Norma Egan: Peeping maid

The car rounded the long gravel drive, and Lita, her big tits heaving with her excitement, got her first glimpse of the Barton mansion, a sprawling imitation Spanish castle that seemed to stretch forever into the distance. Lita helplessly gawked, her mouth hanging open. She could hardly believe she'd be working in such a place.

"Some dump, huh?" said Miles, the Barton chauffeur. "Believe me, kid, these people are rolling in bucks.”

"I believe you," said Lita.

She had no trouble believing that Foster Barton was rich. What seemed unreal was that she was going to live in his house, even as a maid. She'd never seen such luxury. Miles drove her around back to the service entrance and carried in her two little bags. Lita followed him, a little repulsed by the brute maleness of the Barton chauffeur. Miles had impossibly large shoulders and chest, rock-hard muscles that bulged under his dark blue uniform.

She wondered how it would be to go to bed with a man like Miles. But how could she really know? She'd never been to bed with anybody… “This here's your room," Miles said, leading her into a pretty ground floor room, light and spacious. "You get squared away, then report to Mrs. Barton.”

"Thank you," Lita said grudgingly. She didn't like or trust this man. He'd been looking at her strangely ever since he picked her up at the bus station. She felt like he was a starving man and she was something good to eat.

As if to confirm her suspicions, Miles hung around while she unpacked. He was perhaps forty, his auburn hair receding on top, a rugged man with a broken nose. He was so powerful-looking, he frightened her. Now he was standing too close to her, and she could smell his aggressive male scents.

"Look, honey," he said, grinning at her, "anytime you get lonely, I got my little cabin right out in back. I mean, if you ever get to needing a man-”

Lita whirled on him, anger flashing in her dark eyes. "I don't need a man, and I don't need you," she spat.

"Okay, okay," Miles said, backing off. "But if you change your mind-”

“Get out," said Lita.

He shrugged and left. Lita wondered what it was about him that she didn't like. God knows she was interested enough in men-maybe too interested. She seemed to think about sex all the time. It was like a disease with her, this constant nagging lust. She thought it was a very strange way for a virgin to feel.

Lita found her maid's costume laid out for her on the bed, and she started to change into it. There was a full-length mirror on the closet door, and as she undressed, she watched herself, wondering if she was very attractive to men. After eight years in a convent school, with no men around but an eighty-year-old janitor, she really wasn't sure. Judging from Miles' reaction, however, she must have something men liked.

Lita was twenty-two years old. Her father had been Mexican, her mother Anglo, and she'd grown up in a Latin ghetto of Los Angeles, much to her mother's distress. When Lita was fourteen she started running with a neighborhood gang and got involved with a punk named Luis. That was the last straw for Lita's mother-she packed her daughter off to a convent and left her there for eight years.

"No one's going to call my daughter a dirty Mex," Lita's mother had said. "You're going to be a lady if it kills you.”

Now, standing naked before the mirror, Lita smiled grimly. Her parents were dead, and she was free, and she was damned if she was going to be a lady. She wanted to live, to live excitingly, and she doubted that ladies lived that way. Above all, she wanted to resume her sex life where it had been broken off so many years ago. She had a lot of lost time to make up for.

Examining her ripe young body, Lita thought wistfully of those few summer nights with Luis, the hot dizzying caresses, the long sweaty kisses that melted her belly. She would have fucked Luis for sure if her mother hadn't sent her away. She was dying to know what it was like. Well, now she could do any damned thing she pleased. The moment she'd heard of her mother's death, she'd left the convent, taking the first job she could find, as a maid for Foster Barton. It was time to start living.

Lita looked critically at her figure. She was not tall, only five feet four, but everything was in the right place. Her legs were well shaped, her waist tiny and firm, her breasts large and ripe and jutting. She thought perhaps her silky black triangle of cunt fur was a little large, but maybe men wouldn't think so. Her skin was olive and without a flaw.

In spite of her mother's hopes, Lita looked Mexican or at least Latin. She had large dark eyes with thick black lashes, a passionate naturally red mouth, and long thick raven-black hair. Nothing she could do about all that-but she'd heard that some men really went for Latin types. Those girls at the convent weren't as innocent or ignorant as her mother had thought. They talked all the time about men and sex…

Lita decided she’d better get a move on. She didn't want any talk from her new boss about "lazy Mexicans." She hurried into the little maid's costume-short black dress, white apron, white cap. It was a very tight fit over the tits, and she hoped she wouldn't pop any buttons. She left the room and went hunting for Mrs. Barton.

The place was so big, she feared getting lost, but finally she came upon a huge living room where four people were sitting. They stared at her, and Lita said nervously, "Pardon me, is one of you Mrs. Barton? I'm Lita, the new maid.”

One of the people, a tall blonde, moaned softly and said, "Oh, God." The others grinned. "Foster, darling," the blonde went on, "I know what you're thinking, but please don't. I'll handle this.”

The blonde stood up. She was a striking woman of about thirty-five, tall and willowy and expensively dressed. "I'm Carol Barton," she said, "and you'll be reporting to me. Let me introduce you to the rest of the family."

Besides Mrs. Barton, there was Poster Barton and his son and daughter. Carol clearly couldn't be their mother-she wasn't old enough. She had to be a second wife.

Foster Barton, the source of all the money, was a handsome tanned man of fifty with thick silver hair. His son Tony, who looked to be around Lita's age, was handsome, too, with thick modishly long brown hair and an easy engaging grin. The daughter, Trish, seemed to be in her late teens, a slender graceful brunette with a deep tan.

The men, father and son, gave Lita that same smiling hungry look that Miles the chauffeur had given her all the way from the bus station…

"I want you to make the beds and dust the rooms now, Lita," said Carol Barton. "After that, report to me in the study.”

"Yes, ma’am," said Lita. She supposed that was what a maid had to say.

She found linens and cleaning equipment in a closet, and she got to work tidying up the enormous luxurious bedrooms of the Barton family. She did the master bedroom first, and just as she was leaving it, she heard people coming down the long carpeted hall. On some impulse, she ducked into an alcove and hid herself. She had a naughty curiosity about what they might do and say when they thought they were alone.

"Don't worry, my darling," said Foster Barton, "I never did go much for Latin types.”

"You'd go for anything with two legs and a cunt," said Carol. "I know she won't last. She's just too goddamned attractive. Honestly, Foster, I don't mind if you ball our friends, but you ought to keep your hands off the hired help. They're too hard to find.”

Foster chuckled, and he and his wife went into the master bedroom and closed the door. Lita couldn't resist-she hurried to the door, dropped to her knees, and peered through the keyhole. After eight years in a convent, she had an insatiable curiosity about the behavior of normal people. Maybe she could even watch them getting it on…