Maid Service

by Peter Birch

  The building was a laundry, with a double row of tubs and various other more mysterious machines. A nun was working at the tubs, her back turned to Peter as she used a baton of bleached wood to push clothes down into the water. But it wasn’t what she was doing that made his eyes grow round and his mouth drop open. She had taken off her habit and wimple, presumably to add them to the wash, leaving her in nothing but her underwear, which was plain and ample, but quite revealing enough to send the blood pumping to his cock, especially as she herself was young and beautiful. Her chest and belly were hidden beneath a full girdle, but it held her heavy breasts high and proud while accentuating the sculpted curves of her waist and hips, with the hem half covering her bottom to leave the seat of her full white panties (and quite a bit of plump young cheek) peeping out beneath. Taut suspender straps led down from her girdle, three at each side, to support thick, tan colored stockings, each topped by a soft bulge of pale thigh. Better still, the way she was working at the tub kept her bottom nicely presented, with her flesh moving to the gentle rhythm of her work.

  Time and again Tiffany had railed against the smug, holier-then-thou attitude of the nuns, especially their assumption of superiority through their vows of chastity. To see one of them stripped down to her underwear was a magnificent outrage, better still when she was so attractive, and it was the work of an instant for Peter to free his mischievous cock. He began to masturbate, an act as deliberately and delightfully insolent as it was impossible to resist, all the while praying that she’d add her girdle and panties to the load in the wash tub, treating him to a view of her bare bottom and full breasts.

  It was easy to imagine, her girdle unfastened and slipped off to let her breasts loll forward, round and heavy and bare as they swung to the motion of her work, her nipples large and stiff. Then her panties, pushed down over her glorious bottom and down her fine, shapely legs. She’d have to bend down to take them right off, perhaps far enough to allow him one brief, fleeting glimpse of her rear view in its full glory, with her virgin cunt and the tight dimple of her anus naked to his gaze. Not that she showed the least inclination to strip completely, but it was too late anyway. Peter had cum in his hand.

  The laundry room had also begun to get steamy, with condensation on the window making it difficult to see. As he sank down against the wall he was glad to have finished in time, and gladder still when the window directly above him was pushed open. He froze, sure that she would lean out and catch him, with his erect cock still sticking out from his trousers, sticky with cum and revealing the full extent of his abominable transgression. But nothing happened, and presently the gentle, rhythmic thump of the washing baton began once more.

  Peter moved into the deeper shadows where the laundry jutted out from the wall. As he cleaned himself up, he told himself that he’d done enough for one night: a successful reconnaissance culminating in an act of spectacular impropriety. Tiffany would be delighted, but she would also want to know why he hadn’t continued on his mission. He stayed put, his thoughts moving between a bold, near demented delight in his behavior and the further possibilities that cool, reasoned caution would make all the more probable. His orgasm had taken the edge off his need, but he knew he’d be ready again after a few minutes in bed with Tiffany, while the open window above offered a tempting route into the convent, and out again once he was done.

  The light went off, the nun’s gentle singing receded, but the window remained open, and with that Peter decided to act. He was inside in an instant, blinking in the gloom until his eyes grew accustomed to what little moonlight came in at the windows. The scent of freshly washed clothes was strong in the air, at which a new possibility occurred to him. To think was to act, and he had quickly wriggled himself into a habit and wimple, with his face contorted into a manic, daring grin as he peered out from the laundry room. A corridor led away into dimness that could only be part of the main building. He was inside.

  As he started along the corridor he lowered his gaze to the ground and laced his fingers together across his midriff, a meek attitude he assumed typical for a nun. Nobody was there to criticize, the lower part of the convent silent and dark but for the faint glow of nightlights at well spaced intervals. The corridor met another, with doors leading off to either side, one open to reveal the shapes of bulky kitchen equipment, another half-closed, only to swing wide too suddenly for Peter to react.

  He stood face to face with a girl, the two of them frozen in shock. Her eyes were wide in a face framed by dark, tousled hair, her pretty mouth slightly open and sticky with jam from the little jar she held in one hand. She looked terrified and was evidently waiting for the supposed nun who had caught her at her crime to speak. Peter hesitated, not sure if he should tell her off, order her to visit the Mother Superior in the morning, even punish her then and there. The first choice seemed inadequate, the second unfair, the third irresistible. He raised his chin and spoke in his renowned imitation of Mrs. Malaprop.

  “Put down that jam, girl, and lift your nightie.”

  For one awful moment he thought she was going to scream, before her expression of terror gave way to one of sulky compliance. Half turning, she placed the jam on the floor and lifted her nightie at the back, exposing a small, sweetly rounded bottom, already bare, which she then pushed out petulantly, and inadvertently pertly. She braced herself against the wall and Peter swallowed hard, the blood already pumping to his cock for the sight she was presenting. But he managed to keep his voice level as he spoke again, timing his words to five firm smacks across her pert little cheeks.

  “You … are … a … little … thief … What are you are?”

  “A little thief,” she answered miserably.

  “Exactly,” he finished, applying a final smack to now flushed bottom. “But so long as you replace the jam no more need be said. What is your name?”

  “Katie Vale,” she answered, now sounding slightly puzzled as she hastily covered her bottom.

  “Then run along to bed, Katie Vale,” he said, only to realize that she offered the perfect opportunity to find out how to get to Tiffany’s room. “I am new here, as you no doubt realize. Tell me the way to Tiffany Lange’s room.”

  “Blue Staircase, top floor,” Katie answered quickly, pointed back down the corridor and fled.

  She’d left the jam on the floor and Peter quickly appropriated it, his fingers shaking with reaction as he tugged up his habit and pushed the jar into his pocket before making a badly needed adjustment to his cock. His heart was hammering with excitement and arousal, bringing on a sense of invulnerability as he turned back the way he had come. He’d spanked a girl and gotten away with it, and while she’d seemed suspicious he was sure she wouldn’t be going to the authorities, an act that would inevitably lead to more of what she’d received in the corridor and probably a great deal harder.

  The first staircase he reached was marked by a waist-high stripe, just visible as green against the dull magnolia of the wall. He moved on, to another, narrower stair, this time marked blue, right at the end of the building and presumably below Tiffany’s corridor. Climbing swiftly and silently, he passed one floor after another without incident, until at last the staircase opened out onto a landing, beyond which a short corridor showed two doors at either side. Each door bore a neatly written nametag, the first of which was Lange, T. He pushed inside without hesitation, into near darkness, form which Tiffany’s voice sounded clear and sweet but fraught with alarm.

  “Alice? Lottie?”

  “No, Peter.”

  “Peter! You scared me! What’re you doing here anyway? How did you get in?”

  “Sh!” he urged. “I had to come. I couldn’t keep away. Let me into bed.”

  Tiffany complied, pulling back the covers to let him slip in beside her. The bed was soft, warm and smelt girlishly sweet, while her flesh felt firm and infinitely desirable where it pressed to his own through their clothes, setting
his cock stiff as he cuddled close. His lips found hers and they melted into a long kiss, but as he began to ease her nightie up over the swell of her bottom she pushed him back a little to speak once more.

  “We’re going to get caught, Peter. This is lovely, but you have to go!”

  “Not yet. You promised that if I came you’d … you’d let me.”

  “Yes, but I was playing. I mean, I’m flattered, and I do want to do it, but I can’t!”

  “Tiffany! Please, for my sake? You can make some excuse.”

  “They’d know, they’re like that! I … I’ll do you in my mouth. You like that. But then you have to go. The penguins come round sometimes. They’ll catch us! What have you got on, anyway? Are you wearing a dress?”

  “I took a habit and wimple from the laundry. I need you Tiffany, please!?”

  “You’re dressed as a nun!?”

  Her voice was half squeak, half giggle as he eased her nightie up over her hips. Like Katie, she had no panties on underneath, allowing his eager hands straight to bare, nubile flesh, first to stroke and squeeze, then to smack.

  “Ow! Peter! You really are a pig, did you know that, and a pervert!”

  He’d begun to nuzzle her neck as he explored her bottom, one hand slipping between her cheeks to find her asshole as he moved the other around to cup the soft bulge of her cunt. She sighed and pulled herself closer, but as his finger began to probe the virgin tightness of her hole she pulled back a little and spoke once more, now breathless.

  “No, Peter, you can’t, not in my pussy. Let me take you in my mouth.”

  Peter shook his head as he fumbled up his habit. Tiffany gave a soft, abandoned moan, her back arching to push her cunt against his hand as he continued to fiddle with her, and her voice was full of regret as she spoke again.

  “No, you mustn’t. I want to, believe me, but I can’t, not in my pussy, no …”

  She broke off with a cry as his fingers pushed firmly to the tight constriction of her hymen, then pulled suddenly back, speaking fast and urgent even as Peter freed his cock from his fly.

  “Not my pussy, Peter, no. If you have to do me, do me up my bottom.”

  As she spoke she rolled over, pushing out her naked bottom into his lap and against his now exposed penis. He began to rub his length in the warmth of her slit by instinct, despite being shocked and surprised by her dirty offer. After all, he’d fantasized about putting his cock into her beautiful ass almost as often as he’d fantasized about fucking her properly.

  “Up your bottom, really?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she insisted, her voice thick with embarrassment. “It’s what girls do if a man gets too randy, we let him do it … in our butts.”

  “It is?”

  “Don’t talk about it, Peter, just do it. You’re making me feel ashamed of myself.”

  “Yes, but … but won’t I need to get you ready?”

  “Yes … maybe, spit on your finger or something, whatever you do with your friends!”

  “I don’t do anything with my friends!”

  It was true, but he was the exception. Many of his friends had experimented with each other, and he knew full well that an asshole needed to be coaxed open before a cock would go in. Sucking his finger, he eased it between Tiffany’s cheeks to find the tiny bud of her anus, tight but moist and receptive, making him wonder if she’d already surrendered herself to another boy.

  “Is this your first time?” he demanded as he eased the tip of his finger into the hot, slippery ring of her bottom hole.

  “Yes!” she sobbed. “Of course it is! Well, with a man …”

  “Eh? So what else goes up there?” he demanded as he eased a second finger into her now taut ring.

  “I … I sometimes put the handle of my hairbrush up,” Tiffany gasped. “I can’t do it in my pussy, can I? Ooh! You’re hurting.”

  “Sorry,” Peter answered, extracting his fingers as he imagined how she’d look with a hairbrush sticking out of her bottom hole as she masturbated. “Hang on, I’ve got some jam.”

  “Jam?”

  “Yes. I got it off a girl called Katie Vale.”

  “Katie? What were you doing with Katie? She’s …”

  “She was raiding the kitchens. I didn’t do anything with her. Well, not much. I smacked her bottom and took her jam off her.”

  “You smacked her bottom!?”

  “I had to. She thought I was a nun.”

  “You didn’t have to …”

  Peter had retrieved the jam jar from his pocket as they spoke and her aggrieved answer broke to a gasp as he slathered as much as he’d been able to scoop out with two fingers between the cheeks of her bottom, then another as he pushed a finger deep into her now sticky anus.

  “You’ll get it everywhere!” she protested, but her bottom was still pushed out and she was tugging up her nightie to bare her breasts.

  “Kneel up then,” Peter instructed, his finger now pushed as deep into her bottom hole as it would go.

  “Filthy pig,” Tiffany answered, but she lost no time in obeying him, throwing back the covers and twisting around to lift her bottom.

  Peter’s finger had slid from her ass as she moved and he quickly got into position, kneeling behind her with his habit held up and his cock in his hand. She was face down on the bed, the contours of her body just visible now that his eyes had adjusted, her nightie rucked up to show off her breasts, her slender waist flaring to the width of her hips and the tempting roundness of her bottom, her cheeks spread wide to reveal the slick, jam smeared slit between.

  “I’m going to do it,” he sighed. “I’m going to butt fuck you, Tiffs.”

  “Do it … do it there, go on.”

  He didn’t need telling, the swollen head of his cock already pressed to her anus. She groaned as he pushed, half pain, half pleasure as her ring began to open, and again, with a note of something like despair creeping into voice as she spread to take him. He pushed again, his cock slipping in deeper with the warm jam to help, and deeper still, with her anus now gaping to accommodate him, she gasped out her passion and squirmed herself against him. Another firm push and he was all the way in, the full length of his erection jammed up into her straining bottom hole and his balls pressed firmly to her empty, virgin cunt.

  She was sobbing and groaning in response. Her fingers clutched at the bed sheets and he thought she might be crying, but she made no effort to stop him, holding her pose as he entered her, his arousal rising swiftly as his cock pulled in an out of the tightness of her anal ring and his eyes feasted on her naked body. He was grateful that he’d eased his need earlier. That alone had stopped him from losing his load all over Tiffany’s backside before he’d even got in. But he was already having to take it slow to stop himself from losing his cum again when she began to speak once more, her voice soft, urgent and heavy with shame.

  “You’ve got it up my bottom, you dirty pig, right up my bottom … and I let you … and it feels so nice. I must be the most wicked girl there ever was, a harlot, a dirty whore. Spank me, Peter, punish me … smack my naughty bottom while you use me … use me and my forbidden hole.”

  He began to spank her immediately, firm, even smacks applied to her parted cheeks as his cock moved in her anus, slowly at first, then faster, until she was gasping out her feelings, her words too broken for him to understand but growing gradually clearer and ever more urgent.

  “… punish me, smack me … smack me harder, Peter! Spank me like the dirty little whore I am, with a boy’s prick up my butt … deep between my cheeks … do your thing inside me, right up inside me, right into my naughty asshole while you spank me!”

  Her voice had risen close to a scream, and Peter hastily clapped a hand over her mouth to shut her up even as he did his best to oblige, pumping into her, her straining anal ring taut on the base of his shaft and the rest of
his cock rubbing in the hot, slippery canal of her rectum. A few more firm strokes and he’d done it, creaming deep inside her in a second orgasm, far, far better than the first as she shook and whimpered beneath him, lost in ecstasy and shame for her once-virgin ass. Even as he emptied the creamy contents of his balls into her rectum, her hand had slithered down between her legs, snatching and rubbing at her cunt with the tears streaming down her face as she brought herself to a hard climax, her anus contracting in orgasm, milking the last of his cream out of him and into her well fucked bottom.

  ivGym knickers is the British name given to the short, tight elasticated shorts as worn by female runners, high-jumpers, pole-vaulters and other track and field athletes. Up until the 1980’s, it was quite common for European female students to wear just such a garment during most athletic activities.

  v“Quid” is the slang name given to the monetary value of 1 British pound sterling.

  Chapter Three

  Peter stared from the classroom window towards long familiar scenery; the flat green expanse of the playing fields, the line of trees that marked the river, with the woods and fields of the opposite hillside rising beyond. In the years he’d been at Broadfields he’d looked out in much the same manner from a dozen different windows and innumerable times, staring wistfully into the distance and wishing he was anywhere else but cooped up in the classroom, but now his mind burned with thoughts. He’d done it, riding a wave of crazy over-confidence and stubborn bravado to not only visit St. Monica’s, but to break in, evade the nuns, spank a pretty young girl and accept the surrender of his girlfriend’s anal virginity. He’d even retained the nun’s outfit as a trophy.