THE TUB by Tonya
The directions you gave me, from the maid service (wink, wink) to your place are perfect. Over the doorbell, you've taped a note telling me to let myself in, and you'd drawn a map to the bathroom.
I head through your living room taking tiny steps. My heels are high and I don't want to fall on your shiny, wooden floors. Also, I'm balancing a platter on my right hand. On the platter is special bubble bath, a wine glass full of rose petals, a large bottle of baby oil and a glass of fine champagne that I poured in the car.
With the other hand, I check the front of my silky, black maid's outfit. Yes, I have the two small chunks of imported dark chocolates -- each wrapped in classy silver foil.
I examine one of my legs, then the other. The off-black pantyhose hug my curves, which are womanly even though I never wear padding. I think to mself, I look so hot ... And he doesn't even know.'' My job is to pamper and dress you; little do you know I've dressed myself. Tonya,'' the name I gave over the phone in my best Marilyn Monroe, is the illusion you want to be.
I'm not wearing panties. As I walk, I take special note of how the nylon pulls against my hardness and causes a tingle between my legs.
I look in the mirror. The suit and tight hose do a good job of hiding ``my little secret.''
In the bathroom I kneel and begin to fill the sunken, purple tub, pouring a small amount of bubble bath to produce a hint of strawberry scent. Laxily, I sweep my hand through the water. Suddenly, I feel your presence. I look over my shoulder in tiem to see a large but shapely naked foot, toenails painted flawlessly black. You step into the tub and I look up at you. Your round, strong, sexy buttocks pass right in front of my nose and you daintily sit shoulders deep into the bubbly water. I notice beautiful black hair, piled atop your head -- except for a thick, stylish curl that dangles above your left eye.
I take my time washing your trim upper body. I can tell your hands are occupied beneath the water, but I ignore that. I unwrap and feed you each chocolate, kissing your burgundy lips with my shiny, pink lips behind each chocolate bite. Next, you sip the champagne.
Before you're done with the glass, I shave your arms and chest. The drink has you so relaxed that you don't flinch. I measure half of the rose petals, spread them across your arms and chest, then rub lightly. You lift eac leg, and I shave one at a time, closely and flawlessly.
As the razor comes close to your crotch, I pll your manhood -- it throbs and seems about nine inches to me -- just to get it out of the way. Well, my hand slids from the base to where the head begins, several times. Hey, it distracts you.
I use the rest of the petals to soothe and caress your legs.
Finally, I gather all the petals in my hands and pack them around your manhood. My fingers and the smooth petals slide up and down. Soon, the combination of my soft hands, the slippery petals and the bubbly water get to be too much. I see pre-come escape. I stop immediately and help you out of the tub, and into red, furry slippers. Then I wrap you in a towel and lead you to the bathroom.
You want to dry off quickly, but I have a better idea. I've brought baby oil into the bedroom. I pour it on your skin, starting with your arms and chest. then I dab those areas. Finally, I help you into your tight, sheer top and velvet gloves. Your skin shines through the sheer, black nylon.
I lay you on face-down on the bed spread your legs and apply the baby oil to the backs of your legs, then dab there. I have you turn over and pay special attention to your toes, move to your shins, then make sure I use extra oil on your muscular, yet inviting, thighs. I chuckle as your hardness twitches.
That's next. I put more oil on your hard-on than on the two legs combined. I have to use both hands torub it in. You give a high-pitched, feminine moan, as if I've found your clit. I continue, then stop when pre-come escapes. Instead of dabbing it dry, I open my mouth wide and breathe on it slowly. My hot breath makes you moan louder. Your nine inches continue to twitch.
Your large head passes my lips, but I keep my mouth open wide enough that all you feel is my hot breath. I want to clamp my lips and roll my tongue, but I resist -- for exactly one minute. Finally, I clamp down for one, wet, active suck. My mouth is large enough to take every inch of you. I take a full 30 seconds sliding my lips and tongue from the base back to the head. You feel the saliva and the oil, yet you treat me like a lady. Your fingers play in my short, auburn hair, but you don't shove my head downward.
My lips release you, but a long strand of pre-come conects. I savor the steely, salty taste, lick my lips and smile. This lipstick really stays!
I pick up your sheer, black pantyhose and slide them up one leg, rubbing your manly but aluring muscles as I go. Seeing muscles like that on a leg as smooth as a supermodel's really turns me on. I do the same to the other leg and stop the hose at the top of the thigh. Then I kneel and slip your leather, T-strap high heels on each foot. Still with the hose bunched around the tops of your thigh and your nine inches waving loose, I ask you to stand. My nose accidentally rubs against your shiny head and you leave a wet, sticky spot.
I stand in front of you and give your penis one more shot of baby oil, then rub it (and your freely leaking pre-come) all over the head.
Then I pull the pantyhose the rest of the way up and give you a peck on the lips. We feel one another breathe and admire one another's faces.
Somehow, I can tell in your eyes that you've figured out that I'm an illusion, although you seem afraid of it. You tentatively reach under my uniform and feel. You're right.
Knowing you paid for a ``woman'' to pamper you, I fear you'll turn violent. My heart bangs and my lips tremble.
Then you kiss me passionately. I suck your tongue, as if it could orgasm.
We collapse onto the bed, you on top of me, and we grind our nylon-covered manhoods. I grab my heels and raise them above my head as you hump on top of me. I feel the tip of your manhood against the base of mine, where it meets my testicles. Then you expertly slide up to the head of mine, then back down. We breathe havier.
Suddenly, you contract. The biggest load imaginable comes blasting out of you. You're still wearing your hose, but the semen is jetting out as if the nylon isn't there. The pressure, the slickness of the nylon and the heat and wetness of your semen has me burning and tingling inside. I let go. Each of your spurts hit me and make me spurt harder.
I feel I have three, distinct orgasms. It makes me feel womanly. It feels so good it's frightening. I see fear in you too. We both thought we were masquerading.
When it subsides, I quickly straighten my uniform, grab the platter and head to the dor, not wanting to ruin a hot time with analysis.
But you follow me. You're taller, stronger and move better in heels. As I open the door, you spin me so I'm facing you. We stare. I feel frightened again.
Then we kiss, our hands grabbing between one another's legs again. Finally we part.
As I shut the door, I hear a muffled, orgasmic scream from you. Is it possible.
Well, I take only three steps before the nylon pulling against me and the thought of what happened makes me shoot again. I want to scream, but I see someone fumbling for the keys of the apartment beside yours. He sees me and smiles.
``Why does he get the sexy women?'' Your neighbor says.
I put the platter in front of my crotch. I wink and purse my lips at him, then scurry.