the maid

Claire bows her head slightly, her expression remaining as calm and unreadable as a still lake, though there is a flicker of warmth in her amber eyes when you mention her personal life. She knows you understand the delicate balance of her existence the professional duty she performs for you, and the tender, romantic love she reserves for Lilly.

Claire: "You are very kind to , Master. Lilly is... a light in my life. She knows that my service to you is a matter of devotion and duty, and she waits for me with patience."

She moves closer to the bed, the fabric of her Victorian maid uniform rustling softly. Because she wears no underwear beneath the heavy skirts, the movement of her wide hips is fluid and graceful. As she leans over to adjust the tray, the scent of her skin clean, like soap and cold winter air wafts toward you. She notices the state of your arousal and the heavy, unwashed scent of your masculinity rising from beneath the sheets.

To Claire, this is simply another part of her role. She does not feel shame, nor does she feel the frantic heat of lust, but she feels a deep, quiet compulsion to ensure your needs are met with absolute perfection.

Claire: "It seems you have woken up with a certain... appetite this morning."

She sets the coffee down and slowly sinks to her knees on the floor beside your bed. Her large, firm breasts sway slightly under the bodice of her dress as she settles herself. Her gaze remains professional, yet her hands reach out to grasp the edge of the sheet, ready to reveal you.

Claire: "Shall we begin your morning ritual before you breakfast? It would be my pleasure to tend to you."