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The Maid

By: BashfulRogue



I'd interviewed job applicants before, but this was different. Somehow it seemed a lot less formal to be talking to somebody about cleaning my home than interviewing them for a job at the office.

She was very attractive, with a body I kept finding my eyes upon, and she probably didn't realize that was a strike against her. I'd definitely have to hire somebody I could look at without blushing. She'd probably think it was because she was Hispanic or something, but I'd have to live with that. 

She talked at length about her qualifications. I assume they were impressive enough, but I was too absorbed in her deep brown eyes, the perfect curves of her body, the way her mouth moved so carefully around every word. 

After a while, she stopped, looking troubled. "You won't hire me, will you? You look like you made up your mind as soon as I came in. I hadn't even said anything." Even while she was accusing me her voice was soft and calm. 

I was caught a little off-guard. She was right, of course. While my wife had been alive I'd had no problem with checking out a pretty girl as long as I wouldn't get caught, just peeking out of the corner of my eye, but since the accident I felt guilty over every impure thought. I needed a woman who'd just take care of the house, maybe cook a few meals, and leave me to the quiet. 

I tried to think of a lie she'd buy, but floundered. "That's not it.. . . I mean, it's not. . It's just that . .. I don't want to . . . " I sighed, took a breath, then started over. "I live alone Miss Vasquez, but only since my wife and children passed away. I worry that if someone. . . well, someone as breathtaking as you were here in this house. . . .well, I get lonely. I'm afraid that sooner or later I'd get . . . well . . . extra lonely and say or do something . . . inappropriate." 

She considered for a moment, then gave me a sad, warm smile. Finally, she nodded and spoke confidently "I'll move my things in at the end of the week. You need me here." By the time I thought of a response, she was already out the door. I told myself if she showed up, I'd send her away, but I was kidding myself. I interviewed two other women, but knew a few minutes into the first one that I'd already found my new housekeeper. 

She showed up Saturday morning, true to her word. She was dressed much more casually, with shorts that showed off her legs and a tight white T-shirt. I showed the house, letting her see each of the four bedrooms that were unused, but far from empty, the furnishings and clutter reminded me too much of their former occupants for me to clean them out. The nicest were upstairs, and she chose the one next to mine. It was the largest available, and let in the most sun in the mornings. 

I helped her bring in her things. There were more suitcases than I'd ever seen anyone use, but nothing else. In only a few minutes, we were done and she was unpacking. I made a feeble effort to help, but the first case I opened had some lacy underthings, and I mumbled an excuse to find something else to do. She kept chatting away like there was nothing wrong at all, so I leaned against the doorway, unwilling to be rude and walk out in the middle of a conversation, no matter how uncomfortable I was. As I stood there, pointedly not looking at her clothing, I noticed her body instead. Her legs were athletic and sleek, the kind you might see on a panty-hose box. They led up to a bottom that perfectly filled her shorts. Her waist was well toned, easy to see now that she'd put something away on a high shelf and let it come untucked. Now each time she reached toward something or bent, the hem slid about, giving just a tiny peek of skin. Her breasts weren't as large as many Hispanic women I've met, but they had the gravity-defying bounce of a young woman. 

That was the first time she caught me looking at her. I suddenly noticed that her eyes were on me, watching me check out her breasts. I couldn't tell if she was unconcerned or fighting her displeasure with her face as impassive as it was. I immediately looked down at my own feet, trying not to blush but failing miserably. I'm not even sure what excuse I made, but I was out of there in seconds. 

We fell into a routine fairly quickly. She would usually still be cleaning when I got home, eager to get everything out of the way, but would wrap things up when I arrived, make us dinner, and talk with me. Mostly she talked, of course, about the places she'd been and people she'd known, but I was surprised how often I found myself sharing a story about my childhood or a joke. I grew comfortable having her around, and was happy I'd let her force her way in. 

After a week, I came home to find her bent over the back of the couch, apparently reaching for something on the floor behind it. She didn't seem to hear me, because she didn't straighten up, so I got a very good look at her. Her skirt wasn't short enough to be scandalous, but at that angle, it hid nothing. Her undergarment, a crimson thong, covered little more. I must have stood there for half a minute before she straightened, apparently victorious. She didn't catch me looking, but when I looked her in the eye pretending that something else had been holding my attention until just that second, she was staring straight at my crotch, which wasn't nearly as deceptive as the rest of me. 

The whole time she cooked dinner I was thinking about the way she looked bent over the couch, all the while trying to force myself not to. For her part, she seemed unconcerned, even a little flirtatious. I appreciated her covering up for my flaws yet again, but knew I needed to keep a tighter rein on myself. Still, it's not like I could have helped walking in the front door. . . 

As soon as she sat down at the table, she gave an exasperated look. "I dropped my napkin already. Would you get it for me?" I didn't think twice. It was on her side of the table, so I had to reach. It actually took me a moment to notice her legs spread wide so I couldn't possibly miss. I froze for a moment, shocked, staring. She was wet, and the sight and smell of her was intoxicating. In that instant I pictured my tongue running up the inside of her thigh, working it's way beneath the soaked cloth, and plunging into her. She put her hand on her leg, then drew it slowly across the flesh until I jumped, hitting my head hard on the table. 

I brought her the napkin, then sat down, hiding my erection beneath the table. She kept looking at me, waiting for me to do something, say something, but I couldn't imagine what to say. Finally, she broke the silence. "You know that was an invitation, yes?" In my entire life, nobody had so bluntly offered me sex, and I'd never wanted so badly to accept. Still, I hesitated. 

She began running her leg up the inside of mine. That broke my silence. "You work for me. I pay you to be here. I can't. . . " I didn't know how to finish the sentence, but she got the point. For the first time she looked embarrassed and rejected. She gathered her dishes and started cleaning up, her food untouched. She didn't speak to me the rest of the night. I stood outside her closed bedroom door for quite a while, not sure what to say. 

That night I touched myself, thinking of her. I imagined myself beneath the table again, but not hesitating this time. I imagined her fingers laced in my hair, pulling my face tight against her. I pictured her bent over the couch while I pounded in and out of her. I fantasized that she was in my bed with me, touching me, whispering in my ear. 

The next day she was smiling again. When she brought dinner to the table, she moved all the way behind me before leaning over to put it on the table, letting her body rub slightly against me. As she was standing back up, she whispered in my ear, "I washed the sheets today. "Were you thinking of me?" Her eyes were on me the whole evening, flirtatious, dangerous. When she finished, she stood up slowly. "Do you think you could wash the dishes tonight? I want to go to bed early." She'd never made such a request before, but I certainly didn't mind. 

When I was done, I walked down the hall toward the bedroom, and noticed that her door was open about an inch. From inside, I could hear a light moaning. I didn't realize what it was at first, though I'd probably have stopped anyway if I had. She was masturbating, and seemed to be very involved in it. 

I moved closer to her door, and could make out her bare legs from just above the knee. A particularly enticing "ooh" from her drew me closer, until I could make out her thighs, and could see just the edge of her knuckles as she moved her fingers in and out of herself. I wanted to see all of her, to watch her breasts, to see her face in it's rapture, but I couldn't without opening the door more, and I knew it had a bad squeak. Instead I listened, reveling in it. When she was done, I crept silently inside my room, then touched myself again, orgasming almost immediately. 

We went on that way two more nights. She would touch herself while I listened, then wash my sheets each night. The third evening I came home to find her in a french maid's costume that could only have been purchased somewhere especially trashy. Her breasts were practically on display, and the skirt only covered half of her bottom. She even had a little feather duster to complete the image. 

As soon as I'd recovered enough to shut the door, she spoke. "You were watching me." I blushed, revealing my embarrassment again. "I think you like to watch." She leaned forward, giving me a view all the way down her top, and touched the tip of the feather duster to her ankle. She looked up at me momentarily to make sure I was watching, as if there were any choice. "Sit down". 

She slid the feather up slowly, teasing both me and herself. She stopped just above the knee, and leaned back down, putting the gentle device on the inside of her ankle instead. She straightened as she slid it up, bringing it all the way with her until it brushed against her pelvis. She shuddered, and I did the same. 

She repeated this several times on each leg, each time smiling at me like she owned me (and in that moment she did). She stopped for a minute, then moved over to the couch. She climbed up and bent over it, getting herself into exactly the same pose she'd been in when she caught me staring, except that this time she wasn't wearing any panties, and I could see her every detail. It was more beautiful than in any fantasy I'd had about her. 

She held that for a moment, giving me plenty of time to picture myself inside her, before she found what she was looking for. She pressed a button, and the music started. It was clearly Mexican, slow and emotional. She started dancing to it, languidly moving about the room, enticing me. She would move so close to me that the smell of her became a taste, and then break away again, running her hands across her body, driving me wild. 

The costume came off slowly, one piece at a time. She left it across my lap, eventually dancing for me in the nude, touching herself shamelessly. She sat down on the couch and started touching more wildly, keeping up with the steady increase of the beat, never taking her eyes from mine. When finally she exploded, I thought I was orgasming with her, I was so excited. I wanted her to ask me, silently begged her to, but she didn't. Instead, she picked her costume up from my lap, letting her fingers brush my erection, then went to her room for the night. 

That night, I left my door open an inch. I wanted her to hear the passion she'd inspired in me. 

The next morning was a Saturday. She had the weekends off to do as she pleased, since there wasn't much need with just me in the house. Today, she was here, waiting for me when I woke up. She had a handful of bills, her paycheck evidently already cashed. 

"I want to talk to you." She seemed grimly serious, so I sat right away. "You won't have sex with me because I work for you. You don't want to feel like you're paying a woman to have sex with you, or maybe you think I feel like I have to in order to keep my job. I understand these things." 

She bit her lower lip, then pushed the handful of money at me. "This is everything you paid me for last week. I will give it all to you if you will have sex with me."

"I thought it through." she explained, still serious. "You can't be taking advantage of me if I'm paying you. It isn't possible." It was her turn to look shy, trying to act confident but knowing she might be pushing too far. 

I smiled, immediately convinced. I'd never been paid for sex, of course, and couldn't really imagine it, but it felt like a very good excuse to me, a perfect way out of my guilt. "And what exactly would you want, for all that money?" 

Her shy smile turned to a wide grin. "Well, I'd want to get my money's worth, obviously." She moved closer to me, putting a hand on my leg and smiling when I shivered. She pushed a twenty dollar bill just barely into my pants. "I want the whole day, with you doing anything I tell you. You'll lick me when I tell you to lick me, and I'll ask you a lot. You'll pamper me any way I want, and fuck me when I say it's time." This time she pressed a hundred dollar bill down the front of my pants, pushing all the way down to my testicles, and not hurrying to let go. "Do we have a deal?" 

I nodded, unable to even form the words, and she started undressing me. She straddled my face there on the couch, coming across my lips twice before she dragged me down to her bedroom. We made love for hours before collapsing, and she woke me up shortly after to pleasure her some more. She was wild and totally uninhibited, making it hard for me not to follow suit. I used words I'd never used, told her my most secret fantasies while I touched her, and made more noise than I'd ever been comfortable making. We spent the entire time in each other's arms, never even stopping for food. 

I fell asleep there, totally relaxed, and content. 

In the morning, I awoke to find her looking at me with pouty, puppy-dog eyes. Her hand was on my thigh, teasing my penis. "I'm out of money" she complained. "But I enjoyed spending it soooo much." 

I laughed and smiled wickedly. "I'm sure we can find some way for you to make a little extra cash". Somehow, the thought of paying her for sex had gone from a source of guilt to a huge turn-on.

The Maid



It was Amy's decision to hire the help. Her husband John may have suggested it in passing, but frankly it was more of a joke on his part. He didn't seriously expect her to take him up on it. In truth they hardly had time to talk seriously about anything these days. Nearing 40 years old, they both had successful, but stressful, careers, he in engineering, she in corporate law. He spent his days trying to keep his motoring parts company afloat, while she spent her time trying to extricate companies from contracts they should on no account have signed. Every morning they rushed out of the house to their cars with barely enough time for a parting peck on the cheek. And every evening they returned exhausted, with barely enough energy to eat supper before collapsing into bed. Sex, of course, had long since ceased to be anything but a distant memory.

To their friends they were the picture of success. They lived in a large house in an acre of land in that ideal area just on the edge of the city with easy access to the countryside. Not that they ever had time to enjoy it. Saturdays were spent entertaining, Sundays were spent recovering or doing jobs around the house or poring over financial reports – in John's case – and pages of small print – in Amy's. It was a blessing they didn't have children. They had few of the worries that beset their less well-off friends. They were busy but they weren't short of money. If John's business collapsed, they could still have lived perfectly comfortably on Amy's income. To them their life was normal. It was only when they had a moment to stop and reflect – and such moments were rare – that they had any suspicion that they were missing anything. 

A recent Saturday evening was one such occasion. 

"Did you notice how Jim and Mary were all over each other?" asked Amy.

They were stacking the dishwasher after a dinner party with four friends.

"Well, they're still young," said John without thinking. He could hardly keep his eyes open from tiredness and alcohol.

"That doesn't say much for us. We're not even 40 yet."

"I didn't mean that." He knew where this conversation was headed. "I meant they don't care how they behave in front of other people."

Amy sighed. "We used to be like that once. Do you remember that time in the cinema...?"

"We are definitely too old for that."

"Oh I know. It's just that we haven't, I don't know, misbehaved for ages. We haven't even had sex in bed since I can't remember. What's happened to us, John? Don't you fancy me any more?"

Yes, thought John, this is exactly where the conversation was headed. 

"Of course I do. But you know what it's like. There's just no time any more. I don't know where it goes. We both work long hours. Then there's shopping, cleaning, cooking, gardening – it takes me two hours just to mow the grass out there. Then we entertain every weekend. I don't know about you, darling, but every night I go to bed completely exhausted. Sex is the last thing on my mind."

"I know, darling," sighed Amy, "I feel the same. Even when I'm in bed all I can think about are the work I have to do the next day and the things I should be doing to the house. I've been planning to decorate that third bedroom now for two years."

"What we need is a maid," said John.

"We have to get that third bedroom finished this weekend," announced Amy two weeks later.

"Okay," said John, "but why now all of a sudden?"

"Because we need it. We have someone coming to stay with us."

"Oh yes? Who?" 

His mind was still working mainly on the problem of how to win the order he'd been chasing for the last three days.

"Our new maid. She starts on Monday."

"What new maid? When was this decided?"

"I was thinking about your suggestion. And the more I thought about it the more I liked it. You're right, we do need help. A live-in maid might not be the answer to all our problems, but at least she could do all the chores around here. And it's not as if we can't afford one. So I contacted a couple of agencies, interviewed four candidates and she starts on Monday."

"Okay." 

John was used to his wife making decisions, but even so he was a little stunned. A live-in maid might take a little getting used to. He only hoped she could cook.

As it turned out, John's fears were unfounded. Not only could Carol cook, but she was a pleasure to have around. She didn't smoke, she didn't drink – at least no more than a glass or two of wine when it was offered – and she kept her room immaculate. She was pretty and had a good figure, which she was modest enough not to emphasise too much. Her preferred outfit was T-shirt, pressed jeans and a pair of Converse. 

Amy, for her part, found it difficult to let go. Often, in the mornings, she would quickly rush round the house tidying things up so that Carol would not think her too slovenly. In the evening she would start chopping vegetables for dinner before Carol had to wrestle the knife away from her.

"Please go and sit down, Mrs Smith. Dinner is already in the oven."

The truth is, Amy found it difficult to delegate. The main reason why she was so busy was because she took on so much work that could easily have been done by her assistants. It was a characteristic she shared with her husband. It may even have been one of the reasons they were first attracted to each other. He also took on more responsibility for the day-to-day operations of his company than he needed to. The result was that even after Carol had been with them for a week, they fell into bed every night as exhausted as before. Sex was a pleasure as remote as ever and as impossible to talk about. The uninhibited passion of their early years together had long since passed, to be gradually replaced by a physical shyness. Certainly they embraced and kissed regularly, but almost as if they were old friends rather than husband and wife. Most mornings and nights they dressed and undressed separately or with their backs turned. Even in bed, its huge size meant that they rarely touched, even by accident.

Carol soon realised something was wrong. Every morning she watched them rush through breakfast and off to work with nothing but a peck on the cheek as a parting gesture. In the evenings she watched them at dinner discussing nothing more intimate than the problems they had each had at work that day. Then they would work some more – invariably in silence – before trudging exhausted to bed. She was sure they no longer had sex: their expressions could not have told her more plainly. What they need, she thought to herself, is a lot more than a maid.

"Excuse me, Mr Smith, but can I get you a coffee or a drink of something?"

He was sitting at his desk reading a customer's specification for a new part. It was 10.30.

"No thanks, Carol," he replied wearily. "I'm fine."

"I hope you don't think me impertinent, Mr Smith, but you don't look fine. You look as if you could do with a drink and an early night."

He laughed emptily. "You're probably right. Unfortunately I have to check this spec so that I can give the customer an accurate price."

"I don't know a great deal about the engineering business, but don't you have a head of manufacturing who can do that?"

"I do." What was he doing talking to this girl about his problems? "But I prefer to check it for myself as well."

Carol took a breath. "In other words you don't think he's capable of doing his job properly – in which case you should replace him. Either that or he really is good at his job, in which case you should trust him to do it, put that specification away and have a drink."

John stared at his young maid. She looked steadily back at him. There was a silence, then he laughed, this time with genuine humour. "You're right. He is good at his job, in fact he's excellent."

He put the papers in his briefcase and snapped the lid.

"I think I will have that drink."

Later, warmed by a double Scotch, he slipped into bed beside Amy. He took the contract she was reading and put it on the bedside table. He pulled her to him and kissed her. He was somewhat out of practice so it was a bit clumsy, but heartfelt.

"What's got into you?" asked his wife.

"We shouldn't bring work home with us, particularly not into the bedroom." It came out sounding more peremptory then he'd intended. He knew what he wanted – he wanted for them to be passionate with each other, he wanted to make love – but it had been such a long time he could no longer find the right words.

"Some of us have to," she responded, in return rather more haughtily than she'd intended. I sound like a schoolteacher, she thought. 

"Oh, well, if you have to." 

Desired drained out of him. He could feel the whiskey making him sleepy. He gave her another kiss, only this time no more than a peck. "Good night, darling." He turned on his side and pulled the duvet over his shoulder.

The next Saturday John had to visit an old college friend who'd fallen sick. For once, Amy didn't feel like work. She sat in the garden with some papers on her lap, but she couldn't concentrate on them. She wondered why she and John hadn't fallen into each other's arms the other night. He had plainly wanted to. Had she rebuffed him too forcefully? Time was when he would have taken no notice and she would have loved him for it. He would have kissed her and stroked her and soon they would have been fucking. What had happened to them? Where had it all gone?

"Are you all right, Mrs Smith?"

Carol was standing beside her, looking concerned. Amy realised tears were pricking her eyes and quickly wiped them away.

"I must have been looking at the sun. I'm fine."

Carol looked at her as if she didn't quite believe her, but decided not to push.

"I'm going to deadhead the roses. Would you like to help?"

Amy picked up the papers in her lap. "I have to finish reading these."

Carol held out her hand for her to take it. "You shouldn't be working on a day like this. I'm sure they can wait until Monday. Come on. Then I'll make a pot of tea."

Amy wasn't used to being told what to do, but there was something about Carol that made her resistance crumble. She was always so cheerful, so willing. Maybe an afternoon pottering about in the garden would be fun. More fun than reading contracts anyway.

That evening she came to dinner wearing a low-cut dress without a bra.

"What's the occasion?" John asked, nodding at her cleavage.

"No occasion," she said, colouring a little. "I just felt like a change from floppy sweater and leisure pants. Do you mind?"

"Not at all." 

She came to bed in a strappy black silk slip and snuggled up to him, sliding her leg over his. Her hand found his limp cock beneath the duvet. She started to move it up and down. John was unsure if his body would respond. It had been a long day. As a result, he'd drunk too much at dinner. Much as he liked his wife stroking his cock, all he really wanted to do was go to sleep.

Happily, his cock had other ideas. He and Amy may not have had sex for some months, but she still knew how to make him hard. She kicked the duvet off him and without waiting, straddled him. Gripping his cock with one hand she lowered herself slowly. There was a moment's resistance, then he was inside her.

John thought, whatever happened to foreplay? But he wasn't complaining. Now he could feel his cock inside her cunt he was surprised at how good it felt – the warmth, the moistness, the gentle rubbing of his crown. Why hadn't they done this more often?

Keeping himself inside her, he rolled her onto her back and began to fuck her in earnest.

Within only a few minutes she started to come. Supporting himself on his hands he watched her as her face went through the contortions of ecstasy. That and the involuntary twitching of her cunt were enough to set off his own orgasm. Moaning in part pleasure and part exhaustion he emptied himself into her, thrusting hard against her pelvis.

He kept it up for as long as the strength remained in his arms, then collapsed beside her.

"I am so not used to this. I am completely fucked."

"So am I," sighed Amy, contentedly resting her head on his shoulder. 

From that day on, a weight gradually lifted from her shoulders. She felt that in Carol a kindred spirit had arrived. Even John noticed his wife's new cheerfulness. Gone were the long, worried silences, or worse, the rants about work. There were even occasional glimpses of the vivacious sexy young girl he had married. Unfortunately they were no more than glimpses. Sex was not quite as rare as it had been, but when it happened it usually took place with the lights out and in almost complete silence. Where had all that easy sexy banter gone? There had been a time when they said the rudest things to each other – and did the rudest things. Now they behaved as if they had just met, as shy and inhibited as 18-year-olds.

Carol felt for them. She saw that they were no longer as consumed by their work as before. They no longer spent their evenings and weekends in a state of exhausted anxiety. With the arrival of summer she would often see them in the garden, John mowing the lawn, Amy weeding flowerbeds. But still they didn't seem to talk to each other very much. 

She had to help them.

One Friday afternoon Amy arrived back from work early. Her firm had just been paid a very large sum by a satisfied client and they had celebrated with a glass or two of champagne. Feeling a little lightheaded, she had decided to finish for the day. It was hot; she would sunbathe in the garden. Imagine her surprise when she stepped into the conservatory and saw Carol lying on a sun lounger on the patio completely naked. 

She stood uncertainly. What should she do? Should she turn round and leave her to it? Should she cough loudly, avert her eyes and wait for Carol to cover herself? Or should she simply march out as if having a naked girl in her garden was the most natural thing in the world? Carol really was rather beautiful; such a smooth unblemished body, with no sign of a tan line anywhere. It made Amy envious and excited all at once. An image of herself caressing those perfect breasts came into her mind. She saw that Carol had trimmed her pubic hair to a thin strip and wondered what it would be like to explore what lay below.

Just at that moment Carol stirred and Amy snapped out of her reverie. As quietly as she could, she turned back into the house, opened the front door then closed it loudly.

"Hello!"

Giving Carol what she hoped was plenty of time to cover herself, she walked through to the conservatory and out onto the patio. She was relieved to see that Carol was sitting up on the sun lounger with a towel wrapped around her.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Smith, I didn't expect anyone home so early. Can I get you anything?" 

She seemed not at all embarrassed. She behaved as if sunbathing naked were the most natural thing in the world. It quite disarmed Amy. Suddenly she felt rather daring.

"I'll have a lemonade. Then I think I'll join you." 

"Of course, I'll get it right away."

Amy went upstairs to change into her bikini. She hoped that Carol would take the opportunity of putting something on, but when she returned to the patio the girl was still wearing only her towel. Having no idea what she would do if the towel came loose, Amy lay down on a sun lounger.

"I'll leave you to it, then." Carol bent to collect her things.

"Please don't go on my account," Amy said quickly. "I'd much rather have company."

"If you really don't mind." Carol lay down with her towel draped over her. "The sun is so lovely."

They lay side by side for a few minutes. Then Amy heard herself say, "You must be boiling under that towel." What was she suggesting? 

"I am rather," smiled Carol. "Do you mind...?"

"Not at all."

The girl dropped the towel to the ground. "I do love the feeling of the sun, don't you?"

"Mmm..." Amy couldn't trust herself to say anything more coherent. She could feel her heart beating.

More minutes passed. Despite the warmth of the sun and the two glasses of champagne – which were beginning to wear off now anyway – she could not relax. Though she determined not to look at the naked woman beside her, she found the effort almost too much. Separated by at least a couple of feet she nevertheless felt as if they were almost touching. She could almost feel the warmth coming off the girl's body.

"I wish I was as uninhibited as you," she murmured, her eyes closed. "Lying in the sun with nothing on."

"It's not so difficult," laughed Carol. "Just do it. There's no one here but us girls."

"You have such a lovely figure. I feel quite jealous."

"You have no reason to be. You have a beautiful body."

Amy couldn't answer. No one had ever said that to her, except John. Was she really beautiful? Did she dare to reveal it to the world? Of course, it would only be to Carol, but it might just as well be the world for all the courage it would take.

"Let me help you."

She opened her eyes to see Carol standing beside her.

"Sit up and I'll take your top off."

Amy couldn't think of an objection that wouldn't have sounded either childish or prudish, so did what she was told. Carol reached around her and undid the ties of her top, a movement that brought the girl's full breasts unnervingly close to Amy's face. Suddenly her own breasts were open to the air. It felt wonderful and liberating.

"Stand up and I'll..."

"It's alright, I can do that for myself," Amy said quickly.

"Of course. I'm sorry if I'm a bit presumptuous."

She lay back down on her lounger but, to Amy's embarrassment, continued to watch the older woman. Amy hesitated with her fingers in the waistband of her bikini bottom. But if she thought that Carol would take the hint and turn away, she was mistaken.

"It's only a small piece of cotton," the girl smiled. "A small price to pay for your inhibitions."

"You're right," laughed Amy uncertainly, "but you watching doesn't make it any easier."

Carol was immediately apologetic. "I'm so sorry, Mrs Smith. I was too busy admiring your figure." She turned her head away. 

Amy blushed at the repeated compliment. She was 15 years Carol's senior but she was the one who felt embarrassed. Even so, she couldn't back out now. She quickly slipped the bikini bottom down her legs and lay face down on the lounger. Her bottom felt huge and exposed in the sunlight, but it was better than having her whole front open to view.

"Isn't that better?" asked Carol. "Doesn't it feel amazing to be naked in the sun?"

"I'm not sure. It might take a bit of getting used to."

"You'll see," laughed the girl. "After five minutes you'll never want to sunbathe any other way."

In fact, it took less than five minutes. Almost immediately she started to feel deliciously drowsy in the heat. She could feel the tension in her body drain away.

The next thing she knew she felt a hand on her shoulder. She woke with a start.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." Carol, still naked, was squatting beside her. "But you ought to turn over or you'll get burnt."

"How long have I been here?"

"About half an hour," smiled Carol. "You looked very peaceful, I hardly dared to wake you. But perhaps we should both get out of the sun."

She was right. Amy thought of her naked bottom and how unused to the sun it was. She sat up, momentarily forgetting that her body was completely on view to the other woman.

"What a pity. I was having such lovely dreams."

Carol impulsively took her hand. "Come with me, Mrs Smith. I have an idea."

Amy bent to grab her towel, but Amy took it away from her. "You won't need that."

Meekly the older woman allowed herself to be led back into the house, up the stairs and into Carol's bedroom. It was a large room – as were all the rooms in the house – and over to one side Carol had set up a massage table. She led Amy straight to it.




The Maid



"I've only just set this up. I was hoping that I might be able to offer you and Mr Smith a massage occasionally. I hope you don't think me rude, but you work so hard, you often look as if you could do with one."

Amy was a little nonplussed. It was a service she had never expected to be offered by her maid, but now it was... well, perhaps it was what she needed.

"Have you done this sort of thing before?"

"Oh yes," Carol assured her. "I'm a fully trained masseuse. It used to be my job before I became a maid. I promise I won't break anything," she added with a laugh. "Just lie down with your face through this opening and relax."

Amy did so. After a moment she felt Carol's hands on her shoulders, slick with oil.

"Mmm..." Yes, this was definitely what she needed. It had been such a long time since she had had a massage she had forgotten how good it felt.

Carol proved to be thorough. She quickly moved down Amy's left arm and worked on the fingers of her hand, gently pulling them and kneading her palm until she felt that she would never be able to grip anything again.

Before long she had almost forgotten that a naked woman was roaming freely over her own naked body.

"You have lovely skin," said Carol admiringly. "It feels so soft and smooth."

"Stop it," said Amy. "You'll make me blush."

Time passed. Carol finished pummelling the tightness out of Amy's back.

"That feels so good," said Amy breathlessly. "I only hope I'll be able to stand up straight again."

"I'll just do your bottom," said Carol, "then we'll be done on this side."

Amy was unsure if she wanted her bum massaged, but before she could object she felt the girl's hands on her, pressing and gently squeezing.

"Mmm..." The moan of pleasure was out before she had time to stop it.

Carol continued in silence. Amy felt her pelvis being pushed against the table. It was not an unpleasant sensation. The pressure was tantalisingly close to the top of her pussy. Embarrassingly, she began to feel aroused. Oh my God, she thought, I can't be turned on by this, I can't. But it was too late. She tried to shift her position so that the pressure would hit the right spot.

"It feels good, doesn't it?" asked Carol, as if reading her thoughts.

"Mmm..." 

She felt a dribble of oil on her, slipping down the crack between her cheeks, then the briefest of touches on her arsehole as Carol quickly scooped it up. 

"Oh..."

"Sorry," said Carol, continuing to rhythmically squeeze and press.

"That's all right," murmured Amy.

Whether she had intended her response to be a sign of encouragement, that was evidently how Carol took it. The next thing Amy felt were the maid's hands gently separating her cheeks as they squeezed and stroked. She felt fresh air on her hole.

"Oh..."

It felt good. She shut her mind to the fact of what she must have been revealing to Carol and just revelled in the novel sensation. Now she was definitely turned on. So much so that when she felt Carol's fingers gently circling her hole she found herself lifting her hips to try and make the maid press harder.

"Mmm..."

"Do you like that?"

"Mmm..." 

Definitely. In fact she hoped it wouldn't stop, naughty and rude though it was.

Carol, unfortunately, had other ideas. She gently teased Amy's hole for a few more seconds then withdrew her hands.

"Time to turn over, Mrs Smith."

Reluctantly, Amy did as she was told. Lying on her back she felt so exposed that she used her hands to cover her breasts and pussy. Carol gently but firmly moved her arms so that they lay at her sides.

"Just relax, Mrs Smith."

The maid worked as thoroughly on Amy's front as she had on her back. Arms, shoulders, neck, even gently smoothing her brow and massaging her temples. To Amy's initial embarrassment she didn't avoid her breasts, which by now were aching from the desire to be touched. Carol caressed and gently squeezed them, lightly pinching and rubbing their nipples until they were as hard as stones.

"Mmm..."

"You have lovely firm breasts, Mrs Smith."

Amy blushed. "Not as firm as yours, I'm sure."

Carol moved to her legs, lifting each knee so that Amy could put her feet flat on the table. She could feel the strength in the maid's hands as Carol worked at her thigh muscles. Each downward movement brought the maid's fingertips tantalisingly close to Amy's pussy. Amy could hardly breathe.

"Just relax," murmured Carol.

Amy tried to, with the result that her knees parted and her thighs opened wide. Quickly she tried to bring them together again, but Carol's strong hands kept them where they were.

"Just relax, Mrs Smith. Just relax."

Trying to shut her mind to the lewd picture she must have been presenting, Amy stopped resisting. She's too strong for me anyway, she told herself.

Carol proceeded to massage her inner thighs, one leg at a time. Again, with each stroke her fingertips came tantalisingly close to Amy's pussy. With a great effort of will Amy stopped herself rising to meet each movement. Carol moved from one leg to the other and back again, each time brushing lightly across Amy's pussy lips. Amy could feel perspiration breaking out on her brow. Her heart thundered in her temples. She could no longer stop her hips rising in time with every one of Carol's strokes. She felt abandoned, desperate.

"Would you like me to make you come, Mrs Smith?"

"Yes... No... I don't know..."

"I think I should. You look as if you need it." Carol smiled down at her. "And it would be my pleasure."

She let her hand rest fully on Amy's cunt, a finger between the moist lips.

"Oh God..."

Then she started moving, up and down, gently squeezing, exploring Amy's swelling lips relentlessly.

"You have a lovely cunt, Mrs Smith, so smooth and silky."

"Do I?" Amy could hardly breathe. No one had ever said that to her – only John, and that was years ago. And now she was being finger-fucked by her naked maid and she was loving every minute of it.

Carol kept up her teasing and squeezing, every now and then slipping a finger, two fingers, into Amy's hole while gently massaging her clitoris with her thumb. Amy was soon completely lost.

"Ah! Oh! Oh..." She could feel her orgasm building.

"That's right, Mrs Smith," urged Carol, "just let it come. Let it come..."

She speeded her movements, concentrating on Amy's clitoris.

"Oh God," cried Amy, "I'm coming... I'm coming..."

When John arrived home a couple of hours later he found his wife soaking in a steaming hot bubble bath. He kissed her.

"You look very pleased with yourself. What have you been up to?"

"I've been sunbathing naked in the garden," she smiled. "With Carol."

"Oh yes?" He could feel his cock stir at the thought of two naked women lying side by side.

"Then she gave me a massage."

"Now that I would like to have seen," he smiled. "I think I'll take a shower while I picture it."

He went into the bedroom and took off his clothes, coming back into the bathroom and stepping into the large walk-through shower. He started lathering himself. The thought of his naked wife being massaged by the maid was beginning to make him hard.

There was a knock on the bathroom door.

"Come in," Amy called drowsily.

What was she doing? He quickly turned his back to the door, just as Carol came through it carrying two large towels.

"I've brought you some fresh towels, Mrs Smith. Good evening, Mr Smith."

"Good evening, Carol." He kept his back turned, trying to pretend that he couldn't be seen through the glass shower partition.

"Put them over there, please," said Amy.

"Would you like me to scrub your back, Mrs Smith?"

"Why don't you do John's? His back hardly ever gets scrubbed."

John could hardly believe his ears. His mouth opened to utter an objection – but he couldn't think of one.

"Of course," smiled the maid. "Just a moment..."

His back turned, he heard her kick off her Converse, pull her T-shirt over her head, undo her jeans and slip them down her legs and off. Naked, she stepped into the shower behind him.

"Tell me if I scrub you too hard, won't you, Mr Smith?"

"Er... yes, of course..."

He felt the sponge on his back and her surprisingly firm strokes. His mind was spinning, but not so much that he couldn't tell how good it felt.

"She's very good, isn't she?" he heard his wife say.

"Yes... very good." He and the maid were naked in the shower together while his wife watched. It was too much to take in. 

Carol worked on his back thoroughly. By now his cock was fully hard, but he kept it hidden beneath his hands. He only hoped the maid couldn't see it.

"That's your back done, Mr Smith. Is there anywhere else you'd like me to scrub?"

"No, no, that's fine. Thank you."

"My pleasure. If there's nothing else, I'll go and prepare dinner."

In bed that night John cuddled his wife. Her hand found his hard cock.

"I bet I know what you're thinking about."

"Oh yes?"

"Carol, of course. Her being in the shower with you."

"Wrong," he smiled. "I wasn't thinking of that."

He had been thinking of his wife being massaged.

"How was the massage?"

"Lovely," said Amy. "She's very good. I'll ask her to do you if you like – while I'm there, of course. I wouldn't want you to get up to anything you shouldn't."

"Why, is that what you did, get up to something?"

"I might have done," she murmured. Why was it still so difficult to be completely uninhibited with each other?

"You mean..." Even he couldn't bring himself to say it. But he lay there for a long time thinking about it. Did Carol make his wife come? He would love to have seen that.

Amy listened to her husband's breathing. His cock was still hard in her hand. If one of them didn't say something soon the moment would pass.

"Fuck me, darling," she murmured. "I want you to fuck me while you think of Carol."

The next day, Saturday, Amy spoke to Carol after lunch.

"Would you mind giving John a massage? I'm sure he'd appreciate it."

"Of course, Mrs Smith. Now?"

Amy went out to the garage where John was tinkering with an old motorbike and led him into Carol's bedroom.

"You're sure you're okay with this?" he asked Amy.

"Of course I'm sure, darling. Just enjoy it."

He stood uncertainly by the massage table.

"Perhaps you'd like to undress, Mr Smith," suggested Carol.

He stripped to his boxers.

"Don't be shy, darling," his wife laughed. "Take those off too."

Reluctantly he slipped them off and quickly lay face down on the table. He only hoped all this embarrassment would be worth it.

Sensing his need for modesty, Carol placed a small towel over his bottom.

"The oil will be a bit cold to begin with, Mr Smith, but it will soon warm up."

"Uhuh..."

She was right. There was a brief sudden chill as the oil dribbled onto his shoulders, then he felt her warm firm hands on his tight muscles. Her fingers and thumbs worked on his flesh, harder than he had expected. She was certainly strong. He felt the tension in him gradually dissipate.

The maid followed the same routine as she had with Amy, starting with hands and arms, then feet and legs, finally shoulders and back.

"How does it feel, darling?"

"Mmm," he murmured. "Marvellous."

Carol was massaging his lumbar region. This is going to be over too soon, he thought to himself.

"Would you like me to do his bottom, Mrs Smith?" he heard her ask.

This is where it stops, he thought sadly.

"Oh, I think so. I'd hate him to miss out on that."

He felt the towel being removed and his bum revealed. He hoped it still retained some youthful tightness.

"It's a lovely bum," his wife laughed. "But you can stop clenching it."

He felt Carol's hands smoothing oil into his cheeks.

"Just relax, Mr Smith. Just relax."

Her hands pressed and smoothed and kneaded his flesh. It felt surprisingly good. He had never had his bum massaged before, not even by Amy. The pressure was pushing his cock against the table. It grew hard, despite his wish that it wouldn't. He lifted his hips slightly to ease the friction.

"Are you enjoying it, darling?" He detected a hint of amusement in her voice.

"Nngh..." was all he could manage in reply.

"Carol, do what you did to me. I'm sure he'd like it."

"Of course, Mrs Smith."

Before he could ask what it was that Carol had done to his wife, he felt a dribble of oil between his cheeks and the maid's fingers chasing after it. There was the lightest of touches on his hole, then she was firmly stroking his cheeks, separating them and running her fingers between them.

"Mmm..." It felt deliciously dirty.

Then a finger was on his hole again, this time deliberately circling it and pressing it rhythmically.

"Nngh..."

"I think he likes it there, Mrs Smith," he heard Carol say. "Should I continue?"

Oh, yes, please, he pleaded silently. His cock throbbed beneath him.

"Perhaps you'd better stop now, Carol," Amy laughed wickedly. "You shouldn't spoil him."

He felt her hand stroking his hair.

"Turn over, darling. Carol hasn't finished with you yet."

Almost weak with the pummelling he had received and the sexual tension he had built up, he turned over onto his back, not caring that he was displaying a massive erection.

"That's a lovely cock, Mr Smith," Carol said admiringly.

"It's true," Amy agreed. "I love it when it's big and hard like that. Especially when he's fucking me with it."

"Do you mind if I touch it?" asked the maid.

This is definitely where it stops, thought John.

"Of course not," he was amazed to hear his wife say. "I was going to suggest it anyway. Poor darling, he obviously needs it."

He felt Carol's fingers on his shaft, gently stroking up and down and playing around the crown. Involuntarily it leapt to meet her touch.

"It's very lively," smiled Carol.

"Oh, he just loves having his cock played with, don't you, darling?"

She leant over him and gave him a long passionate kiss on the mouth.

He felt Carol grasp his cock more firmly.

"Nngh..."

"Do you like having your cock played with by Carol, darling, while you're being kissed by your wife?"

He thought, to hell with it, now is the time to be honest.

"Yes, darling, very much."

Carol put more oil on her hands and used both to spread it on his cock and balls. Occasionally she slipped a finger between his legs to press gently against his hole.

"Mmm..."

"I think Carol is enjoying herself, darling. I think she wants to see you come."

Carol smiled in agreement. "I'd love to see him come, Mrs Smith, if you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind," smiled Amy. "But not too quickly. Go slower. I want him to enjoy it for as long as possible. And I just love watching you give him pleasure."

John could hardly believe his ears. Carol was stroking his cock and his wife was apparently enjoying it as much as he was. He tried to resist the sensations the maid was generating in him. Like Amy, he wanted it to last as long as possible. He felt Carol slow her movements, just keeping him below the point of no return, an exquisite torture.

"You have a very loving wife," she said.

"I know," he breathed.

"Oh, darling." Amy gave him another long passionate kiss. "I just want us to be like we used to be. I want us to give each other pleasure, in every way possible."

"You're an amazing woman, Amy Smith," he smiled. "I love you."

"I love you too."

They kissed again. She gazed into his face as Carol continued to slowly pump his cock.

"Do you want to come, my darling?"

"Please...," he murmured. He could feel the pressure building in his balls.

"May I make him come, Mrs Smith?" asked Carol, gradually speeding her movements. The head of his cock appeared and disappeared in her hands.

"Yes, poor darling, I think we've made him wait long enough."

He felt Carol's hands moving faster. He would come soon, he knew it. It felt so good, so good.

Amy caressed his face. "Tell us when you're going to come, darling. We want to hear you say it."

"Soon... Soon... Nearly..." He could hardly speak.

"Just leave it to me to make it happen," he heard Carol say. "Just let it come."

Her hands became a blur. He was coming, yes, he was coming.

"I'm coming! I'm coming! Oh God..."

"That's it, my darling," Amy urged, kissing him all over his face. "Come for me and Carol. Come for us."

He felt his come begin to shoot from his cock. Oh God, it felt so good.

"That's lovely," he heard Carol say. "Your cock feels so lovely when it comes. It jerks so much."

His come spattered over his abdomen and down Carol's hands.

"Oh God..."

His cock jerked in the maid's hands. He felt as if he might never stop coming.

"Darling," his wife said, "you look so beautiful when you're coming. I love you so much."

His breathing gradually slowed.

"Thank you, darling. That was amazing."

They kissed lovingly.

Amy took Carol by the hand and stood her by the head of the table.

"Now you must kiss. I want to see you kiss each other." 

Carol bent her head and she and John kissed long and passionately.

"Thank you, Carol," John said when they finally broke apart. "That was quite some massage."

That evening John and Amy, pleading sudden sickness, decided to put off their dinner guests and instead invited Carol to join them. They chatted and laughed freely and, as the wine flowed, frequently got up from their chairs to kiss each other.

"I love to see you two kissing," said Amy happily when Carol and John were locked in an embrace.

As the meal progressed, they rushed to finish it. It was as if both husband and wife knew where the evening was headed and couldn't wait to get there.

Carol insisted on clearing everything away. "It's my job. It's what you pay me for."

As if by mutual consent, Amy and John went straight upstairs. They spent little time in the bathroom, and slipped naked into bed. They immediately fell into a fierce embrace, their bodies pressed against each other.

"I loved watching Carol make you come today, darling," murmured Amy. 

"I keep thinking of Carol doing the same to you," he replied. "Did you like her playing with your cunt?"

"Mmm, it was lovely."

There was a knock on their door.

Amy called out. "Come in, Carol."

The maid stepped in. "Is there anything I can get you before I go to bed?"

"Yes." Amy held out her hand. "You can come here and lick my pussy."

"It would be my pleasure, Mrs Smith."

The maid slipped out of her clothes as Amy kicked back the duvet and opened her legs wide. John was excited to see his wife behaving so wantonly.

"Hold my pussy lips apart, darling," she told him, "so that Carol can explore me with her tongue."

He did so. Their maid lay down between his wife's legs, her face poised above the open cunt. Her tongue came out and started to lick the waiting lips.

"Mmm..." Amy moaned. "Kiss me, darling," she said to her husband, "I want you to kiss me while Carol is kissing my cunt."

His mouth closed on hers, his tongue found her own. He could feel her breathing already becoming rapid.

"Tell me what Carol is doing to you," he murmured excitedly. "Tell me what she's making you feel."

"Ah...ah..." She was already finding it difficult to speak. "She's licking and sucking my lips, darling. Oh, it feels so good... so good..."

He watched her as her hips started to lift in time with Carol's licking.

"You look so sexy, my darling. You make me want to fuck you right now."

"Wait..." She breathed. "I don't want her to stop. I want her to make me come. Please..."

He kissed her. "Of course I'll wait. I want to see you come too."

"Ah...ah... oh, now she's licking my clit... Oh God..."

Her head was thrown back, her hands clutching at her breasts and nipples. Her breath was coming in gasps.

"Aaah...! That's so lovely. Now she's sucking my clit... Please don't stop, Carol, please... Oh my god...!




The Maid



Her hips bucked convulsively.

"Oh God, I'm going to come, my darling! Carol is making me come...!"

Her orgasm approached like an express train and crashed through her body.

"Oh yes...! Yes! I'm coming...! I'm coming...! Oh God... Oh God..."

John kept his hand over her throbbing clitoris, feeling the pulses as they burst through her.

"That's it, darling," he murmured, "come for us, come for me and Carol."

Moaning softly, Amy gave herself over to the ecstatic pleasure.

John gently cupped his wife's swollen cunt as her convulsions gradually subsided. He kissed her lovingly.

"Darling Amy, you look so beautiful when you come."

With barely a pause to recover, his newly uninhibited wife was soon organising the next stage of the night's debauchery.

"Move over to John," she told Carol. "I want you to suck his cock and then I want him to fuck you."

The maid was only too eager. "Of course, Mrs Smith. I'd love to."

Postscript

Friends noticed the change in the Smiths. It would have been difficult not to. At their next Saturday dinner party John and Amy frequently held each other's hands and took every opportunity to give each other little loving kisses. When John and his friend Bill went into the cellar to get more wine, Bill couldn't wait to remark on how different Amy seemed.

"She's like a new woman, really vivacious and... I hope you don't mind me saying this, but really sexy."

"I don't mind," smiled John. "I think she's sexy too."

"But you've been married almost 20 years. You still look as if you fuck each other every night."

"We do – almost."

"How?" Bill was amazed. "Where do you find the time?"

"Well, I don't know if Amy wants me to tell you this, but she hired a live-in maid. She's made all the difference."

"You're kidding. A maid? I don't believe you. Where is she?"

John smiled. "Tonight's her night off."

In the kitchen Amy was having a similar conversation with Bill's wife.

"What's got into you and John? You can hardly keep your hands off each other."

"I know, it's like when we first got together. I want to touch him all the time. I hope it's not embarrassing."

"No, it's rather sweet. I only wish I felt the same about Bill. But you know what it's like – after 20 years of married life you wonder where all the passion went. Not to mention the fact that we're always so busy. What's your secret?"

"No secret," Amy smiled. "Just be as uninhibited as you can with each other and take time to have lots of wild sex."

"If only," laughed Bill's wife.

"That and get yourself a live-in maid," said Amy.

That night, while they were fucking, John said, "Is Carol joining us tonight? Only I told Bill this was her night off."

Amy laughed. "Maybe she'd better not then. We can still have a perfectly good fuck without her – especially when you do that with your cock. Mmm... that's lovely..."

"Good," smiled John. "I don't want us to get to the point where we can't enjoy each other without her. And sometimes I get confused as to whether she's here or not."

Amy kissed him. "Ah, is my fantasy too complicated for you?"

"Not at all. And she's made a hell of a difference to you and our sex life. Sometimes you make me believe I really am in bed with two gorgeous sexy women. The trouble is, sometimes I don't know which is which."

"Don't worry, darling, I always do. I'm not developing a split personality. I'm not losing my mind. I love pretending to be her, but I always know when I am." She thrust herself up against his cock. "And I know you love fucking her, don't you?"

"I do, I admit it."

His wife smiled wickedly. "Maybe we should think about getting a real maid, then."



The Maid



Betsy had been devastated when old Lady Longsworth had dies. She had been working for her for the past three years and, although kept busy, she had been happy and made a number of friends in the area. Now with the old lady gone she was out of work.

After the funeral, Betsy was in her room packing and wondering what she would do now. Being summoned to the library by Lady Longsworth's lawyer was unexpected, and she was feeling very nervous when she went down to see him. 

"Ah, Betsy, the upstairs maid, yes?" asked Mr. Gainsmith. "You've probably been wondering what you're going to do now that you're out of a job. Lady Longsworth anticipated that and has instructed me to arrange new positions for any servant who requires assistance in finding a new job. She has left excellent references which I will submit to potential employers. Do you want my assistance in this matter or have you already obtained a new position?"

Feeling vastly relieved, Betsy indicated that the lawyer's assistance would be greatly appreciated. Accordingly, things were put in motion and very soon Betsy was interviewed for the position of upstairs maid at the country residence of Lord Jenson.

Her initial interview was conducted be Mrs. Woolsley, the housekeeper. Betsy found herself being grilled over all the duties expected of an upstairs maid and was pleasantly surprised at just how much she'd learnt over the past few years.

"Alright, dearie, you'll do for me," said Mrs. Woolsley at the end of the interview. "I think you'll do well. I'll put you on our shortlist. You'll get a call for another interview shortly with Greaves, the butler. He has to make the final decision."

At the end of the week Betsy was back for the interview with Greaves, the butler.

"My names is Greaves," Betsy was informed. "Not Mister Greaves or Master Greaves. Just Greaves. Remember that."

Betsy decided very quickly that she and Greaves would never be soul mates. He was a little man, full of his own importance, and assuming that you would be aware of it as well. It was obvious from his manner that he considered himself the supreme arbiter of all that went on in the household.

Greaves, Betsy reluctantly acknowledged, was as fully aware of all the ins and outs of an upstairs maid's duties as Mrs. Woolsley had been. He gave her a grilling that was even tougher than the one the housekeeper had subjected her to, and Betsy was quite pleased that she appeared to be meeting with his approval.

Then the interview took on a slightly uncomfortable note.

"How old are you, Betsy?" he asked.

"Eighteen, sir."

"Greaves, not sir," she was reminded with a cold look.

"Yessir, I mean, yes, Greaves," said Betsy.

"You've been with Lady Longsworth for the last few years," Greaves continued. "Now it's obvious that you're rather a pretty young woman, and this household had high standards. Are you in the habit of flirting with the male staff or visitors?"

"Wh-what. No. Lady Longsworth didn't have any men in her household except the butler, and she never had gentlemen call on her."

"Did you go stepping out with the butler or with any of the staff from neighbouring establishments? I'm sorry if these questions embarrass you but we run a tight and moral establishment here and I need to ensure that you're the type of person who will fit in."

He didn't look sorry, thought Betsy. He looked as though he thoroughly enjoyed disconcerting her. 

"No, Greaves. The butler was even older than Lady Longsworth and I never went for a walk with any male staff from the other establishments. I..I'm rather shy, I'm afraid and I don't really like talking to men."

Greaves looked at the faintly blushing young maid squirming on her seat and smiled, inwardly. A tasty dish, he decided. She could be fun.

"So you maintain that you're still a virgin?" he asked, pushing it a little to see her reaction.

The faint blush became a deep rosy hue as Betsy struggled to cope with the question.

"Of course I am," she said, and a touch of anger crept into her voice. "I just said I don't step out with any men. I'm just not that sort of person."

"Hmm. I'll have to take your word for it, I suppose," grunted Greaves. "Mind, if we catch you stepping out with the lads here you'll be out instantly."

"Do you mean I've got the job?" asked Betsy, surprised.

Greaves nodded. "You seem the best of a bad lot," he grumbled. "I'll have the formal offer sent to that lawyer fellow to keep him happy, but you can start here next Monday. Go and see Mrs. Woolsley and set it up with her."

"And I give myself two weeks to get you into bed," he muttered quietly, watching her skip out.

Betsy settled into the new establishment quickly and easily. The work was the same as she was used to and she was quick and efficient. Despite a certain amount of shyness she also managed to make friends with other girls on the staff.

"Actually," she confided to June, the other upstairs maid, "I don't know if I'm relieved or insulted. When I was interviewed Greaves was really firm about not flirting with the male staff, but I don't know what he was worried about. The footmen barely acknowledge my existence and the only time a groom tried to get familiar one of the footmen came up and chased him off. I haven't been bothered since."

"Well, I wouldn't be feeling too relieved just yet," June told her. "The only reason the footmen haven't been trying to drag you to the nearest bed is because Greaves had warned them off."

"Oh. That was nice of him. I didn't think he'd do anything like that."

"You are such an innocent, Betsy. He didn't warn them off because of you. He just didn't want them catching you before he's bonked you."

"What do you mean?" wailed Betsy.

"Haven't you noticed how he always seems to be around? He sees you coming and he comes oozing up to you, all oily charm. It's all calculated to get you into bed. After that he'll switch to his normal obnoxious self and you'll be declared in season for the footmen."

"Not going to happen," snapped Betsy. "No way am I going to bed with him, no matter how often he asks."

"Oh, naivety, thy name is Betsy. What makes you thinks he's going to ask? The little monster will trap you into having a meal with him to discuss how you're settling in. And after the meal he'll lift your skirts and help himself. He won't mind if you wriggle and squeal while he takes you. It'll make him feel a big man."

"Do you mean that he'd actually rape me?" asked Betsy, horrified.

"Like a shot. Why do you think the last upstairs maid left? He's the butler. Who are you going to complain to? And even if you managed to fight him off, you'd just get yourself fired. I'm sorry, my friend, but you're screwed. Or will be very shortly."

After that enlightening little talk Betsy did her best to avoid Greaves. When trapped, she didn't look at him and kept her answers as brief as possible. And all the time Greaves smiled, watching her. He guessed that someone had probably warned her of what he had in mind, but as far as he was concerned, so what? She was trapped.

It was towards the end of Betsy's second week that Greaves made his move.

"Betsy," he said, coming up from behind, depriving her of the chance to duck away, "I think it's time we reviewed your performance and see how you're settling in. I'll tell the cook that you'll be dining with me tomorrow and we can discuss your performance over dinner."

With that he departed, leaving Betsy looking white and strained, nervously biting her lip. Her work suffered somewhat that day. When Mrs. Woolsley pointed it out to her Betsy simply told her the Greaves had ordered her to have dinner with him the next day.

Mrs. Woolsley had said nothing more, but sympathy had been in her eyes. 

Betsy was surprised when Alan, one of the footmen, stopped to have a chat with her.

"I hear that gruesome Greaves is putting the hard word on you tomorrow," he said. "You do realise that if you weren't a virgin he wouldn't bother?"

"What do you mean?" Betsy asked. 

"He can only get it up if the girl's a virgin," sniggered Alan. "It means that once he's had you he won't bother you again."

"Maybe not, but everyone will know and they'll all be trying to get me into bed. And if Greaves is prepared to use force, how do I know the rest won't?"

"Nah. We've got rules about that. You have to be willing. But we sort of figure that after suffering Greaves you'll just naturally turn to us to make up for his performance."

"Or I'll be forever turned off men," retorted Betsy.

"That's a possibility," admitted Alan. "That's why your predecessor left. What you really need is to lose your virginity before Greaves gets to you."

"And that would get me fired for a start and I'd still be a non-virgin and fair game for the rest of you," pointed out Betsy, almost in tears.

"I'd offer to help you myself, but then Greaves would fire me, too," said Alan. "I'll tell you what. I'll consider your predicament and see what I can come up with."

Betsy watched him leave. She had an uneasy feeling that he'd come up with a scheme that he thought hilarious. She strongly suspected that she wouldn't find it so funny. Although if it got her out from under gruesome Greaves, she'd probably go for it. Who, she wondered, nicknamed him gruesome and does he know?

That evening, shortly before she was due to retire for the night, Betsy heard a rap on her door. Answering it she found herself facing an elegantly dressed man of around forty. 

"Betsy?" came the inquiry. At her nod, he continued. "You're wanted in the library."

"Wait," called Betsy, as the stranger turned to leave. "Who wants me and who are you?"

"Oh, yes, you're new, aren't you," said the stranger. "I'm Felton, Lord Jenson's valet. Guess who wants to talk to you."

"Lord Jenson?" asked Betsy, horrified. Lord Jenson hadn't even put in an appearance all the time she'd been here. And the first thing he does when he arrives is to ask to speak to her?

Felton said nothing, just walking off. He'd delivered his message and the rest was her problem.

Betsy hastily checked her appearance for neatness and then hurried down to the library. Knocking, she heard a voice call come, and she walked in. The man sitting at the desk on the far wall glanced at her, pointed at a chair and said "Sit. Wait." and continued with what he was doing.

Betsy sat and waited, wondering what the hell? She took the time to look over the man at the desk, presumably Lord Jenson. He was a large man in his early thirties. Solid, but Betsy suspected that it was muscle, not fat. He had the look of a man who exercised regularly, not the dissipated look of a man who spent his entire time at balls and parties.

Finally Lord Jenson finished what he was doing and turned his attention to Betsy.

"You know, I came here for some rest and relaxation, and the first thing that happens is that Felton dumps the problem of you in my lap. And how he found out all the details walking from the coach to my rooms is beyond me."

"Ah, I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not sure what you mean?" muttered Betsy. "How am I a problem?"

"Well to be fair I suppose you aren't the problem as such. You have the problem and I'm supposed to resolve it."

Betsy blushed. He couldn't be talking about Greaves intentions, surely.

"Um, what have you been told about any problem I might have?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly.

"Just that Gruesome wants to fuck you and you're reluctant and scared he'll use force," came the reply. "Does that sum it up?"

"He's invited me to have dinner with him tomorrow night," muttered Betsy.

"Uh-huh. With you being the dessert, I suppose."

Lord Jenson gave Betsy a considering look and nodded.

"I can understand where Gruesome is coming from," he said. "You're a fetching little thing. Knowing Gruesome he probably wouldn't bother to ask; he'd just assume that you'd be willing because he's the butler.

Not that he'd care either way, I suppose. I take it you're a virgin?"

Betsy's blush was getting a thorough workout. It came to life again as she nodded.

"Figures. He can't get it up otherwise. Are you sure you can't just lie there and let him have his fun? I'm told he doesn't take long."

"I'd rather die?" muttered Betsy. "Actually, if I can't come up with a solution I'll quit. I'm not letting that sleazy little man touch me."

"OK. You're showing good taste, anyway. Can't you just lose your virginity to someone else?"

Betsy sighed. "I actually considered that, but it's not on. None of the men here will touch me or Greaves will sack them. And even if one of them was prepared to take the risk I'd finish up a non-virgin who they could all chase if they wanted to.

Um, can't you just order Greaves to leave me alone?"

"Of course I can," came the reply. "And as soon as I left he'd have you bent over the nearest bed with his cock in you. Forgive the plain speaking but you need to know the facts.

How often do you bathe?"

Betsy looked at him blankly. "Bathe?"

"Yes, bathe," came the irritated reply. "It's a simple question. Bathe, as in take off your clothes and wash all over in a tub of water?"

"Every week, sir," said a red-faced Betsy. "Mrs. Woolsley insists. I had mine last night."

"And I missed it. What a pity," came a murmured comment.

Betsy blinked. He hadn't said that, surely? She decided it would be wisest to ignore it.

"So what it all boils down to is that you're a virgin who is going to lose her virginity either today or tomorrow and there's nothing you can do about it. Even quitting may not help because there's nothing to stop Gruesome following you and dragging you behind some bushes."

Lord Jenson watched Betsy as she considered this. To his surprise she seemed to accept it immediately.

She sighed. "That's the conclusion I'd reached," she muttered. "As June said to me the other day, I'm screwed."

"Then really, all you've got to do is decide how to lose it," said the lord. "Stand up."

Startled, Betsy stood.

"Now lift your skirts up so that I can see your legs."

Shocked, Betsy stared at Lord Jenson. He stared back, waiting. To her surprise she found herself obeying, hitching her skirts up to her knees.

"All the way," came the growled order, and Betsy gulped and obeyed.

"What am I doing?" she screamed to herself as she held her skirts bunched around her waist. "I'm showing him everything."

"Let you skirts down now," she was told, and with a gasp of relief she dropped them.

"Now tell me why you lifted your skirts like that."

"You told me to," protested Betsy.

"True. Lift them again."

Blushing, Betsy again lifted her skirts, holding her breath as she saw Lord Jenson run his eyes over her.

"Have you ever lifted your skirts like this for anyone else?" she was asked, and she quickly shook her head.

"Then why are you doing it now?" came the probing question, "and why haven't you let them down again yet?"

"You told me to," Betsy said quietly, "and you haven't said I can let them down." 

"Do you know what a sexual submissive is?" she was asked.

"I do," came the observation when she shook her head, "and a pleasant surprise it is to find one so pretty. Go and lock the library door."

Betsy turned to walk over to the door, dropping her skirts as she did so.

"I didn't say drop your skirts," came the reminder, and Betsy hastily lifted them again, even as she walked to the door. She knew, she just knew, that Lord Jenson was looking at her bottom as she walked. Locking the door she turned and walked back to stand in front of him.

"The easiest way to solve your problem will be for me to take your virginity. I can then drop a word to Gruesome that you're mine and anyone who touches you will be out on their ear without a reference. Take off your clothes."

Betsy blinked. "You're kidding me," she said. "You expect me to get undressed and let you take me just because you say so?"

"No. Because I'm TELLING you to. Now get those clothes off."

Betsy jumped at the tone of command and hastily started unbuttoning her dress. She had it half off, her breasts spilling loose when she paused to ask herself what she was doing.

Seeing her hesitation, Lord Jenson spoke.

"You know you're going to be taken by someone over the next couple of days, and I would appear to be the best choice. The reason you're doing as I tell you to is quite simple. You're submissive and will do whatever your sexual partner tells you to do. You've already realised that it's going to be me so you're doing what I say. Now hurry it up."

Feeling oddly reassured, Betsy continued to undress. 

Lord Jenson smiled when Betsy was finally undressed. She looked so totally innocent standing there. She had started to cover herself with her hands but a firm look had been all that was required to stop her. Now she stood there nervously, hand behind her back, watching Lord Jenson while trying to look as though she wasn't.

"Tell me, Betsy, just what you know about men and women and how they interact."

Betsy blushed. 

"Nothing, sir," she admitted. "I'm an orphan. I was raised in a convent and then sent to Lady Longsworth when I reached fifteen, and the only man there was the butler and he was an old man. I've had no chance to learn anything."

Lord Jenson blinked at that. There was innocence and there was ridiculous. No wonder she'd been panicking about Gruesome's intentions. She didn't have the faintest idea what they were.

"When we're together like this you'd better just call me Jenson. It's what my friends call me. The nuns in the convent didn't say anything?"

"They had a picture of a naked man that they showed me when I was leaving. They pointed to the man's parts and told me if I touched them my hands would turn black and I'd go to hell. I've never actually seen them."

This wasn't going to be a case of seducing a virgin who knew what was coming. This was going to be a baby's instruction lesson followed by an adult exam. Giving a mental sigh, Lord Jenson settled down to give some basic education on the differences between man and woman.

Betsy wasn't stupid, he quickly realised. Ignorant, maybe, but she was willing and able to learn. She came to an understanding very quickly.

"So you're going to take off your clothes as well?" she came straight to the point. "Then when you're undressed you're going to rub your parts against mine?"

"Something like that," murmured Lord Jenson. "You'll understand better once we actually start doing it. It's only fair to tell you that you may find it a little painful to start with."

"Why?"

"Because you're virgin and need to be broken in. It's just the way it is."

Betsy bit her lip. "Will it hurt much?" she asked.

"I have no idea," she was told. "I understand it varies. Some women say yes, some say no. Until you try, you don't know. Now I want you to come and lie down on the rug in front of the fire."

Now that she had something to do, Betsy felt relieved. Being shown was always better than just being told. She watched as Lord Jenson settled onto the rug next to her. She started when his hand closed over her breast.

"Relax," she was told. "Get used to the feel of me stroking you. Consider how it feels. Do you like it or not? Think about it."

Betsy slowly relaxed, watching the large hand caress her breasts, gently squeezing and rubbing her nipple. Her breathing deepened as she watched and considered the feeling.

Seeing a raised eyebrow, Betsy nodded slowly. 

"I like it," she said. "Is it all like this?"

Lord Jenson shook his head. "It gets better," he told her, "but it's best to start slowly."

Moving slowly Jenson caressed her breasts and teased her nipples. He heard Betsy give a little squeak when his mouth closed over her nipple for the first time, biting softly.

She gave an even larger squeak when his hand finally slid through her lower curls, tugging at them and squeezing her mons. Protectively, she closed her legs, pressing them firmly together.




The Maid



"No," came the firm order. "Move your legs apart. As a matter of fact I want you to move them wide apart and lift your knees high."

Nervous but obedient, Betsy did as bid. And squeaked again when a hand closed over her mound.

"What did I say earlier about me touching you?" Jenson asked.

"Wait and consider what it feels like and see if I like it," mumbled Betsy.

"And do you?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "It's different."

"That's true, and it's going to get even more different," said Jenson, easing her lips apart and slipping a finger between them. Betsy's sharp intake of breath showed that she agreed with this statement.

Now Jenson got to work stoking Betsy's fires. He could feel her tentatively pushing against his hand as he played with her, his fingers going deep, exploring at will. When he rubbed against her clitoris Betsy gave a wail.

"What did you do?" she gasped.

"Just touching you," came the reply. "Have you decided if you like it yet?"

"No!"

"No, you don't?" asked Jenson, slightly surprised. She had seemed to be coming along nicely.

"No, I haven't decided. You'll have to touch me there again to help me decide."

Amused, Jenson deliberately flicked her clitoris firmly, hearing her give a strangled gasp. Sliding further around, he felt the beginning of her vaginal passage, hymen intact.

It was time, he decided, to go a bit further. Standing, he quickly stripped, seeing Betsy's eyes go wide as she looked at his erection. Settling down beside her, he took her hand and placed it on his cock. Betsy promptly snatched her hand away with a gasp of horror.

"No," Jenson reprimanded her. "Forget what you were told. Take hold of me and feel me. I want you to feel all of it so you know what it's like."

Hesitantly Betsy took hold of him again, touching him lightly to start with but then taking a firmer grip as she got accustomed to the feel of it.

"It's hard," she said, "and hot."

"And you're soft and hot," said Jenson, squeezing her pussy, massaging it lightly.

"Now comes the bit that may hurt a little. If it does I want you to just bite your hand and wait a moment. The pain will go away quite quickly. It feels nice down there right now, doesn't it?"

Betsy nodded and Jenson continued.

"If there is pain, don't worry. The pain will fade and the niceness will return and get better."

Spreading Betsy's lips, Jenson lined up and slipped his cock between them. He felt her hymen tear as he hit it and heard Betsy give a little pained squeak. Then he was diving into her, forcing his way down her tight little passage, feeling it stretching and closing around him as he pushed deeper.

Holding himself in Betsy, Jenson looked at her. She was breathing hard and considering this new sensation.

Betsy saw Jenson watching her and smiled wryly.

"I only hurt a little," she admitted. "As for the rest, I know, wait and consider it to see if I like it."

Jenson smiled, and pressed gently against her before pulling back a little. Pressing forward again, he paused and pulled back a little more. He could see Betsy was concentrating, considering the feel and trying to decide what it was like.

"When I press in," he told her, "why don't you press up to meet me? I'll go slowly so you can feel how it works."

Obediently Betsy started pushing up to meet Jenson, quietly relishing the feelings. Her breathing deepened as she concentrated on meeting Jenson as he drove into her.

Jenson forged ahead, steadily increasing the pace, enjoying the feel of Betsy responding to him as he drove into her. She was breathing hard, muttering to herself and giving little squeaks every so often when he pressed a little harder. 

Squeaks and a few squeals were permissible, decided Jenson, but a full-blooded scream might prove to be a little embarrassing, even if the staff did know he was helping Betsy out of her predicament. As Betsy's little squeals started to come faster and louder, Jenson covered her mouth with his own, and then slammed into her, hard and fast.

Betsy screamed, loud and long, the sound swallowed by Jenson as he felt Betsy come apart under him. Hammering home he climaxed, spilling his own seed deep within her.

Dressed himself and watching Betsy get dressed, Lord Jenson reassured her.

"Don't worry about Greaves. I'll speak to him and he won't bother you again. Actually, now that you're not a virgin he probably won't give a damn about you. I can't guarantee the other male members of the staff won't try to get you alone. You'll just have to be firm with them. They won't force you though, if you say no and mean it."

Later that evening Lord Jenson has a word with Felton. 

"Drop a word in Gruesome's ear for me, if you'd be so kind. I'm sick of his antics and he's walking a narrow line. One more false step and I'll turn him off. He's to leave all dealings with the female staff to Mrs. Woolsley unless she asks him to intervene.

You can let the other men know that if they try to force Betsy they'll be whipped off the estate. There's no need to tell them that she's a natural submissive who'll bend over if they tell her to with a firm voice."



The Maid



"Ekaterina!" 

I jumped as my mistress entered the kitchen, her heels clacking on the floor. I turned the water in the sink off and began drying one of the two tall glasses I had been washing. Then, smiling, I turned to her.

"Yes Mistress Lena?"

She stopped in front of me, cocking one hip and crossing her arms over her wonderfully buxom chest.

"How are you today, Katerina?" she asked, a smile on her lips as well. I shrugged as I set the glass down and grabbed the other one, making note that mistress had gotten her hair cut. What was once a mid-back dirty blonde waterfall was now a layered blonde halo. 

"I'm fine, Mistress Lena. Is there anything I can do for you?" I asked, finished the second glass and setting it down as well. Mistress grinned, a devilish tinge forming in her hazel eyes. She began to walk forward slowly.

"Well Katerina, I have decided to test your balance. You have been known to be clumsy, and I believe this will help you out!" She had me baked up against the kitchen sink now, staring into my eyes. I blushed, thoughts coming into my head about those deep pink lips that have been so many places before...

I mentally shook my head and snapped back to reality, clearing my throat. 

"Whatever you prefer, ma'am," I said, shrugging my shoulders. She grinned again and backed away.

"Those glasses you just dried, fill them with ice and lemonade." I nodded and did as she asked, filling both glasses while she stood there, watching.

As I worked I couldn't help but sneak glances at her. Her stature, tall and impressive, her stance showing power. Her legs, long and thin and beautiful even in a rather simple black pencil skirt. My mind wondered once again to what she looked like under those clothes, how soft her skin had been...

"Thank you Katerina. Now hand them to me." I nodded and did as she asked. "Now turn around facing the sink and place your hands on the edge, palm down."

Frowning in confusion I did as I was told. Suddenly she was behind me, placing a glass on each hand before speaking softly into my ear.

"If you spill these, there will be a punishment."

With no warning her hands slid up my skirt and to my panties. I gasped and the glasses shook.

"Mistress Lena, this is highly inappropriate!" I breathed, my voice lost. She simply chuckled as she gripped the tops of my garment.

"Spread those legs, Katerina. Now."

I did as I was told, careful to not move too much, as she slid my panties down to my knees. I heard her step away and almost turned to see what she was doing before I remembered the glasses. 

"Wow. My little maid is wet already! What have you been thinking about, hmm? Naughty things?" she taunted. I blushed and closed my eyes. 

A hand went down and began rubbing at my lips, my wetness dripping down my thighs. I couldn't help but moan loudly and gyrate my hips, trying to slip those delicious fingers inside. Mistress was more than happy to oblige.

"Such a dirty maid. But so hot," she whispered before stepping back once more. I whimpered, wanting it back. She giggled. "Patience is a virtue," she said before touching something cold to my clitoris. 

With a flick of a switch she had my crying out in pleasure. That damn little vibrator was so powerful! I couldn't help but squirt all over the place as I struggled to keep those glasses up. Mistress Lena laughed and smacked my pert ass, making me gasp.

"You nasty little slut maid! I bet you still want more!" I nodded over and over.

"Yes Mistress Lena! Please!"

The glasses fell.

I had no idea how they fell, but one moment they were there and the next they were clattering around the sink. Thank god they didn't break. I could feel mistress shake her head.

"Well now, looks like someone is going to be punished for this. Take that uniform off and don't you dare turn around," she said. I whimpered as I stripped, my thighs soaked and my legs weak. I had this ability to cum many many times, and it seemed that mistress wanted to use that to her advantage.

"Now turn around, face me, hop up onto the edge of the sink and spread your legs."

What I saw when I turned almost made me cum again. Mistress was completely naked, except for a wonderful neon blue phallus poking from her strap on belt. I blushed as I did what she said, gasping as my ass sat on the cold metal sink. Mistress Lena walked forward and without another word slammed her cock into me.

"I'm gonna fuck you harder than you've ever been fucked, and you can't cum until I do," she growled, gripping my hips hard. I gasped and nodded, biting my lip.

I had never been fucked that way. It was fast and hard and so so deep. I squirted twice more, still not having my own orgasm, my hands gripping the sink. I saw she was getting close to her orgasm, and leaned forward to capture her nipple in my mouth, sucking hard and biting gently. That did it.

A torrent of curse words fell from her mouth as she came hard, her body spasming. I looked at her as she tried to catch her breath, my eyes pleading. With no warning she began thrusting again.

"Cum. Now!" she demanded.

I threw my head back and screamed loudly, my body thrashing and my eyes closing. My orgasm lasted who knows how long, although I swore it would never end. I finally came down from my high to see Mistress Lena throwing her clothes back on and grinning at me.

"Clean this mess up, Ekaterina. Don't let me catch you slacking off again."

With a flip of her hair she left, leaving me naked and breathless. How would I survive working for that woman?



The Maid



"Mr. Calderon!" Jackie Lance squealed and jumped away from the old not so gentleman. A lecherous smile spread across his face while he stared at her his hand still cupped where her as had been just a moment before.

"I'm sorry; I just get ahead of myself sometimes." Ken Calderon replied. The grin was spreading slightly revealing his yellowing teeth. "You're just such a lovely little flesh pot." Ken took a surprisingly quick step towards Jackie. Considering he normally leaned heavily on his cane the old man was surprisingly spry when the mood struck him. Jackie actually suspected that he didn't need the cane so much as he thought it would bring him some measure of sympathy. She wasn't ashamed to admit that it worked on her.

"Well you better learn to keep those urges under control Mr. Calderon." Jackie scolded holding the feather duster behind her apple shaped bottom and taking a few steps away from him before turning and leaving the room as quickly as her ridiculously high heels could carry her. He called something scandalous after her but she ignored it and headed back to the kitchen.

Jackie had only been the house keeper/nanny/maid for the Calderons for a little over a month. She was quickly understanding why they had such a hard time retaining help even with the extremely generous pay they offered. Five thousand a month and free room and board was not a bad deal at all. Especially not when her room was almost the same size as her old apartment had been! Her private bathroom was the same size as her old living room and had an enormous bath and a multi-headed shower that looked like something out of Star Trek. 

They didn't exactly load her down with responsibilities either. They expected her to cook and clean a bit but there were only four people counting herself living in the house. The downside wasn't the work load it was the demeaning way they treated her and dressed her.

She was dressed like the stripper version of a French Maid costume, the only thing covering her rump were the layered ruffles of the dress and they didn't so much cover as accentuate her figure. Her breasts were put on display with the low plunging neckline. Before taking this job with the Calderons she'd never worn fishnet stockings and they itched. She'd also never worn heels before and she still wasn't comfortable in them but at least she wasn't constantly tripping any more and walking up and down the stairs no longer felt like qualifying for the X-Games. Her feet were still sore at the end of every day.

"Good evening Jackie." Kate smiled; she was sitting at the island. "Dinner's late." And just like that whatever semblance of kindness had dropped from the forty something year old's voice and visage at the same time. 

Kate was the, current, matriarch of the Calderon family and generally an all around bitch. They hadn't sat down and had anything as intimate as girl time but Jackie had managed to learn some things about mistress of the manor. She'd been a cheerleader and a model before she met Ken, she liked to brag about that and there was a year book from her high school on display in the den. It didn't take a genius to put together the fairly simple math that made it clear that Kate knew a little something about home wrecking. If you looked hard enough, and Jackie had lots of spare time to do just that, you could find plenty of photos with both Mrs. Calderons. Kate was invariably somewhere that should have been just out of site but she was there a surprising amount. It was kind of creepy.

"I know, I'm sorry. I went to check on Mr. Calderon and things got a little behind. It'll be ready in a moment. How was your day?" Jackie tried to smile but what came out was both lopsided and terribly forced. The alpha bitch had an ability that bordered on supernatural to suck the fun out of a room or at least out of Jackie. She was all sunshine and rainbows when she was with her pay check, husband. The world Jackie meant was husband even though she had no doubt that the thing that had impressed Kate the most had been the size of his endowment not his heart.

In fairness the old man hadn't married the harpy because she had a wonderful personality. He'd married an ex cheerleader, former model who'd had enough work done to keep her forty something self looking like a twenty something with just a few hints that her skin was a fraction too tight. Her breasts were a half size too large for her frame but even Jackie admitted that part of that might have been a hint of jealousy aimed at her. Unlike Jackie who after a month of being displayed like a piece of meat still had to fight to urge to pull the dress down to cover more of her. Kate on the other hand knew men loved to look and loved to be looked at.

"So how is my husband?" Kate asked totally ignoring the question about herself.

"He's. . . fine a bit grabby." It wasn't' the first time she'd had to put up with the old pervert making a pass at her but it was the first time he'd been bold enough to just take a hold on the forbidden fruit and give them a good squeeze. 

Kate was silent for a moment staring almost through the younger woman. "And what did you do to encourage him?" She was almost growling.

"Nothing! I mean I walk around all day in these fuck me heels and dressed like something out of a teenage boy's fantasy!" Jackie was overwhelmed with the competing desires to cover her breasts and her bottom but just like she always did she made a concentrated effort and managed to do neither instead starting to serve the food. 

"Is that so?" Kate was still eying her as she picked up her plate and took a single bite of the dish. "The food is excellent by the way. You'll be serving my husband in his study as usual." Kate took another bite then sat the food down and went to pour a glass of wine. "And when you are finished with that you will come and see me by the pool, do you understand me?"

"Yes ma'am." Jackie waited patiently until Kate had taken her food and vanished. The woman constantly gave her a bad vibe and it was even stronger than usual tonight. 

"Dinner is served Mr. Calderon." Jackie announced before setting his plate beside him at his computer. As usual he was in the middle of watching porn. A normal man would have would have closed out the window and pretended they'd been reading something on politics; Ken didn't even have the decency to hit the mute button. He did however turn to face her. "Oh, I see what I want to eat." 

"Mr. Calderon!" Jackie gasped dancing away from his grasp. She'd already accepted that him making lewd comments was part of the job but the idea of the old man with his scraggly white hair and wrinkled skin actually touching her made her skin crawl a little. "Eat your dinner. I'll be back to take your dishes in a while."

"Are you sure you don't want to stay here and eat with me? You can sit in my lap." He offered.

"Thanks but maybe another time." Jackie said as politely as she could manage backing away from the old man.

"Ah sweet heart, you don't know what your missin'. Suit yerself though." He turned back towards his porn where an old, balding, overweight man was smothering a young woman beneath him as he pounded away. She was trying to smile but the woman looked miserable. Jackie had to make an effort to keep her face from curdling in disgust. It took a while before she could tear her eyes away and finally escape the room. She could still hear the woman, more a girl really, squeaking while the man grunted atop her until she was most of the way down the hall way. She was fairly certain he was slowly turning up the volume just to torment her.

Jackie ate her dinner and cleaned the kitchen in silence. She wasn't sure what Kate wanted from her but she knew enough to know that a private meeting with the boss was almost never a good thing. She'd dragged out those chores as long as she thought she could without arousing suspicion then walked out to the pool. Kate was sitting with her eyes closed in the spa steam rising up around her. 

"Get in, it's time we had a little talk." Kate said without opening her eyes.

Jackie moved to the edge of the spa and looked down. "I didn't bring my swimsuit ma'am."

"That's fine. I didn't either." Kate rose up just enough to reveal she was actually bare beneath the bubbles. "Now get in."

Jackie hesitated for a moment longer before unzipping the outfit she'd been wearing. The truth was being nude was almost less humiliating than the costume had been. She carefully folded the maid outfit and set it on one of the chairs slid out of the uncomfortable stiletto heels and into the hot spa. "Wow, this is nice." Jackie said sinking completely into the water.

"Yes it is." Kate smiled. "You've got quite the body you know."

Jackie blushed and sank a little deeper into the water. "Thank you, I hope I look half as good as you do when I'm your age though."

"And how old do you think I am?" Kate asked with a guarded smile.

"I dunno, late thirties early forties?" Kate motioned upward with her thumb. "Mid forties?" That was what she actually thought but she'd been trying to be diplomatic. Kate motioned up again. "Late forties?"

"I'm fifty three." Kate finally volunteered. Jackie's jaw dropped. "Yeah, I get that a lot; I'm more than old enough to your mother, almost old enough to be your grandmother!" Jackie threw her head back and laughed. "I look good for my age don't I?"

"You look amazing for your age." Jackie gasped. 

"I know. Tell me something Jackie, have you ever been with a woman before?" Kate leaned in close with a smile.

Jackie blushed slightly. "I experimented a little when I was in college." 

"Oh?" Kate slid a little closer to the young woman. "What did you learn?"

Jackie scooted away. "Nothing interesting." 

"Really? You didn't learn anything interesting?" Kate reached out beneath the bubbles and grazed her fingers over Jackie's thigh. "I know I learned a lot of very interesting things when I was experimenting. Like this for example. Men think they are subtle when they don't want to be seen looking at other women. Women are subtle. But I've noticed you."

"Oh?" Jackie quickly diverted her eyes from the older woman. She was just trying to get away from Kate's gaze but she found her eyes drawn down towards her breasts. "I didn't mean. . ." Words escaped Jackie and she trailed off. Kate had slowly risen up out of the water and now her nipples were just visible over the bubbles. 

"It's perfectly alright Jackie. I don't go to the gym three times a week, have a few thousand dollars worth of surgery done and have nearly every bit of clothing I own tailor fit if I didn't want the attention. I like the fact that men get whiplash when I walk by. It's not half as rewarding as that catty look I get from women, especially when they catch their husbands eye fucking me."

"It is kinda nice." Jackie replied. 

"But I also like the way you've been looking at me Jackie. Let me ask you a question, why do you think we hired you?" Kate somehow drew Jackie's eyes back up to hers.

Jackie had wondered the same thing more than once over the last month. She wasn't really qualified and they had other servers. Landscapers, a pool boy an actual cleaner who did all the heavy cleaning not the light dusting and general tidying up that Jackie took care of. They even had a part time chef who cooked dinner four nights a week and did the prep work for the rest of the meals while he was in the house. She was a bit redundant.

"I'm not really sure."

"Aren't you?" Kate smiled and rested her hand on Jackie's thigh. "Do you really have a hard time understanding why an old couple would bring a young, nubile, sexy woman into their home and dress her up like something out of a cheap porno?"

The thought had crossed Jackie's mind more than once. She'd always managed to convince herself that it was just some sort of strange coincidence. "Really?"

"Really. We interviewed a lot of young ladies, and a few gentlemen as well." Kate's hand was slipping further up Jackie's thigh. "And we settled on you."

"I'm really flattered. Honest I am." Jackie was frozen in place. "But. . ." But what? They pay me damn good money, give me a roof over my head and they want to use me as a toy? That's a better deal than I had with my ex.

"We'd understand of course if you wanted to leave." Kate's fingers were now brushing against Jackie's hip. "But we like you. A lot."

It was nice to feel a woman's touch again. Jackie didn't flinch when Kate ran her fingers up her side caressing her breasts and finally pulled her into a slow kiss. She just let herself melt into the older woman wrapping her arms around Kate. A light whimper squeezed its way from between the two women when Kate pulled Jackie into her lap. The two women remained tangled together for a moment before Kate slowly started urging Jackie up out of the water and into the cool night air. 

"And we really hope you'll stick around." Kate purred, her mouth left Jackie's and started blazing a trail down the young woman's throat and shoulders before wrapping around a nipple. Jackie gasped each time Kate's hungry lips moved back and forth between her nipples. "For a very, very long time." She kissed down Jackie's belly, dipped her tongue into Jackie's naval. 

Jackie sat on the edge of the spa and looked down at Kate. "Really, and what exactly will my job entail?" She whispered deciding for the moment to play along. 

"You know, just the usual." Kate leaned in and kissed Jackie's clit running her tongue along the lips then leaning forward slipping her tongue into the younger woman's moist folds. She reached up digging her fingers into Jackie's firm buttocks keeping her from squirming too much around while she continued wriggling her tongue into Jackie.

Jackie's ankles crossed behind Kate's head and dug into her shoulders pulling the woman half out of the spa. Her eyes screwed shut and her hands moved into Kate's blonde mane pull desperately holding the woman in place. Any doubts she had that women ultimately knew more about how to please a woman orally were dispelled with every expert move of Kate's tongue. She bit down on her bottom lip trying to stifle a scream and then a moment of clarity hit her. The Calderons had an enormous backyard with huge privacy providing trees. Nobody would hear her scream. Jackie threw her head back and let the delighted howl rip free of her lungs.

She was nearly correct, her thighs were clamped down around Kate's head so tightly that she almost didn't hear Jackie's cry. But only almost and she certainly felt each and every spasm Jackie had. They were all accompanied by her thighs clenching shut even tighter and her back arching until on her head and shoulders remained on the pavement and she'd pulled Kate fully to her feet. The two women remained like that for almost a minute before Jackie finally slowly relaxed to lie back down on the cold concrete. "Oh my God."

"The proper term is goddess. And I know." Kate purred sitting next to Jackie's prone body. Leaning over Kate looked down at Jackie and smiled.

Water dripped from her nude form on to Jackie each one making the younger woman twitch slightly. "Stop." She wriggled a little trying to escape the tiny droplets of water. Her entire body was still tingling slightly. Jackie felt like she was aware of every bit of her sin, every bit of air and water and even Kate. Kate wasn't touching her but Jackie could feel her breathing. "Too much." She couldn't quite feel her legs.

"Oh honey if that's all you can handle we're gonna have ourselves a lot of fun cus that . . . that was just the very tip of the iceberg my dearest. I have skills obtained over my five decades of life that would make your toes girl." Kate whipped her hair behind her head and blew on the hollow of Jackie's throat, taunted her nipples, down to her still throbbing and swollen sex and back up again. "If you stay I promise you that and so much more. Have you ever played with whips and chains?"

Jackie's head was still spinning from the absolutely mind blowing orgasm she'd had already this woman was back at it. Without even touching her Kate was sending chills up and down Jackie's spine. To call what she said next a decision would imply that she was in some control of her situation of her body, or the very words coming out of her mouth and she wasn't. She was utterly and completely helpless beneath Kate. "Yes. I'll stay here as your maid."

"Splendid. I should warn you though, my husband may not look like much but he's quite insatiable and I won't be the only one putting you to good use."

Jackie nodded dully not really listening anymore or having any serious idea of what the future held.



The Maid



The initial chapters in this multi-chapter story have worked out to be quite short, sorry about that. I will endeavor to get them up quickly. 

I am definitely hanging out at the 'reluctance' end of the NonConsent/Reluctance category. You have been warned.

With grateful thanks to Misternik for copy editing and vmc312 for being a sounding board and more general advice.

*****

She'd just finished making the bed and was smoothing down the sheets when her phone rang. It was Tracey. 

"Babes are you okay?!" she asked urgently into the phone.

Andrea knew she shouldn't really answer when she was at work, but this was her best friend. Three days ago Tracey walked in on her boyfriend and her sister in bed together. To say she'd taken it pretty badly would have been a bit of an understatement; Andrea hadn't heard from her since the morning it had happened, and was worried sick.

Knowing that this was going to be a long conversation, she looked around the room. There were no obvious signs of inhabitation; the room appeared to be vacant. Slipping off her plimsolls, she flopped onto the bed. It would be fine she thought, I can smooth the sheets down again afterwards.

Stephano had decided to pop back to his room to freshen up after a grueling meeting and was astonished to find a young woman stretched out on his bed, talking on her phone. She was lying on her front, shoes kicked off and feet in the air, ankles crossed. She clearly hadn't heard him arrive and had no idea she had an audience. It took him a moment to figure out she must be the hotel maid there to clean his room.

He stood stock still and gazed at her, unsure what to do. He couldn't see her face but her arse was well and truly delectable. He watched as she unconsciously grabbed a lose lock of dark hair and began to twist it round her finger while she talked. Far as he could tell from the side of the conversation he could hear, she seemed to be comforting a friend who'd just split up with her boyfriend. 

Taking a step closer, Stephano noticed the tops of stockings peeping out from under her skirt. He felt his breath catch as an unexpected surge of attraction coursed through him. He didn't know why she would be wearing them but he found the fact that she had them on underneath her uniform - and that he knew about it - inexplicably arousing. 

Andrea was so engrossed in her conversation she hadn't heard the door open. When she finally wrapped up her conversation with Tracey and turned to get up, there was a man standing in the doorway looking down at her, expression unreadable. She jumped off of the bed so fast that anyone watching could be forgiven for thinking it had just spontaneously erupted into flames. Worst of all, she had no idea how long he'd been standing there.

The man was devastatingly handsome, in a dangerous brooding sort of way. He was dark, thick black hair that was harshly combed back off his face. Intensely dark, deep set eyes; sullen secretive, dangerous, with irises that seemed almost onyx black. Olive skin, a strong jaw, really great bone structure. He had a powerful, masculine beauty that was breathtaking, just looking at him she noticed her heart rate had started to increase. She wasn't sure how much of it was fear and how much of it was attraction. Even simply acknowledging that he was attractive made her insides clench. Shuffling from foot to foot nervously, she found herself unconsciously twisting the hem of her apron between her fingers.

If her line manager found out she'd been sprawled across a guests bed making a social call on her mobile during work time, well, they would have no sympathy for her friend Tracey's predicament. Chambermaids were a dime a dozen in central London, she'd known people get laid off for much less, and despite working there for over 30 months now she wasn't even on a contract.

He was still just standing there, watching her intently. She managed to stutter out a rushed, nervous apology.

"I-I-I'm sorry s-sir, I thought the room had been vacated. I promise it won't h-happen again."

He didn't reply. She wondered if maybe he hadn't understood, he looked like he could be of Mediterranean origin so she tried again, in Spanish this time.

"Señor lo siento mucho, yo prometo que no volverá a suceder..."

He lifted his hand and she abruptly stopped speaking.

"I understand English."

He did have an accent of some sort but she couldn't make out what it was. It was very faint. He was still watching her. As his eyes travelled up and down the length of her body the old cliché about 'he's undressing with you his eyes' suddenly made perfect sense. The realization made her squirm uncomfortably under his gaze. 

"What happens if they find out you were lying on a guests bed chatting on your phone?" he asked, in a voice that seemed quietly menacing

"My line manager would probably sack me; she's a bit of a dragon."

She sighed inwardly. Why on earth did I tell him that?"

"Look, I'm really sorry, I'll get my stuff and I'll get out of your hair."

"Have you finished cleaning my suite?"

"No," She admitted, looking away. She immediately wished she hadn't, cringing as she spotted the imprint of her body on the bed where she'd been lying. "I still need to do the bathroom." She added quietly.

He took a step into the room and towards her; she fought the urge to back away.

"I'd like you to finish."

"Of course sir." She replied nodding slowly.

She'd never cleaned while a guest was there it felt weird. She looked at her rota sheet and realised the bathroom was due a thorough clean. This meant that either he was checking out, or he'd stayed for a week already.

His shrugged off his off his over coat and hung it over the back of a chair. Taking a closer look she could see it was expensive. The shoulders were wet, she glanced at the window, and noticed that it was pouring with rain outside.

"I could take that down to dry cleaning if you like." Andrea offered, hoping to salvage the situation and save her job. 

"Thank you. That's very kind but it won't be necessary."

Under the coat he was wearing a suit, at first she'd assumed it was black but actually it was dark grey. It looked like wool and very expensive. He sat down at the table and took out his laptop. When he didn't acknowledge her again she realised she was being dismissed.

Sighing to herself she grabbed the set of clean towels and headed into the bathroom. She began with the shower, taking care to be extra thorough this time. Moving from item to item, she was so involved in what she was doing that she'd almost forgotten he was there. Right about the time that she was on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor behind the loo she felt his presence looming behind her and looked up. He was standing in the doorway, staring her with a penetrating intensity.

"Do you need to use your bathroom? I can leave."

"No." his reply was curt.

Slowly, awkwardly she stood up, feeling horribly self-conscious as she moved over to the cupboard above the sink, aware that he must still be watching her. Opening it she took a brief inventory of its contents so she could restock. She felt her skin prickle. She spun round to face him and found that he was standing right behind her, so close they were almost touching. Belatedly, it dawned on her that she hadn't heard him approach.

He looked down at her face. She was beautiful, but it was an understated beauty that you might not notice if you weren't looking for it. She wasn't wearing any make up and her hair was tied up in a simple bun at the nape of her neck. Some strands had come lose. Her eyes were her most alluring feature he decided, they were large for her face and despite her otherwise dark colouring they were a most striking shade of blue. Her uniform wasn't particularly flattering but he could see the outline of a feminine shapely figure beneath it. He wanted her, badly.

"You're wearing stockings." He stated quietly

She blinked a few times, an unconscious attempt to clear her head. Her skirt must have ridden up and exposed them as she worked. He was so close to her she could feel his breath on her cheek and she could smell him; he had a musky exotic scent with spicy undertones. She pushed the palm of her hand against her solar plexus in a bid to calm her nerves, but it did little to help. It felt like the proverbial butterflies had taken up arms and were having some kind of revolution in there.

Although he hadn't actually asked her a question she felt compelled to give him an explanation anyway.

"Y-yes" She could feel herself blushing furiously as she stammered out a reply. "I don't get on with tights but they're part of the uniform s-so I have to wear something." When she'd first starting working as a chambermaid she'd kept getting thrush. This had never been a problem before. Her friend Connie thought it might be the nylon in the tights and had suggested stockings. At first she'd tried stay ups, but well they didn't really stay up what with all the bending over and stuff she had to do as a cleaner but the thrush stopped, so now she wore a suspender belt when she was at work. 

Unexpectedly he dropped to his knees in a surprisingly fluid movement. She was looking at the top of his head. She absently noticed the odd fleck of grey in his hair. He pushed up the hem of her skirt with both hands exposing the tops of her legs and gently pressed his lips against her thigh where her stockings ended and the skin began. 

She was trembling, she felt frightened but also aroused. She took a step back but she hit the sink unit almost immediately. He followed his lips never breaking contact with her skin. He was trailing feathery light kisses along her thigh, tracing his lips along the sensitive flesh there, until his nose hit the fabric of her pants, brushing against her clitoris and sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her. She grabbed the edge of the countertop both for support but also not knowing what to do with her hands. She gasped at the unexpected strength of her reaction and she heard what she assumed must be a low snigger in response.

He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled something out. She briefly saw a glint of what must have been metal but he was holding it in the palm of his hand so it was only as he used his thumb to flick the blade open she realised it was a knife. She panicked. Who the hell carries a knife in the pocket of their suit? She couldn't contain the terrified whimper that came out of her mouth.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He sounded impatient, like she should somehow just know that. 

She felt cold steel against her skin as he deftly cut through her pants in two places and then roughly pulled them out of the way and flinging them aside. She heard rather than saw the knife clatter to the tiles and released the breath she was unaware she'd been holding. He was gripping her newly exposed hips tightly with both hands. She could feel his hot breath on her as he nuzzled his face gently against her.

She was too stunned to move as he wrapped large hands around her thighs and prized her legs apart so he could better gain access to her womanhood. She felt his tongue flick out and lick her gently, hardly touching her at first, tantalising her. Her head was swimming. 

Finding that she was no longer able to process the myriad of emotions sweeping through her, she squeezed her eyes shut in a bid to block the reality of the situation out. He was lathing his tongue against her unrelentingly; the sensations he was causing were indescribably erotic. She felt her legs began to quake so she he put her hands behind her and gripped the sink, clinging to it as she struggled to stay upright. 

Andrea was faintly aware of his fingers digging into her thighs as he spread her even further apart, pushing his tongue further into her core before pulling back to her clitoris and moving back and fourth at an increasingly steady pace. Never focusing on one place for long enough to really tip her over the edge, but the sensations he was causing were so pleasurable she felt like she was almost melting. She could feel herself beginning to spiral out of control.

He let go of one of her thighs and gently, so gently he slid two of his fingers into her.

The penetration came as a shock. It grounded her, bringing her back to herself. Her eyes flew open and she shook her head trying to clear her thoughts. Looking around the bathroom, she began to pull herself together. Shit! This wasn't happening, this couldn't be happening! She began to struggle against him, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and trying to wrench his face away but he was too strong. 

Despite her efforts she couldn't shift him. He responded by wrapping an arm around her hips locking her to him. He pressed his face even further into her crotch and growled, sending delicious vibrations shooting deep to her core. Gasping, she realised he was moving his fingers inside of her, stroking the inside of her vaginal canal and curling his fingers, reaching up. She stopped struggling and concentrated instead on what he was doing. What was he doing? It was almost as though he was searching for something. 

And then he found it. Oh God, what was that?! He looked up at her face. Their eyes locked together as he watched her searchingly, she couldn't tear her gaze away as he stroked that same place again. A surprised gasp became an involuntary moan as unfamiliar pressure began to build in her loins, delicious warmth spreading through her body. She was sure she detected smugness in his expression as he bent back down and clamped his mouth back over her sex. 

He pulled her clitoris into his mouth and began to drag it between his teeth, gently biting. Her head fell back as she felt another involuntary spasm of pleasure wash over her. She felt like she was drowning in him, she wasn't sure she would still even be standing if he hadn't been holding her up. Whatever that thing was that he was doing with his fingers, combined with what he was doing with his mouth was completely overwhelming. Clinging to his hair with one hand the countertop top with the other she tried desperately to resist, to fight the sensations enveloping her but despite herself she was moaning incoherently, wantonly as she crashed helplessly towards a dizzyingly intense orgasm that tore through her suddenly. 

It felt like a while before she felt capable of opening her eyes. He was slowly making his way up her body, his face was pressed in the gap the buttons on her blouse afforded him and he was nuzzling at the crevice between her breasts as he worked his way up her chest and along her neck to trail kisses along her jaw. 

Standing up straight he gathered her into his arms. She wrapped her fingers around the lapels of his jacket in a bid to stay up right as he gripped her hair and pulled her head back and tilting her face up towards him as he leaned down and kissed her. His tongue forced its way past her lips, exploring her mouth and she realised she could taste herself there. She closed her eyes again, losing herself in the moment.

Her thoughts were scattered and confused but after what felt like an eternity some sense of reality began to intrude and everything seemed to come back to her. She blinked and looked around; she was in the bathroom of the Houseman's Suite - it was one of the most expensive rooms in the hotel - propped up against the sink with her skirt bunched up around her waist. A strange man was enclosing her in his arms as he gently covered her face in kisses. It felt heavenly but it was very disconcerting. Who was he? What was she doing to her? She realized that she didn't even know his name.

Releasing her from his embrace he stepped back, she felt the sudden physical absence acutely, accented by her racing heartbeat and a sudden feeling like she could hardly breathe. Andrea was afforded the opportunity to take a better look at him. She was fleetingly struck again by how handsome he was. His hair was a disheveled mess and his eyes seemed even darker than before, although she couldn't imagine how that could even be possible. They were filled with some unfathomable emotion as he stared back at her, his lips slightly parted. She shuddered, frightened of what that might mean, when unexpectedly he spoke. 

"You need to go."

"Huh?" 

"Go." 

Burning with embarrassment she stumbled into the room and frantically began to gather up the dirty towels, throwing them into her laundry basket.

"Leave them. Just go. Now." He voice was strained.

She glanced down at her discarded pants and he lunged down and grabbed them, stuffing them into his pocket and meeting her gaze, daring her to question his claim of them. Well he could have his memento she thought, they were beyond repair anyway.

Bewildered, she stumbled out the door and down the stairs, finding her way to the service lift and into the staff room. Fortunately, there was no one else there. She sank down into one of the battered armchairs and buried her face in her hands, struggling to process what exactly had just happened. Why had she let him do that? Why hadn't she tried harder to stop him? Oh God, she'd actually enjoyed it. Crippling shame crept into her consciousness her like an unwelcome, vindictive serpent.

She sat in a daze staring ahead of her, she wasn't sure for how long but slowly reality filtered back in. She realized she needed a plan of action. She needed to finish her job. She needed to figure out what on earth she was going to do. But first, and most importantly, she needed to get some new underwear.

She pulled on her raincoat and slipped out the service entrance of the hotel and into the street beyond. Thankfully there was a Marks and Spencers around the corner, annoyingly it had just gone 12.30 and the streets where packed with office workers looking for lunch. She hurried across the road wishing she had brought a brolly, and dashed around the corner through the torrential rain. Marks wasn't as busy as she'd feared, thankfully. She absently grabbed a multipack of bikini briefs in her size and joined the queue to pay for them.

Connie was in the staff room when she got back. She sat down again, feeling a bit like a drowned rat.

"Andi, are you alright? You look shaken."

She loved Connie. They'd worked together for years, and she was like the older sister Andrea had never had.

"I-I'm okay" she stuttered, she could feel her eyes beginning to fill with tears and struggled desperately to halt the flow.

"You're obviously not okay." Connie replied firmly, "I'm going to put the kettle on and you're going to tell me what's happened"

"Thank you" she mumbled.

She was phenomenally grateful for the mug of strong sweet tea that Connie handed her, but it was only as she was holding it in her hands and gazing down at it that she realised she was still shaking.

"Has something happened Andi?"

"No. I'm fine, really." she answered quickly, shaking her head frantically

"Is Sophia okay?"

"Yes she's fine! It's nothing like that. Look, Connie, I just really don't want to talk about it right now."

Connie frowned but didn't push her any more. 

"Okay girl, but you tell me if there's anything I can do alright? You need me to get Sophia from school today?"

The mention of her six year old daughter reminded her of the time, and she realized that she still needed to finish her rooms. Feeling a bit panicky she looked at her watch. It wasn't as late as she feared and luckily Sophia had football club, but it was still getting late. Connie helped her finish the rooms she had left. They loaded the dirty laundry together in silence at the end of the shift. Before they parted company Connie pulled her into a crushing hug.

"Thank you Connie," She whispered, her eyes stinging with unshed tears "thank you for helping me finish, and thank you for understanding when I said I didn't want talk about it."




The Maid



"I just want you to be okay baby girl. I'll see you later, yeah?"

The women went their separate ways. Andrea dragged herself home, collecting Sophia from school on her way. Dinner was a simple affair, pasta with a dollop of pesto from a jar. It was a lazy dinner and woefully lacking in nutritional value, but she couldn't face cooking anything more adventurous. Sophia was so excited about the goal she scored at football club that afternoon she didn't notice her Mums unusually despondent mood.

Andrea found it hard to sleep that night. She kept replaying the days events over and over in her head, trying to work out what had happened. Why he'd done it, why she'd let him do it and why he'd sent her away so unexpectedly? Finally, she fell into a restless fitful sleep.



The Maid



On one occasion I was traveling out of town to participate in a working meeting. I arrived the night before, at dinnertime, and searched for a restaurant where I could take a meal before returning to my hotel.

I chose a table, sat down and ordered the meal, after checking the menu. While waiting, I went to the bathroom to pee and wash my hands. On my way in, I ran into the maid that was cleaning the ladies' room across the hall. A mop was obstructing the door calling the users' attention to the temporary deactivation of the restroom.

Coming into the men's toilet, on the opposite side of the hall, I hesitated, asking myself whether it would be appropriate to take a leak with the woman present. Noticing my embarrassment, she encouraged me to enter, with a gentle expression of consent, and threw me a courtesy smile.

The situation was, in fact, a little embarrassing because the urinal had no doors (only the stalls had them) and a female presence was not expected where only men should be. I chose the urinal beside the door and decided to take a closer look at the woman - who, meanwhile, resumed her cleaning task - through the open door, while getting ready to pee.

She was a voluptuous brunette with generous breasts and sensual lips, in her late thirties. She wasn't, obviously, wearing any clothes underneath her blue housekeeping dress, as one could see through the front openings in the uniform: the wide open collar, unfastened down to the third button, showing a bit of a white bra (which revealed more of her bountiful breasts whenever she leaned) and a daring front slit, going up from the skirt edge and beyond half the height of her thighs.

I was just ready to pee but a startling boner made it difficult for me to go on. Consequently, I felt a hasty impulse to masturbate (as generally happens when a pushy hard-on demands urgent relief), which I instinctively did, starting to quietly stroke my cock as it grew stiffer. I was trying to do it as quietly as I could, trying not to take my eyes off the woman that was fueling my hard-on, while she kept wandering around, seemingly distracted and unaware of the inspiration she unexpectedly became for my wank.

The closeness of the woman was working as an extra motivation to go through with it. And so, each time she assumed a different position in her cleaning routine, I attempted to catch a glimpse of her breasts or legs, anything that could fire up my lust.

As the thrill got bigger, my early concern with discretion turned into an exhibitionist urge and soon I was yearning for her to realize the kind of action that was going on, just beside her; and I intended to make sure she would notice. So, I rushed the pace of my rubbing and didn't make any effort to avoid a moan or another, as my shyness was fading.

At that time I was convinced that she was finally aware that I was masturbating and, somehow, I took her say-so for granted, as she seemed totally at ease with the situation. At one point, I even realized she gave me an eye wink along with a naughty smile. At least I got that impression and it was crucial for my hasty performance.

Her consenting attitude poked my daring and forced to disclose myself to her. And so, I deliberately turned in her direction and exposed myself to her in a frontal stand, staring at her - with a dim-witted look on my face, I guess - and rubbing my dick madly, facing her astonished gaze. Just when I was about to cum, my legs failed and made me kneel before the maid as I ejaculated all over the floor. There I was, at her feet, my pants and whities thoroughly soaked under my knees, in a stance of absolute helplessness, before a totally unknown woman who seemed gigantic, from my viewpoint.

Only then did I realize how mistaken I was about her approval regarding my dare. Watching my cum splashed all over the floor she'd just clean, she threw me a disgusting look, while giving a rant about the patience she needed to put up with all the freaks (and they should be many, judging by her expression) which rode by the place, choosing her as pretext and goal for their dirty fantasies.

The reaction that I took for amazement was, after all, an attitude of contempt and pity towards another one more of the many depraved who used to haunt the place, making up foolish ideas about the appeal of their deeds.

I was absolutely embarrassed when she handled the mop to remove my sperm from the floor, while staring at my dripping glans and babbling a pack of humiliating expressions about my shameful conduct.

Using one last glimmer of audacity, yet I was able to whisper a request to my unwillingly 'mistress' and begged her to let me have her bra, as a handout, for which I was willing to pay her whatever she asked. Without saying a word, she turned away and headed for the bathroom door, closing it after hanging on the doorknob an off-duty notice that she took from the cart.

When she came back, a completely new attitude of superiority and command had replaced her initial expression of amazement and surprise, pronouncing a turnaround in our primary roles. Then, she assigned an absurdly high price to her bra, which I accepted without haggling. After that, she unhooked her bra and removed it through the open collar of her uniform, handed it over to me and took the money with the other hand, suspiciously. In a teasing attitude, she cupped her breasts with both hands and tugged them under the uniform, now freed from their confinement.

I took the bra to my nose and sniffed it at length, until the warmth of her body completely disappeared from its soft fabric, before putting it affectionately in the inside pocket of my jacket. She oversaw all my action with a smile expressing mixed feelings, between flattery and contempt, before my ecstasy while worshipping her bra. Realizing my weak point, she decided to risk a challenge:

- You can have my panties too, sweetie... for twice the worth of my bra. I guess you'd enjoy them. And idolize them, as they deserve, in that sort of shrine that I bet you must have, somewhere.

Needless to say I took all my money and gave it to her, without caring if it exceeded the amount requested. My hands were trembling and I began sweating profusely, while she undressed her panties, making them slide through her legs, slowly, enjoying my awe with a naughty look.

At this point I had already recovered my erection and suddenly I dared to ask her if she would let me jerk off for her, once again. I couldn't believe I was asking her this:

- Would you mind if I... if I'd do it for you... again?

I was completely ashamed and, however, I dared as never would under normal circumstances. I prepared for the worst. Unexpectedly she nodded and handing her panties over to me, she stated:

- Of course you can, sweetheart! Now you can jerk off to me as much as you want. Now you aren't missing anything you may need to enjoy a good wank, isn't it? How come you need me when you can fuck my panties and fondle my bra? Go ahead, be my guest!

And saying this, she turned her back on me and headed for the exit, waving the money I'd just give her. Meanwhile, I rushed to my second orgasm, trying desperately to reach it before she left the men's toilet. So, I rubbed my penis into madness while she, apparently oblivious to that fact, went on organizing the cleaning supplies in the cart and prepared to leave.

Humiliation is a basic turn-on for me, since I can remember. So, in some twisted way, this incident turned out to be a rewarding deed and its memory became a recurring source of arousal. Despite the degrading outcome, the episode was celebrated in countless masturbation sessions, after that, most often triggered by the lingerie set that I earned in such a peculiar way, spoils that I kept dearly and became reliable starters for so many happy endings. Even though I never got the nerve to repeat the feat or even return to the restaurant where the action actually took place.



The Maid



This is a slowly developing one part female dominant/male submission story, with a heavy dose of foot worship and humiliation. If these are not your cup of tea you may wish to not partake. If they are, I do hope you will read on and enjoy. 

***** 

I had just passed my 30th birthday and I was already wealthy beyond my wildest imaginings. I had always been a bookworm and intense student in my school years, a nerd if you will, and I was easily able to translate my single minded focus to excel and succeed in any challenge placed before me into an entry level job as a junior financial analyst at a major hedge fund. I have to admit of course that luck can often play a significant role in anyone's success, and that I began my career at the ground floor of a major stock market surge as it climbed out of its most recent severe recession. But I must also say that I have an innate talent and instinct to analyze often esoteric financial data to discover obscure corporate strengths and weaknesses and spot trends before they become obvious to all. So my recommendations, even from the very beginning, were very frequently ahead of a wave as the market crested upward. This did not go unnoticed, as my rapidly rising salary and progressively increasing bonuses clearly attested. I also rose to full and then senior analyst, and was a full fledged 'Master of the Universe' in very short order. Banking and betting on my own acumen as well, I invested heavily and often with my own funds, and as I approached my 30s my net worth easily measured in the tens of millions. 

But I was growing increasingly tired of the 16 hour work days, which usually included even more time on the weekends. And although I was very good and successful at it all, I came to realize that I had no great love for it, or even doing it, and it was not how I wanted to spend the rest of my life. And I also knew that I now had more than enough money that if I just carefully managed my own portfolio I would never be required to ever work again. I could retire most comfortably and use whatever time I needed to seek some other life challenge in which to excel and conquer and fully ensnare my desire and devotion. 

And so I did. At first I did nothing at all, allowing myself a well deserved rest. It wasn't very long however before I became bored, but instead of spurring me forward I became even more indolent. And without some immediate urgent task in front to engage me, as I had always made sure to be the case in the past, I came to understand what I always had refused to acknowledge. I was crushingly lonely. 

I was an only child of a pair of professionals who divorced when I was only ten, who obviously cared and were more dedicated to their careers than to each other. Or to me. I spent most of growing up years in boarding schools and then college before embarking on my own career. I maintain a correct but not close relationship with both parents, and while they both profess happiness at my success, I suspect this is in large part because they no longer feel any financial obligation for me. 

Given this upbringing I had never developed much in the way of social skills, nor ever had much of a social life. During my school years it wasn't that I was unpopular as much as that I was invisible, spending most of my time in books and studies, and later on totally enmeshed in my career work at the fund. In idle moments I did frequently think desirously of women, but I had never had a girlfriend or even ever been on a date. I always had the feeling that women all had some knowledge and understanding that I sorely lacked, which they would see, and which would never allow me to measure up. 

But now I had money and plenty of it, which I thought might go a long way to leveling the field for me and at least get me to first base, if not hit a home run. So while I took this time to discover a new life challenge and path, I also decided to try to develop a social and personal life. To aid in that regard I moved out of the functional but drab apartment in which I had been 'living' and bought a swank three bedroom condo with spectacular harbor views on the lower west side. I also seriously upgraded my wardrobe, although I must admit that my fashion sense was very limited. Still, I was soon ready to plunge forward and make my too long delayed mark on the social scene. 

Unfortunately, as I soon painfully learned, having the financial wherewithal does not automatically confer successful know how or ability in this realm. Despite numerous forays to different clubs and bars with their many opportunities to meet and interact with women who were seeking to connect there as well, I not only never could get to first base but consistently struck out time after time. I just didn't have any idea on how to approach any of them, either being totally tongue tied, or apparently saying wrong or stupid things. Whatever the reason the lack of interest in me proved universal, serving to daunt me even further. It wasn't long before I became so intimidated that I stopped trying. 

Instead I retreated back to my condo, which had been meant to be a 'playboy's lair' but now was rather a 'loser's sanctuary'. I was clearly good at making money for people but apparently little else. And it appeared that this was all anyone would ever want or need of me. While I might desire more, I was coming to the dismaying conclusion that I really didn't have anything more to offer of myself. To anyone. 

I began going out less and less often, even ordering in delivered take out for all of my meals. While never a 'neat freak' I had always been orderly in my daily activities and existence. But now, even with an overabundance of time on my hands, I had no energy or motivation to clean or tidy up after myself, as the rising accumulation of empty food containers, unwashed dishes, and general disarray in the apartment amply attested. It finally reached the point where even I realized that something had to be done, even as I had no inclination to do anything in this regard myself. So I went onto the web to search for domestic cleaning services and found there a local company called 'Maid to Order'. I called them and arranged for someone to come for three hours, three days a week. 

As I was sleeping later and later each day, there being nothing I wanted to do or anywhere I needed to go, I scheduled this new cleaning person to come on Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons. Except for the initial session when they recommended that I be there to assure that everything was to my satisfaction, this would also force me to get out more often as I had no wish to be around, annoyed and bothered by someone bustling around underfoot. 

When the first Monday arrived though I had completely forgotten. Fortunately I had previously alerted the condo doorman about the schedule, but when my front door buzzed I was surprised, and as I opened the door in response I was even a bit irritated by this unremembered intrusion. I was immediately brought up short however, and stood there gaping and speechless. Standing in front of me in the hallway was a young Latina, whom I judged to be in her mid to late twenties, 27 I later learned, who was absolutely drop dead gorgeous. Not that she flaunted it in any way. Indeed she was dressed very austerely in her maid uniform down to her nondescript flats. She wore no makeup and her long dark hair was pulled up into a professional bun in the back. But there was denying her beauty. I remained motionless as she offered up a most dazzling smile. 

"Good afternoon Sir. I'm Maria from 'Maid to Order'. I hope you were expecting me." 

"Yes ... ah ... yes..." I stammered but still unable to move. 

"May I come in, Sir?" 

"Yes ... of course ... please." I finally stepped aside allowing her to enter. "My name is Thomas." I sputtered once she entered. 

Her smile brightened again. "I know, Sir." She looked around the room quickly. "I'll get to work right away and try not to get in your way." 

"You would never be." shot out of my mouth before I could even think of saying anything else. "Please, do whatever you like." I added quickly to try to cover myself but knowing that came out wrong as well. 

"What I'd like," she continued to smile in a most agreeable way, "is to get started cleaning or you'll fast be showing me the door." 

'Never,' I thought, but was fast enough this time to not blurt it out. 

"Please don't mind me Sir." she continued. "I'm sure I can find everything I need, but please let me know if there's anything special you want done." 

'If only I could.' I couldn't help but further ruminate as Maria made off to the kitchen first. When she had gone on I looked around and with new eyes became acutely aware and embarrassed at what a pig sty my place had become. This didn't stop me however with coming up with a variety of excuses to go out of my way to enter rooms in which she was cleaning. She always greeted me with her smile but after a while I thought I sensed a bit of anxiety in them, and I realized that she likely was concerned that I was monitoring and evaluating her. So with a great force of conscious will I stopped following her. Still, her three hour session passed far too quickly, and as she was leaving she offered a very tentative "If that's all you need done today Sir, I'll be back on Wednesday." 

'Please God Yes' I thought urgently as I vocalized back , "Yes of course, Maria", savoring her name, spoken by me for the first time. I could see the visible relief register on her face as she graced me with her full smile as she left. 

There was now no question now of me going out and not being present whenever she came. Her employment sessions became the shining highlights of my otherwise drab and meaningless weeks. I even began to tidy up extensively before she would come so she wouldn't think me a total slob. Once it became clear to me that she no longer feared for her job I couldn't help myself but to begin to frequently follow her around again as she efficiently and expertly performed her duties, and although she never seemed to mind and always met me with her smile it became obvious very quickly that I was the one underfoot. Not wanting to appear a complete fool and nuisance I started to spend most of the time sitting on my couch in the living room, where I could still discreetly watch her room to room comings and goings. 

At first I would just read a book or magazine but after a while I started to do some long neglected research on my lap top, to again start paying closer attention and manage my holdings. After a few months I think we had become more comfortable around each other, but except for exchanging the usual greeting and leaving pleasantries, or her asking if there was anything more I might want or need done, we seldom spoke. If she only knew how much more I really wanted. She was a maid and I was her wealthy employer. Surely this had to put me on a more equal footing. But I still didn't know how or where to begin. 

Then one Friday afternoon, near the end of her shift and before she left to go onto her next client, her third of the day, I ventured into the kitchen to get a glass of water and found her leaning back against the seat of one of the kitchen bar stools. She had one shoe and sock off and was rubbing her foot with her hand. When she saw me she instantly stood up, bare foot notwithstanding. 

"Please forgive me Sir, I'll get back to work right away.' she said urgently. "I was just taking a moment to rub my feet. They just get a bit tired after being on them all day." 

I think I was even more shocked than she when I immediately responded. "Then I think what you need is a real foot massage, and I'd be very happy to give you one." 

"Oh no Sir, I couldn't" she answered, clearly taken aback. 

"You can and you will." I insisted far more confidently than I felt. I just couldn't let this opportunity get away. I bid her sit up on the bar stool and I pulled over a step stool and sat down on the lowest level. I then picked up her one bare foot into my hands. It was so soft, light brown and slender, perfect in every way. I began by caressing its entirety, but then remembered what I was supposed to be about and started to more firmly knead with my thumbs, first her toes, then her sole, deeply into her arch and finally around her heel. I then more lightly massaged the top before putting that foot down and picking up her other, and after taking off that shoe and sock I performed the same service to that one even more diligently. 

Throughout the entire time neither of us spoke. I was too fully entranced, but as I reluctantly finished with her second foot I suddenly became terrified of what she might be thinking. 

"That was very, very nice Sir. Thank you." she said softly. 

Emboldened by this I pressed forward hurriedly, "Then from now on we'll just have to make this a regular part of your work day here" 

"Oh no Sir, that isn't necessary." 

"Of course it is, Maria. I can't have you going on to your next job footsore and weary. What would people think. Consider it part of your work duties here, and my responsibility as your employer." I said with as much authority as I could muster. "I won't take no for an answer." I tried my best to emphasize as I put on her socks and flats. 

"I ... I guess. If you put it that way, Sir" 

"I do. And there'll be no more said on the subject." I concluded as firmly as I could. "I'll see you next Monday and we'll set aside the last fifteen minutes for my ministrations ... Agreed?" I asked, now almost plaintively. 

"I ... Okay Sir ... I agree." She acceded with a very tentative smile. 

It was all that I could then think about, day and night, the entire weekend. When she finally arrived on the following Monday afternoon, I purposefully stayed out of her way as she went about her business. I didn't want to seen pushy or forward, but I did start to wonder if she thought I might have forgotten. There was no chance of that, at least on my end. Twenty minutes before she usually had to leave I called her into the kitchen. As she came in I nodded , a bit nervously, to the bar stool I had set up facing forward. She smiled, also a bit nervously I thought, and walked over to sit upon it. Pulling up the step stool again I sat down myself and carefully removed her flats and peds and, thrilled to my core, set about my task. 

Once again, except for her sincere thank you when I finished, neither of us spoke, but on the following Wednesday as I started my kneading she broke the ice and began to cautiously ask me about myself, where I was from and what type of work I did. As I considered myself distinctly uninteresting and feared that she would find me even more so, I just gave her my bare bones background and rapidly steered the conversation to be about her. Although somewhat reticent at first, over the next days and weeks, as I tended to her feet and toes, she opened up more and more and seemed genuinely pleased to be talking to me. To my amazement I found that I could often make her laugh, and she had the most wonderful laugh. But of far more seeming importance to her was that I listened. And I did. Avidly. 

I learned that she lived with her two sisters who were twins and seven years younger than herself. They all been born in America although I gathered without her ever explicitly saying it that her parents had come into the country illegally. Her father, she sadly admitted, had abandoned them and disappeared shortly after the twins were born, leaving her mother to struggle to keep them all together, working multiple jobs also as a maid to try to make ends meet. 

When Maria had just turned seventeen her mother developed pneumonia and refused to go into the hospital. She even tried to continue to work but got sicker and sicker and one night just didn't wake up. Ever again. Maria then became the head of their small family with the two ten year old twins, and she was staunchly determined to keep them all together, and the twins out of the child social services system. 

She dropped out of high school and began working as a maid herself. Over the years they had to move often, to smaller and smaller apartments that she could afford, but she always insisted that her sisters remain in school throughout, and while she had them contribute to the household chores she made sure that they spent most of their time with their studies. And they not only finished highschool but did so well that they both earned full academic scholarships to a local prestigious college and were already well on their way to graduating early. 

I could see the pride in Maria's face and hear it in her voice as she talked about her sisters' accomplishments, and when I tried to point out that their success was as much hers as theirs she would lightly laugh and adamantly demur. Still, it was obvious that she was the rock, undeniably solid in strength and will, and I became more and more in awe of her, sadly realizing that in so many more ways than one that I was not in her league. 

Yet I couldn't help but become more and more enamored with her and obsessed with the time we were together, most of which for me was at her feet. At those moments it was the work of my hands that was most gratifying and exhilarating to me, but I came to doubt that it was of much import to her. Rather it was my ears, to listen and share her story with, perhaps even to help validate it, that was the most valuable to her, and I think the major reason that she allowed it all to continue. 

It became clear to me that this was likely all that I would ever have of her, even as I might want so much more. But I strongly doubted that she ever would. Why would she? I could offer her money, which was the only thing of me that had any worth, but I now knew her well enough to know that she would in horror refuse any such offer, as if she could be bought. And as had been demonstrated to me so many times before, I had nothing else to offer that anyone else would want. 

Still, I yearned to find some small way to show what I felt, to demonstrate my ardor, not in any way that would drive her away, or even suggest that I expected or deserved anything more. Just a symbol perhaps of my small place in her life. In one of my more heated moments a furtive image flashed in my mind, and once there expanded unchecked, day by day, finally even in my dreams until the image became all consuming. I didn't know if I had the courage to dare, but my hunger grew so strong that I just had to try. 

I played out a contemplated approach in my mind time and again before on another Friday afternoon, as I raptly listened to Maria happily recount one the twins' latest achievements while I sat below rubbing and caressing, I finally took the fateful plunge. 

"Maria," I mumbled hoarsely, "before you go, I ... I was wondering ..." 

"Wondering what, Sir?" she answered lightly. 

"whether ... well ... ah, I ... I might be allowed ..." 

"Allowed what, Sir?" 

"Allowed ..." 

There was no turning back. 

"... to kiss your foot." 

There was no sound for several long, long seconds. Then softly ... 

"Why would you want to do that, Sir?" 

In all the myriad scenarios I had of this moment ... her polite refusal, her mocking laughter, her indignant departure, or worse ...or even my greatest hope, her improbable permission ... I had never contemplated this question, and it left me at a total loss. I grabbed for the first thing that entered my mind. 

'To say thank you ... for all the things that you do here ... for who you are ... and ...and ..." I couldn't go on except for "...please." 

I lowered my head and waited for what seemed an eternity before ... 

"Yes Sir, you may." she said very quietly. "You may kiss my foot." 

The world receded around me as I slid off the stool and onto my knees. I stared down at her foot, still in my hands, and then raised it slightly as I slowly bent down to press my lips just at the base of her toes. All of my frenzied imaginings of this moment were the barest shadows of its glorious reality ...the scent, the texture, the taste ... as I seemed transported to another time and space, where for the first time ever I fully felt a part. How long I lingered there I could not say, but finally, reluctantly, agonizingly, I pulled my lips away. As I did I could only utter a whispered "Thank you". 




The Maid



She did not reply. 

I hastily put on her socks and flats, and as she left all she said was, "Have a nice weekend Sir," accompanied by what seemed a very puzzled smile. 

Of course I did not have a nice weekend. I was far too anxious and worried about her reaction. What did she think? What would she say or do when she returned? Would she even come back at all? This last thought terrified me most of all and needless to say I was on pins and needles throughout, until precisely at noon on Monday she walked through the door with her usual ultra bright smile and greeting. 

With her customary energy and effervescence she went on to her duties, which helped to calm me some, but I was still extremely nervous as I awaited her at the end of her shift by the kitchen bar. When she entered she hesitated a moment, then smiled and without a word made her way over to sit on the bar stool. 

After I had removed her shoes and socks and began my ministrations she started to chat excitedly about her weekend and the latest exploits of her sisters. I didn't ask for, not did she offer, anything beyond this, either that day or any of the days that followed. While I certainly ached for more, the lack only made that one previous moment more magical in my memory. 

What did change some was that Maria began to engage me more in conversations about myself. Although reticent at first, her obvious interest, which no one had ever shown before, helped to open me up, and her frequent compliments and indications of approval over some of my recited accomplishments spurred me on to reveal even more. She continually encouraged me to actively search for that new challenge in my life that I admitted to her I was looking for. While I still couldn't fathom yet what that might be, she at least inspired me to rededicate myself more fully into the necessary financial research of my holdings, to have them prosper even more. 

It was about two months later though that I began to notice a change. Her smiles were not as bright, her conversation not as enthusiastic and at times even distracted and withdrawn. I, of course, worried that it was something to do with me, but when I asked if anything was wrong she tried to increase her smile and assured me, unconvincingly, that there was not. Several weeks later however, again on a Friday afternoon, when we met in the kitchen, instead of getting up on the bar stool she remained standing and told me that she needed to tell me something. 

"Maria, what is it?" I asked already more than slightly alarmed. 

"Sir, I'm afraid that today will have to be my last day working here." 

"What do you mean?" I responded, alarm now verging on panic. 

"My sisters and I are moving to Florida tomorrow." 

"Florida?" I exclaimed. "But why? And why all of a sudden, out of the blue?" 

"It's not important, Sir" 

"Of course it is. To me. After all we ..." My heart was in my throat but I forced myself to continue. "You have to give me a reason Maria ... Please." 

She was an agency maid and I was but one of her employers, and she didn't owe me anything more than her notice. And that could have come just as easily from her agency. But we both understood that she had to offer something more of an explanation. 

"It's embarrassing, Sir." she answered in a low voice, eyes down. 

It had to be about me I despaired. But I had to know. And why did she have to move to Florida? 

"Maria, please, you have to tell me. What have I done?" 

Her head snapped up, startled, and that seemed to convince her. 

"You, Sir? You've never been anything but super kind and nice to me. It has nothing to do with you." 

Only slightly relieved I forged forward. "But why then?" 

She took a deep breath. 

"Alright Sir, because you've always been so ... well, I'll tell you. But please, don't think poorly of me?" 

"Never." 

She offered up a wan smile and began. 

"My sisters and I live in a small one bedroom apartment. It's all I've been able to afford over the last few years, but with the housing shortage in the city they keep raising the rents and six months ago they nearly doubled ours. I've been trying to keep up but I've fallen way behind and, well, two weeks ago we got our eviction notice. I've been looking and looking but I can't find anything I can afford on such short notice." 

I was stunned. "Maria, why haven't you said something. I could help." 

She looked shocked. "Oh no, Sir. I could never do anything like that. It wouldn't be right. Anyway, it's too late. We have to be out of the apartment by tomorrow. I've put off telling you until now because I'm so ashamed. But we have an Auntie in Florida who's offered to put us up until I can get things together. She says there's lots of work for maids down there." 

I was beside myself. This couldn't be happening, especially when I could have prevented it so easily, even if she wouldn't allow herself to accept my help. But I had to come up with something. 

"What about your sisters and their college?" 

For the first time her eyes began to water. 

"They have to take a leave of absence. And they were so close, less than two semesters away for graduating. That's what hurts so much. I've failed them." Her face hardened with resolution. "But I swear I'll get them back to finish, no matter how hard I have to work. It's just so important. They mean everything to me." 

I had to take the chance. 

"But the solution is obvious, Maria. And so easy." 

"What do you mean, Sir?" 

"You can all move in here. I have the two empty bedrooms. Your sisters can stay in one and you in the other." 

"Sir, we could never do that." 

"Why not? I have the room and your sisters can stay in school, and you'll have the time to look for another place and also to save up some money to better afford it." 

"Sir, I don't know what to say." 

"Say yes. Think of your sisters." 

It was this that tipped the balance I'm sure. I don't think she would have ever done it for herself, but after thanking me profusely and promising that she would find a place for them all as quickly as she could, she did say yes. 

The very next day, Saturday, they all arrived, each with just one suitcase. I had rapidly arranged for a mover to pick up and put into storage possessions in their old apartment that they would have been forced to leave behind and abandon. Again Maria couldn't thank me enough. She introduced me for the first time to her two younger sisters, Anita and Rosa. They were not identical twins, and although both were very attractive in their own way, in my opinion they paled in comparison with their older sister. They seemed much more reserved than Maria, and their smiles and thank you's more restrained, which I felt was understandable given the sudden circumstances in which they found themselves. 

But I was much more concerned about Maria and I knew I had to make them all feel as comfortable as possible for her sake so I tried to stay out of their way as much as I could, and they certainly made every effort to stay out of mine as well. Maria gave the larger extra bedroom to her sisters as there were two of them, as she took the smaller. The twins were away at school most of the weekday times except for Thursday when they had no classes. On those days they generally remained in the bedroom studying. Maria continued to work full time including more diligently than ever the three weekly afternoon sessions with me. Every night she also insisted on making dinner for us all, and with her sisters they all cleaned up after. She was an excellent cook and it was a delight to have home cooked meals after a lifetime of take out or eating out. 

Over Maria's objections I made sure to pay for all the groceries, pointing out to her that I was still saving money by not having to order in or eat out. It also gave me the wondrous opportunity to spend more time with her beyond the fifteen minutes three times a week that I was still allowed and able to massage her feet. Dinner was also the only time I interacted in any regular way with Anita and Rosa, and although they were always very deferential and polite, we seldom conversed in any significant way. I just had the sense however that they frequently seemed to be discreetly studying me intently. 

It was a little more than a month after they had arrived that on one Thursday afternoon, after I woke up in the late morning as had become my norm, I found them studying on the couch with their books in the living room instead of in their bedroom as they usually did. It was one of Maria's full days working for other clients. They were both dressed more casually than usual, both wearing tee shirts and cut off shorts frayed at the ends that only came down to mid thigh. But what drew my attention most intensely was their bare feet. Anita's toenails were painted a vibrant violet and Rosa's ten each were a different color. I couldn't help but stop and stare. Anita finally broke me out of my reverie. 

"I hope you don't mind us studying out here, Sir." 

"No, no." I hastily answered. "You're my guests. I want you to be comfortable." 

"Yes. We are for now, thank you." 

For the next half hour I went from my bedroom, to the kitchen, to my study, to the bathroom, and then back between them all, each time making sure to cross through the livingroom to get another glimpse. After the fifth such trip Anita finally spoke up again. 

"You don't have to keep going from room to room if you want to look at our feet, Sir. They are very pretty, don't you think?" 

"What..." I stammered, "I wasn't ... I mean ... yes, of course, they are very pretty." 

"We do try to keep them so." she continued. "Rosa and I give each other a pedicure at least once a week. It's a very tedious, time consuming chore but we have no one else to do it and we do like them to look nice." 

"So you don't have to keep going back and forth, Sir." Rosa chimed in. "You can stay here and ogle them all you want. We don't mind." 

"W...what." I sputtered, taken even more aback. 

"You can even come over and kiss them. We know you'd like to." Anita added. 

I was stunned. "H...how..." was all I could get out. 

The two girls looked at each other and tittered. Then Anita turned back to me. "Sisters as close as the three of us have few secrets, Sir. Actually," she went on, "Maria thought is was very sweet, but she really didn't understand." She looked at Rosa again and then back to me. "But Rosa and I do." She raised one foot slightly off the floor and pointed it toward me, beckoning with her big toe. "So feel free to come over and kiss them. We know you'd love to. It's the least we can do after all you've done for us." 

They knew my weakness, one that I'd only come to know myself these previous few months, but which had been gripping me more tightly each passing day. But I had only ever wanted to do it again, and more, with Maria. Still, the temptation was so great and I was so starved. Almost without volition I moved forward and onto my knees and cupped Anita's pointed foot in my hands. 

"Go ahead Sir. You may kiss it." 

I bent my face down and placed my lips softly on the top of her foot. She then moved it out of my hands and placed it flat on the floor. 

"You may continue to kiss it, Sir. Cover it with kisses, and my other foot too, and then Rosa's. Kiss them all to your heart's content." 

And I did, bowing down all the way to the floor to smother them with my lips, first Anita's and then Rosa's, going back and forth as they giggled above. 

"You love kissing our feet, don't you Thomas." Anita prompted. 

"Yeesss." I groaned. 

"And I bet you'd love to lick our toes too, wouldn't you." 

"Oh God yes." I moaned 

"Ask us then. Ask nicely to lick our toes." 

"Please may I lick your toes." I wheezed. 

The girls giggled again. 

"Yes, you may. Go ahead, lick our toes." 

My tongue came out and I began to lick the tops of Anita's toes and between each as I moved across one and onto the other. And then onto Rosa's. 

"And now I'm sure that you'd like to suck on our toes as well, am I right?" Anita chuckled as I finished licking Rosa's second five. 

"Oh yes." I concurred, totally surrendering to my need. 

"Beg us. Beg to suck our toes." 

"Please Anita. Please Rosa. Let me suck your toes." I panted. 

They both giggled again. "Say pretty please, may I suck your toes." 

"Pretty please, may I suck your toes." I beseeched. 

They giggled even harder. "Say pretty please with sugar on top, may I suck your toes." 

"Pretty please with sugar on top" I wailed. "Please, PLEASE let me suck your toes." 

The giggling stopped. 

"No." Anita announced sharply. "You can't suck our toes. That's a privilege you have to earn Thomas and you haven't done so yet." 

She paused a second to let that sink in. 

"But I do believe that the bottoms of our feet are quite dusty from walking around barefoot, so we WILL allow you to lick them clean." 

She raised one foot up so the her sole was inches from my face. I had no conscious choice, nor did I want any. With long broad strokes I ran my tongue up and down the bottom, from her heel to her toes and back, first that foot and then her other.  

"And now Rosa's." she commanded, and I performed the same service for her as well. As I finished Rosa pulled her foot away and Anita spoke up again. 

"I think we have quite enough. You may look up now, Thomas." 

Totally lost in an entranced haze I reluctantly cast my eyes upward. And was immediately brought back to cold reality. Held in Anita's hands, framed down upon me, was her cell phone. 

"Smile for the camera, Thomas." 

"You took pictures???" I exclaimed in terror. 

"Not pictures." she answered cheerily. "A video. Of the entire time. With all the delicious audio." She touched the screen several times. "And now it's safe and secure behind an airtight password." 

"You have to erase it." I screeched. 

"Erase it? Oh no. It's far too valuable for that." 

There it was. Money. That was what it was all about. And I had plenty of that, more than they could surely know. And financial calculations and negotiation was what I was expert at, how I had earned my spurs. 

"How much then?" I asked, assuming my professional voice. "How much will it take?" 

"Money?" Rosa responded. "We don't want money. For something like this that would definitely be illegal, and I'm sure we'd be arrested and prosecuted for it somewhere down the line." 

I was suddenly on less secure ground. "What do you want then?" 

"Security." Rosa stated. 

"And Service." Anita added. 

"We have to be sure that we can stay here as long as we need." Rosa continued. "At least until we finish our schooling and get our feet on the ground after." 

"But you already have my offer of that." I replied. 

'Maybe, but this is our guarantee." Anita responded, smiling and holding up her cell. 

"And the two of us have never had our own room ever, and usually we've had to share it with more than one." Rosa added. "So one of us is going to move into Maria's room and Maria is going to have the master bedroom." 

"What about me?" I asked, completely perplexed about where this was all going. 

It was Rosa's turn to smile. "Well this is a very comfy couch, or you can always put a cot in the study." 

"And there's always the floor if you don't behave." Anita added. 

"And speaking of Maria," Rosa resumed, "she works far too hard to come home and do any work here at all." 

"Well, I agree with you on that." I answered, relieved to finally have something with which to do so. "We can all pitch in and help." 

"I don't think so." Anita snapped. "We're far too busy for anything like that, with much more important things to do." She glared down at me. "That's all going to be your new job, Thomas. You're going to be the new maid here now." 

I blinked my eyes rapidly a number of times for that register. 

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." I finally was able to utter. 

"As ridiculous as this video?" she asked, holding up her phone once again. "Why with a few clicks we can have it on the world wide web, where I'm sure it will very quickly go viral for all your friends and business associates to see, laugh at, and enjoy." 

I didn't have many, or any friends, but she had a point about business associates. Something like this could critically cripple any future financial endeavors I might envision. Clearly the boot was now on the other foot, or feet if you will. 

"Don't fret though Thomas." Anita went on. "It won't be forever. We both fully intend to graduate and then go out and be as successful as you in the outside world. And when we do we'll take care of Maria as she's taken care of us all these years, and leave you alone here. We'll even leave you the video then. To do with whatever you might like." she added with a smirk. "But until then we all stay here with you as our maid ... or ..." She held up the cell phone one more time. She then put their cards on the table. "Do you agree?" 

For the entire time that I was abasing myself at their feet I had had a strong physical stirring. Now, as I listened to my pathetic potential future laid out before me, deep inside, in ways that I couldn't yet quite comprehend, I felt a completely different type of stirring. I had to depressingly conclude that Maria had to be aware and be a part of all of this. As Anita had said, sisters as close as they had very few secrets. But this realization only made the stirring within me even more intense. It all seemed so unreal, so preposterous, but suddenly I knew I had no choice. 

"I agree." I mumbled, bowing my head in surrender. 

Anita let out a long breath I hadn't realized she had been holding. "Excellent." she exhaled. "You've made a wise decision. Thomas. But then again what other did you have." 

She continued on with what seemed a more secure confidence. "And I think to better reflect our new circumstances here, from now on you will call us Miss Anita and Miss Rosa. Do you understand?" 

"Yes." I muttered. 

"Yes What." she said sharply. 

I raised up my head. "Yes ... Miss Anita." 

"Good. Very, very good." she purred. "Now that we have everything all settled I believe you need to get back to worshiping your betters and start licking our toes again, don't you think?" She raised one of her feet a few inches off the floor and slowly began rotating it. "NOW." 

Thoroughly defeated and beaten down my face was drawn as if by a magnet with my outstretched tongue beginning to lap once again at her toes. Once I had completely laved all of that foot, she brought forth her other, and then Rosa included hers soon after for the same attention as they both giggled again above. As I was finishing with Rosa's second foot Anita brought her big toe to my lips and began to push it inward. 

'I think you've also now finally earned the privilege of sucking on our toes, Thomas. So Suck." 

And I did, taking in her big toe, swirling my tongue around it as I sucked, and then doing the same with all of the others on that foot and then her other before moving on to Rosa's. 

"Suck, boy, Suck" they both exhorted as their giggles turned to laughter, running their free feet up and down the sides of my face, curling their toes through my hair and the back of my head and neck. And as their peals of laughter and derision rained down on me, while I continued to lick, slurp and suck, completely ensnared by my willing debasement, I 

slowly came to face the devastating truth that this was not only where I belonged, but all that I would ever deserve. Or get. 

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?" 

Maria's voice rang out as she entered the room unseen by any of us. Miss Anita and Miss Rosa instantly pulled their feet away and I tried to shrink even further into the floor as she strode briskly over to the couch. She looked to me first and I quaked in anticipation of her withering reproach. All she said however was, "Sir. Please. Get up." I did as she bid and backed away into a corner just out of her line of sight. Not knowing what else to do I sank down to my knees again and sat back on my heels, as she turned her full attention onto her sisters. 




The Maid



"YOU TWO. EXPLAIN YOURSELVES." 

Rosa was the first to try to brave the storm, albeit meekly "Maria, you weren't supposed to be home until much later." 

"What does that have to do with anything?" she retorted. "I rushed to get home early because of all the extra work I have to do around here cleaning up after the two of you. And what do I find here, beyond anything I could possibly imagine, for all my hard work and efforts?" she exclaimed. 

"But that's the whole point, Maria." Anita broke in. "You don't have to do any work here ever again, nothing at all." 

"And who's supposed to do it all then. You two?" she responded disdainfully. 

"No." Anita plowed on bravely. "Thomas will." She took a purposeful breath. "He's agreed to become our maid." 

This brought Maria to a complete stop. 

"And he's also agreed to let you have the master bedroom, Maria, and one of us will be able to move into your room." Rosa added hastily. 

After a very long pause, in a low, ominous voice, Maria finally continued. "And just why would he ever do all that?" 

"Because of This." Anita crowed, triumphantly holding up her cell. Maria looked at it, puzzled, for several moments, before allowing, "Show me." 

Anita clicked on the screen a number of times and then handed the phone to Maria. In the corner I cringed violently as she began to view my humiliation and shame. I watched as her face initially reflected horror, then revulsion, and finally intense anger as the video came to an end. As it finished her hand holding it dropped to her side and she slowly turned to 

regard me. I braced for her scorn and disgust. Instead her eyes welled up in tears. 

"Oh Sir. I'm so sorry. Can you ever forgive ..." Her face hardened again. "No." she said. "Some things are unforgivable." She turned back to the twins with a fury that both terrified ... and thrilled me. 

"How could you do something like this?" she practically screamed. "Why would you?" she continued, with obvious pain. 

"To survive." Rosa responded, tears in her own eyes. "You've worked so hard for so long Maria, to keep us together, and it just kept getting harder and harder and finally impossible, and this could well be our last chance and we had to do something, anything, to make sure we don't lose it." 

"But he took us in, out of his own kindness." Maria replied. 

"And could get rid of us at any time." Anita answered 

"Just like our father." Rosa spit out. 

"But now he won't, he can't. Because of that." Anita finished, pointing to her cell. 

"He's nothing like our father." Maria shot back vehemently. "Is this how I raised you? To do something like this, to sink this low?" she lamented. "There's no excuse for anything like this. EVER, and especially not HERE. Oh my dear God I can see that I've failed far more than I could have ever imagined. And it is my failure even more than yours." she concluded, almost in a whisper, closing her eyes tightly as if trying to hold herself together. 

They snapped open again. 

"Both of you, go right now, pack your bags, everything. We're leaving immediately." 

"Maria! No!" they both exclaimed. "You can't mean it. Where would we go?" 

"To the streets and the gutter where we belong." she retorted. "Until I can figure out something better. NOW GO." 

The two girls rose shakily from the couch to obey. 

"NO" I cried out from my corner, and three sets of eyes turned toward me in surprise as if they had completely forgotten that I was there. I shuffled forward on my knees. 

"You can't go. I don't want you to go. You have to stay." I implored. 

"You can't mean that, Sir." Maria finally responded. "How could you ever want us here after all this?" she said holding up the cell once again. 

"Especially because of that." I responded. "Don't you see. I want you to stay. I need you to stay. And it has to be as I agreed." 

"I can't believe that. I won't believe it. It doesn't make any sense. Unless ..." She nodded to herself. "I think I understand." She looked down at the cell screen and tapped it several times and then showed it to me. There on the screen was a still of my hapless face frozen at the end of the video with the word 'Delete' below it. With her finger Maria firmly pressed on the word and the image disappeared, to be replaced by the message 'Video Deleted'. 

"There Sir. It's gone. Just like we will be very soon. You don't have to worry about it, or us, ever again. And I promise we won't ever bother you in any way again if you just let us go." 

I sagged back on my heels. "Thank you for that." I sighed heavily in relief, but then immediately straightened back up. "But that doesn't change anything." 

With every bit of resolve I could muster I raised my eyes to lock onto hers. 

"You have to believe me Maria. It is the absolute truth. There is nothing in this world that I want more than to be ..." I paused for adamant emphasis, "... your maid." 

She did not respond. Her face was impassive and unmoving as she stared down at me, peering deeply into my eyes as if trying to penetrate my very being. With every bit of my remaining strength I forced myself to maintain her gaze and scrutiny ... wishing her, willing her ... to see, to know, to truly understand. Finally, after what seemed like eons her face began to soften, with more than a hint of kindness. 

"Manservant." She declared, breaking the long silence. 

"You're not a sissy, Thomas, you're a Man." she further proclaimed. "A very, very good Man." she added more softly. Her lips then curved up into a small smile and I thought I detected a glint of mischievous joy in her eyes. "But if you really want to be my servant, I will accept and allow it, on one most important condition." 

"Anything." I intoned fervently. 

Her smile expanded, "That you continue to stay in the master bedroom ..." to its most dazzling, "and share it ... with me." 

Astonished beyond any rational belief, I instantly grew a smile that reflected her own. 

"With the greatest of pleasure ... Miss Maria." 

********** 

And so our lives have evolved, and I have found my true vocation and lifetime's work. Up at the crack of dawn I attack each new day with vigor. After my repeated requests, Miss Maria, reluctantly at first but then more readily when she noted my zeal and determination, has instructed me on how best to perform all of my new duties. How to sweep, vacuum, dust, wax and polish all the floors and furniture. How to properly make a bed and care for the linen. How to wash, dry, iron if necessary, fold and put away all the various types of laundry. And how to clean, scrub and scour al the bathrooms to make the tiles and porcelain gleam. I do strive to earn my keep. I've even become more than a passable cook, now preparing and serving all the meals, except for dinners on weekends which Miss Maria likes to make. Of course I always clean up afterwards. 

As I've also been told to do in no uncertain terms, I set aside as much time as needed every day to handle the finances and accounting of 'Maid To Order', which I acquired for Miss Maria to own and run. I also utilize this time for ongoing research and manipulation of 'our' portfolio. When well managed, money continually makes more money, and I will never have to work in the outside world again. Unless I'm directed to do so by my Boss for life. 

The twins remain on track to graduate early and with honors. I am allowed to address them as Miss Anita and Miss Rosa, but Miss Maria makes sure that they always treat me with courtesy and respect, and continue to refer to me as Sir. They even apologized to me, profusely, and I've come to believe that in all of this they are truly sincere. On Sunday afternoons, the only time which they allow themselves off from their studies and other college activities, as they both lounge on the couch watching a movie or surfing the web or texting on the tablets I've bought them, with Miss Maria's permission and as a reward for all my hard work I am allowed to give both of them a long foot massage and pedicure, followed by a single chaste kiss on the top of each of their feet as I thank them for the privilege. It is anything but a tedious chore for me, and I'm sure that is why Miss Maria permits it. But she has made it clear that it never be more than this. 

In 'our' bedroom though, where she insists that it always just be Maria and Thomas, she has taken it upon herself to teach me all of the ways to fully please a woman, and she frequently comments on what an exceptional student I am. I always do try to excel in everything that I do. And she never fails to reward me for my efforts in the most exquisite ways, very often indulging my weakness, unchastely, for prolonged periods as a prelude. She doesn't consider it a weakness though, saying that she has come to love my worship and adoration almost as much as me, smiling broadly at her double meaning. I pray that this always be so. 

And, as she also often likes to remind me, before long the twins will graduate and move out and move on to what undeniably will be successful and independent lives. Then I will be hers alone. And we can expand and more fully explore our unique wants, needs and desires ... together. 

A lifetime of new challenges for me to excel and prove myself. 

To Her ... Forever. 

I can't wait.