2 comments/ 44532 views/ 4 favorites Her Fantasy: Maid Rape Ch. 01 By: schlong15 I was all alone in the house for the first time in weeks. My wife was visiting family in Texas, the last of my kids left home two years ago, and it was too cold to play golf. Somehow (idle hands are the devil's helpmate?) I found myself on Craigslist browsing the "Casual Encounters" even though I thought I'd never find anything real there. Even if I did, I said to myself, I wouldn't have the nerve to be so reckless as to have an "Encounter". Or would I? One ad caught my attention: "I have a fantasy that I want fulfilled, as described below. Tell me how you will fulfill it and maybe you will get very lucky! You must be very descriptive or I will delete you. If you email me with "let's do this" or just a picture, I will delete you. I am 5'5 111 lbs, have long red hair and blue eyes. My fantasy: I would like to be your maid and your wife has to go out of town and you are hornier than all get out so late at night while I'm in the shower you come in to rape me but find after a few minutes that I quite enjoy it." This sounded like one of those spam bots to me, but somehow I let my hopes get up, and I began to compose a response. An hour later this is what I had written: "I like your fantasy. Let me elaborate on the idea... "I would post an ad on CL for a maid and you would respond. My ad mentions "Attention to details is important. Must be comely and present self well as we have business guests in the home frequently. Will receive weekly instruction on duties, including cleaning, cooking, and errands. Uniform required, with allowance for uniform costs. Live-in position with 2 days off every 2 weeks." You respond with a description of yourself, some background, references, and 3 pictures, one of which happens to be in a one-piece bathing suit at a family party. I invite you for an interview and you arrive with a blouse with ruffles showing cleavage and some tight jeans. I point out that this style of dress is not formal enough and you apologize. You say you have something else in the car, so you go get that and change in my master bathroom. Now you are wearing a conservative two-piece outfit that shows off your body but not your skin. We discuss the hours and the tasks, which are demanding, and I give you a tour of the house. You hesitate but take the job without even meeting my wife. Not long after, you move in on a Friday afternoon. My wife is away. I give you a tour of the house and more detail of the work. You go out to buy your uniform and to have dinner locally with money I provide. You come back for the night, excited and nervous, then sleep by yourself in your maid's quarters, leaving the door open, hearing me watch porn in the den. The next morning you begin work by making me breakfast and coffee. You wear your uniform but leave one button open at the top and wear beautiful nylons with a delicate sexy pattern that brings my attention to your legs and the slightly short cut of your maid's skirt. As you bustle around the kitchen and eating area you find opportunities to bend over and show off the layers of nylon, garter, and panty that envelope your thighs and rear. After cleaning the bedrooms and bathrooms in the morning, you make a light lunch and I give you a break for your own lunch and invite you to swim in the indoor pool. You don't have a bathing suit so I loan you a tiny two-piece. I watch you from the hallway as you float and paddle to relax. You take off your top as you are entering the changing room, flashing me unintentionally, not realizing that I can see. All afternoon you scrub floors on your knees and wash windows, stretching up over your head. You unbutton more buttons and remove the nylons in order to do this work without soiling the clothes or pinching your body too much. By evening it is time for dinner in the sparkling house and I have four guests and catered food. You change into that conservative outfit you auditioned in, and serve dinner to my guests without uttering a word. The men mutter approving comments about your manners and figure. They wink at me and start pawing their wives when they think no one is looking. You have turned everyone on without saying a word or doing anything. The guests leave without lingering, to go home and bang each other with fantasies of you in their minds. I tell you it's ok to leave the real cleanup until tomorrow. You say goodnight and go to your room. I go to the den and turn on the porn, pour myself a scotch and imagine you in your room, peeling off the clothes and liberating your feminine curves and smooth skin. I hear the water from your shower and imagine you stepping out of a robe, as it slips to the floor and you are naked entering the shower. I imagine you touching yourself in the shower because of all of the stares at dinner. I walk down the hallway and notice your door open. I step in quietly. I notice your bathroom door is ajar so I approach the opening and peer in carefully. Your back is facing the glass shower door and the room is laid out so that you would not see me in the mirror even if you happened to look that way. I step in a little to get a better view and notice your robe and panties on the floor. I pick up the panties and smell your cuntly perfume. The steam in the room lifts that aroma into my nostrils, and my sense of smell, already enhanced from red wine at dinner and then scotch, is so sensitive that I am enflamed with desire even with my eyes closed. Then I drop the panties and, forgetting myself and abandoning any sense of reality or fear of consequences, I back out of the room and strip. I am not thinking about you or what you want, not caring if you want me or how you might enjoy sex or what you might like. I am driven to have you roughly without your consent. I feel like I own you because you are a woman living under my roof, eating from my wages, cleaning my floors and doing my laundry. And, because you are naked five feet away from me. I stride into the bathroom again as you are finishing rinsing your hair. I swiftly open the shower door, reach my right hand around to the front of your head and cover your mouth while firmly pressing you toward the side wall. My left hand is reaching around your waist on the left side and up to your breasts, which are smashing into the cool tile wall as hot water streams onto me and splashes onto you. You shudder and let go a muffled scream but I clamp my hand more firmly on your mouth and tweak your left nipple sharply a few times to get your attention toward what is really happening. You struggle left to right, toss your head and buck your hips back, which only infuriates me and causes my cock to stiffen skyward and lay right into your crack. You feel that pressure dimly, even though the water is everywhere, and your back arches sensually against your will. I have you pinned and my balls are wedging inches away from your freshly washed pussy. I mangle your tits more roughly than you have ever experienced, with no lubrication and cruel pinches and forceful gropes. I run my right hand down to your neck and up over your face before you realize you can scream. Then as you start to scream I push a washcloth into your mouth, even as I push you harder against the wall, mashing your thighs and hips and mound against the soapy tiles just as much as your tits are already mashed. You start to gag and I pull out the washcloth gently and tell you firmly to shut up or I will put it in again. I drop my right hand to your waist and reach up along your side and belly to scratch and grope into the underside of your chest from that side. My left hand releases your left boob and I grab your ass with that hand and drive my cock harder against your crack and up against your lower back as my balls hurt me from the pressure against your ass cheeks. Now I pull you away from the wall, grope both of your tits still from behind and turn the water off. I grab your bottle of conditioner and squeeze it all over your shoulders and onto your belly, then smear it all over your front, reaching quickly with one hand into your hip crease and diving three fingers into your pussy which ... to my surprise is not clenched but hot and sticky like warm butterscotch. You wiggle your ass back at me and slowly turn your head with a smile and wink as I plunge three fingers in and out of your pussy. I am rubbing my wrist along your cleft and then dragging knuckles and fingernails against your throbbing clit. As I plunge my fingers into your vagina again you look into my eyes and kiss me. My cock is still trapped between your ass cheeks and neither of us has really spoken, but we both now know that you like it rough and this is no rape, this is a fantasy come true." I sent you the message and sat back to wait. Would I ever hear from a real woman? Would she be safe? What would I do if she wanted to act out the fantasy? And how would she deal with the fact that I did not have a "maid's quarters"? Well, I thought, these are problems I can face one at a time. So I waited. Then, one day I got a response... Her Fantasy: Maid Rape Ch. 02 And sure enough, just as I had suspected, the only response I got was spam. Too bad, I thought, it's a shame to throw away this idea before exploring it further. After all, there are entire stores devoted to selling sexy maid's outfits! So I set about creating a more extensive and serious marketing plan for a hot and rough encounter with a "maid". I took my story and posted it to several adult online services with members in my area. I even considered a newspaper "Personal" ad but that seemed old-fashioned and I didn't want to see a grandmother in a bustier. Slowly, the amount of spam email I was receiving was increasing. At one point I considered the ironic possibility of hiring an assistant to weed through my email. How would I hire that assistant -- with a Want Ad? But then I happened to be reminded of one of the great rules of marketing. "There is no bad publicity." Like that guy who used to stand in Times Square wearing underwear, holding a guitar. He's famous. Not attractive to me, but I surely remember him. So I determined to spice up my ad with unique and memorable details that would tickle my future mistress's imagination. And the grosser and more outrageous, the better. Now, I knew that women are fascinated by deformities and scars. So I enhanced my ad with a request for someone willing to rub vitamin E lotion onto my scars. What scars, you might ask? Well, for starters, there are angular welts on both of my legs from cycling accidents that did more than tear skin off. One time I flew off a bike, was impaled across a picket fence, and had multiple deep lacerations that required surgery to fix up. Needless to say I never finished that race. And then there are the work-related injuries. Just after college I was working in a sheet-metal rolling mill when I was pushed against a hot die surface. It burned right through my clothing and branded some oddly rectangular hieroglyphics onto my torso and right arm. These surface injuries surely need careful attention and I don't have the patience to stop and do it myself. Having a "servant" to insistently remind me and care for me would be divine. Well, that is, if I could afford it, which I can't. So I updated my ads and waited again. Only this time something completely unexpected happened, something that could have turned out badly but didn't. It happened because I live in a cute neighborhood with very mixed demographics, old and young, single and families. And a few doors down, three, to be exact, on my side of the street, lives a couple with two young children. Karen is a homemaker with a lot of education and more energy and ideas than she knows what to do with. She loves her small kids but she is clearly eager to get back into her career. I think our chatty neighbors told me that Karen plans to go into environmental law. And Karen is very attractive and I have certainly noticed her and wished for some excuse to talk with her. I don't really see her husband often because he's something of a workaholic alpha-male breadwinner. Well, it happened that Karen was throwing a backyard birthday party for her four-year-old and two other girls the same age. Altogether, they had about twenty kids at the party, and many more parents than expected. (Why can't parents leave their kids alone for social events and sports anymore?) So Karen and the other moms were desperately looking for extra chairs and water pitchers. Karen, in agitated conversation with another parent in her driveway, saw me slow down in my car as I was approaching my house and she stepped out to the curb to hail me. "Hey Chuck, I was wondering if you could loan us some folding chairs for our birthday party. We ran short. Do you have any?" I thought for a moment and located a couple of items in my mental map of dusty storage troves around the house. I told her they might not be squeaky clean but I had a few that were serviceable. Did she want me to bring them over? "Oh no, I don't want to trouble you, Chuck. Can I just walk over in a few minutes to get them?" "Sure," I said, "I'll leave the door open and you can come in while I find them." Now you're probably wondering where all of this is going, because at this point, I certainly had no idea that Karen was about to collide with my "unwilling/willing" fantasy maid search. With sudden alacrity, I parked at home and went about finding the folding chairs, bringing them to the foyer, and finding a rag for cleaning them. Just as I came back to the foyer with my rag I sensed that I was not alone in the house. "Hello?..." I called. I jumped a little as Karen spoke to me from behind me. She had entered from the backyard and hadn't realized I expected her at the front door. "Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I came in the back door and got distracted. I should've announced myself." "That's okay, Karen. It's nice to see you, we don't see each other much. I have these chairs for you -- um, just let me wipe them down. What distracted you?" "Oh, um, well, it was nothing. I mean, I didn't mean to pry." "I'm afraid I don't understand" I said, finishing the cursory wipe-down. Smiling in a sheepish and classy way, she flashed her bright teeth for a moment and raised her eyebrows as she said, "Well, I saw what was on your computer. I shouldn't have read it, but my eyes somehow took it all in as I was walking by your kitchen table. I'm really sorry. I mean, not sorry for you - I'm sorry for prying. Actually, if you don't mind me saying, it's kind of a nice fantasy. I never would've known you have that kind of imagination, Chuck." All this time I was sort of dumbstruck. Here's this delightful, proper, untouchable, married, bombshell neighbor who has apparently just read my secret sexy personal ad, and she is complimenting me instead of denouncing me in the street. I waited another moment to make sure she wasn't kidding, wasn't going to sentence me to wearing a red "A" on my clothing forever. But no, she was just looking into my eyes. So I looked back, and kept looking...