Colors and Fog

The first time he used me on the A-frame, I lost control and started to hump back at him. He pulled out of me, dragged his belt from his pants, and calmly beat my bottom into hamburg--, ground meat. Wowee! I'll never do that again! I couldn't sit for a week, not that a domestic gets many chances to sit.

This is to be a gentle distra--, break in the hunt for the habit of thinking that's crossing him up.

So we go into a tableau, neither one of us moving much. He sways a little, as you do when standing, or when he reaches for a book on his table. After a while he pulls out of me (I manage to stifle the groan) and walks over to the bookshelf for some other book he wants. I can't see, but I think of his wet penis like a giant cannon bobbing in front of him as he walks. A moment later he's back, and drives into me again. I almost stop the moan, and get no spank. I can feel my pussy muscles ripple up and down the length of his shaft, but I can't control that, and he knows it, so no spank for that either.

I wait, and my heat builds as every second passes. I have to fight back the tears of frust--, of needing to cum, of not being able to cum, because if I start to cry, my nose will block up and I'll start to make noise. Please, let him find the answer soon!

Domestics, every domestic I've ever met, seem to have two rules that are wired into their bodies.

Rule One: The domestic can't cum until after her partner does. Use penis, fingers, nuclear-powered dildos, post-hole diggers, it doesn't matter. The person using the domestic must cum first. Mastur--, playing with yourself doesn't work. You want to be really mean? Have two domestics make love to each other. A can't cum until B cums. B can't cum until A comes. No joy.

Rule Two: Once the partner cums, the domestic will come, and it will always be mind-bending. Even if the domestic has not been stimu--, hasn't been touched at all, no matter how crude or brutal or selfish or pain-giving the partner may be, no matter how much the domestic hates what is being done or who is doing it to her, the cum is like being caught in the surf: lifted up, spun around, slammed into the bottom, rolled over, and thrown up on the beach, winded and gasping.

So as he stands there buried in my pussy, I don't move an inch as my body hangs on the very edge of cumming. I'm panting, but I pant in silence. Please find the answer! Rule One never fails.

At last I hear "a-HAH!" and he slams the table with the flat of his hand just above my head, making me jump. I hear his pencil scurry across the paper a few inches above my ears. Oh, please...!

Then he pulls out of me. I hear the hiss of air as the A-frame drops a couple of inches, and I know what is coming. Sooner than you can say "knife" he is in my bottom to the hilt. There is no sense being entered, I just go from empty to full, to a blast of searing pain, a sense of being torn apart, a sense that my sit-bones must move apart now, and the pain makes a red dancing fire behind my eyelids. The prod gag absorbs my scream. Now his motion is fierce, brutal, full of triumph. He grabs a dangling breast in each hand, using my breasts as handles to pull himself into me. I hold onto the hand grips with all my might. Each thrust forces air from my lungs and I grunt, grunt, grunt in time with his thrusts. Each push drives me forward a little on the bar. I'm stopped by the shoulder pads, but not before the padding in the chin cup and headrest has been compres--, squeezed enough to force the prod-gag actually into my throat. Now I can't breathe, but I know that he is near the end.

At long last he gives a shout, one last mighty haul on my breasts (I will have bruises from his fingers), and he stiffens as I feel him pulse in my bottom.

And in my head I count: one...two...three...and BOOM!

My world explodes in a billion shards of colored light as the cum rolls over me. The prod gag backs out enough for me to catch a breath, and I am shaking, sobbing, tumbled, buried in an avalan--, a torrent of cumming. Tears of release seep down the inside of the headrest and are caught by the chin cup. Oh, thankyouthankyouthankyou... Rule Two never fails.

I can barely connect with the real world again when I hear the next click, the hiss of air, and the A-frame spins and lifts again. Now I know that I am facing him again, and the chin cup and prod gag hinge downward to make space for the final act. My chin is wet with the drool that was caught by the cup. His hardness again brushes my lips, and I do my best to swallow him down. Ugh! The taste and smell of my own rear-end! The hair of his groin mashes hard against my lips as my tongue gets busy. The pencil scampers across the page just behind my head. My lips are soon bruised and swollen. At last it is enough. He pulls out of my face, and a last click sends the A-frame rolling on its rails back to the end of the table (his right), where it stops with a small jolt.

I allow myself two or three breaths. I peel my chest off of the A-frame, stand up on wobbly legs, and try to put my skirt and blouse back in order. Inside the A-frame is a towel. I use it to catch some of the cum that is seeping from my ruined bottom, and to do a quick job of cleaning the A-frame. I will have to wait until he steps away from the table to roll the A-frame back to its cupboard for the next time.

I look shyly at him, hoping for a smile or a nod, but he is already lost in the design that he is working on. Am I so easy to forget, you bastard? With a sigh, I go back to being silent and blending into the walls. I take a cup of tea to wash out my mouth, grateful that this time I was able not to throw up from the foul taste of my rear-end.

Chapter Two: Pink and Dot

At the end of the day, The Mister closes the books and heads down to the dining room, with me in his wake. The Missus arrives about the same time, leading black. If looks are any guide, black has had a very hard day, though perhaps no harder than the day before, or the day before that. The Missus likes her domestic to do things just so, and she uses a riding crop to explain and teach. Today held a lot of explain-and-teach for poor black.

We seat the owners, and step back to the walls behind their chairs. I listen carefully, because I can pick up useful things from what The Help says as they whisper to each other before meal time.

The first topic tonight is that the sons of The House (I learn that their names are Ed and Robert) are due to arrive home from college the next day. It seems that they have both done well, and have both gradu--, are done with college. The driver will fetch them at the train station, and they will arrive home very late, after dinner. Because the boys have done so well, The Mister and Missus decide to call their options on the other two domestics that I've heard about, as a presents to the boys.

It's the other topic, though, that blows my head open: the other two domestics, due to arrive tomor--, next day, are our daughters! My daughter, pink, and black's daughter, dot, are to be the domestics for Robert and Ed!

You remember the thing about the fog? I have no idea that I had a daughter, that I have ever been pregnant, raised a daughter, been in the kind of relationship that would have made me pregnant. I can see that black is just as thunder-struck as I am. I have never seen any stretch marks on my tummy, and my breasts are higher on my chest than I would think would be so for someone who had nursed.

And yet--and yet I'm certain that I will know pink at first sight, and my heart swells with joy that we will be togeth--, that we will be with each other again after so long apart.

Chief makes a motion, The Help sweeps forward to start serving dinner, and we domestics make for the back stairway. If we're lucky, we can steal a bite to eat on the way through the kitchen, but we don't count on it.

The next day dawns, and black and I begin our usual duties. Just after dinner, Chief gathers us up, and takes us down the back stairs and out the service entrance. There is a light breeze blowing, and I struggle to control the panels of my blouse and skirt.

A few moments later a white van with no windows pulls up. The driver gets out with a clipboard, which he hands to Chief. The driver opens the back doors of the van and shouts something into the inside, and in an instant two girls come out, blinking in the late sunlight.

There's my pink! I know her instantly. She's wearing a pink (surprise!) cheer leader's outfit, very short, that leaves her tummy bare, with pink wedge shoes. She shouts "Momma!" and we run into each other's arms. There are tears of joy and love. Our arms around each other, we rock back and forth in a mighty mother-and-daughter hug. I gently push her back a step and look at her with pride. She is a willow, no longer gawky, not yet (but soon to be very) curvy. I put my arm around her waist and we turn toward Chief. The van has left a crate behind, perhaps holding the girls' changes of work clothes. I think that the boy whose domestic she will be may have chosen her outfit to remind him of a girlfriend on the cheer squad at school, and I don't know whether that's good or bad.

As we turn, we see black and her daughter, dot, in a similar clinch. The girl is wearing a little sundress, also very short, very bare on top, black with white polka-dots. But how different the tone between the two pairs! Where our tears were of joy and love, black and dot are wailing with shared grief and pain. I shake my head--there's nothing I can do to help them fix the way they look at their lives.

Chief signs the papers for the two girls. The driver makes a kind of salute, climbs back into the van, and drives off. Chief herds us into our closets with the order to be ready for the next day.

I spoon up behind pink on the pallet and we talk in the darkness. Neither of us has a past, of course, because of the fog thing, but I try to learn what she knows and feels, and tell her what I can about The House and what I expect her duties will be. There are many whispers and many giggles. She is a virgin, but somehow she knows a lot about the Tab A-into-Slot B parts of sex in a book-learning way. (Who teaches us those things, back behind the curtain of fog? I imag--, picture a classroom full of zombie girls, watching porno movies while they wait for the next Self to be plugged in.) She is eager to please, hopeful, and more than a little afraid, which is a good mix.

What a contrast with what is going on on the other side of the wall, where there are only the sounds of grief. As far as I can make out, the big feeling there is fear, followed closely by despair.

The next day begins as always with the light coming on in the closet, and pink and I work around each other in the small space as we dress for the day. When the door to the closet opens, we creep out and form a platoon with black and dot, pass the Chief's once-over, proceed through the kitchen for a quick bite, then on to the dining room. Chief informs pink that she will be Robert's domestic, that Robert will sit to the right of The Mister, so pink winds up on my right. Chief tells dot that she will be Ed's domestic, that Ed will sit to the left of The Missus, across from Robert, so dot winds up facing pink.

The Mister and The Missus come in and sit down, and a moment later the two boys make the scene. They are both handsome and lean, and look strong.

Robert walks up to pink and looks her up and down. He seems to like what he sees, and grabs her by the back of the neck with his left hand for a lengthy pleased-to-meet-you kiss. He plunders her mouth with his tongue Hewhile his right hand gropes her breasts and between her legs. Her hands flutter at her sides, useless. After a minute or so her knees buckle a little and he has to catch her so she doesn't fall. He releases her, steps back, and wipes his lips on the back of his hand. She is panting, wild-eyed. He gives a small smile of OK, and seats himself.

On the other side of the room, Ed is checking out dot. He puts his hand under her chin, and she cringes back, lifting her hands a bit as though to ward off an attack, but she catches herself short of pushing him away. He, too, goes through sampling the goods, and she wiggles and squeals, trying to keep his hands off her naughty bits. He steps back and looks at her with his head cocked to one side, as though to say, "We'll see what we can make of this," and seats himself.

At the end of breakfast we disperse, I to The Mister's study, black to boudoir of The Missus, and the boys to their rooms with their new domestics in tow.

It is a long day, waiting to find out how things go with pink.

The Mister has a client coming over to talk about a new contract. I like it when the owners have people come visit, because they sometimes bring their own domestics and we can whisper when no one's looking, but that doesn't happen today.

There is a part of the contract that The Mister is pretty sure the client won't go for, so The Mister uses me to distract him. Bend over facing him when pouring his tea so he can peek at my breasts; bend over facing the other way to put a book away on a low shelf to give him a good look at my bottom; let him pull me onto his lap and paw me all over, grit my teeth, force a giggle, and let his hands go where they want. It isn't a lot of fun: the client is fat and smells of cigar smoke, but I don't get to vote on it.

At last, as they are talking about that part of the contract, I crawl between the client's thighs and go for the kill. I tease and tease his small penis with my lips and tongue until he grabs the back of my head and dumps his load onto my tongue.

In my head I count: one...two...three...and WHAMMO!

And I am rolling on the carpet with my hands cupping my pulsing pussy, my hands gripped between my clenched thighs, yipping and hunching and shaking and crying. Rule Two never fails. The client thinks it is hilar--, really funny.

The client signs the contract as written. I put my clothes back in order, thank the nice client for his load, and manage not to vomit while I have a cup of tea to clear his taste out my of mouth. His cum tasted of cigar smoke. Yuck.

Dinner arrives.

I seat The Mister and step back to the wall behind his chair. Then black comes in a moment later, somewhat the worse for wear as always, to seat the Missus.

Robert comes in leading pink. She is wobbling on her feet, lurching a bit as she clings to his arm, bow-legged. I can see that she has been crying--her makeup has run--but the smile on her face lights up the room. As they near his chair she swings around in front of him and gives him a fierce hug as though she is trying to pull her small body into his, and a sizzling kiss. Then she comes to herself, pulls out his chair, seats him, and retreats to the wall to my right.

At last, Ed comes in with dot. She, too, is wobbly, but there is no smile. Instead, her small frame is wracked with sobs, and she seems not to know where she is. Ed has a grim look on his face. I am starting to think that Ed has a cruel streak in him. The Mister gives a little shake of his head and makes a motion to Chief, whose lips make a thin line. Chief in turn makes a signal to black. So black props up dot as best she can and helps her from the room. She pauses in front of Chief and, with tears running down her own face, asks, simply, "Why? Why do you do this to us?"

After black and dot leave the room, The Help surges forward, dinner is started, and pink and I make tracks down the back stairs to the closet. We manage to snatch a bite on our way through the kitchen. Oh, joy!

That night in the closet, I spoon up behind pink as she tells me about her day with Robert. He was very demand--, he wanted all of her, right now, every way, over and over. She is not a virgin any more, any where! And she giggles about the things that he did to her, things that she would have sworn the human body could never be folded to do, things that she had never been taught about, back behind the curtain of fog. Oh, she will be sore in the morning!

I think there are some noises in the middle of the night from the other closet, but they don't keep on, and I drift back to sleep as I hug pink.

Chapter 3: Re-write

The next morning brings a shock--black and dot are gone!

You see why I don't let it show that I hate what is done to me? This is what would happen if I let the mask slip.

We are not told where black and dot have gone, and in a way it doesn't matter, but it makes for problems in the use of the domestics, for it leaves only pink and me with four owners.

The Missus has her bridge club meeting that day, and it will not do to have a bridge club without a domestic from The House, and that domestic turns out to be me. I find out that my duties for the bridge club are to eat the pussy of the lady who is dummy on each hand. I think they play fewer hands than a normal bridge club, to give me more time with one lady before they move on to the next hand, but if The Missus thinks I am getting too slow, she helps me along with the riding crop. By the end of the meeting I am pretty well whipped, in both senses. Remember Rule Two? Whew!

The only long-term effect of my day as a domestic for The Missus is that The Missus lobbies for, and wins, that I should have a tongue stud, which is put in place that very day.

My pink has her hands full, so to speak, with Ed and Robert. The only good news for her is that Robert wants to keep his new toy, well, new for a while, so Ed maybe is held back from some of the more painful things he might have done. So pink is grateful that she belongs to Robert--she really got the luck of the draw there!

The next day brings a new shock. After breakfast I and my sore, newly-pierced tongue are given back to The Mister, and pink goes back to Robert because, we are told, there will be two new domestics coming to The House that morning, to take the place of black and dot. The new domestics will be called blue and baby blue.

In late morning, Chief gathers up pink and me, and takes us to a stair landing that looks out over the service entrance through a window, now open. He leaves us there with the stern warning not to budge, and to speak to no one.

A moment later Chief comes out of the service entrance below our window, just as the same white van with no windows pulls up. The same driver gets out, tips his cap to Chief, and gives him the clipboard with papers to sign. The driver opens the back doors of the van, reaches in, and pulls out two leashes, on the other ends of which are...black and dot! But no! They are total--, the are as different from the old black and dot as night is from day. They are serene! No--that's wrong! It's worse: they're blank! The lights are on, but no one's home! They look up at The House as though they have never seen it before, and then it hits me--they never have! They have been wiped clean! They are here with no recall of their former lives, their former selves. Not even knowing that I was speaking, I say "My God, they've been through re-write!" And pink looks at me as though I've gone nuts, so all I say to her is, "Watch."

Chief gets done signing the papers and takes the leashes from the delivery driver, who touches his cap in salute and climbs back into the van. The two domestics are now standing back-to-back, holding hands.

Of course, blue is wearing the standard four-panel skirt and four-panel blouse, in electric blue, and blue wedges on her feet.

And baby blue is wearing a sort of a tunic that has me shaking my head. Who designs the clothes for us? The Missus? The tunic is a single square of cloth that starts at the top of the left shoulder, goes around the back, wraps under the right arm, and comes across the front and up to the left shoulder again, where ribbons tied in a bow join the two corners. There is a second bow at the left hip. The effect is like a hotdog bun wrapped around a hotdog, if you held the hotdog straight up. The two edges of the cloth below the left shoulder do not meet by about four inches, so the swell of her left breast, and the crease where her left thigh meets her belly, peek out now and then. The tunic is of very light silk-like cloth, baby blue in color (natch!), and ends well above the knee. You can work out what shoes she is wearing.