By the time Felicity’s cohort descended upon Emery, she had long since succumbed into a primal haze of distant bliss. She laid upon the table, spent. Her pupils, dilated and unfocused, gazed out into nothingness. A viscous mixture of cum and drool dribbled from her gaping mouth, forming a small puddle before her as she mindlessly sucked and licked along the length of her prize in slow, lazy arcs. Myriad hands grasped Emery, intent on taking her off and away from her prize. They lifted her into the air; shiny strands of cum and saliva stretched between the tip of her outstretched tongue and the leaking head of her lovely treat. As that perfect dick slipped out from between her lips, a deluge of cum and saliva poured from her lips and onto the floor with a resounding splat. Emery breathed a helpless whine, but remained limp, her vacant, cum-dumb stare remained, barely even registering as they hauled her off and away. 

To say Emery had, at some point, drifted off to sleep would be a slight misnomer. Particularly, it would be difficult to assert she’d been conscious at all once the cum-haze set in. She was long gone. Who were these people? Emery did not know, but she hoped they would play with her, touch her, let her suck them dry. Where was she? Again, Emery did not know. She had spent weeks inside Felicity’s estate, but that didn't matter. There few things Emery could recognize save a warm, inviting body, or the taste and smell of girlcum. 

Lost, unresponsive, she was carried up from the depths of Felicity’s estate, and brought to the master bedroom, where she was unceremoniously deposited atop an opulent king-sized bed. She was alone but for a moment, and then: a presence. It was familiar; something deep within Emery recognized this person, understood her importance, her significance on some deep, animal level. Fingers, long and slender, ran back and forth along the length of her scalp. Emery gave a weak mewl, and leaned into her touch, blind, shuddering and twitching in helpless desire. A voice, rich and husky and musical: she was giggling. Was she happy? Emery hoped so, if she was happy then maybe she would let Emery have more. Emery wanted more. Needed more. That taste. That smell. Emery moaned. Her tongue lolled from her mouth as her eyelids fluttered and her leg twitched in pleasure. 

The voice was speaking, but Emery couldn’t understand the words. It was all just sound to her. But they were nice sounds, she seemed pleased; that was good. Emery wanted to please her. For now though, she was tired. So tired. Tired and helpless. A dumb little cum slut who needed others to do her thinking for her. The voice giggled again—she giggled again. Emery liked it when she giggled. That meant she was pleased with Emery. Had she been good? Emery hoped she’d been good. She wanted to be good. Good girls got to lick the cum off the Mistress’ toys after she was done playing with them. Distantly, Emery realized the Mistress had started to speak again. But her words were so fuzzy, blurry, muffled. It was like her ears were stuffed with cotton. Really it was just that her brain was soaked in cum. It saturated every inch, dripped from every wrinkle in her empty little mind, leaked out her ears and took her thoughts with them. Empty. Emery was empty. She was empty and that was good. But being full was also good. She could be full of purpose, of programming, of cum. So much cum. That’s what the voice was for. It was going to fill her. Mistress was going to fill her, shape her like wet clay. All she had to do was let go, let her mind fall away until—

* * *

In stillness, something stirred, separated itself from the dark and the quiet. It—she—couldn’t see, couldn’t move. She’d been bound, her senses sealed, suspended in the void, lost to time. It sapped her, that yawning emptiness. The impenetrable blackness tugged at her from every direction, drawing out all that she was. Dwindling threads tugged away, leaving only the spool. There, on cusp of oblivion, she could only kneel. So patient. So obedient. An eternity passed there in that empty bliss, or perhaps it was no time at all. Either way, she basked in it. In the surrender, in feeling those last few scraps of self slip away. She remained there, bathing in the light of submission, waiting without understanding why, or for what. Truthfully, she didn't even know she was waiting at all. Still, she waited, gripped by anticipation, holding her every breath until, all of a sudden, she felt the scraps of something. It began as a low rumble; it resonated, rippled through the empty ocean all around her. The faintest conception of sound, whispers all around her, words she could never hope to comprehend, then a flash of light: some brilliant, oscillating pattern. But before the world could stir in earnest, something soft, warm and real, something alive slipped between her lips. All that ever was, all that ever had been went up in one great eruption of white hot sensation, and she promptly forgot all about such trivial matters as sight and sound. 

* * *

Late. Kara was late. It was her first day on the job and she was late and her boss was scary enough to begin with and now she was late. She’d worked so hard, been so perfect, so neat and tidy and timely and now this. Frantic fingers tugged at the hem of her skirt as Kara struggled to smooth out her uniform on the fly; she dared not break her furtive scurry, not even for a moment. Keeping her eyes down, she rushed down the path toward the side entrance of Miss Yates’ estate, and came to a skidding halt at the door. Raising a tentative fist, she took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself to knock, but before she could find the courage, the door swung open, to reveal the lady of the house. Felicity Yates was not a woman of especially notable stature. No doubt, she was above average, but not to any remarkable degree. And yet, the world seemed to bend around her, space warping and twisting erect her taller, stronger than any around her. She could have been standing back to back with some seven foot tall basketball star, and Kara still would have sworn on her life that Felicity took up far more space. And there she was, occupying the doorway, glowering down at meek little Kara, late for her first day of work. 

She needed to say something, apologize for her tardiness. Kara opened her mouth. Then Felicity breathed in, and sucked the air right out of Kara’s lungs. All she managed was a squeak, the tiniest little, “um—”

“You’re late,” she droned. Her smooth Louisiana drawl had a slow churning quality to it. It crept and lathered up and around Kara, left her wading belly deep in butterscotch, drawn along the lackadaisical undertow of sticky, syrupy surration. It was downright sedative. But ever the anxious little bundle of nerves, Kara was not so easily soothed; she blushed, nodded her head, and gave her uniform another quick once-over. Mercy came by way of an amused chuckle. It bubbled forth from Felicity’s lips, gracing Kara with air enough to breathe again. “Don’t worry, dear girl, I would never begrudge a little morsel like you some few extra minutes to pretty herself up in the morning.” 

If proper response to that was possible, such a thing was beyond Kara. She was melting, dissolving right into that slow roll of Felicity’s words.

“It’s Kara, isn’t it?” Kara nodded. “Good,” she purred, then gave a double take. “Where are my manners, do come in, girl, please.” 

Eyes down, Kara scurried inside, and took up a place near the far corner. The rest of the room was for Miss Yates.

Felicity turned, and beckoned to the room's other occupant, a tall—though still tiny compared to Miss Yates—attractive young woman wearing a maid dress much like Kara’s. She, however, carried herself with all the confidence and poise Kara could only dream of exuding. The woman approached, stopping beside Miss Yates. “This is Elaine,” she said. “One of the head maids. She’ll be helping you out today. But before we begin, there’s another matter I wanted to address regarding your-erm, unique needs.” 

Kara froze. Stars above, not this, anything but this. She couldn’t bear the humiliation, even thinking of it was enough to—she stopped herself before things got out of hand. Trembling, she looked up at Miss Yates, fighting the urge to just run and hide.

“Oh dear girl I am quite sorry if I’ve made you nervous. You’re in no trouble.” Felicity smiled, somewhere behind that patient kindness Kara felt—just for a moment—she glimpsed something else, something wicked, hungry. “It’s just, well y’see, a little bird has told me—how shall I put this delicately?—you have a… gorgitive reaction to girl-jizzin’.” 

There it was, her most shameful secret right out in the open. Just hearing it was enough to make Kara’s whole face burn bright red. She squeaked, and nodded, taking several slow breaths to compose herself. “I um—yes. It’s something I’ve had ever since I [became a legal adult of consenting age]. Whenever I see a girl’s… y’know… or uh…. s-smell it I just… I can’t help myself.” 

“Fascinating,” Felicity purred. “It’s nothing to worry about, though, so long as we keep you away from any—fluids” She turned to face Elaine. “I’ll leave her in your capable hands, Elaine. Feel free to use her at your own discretion.“ Elaine smirked, approaching Kara with a mischievous glimmer in her eye.

* * *

Kara paused for a moment to smooth out her uniform, then resumed her duties. It was so important for her to keep her uniform neat and tidy. Miss Yates expected her maids to always look their best. She finished tucking the sheets into the guest bed, and stood, keeping her head high and her posture perfect as she glanced around the room for something else to tidy. Shuffling In the adjoining bathroom shook Kara from her concentration; she shuddered, a chill tickling her spine. For the umteenth time, Kara cursed herself under her breath. The sign on the door had said it was okay for her to come in and clean. Kara had realized far too late that Miss Farrow—Miss Yates’ latest guest—was in the midst of her morning shower. She’d been on edge ever since. Miss Farrow had almost certainly done this on purpose. 

The woman had taken notice of Kara just about immediately upon her arrival, and had found each and every opportunity to seek Kara’s attention and presence ever since. And it wasn’t as though Kara didn’t appreciate the attention; Miss Farrow was a gorgeous woman, but like all of Miss Yates’ guests, Miss Farrow exuded a certain aura, a commanding presence which caused her to dominate just about any room she was in. It was in her walk: long, purposeful strides, in her confident, unwavering posture, in the growl of her voice. Whenever Kara went about her business in Miss Farrow’s presence, she could feel those cold, hungry eyes on her, drinking her in. Sometimes, when Kara was bent over or kneeling down to clean something, vulnerable and exposed, she could literally feel the woman’s patience eroding. Around her, Kara was naught but some scampering preything. Shivering, Kara bit her lip and shook her head. She needed to focus. 

Of late, Kara would often—far too often—find herself stressing over Miss Farrow, only for her mind to begin wandering, for her lips to part. And once she began to drift, it became so easy to imagine something long and hard and smooth pumping in and out of her mouth, her eyes would roll back into her head; she could practically taste that sweet reward. It was a dangerous headspace to be in. And Kara couldn’t allow herself to slip into it, slip into it and out and in and out and in. It would be so easy, too easy. So shameful, too. Kara shuddered at the thought. She was a good girl, a good maid; Miss Yates expected her maids to be neat and tidy and presentable and docile, so that’s what Kara was. And she was so understanding, too. So willing to take a chance on Kara and her… shameful condition. Kara couldn’t bear the thought of how disgraceful it would be if she let Miss Yates down, if she let her thoughts drift. If she let that happen… Miss Farrow was bound to finish her shower soon. Kara would be so far gone she probably wouldn’t even hear the water shut off. Miss Farrow would leave the restroom, come out wearing just a towel, and discover Kara: eyes glazed over: a slack-jawed, drooling little slut. Thankfully, there was no way she would let herself drift off like that. No matter how good it felt. Kara was a good maid.

* * *

Good Maids were neat. Good Maids were tidy. Good Maids were always presentable for Miss Yates. Good Maids obeyed commands. Good Maids were always ready for new instruction. Kara moaned, humping her hand as she panted and groaned in frustration. Of late, she’d been unable to cum if she wasn’t thinking about sucking a girl’s cock, swallowing her hot, sticky load. Whenever Kara did that though… she couldn’t. She was a Good Maid. Good Maid’s didn’t do that sort of thing. 

Abandoning any hope of climax, Kara gave one last frustrated grunt, then slid out of bed. She donned on her uniform, taking great care to keep it smooth and neat, like a Good Maid. She tried to ignore the more and more frequent phantom sensations of lovely, smooth girl cock sliding in and out of her mouth. Miss Yates’ wine came to mind, for some reason. That was odd, as Kara had never tried it. Good Maids didn’t drink; and she was a Good Maid. 

Just then Elaine stepped into the room, carrying a laundry basket, her eyes fell on Kara, and she smirked her trademark smirk. “There you are, Kara,” she exclaimed. “I’ve been looking all over for you!” She crossed the length of the Maid’s dorm, then thrust the basket into Kara’s arms. “Would you be a doll and wash these dirty uniforms for me? I just have so much to do.”

Good Maids were always ready for new instruction. Kara gave an enthusiastic nod. “Of course, Miss Elaine!” Without pause, Kara scurried off down the hall. She heard faint praise follow behind her, and managed to keep her knees from buckling, and took a deep before continuing down the hall. As she breathed in, a certain smell tickled her nostrils: a familiar smell, but Kara couldn’t quite place it. It was like—she dropped the basket, spilling dirty uniforms everywhere. Oh dear, oh dear this was bad. She was a Good Maid, she needed to fix this, fast. Kara turned away from the pile, took a deep breath through her mouth, and held it. Not wasting a second, Kara dropped to her hands and knees, and began collecting the scattered uniforms. As she deposited her third uniform into the hamper, Kara glimpsed the tag, and stopped short. The uniform was hers. 

That couldn’t be right. She’d just washed her uniforms. Kara took a sharp breath, struggling to calm herself, then shuddered as that musky, sticky aroma emanating from the pile stuffed her nostrils. She could practically taste it. Balanced, aged, almost buttery, slightly dry, nutty with a fruity finish. And the tannins—god—the tannins smelled so good; they would probably taste even better. Kara moaned. Focus, she needed to focus. Why was her uniform here? Had this one gotten mixed in with someone else’s load? Maybe, there were lots of loads, after all. Loads of them, even. She needed to get to the bottom of this. First things first, Kara had to figure out who’s load this was. After that, she would take the load. Take it to the laundry room, of course. Like a Good Maid. 

A shiver of excitement passed through her. It was kind of exciting, actually, taking someone else’s load like this. She liked to do things for other people, and there were few things that Good Maids like Kara were better at than taking loads (to the laundry room and washing them). Kara tossed her uniform into the hamper. Just then, she realized that, since there were still so many other uniforms to go, that meant her uniform was about to get absolutely smothered by another girl’s load. She blushed at the thought. 

Smiling to herself, Kara picked up the next uniform, and stopped short as, once again, she caught sight of the tag. That couldn’t be possible. There was no way two of her uniforms had somehow gotten mixed in with some other girl’s load. Something was wrong. Nerves tickling at the back of her neck, Kara tossed the uniform into the hamper, and moved on to the next one: hers, then another, and another, and another. All of them were hers. But… that couldn’t be right. It was impossible. Kara was a Good Maid. And these uniforms… they were so dirty. So soiled by… by girlseed. Kara took a deep, shuddering breath at the thought. By the time she realized her mistake, it was too late. 

That smell, that delicious, wonderful smell. A loud, low moan erupted from her lips, and Kara abandoned any hope of self control. She dove onto the pile, pressing her nose into the load, and breathing deep, rubbing her face into the soft, silky cloth. She was dirtying her uniform; she didn’t care. It was too good, what was one more dirty uniform for a little slut like her anyway? Kara smelled each and every stain on each and every uniform over and over again. Eventually, she found a favorite, and simply curled up on the floor, straddling the cum-stained uniform and humping while pressing it to her face. Her tongue reached out, and she began to mindlessly lick between animalistic moans. It had been so long, so, so long since her last taste of girlcum. She could practically feel the cock drilling into her, facefucking her, using her like the Good Maid she was. Kara had never cum so hard. She didn’t even hear Miss Elaine come right up behind Kara and drop her skirt, but it wasn’t long before she smelled her. 

* * *

Something was off about this place. Kara was certain of that. She’d been here… days? Weeks? Longer? Miss Yates had certainly taken a liking to her, as had her guests, and Miss Elaine. Everyone was nice to her, and that should have been enough for Kara, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Her memory, for example: there were so many bits and pieces that were fuzzy, or just missing entirely, Then there were all the parts of the manor she wasn’t allowed to enter, which seemed odd. Was it not her job to clean Miss Yates’ home? As far as Kara could tell, Miss Yates didn’t have any maids besides her and Miss Elaine. And she’d never seen Miss Elaine go into any of those rooms either. And another thing: something seemed off with some of Miss Yates’ decor. She would often send Kara into one of the art rooms to clean and polish her artwork. Whenever Kara thought too much about that she would—

Eyes wide and glassy, Kara flitted about the room, an empty smile plastered on her pretty, pretty face. Observing, but not speaking, Miss Yates reclined in one of her chairs, quietly rubbing herself, only announcing her presence with the occasional shudder or moan. Kara paid the sound no mind, Good Maids did what they were told. And that’s exactly what Kara did, with a dumb, docile smile, a spring in her step, and a cheerful little song in her heart, which she hummed happily. She danced over to the next art display, and cocked her head to the side in some mockery of observation, as though there was any part of her that actually saw what was sprawled out in front of her. 

Good Maid thoughts pulsing in her mind and squirming in her panties, Kara dutifully dropped to her knees, and began to dutifully polish Miss Yates’ art. She made sure to get every last drop. All along the wall, Miss Yates’ art pieces sat: still, empty. To say they waited patiently was to imply they were even aware of anything but the low-level simmer of pleasure and arousal that defined their existences. For them, there was no greater bliss than to be simple, pretty objects for Miss Yates to enjoy, to pose and arrange however she pleased. And, of course, Kara’s service was just one more component of that unending reward. Her mouth, warm and inviting and eager and oh so skilled was naught but an extension of their shared Mistress’ will. The happy little tool bobbed her head up and down, making sure to get the pretty object nice and clean. She swallowed every last drop like a Good Maid, licked the dazed, drooling decoration clean, then continued down the line. 

* * *

Today was a very special day. Miss Yates had told Kara she would be getting a promotion .The mere thought left Kara reflexively tugging at the hem of her skirt and smoothing out her dress. She was so proud of herself. Day after day, Kara had worked so, so long and hard to be the best maid she could be. She’d remained neat; she’d remained tidy; she’d remained obedient, just like a Good Maid should be. Most of all, Kara had managed to keep her urges in check. That, above all else, made Kara swell with pride; she hoped Miss Yates would notice the tent in her skirt. It was just more proof of what a well behaved, chaste maid she was. Not wanting to be late, Kara scurried down the hallway and stopped at the door to Miss Yates’ master bedroom, where her final interview—just a formality, Miss Yates had assured her, this was a done deal—would be conducted. Despite Miss Yates’ assurances, however, Kara couldn’t help but feel at least a little nervous. Could anyone blame her? Being a Good Maid had been a lifelong dream, ever since she [became a legal adult of consenting age], and apparently Miss Yates had something very special in mind for her.

One last breath, Kara centered herself, pushed open the door, and stepped inside. Nothing could have prepared Kara for what she saw. The lights were off, the room instead lit yt myriad candles, and odd ethereal glow. In the center, Kara saw a woman, suspended seemingly in midair by an unseen force; a strange, slick, shiny substance covered her. On closer look, it seemed to pulse and shift oh so slightly: a black, viscous ooze which for the life of her Kara could never hope to identify. She was covered head to toe in the substance; it clung to her like a second skin, accentuating her curves with dancing firelight that skipped across her inky prison. On the sides of her head it formed what appeared to be a pair of thick muffs atop her ears. There was but one part of her left uncovered: a window of rosy flesh which began just below her covered eyes, and ended at her chin. That was, however, well past Kara’s concern: her focus, instead, was centered on the lovely dick which the bound woman gorged herself on. Her plump, bright, glossy red lips slid up and down the length of that perfect dick, muffled moans rising from her bulging throat. Bound, blinded, deafened, that cock was her whole world. Presumably the dick was attached to someone—a pretty girl—but Kara couldn’t even look away long enough to take in the woman attached to it. 

Even as she struggled to contain her horror, impossible envy closed it’s tight grip around her heart. Such longing, such need: Kara couldn’t bear it. Was this a trick? A cruel joke played on her by Miss Yates? She’d gone all this time without losing control even once, but now she’d been gripped by the hair and forced to open wide as temptation shoved itself down her warm, inviting, hungry throat. Kara whined, rubbing her legs together, struggling not to imagine herself in that mystery woman’s place. Then, a hand on her shoulder. Kara jumped. 

“Shhh, calm down little maid,” Felicity purred in her ear. “Just watch for a bit. Watch and listen.” Kara fell silent, giving a meek nod, and tugging at her uniform. Neat. It had to be neat. Neat and tidy and not covered in sweet, sticky cum. Kara wiped her mouth, licked her lips, then ran her tongue through the open air. Her eyes fluttered as she imagined how it would feel—how it would taste—to run it across something long and hard and pretty. Or perhaps small and limp and cute.

“You’re jealous of her, aren’t you?” Felicity asked, her voice just barely above a whisper. 

“N-no I—”

“Did I give you permission to speak, girl?” Kara fell silent. “Good Maid,” Felicity crooned, stroking her hair. “You were one of my favorites to break, you know.” Break? What did she? “When you first came to me—all full of fire and ambition—I saw right through your meek little servant routine right away. And, of course, I smelled that delicious little girl cock between your legs. Almost took you then and there. But… there was still that fire. So much potential, so I stoked it.”

“M-Miss”

“I know you’re eager for something in your mouth, my dear, but don’t make me gag you. And I know this is confusing for your silly little mind. You’re so much less than what you were, after all. If it’s hard for you, then there’s really no need for you to listen to me, I’m more talking to myself at this point anyway. Just watch the pretty girl suck her mind away. Let yours leek right out your lips and the tip of your pretty cock while I finish my musings.” Kara nodded. “Good Maid,” another stroke of her hair. Kara obeyed, watched that dick, slick with saliva and cum, pump in and out those eager lips. She would give anything to—Kara whimpered. This was wrong, she shouldn’t give into those baser urges; that would be improper. Felicity giggled, and continued. “Now, where was I? Ah right—you, of course, realized right away that I preferred the ambitious sort. How quickly you changed your tune, became my newest obsession... Such talent, all gone now.” Felicity pressed a little kiss to the top of Kara’s head, then continued. “It’s a shame you turned out to be so weak, in the end. But no matter, taking you apart like this has been a genuine pleasure, and now it’s time for you to well and truly break, my dear.”

The instant Felicity fell silent, the dick twitched, then twitched again, and again and again. The woman began to swallow, but the spurting continued, increasing in frequency and intensity. A fat glob of translucent girlcum leaked from her lips, running down her chin, then another, and another. It just didn’t stop. The flow intensified, then began to spurt from her nose, Kara swore she saw a bit trickling down on the woman’s cheek, as though even her ears oozed from the deluge of girljizz. It looked like bliss. Kara wiped her gaping mouth again, she’d never produced so much saliva in her life, it seemed viscous, pearlescent. As quickly as it began, the cock tensed one last time, then relaxed. It savored the warm mouth around it for a moment, then slid out. A string of saliva and cum stretched between its tip and the woman’s open mouth, a veritable flood of spunk and spit followed suit, pouring down her chin and landing on the stone floor with a wet splat. The woman gave a desperate whine, or was it Kara? Either way, she was struggling in her bindings, helplessly trying, and failing to reclaim her prize, before suddenly falling limp and still, as though dormant. 

Like that, the woman, and her gorgeous, delicious looking dick, stepped out of the light, and vanished. Kara felt ready to cry. It was gone, that primal need had welled up inside her and she couldn’t even sate herself. Except… Miss Yates released her, it was only then that Kara realized she’d been thrashing and bucking against her grip. She remained still for a moment; behind her, Felicity breathed a single word of permission, and Kara was off, bolting across the room like a rabid animal. Consumed by need, Kara descended on the limp, still woman before her. Miss Yates’ things were dirty, and Kara was a Good Maid. Her tongue lapped all up and down the woman’s cheek, licking up every last drop in blind hunger. She moaned as that addicting taste exploded on her tongue, then moved to her chin, down the length of her suit, even stooping to lap up the puddle of fluids collecting on the floor. At least it looked clean. It would be even cleaner when Kara was finished with it. She was a Good Maid. 

Once the woman’s face, and the floor beneath her were cleaned, Kara moved to the one place left. Kara’s eager, needy tongue stretched and reached into the nooks and crannies of the woman’s open mouth, running across the girl’s teeth, her tongue, the roof, the insides of her cheeks. She pressed herself against that woman, locked mouth to mouth as Kara lapped up every last bit of ambrosia she could. And goddesses above, that taste: she’d never had anything so wonderful. Her whole body shook, eyelids fluttering as she moaned into the open mouth of her blank, empty playmate. Inevitably, though, she ran out. Kara did not give up easily, but frustration won out in the end. 

With a hungry whine, she collapsed to the floor, panting and gazing up at the still, empty figure above her. The girl’s mouth remained open, unresponsive, leaking saliva onto the floor below her. Kara wondered if she’d ever get to feel that way: completely and utterly used up, face-fucked until there was nothing left but a shell to be emptied and filled, over and over again. She hoped so. Exhaustion set in; the world began to blur as her eyelids drooped. Then it began to fade entirely. Kara was slipping, losing herself entirely. She was on the floor, gazing up at the broken toy above her, but at the same time, she was elsewhere: suspended in a void, blind, deaf, imobile, waiting. The last thing Kara glimpsed before the darkness took her was the collar which the pretty, empty toy above her wore. A name plate dangled from its loop, the girl’s name engraved large, plain letters. How strange, she thought, there really were two Karas.