Head of the Household

Marcella couldn’t move if she wanted to. The mattress beneath her was quicksand and the weighted blanket pinned her among a layer of warm air. Her arms, draped over the tyrian purple blankets like a good girl, soaked in the cool room air. It kept her balanced. Four marbled oak pillars swallowed most of the room in their weaved bed frame. It would have been easy to fall asleep beneath their guardianship. That’s why Cynthia had tucked her into her comfortable cage. But Marcella couldn’t sleep. Not tonight. The mail would be coming soon.

So she sat buried beneath her blankets and ogling the idle shadows. The tall oak closet, her cluttered dresser on the wall, and the smooth glass cased shelves, all leaked darker than midnight black. Marcella loved to lay with the shy and malformed shapes. If lonely, they were always there for you. In the corner of every room, beneath every bookcase and immaculate piece of decorum. They knew her every secret.

The slow creak of footsteps found her head spinning to the source. It crept by her door slowly, stopped, and returned. It became two coy knocks at her door.

“Come In!” Marcella chimed, and pulled herself up to a sitting position. The blankets fell around her, their prison warped.

Cynthia grumbled. Her steps were angry marching through the door. The shadows hid in fear as the hanging chandelier roared to life in a blinding haze. The lace of her conservative black dress swept toward Marcella menacingly. It saddled her neck with a folded white collar and pinned auburn buttons down the sable column guarding her body. Given a headdress, one might have mistaken her for a nun.

“It’s late Marcy” She said. The stack of letters in her hands was tied with a pale blue ribbon. The postman’s signature seal. “There’s nothing from your parents yet, and these letters will be here in the morning”

The excitement drained from Marcella’s face. “Oh,” she pouted “I guess I’ll still take a look…” and twiddled her fingers anxiously.

“Or…” Cynthia muttered. Her gown had fallen in a thick pile around her tawny legs. A lacy bra and matching panties was all that protected against the cool air “I could… tuck you in again”. The almond skinned vixen didn’t wait for an answer.

She pushed herself onto the bed and crawled over Marcella, her warm palm’s cupping the girl’s shivering neck. Their lips pressed, sharing a breathless gasp.

“Or” Cynthia suddenly jerked away. The soft silky blankets at the feet of the bed embraced her “You could read the mail”

“N-No” Marcella whimpered through a bit lip “I’ll go to sleep after this, I promise!” Her muscular arms went from grasping at empty air to hurtling the sheets away. Her staff was shot straight up between her thicker thighs.

Cynthia spread cool saliva over her hot cherry red mouth. They were all Marcella could see. She throbbed. Her cheeks flushed as the maid grasped at her own lacy panties. Cynthia’s hands hooked them beneath her glowing loins. Her hips were wide, the lingerie tight. She swayed and shoved them down her trembling lower half. They dragged slowly, revealing the warm hue of her body coyly. For Marcella, every moment the vixen wasn't in her lap was unbearable. Stroking herself only worsened it.

“Cynthia!” she barked, annoyed.

The maid giggled. The next moment the panties hung around one ankle and Cynthia was straddling her with her ink black hair down around her shoulders. Their heat fused, her burning calves touching Marcella’s thick thighs. The younger woman couldn’t wait. She took big handfuls of the maids big brown ass as and slammed herself into their owners wet rosebud.

Cynthia moaned into her broad shoulders “Deeper, Deeper, Deeper!” Her nails dug in as her ward raked her insides with all eight inches. Marcella obliged. There love was animalistic, born of raw need. The only purpose of pulling out was to slam her throbbing erection further. Sweat slicked between there mating boxes.

“Don’t make a mess” Cynthia groaned. Marcella’s dominant humping was becoming more aggressive. She had clasped her powerful arms around the maids back, holding their slapping bodied as close as she could.

Marcella howled, her hips spasmed and rocked. Backed-up cum exploded from her girth during the episode. Rope after rope overloaded into her mating partners sopping pussy. The dense liquid spilled started to spill out into her lap. Marcella lost track of time. All that mattered was forcing the cum into her partners warm hole. Cynthia offered her full weight waiting for her ward to finish.

Marcella awoke to the afternoon sun warm on her face. The curtain had been pulled back on the glass pane door of the veranda, and the translucent squares offered no protection from the harsh sun. She sat up with a grumble. Her body, still sticky from the night before, had a thin veil of sweat to match. Her morning wood beat against her soft thigh needly.

“Good morning my dear” Cynthia veered into her bedroom with a trey of steaming eggs, bacon, and hash browns. She kicked out the platters legs and placed it over her wards lap. “And your mail”

The maid slid beneath the blankets. Marcella smiled. The blue ribbon unraveled seamlessly while her legs slid back to raise her knees. Her erection sat easeled between her thighs. A sudden gust of warm air breathed new life into it. It throbbed angrily. But a smooth saliva balm administered by tongue began cooling the burn. Cynthia’s soft lips pressed against her cock-head. Her ward moaned in needy anticipation. Her mouth slid down the member, grazing it in a thick layer of spit. Cynthia buried her face in the younger woman’s crotch, her velvet tongue pressed against its trembling underside. The slippery sloshing and her own heated moans were the only music as Marcella read the letters. She could barely think through her own lust.

The first was from the owner of a local cafe’ that was renting some of her families property through a manager. They were asking to meet her as representative of the household and offering free food and drinks. The second was from the organizer of the city’s annual gladiatorial competition, asking if her household would give it patronage and support a champion. The final letter was an invitation to a party at the palace.