Can I be your French Maid? Ch. 02

Under the steady drum of the water my mind was free to roam. I saw the gallery of photos on the website again. There were hundreds of poses, yet some were missing, an entire section that could have been taken had my wife's laptop been in our bedroom when she'd strolled in wearing the latex bodysuit with the strap-on dildo. Where were those pictures?

In my mind I recreated them. There were a few particular shots I'd love to see. Me on my knees, the obedient little sissy cocksucker with my lips, forming an O shape, wrapped tightly around her hard cock. Would it be obvious from my expression how badly I craved it?

My eyes would be locked on hers, obediently working from the tip of her hard cock to the base, fighting to take every inch. I could still remember the look of dominance in her eyes. She reveled in it, savoring the absolute control she had over me, her sissy cocksu...

"I hope I'm not intruding."

I snapped out of the thought, looked up through the thin veil of water and saw my wife standing in front of me, naked. She was a vision of beauty, every curve like the brush stroke of a painter who frequently had to delete their internet browser history.

Blood rushed to my cheeks, which felt suspiciously light. It was then that I realized I was rock hard.

"Care to share with the class?" my wife teased as she pressed her body against mine then leaned in to whisper into my ear. "Pretty please? I'd love to know what turns you on. What... really turns you on."

She playfully bit my earlobe, reached down and wrapped her hand around my hard cock. "Or can I guess?"

If I replied, I had no memory of it, my brain having ceased most of its higher functions.

She slowly fell to her knees, her free hand following the lines of my trembling body.

She leaned back, let go of my cock, brought both of her hands up to my smooth-shaven thighs and smiled. "You really are committed, aren't you? I'm impressed, I really am, and you didn't do a half-bad job either," she said as she ran her hands over my buttery smooth legs.

"A few pointers for next time."

She reached over and grabbed one of her bubblegum pink razors. "For the best results, you want to go against the grain, not with it, otherwise you'll be plagued by tiny stubble which the men in your office won't notice, but the ladies, well, they have a keen eye for that sort of thing."

She grabbed a bar of soap and built up a thick lather. "I still remember being pulled aside by one of my managers when I first started out in sales and given a stern talking too. She threatened to pull me off one of our clients' accounts unless I 'looked the part.' What a fucking pit bull."

As she spoke, she glided the razor across my soapy wet skin. "She wasn't wrong though, I'll give her that. I've been way harsher on some of the new girls. It's a sour pill to swallow, but they need to hear it. It's not a balanced game. That's the unfortunate truth. If you want to succeed in this cruel world, you have to be willing to use everything at your disposal."

She took her time, moving from one leg to another. My cock remained fixed, the sensation of her shaving my legs heightening my sexual arousal.

"There," she said as she set down the razor. "As smooth as butter."

I looked down, admiring my silky-smooth skin as the waves of water slowly washed away the soapy lather.

She looked up, her eyes lingering on my cock before looking up at me. "Can I be brutally honest with you?" she asked as she reached over and picked up the soap again, building a thick soapy lather.

"I don't like giving blowjobs. All that sucking and the sticky aftermath, yuck," she said, reached up, gripped the base of my cock and gently stroked it. I was already teetering close to the edge, my defenses crumbling one by one.

"That's not to say I don't love your cock, I do, it's just... when I saw you last night, I think I was... jealous."

"Jealous?" I asked, stunned.

"Yea, that's not to say I'm an old hag. But you... you've never sucked a cock before, at least not that I'm aware of. That's a pretty big step, new territory for you and yet... you were so willing, so eager," she said as her eyes strayed down to my hard cock. Her gripped tightened, the soapy lather like rocket fuel. I was ready to launch, her words like a lit match haphazardly waved near my erect wick.

"The novelty has worn off for me, it's a bit of a chore now, but you..." she said and looked up at me again.

"I'm dying to know what you thought of it. Did you like it? Did you like sucking my cock?"

"Well," I said, my voice shaking. "It's not as if it was real."

"No, I suppose it wasn't, was it? I've always wanted to try on a strap-on, see what all the fuss was about. Maybe a little role reversal might be good for our relationship, to help spice things up, challenge our boundaries. Would you like that?" she asked as she brought her hand down to the base of my hard cock and let the falling water rinse it. "To challenge your... boundaries?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"Good," she said as she smiled at me like a viper. "I could give you a quick crash course if you like. If the opportunity were to... arise again."

Did I say 'yes' or just mouth the word?

"One of my old sorority sisters once described it like a dance. Can you imagine that? A dance! I don't know what she was doing, but she got rave reviews from the varsity football team. That was until her parents accidently stumbled across her social media profile and shipped her off to Iceland for a few months to cool off," she said as she continued to gently stroke my hard cock, the sensation, electric.

"Watch me closely," she said as she leaned forward. "And take notes."

She wrapped her lips around my hard cock and glided down to the base. Every nerve in my body sung in unison. She moved like a well-oiled piston, gradually speeding up. I savored every second, making a mental note of how her lips remained in a tight O, how she used her hand, twisting it as she sucked. How was she not gagging? I'd had to fight to avoid pulling away while her thick strap-on dildo was jammed halfway down my throat, yet she seemed perfectly at ease, even comfortable with my cock in her mouth.

... jealous, I thought. That was how she'd described how she felt. And as I watched her on her knees with her mouth wrapped around my hard cock, I understood why.

I thought of the boundaries she'd described, the thin walls of my sexuality buckling under the weight of my growing arousal. Was I gay? bi? my confusion was only exacerbated by the fact that I wanted to please my wife, my madame my mas...

The word was on the tip of my tongue, ready to be cast like a spell, its raw power unfathomable to me. Had I spoken it, it would have bound me in servitude to her... forever.

As I was plagued by the thought, I looked into the deep well of my wife's eyes. She kept them locked on me as she sucked, inching me closer, closer... closer.

My mind sank into a pit of primal lust, my body ready to explode. I closed my eyes waiting for the surge, followed by the flood of feel-good chemicals, my brain eager to drown in them.

... and waited. There was nothing. Confused, I opened my eyes and looked down. My wife had pulled away from my hard cock and was looking up at me with a devilish grin.

"That covers the fundamentals. I think that's enough for today."

My lips quivered, begging to be released from my torment.

She glided up, pressed her soaking wet body against mine and stared into my eyes.

"After you finish your first shift maybe I'll reward you, and we'll move onto some more advanced techniques. Wash up and meet me in the bedroom. We still have to do your makeup," she said, pulled back the plastic shower curtain, stepped out onto the tiled floor, wrapped a towel around her wet body and left the bathroom.

I stood there trembling, the raw energy from my arousal trapped. I could release it, I thought, but no. It felt like cheating. If this was a game, I wanted to play by the rules. My wife... my madame, my mas... had commanded me not to, so who was I to disobey?

I washed my hair, then rinsed off the remaining suds. I turned off the shower, stepped out of the tub, wrapped a towel around my waist then peered into the lightly frosted oval mirror. I saw my reflection beaming back at me... I was loving every second of this.

I wiped the smile from my face. I wanted to keep up the illusion that I was pouting, that all of this wasn't feeding directly into my kink.

I left the bathroom and walked into the bedroom. My wife was waiting for me on the bed, wearing a soft fluffy pearl white robe. Her makeup cases were strategically spread out around her. The laundry basket was on the floor, filled with the freshly cleaned French maid's uniform and lingerie.

She looked up at me as I entered, eyeing me like a lamb led to the slaughter. "All set?" she asked.

I looked down at the bed, half expecting her to clear a spot for me. "Where would you like me?"

"Isn't it obvious?" she said, smirking. "Where you belong. On your knees."

I looked down at her. Through the plunging neckline of her robe, I could see the deep well of her cleavage, her breasts the color of soft peaches bathing in the sun. She spread her legs, revealing her pearl white panties.

"And moving forward only speak French. I think it's super cute and should be part of the whole package."

"Oui, Madame," I said, walked to her, then fell down to my knees.

"Much better," she said as she started to rummage through her makeup cases. "I've been dying to try out a few new looks on you. Nothing too dramatic, I just need a better angle."

She turned and looked down at me, studying me. "But before we do, we need to do something about that hair."

I quickly scrambled to find the right words. "Mes cheveux?" I asked.

My wife... my madame, reached behind her, grabbed something then turned back to face me. "Yes, your hair. I don't mind the single ponytail, but I was thinking..."

She stood up and walked to the nightstand. "Remember, it's not just a job, it's a performance. Yes, they're paying you to clean, but if that was all they wanted, they'd hire any one of the hundreds of cleaning services available."

I turned to watch her. Her back was turned to me. When she spun around, she was holding a hairbrush. "Think of it as... burlesque, but with a feather duster.

She walked back to me, stood behind me and ran the brush through my wet mop of hair. I could feel her pulling on it, separating it to either side. She then grabbed it and was... tying it? Without seeing my own reflection, I was left to the mercy of my imagination.

"There," she said, walked around me, sat down on the bed and admired her work. "I always thought you'd look super cute in a set of pigtails."

Pigtails? I thought, seriously?

"Merci, Madame," I said, politely hiding my confusion.

She smiled. "All right, close your eyes, you know the drill."

I closed my eyes, and she did my makeup. She dabbed at my skin with cotton balls, drew with pencils and painted with her small brushes. She built the layers, one by one, the final touch, thick lipstick slathered across my lips.

"Ok, I think I'm done," she said. "You can open your eyes now."

I obeyed, looked up at my madame, smiled and batted my eyes, the thick mascara weighing them down. "Merci, Madame," I said in a sweet voice.

"You're welcome," she said, smiling.

As I obediently sat there on my knees, staring up at her, I felt the sudden urge to show my appreciation for everything she'd done. Words were not enough, I needed to act. As if on cue, my mouth started to water. My lips trembled, my appetite consuming me like a fever. I glanced down, past my her fluffy white robe to her pristine pearl white panties.

"So easily trained," she smirked. "Concentrate on the job, then we'll discuss your reward."

"Oui, Madame," I said, slightly embarrassed.

She stood up and tied her robe tightly around her waist. "When you've changed, meet me in the living room, and I'll drive you over."

She leaned down and gently stroked my chin. "It takes a great deal of courage to do what you're doing," she said and smiled. "I'm very proud of you, Yvette."

I closed my eyes, grinned and gently purred.

"Now, No more stalling," she teased. "Get ready, we're on a tight schedule. I've plugged in the iron for you if you need it."

She turned and walked out of the bedroom. When she was gone, I stood up, picked up the laundry basket and set it down on the bed. I pulled out the short-sleeved French maid's uniform. It was still warm from the dryer. The dazzling colors popped, the white like a sheet of freshly fallen snow, the blacks like a starless night.

I arranged everything on the bed, picked up the apron and walked over to my nightstand. My wife had set up a small ironing board on top of it and the iron was plugged in. I laid the apron down, stretched it out and picked up the iron. It hissed as I glided it across the light cotton.

I was enjoying myself... was I humming?

And here I was doing chores. I could think of so many I'd neglected. The floors would need to be done again, followed by dusting, laundry, and tidying up. As the main breadwinner, my wife had enough on her plate, so naturally it fell to me to pick up the slack. What had she once jokingly called me?

"... a housewife, seriously?" I asked when she'd teased me with her offer.

"Would you prefer "domestic engineer? Custodial attendant"?

The memory still burned brightly. We were out to dinner, celebrating our anniversary but more importantly her recent big promotion.

"I'm just saying, now that I'm moving up the corporate ladder I'd appreciate it if you helped out a little more around the house," my wife said and took a sip from her wine glass.

"I suppose," I mumbled as I looked around the restaurant. It was high end, the type of place that put the screws to your wallet. It was lit like a disco ball, the deep mahogany wood rich like freshly ground coffee. Everyone was smiling big polished smiles. As I sat there, I felt oddly out of place.

"Once the dust has settled, we can look at hiring a maid service. I promise it'll only be for a while."

The 'a while' would drag on for a year. And while my wife's career continued to skyrocket, mine had stalled, sputtered out and crawled to a dead stop.

I don't know how she did it. She was fearless, clawing her way up the corporate ladder one rung at a time. I on the other hand dreaded the idea of rocking the boat, the thought of asking for a raise, terrifying.

By the time we had moved on from the main course my wife had polished off an entire bottle of red wine. Her words were starting to slur, as was her subtly.

She leaned across the table and smiled at me devilishly. "Save room for dessert, I have something special planned to celebrate my big pro... our anniversary."

She reached up and tugged on the top of her dress, pulling it down. "Like what you see?" she asked, smirking.

My eyes widened as I devoured what I saw. The lace was the color of melted chocolate, the nylon a rich cream. What little it had left to the imagination had been picked clean. She leaned forward and her breasts almost spilled out of the lingerie's padded cups.

"I haven't been able to breathe since I pulled this thing on and don't get me started on the damn thong. I can't wait to get it off, and if you play your cards right, well..."

She pulled her top back up, sat back, picked up her glass of wine and took another sip, her eyes never straying far from me.

When the bill arrived, she paid.

"Wait here for five minutes and not a second more," she said as she tucked her credit card back into her purse. "Then meet me in the parking lot."

She stood up and adjusted her tight-fitting dress. Through the thin material I could see the lines of the lingerie she wore underneath, a skimpy teddy if I were to guess. She turned and walked out of the restaurant, her hips swaying with every stride, drawing the attention of every red-blooded male in the room. And she's mine, I thought smiling. She's all mine!

I sat there, waiting. Every second was agony. Finally, I rose, swatted aside my growing erection before anyone noticed, and made my way to the parking lot.

Was I sweating? I must have looked like a nervous wreck. My heart pounded in my chest, my vision blurry.

As I crossed the parking lot, weaving between the greasy oil stains, I caught the faint scent of ash. It lingered, soaking into the memory, often triggering it whenever I caught the smell of a lit cigarette.

I found her behind the wheel of her new Sporitti sports car, a luxury she'd purchased with her promotion's bonus. Who was I to object? It was her money after all.

I walked around the car, opened the passenger side door and peered inside. I gasped when I saw her. She was wearing only the teddy. It was every lude picture I'd ever seen baked into one magnificent cake. The milky lace hugged every curve of her body. The thin spaghetti straps were like wire, the padded cups barely able to contain her ample breasts.

"Hop in stranger," she said and patted the passenger side seat.

I sat down and reached for the seatbelt.

"Don't bother," she said. "If we're going to be seeing less of each other in the following weeks, we need to make every second count. Why don't you be a good little obedient housewife and go down on me while I drive. I want to feel your tongue in my wet pussy while I'm changing gears."

I stared at her, stunned. Was it the wine talking or was she being serious? In the greasy glow of the parking lot the light cast across her face was harsher, the shadows deeper. I saw someone else, someone I didn't recognize, someone with the air of undisputed authority. She was in charge, and she'd given me an order.

I obeyed, my blood burning hot from my own sexual arousal, I was powerless to disobey.

She spread her legs, and I crawled into her lap, kissing her bare thighs before finding a keyhole opening in the lace teddy. She was already wet, drenched in her raw sexual juices.

My body ached, tied in knots as I performed the impossible maneuver.

"Yes," she moaned gently. "Just like that babydoll, just like... that"

I felt her leg move as she started the engine. It roared to life. She thrust her bare leg down and put the car into gear.

"I won't tell you what this beast cost, but do you feel that rumble when I rev the engine..."

She revved the engine.

"I can feel it to my core. Worth every fucking penny," she moaned.

I continued to lick her, my tongue swirling around her raw sex.

"Yes, babydoll, just like that," she gasped. "If you lick me all the way home, I'll let you fuck me on all fours. How does that sound?"

I obeyed and quickened my pace.

She put the car into reverse, pulled out of the parking lot and we sped off through the city.

As she drove, the interior of the car was flooded with neon light, flashing in the corner of my eyes as my tongue was buried in her wet pussy. I had no way of knowing where we were or how long the journey would take. I fought against the slow building tension in my jaw, my own sexual arousal fueling me, forcing me to continue.

At a stop light she let out a loud snort. "Don't stop now, but I think a cop just spotted us. What do you think the chances are he'll pull us over?"

I froze, my tongue buried in the depths of her raw sex. She reached down and passed her fingers through my hair. "That wasn't permission to stop and don't worry, he's gone now."

We sped off, weaving through the streets till we arrived at our small house. She turned the engine off and put the car into park. I crawled out of her lap and rubbed my aching jaw. I looked up at her, she already had two fingers buried deep in her wet pussy.

"Could you imagine... if we were caught," she said between gasps. "They'd drag us out of the car half-naked, throw us against the side, search us and handcuff us in front of all those people, every one of them holding up their phones, recording every second of it. It would be plastered over the entire internet before we even got home. Imagine what everyone at the office would think, our friends, our family..."