Maid's Instruction Read online

  Slowly, without crossing her legs, Ms. Robertson extended one foot. Her painted toes showed in the gap at the front of her high heel shoe, pointing at me. I knew what was expected. I shuffled forward on my knees, painfully aware that the riding crop lay on the sofa next to my mistress. Taking her heel gently in my hands, I began to kiss her foot. The skin of her toes was soft under my lips, and the shame that burned inside me found its way down between my thighs as I groveled.

  “Thank you, Ms. Robertson,” I said between kisses as the dominant woman gloated above me.

  "That's much better," Ms. Robertson said. I was close enough to her now to hear the leather of her tight skirt creak as she shifted her position on the sofa. "That's how you should behave for my guests. Don't embarrass me. Or I will turn Tiffany loose on you, and she'll make you regret your failure to please me."

  “Yes, ma’am,” I panted. My head was spinning again. Just touching my mistress, even the most humble part of her body, was enough to make me feel drunk with desire. And she knew that.

  “Enough,” Miss Robertson suddenly said. She lifted her foot from my hands, and I jumped a little as her heel cracked on the floor. In a smooth motion, she rose to her feet, towering above me now as I gazed up at her expectantly. “Remove my skirt,” she ordered, half turning as she spoke.

  "Yes, ma'am," I said, trying to moderate the eagerness in my voice. But my body gave me away. My hands trembled as I sat up on my knees, reaching for the zipper at the back of the skirt. Between my legs, my pussy was spasming wildly at the thought of what might be about to happen. I drew the zipper down and carefully pulled Ms. Robertson's tight skirt over her hips, baring more and more of her flawless skin as I pulled it to the ground. She stepped out of the garment, and I folded it carefully before setting it on the floor in front of the sofa.

  "Now my panties," Ms. Robertson ordered without looking at me. Reaching toward her again, I took the delicate string of her underwear in my hand and pulled it down. She stepped out of those too, and I set them down on top of the skirt. She turned toward me, reaching for the hem of her sweater and pulling it over her head. Carelessly, she tossed the garment at me, and I folded it blindly, my eyes locked on her the whole time. She stood in front of me in nothing but high heels and a push-up bra, her toned body like a magnet that pulled fiercely on every desire-flooded cell of my body. My mouth actually watered as I looked up at her, and the dark strip of pubic hair that pointed down between her legs to her pussy. No one in my life had ever been able to make me want them as badly as Ms. Robertson did. And she did it by looking the way she did, but also rarely letting me have what I wanted. The thought that she might be about to do so filled my mind to the exclusion of all else.

  But I should have known better.

  “Tiffany?”

  "Yes, Ms. Robertson." My stomach spasmed as Tiffany hurried forward. The submissive maid was clearly every bit as eager to serve as I was. And Ms. Robertson smiled a satisfied smile as she sat back down on the sofa, spreading her legs this time. Tiffany dropped obediently to her knees on the floor beside me, and I saw Ms. Robertson's fingers disappear into the tight curls of Tiffany's blonde hair as she gripped her head and guided it between her thighs. Ms. Robertson's eyes closed for a moment. A soft sigh escaped her open lips as Tiffany humbly kissed her mistress's pussy. And all I could do was kneel beside the other maid and watch, my heart burning and my pussy streaming with denied desire. My short skirt crumpled in my hands as I clutched at it, watching forlornly as though I were peering through the bars of Paradise as I watched Tiffany pleasure our mistress.

  Ms. Robertson raised her foot again. She didn't say a word; she didn't need to. Her voice was given over to a growing symphony of moans and gasps of pleasure as Tiffany ate her out. The senior maid knew exactly what she was doing, and long practice had made her skills impressive. I felt Ms. Robertson's foot shaking as I took it in my hands again. Sweeping my hair back from my face, I lowered my lips to her foot and tenderly kissed, trying to ignore the frustrated desire that burned inside me. The message was clear. Maybe, if I had served her better, it would be my face buried between Ms. Robertson's legs, and not Tiffany's. But if I wanted that particular joy, I was going to have to work a lot harder to earn it.

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