The Professor and the Housemaid by Gentle_Direction

The Professor and the Housemaid by Gentle_Direction

Explore the steamy adult sex story of a professor and his seductive housemaid in this tantalizing tale of forbidden passion and desire. Read on for a thrilling and erotic adventure that will leave you wanting more.<br/>
The Professor and the HousemaidStepping over that threshold felt like stepping into another world, the day I met Professor Brooks. He lived in a house that could easily be mistaken for a museum. The furniture looked over a hundred years old, the rugs were all intricate Oriental patterns, and relics or stacks of books covered nearly all surfaces. A not-unpleasant aroma of dusty vanilla filled every room. Only the kitchen had any sense of modernity at all, but behind the stainless steel appliances, each window opened to timeless green gardens instead of sprawling concrete suburbia.

During my tour, the professor would excitedly tell me the stories behind various curiosities and treasures. Here was a painting that once hung in a French castle, and there was a replica of a war horn the Celts used in battle. He actually played it for me, without any prompting on my part, and it was the most bone-chilling call I’d heard in my life.

“Imagine hearing that in a foggy, overgrown forest in the dead of night, Megan!” he said. Then he put away the horn and looked at me in some surprise, as though he’d forgotten the original intent of the tour was not to teach me history as normally did at the local university. “Tell me about yourself. What fascinates you?”

At the moment, it was him, honestly. He was so passionate about history that I began to guess he was teaching at the university purely for his own enjoyment. But I answered with the usual sorts of things. “I love knitting. I’ve been making my own patterns to sell and also selling some of my creations, but unfortunately it’s not really making ends meet. And my landlord just increased the rent…”

I said too much. I didn’t mean to pull out the pity card, but there it was all the same. My eyes took in the elegant carpet I stood on now.

Professor Brooks let me get away with my social awkwardness scot-free. “You love to knit. That’s wonderful. People have been knitting since about the twelfth century. Did you know that?”

“I didn’t, sir.”

He smiled, maybe at my title for him, or maybe because he was about to go off on a new diatribe about the history of fabric arts. “You know, historically, the Mediterranean-” he stopped himself mid-sentence. “Sorry. I’m sure you’ve got other interviews to attend.”

I nodded, hoping to appear very sought-after and employable, which I was not. There were no other interviews.

“Well, what do you think about the job?”

“You have such a beautiful home, Professor Brooks,” I said. “I’m just a bit confused about the full responsibilities of the job.”

“I see. Yes, so, I’m struggling to keep up with everything now at my age. I turned fifty last week, and hiring some help is my little birthday gift to myself. I’d like you to clean, do the laundry, cook, and generally make it so my workday ends once I leave my office at the university. Back in Victorian times, this job title would have been called housemaid… I didn’t think that word would look quite right in print these days.”

It made sense now. He’d called the job ‘live-in domestic helper’ in the advertisement, which was posted only in the local newspaper and on the bulletin board in the grocery store. Professor Brooks had no modern sensibilities at all. I hadn’t seen a single piece of twenty-first century technology since I arrived, and now assume whatever laptop or cell phone his job insisted upon had been left neglected in his office.

“So… are you still interested?” he asked.

I asked for a moment to think it over. The job was enticing, as much work as it was. The bedroom and bathroom he offered me looked like they belonged in a five star hotel. One from the 1920’s, but still. All my meals and general needs, like toiletries and the like, would be provided separately from my paycheque. And the paycheque itself! No other offer in my four months of job hunting even came close.

Another aspect of this unusual job intrigued me, though it embarrassed me greatly. The position of housemaid was just about the most subservient position I could imagine. And that was always something that struck my fancy. The idea of waiting hand and foot on Professor Brooks – with his dignified salt and pepper hair and his kind blue eyes and the way he looked so dashing in a suit – it made me a little weak in the knees. The fourteen year age gap between us, plus his tenured career teaching at the university, only further cemented his natural and gentle authority over me.

I immediately wanted to please him, hoping to see him smile, and admittedly, testing if he was up for any fun at all. Anyway, he seemed like the kind of man who had constant fanciful thoughts of travelling back in time, so why not make me, his birthday gift, truly special?

So I asked him, “Will there be a uniform, sir?”

His eyes rounded for a flash. Surprise? Interest? I wasn’t sure, but he recovered quickly. “Hmm?” he double-checked.

“I imagine housemaids in Victorian times had a uniform of some kind, and I take it you’re the kind of person who prefers things to be historically accurate. Also, I think I’d look out of place here in leggings.”

“Ah yes, they would have certainly worn a uniform at that time. Well, ahh-”

Professor Brooks kept the rest of his hemming and hawing to himself, going silent for a good minute. Then, to my relief and joy, he told me that it could certainly be arranged.

“I suppose, come to think of it, that it would be rather delightful indeed for you to look the part!”

So he was open to a little bit of fun. Maybe agreeing to the job directly after that was too vulnerable or even flirty. But when I’m nervous, I’m not always the most socially skilled. “I’d like the job, sir! And I wear a size medium, just so you know.”

He dabbed a pocket handkerchief against his forehead. I devilishly hoped I played some role in that, though the unusually warm April afternoon surely took the majority of the credit. “Excellent news, Megan. I’m so glad to hear it. Well, when can you start?”

***During the two weeks I needed to prepare for the move, I had researched my new job to some degree. All Victorian domestic servants were expected to be quiet, obedient, and respectful. Fortunately for me, this was almost exactly the same as the way I daydreamed about in my little submissive fantasies. It was thrilling, if not a little naughty perhaps.

On my first day, I was immediately presented with my uniform. It was a modest white pinafore apron over a deep blue knee-length dress, and felt surprisingly silky and comfortable. I showed it off to Professor Brooks and spun around once so he could see even the pretty bow tied at the back.

“You look so-” he stopped himself and changed course. “Well there’s a few more uniforms like in the wardrobe. But I regret to tell you this isn’t perfectly accurate. Normally the dress would be even longer, and black, but it’s certainly difficult to find Victorian era clothing these days. But it’s close enough, and suits you so well!”

“Thank you, sir.” Victorian servants were meant to keep their words short and sweet, so I did.

“Very good,” he said, rather aristocratically.

I bowed my head once in a respectful sort of nod, keeping in mind to stay politely quiet unless directly spoken to. I was playing a role. He was playing a role. I hope he was as pleased about it as I was.

“Well, then. Let me show you the ropes!”

The first part of this involved him explaining in depth where that expression came from. Sailors training new recruits, as it turned out. There were a whole lot of ropes on ships. Once he got that impromptu history lesson out of his system, he showed me a schedule he’d created, along with a separate sheet of expectations. It was something like a syllabus for domestic work, and appeared to be typed out on the typewriter that sat in his study.

Professor Brooks was doing his best to be a gentleman. None of my new responsibilities would raise any eyebrows, as much as I wished otherwise. Or perhaps I didn’t. His respect for me was part of his allure. He was a safe person; a trustworthy man. I’ve never been one for scoundrels. The kind of relationship I wanted most featured a deep, full trust, first and foremost. So his professional courtesy only made him more desirable to me.

He was patient, too, giving me plenty of time to get comfortable in my new position. This was a good and necessary thing. There was a learning curve to Professor Brooks and his unique needs. The historical artifacts and replicas had to be cleaned with gloved hands, for instance. And I was to be very careful about the books. It seemed chaotic to me, but he would get distressed when he couldn’t find a book in one of the little piles adorning most surfaces, often including the floor. To top it all off, he needed total silence more often than not, especially in the hours after dinner and before bed. That was when he would read and research in the study.

Once I figured out the best routine for handling all the cleaning, laundry, and cooking, the job could become tedious at times. A cleaner mind might have filled the vapid task of mopping or dusting with deeper thoughts, or at least little daydreams. I, however, kept playing a sort of mental game with myself. I would imagine it was truly Victorian times and I was a mere helpless servant girl. In my mind, I was a very hard-done-by young lady. Sometimes I even scrubbed the floor on my hands and knees, forgoing the mop, just because it seemed more in character.

In truth, I felt freer than I had in ages. There was no WiFi here, no television sets, and none of the hassles of modern life. In the last days of May, my cell phone lost all its battery and I hadn’t even noticed until I went to call my mother for our weekly chat. My life now was simple and safe and the numerous social burdens of modern life floated away. More often than not I used my day off to knit, read, and explore the paths through the nearby woods.

All I had to do was attend to Professor Brooks, and it was my pleasure to do so anyway. I studied him the way he studied history. I learned his habits and needs and wants. His main frustration was usually his students looking at their phones instead of listening. So I made sure to hang on his every word, which was simple enough. Most of what he said was quite interesting. As for his wants… I soon began to suspect he was the yang to my yin.