Maid for More

He had watched her work that morning as he did any morning, every morning he could. Admiring her quiet efficiency, her centeredness as she pursued each small task. Her seeming obliviousness to his close (and poorly disguised) observation.

Her obliviousness was anything but. She could feel his eyes pick apart every seam of her dress. Every day. The energy of his gaze made her quiver. Even when his guests were with him, his attention on her barely wavered. It puzzled her yet thrilled her, to hold his attention so, if even in passing. But why? She had tried to talk of it a little, shyly, with her friend Si Lun, but that had been a mistake. Her crass suggestions had made Mi Lai's ears burn with shame. Si Lum had laughed and said that she would do the job instead, then laughed much more at Mi Lai's instant, clumsy, anger.

It was much later that night Mi Lai allowed herself a surge of other thoughts on Si Lum's suggestions. Picturing them in her mind. The forwardness. The seductive entrapment. Having him suckle her proffered breasts, swallowing his desire with eager hunger. Simple, hopeless, fantasy. But it turned in her mind, swirling and colliding images that filled each night until the meekness of each day became unbearable. So that morning she had found herself quietly stepping out of her panties, without even looking down from the mirror where she had just finished preparing. An unseen gesture. To her nighttime longing and daytime dedication. Unseen. But correct. Every stitch on her body, every moment of her preparation, was for his benefit. Had been for months. This was just one more like the others. He would not know it. But she would.

He was all that she was not - all that she feared and admired. Powerful, educated, Western, wealthy. A man of consequence. But for him, she was just as otherworldly and unattainable - beautiful, exotic, delicate. Poised.

His own gesture that day was equally unheralded - surprising himself with the boldness of his advance, and her welcome of it. His arm had curled impetuously around that slim waist as she made to pass by him. As she had a hundred times before. It was but the act of a moment. But it was enough. She turned into him without hesitation, and they stood there. Together. His arm barely, lightly, around her waist. But her cinnamon smoothness, her intoxicating cheek, just one inch from him. Each point where their bodies touched so conscious and unquestionable. The charge that had gather on her lips leapt across the gap as she tilted her head up and forward, following his warm breath to his warm mouth. Her breath caught at her own daring, and at the honey lemon taste of his surprise. His arm curled tighter, more completely, enclosing her in a new reality into which her fantasies would now cascade.

Her fingers - gentle, nimble, determined - untangled him from imprisonment. He was free even as his hands laid bare the secret her hips had worn to work for him and they both tumbled into the generous armchair.

"Uhh.." spreading her knees and twisting slightly in his lap, Mi Lai moaned. She could feel the unmistakable warmth of his manhood, questing. Pressing against her bareness. Her panties had been discarded in mere idle hope, not slightest expectation. But it meant she was ready under the taunt hem of her uniform. More than ready. The slickness of her own anticipation smoothly guided his tip into her, without intervention or effort.

She sighed contently at the passage of him into her deepest place. The delicious sensation of total connection. The impossible perfection of what was happening. If he came right now, it would be into her welcome possession. She thought of the potency that lay ready to deliver his seed, and with it the future promise and present possibility of a wide-eyed child.

She shuddered at the prospect being granted her. If she could have him as hers, her own, her devotion to him would be total. Slavish. How could she dare to imagine, realize, that his devotion to her would be no less.

His lips continued to seek out the oft seen but unexplored confluences of her face - the corner of her mouth, her ear, each side of her warm chin and neck. She let his urgency wash over her, as her own, deeper exploration progressed. She fixed herself against him and flexed, rewarded with an unmistakable throb and commanding a rejoining thrust. Lips to hips, their connection was unbroken as his steering strength drew her more fully onto him.

The strands of her hair cradled his face as he pushed upward gently, persistently, relentlessly, urgently. She could feel the bubbling tide rising within him, seeking its inexorable release. She urged him onward with kisses and mumbled whispers, undulating against both his building want and her need to liberate it.

When it broke, his intensity was overwhelming. A last desperate thrust and groan of defeat as he surrendered his control to her acceptance, flooding her with his essential self. Each leaping splash a part of him he would now share with no other. He had marked her as his own, and the coruscating pleasure of that fact sparkled within her, even as his power ebbed into her clasping arms. She was his, full, owning, content.

Theirs would be a relationship of passionate resilience. He would ignore the misplaced disapproval of friends and colleagues, recognising in it the envy and admiration at his good fortune. Her simple contentment at satiating his every desire would disconcert her new observers and would-be critics. Her obvious satisfaction in her role and her excellence at performing it. Her hands, her mouth, her wetness were merely extensions of her love, never to be denied him. Having welcomed his strong seed into her body, she had to have it always.

Those scandalized at their undimmed sexual effervescence would find no purchase in their society. Their energy was devoted to each other and the life now blossoming within her.