Services Required Ch. 01: The Interview

Now behind her, the girl on the floor watched as blind libido took the couple over, and felt as if she had been forgotten. Somehow the prospect thrilled her to her core, more even than the salacious mating display she had already been exposed to. Sensations she'd never experienced in this context before began to filter into her mind as she watched the lady of the house's back rise and fall in oblivious desire. She felt the need to lean forward again, felt the anxious urge to slip a finger beneath the puddled folds of her skirt, find her own sensitive and agitated sex, and touch herself. Yet she held back, frustrating and tantalising herself in equal measure, remembering only one word: Obedience.

The lady's back began to curve and coil endlessly, snake-spined, as a pump of the pelvis travelled gradually up to become a hunch of the shoulders, just as the hips reset themselves below for another thrust. One of her husband's hands was at her neck now, cupping the side where it merged with her shoulder. His other found a tight, creamy-pale handful of rump cheek and squeezed until the lady's flesh pinkened beneath the tips of his fingers. Anchoring her body above and below, he started to pull her more forcefully forward onto his passion. Her abdomen closed with his and their lovestrokes became shorter in pitch, yet so much quicker in frenzied tempo.

The girl kneeling discarded behind them imagined every clinch as if it were buzzing through her own lust-soaked loins. A wave of heat steamed over her and the tightness of her blouse seemed almost stifling. Despite the provocation she remained still, with the exception of shifting to hold her hands behind her. She was unsure if she could trust their pressure to remain upon her lap, without aggravating her situation. Her vision narrowed upon this other woman, this stranger with buttock grabbed, held in the act of spitting her narrow body upon her lover's spear-straight length.

In time the lady's arching movements became more fitful, her ragged gasps increasing as much for air as ardour. Her head lolled ever more to the side, grateful for the support of her husband's blunt fingers as she became less and less able to sustain the energy of her amorous assault. Only her hips seemed to continue as before, as if they were drawing all the vigour from the rest of her body to maintain her thrusts. Smoothly as she began to subside, the master began to assume control: his arms tightened inward, drawing her body close to support its weight with his own; his feet planted square on the carpet and his knees straightened, thighs went taut with ropes of muscle as the emphasis shifted away from her bearing down on his sex to him boring up into hers. With every upward plunge he drew a new kind of soft cry from her, the motion seeming to bump up through the entire height of her body. The end drew nearer with each surge.

Their combined vocalisations also began to approach a peak: her melange of moans, gasps and cries; contrasted with his lower gutter-grunts of effort and ecstasy; her treble layered over his bass, all framed by the moist organic rhythm of their lovemaking. The master's body all but lifted off the sofa, arched intensely, holding her body aloft seemingly entirely by his grasping hands and rippling pole. Clearly well-practiced partners, they reached the brink of their eruptions together before both plunged over the edge of wild, irreverent climax. It was possible that one, in bringing the other off, triggered their own cacophonous orgasm; maybe they each brought it on in the other, it was impossible to tell. Simply their cries, shudders and the twitching of his bouncing testicles were all there was to go on.

Within moments, trickles of silky-pale cream were slithering back down out of the lady's sex, along the length of her husband's rod, as their coupling continued to wind down. Slithers of a clearer fluid leaking around the edges indicated that she'd evidently experienced her own liquid upwelling while in the grip of bliss. As the cream flowed, the commotion began to slow: the master's legs relaxed, lowering him in subsidence back to the cushion beneath; the lady of the house slumped down upon his chest and lap as her face sank to rest against his shoulder.

Their breathing slowed as they clung together, a picture of intimate post-erotic contentment. Over the next minute or so, they made the small movements of bodies and hands that satisfied lovers exchange, lost in each other still, oblivious to the half-frantic girl watching from her knees on their floor. Presently however, the master began to stir and gently lift his wife away from his lap to recline in decadent, sex-soaked collapse on the sofa next to him. His eye caught the girl's as she knelt there, and locked her into his gaze as he began to raise his naked form from the seat.

From standing up straight again to right in front of her was a couple of inconsequential steps, and suddenly she was confronted with a naked man stinking of coitus with a rod still half-erect, jiggling lightly in front of her face as his wife looked on from her comfortable sprawling repose. Lines of glistening fluid streaked the length of crimson flesh: a sap-like splodge hovering around the head and still perhaps leaking ever so slowly from its small deep hollow; the rest of the shaft showing lashings of something a slightly different colour, a slightly different consistency. The scent of it invaded the kneeling girl's nostrils as she beheld the task before her, her head going dizzy for a moment with the miasma and her own barely-repressed feelings.

Still, there was nothing reserved about what she did next. She knew her task, had been thinking of little else while she watched their cavorting. As he reached out a hand to brush her cheek, she was already diving lips-first toward the turgid member filling her vision. In truth she hadn't really considered the technicalities of the situation: eagerness had overtaken prudence long ago; she was hardly familiar with the act she now pounced upon instinctively. Her first mouthful of the sloppy flesh-pole was a welter of strange flavours, unusual enough to be unpleasant but sucked down quickly enough as to defy rejection. She quickly realised the two entirely different aromas, one for each partner, picking them out on her tongue that had never tasted the like before. Too much to fast however, as the bulbous head of the master's length butted against the back of her throat and brought up a sudden, uncontrollable urge to splutter.

Of course, her mouth was still stuffed with his meat, so her momentary choking was half-smothered. Still, the master withdrew a fraction and lowered his fingers to take a gently firm hold of her chin, to hold her back and give her a moment's grace. Rolling her eyes upward she gazed again into his own, seeing no upset nor really any hurry: that one glimpse of his calm, indulgent expression was enough to relax her once more. This time as she tried to creep her lips up further along his shaft, finally remembering to lavish the surface of her tongue along his glossy skin to hoover up all of the flavoursome juices, she allowed herself to proceed in a much more amenable manner.

She realised that she'd dived in too fast and too vigorously to begin with: her eagerness and nervous energy were simply too much for her better judgement; she would have to make amends after recovering her position sufficiently. With that foremost in mind, she let herself reach a comfortable distance along the master's length without pushing too far or bringing on her reflexive choking response again, then let her wetted lips draw smoothly back as she let him slide out of her mouth, still dripping and glistening here and there. Now she focused her sight on the penis before her, doing her best to assess the task logically. Armed with the extra few moments of thought, she was ready for more.

This time she reached her fingers carefully up to take hold of the top of the master's shaft. Her touch was delicate, careful, her fingers shivering a little at the novelty of the touch. She held him a little upward, leant in with face tilted chin-forward to slip in beneath, tongue reaching out a little hesitantly until its tip brushed the fleshy hollow formed between the base of his pole and the dark-haired purse hanging beneath. She had a stronger taste of him, now, or at least one less overwhelmed by the beguiling scents of sex juces. Slowly and precisely, she leaned backward with the whole of her head to run the moist tip of her tongue all the way up along the underside of his penis. Before long she was trailing through slicks of creamy sap once more, the sultry decadence of it saturating her tastebuds again. As she reached the crown of his masterful staff, she could not restrain herself from planting a firm round kiss upon it.

The combination of textures falling upon her mouth as she continued were delightfully curious: the master was softening, lending a certain giving quality to his flesh; yet still his original stiffness was detectable, pushing back against her lips and tongue from just beneath the surface; the various liquid smears added a slick, saucy element to the affair. More and more, she found herself desperate for every last taste of the primal mating to which she had been so fascinated a witness. Her tongue flickered out further, her fingers became more active in turning his rod this way and that so that she might reach a new patch of succulent wetness, her parted lips made sure to sweep up any remainder. She went down and back up along his length a few more times, until that crimson bulb was hovering just in front of her mouth once again, her eyes fixated upon it calculatingly.

At which, apparently satisfied with her cleaning job, the master let his hand take firm hold once more of the girl's chin and stopped her in her tracks.

"Mmm, good job. That's the first task done..."

His hand skirted down the side of her neck to squeeze her shoulder and he turned, dragging that wonderful staff of flesh away from her face. The girl's heart gave a little lurch, a feeling as if she'd been robbed threatening to swamp her consciousness until her eyes refocused on what lay beyond: the lady of the house, lying negligently over the sofa, knees apart and thighs spread open as if the effort of squeezing them back together was simply beyond her orgasm-fugued mind. Her head was back against the cushion and her eyes were closed, her breathing still deep through slightly open lips. Her husband began to lead the girl over on her knees, guiding and encouraging her with his hold on her shoulder. Once they were finally there, a brief crawl that seemed to take hours of impotent anticipation, he slid his palm up to the back of her head and pushed forward gently to press her face down into the aromatic, juice-stained folds of his wife's sex.

The lady's appearance of lethargy was deceptive: as soon as her husband's hand left the back of the kneeling girl's head; before her face had been introduced to the sloppy mound beneath it; the lady's own fingers reached out to seize the hair on top of her head and drag her closer with covetous intent. The eagerness inherent in the move was obvious from how the girl felt her lips mash up against their puffy, sodden counterparts upon the lady's abdomen. This time, the thickness of the musk filling the girl's lungs was palpably stronger even than that which had surrounded her husband's soiled member.

With her face pinned in place, the girl had no choice as the spice of depraved womanhood swamped her aromatic senses. The lady kept pressing down with her hand even as she rolled her hips upward, squeezing the girl's mouth flat against her loins. In the shock of startlement, the girl could scarcely slip her tongue between her heavily-pressured lips. Twitching a little, by reflex, she managed to free enough slack about her smothered mouth to work the tip out at last, delving straight into sensitive and juicy valleys, drawing a long lustful sigh from the lady whose legs now draped themselves over her shoulders. Squeezed cosily in from all sides, every breath she took was of the lady's sex; every diligent dart of her tongue trailed through lashings of richly slick nectar within. This was like nothing she'd ever imagined before, a steamy and almost overwhelming miasma of sexual overflow coursing around her buried mouth and nose, trickling down both sides of her chin in seconds.

The lady evidently had a keen idea in mind as to how she would accept her cleaning: the hand on her servant-pet's head stayed firmly in place throughout as her lower body swayed against the captive mouth in waves. Her restless undulation rubbed every last millimetre of engorged nether-flesh along the girl's lips and directed the tip of her questing tongue into the deepest depths of every fertile furrow. The lady rode her subject, oblivious or heedless to the girl's increasing strains and gasps for every stolen breath as she struggled against being pulled under.

Cleaning the lady's sex was far more of a challenge than her husband's as, over the length of the riding, her sap only continued to rise: it took many long minutes of effort before the sloshing tides began at last to subside. Only then did the girl find her mouth suckered against the lady's intimate opening, trapped in place as the salty silk of the master's cream made itself known again on her tongue. The lady had evidently been saving up this treat, as no sooner was the planned receptacle in place than there came a welter of the sticky stuff oozing out in gushes, as if suddenly released from dammed confinement. The girl had no choice but to feel her mouth fill with the master's deposited seed, gulping down once or twice as the whole of the load sluiced from the lady's orifice to paint the insides of her cheeks.

Then, after long enough that the girl had begun to despair of ever being liberated from her sultry confinement yet short enough that she still thirsted hopelessly for more, pressure was released and cool, fresh air caressed her face and she drew in through her nostrils once more. The lady's fingers loosened limply from their clutching of her hair a moment afterward. The girl snatched a gulp of breath around the lingering, mingling flavours on her tongue. The lady slouched back again, satisfied. A hand landed softly on the girl's shoulder, pulling her dazed faculties back to the present. With touching gentleness, the master bid her turn about and rise.

In the excitement of recent events, he must have slipped away to return wearing a homely, comfy-looking dressing gown. Another, smaller and more feminine but clearly chosen with comfort foremost in mind, he handed to his recovering wife to slither into. The second object he held, he offered to the girl as she regained her unsteady footing: a towel. Realising the state she must be in, the girl hurried abashedly to wipe away the smears of lustful liquids that liberally coated her face from the nose on down. Suddenly, for all she had been transfixed by it when the tip of his sex-streaked penis was upon her lips earlier, she could not bring herself to meet her master's gaze.

He waited until she'd entirely finished. The lady of the house rose unhurriedly to join him in the meantime, her arm wrapping around his waist. When the girl was done wiping up, the last of her cleaning duties for the evening, she lowered the towel and stood before them, silently uncertain, pulse hammering. Only for a moment though, as she registered the wide grins that covered both their faces. As her eyes rose, the master spoke up:

"Well, that was very well done indeed!" his wife supported him with a murmured, "Mmm, wonderful my dear!", and he stretched his own arm around her shoulders before continuing, "We will be requiring your services again next Friday, if you're interested in taking up the position?"

"Yes!" the girl's eyes flashed as she spoke, eager and hasty and embarrassing to her a moment later, "I mean, yes, thankyou, I'd be delighted..."

The couple did not seem to mind. Agreeably they led her to the front door, the lady retrieving her jacket as the master's hands reached up toward her. With a start, she realised his intent: she stood still as he deftly unbuckled and removed the collar from around her throat; obedience was a fine thing, but honestly she was startled half-frozen by the act. She pulled herself back together as they opened the door for her, a final exchange of farewells passing everyone's lips as she stepped out into the night.

Their flavours were still fleeting on her tongue. The door closed on their beaming, satisfied faces. As she turned away to leave, her fingers rose lightly to brush her throat, her thoughts lingering on the absent collar that was, nonetheless, her own.