Exit: Building a Bridge

[ AN: This was... hard to write. Striking a balance between James' headspace, Lilian taking demonstrating her ego without seizing initiative, and trying to anchor it all in the physicality of the scene. Did I juggle it well? Was there enough payoff? I ended it where I did because I didn't want the scene to overstay its welcome. ]

Hm. Honestly, I feel this is likely enough. No need to get carried away when I've already put her in her place right? Sure I could do more to her - she's still somehow stuck-up and arrogant, for instance, but... Honestly I'm curious. Given what else I've done to her, am I going to be likely to want to erase her face? What does a 'stuck-up' and 'arrogant' **** even sound like? With thoughts like these in mind, and having vented a fair degree of anger already, I Exit.

The air flows once more. The castle's distant ambience returns. The maid-**** standing before my bed starts into motion, chest rising and falling, hair minutely across the open window of her dress with each minute motion. Her gaze remains fixed on me, smile placid and patient.

It would seem, we are now within a staring contest.

Breathe in, breathe out. In, out. She's... not reacting to me staring at her breasts. At least not beyond the light blush on her- wait a second. She's angling her torso back, just a little, with every breath. Alright. It's time to say something - this isn't getting anywhere fast.

"Lilian." I say, simply, and give it a minor pause.

After it's clear I'm not about to say more, the maid delicately says, "My esteemed grace," with a deferential dip. Given no clear directive, she then falls again into silence. Certainly a far-cry from her unsolicited filibuster earlier, but... not helpful, in this moment. Even if it would have made a much better first impression.

"You are between me and my bed, Lilian." I state simply, not-quite sure how to handle this. I don't remember the context that put her here, after all. Hell, I'm just realizing that I made her a **** but didn't specify who owned her.

"Yes, my esteemed grace," She replies, already gliding to the side at the implicit command.

"Why were you between me and my bed, Lilian?" I ask.

Her reply is simple and to the point, "Your highnesses proposed to your grace this morning that you might take a pleasure-maid to bed, in lieu of their declining capacity to act in service to your desires." There's a small note of smugness as she continues, "naturally, I have thus been called to your chambers," she curtsies, presenting a clear view down her cleavage, "and asked present for inspection. Am I satisfying, my esteemed grace, or shall I prepare for correction or more... thorough appraisal?"

"More thorough appraisal, hm?" I consider. Given the situation, let's test her a bit. "Strip then. You may yet need correction, but the presentation is unfinished."

"Yes," Lilian affirms, positively delighted. Her elbows part from her sides as she lifts her hands to undo the lacework behind her back. It's a surprisingly swift process, and soon the dress parts at the shoulders as she shucks her blouse, skirt, and apron all at once. In less than a minute, she stands in nothing but her collar, bowtie, and... Well. There aren't any panties either. She's yet to remove the stockings or shoes though - white, and matte black slip-ons with clasp to adjust respectively.

As for her figure... well, it's slender but not unhealthy. Her ass and thighs are easily her 'biggest' traits - definitely a pear, but not 'thick.' Out of curiosity, I spin my finger... she smoothly turns about without a word. On her heel, with the rest of her minimally disturbed. I guess she's certainly still 'elegant.' Arguably moreso than she was before, given her original self's behavior.

"Shall I remove the stockings and shoes now?" She asks as her ass comes fully into view.

She certainly knows what she's doing, huh? "No," I decline.

"Very well, my grace," she responds, the absolute picture of servile domesticity, voice tinged just slightly with disappointment unless I'm imagining things.

"Lilian," I decide - wanting to move along, "Tell me your best qualities. You said it's only 'natural' I chose you specifically. Justify that confidence of yours."

The self-declared 'pleasure-maid' turns and straightens with a prim smile that's completely unashamed of her near-total nudity as she folds her hands behind her back once more, "Yes, my grace. I shall begin with my greatest feature-" and she promptly spreads her legs to either side and squats down onto her toes, then smoothly adjusts and straightens on one leg as the other traces an arc through the air before she rests into a neutral position, "as you can see, I am flexible, fit, and poised to adopt... nearly any posture you would like, my lord."

She suggestively frames her womb, "I could rest just above your head, or just inside it, or even engulf it entirely, while supporting my weight such that you are unburdened by it. Or maintain a perfect bridge while my esteemed grace rests his feet, supper, or anything else upon my back."

It should be emphasized that Lilian is saying these things civilly and humbly, but there's no mistaking the pride she takes in her ability to do them. Or the confidence to declare 'anything' with regards to such a task and mean it... But I'm a bit more focused on the implication that she'd assume I would want to. Is this her own tastes, or is it something that was trained into her? Or just... a cultural phenomenon of the world now? I recall how changing my wives-to-be drastically altered the population demographics and very concept of noble propriety within Armelia quite keenly...

With a quiet, demure sigh, Lilian resets her hands behind her back in what is seeming more and more to be their 'default location,' "However, unlike my supposed peers, your Lilian has another skill-set, should it please my esteemed grace." She says, "I can count, and with more than my hands. I could read you literature," she smiles slyly, "or compose it. Sing it, perhaps." And then the slyness softens back into the gentle, servile affection she began this conversation with, "Or cook your meals, manage your... less intellectual servants. Polish your swords," her brows wiggle for a moment, "or tend your stallions."

Then she flexes her delicate arm, and there's a surprising level of tone to it. It's not large or bulky, but the physicality of a gymnast that needs to remain slim for her craft, "As well, more physical labor should you require it of me or would simply like to see my impeccable presentation... unwind in the heat of the moment."

It sounds like the big brain Lilian was originally bragging about is still there, but her priorities are all bent... basically straight to the very things she spent so long deriding earlier. It's enough to make me smirk in satisfaction and - blood still flowing - stir a bit down under.

Lifting a finger and beckoning her, I grab her ass and push her toward the bed, "Hands on the frame, supine, feet planted."

"Yes, my grace!" Lilian enthuses as she daintily corrects her posture mid-stumble and pivots to lean back. Grasping the bedframe with her palms, she walks feet away from the frame and fully extends her body. Her softness is pulled taut to reveal the muscle beneath as her abdomen lifts, forming an even plane between her hands and feet. "Such a posture is easily done, my lord," She says - mildly breathless from the rigid control she's placing over her chest and lungs by proxy.

I roll my eyes at the continued bragging, even as she's made to adopt such an absurd pose at my whim. Stepping forward, I give her hip a firm tap, "Perpendicular. Get that torso level with the bed."

"At once...!" Lilian proclaims, walking her feet backward in several quick steps as she lifts her hips just slightly to fulfill the command. Her legs are still fully extended, as the bed is taller than her knees. Or she just wants to show she can keep them that way.

Walking forward, I place my hand on her abdomen and push. Lightly, then forcefully, and... surprisingly, she holds her posture. It's not until I square my shoulders and apply both hands that I even see her body quiver, and I need to start applying my weight to make her give. It feels less like pushing into someone's stomach and more like pressing onto the padded seat of a steel-backed chair. Relenting, I let her go and stand up properly.

"You're definitely fit," I reluctantly praise, wondering internally if her original self possessed such good core strength. Probably not, at least not in the same manner.

Lilian preens under the praise, "Yes, my grace. Thank you for your compliments." She's still holding the pose, body already returning to stillness now that I'm no longer levering myself against her.

The power of it - of reducing the bitch who ran her mouth for half an hour insulting everyone under the sun into a maid at my beck and call, and twisting her ego to feed entirely into her service - is heady and stirs my cock to attention. Didn't I want to use the phone more responsibly, after I learned I couldn't take things back? Will Cheryl act on the threat she implied, or even notice? What fresh consequences have I sewn now? Do I dare believe my fiancees actually sent her and engage in penetrative sex?

These thoughts and more race through my mind, few among them settling for more than a moment or two.

Ultimately, I'm still miffed with this woman. She wants it - I can tell in the way her every movement invites my eyes to her groin, the way she subtly thrusts it just a bit upward, and... frankly near every word she said earlier. She shouldn't be lying, but I can't afford to be wrong about that. As hot as it would be to rail her right here and now in this pose and see what that does to her prized poise - to truly test her claims - for now I'll refrain.

I could easily actually injure her doing that anyway, gymnastic abilities aside, and... well. I guess there's a difference between rewriting someone's history and actually directly injuring them out of negligence? I shake away the absurd train of thought.

"Lilian." I slap her hip, shuck my pants, and then straddle her, walking my way over her torso. Her smile broadens as my cock comes into view and begins to approach her breasts, and I can see them shake and jostle slightly as her breath - still rigidly controlled - quickens with her excitement and anticipation. "Pleasure it, and don't you dare lift your hands from that bedframe."

"Yes-!" The woman enthuses, so giddy she nearly forgets the obligatory, "-my grace" as she shifts and shimmies. I hear her feet tap the bedroom floor behind me, and feel her abdomen shift and tap my legs as she works out the logistics of the task I've assigned. After a few moments of experimentation, she walks her feet closer and lowers her hips so she can bring her shoulders - and head - up to my cock. With a quick glance of confirmation - eyes smug with certainty that she's found the right answer - Lilian lifts her face right up to my head and kisses it.

It's just a chaste peck at first, right at the tip. Then her tongue slips out from her lips, wet and cool, and she presses her cheek right up against the appendage as she surprises me by licking the base of my dick, right over the balls. Teasingly, she rapidly flicks the edge of her tongue up and down the shaft there, before pulling her head back and tracing my length as she goes.

I'm already twitching as I feel pressure build behind the tool she's so slavishly 'polishing' with her tongue. The lack of regard for her face's sanctity as she casually allows it to press up against my cock wherever it will as she deliberately goes for harder to reach places, mixes with her clever stimulation and skilled tongue to form a novelty that's hard to restrain. She even starts to hum melodically, as if she were dusting a window in a Disney movie or something.

Only after she's thoroughly wet the appendage with her saliva - and seemingly found an excuse to rub her face over it in every possible way she can manage, like a human cat - does she kiss the head once more. But this time, the chaste peck expands and she engulfs it as far as she can - nearly halfway down the length - and starts twisting her head lightly about while her tongue flexes and pulses. There's no room for it to wrap or 'lick' with my dick in there, so instead it's more like... well, being in the traditional hole down below.

I don't warn her, but somehow she seems to brace for the first burst of cum even as it starts to jet out, and she doesn't even bite or close her mouth as I abruptly start pushing her face away. Instead, she facilitates the motion and willingly pulls off the head as the first spurt becomes a stream and makes a mess of her entire face and neck.

Indeed, as my seed sprays her - more plentiful than it ever was on Earth due to the lasting effects of my fiancee's magic - she smilingly waves her face about as if to allow it to paint as much of her features as possible. It's almost irritating, but at the same time... the complete power disparity, and her willing embrasure. The way she anticipated my goal and leaned into it...

Putting money where her mouth is: she read my intent like a book and gleefully allowed me to **** her as thoroughly as possible from start to finish, even taking extra steps to enhance the experience. As my burst diminishes, I slap her face with my cock and let out a forceful sigh. She takes it with a giggle as I step back and over her to disentangle from our absurd position.

I'm kind of mad about it, but she certainly proved herself. She really is the perfect 'pleasure maid.'

"...Clean all this up," I grumble, walking over to her discarded dress and using it to wipe myself.

"Yes, my grace!" The woman agrees cheerily, possessed with - to her - 'wondrous purpose.' Even using her clothes like a common washcloth didn't faze her. If anything, I'd guess it made her smugness seep further into her smile, like using her clothes to clean the mess off my dick instead of a towel is something to be proud of.

Sighing, I sit on the edge of the bed and rub my forehead as Lilian gathers a wet cloth from somewhere and uses it to finish cleansing my manhood. She really is an exceptional servant, both n the bedroom and - probably - outside it. There's no sense in being angry about it anymore. I'll just need to figure out how to make the most of her.

She had some good points mixed in with all the idiotically tactless nagging earlier, I guess, so... damn it, she 'wins.' I'll be using her to help fix the kingdom after all won't I?

With that annoyingly practical thought circling my mind, I discontentedly lay down. Gently, the former-noblewoman scrubbing my floor quietly sets this task momentarily aside to dim the lights, and I gradually fall asleep.