The squeak of the front door pulled her up short. A hint of anxiety hit her. She tamps it down and goes back to straightening the parlor, planning dinner in her mind, praying whomever was home had no need of her. The children were at school, the missus at her all day social, Mr Fletcher out-of-town…
“Celia.” Mr. Fletcher’s voice boomed through the house. The scrape of his shoes on the floor made her wince. She’d be on her knees buffing out scuff marks shortly.
She didn’t move right away, rubbing small circles in the sideboard. He had a tendency to call her without needing nothing. The moment she appeared before him, he’d simply inspect her from head to toe, an unreadable look in his eye. He’d done that for the last six months since she started on with the family. If she waited long enough, he’d disappear into the den.
“Celia.”
“Hell,” she breathed out. There was no mistaking the command. She tucked the rag into the pocket of her uniform and took a breath to still the butterflies in her stomach. It was lunch time, he was bound to be hungry after traveling back.
She found him in his den. Not bothering to announce herself, she stepped into his sanctuary. The space held the smell of old cigar, polished oak, and leather. Celia only entered when he beckoned her to clean in his presence. He’d perch behind his desk, directing her movements until the room was tidy to his satisfaction.
Now he sat behind the big desk, gazing at her where she stood just inside the door. His blue eyes blazed beneath his dark brows, a half-smile on his face. Celia shifted slightly from foot to foot, waiting for him to give whatever order he deemed important.
She’d learned to school her expressions since that first day she met him. She’d needed the job bad if she wanted to save enough money to go to that fancy school. Momma couldn’t afford it and nobody else was going to help her so she did what she had to. Anything to get up out of the area and be something other than a poor black girl.
He’d been out the day the missus had hired her. $5 dollars a day was more than she’d get at any other house. She’d ignored the street gossip about the family when she heard the wage. The excitement she’d felt over being able save a chunk of money wilted the moment he’d come home. Where Mrs. Fletcher was petite and friendly, he was tall and imposing.
Celia had felt a scary tingle in the pit of her stomach when he’d turned those stormy blue eyes on her. Handsome, too handsome for his own good. Her momma told her never to mess around with white men or she’d end up dead in a ditch. A married white man would see her body missing and never found. Celia didn’t need her momma’s warning to know she better stay clear, and she’d done a good job of it. Until today. This was the first time she’d been truly alone in the house with him.
She had a feeling he’d planned it that way.
He leaned back in his chair, his eyes crawling up her body. She felt it like a caress and couldn’t suppress her shiver when his eyes locked on hers. He crocked a finger to beckon her closer and she forced herself to cross the carpeted space to his desk. He shook his head when she would’ve stopped in front and directed her to the spot beside his chair. She kept her eyes on the top button of his dress shirt. He’d undone it so the hard planes of his chest were visible. Anxiety and just a twinge of desire set her heart racing.
“My pretty little negro has come to serve me. What should I have her do now that she’s here?”
She lifted her gaze to his. Celia knew better than to answer that question. The gleam in his eye was answer enough.
“Quiet today, aren’t you?” He lifted a hand and she flinched. “Oh, now, there’s no need to be scared. I won’t hurt you.”
“Won’t you?” She couldn’t stop from asking the question.
He froze, his eyes hardening for a moment. Celia knew genuine fear looking into his eyes. It coalesced in her stomach and threatened to force her rapidly beating heart out of her chest. He could hurt her in ways she couldn’t comprehend
Laughter exploded from him then, softening the hard line of his face. The white flash of his teeth against his tanned skin made him appear perfect, too handsome. She made to take a step back, but his iron grip came down on her hip to pull her close.
His laughter had died away, but a smirk still turned up his lips. “Now, Celia. You don’t know me as well as you do everyone else in this family and I don’t think that’s right. How can you take care of me if you don’t know my needs?”
He’d placed both hands on her hips and guided her between his knees. She was trapped, her hands tight fists against the front of her skirt and her eyes glued to his lips. Each inhale was a loud pant as she tried to maintain her mental balance. When the hands holding her hips reached back to cup her bottom, she pushed against his shoulders.
“No.” The weak whimper made her ashamed of herself.
“Quiet, girl.” He kneaded her flesh hard, stilling her attempts to wiggle away. “Relax. I’ve been waiting to teach you this since you got here.”
She shoved at his shoulders, trying to free herself from what she knew was coming. Her actions did nothing except make him gather her hands and pin them behind her back. With the other hand he reached for the buttons on her blouse.
“Mr. Fletcher, please.” There was a little more strength in her voice this time. “Mrs. Fletcher is due home!”
Don’t matter that he forced her, she’d lose more than her job if anyone caught her like this.
He continued loosening the buttons as if she hadn’t spoken. The lapels peeled back revealing her bare breasts to his hungry eyes. Her nipples were dark and tight, drawing a pleased chuckle from him. The shame at her reaction burned in her chest.
“I know exactly where Claire is and for how long.” His voice dipped and so did his head as he leaned forward to take her nipple into his mouth.
Celia tensed, the sensation unfamiliar and unbelievably erotic. It pinged along her nerve endings and, God help her, she moaned. The muscles of her stomach rolled and clenched as his wet mouth pulled her nipple deeper.
The graze of his teeth along her tender peak made her shake. “Mm, you taste so sweet. Just like blackberries covered in cream.”
He bit down hard and she cried out as the pain morphed into stark pleasure. “No. No. No.”
It was a litany from her lips. A plea and a prayer. Her fear, still a living thing in the pit of her belly, mingled with awakening desire.
“Hush.” A hard slap to her thigh stunned her into momentary silence.
His free hand gathered her skirt, pulling it to her waist. She’d washed her drawers with the family wash just yesterday, meaning she had one last barrier. He examined them for a moment before pulling a pair of small shears from his desk.
“The help is not allowed to wear panties in the house.”
She shook her head in disbelief as he snipped the only pair of drawers she owned from her body. Then there was nothing shielding her from his eyes. Her curls were dewy, her thighs trembling as he smoothed his hand from knee to hip.
“Easy now.” His hand wedged between her thighs to cup her. Once again, he gave a murmur of pleasure at finding her so wet. “The thing you need to know about working for me, Celia, is you have to keep me happy if you want to keep your job. I’ve been remiss in teaching you that.”
He released her wrists and pinned her with a look. The hand between her thighs parted her lips and caressed in between. She watched, frozen. She watched the way his wrist moved, his skin pale beside her dark thighs. She watched his other hand work at the button of his slacks, moving quickly to release himself. He stood tall between the fabric, the head a deep pink and weeping from his obvious excitement. He stroked himself as easily as he touched her, making them both tremble. She watched it all until her good sense returned.
She made to turn her head away, but he caught her chin in a hard grip. So she closed her eyes. He refused to let her shut him out, pulling one of her hands down to grasp his hardness. His fingers invaded her body, hooking deep inside to touch something that made her cry out.
“Mr. Fletcher,” she gasped. True tears seeping from the corners of her eyes as she tried to hold herself together. “Please, I can’t.”
He simply laughed, his big hand squeezing tight around hers as he moved her palm up and down his shaft. She could hear the wet way his fingers moved inside her, her mind unable to comprehend how her body could react this way.
“That’s the thing; no one cares what you want, Celia. No one cares what happens to you. Your body belongs to me and if you want to keep on making that money you need so badly, you’ll learn that quick. Deny me and you’ll never work in another place, this county or the next.”
He hooked that spot inside her again, laughing at the way her body rocked. She tried squeezing her thighs shut, but he simply thrust deeper. He sealed his mouth back around her nipple, sucking hard until she relaxed her thighs.
“Now I want to see those big brown lips wrapped around my cock while I make you come on my fingers. Then you’ll come on my cock like the pretty black bitch you are, hear?”
His hand left hers to grasp behind her neck. She opened her eyes to met his, and saw the rest of her term in the house written in the depths of his gaze. Those blue eyes said they would take all they could from her and leave little behind.
–
I admit to a number of racially charged fantasies that I can’t explain so I won’t try to. I couldn’t help being aroused by this nor could I help picturing myself trapped between his thighs. I wanted to recreate the image. Impossible since I don’t have help (or a skirt handy), but here’s a passing attempt at it.
Just pretend you’re holding my arms back so you can play at your leisure, okay?