[Author's notes: Warning! This is an extramarital sex story. This hopefully will be hot enough to be a whack off story for the people who like these themes, as it does have a lot of sex in it. For those who don't like these themes please move along. Constructive comments are appreciated, hate speech will be deleted.]
"Dude, you HAVE to come. I promise I'll make it worth your while." Eric taunts.
"It would be nice to have someplace to stay near the college." I agree.
"Look, you can have the guest house with the pool, all to yourself." Eric offers.
"You drive a hard bargain." I observe with a grin.
"You don't ever even see the pointy end of the spear, my friend. Look, gotta run, Asian markets open in five. My limo will pick you up at the airport. Wear something decent, OK?" Eric snaps as the line goes dead.
I've gotten used to short phone calls with no goodbyes, ever since he made his first million. He's been piling it on, year after year, for a decade, even when others lost, got wiped out. Eric somehow keeps winning, or at least his losses are never mentioned by anyone. My good fortune is he is incredibly loyal.
I hate O'Hare. Worst. Airport. Ever. Unless, as it turns out, Chicago is your destination and you have a limo waiting. The driver throws my bags in the trunk looks me over, and shrugs her shoulders. Cute redhead, Eric's type. We head out into the burbs, past the city, as I catch up on the list of papers at the conference on my laptop. We pull up to the gate that guards Eric's compound, which swings open, and we peel off to the right, to the "little guest house", which I estimate is 6,000 square feet. The door pops open, the driver sprints to get the bags inside before I can even finish walking the path to the door. She meets me on the way out, gives me a big thumbs up sign and a wide, dazzling smile. She has never said a word to me, but I am enchanted, just by her freckles. Then the door closes behind me and the limo is gone, as the foyer of the guest house envelops me with the clean elegance of how the one percent lives.
I decide the bedrooms are off to the left, and wind my way down the hallway. Entering the bedroom, I toss my suit jacket carelessly on the California King four poster bed, before I realize I am not alone. I move closer, to get a good look.
She is dusky, dark creamy skin, dark lustrous hair, held back by one of those lacy black and white maid hairclips. She has a saucy, angular face, with ruby red lips and a wry smile. The black frill of her uniform cannot hide her huge endowment, what must be six inches of breasts with a veritable canyon between them. The little white maid's doily is her belt, with a very short black lace minidress underneath. Her garters stream out her legs, to meet the fishnet hose, as she poses on the white shag rug, one knee propped up, one leg stretched out, like she is getting ready to do the splits. It is only after all this that I realize, she must have been sent by Eric.
"And who might you be?", is the incredibly bright thing I say to the most beautiful woman I have ever met. She is thick, no skinny mini, but luscious curves and soft feminine flesh. I am beginning to get a little excited, a stirring in my loins, as her coal dark eyes zero in on me.
"Excuse me, Master. I am Vivian. Eric provides me to use as you see fit. You may call me anything you wish, but Eric suggested slave, maid, or bitch." She says with just enough inflection to indicate her preference, in a bell clear English accent that literally makes my heart skip a beat. She IS perfect.
"Well then, Vivian, I may call you any of those as the mood suits me." I decide to play Eric's game for a little while, to see what is in store.
"Very well, Master." Vivian says as she drops her head into an even more subservient posture. I can see her bent knee starting to shake.
"Don't call me Master." I snap sharply, then more softly "Sir is what I prefer."
"Yes, Sir." she says, as her leg almost begins to tremble, whether in fear, or just from the awkward position, I do not know.
"Maid, kneel." I say curtly, as she obeys. "Incorrect, facing me, legs spread shoulder width, arms behind your back, chest out, face up." I correct her, as she almost smiles. She likes being told what to do.
"Your accent, Maid. Where is it from?" I ask her as I circle around her, between the fireplace and the bed, drinking in her perfection.
"The Bahamas Sir." she says in her eloquent, erotic voice.
"So Eric paid for your services?" I probe, assuming she is a prostitute.
"No sir. All volunteer, Sir." she answers quickly, sharply, then more politely as she realizes she has given away far too much.
"So you have volunteered to have me use you in any way I see fit for the next week, without any other compensation of any kind?" I snarl, almost unable to believe her at this point.
"Yes sir." she offers meekly.
"Pull down your lace top and put both hands behind your head. Now!" I snap.
She does as I command, then blushes at being so exposed so soon. "You haven't done this before, have you, Vivian"? I ask her softly.
"No Master...I mean No sir." she verbally stumbles, suddenly embarrassed.
"So Eric found out about your... shall we say, desire to be dominated, and he convinced you a good friend of his, a gentleman, would be the perfect introduction to the satisfaction of those desires?" I offered.
"That is it exactly sir. Although I confess your friend seems capable of talking anyone into anything. I can't imagine how I ended up here, without even any underwear on, waiting for a man I'd never met, to surrender myself completely to him. But somehow Eric made that seem like a good idea, Sir." she explains, looking into my face to try to figure out if I am really kind, or perhaps cruel.
I laugh. "Eric can do that. Lift the hem of your dress please. Come, come now, don't be silly. We are going to be very intimate, and I just want a little peek." I say as I see that kind really isn't kind to her, she has far too much going on in her own head, and sharper is better. "Now!" I snap.
"Yes, Sir!" she answers, after having pulled the dress hem so that the dress is inside out, and she is trying to look through it. I miss the view of her large nipples and areolas, but am rewarded with her trimmed bush, really just a landing strip, above her shaved lips. "Are you a lesbian or bi-sexual?" I ask.
"I'm sorry Sir, I don't understand." she stammers.
"You have obviously shaved your cunt. The only people I know who shave their cunts are lesbians and other women who have tasted the cunts of other women. So which are you, Bitch, and don't make me repeat a question again or you'll regret it!" I lecture her, getting into the role more than I would have guessed.
"Cunt! Bi-sexual cunt licker, Sir!" She blurts out, and blushes, as she tries to pull the dress up further.
"You can remove the dress now. Put it on the bed and make sure there are no creases in it. We may need it later if we go out." I instruct her, and now a whole new world of embarrassments occurs to her. What if she sees someone she knows? What is it like to be someone's sex slave maid in public? Would I use others with her – maybe women? And as the thoughts run rampant, her nether lips wet, as she surrenders to the overwhelming urges crawling out of a place she didn't even know existed.
She pulls off the dress, bending over the bed in just her heels and hose, full breasts wobbling, as she smooths the dress, awakening to the fact there is nowhere for her to go now, she wants it too much, she is too turned on to stop.
