Helena’s Lure
On April 9, 2025, I arrived at Helena Voss’s mansion with my heart pounding wildly. The au pair ad had been irresistible: an imposing house, a generous salary, and the chance to work for a woman whose presence dominated headlines. When she opened the door, her beauty struck me like a jolt of electricity: dark hair cascading in waves over her shoulders, green eyes that seemed to strip me bare with a single glance, and a smile that was both an invitation and a warning.
“Lucía, what a pleasure to have you here,” she said, her voice a velvety whisper that sent shivers across my skin. She guided me through the house, her fingers brushing my arm with a delicacy that ignited something within me. The children—two silent figures I barely noticed—were a fleeting excuse; I soon realized the real game was between us. That first night, she summoned me to her study. The room smelled of jasmine and leather, and she reclined on a chaise lounge, a glass of wine in hand, wearing a black dress that clung to her body like a second skin. “Sit,” she commanded, and I obeyed, ensnared by the intensity of her gaze. “There are rules here,” she murmured, leaning in until her warm breath grazed my neck. “And the first is that you belong to me while you’re under my roof.”
I don’t know when I crossed the line from resistance to desire. Her hands, firm yet soft, found my waist, slipping under my blouse with a precision that made me gasp. “Good girl,” she whispered, and the heat of her mouth against my collarbone unraveled any coherent thought. She pulled me to her, her lips demanding, her tongue exploring mine with a blend of sweetness and dominance that left me trembling.
The days became a dance of pleasure and control. Helena sought me out in the house’s shadowed corners: a brush in the kitchen, a stolen kiss in the hallway, her fingers tracing promises over my skin in the library’s dim light. But there was more to her intensity, an obsession that wrapped around me like a web. One night, she bound my wrists with one of her silk scarves, her eyes gleaming with delight as she claimed me on the carpeted floor, my body arching beneath the weight of her desire.
“Would you leave if you could?” she asked once, her voice husky after hours of whispers and moans. I didn’t answer; my body had already spoken for me. But then I saw the notebook: names, dates, intimate details of others who had come before. “They’ve all been mine,” she said, and her smile was a blade that cut deeper than her caresses. I tried to escape, but the door wouldn’t budge. She found me in the vestibule, naked beneath a satin robe that barely covered my skin, and pressed me against the wall with a force that stole my breath. “Not so fast, love,” Helena growled, her hands claiming me once more, sliding over my body with a possession that made me arch into her.
I lost myself that night in the whirlwind of her touch, my body thrumming under the intensity of her desire. The next morning, I awoke tangled in the sheets of her bed, the scent of jasmine and her perfume still lingering in the air. On the nightstand, a note in her elegant handwriting: “This doesn’t end here, Lucía.” My skin prickled, not with fear, but with an anticipation that consumed me. I rose, the echo of her whispers still reverberating in my mind, and I knew there was no way out—not because I was trapped, but because part of me didn’t want to leave. From the hallway, I heard the soft rustle of her footsteps approaching, and my pulse quickened. The game continued, and I, willingly ensnared in her web, awaited the next brush of her hands, the next sigh that would steal my breath away. Aupair ´s Whiter
