The Housemaid

Annabel was feeling hungry. It was half past twelve and it was time. Mr. Crawford would be in his sitting room now, the family all having sat down to their own luncheon. It was time for the servants to take their ease, and Annabel finished folding her lady's underthings. The last bit of lace squared away, Annabel found herself rushing down the back stairs towards the ground floor, and Mr. Crawford's sitting room. He would be waiting for her, his blond hair slicked back with pomade, his black uniform perfect, except for the strain at the front. How she hungered for it, that delicious organ hard and weeping for her. She would milk him today, swallowing him down and slobbering on his cock until he spurt into her hungry little mouth. Annabel slowed her pace down the stairs. She must not let her hunger get the best of her today. Her young master was depending upon her. Finally she stood before Mr. Crawford's door. She paused, and scratched lightly before opening the door and slipping in.

John Crawford sat in his favorite chair in his small parlor, hard and ready for his noontime servicing. The second housemaid was a sly thing – he did not fool himself into thinking that he was her only service, as her mouth was made for fucking and she seemed to hunger for his cock. She served the eldest son of the house his tea every morning, and no doubt she serviced the young master just as well as she did his father's butler. He rubbed his cock through his trousers at the thought, at the idea of fucking the same mouth that the handsome young master had fucked. Of his spunk and the young master's spunk mixing in the sly housemaid's belly.

A scratch announced her, and she slipped in, her dark eyes knowing and not in the least coy. She slinked over to his chair without a word, a lithe little alley cat on the prowl. Without a word, she sank to her knees between his opened legs. Instead of pulling his cock out immediately though, as she usually did, she lowered her eyes and unlaced his shoes. Slipping them off one at a time, she stripped him of his shoes and socks, so his long toes and callused heels were exposed.

At her soft bidding, he stood up, fully dressed in his bare feet, his toes curling slightly on the hard wooden floor. His cock was at her mouth level then, but she did not touch it. Instead, she stood as well, and went about quietly and efficiently undressing him, folding and hanging each item of clothing neatly and properly. Soon he was down to his smalls, the linen strained from encasing his engorged prick, the soft fabric damp with precum and stained slightly yellow around the opening from little droplets of piss. She made a husky little noise, almost masculine in pitch and timbre. He quivered in response.

She was still fully and properly dressed, but he made no move to similarly undress her. She dropped to her knees again between his feet and slowly pulled on his smalls, inching them down over his buttocks. They caught on his erection, but she smoothly adjusted him and soon he was stepping out of his underthings, completely nude before her. He was not a tall man, short but wide and barrel chested, covered in coarse and wiry light brown hair. His thighs were meaty and likewise furred, but his back and buttocks contained only blond peach fuzz. His sluttish housemaid licked her lips, but made no move to swallow his cock yet, and he wondered at her restraint. Usually she hungered for it, couldn't wait to put his prick into her rapacious little mouth.

Without a word, she pushed on his thighs and he sat back on his chair again, the nubbly nap of the raw silk abrading deliciously at his back and legs. He spread his legs, giving her access to his cock, but also displaying his arsehole to her perusal as well. She licked her lips again, and he could tell that she wanted him in her mouth. Instead, she rose up slightly on her knees and place first one, then the other of his legs upon the arms of his chair. His breath began to saw in and out of his chest, the furred expanse heaving a bit. His head fell back and his eyes closed as he adjusted his ass to be closer to the edge of the chair. He was exposed completely, his ass open to her as it had been to no one since his brief affair with the butcher's son, before he went into service fifteen years ago. He trembled in an agony of exposure and desire – his sly housemaid had unmanned him and all he could do was hook his legs around the chair arms, hoping and praying that he wouldn't have to beg her.

He let out an unwilling growl that turned into a little moaning noise by accident. Beg. That's what he would do. Beg her to lick his arsehole, which was flexing and opening like a hungry little mouth itself. Beg her to put her fingers in him, to suck him. Oh god, beg her to do anything she liked.

But he didn't have to say word. Crawford felt her breath on his balls, on his arsehole, and on the sensitive bit of flesh between the two. It was there that he first felt her tongue, on that small in-between place, and with the soft warmth of saliva and mouth, he moaned again, softly, and without a growl. Oh yes. She tongued her way up, tracing the seam between his cods with just the tip of her tongue, lightly, maddeningly. Then she took one of those small round balls into her mouth and sucked gently, then licking with the flat of her tongue, then surrounding his cod with her mouth. She did the same to the other. Then she licked her way down to his clenching hole and rimmed it with her flexible tongue, and he felt himself begin to unravel, slowly but inexorably.

Annabel licked round the lovely little hole of the top servant of Eastmore, Mr. John Crawford, and felt both desire and triumph. He was hers this afternoon, and soon he would belong the young master, just as she did. Anna gave herself over to his delicious ass, wiggling her tongue into his hole, sucking and slurping, and even chewing a bit on the rim. She buried her nose in his furry crack and smelled that musky, slightly acrid odor of helplessly aroused male. She squirmed a bit as she devoured his ass, her own pussy was creaming and her clit cried out for its own friction. But she resisted – she would not get herself off until he was spurting down her throat. And she was determined to milk him before he spurt. She slowed her ravenous mouth, pulling the intensity back so that she only licked round his hole, inserting her tongue up his arse every few rounds. Freed of the paralyzing power of her onslaught, his hips began to flex and move, pushing his ass toward her mouth as she penetrated him with her tongue. Oh yes. She knew what he wanted now. He wanted more penetration, deeper. Annabel decided to oblige him, as she too felt the overwhelming desire to embed herself into him, seeking that small place inside each man that would push out those thick ropes of prejactulate into her waiting mouth.

Annabel moved her mouth up to his cods again, and sent her thumb questing into his slick hole. It slid in easily, drawing another breathy moan from Mr. Crawford. She screwed it in and out a few times. Stilling her thumb in his ass, which rhythmically clenched on it, she removed her mouth from his balls and looked up at him spread before her.

He was a sluttish sight – one her young master would enjoy, no doubt, but for now, he belonged to her. He was spread wide, his wide body deliciously abandoned, his furred chest slick and slightly matted with sweat. He'd hooked his knees and feet firmly around the arms of the chair for stability and leverage, and he'd also thrown his arms above his head, holding onto the low back of his armchair in a desperate bid to stay upright. His armpits were hairy and exposed, and even over the musk of his ass that still coated her face, she could smell the sweat of his pits. His cock, which she had yet to touch at all, was red and shiny, the foreskin drawn completely back from the head and wrapped around the tip's base like a strangling collar. It was wide and short, like him, thickening substantially at the root. It leaked copiously, and Annabel could smell that too. In fact the whole of the small room simply reeked of his sex and musk, sweat and precum, and the mix of her saliva and his ass. Annabel squirmed at this and she felt her nipples become abraded by the cotton of her chemise. Her thumb was stuck deep in his arse. At the longish pause in which she admired his big, donkey body, he'd begun to thrash a bit, trying to fuck himself on her small thumb, rubbing his body on the chair, searching for friction, searching for more of what he needed her to give him.

"Please," he whispered. "Oh, please." Annabel smiled then, smiled her alley cat smile, which was knowing and triumphant. Oh, yes, she enjoyed controlling a man's body this way. There were only a few men who could control her, her nasty, lusty temperament. And Mr. Crawford was not one. Oh, no, he would be a slave to her, a slave to what she could make his body feel. She knew that he liked men for the most part, but a man in service could not go seeking out such things, could not even go seeking out a woman really. So he had succumbed easily to her cocksucking skills, though he never returned the favor, never asked to see her tits or stuck his fingers in her quim. But she was a hungry kitty, and she loved his big wide cock, and the taste of him spurting down her throat.

"Say it again," she purred. "Tell me what you want me to do, Mr. Crawford." Her voice was not subservient, as it usually was after she sucked him off. He opened his eyes up at her, pupils dilated with lust.

"Please." He said it not in a true whisper, but in a low sotto voce, which betrayed both his surprise and his surrender. "Please fuck me with your fingers."

Annabel slyly smiled again and replacing her thumb with the tips her index and middle fingers. His arse blossomed open to accept her digits and he bore down on them. His head fell back again, and his fingers tightened on the wooden chair back above his head. Annabel's fingers went questing through his tight passage, seeking the walnut of sensation she knew was there. When she found it, he let out a little screamy moan, and then quickly clamped his jaw shut. As she manipulated the little gland, his cock began to leak copiously, viscous strands of clearish fluid pouring out onto his furry belly trail. Annabel stretched upwards on her knees, licking his belly where the fluid had collected, and then placing her mouth just over the head of his cock. She continued to massage his internal gland, and the milky fluid poured into her mouth. She suckled it greedily, her hunger finally overtaking her.

Mr. Crawford had to let go of the chair in order to bury his face in his arm to muffle his cries. He slumped down, curving his back unnaturally down. But Annabel continued her massage for long minutes, stimulating his gland, gentling sucking down the fluid she milked from his rigid cock. He began to buck his hips a bit, and she knew that he would come any second. She engulfed nearly his whole cock down her throat, stopping an inch before the base, as it was just too wide for her jaw. This stimulation pushed him straight over the edge, and for long seconds he erupted into her mouth as she pumped him relentlessly. There was so much semen there, that some spilled out of her mouth and down his cock, as she struggled to swallow it all.

Annabel relaxed her fingers and jaw, but she removed neither. Instead, she gently lapped at his cock until he was clean and shiny with spit. Next she sank down fully to her knees again, and she removed her fingers slowly from his arsehole. As they emerged, the hole fluttered and gaped a bit before closing and Annabel savored the sight of a man pliant before her. Rising to her upper knees again, she unhooked first one leg and then the other from the chair, settling his feet on the floor so that he might push upwards and relieve the pressure on his curved back.

John Crawford couldn't feel his feet. Or his fingers. Or anything really. Nonetheless, he pushed upwards into a semi-reclined position and opened his eyes to see that lovely cat Annabel licking her lips and rubbing her nipples at his feet.

His brain had not quite engaged again after that stunning orgasm. "What." He managed to croak. "What possessed you...?"

Annabel gave him slyest smile he had yet seen from his alley cat. "I've been having my fun with you. To amuse myself. And to amuse the young master."

Crawford stared at her uncomprehending for a moment, and then felt a spasm of both lust and fear. "What does Master Alexis have to do with it?"

She chuckled, low and knowing. "Oh, Mr. Crawford. I think you'll find out."