The Maid For Service Bundle (16 page)

Surely just my imagination. Women like this never went for guys like me. I was not a rock star or a corporate CEO or a film director or anything like that. And yet, her eyes were so sparkling and green with possibility...

Upstairs, Jacqueline began to hack and cough. Instantly, I was snapped back to reality. I had duties. I had to attend to them.

“I have to go take care of her,” I said. “I apologize. We really must get to know each other soon. In the meantime, uh...do whatever you feel is best, all right? Make yourself at home.”

“Of course, Sir,” she purred. “Anything you say.”

Her eyes fixated on me as I turned and left the room, and when I turned back to take one more glimpse at her body before going upstairs to my wife, Mariana was still looking at me, holding herself tight, licking her lips hungrily.

* * * * *

W
ithin just a few hours, I found out that Mariana was more than just a maid. As I attended to Jacqueline’s hacking and coughing, doing my best to sooth her poor, wrecked body, Mariana worked away in the kitchen, preparing a lovely roast dinner. I came down when I smelled cooking meat; I thought something had caught fire.

“Oh, wonderful!” she said, spinning happily. “You’re just in time.”

Over her tiny black minidress, she had put on a frilly white apron, in a sort of sexy mock-up of a maid’s uniform. It was positively scorching on her body. She had a small wooden spoon in one hand, dripping with some delicious substance.

“I am?”

“Oh,
yes
Sir. Nevermind that it’s your house, and you would be on time no matter what, being as how you own
everything
in it.” She smiled indulgently, as if we were sharing some intimate secret. “Dinner is ready. Won’t you eat?”

“Ah,” I said. It smelled delicious. “I’d love to, but Jacqueline...”

“I shall take care of your Wife, of course, Sir.”

I could hear the capitalization in her accented voice. Wife. Sir.

As if on cue, Jacqueline had begun hacking away again. The sound tapped several instincts in me, almost once again completely nullifying the level of attraction I had for Mariana and the titillation I felt from staring at her massive, displayed breasts. But I had not eaten anything all day, and the display of food must have added my hunger onto my arousal, keeping me in place.

“Oh. I didn’t know...are you sure?”

“Quite certain, Sir.” She nodded slightly. “I am medically trained. She will be in very good hands, I assure you.” She slipped her hands around mine, patting them gently. They were soft, elegant, and immediately I could imagine them wrapped around the thick shaft of my cock. “We shall make everything as comfortable and good as possible for you.”

“For her, you mean.”

She smiled demurely. “Yes, Sir. As you say, of course.”

And with that, she strutted out of the kitchen, casting back shy, furtive glances at me to ensure that I was sitting down with the food. I made a show of doing so, even though I very much had no intention of eating. Since I began staying home with Jacqueline, I had lost close to thirty pounds. Sympathy weight loss, you could say. She had lost more than fifty, and she had never been a very substantial woman. Eating, like many things, had lost its appeal for me.

But I sat down with the food, and sitting down with it, I felt obliged to give it a try. It did smell rather delicious, after all.

One bite quickly led into another, led into another, led into another, which after enough of that led to me getting up to grab seconds. I was still eating when Mariana came back down, her green eyes sparkling brightly when she saw me munching away.

“Oh, wonderful,” she said. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.” The food made me absolutely sated and conversely ravenous for more. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”

Through the echoing confines of the house, Jacqueline’s coughs began once more. And, once more, on impulse, I got up. I had been trained rather well.

Mariana pressed her body into the side of my arm, though, guiding me back down. Momentarily, her thigh slid over on top of mine, the sweet plush skin there like heaven, even through the cloth of my pants.

“You needn’t worry about any of that, Sir,” she said. “I must continue to administer her medicine. Why don’t you keep eating?”

“No, really. I’m stuffed. I couldn’t possibly, and Jacqueline—”

Upstairs, my wife coughed again. The violence of the hacks always shook me to my core.

“Please, I must help her.”

“Nonsense, Sir. I am the Maid. I will take care of everything. Please, relax? For me?”

She had taken my hands again. Her grip so soft. So inviting. She drew her hand toward her chest, almost drawing me into her positively heart-melting cleavage.

“Y-yes,” I said, unsteady. “All right.”

“Certainly there’s some projects you could work on while I attend to your dear wife?”

“Right,” I said. “Yes. You are right.”

Once again I watched her leave. It was as the cliche went—I hated seeing her gone, but I did love to watch her leave. Her ass swayed perfectly.

So, I thought then, work. Occupy myself. Jacqueline was well in hand. Mariana was medically trained, after all. The bottles of medicine next to the bed were all clearly marked with days and hours.

Briefly, the thought of returning to the hardware stores flashed across my mind. But I did not think I could safely leave Jacqueline in this home with a complete stranger. Mariana had not gained quite that much trust with me yet.

More sinister was the thought—not so firmly buried down—that with Jacqueline sick, I had a perfectly good excuse to stay home from work, do whatever I pleased, and ogle Mariana’s gorgeous visage whenever I pleased.

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.

* * * * *

O
ver 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?”