FOUR. Four sketches that have exploded into full color existence. But, because we secretly like the pain, we've added another 25 sketches to the sketch factory. So we're at 4 out of 50. This time the picture is Double Play, featuring two totally unnamed characters getting butt-stuffed by a busty beauty.
You had placed an ad... a maid, willing to do whatever you need, with a good disposition and a good body, that you were sure was never going to work. The ad, not the maid. Even though the salary was high for a housekeeping position, it was obvious what a job offering like that would entail, and girls willing to do THAT for money had other, more profitable venues. But alone in that opulent house, that had passed from generation to generation,you were tired of finding a working girl willing to drive or be driven up into the mountains to perform her... services. Someone who could live there and cater to your needs was what you really wanted - but money could only take you so far. Surely, no one who had the attributes you desired would debase themselves in such a way.
But one day, on a dreary evening, when the light of the sun was dying, an aura of red painting the sky just above the horizon, all the phones in the house rang out, the silence of your solitude shattered by a cacophony meant to alert a staff of twenty - but you were all alone. No one ever called. Was it a salesman? A debtor? An attorney, calling about the will of some forgotten relative? Or a mistake? It was none of these things - although, in hindsight, the latter wasn't far from the truth. You, with slight hesitation, reach for the phone, placing your glass full of gold and diamonds next to the ringing telephone, which, until moments ago, you were not sure was still functional.
Placing the earpiece to your ear, you recline into your seat, slowly. You drag the cord over your knee to create some slack, but you are otherwise perfectly still. "Hello?" you ask, uncertain.
"Hello... I'm calling about the ad in the paper," a woman's voice says... chipper, mostly, but with an edge of sultriness that makes you sit upright. A prostitute, likely, you think, but better a port in the storm than alone adrift."Is this the right number?"
"Yes, yes, it is," you reply, although you can't be certain she's calling about the same ad. "Are you... interested in the position?"
"Very interested," she says, sounding excited, and a little bit sultry still, "I think I'd be perfect for the job. You can expect service with a smile."
"I see. You believe you have the... qualities that are required?" you ask, trying to picture her from her voice. You hope she's, at the very least, well-endowed.
"Oh, yes. I have a good disposition... and I definitely have a good body... and I'm more than willing to do what you need. All that and more," she says, now more sultry than not. You place the receiver to your ear as tightly as you can,hanging off her every word. You try to keep your eagerness out of your voice.
"And... what types of services do you offer... aside from cleaning?" you ask, your knuckles white with anticipation.
"Oh... I'm sure I don't know what you mean, but if you mean what I think you do... I'm definitely game for oral service. And I can cook," she says, although you find it strange that she would be advertising that particular skill when the subtext of the conversation is quite clear, at least to you. Sweaty in the palms, now, you lick your lips. One more question, and then she can answer the rest... in person.
"And... how do you feel about... submission?"
There's a long pause. You press the earpiece so tightly against your ear that it hurts, not wanting to miss her response. You can hear her breathing, so you know she's still there... and then, after a perfectly sultry hum, she answers.
"Oh, I love it."
She arrives that night, after a few hours, and by then the sky has given itself over completely to the dark. A woman willing to do that on such short notice you doubt very much was not a whore at some point, at least, but when she arrives, your doubts and concerns are both alleviated, as she arrives wearing a slutty french maid outfit, with barely any other luggage, leaving no question as to her chosen profession.
"Hello, master! My name is Viola," she says, as you open the door to behold her in full for the first time. Her hair is a violent shade of purple, clipped over one eye, done up in large, unruly pigtails, crowned by a lace headpiece. She's wearing a choker, but is otherwise bare between her chin and her breasts, which are almost visible behind lace trimming. Her sleeves are short, leaving her shoulders uncovered, and she has elbow-length gloves that matched her hair. Most bold of all is her skirt...which covers neither her thighs, nor, you are sure, even from the front, her rear - though there is likely no one around for miles, you still feel embarrassed on her behalf knowing that her panties are exposed for any to see.
You are somewhat... disheartened. You wonder how long it will be before she brought up price. You doubt that you can keep her longer than the night; after all, she likely has other appointments to keep.
"Hello... come in."
She glides in past you, with a pep in her walk and a servile smile on her face, and as she passes you notice that you were right - her skirt does essentially nothing to hide her underwear, which is white, frenchcut and frilly,although you only get a moment of watching it before she spins around and bows.
"Thank you for taking me into your home, master! Is there anything you need... right now?" she asks, and you consider it, but ultimately shake your head "no".
"I'd like to... interview you," you say, trying to gauge her reaction.
"Oh, of course! I'm sorry for getting ahead of myself, master. You don't mind if I call you master, do you, master?"
You blush. "No, that's... fine. Why don't we speak in the study?"
"Lead the way, master," she says, smiling with teeth. You think for a moment that if she leads the way, you can get a better view of her maidly undergarments, but, of course, she doesn't know the way, so you lead on ahead, keeping an eye on her, in case this beautiful girl happens to have sticky fingers; not that she'd be able to steal a bust or a vase without you noticing, as her luggage is too small and her clothing too tight to hide anything that large.
You enter the study, and the light from the grounds is the only light in the room - the way you prefer it. You sit in the master chair and pull the metal cord for the lamp on the adjacent table so that there's enough light for conversation. She follows behind you and places her luggage down. Rather than taking the seat opposite you, both of which face askance towards the large glass windows opening out to the grounds, she stands beside it, unwilling to sit, her hands folded over her apron. For a moment,you tell her to sit... but then you realize that she's waiting for you to give her permission to sit, and decide it's better if she continues to do so.
"So, you said on your phone that you were... qualified?"
"Oh, yes, master. I'm... meticulous, and thorough. And I know quite a lot about submission. If you'll have me, I think you'll see that you won't ever be able to get rid of me."
She continues to smile obsequiously, putting on her best impression of an eager dog, the kind that will come back to you no matter how many times you kick it. You find it... endearing. Something about her eyes makes it difficult to even look away.
"And you meant what you said about... service? That you'll provide it?"
"Mmm... that I'll provide what, now?" she says, licking her lips, and bending over slightly so that you can see down her dress.
"...oral service," you say, feeling flustered.
Her smile widens ever-so-slightly, so that you can just see her canine teeth. "Of course, master. I'm a full-service maid. Do you want to look over the contract of employment now?"
"You have one prepared?" you say, suspiciously. You hadn't planned on even drafting a binding contract until after she... well, until after she gave it up, but, if the need arises, you can always amend the one she's brought.
"Of course, master. It's my duty to serve you," she says. "If you don't want to commit to anything just yet, that's okay, but I'd like for you to look it over."
You nod, and she rifles through her luggage for it. Because it's loose paper packed in with clothing and other items, it's wrinkled and torn, but she smooths it out and places it on your desk as if it wasn't, and then looks at you expectantly.
You read it over carefully. It says she'll attend to all your needs, physical, emotional... a little gauche, perhaps, but the contract is, strictly speaking, a formality. There's nothing particularly outlandish, and you're careful to read every word. There's frivolous child-like terms like not disclosing recipes for meals served to third parties and keeping well provisioned on things like tissues... all in all, it doesn't bind you to anything in particular. You see no reason not to sign it,so you do.
"Of course, I have to sign it, and we'll need a witness, but I think that's all I'll need for now," she says, retrieving the papers from your table and bringing it over to the one adjacent to the chair she isn't sitting in.
Her wording concerns you. What purpose is there to a contract that isn't yet binding? As she brings a gloved finger to her lips and blushes bashfully, you forget your concern.
"Now..." you say, "about that... oral service."
"Hold onto that thought a moment, master," she says, quietly. Before we go any further... you should know that I'm smuggling a twig and berries in my panties."
You nod, dismissing her nonsense... until you try to parse her sentence. She's... what? She doesn't say anything else, just continues to beam at you submissively... although it's feeling less and less submissive the longer she does it,and the more insistently she maintains eye contact, even as you look away.
"Fully equipped? Yep. Like I said, I meet your requirements. I have a nice body, a good attitude... and I'm going to do what you need."
You can't believe her audacity. To not bring this up earlier... given, you could have asked, but you thought... it doesn't matter what you thought. You have your curled hand in your mouth, trying to think through what's happening. She's completely wrong-footed you, and you're having difficulty recovering. "And... what do I need?"
Her gloved finger twirls part of her pigtail around and around, before she pushes the whole thing behind her neck, quite exposing it and her breast. She smiles at you devilishly. "Someone to cook for you, someone to clean for you...someone to draw your bath and wash your clothes, to make your bed and water your flowers... in short, someone to take care of you, and all your needs. Whatever those happen to be... whether you realize it or not."
To cook, to clean... all of that, yes, you had anticipated. But you don't like the sound of that last bit. "I think... I think you should leave."
"You want me to leave? Are you sure about that?"
She's stunning, but... knowing what she has between her legs... "Yes, I'm sure. Go."
She hesitates, her finger tracing her copy of the contract. "Well, now that you've signed this... that's prostitution, you know. Not exactly legal, is it? As your maid, I can't disobey master... but if I quit, or heaven forbid I was fired..."
Your jaw drops, and you feel the sweat start to bead on your forehead. "You can't prove I intended to make you prostitute yourself."
She reaches behind herself, and, after a moment of fiddling, produces a recording device - lord knows where she was keeping it. She hits play for just a moment, and you hear your own voice repeating "oral services".
"You're... blackmailing me?"
She hits the record button on the device. "No, master, I'm serving you, like we agreed. Why should it matter what I have between my legs, then, unless..." she says, and holds it closer to you so that you can speak into it, but you remain tight-lipped. "Go on now, and make sure to enunciate clearly. What bearing does what's under my skirt have on my duties outlined here in this contract?"
You sigh. "None."
She stops the recording. "Oh, good! You had me worried for a bit, master. I'm not that type of girl, just so you know," she says, playfully, putting the recording device down on the coffee table next to her.
"I highly doubt that," you say, and she narrows her gaze for a moment before returning to her faux-chipper self.
"You know, master, you shouldn't judge a book by its cover! Otherwise, that book might pick up the phone and call her lawyer..."
"So that's it, then. I can't fire you, or you'll drag me through the courts?" you say, growing a little testy.
"Oh, no, master! I wouldn't want to see you in trouble, even if you did want to cancel our contract. You can always terminate our agreement early, if you accept the early-termination penalty," she says, her face turning a bit pink.
"And if I accept the... penalty?" you say, mentally preparing yourself to pull out your wallet.
She smiles vibrantly, and puts her fingers to her face as she tilts her chin. "I'll shove my dick in your face and ass holes, master!"
She keeps the smile on her face as she slowly lifts her maid skirt. You can already see it... as it slowly gets erect. It's quite a bit longer than you expected, although you didn't expect it to exist at all.
So that's what she's after, you think. She either gets to keep the job, despite her deception... or she gets off, and scot free. "...you can stay," you say, feeling cheated.
She drops her skirt, and the offending thing is hidden beneath. Knowing that it's there, now, makes it hard to look at her the same way; even without seeing her flush, you know that underneath her skirt she's still sporting a massive boner... one that she got for you, and fully intended to fit into your facehole and... She resumes her perky demeanor.
So you don't "fire" her after all. She has you record an oral agreement that you're hiring her for the salary as advertised, effective immediately, and explains that she'll mail out the tape to a confidant in the morning. You worry that,now, she's not going to do any work at all... and you sleep with one eye open, unsure of her true motivations.
In the morning, you're woken by a start - a knock on your door. You had locked it as a precaution, but in the haze of sleep, you forget this. "Come in," you say, and as the words leave your mouth, you realize that you'll need to get up to let whoever it is in.
The door opens, and in comes Viola, your new maid... wheeling in a breakfast cart. You could swear that you locked the door.
"Morning, master! I hope I'm not waking you too early, but I wouldn't want you to miss breakfast. I woke up early to start cleaning, and I thought you might be hungry."
As she wheels the cart over to your bedside, you see that she's made a rather substantial breakfast, including bacon, eggs, english muffins, croissants, tea... and a banana. You wonder if that's her idea of a joke.
"So you are planning on working?" you ask, still a little sore about her revalation.
"What do you mean, master? Of course! I'm your maid, after all," she says, pouring milk into your tea and stirring it.
"How did you get in?" you ask, wondering why the door was no longer locked.
"Oh, I saw that master had accidentally locked the door, so I picked it so that master wouldn't have to leave bed to open it," she says, matter-of-factly. "I've taken the master key so that I won't waste any cleaning time having to do that again," she says, and you just stare at her, aghast.
"You... picked the... what is that?" you say, noticing that she has one of your mother's necklaces, adorned with a massive sapphire, hanging from her neck.
"Isn't it lovely? I found it in an old dusty jewelry box that I was cleaning. Doesn't it match my hair?"
You think of making a stink about it, but decide against it; you have no use for old jewelry anyway, and if she intends to steal it, it doesn't matter if she wears it while she serves you or not. And it does look good on her.
"Please ask before you take things," you say, and she nods, subserviently.
"Of course, master. From now on, I will ask before I take things," she says, and, again, her wording concerns you. Still, the breakfast before you is enticing.
"This does look good," you admit, taking a slice of bacon and biting into it.
"I made it with love," she says, and you fork a helping of egg into your mouth. You get the odd feeling that she's paying special attention as you eat the eggs... but they are delicious. Although the taste in places is a little...odd. She was definitely a little too heavy handed with the salt. As she stares at you chewing, a haunting thought starts to dawn on you, and your eyes fall on the banana.
"How is it, master? Please, keep eating."
You swallow, and she giggles. "You... were a little too heavy handed on the salt," you say, having finished the last of the eggs.
"I'm sorry, master. Next time, I'll touch my eggs lightly," she says, and you nod.
You finish the meal feeling quite full, and begin to sip on the tea, which she also seems to watch in rapt attention. The taste is fine, although you do feel strange having her watch you while you drink it.
"Master seemed to enjoy that tea.I'll try to use the same tea bag next time."
She walks away, and, indeed, her panties are visible... as is the bulge in them that makes her a less than ideal maid. As she gets to the door, she turns her neck to look back, leaving her backside visible.
"Oh, and master, before I prepare brunch... I couldn't find the salt shaker. Do you know where it is?"
"In the spice rack," you say, and she smiles.
"Of course. Enjoy your morning, master," she says, and then disappears from view.
You go about your day mostly ignoring her - she does occasionally come into the same room that you're in to clean, at which point you get quite a show of her bust and rear and legs, but otherwise, her presence is barely notable.
Brunch goes about the same. The salad's dressing is, again, too salty, and you think you hear her snicker as you bite into a bit of lettuce with too much of it and lick your teeth afterwards to get the taste out of your mouth.
This time, she watches you closely as you eat the banana, which you assume is some prurient interest, so you deny her the satisfaction by eating it roughly and quickly. The banana peel itself has abitter scent to it, and is slippery to the touch.
Once you're finished, she takes away your plates and places them in the sink, and then pulls a can of whipped cream out of the refrigerator.
"I'm sorry if my bottom isn't to master's liking," she says, although you're painfully aware that it's not her 'bottom' but her tail that is most troublesome. "Would master like to have some dessert?" she asks, and you eye the whipped cream incredulously. She starts to bring it up to your lips, and you shake your head. "No? Can I have some, then?" she asks, and you nod. She gently places the whipped cream can in her mouth and sprays some inside,maintaining eye contact the whole time... and a bit escapes from her cheek, and plops down between her breasts. "Oops... I'm so sorry, master... I'm a messy eater. Could you... clean that up for me?" she says, leaning towards you.
It's an enticing sight, to be sure, only diminished by the remembrance of certain... bananas. Still, you lean forward, and she watches with an open mouth, looking down, as you wedge your face between her breasts and lick up the cream.
She pulls open her lace, and sprays a dab directly on her nipple. "Oops. I'm sorry, master... please lick it up," she says, without pretense. Dutifully, you lick around her nipple, cleaning it of cream, and she moans softly.
"Thanks, master. I hope you enjoyed dessert as much as I did. Please look forward to lunch!" she says, and you feel... a little nauseous at what she made you do.
You try to go back to your normal day, but her taunting about lunch leaves you... concerned. Your pondering and wandering leads you to the kitchen, formerly staffed by a dozen, where earlier you heard her using the deli slicer.
You see her, from behind... you can't see under her skirt, but the movement of her hips and her position relative to the counter-top makes it obvious - she's using a sex toy. While you feel a wave of nausea at the idea that she's doing that in the kitchen, it's better that she get... those particular urges out of the way, as you have little interest in satisfying them.
She grips tightly onto the counter top... and then groans loudly. You can feel your arousal... although knowing the actual mechanics of her climax tempers that a bit. Her hips twitch as she sighs and moans and you hear something squishing,as whatever toy she's using becomes in desperate need of a watching. You slip away before she notices you, aroused, and yet somewhat disturbed.
Lunch is a roast beef sandwich. It looks delicious, but only from one angle... from the other, the meat looks oddly compressed, and the bread itself has bent outward slightly.
The cold cuts feel warmer than you expected, and there's definitely an odd taste that you can't place. This time it doesn't taste like saltiness, although there is some of that as well.
"Keep eating, master," she says, wiping your hair off of your forehead as if she were taking your temperature. You feel completely under her spell; trapped. "I worked that sandwich hard," she says, sound sultry, like she did on the phone call that started this all, "and gave it everything I had."
You finish eating the sandwich, and then abruptly stand up. She watches you with a smirk on her face as you walk briskly to the toilet, and there, almost as a precaution, you vomit.
"Is everything alright, master?" she says, after you've finished, standing in the doorway.
"Did you... did you do something to that sandwich?" you ask her, and her smile looks the same as it always does... but somehow, terrifying.
"Nothing that wasn't necessary," she says, but the reassuring tone of her voice is anything but. "Did it not taste good?"
You don't respond. Instead, you retire to your room, ignoring her as you walk by her, and take an afternoon nap.
When you wake, it's near supper time already, although you're not looking forward to it. You consider cooking something for yourself, but when you arrive by the kitchen, you hear her sizzling, stirring, and chopping supper.Carefully, you sneak towards the door and peak inside. She's made some delicious looking rice dish, and it looks like it is nearly done. She scraps some chopped bell peppers onto the dish, and then begins to tidy up the kitchen.When she finally does pick up the plate, it's not to bring it to the dining room... instead, it disappears under her skirt.
It stays there for a few moments as you watch, mouth agape. You can hear her stroking... something. Something wet.
"Master... master..." she moans, and the stroking grows more feverish. It's longer than you anticipated before you can hear her getting ready to... finish. "Here it comes... oh... master... the special ingredient... my love... sauce...!"
She groans, obviously in orgasm, and the plate remains underneath her skirt. After a few seconds of bodily convulsions, she pulls her hand out from under her skirt... and there's a sticky, webby substance between her fingers, which she observes with a smirk before wiping it on a hand towel.
"Master, supper is ready!" she calls out, and you slip away into the dining room.
Any hope that she hasn't added her special ingredient to supper is dashed when you see the plate.
"What's the matter, master? That's my love," she says, when you point out the fresh glob sitting, unmixed, atop your rice. She must have intended it as a revelation, but of course, you already knew.
"Master, aren't you hungry? I made it with my love..." she says, and you feel defeated. She didn't even bother to hide her awful tampering this time. When she picks up the spoon, and spoons up a heap of rice deliberately where the largest concentration of the mystery sauce is, you feel a familiar sensation rising in your throat. "Open up, master..."
You tilt your head away, but she pinches your nose, and eventually, you open up, unable to resist. Into your mouth the spoon goes, and the salty flavor from the earlier dishes is more than apparent. The texture is simultaneously runny and chewy, and the flavor is pure bitter salt. Even if it was delicious, it would be hard to enjoy it knowing she dropped a fat jizz bomb into it.
You finish the rest of the plate yourself, fighting back the urge to spit it out.
"Lick the plate, master," she says, and snickers when you do. Then, she brings out dessert.
It's a green jello mold... immaculately shaped, except for two round depressions and a long channel pressed into the top. When you inspect the depression closer, you see a small, curly purple hair.
"Th-there's a hair..." you stammer out, almost turning green in the face.
"Please eat it anyway!" she asks, but you manage to resist, and you shake your head. Rather than spooning it into your mouth, she relents.
"Alright, master. I'll fix it," she says, taking it back to the kitchen.
You sit there, limp in the dining room chair. Something is wrong. It's not just the contract, it's not just the shame... it's her eyes... something... before you can think it through, she returns with the jello. It still has the obvious imprints, and the hair... but now, the top is now coated... with white, wet, creamy streaks of passion.
"Do you want to eat it now, master?" she asks, smiling 'subserviently' still. You shake your head. "Are you sure, master? I'm only trying to give you what you need... what a spoiled little thing like you deserves..." she says,staring down at you, jello mold in hand. Somewhere deep in your mind, you hear a voice crying out - 'do what she wants'. 'Do it, or you'll be here slave'. It makes no sense. You shake your head, more of a fit of indecision than a true rejection, and her smile becomes all teeth. "Is it still not enough, master? Do you need more of my love?"
She places the jello mold down on the table in front of you, but doesn't motion for the spoon. Instead, she gets between you and the jello. From that vantage, you expect to see her panties... but you can't, because she's not wearing them.She reaches between her legs, and starts to touch something with her hand... before long, you hear the wet noise from before.
"I'm sorry master, give me a moment. Refactory period, and all," she says, and giggles.
It doesn't take long. You hear a wet suction sound as she presses her hips forward, and you watch her smooth, bare ass as she pumps her hips back and forth, defiling the jello, sight unseen.
She pushes the mold forward, bends over so that her entire rear is visible beneath her skirt, and continues to pummel the jello. You can see the dark mass moving in and out inside the mold from that vantage, and your stomach is reacting violently.
"I need help, master. You need to help me," she says as she grabs the whipped cream can. You watch, transfixed, as she reaches behind herself... and sprays a dab of it between her cheeks, right on her little balloon knot. "Oops. Please clean me, master."
Just like before, you find yourself between her cleavage, licking. Her hole responds to your tongue by clenching slightly, and she reaches behind herself, grabs onto your head, and brings it with her as she thrusts down into the jello.She mashes the jello and makes you 'clean her' for what feels like an eternity before her moans start to get... eager.
"Oh, master... your dessert is almost ready... I'll show you how I feel about... oral service..."
You feel her hole twitching... and you can feel her pouch retracting against your chin as she fills the inside of the jello with what is definitely not whipped cream that you will have to eat.
She withdraws herself from the jello. You see the hole she made where she penetrated it... and you can make out the milky goo inside where she impregnated it. She picks up the spoon, and blows you a kiss.
"Now... your dessert is ready... master."
You hug the toilet as if it was your best friend. You remember the taste of the glazing, and especially of the creamy center. You remember the feeling of the purple hairs as they clung to your tongue and slid down your throat.You remember the taste of the whipped cream when she bent over the table and "accidentally" sprayed some more on her hole, to top off the mold. You remember of the taste of what she left on the floor as a result - with no jello,or salad, or eggs to hide it. And you can't keep any of it down.
By dinnertime, you're hungry again, your stomach empty. She calls you into the kitchen to ask you how you like your steak, and you see that she is sitting, bare-assed, on the counter where she's preparing food. At least that's preferable to her fucking the food, you think. You watch as she prepares your steak, and at no point does she introduce her 'special sauce' or make sweet love to it, so you allow yourself to hope that this meal might be one that you get to actually enjoy.
She asks you to wait in the dining room while she brings out the food, and you fully expect that steak is going to get basted with a heaping helping of her goo. You sit at the dining room table downtrodden, awaiting the awful glazed steak that she's about to bring out, or possibly the steak that's going to be flattened by her curvy, unwashed ass. Either way, you don't look forward to it.
However, when she brings out the plate and places it in front of you... it looks perfectly fine. Even on close inspection, you see no purple hairs or imprints that might suggest her special cooking practices. She places a glace of wine and an empty cylindrical glass down, and you stare at the empty glass. She slaps her forehead.
"Oh, one moment master," she says, leaving with the empty glass. She doesn't walk in the direction of the kitchen, yet returns with the glass, now full of water.
You doubt she filled the glass in the bathroom sink.
Regardless, even if there is a glass of toilet water on the table, the rest of the meal looks fine: steak and string beans. Spartan, but seemingly delicious. You pick up the knife and fork, and attempt to cut the steak...and it's too hard to cut. She watches you try in vain to cut it, smiling all the while. It's been nearly burnt to hell. "It's too dry," you complain, and when you see her face, you know that's exactly what she wanted to hear.
She stands on her toes, bringing her own meat into view, and then plops it down on your meat. Already, it's leaking precum onto the steak, unapologetically. It's the first time you're seeing her 'twig and berries' up close,and you expect it's not the last.
"Is this better, master? Hm? What's the matter now? You complained the steak was too dry! Don't make me forcefeed you again! One way or another, you're eating wet meat," she says, thrusting slightly to fully coat your meat.Turning a bit green, you go to try to cut the wet meat, and she watches you impassively as you do so, still dribbling precum onto it. Once you manage to cut off the first bite, you eat it... it's still overcooked, but slightly softer, and moist in a not-at-all appetizing way.
You continue to put down the steak as best you can, and she starts to rock back and forth, lightly, maintaining eye contact while she makes love to your plate. As such, she produces more precum to coat the steak with... but as she begins to build up a flush of red in her face and breasts, you realize that she might very well be applying her 'special' sauce to this dish as well.
"You better hurry up, master, or you'll have to eat even more protein, and that's no good for you. Your wimpy little stomach can't handle it!"
She licks her lips as she pushes her hips slowly back and forth, threatening to tip the plate over as she defiles your string beans and steak. Her hands never leave the platter that she carried the food in on, so her hands-free display seems to be taking a longer time than her previous food forays, but with the steak as tough as it is, you can't cut if fast enough.
Her sighs and moans become more and more sexual and enthused, and you watch with trepidation as her fully erect cock starts to throb and pulse with a need to convey the sticky contents of her balls onto the contents of your plate.You're halfway through, and your only hope is that the lack of stimulus will make it so that she doesn't have enough to go all the way... but as her eyes lock with yours, and she blows you a kiss, you know you've lost the race.
You look down at her penis, and at what could have been a perfectly lovely steak, and you wait, as seconds turn into hours. In the worst display of the day thus far, the eye of her cock opens, twitching, resting on your half-eaten steak... and then, all at once, a deluge of snot-like liquid spews out of it, pooling onto the steak. It spits several times, each time increasing the amount of steak that is coated in semen, her inedible nut gravy tainting the steak with its salty sliminess.
You watch her penis gradually shrink, although the pool of jizz that it left on your steak remains the same, as it dribbles off the sides and onto the plate.
"It should be wet enough now, master. Please enjoy all my gooey love. I couldn't have made it without thinking about you swallowing every last drop," she says, and that knowledge does nothing to improve your mood. "Oh, but it wouldn't be the full maid experience you deserve without this," she says, leaning over the table, her face hovering over where her cumming cock was just moments ago. With grace and refinement, she gathers up the saliva in her mouth,and spits it right onto the middle of the remaining steak. Then, she reaches her gloved hand behind her, sighs, and produces three baby carrots, which she lays next to the string beans. "Bon apetit, master," she says, her sadistic smile the only indication that she isn't actually being servile at all.
As you chew on the briny, soggy steak, she takes the glass of toilet water and soaks her boyhood in it, giving it a thorough wash. With great care, she combs through her purple pubic hair for loose hairs, and then sprinkles them in the glass, which returns to the table. Then, she picks up the wine glass and downs it in one go. By the time you finish your steak, you're almost delirious with nausea.
"Thirsty?" she asks, as you stare down the disgusting water glass.
You shake your head. You can't. You just can't.
"Or... if you want wine, I can put it back," she says, picking up the empty wine glass... she holds it up near her face, smirking, while her gloved finger runs up and down her wet noodle. Slowly, she lowers the glass towards it,but you shake your head, decisively. If you had to choose between a glass of toilet water and a glass that's been used as a toilet, you'd just the former over the latter any day. You pick up the glass of water and tilt it back,spilling a decent amount of it down your shirt as you chug the rest, hairs and all.
Somehow, you keep it all down. You all but pass out on the dining table, and by the time you wake, it's full dark out again. She's attending to the counter and the refrigerator when you come to.
"Ready for a midnight snack, master?" she asks, without looking at you. She retrieves the whipped cream again, and then, to your dismay, climbs up on the table. With no plates or glasses in the way, she sits down off the edge of the table, directly in front of you, where your meal would be if there was one, and spreads her legs. With all the subtlety she cares to show, she shakes the can of whipped cream, then sprays it down the entire length of her erect shaft, aimed directly at you.
"I don't... I don't want..." you manage to say, although you can barely offer up an argument at this point.
"Master... you're not thinking about breaking our contract, are you? You do remember what the full penalty was, don't you?"
It doesn't take much at this point to convince you. Whether you obey or disobey... the result seems to be the same regardless. She rakes her gloved fingers across her breast as your lips slide down her shaft, and her other hand finds its way to your head, and the whipped cream doesn't last long.
"See master? I love submission. And soon, you'll love it too... I'll take care of you, master... I'll take care of you just the way you need me to... I think this is going to work just fine... you like my service, don't you master?" she asks,her thing throbbing in your mouth. Not long after you groan a response, she groans with lust, and the taste you've come to associate with her cooking fills your mouth and then some. It sticks to your teeth and coats your tongue,and soon, you can taste nothing but it.
"Glaorughbkhh..." is all you can say. She grabs a fistful of your bangs and pulls you off, and stares deeply into your eyes with that same, strangely hypnotic stare.
"Oh... I was thinking about a raise," she says and the best you can do to protest is to start to spit out the bulk of her runny nutslime. "No? Well, you could wait a few minutes, and then I'll definitely have a raise..." she threatens,and, despite yourself, you swallow the rest. "Thank you so much master! I'll tell you how much it is later. Just between you and me, though, it rhymes with 'trouble'!"
And with that, she dismounts from the table and mounts your chair... until it falls over backwards, and you clatter to the floor. Before you get your wind back, she's squatting over your mouth, and her testicles are resting on your uvula.
"I hope you like my cooking, master. You'll be eating lots of it..." she says, and your vision starts to fade.
The sketch factory now has three completed pictures - it's getting less and less sketchy! This time around it's Date Night, which, coincidentally, is also a story, with each chapter featuring a different couple who met online. Why? Because I have serious brain issues that cause severe mental defects, that's why! Anyway, buttfucking (see the story below!)
Cid's thoughts rattled in his head as his body rattled in the subway car. Chief among his concerns - why was Sean such a chode?
His friend, Sean, had invited him to go with him and his new girl to the Met, like it wouldn't be weird or anything, and he'd gone along, mostly so he could check out the Arms and Armors gallery, but also so he could get a feeling
for his best friend's new girlfriend. If she was anything like the last one, he wanted to know in advance.
He arrived first, and sat down on the museum steps. He'd arrived just on time, which, knowing Sean, meant he had at least a half hour wait, so he took out his phone, debated for a second between Goldfish Frenzy and Tinder, looked
up to see a gorgeous woman walk by like she'd just walked out of a painting, and then thumbed Tinder, exhaling nasally with frustration.
Swipe, swipe, swipe, did that guy just say he was an "Art Reconciliation" major, swipe, swipe, which one of you am I even looking at, swipe, that pigeon is getting way too close, swipe, not with Sean's dick, swipe, swipe...
He paused on one, not because he wasn't sure, but because he wanted to take a longer look at what he was sure was actually a prostitute, or a hefty photochop, or a wish from a genie gone horribly right. She was modestly dressed, jeans and a t-shirt, at Coney Island,
but she looked gorgeous. The image was kind of far away, though, and she was wearing sunglasses. He swiped to look at her second picture, and nearly dropped his phone.
She was at a fancier occasion, clearly, all dressed up to the nines with a friend cropped out of frame. She was wearing a tight cocktail dress, with a full view of her, top to bottom. Long, wavy, chestnut brown hair,
bee-stung lips and eyes that could make a man do whatever, a pretty face that just couldn't be for real, slender neck... his eyes wanted to skip to the good part, but he restrained himself. A woman that could make herself look like that,
even in a photo, deserved a man who cared about all the details. With the majesty of art behind him and the wonder of modern technology in his hand, he zoomed in. Enhanced.
She had slim shoulders, adorned with the straps of a slim gown, low cut, so that her dainty clavicle gave way to a more than generous helping of breasts, and he had to adjust the way he was sitting on the step to hide exactly how he felt about that.
He had to admit, when a painting that really spoke to him caught his eye, he would linger. He didn't really feel the need to, as some people did, stand and gawp at every single painting with intensity. He found the ones that he liked, and he took them in.
Which, in this case, was a way of saying that, wolfish behavior or not, he couldn't take his eyes off them tittays. He bit his knuckle. There was no way this was going to be a match; even if she was a prostitute, she could have any clientele she wanted
for any price. And that was just up top, what a man so lucky to be in her presence would see while he was conversing with her, or dancing with her, or face to face. In reality, for Cid, a pretty face was crucial, and a nice pair was always welcome... but
as his eyes traced further downwards, free of the cleavage trap she'd so deviously devised (although if she was wearing a sweater, he might have lingered just as long) he came first to her waist - like an excuse offered to a spouse about why you always come home so late: fucking thin -
which normally he wouldn't care too much about. He'd been with athletic girls with fortunate genes and itty-bitty waists, and he'd been with girls with bellies - he didn't really give a fuck. But past them hips... he had to adjust how he was sitting again, and the knuckle-biting
threatened to break the skin. Her hips flared out... and out... and out... and oh my god. He couldn't even imagine what that looked like from behind. His eyes were watering. She had thick thighs, long legs... seeing all that on what looked like a white girl was just too much. She HAD to have some
black in her; either way, he knew a good way to help her with that. He would fill her out everywhere he could, and then some. But, of course, this was Tinder - he was getting ahead of himself. Eager to see more, he scrolled through the rest of her pictures,
two more that were as normal as the first, although now that he knew her shape he could spot it hidden under anything, and no backshots, of course, but one where she was doubled over with laughter, shot a bit from the side, was enough to confirm his suspicion that there
was just no goddamned way. No way.
He started wondering, idly, what a deal breaker would be for him. If she smelled, he'd wash her. If she was dumb, he'd buy her a Kindle, get her to enroll in a community college. If she was broke, he had good credit. If she was a bitch... well, nobody was talking about marriage
just yet. He had to admit he was hoping she wasn't, not even for his dick's sake, but because if he could look forward to waking up to that every night, he'd let a butcher choose which arm he got to saw off.
He couldn't quite place her ethnicity... which she helpfully provided. Her profile said she was half-Puerto Rican, half-Italian. It was a mix he'd come across before, and he'd like the results then, and her profile pics definitely made sense in hindsight once he read that.
Even if she didn't have some black in her, that wasn't the worst thing. He had plenty he wanted to put in her. In like, a gentlemanly way. Looking back at the slinky little dress picture, though, he confessed, inwardly, that if he got to put his arm around that waist,
or get those eyes to look up at him once, he would not be worthy. Better men than he had died trying to reach the sun. For all his talent and all his success with women, if Picasso saw that he'd be like, "damn".
As he swiped right, he heard it; the call of the Sean. He looked up, and Sean had his fingers in his mouth, having just let out a wolf whistle that could shatter the museum's windows. He was holding hands with a curly-haired brunette,
pleasantly plump, and probably eight tons of crazy stacked five feet high, like the last one. But he wasn't about to shit on a girl he just met just because his friend had a tendency to pick psychos seemingly for the fun of it, and he took her
hand when she offered it. She had a strong strawberry scent to her. He wondered how much shampoo went into all that frizz.
"Jen, Cid, Cid, Jen. Playing Goldfish Frenzy while you wait?" Sean asked, nodding at Cid's phone.
Cid rolled his eyes and gave his tongue a click. "While I waited for your late ass? New high score," he said, although for obvious reasons he didn't show them his phone.
Sean took in stride. "Jen was doing her hair. Ain't that right baby?"
She glared at him, a smirk on her face. "Yeah, and [i]somebody[/i] kept interrupting me in the shower."
Cid pictured her, hair full of shampoo, unable to rinse because [i]somebody[/i] had her bent over, and suddenly, the strong strawberry smell made sense. His phone buzzed, but with that image in his mind, he didn't think to check it.
After the museum, Cid sat on a park bench, and lazily took out his phone, getting ready to play some Goldfish Frenzy, when he remembered what he'd been doing when Sean had interrupted him. He opened up Tinder again...
He had a match.
It was her.
He covered his mouth. Oh shit. Oh shit. She'd messaged him. She'd messaged him and he hadn't responded.
"hi. i like your bike"
His heart skipped a beat as he read it. His fixie was hide pride and joy, and anyone that could appreciate its beautiful simplicity was okay in his book.
"thanks. riding it is a dream. wanna try it?"
"maybe. will u sell it to me?"
"oh, i see how it's gonna be. sure, but you have to pick it up in person"
"and what would you do when i turn up?"
"if i can get you to turn up, i'll figure it out"
"nice. so, what turns u up?"
"bad bitches like you"
"fuck u, i'm a good girl. i can prove it"
"oh yeah, how"
"just look at my face. dont i look cute and innocent?"
"on your tinder profile? yah real innocent. for real though?"
"oh, im all real"
"girl u look like a fantasy"
"that line's cheesy. u cheesy?"
"smooth like butta"
"u r soo cheesy. i kinda like it"
"how about this. we meet up, i prove im not cheesy, u prove u innocent, we have a good time. down?"
"u gonna act like a gentleman? no callin me a hot ass bitch?"
"not out loud, no"
"alright Mr. Butta, ur on. where you at?"
"central park. east side, 83rd"
"yeah? u must make bank"
"dont live here, just chillin"
"fine with me, whats your #?"
A half-minute later, he received a text: "omw, be an hour. dress classy". He added her number, then got up off the bench and punched at the air. Even if she wasn't up for anything, he was already having a good day.
About an hour later, she arrived at 83rd and park, and looked around for her date. When she didn't spot anyone that looked like him, she was about to send him a text, when she saw him. She waved, and he... tipped off his top hat.
"Stupid," she said, like it was his name, as she got within speaking distance. "That's classy?" She had her hair up, and was wearing a choker... and he had to resist looking down at what she was wearing below that.
"What, this? I'm classy no matter what I'm wearing," he said, taking it off. She took it from him.
"Did you keep the receipt?"
"Yeah, I did, actually," he said, and they both chuckled. "I'm Cid," he said, extending his hand.
"Maria," she said, taking it.
"That's a pretty name," he said, and his willpower gave out, as he looked down at what she was wearing. If he thought the cocktail dress was revealing... goddamn. This one had a little clasp holding in her big, fat titties,
an open belly, and slits on the sides where her hips were visible. Unless she had some crazy thin bra, she wasn't wearing one. He wondered how many car accidents they would cause just walking up park ave.
She caught him looking. "You so thirsty..." she teased, and he shrugged.
"Says the girl wearing all that," he said, gesturing up and down at her getup.
"Just because I'm dressed like this doesn't mean you don't have to treat me right... just keep it in your head. Respect."
He straightened up. "Yes ma'am."
"And don't call me ma'am," she said, smirking. "Are we gonna walk through the park?"
"That was the plan," he confessed, and she took his arm.
They ended up walking and talking through the park before, eventually, settling down on a bench near a lake, underneath the trees.
"So you grew up in Queens? I've got family there," he said, as he smoothly put his arm... on the bench behind her.
"Yeah, born and raised. I live a ten minute walk away from my abuela. No joke."
"I live with my grandma, so I can relate," he said, and then snickered when he saw her face. "Nah, I'm kidding. I remember visiting my folks back when I was kid, though. It seemed like in the summer, every fire hydrant was
always open. I used to love that."
"I didn't; my older sister would always try to spray me and make me fall over. Then my abuela would scream at her in Spanish until she was crying too."
"I can picture that; hell, I might have seen it. Two little girls playing in the fire hydrant, getting yelled at..."
He shook his head, remembering fond memories... until he felt like there was a bit of an awkward silence. She hadn't said anything, and when he looked at her, she looked like she was trying to puzzle something out, or like she
was being hesitant to ask something. He figured, whatever it was, better to get it out.
"What's on your mind? You look like you want to say something."
"It's... probably nothing. But... you know I'm trans, right? It's on my profile."
He didn't quite understand what she'd said at first. Playing it over in his mind, he knew that now he was the one looking like he was trying to puzzle something out.
It had been. He'd read it - mtf. His brain had sort-of auto-corrected it to some nonsense tinder term, like 'meet to fuck' or 'must taste fruity' or 'might try felching' or whatever, and he didn't think to investigate further.
Now that he'd been confronted with it, he of course knew what it meant.
"Yeah, no, yeah, I know," he said, playing it off.
She looked him up and down. "Bullshit. You just found out. You care?"
"Uh, not really, no," he said, still nonchalant. After a moment of her waiting for him to say something else, he decided to just ask. "Does that mean..."
"It means what it means. We good?" she said, a little testy.
He nodded, playing it cool. "I'm down. I'm definitely down."
She smirked. "Yeah? Down? Down for what, exactly?" she said, teasing him. She looked up through the trees. "Sun is starting to set."
"Where do you want to go after this?" he asked, fishing for a response.
"Well, if I'm dressed like this, I hope you're taking me out to eat," she said, flirtatiously.
"What are you feeling?"
"Mmm... a lot of things," she said, and he wasn't sure if he could see confirmation of his previous suspicion after she'd said that. "I'm down with whatever. Want to avoid Manhattan prices?"
"Yeah, that sounds good."
"I know a nice place, then."
It was slightly surreal taking a train all the way out to the ass-end of Queens with a girl he'd just met, but Cid was willing to roll with it if for no other reason than she was the hottest girl he'd ever been on a date with and
duh squared. "Idiot" doesn't even begin to describe a person that would complain about a long commute home in that situation. He did have concerns about her - not so much her personality, but... he wasn't really concerned with
what was between her legs, but what was between her ears. Sean had a habit of scoping out a room full of women and picking out the secretly fucking craziest bitch in it, and Cid had given him no end of shit about it. Now... he was
going out with a twenty-something latina who was, without a doubt, a 10/10... and who happened to be a tranny. What were the chances that she was both single and sane? Something had to give.
Maria seemed to sense something was up as they waited for the train to reach Ass End Of Queens station. "Ask," she said, and he genuinely didn't have a question for her. "On a scale of 1 to crazy..." was not a first-date question.
If this even was a first date, and not a hookup/future booty call arrangement.
"Uh... I guess what I'm wondering is... how are you single?"
She smiled. "Bad luck with boyfriends. You?"
"Same," he replied, automatically, and she raised an eyebrow. "Girlfriends, I mean."
"Good. I guess that means we're both perfect, then," she said, and stood up, as they were nearing their station. He thought about it for a second, and realized she'd just insulted both of them... but, yeah, it was a pretty weak
excuse, wasn't it?
They walked separately at first, until she put her arm around his waist, and he reciprocated. When they got to where they were going, he recognized it as a hookah bar.
"That way we can sit, talk, relax, get some food... what do you think?"
He thought she was doing nothing to dispel the crazy vibes, but sitting an intimate booth together eating, smoking and drinking did sound like a good time. "After you," he said, and he meant it; watching her go in first was worth
"They serve alcohol, too," she said, as she closed the curtain on their small booth. "I'm not really big into hookah, so we can split one."
They ordered one hookah and four tequila shots and chips for the table. He hadn't had much to eat, but he could hold his liquor in a pinch.
Their food and drinks came right after the hookah, and they both downed a shot, linking arms. After that, they settled into casually flirting, eating the occasional chip, and smoking the hookah... and then they took their second
shot, and things started to heat up.
"You don't mind if I sit a little closer, do you?" she asked, pressing her hips against his side, all but sitting in his lap. He put his arm around her waist, then his hand down her thigh.
She reacted by not reacting, and he wondered why that was so effective. She reached forward to grab a chip from the table, and he gave her big rear a quick spot check to make sure it was still there, and then she leaned back against his
chest and fed it to him, which was also... effective.
If he looked for it, he could see the slight bulge in her dress. It seemed like rather than tucking it, she'd was just keeping it in some moderately elastic fabric, so it couldn't stick out. That... settled that mystery.
"And what are you looking at?" she asked him, following his gaze down between her thighs, then back up to his face.
"Quite a bit more than nothing, actually. Is that what you expected?"
"I guess so."
"You know, I'm not the only one," she said, tracing her finger down the inner thigh of his right pant leg... which happened to be exactly where his penis was. What a coincidence. She cooed in his ear. "Go on, I don't bite."
Somewhat reluctantly, he ran a finger over the bulge, which jumped slightly, and she purred, nipping his ear. As the night went on, she got... friskier. She climbed up into his lap put her arm around his neck, and asked him to do it again.
When he did, she leaned back and gave him a kiss, the first one of the night... and just as he slipped his hand through the hole in her dress and got a handful of her breast, she hopped off, just as the hookah guy came in with fresh coals.
When he left, she put her hand on the small of his back, and traced downward.
"Sooo... ever been on the other end?"
He could feel the room getting warmer. "Can't... say that I have."
"Wanna be?" she said, raising her eyebrows and then clicking her tongue.
He cleared his throat, and she traced her finger on his chest.
"That's a yes. We'll see, though. The night's still young. I might drink too much," she said, and so, when the hookah guy came around again, he ordered another round of shots.
She didn't climb back into his lap again, but she did playfully circle her finger on his chest. They talked about their favorite movies for a bit, after he, starting to feel the alcohol, blurted out if she'd seen the one about the
guy who aged backwards, and she laughed. Eventually, she asked him if he'd seen Castaway, and that triggered him to say something else, drunkenly.
"Is that like... a little banana hammock?" he asked her, tapping it like you'd tap someone on the nose.
"Banana hammock? That implies my banana is sleeping... but right now, it's weighing it down pretty good," she said, wryly.
"You keep it like that till it's ready to play?" he asked, vaguely aware that he was going down a very particular road.
"You keep talking like that and it's going to rip," she said, demurely. "Besides, like I said... I'm not the only one..." she said, and he felt her tug down his zipper, all at once. Slowly, she slipped her finger inside... and
then stroked it, just along the underside. He moaned, and covered his mouth. She leaned into his chest. "Now... your turn."
He'd heard of 'heavy petting' before, but he'd never thought of it including actual... petting. Her dress didn't have a zipper, obviously, but it did have a very low-cut hole at waist level, so that made the angle of attack simple,
as she slipped his hand through it, until it brushed up against her at the base, and she shuddered. He felt her wrap her fingers around him, and so he did the same, and she pulled her hips away from him... not enough to make him let
go, just to wrap his hand in her thighs. Unfortunately, he was no like a dog that caught a car; he didn't know what to do now that he'd caught it.
"We keep going on like this we're going to leave a mess for that poor hookah boy. So... you DTF? Cuz I am," she said, making the course of action a bit more obvious.
"So... you're decided then?"
"The only thing I'm still deciding is face to face or face-down ass-up. Wanna bone, or rain check?"
He nodded, and her hand slipped from his pants, and his from her dress. When the hookah boy came again, they asked for the check.
As they left the hookah place, they passed a bodega, and she stopped him. "Have any condoms?" she asked, and he nodded, and they continued on their way.
Their date took them next to a two story motel in Bumfuck Queens, which was... oddly appropriate.
Their hands were on each other's body before they got the door open, and then after they got it open, and then after it had closed behind him, her lips on his, a single strap of her dress hanging loose, her bag falling to the floor.
"I'll strip out of this dress if you strip out those clothes," she said, and he started to unbutton his shirt. She skipped over to the bed and sat on it to watch him, biting her finger and kicking her feet as she did.
"Well? Am I stripping alone here?" he asked, trying to play it cool, but feeling a little anxious, like he was about to get punked any moment. He pulled off his shirt, and she stood up.
"Work on those pants while I show you my magic trick," she said, and he figured sliding the top of that dress over her hips without ripping probably involved magic anyway. She took a good look at his boxer briefs as he started to pull
down his pants, then turned around and bent over, and said boxer briefs grew a little tighter. Then, in one swift motion, the dress was off, inside out, and she was standing there, facing away from him, looking over her shoulder,
She had a little red thong acting as butt floss and nothing else underneath the dress; no similarly cloth-light bra existed, as he had discovered. As she turned around to face him, the "banana hammock," as he'd called it, came into view,
a sheer, elastic red material the same color as her dress keeping her bits in check; badly, at this point, as she had a nearly full erection.
She beckoned him to get on the bed, which he did, and she climbed onto the bed and straddled him, nuzzling him in her breasts before leaning down for a kiss. He grabbed her waist at first, then reached around her body and grabbed two big handfuls of ass, and she moaned into his mouth,
perched atop the bulge in his underwear.
She got off of him, and pulled himself fully onto the bed... only for her to push him flat, his head resting on the standard issue motel pillows. She crawled up to him, wagging her hips side to side as she did. She got to his knees, then
reached around and pulled down his boxer briefs, just around his thighs, then grabbed hold of him, stroked the underside with her finger, then with her tongue, leaving him more than ready for a blowjob to end the night.
She took him into her mouth, then looked up at him with those eyes, and he nearly blew it into her mouth right there. He could see that she'd reached down to fondle herself, but he didn't give one iota of a shit. She had dick sucking lips
that looked like they could suck the ornery off of a goose, and eyes that made him forget his name (Kid? Sid? P. Diddy?), and that was all that mattered. When she pulled those lips off of him, he was on the edge.
She crawled up to him and kissed him on the lips, then shifted her weight so that she was next to him, and they kissed, and pushed their hands over the other's body, fingernails scratching lightly, and he kissed her neck, and they rolled over,
their legs becoming intertwined... she put her hand on his chest, and then, gracefully untangled herself.
"Let me use the restroom..." she said, slipping away from him, then she dismounted from the bed, and then walked away in nothing but her undies.
Again, his diminished sobriety led to a blurted out question. "So, do you pee standing up or sitting down?" he asked after her as she went into the bathroom.
"Now, I pee with the door open, [i]stupid[/i]," she said. She was out of sight, but he heard her put the toilet seat down. When she finished, he heard the sink, and he pulled off his underwear, and laid casually on his side,
waiting for her to reappear.
But she never did.
NAH FUCKING WITH YA.
She reappeared, holding her breasts up with her arm and leaning against the wall, her hip gloriously offset. "Happy?" she asked him, with a grin.
"Yeah, thanks, satisfied my curiosity. Innocent girl my ass."
"That's right," she said, walking toe-to-heel to the bedside. "Innocent girl all up in that ass. You still want to fool around?"
"Normally I put on something with a heavy beat... I get pretty loud. Hope our neighbors don't complain."
He wondered if their motel neighbors preferred the pounding beat or her passionate screams. Probably neither.
"You said you had gloves?"
He reached down to the floor to retrieve his pants, pulled out his wallet, and slid out the condom, at which point she plucked it from between his fingers, and his jaw hung open before she closed it with a finger.
"What? It's for me, right? Unless..." she said, holding it up to his lips, "you want to put it on me."
That was... maybe a bridge too far. He whistled, and she giggled.
"Just to make sure... you know why it's going on me, right? I haven't been too subtle."
"You want to fuck me, right?"
"Sounds like we're on the same page, then. Guess I'm a lucky girl tonight. You're not some super sub, are you?"
"I'm not really into whips and chains, nah."
"Good. Let's just be ourselves. The only role I want to play tonight is your dream girl, kay?"
She ripped open the package and stretched it out a bit. She reached down to her hips, hooked her thumbs in her thong, and pulled it down, revealing her naked sex, which sprang up to say hello. She brought the condom to the tip,
and then stopped just short of putting it on.
"Hrm..." she said, holding the unrolled condom off to the side. "What do you think? Unwrapped, or no glove no love?"
Again, that was asking a bit too much. "I'm good, thanks," he said, and she snickered.
"Got it. No creampies for Cid tonight. You wouldn't be the first guy who let me slip it in au natural, or the first guy who caught my cum. But, fine. Just as long as you don't expect me to pull out, too," she said, and he just stared
at her, not sure how to respond. "Seriously?"
"Let me see how I feel about it first," he said, and she clicked her tongue-ring. He watched with a slight amount of trepidation as she unrolled the condom over her pecker - it wasn't particularly large, but it wasn't as small as he'd
been expecting, either. Probably around the same size as his and... feisty looking, and he'd made girls cry (unintentionally, of course). She finished unrolling it and gave her hips a wiggle, making her thing sway back and forth.
"Alright, now... lots of lube. Take your pick. I have a lot of different packets," she said, walking to the door to get her bag. She pulled out a packet with pink hearts all over it. "This one's warm. You might like it," she said,
sitting down next to him on the bed, and squeezing out a dollop onto her finger, then rubbing it on his hand. "See?"
"That is kind of nice."
"Alright, here, you do me, and I'll do you," she said, winking, and handing him the packet. He stared at it for a moment, then squeezed out a dollop, and rubbed it on the top of the condom currently adorning her schlong. "More than that, stupid,"
she chided, so he squeezed out more, and then grabbed a handful and thoroughly coated her dipstick with it. "Okay, your turn," she said, taking the packet from him, and pushing him down on the bed again before standing up. "Leg's up."
Somewhat self-consciously, he lifted his legs, and she squeezed a dollop onto her finger again, and that finger went right where he expected. She rubbed his hole in a circle with it, then squeezed more on, and did it again... then slipped her fingertip
inside. He was suddenly very glad that her nails were short. After a bit, she pulled her fingertip out, put more lube on... then dropped the lube packet on the bed, grabbed his rigid cock, and slipped her finger inside again... pushing it deeper and deeper,
slowly, while stroking him, slowly, until it was all the way up to her knuckle. He moaned at the sensation of her stroking his cock, but his ass just felt... weird. The early touching had felt nice, but the sensation of the lube and her finger was hard to place.
It didn't take long for her to do something that made him change his mind about that, as he felt her touch something that made him tense up, and not in a bad way.
"Hi there, Mr. Prostate. My name's Maria. You and I are gonna be mejores amigos real soon."
She stroked his prostate gently, and his cock as well.
Just when he was on the verge of cumming, she stopped stroking, then pulled her finger out.
"You ready for me?"
She climbed up onto the bed, pushing his legs up over his head, straddling his form, her plastic-wrapped cock resting over his hole and his own. She gazed at him with an intensity, and he steeled himself.
"First time getting fucked for real?"
"Alright, leave it to me. I'm gonna rock your world, papi. Leg's up and spread - wide." He obeyed, and she leaned over him. "Do me a favor? Close your eyes."
He obeyed, expecting her to insert herself when he did. Instead, he felt the softness of her lips on his, and opened his eyes. A single strand of saliva ran from her mouth to his, and her face was happy... and more than a little
"Ready for me for real now?" she asked, softly.
"Go for it."
"One Maria special, coming up," she said... and... up it went, condom and all. It slipped in past his ring with a certain urgency he hadn't been expecting, and let out a surprised, but subdued, "oh shit."
Aside from that initial sudden intrusion, it wasn't really painful. The foreign entry was definitely... uncomfortable, was the word. A pressure that was insistent that he couldn't really do anything about, and his body didn't know how to handle.
She'd barely gotten more than the head in when he felt it twitch which felt... good, on the one hand, and bad on the other, as it stretched his already beleaguered ring more, and suddenly, which caused him to cramp. The psychological effect was
similarly twofold, on the one hand, knowing that she was throbbing with lust inside of him was... hot. Very hot. However, knowing that what she had inside of him was a very real, very hard penis made him feel... strange, at least.
He'd never seen a girl as... visibly turned on, for obvious reasons.
She held his legs up as she pressed her hips forward and dropped her weight onto him, sinking inch by inch more inside... she licked her lips as she penetrated him, and even reached down to give him a little... encouragement. Before she'd
gotten all the way inside, she started to rock her hips gently back and forth... and, that was it, they were fucking. The uncomfortable pressure of her stabbing her cock into his guts was tempered by the feeling on his prostate, and the sensation
quickly began to feel... pretty nice. Hearing her moan while laying her pipe into him was definitely a plus. Before he even realized it, she'd bottomed out, and he felt her nuts tap against his ass. And boy, did she have some nuts on her. He
could tell she was full of spunk and was definitely not regretting making her wear a condom. He didn't know what it felt like to have someone release a hot, thick nut in your stomach, but he had enough new experiences for one night.
Of course, her sack resting on him meant that he spud was all the way the fuck up in there, and she didn't seem in a hurry to change that. Every time she twitched or throbbed his bowels cramped hard, but he was able to cope with it. If anything,
she was the one who looked like she was in agony, and he knew it was because she was holding back that urge he knew all too well to dump the contents of those little juevos of hers inside of him.
Finally, it seemed like she'd fought off ejaculation long enough to pick up the pace, and started to deep dick him in shallow thrusts, while planting little kisses on his lips that he could barely register. Then, she started to fuck him to the
heavy beat in her head, and he wasn't sure if she was laying pipe or railroad tracks as she hammered it into him with reckless abandon. He was about to tell her that his rectum had feelings too, when she stopped, and slipped it out, slowly, to the tip.
"Am I a bad bitch?" she asked, holding her cock with just the tip inside.
"If I say you are, will you fuck like a bad bitch?"
He took a look at her long one poised at the ready, and grinned. "The baddest bitch."
All at once, his world went white. Cream-colored, actually, as she shoved his face into her tits, and her cock balls-deep into his ass. He barely had time to scream 'fuck' into her pillows before she started to dish it, hard,
and he somewhat reluctantly caught her fuck at a pitch and intensity slightly above what he could actually take. It was a good fuck, though, as she threw it into him as hard, as deep, and as fast as he would throw it into her.
He was pretty sure if she hadn't been wearing a condom, she would have already nutted, and he would have felt it. She pulled her tits off of his face and stared down at him.
"Next time you'll go down on me, right?"
'Next time' she said. He nodded.
"Oooh... mmgh... spread your legs if you want more..."
He did, and she gave it to him harder and harder, reaching a fever pitch.
"Don't cum yet," she said, which was an odd request, until he realized he was about to cum, just from the stimulation inside and from her rubbing against his cock.
She suddenly stopped, and adjusted so that his hips were higher and she was drilling directly down.
"I like to have it both ways. Money shot and a facial. There we go. Now you don't have to hold back."
She grabbed his cock and started to give it to him deep and hard again.
"I'm crushing your asshole... how's your prostate feel, baby?"
"Nnhh... Cid... Cid... take it... nnnhh..."
She moaned his name while pounding him. It was an odd thing, to have her acting so feminine and, in a way, submissive, while she dicked him hard and deep.
"Catch that fuck, baby... you want me inside? Show me!" she said, and he wrapped his legs around her. Almost immediately after, he felt it coming... and then, his face was sticky.
"I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum baby... kiss me!"
She crunched him into a ball to reach his lips, and kissed them. He felt the pressure in his insides grow slightly, and she moaned into his mouth.
Just like that, it was over. She pulled out, and he felt like he was in a daze.
"Keep 'em spread, baby. Where's your phone?"
"Pants," was all he could make out. She reached off the bed, rifled through his pants pockets, and pulled out his phone, then she positioned herself next to him, legs still spread, her still wearing a full condom... and took a selfie.
"For your viewing pleasure," she said, and he smiled. She slipped the condom off, then tied it off, and held it up to show him. It was absolutely full of spooge. "I think that means we're a match. How's your stomach? I wasn't too rough, was I?"
"A little. I'm good though."
She tossed the condom in the trash, then went into her bag again... and pulled out another condom.
"What's that one for?" he asked, a little concerned.
"For you. Don't you want to fuck me?"
He was still very much out of commission... but he was willing that to come to an end as quickly as possible.
"Hmmm... think you can lift me?"
"When you're ready... I'll spread [i]my[/i] legs," she said, and then seemed to have an idea. "Want to shower while your guy recovers?"
"Yeah... that sounds good."
After the shower, which was... hot and sudsy, she speed-dried her hair with a towel, and then took a look at him, standing there, still dripping. "Good to go?"
"Almost... nerves are a little shot I think."
"I can put on a show if that would help," she said, and he nodded in agreement.
She picked her bag up off the nightstand, plucked out another lube packet, ripped it open, reached down between her thighs, and gave herself a good lubing. Then she laid back into the bed, lifted her legs, and started to finger
herself, with him watching... and steadily getting ready to do the deed.
"I wanted to fuck and get fucked tonight, so..."
With him steadily rising, he fetched the unopened condom from the bed, and tore the wrapper off.
"Alright, stand up," he said, and she did, standing in front of him, her chest out. He turned her around. "Bend over and touch your toes."
"Hmmmm? Want to take me from behind?" she asked, obeying.
"Yeah, pull over, dat ass too fat."
She rolled her eyes. "Pfft. Men."
He aimed himself, eager to get inside of her.
"Don't hold back - I can get as good as I give."
She was right about that. He pushed it in, steadily, and she moaned, but she didn't seem to have a hard time of it. He felt her clench tight around him... but he realized quickly that she was doing it intentionally. As he started to give it to her, he grabbed onto her
shoulders and pulled her up, and she pushed back at him as he pushed it in her.
"Fuck me harder, baby..." she moaned... quite loudly. She tightened her ass with intention... he could tell when it was involuntary and when she was responding to his fuck. "Make me cum, baby..."
At her insistence, he reached down and grabbed her, and she took quite kindly to that. She wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled him into a kiss as she took it from behind and he gave her a reacharound.
Soon, her precum was coating his hand. He'd never jacked anyone off but himself before, but he seemed to be doing it right.
"Baby... Cid... I'm gonna... nnnmmm..."
He could feel it twitching, and warm, runny liquid was starting to drip down his hand, and he knew that she'd just ejaculated all over the nightstand.
"Do you want me to stop?" he asked, unsure.
"I want you to fuck my ass, stupid," she said, pushing back at him.
Her occasional deathgrip when he was balls deep was now obviously intentional, and he loved her for it. He'd never been with a girl with that much control over her tightness before, vaginally or anally.
"Hey," she said, kind of quietly, "want to take the raincoat off?"
He pictured her fat ass, with him stuck in, filling her gut with his nut... and nearly lost it right then. "Y-yeah," he managed to stammer out.
"Then cum," she said, teasingly. "Next time, maybe."
He grunted, successfully teased. "Hey, give me your phone."
She obliged him, rifling through her back again on the nightstand and handing it back to him. He snapped a picture of him fucking her from behind... for a minute he considered cumming while still inside her, but then... instead,
he pushed her on the bed and climbed on top of her. He pulled the condom off, and she watched him with a wry smile. When he started to stroke it, pressing it against her beauty mark, she licked her lips and blew him a kiss, wordlessly signalling that she was into it.
It gushed into her hair and over her eyelashes and cheek, a pretty successful facial, better than the slapdash one he'd given himself.
"Did my make-up need a touch up?" she asked, outlining the cum on her cheek with her finger. He went to take another picture with her phone, but she stopped him. "I don't need a picture of myself post-facial on my phone. Get in it."
He obliged. He laid his cock next to her face and snapped the pic.
"No one else sees these. Got it?"
"You better try real hard. Or one night, when you least expect it..." she said, sucking on her finger... and then she put it in his ear. "I'll stick it in your ear."
"Ew, ow, stop... haha..."
He collapsed on the bed next to her. "Seriously, though. You a hot-ass bitch."