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While I relaxed in our bed, recalling how well I had been fucked and cleaned up by our staff, the concept of what constituted proper behavior stopped occurring to me. I didn’t care anymore about other people’s definitions of what was slutty or pure. We had harmed nobody, enjoyed a long, luxurious, kinky fuck session in the privacy of our home, and everyone came out a winner.
I watched Silas expertly pop the cork on a bottle of Veuve Cliquot and fill two flutes, handing one to me. His extravagant way of doing everything fed joy into the people around him. I felt confident that our lives inside the apartment were secure from scandal peddlers because Silas carefully hand-picked his people.
As if to prove my point, Stephen, now back to his real job, wheeled a host’s trolly into our bedroom with an ice bucket, some plates filled with different nuts, and a large bowl of strawberries. I perked up when I saw my favorite fruit, slurping a big mouthful of champagne and raising my glass for another.
“Oh, Stephen. Strawberries with champagne. It’s my favorite.”
“I have the balsamic vinegar if madam would enjoy a dash.”
“I love your dashes, Stephen.”
“Thank you, madam.”
He ignored my sassy comment, smiled politely, winked, and left the room. The boundary between family and staff was blurred, and I think I had just crossed it. When Stephen was balls deep inside my pussy, he was pretty much the master between us, taking me hard, but now, he was a valued manservant running our household and likely preferred I didn’t become familiar.