Maid Mila
Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and I momentarily looked up from my papers: a maid appeared in the doorway. She was wearing a modest uniform: a black dress, a white apron, and low-heeled shoes. In her hands, she held several sealed envelopes.
"Good evening, Alex!"
"Good evening, Mila! How are you?" I looked at her warmly. Pretty, slender, curvaceous, she looked about 25 and I had always liked her. There was something elusive, girlish, and tender about her.
"Yes, come in."
She entered the room, carefully placed the envelopes on the edge of the table, and my gaze
fell on her delicate hands. Too delicate for a maid, but what can you do. Then I shifted my gaze to her décolletage. Even though it was practically covered, there was something to look at: her collarbones stood out beautifully, her velvety skin seemed to beckon to be touched. I suddenly caught myself thinking that I desperately wanted to know what color her underwear was."Thank you, Mila."
The girl smiled and left. Somewhere in the distance, deep in the apartment, the quiet sounds typical of cleaning could be heard: the slamming of lids and doors, rhythmic rustling, clinking, and splashes of water. I wondered: what if I made her undress?.. Would she obey or not? Would she be scared or angry? What if she secretly wants it herself?
I remembered an incident when Mila was helping me take off my coat and I accidentally brushed my hand against her and lifted her uniform dress high. The girl was standing behind me, but I could see everything perfectly in the large mirror: under the dress, I discovered the thick waistband of her tights and modest black panties. When I looked up, Mila was staring at me tensely—she had clearly noticed both where I was looking and that momentary pause before I realized and apologized. What was in her gaze then? What did she read in mine?
I felt myself getting aroused. My imagination helpfully conjured up the décolletage I had just seen, my maid's slender legs, and her delicate hands… Panties and a bra materialized under the uniform dress—for some reason, I imagined Mila wearing black silk lingerie with lace trim. Or maybe just plain black, girlish, without any frills. These thoughts aroused me even more.
Leaving the study, I walked to the living room. Mila was tidying the hallway, occasionally running past down the corridor for water or something else. I called out to her:
"Mila, could you bring me the white robe from the bedroom, please?"
The girl nodded and ran up the stairs. Expecting exactly this, I moved closer to the stairs and looked up, hoping to peek under her dress and resolve the question tormenting me. My heart was pounding, my hands were sweaty, and I had the feeling I was doing something very wrong, but I couldn't control the adrenaline. As she climbed the steps, I kept looking and looking—until I suddenly realized the girl had glanced back and noticed me. Her hands grabbed the hem of her dress, hiding what I desired, and she disappeared onto the second floor.
I felt myself blushing deeply and moved away from the stairs. I picked up a newspaper from the table and pretended I had come for it. Footsteps sounded upstairs, but I didn't look up, pretending to be engrossed in reading the newspaper and that I hadn't just been interested in what was under the girl's skirt.
Mila calmly approached and handed me the robe:
"Here, please take it."
"Mila," I looked at her. Something inside me trembled and broke. "Mila, show me your underwear."
Her eyes widened.
"Just the underwear. I don't want anything else." I sighed. "Please, Mila…"
She took a step back, as if not believing her ears. I didn't believe myself either—what nonsense was I saying?
"Mila…"
She suddenly turned and ran away from me, forward and up the stairs. I jumped up and ran after her. Some animal passion pushed me forward after the fleeing girl, an astonishingly primal and uncontrollable desire drove me on. My heightened sense of smell caught the faint trail of her girlish body's delicate scent, and it aroused me even more.
"Why the hell is she running to my own bedroom?" flashed through my mind—"Oh right, she's going to lock herself in…"
Indeed, the girl tried to close the door immediately, but she wasn't fast enough; I was too close. My push against the door flung it open, she stumbled and fell backward onto the bed.
Like an enraged beast, I threw myself on top of her, pinned her shoulders with one hand, and shoved the other between her legs, under her dress. The tender, yielding female body beneath me aroused me more and more. I lifted her hem, looked down, and saw red panties. Red! Truly beautiful, elegant lace panties made of expensive material, every lover's dream. And the nylon on her legs wasn't tights at all, but elegant stockings with lace trim, patterned with black and red thread.
It looked so insanely beautiful, so feminine and delicate, that my hand naturally settled on her crotch. And then I got another surprise—she was completely wet! Soaked through, to the last thread of those thin lace panties—the delicate fabric was simply drowning in that moisture. My body trembled from the sensation, and I felt the animal desire tearing at me stronger and stronger.
I grabbed her panties by the middle, scratching my fingers over her slippery crotch, clenched them, and with a sharp movement pulled them down, trying to remove them with one hand… She was babbling something and resisting, but my pulse deafened me, and a furious veil of desire clouded my eyes—I saw and heard only one thing: I must possess this female right now, right here, at any cost.
Her panties slid down to her knees, further restricting her movement, and meanwhile I grabbed her by the shoulder and thigh and flipped her over. Now she was turned with her back to me, kneeling on the floor and lying with her chest on the sofa. The lifted dress shamelessly exposed her round, white buttocks to me. So desirable, so tender and accessible.
I yanked down my pants along with my underwear, pressed Mila to the bed with my hand, and positioned my cock against her vagina. For a moment, the thought pricked me that I was committing a crime, but I didn't care—there was no turning back. I made a strong thrust with my hips, wanting to impale her deeply, to enjoy—and I shuddered. For an instant, an obstacle formed in the path of my cock—it even hurt as the head momentarily squeezed—then the obstacle vanished and my cock plunged deeper inside. The girl let out a quiet cry and arched her whole body in my hands.
"Mila," I whispered. "Mila, forgive me… I didn't know… Forgive me…"
What nonsense, I thought, even if I had known. What am I doing? What came over me?
"Keep going." I heard her voice. "Keep going, come on… I want you."
My heart skipped a beat as I processed her words. The realization filled me with a heat of gratitude and passion. I stroked her back, her buttocks, carefully caressed her tender, velvety skin. Ah, what a beautiful body she had.
I made another thrust, this time pleasant, long, with a pull. Trying to give the girl the right sensations, I carefully and pleasurably inserted my cock, hoping she was enjoying this new feeling of fullness inside her body. I stroked and caressed her thighs, sides, back, lifted her dress even higher, and unfastened the clasp of her bra on her back. When I paused for a few seconds, Mila raised herself up, straightened, and pulled her dress off over her head.
I took the opportunity to hug her tighter and caress her breasts. They were as full as they had seemed in her clothes: the pleasant weight of cool, girlish hemispheres filled my palms, my fingers naturally found the firm nipples and squeezed them, making Mila throw her head back. I buried my face in her hair, began kissing her, her neck, her shoulders… She didn't turn around. I started moving my hips again, holding the girl upright—my cock pressed against the front wall of her vagina and rubbed against the narrow entrance, giving her additional sensations.
My hands caressed her body; she was clearly melting from these caresses, and I let her sink back onto the bed—first reaching for a soft pillow and placing it under her chest. I really liked the position—Mila's knees were still on the floor, and the edge of the bed prevented her from pulling away from my thrusts. Moreover, I suddenly noticed she was rocking her hips back against me, and that filled me with additional joy—yes, she liked it. She felt good and wanted more.
Her bare buttocks and legs in lace stockings looked magnificent. I stopped again, moved back, and pulled the scarlet panties off her knees.
"Spread your legs…"
She obediently complied. I positioned myself in the middle and inserted my cock back into the juice-drenched womb—this time it went even deeper and massaged more the front wall than everything else. I impaled and impaled the girl, stroked her beautiful velvety skin, ran my fingertips over the most sensitive spots, reached her breasts and caressed and kneaded them as best I could. I ran my fingers through her silky hair, traced lines along her spine, and firmly squeezed her buttocks in my hands. Gradually, I began to lose track of time and simply enjoyed every movement, conveying my pleasure as best I could to the girl's flexible body.
Mila was breathing raggedly, her back flushed, her fingers alternately crumpling the bedsheet and digging into the pillow she lay on. The sensitive walls of her vagina clenched my shaft tighter and tighter, enveloping it in a pleasant, firm ring. I moved and moved, pumping into her like a piston. My hands firmly held her hips.
Exhausted, I collapsed beside her and began stroking her face and shoulders, her breasts, which were weary from my touches, speaking tender words and sincerely admiring her… And so we fell asleep.