Hugh Flungit - Gay-Girl Games

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…