Lady de la Dia Ch. 05byGabriel Orr©
The third installment of the Lady De la Dia series. I'm still sharpening my intimate writing, and would appreciate any feedback. Thanks for reading! The next installment will be the last, but first, we need to set up poor Amy some more.
Chapter 5: Her Whim be Mine
Amy Curtis sat upon the edge of her plush four poster bed, her face buried between her hands. What a cruel twist of fate this job had become for her! Such beautiful amenities and people, all laid out to cover someone as bizarre as Sarastra De la Dia... and she had blundered right into the trap. She had allowed herself to become engrossed in the rich atmosphere, the carefree lifestyle... and finally, the sexual intrigue permeating De la Dia manor, and now, as she sat upon her bed with the knowledge that nothing she could do would change things, Amy felt utterly, completely, and absolutely powerless.
Powerless and sopping.
After she had left Sarastra's office that morning, Amy had convinced herself of the utter idiocy of her actions behind that heavy door. At the time, it had felt as though she had no say in her body's responses to that gaunt woman's commands, as though every word issuing forth from her delicious mouth had been a mandate of some sort. Looking back, Amy was certain that she had only taken off her clothes in fear of what an angry billion-dollar-woman might be capable. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, Amy had buried her face in her own damp underwear in the hopes of being let out of Sarastra's 'observing the product of sex' lifestyle.
And she was absolutely certain, beyond even an unreasonable scrap of evidence, that she had allowed Sarastra De la Dia to slip her fingers inside her body simply to maintain her new job. It was the same rationale that had kept her from protesting the lady of the house's decision to not bring Amy to a full climax. Any other time she would have been roaring, to be left on edge like that, and had Sarastra been a man Amy would have punched her. As it was, she could do nothing but sigh, and remember what Sarastra had said to her.
"No. I will not make you come, Amy, and neither will you make yourself come. You are forbidden to orgasm, youngling, unless someone else gives it to you."
Simple, mindless stupidity, Amy was sure. She was so certain of this, in fact, that her first order of business after leaving the office was to return to her chambers, bolt the door, and relieve herself of the maddening pressure that had gathered in her loins. She had hurriedly undressed but left her blouse on, feeling sinfully sexy standing before her full length mirror without a scrap of clothing covering her below the waist. She had taken one look at her engorged pussy lips and sank down upon her bed, grinding her fingers up and down her cleft and coating them with her own plentiful juices. She had moistened her feathery bush with it, traced a trail of warm, musky woman all the way up her mound and beneath her blouse, and proceeded to plunge her fingers deeply between her nether lips again and again, and again, determined not to stop until her body could spasm in climax and let loose of the need from which she'd been suffering since the day before.
That had been hours ago. Amy had masturbated almost nonstop from the moment she'd returned until just then, stroking her sensitive clitoris with her thumb and fingertips, sliding the handle of her hairbrush deep inside her voracious womanhood, and rubbing herself against every smooth surface she could get her legs around. She had finally flung her blouse away and attacked her breasts as well, but to no avail whatsoever. Though her quarters smelled strongly of wet pussy and her entire body ached from the strain of endless self service, Amy had never succeeded in giving herself even the smallest orgasm.
Adding to her current woes was the fact that Amy had been too busy fucking herself to notice the coming and going of the lunch hour. By the time she looked at the clock again she was slapped by the startling realization that she was late for yoga with Mia. Whatever Sarastra had done to her in that office had worked flawlessly... Amy had masturbated until her hands and wrists all but throbbed, without even a sign of an orgasm, and now her sexual frustration dominated every one of her senses without question.
Dressing for yoga was a small matter, but Amy knew to select something dark from the sparse collection of athletic attire she was allowed. The last thing she needed was a white leotard with an inevitably translucent crotch for everyone to wonder about. With one last look at her still aching mound, Amy slid the dark material over her skin and headed for the gym on the lower level of the mansion.
Mia waited patiently inside the converted game room / dojo, instructing the few other students in a few basic stretches. They were, of course, all female, and each attired in functional workout clothes that did little to flatter their bodies... except for Mia herself. Clad in a skintight, blood red one-piece suit, with her hair done up as always in a storm of pretty braids, she looked fantastic. Every last inch of her voluptuous body was displayed to full effect by the snug suit, and the butterscotch color of her skin complimented its crimson gorgeously. Amy found herself smiling at how amazingly good Mia looked in that outfit, wondering vaguely what had changed that would make her take notice of it.
"Hi, Amy," Mia said in her unmistakable Brooklyn accent, smiling a broad smile at the late arrival. "You're just in time, girl. Sit down, and let's get started! We'll go easy at first so you can warm up."
The group went through the familiar paces of stretching, leaning, standing, performing poses and styles as usual. Amy lagged a little behind the others, as her body just didn't want to cooperate that morning. Her eyes, on the other hand, functioned perfectly. She caught herself staring at Mia every single time the instructor looked away, admiring her sleek figure with a more than observant eye and licking her lips as if she'd been doing so her entire life.
Amy was in the middle of the lotus position, and partway through mentally undressing Mia, when she noticed her scent beginning to become evident in the air. She rocked her hips a little to test, cooing mutely at the rasp of her leotard's material against her slick labia.
"Oh, no... they're all gonna smell me... maybe they won't care. Or notice. It smells like sweat in here... but it smells like pussy, too!
Time clicked away like it was distracted by something from Amy's perspective. By the end of the class she was practically tiptoeing about, her thighs pressed together to keep her wetness from being evident to the others.
"You did good today, girl," Mia said to her as she hurried out of the dojo, "but you gotta learn to loosen up. This is yoga, baby, relax. Roll your shoulders a little before you get down on the mat, take some deep breaths."
Mia set her hand on Amy's forearm, a light touch that still sent a shiver down Amy's spine. Mia's voice was like candy, her eyes like flashing jets against her proud face, and though she had no idea why, the newest member of the house De la Dia wanted Mia more than she'd ever wanted anything before.
"You okay, baby? You really look like you're gonna pass out," Mia observed, giving the slightly taller Amy a nudge. Amy smiled nervously, stepped back, beating down her conflicting feelings for the moment.
"I just, ah, missed breakfast and lunch today. I need to get something to eat," she answered, not lying as much as avoiding the truth. She couldn't very well say what she was actually thinking right then.
Mia, I want to shove your hot black body down on these mats and sex you until we both pass out. Amy caught herself. Did I just think that?
"Oh, I feel ya. Okay, girl, go on and get cleaned up for supper then," Mia nodded, giving Amy a little push. "Donovan said that they're making lasagna in the kitchen tonight, and you'd better bet your big ass I'm gonna be there." Amy grinned, nearly jumping out of her shoes as Mia gave her a firm slap on the butt, pushing her forward. She shivered again, her still hungry loins on fire just like that, but a look at Mia reminded her that it was just a friendly nudge from a very physical person. Amy sighed, and headed to the 'clean room' to get her physical for the day... still wondering when she had become so accepting of a woman touching her ass.
It went fairly well. Amy gave her usual fluid samples, had her weight and fat content gauged with a scale and skin fold caliper, had her temperature checked, and so on, just like every other day. Even though she had to bite her tongue to keep from groaning when the nurse gave her the usual breast exam, Amy felt like the mundane routine of it had done her anxious body a great deal of good.
"But now what," she asked herself as she stood outside the nurse's office, her breasts still feeling full from the exam. "The steam room sounds good, but a massage sounds... oh god, what am I doing standing here?" Amy practically sprinted to the parlor where the prettily dressed Sunday was waiting for her, a bottle of oil sitting in a tub of hot water and the proper towels already laid out. It was as if she knew the exact moment when Amy would have arrived before Amy did. The servant girl smiled her pretty girl smile and stood from where she had been sitting with her nose in a book, her cerulean eyes twinkling.
"Hello again, Amy! You're a little bit early, but I think we can bend the rules this time." Sunday patted the massage table cattily, her lips pursing a little bit. "Get undressed and lie down. I feel like doing a really good job on you today!"
"Um, Sunday, do you mind if I visit the bathroom first?" Amy blushed a little as she asked the question, hoping that Sunday wouldn't catch on to just why she needed the private minute.
"Of course, but hurry up! I'm in the mood," Sunday chuckled, leaving a veritable stockpile of dirty images in Amy's uncharacteristically wanton mind. She just couldn't put her finger on why she suddenly felt so comfortable with the flirting and the teasing, when she'd been so unnerved by it only that morning. In the back of her mind, Amy thought that Sarastra's speech had something to do with it, but if so, she couldn't remember how... and at the moment, she could not have cared less.
A few minutes later, once Amy had washed herself a bit and stymied the progress of her scent, the coed stripped out of her leotard and lay upon the massage table, face down. The lights had been dimmed nearly off, their electrical glow replaced by the dancing flicker of a half dozen lavender candles set about the parlor. It was a nice touch, Amy thought, and one that helped calm her worried libido immensely. She could hear Sunday's skirts rustling as the servant girl moved around the table, clicking her tongue in appreciation as she always did. This was going to be fabulous, and they both just knew it.
"So Amy," Sunday began as she trailed a line of hot oil down Amy's bare back, "are you hurting anywhere, that I should know about? Any strains from yoga? Stiff neck?"
"No, I'm just... aching," Amy answered smiling down at the floor. She jumped a little bit when Sunday touched her shoulders, but quickly relaxed and closed her eyes, allowing herself to be taken away on a sea of tranquility. Sunday's hands were fantastic, so soft and attentive, so like the rest of her, that Amy's arousal quickly stepped down in favor of a blissful, almost sleepy, calm. The servant girl kneaded and rolled Amy's shoulders and upper arms, singing quietly as she turned the willing coed's muscles into butter. Slowly she moved down, paying special attention to Amy's lower back with the heels of her hands - which felt wonderful - before glancing over Amy's butt and starting again at her feet.
"I just love your ass, Amy," said a nonchalant Sunday, whose eyes were locked upon the area in question. Amy eeped slightly, lifting her head a bit from the table to cast an alarmed look at her friend.
"I thought you weren't supposed to flirt with me, Sunday." She managed to keep her voice from cooing at the attention her feet were receiving, but certainly did not sound angry.
"Oh, Amy, I'm not flirting with you. I'm stating a fact. Your ass is gorgeous. It's..." Sunday paused a moment in her massage, "... I don't know. It's big and beautiful. I would love to have a butt like yours."
"Sunday, I think you've been cooped up in here too long," Amy couldn't help but laugh. "You have a perfect ass. You have..." she stopped herself. Was she really about to commend a woman on the shapeliness of her butt?
"I have what?" Sunday grinned as she resumed her gentle caress of Amy's feet. "Come on, spill it!"
Amy held her breath for a moment before answering. This talk was ruining her calming massage. Although... it was certainly heightening something else. Amy let out her breath, and decided to take a chance.
"You have a gorgeous butt, Sunday. I mean, it's high, and smooth, and oh so tight, and you've got just the sweetest little crack, just..." Amy giggled, "just... BAM! You know?" She could feel her feet moving around, and knew that Sunday was stifling her own laughter.
"Yeah. I still like yours, though."
Amy tried to control her breath, but nothing she could say to her body would get it to hold onto that carefree laughter. Sunday gently rolled Amy's calves, spending minutes on each one before clicking her tongue and sliding her fingertips along Amy's supple thighs, feeling here, squeezing there.
"Oh," Amy murmured, unable to bite back on the utterance. Sunday worked her thighs far more gently than the rest of her, and for a second Amy started to relax again; deep inside her needy heart, she suddenly felt as if things had gone back to normal. Sunday's fingertips moved in gentle circles, subtly pushing Amy's legs apart, moving up, and up, and up, until the tips of her fingernails just grazed the flat of Amy's vulva.
Amy squirmed a little, thinking it was just an accident. But now every circle of Sunday's wonderful hands swiped against her gently swelling lips, with a little bit more force each time. Amy wiggled a little more, loving the tingle Sunday had started in her wet box even though she knew she ought to scold the servant girl for it. Involuntarily she edged her legs open. She could already smell herself again, and blushed hotly with the knowledge that Sunday could, too.
"Ready to turn over for me, Amy," Sunday cooed into her ear as she worked Amy's buttocks, massaging the full, white globes in earnest, "or do you want me to keep working on you..." her hands moved, and Sunday allowed one finger to slide between Amy's cheeks, "... here?"
Sunday's voice was nothing but sugar to Amy's ears right then. Even so, she lifted herself up and turned cautiously, keeping her legs squeezed tightly together and ignoring the soft sigh of disappointment from Sunday. The slick wetness coating the insides of her thighs left Amy no illusions as to what she wanted to happen on that table, whether her head knew it or not. She lay on her back, smiling a detached smile.
"Okay," she cooed, a little bit breathless already, "do it to me, Sunday." The servant girl smiled brightly, and applied oil to Amy's belly, legs, and upper chest. "Mmm... god, Sunday, you're so good at this..."
Sunday just smiled, and continued to work Amy's shoulders. "You should see me with a man, if you think I'm good in here," she purred. Amy almost choked, but kept herself together. Hell yes, Sunday was good with a man, so good that she'd nearly gotten Amy off without knowing she was in the room at all!
The attentive servant took care of Amy's front without any special attentions, and when it was over she just smiled her baby doll smile and bowed her head.
"That's your hour, Amy," she pointed out. Amy smiled too, hiding her disappointment... she'd been hoping for a happy ending, down deep in the back of her mind, and honestly felt as if she'd lain there for only a few minutes. "Aww," Sunday cooed, "don't make that face. You bounced in here ten minutes early." The servant girl grinned. "So let's give you a little more attention."
Sunday leaned down without any warning, spread her manicured fingers and started massaging Amy's breasts, rolling and squeezing them one at a time, and then together. Amy caught her breath, her eyes suddenly transfixed upon those of her masseuse. I have to stop her, she thought without a drop of conviction, what am I doing here? Amy felt that fullness coming back into her chest, and allowed her eyelids to slip shut even though her mind begged her to flee, and flee immediately.
"The secret to being a good masseuse," Sunday whispered as her fingertips began to circle Amy's areoles, "is to know just what your client wants." With a wicked grin she let her fingertips slide over Amy's suddenly bullet-hard nipples, pulling a sigh from within the bigger girl's lips. Sunday pinched each one between her thumbs and forefingers, stroking and pulling them, twisting them until Amy couldn't help but cry out softly. Every tug sent a stream of fire from Amy's erect nipples straight to her pussy.
"Sunday, stop," Amy pled, but the servant girl continued her agonizing game, tracing the outline of each breast before running her neatly trimmed fingernails between them. After each tug of Amy's nipples, Sunday ran her fingertips down her client's body, then pressed her palms against Amy's flesh and pushed up, cupping her aching tits together before repeating the whole cycle.
"Sunday, please," she whimpered, "I don't want this, I really, I, ah..." Amy reached up and snagged the girl's wrists, but couldn't find the willpower to shove them away. Her thighs slid over each other easily, hips moving and grinding of their own accord, and Sunday smiled at them.
"Amy, I think you want it. Just look at how wet your are." The servant girl looped her arm around Amy's shoulder and pulled her to a sitting position with surprising strength, cradling her against the soft yellow of her dress. "Look," she whispered as Amy's legs naturally spread a little bit, "see how you're glistening, Amy? Your pussy is so wet, so warm..."
Sunday reached down before Amy's startled eyes and trailed her fingers through the honey soft bush, running them all the way down and back up Amy's boiling slit. Amy moaned and tried to pull away, but Sunday's grip was just too strong, and she squealed a little as the servant girl's fingers pressed lightly into her hole. She pumped once, and Amy shuddered.
"Here," cooed the servant girl, holding up her shining fingers, "open your mouth."
Amy shook her head, no. Sunday simply smiled, and let loose of Amy's shoulders. Gasping in disbelief, confusion, and excitement, Amy watched as the masseuse parted her lips and slipped her cum-soaked fingers into her own mouth. Sunday's lips worked her fingers just like they had pumped Donovan's prick before, her tongue lapping up ever drop of Amy's essence right there. She smiled, giggling.
"You taste so good, Amy. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings," she cooed, as she retrieved a fresh towel for her client. "But... I had to taste your honey. I'm sorry... I could smell you as soon as you walked in, and I knew I wanted you... I still want you, Amy. But..." the girl lowered her eyes. "I won't do it again. I promise."
Amy was perfectly shocked. Was that all? No! Sunday was supposed to ignore her pleas, convince her that everything would be alright. Why had she expected that? What had Sunday done to make her think she would force this on her? And now... Amy felt her eyes welling up at how disappointed and miserable the poor girl in the baby doll dress looked.