The Maid For Service Bundle (17 page)

Strutting forward, she said nothing of how I had my shirt off, or how fast I was breathing. I knew I was caught. A dozen explanations ran through my head, all of them ending in embarrassment.

She set the glass of milk on the desk. I took it and swallowed it down quickly, trying to cool down. It was heady and heavy, and made my thoughts float around pockets of lust. Whatever kind of milk it was, it definitely didn't come from a cow.

Mariana's tits were heavy and thick in her tiny outfit. Approaching the load on the floor—which was thick and wide, perhaps a half an inch tall and six inches in diameter, she leaned over at the waist, showing me once more her panties—and now I could
definitely
see her pussy and how sparkling wet her pussy was—and slowly licked her lips. She inhaled deeply.

“Oh yes, this is definitely my favorite sauce,” she said. “It smells
so
good.”

She took a finger and slowly rubbed it in my spilled load, and then licked her fingers clean; she stared at me the whole time, watching my reaction.

“I do
love
this sauce,” she said. “It’s my
favorite
.”

“Y-yes,” I said. “That’s good. You’ll have to...clean it all up. Before there’s a stain.”

“You’re right, Sir. So, so right.”

She knelt down, staring hungrily at the mess. I tried to ignore how my cock was jerking wildly, seeing her gorgeous body kneel. Her hair cascaded downward, nearly touching the ground.

“I...I’ll go run and grab some paper towels,” I said. “To help.”

It didn’t seem like she was listening. Her gaze was focused entirely on the floor. I sprinted to the hallway, intent on helping her clean. I didn't know yet how to process her licking up my cum off her fingers like that.

I had almost closed the door, but I heard a curious sound—lapping. Like a cat at a bowl of milk.

Carefully, I pushed open the door and looked inside. Immediately, I felt my erection growing again.

She was leaning over the spilled cum on the floor, her thick, luscious hair held in one hand carefully, so as not to let it drip into the pure white goo. And she was licking it all up. All my cum.

“Oh, fuck,” I whispered.

My hand was on my cock in an instant. If Jacqueline woke up and walked around, the sight of me jerking off as I peeked into my study would have been the very first thing she saw once exiting the bedroom and approaching the banister from upstairs.

Mariana gyrated her hips as she lapped eagerly at my cum, sliding her tongue around on the floor, grabbing up all the residue of manliness I had left behind.

And some part of me...some part of me knew that this was
good
. This was
proper
, for a beauty like that to prostrate herself and
need
to swallow every last bit of my cum.

She finished, making a disappointed sound. Her fingers withdrew from her pussy. I could see how they sparkled in the light with her juices. And she saw me—at the door still. It was too much. Her beautiful, beautiful face, so clearly on me. So filled with lust. I came again, just as hard as before, spilling all over the floor.

She approached, then. Quickly I tried to stuff my still-spasming cock into my pants, but she opened the door. It was too late—she saw my cock, covered in shiny cum, and the flush on my face.

Apparently, she didn’t mind at all. I should have expected it at that point.

“Th-there’s another mess,” I said. “More...sauce. You...must have spilled it, coming in.”

I was a bit amazed at myself. Not just for cumming twice in such quick succession, but for not running away in shame.

“Yes,” she said, her eyes full of awe at the load, at my cock. “I shall have to clean this one as well. I wish only to be my Sir’s good girl. I will happily take care of...
all
his messes. Personally.” She took a breath, moaning. “Thoroughly.”

Her accent gloved over every word. I wanted to fuck her voice.

She knelt down and I very much wanted to stay and watch, but my bed was calling my name. The two orgasms in a row had taken something out of me, and I could feel my strength fading. I wandered past her, back into the study and collapsed on the couch. The last thing I saw before falling asleep completely was Mariana’s perfect form licking up my cum in the hallway.

* * * * *

O
ver the weekend, shame consumed me. I couldn’t believe what I had done with Mariana. It was so scandalous, so incredibly sexual—and with my sick wife in the very same house! This would have been the mother of my children, if I actually had children, like I had wanted. Jacqueline would have never forgiven me if she found out.

And more and more, it seemed, Jacqueline
would
find out. She was improving by the day. Perhaps it was the medicine finally taking hold, or perhaps it was Mariana’s presence somehow, but either way, Jacqueline was finally regularly moving to her feet on her own. Her strength was returning to her.

I noticed for the first time when, in the middle of the night, she got up from our bed to go to the bathroom. Normally she would need my assistance, and it would be a big, coughing affair. But this time, she simply stood up, flipped on the light, coughed a few times, did her business, and returned to bed. I was so happy I didn’t even want to say anything. She didn’t seem to remember it herself in the morning, making it seem like more of a dream than ever.

But during the day, Mariana insisted on taking care of Jacqueline for me, quite sure that there were more important, more manly and masculine tasks I could be busying myself with. It was a sort of flattering diversion that I responded to very well.

Perhaps all the flattering I needed was having someone of Mariana’s exceptional beauty talking to me at all. I wasn’t very popular in high school or college with beautiful women. Jacqueline and I met in a library, studying for a chemistry exam. She was absolutely lovely, with her firm youthful figure and her stunning brunette locks, but only had interest in me because I didn’t talk to her like she was the ditz her beauty would have made her appear to be.

With Mariana, though, there was a sense of...
gratitude
to her speaking with me. She always seemed so eager to please, so happy to be hearing my voice, her ears hanging on every last word. Like a dog with her Master’s treat before her eyes, or like a rapt worshiper at a sermon, kneeling before the preacher. This willingness of hers to hear me and to gleefully go along with whatever I suggested made me, conversely, that much more willing to listen to whatever she said.

Mariana sensed her advantage, it seemed, and gently tried to press me. During the day, as I tried to organize my study, she would appear with heavily alcoholic drinks or delicious, hand-made chocolates and tarts. Or, better yet, more of that delectable milk. All of this together only seemed to make me the hornier. Her habit of serving me these delectable yummies from a tray shoved underneath her chest—with her heavy tits sliding over the edge of the metal and her cleavage a mere finger’s length away from whatever she served—did not make my troubled conscience any less troubled.

“Are there any more messes to clean, Sir?” she would ask, licking her lips.

Of course I would say no. I had to defend my dignity. Or my wife’s? Or something.

I knew dignity had something to do with the issue, but when I gazed into her endless green eyes, most of my protests seemed to lose their line of reasoning.

When she offered to clean any “messes,” I saw her eyeing my bulge hungrily, which around her was always growing. Also she eyed the newly-tight fabric of my shirts and pants. My muscles were swelling even more than my cock, somehow. I blamed it on all the lifting and moving I was doing in the study. Some of those books were quite heavy.

That wouldn't explain, though, why I seemed to be getting taller by the day. My pants no longer fit. I had taken to wearing shorts just to avoid the embarrassment of having tiny pants on my ever-more-muscular form. But the shorts, which used to stretch past my knees, were quickly reaching me at my thighs.

Roughly four days after Mariana had licked my cum up off the floor, Jacqueline came to see me in my study in the evening. She walked in wearing a long green silk robe around her skinny, still-skeletal form. I was surprised to see her; Jacqueline must have seen.

“Yes, I’m walking around. Don’t make a fuss.”

“No fuss,” I said, smiling. “I’m just glad to see you moving. How do you feel?”

“I’m okay. It comes and goes.”

“Good,” I said. “That’s good. I’m...” I waved my hand around. “I’m reorganizing in here.”

“I can see that.”

I watched her eyes float over my body—the hardness of my muscles, the absence of the gut that had started to form some two years into our marriage. Curiously, she eyed me with more suspicion than interest. I wasn't used to such glances, having taken in so much admiration from Mariana over the past several days.

“Jonathan, I need to speak with you.”

I set my papers aside. “Yes, dear?”

“I want to talk about this maid of yours.”

Oh, dear. I suppose I should have expected this.

I hadn’t ever really discussed the matter with Jacqueline. Not anything more than to tell her it was happening. Her many drugs kept her out of her mind most of the time, either in some form of catatonia or blissed out on some opiate or another. At any rate, having someone move in was definitely a matter to be discussed with a spouse, and I hadn’t bothered to do it.

I hope you’ll understand, it’s not that I don’t value my wife’s opinion. It’s just that she hadn’t had an opinion for the last ten months or so. And so, with that being the case, I didn’t bother to consult her seriously for what I assumed would just be another menial decision in the course of our lives.

I had no idea, of course, that Mariana would end up being what she was.

“Mariana?” I asked, playing the innocent. “What about her? I think she’s been doing a bang-up job.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m sure she wants to bang
something
, all right.”

“Pardon?”

“Don’t give me that. Don’t act like you’re not
eating
this up. Your own personal beauty-parlor pet, gallivanting about with her tits practically falling out of her dress...”

“They don’t fall out. I’ve checked.”

Jacqueline’s face went red.

“...a joke,” I smiled, trying to laugh. “Come on. You remember jokes, right?”

“I am not in a joking mood right now. I won’t
have
it, Jonathan. She’s...she’s flaunting about in those skimpy little outfits, whoring up the place, no, no.” She shook her head violently. “I won’t have it. You’re not
telling
her to dress like that, are you?”

“Of course not, dear. She told me—”

“Yes, and I’m sure you’re not exactly
protesting
her wardrobe, are you? And to think that she’s
living
here, Jonathan! What if she brings some...some
gangbang
home or something? She’s certainly asking for it, the way she dresses.”

“Come now,” I said, reproaching. “You know that sort of attitude doesn’t fly with you, it shouldn’t fly with me. She’s not encouraging anything. That’s how she wants to express herself. If it makes her happy, why should I stop her?”

“Because it makes
me
unhappy.” Jacqueline crossed her arms and looked away. “You have to fire her.”

“
Fire
her? She’s a wonder. She takes care of this place as if it were her own. Better, in fact. And—”

Jacqueline, literally, put her foot down. “I want her fired, Jonathan.”

“
And
,” I insisted, “she’s done wonders for you. You’re in my office,” I had started to laugh a bit, “arguing with me and pacing about, trying to get me to fire the very woman whose presence precipitated your recovery! You can’t be
serious
, Jacqueline.”

“I
am
serious, and...”

She abruptly sat down on the chair behind her. The strength leaving her was visible. I recognized that sort of collapse. It used to happen often before she was bedridden.

“I’m sorry,” I said. My shame returned. “I’ve overexcited you. I’ll fire her. Okay? No more discussion. Tomorrow. I'll do it tomorrow.”

She nodded, smiling slightly. I had to carry her back to bed.

* * * * *

T
he following morning, as I promised, I prepared to fire Mariana. I assumed there was no point in delaying it—what had to happen, had to happen, and I had to be the man to do it.

Even though I didn’t particularly
want
to fire Mariana, I still felt no shame in doing so, nor any missteps in confidence. Indeed, I felt more confident than I had in a long time. My wife wanted something, and I would give it to her. What better place is there for a married man than to know that he is doing exactly what would make his wife happy? It was a powerful feeling, pleasing a woman. I felt myself immensely capable to the task.

I knocked on Mariana's door briefly and then opened it, not bothering to wait. It was my house, after all, and she would soon be moving out.

What I saw inside surprised me for several moments. Mariana knelt down in one corner, her computer screen in front of her. She had a thick pair of headphones on; she must not have heard me come in. She was dressed in sexy blue lingerie, a lace corset and bright blue stockings and red heels. Her back was turned to me entirely, apparently not noticing in the least that I was there. And her hand...

Her hand was buried in her mound, rubbing intently.

Every few moments, a moan escaped her mouth. “Master...” she said. “Masterrr...”

The carpet in the room was deep, thick, and plush. I could see on the floor the outlines around her knees and shins; she had been on the floor in that position for a long, long time.

On her computer screen was a picture of me, from the side, jerking off in the bathroom. She clearly had taken it by sneaking open the door when I wasn’t looking. Or, maybe I had just left the door open. I tended to lose a bearing for my surroundings when I jerked off, closing my eyes and focusing solely on the nymphet creature of lust that lived with me and apparently was masturbating to me.