The Lady of the House

Illuse Jones groaned as the door to her apartment swung shut behind her, plunging her into darkness. Navigating the small space by memory, she tossed her keys, purse, a stick of chalk, and a vial of iron filings suspended in oil onto the side table by the door, and slumped into her tiny living room, flicking the light on. She’d had, in the most literal sense of the word, a Hell of a day.

Flopping onto her sofa, she found herself lying face down in a pile of flyers she had dumped there before leaving the house that morning. ‘Illuse Jones: Paranormal Investigator and Ghost Hunter Extraordinaire!” they read, along with her phone number, email address, and a goofy picture of her, smiling into the camera with a technical-looking device in one hand and giving a thumbs-up with the other. She snorted mirthlessly to herself; beyond just looking like a moron, it wasn’t a very accurate depiction of how she did her job.

She blamed Ghostbusters. Because of those shitty movies, everyone wanted smart, modern, technical solutions when their stuff was haunted, so they expected you to turn up with a proton gun or whatever. Illuse had just taped an old phone to a broken epilator for the flyer shoot, and nobody had noticed yet; in fact, she sometimes took it along on jobs, just to give the impression that she was living up to the proud ghosthunting legacy of Bill Murray. The epilator’s motor still kind of worked, so she could even make it buzz for dramatic effect! That was handy for clearing a room of terrified people so Illuse could get to work with the real tools of her trade, which at the moment she was digging out of the pockets of her worn, black coat, because lying on them was uncomfortable. Another stick of chalk, a Ziploc bag full of salt, and a novelty Garfield rosary (if she had to carry one of the damn things around, she wasn’t going to let anyone get the impression that she was doing it seriously). A crumpled plastic bottle of holy water, which she took a swig from (she had gotten herself ordained online, so could bless some more whenever she needed to) before tossing the empty bottle onto the floor. It joined one of the many piles of clutter and junk that were stacked around Illuse’s little apartment.

She groaned again, rolling over on the sofa and fighting a serious urge to just go to sleep. Today was meant to have been a light workload, and instead she had gotten chased out of a local college by a horde of vampire cheerleaders (while trying to exorcise an unrelated spirit from the college’s pool!), narrowly avoided getting pulled into a portal to Hell underneath an for-sale house that had eaten four different estate agents, and spent two agonising hours staring at a weeping corporate executive’s tiny penis as she tried to reverse-engineer whatever curse had shrunk it to barely an inch long. Illuse had come up with nothing, and (naturally) had gotten stiffed on her fee.

Finally, Illuse worked up the energy to stand, and shuffle into her tiny kitchen, where she stuck a microwave meal on for herself. Her job was a pain, but it was really the only one she could hold down. For as long as she could remember, everywhere she went, she saw ghosts, ghouls, and spirits. Vampires, werewolves, demons, anyone who tried to blend in with humans stuck out like a sore thumb to her. She had learned the hard way that trying to hold down any other kind of job was impossible with all those distractions, so freelance ghosthunting was pretty much all she had.

She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the microwave door. Bluntly, she looked like crap. Heavy bags under her eyes, and long, messy black hair which she hadn’t brushed that morning. Her chest was disappointingly flat; she had always been skinny, so even though she had been on estrogen for a few years, the meds hadn’t had much to work with. Her long black coat partially obscured her torn t-shirt and beaten-up jeans, and the light from the microwave made her septum piercing glint. She tried to maintain an aura of esoteric coolness with her goth-y fashion sense, but there was no escaping that she looked really run down.

The microwave beeped, and she pulled the meal for one out, sighing.

She wolfed down her tasteless curry, then flopped back onto her sofa. Her body ached, and her eyes felt heavy. But she couldn’t pass out yet. For one thing, her doctor had told her that if she kept sleeping on the sofa, she’d ruin her back. For another, her apartment’s anti-spirit wards needed to be reinforced before she went to bed; she was supposed to do it every week, and had already put it off for nine days. Plus…

Illuse reached into her coat again, pulled out her phone. Fuck it. She’d had a hard day, and she deserved to relax.

“Ah, mistress!~”

Illuse sighed dreamily as she scrolled through her carefully curated feed. Every image, gif, and video was a variation on a simple theme; busty, demure maids in skimpy uniforms, showing off to the viewer. Illuse squirmed, her free hand finding its way down the front of her waistband. She worked so hard to maintain an image as a mysterious, enigmatic expert in the paranormal, and she was always mildly embarrassed by just how much that clashed with the fact that she had a deep-rooted and totally perverted adoration for maids. But Illuse couldn’t help it! In a life of unrelenting chaos (and in a messy, shitty apartment) the idea of a warm, calm, orderly maid was so comforting…

“Heyyyy, quit staring mistress, you pervvvv~”

Illuse grunted. And apart from the more high-minded reasons, fat milktanks crammed into frilly little uniforms were insanely hot.

“Gosh… it’s so big!~”

Illuse whined, and clicked off the grainy JOI video she had scrolled onto. She wasn’t… sensitive about how much HRT had shrunk her down, per se, she just didn’t like to be reminded of it! Illuse gave a breathy little whimper as she scrolled onto the next video, and then the next, and the next, shaking and bucking her cute little two-incher into her hand as she lost herself in a palimpsest of neat frills, squishy, oversized tits, soft yet firm voices, and kindly, disciplined smiles.

“Of course, my lady. Allow me to take care of everything for you~” one of the digital maids cooed, and exhausted as Illuse was, that was enough to finish her off; she whined, hips jerking as she spurted a pathetic load in her torn jeans. Her stress and tension felt like they were melting away, and darkness tugged at the edges of her vision.

W-wait… wasn’t I supposed to do… something…

But the little voice in the back of her head lapsed into silence as Illuse’s eyes drifted shut, and she fell asleep.

***

“Good morning, my lady.”

Illuse yawned, but didn’t open her eyes. No way. She couldn’t get up yet. She was… so comfortable…

“My lady? I know you’re awake.”

Illuse’s brow furrowed. Hm. Why was she so comfortable? She was lying face-down on something soft and squishy, and there was a thick blanket over her. But… hadn’t she gone to sleep on the couch? And even if she had gone to bed, she didn’t remember her bed being this soft. Or big. Illuse was stretched out, her gangly limbs not even touching the edges of the mattress – and it was definitely a mattress – that she was lying on. No, wait… partly a mattress. Her upper body was draped across something else. She grunted contentedly, grinding her hips, enjoying the feeling of her morning wood pressing against something soft, and warm, and-

“Mistress Illuse. Please, this is getting unseemly.”

Hearing her name was enough to break through the sleepy fog. Illuse’s eyes snapped open, and she found herself locking eyes with… with…

“Ah, you are awake. As I was saying, while I do not mind sleeping in your bed to comfort you, a mistress laying her head on her maid’s chest is rather improper.”

Illuse had scarcely moved faster in her whole life. In half a second, she had bolted out of the bed, scrabbling in her coat pocket for her rosary- wait, where was her coat?! Illuse realised that she was wearing nothing but a pair of thin cotton briefs! She squeaked in embarrassment, covering her meagre chest with her hands as she turned back to face what was, unmistakably… a maid, lying in her bed.

“Wh-who are you? How did you get in here?!” Illuse demanded.

“My lady? It’s me, Catherine. Your maid?” The maid – Catherine – cocked her head, before slowly, yet gracefully, extracting herself from the plush white sheets of the bed. Her thick uniform, complete with a long, black skirt, frills, and a headdress, was bizarrely unwrinkled for someone who had just been lying in bed with… with…

Illuse’s earlier grogginess had given way to urgent professionalism when she realised something was very wrong, but now that was replaced with cheek-flushing, brain-wrecking embarrassment as her face turned bright red, as it sunk in that she had been practically naked in bed with this stranger!

“Wh-why did you drag me into that bed?!” Illuse asked. The maid cocked her head curiously.

“Lady Illuse, you passed out on the couch again. You know how bad that is for you. I brought you back to your room, laid you in bed, and then stayed with you to ensure you got a good night’s rest.”

“I… I…” Illuse cast around wildly. The room looked… strange… but her eye caught on a few familiar details. Her computer desk in the corner. A faded poster on the wall. The lampshade was the same. But… but everything else was different! The room was clean and well-lit, all of her junk and clutter gone while sunlight streamed in through the windows. And… the proportions seemed wrong, like the room was just a little too big now. It was a tiny room in a one-bed apartment, and yet now it was large enough to accommodate an enormous four-poster?

“My lady, are you feeling alright? Are you perhaps ill?” In a moment, Catherine was in front of Illuse, pressing a soft hand against her forehead. Illuse’s eyes almost popped out of her head as she was presented with an entirely different set of absurd proportions.

As Catherine pressed up close to Illuse’s almost-naked body, three things became clear; one, this maid was enormous. She was easily hovering around seven foot tall, and as a result her tits were pushed right into Illuse’s face. Related to that, two; she was totally stacked. Her breasts looked soft and pillowy (and Illuse realised with a whimper that she had already experienced them firsthand), but beyond that, even in a relatively modest uniform, there was no hiding this maid’s wide hips, soft tummy, and even the suggestion of a large rear around her back…

“Hm, your face does feel a little hot…”

Three. She was translucent. Illuse realised with a start that she could very faintly make out the four-poster bed through Catherine’s breasts. Which. She wasn’t staring at. At all. She shuffled awkwardly. Her hard-on still hadn’t totally gone away… which is why the penny took a few seconds longer than it should have to drop.

She’s definitely a ghost!

The wards! Shit, Illuse had passed out last night before she had redone them! And now a ghost had gotten into her damn apartment, started haunting and remodelling the place and trying to put Illuse in its thrall.

This realisation momentarily steeled her. Ghosts were her thing. She knew how to handle them, and-

“Perhaps I need to give you a full-body exam…” Catherine muttered, dropping to her knees… and tugging Illuse’s briefs down.

“W-wait! N-n-n-!” Illuse gasped… as her cute little prick was exposed to the cool air, twitching and leaking mere inches from Catherine’s face! The maid sighed wearily.

“My lady, really?”

Part of Illuse wanted to curl up into a ball and die. The other half was furious, both at Catherine for invading Illuse’s home, and at herself for letting this ghost walk all over her! The first half won out, much to Illuse’s embarrassment.

“U-um, I’m, s-sorry… eep!!” she whimpered, as Catherine wrapped her thumb and forefinger around her cock! Fuck, it was so hard to focus… Illuse’s thoughts felt almost as cloudy as they had when she had woken up earlier. One of the many downsides of her rather secluded life was that she was pretty… well… inexperienced, when it came to this sort of thing.

“I would have thought that by now you’d know not to hide these things from me,” Catherine shook her head, tone soft and disapproving. “As a maid, it is my duty to care for the needs of the lady of the house!” As she spoke, she began working her hand up and down the diminutive length of Illuse’s shaft, paying no mind to her ‘lady’ as she gasped, leaning on Catherine’s shoulders for support.

“W-wait… nnhh… wh-what are you-” Illuse’s heart was racing. This was… this was really bad. Dangerous, even. This spirit was extremely powerful, able to reshape the world around her, and Illuse needed to act now if she wanted to escape her. But… there was a perverse thrill to all of this, to all of her most depraved and perverted fantasies finally being fulfilled, as a calm, demure, busty maid gave her a handjob!

M-maybe if I just… for a few minutes… th-that wouldn’t be so bad…

Illuse’s head span, rationalisations clashing with rationalism. She tried to hold on. Catherine was… a ghost. She was haunting Illuse’s apartment. Illuse needed to… find her equipment… and… and…

“Mmm, much better. Repressing yourself is entirely unbecoming of the lady of the house~” Catherine cooed, before leaning back in, and slipping Illuse’s cock between her soft, plump lips. Illuse squealed. She… she had to hold on to reality… she was… a paranormal investigator the lady of the house. Catherine was a ghost her faithful maid. And she was haunting Illuse’s apartment! doing her duty by relieving her lady’s tension.

“Ghhh!” Illuse grunted, hips helplessly bucking against Catherine’s face. She had to stop this, had to stop melting as Catherine’s skilful tongue lapped at Illuse’s sensitive little cock.

But… why did she need to stop? She couldn’t… couldn’t remember… Illuse’s hands found Catherine’s long, soft chestnut hair, and she grabbed at it, helplessly scrabbling for handholds as she bred her maid’s mouth. That… that was right… Illuse was the lady of the house… why shouldn’t she indulge with her faithful maid? It was… only proper-!

Suddenly, with a soft puah, Catherine pulled back, Illuse’s cock slipping from her mouth.

“C… C-Catherine…!” Illuse whimpered. Fuck. She had been so close.

“Yes, my lady?” Catherine asked, innocently batting her eyes.

“I-I!” No matter how addled her brain was, Illuse couldn’t ignore the feeling of deep, shameful embarrassment that washed over her, her chest tightening and her cheeks burning. “I… I w-wanted to… c-cum…”

Catherine smiled pleasantly. “Well, if you want to, you need only order me, as your faithful maid, to make you.”

“I… gghh…” For some reason, the words caught in Illuse’s throat. N-no, this wasn’t right. There was some reason this wasn’t right… she glanced around. Her room was definitely different. Airy and spacious, the crappy carpet replaced by a plush rug, tastefully decorated, wood-panelling on the walls, more like a room in a creaky but comfortable old manor than in a tiny apartment- wait. Her apartment. Illuse was still in her-!

“Gghha!!” Illuse gasped as Catherine lazily worked her thumb and forefinger up the slippery, saliva-coated length of her cock, totally derailing her train of thought.

“I await your instructions, my lady,” Catherine prompted her, voice even.

“N-no… wait, I-”

“You’re my lady, aren’t you? And I am your faithful maid,” Catherine interrupted her, matter-of-factly. She… she sounded so certain… and Illuse’s mind was so foggy…

“Y-yes…” It slipped out before she could stop it. Catherine’s polite, demure smile became something else, something… hungry.

“Mistress, would you care to say it for me?~”

Illuse’s legs felt weak. Her vision swam. Everything was so… overwhelming…

“Say it, my lady,” Catherine pushed… and just like that, Illuse’s resolve collapsed.

“Nnhh… y-you are my… f-faithful maid… y-y-y-you serve me… I-I’m the… lady of the house…” she gasped, and she felt it, she knew that it was true, that Catherine really was her servant, that Illuse really was her mistress, that Catherine looked after her in this manor house...

“Quite right, my lady! I am but your faithful maid, at your beck and call for whatever you might desire~” Catherine cooed… before leaning in, and planting a single, solitary kiss on the tip of Illuse’s cute, twitching cock.

The lady of the house broke.

“Nnghhcatherinecatherinecatherinecatherinecatheriiiine…” Illuse whimpered, as a lightning bolt of pleasure far more intense than she’d experienced the night before shot through her body, leaving her breathless and shaking and splattering Catherine’s perfect, pretty face with cum! But the maid wasn’t perturbed… Catherine was still smiling. Perhaps even smirking, as her lady’s semen drooled off her face, and marked her uniform with heavy, dark stains, which stood out against her faintly translucent body. She didn’t smile in a malicious way, but like someone who had just won something… or perhaps, someone to whom the world finally made sense again.

“Now then, my lady…” she cooed, getting to her feet. “We have much to attend to today. Shall we?~”

Illuse whimpered. The lady of the house was helpless as her faithful maid led her by the hand, out of the bedroom, and into her manor.

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