by Lucy Smith
“Nice,” Kat said, elongating the word.
“I don’t see what men like about them anyway . . .”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s just a male thing.”
I chuckled. “Good to know.”
“So what do you mean it’s his turn?” she asked. “Send me a picture of your outfit so I can see how fabulous you look.”
“Yeah, every week we’re taking turns playing out one of our sexual fantasies. This morning he sent me the outfit, so I’m guessing he wants me to act like his sexy maid.”
“Wow . . . and you like that sort of thing?”
I quickly snapped a seductive picture, pursing my red lips, and sent it to her. “Well, I personally wouldn’t have chosen a maid for myself. It’s a little stereotypical, don’t you think? But I’m not against role-playing.”
“Got the picture. Damn, girl! That is one tiny costume. It really does give you some cleavage!”
“You think so?” I asked, once again fiddling with my breasts in the restraining lacey cup. “That’s what I was most concerned about. Do you think it’s too much? God knows these babies don’t need any help in the cleavage department.”
“Trust me. You don’t need to be worried. They’re perfect,” she said. “And find out where he got your little outfit. I want one for myself.”
I looked at the clock; he would be here soon. “I will. Thank you for listening to me and calming my nerves a little bit, Kat. He’s going to be here soon, so I’m going to let you go.”
“Okay. Be safe tonight. If he does anything shady, tell me and I’ll hunt him down.”
I laughed. “I’ll be safe. You be safe, too. Bye, love you.” I hung up and did some final primping. Practicing my seductive smile in the mirror, I couldn’t wait for him to get here.
~*~*~*~
At seven o’clock he knocked on the visitor door of my penthouse. My hair was curled and done up in an elegant French twist. The small black hat was tilted on my head; in my right hand, I held the feather duster. I wondered briefly, as I opened the door, how he wanted this to go. The costume had been my number one concern, so much so that I had forgotten the kind of character I was to portray. Was there a script I should be using?
When I met his gaze in the doorway, I decided to simply take the lead. I thought he’d enjoy this immensely more if I were in the driver’s seat.
He grinned as his hazel eyes took in my attire. He looked me up and down, like I was a delectable dessert he couldn’t wait to taste. From his expression, I knew he was pleased.
“Bonjour, Monsieur Maverick,” I said in my best French accent. I stood to the side to allow him to enter. “Please, come in.” I hoped this was what he wanted, role-playing from the very beginning. I felt a little silly, but a little empowered at the same time. The rest of our evening was now in my control.
He walked into the apartment, and I closed the door. I took his gray pea coat from him and hung it in the closet near the front door. “Madame Hart is still away at work. Can I get you anything to drink or eat while you await her return, monsieur?”
“Water is fine.”
I quickly sashayed across the living room to get him a glass of water. When I returned to the sofa, the last place where we’d made love, I bent down low to reveal more of my cleavage. I looked into his eyes and smiled sultrily. “Is there anything else you need, monsieur? It would be my delight to fetch it for you.”
He took the cool glass in his hands and looked around the room. He sipped from the glass of water before nonchalantly setting it down on the oak coffee table. “No, just go about your work. I can wait for her.”
I had an urge to raise my eyebrow in question, breaking character, but I resisted it. He wants me to clean for him? Wasn’t he supposed to say, “Yeah, I have something you can dust,” as he unzipped his pants? A little hesitant, I supposed I should take my role-playing even further. I turned away from him and went over to the beautiful built-in bookshelves on the far wall of the living room. With my feather duster, I extended my arm to dust the top shelf, which was decorated with books I’d never opened. And then I remembered the sexy thong this outfit had built in. As I went down to the lower the shelves, I bent farther over. My little bustier dress rose up, revealing a pleasant view of my ass. I glanced over my shoulder to look at Pierce and give him a seductive gaze. I pursed my lips.
The look in his eyes was empowering. Once again, they were darkening with lust. A thrill rushed through me. His desire was evident as I saw him grab his crotch, which I could only assume was hardening by the second. He turned me on. No longer did I wish to role-play; I was ready for him to take me to my bedroom now—to ravish me the way he had done so effortlessly last Sunday.
I turned and walked to the coffee table, very aware his eyes were following me. I leaned over to dust the table, giving him another ample view of my cleavage. His lip twitched upward, and I slowly licked my lips to tease him.
He placed an arm along the back of the white couch; his other hand still clutching his cock. “She seems to be taking quite a long time,” he said.
“Yes, Madam Hart works very hard.” I turned away from him again and walked over to a high shelf on the wall and stood on the tips of my heels to reach it. I smiled when I felt him come up behind me. I had wondered how long he would be able to sit there. He placed his hands on my hips and a kiss on my neck. My heart quickened as I felt the bulge of his erection against my lower back. I pressed myself against him and moved my ass against his hard cock. He moaned slightly.
Gently, he turned me around and kissed me softly. His demeanor was entirely different compared to the first Sunday I was with him. He was still passionate, but he moved much slower. There was no rush behind his embrace, only desire. We were like two starving beggars, both searching for bread. The sweetness of his kiss told me he wanted me. His lips were soft, supple—just as I remembered them.
Then, he tenderly pulled on my lower lip with his teeth. He pushed me against the wall and ground against me. His hand cupped my breast. My hands ran up his chest to his shoulders, and I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer. I was entirely absorbed in the moment, no longer remembering the feather duster in my hand or the lacy costume that barely covered my body. All I wanted was him—his lips, his passion, his cock. To forget this week. To forget my insecurities with his new, gorgeous assistant. To forget anything but the pleasure our bodies gave each other, fantasy or no.
I lost track of time as we kissed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, for a while longer, the heat between us undeniable and rising with every touch. I pulled away and looked at his regal, gorgeous face. “The madam will be back soon, monsieur. She wouldn’t like this.”
He grinned—he liked the fact that I was still playing my role. “I’m sure she’ll be gone a little longer. You know how she is—all work and no play.”
Usually, that was true. I’d hardly had time to look up from my desk for the last eight years, let alone doll up in a French maid costume for a man I hardly knew but who intensely aroused me. But not this evening. Tonight I was all play, and the only work in my mind was whatever Pierce had in store for us between my bedroom sheets. I kissed him again, more intensely this time, while his hand moved underneath my bustier. Gingerly, his fingers circled my taut nipple. He was toying with me and I couldn’t help but fall privy to it. The slow, rhythmic motion of his hands working my breasts sent me into an increased state of arousal. So badly I wanted him. All of him. His gentle squeezes and playful fingering made me ache for his long, skillful fingers to move over the rest of body.
As though he had read my mind, his warm hand then cupped my pussy. I moaned at his touch, so soft and sensual, as the heat between us radiated like a blazing summer day. I pressed myself against him harder. His fingers responded, dancing along my lips. Expertly, he rubbed the area right above my sensitive clit. He started in small, tender circles. His skilled hands hypnotized me, leaving my pussy captive to his bidding. My knees practically buc
kled as he gradually increased his speed. It took a lot of self-control, but somehow I managed to pull away from him. He looked at me, confused.
I gave him a mischievous smile and took his hand. As I led him to my bedroom, he whispered naively, “In the madam’s bed even?”
“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” I said as I closed the bedroom door.
He moved to sit on the edge of the bed and beckoned me to him. “Come here,” he said.
Ignoring his demands, I dropped my feather duster on the ground and gracefully bent over to unbuckle my stilettos. I could feel his eyes on my breasts as they dangled over my knees. I kicked my heels off and straightened. Removing my little black hat, I sexily posed for him. Pointing my hip out, I bent over, once again, to reveal the curve of my ass cheeks.
“Maid, I need you to do as you’re told.”
I pursed my lips as I slowly walked to him. “Monsieur does not like to look at me?”
“Monsieur has looked long enough. He would like to fuck you now.”
My cheeks flushed. His honesty left me wet with longing. Suddenly, he grabbed my hips. He placed me on the bed next to him, right on the edge. Almost as quickly, he repositioned himself on the plush carpet. Aggressively, he spread my legs and unfastened my tiny costume. My legs began to quiver, anticipating his moist tongue. I’d only had oral sex preformed on me a few times, and it was never a fireworks-in-the-sky kind of experience. With Pierce, however, I had a feeling everything would feel vastly different.
He looked up at me and smirked like he had a secret I hadn’t yet discovered. I raised an eyebrow, trying to appear more confident and sexy than I felt in that moment. A chill ran down my spine as I watched him move his face toward me. I waited with bated breath to feel the first touch of his attention to my eager pussy. A soft finger trickled down my outer labia. My hips bucked involuntarily. I could feel myself grow hot and wet as he used two fingers to stroke both sides of my red, swollen lips. The pad of his thumb came up to stroke my clit, sending jolts of pleasure throughout my body. With each hand, I gripped a fistful of my bed sheets.
He looked up at me again. “Your lips flush a beautiful rose color when you’re aroused,” he said simply. “That’s incredibly sexy to me, my little maid.”
I imagined my cheeks turned the same color at his frankness in speaking about my vagina. He returned to his task, this time adding the tip of his deliciously warm tongue. I was overcome with ecstasy at the subtle movement. It was though he knew the very secret to my innermost desires. His lips moved forward and encompassed my clit. His hands gripped my thighs as he forced himself farther and farther inside me. I was captivated by his artful movement. It seemed he was catering to one of my sexual fantasies—a man’s total devotion to my pleasure.
His tongue continued to dance around my clit, firm and erotic. His expertise was not lost on me. It was as if he knew my body better than I ever had. Every flick of his tongue, every stroke of his finger left me on a cloud of exhilaration. Soaring high above the world, I never wanted to return to earth.
“Oh, monsieur,” I moaned. I reached down and ran my hand through his thick hair. His tongue and lips continued to stroke my labia, sending me into a heightened sense of arousal; each one took a turn as they brought me closer to orgasm. Heat radiated throughout my body, and I could feel the pressure of an orgasm mount within me like a runaway train, uncontrollable on the tracks. It was building and building until I could no longer restrain myself and gave in to the pleasure. The orgasm overcame me in a fervent whirlwind.
Pierce’s hands held my hips down, as I could no longer control them from the surge pulsing through me. I let out a loud moan when my inner walls flexed, a glorious feeling of satisfaction and deliverance. His thumbs softly stroked the skin of my hip, and he placed kisses on my inner thigh as I came. He was so gentle and considerate, a gentleman through and through. I couldn’t help but enjoy this softer side of him.
“That . . . was absolutely—”
He put a finger to my lips to silence me. The smell of pussy was still warm on his fingers. “Shhh now, mademoiselle. We don’t want the madam to hear us.”
Gracefully, he stood and began to take off his clothes. He stared into my eyes as he unbuttoned his white Oxford shirt. Still coming off of my intense high, I tried my best to recover. Clearly, Pierce was not ready to end the evening. I moved to take off my bustier, but he shook his head. “Leave it on.”
I didn’t protest. Instead, I summoned the energy to crawl up onto the bed to lean against the tufted headboard. I wanted to watch as he undressed, garment by garment. The sight of his naked chest left me breathless. His pecs, hard and firm. His abs, sculpted and impressive. His olive skin was such a turn on, and I wanted to drink it all in—every inch of him.
As he pulled his blue boxers to the floor, his cock bounced free. It was a beautiful sight, his ample and ready member. “Condoms?” he whispered breathlessly before joining me on top of the bed.
I lazily pointed to the bedside table. Quickly, he opened the drawer and pulled out one from the variety pack I had purchased yesterday. He slipped it on and moved on top of me. I spread my legs, eager and ready for him. Assuming he wanted the missionary position once again, I wrapped my arms around his strong back. He planted a gentle kiss on my cheek and rolled over to lie on his back. I waited to see what he wanted me to do.
His long cock pointed straight in the air—a love stick without a pilot. “Get on,” he said.
I was a tad surprised, thinking he would want to take control of our fucking, but all of his behavior that night had surprised me. I moved to straddle him and positioned myself over his aroused and anxious penis. Slowly, I eased myself down onto him. My inner walls accepted his generous offering, clamping tightly around him. Having just come down from my high, I was once again ready for him. I started rocking my hips. The movement was a little awkward at first as I questioned how intense my thrusts against him should be. Starting slowly, I worked the head of his penis—in and out, in and out—before accepting the rest of his elongated dick. I found an angle that felt like a cloud of heaven and continued with it. Gradually, I picked up the pace.
I searched his eyes for his reaction. He stared directly at his cock as it entered my pussy with effortless ease. Our movement toward each other was like walking, so simple and natural. And God—it felt amazing. Never had I connected with someone so tangibly.
He reached up and pulled down the front of my bustier, releasing my breasts. He sat up and I leaned back slightly, bracing myself with my hands and arms on the bed. Taking one of my taut tits into his mouth, he ran his warm, wet tongue over it in small, rhythmic circles. He then lightly bit my nipple, and I moaned at the surprise sensation that rippled through my breast.
I pushed him back on the bed. My hands were now on his shoulders so that I could have more control. Moving my hips, I quickened my pace and my intensity. Beads of sweat trickled down my forehead.
“Harder,” he groaned. He slapped my ass. Pain shot through me, but it somehow spurred me forward. My energy seemed to arouse him even more. “Harder!”
He placed his hands on my hips again, and I braced myself on his chest as I attempted to meet his demands and pick up the pace. My nails dug into his skin as I forced myself to thrust. And thrust. And thrust. Briefly, I kissed him on the chest while I rode him harder and harder. From the strong clutch on my hips, I could tell he enjoyed my efforts to satisfy him.
Soon I could feel my own climax building once again. I kept going harder until we were both lost in our lust. The air smelled of sex and sweat, and it was enticingly delicious.
I let out a cry as another orgasm overwhelmed me. His name fell from my lips in a rushed whisper. He wasn’t far behind me. His entire body stiffened, and his grip on me tightened as he came. “God!” he cried as though summoning divine intervention.
We collapsed on the bed. I curled up into the fetal position, my head on his chest. It took a moment for us to both catch our br
eath. Suddenly I was self-conscious at the intimacy of my cuddles, so I got off the bed. Slipping the bustier off, I tossed it to the floor. I lay down beside him, farther away this time, and turned my head to look at him.
His eyes were shut. His breathing was still heavy. I enjoyed watching the steady rise and fall of his perfectly chiseled abdomen.
After a few moments, I decided to ask the question that had burned in my mind since the moment I’d opened his box that morning. “I have to ask,” I said. “Why a French maid? It’s one of the most clichéd fantasies out there.” I rolled over and stared at the speckled texture of the high-rise ceiling. “Couldn’t I have been a nun or a teacher, at least? Then I could have spanked you with a ruler.” I suppressed a giggle.
He laughed and turned his entire, naked body to face me. He rested his head on his hand. “When I was younger, after my mother committed suicide, my father would pay our maids to dress up like that while they worked. Feather dusters, hats, those little, pointless aprons. The whole nine yards. I remember there was this one maid, Natasha. She was Russian and absolutely stunning. She was the first crush I had on a grown woman.” He exhaled long and slowly, as if the retelling of his childhood fantasy was beyond tiring. “When I met you, I thought you looked a little like a young version of her. I couldn’t help it when the thought popped into my head to have you dress like her.”
A little surprised he had shared so much about the rationale behind the French maid costume, I smiled as I stared into his eyes. “I’m glad I could be of service then . . . monsieur.”
“Trust me. You definitely were. That little outfit was worth every penny.”
I nodded simply, agreeing more in my heart than I was letting on. It really had been incredibly arousing to pretend to be someone else—a naughty, little maid afraid of getting caught sleeping in her boss’s bed. Even more erotic was knowing how turned on Pierce had been by the performance. He couldn’t have resisted me if he had wanted to—that much was clear. There was something incredibly powerful in that awareness.