Welcome to Freebie Friday, a March special, in which I present free weekly erotic short stories. Today’s story is particularly sexually graphic and is intended for adults only.
By Cara Bristol
Harmony Harris wrestled with weariness and a tote of cleaning supplies as she fumbled the key into the lock of Gray Martin’s uptown co-op.
Once inside the foyer, she set down her plastic carrier, shrugged out of her long coat and hung it on the hall tree. She wished she could shrug off the doorman’s disdain as easily. Amazing how effectively he communicated with the merest hint of a curled lip and the seemingly polite words, “Evening….miss.”
Harmony straightened shoulders and picked up her cleaning supplies. There were worse ways to earn a living, though some nights she didn’t think so.
She eyed her employer’s parlor. Marble floors gleamed with nary a speck and the white silk sectional—nearly the size of Harmony’s entire living room—appeared pristine. Its tailored pillows were artfully and evenly placed. On the polished teak coffee table, architecture magazines formed a neat array.
The spectacular skyline extended into the room through unadorned floor-to-ceiling windows, the view of twinkling city lights transporting her to a fairy wonderland. Harmony took a deep breath, and her black uniform constricted her chest. Martin’s living room after dark was the closest she’d ever get to wonderland anything.
He paid generously for her weekly service, provided she meticulously fulfilled his requirements. Today had been long a day and her white apron felt as if it were made of lead. The mandated shoes pinched her toes, and her starched black uniform scratched in sensitive places.
She stared bemusedly at the accoutrements in her tote. A spray bottle of cleaner, another of polish, a feather duster, a long-handled scrub brush, and a rattan rug beater. Seriously, a rug beater? She pictured herself dangling one of Martin’s five thousand dollar hand-knotted rugs over the tenth floor balcony railing and whaling on it. Oops! She snickered and shrugged. She only carried the supplies she’d been ordered to bring.
Leaving the parlor, she ducked into her favorite room. She coveted Martin’s kitchen, its gleaming stainless appliances, its sleek rare wood cabinets, the granite counters. She dreamed of a kitchen like this, instead of the hot plate and camper-sized icebox wedged in a corner of the closet her landlord had advertised as a flat.
Like his living room, Martin’s kitchen didn’t leave much for a maid to do, so Harmony headed for the master suite, her shoes clicking down the hall. She didn’t worry about the noise because, as usual, Martin wasn’t home. He never was when she first arrived—hence the key. He was the only client who trusted her with one.
Off the marbled corridor were four doors. One housed a home office. Another a gym, and the third was the mystery room. Locked. His playroom he’d referred to it once. Harmony used to wonder what he hid in there, but had long since decided she was better off not knowing.
She opened the fourth door. Though Martin’s bedroom was large, the bed dominated the space, the headboard and footboard crafted out of black iron in a scrolling design. A taupe-colored quilt covered the thick mattress, along with a multitude of cushy pillows.
Harmony wiggled her toes in the tight shoes. She eyed the bed, longing adding weight to her weary muscles. Who would know? She had time to spare before Martin made an entrance. She set her tote on the floor and sank onto the bed’s edge with a sigh. The coolness of the satin coverlet caressed her thighs.
Nice. She scooted back. Taking care to not wrinkle her skirt, she settled on her side. She would close her eyes just for a second, then she’d get up.
A tingling on her nape alerted Harmony she was no longer alone. She held her breath and squeezed her lids tight, hoping she only imagined the presence.
“You’re not asleep. Don’t pretend you are.” Authority cut through in Martin’s modulated tone.
“I’m sorry, Sir.” Harmony sprang off the bed, and quickly adjusted the short skirt of her uniform. Her heart hammered.
“Is this what I pay you for? To take a nap?” His voice was soft, but his gaze almost blistered her skin as he raked it over her face. On a busy street, Martin, of average height and slim build, would blend with the crowd. In the confines of his apartment, he reminded Harmony of a cheetah—not the largest of the big cats at the zoo, but you wouldn’t want to be trapped in an enclosure with one.
“No, Sir.” She hung her head.
“You’re the laziest housecleaner I’ve ever had. I’m calling the agency to report you and demand another maid.” He moved toward a bedside telephone.
“Please, Sir. Please don’t do that.” Harmony reached for his arm, then checked herself. He’d forbidden her to touch him without permission. “I won’t do it again. I promise.” She swallowed. “I need this job.”
“Your behavior is unacceptable.” A spark of wildness glinted in his eyes, sending a shiver of fear up her spine. But down low, a pulse throbbed.
“Yes, Sir.” She toyed with the lacy edge of her white apron. Tiredness vanished under the sensations thrumming through her.
“I warned you what would happen if I caught you sleeping on the job.” His gaze shifted from her face to her tote. He seemed to consider its contents before extracting the rattan carpet beater.
“Please, Mr. Martin.” Alarm rang through her. Her knees wobbled as if the all the connective tendons and ligaments had come loose. “One more chance…”
“This is your chance, Harmony.” Feet planted wide apart, he brandished the length of cane. “You know what to do.”
She inched to the foot of the bed and grasped the cold metal railing. Her senses sharpened until her skin tingled, her breathing and heart racing. A fevered anticipation emanated from Martin.
He made a noise in his throat, and she hiked up her laced-edged black skirt, revealing the ruffled panties of her costume. Slowly, she pulled those down, taking care not to dislodge her thigh-high white stockings.
She latched onto the railing again. Seconds later the handle of the rug beater sliced across her lower ass cheek, igniting a streak of fire. She jerked and clenched her teeth to stifle a moan. Martin liked it quiet when he worked.
He wielded the rug beater with an even tempo, alternating ends. The wide flat head spread a stinging paddle-like smack over a broad area; the handle delivered a targeted streak of pain. She did cry out once, the high sound escaping before she could smother it, and the next strike came harsher and more forcefully than the one before it.
He caned her until the welts on her ass merged into one even flaming sensation and arousal slickened her inner thighs. He touched her then, roughly shoving two fingers into her.
Her muscles contracted as he fucked her with his fingers. “You like to be caned, don’t you Harmony?” His voice lost its softness, became heavy, guttural. “You’re a lazy, slutty girl, and you like it.”
Hot, molten shame flowed through her, but her cunt creamed over his fingers, her hips moving to take them deeper.
“Answer!” he grunted.
“Yes…Sir.” She choked.
God, help her, she loved it. But she hated it, too, hated her craving for the lash of his touch, that she kept returning for more, that she’d dropped her other clients but for a select few and would probably cut them, also.
He removed his fingers, leaving her cunt aching and empty.
She heard the jangle of a metal buckle, the slide of a zipper, the snap of latex and then felt the probe of his cock. In two hard thrusts he surged inside her.
Her fucked her with little regard for her pleasure, but shamefully, that excited her. She clung to iron railing and frantically rubbed her clit. Martin grasped her hips as he thrust, his balls slapping against her moving fingers. Hair-roughened thighs abraded her welted buttocks.
She came in a soundless implosion, the pleasure-pain tearing at her clit, her cunt and womb, a climax intensified by shame.
With a grunt, he spilled his release, then relaxed, leaning on her as his chest heaved. Heat radiated through his sweat-dampened shirt. Harmony closed her eyes, absorbing the momentary intimacy of his weight.
Then he gripped the condom and pulled out. She waited until he disappeared into his bathroom before pulling up her ruffled panties. Her fingers shook. Her gaze strayed to the tallboy, to the bills he’d dropped atop the dresser.
His clothing neatly in place, Martin emerged from the bathroom with two outfits in hand.
“Which shall it be next week? Uncaring, bad nurse?” He held out a minuscule white uniform. “Or tardy, naughty schoolgirl?” Martin extended a blue plaid mini skirt with a too-tiny white blouse.
Despite the pleasure he’d torn from her, anxiety fluttered anew in Harmony’s stomach. Martin matched punishments to the outfit. As a schoolgirl she might be disciplined with a ruler or a headmaster’s cane. She could handle that. She eyed the nurse uniform warily. There was no telling what medical procedures the “doctor” might inflict on her with that one.
Was this a trick? If she opted for the lesser of two evils, would he allow it, or would he decide on the other and use her choice against her?
“You choose,” she said.
“Very well.” Martin nodded. “Uncaring bad nurse.” A chilling smile touched his lips. “I’ll open the playroom for this one.”
Thank you for visiting. Freebie Friday ends next week. Join me for one last short erotic read, Mightier than the Sword. An ice princess meets her match…
If you enjoyed Maid for Gray, you’d probably like Irresistible Attractions, another “spanked maid” story:
College student Hannah Laurie works nights for a cleaning service. Among its clients is the Rod and Cane Society, an organization of domestic discipline practitioners. As she cleans the mansion headquarters, she becomes fascinated by the idea of being spanked. One evening, she surrenders to the impulse to try out the equipment in the secret disciplinary chamber.
Billionaire cybersecurity magnate Jordan Bevy, Rod and Cane’s disciplinary proctor, ensures the rules of the organization are followed to a T. Using the disciplinary chamber for personal pleasure is strictly forbidden. But when he catches the shy little cleaner girl trying out the equipment, what’s a fellow to do but bend the rules and give her a hand?
Everything seems like fun and games, until their relationship deepens and their respective worlds collide and clash. Can a lowly cleaner girl ever find acceptance in her boyfriend’s monied world?
All Rod and Cane Society romances can be read as stand-alones.