming the door shut.

Flashing images of her peachy, dimpled bottom and the alluringly pink pussy that naturally jutted out had plagued his dreams for years afterward. His first time having sex, he had imagined it was Roseanne, had even called out her name at one point and gotten away with it.

Being back at home brought forth a lot of those lustful memories, and he caught himself looking in Roseanne's direction more often than not. He noticed that in the process of sharing his college escapades that her expressions maneuvered between shock and disapproval before settling into a mask of complacency.

When dinner was over and his parents headed up to bed, claiming that they had an early start the next day, it was Braden who stayed to help Roseanne clear off the table and wrap the leftovers. One thing about Roseanne: she always wrapped the leftovers even though the Nicholsons never ate them; fresh food was cooked every day and yesterday's meal was often Roseanne's preference, or fed to the family dogs-- Bella and Trix.

They worked in silence at first, Braden admired how swift and assured Roseanne was as she moved from one end of the table to another. Her focused expression only added to his perception of her. She was completely unlike the sorority girls he had spoken of at dinner, of course age was the main separator, but beyond that she was assertive and firm, nurturing but Braden had also known her to be playful when prompted.

The numerous girls he had slept with in the past two years were still figuring out who they were, some had been virgins, others had been more experienced but lacked something else. Something that he saw in Roseanne.

Maybe it was a form of obsession, but he knew that his spring break wasn't going to be any less exciting than what the boys were getting up to in Miami.

"Rose," he started, swallowing his nerves.

"Yes, Braden," Roseanne's sing-song voice warmed a part of him, made him yearn to say what he was about to, while simultaneously making him want to never broach the topic again.

Lust prevailed.

"Do you find me to be...attractive?"

The cook had left for the evening, to return first thing in the morning, his parents had gone to bed, and his siblings would be at a sleepover until the next day, they were utterly alone.

Roseanne didn't yet balk at his line of questioning, but her voice was wary as she answered, "Yes, sweetheart, you are handsome in my opinion. I'm afraid you're a bit too young for me but from what I hear, you need no consolation in that department." She lightened her tone with that familiar teasing lilt, but Braden noticed how her delicate hands tightened around the plate she was holding.

"Rose, I'm not a player," he stepped closer to her, "I've just been exploring my sexuality, is something wrong with that?"

He could tell that she was uncomfortable, but had no intention of stopping now that he had started. He had a confession to make.

"Nothing's wrong with that," she said, although her tone was admonishing at best.

"You're disappointed in me."

"I'm not, Braden." Her knuckles were turning white from how tightly she clutched the plate now.

"Rose, it's okay, I want you to be honest with me."

He sensed her hesitation, but she only said, "It's not my place."

"I'm asking for your opinion."

"Fine," Roseanne put the plate down on the table sharply, "I remember you being such a sweet and responsible boy, and to hear from your own mouth that you've been frolicking around one of the most prestigious campuses in the country is maddening to me. I must say that in the two years since you've been gone, the transformation is jarring to me."

He stood there, pretending to be pensive even as he knew exactly what he planned on saying next. When enough time had passed, he threw the bait out there.

"You know why I think I've been so reckless these past two years?"

"Why?"

"It was to get you out of my head."

He was sure that her heart had stopped, that if she was still holding a plate it would have clattered to the floor in jagged shards. Her sharp brown eyes met his with a brash authority, "What are you trying to say, Braden?"

Knowing that there was no turning back, relishing in the fact that he had the center stage, Braden took the final plunge to his destination.

"Before I left, I was always thinking about you...sexually. I used to fantasize about you every time I was alone in my room, stroking myself. I couldn't get you out of my head, Rose. I've wondered for so long what it would be like to fuck you just once, and now..."

"Now, I think I'm old enough to find out."

_____________________

Roseanne had been speechless upon Braden's proclamation, had run from the dining room in search of solace in her own space, and had dreamed of things that made her wake up sweating and ashamed, disgusted with herself. She had known the boy since he was a child, had watched him cry, witnessed his first heartbreak and helped him pick out a corsage for his prom date a year later.

He was not her son, but her affections for him were similar.

So why...why had he unlocked something primal within her.

She woke up the next day with resolve, even as her heart thrummed at the idea of seeing Braden after being made privy to his feelings. That feeling in her lower belly was purely derived from the lack of attention within her own age group. Braden's attraction was a mere fetishization of her, a childish fascination with her maturity, she wouldn't breathe life into it.

Luckily, her resolve had time to set in because Braden was absent from breakfast. On her way up the stairs to start the day's chores, she passed Mindy who stopped her, "Perfect timing, Rose. Braden and Eric are out together doing what boys do, I'd like for you to spruce up Braden's room a bit before he gets back."

Roseanne's reply was automatic, even as it twisted her stomach to say, "Of course, Mindy."

It didn't matter if Braden was around or not, with what she knew now, cleaning his room felt like an intrusion. She couldn't keep her eyes from straying to his unkempt bed, remembering what he had told her about pleasing himself to the thought of her. She had a sudden flash of him writhing under the sheets, his hair falling into those eyes, those eyes that she knew so well...

Roseanne shuddered. It wasn't right, it just wasn't.

She started to pick up miscellaneous items from the floor, placing them in designated areas before she began vacuuming. When she couldn't avoid it any longer, she pulled the comforter back to make the bed.

No sooner than she had dismissed her raunchy thoughts, she found a pair of black cotton panties laying in the center of the sheet. Roseanne knew those panties, because she usually bought them in packs of ten. They were conveniently all she wore, and had been for the past 10 years.

And there they were: in Braden's possession.

"I never intended for you to find those," Braden's voice so close to her ear almost made her jump out of her skin. "Braden!" The warning in her voice was obvious as he wrapped his tan hands around her midsection from behind. He had held her like this before, but Roseanne had always swatted him away jokingly, unsuspectingly. Now, she froze as she realized all those times were also mild expressions of lust.

"Just let me touch you," he coaxed, "No one will ever find out, Rose."

"You're like my son," her voice quivered, "I can't condone this."

As if she had said the complete opposite, she could feel Braden's manhood hardening as her bottom remained pressed up against it.

"I'm not your son, Rose, and I'm not a child anymore." He reached around her and grabbed both of her breasts, a surge of arousal flowed through his body at the reality of it all, the weight of those mounds in his hands, "Just let me warm my cock inside you," he breathed against her neck, not bothering to hide his desperation. She smelled the same too, like lavender and chamomile, soothing and undeniably herself.

"Braden--" she squirmed as he pressed himself against her fully, "Feel how much I want you," she remained silent, and he gyrated onto her a few times, unabashedly taking any liberty that he could.

"Tell me you're not tempted," Still, he prodded at her, knowing that just as much as she was older, she was also a woman with her own needs. Needs that he had never seen her indulge in.

"I-I am not," and maybe when he was a virgin he would have believed her, wouldn't have picked up on the vulnerable tinge to her voice.

"You're as good as mine, Rose," he released her suddenly and she gasped, stumbling as Braden turned her around to face him.

"I don't care what it takes, but soon you won't be able to resist."