by Davina Lee
Miss Baxter’s Girls: Maimoona the Gift
By Davina Lee
Published by JMS Books LLC
Visit jms-books.com for more information.
Copyright 2019 Davina Lee
ISBN 9781646561841
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
Image by Exey Panteleev | License by CC BY 2.0
All rights reserved.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
* * * *
Miss Baxter’s Girls: Maimoona the Gift
By Davina Lee
I lightly stroke the cheek of the young woman I am standing over. My beautiful Maimoona—Moona, as she likes to be called—the daughter of an old friend, and a young woman I had come to care for deeply since the time she had unexpectedly appeared on my doorstep a few short weeks ago. She is bound to the massage table, sweating and heaving, after experiencing her fifteenth consecutive orgasm since we started.
I peer over at my lovely assistant, and Moona’s lover, Jessica. Jessica is clad in a long, white lab coat for the occasion, and is holding her two-in-one laptop in tablet mode. She’s clutching the stylus in a white-knuckle grip, and jotting notes with wavering eyes.
“Fifteen?” I mouth in her direction.
Jessica nods slowly, and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, before turning her eyes back to the tablet. I can see she’s fidgeting a little, and her pupils seem awfully large considering that the all the lights are on. If I had to guess, I’d say Jessica was in a bit of a state, too, though nothing like young Moona on the table.
I turn to Moona. The last couple orgasms sounded as if they might have been difficult to say the least, but she still has her tennis ball clutched in a death-grip, letting me know she’s not ready to give in. I smooth back some of the sweat-soaked hair that is plastered to her forehead, as I move my lips close to the side of her head. I speak slowly so that she will have a better chance of understanding me in her current state.
“The procedure is almost finalized, Earth girl,” I say, trying to work a little mad scientist into my voice and still remain clear. “Soon we will have harvested all of the orgasms we need and you will be allowed to recharge. Until then, only five more to go, my pretty.”
I even give a little maniacal laugh at the end of my speech for added effect.
Moona moans, and tries in vain to move, but she remains held fast by the crisscrossing spider web of ropes running along the entire length of her body. Her voice is muffled by her balled up panties I had placed in her mouth at the beginning of our adventure—her idea.
It sounds a little like Moona might be trying to say something, so I reach down to tug again at the tennis ball she holds in her left hand, because that’s the only way she has to communicate. She squeezes the ball hard, refusing to release it. With that, I know she is still alright, and that her protests were all part of the elaborate game we had constructed for this session.
If she had dropped the ball at any time, I would have immediately removed the panties from her mouth, so that we could discuss what was wrong. And if the situation warranted immediate action, I had a pair of blunt-nosed medical shears on a nearby table to cut away the ropes. But as it was, she seemed content. Well, as content as can be expected for a poor, unfortunate Earth girl ensnared, and slowly being drained of her life force through the inducement of multiple consecutive orgasms.
“Five more, little Earth girl.” I pick up the vibrating Magic Wand again and flip the power switch. I select the high setting and press firmly between her legs. I figure there’s no chance I’m going to squeeze five more out of her any other way. And this was her fantasy after all—being abducted by aliens bent on harvesting her orgasms to sell to the highest bidder on their otherwise pleasureless planet—and she deserved to have them all be screamers.
“Come for me, little Earth girl,” I said. “Come for me and replenish our reserves with your orgasmic energies.”
I push the pulsing rounded head of the vibrating toy hard against her glistening crotch, and Moona lets out a low moan that increases in volume the harder I press. I watch her legs twitching as much as the ropes will allow, heels pounding on the table. I wonder what it must feel like for her, if there was any pleasure left or if this was now simply a matter of wanting to finish the journey she had started without giving up.
With my eyes on the tennis ball, I move the vibrating wand slowly upward, ever closer to her overstimulated clitoris. Even without looking, I know I have found the spot, because Moona’s long, low moans quickly transform into short, sharp shrieks. She begins thrashing and shaking with abandon. I know she is coming, and the contortions of her face let me know it is a perverse mixture of pleasure and pain for her.
Jessica, my ever-faithful assistant, has given up on the pretense of taking notes for her study, and now simply stands with her jaw loose, openly staring into the passion-sealed eyes of her lover, Maimoona.
I keep the vibrating toy pressed tight for several minutes until I count five more hard fought orgasms from the heaving girl. When I finally switch the toy off, and pull the saliva-soaked panties from Moona’s mouth, all I hear is a long guttural moan. Her chest heaves, and her eyes are still screwed shut.
Jessica is in the corner now, slumped in a chair, with her knees spread wide.
I stroke Moona’s perspiration-soaked hair.
“The procedure is complete, little one.” I smile, even though she can’t see me. “How do you feel?”
“Mmm,” was all I got at first. But the big grin spreading slowly over her lips was enough to let me know it was a good Mmm.
“Miss Baxter. Mmm. That was wonderful.” Moona’s big brown eyes slowly flutter open and she turns them to me. Her voice is hoarse. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure, dear.” I lay my hand on her cheek, enjoying the warm softness of her flushed skin.
“Thank you, Jessica,” Moona says, turning her head toward the corner where Jessica has all but collapsed. “For being here with me.”
“Now let’s see about getting you out of these ropes,” I say, “shall we? And then Jessica can help you upstairs to recover.”
“Yes, Miss Baxter,” I heard in unison. Jessica was up now and fawning over Moona. They were both grinning.
* * * *
Three Weeks Prior
I set the kitchen timer for ten minutes as a reminder to check the bread before I ran off to find out who had the nerve to ring my bell so close to dinnertime. At the last second, I remembered I was still wearing my apron, and pulled it off to toss in the general direction of one of the parlor chairs. I tucked a piece of stray hair behind my ear and took a deep breath before twisting the doorknob to reveal my visitor.
“Hello, Mistress, I am Maimoona,” she said. “I have traveled a long way to—”
I
glared at the girl on my doorstep. Even her angelic olive-toned face, with its adorable almond-shaped eyes, was not enough to keep me from being short with her.
“Listen, sister,” I said. “Let me stop you right there. I don’t want any magazine subscriptions, and I’m not in the mood to hear about the benefits of your hokey new-age religion. My cook just left me to take a job in Chicago and my caretaker has decided to run off and stay with her for the next few weeks. Meanwhile, I’ve still got three girls to feed, so I’m a little pressed for time. I’m sorry.”
I closed the door and turned to see if I could find where my apron had landed. There was a delicate, but insistent knock. This Girl Scout does not give up.
“Look, I don’t want to be rude, but—”
“I am Maimoona, Mistress. Daughter of Hasiba, heiress to the throne of—”
Hasiba, now there’s a name I’d not heard in a while, but definitely one that I would never forget.
My thoughts turned to the grand opulence of Hasiba’s twenty-first birthday party—the one that I had escorted her to, while she wore nothing more than a sheer cocktail dress topped off with a collar and leash. The young woman standing before me in her traditional tunic and trousers was nearly a spitting image of the Hasiba I remembered.
“I am a gift for you, Mistress,” she said. “A gift from my mother, on this, my twenty-first birthday. She hopes that I will be enough to show her appreciation of all the wonders that you opened her eyes to during her formative years. These are her words.”
“Hmm,” I said, letting my eyes scan this young woman before me. “And what are your words, young Maimoona.”
“I am excited at the chance to be in your service, Mistress. And I sincerely hope that you will agree to educate me in the pleasures of the flesh, as you did for my mother.” She shifted her gaze downward. “But if you find me unworthy, you may send me away.”
“Can you cook?”
“Oh yes, Mistress. I have been trained in the culinary arts from a young age, by many top chefs. If you will allow me, I can prepare many dishes from many parts of—”
“You’re hired.”
I looked at the young woman standing before me, with her hands folded together in front of her, and her eyes still looking down at my welcome mat. I touched my finger under her chin and lifted gently. She blinked her brown eyes once before returning her gaze to her feet.
“And you are worthy, Maimoona. In fact, you’re a lifesaver. Please, come inside. Do you have any bags?”
“Only my handbag, Mistress, with a toothbrush and a comb. But if you wish me to be clothed while in your service, my mother has set up expense accounts for me at all of your major department stores.”
I turned the phrase over in my mind. If you wish me to be clothed. Oh, that sounded just like Hasiba alright. Educate me in the pleasures of the flesh. Apparently, the old apple doesn’t fall far from the proverbial tree. Or young apple as it was in this case. I felt a smile crossing my face. What an adorable girl.
My moment of reverie was interrupted by the piercing wail of the kitchen timer. I slipped my hand into Maimoona’s and laced my fingers in with hers.
“Come on Maimoona, you can help me get dinner on the table. Welcome to America, my dear. And happy birthday.” I tugged gently at the pretty young thing and she traipsed along behind.
“Thank you, Mistress. If you wish, you may call me Moona. My mother does. She says it is less of a mouthful.”
“And you may call me Miss Baxter. I’m retired now, and not even your mother would refer to me as Mistress these days.”
“Yes, Miss Baxter.”
* * * *
“This is a wonderful meal, Mistress Baxter. All of the food groups are properly represented here.” Moona surveyed the various dishes as I pulled them from the oven one by one. “Surely, you do not require my services as cook.”
“All of this is from the freezer, dear. I’m strictly a heat and serve kind of gal.” I handed her an apron and some oven mitts. “Grab a dish, Moona, and let’s go meet the girls.”
After a short bustle, all of us were seated around the long dining room table with me at the head and Moona positioned to my right. “Girls, this is Moona,” I said. “She’ll be staying here for a while. She’s new in town and may need someone to help show her around. Would anyone like to volunteer?”
Jessica, my graduate sociology student spoke up right away. I’m not surprised. She’s outgoing and she probably had a not so subtle interest in co-opting Moona for one of her studies that she was always trying to get the girls to sign up for. I briefly entertained the idea of warning Moona, but decided to let her find out for herself. Jessica was sweet enough that I doubted there would be too much trauma—nothing lasting anyway.
“Katrina, if you’re still planning a movie night for us tonight, will you be sure to get Moona’s input?”
“Yes, Miss Baxter.”
Finally, a civilized answer from the girl. She was getting better, but still a little rough around the edges. “Thank you, dear.”
“Where are you from, Moona? I mean, originally.” It was Sara, the third girl in my house and the shiest of the lot. I’m honestly surprised she spoke up at all. As it was, she stared into her plate and began fidgeting as soon as the words left her mouth.
“I’m from a small group of islands in the Indian Ocean,” Moona offered. I noticed she made no mention of the royal family or her relationship and status. Very humble, just like her mother.
“Like Hawaii?” Sara said.
“Hawaii’s in the Pacific, derp,” said Katrina.
Still have some work to do with that one. I set my fork down. “Girls, please. Remember your manners. Particularly when we have a guest in the house. Now, I will have only kind words from here on out or there will be no dessert. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Miss Baxter,” went the chorus around the table.
The conversation was much more civil after that. It’s amazing what a little thing like the threat of no dessert can do for a girl’s attitude. I looked over at Katrina who was clearly grumbling, but said nothing.
Oh, if you only knew what I used to do to straighten out back-talkers, Miss Katrina. I chewed my lip for a second, before putting on a neutral expression again. The carrot before the stick, I reminded myself. Carrot before the stick.
The remainder of our meal was taken in rare moment of glorious silence. Well, almost. It started to fall apart as soon as the subject of movie night was brought up again.
“What movie?” Jessica asked, looking at Katrina.
“Fast and Furious Nine: Faster and More Furiouser.” Katrina smirked.
“Furiouser isn’t a word,” Sara said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Katrina said, beaming, “they’re all good. And really furious.”
“Katrina,” I said. “Did you get Moona’s input, like I asked?”
“Um.” Katrina shifted her gaze from mine.
Jessica piped up. “You should have rented Fifty Shades. I bet Moona would like that. Wouldn’t you Moona?” Jessica’s gaze turned toward Moona, and I swear she batted her lashes a couple of times.
“That movie is such crap,” Katrina said.
“Anastasia Steele is hot,” Jessica shot back.
“Do you like girls?” Sara said, more to her plate than anyone seated at the table.
“Why don’t you give it up, Jessica?” Katrina said, glaring. “Come out of the closet already. Stop putting on a show of dating boys and admit the truth. You’re as queer as a three-dollar bill.”
“Girls,” I said. “That’s enough.”
“Since when is it any of your business who I take to my bed?” Jessica said. “I’m a free-ass motherfucker. I do what I like.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sara asked, innocently.
“It means she’s a slut,” said Katrina.
“Girls!” I pounded my fist on the table. “That’s it! No dessert!”
That certainly got their attention.
“Now, if you are finished, please take your plates to the kitchen and start washing pans. After your deplorable behavior in the presence of our guest, you’re all on clean-up duty tonight.”
“Yes, Miss Baxter,” came the muffled reply from around the table.
Moona looked like she was in shock. I wouldn’t be surprised if she started asking about arranging a return trip home in the morning. Poor girl. I should say something to reassure her.
But Jessica beat me to it.
“Sorry, Moona,” said Jessica.
“Yeah, sorry,” joined Sara, and then Katrina.
Things smoothed out from there, thankfully. By the time clean-up was finished, and all of the girls had found a spot in front of the television, the mood was almost civilized again. Against my better judgment, I reneged on my threat of no dessert and let the girls have some ice cream. It was Moona’s birthday after all.
Jessica, with dish in hand, had managed to find a seat next to Moona on the couch. I’m not surprised. Jessica was either very unskilled at hiding her feelings, or she just didn’t care. To say her eyes were on the movie even half of the time would have been a stretch. Most of the time I’d say they were crawling over Moona, watching the young girl bringing spoonfuls of ice cream to her lips.
I thought about saying something to her, something about not creeping out our guest with her stares, but Moona didn’t seem to notice. Or if she did, she didn’t seem to be upset about it. When I saw her leaning her head on Jessica’s shoulder as the night wore on, I became even less concerned. I figured even odds that Moona would either end up enrolled in one of Jessica’s sociology studies, or stretched out between her sheets, by morning.
The first movie ended, and I announced my intentions to turn in for the evening. My plans involved curling up in bed with my tablet and a good ebook, rather than sitting through another installment of souped up cars and brooding young men.
* * * *
I awoke later with a start, my tablet resting on my chest, and the bedside lamp still on. When I picked up my tablet, I saw that only two hours had passed by its clock. I had fallen asleep while reading, and I had that awful taste in my mouth from not brushing my teeth before nodding off.