Our good girl transforms to a clumsy naughty maid
I lay across my husband's lap, his thick rod pressing up against my stomach. I am blindfolded. My hands are cinched at my lower back, covered with my skirt folded over my backside. My breasts dangle out of the dress, my tits gripped by unforgiving clamps. I tension my toes to keep my heels on my airborne feet. I await the slap of his hand on my upturned bottom. The naughty maid awaiting her punishment ...
o -- o -- o
Remember being kids? We were laughing and happy nearly all the time. But then, with adult responsibilities, we became all too serious. Why do you think that is? One thought is that as adults, we cease to play. Play is a very important part of the human existence. And with my darling husband, I was determined to bring more play into our home.
I started with a costume! Perusing the racks, I found the quintessential black and white French maid's dress. It featured a short, full skirt, a white apron and a white lacy headpiece. Paired with a black garter belt and sheer black stockings, it was the perfect prop.
I had taken extra time in dressing, unfamiliar as I am with pins and a headpiece. Tasteful make-up and a bit of bright lip gloss, check. Garter and black stockings, in place, check. I worked the black dress up over my hips and settled the bodice over my bare breasts, off-the-shoulder. Finally, a disgraceful touch, a lavender panty that just peeked from under the crinoline-style skirt.
Several large silken scarves lay folded in the living room. And at a second-hand store, I found an outrageous old-time smoking jacket in my husband's size!
I greeted him with a curtsey as he came through the door. He quickly learned my name was Mitzi. Regrettably, the mistress of the house was out for dinner with friends, and so I was to see to his comfort! Putting action to words, I helped him into his new smoking jacket. With a flourish, I gave a final jiggle to the frosty cocktail shaker, and poured a dry martini. I led the way to the darkened living room.
Settled in his chair, sipping his strong drink, his eyes scanned the room. Sexual scenes played on the big TV, with all sound muted. His gaze followed me closely in my feather dusting chores. It seems I had to bend frequently to dust several low objects, my crinoline skirt betraying me, displaying my undergarments. I also leaned in front of him, offering a tempting view of my plunging cleavage.
"Oh, it is time for a second drink, no?" I snatched up the martini glass and hustled into the kitchen. I refreshed the drink. Then I set a second glass in the sink, an ugly painted juice glass I bought for a dollar. I picked up the household hammer, looked away and quickly smashed the cheap glass. Then I raced back to the door.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, sir! Here's your martini. But I'm afraid in my hurry that I was clumsy. I have destroyed your antique drink shaker!"
His face twitched unhappily. I continued my unhappy apologetic babbling until he cut me off. "Stupid girl! That was in my family for generations. No apology will do. I'm afraid you must be punished."
At his words, I felt a tremulous tingle in my pussy.
"Why, master, I am sorry. Perhaps you are right, sir, that I should be taken to task." Truth to tell, I had never used the word before, but "master" came naturally to my lips.
He dipped a hand into the pocket of the jacket and drew out a soft bathrobe sash. He expertly tied my wrists behind me, firmly but not too tight. With my arms drawn back, I felt my breasts looked larger than ever in my off-the-shoulder uniform.
He snatched up a scarf and with a few flicks of the wrist, it was folded and tightened across my eyes, knotted snugly. Bound and blindfolded, I stood nervously as his thick hands roamed my helpless body. He was fascinated by the bounce of the crinoline full skirt. But he soon set to manhandling my rather large and sensitive breasts.
I wasn't surprised as he worked down the bodice of my off-shoulder dress, displaying my bare breasts. I protested weakly. I flinched as he flicked at my nipples. I heard the faint metallic sound and readied myself as the thin clamp settled over my nipple, and was slowly tightened.
"Too tight?" he asked.
"Umm." I gasped. "Please, just a little more ... master."
He attached the other clamp, and I felt the light chain pulling the clamps, swaying with our movements.
In my darkness, I was led toward a chair, and pulled over his lap. His thickness was situated against my hip and stomach. My breasts hung loose, the damn chain dangling freely and pulling at the binding clips. My feet were off the ground, and I had to concentrate to not let a shoe fall to the ground. I must be a perfect maid for my enraged master.
I felt the crinoline folded back over me, settling onto my bound hands. He held me with one arm, as his other big hand traced my thighs, and nylon covered bottom. He removed that hand, and I clenched my rump for the paddling. Of course, he denied me. Uncertain, I released my tension, only to be rewarded with a resounding smack!
He alternated between soft strokes and insistent smacks. He would trace the outline of my panty, across the back, around the leg opening, and probed between my legs. Could he feel my wetness through the silky thin material? A finger followed the lines of my garter straps, moved across my stocking tops. And the then hand would come away and he would strike my ass again.
"Please master," I trembled. "I hadn't counted on my being spanked."
"Counted?" He laughed. "What a delightful idea." He slapped my ass cheek. "How many?"
"Please, sir, no more!"
"No, there will be more, and you will count each spank, out loud."
