After dinner, I compromised with myself by taking Mariana at her suggestion and beginning a few projects. I had wanted to re-organize my study for a long time now. I had too many books that I picked up at half-price sales and book fairs that I either would never read or didn’t care very much about. I love a good bloated library as much as any devoted reader, but in my opinion, it ought to at least be bloated with the things that you care about.
My strategy was this: I would place everything on the shelves in boxes, as if I were moving. That way they would be easy to move around and keep track of. What’s more, any books or other accumulated items (my shelves were natural habitats for bits of junk and knick-knacks and old receipts) would have boxes ready to go inside of. Another advantage was that, should I decide to resell the books or give them to a library or just simply toss them into the recycling, they would would already be easily transportable.
This was all, of course, a method to distract myself from the fear of leaving Jacqueline in someone else's hands. As it turned out, that was the best possible decision I could have made; at the same time, all of my fears ended up being completely justifiable. Jacqueline was headed toward irrevocable change, much as I was, and all because of Mariana.
* * * * *
Over the next several days, many aspects of my life which had become normal since Jacqueline’s sickness began started to transform. For one, I had much more time to myself.
I found I rather enjoyed all the leisure time to do as I pleased, and Mariana was completely faithful to her word, taking care of Jacqueline with an expert, caring hand. I watched her from time to time, cooing in Jacqueline’s ear softly and wiping her brow, looking after my wife with enormous concern on her face.
So, for the first time in many months, I felt somewhat...relieved. Not quite happy, but more like I saw many less barriers to my contentment.
Something else curious started happening. Or rather, something stopped happening. Jacqueline’s coughs ceased, almost entirely. When they did occur, they no longer shook the house, but rather just barely lifted out of her room, like a series of weighed-down helicopters in a blizzard. Jacqueline began eating more, or so Mariana reported to me, and her body began to gain back some of its color. When I saw my wife now, she no longer looked like a living skeleton.
Her poisoned mind, full of terror and accusation, however, remained poisoned. She called me names, she called Mariana names. Everyone was horrible or stupid to Jacqueline.
It was hard to take it to heart with Mariana around. I found that Mariana’s maid outfits were not quite uniform. She wore something different every day, and though always she took care to wear the kind of frilly, sexy maid’s apron that was the maid’s custom, what she wore beneath that varied quite a bit.
Mini-dresses that bared her legs. Tiny halter tops that showed off her enormous tits. Spandex and yoga pants that clung to her sculpted ass. High, high heels: gladiator heels, high-heeled boots, knee-high boots, thigh-high boots, even those sexy tennis shoes with the heels built inside them. Anything to make her legs and behind look better than ever.
She had a spectacular body, and she loved it. She showed it off at every opportunity, and she never, not once, left the house during those first several days.
I had to start assuming she was dressing up for me. A flattering thought indeed, given the way she looked all the time.
Of course I started jerking off to the thought of Mariana right away. Usually, it happened right after mealtime, after I had downed one of the rich, delicious, specially prepared meals that she had made just for me. It was never the same thing twice; every breakfast, lunch, and dinner was always different and always scrumptious. Steak with a slice of peach pie and whipped cream; a lamb burger served with bourbon-laced bread pudding; baked chicken spritzed with lemon and served with a tall glass of creamy, head-warming milk that I couldn't identify the source of.
After watching her, in those ridiculously hot teensy tiny outfits, serving me meal after meal, and acting so grateful to be serving them to me, I could not help but jerk off.
And when I jerked off, my body overheated—a brand new development—so that I had to take off my shirt and my pants or else turn into a sweating mess. And so in the bathroom, clothes off and stroking my thick, engorged cock, I could see easily every day how my own muscles had begun to harden, fat sliding off my body even with all the effortlessly filling meals that Mariana provided. She was an absolute wonder.
I blamed the work in the study for my muscles hardening, of course. I worked all day long, tirelessly, stopping only to eat. It was ludicrous to think that anything else was inspiring these changes. I was simply working hard and being turned on constantly by the supermodel-esque beauty of my new maid.
I had begun to suspect that my loads were becoming more substantial, somehow. Thicker. Smelling stronger of musk. From day to day, jerking off as I was directly into a pile of tissues, whether my cum was really changing in any way was hard to measure accurately.
But, my loads becoming more substantial was a fact indeed, proven to be a fact to me in short order.
On the fifth night, after almost a full week of her leaving out meals for me, Mariana insisted on serving me dinner herself. Normally, she would leave the food out in the kitchen or in the study and then take care of Jacqueline while I ate.
But with her asking me so directly, I could hardly refuse. Breakfast had been whole-grain pancakes with fresh strawberry crepes, and lunch had been a thick cut of salmon drizzled with almonds and lemon glaze. Dinner was a brisket that she had started the night before, slow-cooked to perfection.
She brought the meal to me in the study, the plate still steaming hot. There were still piles and piles of books in the study, not quite re-arranged how I wanted them. The bookshelves went all the way to the ceiling, and I had more than three times as many as my shelves would carry.
Mariana wore a tiny blue dress with a sheer, lacy back. When she turned, I could see the advanced muscles on her back, so toned and beautiful. The dress showed only a keyhole of cleavage, but with her massive breasts, that was more than enough to inspire wet dreams for months. Her heels, bright white (to match her apron) and more than four inches high, clicked attractively on the hardwood floor as she approached and sat down on my desk. She crossed her legs, sliding the plate into the tray over my lap.
“Please, may I give you the first bite myself?”
I gulped, nodding slowly. I was grateful for the tray over my lap, because without it, she would have easily seen the erection I had. Smiling low, as if we were lovers trading secrets, she brought the loaded fork up to my mouth, watching me with earnest, almost sexual need as I took her food into my mouth. The brisket was heaven, cooked just right and loaded with flavor. I closed my eyes and moaned, loving the taste of it. When I opened my eyes, I saw that she had closed her eyes, her luscious mouth parted with delight at my enjoyment.
“Thank you, Sir,” she said quietly. “I’ll leave you to your meal, now. I’ll be along in a little bit to take your plate.”
And then she made me watch as she strutted out of the room. Right at the door, she pretended to drop her serving spoon, elaborately bending over to grab it. I saw that her panties were tight, lacy, and transparent. There was just enough shadow to keep me from seeing her pussy, which I somehow knew was dripping wet. I had thought, disbelievingly at the time, that I could even smell it.
Immediately after she left, I stood up and began to jerk off. As always, I ripped off my clothes to do it. I had gotten used to seeing the way my muscular, hard thighs flexed as I stroked. The bulging veins in my forearm matching the veins in my thick, ever-engorged cock. I was already hard at the time, and so it only took a few seconds of imagining Mariana’s luscious form in front of me once more before I came all over the wood floor.
The door creaked open, then.
“I forgot to give you your drink,” she said, holding another glass of milk in her hands. “Is there—?”
I rushed
around the side of the desk, breathing hard, my shirt off, trying to clandestinely pull up my pants.
“Oh, dear,” she said, seeing the stain on the floor. “Did you spill some of the sauce?”
Strutting forward, she said nothing of how I had my shirt off, or how fast I was breathing. I knew I was caught. A dozen explanations ran through my head, all of them ending in embarrassment.
She set the glass of milk on the desk. I took it and swallowed it down quickly, trying to cool down. It was heady and heavy, and made my thoughts float around pockets of lust. Whatever kind of milk it was, it definitely didn't come from a cow.
Mariana's tits were heavy and thick in her tiny outfit. Approaching the load on the floor—which was thick and wide, perhaps a half an inch tall and six inches in diameter, she leaned over at the waist, showing me once more her panties—and now I could definitely see her pussy and how sparkling wet her pussy was—and slowly licked her lips. She inhaled deeply.
“Oh yes, this is definitely my favorite sauce,” she said. “It smells so good.”
She took a finger and slowly rubbed it in my spilled load, and then licked her fingers clean; she stared at me the whole time, watching my reaction.
“I do love this sauce,” she said. “It’s my favorite.”
“Y-yes,” I said. “That’s good. You’ll have to...clean it all up. Before there’s a stain.”
“You’re right, Sir. So, so right.”
She knelt down, staring hungrily at the mess. I tried to ignore how my cock was jerking wildly, seeing her gorgeous body kneel. Her hair cascaded downward, nearly touching the ground.
“I...I’ll go run and grab some paper towels,” I said. “To help.”
It didn’t seem like she was listening. Her gaze was focused entirely on the floor. I sprinted to the hallway, intent on helping her clean. I didn't know yet how to process her licking up my cum off her fingers like that.
I had almost closed the door, but I heard a curious sound—lapping. Like a cat at a bowl of milk.
Carefully, I pushed open the door and looked inside. Immediately, I felt my erection growing again.
She was leaning over the spilled cum on the floor, her thick, luscious hair held in one hand carefully, so as not to let it drip into the pure white goo. And she was licking it all up. All my cum.
“Oh, fuck,” I whispered.
My hand was on my cock in an instant. If Jacqueline woke up and walked around, the sight of me jerking off as I peeked into my study would have been the very first thing she saw once exiting the bedroom and approaching the banister from upstairs.
Mariana gyrated her hips as she lapped eagerly at my cum, sliding her tongue around on the floor, grabbing up all the residue of manliness I had left behind.
And some part of me...some part of me knew that this was good. This was proper, for a beauty like that to prostrate herself and need to swallow every last bit of my cum.
She finished, making a disappointed sound. Her fingers withdrew from her pussy. I could see how they sparkled in the light with her juices. And she saw me—at the door still. It was too much. Her beautiful, beautiful face, so clearly on me. So filled with lust. I came again, just as hard as before, spilling all over the floor.
She approached, then. Quickly I tried to stuff my still-spasming cock into my pants, but she opened the door. It was too late—she saw my cock, covered in shiny cum, and the flush on my face.
Apparently, she didn’t mind at all. I should have expected it at that point.
“Th-there’s another mess,” I said. “More...sauce. You...must have spilled it, coming in.”
I was a bit amazed at myself. Not just for cumming twice in such quick succession, but for not running away in shame.
“Yes,” she said, her eyes full of awe at the load, at my cock. “I shall have to clean this one as well. I wish only to be my Sir’s good girl. I will happily take care of...all his messes. Personally.” She took a breath, moaning. “Thoroughly.”
Her accent gloved over every word. I wanted to fuck her voice.
She knelt down and I very much wanted to stay and watch, but my bed was calling my name. The two orgasms in a row had taken something out of me, and I could feel my strength fading. I wandered past her, back into the study and collapsed on the couch. The last thing I saw before falling asleep completely was Mariana’s perfect form licking up my cum in the hallway.
* * * * *
Over the weekend, shame consumed me. I couldn’t believe what I had done with Mariana. It was so scandalous, so incredibly sexual—and with my sick wife in the very same house! This would have been the mother of my children, if I actually had children, like I had wanted. Jacqueline would have never forgiven me if she found out.
And more and more, it seemed, Jacqueline would find out. She was improving by the day. Perhaps it was the medicine finally taking hold, or perhaps it was Mariana’s presence somehow, but either way, Jacqueline was finally regularly moving to her feet on her own. Her strength was returning to her.
I noticed for the first time when, in the middle of the night, she got up from our bed to go to the bathroom. Normally she would need my assistance, and it would be a big, coughing affair. But this time, she simply stood up, flipped on the light, coughed a few times, did her business, and returned to bed. I was so happy I didn’t even want to say anything. She didn’t seem to remember it herself in the morning, making it seem like more of a dream than ever.
But during the day, Mariana insisted on taking care of Jacqueline for me, quite sure that there were more important, more manly and masculine tasks I could be busying myself with. It was a sort of flattering diversion that I responded to very well.
Perhaps all the flattering I needed was having someone of Mariana’s exceptional beauty talking to me at all. I wasn’t very popular in high school or college with beautiful women. Jacqueline and I met in a library, studying for a chemistry exam. She was absolutely lovely, with her firm youthful figure and her stunning brunette locks, but only had interest in me because I didn’t talk to her like she was the ditz her beauty would have made her appear to be.
With Mariana, though, there was a sense of...gratitude to her speaking with me. She always seemed so eager to please, so happy to be hearing my voice, her ears hanging on every last word. Like a dog with her Master’s treat before her eyes, or like a rapt worshiper at a sermon, kneeling before the preacher. This willingness of hers to hear me and to gleefully go along with whatever I suggested made me, conversely, that much more willing to listen to whatever she said.
Mariana sensed her advantage, it seemed, and gently tried to press me. During the day, as I tried to organize my study, she would appear with heavily alcoholic drinks or delicious, hand-made chocolates and tarts. Or, better yet, more of that delectable milk. All of this together only seemed to make me the hornier. Her habit of serving me these delectable yummies from a tray shoved underneath her chest—with her heavy tits sliding over the edge of the metal and her cleavage a mere finger’s length away from whatever she served—did not make my troubled conscience any less troubled.
“Are there any more messes to clean, Sir?” she would ask, licking her lips.
Of course I would say no. I had to defend my dignity. Or my wife’s? Or something.
I knew dignity had something to do with the issue, but when I gazed into her endless green eyes, most of my protests seemed to lose their line of reasoning.
When she offered to clean any “messes,” I saw her eyeing my bulge hungrily, which around her was always growing. Also she eyed the newly-tight fabric of my shirts and pants. My muscles were swelling even more than my cock, somehow. I blamed it on all the lifting and moving I was doing in the study. Some of those books were quite heavy.
That wouldn't explain, though, why I seemed to be getting taller by the day. My pants no longer fit. I had taken to wearing shorts just to avoid the embarrassment of having tiny pants on my ever-more-muscular form. But the shorts, which used to stretch past
my knees, were quickly reaching me at my thighs.
Roughly four days after Mariana had licked my cum up off the floor, Jacqueline came to see me in my study in the evening. She walked in wearing a long green silk robe around her skinny, still-skeletal form. I was surprised to see her; Jacqueline must have seen.
“Yes, I’m walking around. Don’t make a fuss.”
“No fuss,” I said, smiling. “I’m just glad to see you moving. How do you feel?”
“I’m okay. It comes and goes.”
“Good,” I said. “That’s good. I’m...” I waved my hand around. “I’m reorganizing in here.”
“I can see that.”
I watched her eyes float over my body—the hardness of my muscles, the absence of the gut that had started to form some two years into our marriage. Curiously, she eyed me with more suspicion than interest. I wasn't used to such glances, having taken in so much admiration from Mariana over the past several days.
“Jonathan, I need to speak with you.”
I set my papers aside. “Yes, dear?”
“I want to talk about this maid of yours.”
Oh, dear. I suppose I should have expected this.
I hadn’t ever really discussed the matter with Jacqueline. Not anything more than to tell her it was happening. Her many drugs kept her out of her mind most of the time, either in some form of catatonia or blissed out on some opiate or another. At any rate, having someone move in was definitely a matter to be discussed with a spouse, and I hadn’t bothered to do it.
I hope you’ll understand, it’s not that I don’t value my wife’s opinion. It’s just that she hadn’t had an opinion for the last ten months or so. And so, with that being the case, I didn’t bother to consult her seriously for what I assumed would just be another menial decision in the course of our lives.
I had no idea, of course, that Mariana would end up being what she was.
“Mariana?” I asked, playing the innocent. “What about her? I think she’s been doing a bang-up job.”
The Maid For Service Bundle Page 13