Hugh Flungit

Gay-Girl Games

Chapter 1

There was an open magazine spread across my lap, but I wasn't doing much reading. Or even looking at the pictures, the ads and such. Instead, somehow, I found myself sneaking sidelong glances at the muscular maidservant going about her duties. Zona. Such a big woman! Not a butchy type exactly, but with that build of hers she could have been a lady wrestler. She looked more like a professional masseuse than a maid, one of those aging Scandinavian athletes, the kind who seem to specialize in pounding the blubber off bare bottoms in high-class beauty salons. It made me wonder if her mistress-my old friend but still-absent hostess-had put on some weight since our last get-together. I sure hoped not. That beautiful body, fat? The very thought gave me a chill…

"Something I can do for you, Miss Sue?"

"Huh?" My cheeks turned warm; she must have seen me peeking at her. "Umm… a drink might be nice… "

"Of course. Brandy? That's what Miz Lizabeth usually takes about this hour of the evening. There's some excellent stuff, real great cognac, supposed to be thirty years old. Okay?"

"Yes, thank, you. Sounds fine."

Nodding approval, Zona moved toward the liquor cabinet at the far end of the huge living room, a stately figure even in her drab uniform. I didn't feel like drinking, actually, having mentioned it only as a cover-up for my momentary confusion. Nor would I have chosen brandy, for that matter, had the choice been mine to make. And yet there I was, resigned to my old submissive role even in Lizabeth's absence." Or conforming to her pattern, at any rate, as suggested-or dictated?-by this deferential but oddly imposing servant of hers. Could my domineering ex-lover intimidate me even by proxy?

No. Impossible. Too much time had gone by; submission didn't come so easily these days. But why was I shaking like this? Was it because of Zona herself?

The truth struck then, and it had nothing to do with who was dominating whom. It was simply a matter of physical need. I had gone without sex too long. Worse yet, I had arrived here in a state of anticipation to begin with; wasn't it almost a week ago? No wonder I had a case of the jitters. A hot-blooded bitch like me, imagine, a week without an orgasm-except self-induced, of course, and that kind of temporary relief only added to the total frustration. No wonder I was beginning to look at Zona with sexy eyes, seeing her as a woman and not just a maid.

"Your cognac, Miss Sue."

"Thanks. Uh, just set it down, will you?"

I wanted that drink now. It was on the coffee table, right there before me. I needed it. And yet I was afraid to reach out, afraid to let Zona see my trembling hand. I could feel the motion, an unaccountable quiver that seemed to start in my fingers and spread throughout my body. Nerves, no doubt. I leaned back and nestled deeper in to the sofa cushions, trying to calm down. A primal scream would have worked better. The tension was awful; now I could sense a breaking point on the horizon. And when she left the room at last, I was quick to grab and gulp, practically swilling the precious but generously poured liquor. How much would it take to quell the craving in my flesh? How much alcohol to numb those jangling nerves?

Oh, if only Lizabeth would come back home! It was hardly fair that she had gone away in the first place; after all, her invitation to me had been quite definite. I had looked forward to the pleasure of this visit. What a shock to arrive with such high hopes and find no sign of my hostess. Nothing but a scrawled note:

Sweet Sue, please don't hate me. Got called away on business. The estate, you know. What else could be important enough to keep us apart even one more lousy minute? It does pay for all the goodies, though. Like this bedroom of mine, such a lovely playpen. A mirror on the ceiling, isn't it divinely decadent? Installed by my dear departed husband, now rolling over in his grave while I spend all that nice money. Believe me, pussycat, it's great to be rich. Even if nasty old business does get in the way. I'll be home soon-three days at most, I hope, I hope, I hope. The quicker the sooner. Sleep in my bed and enjoy the mirror meanwhile. Naked, snatch. You can see every hair! My faithful Zona will feed your pretty face and offer a sympathetic shoulder to cry on till I return. Don't hesitate to call on her for anything you need. And take lots of vitamins! For obvious reasons. Gotta go now, darling, keep your tongue hot for me. Also your you-know-what!

That was it, my welcome here. Optimistic enough, but not much of a substitute for what ailed me. Especially later, after the third day, with only a sad long-distance telephone call to cling to, scarcely a consolation. Just apologies and promises-another delay, damn the luck, and would I try to be patient a little while longer and just think of the fun we were going to have?

Apologies and promises, no substitute for love. Not the physical variety, anyhow. And that, in essence, was what I really needed most, down-to-earth physical love, otherwise known as sex-here and now, not in some promised tomorrow-the quicker the sooner, right? A little something to soothe the tingle in my tongue. And elsewhere! Strictly down to-earth, the kind of love my body craved. Hot hands an over me. Moist lips mumbling at my breasts, coaxing the nipple-buds to blossom. Eager fingers caressing my cunt…

A charge of excitement went off in my gut. The goblet slipped and tumbled, spewing expensive cognac on the expensive carpet. And shards of shattered crystal? Luckily, no, judging, from the sound, a gurgling thud, no louder than my own gasp of dismay. I couldn't tell for sure, though, it might have been cracked and rolling around in ominous silence. Expensive crystal stem ware, part of a matched set, probably irreplaceable. Or was that just my own overwrought mind cracking up?

"I thought I heard… " Zona materialized from out of nowhere, dutifully concerned. "Oh, you had an accident."

"I'm sorry. Is it broken? What a clumsy-"

"Hush. It could have happened to anyone, Miss Sue, don't go blaming yourself. Besides, it's not even scratched. See? Just empty. And don't worry about the mess, I'll have it soaked up and drying in a jiffy. Just like one of them there TV commercials."

Wry as it was, I found her attempted humor cheery at least, if not exactly exhilarating. I forced a smile that became almost genuine, somewhat grateful for the companionship and certainly relieved by the sight of that intact brandy glass. And once again, unavoidably this time but still feeling sneaky about it, I watched the big woman at work. She was big, all right, even down there on her hands and knees, massive, stretching the fabric of her uniform with every movement now. Adding some unexpectedly roguish ripples, too-a skin-tight strain around the hips and haunches-making it noticeably less drab from my smug viewpoint. No doubt about it, she was more sensuous than stately in that position. Earthy, that was the word for her. And a little coarse, perhaps.

The impression prevailed even after she stood up. Her face was flushed from the exertion, a bit sweaty now, drawing attention to the coarseness of her features-the puffy lips and slightly bulbous nose, the heavy lidded gray eyes with their telltale crow's-feet wrinkles. The face of a peasant. Far from ugly, though, if not quite a diamond-in-the-rough. She must have been attractive once, in her own proletarian way, a coarsely hewn beauty eroded by the tribulations of time and toil. And only a heartless critic would seek out such imperfections anyway; why look at her worn face when that seemingly ageless body of hers was on display?

Like now, for instance. She was moving across the floor again, more stately with every stride, head erect, legs scissoring. But there was a rolling motion of her backside too something I hadn't spotted before; was she different or was it me? After seeing that rear view so close a moment ago, it was easy to imagine the flared-out flesh under her uniform, asway inside the prim skirt. I could even visualize the deep dark crevice between those big slithery round buttocks. Some imagination! I snorted in disgust and tore my gaze away, aware now of where the difference lay, only too well aware of what was happening to me. How pathetic, letting myself get turned on by a housemaid's ass…

"Miss Sue? You'll have another, won't you?"

"Hmm? Another?"

"Cognac."

"Oh. Oh, well… "

"Of course you will. I've already poured one for you." and so she had, stopping at the liquor cabinet again instead of going out for more mop-up equipment or whatever. She was coming back now, delivering the booze with one hand and trying to ease my mind with a gesture of the other. "See how it's dried up? Just like I told you. No harm done."

"Thanks. It was still pretty clumsy of me."

Only because you're so tense, you poor dear. Best excuse in the world, all alone and lonesome. I feel kind of guilty myself, not taking care of you any better than-"

"Silly. You've been wonderful, Zona. You couldn't have done a better job, no matter what."

"It's sweet of you to say so. But you’re still all tensed-up and I'd like to help. Maybe… uh, if I might suggest… "

"Hmm? I'll listen to any suggestion. Go ahead."

"A massage? To help you relax, Miss Sue.

"Massage. Is that one of your specialties?"

"I-I'm good at it, if that's what you mean. Anyway, the mistress seems to think so. Says she likes my touch, you know? We’ve got a real massage-table upstairs, too, a portable in the closet-no trouble at all to set up. So how about it? A massage and then a hot bath afterward and I guarantee you won't have to count sheep to fall asleep tonight."

"Well now. With a guarantee like that… "

"Okay? Miss Sue?"

"You've made me an offer I can't refuse. A massage. And then a nice long hot bath. Okay."

"Good. I'll go up and get everything ready. You just sit and enjoy your drink and come upstairs when you're finished. Or whenever you feel like it. I'll be waiting."

It was a comforting thought. Waiting for me, first a massage and then a leisurely soak in the tub. Waiting for me. Such service! Lizabeth might leave something to be desired as a hostess, but I sure couldn't disagree with her philosophy. It's great to be rich. Especially if being rich meant that kind of luxury a maid to wait on me hand and foot, catering to my every whim. And right then and there, on the spur of the moment, I decided to make that my lifetime goal. A maid. Number one priority. Oh sure, a big luxurious house would be fine, too-with mirrors over the bed, why not?-but without a personal maid to pamper the mistress, no house could ever be a real home for me, not any more. Not after tonight. A pretty maid, preferably-prettier than that creature upstairs!-one who could give a massage and still not look like a masseuse. Even if the massage was less than professional. Or even if she was just a beginner, a cute young girl with a minimum of muscle. Just as long as she did it with a maximum of devotion for her beautiful mistress…

Sue, you're drunk!

No, not yet, but I was sure trying. Or maybe I was developing a taste for upper-bracket cognac. Oh well, what the hell, wasn't this my night for self-indulgence? Tomorrow was the first day of the rest of my life, time to take stock and start carrying out my decision. Time to figure out how to get rich in a hurry. I had something else on tap for tonight, though. Upstairs. Waiting for me. More masseuse than maid now, almost a professional type, the kind who probably loved her work. Just as I had surmised! And wasn't it clever of me to have made that judgment beforehand, based on appearance alone?

Chapter 2

The walls and closet doors of the dressing room were mirrored from top to bottom. I had managed to shuck off my dress without much fumbling around for the zipper catch, but a slight dizziness accompanied every movement. The alcohol had indeed begun to take effect. Even the sight of my own half-clad body sent a strange shiver of excitement through me, surely a drunken reaction; good thing I had resisted the temptation down there to pour myself yet another drink. But even in the chaotic whirl of my mind a sense of reason had prevailed, warning me that I was only looking for trouble. Still and all, I had devoured that second one right to the last drop, greedily desperate for anything that might offer some respite from my looming problem.

It sure as hell loomed, too. My breath sounded ragged as I worked on the brassiere and watched my shiny red fingertips reflected in the glass. And then the bra was gone, exposing my ripe young tits to view, boldly provocative somehow, alluring even to myself. I cast an almost furtive glance toward the closed door, my hands already rising to squeeze those fleshy mounds and perhaps soothe that itchy feeling. It was silly to be so cautious, though, why worry about a woman who would soon see me naked anyway? I was only going to scratch a little, that was all. Bare-breasted in panties…

But scratching wasn't enough, as it turned out. An exquisitely familiar sensation came alive there; it seemed to intensify and pick up momentum as I flicked my thumbs over its apparent source, the two pointy peaks. I felt them throb, all swollen now, those suddenly overheated nipples, throbbing to the touch and issuing demands for more. As if the past week of deprivation had built up a reserve of barely dormant passion within me, a sensual hunger that lurked just beneath the surface and was already breaking through.

It was an effort to end the contact, accomplished only out of dire necessity, a rueful awareness that I'd better let my nipples alone and allow the stiffness to subside before climbing onto that massage-table. Even so, I couldn't finish undressing without at least a mild self-caress. The panties could wait. I flattened both palms upon the soft curvature of my belly, the tips of my fingers no more than grazing the waistband, the delicately shirred edge of that one final garment. My torso swayed, a slow undulation, all but involuntary, an exercise in subtle eroticism that caught my eye in the mirror and made me blushingly conscious of the lewd picture. I saw it on all sides now, my repetitious but gradually diminishing image, a soundless echo and re-echo in an infinity of mirrors; all those swaying, undulating hips! It looked like an X-rated ballet troupe in perfect precision, every dancer exactly alike.

I pushed the waistband down, watching the panties turn themselves inside out before they could pull free of my snug and somewhat sticky crotch. The cling was pretty persistent, a new and unexpected tactile enjoyment to go with the visual. But surrender was inevitable and at last I stood naked and unadorned, a revelation enhanced only by my own natural adornments. Of which there were plenty. Lustrously rich chestnut-brown hair, a tumbling mane, casual but never contrary, a kind of pseudo-wind-blown appearance, easy to manage. Brown eyes flecked with gold, large and wide-set, embellished by luxuriantly long and thick lashes. An impeccably molded mouth that needed only a touch of lipstick to bring out its beauty. Smoothly silken skin of a type that had never suffered from hickeys and such, not even in adolescence. And a body with all the curves in the right places, breasts, buttocks, thighs, calves-even my feet were well-formed and without any noticeable imperfections. Oh yes, I was proud of my beauty, justifiably so; after all, hadn't it been drummed into me ever since early childhood? Prettiest youngster in town-sweet little Sue Daventry-and that was the unchallenged consensus of opinion from way back, even among my peers. No other girl had ever been chosen to play Helen of Troy in the annual spring pageant for two successive years, an unheard-of honor. Although one I could have gladly done without. Little did they know…

"Coming soon, Miss Sue?" The maid's voice interrupted my train of thought. "I'm all set up and ready for you."

"Uh-huh. In a minute."

It was now or never. I couldn't just stroll out there naked though, not this first time. Especially with my nipples still hot and sexy, even though the swelling had gone down some. I tossed a peignoir over my shoulders and wore it like a cape, ample coverage for the journey and easy to get rid of afterward. Which was exactly how Zona must have figured it, too, letting the thing slither off my back and billow away as soon as I got up on the table. I saw it out of the corner of my eye, shivering a little as a current of air cooled my fevered skin.

The thick pad was nice and comfortable, relaxing my body. I lay face-down upon the spotlessly clean sheet, snuggling my cheek into the small pillow, almost at ease. Almost but not quite. Not until I got used to the idea of showing my bare ass to a comparative stranger. Which might take some time. Then again, maybe not. I was already more tranquil, lulled by her gentle manner and apparently businesslike attitude.

Something wet tickled the small of my back, making me react with a shuddery wiggle. A moment later the moisture was like a spreading film-massage oil, scented and slippery as her fingers began to knead my flesh, working upward and outward along the ridge of my spine. The aroma made my nose twitch. I uttered a sigh and succumbed contentedly, finding the steady movements almost hypnotic as the strong hands persisted, sinking me into a coma of drugged pleasure, lazy and languorous. Soon my entire back was oily glistening, no doubt, but I couldn't bother to lift my head and look. I just purred drowsily and buried my face in the comfort of the pillow. Eyes shut, I could really feel myself begin to unwind under all that rhythmic persuasion.

Something else began to rewind, though. Or so it seemed. A coil of anticipation writhed snakelike through my flesh. There was a heat in my cheeks, a blush that simply didn't belong in this situation. Her deft hands were sliding up my sides, cupping the curve of each shoulder, intimately close to my breasts but still more practical than sexy. I trembled and gritted my teeth, trying to suppress the need that kept gathering urgency, the same old need returning with full force.

Fat chance! It burgeoned with every gesture. All wrong, I told myself, wrong and pointless and even a bit perilous. And yet there was no denying the new excitement new because of its unfamiliar source-the delicious awareness of that skilled touch as her hands started back downward slowly, stroking the sensitive skin at the outer base of my hidden but very vulnerable bosom. They lingered awhile and then continued on down, crossing the curve of my hips to stop and knead the swell of my ass. I wondered if those cheeks were blushing, too. And was a fingertip probing? Hot and slow and sweet…

Sweet?

Oh shit, any more of this and I'd be an easy mark. A pushover for that big dyke whose intentions were becoming less dubious by the minute; could I let that happen? What would I say to Lizabeth? Wouldn't it be embarrassing if she came home and found out that I had been laid by her maidservant?

Then, suddenly, the finger was gone and I had to revise my thinking. It must have been my imagination. Or maybe Zona had just slipped a little spreading the oil; anyway, it wasn't anything to worry about now, not with those heavy hands already past that extra sensitive area and working in such a professional manner. Not that I didn't have some sensitivity in my legs, naturally, but her treatment of the muscles in my thighs and calves was beyond criticism, just something to enjoy. The same when she did my feet. Admittedly, though, there was still enough sexual sensation to keep my nerves on edge and the rest of my body aroused. I almost wished she might have gone on like that, giving me a prolonged thrill without much danger of involvement.

But it had to end, of course. Obeying her nudge, I rolled over onto my back and just hoped she hadn't noticed the tension in the atmosphere. Could she tell how I felt? I avoided looking at her directly, afraid to catch her eye and give myself away. And the ceiling mirror didn't extend far enough from the bed. So after a hasty glance that told me nothing at all, I just tried to relax and cope with it, whatever came next. At least she didn't pounce on my breasts, the one move that would have ended any possible pretense and forced an immediate showdown. Instead, carefully but with apparent self-confidence, she massaged the flesh across my belly, expanding outward once again to dig in around the pliant flare of my hipline.

So far so good. Intimate but not unbearable. Only there wasn't much she could do for me in that limited locale, not for very long anyhow. And pretty soon she switched to a new terrain, disrupting all contact temporarily as her hands rose an inch or two and then kind of floated downward at that level, following the contour of my body closely without actually touching it. Right over my cunt. Even hovering there an instant, a hint of hesitancy, just time enough to achieve some sort of extrasensory bond between her charged palms and my curly pubic hair. I could feel every strand prickle like static electricity on a winter day. And that in turn seemed to affect even my buried clitoris, an already smoldering torch now caught in a shower of illusory sparks.

She continued on down though, the palms coming to rest just above my knees. Only there wasn't anything restful about it, not for either of us, as her fingers now ascended my thighs with brisk and unswerving devotion to duty, unswerving except for a vaguely discernible tendency to veer toward the inner surfaces; was it in search of that special softness, the velvety skin texture high inside each limb? Didn't the woman know she was playing with fire? Had she lost her professional cool? And if so, was it deliberate, a sacrifice on the altar of lesbian love?

No way. It could only have been my imagination again, a case of wishful thinking. A truth I could no longer deny. I wanted it to happen! My body needed more than just a massage. And this sympathetic but stolid masseuse apparently had no idea of the havoc she was wreaking with those accomplished paws of hers, whipping my desire to a frenetic pitch, clouding my reason, my sense. of propriety, destroying my last shred of dignity. It didn't matter what she touched now-a handful of thigh, a swipe at my belly, an oily finger up my ass-the effect was cumulative as though it was all cunt anyway, all of me, just one big craving cunt."

Oh shit, what else is new? Sue baby, you silly cunt, were you ever anything but?

With my ego deflated, it became proportionately easier to scrounge for scraps. Slowly, almost Imperceptibly-to hide my shame and salvage my pride I inched my legs a little wider apart, hoping for a purely instinctive response, an automatic reaction that would come without any conscious recognition of my plight. Let the opening speak for itself, an enticement that only those venturesome fingers might understand, a come-on, an invitation to pry and probe and perhaps even plunder. Just let her get near enough, that was all I asked, and that pink-lipped vertical smile down there would do the rest; who could resist such a succulent temptation?

What a disappointment! Zona was already going the other way, back down toward my knees and then lower to manipulate the muscles of my calves. And to drive me out of my mind, whether she knew it or not. I had been teased before in my lifetime tantalized by experienced lesbians who could pile trick upon dirty trick, sometimes for laughs, sometimes out of sheer cruelty-but this was one of my worst moments. Had she planned it on purpose, the woman couldn't have frustrated me more.

After a while her touch turned lighter, almost feathery in nature, brushing the length of my legs from toe to upper thigh, more like a calculated caress now. I still couldn't tell for sure, though. Nor was I about to interrupt and ask-or lodge a complaint-in view of the possibilities of this recent development. Those long strokes were definitely sexy, with a distinct stress on the upward movement, an unbroken sweep that kept threatening delightfully to smash its final barrier. I waited with bated breath, certain now of something big about to break. Those hot pink lips of mine were drooling in anticipation. And then, without warning, her fingers slipped down past my feet and withdrew completely, seemingly casual but with the violent impact of a deathblow.

"There. That about does it, I'd say." Zona's voice sounded calm as ever, offering no clue, no crack in her candor, nothing to cast a shadow upon her alleged innocence. "Time for your bath now, hmm?"

It must have been my aching nerves that gave me courage. I reached out and took her hand in mine. "No! Please. Not yet, not like this. You can't stop now."

"But your bath… "

"Later. Please?" There was a rasp in my throat. "You've got to help me, Zona. Don't you understand?"

"Oh. You-you want me to… uh… "

“You know. The whole world must know, that’s how bad it is, bad you hear me?" I squeezed her hand harder. “What do I have to do, beg you? I’ve never been so horny in my life."

"Hush. I do understand, Miss Sue. You poor dear. I’ll be glad to help. A pretty girl like you… "

Chapter 3

I searched her face for some hint, some telltale sign that might reveal her thoughts. And again I saw nothing. No eagerness, certainly, and that gave me a twinge of conscience; was I asking the maid-an employee, and not even my own!-to do something against her will? But if she felt the slightest distaste, the least hesitation, it was nowhere to be seen in her expression, bland to the point of inscrutability.

"And you needn't worry about my discretion, Miss Sue. I won't even mention it to the mistress."

It was as if she had read my mind. I wanted to thank her to offer some excuse for my I demand to save some small scrap of pride for tomorrow. But she moved her hand, carrying mine along with it, and the sudden pressure on my breast robbed me of breath and made speech impossible. My nipple stiffened into her palm. In a shuddering spasm of desire, I cupped my fingers over hers to tighten the contact. Then, aflame with anticipation, I loosened the clutch and guided her touch down my rib-cage. Across my oil-slick belly. And downward still…

"First the bath, yes?" It sounded more like a command than a request. "We mustn't let it cool. I'm sure ifs just the right temperature now. So come along, dear, we'll wash all this gooey oil off, hmm? And than I'll take care of… uh… " She squeezed once and ended the enforced caress, pulling her hand away. "You'll see. I'll take good care of you."

With almost childlike obedience, I dropped my legs over the side of the massage-table and allowed myself to be led into the bathroom. She helped me as I stepped into the steaming tub. I sank down and felt the engulfing warmth soothe my flesh, already conscious of a draining of tension. Eyes shut, I leaned back and savored the spicy situation in all its aspects, resting assured now that my sexual needs would soon be attended to.

A zipper hissed, the noise snapping my eyelids open. I stared dumfounded as Zona's uniform slipped to the floor, giving me a view of her body in lingerie. Black bra and filmy black panties, almost shockingly erotic compared to that discarded drab outer garment. I saw her as a lover now, not a maid or a masseuse. Hot little tongues of excitement licked at my skin under the water. That statuesque figure of hers loomed even larger than life somehow magnificent beyond belief."

"No sense getting my clothes wet… " She had her shoes off and was working on her stockings already, baring her legs. But that wasn't" all. A moment later she reached around behind her back to undo the brassiere. "You don't mind, Miss Sue?"

It didn't seem right that she should be so brazen about it almost insolent in a way-but no, I wasn't offended by either the action or her attitude. Quite the contrary. I felt a renewed rise of impatience now-along with some weird less lucid urges-as those twin globes tumbled into sight, heavy-nippled and alluringly fleshed. My bps tingled. And meanwhile with no inhibitions whatsoever, she skinned out of the panties and then gathered up all her clothes into a neat pile on the hamper, bending down and straightening up and putting her naked self on display from every angle-unwittingly, no doubt, and without any sign of shame. Such a simple creature! Or was she? Maybe there was more here than met the eye…