Twelve Months – July

Katey’s Cootchie

Twelve Months – Thursday, July 1

The young woman in the French maid outfit looked closely at the baseboard she was cleaning. She had wiped only the first eight feet of it, and there were about thirty-two feet to go in the long hallway that morphed into the great room of her boyfriend’s spacious house. But each time she thought what she had wiped was clean enough, the older woman kneeling alongside her said no, pointing to a blemish or streak or spot of dust that had been missed.

Her attire was classic Fetish – high-collared behind the neck and low-busted in front, mid-thigh in length, in the customary black with the white-accent apron. It was accessorized with sheer black nylon stockings, held up by elastic garters, rather than pantyhose – indeed she wasn’t wearing panties at all. Medium-heel black patent peep-toe pumps with ankle straps — expensive because they were custom-ordered size 5 – completed the look. The effect was to accentuate the cleanvage of her unusually full bustline, for a woman of just five-foot status, and also her moderately oversized thighs, which a regimen of exercise had been chosen to gradually reduce, while the heels gave a toned look to her calves. The only thing that didn’t quite fit with the costume’s look was her very short spiky bleached hair.

The darker skinned and much older woman beside her was dressed much more casually, but no less provocatively above the wait. She had on plain gray sweatpants that were past their prime, and comfortable sandals, but the red top was something one of her underlings had recently bought on Amazon, the web page for it featuring keywords SEXY GOTH BABYDOLL LOW COWL BUSTY CLEAVAGE PARTY TRENDY SHIRT TOP, and she had taken it for herself. She was too old by probably 30 years to really carry off the look, but she liked it, and because she had on a good support bra, it showed off the top half of her medium sized tits, and that was enough reason for her to chooseit.

“That’s not how I show you do it,” María told the younger woman, and gave her a light swat on the rear end, then stood up. At five-foot-three she was far from tall even for a woman but was a few inches higher than Katey would be even if standing.

Katey didn’t take the correction well. “Everything I do is wrong,” she said defensively.

“Señor Mitch wants you *perfect*, bomboncita.”

“I’m *not* perfect, María. I never will be.”

“I make you perfect, amor. Come El Cuenca. The weekend. Back here Monday, Tuesday? I make you perfect.”

The 22-year-old fully understand the implication of that offer. María no longer did much housecleaning herself and had by now established a business where the six housecleaners She employed did the work, while she managed their appointments and took a percentage of their earnings. These housecleaners performed normal cleaning duties, but they also were open to the possibility of providing services of a, ahem, personal naturefor an additional price on request, by a client whether a male or, increasingly often, a bored female facing too much time on her hands with hubby at work and insufficient sexual outlets yet the need for discretion. María of course collected a percentage of those earnings too; the girls knew better than to try to hide anything from her. In addition, she provided housing for these younger women, in the large home she had bought in a poor section of town, and these girls often shared beds with one another, and at times with María herself, when they weren’t with boyfriends of their own. So Katey understands that to spend a weekend there with her, in effect as a cleaning appreciation, would also mean no defense against intimacy with as many as seven women. And she had told Mitch, before he left for his day’s errands, that this was unacceptable. Mitch had merely shrugged and said to keep an open mind. He had paid for this day of at-home training, and he was adamant that he get his money’s worth, in terms of Katey learning at last how to keep house properly, now that she no longer had her outside job at the DMV.

Besides, she had an excuse. “We’re flying to DC tomorrow. To see the fireworks. Isn’t that cool? So I’ll be gone.”

“Next week, then. A week, I make you perfect.”

“I’ll never be perfect,” Katey countered. “I just need to be *better*. To be good enough. I didn’t know it would be this hard, when I moved in. It’s starting to feel like I’m his *slave*, instead of Happily Ever After.” It had been less than two weeks since she had tried to work the word “love” into the conversation with Mitch and had been rebuffed with platitudes about moving too fast and not sure of his feelings and wanting to see where things took them and their relationship. At least, he had been willing to use the word “relationship.” But she had been hoping to work up the courage to mention “marriage” or some related term.

María knelt back down beside her. “Señor Mitch wants youperfect,” she insisted. “He says he kick you out. Then what, cariño?” She placed her hand on Katey’s backside and caressed her right buttock through the lower part of the black fabric.

“He wouldn’t say that, señora.” Katey tried to retain some formality, through her term of address.

“He *tell* me, *señorita*. He kick you right out. For real. Your last chance.” She reached under the dress and tried to fondle Katey’s pussy from behind, which was wet from Mitch having insisted on her masturbating shortly before María’s 9 a.m. arrival. “Me, *I’m* last chance,” she added for emphasis, “for you.”

“He doesn’t mean it.” Katey shifted her position slightly to evade the intimacy, while she rubbed at the reccitrant spot on the baseboard and tried again to speak with a tone of authority. “Don’t touch me there on my cootchie.”

“Spread your leg, mi amor,” the older woman said firmly, and tried again to finger her.

“No.” Katey straightened up from her croouch and put thedust rag down. “I’m not your love. And I can’t concentrate on what I’m supposed to be doing, if you do that.”

Painfully, María stood back up; the arthritis in her left knee was only getting worse. With a swift motion, she pushed down the gray sweatpants and the white panties underneath them, revealing an unusually thick mass of black pubic hair. “You are so pretty. I teach you Many thing, cariño,” she said.

“Gross,” Katey said, looking away from her bush.

María laughed pleasantly enough. “You suck Señor Mitch’s ugly pija,” she replied. “Qué asco. No. I teach.”

“You don’t need to teach me. I already know how to suck a cock. That’s the one thing he *doesn’t* bitch about. He never had it so good. Not in that department.”

“No. No blow job. You know how. This. Much, much easier.” She moved her hips for emphasis. “And more money.”

“I’m not some dyke puta. So keep your pants on. Just teach me what Mitch *paid* you to teach me.” Katey said this while her gaze remained averted.

“I teach, give *you*, first?” She gestured with her palms upward, making clear she was offering something, presumably oral, to the girl. Nevertheless, María pulled her underpants and the sweatpants back up after receiving a stone-faced response to her cruel overture. She surely understand the slang slur that Katey had hurled but chose to maintain a placid demeanor in order to continue her approach.

“You know what I mean. Cleaning. It’s not like I don’t know how. He just wants it, you know, *better*. Like I’m his slave.”

“Señor Mitch says, you come El Cuenca, one week.”

“He didn’t say anything about *that*.”

“Maybe I teach slave?”

“Forget I said that. That’s just my word for it. He just I teach. My muchchachas teach. Lupe teach. Then, you teach Lupe, ha ha. Very bad blow job, ha ha. And no English. Lupe, she no smart, she talk like niña, even Spanish. But she got the big chichis, like you. Los pezones grandes, ha ha. The big, how you say?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You smile, you say you love her… Oh, nipples. The big nipples on the big chichis.”

“I don’t care.”

“She do *anything* you tell her.”

“I don’t *want* anything from her. I don’t *know* her.”

“ANYthing. Same as you.”

“What do you mean, same as me?”

“He tell. Señor Mitch tell. You do ANYthing. You suck the pija. You… how you say… three hole.”

“Well, then you know, whatever he’s told you, I do it for men only. I like *men*,” Katey said irritably.

“*I* like men,” Marie echoed. “Come El Cuenca. You meet Emilio, too.”

“Who’s… no. I don’t even wanna know. I told you, I’m not some puta like you think. All I want is Mitch. He’s all I need.” She didn’t both going into the litany of all the other men Mitch insisted that she service, and be serviced by, from time to time. The orgasms were nice, while the effort to please the men was monumental, but overall the orgasms always won out. It wasn’t like she was hurt out after working at an office all day, after all. The parties were a nice change of pace from going to the beach and movie-watching and hill-climbing and shopping and light housekeeping and cooking and so on.

María knelt back down, and briefly caressed the small of Katey’s back. “I know. No puta. But so pretty, cariño…. You like coca?”

“What? Cocaine? No! I never use the stuff,” she lied.

“Just un poco. I give you?”

“No!”

The woman paused. “You like my shirt?”

Katey was momentarily caught off-guard. “What? Your tank top? It’s okay, I guess. Super red. Kind of low cut, but then look at how he dressed me.”

“You like?” Before Katey could even respond, María had lifted the loose party top by the lower hem and removed it, up and off.

“No! I didn’t mean that! Leave your clothes on, I said.”

“But *you* have the big chichis.” She placed the garment on Katey’s knee, patted the exposed top of the girl’s right boob, then reached behind to unhook her own bra. “Like Lupe. So you look too much better in it. You can have. I give you.” She quickly dropped her loosened bra to the floor in front of herself.

Katey couldn’t help taking a peek at María’s pumped nut-brown nipples – thick but with areolas only an inch in diameter and centered on slightly pendulous tits half the size of her own – then looked away. “María. No,” she said without much hope of her words having effect and put the red top down on the floor beside her. “Please. Por favor. Put your clothes on. Just… keep… it all to… just what I need to know, for cleaning the house. The living room. The kitchen. The bathrooms. He complains about them all. No matter how hard I try. I need you, but not for… that.”

The now topless woman reached up to the top of the girl’s maid costume and began working at pulling the zipper down. “Okay, amor, We finish cleaning down here. Then up stair. I teach you the way Señor Mitch like it. With the chichis like this. I get pay more, like this. *You* get pay more.”

“He doesn’t *pay* me,” Katey retreated, incensed. The maid outfit hung loose in front, revealing the bra which was holding up her fine looking breasts, ones which hardly needed the artistic support except to put them prominently on display, pushed up so far the areolas were nearly exposed.

“Oh, no no, Señor Mitch *like* you more, then. Show the title when you clean. Por eso le gustas.”

“My Spanish isn’t so good.”

“The chichis? The title, cariño. He like. He like big title.”

“He *likes* me for who I *am*,” Katey said unconvincingly.

“You suck his ugly *dick*.”

“Ugly? Apparently you know what it looks like?”

“Sí, amor, sí. I do. But I never *suck* a dick.”

“Liar. He even said before he left… look, I don’t want to argue. You’re here to teach me to clean.”

“I teach you *everything*. We clean down here. We clean up stand. We do bedroom… last. You… me.”

“That’s the part… is what I’m saying… if you… I mean, no. Just cleaning.”

“Señor Mitch wants you… perfect. I teach you. In bedroom too.”

“No.”

“Sí.”

“No.”

“Hostia.” Her tone betrayed mild exasperation.

“What?”

María laboriously got back up on her feet and put her hand behind Katey’s neck. “Inclinarse. Bend, mi amor,” she commanded, and applied leverage when the girl didn’t immediately comply. “Do not tell ‘no,’ when I teach,” she added.

“This isn’t… what…” Katey spluttered, even as she found herself being guided unwillingly into an all-fours position.

“Señor Mitch says me, you are proud, mi amor. You… do not obey. But I teach.” She croouched enough to hold the girl down by the neck and lift the lower hem of the mini-dress. She gave the girl a solid smack on the ass with her palm. The yelp of surprise which resulted was followed by several more hard swats to that bare bottom, likewise eliciting a response. “Do not obey, I hit.”

“Stop it.” Although those words, Katey did not attempt to escape.

“Señor Mitch no home. *I* Señor Mitch today.”

“He didn’t say anything about this.”

María caresed the upper thigh and worked her fingers towards the younger one’s pussy lips, gliding them along her wetness to make contact with her clip, already sensitive from masturbation within the previous hour that morning. “Obey, you learn. I make you perfect cleaner. Perfect puta, for Señor Mitch.”

“I’m not a whore.” She wriggled slightly, which afforded the woman better access.

“You, what, 18 year?”

“I’m 22.”

“Too young than him. Rich Mitch, ha ha. You suck his ugly pija. My muchchas, same as you. No. You, more money. *Better* puta.” She gave the girl a whack on the right buttock with her free hand. “He gives you, oh, *five* hundreds. No?”

Katey began to cry softly, from the mixture of pain and anger and unsought sexual desire. “It’s not like that,” she said, even though she had told him the same of herself many times, which excited her in ways she still didn’t fully want to admit to herself. “He loves me. And his cock? It’s beautiful. If you really saw it, you know.” She moaned with pleasure, an instant before the woman pulled her hand away.

María kicked off her sandals and pulled down her own sweatpants. “Yes, but I don’t never *suck* it like puta. Stand up now, amor. Keep shoes on. The señor like it. *I* like it,” she said, as she finished removing the last of her clothes. “He says, your feet so ugly. Spider leg, for toes.”

With a heavy sight, Katey stood back up, carefully due to the high heels. “I don’t *want* this,” she said helplessly, just as the other woman moved in for a kiss. She turned her face away just in time.

“You no like kiss?”

“Not like this.”

The stout naked woman moved behind her.The zipper at the back of the maid costume was brought the rest of the way down, and the dress itself quickly fell to the girl’s ankles as well, revealing a clean-shaved pussy with only a five-centimeter-long, one-centimeter-wide landing strip of two-centimeters of trimmed hair bleached the same shade of blonde as the hair on her head. And now her front-hook push-up bra was just as quickly opened so that her bigg pinkish-brown areolas were abruptly on display. “We do bedroom… here,” María informed her, and she pushed Katey towards the wall and placed the girl’s hands on it to brace her, after finishing the removal of the bra.

She smoked Katey’s ass twice, then embedded her from behind and fondled tits while rubbing hairy pussy against ass, then lowered her hands and groped bald pussy until the girl moaned, at which point She inserted a middle finger while maintaining gentle contact with the clip. She repeated this sequence, ass tits and cunt, and her confident manner elicited aminor orgasm on only the fourth iteration, about three minutes. Then she turned the girl around to face her directly, and at last achieved a kiss, a deep one that was reciprocated and without resistance. “You my slave today,” she said after ending the kiss. She finger-fucked her again for just five seconds and, putting her hands on top of her shoulders, applied light downward pressure.

Katey returned to her kneeing position, confronting again the older woman’s humid bush, even more directly than before. “Qué asco,” Katey said quietly, mimicking the other woman’s earlier words but without rancor.

“I teach, you learn,” María repeated amiably as she cradled Katey’s head in both hands and bowed her legs out a bit to better expose her deep pink, fully engaged cliporis to Katey’s reluctant mouth. “You suck *my* dick today, cariño. You obey, you learn.”

Katey held back just enough to be able to speak. “Do you really have some coke, like you said?”

“Sí, cariño. Un poquito.”

“Maybe I could try a little. Find out what it’s like.”

María wasn’t interested in stalling tactics. “Sí, cariño. You do good, I give you some. I tell Señor Mitch you learn, and you no go El Cuenca.” She now ground gently against Katey’s lips, in expectation of tongue against hair and flesh and secretions. “Unless, mi amor… you want.”