Hello everyone! Freckleman64 here. In honor of my 1-year anniversary on Substack, I launched a commission contest for paid subscribers to send me ideas for an original story. From those who submitted ideas (and there were many wonderful ideas!), Kyle King was the winner with a brilliant idea that puts a fun twist on the recent Amanda Seyfried/Sydney Sweeney film, The Housemaid.
Again, thank you all for supporting my writing! Your subscriptions make it possible for me to dedicate more time to erotic fiction, come out with more consistent writing, and update my site to make it polished and presentable.
And now, enjoy The Twinkmaid!
I was having big feelings about turning thirty.
On the one hand, I had everything I wanted in life: excellent health, a gorgeous home, and an even more gorgeous husband who still looked at me as if I were the same twenty-year-old twink he’d met at the bar.
On the other hand, I was thirty. Rapidly approaching twink death, if I hadn’t arrived already.
I had always been slim and boyish, with tidy brown hair and big brown eyes. Most people who looked at me thought I was a Mormon, so they were pretty shocked when I opened my mouth and a little purse fell out (okay, maybe not that shocked). It didn’t help that, when I was younger, still clinging to my baby fat, I wore these big, round glasses that made me look like Harry Potter. Parker Potter, they called me, which made me sound like that pill-popping housewife from White Lotus. The second I graduated high school, I ditched the glasses for contacts, dropped the baby fat and the awful nickname, and finally came into my own sexually. I had a few fun years of hookups and daddy issues before meeting Brandon and starting our whirlwind romance.
Now, on the night of my thirtieth birthday, I couldn’t help feeling like I’d gone backwards. The glasses had come back, since contacts were too itchy and bothersome. Brandon and I had gone from sex twice a day to only 5 times a week, which was practically never. Worst of all, I’d put on the dreaded twink pouch, a humiliating bit of fat around my midsection that everyone knows heralds the beginning of the end for twinks.
I was surveying the room of mingling guests when Brandon’s arms wrapped around me from behind, pulling me in by the twink pouch as he kissed me on the cheek.
“Happy birthday, baby,” he said in that sexy, husky voice of his.
I turned around and gazed into my husband’s eyes. Even at thirty-five, Brandon still looked as sexy as the day we met—sexier, even. Tan, tall, masculine, arms the size of telephone poles, abs that seemed to get harder and denser with age. And that’s not even talking about his face, which looked like it was taken straight from the cover of some men’s magazine that specialized in woodworking and ruggedness. His light brown hair was short and shaggy, rugged like the short beard he loved to rub on my taint when he was eating me out. His nose was sharp and masculine, his pale-blue, narrow eyes always half-lidded in a lazy, cocky sort of way.
I had bagged a good one, all right. Even now, in a room full of my closest friends who’d known us for years, I could feel the jealousy radiating from all sides.
Fuck them. Brandon was mine.
“Happy birthday, Parker!” Lucas stood in the doorway from the kitchen, holding a three-tiered cake and grinning brightly. “Thirty, wow. What a big one!”
I groaned. “Ugh, don’t say it like that.”
Lucas grinned, unapologetic. Our housemaid looked especially put together tonight, his wavy blonde hair curled stylishly, accentuating his long eyelashes. He wore a light blue cropped knit top that showed off his perfect abs (no twink pouch there), slim-cut slacks that sat low on his hips, and a row of glittery bracelets that made his smooth, tan arms sparkle.
Brandon kissed my cheek. “Thirty never looked so good.”
“You don’t have to lie,” I said, but I was smiling too.
“I’m not,” Brandon said easily. His hands were warm on my waist, his grip firm and commanding, like he might bend me over and ravish me right here in front of all our friends (did I want that? No. Maybe).
“You’re perfect. Exactly like this.”
Even ten years in, my husband still gave me butterflies.
“You two are just the sweetest,” Lucas said, his voice dripping with honey. He set the cake down on the table, picked up a large knife, and began to slice.
“Don’t worry about that, Lucas,” I said. “You’re off the clock.”
Lucas licked a bit of frosting off his finger. “Oh, please! After everything you and your husband have done for me, it’s the least I could do.” He leaned against the table, frosted knife pressed against his chest as he smiled sweetly. “I’m just happy I got an invite. It’s not every day you celebrate such a milestone birthday!”
I frowned. I’d invited Lucas to the party because I didn’t want to be rude (he lived upstairs, for Christ’s sake), but now I was wishing I hadn’t. I was still adjusting to the whole “live-in housemaid” thing, even after he’d been with us for several months. But Brandon had assured me that it would change my life, and I supposed it had. The house was spotless, meals were always ready with zero effort, and I had a lot more time to volunteer at the animal shelter.
“We’re happy to have you here, Lucas,” Brandon said warmly.
Lucas batted his eyes. “Thank you, Brandon.”
He put an extra-large slice of cake on a plate and handed it to me. “For the birthday boy!”
I grimaced. “That’s way too much… I shouldn’t.”
Lucas laughed brightly. “Live a little, girly pop!”
I took the cake from him, trying not to stare at his abs. How did he manage to stay so trim? I worked out five times a week and still felt like I gained weight anytime I so much as glanced at something sweet. And even in a pair of pants, you could see what a round bubble butt he had. It was like he’d made some deal with a witch where all the fat in his body went to his ass.
“Bitch!!!! Happy birthday!”
Several of my friends approached, wrapping me in hugs and cheek kisses. Tom was the oldest of the three, a short, hairy cub and my oldest friend from high school. Nick and Larry were a married couple I’d met in yoga; Nick was tall and Italian, with silver hair and a thick, dark mustache, while Larry was about my height, black, and very ripped.
“I don’t know how you can focus with her walking around like that,” Tom said, jerking his head toward Lucas.
The housemaid was currently leaning across the table to hand a slice of cake to one of the guests, exposing the straps of a bright pink jockstrap peeking out from his trousers.
“I’ve tried talking to him about the way he dresses,” I said quietly, “but what can I do? It’s a party, and he’s not technically working. At least he’s not wearing one of his mini-skirts—then we’d really be getting a show.”
“If that twink was living in our house, we’d be having threesomes every night,” Nick said shamelessly.
“You really never think about bringing him into the bedroom?” asked Larry. “I mean, isn’t that the whole point of a houseboy?”
“He’s not a houseboy, he’s a housemaid,” I said. “And no. Brandon and I are monogamous. We’re devoted to each other. We don’t need anyone else. We’re completely content.”
Larry and Nick shared a look, which I tried to ignore.
“Just because you guys are in an open marriage doesn’t mean everyone has to be!” I protested.
Larry smiled condescendingly. “Of course not, sweetie.”
I refrained from making a snide comment in return. Larry had a habit of making bitchy comments whenever I mentioned Brandon and my being monogamous.
“So how do you keep things fresh?” asked Tom. “You’ve been together, what, ten years now? Doesn’t it get old?”
I shrugged. “Not really. We just have really good communication. And incredible sex.”
Tom, Nick, and Larry all laughed, which made me feel good. I liked bragging about my marriage. Not everyone was as lucky as I was.
“Speaking of incredible sex,” Tom said casually, “I had the most amazing orgasm the other day. I’m talking, cumming buckets, completely hands-free.”
My eyes widened. “Okay, spill.”
“What happened to being ‘completely content’?” said Nick.
“That doesn’t mean I don’t love gossip,” I retorted.
Tom grinned like the Cheshire Cat. “Well, if you really must know… we’d been flirting for a while, kind of innocent, you know. I totally never thought anything was gonna happen. But then out of the blue, I run into him at Harris Teeter–”
“Oh, I love Harris Teeter,” I said. “Brandon does all our shopping there.”
“Right,” Tom said awkwardly. “Anyway, we’re kind of talking, kind of flirting. We’re carrying our groceries out to the parking lot, when, get this—his car doesn’t start. So he asks me for a ride home, and I’m like, ‘Hell, yeah.’ Next thing you know, we’re at his house, and he’s inviting me in for a ‘cup of coffee.’”
“Did you at least get the coffee before you fucked?” asked Larry.
Tom just smiled. “It didn’t even make it out of the grocery bag. As soon as we walk in, he picks me up and carries me to the kitchen island like I’m a fucking doll. He pulls his dick out and, I’m telling you guys, I have never seen such a beautiful penis in my life. I’m talking long, thick, uncut, beautiful pubes. So naturally, I get on my knees and blow him. I’m fine just to suck his cock, but he pulls me to my feet, bends me over the counter, and just. Fucking. Rails me. No warmup, no hesitation. Gives me the fuck of my life, floods me with semen, and has me shooting all over the marble countertop. I’ve never been so turned on in my life.”
“Wow,” I said. “Do you think you’ll see him again?”
Tom shrugged. “I don’t know. He lives with his hu–” he swallowed suddenly, “I mean, his sick grandma. So he’s not exactly available.”
I frowned. “That’s a shame.”
“She actually ended up getting home right after he came in me,” Tom said mischievously. “I had to sneak out the back and everything.”
“That’s wild,” said Nick. “Kind of reminds me of the guy we fucked, Lar.”
Larry grinned. “You mean the guy last Christmas?”
Nick nodded. “You guys know I’m not a bottom, but this guy was so worth it. He fucked Larry and me so good I can’t even tell you.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“It was after our Christmas Eve party,” said Larry. “I had had a few drinks—you know how I get when I’m tipsy—and I started dancing with this man. Total smokeshow.”
“Yeah, he’s fucking hot,” added Nick.
“Anyway, Nick saw us dancing, and he got all jealous, like he does.” He shot Nick an annoyed look. “Typical top bullshit. I’m thinking they’re gonna fight or something, but this guy just grabs Nick and starts grinding on him, and all of a sudden Nick’s even sluttier than I am!”
“That wasn’t exactly how it happened–”
“Are you telling this story, or am I?” said Larry. “As I was saying. The party’s over, but he sticks around. I’m thinking, ‘Will we, won’t we?’ when he grabs me by the dick and says, ‘Take me to your bedroom. I’m gonna fuck you and your husband.’”
“Jesus,” I said. “This guy sounds confident.”
“You have no idea,” said Nick. “He brought us upstairs and told us to strip naked and make out. Now, I’ve kissed my husband a million times, but something about doing it in front of this guy because he told us to, commanded us to… it was fucking hot.”
“So, how did he fuck the both of you?” asked Tom. “Like, one after the other, or…?”
“Nick and I got on the bed side by side, doggy style, and he just went back and forth between us. Railed us both while we made out like a couple of twinky college students.” Larry sighed, as if transported by the memory.
I whistled. “Damn. I wish I hadn’t stayed home sick that night, I’d be curious to see who the guy was.”
Nick smiled breezily. “You don’t know him.”
“I gotta say, it does sound pretty hot.” I glanced over at my husband, who was chatting good-naturedly with Lucas. “But I wouldn’t give up what I have with Brandon for any guy.”
Larry stifled a laugh. “I’m sure he feels the same way, sweetheart.”
“Can you quit it?” I snapped.
Larry blinked in surprise. “What–”
“Enough with all the condescending bullshit,” I said, fed up. “If you’re jealous of my marriage–”
“You think I’m jealous?” Larry said incredulously.
Nick put a hand on his shoulder. “Honey–”
“What Brandon and I have is special,” I continued. “I’m sorry if you can’t understand that.”
“At least I know who my husband sleeps with.”
“Larry,” Nick hissed.
“At least he doesn’t fuck the help.”
I scoffed. “Fuck you.”
Larry was glaring at me, and if Nick hadn’t been holding him back, I almost thought he might have slapped me. But then he cooled and let out a short laugh.
“You’re right, Parker. I’m sure Brandon is exactly who you think he is.”
I was just imagining things.
Larry was full of shit. He was jealous, petty, vindictive. He’d had too much wine and didn’t know what he was saying.
Brandon wouldn’t cheat on me. That was crazy!
After all, once the party was over and the guests had left, hadn’t he carried me upstairs and absolutely railed the shit out of me? What kind of cheater would do that? Even after 10 years, my husband’s love-making was as rough and urgent as the day we’d met. He’d toss me on the bed, lift my ankles in the air, hoisting them onto his shoulders as he thrust into me like he needed my hole to live. It was all I could do to hold onto the sides of the bed as my husband took what he needed from me, fucking me until I was seeing stars and begging him to cum inside me.
After it was done, I would lie in bed with the most wonderful buzzing feeling all over my skin, like a thousand little bees were massaging my sore, wrecked body. And Brandon, who had been so fierce and commanding only a moment ago, would turn warm and gooey as a puddle, wrapping me in his arms and rocking me gently to sleep.
Despite another bed-shattering orgasm, I slept fitfully that night. I tossed and turned, unable to keep my racing mind quiet for long. When I awoke for the third time, radiating with heat, I checked my phone to see it was only 3:15 am.
I rolled over to see if Brandon had been woken by my tossing and turning and found the other side of the bed empty.
My husband was gone.
“Brandon?” I called out softly.
I stared out into the dark of the bedroom, but couldn’t make out any movement. The bathroom light was off, but I checked in there, just to be sure.
Nothing.
“Brandon? Where are you?”
I walked out into the hall, clad only in briefs. I thought about tossing on a robe in case I ran into Lucas, but the housemaid’s room was upstairs on the third floor, and he had a bathroom there, so there was no reason he’d be down here.
Still, I couldn’t stifle the prickling feeling on the back of my neck.
Something is wrong.
I felt a sudden impulse to climb the stairs to the third floor, to Lucas’s room.
“He’s not there,” I chastised myself. “Get it together. Jesus.”
I went downstairs to the kitchen, calling out Brandon’s name again. The house was eerily silent, almost abandoned. Had Brandon taken the car and gone somewhere? But no, it was still in the driveway.
Then I heard faint voices from the basement. The only thing down there was the laundry room, a small bathroom, and Brandon’s man cave. When we’d first moved in, he’d insisted on having a space to relax, watch sports, and hang out with his guy friends. “Boys only,” he’d said, as if I didn’t have a penis as well. But I’d acquiesced, content in giving my husband a space of his own.
I descended the stairs to the basement, heart pounding in my chest. There was a faint glow as the voices got louder, and to my relief, I recognized the sound of the television.
Brandon was lounging on the leather couch, one hand down his boxer shorts. Some sports game was on television. He looked up at me and nodded casually. “Hey, babe.”
“Hey,” I said slowly. “What are you doing down here?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” He smirked. “Someone kept kicking me.”
I grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. When I woke up, and you weren’t there, I got… scared.”
Brandon got to his feet, wrapping his arms around me. “Hey. Shhhh… I’m here.” He kissed my head. “I’m sorry I scared you, baby.”
I melted into his arms. I’d been so silly to put any stock in Larry’s dumb joke. Brandon was my hero, my sexy stud daddy who would never do anything to hurt me.
Then I heard a clattering sound behind me.
I stepped back, looking at him wide-eyed. “Is someone down here?”
Brandon’s mouth opened slightly. “Uh–”
Before he could answer, I turned and stomped over to the bathroom. I threw open the door and turned on the lights.
Empty.
I glared at my husband, then tore open the shower curtain just to be sure.
Also empty.
“What are you doing, hon?” asked Brandon.
“I heard something,” I huffed. I stalked over to the door to the laundry room. Just before I put my hand on the doorknob, I noticed a strip of light coming from under the door.
“What the fuck?”