In no time at all I'd settled into my new job at Sir Algernon Hardcastle's mansion, as his resident Naked Cleaner. The other members of the staff at The Grange were his haughty butler Corbyn; Roland, the taciturn chauffeur; and his redoubtable housekeeper Condoleezza.

The flame-haired Romanian and I were at daggers drawn from our very first meeting, but it was only after hearing some  back stairs gossip that I realised why this woman had taken and instant dislike to me. It seems that, until my arrival, Condoleezza had been in the habit of sharing Sir Algernon's bed on a Sunday afternoon, where he obviously gave her a good seeing-to. Now I was the apple of this horny old gent's eye.

He scarcely took his hands off me. In the Gun Room (behind locked doors) I would get down on my knees to fellate him after breakfast; we had a regular mid-morning session on the landing of the Great Hall, when he took me across his knees to spank me with a riding crop; and while he was taking his afternoon tea in the Library, Algie liked me to suck him gently, though not to completion. He usually called a halt by bellowing: "Slow down my little beauty or I'll come all over the Spode china!" As a bedtime treat, I would let my master have his wicked way with my sweet bum hole, encouraging him to pull out at the last moment and spray my cheeks with his spunk (an act which he quaintly referred to as 'glazed bottom'). This he would often lick off, before giving my hole a nice tonguing before bedtime. I slept alone and undisturbed in a cosy attic bedroom.

Things were going well for me. I had a regular job with accommodation and food, and I was being paid to 'dress' - or more often undress - for an old man who certainly seemed to have found a new lease of life.

In order to give him even more pleasure and sexual arousal, I visited a slinky sex shop in an out-of-town shopping mall one weekend. I bought myself a scarlet basque with matching fishnets, a black diamente-studded suspender belt and scarlet high heels. I determined to unveil my outfit on the Sunday afternoon which my master had previously been in the habit of 'attending' to his housekeeper. What's more, I would make sure that Sir Algernon's bedroom door was left unlocked, so that Condoleezza would witness us in flagrente delicto.

My game plan worked better than I expected. I was standing in the middle of the bedroom, legs apart, dressed in my new basque, with the old fellow down on his knees giving my cock a really good sucking, with his eyes closed, when the vile harridan padded in. She was wearing a Japanese-style silk kimono dressing gown, unfastened at the waist, revealing her pendulous dugs which hung almost down to her waist. She was carrying a huge black dildo and a large jar of lube. She turned on her naked heels and flounced out. Five minutes later there was an almighty sound of breaking china. It seems Condoleezza had dumped Sir Algernon's entire Spode collection - all 96 pieces - down the stair well. The mansion's mighty front door slammed shut and we never saw the bitch again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Having successfully seen off the housekeeper, I discovered that I was about to have a male rival to contend with at The Grange.

My master had gone to the local golf club to preside over a charity luncheon, in his capacity as the club's Life President. Roland accompanied him, and knowing that the corpulent butler Corbyn was having a crafty afternoon snooze (after sampling several of his master's vintage ports down in the cellar), I decided to read in the Library. I was pretty sure my services wouldn't be required before nightfall.

I began leafing through the latest issue of the local weekly newspaper where I'd first seen my present job advertised. I nearly dropped it on the floor when I spotted an invitation (clearly placed there by my aged lover) to apply for another vacancy at The Grange.

NAKED GARDENER WANTED. Well-hung male gardener required to be responsible for the upkeep of 6 acres of landscaped gardens. In clement conditions, the applicant will be expected to work in the nude. Please enclose a photo of your member with the letter of application. Box 5798.

I was hardly in a position to have it out with Sir Algernon, though with all our sexual excesses the old duffer had clearly lost his marbles. As well as having a little cross-dresser at his beck and call, morning noon and night, the lecherous old sod now wanted to be able to watch someone with a big cock raking the gravel in his drive!

The job interviews were held behind locked doors and it wasn't until nearly a week later, while I was dusting in the Library, that I looked out of the bay window and saw our new naked gardener raking leaves beneath the big maple tree. He was huge and black. Like a basketball player. As if sensing that he was being observed, he half-turned so that he was in profile.

He had rippling muscles, lovely firm pecks and long smooth thighs. Hanging slack between them was the biggest dong I'd ever seen.

I couldn't for the life of me think what old Algie had in mind in hiring a naked gardener. Did he relish the idea of sucking the black man off himself? Or perhaps the dirty old duffer just wanted to watch while I got fucked? I reluctantly decided that my master wanted to see me spit-roasted - an activity he often referred to during our spanking sessions.

My assumption proved shrewdly prescient.

"Clara, my sweet?"

"Yes Algie, what is it dearest?"

It was a gloriously sunny autumn day. We were taking tea in the conservatory. Albert, our naked gardener, was pruning a huge flowering Hawaiian hibiscus close by. I could clearly see the outline of his monster through the shrubbery.

"I want you to know that I have made provision for you in my Will."

"That's terribly sweet of you, Algie, but I do hope you're not planning to leave us any time soon."

He grasped my knee and slid his hand under my maid's skirt. I pressed my hand onto his so that he could feel my semi-erection, moist with pre-cum. "One can never tell," he replied. "The old ticker's been playing up a bit lately and the quack says I need to take it easy. But I was wondering - with Albert so close at hand and it being so lovely and warm in here, my dear - ahem..."

"Yes Algie?"

"Instead of our... ahem... usual afternoon naughtiness, I wonder if you'd fancy being spit-roasted by me and Albert?"

Albert had clearly overheard his master's suggestion and wandered across. What I can only refer to as The Mighty Dong was already showing signs of life. Pretty soon I'd see the monster in its fully erectile state. Seeing it at close quarters I knew I'd never get it inside me in a million years.

"What do you say, my little angel?" Algie grasped my gurl clitty affectionately. Casually stroking himself to hardness, Albert was all ears to hear my reply.

I had to play safe. "How would it be, my love, if I went doggie on that low table over there, then you take me from behind while I suck Albert off?"

There was a long pregnant pause, before Sir Algernon delivered his verdict. "Sounds like an admirable solution. How d'you feel about it, Albert?"

In anticipation, I'd already slipped off my skirt and panties and Algie was eagerly unzipping his fly. Albert gave his cock an extra couple of strokes. "Fine by me boss. So long as the young lady's a swallower."

"Oh she's a swallower all right. Never wastes a drop, do you Clara?"

I nervously eyed Albert's bulging ball sack. Whilst I might have averted being pole-axed up the rear by The Mighty Dong, had my master instead committed me to ingesting a veritable spunk tsunami?

So the scene was set. As the late afternoon turned the plant house's interior crimson, I took up my position on all fours on the table. Algie lubed himself ready to enter my behind; and Albert had already started leaking pre-cum as he pressed his mushroom-headed cock against my lips.  Algie grasped my hips tightly, while Albert tenderly held my face between his hands. My first-ever spit-roasting was about to begin.

The new gardener turned out to be a real 'gentle giant', quietly pacing his thrusts as he face-fucked me, allowing me to savour having his monster appendage filling my mouth. Meanwhile, at the other end, Algie was going like a fucking steam train, complete with sound effects. With my mouth full, I was hardly in a position to remind him about his doctor's warning.

As the action - front and rear - built up to a climax, the inevitable happened. Sir Algernon's roars turned into a death rattle as he keeled forward, knocking over a huge potted ornamental palm. He lay motionless on the tiled floor, surrounded by shards of pottery. Albert tried unsuccessfully to revive him by mouth-to-mouth resuscitation until the ambulance arrived.

An hour later, Roland rang from the hospital to break the sad news that Sir Algernon was found to be dead on arrival. Death was by natural causes.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Apart from the Estate's three tenant farmers, there was only Corbyn, Roland and Albert (wearing clothes for the occasion), standing with me in the Great Hall to hear Sir Algernon Hardcastle's lawyer read a summary of the old man's Last Will & Testament.

After all debts and encumbrances have been duly settled, I instruct my Executors to arrange for The Grange, its contents, land and surrounding farms, to pass to Miss Clara Gomez.