22-11-2024, 11:06 PM
The heat of the morning sun filters through the curtains, heavy and relentless. Your head pounds slightly, sleep clinging to the edges of your awareness, but the insistent pressure between your legs draws your attention more. You blink, groggy, your vision sharpening to the sight of her on her knees just outside your bedroom door.
The maid—your maid—is scrubbing the marble floors, her body moving in a steady, mesmerizing rhythm. Her saree clings to her in ways you can't ignore, damp with effort, the curve of her waist exposed where the fabric has shifted. The line of her back arches as she leans forward, her breasts pressing against the thin material of her blouse. Your cock twitches, pulsing against the confines of your pants, and the voice in your head murmurs.
"Look at her,"it whispers, smooth and unrelenting. "Sweat glistening on her skin, that curve of her waist. Those lips. She’s a vision, isn’t she? A goddess scrubbing your floors."
You feel the heat rising, the pulse in your groin growing insistent. Her hair is tied up in a loose knot, and a few stray tendrils stick to her damp neck. You imagine running your fingers through that hair, tugging it back to reveal more of her. The voice purrs again.
"What’s stopping you? You’ve seen the way she looks at you, haven’t you? The way her lashes flutter when you speak, how her eyes dart away when your gaze lingers too long. She’s curious. She’s waiting."
Your heart pounds harder as you step closer, your feet soundless on the cool marble. The scent of her sweat mingles with the faint floral aroma of her skin, an intoxicating mix that stirs the animal in you. You catch the sheen on her arms, the subtle rise and fall of her chest as she exhales. She doesn’t notice you yet, too focused on her work.
"What would it take?" the voice wonders, teasing you. "A kind word? A soft touch? Or maybe she’d need more. A promise. A secret. A price. What do you think she’d do if you reached for her? If you let her know what you want?"
You clear your throat, your voice low and thick. "Good morning."
Her head snaps up, startled, and for a moment, her wide eyes meet yours. There’s something there—innocence, perhaps, but laced with something unspoken, something that lingers in the air between you. She straightens slightly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.
"Good morning, sahib," she replies softly, her voice sweet but tinged with a hesitance that only fuels the hunger clawing at your insides.
Her saree shifts again as she moves, giving you a glimpse of the swell of her hip. Your eyes betray you, tracing the lines of her body, the way the fabric clings and pulls, damp with effort. She notices, a flicker of awareness flashing in her gaze before she looks away. The voice is relentless now, pushing you forward.
"Offer her something. Money. Comfort. A reason to say yes. You know she wants to—she has to feel it too, doesn’t she? That heat between you, that unspoken understanding. Her lips would part for you, her body would melt under your hands."
Your arousal is impossible to ignore now, pressing hard against your pants. You shift slightly, adjusting yourself, and you catch her eyes flicker downward before darting away again. The tension tightens, the voice practically purring with satisfaction.
"She knows," it murmurs. "She’s waiting. Say the word. Make her yours."
The maid—your maid—is scrubbing the marble floors, her body moving in a steady, mesmerizing rhythm. Her saree clings to her in ways you can't ignore, damp with effort, the curve of her waist exposed where the fabric has shifted. The line of her back arches as she leans forward, her breasts pressing against the thin material of her blouse. Your cock twitches, pulsing against the confines of your pants, and the voice in your head murmurs.
"Look at her,"it whispers, smooth and unrelenting. "Sweat glistening on her skin, that curve of her waist. Those lips. She’s a vision, isn’t she? A goddess scrubbing your floors."
You feel the heat rising, the pulse in your groin growing insistent. Her hair is tied up in a loose knot, and a few stray tendrils stick to her damp neck. You imagine running your fingers through that hair, tugging it back to reveal more of her. The voice purrs again.
"What’s stopping you? You’ve seen the way she looks at you, haven’t you? The way her lashes flutter when you speak, how her eyes dart away when your gaze lingers too long. She’s curious. She’s waiting."
Your heart pounds harder as you step closer, your feet soundless on the cool marble. The scent of her sweat mingles with the faint floral aroma of her skin, an intoxicating mix that stirs the animal in you. You catch the sheen on her arms, the subtle rise and fall of her chest as she exhales. She doesn’t notice you yet, too focused on her work.
"What would it take?" the voice wonders, teasing you. "A kind word? A soft touch? Or maybe she’d need more. A promise. A secret. A price. What do you think she’d do if you reached for her? If you let her know what you want?"
You clear your throat, your voice low and thick. "Good morning."
Her head snaps up, startled, and for a moment, her wide eyes meet yours. There’s something there—innocence, perhaps, but laced with something unspoken, something that lingers in the air between you. She straightens slightly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.
"Good morning, sahib," she replies softly, her voice sweet but tinged with a hesitance that only fuels the hunger clawing at your insides.
Her saree shifts again as she moves, giving you a glimpse of the swell of her hip. Your eyes betray you, tracing the lines of her body, the way the fabric clings and pulls, damp with effort. She notices, a flicker of awareness flashing in her gaze before she looks away. The voice is relentless now, pushing you forward.
"Offer her something. Money. Comfort. A reason to say yes. You know she wants to—she has to feel it too, doesn’t she? That heat between you, that unspoken understanding. Her lips would part for you, her body would melt under your hands."
Your arousal is impossible to ignore now, pressing hard against your pants. You shift slightly, adjusting yourself, and you catch her eyes flicker downward before darting away again. The tension tightens, the voice practically purring with satisfaction.
"She knows," it murmurs. "She’s waiting. Say the word. Make her yours."
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