A Tale of Two Maids Read online

  A Tale of Two Maids

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  © 2014 All Rights Reserved

  We're Going to be Sexy Maids

  Sophia sipped her coffee and slipped carefully into the bed beside Mark. He grumbled as she laid her head

  on his shoulder, getting a peek at the screen of his laptop. He was covered in paper, bills, most unpaid, some

  partially paid. "So, what's the bad news?"

  "You're crunching all the bills."

  She slipped her knee toward him, crunching the bills worse, and snuggled closer. "I'm helping. If they're

  crunched, we don't have to pay them."

  They'd had some setbacks, casualties of the recession. They'd both lost jobs and gotten new jobs at lesser

  pay. They'd reduced and saved wherever they could, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. Now, they

  couldn't even manage to sell the house.

  He sighed heavily. She lifted her coffee cup to him. "Here, grumpy."

  Mark's gaze flitted from the cup, traveling down her arm to her breasts, veiled by the thin material of her

  nightgown. His gaze lingered, but finally came to rest on her eyes, big and blue and sweet and always full of sexy

  secrets.

  He gratefully sipped the coffee. It was black and rich and hot, and though she'd made it for herself and it

  was devoid of cream and sugar, it was still delicious. "How do you do that?"

  Her eyelashes fluttered. Her blue eyes gazed into his as innocent as a child's. "Do what?"

  "Make me love stuff I don't love."

  A mischievous little gleam appeared in her eyes. "Maybe you always loved it, but just didn't know it."

  Mark asked himself again what she was doing with him. He wasn't unattractive; a bit thin perhaps, not

  exactly Mr. Muscles, certainly not Mr. GQ. He wasn't manly. He wasn't rich. He wasn't brilliant. He was just him,

  but Sophie . . . Sophie was womanly and gorgeous. Even now, with her endless volumes of thick black hair in

  complete disarray, she was beautiful. Even now, though she wore only the barest of makeup, she was heavenly.

  Even now, with her creamy white skin and soft, voluminous breasts, her curvy body, long legs lazily draped over

  his. . . even now, she was perfect.

  Why was she with him? She had a long string of rich, successful, handsome lovers before him. Why had

  she settled? He'd seen the way men stared at her, wanted her, their eyes following the bounce of her ass, the bounce

  of her breasts, going all dreamy when she pointed her baby blue eyes at them. They assumed in error that he must

  simply be well hung or rich. He wasn't either.

  "What's the bad news?" she asked again.

  She was a dynamo, so energetic that it floored him. He was holding her back. She was adventurous, always

  wanting to try new things. He was afraid of new things. She dragged him to kinky sexy clubs, but he only sat there

  like a bump on a log. She brought home cuffs and whips, but he couldn't let himself go enough to get into the role.

  She could be the slave or the Mistress, the sexy schoolgirl or the cheerleader, the supermodel, the nurse, the slut, the

  prostitute. She dressed the part and lived the part, but he always felt foolish and blew the role-play. She wanted to

  bring in another girl, another boy, but he was afraid she'd fall in love with them and run away.

  She was Ms. Adventure and he was Mr. Missionary.

  What was she doing with him?

  "Six months until we get the cars repossessed, if we're lucky. If you go flirt with the mortgage broker--"

  "Oh! I have just the dress for that!" She giggled and stared off into the distance, licking her lips.

  Just the thought of her flirting with a rich banker made him nauseous. The way she licked her lips, however,

  made him feel hollow and weak. He wanted her in the worst way, but the laptop and the bills were in the way. "No

  flirting with the banker!"

  She pouted. It was playful and sexy and it made him blush. "Spoilsport!"

  His cock was growing beneath the covers. He was going to have to appease it if she didn't stop. She would,

  too, without complaint. She would give him a mind-blowing, long blowjob and when she was done, she'd wipe her

  lips and smile at him, all proud and glistening with sweat. Sometimes she even smacked her lips and said "Yum!"

  She did sexy so well that sometimes he was certain he'd just keel over with a heart attack and go straight to man

  heaven.

  "A year, at the most," he told her.

  She sighed. "And then we're homeless?"

  "And then we're bankrupt and homeless, yes."

  They lay in the bed in silence, the laptop a great burden of weight in his lap.

  "I could always do porn," she suggested.

  His gut turned sour. "No."

  "Well, then I could be a web cam girl."

  "No."

  "Well, I'm not stripping. I'd kill myself on one of those poles."

  He knew she was kidding or half-kidding, but it still irked him. "No stripping."

  After a moment of silence, which seemed methodical and planned, Sophia finally whispered, "Then I'll be a

  maid."

  He blinked curiously at her. "What?"

  She grinned. "A very sexy maid."

  "Maid's don't--they don't get paid that well."

  She smiled and blushed. "French maids do." She hopped from the bed, stood on tiptoes and did a little

  curtsy. "Good evening, Monsieur. 'ow may I serve you, hm?" She stood, poised and proper, eyes downcast, hands

  placed delicately one atop the other, her cheeks pink with a sexy blush.

  His cock groaned beneath the sheets. He was feeling the need to have her. He needed to dive into all that

  female flesh that she kept so soft and moisturized and never come up for air. He put on his "Daddy" voice, which

  was one of the few things that seemed to get her attention and throw her off guard. "You're not going to be a maid,

  Sophie. You couldn't clean a house to save your life."

  She laughed, but then caught herself and placed herself back into her submissive pose. "Oh, but Monsieur,

  we French maids, we do not clean, no? We dust perhaps." She bounced on her tiptoes over to the bookcase and

  pretended she had a feather duster pinched between her fingers. The way she thrust out her bottom, the way she held

  her hands, fingers poised, wrists bent back, breasts squeezed together, made the animal inside him come roaring to

  life. "So dusty. Mm, mm, mm. 'Ow can there be so much dust, oui?"

  He sprang from the bed like a leopard. Laptop be damned. Bills be damned. He grabbed her by the waist,

  threw her onto the bed and enjoyed the surprised squeal that left her. She bounced and the bounce of her body on the

  mattress made her breasts bounce more, made her thighs jiggle, which whetted his appetite.

  With scarlet cheeks and wet lips, her blue eyes deepened and fell, coming to rest on the tent of his pajamas.

  She grinned and gazed back up into his eyes. "Oh, Monsieur! Theese is most irregular! You have something that

  needs polishing, no?"

  The nice thing about panties, Mark realized, was that they were easily shoved to the side. She was already

  breathing erratically and spreading her legs for him when he laid his cock on her mound and began to slide it down,

  down, down until it parted her wet lips, already swollen and hot. She began to moan so
ftly. He felt his way with his

  cock like a blind man in the dark, and when the time was right, he shoved it inside her, deep and hard.

  A short time later, she was moaning in earnest, fingernails clawing at his back, legs wrapped around him

  and begging him to dive deeper into her. He realized, though he was more than a little distracted, she was moaning

  words, words which made him want her all the more. He wanted her even as he was having her; he couldn't get

  enough of her, and her little whispered chant wasn't helping. " . . . maid . . . maid . . . going to be a maid . . . going to

  be a sexy maid . . . such a sexy maid. . . ."

  Later, as he fucked her, as he dedicated himself to trying to hold out for as long as he possible, as she

  screamed and leaked her warm slippery juice all over his cock, soaking the bed again and again, biting her lip and

  tensing for another round with a talent for multiple orgasms that defied all male understanding . . . later he realized

  her little chant had changed.

  It was confounding to say the least, but he was too busy to worry about it at the time. What did she mean

  when she whispered, " . . . maids . . . going to be such sexy maids . . . can't wait, can't wait . . . we're going to be

  maids . . . such sexy maids?"

  Maid for Adventure

  He gazed up at her, barely able to escape the tantalizing swell of her breasts as they hovered just above his

  eye level. Her blue eyes found him. How did she get them to sparkle like that? They twinkled like a Christmas elf.

  Merry was the word for it. She was merry. She should be. She was always in heaven when she was pushing him into

  something that made him nervous.

  He shook his head. "I'm not . . . I'm not letting you do this to me."

  She grinned. "Look up and keep looking up."

  She bent over and began to apply the eyeliner, tickling the little strip of skin beneath his eye. It was almost

  unbearable. It wasn't the brush of the eyeliner or the bristled brush of the mascara wand that was so agonizing; it was

  the fact that as she leaned over him, her soft white breasts dangled like two perfect pendulums, pressing into each

  other, demanding his gaze, demanding the press of his fingers, demanding to be revealed so he could suck on her

  pretty pink nipples. He was forced to look at the ceiling instead of straight down her top, which is where his gaze

  really wanted to be.

  She applied glue to his upper eyelids and immediately pressed the false lashes into place. Then there was

  more tickling as she curled them with a little eyelash curler and painted them again. "Such pretty eyes. You have

  such long pretty eyelashes."

  "For a man," he corrected.

  "For anyone," she said. "All my friends are jealous of your lashes."

  Hearing that did nothing to reassure him that she and her friends thought of him as a man.

  She lined his lips and he fidgeted in the tight skirt. Having to strip down in front of her, having to pull her

  lacey panties up his legs, having her clasp a bra around his torso and fill the cups with bundled up socks was all too

  much to bear. As the blouse went on, as the skirt was zipped up and buttoned tight, as the stockings were slid up his

  long legs, he felt more and more of his maleness eke away. Seeing all his body hair circle the drain hadn't helped

  either. He'd left the shower as slick as an eel and Sophia had slathered him with moisturizer which made his skin

  feel almost as soft as hers. Each article of clothing stripped away a little more of his manliness, and he hadn't exactly

  started with an abundance to spare.

  He felt ridiculous. She could never respect him as a man looking like this. She was shrinking him down,

  minimizing him, making him less important, and yet all her attention was riveted to him. He was her entire focus

  and it felt good. She was being a bit bossy, sure, but she was also pampering him with creams and pretty smells.

  Even her tone of voice had changed. He was no longer a man to be teased, no longer a cock to be woken up, no

  longer a hard masculine body she could dance up to and snuggle against. Instead, her tone said she thought of him

  now as a little brother. She had adopted a bit of a patronizing attitude, a little "I know what's best." Actually,

  considering the circumstances, his makeup, his perfume, maybe she was thinking of him more of as her little sister.

  "This will never work," he told her.

  She lifted his face with a finger. He looked at her, but her eyes did not meet his; they roved over his face,

  studying her work. She grinned and her eyes danced with a mysterious gleam. "It's already working."

  A bowling ball landed in his gut and began to spin. A lead weight perched in his throat and could not be

  swallowed. A hint of terror appeared in his mind because he afraid she was right.

  "Part your lips. Pucker a little."

  He did so. He couldn't not do so. He didn't want to. He wanted to stop it, but he couldn't. She only had to

  talk him into something partway and his need to finish, need to please her and make her smile and not disappoint her

  would carry him the rest of the way.

  She pressed the little red lipstick to his lips and began to rub and dab. It was tacky and slippery and it

  smelled a bit like chalk. He'd never get used to it. He just wouldn't.

  "They're never gonna buy it."

  "They love girls like you. You saw it."

  "What do you mean, 'girls like--"

  "Shush!"

  He had seen it. She'd shown him the website and he hadn't believed it. It was a dream or a nightmare: a

  resort in the mountains, very posh. The prices weren't just steep; they were unbelievable. It wasn't that he couldn't

  conceive of paying that much for a room per night. It was that he couldn't conceive of having so much money that

  such a price seemed reasonable.

  The maids were the stars, of course. Sophia's friend, Kelly, had told her about it. Kelly was supermodel

  blonde with green eyes. She worked out every day and it showed. She had her own workout videos online, but she

  was still a struggling entrepreneur. Three months at the resort, serving as a sexy, teasing maid to the rich had given

  her all the starting capital she'd needed.

  "The minimum contract is for three months," Sophia said.

  The maids were gorgeous and perfect. Interestingly, they weren't airbrushed like a porn site or as heavily

  made up, but they were dressed in their sexy little uniforms, uniforms of different colors.

  "It's a hierarchy," Sophia explained. "They won't publish it on the site, but each color uniform means

  something; it's a different service they provide. Like the gray uniforms are a bit pedestrian, see?"

  He had seen. They were certainly tight fitting and not your typical hotel maid uniform, but they were the

  least tantalizing of the bunch.

  "Those are actual maids. They do actually clean." They might actually clean, but they were still gorgeous.

  She went through what Kelly had told her. "The pink uniforms are for girls who aren't really girls.

  Although, apparently if you can pass well enough you can wear others, but with a pink cap, so everyone knows. Oh,

  and the guests can't touch you, but you can touch them. The blue uniforms are all about teasing. The guests can

  touch you, but only in limited ways. They can probably grope you a little, but can't get really sexual. The yellow

  uniforms . . . I don't remember what they're for. The black uniforms, typical French maid, but look at how pretty

  they are. They're shiny! Ooh, and you get these white fishnets. Sexy!"
<
br />   There was no talking to her. There was only looking and feeling nauseous. She wanted to do this? Even

  worse, she wanted him to do this!

  "The black uniforms are full service."

  "Full service?"

  She smiled and blushed and her lips glistened. He could see she wanted to do this, that she wanted him

  along for the trip, and he didn't want to think about what that meant. It was another of her adventures he would be

  too self-conscious to enjoy. "You know." She giggled and made her tone breathy and teasing. "Full service."

  "It's--it's a brothel!"

  She giggled. "Well, first, technically in this area of this county, prostitution is legal. Second, the maids don't

  have to actually do anything, but I think if you're wearing a black uniform, you kind of know what you're there for--

  "

  "You--you want to sleep--you want to fuck other men?"

  She draped her arms over his neck and stared deeply into his eyes. "I was actually going to be in a blue

  uniform, all tease and setup for the other girls. I know how you feel about me being with anyone else."

  He nodded and dropped his eyes. "I . . . I don't think you should do this."

  "I'm not doing it." She somehow pulled his eyes back into her own. " We are doing this. You'll be there with

  me."

  He shook his head. "As what, a doorman?"

  "The doormen get paid very well, but not well enough to get us out of debt. With both of us there for three

  months, we will make enough to not only pay off our bills, but possibly even take care of at least one of the car

  payments and maybe even make some headway on the house."

  She was right, of course. The maids got paid extremely well, too well, and he imagined with the clientele

  that a huge part of that was receiving money to keep your mouth shut. There was talk about non-disclosure

  agreements. "The money's good, I admit, but I--I just don't know--"

  "And you won't be a doorman, silly." She clicked the mouse and a new page appeared. His jaw dropped in

  shock. "You'll be in a cute little pink uniform."

  His blood turned into an arctic slurry. His heart stopped dead. He went pale as the realization of what she

  was suggesting crashed into him. "No."

  He said it a lot. "No." He even added more stringent clarifiers like, "Absolutely not!" He tried, "No way."