The Maid For Service Bundle (8 page)

“Cum in her, Sir! Cum in our good girl!”

Just as his wife begged him to do, Castle came into my fertile, needy womb, knowing just how to fill me. There was so much of his huge load, so much potent, perfect sperm shot into my needy pussy, that there could be no doubt in my mind. I was pregnant, immediately, just like a good girl ought to be. His cock and his load were too fucking powerful not to impregnate me right away.

We all collapsed onto the ground. Then, slowly, I turned and began to clean Castle’s cock. After him, I would attend to Terrance.

I was the maid, after all. I had to keep things tidy.

* * * * *

M
y name is Claudette. I am a good girl maid. I follow my routine.

Every morning, I attend to the Master bedroom, where Lilah dresses me. If Mister Castle is home, then both of us suck his magnificent cock. He usually cums in Lilah’s mouth, as is her right.

From then until the evening, I am cleaning and serving, dusting and delivering drinks.

Just before dinner, Terrance usually corners me and fucks my mouth. Sometimes I cry when he does it, but only because I’m so happy. Also, because he thinks it’s sort of hot how my make-up will run, and how being fucked in the mouth makes me cry with joy. He’s sort of vicious in that way. I love that about him. One day, he promises, he’ll marry me. But only when I’m done being bred by Mister Castle.

In the late evening, I serve at the pleasure of Mister Castle. He fucks me senseless. He loves how big my pregnant tits have gotten. They leak milk constantly, so ready to be used by his progeny. If he is not home, then I serve at the pleasure of Lilah. She dresses me up—but no more drinks. We hardly need them anymore, after all.

I am more than delighted to serve either. Any of them. I’m a good girl. A good girl serves at the pleasure of the household.

I’m so very pregnant, now. The fertility drugs really worked wonders on me. Just as Lilah hoped, I’m going to have triplets. Still, I do all my cleaning, and I do it in my high heels and lingerie. That’s what good girls do, after all. We must obey. We must serve. We must do whatever is asked of us.

Icing on the cake—the fertility treatments finally came through for Lilah. She’s going to have twins! We’re going to be mommies together! I’m so excited.

But mostly, I’m just so excited that I get to be Castle’s girl. I don’t even care about money anymore. He takes care of all of that for me. Soon, he says, I’ll be too pregnant to be the maid, and he’ll have to hire a new one.

The experiment with me worked out so well, he said, that he was even considering getting another sexy girl like me to use in exactly the same way. He wanted me to help him seduce the new girl, just like Lilah had helped with me. He could get her pregnant just like how he had done to me. There could be so many good girls in the world, just for Castle.

I told him that sounded perfect.

For now, though, Castle’s legacy is inside of me...and I can’t wait to deliver.

# # #

––––––––

I
t amuses me from time to time to examine the personal diaries of the servants I keep. Abbey’s, in particular, is one that has provided me much joy and erotic inspiration over the course of her term in my employ. A mutual friend informed me that you take great pleasure in such writings—here it is now, arranged in the manner I have found most pleasing.

- M. Castle

M
ister Castle has ordered me to write down my routine in my diary. I happily obey his instructions.

Every morning, I wake up and slip into my very best outfit. Mister Castle says he likes me best when I wear sexy high heels and tight, tiny lingerie, so that’s what I wear.

Sometimes my outfit consists of tight corsets with frilly garter belts and tight stockings. Sometimes it’s a sexy nightie, hanging down loose and held up purely by my big, buoyant titties. Sometimes it’s a hot little sheer lace slip that doesn’t hide in the slightest how erect and huge my nipples are
all
the time. No matter what, it's always something that makes it easy to dispense the hot, delicious milk I make every day from my big, lactating breasts.

Basically, I’m only allowed to wear lingerie because I’m just a silly, sexy maid, and I have to act that way. My job depends on it. So does cumming. I’m not allowed to cum for Mister Castle at the end of the day unless I’ve been a
very
good maid. Sometimes Claudia or Terrance or even Lilah will come and play with me, and I’m allowed to cum then, but those are special occasions, and those cums aren’t ever as good as the ones Mister Castle gives me.

I’m not pregnant yet, but when I am, he says he’ll order me some new lingerie—or better yet, he’ll let me wear the stuff that belongs to Lilah and Claudia. They’re so sweet. I love them all so much.

When I wear tall, hot heels I can walk as sexy as any woman. My hips sway from side to side. I am confident, hot, and sexy, all the time when I wear heels. There’s nothing better, says Mister Castle, than a gorgeous woman wearing gorgeous heels to constrain the way she walks and moves—they show off what an ornament she really is.

I love being an ornament for Mister Castle.

My tight, heart-shaped ass looks so firm and sculpted when I wear heels—my legs acting as a perfect line up to the entrances of either hole between my cheeks—though with how much I want to get pregnant, I bet you can guess which entrance I want Mister Castle thinking about.

After getting dressed, I go downstairs and suck off whoever’s eating breakfast. Usually it’s Terrence. If Claudia or Lilah manage to make breakfast (often they don’t, poor dears. They sleep in quite a lot with their delivery dates so soon), then as they eat, I will lick their pussies or finger them if my mouth is otherwise occupied.

After breakfast, I step outside the kitchen and bend over at the table in the middle of the entryway. This is where Terrance or Elliot or Spoons can have their way with me—or where Claudia and Lilah can spank me silly.

I am a maid. I belong to the house. Everyone here is more important than me.

L
et’s get one thing straight right off the bat, here. Nobody on this planet is more important than me, all right?

I mean, look. I get it. There are people starving, and there are big bills being passed in Washington, and like, everything is going crazy in the Middle East—I get it.
I get it
. I don’t need a lecture from you. When I’m telling you nobody’s more important than me, I don’t mean like, you know, existentially, all right? I don't mean that somehow the cosmos is in motion purely because I'm around to make it happen. That's too much pressure. I don't want that.

What I mean when I say I'm the most important person around is a declaration of practicality, okay?

Because practically speaking, I’m the most important person I know. Just like you’re the most important person
you
know. That’s just how it works. You’ve gotta look after yourself first. Anything good that happens has to come after that, right?

So anyway, being a maid doesn’t come natural to me. Looking after other people’s stuff and all. But whatever, it’s good money. And this latest job? Hoo boy. It’s
damn
good money. It’s
great
money. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars for a year of work? Are you kidding? Who do I have to blow to get that kind of deal all the time?

Well, nobody, apparently. They said the position was open continuously, just so long as I could stand the work.

Uh, yeah, a hundred fifty-thousand dollars? I can stand it. Trust me.

Not that this place—Mister Castle’s Estate, as it is
constantly
referred to—doesn’t have its weirdness.

Anyway, earlier today I arrived here. Mister Castle’s Estate, like I said. It’s a big, old place. You’ve seen the type—imagine any sort of rich person’s house from any movie ever—that’s this place now. It’s an amalgam of everything rich. Beautiful ceilings, beautiful floors, art everywhere and all of it very masculine and sexist. I’m sure Castle, if he were around, would say he’s “celebrating the female form” with all his portraits of big-titted women, but in all reality he’s just perpetuating the myth that women are property to be traded around, so long as they are gorgeous first.

Oh, side note: I got a ride to Mister Castle’s place with an old man. His name was Eduardo. He looked like an Eduardo—a scraggly beard that only really seemed to occupy one side of his face, and a scar sliding from his ear to his shoulder. The whole time, he was trying to warn me away from the Castle place. He kept saying how he would never let his daughters work there, not ever. I smiled and nodded, but still, I couldn’t wait to get out of the car.

Nobody tells me where I can and can’t work. I had enough of that from my parents, thank you.

I found this job through a random encounter on the street, believe it or not. I had been idling through a bulletin board at the laundry mat, looking for easy graphic design work. I’m no expert at graphic design, mind you, but I can handle photoshop and the like better than most of the population. I had put together a few jobs for doctor’s offices, stuff like that. The problem is that nobody really wants to hire you—or not for very long—if you don’t have a degree or any formal training. Just plopping together gif files on tumblr doesn’t really cut it as a resume, most of the time.

(Also, side note: I just found out there's no internet here. What the hell, Castle?)

Anyway, this
gorgeous
Asian girl in a tight, tiny business suit asks to take me to coffee. I’m excited, right? I think she’s hitting on me—and I’m all for that because I haven’t eaten a quality pussy since Diana broke up with me like six months ago or however long it was.

Bummer news, she wasn’t hitting on me.

Awesome news—she thought I was perfect for a job her boss was putting together.

Anyway, so a week later after some interviews and blood tests, there I was, standing with my lone suitcase in front of this enormous manse.

(Mansion? Manse? Are those the same thing? Nobody ever told me and, like I said, there's no internet here. Which is just SUPER, by the way.)

I knocked on the door, and out came the most enormous set of tits I’ve ever seen.

I normally dislike using the word “tits.” It’s sort of automatically degrading. But—you know this, I’m sure—for some pairs, there’s really nothing else that works as a descriptor. The mammaries on this beautiful, blond creature were not “breasts” or even “boobs.” They were crowd-pleasing, man-melting titties, and there was really no way around saying that. They were enormous, round, shiny, bouncy, sporting the sort of hot tanned skin that contrasts so brilliantly with perfectly arranged blond hair—which she also had.

This...was Claudette.

“Hi! I’m Claudette!” she bubbled. Everything she said could be alternately described as “bubbled” or “gushed” or “giggled” or “purred.” She was like sex incarnate.

Honest to god, I’m getting sort of turned on just remembering seeing her for the first time. I thought I had stepped on the set of a porno. She had on a tight red dress that did nothing to hide the fact that she was positively exploding with fertility—the big baby bump on her body was like an extra set of curves for men to admire outside of her already generous hips and tits. Her face was completely beautiful—your poster-girl for any given bikini-blond-babe calendar.

“I’m Abbey. I’m the new—”

“—the new maid! I know! We’re
so
thrilled you’re here. Won’t you please come in?”

I followed her in, of course. Cue the images from earlier—huge, beautiful stuff and tall spaces. Lots of me making hopefully-subtle glances-of-disgust at the artwork.

“I’m the former maid,” said Claudette. “I would love to still be doing the work, but, well...”

She pointed to her fabulously pregnant belly.

“Mister Castle says it’s not proper for me to be doing Maid’s work while I’m as pregnant as I am.”

“That’s very...considerate.” I was trying to be diplomatic. “So, you’ve got maternal leave in your contract?”

“There’s no contract, per se. He just likes taking care of me, since I take such care of him, and his estate. That’s why I still have a room here.”

“You can leave, but...you’re staying?”

“Of course. I owe it to Mister Castle’s Estate to stay here. He deserves it. He’s just been too good to me for me to just up and leave!”

She laughed and grabbed my hand. My heart skipped a beat. Her touch was so soft, so inviting and friendly...like all of her. You got the feeling from looking at her that she
wanted
you to look...that she
wanted
you to touch her in all sorts of ways.

It’s terrible to write such things, I know. I’m sure plenty of sexist pigs over the years have thought the same things about her. She’s such a whore for putting those thoughts in my head.

She showed me around the house—a cursory examination of what it held. There were four different wings, each replete with enormous sitting rooms, game rooms, bed rooms, and more. If I didn’t know better, it seemed like Castle wanted enough room to host an entire army in his estate.

I was introduced to the rest of the staff: Spoons, the ornery old cook. Elliot, the ornery old groundskeeper. And then Terrence, who was something like Mister Castle's steward. Claudette wouldn't really describe his role, other than to say that he was “absolutely super duper and I'm so super duper in love with him, gosh. He's so good at
everything
.”

So, coming from a bimbo like Claudette, I'm sure you can intuit what I think Terrence is actually good at.

Thing is, he sort of
looks
like the kind of guy who's good at fucking. He's got these sexy tattoos running up his arms and neck, and he's lean and muscular, like a swimmer. Anyway, he didn't have much to say to me. He and Claudette made out in the garage for a few minutes while I pretended to be interested in one of Mister Castle's many cars.

Over the course of the tour, Claudette let me know that Mister Castle was away for the next couple of months. He owned—either in part or in whole—several businesses. These all had needs that needed his regular presence to ensure that they continued to operate in the fashion he desired. Every few years, apparently, because of the way his normal visits were spaced apart, these businesses would all need his attention all one right after another.