Nympholympics 13 – Dress-up, Dick-Down, Show-Off [Erotic Content]

John stepped out into the midday sun to thunderous applause. He looked up at the crowd, blinking instinctively when the sun hit eyes no longer bothered by such light differences. A moment later, he extended his arm to the lady that stepped into the light next to him. Two graceful steps revealed Aclysia’s form to the people in the rows upon rows of the stadium seats. Cheers swelled.

The first maid hooked her elbow under John’s. She was a stunning example of a woman. Long, straight, silvery-white hair, left to flow freely. Several strands fell from her bangs between her eyes, while side tresses framed her Asian features. Green eyes with slit pupils beheld him, adoration reflecting in the emerald. She only beheld him while they walked, while he guided her, a light smile on her natural pink lips.

Aclysia had turned walking into an artform. Every step was a masterpiece of aesthetics. She held onto his arm with such deliberate clinginess that it was only adorable. The position of her shoulders emphasized her shapely breasts. Her nipples were erect, betraying an excitement she kept from flushing her pale skin.

Slender shoulders turned to balanced midriff, the pinch of her waist nicely put against her slightly athletic figure. The muscles of her stomach showed ever so subtly with every shift of her weight. Her hips flared wide, an eye-catching trait emphasized to its utmost by her sashay. Thighs jiggled seductively as she walked with him, always by his side, yet always following at the same time. She was never behind and never ahead and always his.

The walk of pride was met with stunned silence. “They cannot believe how beautiful you are,” John whispered to his company.

“You underestimate the power of your own gait, Master,” Aclysia whispered back.

“I’m a brute next to you,” he returned, as they walked up a set of stairs.

“Good.” Aclysia’s content smile spread a little further for a few seconds. “Strength is desirable, Master. I’ll be your instrument of power when you need it and your graceful companion when I can be.”

“I love you,” John said, just as they reached the top of the stairs. There, they stood for a moment, exchanging a kiss for the whole world to see. There were whistles and cheers and moans all around. All of it easily ignored in favour of the sweet taste of her lips and the intense pink that flowed through their mental connection. Outwards she remained collected, inwards she was alight with an obsession she got to live out every single day.

“I love you too,” she said. The words were just a little uneven. The break in her tone was like a crack in the surface of a frozen lake. Oh, the depth of those dark waters beneath, the darkness of the ice beneath the powdered snow, how it sung to John to know that this graceful woman was so much more than a dedicated servant.

For this, however, she would be his doll.

They stepped over the red line that demarcated the area of the competition. The elevated position was hexagonal in shape, a pedestal at the centre and a closed, mechanical hatch behind it. Each side of the hexagon had its own sets of three cameras, allowing optimal viewing from all sides. A clock integrated into the foot of the pedestal started ticking. He had ten minutes.

“Wait here,” John ordered, his deep, dominant voice reverberating over the speakers. Now that they were in the competition area, privacy was gone. John was now an artist, performing for the crowd, and Aclysia his assistant and canvas.

“Yes, Master,” she answered readily, taking two steps to stand by the pedestal. Once she climbed on it, the first phase of the competition would be completed. Afterwards, he would pound her brains out. In the last step, she would have to stand on the pedestal again for final evaluation. Three steps, the first of which he now had to manoeuvre.

Ten minutes was not a long time to assemble an outfit. He had been given a catalogue containing all the items he had available, orderly lined up on tables around the area. Each table hosted clothes of a certain colour and kind. White tops, black tops, red skirts, frilled, pencil, pleated, and otherwise, suit jackets, hats, from top to flat, and so much more.

He let his gaze wander performatively, locating each of the items he needed, then engaging at a confident, fast-paced strut to collect them all. He had many ideas on how to dress up Aclysia, when he had scanned through his options. Military outfits, a cheerleader’s garb, even a simple cocktail dress had crossed his mind. In the end, he had opted for something he knew would fit her.

To show off and to accelerate, John used Magus Step to get around. He collected a white shirt, a belt, a black pencil skirt, pantihose, glasses, a hairband, and a choker. A simple set of articles that he carried one after another to an empty table near Aclysia. He made sure nothing wrinkled. There would be plenty of that later.

“Sit,” he ordered her. “Feet,” he followed it up, once she had put her plush bottom on the pedestal for a temporary rest. Each time she obeyed, a little gasp echoed over the speakers. Aclysia derived pleasure from obedience, even when both his and her Perk to do so were deactivated.

John rolled the pantihose up her legs with seasoned smoothness. The sheer fabric put a dark layer on her, a dull shine to it like skin that had soaked in the oil. When he reached the top of her thick thighs, she lifted her wide hips so he could push it all the way to her midriff.

He grabbed the shirt next. “Stand,” he ordered.

“Yes, Master,” she spoke, to the renewed moans of the crowd. She remained a motionless doll, wearing a placid smile and the clothes her dom put on her. He buttoned up the shirt, pulling it into its symmetrical position, before taking hold of the pencil skirt. The zipper was opened, then closed after he had put the skirt in place. A simple leather belt with a shiny buckle covered the upper rim of the pencil skirt, hiding where the shirt was put away.

As the final touches, John placed on her neck the choker, on her nose the glasses and tied her long, smooth hair into a low bun. With that, the secretary look of Aclysia was complete. A formal attire with touches of seduction, a perfect fit for his black-horned dragon maid. The pointy, elf-like ears further elevated the outfit, somehow.

“Present yourself.” John gestured at the pedestal. One step brought her atop, where she struck various poses associated with this kind of clothing. Hands behind back in a neutral stance. A finger on her lips, half hiding the cute little mole beneath, in ponderance. Hand on her forehead, shaking her head at some idiocy. Each pose was met with another wave of appreciation from the crowd. Had it not been for those sounds, John would have been too mesmerized to remember he was still standing at the heart of a massive stadium.

The timer at the bottom of the pedestal stopped. The hatch behind Aclysia opened. With dramatic slowness, a king-sized bed rose on a hydraulic platform. Once it came to a halt, the timer flickered to life again with a new number: 7 minutes.

“Time to earn your bonus,” he said to the sexy secretary.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” Aclysia swooned.

He picked her up by the waist, threw her over his shoulder, and swiftly carried her to the bed. Seven minutes were a good amount of time, but not plenty. If he wanted to put on a show, he had to act with a little haste.

He tossed Aclysia on the bed. “On your knees!” he ordered, while he stepped onto the mattress. He pulled the glasses from her face, tossing them to a safe spot, then put his cock across her face instead. Precum smeared into her hair immediately. He had been hard the entire time he had dressed her. His manhood throbbed once it came into contact with her hot skin and tickling strand. “What is this, Aclysia?”

“My Master’s cock,” she answered passionately, her grace melting like ice under the summer sun. “The dick of the man I have and will always give my all to, that I serve with delight.”

John grabbed one of her backwards curved horns. The smooth texture was so pleasant to cling onto, the shape perfect to keep a grip on the handle. “Then serve,” he demanded.

He barely even guided her. The first maid was beyond eager to lick her way up his shaft. As she did, her pointy tongue extended. By the time her hot mouth had reached the tip, the muscle coiled around his cock, stroking the length in its spiral grip. Saliva dripped from her chin onto the tent of her breasts.

Hot breath came from her agape mouth. She took in his cock, curving her tongue to massage that sensitive spot on the underside. With her tongue at work, her lips could not close around his shaft, making all that followed more messy than usual.

She took him deeper and deeper. There was the tiniest of delays when she pushed past the barrier of her throat. The coils of her tongue were condensed, second squirming tunnels, separated from the walls of her throat by her mouth. “Good girl,” he grunted, once fully inside, taking both of her horns and then thrusting into her face.

She matched his thrusts with eager plunges, impaling herself repeatedly on his cock. Her throat bulged with every thrust. John made sure they were in profile for the camera, so they could catch exactly how fantastic a comfort hole Aclysia was. He wanted everyone to see this gorgeous woman that enabled his dream life.

Aware of the ticking clock, John stopped his enjoyment of her throat short after two minutes. When he pulled out, her tongue released his cock. The muscle nearly smacked against her chest, growing tense at the last moment. Pre-orgasmic shivers ran through the secretary, her face now a mess of precum and saliva.

John tipped her over with a light shove. Aclysia decided to land on all fours, presenting her anticipating visage to the camera and her fat ass to her Master. She knew what he liked. He descended swiftly. A swat on her butt made the cheeks ripple, even under the confinement of the taut pencil skirt.

“MASTER!” Aclysia cried, as his maids always did when he gave them that love tap they so craved.

A second followed as soon as he had pulled up the rim of her skirt. He bunched the fabric as tightly against her belt as it would go, then marvelled at her ass in pantihose for a moment. He was more of a garter belt kind of guy, but the allure of sheer fabric stretched to its utmost was incredible. Her ass was practically shining. The dark material was even darker on the line from tailbone to pussy. That line was also what John needed out of the way.

Tearing the fabric open pleased a base violent urge, singing in harmony with the plain indulgence of then aligning his saliva-coated cock with her folds. She whimpered wantonly, as he teased her outer lips with his engorged head. He did not leave her waiting for long, pushing inside her at a swift pace.

Every centimetre he slipped into her was another piece of him that went to heaven. Aclysia’s pussy was perfect for him, in every possible way. Depth, tightness, the position of her sensitive spots, it all served to make every time he penetrated her a glorious stretch of moments for them both.

With a half-forceful thrust, he pushed the last fourth of his cock into her. That was too much for Aclysia, who threw her head back and screamed orgasmically. He stayed still inside her, letting her folds massage him, until her climax had passed and her post-orgasmic bliss was starting to set in.

Then, just as he began to slide out of her, he doubled her sensitivity.

Aclysia’s voice rose back to a powerful cry of pure passion. He grabbed her waist, securing a firm hold for the moment he thrust back into her and made her eyes roll up. She blinked, gasping, readying herself for the next thrust. Hard, his groin smacked against her ass, the overabundant meat rippling.

John was absolutely taken in by the sight of her ass in motion. The derriere of his girlfriend may have been perfect, but Aclysia’s ass was PLUSH in capital letters. ‘Thank God I am human,’ he thought, praying to whatever wanted to hear it in gratitude for the fact that he got to appreciate the female backside.

Pussy juices soaked the surrounding pantihose. The hole he had made got a little bit larger each time she threw her ass back to meet his thrusts.

Aclysia let out one more scream before her arms gave in and her top collapsed onto the mattress. John could not have that, not with an audience that craved to see his first maid’s cock-drunk expression. He grabbed the dressed-up servant at the hair bun, pulling her head back until her spine described a flat arch.

“MASTER! OHHHHHH, YEEE-EEEE-SSSS, MASHTAAAAAAAAAHR!” Aclysia screamed, as he raced towards orgasm. His hips were a blur. His lungs struggled to keep up, drawing air in and pushing it back out as lustful grunts. PLAP! PLAP! PLAP! PLAP! The wet smacks of every thrust echoed through the stadium, overpowering the moans of the massive orgy that had broken out among the watchers.

John did not care. They added a little dash of spice to something he loved doing anyway. Two years together and the only thing that had changed was that she had gotten even hotter. He kept thrusting and thrusting, caring only to fill her up.

The final spike in pleasure made his hips swing forwards. He was conditioned, by himself and his women, to almost always finish as deep inside as he could and today was no exception. The tip stopped a pleasurable distance away from her cervix. Seed pumped from his balls right against the entrance of a womb that was currently just an artificial facsimile. One day, not too far away, that would not matter.

Every spurt was a triumph. He refused to close his eyes, even as his vision swam in bliss. He stared at that ass for as long as his balls were tightening. Really, he only stopped because the alarm clock blared out at the end of their time.

“Present yourself,” John groaned, as he pulled out of Aclysia.

“Y-yessss, M-master,” she pressed out among quivers. He helped her out of the bed. Halfway to the pedestal, she was steady enough to make the climb herself. He quickly grabbed the glasses, discarded earlier, and handed them to her.

The black-rimmed item, untouched by sex, made for a heavy contrast to the rest of her. The orderly appearance of a secretary had been thoroughly compromised. Only a sliver of her shirt remained stuffed under the crooked belt. Her pencil skirt sat completely wrong and was wrinkled all over. Smaller holes had appeared among the pantihose in several spots. Although her pussy was not visible, the dribbles of white cum certainly were, smearing on the inside of her thighs whenever a post-orgasmic spasm made her knees wobble.

Aclysia smiled at the camera. Her expression was gooey, barely present, her mind clearly still in the erotic entanglement. Her eyes were glassy, partly hidden by dishevelled bangs. Her orderly bun was too low now, many of the long strands of silvery-white hair falling out even as she stood there.

To a final cheer of the crowd, John carried Aclysia off the stage.