The Live-in Maid

As part of my responsibilities as a live-in maid, I always get up before Mr. Johnson in the morning to make him breakfast and prepare his lunch. When he comes into the kitchen later, already dressed in his suit, he usually sits down at the table and eats silently.

Today is no different. When he finishes his breakfast, I collect the dishes and start washing them in the sink while he reads through the morning's news. Eventually, I hear him get up and fold up the papers. He hasn't so much as spoken a word to me the whole morning, as is typical. Mr. Johnson is a busy man and doesn't have time to waste on frivolous tasks such as cooking, and so it is my responsibility to take care of his more basic needs.

Now he walks up to me at the kitchen counter. I don't turn around, but I sense him stepping close to me, and a moment later his hand lands on the small of my back and pushes me forward. I try to keep washing the dishes as best I can in this position - I know he doesn't like me wasting time - but it's difficult to keep my balance. Bent over like this, my heavy breasts hang over the sink, almost breaching the limits of my flimsy dress.

The hand stays on my back while his other hand lifts the bottom of my dress up and over my hips. Fingers slip under the waistband of my panties. With one movement, they're down at my knees, and my wet pussy and asshole are exposed to the cool air. Warm fingers slip into the squelching wetness and slide all the way through my pussy lips and back again. It's a perfunctory movement, performed once, and twice, to test that my pussy is ready for penetration, as he likes it to be at all times. On the third slide, the fingers brush over my clit, and I jolt and squeeze the foamy sponge in my hand hard, gripping the edge of the counter.

Mr. Johnson doesn't take notice of this. Apparently satisfied with the state of my pussy, he removes his fingers. I hear the clinking of his belt buckle behind me, and try to concentrate on the dishes in the sink. One hand settles heavily on my back again and then there's a few seconds of a faint slapping noise behind me as Mr. Johnson readies himself. The noise stops and a warm, thick object slides against my wet pussy lips. The hand on my back pushes me down further, so my tits hang even lower over the sink and my pussy lips are fully exposed and stretched for his viewing pleasure.

My soapy hands grapple for purchase on the sink while Mr. Johnson slides the head of his penis through my sopping folds. When he rubs it against my clit I let out a gentle moan, my eyes sliding half shut. "Someone's excited," he says quietly, sounding mildly interested. Experimentally, he slaps the head against my clit a few times and I squirm in his grip. My legs have begun to tremble from the tension, and my panties slide down further along my wet legs to puddle around my feet.

Finally, the penis slides back through my lips and is positioned further back, at my hole. I glance up at the reflection in the kitchen window and watch Mr. Johnson's mouth slacken as he pushes inside slowly, inch my inch, until he bottoms out and lets out a satisfied groan: "Ohh yeah. Very nice." He places both hands on my hips and spreads my cheeks apart, watching his penis as it slides out again with a loud squelch.

The noise makes my face heat up. I can feel the embarrassing wetness drip out of my hole and I know his penis must be covered in it. Mr. Johnson doesn't seem to mind. Gaze fixed on my pussy, he pushes deeper again and watches how it spreads open around his hard penis. Then he tightens his grip on my hips and begins fucking my hole in a steady rhythm. He raises his chin and closes his eyes while he thrusts. With every movement, my hips bump into the counter and my breasts swing further forwards, slowly escaping the confines of my dress.

One particularly deep thrust forces a surprised yelp from me, which lengthens into a low moan, and behind me I hear Mr. Johnson grunt in reaction, and mutter: "Oh yeah. You like that, don't you?" He's speeding up in excitement, his balls slapping against my pussy lips rhythmically, and I nod frantically, whimpering and pushing my ass back to chase the friction of his thick penis sliding through my pussy lips. My feet lift off the ground with the force of his pounding, and one of my tits has finally slipped free and is dangling freely over the sink, bouncing in time with Mr. Johnson's thrusts. The kitchen rings with the sound of his balls slapping against my mound, along with my reluctant moaning.

Occasionally, he grunts and mutters under his breath: "Oh yeah. Yeah... That's nice. That's a good girl. All tight and wet for me, aren't you? Ohh yeah. My god, that is a tight hole you've got there. A tight hole, all for me, isn't it?"

I can tell that he's getting more and more excited as he speaks, his voice growing breathless, and his thrusts faster. He falls quiet for a moment, his breath catching as he pounds away erratically, like an animal. A low, pained groan starts in his throat. "Ohhhh," he lets out, and closes his eyes in satisfaction, while he pumps himself in and out of my hole, through his orgasm. "Ohhhh yeah."

He finally slows and pushes in one last time, settling deep inside me while he finishes ejaculating. My pussy is pounding with arousal and pulsating wildly around him, contracting and relaxing in turn, on the brink of orgasm. I whimper in desperation, writhing against him, trying to push myself over the edge, but it's too late. Mr. Johnson has satisfied his needs, and he has no use for my pleasure.

In the kitchen window I can see my face, slack with arousal, and my freed tits, one of them hanging lewdly into the kitchen sink, half submerged in lukewarm dishwater, and the other peeking out from behind my dress, nipple hard and half exposed.

Without a warning and in one smooth movement, the penis is pulled out of my hole, and along with it a small torrent of wetness slides out of my pussy, over my clit and slowly down my left leg. Mr. Johnson doesn't waste time with pleasantries. He wipes his penis on my dress and then he tucks it away. I hear him zip up his pants and fasten his belt in one motion, and then he gives my right ass cheek a rough squeeze and a slap. "Keep working. I don't pay you to stand around and do nothing."

It's a gentle reprimand, but I know Mr. Johnson doesn't let disobedience go unpunished. I jump back into action, flustered. "Yes, Mr. Johnson. I'm sorry."

He walks away and I scrub at a plate in the sink, very conscious of the fact that my pussy is still exposed and throbbing in the cold air, Mr. Johnson's seed trickling out and sliding down my leg into my panties, while my breasts, hanging from my dress, quiver with the motion of my scrubbing. I want to tuck them in desperately, what with the neighbours bound to walk past our kitchen window at any moment, but I know I am only allowed to clean myself up once Mr. Johnson has left for work. I see him glance at my thoroughly used hole every now and then while he pulls on his coat and picks up his briefcase.

He pauses in the doorway. "I want the kitchen floor mopped when I come back, do you hear me?"

Trying not to drip dish soap on the floor, I face him and nod. "Yes, Mr. Johnson. I'm sorry about the mess I made."

I see his gaze flicker down to my exposed breasts. "That's alright, I know you can't help yourself," he says. "But do try to restrain yourself a little more. You've hardly made any progress on the dishes."

"Yes sir," I reply, lowering my face in humiliation. "I'm sorry, sir." And before I can look up again, the door falls shut, and Mr. Johnson has left.