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FRIDAY, TWO MONTHS LATER
As usual, I woke with the first light of the day, but on this morning I just couldn’t bring myself to get out of bed right away.
We found out yesterday that X is being transferred out of Bangkok; the company needs him elsewhere so our time here will soon come to an end. I looked around my room — the maid’s room.
That’s right, two months later I am still the maid for Bee and X, or as I now call them almost exclusively, Miss and Sir. I cook, and clean, and take care of household affairs, all in my little French maid’s outfit. I am to have breakfast ready for Miss and Sir every morning, even Sundays. Unlike Miss, I am never given a day off. Each and every morning my butt plug waits on the breakfast table, ready to violate me. Most mornings, but not all, Miss allows me to get the dish of butter from the refrigerator to ease the entry. Other mornings Miss only lets me lick the plug before telling me to push it up my bum — she seems to prefer watching me stuff my own bottom rather than putting it in for me. Miss has purchased plugs of various sizes, some small, some very big, and the plug I find on the table is a good barometer of her mood.
One of the new plugs has become my favorite: it has a maid’s feather duster on the end of it, and is bent so that when I wear it the duster sticks up out of my bum almost like a rooster’s tail. I’ve often hoped that Miss would take a picture of me with that plug, but she hasn’t yet and I can’t bring myself to ask her.
Miss has nice days and mean days, but I fear she is beginning to tire of me. I still love her as much as I ever have, and her frostiness only increases my longing.
What separates the unbroken from the broken? As I wrote this story, I went back and forth on how to describe my growing love for my Miss. Things happened so fast I can’t put my finger on one event, one look, or one thing she said that marked the point at which I can say “Before this time I was my own and I did not love her; after this time she owned me and I loved her with all my heart.” The truth is, once I fell for Bee everything she did made me love her more and more.
But if I were forced to pick one moment when I knew — really knew — I wanted to serve her and love her (and if you are even a little bit submissive you will know that service and love can be the same thing), it would be the Thursday afternoon two months ago when she finally took my bottom with her big blue dildo.
Reader, there are things I’d like to write for you. For instance, I’d like to write that Sir invites his colleagues over to the apartment, and makes me serve them drinks until one of them gets the nerve to smack my bare ass as I lean over to refill his bourbon. I’d like to write about his colleagues taking my mouth and my pussy until I am spent and soaked with cum and content to feel so desired.
But those things didn’t happen.
As I said at the beginning, The Thai Maid is a güvenilir bahis true story and I have only included actual events. I fantasize often about X’s colleagues, but we live in the real world and have to keep up appearances. With the exception of a single incident with a diplomat’s wife, none of our professional acquaintances ever knew about my switching places with Miss. Before we entertain guests for dinner parties, I race around the house, madly cleaning up. Just before the first guests arrive, I quickly strip out of the French maid’s outfit and Miss puts it on. And almost every time Miss picks the largest butt plug, a real ring stretcher, and forces me to wear it for the duration of the party.
Sometimes our guests leave at the end of the evening, commiserating about the difficulty of hiring good help: Miss is not so subservient as she once was. It is hard for Miss and I to get into our old roles, and as a consequence we just don’t interact with each other when guests are around. One time, a guest remarked I was a great hostess because I was always on my feet at dinner parties and never seemed to sit down. I wanted to tell him it was because I had a plug half the size of his hand up my backside, but I bit my tongue and just thanked him.
So other than those tiny chinks in the armor, our privacy is intact.
One of the reasons I shared this story with you, Reader, is so I can examine my feelings about the last two months and understand myself better. You can come to your own conclusions about me, and I assume you have, but I have decided something about myself: I am not a masochist.
No, don’t laugh. If I pinch my arm, I do not like the pain.
If I had my way, I would have lazy mornings with Miss, rolling in soft pillows, whispering in her ear about my love for her, whispering lovely thoughts into her watermelon mouth, and stroking her hair as she kisses my pussy. I would hold her hand and we would go shopping outdoors together at Sunday market, and lounge in the sun on the patio.
But I love my Miss, and this is not the way she has chosen to let me show my love for her. It’s not that I like being spanked or humiliated per se, it’s just that I am happy to let Miss use me as she wants. Would I be happier with long walks in the park instead of long fucks in the ass? No, not unless Miss wanted it that way.
Does it surprise you to learn that I haven’t asked Sir how much he planned from the beginning? I’ve often wondered if he hoped to provoke me into something like this when he first let me “catch” him getting head from Miss. Sir knows that I am anally erotic; how much did he tell Miss beforehand about my tastes? Or does Miss’s mind just happen to run in the same grooves mine does?
But these questions aren’t truly relevant: I have never forgotten that
* I was the one who went out and purchased the first butt plug;
* I was the one who stuffed it up Miss’s ass; and
* I was the one who told her I would make her my slut.
Everything türkçe bahis that followed was my fault.
I do wonder, though, if things would have turned out differently if I’d treated Miss with affection on that first day when X went away on business, instead of humiliating her and taking her picture.
But if you asked me whether I would do things over again, the same way, my answer would be yes, yes, a thousand times yes. I would not trade a single session with Miss’s blue dildo for all the money in world.
Do I have regrets?
Yes: I twice prevented Miss from sodomizing me with her blue dong. For that — for denying her pleasure, for not having the courage to open myself completely to her, and for delaying my acceptance of my true nature — I am ashamed. Once you love someone, how can you not be haunted by the opportunities to please her that you have passed up?
I’ve also wondered why I fell so deeply in love with Miss so quickly. But I think the answer’s a simple one: try getting fucked up the ass by a beautiful Thai maid who knows how to lick a pussy and see if it doesn’t change your outlook on life.
Some subtle things have changed.
If I’m on the street or in the market and catch the smell of Durian fruit, I can’t help thinking of Miss’s anus. This usually sends me scurrying home, begging to lick her ass.
Sir hardly ever touches me anymore. I think he has made love to me six times in the last few months. I can’t blame him: Miss is a marvelously responsive lover, a gifted cock sucker, and she sleeps with him in the master bedroom. Sometimes I can hear their passion from across the apartment, and depending on my mood I either cry or touch myself, or both. On rare occasions, Sir will make me sit in the bedroom and watch them make love, but he seldom invites me to join in, unless it’s to suck his cum out of Miss’s backside while Miss masturbates — this I do happily!
Sir sometimes surprises me with his requests. Once he put us up to a cat fight, and told us the loser would have to do anything that Sir commanded. Miss won (naturally), and what Sir made me do was so humiliating I won’t repeat it here. Miss found it very funny though.
I’m not sure what will happen to my relationship with Sir when we leave this place; Miss’s ownership of my self isn’t limited by national boundaries. Still, I hope Sir and I can resume something like a normal relationship once we move, assuming anything can be normal after you’ve fallen in love with a beautiful Thai ass fucker.
Still, we have something like a daily ritual, and it goes like this:
Miss touches me sometimes, but usually she limits our contact to her blue dildo and my poor, battered anus. She rarely if ever initiates the ass-fucking, but makes me beg for it. This (begging) I do more often than I like to admit. It’s hard to strike a balance: every time that monster plows my ass I feel like a virgin. I just can’t get used to it, even after eight weeks. güvenilir bahis siteleri Since that first beautiful week, Miss has never again fucked my pussy with the blue dildo, and I’ll take her attention any way I can get it. I love her a little more each time she lets me fetch the blue dildo. I get so desperately lonely when she ignores me. So I have to choose between an aching heart and an aching asshole. On most days, the heart wins and the rectum loses. It’s not a bad trade.
Worse, though, is Miss’s taste for bondage. She delights in humiliating me in front of others, and once — although I shudder to recall it — she even figged me.
Almost every time she takes my ass, she gives me an enema and sometimes a spanking. After I’m clean she hog ties me at the ankles and wrists with the leather cuffs. Depending on her mood she might pop a butt plug in my mouth (only after it’s been up her ass or mine), but most days she likes to hear me beg for the dildo up my ass and wail once it’s inside me, so she usually she keeps my mouth clear.
Now that she treats me as her ass whore, she might as well act like a man: she seldom rubs my clit while she’s butt-fucking me, so my pussy is starved for attention and I can’t masturbate myself. Sometimes, but not every time, if I really relax and picture what Miss is doing to me and think about how much I love her — when I surrender to the idea that the fullest expression of all I will ever be is a beautiful white woman with big tits and a sweet round ass who gets sodomized by her petite Asian maid only when I beg for it — when Miss stuffs my face into the pillow and smacks the cheeks of my ass — when I remember that the purest way of showing my love for Miss is a stretched anus and a rectum entirely packed with her fake blue cock — when I remember how grateful I am to suck Sir’s cum out of Miss’s pretty brown asshole — when I remember that I’m bound because I’m not worthy of even playing with my own own pussy when Miss is fucking me — when I remember all these things and Miss really gets a rhythm banging my ass and she leans over and whispers in my ear Vicky have pink asshole — sometimes I climax so hard my head spins and I see stars, even though my pussy is empty and untouched. When Miss feels my body contract, when she sees my asshole spasm around the blue cock, she claps and laughs and loves the fact she can make me cum simply by sodomizing me. Her laughter is magic to my ears: she is happy, I am happy, and the soreness, the begging, the enemas, the polaroids, the figging, the bondage, and the humiliation are all worthwhile.
As I type these final words I am sitting on the bed with a laptop computer in the maid’s room. The biggest plug (my choice today, and lubricated only with my pussy juice and saliva) sits snugly up my ass, and the blue dildo rests next to me on the bed. I don’t know how many days I have with my Miss, my beautiful brown Bee, but I plan to make the most of them. I will go to her now, blue dildo in hand, and beg her to buttfuck me for her pleasure. I will cry, I will plead, I will crawl on the ground, and I will desperately hope she says yes.
Wish me luck.
The End of “The Thai Maid”
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