Just Do It! Pt. 02

So, what do you think? Did I tell Stella to fuck off, as she deserved? Did I decide to simply not turn up, as I should have done?

Did I heck. I dashed home, bathed and changed, made myself look as presentable as possible, and got to the address 20 minutes early.

I rang the doorbell at exactly six. Their townhouse was huge, a mansion really, with gates and a drive, dotted with expensive cars, and several storeys of sash windows at the front.

A uniformed butler came to the door.

"Miss Nicole?"

"Y ... yes."

He ushered me in and showed me into a small waiting room to the side of the main hall.

"Wait in there. Mrs Ravage will be down soon."

I perched on a hard chair and waited. And waited. I looked at their framed black and white photos on the wall. Rockstars and celebrities. I browsed the books on the shelves; erotic photography and nudes. Helmut Newton and Ana Goldin, Guy Bourdin and Bruce Weber. Titles by De Sade and Philip Roth, John Updike and Nancy Friday. Everything tasteful but with one overriding interest.

A mantlepiece clock chimed 6.15, 6.30, 6.45, 7 p.m. Finally, when I'd just about managed to summon up the courage to leave, at ten past seven, I heard the distinctive click of high heels on the marble floor in the hall. Footsteps I recognised.

"Ah, Nike. You're here."

"Yes ... Stella." I gasped. My knees felt weak. She looked amazing. So sophisticated and somehow even more beautiful than I remembered.

"Call me Mistress, Nike." She said, matter-of-factly.

"Yes ... Mistress."

She was wearing a black pencil-skirt, with sheer stockings and stiletto heels, and a cream silk top that showed off her cleavage.

"Lie down there. Face up."

"Bu ..."

"Or leave now!"

I was already in her thrall again. I just couldn't disobey her. I lay down.

She stood either side of my head and I was transported back to college, all those years ago. She was full of yet another very large and obviously very fresh load of semen.

"Please ... "

I whimpered ... but I was speaking to myself, not to her.

Everything went dark as she perched down on my face and began rubbing her soaking labia on my nostrils.

"Oh, Nike," I heard her chuckle, "it's so good to have you back."

After she was totally clean, she stood up and smiled. I'd never seen her look so happy to see me.

"I'll show you round. Come and meet Jack. He's heard all about you."

She led me through several rooms. Each of them was larger than our entire rented flat. Her heels clicked and her bottom sashayed in her black skirt. We reached a book-lined room full of musical instruments, numerous guitars, a drumkit, and what looked like recording equipment.

"Here we are, darling. My new Assistant. Nike."

Jack Ravage was definitely as handsome in the flesh as he was onscreen and in his photos. An almost feminine face with high cheekbones, full lips and amazing, sapphire blue eyes. His long curly fair hair was still wet from the shower. He smiled. His teeth were white and perfect.

"Nice to meet you."

He was wearing a white towel tied round his waist and nothing else. He was lean but with a muscular chest and shoulders.

"Thank you ... S ... sir."

Stella put her arm casually round his waist.

"She's already tasted you, darling. Gobbled the lot."

He arched an interested eyebrow, his gaze was penetrating.

"So, it's true." He said. "Everything that Stel's told me. You were her slave once and now you want to be her slave again. Right?"

My throat was dry. I couldn't speak. I croaked.

"W ... well ..."

He stepped forward, appraising me. His eyes travelled from my face to my chest, over my tummy, down my legs and then up again. I froze. He casually popped the top three buttons of my shirt and squeezed my left bra-cup.

"I think I'd like these to be bigger?"

He glanced at Stella, not even gauging my own reaction.

She shrugged. "Up to you, darling."

He put his hand under my skirt and eased aside my thong. I winced as he slid two fingers into my bush, between my labia.

I was damp. Slick. On heat.

"You weren't kidding. This turns her on."

His eyes never left mine while his fingers continued to explore.

"How many cocks?"

I shook my head. I saw a spark of delight in his blue eyes.

"It's true. Still a virgin? Fuck me. You don't get to meet many of them in my line of work."

"I'm ... gay ..." I whispered, "... I only like w ... women."

They both laughed. Nicely, but obviously amused by my protest. Stella stepped forward alongside her husband.

"We know that you don't like men, Nike. You don't have to. You just have to do as you're told."

***

And so, the following evening, I lost my 'virginity' to my Mistress's husband. It was a very functional operation, orchestrated by Stella in their music room, videoed and recorded for posterity. I stripped naked while they both remained fully clothed.

Stella had me unzip 'Sir' while I knelt before him. I sucked him hard while she took closeups. She videoed me begging him to fuck me, apparently just in case I was ever tempted to claim otherwise at a later date.

Then I climbed astride his lap and sunk myself down onto his erection, taking my own virginity while he simply sat there blankly, seemingly doing me a favour.

I hadn't had anything larger than a tampon inside me since college. But all those dildos had 'opened me up for business' as Stella used to say. So it didn't hurt. I guess the whole process only took about two minutes, with me bouncing up and down, until he rewarded me with my first 'cunt full of cum'. Then I had to slither off him and say thank you, while cleaning him up with my tongue.

Afterwards I had to kneel at their feet while they both sat on the sofa and watched the video feeds from their three different cameras, chatting and laughing, talking about what a good job their editor could do with the raw material.

"This was the only time you'll ever have the honour of my husband's dick in your cunt, Nike." Stella announced. "But you do have two other holes he might use occasionally."

However, as I discovered, sex was to play a limited role in my duties during those first weeks. Mostly my life was a more extreme rerun of our first term at college. My main responsibility was what Stella called 'house-stuff', toiling as their housemaid from 7 a.m. to midnight.

It turned out that Mr. Jenkins, their butler-chauffeur, didn't live onsite. He arrived every morning and stuck to the ground floor, taking deliveries from tradesmen, greeting guests, serving coffee, tea and lunches, mixing drinks, and occasionally driving Mr. or Mrs. Ravage around when required.

There was a cook too, a Mrs. Davis, who made lunch and prepared dinner. She was a large lady, with grey hair, who I rarely saw and we exchanged very few words.

I rose alone at six thirty, dressed in my black and white housemaid's uniform, and spent my days cleaning, waxing, polishing, tidying, scrubbing, ironing and keeping the rest of their house spotless. Despite the fact they clearly didn't need the extra income, Stella still seemed very focused on her career. She worked from home from nine to five on Mondays and Fridays. She went to the office on the three middle days of the week.

She spoke to me only as the most demanding employers speak to their domestics. There was no mention of our complex relationship or time at college. She was brusque and exacting. She criticised my standards and reduced me to tears more than once.

And yet, I was content, even happy, and totally addicted once more.

After 6 weeks I needed to ask her about money. I'd used up all my savings paying off the final month's rent to my housemates and settling other bills. I was virtually penniless. We hadn't agreed what my salary as her Personal Assistant would be.

"Don't be silly, Nike." She answered, when I finally dared to broach the subject. "You live for free, eat for free, stay here for free, get clothed and kept warm for free, what do you need money for?"

When I started crying, she was magnanimous.

"Oh well, okay then. Firstly, we'll set up a little pension account for you. We'll put some money into it monthly and, when you're 70, it will have grown into a nice nest-egg for your old age. Secondly, I have an idea which I'll work on to provide you with a bit of spending money. I'll be your marketing consultant."

I wanted to ask what her idea was but I didn't dare.

Just like at college, my housemaid duties steadily evolved into more personal tasks. I gave her pedicures, manicures and massages. I ran her baths, sponged her back, washed and dried her hair, and I assisted at what she euphemistically called her 'toilette'.

She obviously had a very active sex life with Mr. Ravage. They seemed to make love most mornings and almost every night. My role was to keep her body in tiptop shape for sex with him. She kept the tiniest landing strip of pubic hair that I washed, trimmed and groomed. I ensured her two lower orifices were always clean, using my tongue to prove it to her. During her period, I changed her sanitary products and soothed any discomfort. When she performed her ablutions, I was sometimes summoned to wipe her clean and flush the toilet.

Meanwhile she imposed a very different regime on me. Although Lockdowns were over, I almost never went out in public. Stella said I should let my pubic hair grow into a thick bush and not even shave my armpits. She cut my hair herself. A chip-chop with kitchen scissors into an uneven mop. I had to shower in lukewarm water and wasn't allowed to use deodorant or cleansing products. She prescribed me a cheap, fast-food diet that caused my skin to become greasy. I put on several lbs. I increasingly got acne spots on my face, which she delighted in pointing out when she sat astride me, as she did most days.

"You're doing quite well, Nike." She said one day, as she climbed off my face. "Tell me, have you had an orgasm since you started here?"

I shook my head. It was the truth. I'd never lie to her. I had wanted to touch myself many times at night but had always resisted.

"No Mistress. I haven't."

She smiled. "Good. It's about time, isn't it?"

I nodded. "Yes please, Mistress."

"I'm having a little reunion this evening. A few of our friends from college. I hope you'll put on a good show."

"B ... but ... Mistress."

I knew that 'our friends' actually meant her friends. I pictured those faces that I'd never forget watching as Stella caned my bare bottom just after we all graduated. My voice trailed off in dread.

"Yes? ... you have something to say?"

"No Mistress."

It was even worse than I feared. Eight of them came; Izzy Brooke and Zara Whitaker, the Melrose twins, and four others. They all looked as if the years had treated them well. Two were already married, Zara was engaged, several had exciting jobs. The twins were successful models who'd just signed a contract with a luxury fashion brand.

I was stood by the door taking their coats while Mr. Jenkins greeted them. Some of them looked at me and frowned, as if I was vaguely familiar. I had a big red spot on my chin that Stella had squeezed to aggravate the pus. Others just looked through me like I was invisible.

"You remember Nicole?" Stella exclaimed. "My roomie. Nike!"

They were all in the Drawing Room, taking glasses of chilled champagne from my tray.

"Hmm ... oh yes ..." Izzy surveyed me, "... your bitch."

There were hoots of laughter and smirks of recognition. They could all see I was dressed as a maid, in a short skirt and pinafore apron.

"Yes, Nicole whats-a-name! And now she's your maid?"

"Eeeurgh ... look at that fucking zit!"

The beautiful twins had their hands over their mouths in an identical reaction of shock and amusement.

"Wow! I thought you'd finished with her when she wasn't at your wedding?"

"Not at all. We just needed to let some time pass. Didn't we Nike?"

I bobbed a curtsey, cringing. "Yes Mistress."

My humility brought the house down. They were all intrigued now.

"But what about Jack? Aren't you a bit worried having a slut like that in your home?"

Stella burst out laughing. "What? Look at her armpits. And face zits. And that hair! No, my husband is not running off with the maid."

Everybody giggled at the ridiculousness of the idea.

"And Jack doesn't mind? Having your ex-roomie bitch work for you?"

"Not at all. Mister Ravage is nice to you, isn't he?"

I bobbed another curtsey. "Yes Mistress."

"In fact," Stella announced, "I have a little movie you all might enjoy!"

The final, edited, 3 minutes film was excruciating. It showed me undressing in the music room, unzipping the fly of my employer's trousers, sucking and begging him to 'fuck' me, then climbing astride his lap and mounting his erection, all while he remained clothed, looking bored and disinterested.

There were shots from different angles including closeups of my face and eyes. The final part showed me sliding off him and thanking him, while slurping his penis clean.

Throughout the film, my audience hooted, hollered and jeered, while I had to stand to attention in the middle of the room and watch.

"And you don't mind her fucking Jack?"

"Well, he didn't exactly look too interested in her, did he?" Izzy laughed.

"It was only the one time." Stella said. "Otherwise, it's been blowjobs."

"She's blown him too!"

"A couple of times. When I was on my period. I didn't feel like looking after Jack so our maid gave him head instead."

"So, she's not really a lezzie after all? She's actually bi?"

Stella shrugged and gave me a lewd wink. "Hmm, I'm not really sure. She just does what she's told. Don't you, Nike?"

I performed a third curtsey. "Yes Mistress."

"So now you're going to rub your clit for us all, aren't you?"

I couldn't help uttering a loud wail of shame. And yet I wanted to do it ... needed to do it ... longed to do it.

"Y ... yes ... Mistress."

"Come, kneel here on the floor, in front of all of us. That's it. Now lift up your skirt and show everybody your hairy cunt."

I knelt on the floor, facing them, wallowing in my disgrace. I knew what they'd all see. I wasn't wearing any underwear. I could feel the slick wetness already leaking down the insides of my thighs. I leaned back and raised the hem of my skirt.

"Oh wow!"

"Now that's why some people call them a beaver!"

"Fuck me! Look!"

"One cock and her cunt already gapes like that."

"I bet she grows that jungle to try to hide her leaky cunt."

"No wonder Jack sticks to blowjobs!"

"Don't move. Keep still while I look closer."

Several of them peered closeup, fascinated, pointing, shrieking, laughing, nudging each other, shaking their heads. Zara Whitaker ran her fingertip along my labia and then pulled it away like she'd been scalded.

Suddenly Stella emerged from behind the crowd holding something green and about 12 inches long. She pointed it at me.

"Omig ..." Zara gasped ... "Nooooo!"

"A cucumber!" I blinked at Izzy high-fiving the Melrose twins.

Stella bowed and lapped up the applause.

"Yes, Nike's going to rub her clit with this nice big cucumber!"

She gave it to me with an arched eyebrow and a wink. Her stare was a warning not to let her down. I reached out and nearly dropped the monstrous dildo. My hand was trembling.

"I don't think any lube is necessary! But suck it anyway."

I held the end up to my mouth and stuck out my tongue. I licked. All I could see were blurred cameras and faces. I could feel hot tears on my cheeks.

"That's it ... good girl ... now tease your cunt with it."

I obeyed, trying not to look at them, rubbing the green tip against my labia. I parted my knees even wider, leaning back further. I supported my weight with my left hand and jiggled the cucumber to and fro with my right.

"Look at us, Nike. Smile for your fans."

"Thaaaaaat's it!" somebody cooed, as if I was a performing dog. A performing bitch.

"Right, now, all the way in."

I was amazed. And humiliated. The end slid in easily. I pushed and several inches just seemed to disappear inside me. That training at college with Stella's strap-on had worked. It was only when it got thicker, and in deeper, that I began to feel it. At about halfway it became painful.

"Agh ... aaggh ..." I was gasping now.

"Sssh ... keep pushing ... all the way in, darling."

With my eyes closed, I could pick out Stella's voice from the clamour and merriment in front of me.

I pushed, overcoming the discomfort, inhaling and exhaling.

"Oh yes, you've managed even more than Jack's cock now."

"She's taking what? Eight ... nine inches?"

"I couldn't do that!" One of the twins said.

"Course you could you slut!" her sister laughed.

I had to stop at ten inches. I required the final two as a handle. I began thrusting it in and out. It got easier ... better.

"That's it. Faster, rub it against that greedy clit!"

"Ngh ... ngh ... ngh ... ngh ..." I was frantic now.

My mind was so confused. I associated penetration with men. Whenever I'd masturbated, I would simply play with my clitoris using my fingers. I didn't insert anything. I shifted angle so that the green shaft rubbed just the right spot.

"Look, the slut's getting there."

It was true. Their faces and cameras were all fuzzy. My eyes rolled up into the back of my head. I was so nearly there ...

"Cum, Nike, let yourself go!"

"Ah ... aah ... ahhm ... ss ... ssss ...yesSSSSSSSSSSSS .... MMMM!"

It hit me like a train passing through a tunnel. Buffeting me. A huge whooshing sound alongside my own scream and their raucous laughter. I could feel my toes curling in my shoes, my knees quivered and my body froze. Then my head slumped forwards like I was a ragdoll.

When I regained consciousness, the room was silent. I forced my eyes open. Nine female faces were gawping at me, their mouths open, all with perfect teeth. Then they began to grin and giggle and whoop with delight.

"That was the most disgustingly awesome thing I've ever seen."

"You really found a weird one here, Stel'."

"Toby will absolutely love watching this." Izzy Brooke winked at me. I gathered that was her partner's name.

"So will Jack!" Stella replied. "Airdrop us all a copy"

I was managing to get some control over my body, stretching out my limbs like a slumped puppet slowly being pulled up by its strings. I moved my jaw from side to side, licking my dry lips.

"Gather round."

They all edged forward, some squatting, a second row of them standing and looking down on me, eyes shining.

"Hold still."

Stella gently eased my hand away from the green handle and gripped the cucumber. Then she slid it out of me, inch by inch. I was surprised by her tenderness. My hips tried to follow it, not wanting to lose the feeling of fullness.

"I think you've converted her to cock!"

Everybody laughed. I felt Stella's eyes boring into me.

"You know, you're right, I think I may have done!"

***

"Face up."

Two evenings later, I was summoned to the master suite and onto their marital bed. 'Sir' (Mr. Ravage) was in the bathroom. Stella was wearing a silk camisole, her hair tied up in a loose bun.

I took off my cheap nylon dressing gown and lay down naked on their huge double bed, with my feet nearest the pillows. She'd allowed me to take a hot shower and use rose-scented soap. I didn't know what would be required of me. But I was excited to be asked.

Stella climbed onto the end of the bed nearest my head. The mattress lurched as she placed her knees right next to my ears and put one hand down on my hip. With the other hand she hitched up her camisole.

"Face up." She repeated. "And kiss me."

She lowered her beautifully groomed mound over my mouth. Her tiny strip of hair tickled my nose. I stuck out my tongue and licked as her labia hovered just within reach. She was teasing both of us.