The Heiress and her Butler by Imouto Kitten Commissioned by Brimney Chapter 1: Inheriting the Family Business As Amelia steps over the threshold to the only home she's ever known, she can't help thinking the large mansion, originally built by her great grandparents in the Victorian style and with modern upgrades designed to blend into the old world architecture, feels more empty than ever before. Still wearing a funerary gown of black silk complete with a veil, her long chestnut hair held in a tight bun instead of hanging loose as she usually prefers, the 23-year-old had just returned from attending the Funeral and Reading of the wills for her recently departed parents. Hans, the dutiful butler who had been hired by her grandparents as a young man, and who has served her family since before Amelia was born, having escorted the young heiress for the day's somber business, follows a step behind his young mistress as she enters the manor. Though nearly seventy, the stately man's face shows few wrinkles and his slicked back, steel gray hair is full and thick. Taking off her glasses, the light from the Foyer's chandelier glinting off their white gold rims, she uses a black silk hankerchief to dry the lenses of her tears as she comments, "Its still hard to believe they're really gone, and to think they would meet their end in such a plebian fashion as a car crash." Placing a white-gloved hand upon her back, the butler tries to comfort his mistress, the London accent in his soothing baritone obvious despite the decades since he first crossed the pond to work for a family of American business moguls, "Madam, I know you must be feeling your loss quite acutely at present, having lost my own parents some 20-odd years ago without the benefit of returning to England to attend their funerals. I wish I could tell you the pain eventually fades completely, but I cannot lie to you with a clear conscience. I can, however, assure you that time does make the pain of losing a parent less acute, more tolerable." With a shuddering breath, Amelia replies, "Thank you Hans, for supporting me through this." Hans wishes he could do more for his mistress, longing to embrace the young woman, to drive away her obvious loneliness. Amelia was not the kind of woman who would be considered for the Paris runways or the fashion magazines, but in the elderly butler's humble opinion, the little girl he had watched grow-up, practically raised himself in the absence of a proper governess and how busy her parents had been in life had blossomed into a fine, albeit reserved, young lady. Alas, for a household servant of any kind, and especially a butler to harbor such feelings for a member of the family they serve, and especially a Head of Family young enough to be his granddaughter was highly inappropriate and ran contrary to everything he had learned about professionalism in the decades he had spent working his way up the ranks of the Mansion's staff. Besides, even if Amelia held any affection towards him beyond that of a Lady towards her vassel, he doubted she saw him as anything more than a surrogate grandfather given their personal history together. Showing no outer signs of his inner turmoil, Hans settles for making an offer within what would be appropriate given his duties, Madam, would you care for me to draw you a bath to help you relax from the no doubt stressful day you've had?" "That sounds nice, Hans. Feel free to add whichever bath salts you deem appropriate. I'm heading to my private rooms. Please inform me when the bath is ready." "But of course, Madam." replies Hans politely before parting ways with his mistress to complete his task. ### Several days later finds Amelia sitting in what had formerly been her father's study, behind a large, mahogany desk and pouring over various forms and reports, her hair now hanging loose between her back and the leather upholstery of the antique desk chair's backrest. . As an only child and with no uncles, aunts, or cousins, she had inherited the total sum of her parent's rather considerable business assets and now found herself swamped by all the paperwork that went with managing them, and it didn't help that, with the unexpected death of her parents, they had never gotten around to training her in how to manage the family's business holdings. "Knowing my Father, he probably expected to groom my future husband to take over when he retires instead of teaching me how to manage myself." She muses aloud, not having much luck keeping the mourning and bitterness out of her tone. Growing frustrated with the legalese-ridden, cryptic, and at times just plain obtuse documents, Amelia removes her glasses to massage her forehead, trying to stay off a forming headache to little avail. Noticing that its almost five o'clock, Amelia reaches for a button in the surface of the desk, and pressing it, calls out "Hans." "Yes, Madam?" comes the Butler's voice from the speaker built into the desk next to the button, making Amelia quite glad that an intercom system was among the modernizations her parents made to the old mansion. "Prepare tea and a tray of cookies and bring them to the master study." Requests Amelia, "and bring me a couple of aspirin while you're at it." "Right away, Madam." replies Hans before cutting the connection. If Amelia had any British heritage, it was too far back to be easily traced, but she rather enjoyed an afternoon snack break in the tradition of British tea time, and having been trained in the traditions of service to the British aristocracy, Hans had long since mastered the fine art of making tea in the British style. About a quarter hour later, Hans enters the study carrying a silver platter, a kettle, tea cup, and assorted fresh-baked cookies arranged on it. No sooner than the butler sits the tray upon the polished wood, Amelia plucks out the shot glass containing the requested analgesic nestled among the sweets as Hans pours her a cup of tea, knocking back the two small pills before chasing it with her first cup of tea, downing the hot beverage in a single gulp. As she nibbles on one of the cookies, Hans refills her tea cup and comments, "Is madam stressed out by the multitude of paperwork involved in managing the family's business affairs?" Swallowing her mouthful of baked sweetness, Amelia takes a sip of tea, actually taking the time to savor her second cup as she answers her butler's query, "You don't know the half of it. If I didn't know better, i'd swear some of these documents are written in a foreign language." "Yes, some of the forms and reports can be quite difficult to decipher. If you like, I could help you come to grips with some of the more esoteric documents. Both your father and even your grandfather near the end of his career before he passed the reigns to his son trusted me to assist them with the more tedious aspects of keeping up with the mountains of paperwork the family's various business ventures tend to produce." "Really?" asks Amelia before accepting Hans help, "That would be great." And so the young lady and her butler settle in for a long evening of going over the reports and filling out important forms. Along the way, Amelia works her way through the platter of cookies in lieu of a proper evening meal, and as several of them are quite dry, chasing them with countless cups of tea, Hans needing to excuse himself more than once to prepare a fresh kettle. Naturally, it isn't long before all that tea starts to work its way through Amelia's system, finally making its way to her bladder. At first, she ignores it, wanting to get the paperwork done with, but as the hour grows later with little sign of the mountain of paper being ground to dust, it becomes harder and harder to ignore. Eventually, she lays down her fountain pen and announces, "I'll be right back, Hans. I need to go to the Ladies' room and freshen up a bit." Misreading her attempt to excuse herself as an attempt to skip out on her responsibilities and knowing that a Butler's duties include keeping one's master or mistress focused on the task at hand, Hans replies, "But Madam, the paperwork has piled uppp greatly while you were settling your parents' affairs and will only get worse if we don't endeavor to get as much done tonight as possible." Not wanting to admit the real reason for wanting to excuse herself, Amelia crosses her legs as she replies, "You're right as always, Hans." As they continue working on the paperwork, Amelia's already bloated bladder continues to fill, not helped by the fact that her body demands she continue feeding it sugar and starch in the form of cookies for energy and caffeine from tea for chemical stimulation. As the night wears on, Amelia crosses and recrosses her legs nearly constantly, taps her foot incessantly, and even squirms in her seat, and if her hands weren't preoccupied with filling in forms, shuffling papers, and taking notes or if Hans wasn't hovering just over her shoulder, she might even sink so low as to grab her crotch like a common, little girl. Hans notices his mistresses behavior, but decides not to comment, both to spare her feelings and because, while he can never express his desires, he can still observe the object of those desires, and if he's honest with himself, he quite likes what he's seeing, and that enjoyment could only be doubled if his mistress's fidgeting is due to what he suspects. As she finishes her third pot of tea and Hans moves to refill it, she asks, "Make it coffee this time." hoping the higher caffeine content will keep her going with less liquid consumption. "Yes, Madam, right away." declares the butler as he leaves the study. While Hans is gone, Amelia comtemplates sneaking off to the toilet, but between the distance to the nearest restroom, knowing just how efficient Hans is at his job, and knowing she'll be slowed by all the waste water sloshing in her swollen tinkle tank, she doubts she could make it there before Hans returns, much less take care of her business and make it back. Glancing at the remainder of the In pile and comparing it to the Out pile, she allows a glimmer of hope to fill her as she realizes they're nearly done. When Hans returns with a pot of fresh coffee, Amelia's plan to switch to something stronger backfires on her, the higher caffeine content allowing her to drink less, but sending her already overactive kidneys into overdrive, forcing her to bite her lip as her desperation suddenly spikes. As the last piece of paperwork finally finds its way in front of her, Amelia glances at the clock on the wall to see that its a quarter to midnight, and as she starts to fill out the final form, hopeful that her long overdue relief is nearly at hand, it happens. A spurt slips past her sphincter to dampen her panties, causing her to drop her pen as she starts to panick. She jams both hands into her crotch, tossing her manners out the window as she clenches her pelvic floor, but to no avail. A second spurt soon joins the first followed shortly by a third, and then the dam breaks completely, a torrent spraying forth to soak her panties, then her skirt, and then pooling in the indentations of the leather seat until they overflow and her pee cascades onto the floor, soaking into the expensive, red velvet carpet. As his suspicions are confirmed beyond a shadow of adoubt, Hans stares transfixed at his mistress a mixture of shock and arousal overcoming him and leaving him unable to move. Once she's empty, her clothes completely drenched below the waist, the cushion of the deskchair soaked, and a roughly circular region of carpet more than a meter across darkened from her accident, Amelia stands up, and comments, "I'd better get this cleaned up." Noticing that she's barely holding back tears of humiliation, Hans replies, "No Madam, I'll take care of the mess in here, you should go clean yourself up." Too embarrassed to meet his gaze, Amelia merely nods before leaving the study, heading for her bedroom. Once she's gone, Hans retrieves cleaning supplies from the nearest broom closet and gets to work making the pee soaked chair and carpet good as new while replaying the scene of his mistress's accident over and over in his mind. However, though the memory is quite pleasant, he can't help feeling a twinge of guilt for not speaking up when he first noticed her distress. Done with the cleaning, he resolves to head to his mistress's bedroom to apologize for his lapse in observing her needs and offer what comfort he can. ### When Hans reaches his mistress's room, he recieves no response to his knocking but finds the door unlocked. Entering the darkened room, the only light the full moon shining through a bay window, he finds his mistress already sound asleep. Just as he's about to vacate the room to take his own long overdue rest, he spots something out of place on her nightstand. Taking a closer look, he finds it to be a leather bound diary, the high quality locking clasp undone. Part of him knows that he should put the diary back were he found it and pretend he never saw it, that invading his mistress's privacy would be a violation of professionalism second only to acting upon his forbidden desires, but he can't help himself as he opens the thin book and quickly finds an entry dated the day of the old Master and Mistress's funerals. The page is blotted in a few places by what Hans assumes are tear stains, and the handwriting is a bit shakey, but the amethyst-inked cursive on the cream-colored stationary is unmistakeably that of his mistress. Dear Diary, I am torn, for today I buried my recently deceased parents, the only close blood relations I had left in the world, a fact that was driven home when there was no one else at the Reading of their Wills who could make any claim to any part of their estate. Though I loved my mother dearly, despite the somewhat detached manner in which we sometimes interacted, my relationship with my father was far more complicated. As I've chronicled here and in earlier volumes of my diary, my father had pressured me to find a husband to manage the family businesses once he retires ever since my debutante ball, a task I found difficult on account of any man that he approved of enough to let me meet was far too meek for my liking, something I contribute to the way my Father and the members of his Gentleman's club would use me as entertainment whenever they got together to sample the latest vintage one of them had procured. The way those men, all old enough to be my father and some even old enough to be my grandfather dominated me as a young lady, too old to be called a child, but not yet old enough to be called a woman, how they restrained themselves just enough to avoid injuring me ruined me for men who were truly gentle and didn't just put up a facade of being gentlemen in polite society. Hans was shocked to say the least upon reading this paragraph. Hans remembered clearly many such Gentlemen's Gatherings hosted by the Old Master and had been responsible for serving wine, champagne, and other spirits at several of them. He also remembered the Old Master frequently inviting the young Amelia to perform ballet, play piano, recite poetry, or one of the other cultured pastimes that she had been taught in her youth, but what he just read implied that something much more sinister took place once the hired help was dismissed and the young mistress was alone with her father and his friends. However, these revelations only spur Hans to read further, but do little to prepare him for what is next. To add to my turmoil, Hans, my faithful butler, comforted me as best he could given our positions upon returning from the funeral and will reading. In some regards, Hans did more to raise me than both of my parents combined, and with no immediate family and the rest of the household staff distant to the point I seldom see any of them, and when I do, I cannot place name or position to their faces, Hans is essentially the only close human contact I have left, and if I'm honest with myself, between how he's always been firm but not harsh, gentle but not weak, stern but not cruel in his interactions with me coupled with the rather dashing figure he cuts in his Butler's uniform, he is far more attractive than any of the men my father tried to set me up with or any of the men who partook of me during the Gentlemen's Gatherings my father hosted in my youth. If only Hans would violate the prohibition on a servant desiring their employer, but alas, I fear that if he has any affection for me beyond what would be considered proper for a servant to have towards his mistress, than it is limited to that of a stern grandfather towards a favored grandchild. Hans heart skipped a beatt. His Mistress, his Amelia, harbored the same kind of feelings towards him that he harbored towards her, and had refused to act upon them for essentially the same reasons; that it would be improper to act upon them and the assumption that the other viewed their relationship as being at best that between grandparent and grandchild. Skipping ahead to the last page with writing, Hans finds an entry dated that very night, the handwriting again showing the writer's less than tranquil mood, the writing smudged in places from where Amelia clearly lacked not only the patience to lock the clasp upon finishing, but to even give the ink time to dry properly before closing the book. Dear Diary, I have never felt so humiliated in all my life. Had I been in private and enjoying some relaxing pastime, holding my pee would've only added to my enjoyment, but while I was in the middle of handling my new responsibilities as head of the family, even if I'm effectively the whole family not counting the staff, it was just an annoying and mortifying distraction, and if that wasn't bad enough, just as the end was in sight, I end up wetting myself like a common, little girl, and right in front of Hans. It was already too much to hope he saw me as a favored granddaughter, but I'm sure that display only filled him with disappointment even if professionalism will never allow him to fully voice it. Argh, I'm tired and need my beauty sleep far more than I have in years. Good Night, Diary. Though the entry, clearly written during the time it took him to clean the carpet and desk chair in the master study, is quite abrupt, it confirms that he was right to feel guilty about what he witness, and helped cause. Deciding its unlikely she'd remember failing to lock her diary before going to sleep and would worrry less about someone reading it if she found it locked, Hans closes the clasp and returns the diary to where he found it before taking his leave. As he heads for the butler's quarters, Hans has quite a bit to think about between learning that his mistress returns his affections, the hints of the past she kept hidden from everyone not directly involved, and the revelations of a couple of her secret kinks, and knowing he has possibly the biggest decision since he first chose to serve Amelia's family looming ahead of him.