The summer sun bathed Tim’s sprawling lawn in golden light, where the company’s barbecue buzzed with the laughter of employees and their families. The splash of the pool and the soft hum of the hot tub wove into the festive air. Emma, radiant in denim shorts and a sheer cover-up hinting at the emerald-green bikini beneath, drew eyes effortlessly. Her red hair, cascading just past her shoulders, shimmered in the sunlight, and her green eyes scanned the crowd with quiet curiosity. Tim, with his penchant for redheads, found his gaze irresistibly drawn to her athletic silhouette, her curves a tantalizing pull he couldn’t ignore.
Tim, Nathan’s boss, stood apart, a glass of whiskey in hand. At 61, he exuded raw charisma, his bald head gleaming faintly, his short, graying beard framing a strong jaw. His thick, arched eyebrows lent his dark eyes an intensity that commanded attention. Spotting Emma by the pool, a cryptic smile curved his lips. He approached, his stride confident, and extended a hand.
“Emma, a pleasure to finally meet you,” he said, his deep voice laced with calculated warmth. His fingers closed around hers, firm yet intimate. “Nathan mentioned you’re fond of antiques. I have a few pieces inside that might pique your interest. Care to take a look?”
Emma hesitated, her gaze flickering to Nathan, who was laughing loudly with colleagues, oblivious to her impending absence. Tim’s polite yet insistent tone disarmed her. “Um… sure, why not?” she murmured, her heart quickening under his scrutiny.
They slipped away from the crowd, crossing the lawn to the house’s entrance, unnoticed. Inside, the air was cool, almost too quiet compared to the lively chaos outside. Tim led her through the rooms, his casual demeanor at odds with the glint in his dark eyes.
“This way,” Tim said, guiding her down a staircase to the basement. “I keep my special collection down here.”
The basement was dim, the air heavy with the scent of aged wood and leather. Tim opened a heavy door, revealing a soundproof room that sent a shiver through Emma. At its center sat a Viking knife, displayed on a lit pedestal, its ancient blade intricately crafted. But her eyes were drawn elsewhere. Straps hung from the walls, tethered to sturdy benches. A shelf held an array of disciplinary tools, leather straps, riding crops, belts, a slender cane, arranged with meticulous care. On another wall, gags and blindfolds waited.
Emma’s pulse raced, a mix of curiosity and unease stirring within her. Tim, catching her gaze, stepped closer, his voice dropping low.
“Intriguing, isn’t it?”
She didn’t answer, her lips parting, her thoughts tangled. Tim, without pressing further, closed the door with a soft click that echoed in the silence. As they ascended the stairs, he turned to her, his tone casual yet laced with suggestion. “If you’re curious, Emma, no need for me to call. Come by sometime, and we could… explore some of my toys.”
Heat flooded Emma’s face, and she looked away, her breath shallow. Back at the party, she distanced herself from Tim, seeking solace beside Nathan. But Tim, unruffled, approached them later, a genial smile on his face. “Nathan, how’s Emma’s side gig going? House cleaning, right? I could really use some help here if she has any availability.”
Emma froze, her eyes widening as she stared at Nathan. How does he know I clean houses? Nathan, oblivious to her unease, checked his calendar. “Oh, she’s free Monday morning, 8 a.m. That work?”
“Perfect,” Tim replied, his gaze flicking to Emma, an unreadable spark in his eyes. “It's a done deal then.”
Emma had no time to protest, her heart pounding as the thought of returning to Tim’s house, alone with him, settled in her mind.
~oOo~
At eight o’clock sharp on Monday morning, Emma stood before Tim’s imposing gate, her heart beating a little too fast. The cool dawn air brushed her cheeks, stirring her red hair around her face. She tried to steady herself, echoing Nathan’s words in her mind: Tim’s a good man, stop overthinking. She was here to clean, nothing more. Yet the memory of the soundproof room in the basement, with its straps and provocative objects, lingered like a persistent shadow. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the intercom, her trembling fingers betraying her nerves.
The gate buzzed open, and Tim appeared at the entrance, a genial smile on his lips. His presence was as commanding as ever, his graying beard framing a natural charisma. Yet he made no attempt to flirt, no suggestive remarks. “Good morning, Emma,” he said, his voice warm but professional. “Thank you for being punctual. Let’s go over what I expect from you.”
He led her through the house, outlining the tasks for each room with methodical precision. The kitchen’s brushed steel surfaces needed to be spotless, free of smudges. The living room, with its luxurious sofa, required meticulous dusting, especially around the plants. Emma, initially tense, relaxed under his courteous tone and clear instructions. Tim was exacting, but his kindness eased her apprehension. She committed each detail to memory, nodding as she absorbed his expectations.
Before she began, Tim took her to the basement, the soundproof room’s door was closed. He pointed to a shelf of specialized cleaning products. “Use these for the antiques,” he explained, indicating labeled bottles. “They’re delicate, so take care not to damage them. You’ll finish here once the rest of the house is done.”
As she prepared to head upstairs, Tim returned with a box. “This is your cleaning uniform,” he said, his tone firm but neutral. “To protect your clothes.”
Emma opened the box, and her breath caught. Inside was a French maid outfit, not the garish parody seen in adult films but an authentic, almost historical piece. A black dress with long sleeves adorned with white lace and a pristine apron. Yet, despite its elegance, heat flooded her cheeks. “I… I can’t wear this,” she whispered, her green eyes wide.
Tim raised an eyebrow, his gaze stern but not angry. “It’s the rule for all housekeepers here, Emma,” he said. “I sometimes host important guests, and presentation matters. You’ll understand.”
Under the weight of his authoritative tone, Emma relented, her heart pounding. She took the box and retreated to the ground-floor bathroom, closing the door behind her. In front of the mirror, she slipped into the outfit, her trembling fingers fumbling with the buttons. The dress, though modest, hugged her curves with unnerving precision. The skirt, long enough to brush her calves, revealed just enough of her athletic legs to remain elegant. But the bodice… oh, the bodice was another story. It cinched her waist, accentuating her lithe frame, and showcased her bust in a way she’d never dared imagine. The neckline, edged with delicate lace, drew the eye without being indecent, and the fitted sleeves highlighted the grace of her arms. Her red hair, loose over her shoulders, contrasted strikingly with the deep black of the dress. She caught herself admiring her reflection, turning slightly to see how the fabric clung to her hips, transforming her body into a living work of art. A surprising warmth stirred within her, tinged with shame and a curiosity she refused to acknowledge.
She adjusted the apron, smoothed the skirt, and took a deep breath before stepping out. Tim waited in the kitchen, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before returning to professionalism. “Perfect,” he said simply. “You can start.”
~oOo~
Emma finished cleaning the last room on the ground floor, wiping the sweat beading on her brow. A few drops trickled down her neck, lingering at the curve of her chest, accentuated by the fitted bodice of her maid outfit. Her red hair, damp and clinging to her temples, gave her a wilder look, far removed from the polished woman who had arrived that morning. She straightened, quietly proud of her work. The house gleamed, every surface polished with care. She felt a strange sense of accomplishment.
“Just the basement room left,” she muttered, her gaze drifting momentarily. The thought of that room, with its straps and enigmatic objects, sent a shiver through her, which she dismissed with an impatient gesture. Tim had been absent all morning, coming and going as he’d warned her. Alone in the vast house, Emma had found a rhythm, almost soothed by the routine of cleaning. She stored the standard cleaning supplies, keeping her mop in hand, and descended the stairs to the basement.
The air was cooler there, heavy with the scent of leather and aged wood. The heavy door to the soundproof room loomed before her, imposing. Emma placed a hesitant hand on the handle, her heart quickening. With effort, she pushed the door open and stepped into the room. What she saw froze her in place.
Tim stood there, his back to her, a low growl escaping his throat. The rhythmic motion of his right arm was unmistakable, intimate, and utterly out of place. Emma’s cheeks burned, a rush of shame and panic flooding her. She didn’t dare move or speak, holding her breath as if the slightest sound might betray her presence. Time stretched, each second heavy, until Tim let out a deep, primal groan that echoed in the room. At that distance, Emma wasn’t certain, but she could have sworn she saw a glistening spurt hit the floor in front of him. He straightened, adjusting his trousers with disarming nonchalance, then turned.
Their eyes met. To Emma’s shock, Tim showed no trace of embarrassment or surprise. His face, framed by his graying beard, wore an almost defiant calm. “I’m done,” he said coolly. “You can clean the room now.”
Emma, her cheeks still aflame, her throat dry, managed a barely audible “Okay.” She lowered her gaze, gripping her mop, and began cleaning the floor under Tim’s watchful eye. He didn’t leave, standing near the open door, arms crossed, his dark eyes tracking her with an intensity that unnerved her. She tried to focus on her task, ignoring the heat rising within her.
Minutes passed before she reached the spot where Tim had stood. There, the glistening stain caught her eye. This time, she had no doubt. It was indeed semen, a certain amount of it, which had landed on the cold floor of the room. Hesitant, she moved her mop toward it, but Tim’s voice cracked like a whip. “Stop!”
Emma froze, her breath catching. Tim approached, his tone firm and stern. “What did I tell you, Emma? In this room, you don’t use just any tool or product for cleaning.”
She stared at him, confusion flickering in her green eyes. Tim pointed to the stain, his gaze piercing.
“This isn’t cleaned with a mop,” he said, his voice low, almost a murmur.
She remained silent, still not understanding. “It has to be cleaned with your tongue,” he continued.
Emma felt her face drain of color, her mind resisting comprehension. Had she heard correctly? She then saw Tim crouch down and scoop up as much semen as he could with two fingers before standing up and approaching Emma, who was watching him. In disbelief, she didn't move.
“I’ll show you,” he said. With his other hand, he grabbed Emma’s beautiful red hair and pulled it back, causing her head to tilt slightly and her mouth to open as a soft gasp escaped. Tim took the opportunity to shove his two fingers deep into Emma’s mouth, and in her surprise, she closed her lips around them. Tim withdrew his fingers, her lips naturally wiping off the semen that was on them. “And now, you swallow,” he whispered.
The thick, salty taste of Tim flooded Emma’s mouth, a searing rush that sent tremors down to the core of her being. She swallowed greedily, her gulp stoking the fire raging between her thighs. She was soaked, her pussy throbbing, the slick lips of her core drenched with raw, undeniable lust. No one had ever claimed her like this, with such relentless authority that bent her to his will. The French maid outfit he’d commanded her to wear heightened every sensation. The silky fabric of the apron grazed her breasts, her hardened nipples pressing painfully against the material. The arousal hit Emma so suddenly it felt unreal, almost otherworldly.
He loomed over her with commanding presence. His dark eyes, framed by thick brows, pierced through her, demanding submission. It was him, this rugged 61-year-old man with a charisma that burned, who made her quake with desire, far beyond anything Nathan had ever stirred in her. Almost kneeling before him, Emma felt a delicious wave of shame wash over her. She, the loyal wife, surrendering to raw lust for the man who signed her husband’s paychecks. The very thought that he could reduce her to this, a devoted wife turned slave to her own urges, made her tremble. A raw moan escaped her lips, and she instinctively squeezed her thighs together, desperate to quell the urgent need building inside her.
Tim guided her with a grip both gentle and unyielding, his fingers twisted in Emma’s red hair, pulling just enough to send tingles racing across her scalp. She stumbled slightly. He led her to a massive table, fitted with leather restraints that gleamed faintly in the dim light. With his other hand, he pressed firmly on her upper back, a silent command she understood instantly. Without resistance, she bent forward, her torso molding to the cold wood of the table, her breasts, trapped in the corset, straining against the lace. Her mind drifted, a fleeting thought cutting through: What am I doing?
Her husband's boss finally released his hold, and she heard his footsteps retreat, heavy and deliberate, followed by the thud of a massive door closing. The silence that followed was stifling, almost tangible. Her mind screamed at her to stand, to run, but her body, betraying her, refused to obey. Worse, she felt her thighs part slightly, as if of their own accord, exposing her soaked core even more beneath the scandalous skirt.
The footsteps returned, closer, more resolute. Suddenly, her hair was seized again, yanked back with a force that tore a raw moan from her throat. Against her ass, she felt the undeniable proof of Tim’s desire, his cock, hard as steel, pressing into her, already fully erect despite the orgasm he’d spilled and shoved into her mouth minutes earlier. Then, his deep voice, laced with cruel amusement, shattered the silence:
“Do you want me to stop, Emma?”
The chaos in Emma’s mind was deafening, a scream within her pleading: Stop, Emma! Tell him to stop, get up, and leave! Now!
“No,” she whispered, barely audible. What did I just say? she thought, stunned, as Tim’s deep, cruelly satisfied laugh echoed through the soundproofed room, sealing her fate.
He stepped closer, his skilled hands swiftly securing her wrists to the leather straps fixed to the table. His dexterity was almost unnerving, a testament that Emma was not the first woman to find herself so vulnerable, so exposed here. Tim slowly circled the table, his imposing figure filling the space. When he stopped in front of her, his cock, rigid and taunting, stood mere inches from her face. Emma lifted her head, her green eyes meeting his dark, commanding gaze, framed by thick brows.
Tim took a moment to look at her in, this 26-year-old woman, nearly three times his junior, utterly at his mercy. Her red hair, matted with sweat to her forehead, framed a face caught between defiance and submission. Her generous breasts, crushed against the table, seemed to beg for release from the corset. The sight was brutally erotic, the submissive maid, bound. A satisfied smirk curled Tim’s lips, his graying beard accentuating his predatory air. He owned her, and that thought made his erection pulse with renewed intensity.
"Wait..." Emma whispered in a tone that seemed to show she wasn’t entirely convinced of her own request. Tim grabbed her head with both hands, forcing her to look up at him, holding her in an uncomfortable position.
"Now is not the time to talk, my dear Emma," he said before stepping toward her. The tip of his cock finally met the softness of her lips, sending a jolt through him. She was by far the youngest submissive he had ever had, and moreover, the wife of one of his best employees, which heightened his excitement.
Tim thrust his hips forward with brutal confidence, his fingers still twisted in Emma’s red hair, guiding his rigid cock toward her lips. Without the slightest resistance, she opened to him, her warm, wet mouth yielding with a docility that betrayed her surrender. He began to fuck her mouth, his thrusts sharp and deliberate, spaced out like a merciless metronome echoing in the soundproofed room. The table, cold and unyielding beneath her, was both a blessing and a cage. Its leather restraints binding her wrists, keeping her from pulling back, yet limiting how deeply Tim could plunge.
Each thrust, each guttural growl rumbling from Tim’s throat, sent a jolt of electricity through Emma’s core, her drenched pussy throbbing with a desire she could no longer control. She was consumed by this total submission, a heady mix of shame and raw pleasure. Her moans, at first muffled, grew uncontrollable, spilling from her lips with every thrust, syncing with Tim’s primal grunts. Her thighs, spread by her position, trembled, and she felt her body arch instinctively, as if offering itself further to his dominance. Her mind, drowned in a haze of lust, could no longer resist. She was his, and every growl, every movement, only plunged her deeper into this abyss of desire.
Abruptly, Tim pulled back, leaving Emma’s trembling mouth empty, her wet lips glistening in the dim light. With unnerving speed, he slipped a gag between her teeth, the leather biting softly into her lips, and a black blindfold over her eyes, plunging her world into total darkness. Her wrists, still bound by the leather straps, tugged slightly against the table.
She felt his hot breath against her ear, his deep, velvety voice cutting through the darkness. “If you want me to stop, just tap the table three times,” he murmured, a hint of amusement in his tone. “But I’m certain you won’t.” Emma could almost see his smile, that smug, cruel smirk he wore, his graying beard perhaps grazing her cheek. Her heart pounded, torn between fear and a raw arousal that set her entire body alight.
Emma felt the long skirt of her French maid outfit being slowly lifted, the folds grazing her legs with an almost unbearable sensuality. Tim gathered the material in his hands, methodically hiking it up to her hips, exposing her ass and soaked pussy to the cool air of the room. The caress of the fabric sent shivers coursing through her already trembling body. Then, a finger, confident and teasing, brushed the crease of her right knee, tracing a languid path up her thigh, each inch stoking the inferno raging in her core. When it reached her slick, throbbing core, the finger lingered just long enough to unleash a devastating wave of pleasure before withdrawing, leaving her quivering, teetering on the edge. A raw, muffled moan burst through the leather gag, her body arching against the table, her wrists straining against the leather restraints.
She knew he was right, she wouldn’t tap.
Tim’s deep voice cut through the air, heavy with menace and authority. “You know… Nathan cost me a big contract this week with a little mistake,” he began, his cold tone sending shivers through Emma despite the heat consuming her body.
“I told him it was no big deal, but it pissed me off. Being one of my best, I couldn’t punish him.” He paused, letting his words sink in, weighing on her as she lay bound in the darkness of her blindfold.
“So, I’m going to punish you for his mistake,” he said, his stern voice vibrating through every fiber of her being. “And then, I’ll take my compensation.”
Before she could brace herself, a sharp crack echoed, followed by a searing sting on her right cheek. Pain and pleasure collided instantly, wrenching a muffled moan through the leather gag. Her pussy, already soaked, throbbed violently, betrayed by a surge of raw desire.
“When you think you’ve been punished enough for your husband’s mistake, tap the table once, and I’ll stop,” Tim declared, his voice laced with cruel amusement. Another slap landed on her other cheek, harder, sharper, and Emma let out a stifled cry, her body jolting against the table. Her hand rose, grazing the wood, poised to tap, as her mind screamed: Emma, what are you doing? Tap, damn it! But the raw, unspeakable truth was that she had never felt such pleasure. Each strike, each burn, sparked an ecstasy she didn’t want to end. Her body, alive with total submission, arched slightly, offering her ass to the next blow, while her pussy pulsed, begging for more.
At least ten slaps rained down on Emma’s ass, each one sharper than the last, pain and pleasure blurring until tears streamed beneath her blindfold, carving hot trails down her cheeks. Finally, breathless, she tapped the table once, her gesture hesitant, almost reluctant, as if part of her refused to end this exquisite torment.
“Good. Now, let’s move on to the compensation,” Tim declared, his deep voice vibrating with unyielding authority. His strong hands gripped her hips, fingers digging into her flesh through the crumpled fabric of the skirt.
“Your husband cost me money with his mistake. I’m going to take his wife as compensation. Seems fair to me.”
Without another word, he thrust into her with a brutal stroke, his hard cock plunging to the hilt in her burning pussy. Emma screamed through the gag, a muffled cry blending shock and ecstasy. “Fuuuck! You’re tighter than I thought,” Tim growled, his voice thick with lust. He began to fuck her, his thrusts sharp and spaced, just as he’d done to her mouth, each one slamming his skin against her still-tender ass.
Emma’s orgasm built at a dizzying pace, far faster than usual. She came. Hard. The prelude, the submission, the slaps, the humiliation, had already pushed her to the edge multiple times. Every thrust, every guttural grunt from Tim, sent electric jolts through her body, her pussy clenching around him. The silence of the soundproofed room was broken only by the slap of their bodies, Tim’s growls, and Emma’s muffled moans, trapped by the gag. Then, he seized her sweat-matted red hair and yanked, forcing her back to arch in total submission, her chest heaving against the table. The cruel, dominant gesture only heightened her pleasure.
“I’m not gonna last long, Emma,” he growled, teeth gritted, driving even deeper. “I don’t know if you’re on the pill or if it’s the right time, and I don’t fucking care.” His words, laced with provocative arrogance, made Emma shudder.
“And I gotta say, knowing you could stop this, avoid this ultimate betrayal of your husband by tapping the table three times, and you don’t… that turns me on like nothing else.” He chuckled, half-laughing. “Tell me, sweetheart, are you thinking about your husband while his boss fucks you? Does it get you off?”
The only response was Emma’s repeated, muffled moans through the gag and the tears streaming beneath her blindfold, melting shame, guilt, and uncontrollable pleasure. Tim sped up, his thrusts turning into savage, unrestrained pounding, each one more brutal than the last. Finally, with a primal roar, he buried himself as deep as he could, his body tensing as he emptied himself inside her, filling her core with searing heat. Emma, overwhelmed by the sensation and her own impending orgasm, surrendered completely, and she came again, her body trembling against the table.
Emma collapsed onto the table, her exhausted body trembling against the cold wood, every muscle weighed down by the intensity of what she’d just endured. Tim, catching his breath, let out a sigh followed by a smug chuckle, a sound that echoed in the soundproofed room. With casual dexterity, he unfastened the leather straps binding Emma’s wrists, then removed the gag, freeing her sore lips, and finally the blindfold, exposing her green eyes to the light. She blinked slowly, her vision adjusting to the room, her shallow, ragged breaths filling the silence. Without moving, she remained slumped over the table.
She felt his cum, warm and thick, trickling slowly down the inside of her thigh, an indecent caress that stirred a wave of shame. Then, a finger, firm and deliberate, intercepted the stream, tracing a provocative path back up to her still-quivering core, wrenching an involuntary shudder from her body.
“I’ve got a meeting, I need to go,” Tim said, his deep voice dripping with arrogant nonchalance. He wiped the cum he’d collected on his finger onto the table, just inches from Emma’s mouth.
“I’ll leave you to finish the cleaning. And remember, each type of cleaning requires a different tool.” His words, heavy with perverse implied, sent a shiver through Emma. Then, he added, a cruel smile in his voice: “Next cleaning, Monday, 8 a.m. I already cleared the date with your husband before you got here today.”
The mention of Nathan, so casual, so calculated, drove a spike of guilt into Emma’s heart. Yet her body, still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, refused to react, leaving her motionless, staring at the streak of cum on the table, her breathing still uneven, her mind screaming in silence.
----
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