The Maid For Pleasure Bundle 2 (16 page)

Tiffany
knew
she was a perfectly serious and business-minded person. There wasn’t any other explanation for how she had made it so far in life, after all. So, what would be the harm in dressing up a little?

None, she decided. That’s why today, her peach-colored blouse had the top few buttons undone, why she had worn a flirty knee-length skirt, and why her thick, dark hair was let down to frame her face.

Looking in the mirror as she dressed that morning, she had decided she rather liked herself above the neck. Her hair had grown out over the last couple of weeks, but that was fine. Even expected. A woman's hair ought to have a
little
length to it. Her lips were plump and full and kissable, and dark eyes were full of all manner of sexy promise. There was no reason that a man wouldn’t fall all over himself to push his cock inside of her.

She blushed with that graphic thought. She hadn’t had sex in years. She hadn’t
needed
it. Sex merely got in the way.

Probably it was all the romance novels she had started reading. Rebecca had left one on her desk a couple of weeks ago,
The Wife’s Indiscretion
, and Tiffany had begun leafing through it. At first, it was out of a mocking condescension—she was certain only idiots and drama queens read that sort of tripe filth. As soon as she finished the first, however, she petitioned Rebecca for another, and then another.
The Wife’s Indiscretion
was followed by
The Wife’s Tryst
, and then that had a spin-off called
The Lady’s Burden
.

As she read more and more, Tiffany found herself increasingly interested in the characters and their motivations. All the women thought they had their lives just how they wanted them, but really they were just spinning plates, waiting for one to fall and tumble the whole mess down. Invariably a man showed up to fix it all for them and to stuff the women, furiously, with his stiff hard cock. Usually, he was quite fertile, and left the girl pregnant, quitting her lucrative career to support whatever it was the man was trying to do and give him a family like she was born for.

Tiffany didn’t seem to mind that the novels were so full of such graphic, erotic language. All the women in the stories were very happy to suck and please and beg for whatever the men gave them. It was such a strange mixture of erotica and romance, and despite knowing how basically
awful
it all was, Tiffany couldn’t put them down.

As she made her rounds through the early morning stadium, Tiffany was in high spirits. The plan with Tate was going swimmingly. They had won their last two games handily. He hadn’t thrown a single interception in the last two games, and in the last game alone, he ran in four touchdowns single-handedly from the option—which the coaches informed Tiffany had barely been practiced. He seemed to toss off defenders like they were flies, though if enough of them ganged together, they could bring him down. There was clear, significant muscle mass gain to his body, but despite the thorough drug testing from the league, he was totally clean.

Quietly, making sure no one was looking as she went, she slipped into the cheerleader’s locker room. It was down the hall from the football players’ locker room. Sometimes Tiffany daydreamed about all those dumb players getting lost and accidentally ending up in the cheerleader’s locker room, an unstoppable orgy ensuing. When she’d first had the thoughts, shortly after buying the team, they had been wry and cynical— “Oh sure, that’ll be the day.” And then after the sex scandal last year, the thoughts turned worrisome.

Lately, though, they had become somewhat intriguing. What
would
an orgy between those titans of manlihood and epitomes of cheerful girlishness look like? Her pussy twinged and moistened, just slightly, as she lingered on the thought.

She shook her head, batting the idea away. Didn’t matter. Tiffany was in the cheerleader’s locker room for a reason. Navigating herself around easily—she studied the map the night before with a glass of wine in one hand, and a finger lightly pressed against her nipples—she found and opened Candy’s locker.

Inside were a series of red-hot lingerie outfits, several bottles of milk (oh god, she really
was
one of the Milk Maids. Tiffany would have to complain to Castle
again
), and extra pairs of footwear. There was also a veritable treasure trove of love-filled notes about Tate. It seemed rather more like the locker of a lovestruck schoolgirl than a professional cheerleader.

That was, she had to admit, sort of hot. There was something just stupidly, erotically romantic about a brilliantly sexy cheerleader like Candy falling for a big athlete hunk like Tate. Of course, it was all pre-planned for the two, but somehow...somehow that made it even sexier. Planning out the romance for them, deciding who they fell in love with; deciding how turned on they would be and how much they would change.

Tiffany could understand, suddenly, why Castle was getting blowjobs all the time. The constant power trip he was on must have been thoroughly arousing.

Even just from sneaking around like this, Tiffany felt her arousal rising. Maybe that was why she had started sweating. Absently, she grabbed the nearest thing she could find to wipe her brow—and noticed only afterward that it was a pair of Candy’s used panties. For some reason, Tiffany held the panties to her nose and inhaled—and then inhaled even
deeper
.

She stepped away for a moment, giggling, her mind suddenly full of jello.

After only a few moments, the feeling began to dissipate, but that had been a
powerful
dose of lust delivered straight to her brain. She set the panties down, her steps slightly uncertain.

Tiffany straightened her jaw resolutely. What was wrong with her? Get back to the matter at hand: grabbing some new shoes. That was what was important. Candy was an idiot, obviously—just
look
at her—and Tiffany knew the stupid blonde wouldn’t notice anything missing from her locker.

Especially not a pair of heels. Candy was getting to Tiffany, just a little. It was stupid, but Tiffany felt like she was under-performing, somehow, by continuing to wear her pantsuits and other forms of conservative clothing.

On the bottom of the locker beneath a series of heart-bordered pieces of paper declaring “Tate + Candy 4everrr!”, Tiffany found what she was looking for: a pair of fashionable black pumps.

There, she thought smugly, slipping them on. These were perfectly professional, the heel no greater than three inches, and she could feel confident that she was showing off one of her finest features in her ass—and hey, her legs were there too, fellas. You don’t need to keep looking down this blouse all the time.

She giggled at the thought. Guiding men where to look, how to look. It was empowering, feeling like she had control over their eyes in that manner. There was no reason to think that she didn’t. Tiffany had splendidly sexy attributes, so it was only natural for her to show them off and establish her control over men with what nature had given her.

There was guilt and shame rolled into her feelings, of course, but the confidence was the greatest feeling, propelled by a greater and greater sense of self-importance.

All those girls in those erotica novels wore such fetching high heels, after all. The writing went on and on about how men would look at their legs because of the heels they wore. Some of the girls kept wearing the heels even after they were pregnant—they would ask their man about how high of a heel to wear, and then add an inch or two just to keep him guessing. That was smart—that was
really
devious and smart. Tiffany sighed for a moment, thinking dreamily about taking advantage of a man like that—dressing up just how he wanted and getting stuffed so full of his cock that he wouldn’t have any choice but to cum in her.

Yes, that was very devious. She’d have to find some way to do it very soon. It was fun to imitate the story. It was almost like she was living in one.

* * * * *

L
ater that day, feeling all business in her sexy-hot stilettos and short skirt, she made a call to Castle.

The calls had become routine. There were a number of items on today's docket, as there always were: the progress that Candy was making, whether she was
actually
creating milk, and whether anyone else was being brought into the twisted confines of Castle's control. Tiffany always asked, but Castle always had some explanation, and as the weeks went on, he only seemed to make more and more sense.

She brought up the bottles of milk she had found, and the numerous instances she had seen Candy wearing a soaked t-shirt. But, as Castle explained, unless she could verify that it was indeed lactation that Tiffany was seeing, there was no legal recourse she had. And the only way to verify the lactation was to touch it or taste it, and Tiffany
certainly
wasn’t going to be doing that any time soon. She wasn’t a
fool
, for god’s sake.

She sighed, slipping her fingers past the edges of her skirt and up her bare thighs, admiring her feet in the shiny black stilettos she had borrowed. They made the turn of her calves pop so nicely.

“...Tiffany? Are you listening? I asked if there was anything else you wanted to talk about.”

“I’m sorry, dear. I was miles away.”

That was odd, wasn’t it? Calling Castle “dear.” She had to tighten down on that, really let him have it! She didn't respect him, after all. She rather loathed him.

Right?

“Okay, yes,” she continued after a moment. “Right. Listen, darling, I’d really love it if you could expand your operations here a little bit.”

“How do you mean?”

“Whatever you’re doing to Candy with Tate, I want her to do it with Karlyle as well.”

“Karlyle?”

“He keeps missing Tate’s passes,” Tiffany sat forward. There was a strange pressure happening below her navel, but she couldn’t define it. It was so important to talk to Castle, to be clear. “We nearly lost the last game because of him. If it wasn’t for Tate deciding he would run on the option, we would have been left in the cold.”

“Surely, he can keep doing that. And he’s only going to get better, dear.”

Tiffany didn’t notice Castle’s slip. She was too intent on talking, and soaking in that hot feeling that had started between her legs.

“Yes, but Ohio is next week's team, and they're
known
for their defense on the option. I don’t have a choice, here. I need Karyle to start catching the ball, darling.”

“So, you want Candy to have
two
Masters?”

“Sure! I don’t care. Yes? What’s the best plan?”

A small, hot titter fled her mouth. She bit her lip, trying to suppress the silly sound. Why was everything feeling so fucking
good
while she talked to Castle? And why had she just asked
him
for instruction? That wasn’t like her. She ground her hips forward into her fingers, and her worries slowly popped away, sliding into the abyss of approaching pleasure.

Castle harrumphed. “Probably the
simplest
thing is just to have them share the one girl, but your quarterback wouldn’t like that, sweetheart.”

Now, Tiffany
did
notice the slip.

“D-don’t call me that? Okay? J-just...mmmph. Tell me...what do we do?”

“If you would just wait, this would all take care of itself in a few weeks, babe. It’s not complicated.”

Tiffany felt her irritation rising, fighting through the tsunami of arousal pushing through her body. “I don’t
have
a few weeks, Castle! Next week practically determines the rest of the season!”

Castle harrumphed again. “Very well. I’ll take care of it. Be good, sweetling.”

“You too, love.”

He hung up before she could correct him—or herself.

Why had she called him that? Why had she let him call her so many things? And why...oh fuck, why was she finger-fucking her hot dripping pussy so hard and oh god how was she not cumming already when she was so perfectly turned on and ohhhhh...fuck.

Gasping, moaning, Tiffany soon found herself on the floor, looking up at her shiny black stiletto shoes. Before she fell, some of her pussy juices had dripped on them. They were so shiny.

That was sort of sexy, she decided dreamily. Shiny shoes. Pussy-shined shoes.

Her fingers sped up, and her orgasm was on her before she even knew fully what she was doing.

“Love,” she moaned softly, pulses of orgasms spasming her tight body. “Love, love, love...”

Slowly, she came down from the high of the sudden bliss. Her fingers tasted like pussy, but of course they did. They had been buried in there the entire time she'd been talking with Castle. She giggled, feeling thoroughly silly, and slid her fingers back into her orgasm-hot cunt.

She was the boss. She would do as she liked.

* * * * *

C
astle’s solution to Tiffany’s problem was to send the team another maid. She arrived in less than twenty-four hours after Tiffany’s call. This one’s name was Bambi. She looked very much like Candy’s twin, only with lustrous midnight black hair instead of shining blond.

It was the sort of hair, Tiffany noticed idly, that she herself had. Once short and almost bowl-cut, her hair had grown out past he shoulders in thick tresses and natural curls that had never been there before. She rather liked it. The long strands gave her something to twirl when she was flirting with the players in her office. It was nice to have thick, lustrous hair. Men liked that, and Tiffany rather loved what men liked. It was so odd to her how she never thought about how
nice
it was to do what men wanted before.

Bambi swept into the office, and Tiffany, remembering the way Candy had arrived all kisses and hugs, stood directly in front of the door, ready to intercept her. Tiffany had worn one of her sexier outfits with a tiny sheer blouse and an even tinier white skirt (the heather gray jacket made it all very professional), and put on her freshest, light pink lipstick, wanting to look perfectly kissable—er, presentable. She wanted to present herself well.