A Fine Profession (The Chambermaid's Tales Part One)

by Sarah Michelle Lynch

  “I have several in fact, but it's complicated,” I admitted.

  “Really?” he looked back again, beginning to succumb, with my soft strokes against his hard, muscular back. He viewed me with lust.

  “I like to keep my options open,” I winked. I couldn't help flirting.

  “If you let me fuck you, you wouldn't regret it,” he said.

  “Why wouldn't I?” I said, laughing.

  He stood up, brazenly, undid his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. I envisaged a Full Monty routine but he was much less artistic with it all. He dropped his trousers and a thick shaft stared back at me, up-risen already. He was undeniably tempting and well-endowed, but certainly lost when it came to the art of ensnaring a woman's libido.

  “I am in my own hotel room.” He raised his eyebrows as if in defence of himself.

  “You think that's all a woman like me needs?” I asked.

  “What else?” he asked, confidently.

  “Maybe we can have a little fun, but if I change my mind…?”

  “I'll wank off in the toilet and give Rachel a hundred quid tip in the morning.”

  “Done, but it's Rochelle,” I advised, “now on all fours.”

  He leapt on the bed so readily and I enquired, “Brought any toys in the old briefcase?”

  “Over there,” he pointed.

  I rummaged in his carry case and found some handcuffs and lube, plus a dildo.

  This could actually be fun, I thought. Looking over at the bed, there was a huge hunk of man primed for my taking. But I was reserved for some reason. I saw something in his eye that I feared.

  “I like to be in charge,” I warned, placing the items on the bedside.

  “My day just improved tenfold,” he chuckled.

  I took my winter coat off and walked around the bed menacingly.

  “God, you are gorgeous,” he said.

  I unbuttoned my shirt as I went. I was eventually circling him, with my bra and pencil skirt on. His member was raging hard and pre-cum dripped out of the tip.

  “I want to watch you fist yourself off first,” I instructed. “But remain on all fours.”

  “But–” he started to protest, before realising he was idiotic in trying to deny me.

  I continued to patrol the perimeter of the bed, eyeing him closely as he worked himself up into a frenzy. He was a large man in more ways than one. I would not have said he was beautiful or gifted with the sleekest bone structure. He was 100 per cent man, however. He had a thick back. His backside was full and sat above muscular legs. His arms were strong but not from the gym. Possibly from sport. He had a little bit of a stomach and wonderful, big bollocks. His cock was enthusiastic and stood between solid hips I imagined were good to crash down on.

  “Uh, uh, oh man, uh oh, bitch,” he moaned, as he worked himself hard and fast. “Oh, a bit of titty, just a bit,” he asked. He was accustomed with fast work, I could tell.

  I took my bra off and my skirt, revealing I had no underwear beneath. I was then walking naked, in only my unappealing black espadrilles.

  “Fuck, you're beautiful, oh man, those titties, uh, uh, uh, shit, fuck me sideways, fucking whore!”

  He finished and I waited while he caught his breath and lifted himself up. His hand full of cum, he shuffled off to the bathroom numbly, to wash himself. He emerged, flaccid and perhaps a little shameful, sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “Bitch?” I asked.

  I was wrapped in a sheet, sat on the stool, shoes dispensed with.

  “Her,” he muttered.

  “You thought of her?” I asked.

  “Sorry, yeah.”

  “Don't be sorry,” I advised.

  “You are so beautiful, you know, what is your name?”

  “My name is Varla,” I told him. “Listen, it's good that you realise you still love your wife. But your performance did get me all fired up too and I am in need of some attention, so perhaps I could teach you a few tricks… charitably spice up your life, so to speak?”

  He eyed me suspiciously, as though trying to figure me out.

  “Okay,” he smiled. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Tell me what you do when you fuck your wife.”

  “Erm, finger her a bit, then pump her senseless, but that would be on a good day.”

  “What about cunnilingus?”

  “Only on special occasions.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Dunno, maybe… she doesn't like me looking at it.”

  “That's completely ridiculous. Every woman loves being eaten out. Sometimes, she just needs to be taught why.”

  “Okay…”

  “Is she a confident lady? A sexual woman?”

  “Yeah, she is, I just…”

  “Let's see what you've got then…”

  I laid on the bed and asked him to kneel on the floor before me. My toes gripped the mattress edge and I steadied myself, legs wide open.

  “See my pussy, it's ripe, hot, and ready to be aroused. You have to get her to this state before even touching her. It's easy for me but not easy for everyone. Try catching her unawares in the kitchen, touching her crotch a little, sweeping kisses across her neck, holding her sensually, something like that.”

  “Uh-huh,” he moaned, jaw ajar somewhat. I was bald, my preference. It was less of a mystery then.

  “Pull the hood of my clit away and just start licking it, gently. Watch my face. See what I respond to.”

  “Okay,” and he began.

  “Oh,” I moaned, and he seemed to take that as a signal to proceed quickly.

  “No,” I warned, “slow, draw out the ecstasy. Every time you think I might cum, slow down and eke it out. I'm going to show you how to make her cum so hard that she'll never want you to stop.”

  “Uh, okay…” he said, though he desperately wanted to fill his mouth with my pussy, I could tell. I was not a fan of the messy eater, nor was any other woman I knew. The thought of a man getting his fill was not enough to procure response. It has always been about precision, timing, knowing the ins and outs.

  “Lick, slow, in circles, oh, yes, now I'm hotting up even more.”

  “You taste wonderful,” he said.

  “Now draw my name with your tongue, over and over, slowly, slowly, all around my pussy,” and he began listening to my requests. “Yes, that's it, I can feel my walls pulsing, I can feel my insides fire up, my cervix expand, ready for some hot cum, I am enjoying this, oh, I am…”

  He sensed I was about to cum and he stopped, kissing my thighs instead. He was getting into the swing of it.

  I looked up and the sight of his large hands gripping my thighs was enthralling. The look of servility on his face even more so.

  He kissed my stomach, between telling me, “You're so beautiful, and womanly. I love a good set of thighs to park myself between…”

  “That's not…” I trailed off, as he started teasing me again. I was racing toward my peak, so suddenly, and could feel my vagina engorge ridiculously.

  He must have seen and decided to ask, “Want some fingers?”

  “The dildo, has it…?”

  “Fresh out the packet.”

  “Get it,” I almost begged, unable to really see straight anymore. It had been the sight of him pumping himself and shouting titties. It had got me all fired up something chronic. I told him, “I never cum harder than when I've got a tongue on me. If you pump me with that thing too, who knows what may happen?”

  “Christ, girl,” he muttered, now a willing servant. His cock had returned to its former up-risen position. It was tilting and swaying with lust, dragging his dancing sac with it. His sperm was racing.

  “Tell me what to do,” he said.

  “Do exactly as I say. Now, first, lick inside my vagina, just inside, just against the ridges, arouse them just a bit more, very slowly,” I warned. “Feel the way they puff with every stroke…”

  He nodded and carried out my commands.

  “Slowly, ah, so slow
ly,” I demanded, quietly, soberly. “Really, really, slow, I might cum otherwise. That is not what we are aiming for… yet.”

  “I wanna suck your nipples so badly, baby,” he moaned.

  “Oh, baby, that will definitely ruin everything,” I warned.

  I knew if he touched my bullet-hard, north-facing pink rockets of joy, he would certainly set off a fireworks display that would be epic but over far too quickly.

  “Keep licking inside me baby, just there, oh yeah, there… whoa, whoa, yeah, oh baby…”

  “You are gaping,” he muttered, between licks.

  “I know, so, aah, yeah, I need you to slowly, very slowly, keeping licking and slowly, so slowly, slip the dildo in gradually, to replace your tongue, slowly, slowly, oh so slowly, honey,” I warned him. “And when you've fully penetrated me with that sword of rubber, slide your tongue up and started running figures of eight all around my clit, but don't you dare touch it. If you do, there will be terrible punishment later.”

  He grunted in response and started sliding the rubber cock inside me as he slowly withdrew his perseverant tongue.

  “Because I'm so engorged baby, I need you to tighten me back up a bit, just to grip the cock a bit more. So, when I say go, just lick my clit a little, and when I say stop, stop, okay?”

  “Yeah,” he groaned.

  “Now,” and he tickled my clitoris so well, that I had a sharp little orgasm, which I ensured was soon over with the quick interjection of, “Stop!”

  “Oh baby,” I said, wriggling and writhing around the bed, my chest heaving and my stomach bobbing up and down with tempestuousness. And he could probably see how much I was now gripping the long, thick dildo, easily eight inches by one and a half. I welcomed the full and heavy feeling in my groin but knew that as soon as I gave in to my desire, its presence would be revolting.

  “Now fuck me with the dildo, darling. Not deep, but with short, sharp jabs against those ridges, right up against those ridges… Oh god, yeah, oh fuck, fuck me, harder, harder, faster, now, now, lick my clit… as fast and as hard as you possibly can!”

  “Oh shit, oh baby, I am going to cum so hard, so very hard, I want you to make me cum so damn hard, darling, so fucking hard, aah, oh, uh, uh, uh, uh…”

  I pushed myself up against him and lifted my feet to each of his shoulders. Every thrust produced what felt like an orgasm, for I was already heightened. I knew a full orgasm would probably hurt, might even cause me agony, and I didn't want it to be over. He continued like that for some minutes, pumping me with that replacement cock and licking my poor, little, abused morsel of flesh until I literally could not abide his work. I looked down at my own breasts, the tips of which had reddened profusely, and the sight of them juddering with the effort it took for me to stave off going into full spasm initiated a chain of events. I threw my head back and clenched each of my hands underneath my tits, pushing them together and up. I knew he would be watching and the thought of that enraged me more.

  “My arse is so aroused,” I groaned, and what he did next surprised me. He took the initiative. He held the dildo in place with his thumb and reached his little finger down to penetrate my third hole, my pulsating sphincter. With everything I had being attended to, I gave in. I moved my hips to increase the tension between his tongue and the centre of all my pleasure. My body, which was now thrashing and screaming, thrusting and contorting, was in defeat. I felt so deliciously full in my groin. The fire in my belly erupted and I experienced wave after wave of glorious spasms spreading from my centre to the rest of my body. My womb squeezed in on itself and the pleasure was unbearable, too sensitive for words, and with the thick, untameable beast inside me, I had plenty to grip as I milked its length. I felt so fulfilled, and the delight was more overwhelming than anything I had previously experienced. I reached a point where I lost all sense and everything became one, long, agonising stretch of muscle, tissue and bone working together to force out my orgasm in a hot, wet jet of expulsion that I needed to be rid of.

  “Oh god! Yes, yes, yes, oh fucking yes!” I shouted and screamed, until I fell, limp, like a sleepy puppy, back against the bed; the things that had been inside me now extracted by my own will. My legs still shook and I could barely open my eyes.

  I rolled into the foetal position, breathing heavily, on the edge of a deep, restful dream. I felt wet lips on the back of my neck, hands around my breasts, a leg thrown over mine. Sheets folded us into warm comfort and I sighed.

  “You're amazing.” He held me tightly, reverently, and did not let go. I allowed myself the pleasure of a cuddle.

  “What's your name?” I asked.

  “Noah,” he said, kissing my shoulder.

  “Noah, that was hot.”

  Oh Noah…

  “Oh, yes, it was,” he mustered, nuzzling my neck, seemingly seeking more.

  “I need the lavatory honey,” I said.

  There were several cups of tea swilling around my insides. I was always bursting by the time I got to my front door but seemed to forget to piss before leaving work. I was always too busy to notice the call of nature.

  I went to the bathroom and pushed the door but didn't close it. I told myself not to be embarrassed about pissing in front of a man who had just been poking my arse. I was going for it, like a racehorse.

  He came to the door, standing there erect and frantic.

  “I really need you Varla.”

  He was rubbing himself.

  “No‒”

  I was mid-piss, spilling my full bladder still. His outrageously erect penis was placed before me. He stood inches from my face, already sheathed, menacing. He had some idea swirling around his mind, I could tell. I had unleashed some beast within him. His glans were ridiculously pronounced for someone who had already cum, and in the artificial light of the bathroom, I saw his deliciously bulging veins aching to be massaged by my quaking pussy.

  As soon as the little drips signalled the end of my urination, he yanked me up, grabbed me off the seat with his hands around my wrists and swirled me around. He pushed me down to bend over, forcing my hands on the sink nearby. He stood behind me, spread my legs, and lifted my haunches with his large hands. I could see his face in the mirror, furious and unashamed.

  “Pissing really turns me on,” he said, and pushed his cock into me quick-sharp, making me gasp with the depth he ventured to without any preparation. His throbbing, hot shaft was unyielding as it pricked my belly open.

  He grabbed my hair tightly and began pounding me furiously, mockingly even, giving me what he knew I really needed: the hard fucking of my life. I watched him in the mirror, his expressions of anguish and torment, desire and intent. He looked down into the toilet, un-flushed, and grunted, telling me, “You pissed long and hard girl. I can still see and smell it.”

  “I was cleaning all day, sir, all day, and I didn't have time to stop and piss.”

  “That's right, wench, you're a little scrubber, aren't you?”

  I screeched as he pounded me with yet more fury, his cock pushing in and out with its entire length, but never once slipping out. The slapping of his groin against my wet backside was ecstasy. The squelching and the thwacking were intoxicating.

  He felt the hotness, grunting in response. I had decided to piss right on him. It had taken a lot of pelvic control to do so.

  “I didn't quite finish,” I said, gasping, still being fucked hard, “I saved a bit for you.”

  “You're getting a longer fucking for that, now,” he warned, and grabbed my hair harder, pushing my body against the sink so I actually hurt. I gasped for air and felt the scene was unreal. In the mirror, he looked radiant, with his sprinkled, thick-set torso swinging against mine. His eyes zoomed in on mine and I felt a dash of magma swirl around my deepest gut.

  I fell further forward and became overwhelmed at the thought of my piss decorating his genitals and thighs. The raw energy of the scenario was encouraging lava to persistently swirl around my belly. My breasts jumped outrageously a
s he shunted me repeatedly. I was becoming so tender and sensitive that every thrust became painful. I cried out for him to stop. I begged in fact. I screamed for mercy. He was abusing my innards. Against my better impulses, I couldn't help but be cajoled when he started slapping his hand against my clitoris. It was erotic and unlike anything I had ever practised before. I pushed my body back against his and threw my head against his chest in ecstasy. He grasped my breasts and breathed rampant breaths into my ear. The whole scene was enthralling. I gave myself up to being dominated. The aromas and the spectacle, his body and his urgency, were all enough to draw out my orgasm. His overpowering masculinity bent me to his will.

  My severe spasms gripped his cock violently and threw him off course. It was so painful, so shocking, and quickly rendered us both inexplicably redundant. He jolted, experiencing similar agony, before burrowing his way into my shoulder.

  “I like to dominate too,” he whispered hoarsely.

  He turned my head and kissed my mouth, tenderly, cupping my chin in his hand. Our first kiss. My heart constricted. He'd had his tongue inside me but a kiss was so much more intimate. Beneath the layers of bodily fluids and heat, he smelt of soap and wood spice, and tea tree shampoo. He'd had a little red wine at dinner. He buried his luscious mouth against my own and my stomach ached when his tongue caressed mine. Inwardly, I sighed and cursed the effect he had on me. His was a gentleman's kiss that ignited my own gentlewoman's heart. I slipped off his cock, turned around, and we made out for several minutes more, while I held my arms around his neck and he folded me into him.

  The kisses were miraculous and life-changing. Mind-blowing, even. They sent visions through my mind that frightened me: thoughts of us sharing deep, intimate fucks for hours on end. I tore myself away from him, insisting I was tired. He had a look of animalistic desire across his features, but I was adamant there would be no more that night. I was so sore.

  Together, we showered quickly but I remember his eyes assessing me. He tried not to stare but he could not stop himself. There was something about his gaze too – some confusion, I felt. At one point, he grabbed me and forced me into another long kissing session. His cock grew fat again, but not erect, and he lifted me up against the wall. He kissed my breasts for the first time and I felt him shiver under his desire.