‘That the only reason?’ Johnson inquired, well-knowing that dollars and cents weren’t the only factors at play here. The weaker sex coveted coin and carnal knowledge as much as the male of the species, sure, but they coveted something else even more, something that all the money in the world couldn’t buy - love, sweet, love.
Chesty blushed, looked down, up, at her tremendous, sud-sprinkled titties. ‘I was a one-man woman once,’ she spoke softly. ‘But then he ran away with a two-bit bar floozy and.’ She glanced angrily up at Johnson, whose pants were now down around his ankles, his rigid dick sticking out like a flagpole at a frontier fort, waiting to be saluted. ‘Well, let’s just say that I vowed to never let that happen again, and filthy lucre became my one true love; you treat it well and it’ll never leave you.’
‘Money’s cold comfort on a long winter’s night -’specially ’round these parts,’ Johnson stated.
‘I’ve plenty of one-night stands to keep my bones warm through the winter months,’ Chesty responded. ‘So don’t think for a damn minute that you can bring me back in line with that handsome pussy-prod of yours, cunt-puncher,’ she sneered, her spongy, soap-lathered boobs undulating as she slid upright in the bath, her glittering eyes locked on Johnson’s twitching trenching tool.
‘Well, ma’am, we’ll just have to see about that,’ Johnson said modestly, lifting his snakeskin cowboy boots out of his puddled denim trousers. He stood before the dripping, over-endowed frontier goddess, the both of them as naked as Adam and Eve save for the ten-gallon hat and size-fourteen pair of boots Johnson was wearing. And then he rushed her.
Chesty toppled the tub over on its side and spilled out of the bathwater, was on her bare feet in the blink of a third eye, brandishing a steely eighteen-inch dildo in her clenched right fist.
Johnson slid to a stop on the slickened floor and held up his hands. ‘Whoa there now! You put that hole-plugger down, ma’am,’ he intoned.
‘This is all the man I need!’ Chesty shrieked. ‘Maybe you wanna try it on for size yourself!?’ She hurtled herself at Johnson, the metallic cock-substitute aimed ass-high.
Johnson scrambled backwards, slipped, and crashed to the floor. He desperately kicked out his right boot, caught Chesty’s shin, and knocked the top-heavy madam off her feet. She cried out in alarm, flailed her arms, and then landed smack dab on top of Johnson’s propped-up pecker. Her sticky, splayed pussy lips caught on the cowboy’s bloated dickcap, and then her downward momentum buried his massive schlong to the hairy balls inside her stretched-out pink.
Johnson pinned Chesty’s arms to her side and frantically pumped his hips, savagely fucking the discombobulated babe before she even knew what hit her. Her foot-and-a-half-long lady-pleaser/man-smasher lay on the wet floor, as defunct now as the twin cities of Sodom and Gomorrah.
Johnson pounded the tittified gal’s poon with his prong, fucking her relentlessly, striving to pacify her, to demonstrate beyond any reasonable doubt that one man could readily satisfy one woman, even a huge-breasted, jilted woman. And when Chesty finally let out a soft sigh of surrender, Johnson knew he was hitting his mark. He released her arms and grabbed up her overhanging jugs, fondled and squeezed her sodden, stunning breastworks.
Chesty closed her eyes and moaned, dug scarlet fingernails into Johnson’s striated chest, pumping her firm, round bottom in rhythm to his urgent thrusting. Johnson knew then that he’d at last brought law and the natural order of things back to Dike City, Kansas. He rolled Chesty’s rock-hard, distended nipples between his long fingers, kneaded her smooth, sun-kissed, Texas-sized titties, the muscles on his arms standing out in stark relief as he feverishly worked tit and banged twat.
The pace of the Westerners’ frenetic coupling grew even more intense, and the chest-blessed gal bleated in ecstasy and Johnson grunted with satisfaction at a job well done. He blasted wad after wad of heavy-calibre cum deep into Chesty’s gushing gash. Steaming justice had been served.
The Boob Hill brothel now sits as empty as a politician’s promise, abandoned by its proprietress and her minions of man-lust, the wives returned to their loving husbands, the daughters to the warm bosoms of their families. The Johnson posse disbanded shortly after the graphic action at Boob Hill, the Wild West, it was clear to see, becoming a whole lot less wild. And Lurlene ‘Chesty’ Laflemme and John ‘Long’ Johnson? Well, they bought a spread due south of Dike City and hung up their guns, hers in a bra, his in a clean pair of hand-spun drawers, for hire no longer.
Serving Girls by Teresa Joseph
It was only supposed to be a part-time cleaning job, a bit of extra money to help pay off the credit card bills. After all, it was common knowledge in the town where I lived that Mrs Simmons was always looking for maids, cleaners and other staff to help run her massive hilltop mansion. But as you’ve probably guessed from the fact that I’m taking the time to write this story, from the moment that I arrived for my interview I could never have imagined what would happen next, and I’m still not quite sure if it
did.
Of course, if I’d even suspected that Mrs Simmons was engaged in anything untoward then I never would have applied for the job in the first place. But then again, I suppose that the best kept secret is one that everyone knows about but that nobody ever mentions, meaning that I probably just happened to apply for the job a few weeks before the rumours filtered down to my level.
Even if I had been aware of the gossip however, I probably would have laughed it off as an exaggerated joke. After all, Mrs Simmons looked about as dangerous and subversive as a plastic Barbie Doll, an impression that was probably helped by the fact that the plastic ‘Dream
House’ lifestyle was the one thing that she had spent her whole life trying to emulate.
A tall, slim and beautiful blonde in her early forties, Janet Simmons had married for money at the age of seventeen and been widowed at the age of twenty-six, inheriting a hilltop mansion, two yachts and a fleet of cars which, as a telling statement of things to come, she immediately painted bright baby pink.
Every item of clothing, every pair of stilettos, every lipstick, and every bottle of nail varnish, everything that she owned was either white or baby pink. But while anyone else would have been considered insane, since she was a millionaire who was desperate to spend every penny of her fortune, Mrs Simmons was merely eccentric and we were all more than happy to help her achieve her goals.
It was common knowledge that, if you wanted to work for Mrs Simmons, it really helped your application if you happened to fit her mental image of a perfect living doll. And so, ironically, for the first time in my life, being tall and very slim with long red hair and legs to die for turned out to be a serious problem, even though I didn’t realize it until it was far too late.
Whether you were a potential pin-up girl or not however, the cardinal rule for anyone who wanted to work for Mrs Simmons was that you had to play along with her ‘Barbie Girl’ delusions. And so in my naivety, thinking that it was nothing more than a harmless role-playing fantasy, on the day of my interview I dolled myself up with bright pink blusher, lipstick and nail varnish, wore my skimpiest and sexiest white T shirt, pink mini-skirt and strappy white stilettos. And from the moment that I parked my car, walked up to the main gate and buzzed the mansion’s intercom, I beamed inanely from ear to ear and emptied my head of every meaningful thought.
‘Hello?’ Asked Mrs Simmons in her usual sickly sweet tone of voice.
‘Hello, Mrs Simmons.’ I beamed, perfecting the role of the air-headed bimbo before I’d even been allowed in the front door. ‘My name is Lucy. I’d like to come and work for you, and so you said that I should come and see you today.’
It was really difficult for me not to use the words ‘appointment or ‘interview’. But then again, Barbie dolls aren’t supposed to use such long and complicated words.
‘Come in then, darling,’ she invited warmly as the main gates swung open to allow me inside. ‘I’ll ask one of my maids to let you in as
soon as you arrive.’
Not wanting to upset my future employer with the sight of anything that wasn’t pink, I left my Peugeot parked outside and walked up the main driveway towards the house as seductively as possible, past more than half a dozen sexy female gardeners who were also dressed in baby pink mini-skirts and grinning from ear to ear.
‘Hello, madam,’ beamed the sexy Asian maid who answered the front door in the same ‘Stepford Wife’ manner. ‘Mrs Simmons is waiting for you. Please follow me.’
I never did learn the woman’s name, but as I followed her through the marble-clad reception hall and up the main flight of stairs, I couldn’t help but notice the fact that she looked more like a strip-o-gram than a normal domestic maid.
Leaving aside the fact that she was sexier than I was with a gorgeous dark complexion, long ‘shampoo advert’ hair, a perfect hourglass figure and legs that most women would kill for, her skimpy pink uniform was so kinky and erotic that it almost made me want to fuck her.
It was the most perfectly tailored piece of smut that I’ve ever seen in my life. And despite being completely strapless, it still managed to present her gorgeous cleavage for the whole world to see, while at the same time leaving her delectable back and shoulders on display.
Her skirt too, such as it was, was as short and skimpy as anyone could ever have gotten away with, puffed up with layer upon layer of lacy white petticoats that left even more of her legs, rump and pussy on display.
As I followed her up the long marble staircase, I couldn’t help but be amazed at how elegantly she was able to walk in her 5” baby pink stiletto heels. But of course, having taken the time to appreciate the bows of her white satin stocking and suspenders and the intricate embroidery of her petticoats, it wasn’t long before the only thing that I could think about was her smooth, naked pussy.
I think that this was my first real moment of doubt and panic. What if all of Mrs Simmons’s domestic staff was required to dress like this? What if she was a total pervert?
Looking back on it now ,of course, I suppose it’s easy to say that I should have just turned around and walked back to my car without another word. But while I know that if my future employer had been a man then I would have run screaming to the nearest police station, the very fact that Mrs Simmons was a woman left me so confused that I didn’t know what to do.
‘She doesn’t look like a dyke,’ I thought to myself, just proving how naive, ignorant and prejudiced I really was.
I just simply couldn’t conceive of the possibility that a woman who was obsessed with the Barbie doll lifestyle could be a lesbian. And so because I couldn’t understand it, I simply pushed it to the back of my mind and pretended that it didn’t exist.
‘Mrs Simmons, your guest is here,’ announced the maid as she showed me through to her mistress’s parlour.
‘Thank you, darling,’ she said dismissively. ‘You can go now.’
Despite the lateness of the hour and her perfect makeup and hair, like every good playgirl living in the lap of luxury, Mrs Simmons was dressed in a beautifully tailored satin corset and fur lined gown with furry pink stiletto-heeled slippers and white silk stockings and suspenders, all of which seemed to have been deliberately chosen for their erotic sensuality. And as she lay there seductively, casually displaying the tops of her thighs and her huge ripe cleavage, I did actually wonder if I had accidentally walked into a ‘Playboy’ photo shoot.
Sprawling decadently across her plush pink velvet sofa as she sipped her champagne and nibbled her Belgian chocolates, it was fully five minutes before Mrs Simmons even acknowledged my existence. And since I was still too busy trying to figure out if I should be trying to impress her or running for my life, I just stood there like a mindless mannequin and smiled like a good little doll.
As it turned out of course, this was the best, or possibly the worst, thing that I could have done, because even though I didn’t realize it, the interview had already begun.
Mrs Simmons wanted all of her staff to be as patient as a saint, willing to stand seductive and motionless for hours on end without ever breathing a single word. And so when the woman did finally stand to greet me, she was very pleased indeed.
‘Hello, Lucy,’ beamed the woman as she walked up to me and gave me a long, intimate hug, putting her cheek to mine and kissing the air to avoid smudging her lipstick. ‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.’
‘That’s alright, Mrs Simmons.’ I smiled in assent. ‘I don’t mind at all.’
Once I’d said that however, I quickly realized that I’d burned my bridges behind me and committed myself to taking the job. Because while it might sound completely insane, now that I’d said that I wanted to be there, I felt that it would be rude of me to refuse her or to try and leave.
‘Very pretty,’ she complimented in a smooth, seductive tone of voice as she lovingly examined my pert round breasts and slipped her hand up my skirt. ‘I see that you’ve shaved your pussy for me. Yes, very nice indeed.’
By this point of course, all doubt and uncertainty had left my mind. Every fibre in my body was screaming at me to turn around and run back to the car as fast as I possibly could. But as Mrs Simmons leaned forward to give me a long, loving kiss on the lips, even though I wanted to stop her, I quickly realized that I was behaving more obediently than ever before.
It was as if my body was on auto-pilot. And while I wanted to shout at the woman to leave me alone, when I opened my mouth to yell at her, I heard myself say something completely different.
‘Thank you, Mrs Simmons,’ I beamed as she continued to compliment the smoothness of my pussy, even spreading my legs a little further apart to facilitate her inspection. ‘I think that you’re very pretty as well.’
I wanted to breathe a sigh of relief when Mrs Simmons finally turned to head back to her sofa. But instead, I actually heard myself whimper with frustration when the groping stopped. And while the second part of my interview wasn’t quite as invasive as the first part had been, it was still so humiliating that I literally wanted to die.
Even though I couldn’t make myself leave, as Mrs Simmons offered me a seat and began asking all sorts of embarrassing questions, I’m certain that I should have at least turned bright red with embarrassment. But as I sat down in the most lady-like fashion imaginable, still grinning from ear to ear and fluttering my eyelashes like an obedient bit of fluff, I didn’t even feel myself become flushed.
‘So, do you like licking pussy?’ she smiled, as casually as if she were asking me about the weather.
‘Yes, madam. Yes I do,’ I beamed in reply. ‘I’m a good little girl and I’ll do whatever I’m told.’
What the hell was happening to me? I might have taken part in the odd ‘experiment when I was at school, but I certainly wasn’t a lesbian. And even if I was, why would I be talking about licking pussy in front of a woman who I’d only just met?
‘And would you like to lick my pussy?’
‘Oh yes, madam,’ I panted, going down on all fours and crawling up to the woman as she playfully uncrossed her legs. ‘Please let me lick your pussy. I’m such a good little girl.’
If I’d been watching someone else demean themselves in such a humiliating manner I would have either stormed out in total disgust or simply closed my eyes and turned away. But as she revealed her smooth naked pussy, petting my head as if I was one of her pets as she lovingly guided my lips towards her slit, there was nothing I could do to stop myself as I felt my mouth begin to water with eager anticipation and my pussy became just as wet.
‘That’s it, darling,’ she purred as patronizingly as could be, licking her lips with satisfaction as I greedily lapped at her smooth wet slit. ‘You lick Mummy’s pussy like a good little girl.’
There was nothing that I could do to stop myself as I greedily buried my tongue inside her and licked and sucked as deeply as I could. I was even frigging the crotch of my white cotton panties so hard that I was actually starting to enjoy it.
&nb
sp; No matter what it was that Mrs Simmons had done to turn me into an obedient lesbian puppet, she now had undeniable proof that it had worked perfectly. And now that she knew there was no chance of me being able to break her hold over me and escaping to tell other people what I had seen, she finally decided to ‘offer me the job’.
‘Thank you darling, that’s enough.’ She smiled, gently easing my mouth away from her pussy and slowly recrossing her legs.
Once again it seemed that while I was glad to see the end of my humiliation, my body was still as eager as ever. And as I watched Mrs Simmons ring the tiny ornamental ‘service’ bell on the table beside her seat, I actually remember wagging my bottom like a horny puppy and grinning from ear to ear with her honey glistening on my lips.
Mrs Simmons did ask me to stand back up before her maids arrived, of course, and I obeyed at once like a good little toy. But as two of the woman’s other mindless playthings entered the room and their mistress gave them their instructions, I quickly realized that my humiliation was just beginning.
‘Mary, Janet, this is Lucy,’ she introduced us graciously, her pussy still tingling with orgasm after the licking that I had given her. ‘Say hello, girls.’
‘Hello Mary. Hello Janet.’ I waved, beaming moronically like a character off Playschool.
‘Hello Lucy.’ They waved just as ridiculously in reply.
A tall stunning blonde and a brunette, dressed in the same skimpy pink French maid uniform that I’d seen before, the women were both incredibly beautiful and sexy. And thanks to Mrs Simmons’s control over me, the very sight of them made my pussy tingle more than ever.
‘Lucy wants to work for me, just like you do,’ explained the woman as her two French maids came over to touch, caress and compliment my body, cooing with delight as if I were a cute little puppy. ‘Please make her all pretty and teach her everything that she needs to know.’
Ultimate Submission Page 7
