Regime Change

EPIPHANY

"You're hired Sara," Mrs. Lance Del Toro announced with a twinkle in her bright blue eyes and with a beaming smile.

Sara Service squealed with happiness. Her three months long job search was over. She was about to start carrying her weight again in her relationship with her nice, live-in boyfriend.

The two women sat across from each other in a nook in the huge kitchen of the Del Toros' huge house. Mrs. Del Toro wore a sleeveless, white dress with deep purple dandelions on it that had a plunging neckline. Her long raven hair hung down to her slim waist. She delicately fingered her necklace of gemstones as she gave Sara her full attention. The print-out of Sara's resume lay on the table between them.

Sara was a bright, bouncy, happy brunette with dark blue eyes, square high cheekbones, slightly thick pouty lips. She had a wedge of worry between her eyebrows which belied her bubbly, easy-to-laugh-outloud personality. Sara had an athletic body from riding her bike everywhere. Her breasts were full enough to distract. Her skin of her face was slightly dry from being outdoors a lot. She was 37 years old. She was wearing tight black Lululemon workout pants and a tight red t-shirt with a smiling sloth on it.

"Can you start tomorrow morning?" asked Mrs. Del Toro, her thin lips curling into a lop-sided grin.

"Su-sure!" Sara blurted out, thinking to herself: That was fast.

"Great--be here at 8--Mariz will show you the ropes," said Mrs. Del Toro as she stood up in high heels. The women said good bye and the Del Toros' new maid quickly left their huge house eager to begin her new job.

***

Sara was born in a small Washington town, the third child of strict fundamentalist parents, especially her father. She left home the day after her 18th birthday. Sara took a Greyhound bus to LA and slept on her gay brother's couch. He was trying to make it as a chef. He got Sara a server job in the restaurant he slaved away in.

Sara wasn't afraid of hard work and over the last 19 years she'd become a Jacqueline of all trades: server, nanny, retail sales in electronics, car mechanic, clerk in a comic shop and more.

She also loved dance clubs and to party. Sara reveled in her escape from her father's house. She joyously lost her virginity to one of her co-workers at Dairy Queen, a sweet Mexican boy. It hurt and was over too fast but she loved them both getting naked in a park on a hot summer's night. It was soon after this that Sara started clubbing.

After years of a wild whirlwind of sextravagance Sara settled for serial monogamy and started living with men who took care of her. One of these men, the second to last one, cheated on her so she left him. Sara was 35 at that time. She went four months without a bf, her longest dry spell.

One day a 19 year old skate boarder sweet talked her during her shift in a taco food truck. They went on two dates. On the second date, when his parents were away for the weekend, the skate boarder cummed inside Sara five times. His enthusiasm was incredible. She didn't date him again.

Sara was starting to feel too old to wear a sexy nurse costume during Halloween when she ran into an old bf. They had gone out for three months when she was 20. He was ga-ga over her. She left him for the club scene. He was doing well for himself; he now owned a yoga studio. He was still ga-ga over her; she was touched that he was still so nice. Soon they were living together in a bungalow.

When she quit her back breaking, soul-destroying home support worker job her nice boyfriend had paid her share of their expenses. Truth be told, he always earned more and paid more than Sara. Sara was feeling like a free loader after three months of job searching in vain.

Her nice boy friend told her not to sweat it. Something will turn up. And now it had. Another yoga studio owner (who was a silent partner in his biz) was looking for a maid and Sara's nice bf had recommended Sara as someone trust worthy for the job. Mrs. Del Toro asked to have Sara's resume emailed to her and for Sara to come to her house in three days for an interview.

***

Mrs. Del Toro opened the door to her huge house revealing a vision of sexy sophistication: her slim body sheathed in a tight burgundy sleeveless dress that ended just above her knees, with earrings and a necklace that sparkled with diamonds. She impatiently waved the on-time Sara into the foyer.

Pointing into the Great Hall Mrs. Del Toro instructed: "Walk through there and you'll find the first floor kitchen--Mariz is in there--bye I'm having lunch with a friend--my husband is still asleep--bye." And like the Cheshire Cat Mrs. Del Toro stepped outside, closed the door, leaving nothing behind but the scent of her perfume and her slowly disappearing smile.

Sara took off her straw hat and mirrored sun glasses and blinked rapidly at the size of the foyer... the house. It quickened her first-day-on-the-job jitters. She was dressed in a sleeveless, tight orange top and a very short white canvas dress with a plastic, orange belt. Her finger and toe nails were painted bright orange.

She sighed, put her hat and sunglasses on a nearby small table and took off her sandals. Sara tied back her fine brunette hair in a loose bun and walked in bare feet in search of the other maid. The cool of the marble felt good.

Sara found the first floor kitchen but Mariz was no where to be found. On one of the granite counter tops were simple maps of each floor of the huge house and a few pages of chores and instructions. Sara glanced at them briefly. She didn't like to read.

"Hello, Mariz, where are you?" Sara called out and received no reply at all. Curious, Sara started to explore. First she opened the fridge, then the drawers and cupboards. Everything was spot-less and in its place.

Sara then wandered down hall ways, opened doors, gawked at the erotic paintings in alcoves until she happened upon a spiral stair case. Sara went up the spiral.

She got out on the second floor, stepping on to the hard wood in the middle of a long hall way. At the end of the hallway the light of dawn shone through opened double doors.

Sara slowly walked towards the light until she stepped on a Persian rug in a large office. Before she could study the study she noticed an opened sliding door. Sara stepped out on to the sundeck.

Sara jumped to see a large, olive skinned bald man wearing dark sunglasses sitting in a wicker egg patio chair. His only item of clothing was loose camo shorts.

"You're the new maid," observed the man in a neutral tone in a deep, resonant voice, stock-still. Sara could not see his eyes behind his dark glasses.

"Mr. Del Toro?" Sara nervously asked, her voice quavering.

He stood up. He was taller than Sara (she had to look up to him), with broad strong shoulders. He had a face like a stone falcon, his forearms and big hands look like they could tear a phone book in half. He had abs of steel and surprisingly little hair on his chest. He's so masculine Sara involuntarily felt surge into her...mind.

Sara felt the cedar planks under her bare feet as her eyes involuntarily drifted from his abs to the bulge...the growing bulge...the growing big bulge in front of the camo shorts. Sara was transfixed.

Lance Del Toro undid the button, then slid the zipper down and opened her shorts.

Too often at work men had exposed themselves to Sara. It always grossed her out. She'd shoved them away and beat a hasty retreat.

But this time was different. It was different. It made her blush from head to orange nail polished toes. Long, thick with...power, unbending, pointing straight at her, streaked with bruising purple her boss's...thing was so masculine, it obliterated the memories of the many cocks she'd...seen up close. It was a revelation.

He silently stepped out of his shorts, moving closer to Sara. Then he stood in front of her like the moon eclipsing the sun.

Sara sucked the inside of her right cheek, then chewed on the right corner of mouth, looking with eyes filled with uncertainty first into the dark sunglasses and then at the massive thing and up and down again and again. She felt hot, her tummy was quivering. Sara made a big gulp, then feverishly licked her slightly pouty lips. Her eyes rove all over the strong naked body of the man standing sentinel silently.

I want to suck it, she told herself, deep inside.

Sara got down on her knees in front of Lance Del Toro. She was now face-to-cock with It.

She looked up into the dark sunglasses and said with amazement: "It's huge."

She looked straight at It and said with disgust: "It's ugly."

She looked at It and shouted with raw lust: "It's throbbing!"

When her girl friends talked about blow jobs they divided into threes camp: one, the majority, said no way I'm letting them put that in my mouth; the second said they'll do it once in a while to keep their men on a leash; and then there was Sara. She loved, as she said, "pleasuring" her boyfriends (Sara didn't like the phrase "blow job"). But she never told her razzing girl friends she liked to swallow too--if it was the right man.

Sara hesitantly wrapped her fingers around Mr. Del Toro's club. She took a good, long, hard look-see at his good, long, hard pole. She opened her slightly pouty lips slowly and then tentatively put the tip of the purple, shiny apple between them. Then she took all of it it in her mouth and sucked hard, her tongue quivering on its underneath.

Sara closed her eyes tight, elongating her jaw and sucked the thing deeper into her mouth. It felt good. It felt great. It felt so...right. It felt so...natural to be on her knees in the light of the morning on the cedar wood sun deck. It made her lips, her mouth, her whole body tingle and wiggle with pleasure. It was such a rush.

The knelling woman sucked the cock of her boss, her cheeks drawn in, her fingers stroking it savoringly, her eyes tightly shut. Huge. So huge. So hard. It felt red hot but it didn't burn her tongue. She looked up into the dark sunglasses as she sucked It deeper with eyes full of wonderment. He received her pleasuring silently.

She pulled the club from her mouth to catch her breath and started licking the pillar of the community, tracing the veins and capillaries with the tip of her tongue. It feels like a throbbing jet engine. She licked the length of It, kissed with trembling lips around its base and across his hard, flat gut.

It's so gross, it's ugly, Sara squirmed deep inside and frantically started sucking the man's tower of power again, noisily, messily. Her eyes closed tight as if in prayer she eagerly took his cock deep into her throat for a few moments.

She then pulled her head back gasping for air and looked up, her face full of worry. She bowed her head to the right and lowered it under his shaft and respectfully mouthed one of his big, hard, dark balls. They feel so powerful, Sara slowly,deeply sucked each ball, licked them, savored them, taste tested them, the texture, the hardness.

She sucked on It again, looking up to him. Sara slid her right hand up to her boss's taut abs her fingers splayed open and caressed him like an archaeologist who'd just discovered a Greek phallus column. She slid her hand around to the small of his back and then started squeezing and stroking his hard ass. Soon she had both hands tightly gripping his ass, his column deeply embedded in her reddening throat.

Sara looked up into the darkness her eyes questioning, eyes that beseech-ed: Am I doing this right? Too fast? Too slow?

Mr. Del Toro's grim visage creased into a knowing smirk and he declared in a deep growl dripping with disdain: "You've done this a lot slut."

Sara gagged, her eyes suddenly blinking in pain, her mind filled with anger and: Slut!? I'm not a slut! Just because I enjoy...that's word is so harsh--he's so harsh--he's so judgmental--then for the first time since she stepped on to the Del Toros' sun deck Sara thought of her nice boy friend.

Her boyfriend whose been paying all her bills for months. This is how I repay him?! On my knees sucking my married boss's huge thing just five minutes after meeting him for the first time!

It came to Sara in an sudden realization that all her closest girl friends were in fact sluts, but the sunshine of this morning had over exposed her as the biggest slut of them all. The proof of the pudding is in the eating.

Guilty pleasure coursed through Sara's veins and her juiced up pussy--she breathed and sucked It in deep.

She tore her drooling mouth away from It and giggled in a high pitch looking ecstatically into the darkness, "I love It!." Then Sara in an embarrassed low tone whimpered: "Sucking."

With down cast eyes Sara gave head to the helmet of the knight, tightly holding on to his hard, tight ass with both hands as if she was afraid to be blown away by a tornado. She looked like a roasted pig with a glazed, red apple stuffed in its mouth. Sara tasted pre-cum at he back of her deep throat.

"Get up slut." Mr. Del Toro's cold command startled Sara out of the hypnotic trance his pendulum had put her in and she pulled her head back with a loud gasp. She jumping jacquelined up on to her bare feet, face flushed, her chest heaving sharply.

Mr. Del Toro crossed his arms across his chest. His pose reminded Sara of genie she'd seen in a graphic novel. His silence was deafening.

Sara sucked the inside of her right cheek in obvious insecurity and clasped and unclasped her fingers, fidgeting under his shadow. She arched both eyebrows questioningly. She hesitantly crossed her arms downwards across her belly and grabbed the edge of her orange top. Then she quickly pulled it over her head.

Sara was wearing a peach push up bra with lace trimmings. Sara bounced on the balls of her feet and then turned around. She shyly looked back over her left shoulder at her boss. His large fingers unclasped her bra strap. Sara kept her bra in place with his hands.

Mr. Del Toro reached around Sara and unbuckled her white belt and yanked it off her waist making a zzzzziiipp sound. He then unzipped the short zipper on the white dress and pulled it down to Sara's ankles. Her simple white cotton panties quickly followed suit.

Sara had a bare snow white sweet tushy. Her boss squeezed and caressed her athletic ass with his large hard hands. He then twirled her around.

Sara looked up to her boss, insecurely clutching the untied bra with the palms of her hands. She let the bra drop to the floor. Sara had large tits with big, puffy, pointy, pink nipples. Some of the previous men had joked her nipples could poke someone's eye out. Sara stepped out of her dress and panties.

Her boss took each of her pointy nipples between a thumb and an index finger and then caressed her tits appraisingly.

Mr. Del Toro grinned like a shark and lifted his left hand just above his waist palm up and rippled the four fingers.

Sara took the proffered hand, so much larger than her own, and Mr. Del Toro lead her the few steps to the wicker egg chair in a strangely gallant gesture. Sara looked up to her boss, her eyes questioning, her mind sizzling: How do you want to...have..me? Should I get on my knees and put my stomach on the seat. Should I kneel inside the egg? Does he want me on top?

He reached down and undid Sara's loose bun, her fine brunette hair fell to her bare shoulders.

Sara lay back into the wicker cage, lifted her athletic legs up until they framed her breasts, her feet beside her head and gripped the back of her knees tightly, offering her pussy on an altar. It demanded unconditional surrender.

Mr. Del Toro knelt before Sara's surrendered body and with his hand in an upside down V for Victory sign opened her pussy and pushed in the tip of his lance. Sara trembled in pain, started making ascending ah-aH-AH noises.

Looking abashed, panting, apologetic, Sara whispered, "It's OK Mister Del Toro, it's OK--I can take it."

"Even if you couldn't take it, you're going to take it, understand slut?" her boss laid down the law.

Sara nodded submissively. Del Toro leaned forward onto his hands, stretched his legs straight back, balanced on his toes, lifted his hard ass up and then speared Sara's wet pussy balls deep.

Sara cried in desperation. Her boss's billy club punished Sara's pussy. The waves of inescapable exquisite pain crested into waves of excruciating pleasure that rolled out of her delta to the further reaches. Her boss's chisel carved Sara a new pussy. It was a lot to take in.

I feel like a virgin, my first time: Sara told herself (unknowingly confirming Mr. Brown's theory at the beginning of Reservoir Dogs). All the other men were now too small, too soft, too...nice...

Sara's mind was NASCAR racing: How many women has he done this with, to? Dozens? Hundreds? Thousands!? I'll just be another notch on his bedpost. Will he remember me a year from now? Next week? He'll fire me when he's had me so he wife doesn't find out about us. Does he even know my name? I don't care! If this is wrong, I don't want to be right.

Sara lifted her athletic legs up around his hips, then up in the air. She wanted him deeper. He put her feet either side of his bald head, her toes curling. It was a lot to take in, but no pain no gain. She felt like she had a Sequoia in her pussy.

"I feel like--I'm getting It from--The Terminator--and Robocop--at the same time!" Sara couldn't control what was coming out of her mouth.

Her boss laughed unabashedly and growled: "Adorable." His hard large hands caressed the silky skin of her breasts and belly and then slid Sara's clit between the thumb and index finger his right hand.

Sara couldn't control what she was feeling: This is nuts, I want his baby, I wish he could knock me up. (During her interview with Mrs. Del Toro, her boss's wife had asked her if she planned to have children with her nice bf. That's when they found out that they were both, as Darlene Del Toro joked, "barren.")

His pipe organ played her like a piano. She felt like a parachutist plummeting faster and faster to earth who unconsciously pulled the rip-cord whip lashing her up uP UP and away! Sara aria-ed as she grabbed the back of her boss's neck with both hands, her thighs and pussy squeezing the life into her.

"Come in me, cuminme, cuminme!" Sara begged desperately. Her boss's ugly huge cock plowed Sara's delta deep, her wet pussy clapping in loud applause of his out standing performance. He put all his weight into her. His hips, his thrusts quickened rapidly. He blew the lid right off of Sara's past life, grunting like an oil rig, a vein vivid on his forehead, teeth clenched, spraying his spunk graffiti on her inner walls, tagging her. Sara's boss rode her long and hard.

Her boss grabbed Sara and threw her over his left shoulder and carried her into the house down to the first floor bedroom she would sleep in during her overnights and they had a sudsy shower together.

***

When Sara returned to her nice boyfriend's bungalow that evening she dragged him by the hand to their bedroom telling him, "I missed you so much!" They flopped down together on to the unmade bed and and soon her nice boyfriend's stiffening cock was in Sara's sucking mouth. "I love you so much," she whimpered before getting him fully hard. She quickly made him cum in her mouth, wishing it was her boss's semen. Her nice boyfriend passed-out.

***

Two weeks after Alexandra Smith's Walk of Shame bands of light and shadow caused by the setting sun shining through the slightly parted Venetian blinds of their bedroom streaked Sara and her panting nice boyfriend like Siberian tiger stripes.

They sat beside each other on the end of their unmade bed. Sara had twisted at the waist and bent down and was sucking her nice boyfriend's hard working cock. He was wearing nothing but a loose, green t-shirt with the words Yoga For Life Studio emblazoned across the chest, leaning back on the palms of his hands. Sara had just returned to his bungalow after three days and nights working for the Del Toros. She still had all her work clothes on: tight Levis, Shein solid scoop neck black tank top, nothing underneath. Her plush Hello Kitty back pack and her sandals sat on the floor next their feet.