You go to the fridge, dragging the door open, as the conversation continues loudly behind you. Laughter rings out over the clamor of the television and you draw four cold long-neck beers from the crisper, set them on the small silver tray you were given for your hostess duties this evening, and with a pop-pop-pop-pop the caps are all neatly removed and discarded. You brush down the leather skirt and adjust your corset before entering the living room again.
Your eyes remain down-turned, your feet are sure shuffles, deftly dodging the furniture, and you kneel before your Master so he may take his beverage first. Not looking over at you he continues with his story, one you know well and relish hearing again, and takes his pro-offered drink. You rise to your feet slowly, a model of grace and glide over to each of your Master’s three guests, silently delivering a beverage to each. None of them acknowledge you, and you tuck the tray under your arm and return to your corner, anxious to be of further service as your Master regales his associates with gusto and bravado. They all laugh at the right moments, and nod somberly when the mood of the tale becomes dark, as they are drawn into your Master’s web. Although you know the words of this tale verbatim, you steal a glance to watch your Master’s animated face and chills curl from your tightly braided hair to the bottoms of your shoeless feet.
Before your social slight can be noticed, your eyes quickly dart back down and you notice for the tenth time of the evening how well presented your breasts appear in the gifted corset your Master presented you for your recent anniversary. He promised a month of pleasures if you worked hard to earn them all, and so far has delivered well on his promises. The rolling thunder of your Master’s voice calms to the effect of a distant storm, ominous and powerful, as his story begins its final waxing. He builds the tension with painfully long pauses, and finally he culminates: “…And so I look him in the eye, and all I can do is punch him square in the jaw! Grandpa hasn’t called since!” The room erupts into laughter, and your lips purse, making sure not to join in the levity. You are to serve this night, not share in the revelry.
“Ok, Mike, Jake… you guys wanted to check out that ’69 Mustang, didn’t you? Kevin, you’ll be okay up here? Ok, follow me, gents!” Your Master leads two of his best friends down the stairs to show off his second most prized possession. The smell of its leather, the purr of its engine and the beauty of its curves, your Master is fond of telling you in more intimate moments, remind him of you. Your eyes do not waver as they pass by you and the slow moments as the small group descend the stairs drag into infinity, and you feel the heavy weight of eyes on you. “So, you’re Anita, huh?” says the man left on the couch.
“Yes, sir,” your response is crisp and practiced with an air of dignity only found in the joy of service your Master has taught you.
“So you’re supposed to get us beer and clean up and shit, then, yeah?” The man remaining is Kevin Durant, a longtime friend of your Master, and old college football teammate. He is anything but subtle, but standing at least a head over six feet and being nearly as wide, subtlety is not a needed skill for the man.
“I am to serve my Master and his guests to the best of my abilities, sir,” your professional veneer is polished and shines. A flutter of pride swells in your chest, knowing that your response would please your Master if he asks about it later.
“So how good are your abilities at handling this, then?” The man has risen from the plush couch and has firmly grasped his own crotch. Again, subtle as a sledge hammer in ice carving, you think to yourself.
“My master has never complained of my abilities lacking, sir,” your voice is certain, strong and you knew this moment could present itself during the evening. Your Master had warned you that his friends had a tendency of being slightly crass when they had imbibed a fair amount of libations, and you are almost surprised by the tact currently being shown by the man-mountain before you.
“Well, why don’t you prove it then, little slave girlie?” His mitt-like hands deftly work at his belt. You drop forward onto your knees, sliding your thin fingers up his thighs, under his hands and remove the clasp of the belt in a single well practiced maneuver. Another dexterous display unbuttons and unzips his Docker slacks in less than a second and his pants swiftly drop to his ankles, revealing his manhood at your eye level.
Half-hard, it looms before you and you quickly put your hands to work. Gently twisting and stroking at the same time, you begin working his shaft. It seems to twitch and grow to life in your embrace and your pink tongue parts your lips and tickles over the swelling head, lifting away the small bead of pre-cum he has already worked up. As he stares down at your expert work, he unbuttons his shirt and tosses it casually back toward the sofa. The moment his eyes leave you to watch his shirt fly away, you open your mouth and take nearly half his length into you, sucking and teasing with your tongue. The large man tenses hiss tree-trunk like thighs, places a large hand completely around the back of your head and guides you down the length of him.
Your throat opens to take his member, tongue still swirling under the base of him and you feel his testicles rhythmically tense and release as his erection thumps his heavy heart beat in a staccato tempo throughout your mouth. “Holy fuck, you’re like the best maid ever…” is all he can mutter as your draw up his cock, and plunge back down on it, eyes watering lightly. You begin to lose yourself in the service to this cock, wanting to drain it fully, when the door behind you slams open.
“Oh, come on Kevin! You can’t even wait until we get done looking at the fucking car?”
The sudden appearance of his friends pulls the large man out of the moment and he seems, for a moment, like a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar. You, however, do not stop to wonder, and the cookie jar wraps it crimson lips around the arm again and sucks with a mighty vigor. “Guys, I do… I don’t… Oh fuck me, this is good… I didn’t mean to… Oh fuck, don’t stop.” Your mind smiles wickedly as your suck out the ability for cohesive speech from the towering giant, and suddenly you recognize two more shadowy forms, flanking you.
Without removing your bobbing head from its main course, you guide a hand over to each of the newer men’s crotches. One of them is clearly ready for you, stiff and leaping from its confinement as soon as the pants are unbuckled and dropped. The other is only slightly firm, and you feel vexed by this. You can’t allow one of your Master’s guests to enjoy the party flaccid so with a deep swallow and sharp pop you rotate your body, crossing your arms before your chest to stroke the two erect men and your mouth dances and plays over the soft skin of the shyer cock. You take the entire size of him into your mouth easily, tongue playing and rolling over the soft skin, tasting the sweetness of his jewels. Your mouth moves in a flurry as you kiss down the side of him, flicking his balls with your tongue and sucking on the shaven orb. All the while your hands are moving pistons, jerking the other two men at your side, their cocks growing harder and hotter in your grip.
Your grip uncrosses, and one of the men pulls back away behind you. Hands tug at your corset and suddenly your top falls to the floor, your tits spilling out, bouncing slightly as now both hands are working at the hard cock to your side and your mouth is still caressing the hairless sack of the now firm man in front of you. So committed to your attention, you hardly notice your tight black leather skirt being lifted, revealing your bare ass, until you feel fingers feeling around, caressing your pussy from behind. You arch your back slightly, opening your legs, and those fingers find penchant in you, massaging your clit and sensitively venturing into your wet and open lips. You pull your mouth away from the scrotum of the man in front of you, his name or the name of the other two men suddenly unimportant. “You can fuck any hole you want, sir.”
At that, you return to your oral assault, now viciously devouring first one than the other cock bobbing in front of you, your hands a blur stroking and tugging at the firm skin of each man. Your mind does cartwheels, having such attention lavished on you. The man behind you must have moved onto his own back, because you feel his tongue now probing your wet pussy. As you begin to grind against his face, your wet twat feeding his hungry mouth, one of the men your mouth is servicing begins to massage and twist your rock hard nipples. “Mmmm, mmm-mmm mmm-mmmmmmmmm!” You moan excitedly onto each hard dick being pumped into your mouth as you ride the lips of the man between your thighs.
Your eyes flutter wildly around the room, and fall to the couch, where you see him. Your Master is sitting, arms crossed behind his head, as if he is watching a football game. You almost rise up to bring him popcorn and pretzels, as is customary when he is watching sports on that sofa. You almost do, but the man who is between your legs wraps his lips around your clit and his tongue flutters rapidly, bringing you unexpectedly to an orgasm, your screams muffled only by the hard member lodged deep in your throat. You pull your head back, off the prick, and in a raspy voice you can only mutter, “Fuck me, please.”
The man below you takes that as the perfect cue, and guiding your hips back he has you hovering over his engorged, swollen prick. Before he can lower you down, a hard thrust plants a cock firmly into your face again, and you impale yourself on the dick below you. Both your hands begin working the balls and shaft of the cock at your lips, your tongue painting it feverishly as the man below you begins pumping into your tight pussy. “Yes! Fuck me harder!” You scream, and another orgasm wracks your body, your firm breasts shaking, and breath heavy.
You feel a presence again, looming behind, and you rock harder and faster down onto the man below you, your lips not leaving the swollen head of the prick in your mouth. A second set of hands takes hold of your hips and you are held steady as the third man pushes the head of his cock into your ass. You scream in ecstasy, all of your orifices being occupied, and the standing man at your face takes the invitation to grab firm hold of your hair and thrust the entire length of him into your mouth. You swallow him diligently, your body shaking from the strength of the orgasm, but held in place by three strong sets of hands. The man at your rear thrusts quickly and you feel the thin membrane between him and the man under you begin to rub, their hard pricks seeming to shake hands deep within your loins.
All three men quickly find a rhythm and there is not a moment where one of your holes is not completely filled by the meat of one of them. Like a machine, they each slam their cocks into you and you feel each of them begin to swell, twitch and convulse. As one, each of the men cries out and they fill you with that familiar liquid fire. Your entire body tightens, shakes and your pleasure spills forth in a quaking spasm. You choke, your mouth filled with the sweet taste that you have come to know so well, but you swallow true and drink deeply of the man in front of you. The cocks filling you from below and from behind shiver as you unclench your holes and you feel their heat begin to slowly drain and their pricks begin to grow soft.
You are left on the floor, almost blind in your bliss. The men dress, shake your Masters hand, ask about golf on Thursday and go home to their boring wives. You notice none of them look each other in the eye. A minute passes, two minutes, then three, and you see your Master’s boots step heavily in front of you. The almost distant sound of water running pulls you from your stupor. Leather clad in chromed steel, and you know more time has passed than your brain has let you understand. The wetness has seeped out of you, and even begun to dry to your skin, your sweat has become sweet nectar and your skirt is still rolled high against your stomach. “You have ten minutes to bathe yourself and be ready, properly attired, in the bedroom. Go.”
You pull yourself to your knees, the room spins and your crawl towards the bathroom, a small dribble of jizz dripping from each hole. You pass the open door to your Master’s chamber, and see a menagerie of candles lit, and a lithe form tied to the bed. A young woman, no more than nineteen, is bound nude and blindfolded on your Master’s bed. Her body seems aglow with sweat, and you know now why the door was left open. She could not see what had occurred, but the sounds have whetted her appetite, and her firm body shakes with anticipation. You remember those feelings, and pour yourself into the bath that your Master has drawn for you.
In eight short minutes, you will serve him as deeply as you ever have, and with that thought you shut your eyes and smile…