Regime Change Pt. 08 - HOMEBODY

HOMEBODY

After firing the now pregnant weeping Mariz and the Obsidian Prince hiring her with the agreement to breed the Filipina at least three more times, the Del Toros said their farewells to him and Master Layman and drove down the mountains with their remaining maid back to L.A.

The day after her return to Casa Del Toro Sara texted a selfie to her nice boy friend: in the harsh light of a cel flash in a dark room. Sara had turned her face to the left, her eyes closed, and with her left hand she had pulled up her white t-shirt just above the hard nipple of her over-exposed left tit. The text said: It's over. I'll always luv u in my way.

Soon after Mrs. Del Toro confiscated Sara's cel phone.

(Neither the concubine nor the other whore were permitted to use cels or computers.

But when both Del Toros were out of their house Nubia would search the web on the Apple in Lance's study.

She couldn't resist watching the vids of her breeding sessions that were posted on Whore-stoppers. And not just those vids. The ones of the Yumi Widow for example. "Seems I'm not the only cunt caught in the Queen Witch's web," Nubia said to herself when she watched the vid of the Unmasking for the first time.)

***

For the next thirteen months Sara did all the chores of the house: cooking, cleaning, child-care (with help from Lexy & Nubia [who breast-fed her daughter and the concubine's son Lance the Second]), gardening, car, truck and house maintenance. Everything but shopping. Sara was forbidden to leave the property. "You belong to the house, my husband owns your cunt," her boss's wife told Sara.

During this thirteen months Del Toro barely spoke to and never touched Sara Service. Before their trip to the mountains the bouncy brunette never knew when or where or how her boss would "have" her.

She'd be taking her morning shower and unannounced her tumescent boss would slip into it and have her up against the wall.

Or she'd be carrying a basket of laundry as she was bouncing passed her boss in one of the long hallways of his huge house and he'd reach over and start caressing one of her breasts and before you could say Jumpin' Jack Flash-Your-Tits Sara would be top-less, on her knees, her back against the wall, her arms above her head, her wrists cuffed by her boss's hard hands, sucking the life force out of his big balls.

And there was that time, late one night, he called her on the intercom to come to the Master's bedroom, "Right fucking now!" She rushed into his bedroom to find Darlene, naked, slick with sweat, smiling lop-lopsidedly, eyes bunched-up mischievously, kneeling on the canopied four-postered bed, with her husband standing buck naked rigid with fury next to a white padded chair.

Her boss had ordered Sara to strip off her pink see-through nightie, stuffed a pair of red panties in her mouth and told her to lay on the bed on her back. Sara looked sheepishly at Darlene.

"I know my hubby fucks you Sara, that's why I hired you Miss Service," Darlene guffawed, her baby blues twinkling. Sara did what she was told.

Then Lance snarled at his wife: "Eat this dirty slut's pussy while I sex bomb your bi-cunt back to the stone ages!" If wasn't Sara's first threesome but it was her most intense one until it was topped by the black mass foursome in the mountains.

But since their return from the mountains he all but ignored the maid.

He didn't ignore his wife, the concubine and the other whore. She'd hear and sometimes see the other women of the house getting fucked by her boss.

Nubia's bedroom was in the basement two doors down from Sara. If she saw Del Toro go into the other whore's bedroom (he never knocked but he enjoyed knocking up sluts with big knockers) Sara would dash into Sandra Cappadocia Smith's former, now empty, darkened bedroom and quietly shut the door. She'd press an ear up against the wall blessedly between her and Nubia's bed. The loud rock-n-roll made her finger music her harping envious tormented cunt.

Or more than once when doing her chores she'd near-stumble upon Del Toro plowing a supine Lexy on the table on the biggest kitchen's nook. They were both naked. Lexy was whimpering intensely something in Spanish, hanging on to the father of her bastard with dear lust for life. Sara didn't understand what the concubine was saying but she knew it was dirty: very, very, very dirty.

The maid wasn't jealous; Sara and Lexy had become friends; Sara had held Lexi's hand when the concubine gave birth to Del Toro's bastard son.

"Lucky girl, getting hot nookie for breakfast," Sara said to herself, watching discretely from a distance the beast with two backs, her cunt starved for affection. She craved that pumping iron hard ass would kick her sweet ass over the field goal post.

***

Del Toro was away often, sometimes even a few weeks at a time. Darlene would be out of the house almost daily. The concubine and the two whores would take care of Del Toro's two bastards. Once a month the children would spend a week-end with their grandmother, the formidable Widow Del Toro.

When not servicing the man and the mistress of the house and when not breast-feeding the children and other child-rearing duties, Nubia kept to herself, reading many of the tomes of quaint and curious lore in the Casa Del Toro's library and Del Toro's office.

Sara and Lexy would play with the kids and sometimes when the kids were away or napping they'd giggle over comparing notes about their close encounters of the Del Toro: "Has he done this to you?....then he bent me over...oh you lucky slut...you dirty whore you didn't?"

Once these blow-by-blow recounts made Sara and Lexy hornier than cane toads in heat. Lexy pulled off her black lace and red silk lingerie and leaned back on her bed propped up by a few pillows naked as a jay bird and started sliding two fingers in/out of her smooth pussy. "Tell me everything you did to each other--everything!" Del Toro's concubine purred to one of his whores.

Sara took off her tight jeans and sat down on the nearest chair and spread her legs and she starting sliding two fingers into her silky cunt dreamily reminiscing, "Two days ago I was sun-bathing in the garden and suddenly a great big snake starting talking dirty to me...."

***

But Sara had no new encounters to share with her friend. Until about a year after the black mass in the mountains, when Sara was in the laundry room wearing a tight, white t-shirt with the letters TNA in the middle of her bust, tight black Lululemon yoga stretch pants and flip-flops with paisley flowers on them, she was startled by her boss's deep commanding voice sternly irrupting from the intercom: "Service, you're required in my office."

His voice surprised her, she nearly jumped out of her skin tight pants. She dropped what she was doing and quickly took the stairs to the second floor, her nipples hardening with hope that we would fuck her.

Standing in front of Del Toro's desk in his office were two uniformed LAPD officers, big, beefy clean-shaven young men wearing mirrored sun glasses. One was black. One was white. They seemed familiar to Sara.

Lance Del Toro sat behind his desk wearing a black dress shirt and a dark red simple tie. He looked at Sara with no expression on his face, his black eyes as cold as deep space and said, calmly, "A mere token of my appreciation."

Sara stood there, looking at the faces of the three men, confused, searching for words. The two cops snickered, which sounded strange coming from such beef cake.

"Gentlemen, do your duty."

The black cop removed a Zip tie from his utility belt. With cool efficiently he got behind Sara, her confusion intensifying by the nanosecond.

"Sara Service, by the power invested in me by the Court of the All-Seeing Eye, we are arresting you for committing multiple acts of whoring," the white cop declared, smirking at the unresisting woman as his partner tied her wrists behind her back.

Sara now remembered where she'd seen these cops before--they'd been the ones who dragged the naked seven month pregnant Sandy Cappadocia Smith out of the house balling her eyes out! It seemed another lifetime ago.

Sara felt faint, mute with shock, with terror. She felt like the wind was knocked out of her. With implacable strength both cops took Sara by the arms and marched her out of the office, the black cop in a rich baritone saying to Del Toro, "Thank you for your Service." His partner laughed uproariously. Del Toro didn't given his maid so much as a parting glance.

As the strong armed men briskly escorted Sara out of Casa Del Toro she remembered standing behind the Del Toros and Mariz when they watched Sandy's walk of shame on the giant flat screen TV. She remembered how much they laughed. And how much the live-feed had turned her on. How much it had turned on all of them.

When Sandy's walk of shame was over the four of them went out on to the sundeck where the three women stripped down and bent over the teak dining table and Del Toro shoved his engorged ramrod into each of their gorgeous sopping pussies a few times in turn and then moved down the line of their bare asses. He climaxed Sara's pussy.

The cops brought the demoralized Sara Service out into the sunshine and started pushing her towards the black and white LAPD police car when one of them gave a start and stopped the proceedings.

"I'm embarrassed," said Officer Black.

"What's wrong buddy?" asked Officer White.

Both constables were speaking over the maid's tousled head and behind her sexy back.

"I'm embarrassed for both of us," said Officer Black.

"Now you got me worried man," said Officer White.

"It's proper procedure to strip search a prisoner before we restrain her," said Officer Black.

"And we pride ourselves on our professionalism," Officer White laughed, wryly.

The two cops let go of Sara's bare biceps. Officer White use his switchblade to cut the Zip tie hand cuffs restraining Sara. Then both cops got in front her, an unstoppable force.

"Strip slut," ordered Officer Black.

Jittery with panic the woman in her late thirties, with an athletic bod and dark blue eyes, awkwardly tried to step out of her flip flops, which seemed to stick to her soles. With a scream of frustration she finally got the flowered flip flops off her feet.

Sara then pulled her white t-shirt over her head messing up her locks even more and said in a trembling voice, "I'm not a slut."

Sara pealed off her tight yoga pants and stood in front of the cops eyes down-cast and said in a near-inaudible, trembling confession, "I'm a whore."

"No bra!" laughed Officer White.

"No panties!!" laughed Officer Black.

(Sara had stopped wearing any underwear except on her period a month after Darlene Del Toro had hired her.)

Comically the flustered naked woman tried to cover her pink, puffy, pointed nipples with her left forearm and her bare cunt with her opened right hand. The cops laughed at her obvious dismay.

Sara's down-cast gaze saw the uniformed bulges of LAPD's finest get bigger and bigger. The weight of the world of hurt on her shoulders brought her to her knees. She ambidextrously unzipped the constables and gave law enforcement her utmost respect.

Before Sara could get ahead of herself Officer Black ordered her to "Assume the dirty bitch position!"

Officer B pounded her cunt black and blue with his baton, while the roiling Sara gazed up into her tiny reflection in Officer W's mirrored lenses, her eyes and cheeks bulging as she sucked up to a long cock of the law of the jungle. Sara liked what she saw. She was over-powered. And it was good.

Every inch of Sara's body inside, outside, up-down, down-side sang in harmony, with the joy of fulfilling her purpose, with her dry spell being broken to a million little pieces by a great flood washing over her.

Sara enjoyed men in uniform intensely interrogating her back-ended and front- loaded with hot semen.

The cops skewered Sara good, they got her off with a global warming.

After topping Sara off, they confiscated her garments and drove off down the drive-way with their lights flashing.

Sara walked unsteadily out of the sun into the cool of Casa Del Toro, her chin stained white, her palms and knees covered with dusty tiny scratches from the stones of the drive-way, her wet tits bouncing, her pounded cunt thoroughly tenderized and a slightly purple open hand print slowly fading on each of the jiggling cheeks of her sweet tush.

"It hurts so good," she murmured to herself and, not for the first time, silently prayed to Jesus thanking Him for creating her a whore. Such blasphemy would not go unrewarded.

To be continued in Part 9: MANDALA