"Mmph! You're an...excellent...cook..." I muttered between mouthfuls. She beamed, as if she lived for the praise of others. But it was unlike any meal in recent memory - the chef seemed determined to seduce me during the course of the meal. She moaned in the seat next to me, her hands caressing her own chest. Her french maid outfit didn't have any visible buttons, yet somehow it seemed to part in the middle to allow me glimpses of cleavage and - I could swear her boobs where bigger - great bulging slopes that could easily contain a canteen's worth of liquid volume. She leaned back, and I knew what was coming - footsie. Her left foot slid into my chair to graze my crotch, quickly teasing me into growing hardness but...but...something was wrong, her foot seemed to become...unusually agile, and I could feel her unzipping me! I nearly choked on my steak. I could feel her grabbing through my underwear and then - then my cock! It felt just as it did yesterday when she had wrapped her hand around my aching penis. But - it was her foot! It was as if....as if she had a demure, delicate hand on her foot! And I could see that she was sticking her leg out towards me under the table. That was the last straw.
"Mmmmhhhhh....don't know...what kind of crazy game you're playing lady....but if you wanna get screwed - you got it." I was beyond restraint. I leapt up, cock dangling and grabbed her thighs right there. Where some women would have been frightened, she only cooed with delight as I bent her over my kitchen table and positioned my rod before a gaping, sopping pussy. Somehow, her skirt had disappeared - and she wore no panties. I grasped at a bulging tit - and found nothing between me and her bare skin. Gurgling with delight, I thrust my rigid meat into her naked slit from behind. I knew this was wrong - she was wrong - but I'd decided to stop asking myself questions. I closed my eyes with the pleasure, and when I opened them the entire Maid's outfit was gone, as if it had never been, just sleek and toned nude womanly flesh. As suspicious as it was, I was afraid that if I sought an answer, it might interfere - I might find some reason why I couldn't empty my cock into her - and that was what mattered now. She was twisting and writhing with boneless grace and flexibility - contorting herself until - "AHHHH!!" she had bent downwards into a circle - and licked me. A sinuous tongue licked my exposed cock and balls while I reamed her from behind, her body forming a perverse circle. I surrendered fully - strange that I seemed so much more virile than normal - I had yet another full load of jizz - and she was getting it all. Pumping again, and again into her spasming feminine core. My seed was practically wrenched from me. And again. And again.
**********
I barely heard the stern, predictable lecture from Mr. Tightass, my thoroughly depressing superior in the company. (Not his real name, but it might as well have been.) I shambled to my dingy cubicle for another thrilling day of figuring out loopholes the company could use to prevent having to pay back on our policies. I was late, unusually so - and it had been worth it. The girl was on fire! I couldn't hope to analyze anything that had happened, my mind couldn't grasp the how and why of my good fortune, though the cause of my exhaustion was easy enough to figure out. My cell phone throbbed in my pocket.
It was the Ex....a low grumble escaped my throat.
"Hey - Jake's taking me to the Bahamas this weekend, and Kailey says hi - good luck in Court...heh!" Bitch. The wrenching proceedings of divorce court and divvying up who gets what was almost worth a bullet to the head to avoid...almost. And the Ex was flaunting her 'irreconcilable differences' at me, differences named 'Jake', a rich urologist from Kansas City. She was always like that; trying to flaunt her new Dr. Boyfriend as if to prove that she didn't need me - rubbing it in my face. But then - maybe I didn't need her; maybe I had something to rub in her face....
Home at last - spic and span and terribly conspicuous. She cleans my house in exchange for sex? Don't question....don't doubt...ask too many questions and I might lose the chance! So Stacey wanted one week to prove herself. Prove what? That she's some kind of slut? She proved it; over and over. On the living room couch, the kitchen table, bent over the kitchen sink. It was the fastest, most desperate week of my life. We mated with a mission. She seemed determined for my cum! And I'd always heard that men cum before women, and that the female orgasm is supposed to be harder to reach but this chick... it's like the touch of my sperm was enough to set her off into back-scratching, pussy-clencing climax!
And she was tall, well over six feet and...no, no she wasn't. I was sure she'd been about five-seven when I'd picked her up...but towards Thursday, she was looking like a draft-pick for the WNBA. Taller chicks usually don't dig anybody of lesser stature - but if anything her manic hunger for my cock and sperm only grew! As Stacey grew taller, most toned and strong, there seemed a subtle attitude shift - before she would posture her naked sex and wait to be penetrated, but once she blossomed into a taller-than-me uber babe, she seemed to take the initiative - grabbing me by the hands, or the cock and wrapping her limber body around me - she still cooked and cleaned, but in sex many times she would become the aggressor.
But I found myself wanting more; I had to let someone else know what I had... What did I have? Was she my girlfriend? Close enough. I had to take this sweet thing for a night on the town! She agreed; (she seemed unable to deny me anything!) She stood, and her perpetual nudity vanished - a red spaghetti-strap sequined cocktail dress seemed to flow outwards from her skin complete with ruby-red stilleto heels.
"I...I've seen you...do that but...how? What - what are you?" I couldn't avoid asking. Stacey smiled sharkishly.
"Is there any answer I could give that would make you stop wanting to have sex with me?" Hmm....she has a horrible venereal disease? Well, if so I've got it too by now. Anything else that would make me go soft for Stacey?
"Not really."
"Alrighty then."
**********
Yes, of course I went past all the boutiques and shops that the Ex used to visit, I knew her friends would gossip. (Though clothes shopping seemed pointless) Took in a movie; (Brave One with Jodie Foster) Stacey seemed not to really react strongly to any of the big-city sights; she just absorbed and studied everything with pure, perfect curiosity. Soaking it all in.
We almost made it through dinner. It was one of those classy bistros with a frenchy name, and I reveled in the stares. This sumptuous goddess with me! ME! But I could tell Stacey was growing increasingly restless. She shifted in her seat and....and no, no her boobs weren't getting bigger were they? I must have had too much champagne; no woman can just inflate her tits three whole inches in girth in just ten seconds! Valleys...acres of cleavage. She did the footsie trick again - without taking her shoes off. Even though I knew it was her leg she was pushing into my lap - it seemed to become a slim, dainty hand that began to jack me off!
Stacey took her wine glass in hand, ran her fingers down the shaft, then balanced it between the vast slopes of her tightly bound cleavage.
"I wish this was your cock..." she declared honestly. Then she spilled the champagne down, down the front of her dress. The fabric (or whatever it was) clung to her flesh, perfectly outlining each erect nipple. The beverage stain spread out in her groin - a wet, suggestive stain at her crotch. "I wish this was your cum."
"Check please!"
*********
Enough was enough...I told myself as I stumbled back home, back up the steps after an exhausting days' work totally distracted by my domestic situation. I had to get Stacey to tell me what she was. Where did she come from, why did she have these...abilities? I tolerated the weirdness for fear that I might lose the sex, but I still needed answers. If nothing else, I needed to know that I wasn't completely insane.
But the house, if anything was even cleaner, more orderly than usual - Stacey had been busy! A succulent meal wih three plates of barbecued beef ribs with buttered mashed potatoes had been prepared, and I could smell that the spices were just the blend I preferred. The T.V. was on to my favorite channel, and it was almost time for my favorite show - Law & Order, Special Victims Unit. The newspaper had been half-folded on the armrest of my recliner to the political cartoons, just like I liked. Never, ever did the Wife go to so much trouble as this crazy nymphomaniacal hitch-hiker with the magic powers. And I...wait a sec....three place settings? Was Stacey expecting company?
"MASTER'S HOME!" Spoke two girlish voices in unison. Bounding out from around the corner came two teenage girls dressed in those frilly french-maid outfits with the scandalously short skirt. They were pale, with thin and elegant faces and night-black hair, they seemed to be Eastern European in heritage. Yet they were in my house, seemed to have cooked me dinner, and called me 'Master'.
"I'm sorry...what the hell is all this?" The girls snickered.
"Oh, don't tell me you don't remember?" Both girls spoke in perfect unison, and the french-maid suits flowed and morphed before my eyes into a white, filmy nightshirt, seemingly soaked through with water - the curves of their sleek bodies plastered vividly. Then, their bodies - and faces changed! Flowing and shifting, they assumed a slightly taller stature and amber-brown hair - each becoming identical to Stacey! It was surreal, like a revolving mirror of the past as they walked a circle around me, smiling broadly.
"I'm Tracey," said the clone in front of me.
