Author note: I’m back! Each part of this new story will be posted once a week. They’re all pretty lo

Author note: I’m back! Each part of this new story will be posted once a week. They’re all pretty long posts, so hopefully they were worth the wait. Enjoy.Master of the House (Part 1 of 6)In Max’ family, tradition was everything. The way you behave, the way you dress, the way you act, it all followed a strict idea of how his relatives behaved for centuries. Being a Grantham meant you were better, more accomplished, and more refined than others. From the moment he could talk, Max was learning French, taking fencing lessons and learning how a gentleman is and should be.He was a failure, already, according to his family, at 25 years old.He failed to procure a fiancée at university and only achieved good grades there only through paying professors off. The less said about his drunken forays through the waitresses, bar girls and beach babes of southern Europe, the better. The face of his mother when he walked into the house with a tribal tattoo on his left arm was a sight.So it wasn’t a surprise that when he was informed he was taking over his uncle’s estate, he knew his parents’ game. Keep him in the countryside where he could make the least amount of trouble possible. Keep him cooped up over-seeing restoration projects that could be done by anyone. Keep him bored and ideally out of the gossip columns.Driving up his Porsche up the winding dirt path to Northwood manor house, Max lowered his sunglasses to survey his future. Built in the Edwardian era, it was run-down and looked it. The marble pillars were chipped, the 700-acre grounds looked overgrown, and no doubt all 32 rooms probably needed renovating. This was going to take years, not the couple months or so promised to him before.He had agreed, and was stuck with it. Otherwise it was say goodbye to the inheritance and trust fund.Although he had arrived on a summer’s day, the house looked cold, derelict and depressing.Sighing, Max left his car and picked up the keys from the glove compartment. The front key, like the house itself, was old, large and rusty.‘Might as well just hire a bulldozer and be done with it,’ Max thought to himself.The large double doors creaked open as he unlocked the door, a chill went through him as he stepped carefully into the marble floored hallway. Large burgundy red curtains falling from the ceiling kept the room in darkness. In the darkness, it felt like the rows of portraits of blonde and silver haired knights, lords and ladies watched him with distrust. Instinctively, Max flipped the collar of his polo shirt so it was standing up.‘Uh, hello?’Max’s voice echoed.His brows furrowed, and he returned to the comparative brightness of the outdoors. There, he pulled on the rope that rang a bell that sounded all throughout the house.Soft, shuffling footsteps grew louder, a reassuring sound.‘Ah…Master Grantham! I’ve been expecting you!’Above the two winding staircases a man appeared out of the darkness holding a candle light in a lantern. He wore a stiff white shirt with a high collar, a white bow tie, white waistcoat and a tailcoat. In his 40s, a little greying, but effortlessly slim and tall.‘I am Giles, your butler Sir,’ he said as he breezed down the stairs.‘So much for the welcome, jeez,’ Max said. ‘What’s with the haunted house feel?’‘Apologies Sir,’ Giles bowed. ‘Orders from your uncle, Sir. Sunlight can damage the portraits, and no doubt the choice to keep the electrics off is something to do with the coffers, Sir.’‘Well, I’m here now,’ Max affirmed. ‘I control the purse strings now. Switch the place on!’‘Very good Sir,’ Giles responded, and with a flourish let light pour in as he drew back the curtains.Going into a small side-room, presumably off to the cellar, a switch flipped and the chandelier shined once more. The room enveloped in light, Max could see the ancient beauty of the house for the first time. He could see for himself that, when restored to its prime, it could make for a wonderful home.‘Should I show you to your quarters, Sir?’ The slight smile in Giles’ face unnerved Max. He was probably a nancy boy. No wonder he ended up a butler. ‘Just tell me where they are. Have the bags sent up. But…don’t go in my room,’ Max said. He didn’t want this servant to get the wrong impression.‘I’m guessing I’ll meet the other staff after lunch?’The butler smiled unwavered. ‘Of course, Sir.’As Max relaxed on his uncle’s king-size bed – now his bed – he stretched and kicked off his Louis Vuitton boat shoes. The knocking of the door interrupted his fluttering napping eyes, that shot wide awake as the oak door creaked open.‘Don’t mind me, dearie, don’t mind me,’ an older woman burst through the door, a large food trolley rattling behind her.‘Excuse me?’ Max said indignantly.‘I had the cook rustle you up some grub. You must be so tired from all that driving! Picture that, a Grantham driving! You’re not like your uncle. He wouldn’t be caught dead in the front seat, if you know what I mean!’ the older maid said, setting up a table for the meal.‘Uh…yes, I guess,’ Max responded.‘Now if you hate smoked salmon then do not be afraid to say it. Some people can’t stand it. That uncle of yours will have sausage after sausage for breakfast, lunch and dinner but try and stick some fish on his fork and no siree, he will not taste it.’Max stood, as he went to go sit down at the small dining area of his expansive bedroom.‘I love smoked salmon, actually,’ his tummy grumbled.‘Pardon me, you are?…’‘Oh heaven forbid!’ the maid said, clutching her chest. ‘I’m Delia, the maid, housekeeper, scullery maid, whatever you like, dearie! I’ve been working for your family for going on 30 years, gosh has it been that long? I remember you when you were only this tall!’Max couldn’t help but smile. ‘Pleasure to see you again,’ he said, remembering his manners. ‘Now say Delia, what do you think of the butler?’‘Well,…it’s not my place to speak out of turn especially as we’ve only just met,’ Delia said, rummaging through her apron for nothing in particular. ‘Please,’ Max said, digging into the meal. ‘Speak freely. This is delicious by the way.’‘I’ll inform the cook of your compliments! Very nice man,’ Delia nodded.‘Mr Giles is a new addition to the house. Appointed six months ago, I believe? Your uncle was very fond of him, I’m not sure why! The rest of us, well, I suppose we’re not used to men like that. Keeps himself to himself. Has a funny look now and again. Got some ideas. Not a fan of that. I’ve told him a Grantham estate is a Grantham estate, it’s worked this way for centuries and we’re all fine with that. You just don’t go around changing every clock even if it has got a tick or tock or two behind, but I’m just the housekeeper, I’m sure he’s a perfectly lovely man.’Delia finally stopped herself from talking, and mimicked zipping her mouth shut.‘I’ve got plenty to be getting on with. Enjoy your meal, Sir!’When Max finished up the meal, depositing the trolley outside, he found a note on his door.In illustrious curved handwriting, the note said: ‘Your staff are lined up to be presented to you. They eagerly await your presence, Master Grantham!’Max sighed. It was going to be a lot of this Master this, Master that. In the city, and travelling, he didn’t have help. He would have to get used to it again.Descending the stairs, he saw two men and Delia standing awaiting his arrival. The butler stood by to greet him.‘Announcing Master Maximilian Grantham, the new Master of Northwood Manor!’ Awkward silence hung in the air. Delia narrowed her brow, as the young man beside her in overalls stifled a chortle.‘So…Giles, this is all of the current staff?’‘Yes Sir,’ Giles said. ‘Northwood Manor is currently running with a skeleton staff. Let me introduce them. You of course know me, your butler Sir.’Max couldn’t help but glance at Giles’ taut white bow tie, and then up at his sparkling greyish blue eyes.‘Now as I guide you through the staff, I have some suggestions to ensure your staff works as efficiently as possible.’‘Fine,’ Max said, wanting this over with as soon as possible.The first man, a gruff, muscular man in his late 30s dressed in chef whites, was gestured forward by Giles. Shaved head with a strong thick beard. ‘This is Cliff, the chef at Northwood Manor. Despite his appearance, he has 10 years experience in fine dining.’‘’Ow you doing, Sir? Alright?’ Cliff said, his south London accent betraying the formal setting.‘Fine, thanks. The lunch was very satisfactory,’ Max said, hoping the compliment would ease the awkwardness. Giles continued: ‘Now, I can’t help but notice Cliff has a rather…hirsute appearance for a chef in your employ.’‘What?’ Max said, as he once again caught the eye line of the butler.‘The beard, Sir.’‘Oh it’s never been a problem, Sir,’ Cliff said. ‘Never got a hair in one dish.’‘What do you say, Sir?’ Giles looked directly at Max.Max stared, and blinked. Then he blinked again.‘Uh, yes. I agree, Giles. The beard should go. It’s not hygienic. I’m sorry.’‘Nothing to be sorry for,’ Cliff responded, as he stood back in line. ‘I’ll get rid of it this evening. Wife’ll complain I’m sure but it’s no problem.’The next man stood forward at Giles’ gesturing, a blond man barely past 22. Fresh-faced and twinkly-toothed, he clearly had charm for days. ‘Nick the gardener,’ Giles said. ‘Very popular lad at the nearby village. Started a landscaping business last year before his services were permanently acquired to work on the grounds a few months ago.’‘You the big cheese now the old dude left?’ Nick said.‘Don’t dare speak to Master Grantham like that!’ Giles scolded.‘No, no it’s fine,’ Max said. ‘Don’t worry. Honestly. Yeah, I guess I am. Promise I’m nothing like my uncle.’‘Well,’ Giles said, straightening his waistcoat. ‘It is my personal recommendation Nicholas is given elocution and manners lessons immediately. I am happy to conduct them myself in the butler’s study after sundown. If he is going to ever talk to guests, then his current demeanor would be embarrassing to the Grantham name.’Max couldn’t help but remember his own painful lessons, the drills of remembering which fork and knife and what to say to which duke. They were undeniably helpful though.‘Sure,’ he replied, nodding in Giles’ direction. ‘Good idea. Start immediately.’Finally, Delia stepped forward.‘Now I know you have met the maid,’ Giles quickly said. ‘It’s my advice her duties are rearranged. It’s best if she would be used somewhere less….front of house. Perhaps washing dishes. Or pulling weeds. I am far more capable of catering to your every need, Master Grantham.’But this time, Max did not catch Giles’ eye. He looked at Delia’s fuming face.‘No,’ Max asserted himself. ‘Delia can stay in her current position with the duties she has had for years.’He definitely spotted Delia give him a wink, as she curtseyed. ‘Thank you kindly, Sir.’Max breathed a sigh of relief as the charade was over. ‘Is that all, Giles?’ he said, curtly. ‘It is, Master Grantham,’ Giles said, as he bowed. ‘You’re all dismissed then,’ Max said.For the rest of the day, Max walked along the long dusty corridors. Rooms full of boxes covered with plastic sheets. Portraits of long-forgotten lords and ladies lined the halls. All those eyes staring, waiting for something to happen. It was late when he retired to bed. As his racks of designer clothes were still in storage, waiting to be delivered to Northwood Manor, he resorted to wearing a pair of his uncle’s pajamas. Silk red shirt and pants, they were even embroidered with his uncle’s name – Maximilian. He was named after him. Max hated that name, but they would have to do for tonight.Soon falling into slumber, he dreamed. He felt sweat and lust and aching. Back in her arms. As the fire crackled in its stone hearth, he remembered the burning bonfire and smell of barbeque in the beach air. And her embrace. Her sweet embrace. Having talked for hours, feeling like she got him in a way no one else ever did. The cute giggle as he drunkenly fumbled to undo her bikini. The dream.But as he nestled, as he always did, to kiss her chest. No longer buxom and soft, but hard and hairy. The fingers on his back, pulling him in, turned to strength and power. Grunting. Slow, deep moans. Muscle and flesh and sweat and sex. His cock hard, slipping inside the tight, inviting hole. Like velvet. Clutching his hands round hard pecs, his mind to mush as he felt lost in the lust. Rutting. Completion. Awake, Max’s eyes darted to his phone in the dark. 3.30am. The pillows were cold with sweat.What was that? He never had a dream like that before? Even though he lay there eyes feared to close, they soon succumbed to the night. Thankfully, the rest of the hours were dreamless.Morning, and Max breathed. It was one time. Forget about it. A rapping on the door. Sweat dripped from his back, clinging his night shirt to his skin. Max stumbled out of bed, and twisted the door knob open.And there was a young blond man, dressed in a servant’s uniform, holding a silver plate of cooked breakfast goods. He wore a black bowtie, waistcoat, and trousers, a stiff high collar white shirt, and shining black patent shoes.‘Good morning, Master,’ the boy said, bowing deeply, not letting his hand holding the plate waver for a moment.‘Your breakfast is ready.’Wait, Max realized. He recognized the boy. It was Nick, the gardener. But instead of the boy with curly blond locks, it had been cut and slicked back with a shiny pomade. He was out of his overalls and in a uniform. As he slid past the blinking-eyed Max to set up breakfast on the table, he couldn’t believe what he saw.‘Nick…was this from one lesson with Giles?’‘Yes, Master,’ Nick said, bowing once again. ‘And please call me Nicholas, or whatever you wish to call me Master.’‘Uh…okay Nicholas,’ Max responded. ‘Tell me more.’‘Mr Giles felt my attitude needed some work, and I’m very happy he helped me, Sir. He knows so much Sir. He felt as we were so short-staffed, I could spend time learning to be a servant Sir. Don’t worry about the grounds, Sir, I’ll still work on them too. That is unless you need me for anything else, Master?’In one day, Nick…had become this? An submissive servant eager to please? The guy he met seemed rougher, more like a lad. He didn’t seem the type to take to wearing a bowtie all of a sudden, that’s for sure. ‘No, Nicholas, I’m fine. Thank you,’ Max said. ‘But what about Delia?’Nicholas responded: ‘Oh Master, Delia is being dealt with by Mr Giles. She was caught stealing, Sir. Mr Giles is about to throw her out, Sir.’‘Wait, what?’ Max said.‘Mr Giles is about to fire Delia, Sir,’ Nicholas responded.Lurching for the door, Max scarpered down the long curved stairs yelling the butler’s name.‘GILES! GILES! What is the meaning of this?’Following the sounds of a woman’s tears, he burst open the doors to the dining room. And there Delia was, sobbing, as Giles emptied out the contents of her bag.‘We are in the presence of a thief, Sir!’ Giles said, pulling out silverware after silverware. ‘What-what is this?’ Max said, relenting, concerned. ‘It’s-oh god-I don’t know!’ Delia cried. ‘I haven’t stolen a single thing, not a jewel or a fork or anything, in 30 years! What-what happened? I don’t understand.’‘It happened, you wench!’ Giles said. ‘You were caught red-handed!’Delia hid her red tear-stained face, ashamed. ‘It’s ok, Delia,’ Max said, sitting down beside the maid. ‘You can talk to me.’Stuttering, she started: ‘Oh dearie I don’t understand. I got to work early as usual, and as I started the dusting something came over me. Like a dream. Or an episode! And then we were here! Am I mad?’‘Yes you thieving mad woman!’ Giles furiously said, pacing up and down. Stealing from Master Grantham? Likely you thought because he had taken over the manor you could do what you like. How could you?’Max sighed, and looked at the crumpled, barely breathing woman. ‘I don’t know what happened!’Giles packed the rest of Delia’s things in her bag, barring the silverware left lying on the oak dining table. ‘It’s time you left, thief,’ Giles pronounced. Max breathed, and touched her hand. ‘Perhaps it’s for the best?’ he said, slowly. He knew if she had lied, and really was a thief, she had to go. ‘If it was a moment of mental weakness, please seek professional help. Keep in contact. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement again?’ Delia nodded quickly, and tried to straighten her apron as she stood. ‘Goodbye dearie,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry.’Max couldn’t look at her as she left, the large doors echoing through the halls as they closed. But he did see Giles, a smile plastered across his face. ‘Good riddance,’ he said. ‘Now Master. You must be starved. Head on back to bed and I’ll send the boy back up with another plate freshly cooked.’Exhausted from the day, and the morning had barely begun, Max did slowly march back up the stairs. He was afraid to dream, but he hated to stay awake. ‘By boy you mean…Nicholas?’ Max said, dreary-eyed. ‘Yes Sir, such a quick learner. Such a good boy. Never fear, I’ll make sure he continues learning in his daily lessons. Just as you ordered, Master.’‘Of course,’ Max said, yawning, stretching. ‘Good night Giles.’‘Good day, Sir,’ Giles smiled again. ‘I’ll see you when you wake to discuss further work to the manor. That’s when the work can really begin.’ -- source link

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