The Maid

The energy from the day before had vanished when Missy entered Mr. Nickerson's domain after a deep sleep the night before. The large room was flooded with sunlight that glistened on the shiny floors and hung in the air around the large, four-poster bed. She was slightly sore but far more disturbing than her body were the thoughts in her head. She had climaxed at the hands of him, and something about him— she stopped herself short again. She was unwilling to let her mind go that far.

She approached the desk and removed the strip of fabric across her chest, her nipples pert and pointed despite yesterday's ordeal.

He didn't get up from the desk as she placed her hands upon it, facing him with her breasts ever-spilling from the shelf that was her shirt. He glanced at them, barely, before going back to his papers.

"You'll get started straight away today. You'll be cleaning the mirror on the far wall. I expect you to learn how to get close to it, the entire thing better be shinning save for a ring of your lipstick," he said.

Missy was confused. She was wearing no lipstick and wasn't sure why she would kiss a mirror on the first place.

"Go ahead," he said, jerking his head to the left towards the huge, gilded mirror that lay on the wall across from his bed.

As she moved towards it the dilemma became clear, for in the center of the mirror was a phallic object, sticking straight out, affixed in some way to the glass. It wasn't gigantic but it certainly wasn't small, enough to make her gulp and her features twitch at the suggestion of such an imposition between her lips.

To kiss the mirror around such an intruder would require practice, an ability to allow it to slide partially into her throat. This could be a daunting task, she thought.

She looked down. A tray had been wheeled next to the mirror. Along with all the usual cleaning supplies, a whip and a small selection of lipsticks had been added, in a myriad of colors. A quick glanced placed the count at 15.

"Present the whip between your teeth on your knees to me when done. One for every color you miss," she heard his voice, dark and steady speak from the desk.

She took a deep breath and swiped the first tube of color across her lips, beginning her day of cleaning and working the object into her mouth.

She tried to dive right in but found herself choking and spitting everywhere. It took her the better part of an hour to get the object down her throat for the first time, placing her first ring of lipstick around it on the mirror.

On her 3rd attempt she nearly vomited and thought about giving up before she heard his booming voice from the corner.

"You may collect the vibe when 5 colors appear on the mirror," he said, never looking up. He had placed the vibe in plain sight, on the far edge of the desk.

The next few attempts went fast and were mostly successful, and she sighed in relief when she was able to hold the vibe against that spot between her legs.

With that buzz she was motivated, but after coughing and spitting her way through 6 more she was ready to be done.

On her seventh try she got her lipstick on the mirror by a thin margin, but nearly went to throw up again in the process. She was done.

Resigned, she placed the whip between her teeth and lowered herself down to her knees in front of Mr. Nickerson's desk.

He finally looked up, placing his hands on his hips as he stood, surveying her, towering over both her and the desk. She looked a bit messy, but dutifully held her head high as the strips of leather dripped from a corner of her well-rouged mouth.

"Bed. Bottom edge. On your back. Hold your legs open," he said, jerking his head once again in a nod to that piece of furniture.

She swallowed. Slowly walking, than climbing up to the high bed, her hands trembled slightly as she moved to grasp her calves and ankles.

He strode over to the mirror, making a quick count of her work, the colored rings frozen to glass, a wonderful, perfect circle around the object. Three left. He quietly came to the bed to slip the whip out of her mouth, into his hands.

He stood at the foot of the bed, between her outstretched legs, and carefully lifted her skirt up and over onto her stomach.

Missy had her teeth gritted but her eyes were open. She saw the leather flail in the air before it was brought down, in one smooth stroke, across her nether lips.

Her body jerked and her mouth let out a yelp, but she held still. Her breath was a sudden pant. It wasn't painful as much as jarring. He waited just a few seconds before rearing back for another.

Again she yelped amongst her panting, harder and more fervent than before.

He waited longer this time.

He brought the whip down much harder for this final strike, the leather landing again on the sensitive flesh.

Missy screamed, her legs closed automatically but he was too fast. In a single swift motion he thrust two fingers inside her. He started pumping vigorously. She was panting, her face contorted first at the sting and then in something else as his fingers continued to pummel her pussy. Her pants turned more and more hungry as he continued.

Finally, he pressed his palm into her clit and she exploded beneath his skilled hands. Her brain became a hazy midst of pleasure, all centers firing at once. And for a moment there was no world except for that which lay in this stoic room, under this unmoving canopy with the man who made her feel so much at once.