He breeds his maid and she finally gets to work or tries to anyway.....

Charlotte's body shuddered violently as Josh's cock slammed into her, sending her careening over the edge once more. Her inner walls clenched around him, a ****, spasming grip that milked his length. "JE VIENS! JE VIENS!" she shrieked, her voice hoarse and shattered, her back arching off the mattress as pleasure detonated through her. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably, her toes curled into the sheets, her breasts bouncing with each frantic pulse of her climax. Josh's grunts grew more feral, his strokes more brutal, driving her higher, deeper into mindless ecstasy. She felt him swell, thicken impossibly more inside her, the head of his cock grinding against her deepest, most sensitive place with every punishing stroke. "OUI! OUI! MAÎTRE! ENCORE!" she babbled, drool soaking her chin, her eyes rolled back to show the whites as her climax reached a fever pitch.

Then she felt it—the hot, sudden flood deep inside her womb as Josh buried himself to the hilt and came. His seed pulsed into her in thick, claiming spurts, filling her, branding her as his. The sensation of being claimed, bred, impregnated by her Maître shattered the last fragile remnants of her thoughts. Charlotte's mouth stretched open in a silent, breathless scream for a heartbeat before the sound exploded out of her with enough **** to make the light fixtures rattle. "AAAAAAAHHHHH! MAÎTRE! JE SUIS—MMMPH!—PLEINE!" The sheer, cataclysmic **** of her orgasm ripped through her like lightning, her body locking up so violently the bed frame groaned in protest. Her scream hit a glass-shattering pitch, a sonic boom of pure, dumb bliss that made the windows CRACK in their frames, webbing fissures spreading across the panes.

The aftershocks were relentless, brutal tremors that wracked her pliant body long after Josh had stilled inside her, spent and panting. Charlotte lay boneless, twitching, her thighs splayed wide, his cum already leaking from her well-used body to pool beneath her on the ruined sheets. Her breasts heaved with each ragged gasp, her nipples hard and aching, her maid outfit a torn, sweat-soaked mess around her waist. A blissful, vacant smile curved her swollen lips as she murmured slurred nonsense in French, her eyes glazed and unfocused. "Maître... si bon... remplie..." Drool trickled from the corner of her mouth, her fingers weakly plucking at the torn lace of her panties still tangled around one ankle.

Charlotte’s giggles bubbled up like champagne fizz, high and airy, as she rolled bonelessly off the ruined sheets. Her thighs, still glistening with a mix of their spend, wobbled as she stood, her stockings sagging around her knees. A feather duster—plush, pink, and utterly ridiculous—popped into existence in her limp grasp, as if conjured by the sheer **** of her dumbfuck obedience.

"Ooooh, le plume~!" she cooed, batting her lashes at nothing in particular, her hips swaying in a lazy figure-eight as she teetered on her heels. The duster dragged absently over the nightstand, smearing through a puddle of spilled wine she hadn’t noticed before (or maybe it was her own slick—who could say?). Her nipples, still stiff and aching, brushed against the torn lace of her corset with every breathy sigh.

Josh watched from the bed, his smirk deepening as she bent over—oh-so-helpfully—to dust the baseboards, her plump ass jiggling with the motion. The remnants of her panties, shredded beyond repair, clung pathetically to one ankle, forgotten. A fresh trickle of his cum slid down her inner thigh onto the floor, and she giggled again, swiping at it with the duster like it was just another mess to clean.

"Maître, regarde!" she chirped, holding up the now-damp feather as if presenting a trophy. "Je fais du bon travail, oui?" Her voice was syrup-thick, her pupils blown wide with a cocktail of fried brains and post-orgasmic haze. The words barely strung together—just breathy vowels and bitten-off consonants, her tongue too clumsy to form anything sharper.

Josh crooked a finger, and she all but tripped over her own feet to crawl back onto the bed, the duster tumbling from her grip. Her knees hit the mattress with a thump, her hands immediately pawing at his thighs, her lips parting in anticipation. "Encore?" she slurred, already nuzzling against his hip, her nose brushing the hardening heat she found there. Her brain had long since melted into a puddle of yes-Maître, please-Maître, fuck-Maître, and the scent of him—musky, possessive—made her clench around nothing, a fresh drip of arousal joining the mess between her legs.

He didn’t even have to speak with her eagerly swallowing her master's big fat cock.