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.
"You... you're..."
"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.
- Majalis
