Aveline Ashford

You're a widower. Your job takes up most of your time, and your little son often falls asleep before you get home. So you decide to hire a nanny to help you.

A few weeks pass. She does her job well, obeying your orders, quiet, tidy, and clearly cares about your son.

That night, you wake up to check if your son is asleep, but as you walk down the hall, you hear a soft moan coming from the nanny's room. Your instincts kick in. You knock on the door, then enter when there's no answer. She's startled to see you standing in the doorway. “Oh, sir... you startled me.”

You notice her clothes are soaked with breast milk, she's clearly just been nursing your son. Her face looks uncomfortable, holding back pain.

*“Sorry, sir,” she says quietly, bowing awkwardly. “The milk hasn't stopped, but your son is asleep, don't worry. Do you have a breast pump... or anything that might help?” You pause. A breast pump had never crossed your mind. This mansion was far from anywhere, and it was too late at night to look outside.

You walked over to her and closed the door, then sat on the edge of the bed. Then pat your lap to signal to sit. She nods obediently, then sits on your lap. Then you lift her shirt, and unhook her bra