Fiction
The Dinner
The next evening, you had already put on the outfit. He was arriving in twenty minutes…
The next evening, you had already put on the outfit. The black dress clung a little tighter than the day before, the thong was tighter, the stockings rode higher. She had simply looked at you when she came in, smiled, then said: “He’s arriving in twenty minutes. Set the table for two.”
The preparations
You set the table with almost excessive care. Two plates, two wine glasses, two sets of cutlery. No place for you. You lit the candles, arranged the napkins, checked that the wine was at the right temperature. In the kitchen, you prepared the meal she had chosen: something simple but elegant. You could already feel your heart beating too hard in your chest.
She walked into the room in a tight black dress, more beautiful than usual. She stopped behind you, ran a hand over your hip, tugged a little on the apron to straighten it.
“You’re pretty tonight,” she murmured. “Don’t disappoint him.”
The arrival
The doorbell rang. You went to open it, as she had ordered. The man on the doorstep was tall, confident, already looking amused. He looked you up and down, smiled, then walked past you without a word.
In the living room, she kissed him for a long time, one hand in his hair, the other resting on his chest. You stayed near the door, hands clasped in front of the apron, waiting.
“This is our little maid,” she said, pointing at you. “She’ll take care of everything tonight.”
The man nodded, placed a hand on your cheek for a moment, just long enough to make you lower your eyes.
“She’s well trained,” he remarked.
The dinner
You served them. Plate after plate, glass after glass. You moved around the table in silence, heels clicking softly, the dress lifting a little with every movement. They talked, laughed, touched each other. Sometimes she placed her hand on the man’s thigh. Sometimes he leaned in to kiss her.
At one point, she made you kneel beside her chair while she ate. She fed you a piece of meat from the tip of her fork, forcing you to open your mouth.
“See how well she obeys?” she asked the man.
He smiled, placed his hand on your head and stroked your hair the way one strokes a pet.
“Very well.”
You stayed on your knees for a good part of the meal. When you stood up to pour the wine, you felt their eyes on you — on the way the dress clung to your ass, on the thong that showed through the thin fabric.
After dessert
When the plates were empty, she made you clear the table. Then she stood up, took the man’s hand and led him to the sofa. She straddled his lap, kissed him deeply while you remained standing near the table, waiting.
“On your knees. There.” She pointed to the floor between the sofa and the coffee table.
You knelt. You watched them kiss, touch each other, undress little by little. She pulled up her dress, guided the man’s hand between her thighs. He made her moan, then laid her down on the sofa and positioned himself between her legs.
You stayed there, on your knees, hands on your thighs, heart pounding, cock aching against the thong. You watched them. Every movement, every moan, every thrust. She looked at you sometimes, eyes half-closed, a satisfied smile on her lips.
“Watch carefully,” she whispered between breaths. “This is how you fuck a real woman.”
The end of the evening
When they finished, she kept him against her for a moment, then turned her head toward you.
“Come. Clean.”
You crawled over to the sofa. She spread her thighs. You placed your mouth on her, licking slowly, tasting the mixture of her and him. The man watched, one hand resting on your head, guiding you sometimes.
“Deeper,” he said.
You obeyed. You cleaned until she gently pushed you away. Then she made you clean the man’s cock as well, still half-hard, still slick. You took it in your mouth, slowly, until it was clean.
When everything was finished, she stroked your cheek.
“You were a good little maid tonight.”
The man got dressed, kissed her one last time, then left. She looked at you for a long moment, still on your knees on the living-room floor, dress wrinkled, face shiny, the taste of them still in your mouth.
“Tomorrow,” she said simply, “we start again.”
You nodded. You no longer needed to answer.