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It was growing late and Rosemary had become quite tired of listening to her father boast about his accomplishments in the parlor, deciding instead to retire to her quarters. Her heels clicked softly against the wood floor, climbing the many floors of stairs and retreating back into the furthest sections of the house where her quarters were located. She always loved them for being so far back and tucked away into the family home.
Rosemary was a bit nervous to see her new maid, of course. The old one had been beautiful and so very gentle with her. Rosemary certainly loved her old maid, the way the woman would wrap her arms around her to comfort her when she was upset, the feeling of her soft breasts pushing up against her own.
That nervousness changed, naturally, the moment Rosemary saw who her new maid would be. She was very pretty, almost too pretty to have been of the working class. And, yet, there she was, tending to the fire in Rosemary Lawerence 's room with her hair falling lazily about her face.
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