Attending to Felicity for a month did wonders for my stats. What Roosa told me made more sense now, my skills going up more because Felicity was more demanding. It was worth it.

After massaging her shoulders for a week, I gained the massaging skill, which finally increased my strength, and was also my first wisdom skill. A couple weeks later, that went to beta rank and I ranked up my class to gamma. I did have three skills at beta rank, so maybe that was why, no sex this time. Whatever the reason, it let me improve my touching skill to rank gamma, so I now had passable intelligence and good charisma.

Honestly, it was so weird improving my stats. Like I was sobering up after a month-long binge. Well, it wasn’t like I was drunk, more tipsy.

Anyway, the important part was that I could properly attend to Felicity. It was easy at the start, just helping her around the manor, but then she had her début—senior maids took over for that—and, after that, she went out about every other night. It wasn’t enough to dress her. I had to learn about the fashion, learn how to do her hair, learn how to apply this world’s makeup, and, once I proved myself, accompany her. Of course, I didn’t go in the front or even see her, but I was there in case she needed me to freshen up or anything.

Maybe I should have hated being a maid. In my old world, attending to someone like this would’ve been demeaning? Hiring a cleaner, sure, but helping an able-bodied person dress and bath and stuff, wouldn’t that just be a waste of someone’s time?

I didn’t hate it, though. It was just a job at first, knowing I was in another world and needed money and a place to live, but, now, I liked it. I liked having a job where what I needed to do was clearly told to me. Simple, straightforward tasks. I liked attending to someone. Even when I had nothing to do and should’ve been bored, even though I should’ve felt like I was wasting my time, she was like a puzzle I wanted to solve. I wanted to understand exactly what she wanted from me. I wanted to guess what she needed, mentally prepare for it, then do it perfectly when she asked. She didn’t praise me for it, but her silence was all the praise I needed. No complaints about my service.

Probably, that was my lover class. Or that was why I felt so empty in my last life. Aphrodite said that, so she defined me by it. Wasn’t being a lover like being a servant? A willing servant, but still a servant, trying to please your partner, especially by doing what they ask.

Well, philosophy aside, I was happy with my job and doing my best to serve Felicity.

That was true one cold morning too.

“Your stomach warmer,” I said, passing her the sort-of hot water bottle. Like a big hip flask covered in wool, used by noble ladies with cramps.

She had terrible cramps, curled up in bed, her face the only part of her sticking out the blanket. The few times I’d seen it today, she was grimacing and covered in a light sweat. Last month’s hadn’t been so bad, but she had gone out last night for a garden party, not to mention she had lived farther south before, somewhere much milder.

Taking the warmer, she said nothing. Not that I expected a thanks. Thankfully, my job today didn’t include changing her pads—cloth pads, no fancy modern stuff—but I did have to take them to the laundry room in a bin. That made me actually kind of disappointed in the modern world. I mean, it was obviously gross in the same way I’d hate touching a cloth soaked in my pee, but, like, most people had washing machines, so were reusable pads really not a thing? Maybe they were and I didn’t know, or maybe washing machines weren’t made to handle that much, well, bodily gunk.

Anyway, the short of it was that I had a lot of free time to think about pointless things.

I needed to, otherwise I’d just think about how I couldn’t do anything for her. At least, that was what I thought, but then I thought about how I couldn’t do anything for her, idly looking down at my hands, and an idea came to mind.

“Mistress?” I said softly, unsure if she was sleeping.

The duvet wriggled. “What is it?” she asked, her voice strained, even more curt than usual.

“This maid wishes to try and ease your cramps with a massage,” I said. No more, no less, just enough.

Silence, then the duvet rustled and her head popped out. Slowly, she turned, her glittering eyes eventually finding me. If she wasn’t so desperate, I was sure she would have already scolded me.

But she was desperate. “As you wish,” she softly said.

I walked over to her bed and sat next to her, then I patted my lap, smiling at her.

She raised an eyebrow and said, “Excuse me?”

“If you lay down flat, won’t it be uncomfortable?” I said, still smiling.

For a long few seconds, she stared at me like she was waiting for me to flinch. But I didn’t. I wanted to serve her, nothing more. Finally, she looked away, then peeled away the duvet. Once free, she shuffled over. I had to wait half a minute for her to, I guessed, gather her nerve and sit on my lap.

Despite me being a decent few years older—assuming my foxkin body was the same age as my old one—she was bigger than me. Well, almost-nineteen was pretty much fully grown. The important part was, she was bigger, not exactly heavy, but I was pretty weak. Still, she fit on my lap.

Like I’d expected, she curled up, making herself more comfortable. Once she settled down, I reached around and gently felt around her abdomen.

My touching skill improved my intelligence and charisma. That made sense, about remembering where the person liked to be touched, and understanding their reactions to make sure they liked it.

Massaging, though, was about strength and wisdom. Knots weren’t easy to massage out, and I sort of had to understand what my fingers were feeling. It wouldn’t do me good massaging a bone.

Both were similar skills and it wasn’t a surprise I could rank up touching from doing massages. After all, I was trying to make her feel better.

That was especially true right now.

Careful, gentle, I felt out her abdomen, then slowly began to massage her. I listened to her breathing, felt her tense and relax, studying, learning how to touch her to make her feel better. And whenever my fingers couldn’t help with the pain, I whispered, “It’s okay, I’m here, everything will be fine.”

I said it without thinking the first time and expected her to scold me, but I guessed she really was that desperate, saying nothing. Saying nothing, but relaxing.

Maybe an hour passed like that. It was hard to keep track of time, watches only for the rich men and Felicity didn’t have a clock in her room. All I knew was she fell asleep at some point. I didn’t stop, though, her cramps still coming now and then, her body tensing up, so I soothed her, let her fall back asleep if they woke her.

Eventually, she had to change and have lunch. My legs were also very numb—I couldn’t even stand right away, needed a minute to rub some feeling back into them.

On my feet, I looked at her. She honestly had the cutest expression, barely awake, mouth a little open, eyes watery, and the rest of her face slack. So used to her eyes being narrowed, I didn’t realise they could look like that. Mesmerising.

Mesmerising, but I had a job to do. “Mistress, I shall fetch your lunch. If you need help changing your cloth, please wait for me to return,” I said.

“Okay,” she said.

I paused, thinking, Has she ever said that word to me before? Shaking it off, I carried on. Thinking too much did me no good.

The rest of the day, she was, well, docile? It confused me so much I only realised in the evening that I’d gained a new skill. Hard to guess by the weird icon, I eventually thought it had to be hugging. When she’d sat on my lap, that was kind of like a hug, so it made sense. I was happy with it, improving my constitution and wisdom. There wouldn’t exactly be chances to rank it up more, but I wasn’t upset at a couple more stats.

Fortunately, the rest of her period was better. After a couple days, I had to wonder if I’d dreamed up that day with her, her tone back to cool and behaviour just like it was before.

That lasted right up until the day after her period finished. She hadn’t spotted all day, so she had me run her a bath. I prepared it just like she liked it, then helped her undress and get in, and then started massaging her shoulders.

I wasn’t entirely focused, my gaze slipping to her chest now and then. They were right there and she couldn’t catch me peeking without turning her head all the way around.

So, when she reached up and grabbed my hand, I froze up, caught by surprise. But she didn’t say anything at first, pulled my hand in front of her face.

When she spoke, her voice wasn’t cool, wasn’t warm, but hot. “Do you know what this symbol means?” she asked, tapping the Sapphic mark.

I bowed my head, feeling like I knew what was coming. It was hard not to whisper, my voice trying to stay in, but I said, “It means I like women.”

“And it is a reminder that, if someone forces you to do something you do not wish to, the goddesses themselves will punish that person,” she said.

I didn’t know why she brought that up now, so confused.

Confused until she said, “My breasts feel tender. Would you massage them?”

It was the first time she’d asked me to do something, not simply said a problem and left me to solve it. Still, I thought nothing of it, the words going into my ears and hands starting to move down, trained to please her.

Only to stop just short.

She had to ask me, otherwise she’d be punished. And I had to answer her honestly. Well, sort of. If I didn’t touch her, she would assume I didn’t want to, but….

I did.

So I did.

My hands moved that last bit and felt her softness, so strange touching her while standing behind her, but that also made it different to touching Roosa. My fingers curled, naturally lifting her boobs up from underneath, letting gravity pull them down, sliding against my fingertips.

And she moaned, moaned in that deep, hot voice. It stroked my ears, made me quiver, breath catch, heart pound.

Just the sound and feel of her was enough to make me hot, but, leaning down to feel her chest, my head was right above her, close to her head. I sniffed, smelled her. Smelled her mixed with a hint of rose and lavender. Sweet, heady, intoxicating.

“Please, I need more,” she whispered, husky.

I helped her out of the bath and dried her, then pulled the curtains closed and locked the door in her bedroom. She stepped through naked. I couldn’t look away, didn’t want to.

“Mistress, tell me what you need,” I whispered.

“Kiss me.”

Her lips were softer than Roosa’s, her kissing not as good. But she wasn’t here to kiss me, I was kissing her, arms wrapped around her, stroking her back. My charisma was better now, easier to pick up on what things she liked. How she shivered when I gently bit her lip, when I lightly ran my nails down her back, when I pressed the small of her back.

Another thing Roosa taught me, kissing was foreplay and foreplay was constitution. Hearing Felicity moan, feeling her tremble, I wanted to melt. But I couldn’t, I had to hold on. Had to rise to the challenge. Even as it felt like my bones turned to jelly, I strained my muscles, kept holding her, kissing her.

Somehow, I managed to last long enough. Her legs started to give, so I guided us to the bed, helped her lie down. I broke from her lips to kiss more of her. Her jaw, her ears, her nose, then her neck, her shoulders, slowly working down every bit of her my lips could reach.

But when I came to her abdomen, she reached out and held my chin, pulled me back to kiss her lips once more. Then, staring into each other’s eyes, I asked, “Mistress, what do you need?”

“I feel so strange, so hot,” she said, almost slurred.

She gave the command, I wanted to serve. What I’d learned, I kept kissing her while playing with her boobs, learning how she liked them touched. A bit rough, her nipples sensitive. I worked her into a squirming mess, her eyes glazed, hands almost frantic, constantly moving across my back, sometimes pinching or squeezing me.

Feeling like she was ready, I moved my hand down. Her and Roosa weren’t shaved, I guessed not a thing in this world, at least for the natives. I ran my finger through her curly hair. It wasn’t pale pink, but it wasn’t black, sort of ginger with a touch of brown. It felt nice to comb, soft. And she liked me playing with it, or maybe I was torturing her, raising her hips to meet my touch.

“Mistress, can I touch you there?” I asked, stopping everything to get a clear answer from her.

“Yes,” she whispered, breathless.

Through her hair, I rubbed her lips. They felt a bit big, loose, perfect to roll between my fingers. She liked that, groaning. Before I moved to teasing her clit, I wanted to wet my fingers, so I moved to her hole and—

“No!” she whispered, sharp, and I instantly pulled back. “I need to be a virgin.”

I wasn’t planning on fingering her, Roosa mentioning that most women were sensitive about it, but I didn’t want to take the time to explain to Felicity. So I just brought up my fingers and wet them with my mouth.

And fuck, that almost killed me, overwhelmed by the musky taste, a bit bitter, but addictive.

I somehow survived and sent my fingers back down. Slowly, gently, I learned how she liked her clit teased. Sensitive, through the hood, rubbing in a small and firm circle, careful whenever she bucked or shuddered. After a bit, she took over, grabbing my hand and grinding against it. My other arm holding me up, I couldn’t do anything else but stroke her mound with my thumb and keep kissing her. Not that she needed it to finish.

Oh did she finish.

Not knowing my name, she cried out, “Kitten!” and thrust up, arching, which sent her straight into me. I was already burning up, so turned on from, well, serving her, then her hand was pressed against my pussy, trembling with her body—I couldn’t hold on. As soon as she let go of my hand, falling back down in a daze, I collapsed next to her and pulled up my dress, then rubbed myself. Hard and fast and almost painful, but my mind was blank. No control.

So it wasn’t long before I was shuddering, head resting on her shoulder, overwhelmed by the flood of pleasure, numbing, tingling, giddy. Not thinking about it, I started cuddling Felicity. That was what me and Roosa had always done. Also, I just felt cuddly afterwards. Wanted the contact. Unfortunately, I was still dressed. To make up for it, I nuzzled right up to her neck, settling between her chin and shoulder, and gently rubbed.

She didn’t scold me. Instead, she reached up and scratched my fox ear. Like flipping a switch, my breaths changed to purrs, the rest of my body melting, trying to mould to the shape of her body.

“My little kitten,” she murmured, a warm smile on her face I couldn’t see.

“Mistress,” I mumbled.

“When we are like this, call me Flossy,” she said.

I lived to serve. “Flossy,” I said.

“Good kitten,” she whispered, rewarding me with an ear pinch.

As if I wasn’t already a puddle of happy goo.