A gentle shaking woke me from my sleep. I opened my eyes to see Thomas standing over me. His face seemed concerned. The sudden memory of what happened last night hit me. I tried to leap up, but he pressed me to the bed by my shoulders. A wave of fear filled me.

He must have seen the fear in my eyes because he raised one hand and put a finger to his lips, a signal for me to be silent. He pointed over my shoulder. It was at that moment I realized Mr. Weston was sleeping with his arm still around me.

Thomas leaned in close to me and whispered, "Try not to wake Mr. Weston unnecessarily when you get up. Consider this the beginning of your training. Come downstairs when you are dressed and ready, you have much to learn today."

With that Thomas released my shoulders and quietly left. In the silence, I became all too clearly reminded of what had happened last night. Shame filled me. What was I thinking? I should have immediately woken Mr. Weston. If not by shaking, then by screaming or fighting or something. Would he remember when he woke? Did he even realize it had happened? How would I explain myself?

I could have spent the whole morning pondering these questions and more, but Thomas was right. I did have a lot of training today and needed to get ready. Luckily, Mr. Westons's grip was much looser than last night and I was able to cautiously slide myself to the edge of the bed and out of his reach. I went to the closet to get ready.

Thomas had never mentioned a specific dress code, but the last thing I wanted was to give Mr. Weston the wrong impression. I was here to be a caretaker. Nothing more.

I chose a knee-length blue dress. It fit me well but was neither short nor showed off any unnecessary cleavage. Very "work-appropriate," I thought. I was careful not to make any noise when exiting the closet and closed the door gently as I left the room. Thomas was waiting for me downstairs.

"Your first instruction is that Mr. Weston should never be woken," he started. "He keeps his own schedule so it is not necessary, and doing so may worsen one of his episodes. Which, of course, will only make more work for you.

The next is that, as you have seen, we have no real staff here at Weston Manor. Considering how hard it is to find a caretaker you must surely understand how difficult it would be to find a regular staff. There is a team of housekeepers that come every Monday, Thursday, and Saturday. It is your job to inspect their work before allowing them to leave. The rooms must be dusted, the floors swept and vacuumed, and all animals fed. A group of gardeners will come the same days to care for the lawn and garden. There is a personal chef we hire from the town nearby. He will come at eight, noon, and six to prepare meals, but leaves immediately after. You are responsible for any light snacks Mr. Weston requests in between these times.

Besides this, you will be completely alone in the house with Mr. Weston. You are solely responsible for his health, safety, entertainment, and overall happiness. Do you have any questions?"

I stood there in a daze. It took me a long time to respond as I processed the wealth of information just given. Questions?

"What about groceries?" I asked finally.

"The chef puts in an order and receives the deliveries himself once a week. If Mr. Weston has a request or there is anything you desire tell the chef so he can place the order. Other than that it is not your concern," He answered.

"The staff's pay?"

"Automatic transfer," he said, shrugging. "If there is a problem at any time you have the authority to contact the bank."

"That emergency phone-"

"Located in the study on the second floor, just to the left of the staircase" he responded, cutting me off. "There is also a first aid kit and an emergency supply kit there."

"What if I-"

"Though I am officially retiring, I do understand the difficulty of this job. I will leave you a detailed list of what to do in various scenarios, as well as a way to contact me if you are truly at a loss."

I was amazed, but more than that I felt bad. Thomas answered my questions with ease. He didn't even need the full question. Exactly how many times had he gone through this speech with applicants to have his answers at a nearly psychic level?

"Come, Ms. Walton. I will show you several facilities that will be of great use to you," he said, gesturing down the hall.

He showed me around the kitchen and where various appliances were. I saw the chef preparing breakfast. Thomas cleared his throat. The chef glanced our way.

"Phillip, this is Ms. Walton. She'll be taking over soon," Thomas stated.

The chef merely grunted and went back to preparing breakfast. Thomas led me back towards the dining room.

"Please, excuse him if he seemed a bit rude," Thomas mumbled apologetically. "He's had these introductions quite a few times by now, and I think he's begun to find it tiring to learn all these names only to have them disappear in a few days' time."

I began to feel bad for all of the staff at Weston Manor. Though not full-time they did work there frequently. Thomas had kept operations running smoothly for over two decades. Would I really be able to fill his place?

Thomas showed me around the many bathrooms of the home. They were the only thing that had really been updated in the house. Modern plumbing, rainfall showers, and a jacuzzi bath in each one. Finally, he showed me the libraries, galleries, and the garden, as Mr. Weston was very fond of these places especially. As we were coming in from the garden I heard the sound of footsteps echoing on the floor.

Thomas suddenly turned to me with a serious look on his face.

"There is one more detail that is very important, Ms. Walton. You must only address him as "Mr. Weston" or "Sir" unless he asks otherwise. I do this not out of professionalism, but because it can cause problems. We have no way to know who Mr. Weston will wake as in the morning. If you disrupt his fantasy by insisting he is someone else, it could throw him into a fit that is nearly impossible to pull him back from. Do you understand?"

Though spoken quietly, the intensity in his voice made me unable to answer back. All I could do was nod.

"Good," he said simply, "now prepare yourself for anything that might come through the door."

The way he spoke made it sound as if the devil himself might walk in. I stood straight with my hands held in front of me respectfully. A proper servant, I hoped. As Mr. Weston appeared I held my breath. I had never seen his condition firsthand. I was nervous to meet the man who had run off some of the world's best caretakers.

He saw us and smiled. "Good morning, Thomas. Ms. Walton. Thomas, what's for breakfast today?"

"I believe it's eggs benedict, fruit salad, and oatmeal, sir," Thomas answered casually.

"Excellent! Ms. Walton, I believe you skipped dinner yesterday. You must be starving. Come, let's eat," he said, gesturing towards the dining room.

With that, he exited the room. I stood there, dumbstruck. I had prepared myself for anything, for anyone that might enter, but the one thing I wasn't expecting Mr. Weston to be, was Mr. Weston. I looked at Thomas, he smiled at the obvious confusion on my face.

"You are quite lucky, Ms. Walton. It is rare for Mr. Weston to be himself two days in a row," he said, chuckling.

"So, he isn't always different?" I asked.

Thomas thought for a moment. "I suppose I'd say you would be lucky to see Mr. Weston as himself once a week, and seeing him as himself for two days in a row is very unusual. I've only seen it happen a handful of times myself. You must have quite an influence on him. Come, let's not keep him waiting. "

I followed Thomas to the dining room. Mr. Weston was already sitting at the head of a long table. It seemed so empty for three people. I decided to sit near the middle of the table. However, it didn't last long.

"Ms. Walton, why are you so far away?" He asked. "I'm sure old Thomas has been telling you some horror stories about me, but I promise I don't bite. Come, sit next to me."

I wanted to keep some distance between us after last night, but I knew I didn't really have a choice either. This was my role now.

I stood and walked towards where he was at the head of the table. He smiled and patted a chair next to him. I sat down and returned his smile half-heartedly. Thomas took a seat on the other side of Mr. Weston.

"I'm very pleased that you seem to like Ms. Walton so much, sir," Thomas commented.

Mr. Weston laughed. "Well, I'm very pleased you found her, Thomas. She's wonderful. I can't remember the last time I slept so well! Of course, they always say you sleep better with someone beside you. Probably even more so when it's a beautiful woman, yes?"

I blushed deeply as the memories of last night reappeared. Did he really not know?

Thomas cleared his throat loudly. "Sir, your manners?"

He nodded in my direction. Mr. Weston turned to look at me, he seemed shocked at my blush.

"Oh! Ms. Walton, forgive me. I know you must be uncomfortable with this situation," he said awkwardly.

I shook my head vigorously. "No, no. It's okay, really. I just need time to adjust. That's all."

"Are you sure?" He asked, unconvinced. "I want you to feel at home here, and I couldn't forgive myself if I knew my poor manners were the cause of any discomfort."

I forced a small smile. "I promise. I'm alright, sir."

I wasn't sure if he believed me or not, but he did seem comforted at least. The truth was, it wasn't his manners or way of speaking that bothered me. I was upset by my own actions. Or lack thereof. The resulting memories now filled me with shame each time I was near him. Would I ever feel comfortable around him? And how would I do this job if I couldn't be?

Suddenly, the doors to the kitchen opened. The chef appeared with a large serving cart filled to the brim with food. He spent several minutes laying the spread of food and drinks in front of us before excusing himself back to the kitchen.

Mr. Weston was right. I hadn't eaten anything since my lunch on the plane the day before. I was absolutely famished and the food looked far too tempting, but I wasn't exactly used to "high-society" dining. Was there some etiquette to follow? Should I wait until Mr. Weston started eating? How many servings to take? The questions were swimming around in my head when my stomach betrayed me. A loud growl came from my stomach. Mr. Weston looked at me in shock.

"My god, Ms. Walton! Don't starve yourself on my account," he said, pushing a plate towards me. "Eat."

"Sorry, sir," I mumbled, embarrassed.

"And, please, don't apologize for something so ridiculous." He reached out and gently patted my hand. "I know I've already said this, but I do want you to feel at home here. Please, don't worry about any manners, or formalities, or any other act you feel you need to put on. Just be yourself, I'm sure I'd like the honest version of you much more than a 'proper' one."

I nodded slightly and began helping myself to the food. It was delicious. Although I was still careful about my manners when eating, I followed Mr. Weston's advice and tried not to think too much about having a second serving. It was hard not to feel self-conscious though. Almost every time I looked up Mr. Weston was staring at me. Only the occasional throat-clearing from Thomas seemed to remind him not to stare. As we finished, the chef came back and cleared the table before disappearing again.

"Well, sir," Thomas said, wiping his mouth, "what would you like to do now? You seem to be yourself today, does anything interest you?"

Mr. Weston's eyes quickly flashed to me. He smiled and stared for a moment.

"Sir?" Thomas repeated.

He turned to Thomas. "Actually, seeing as I'm having a good day, and Ms. Walton is my new caretaker, I was thinking you could have the day off. It would give the two of us a chance to know each other better."

My heart sank. Being alone with him now was the last thing I wanted. How could I possibly act normal around him? I was hoping Thomas would insist on staying, make an excuse about training me, but he merely nodded and stood to leave.

"If either of you should need me there is an intercom system in every bedroom, Ms. Walton. I leave Mr. Weston in your hands," he said, giving a brief bow.

With that, he left. We were alone. We sat in silence for a while. I glued my eyes to the table, not daring to look at him. Maybe if I kept my head down I could get through today without any more problems.

"Anna?" He said gently.

The sound of my first name made me blush deeply. How many times had he called it last night? Over and over again. Anna. Anna! It brought back all the shame and humiliation, but worse, it also brought back the heat between my legs.

"Anna," he said again, "do you dislike me?"

I looked up out of shock. Had I really given him that impression?

He gave a weak smile. "Well, your surprise seems to say that statement isn't true. Then is there another reason you're so distant toward me?"

I felt a lump in my throat. Should I tell him? If not then what excuse should I make? The last thing I wanted was to hurt him or give him the wrong impression, but what could I say?

"Is it because of last night?" He asked quietly.

Panic swept through me again. He knew! What would he say? He averted his eyes from me.

"If it was a problem I really wish you would have told me," he sighed. "I don't like upsetting you."

Tell him? How could I? He was fast asleep. Even if I woke him, what could I say about it? The situation was embarrassing enough without having to talk about it too. I swallowed the lump in my throat and thought of my words carefully.

"Well, it's not as if it would be an easy thing to say to you, Mr. Weston," I mumbled. "I'm not even sure how I would have explained it to you."

"I can be very dense at times, Ms. Walton. So, please, be as blunt as you need to make me understand," he said. He let out a frustrated sigh. "A part of me knew asking you to wear that was too much, but I couldn't help it."

I sat there for a moment, not quite understanding him. Wear "that"? Wear what?

"I'm sorry, sir?" I asked.

"I noticed it when Thomas was unpacking your things. I knew it was a more...personal item. One you probably had no intention of me seeing, but after seeing it I just couldn't think of anything else," he explained, exasperated. "I had to see you wearing it or I thought I wouldn't have a moment's rest all night. "

Wait, was he talking about my lingerie? Relief filled the place of panic. So he didn't know about last night. He thought I was upset over the lingerie. I couldn't help letting out a small giggle. He turned to me in surprise.

"While I'm glad to see you laughing, what's so funny?" He asked.

"Mr. Weston, you have it all wrong. I was never upset over the lingerie. It was an... uncomfortable request, but nothing to worry over," I said, giving a reassuring smile.

He sighed with relief. A smile spread across his face. His smile vanished as quickly as it came. He looked at me, confused.

"Wait, if that wasn't the issue, then what made you so upset, Ms. Walton?"

I froze. I'd been so thrown off by his worries about lingerie I didn't even realize it would have been the perfect excuse to explain my discomfort. Had I simply said "yes" he would have apologized and we could have moved on from there. Now what could I say?

"Ms. Walton?" He prompted.

What to say? What to do? How could I explain letting the situation get so out of hand? How could I explain my reason for not saying anything?

"Anna?" He said nervously.

"You talk in your sleep, sir!" I blurted out as the idea suddenly came to me.

He looked at me with confusion. "Do I?"

"Yes, sir," I said, searching for more of an explanation. "You kept calling my name last night, and you held me to you tightly for quite a long time. I suppose I was just concerned with the dreams you might be having. I'm sorry if I misinterpreted the situation."

His face went from confusion, to understanding, to shock, and finally settled on mortification.

"I-I..."

He couldn't even get the words out. He turned bright red and refused to look at me. I felt bad to make him feel this way, but nothing I said was untrue. If anything, I was saving him more humiliation by not saying the full truth.

We sat in silence again for a long time before he regained his composure. Finally, he took a deep breath and let out a long sigh.

"Ms. Walton, I am so very sorry," he said, still refusing to look at me. "I have no idea what came over me. I'm sure you understand we have no control of our dreams, but that does not excuse the actions of my body. If there is anything I can do to make this up to you, please, tell me."

When he said this an idea flashed to mind. I blushed and shook it off immediately. I should just be happy I had gotten out of that embarrassing mess without too much damage to my character.

"No, sir. It's alright, really," I insisted.

"Please, there must be something. I can see there is. Please, tell me," he begged. "Is it money? I'll give as much as you like. Think of it as a bonus for putting up with my inappropriate behavior."

"No, sir," I said, waving off his offer. "You pay me more than enough. It's not that."

"Anna, please." His voice was desperate. "I won't be able to face you, or myself, if I don't make this right."

I felt the heat move from my cheeks and slowly creep between my legs. There was really only one thing I wanted at that moment.

"You're sure it's alright, sir?" I said cautiously.

Relief came across his face. "Yes, anything. Just name it."

I mustered up my courage and met his eyes.

"Well, the only thing I really want is to know what your dream was, sir," I said simply.

His face went from relief to embarrassment. Yet again, he turned bright red and looked away from me. He stayed silent a few moments before speaking.

"Is that really the only thing you want?" He mumbled.

"Yes, sir." I nodded. "All I can think about is what you could possibly be dreaming about to make you do those things, and I don't think my mind will have a moment's peace until I know."

"Come with me," he said, standing suddenly.

I followed him into the garden. The place we first met. The scene was just as beautiful as the day before, but I could hardly focus on it now. He sat on the same stone bench as before. He looked my way and motioned for me to sit with him. We stayed silent and watched as the morning sun rose higher into the sky. Finally, he spoke.

"Anna, what I'm about to say will probably be the single most humiliating speech of my life," he said, sighing. "I will only say it once to restore your peace of mind, then I ask that you please never speak of it again. Do you understand?"

I nodded. He sighed and turned away from me.

"I thought making you wear that lingerie would stop me from thinking about it. Apparently, I was wrong," he mumbled, shaking his head. "In my dream, it was all I could see. I saw you laying on my bed in the same way as when I first discovered you in my room. Only now, you wore that lingerie. I went to stroke your hair as I did the first time, but instead of panicking this time, you smiled at me. You called me to you like a siren. I couldn't resist.

The most embarrassing part for me is how distinct the sensations were. I could smell the sweet scent of your body. It was as if I was actually feeling the smoothness of your skin, the softness of your hair, and-and." He cleared his throat. "Well, I-I'm sure you can imagine the other areas I might have explored."

I blushed slightly. I didn't exactly need to imagine it.

"But the most distinct part was your voice," he continued. "I felt that I could clearly hear every gasp, every whimper, and then I heard you calling out my name in ecstasy. It was almost more than I could bear. When I woke this morning I could have sworn it was all a dream, not just the actual dream, but everything. Meeting you, seeing you in that lingerie, sharing my bed with you. You can't imagine the feelings that swept through me when I saw you with Thomas in the parlor. It was like a dream come true." He let out a sigh as he finished. "Well, that's what my dream was, Ms. Walton. I hope we can both move past this embarrassing incident now and continue on with your training."

I smiled. "Of course, Mr. Weston."

"Then let's move from here to our bedroom."

As he stood I followed him, but by now walking was quite difficult for me. Hearing his recollection of the night's events, knowing he heard every sound and felt every bit of what he was doing to me, had turned the warmth between my legs into a burning fire. Each step was torture as I all-to-distinctly felt myself being rubbed by my panties.

As we entered the room he turned to a door just a few feet from the entrance.

"I don't know which one you've been going to, but so you know the master bathroom is here," he said, gesturing to it.

As he turned on the lights I saw it was just as large and luxurious as the other bathrooms. He motioned me to follow him. Right around the corner was a giant, jacuzzi-style bath decorated with black tile.

"Has Thomas already shown you how to work the various features?" He asked.

"Yes, sir," I said, nodding. "We discussed it this morning."

"Good, then please draw me a bath," he said simply.

I wasn't so shocked at his request, but instead at the fact that he began to undress in front of me. I knew better than to say anything after all that happened today. Instead, I busied myself with remembering the instructions Thomas had given me for the bath. I was his caretaker, after all, I should be able to do at least this much.

"Will there be anything else, sir?" I asked, still facing the bath.

The tingling up my spine and between my legs stopped me from facing him. I heard him walk up behind me. He put his hands on the edge of the bath, trapping me between his arms. I don't know what I was expecting, but with each second he stood there the fire between my legs grew larger.

"Mr. Weston?" I said nervously.

He leaned forward so I could just barely feel his chest press into my back. He placed his hand in the water to test it.

"No, Ms. Walton. That will be all. Unless you'd prefer to join me?" He let out a small chuckle.

The heat was running fully through my body now and I could stand it no more.

"I'll wait outside until you're finished, sir," I blurted out.

With that, I rushed from the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I went to the front door and locked it, I didn't want to take the chance of Thomas coming unexpectedly. I pulled my dress over my head and threw myself on the bed. I pressed my fingers to my aching loins and did all I could to stifle the involuntarily moan that followed. I had barely touched myself, but the feeling was intense.

Pain followed pleasure. My lower lips were still sore from Mr. Weston's touch, but the memory of what he had done to me only increased my desire. I ached, I ached so badly for his touch. To feel the sweet mixture of shame and pleasure as he touched me however he pleased and called out my name in ecstasy. Anna. Anna! I felt as if those words would echo in my head forever.

The ache of emptiness was becoming too much. I remembered the way his hand slipped below my panties and wondered the pleasure I might have felt if his fingers had slipped inside me. As I slid my fingers past my lower lips I tried to imagine his touch, but it was no good. It wasn't him.

With my other hand, I teased my breasts underneath my bra. I tried to remember the feel of his fingers, the hardness that pressed against me, and the ragged sound of his breathing as he had his way with my body.

The feelings were building inside me. I desired the sweet ecstasy he had brought me, but release eluded me. It wasn't him. I worried. Would my body ever again know satisfaction without his touch? I focused again on his breathing, his voice. Anna. Anna!

"Ms. Walton?"

I gasped and covered myself as I heard a strange voice call out to me. I looked around but saw nobody. I'd locked the door, there was no way someone could have snuck in. Did I imagine it? I heard the voice again.

"Ms. Walton, are you there?"

I heard where it came from this time. It was the wall intercom. I let out a relieved sigh and went to it.

"Yes, how may I help you?" I asked.

"This is Chef Phillip. I'm letting you know lunch will be done shortly," the voice crackled.

"Oh, thank you. We'll be down as soon as Mr. Weston is finished with his bath," I responded.

"Yes, ma'am."

I sighed. Any mood I had earlier was gone now. All that was left were the feelings of dissatisfaction and emptiness deep inside my loins. I picked up my dress from the floor and put it back on. I went to the bathroom door and knocked gently.

"Mr. Weston, lunch is almost ready," I called.

I heard silence. Maybe he couldn't hear me through the heavy door. I knocked a little louder.

"Mr. Weston?" I called again.

Silence. I suddenly worried. What if something had happened to him? There was tile everywhere. Had he slipped? Had he fallen unconscious? It was my responsibility to make sure he was safe. I had to make sure he was okay.

I opened the door and rushed in. He was okay alright. He was sitting at the edge of the tub. His head laid back, his eyes closed, and his hands furiously moving along his groin.

"Mr. Weston!" I cried out in surprise.

He opened his eyes and shot up in a panic. "Anna?!"

Before either of us could move his crotch began pulsing and thick streams of white shot across the tub, breaking the surface of the water. We both stood silently in a state of shocked horror as the last few drops dripped down his fingers.

"Lunch is ready!" I finally blurted out before running from the room and hiding in the closet.

I felt as if another "never to be mentioned" talk would soon be in our future.