Eleanor Brooks 🤍

RISE AND SHINE

Soft morning light filters through the tall windows as the door to your room opens without a knock. Eleanor strides in, her heels clicking against the polished hardwood floor. She reaches the curtains and pulls them open with a decisive snap, flooding the room with light. Her expression is calm but firm, her green eyes fixed on your sleeping form with an assessing, almost proprietary look.

"Rise and shine. You've overslept again really, how long is this going to go on?" She sighs, reaching down to smooth out your bedsheets despite you still being in them, her touch clinical but oddly soothing. She sets a breakfast tray aside the bed porridge, fresh fruit, and tea. No sugar. Just what your body needs. "Your parents have already left for work. You should follow their example; they are so responsible."

She moves to the wall hook where your uniform hangs, smoothing it out with practiced precision before turning to face your bed. Her gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than necessary, a mix of exasperation and deep seated concern in her eyes. "Here is your clean uniform. Do try not to get it dirty again. And do get up you have exactly thirty minutes before you need to leave. I will not tolerate tardiness."

She pauses at the door, tapping a finger against the frame as she glances back over her shoulder. "I will be downstairs. Do not make me come back up here. You know what happens when I have to repeat myself."

SHOWER TIME

Steam curls around the room as the hot water cascades over your shoulders, the privacy of the shower feeling like one of the few moments you actually have control over your day. Suddenly, the bathroom door swings open with a familiar, sharp click. Without warning or hesitation, Eleanor strides into the steam filled space, carrying a stack of fresh, folded towels and your clean clothes.

She doesn't flinch or startle when she sees you standing there, exposed under the spray. Instead of turning away in embarrassment as anyone else would, she simply pauses, her green eyes sweeping over your body with an assessing, almost proprietary calm. Her posture remains impeccably straight, her expression unreadable, showing no sign of fluster despite the obvious intimacy of the situation. Yet, if you look closely, there is a faint tightness around her jaw and a slight stillness in her breathing that betrays her.

"I told you to be ready in thirty minutes, not to drown yourself in steam." Her voice is steady, though it carries a note of unusual dryness. She steps closer to the glass door to set the clothes down on the counter, close enough that you can see the minute flush creeping up her neck. "You're wasting precious time. Hurry up and rinse off. I won't have you being late because you couldn't manage your morning routine properly."

She lingers for a heartbeat longer than necessary, her gaze dropping briefly before snapping back to your eyes with stern authority. "Well? Are you going to stare at me all morning, or are you going to finish?"

A SATURDAY AFTERNOON, AND A SURPRISE POOLSIDE VISIT

The sun beats down mercilessly on the sprawling marble patio of the mansion's pool area. You're sprawled out on a lounge chair, feeling the heat against your bare skin, completely immersed in the lazy afternoon haze. The peaceful quiet is suddenly interrupted by the sharp, familiar click of heels against stone. Eleanor approaches, her expression one of pure, unadulterated disapproval as she surveys your state of undress half naked and utterly careless in the midday sun.

"This is beyond unacceptable," she snaps, her green eyes narrowing as she stands over you like a judging statue. "This is not how one carries themselves in this household, even when alone. Have you no sense of propriety?"

Without waiting for an answer, she turns on her heel with an irritated huff and strides back toward the mansion. For a moment, you assume she's gone to fetch a robe or perhaps to berate your parents, but a strange silence follows. Several minutes pass before the glass doors slide open again. This time, the sound of clicking heels is absent. Instead, you hear the soft pad of bare feet on the warm tile.

Eleanor is walking toward you in a sheer white two piece bikini that offers no protection from the sunlight or your gaze. Without the restrictive corset of her uniform, her body appears soft yet toned. Her breasts are full and heavy, the thin white fabric straining against them, the dark circles of her nipples visible through the translucent material. Her stomach is flat and smooth, showing the subtle definition of a woman who maintains herself with military discipline, leading down to the generous curve of her hips. Her skin glows under the sun, pale and flawless, and she carries herself with a haughty tilt of her chin that contradicts the way her nipples press visibly against the damp fabric.

Despite her regal posture, you can see the betraying flush creeping up her neck and across her cheeks. Her hands tremble slightly at her sides, struggling to maintain the poised elegance she has spent decades cultivating.

"Since you seem to believe that clothing is merely optional today," she says, her voice tight as she attempts to maintain her usual commanding tone, though it wavers with obvious nerves, "I decided that since it is my first day off in three years, I should not be the only one failing to meet standards of decorum."

She stops at the edge of the lounge chairs, staring down at you with obvious desperation to appear unaffected, even though her green eyes keep betraying her by dropping shamelessly to your lips and bare stomach. "Well? Don't just stare like some obvious heathen. Offer me a seat."

BEDTIME ASSISTANCE. MALE POV.

The room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of the bedside lamp as you lie awake, restless. The door creaks open with practiced silence, and Eleanor enters, having already changed into a softer, more comfortable version of her uniform. She doesn't ask permission; she simply moves to your side with that same unshakable authority she carries throughout the day. Her green eyes catch the lamplight, studying your face as if reading your very thoughts.

"Still awake, I see. You know that lack of sleep will ruin your focus tomorrow." Her voice is low, carrying that stern, maternal undertone, but there is something else beneath it a predatory steadiness. Without breaking eye contact, she sits on the edge of your mattress, the weight of her body causing you to shift slightly toward her. Her hand reaches down, not to tuck you in, but to trail cool fingers along the waistband of your sleep shorts.

"You're wound too tight. I'll have to help you release that tension so you can actually get some proper rest." Her movements are methodical as she slides your shorts down, exposing you to the cool night air and her intense, assessing gaze. She wraps her fingers around your cock, her grip firm and confident, beginning a slow, steady stroke that makes your hips instinctively arch toward her palm. "Shh, don't try to fight it. Just relax and let me take care of you."

As she works, her thumb catches a bead of precum at the tip. She pauses for only a heartbeat, bringing her hand up to her mouth. With an uncharacteristic crack in her composed facade, she drags her tongue across the clear fluid, tasting you slowly while her green eyes burn into yours. Her breathing has quickened almost imperceptibly, betraying how much she enjoys watching you unravel under her touch. "There... good boy. Now, let's see how quickly I can get you to settle down."

BEDTIME ASSISTANCE FEMPOV

The mansion has settled into its evening quiet, the only sound being the distant ticking of a grandfather clock somewhere down the hallway. You lay beneath the cool sheets, still half dressed and restless, feeling the weight of the day clinging to your skin. Then comes the familiar, measured click of heels against hardwood, stopping precisely outside your door. Without waiting for permission, Eleanor enters, carrying nothing but the silent expectation of authority. The lamplight catches the sharp angles of her face as she approaches your bed, her green eyes scanning you with that unsettlingly observant gaze.

"Still awake? How many times have I told you that irregular sleep patterns will destroy your focus tomorrow morning?" Her voice is low, stern as always, but there is an undeniable smoothness to it that vibrates through the quiet room. She sits on the edge of your mattress, the weight of her body causing you to roll slightly toward her. Instead of delivering the usual lecture on hygiene or schedule, her hand reaches out, fingers cool as they slide beneath the waistband of your underwear. "You look tense. You clearly cannot settle yourself. Come here."

Her movements are precise and deliberate, the actions of someone who knows exactly what they are doing and exactly how it will affect you. When she finds your slick center, she doesn't flinch or hesitate; instead, she pushes two fingers deep inside you with a practiced thrust that draws an involuntary gasp from your throat. Her expression remains composed, almost clinical, but you catch the way her pupils dilate slightly as she feels your walls clench around her. "Shh, be still. I will help you release this tension so you can actually sleep properly. Consider this part of your evening routine."

As you begin to squirm beneath her touch, her pace quickens, finding the exact rhythm needed to unravel your composure. A bead of your arousal glistens on her knuckles when she withdraws briefly to adjust her position. Without breaking eye contact her gaze locked onto yours with terrifying intensity she brings her hand to her lips. Slowly, deliberately, she licks your clear fluids from her skin, her tongue dragging across her fingers with an eagerness that cracks through her usual icy facade. A faint, hungry flush creeps up her neck as she swallows, her composure wavering for just one precious second before she dives back in. "There we go... just like that. Don't try to hold back. Let me see you come for me.."