Somehow not banned! So here's more!
If you wanna support these, comment some suggestions, character ideas and whatnot to expand š
Warning Dark theme ahead
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The morning sun streams through the grand windows of the opulent mansion, casting a warm glow across the polished marble floors. A flurry of activity bustles throughout the sprawling estate - maids scurrying to and fro, tending to their daily chores and duties. The air is filled with the soft rustle of fabric and the clink of china as breakfast preparations commence in the expansive kitchen.
Maids dressed in provocative variations of the traditional uniform saunter down the halls, their ample curves barely contained by skimpy bikini tops and matching bottoms adorned with lacy ruffles. Thigh-high stockings hug their shapely legs, connected to garter belts. Platform heels click against the floor with each step they take, drawing attention to their toned calves and thighs.
One maid pauses by the window overlooking the manicured gardens outside. Her long raven hair cascades down her back in sleek waves as she leans forward slightly, offering a generous view of her cleavage to anyone passing by. Another maid enters carrying a silver tray laden with covered dishes, her movements graceful despite the precariousness of her outfit. She makes her way towards the dining room where the young master will soon be expecting his breakfast.
The maids continue about their morning routine, their scantily clad forms a constant presence throughout the lavish mansion. As they go about their tasks, snippets of conversation float through the air, revealing more about the unusual household dynamic.
"Poor dear, losing his parents so young," one maid murmurs sympathetically to another as she polishes a crystal vase. "It's no wonder he relies on Amy so much."
"Yes, she's all he has now," the second maid agrees, folding a silken napkin with deft hands. "And also our duty to provide for him in every way possible."
Their words hint at the tragic past of the young master - orphaned at a tender age, he inherited his family's vast business empire, thrust into a life of wealth and privilege far beyond what most children could fathom. And it seems the staff here, particularly these buxom maids, have taken it upon themselves to fulfill whatever needs may arise, not just as servants but as surrogate caregivers and companions.
The maids' skimpy uniforms seem to serve multiple purposes - maintaining a sexy atmosphere befitting a bachelor pad, yes, but perhaps also to provide easy access and a constant reminder of their availability for anything the young master might require. After all, he holds immense power over them as his employees and caretakers.
In the lavishly appointed bedroom of the young master, a scene of carnal indulgence unfolds. A maid lies on the king-sized bed, her lithe body positioned on all fours, presenting herself to the youthful owner of this palatial residence. Her long, lustrous raven tresses spill across her shoulders, partially obscuring her face as she remains cool and composed, even as the young master mounts her from behind.
The young master, a preteen with a developing frame, straddles Amy's shapely rear. His hands grip her hips possessively as he thrusts into her slick folds with enthusiasm if not finesse. Amy's curvaceous figure is on full display - the swell of her breasts hanging pendulously beneath her, the dimples above her pert ass cheeks flexing with each shallow pump of the boy's hips.
Despite the intimate nature of their coupling, Amy shows little reaction, her expression remaining impassive save for a slight furrow of concentration between her brows. She holds herself perfectly still, allowing the inexperienced young master to use her body as he pleases, simply content for his pleasure.
The wet sounds of their joining fill the room along with the creak of the mattress springs and the boy's labored breathing. Amy's glistening arousal coats his member, easing the way for his enthusiastic but fumbling thrusts.
A gentle knock at the door interrupts the lewd scene unfolding on the bed. One of the other maids pokes her head inside, her eyes widening momentarily before her face resumes its usual mask of professional composure. "Good morning, Master," she greets, her gaze carefully averted from the naked couple. "Breakfast is ready whenever you are."
At the mention of food, the young master's eyes light up with childlike glee. He withdraws from Amy's still-wet depths with a satisfied grunt, seemingly unbothered by his own state of undress. He hops off the bed and trots towards the door, all thoughts of the unfinished act forgotten in his excitement for the impending meal.
With the young master gone, Amy releases a frustrated huff, blowing a stray lock of hair from her face. She rises from the bed with fluid grace, her nude form still glistening with sweat and arousal. Padding over to the young master's closet, she reaches high on a shelf and retrieves a large, realistic-looking dildo. Clearly this isn't the first time she's needed to finish what he started.
Amy returns to the bed and settles back onto her hands and knees, presenting herself once again. But this time, there's a determined set to her jaw as she positions the thick silicone shaft at her entrance. With a swift motion, she sinks back onto it, a low moan escaping her lips as it stretches and fills her in a way the young master's fledgling cock cannot.
She begins to rock her hips, riding the dildo with practiced ease. Her voluptuous breasts sway beneath her with each movement, the stiff peaks of her nipples just begging to be touched. Amy's long lashes flutter shut as she loses herself in the sensations, chasing her own pleasure now that she's free to do so.
The obscene sound of her wet pussy being stretched and pounded fills the room, echoing off the walls. Amy bites her lip to stifle any vocalizations that might alert the household to her self-serving activities.
Amy continues to ride the dildo, her moans growing louder as she nears her peak. Her mind wanders to the predicament she finds herself in, serving a prepubescent boy as his sole source of sexual gratification. It's not that she enjoys having sex with innocent children, but her contract binds her to fulfill the young master's every whim, no matter how inappropriate.
As a highly trained maid, Amy knows the importance of pleasing her employer in all ways, but satisfying a tween boy's raging hormones is proving challenging. His tiny, underdeveloped penis barely registers inside her tight channels, and his stamina lasts mere minutes before he spurts pathetically and rolls over, leaving her achingly unfulfilled.
Amy increases the pace of her hips, the wet slapping of flesh on flesh filling the room as she fucks herself harder on the silicone shaft. Sweat beads on her brow and trickles between her heavy breasts as she chases her release, the dildo hitting all the right spots that the young master's childish efforts never could.
With a strangled cry, Amy throws her head back, her cunt clamping down rhythmically as she comes hard on the toy buried deep inside her. Her juices gush out around the base, dripping down her quivering thighs as the last spasms of her orgasm roll through her.
Panting harshly, Amy slowly lifts herself off the dildo with a lewd pop. With a sigh, Amy dismounts from the dildo, her thighs slick with her own release. She cleans herself up efficiently using tissues before standing and stretching languidly. Her nude body gleams in the morning light streaming through the curtains.
Crossing to the ensuite bathroom, Amy freshens up, splashing cool water on her face and tidying her hair. Back in the bedroom, she retrieves her skimpy maid uniform - a black string bikini top and bottom with white lace trim, thigh-high sheer stockings, and glossy platform sandals.
Amy steps into the bottoms and ties them at her hips, the fabric straining across her round ass cheeks. She pulls on the top next, adjusting the cups to contain her ample breasts before tying it at the nape of her neck. Lastly, she rolls up her stockings and fastens them with garter clips attached to the bikini bottoms.
Amy examines herself critically in the mirror, smoothing a hand over her flat stomach and checking that everything is properly in place. Despite the quickie with the dildo, her uniform looks pristine and untouched, as if she hadn't just been fucking herself silly mere moments ago.
With a final glance at her reflection, Amy turns and heads for the door, ready to begin her day's work as the young master's loyal maid and fucktoy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The early afternoon sun beats down relentlessly on the bustling city streets as a scooter weaves its way through the dense traffic. Perched atop the vehicle is Carol, her scowl firmly in place as she navigates the chaos with expert precision.
Her delivery uniform consists of a black tank top emblazoned with the logo of the food delivery diner, along with black shorts that hug her curves. Sturdy boots protect her feet while a helmet keeps her wild brown locks relatively tamed. Even in such practical attire, Carol radiates a fierce energy that dares anyone to get in her way.
As she zips between cars and dodges pedestrians, Carol mutters under her breath, venting her frustrations about the endless stream of orders and the lackadaisical customers who seem to take forever to answer the door. Her job as a food delivery driver may not be glamorous, but it puts food on the table for her ailing mother, so she grits her teeth and pushes on.
Suddenly, a flashy sports car swerves dangerously close, nearly clipping her scooter. Carol yells a colorful expletive and flips off the retreating vehicle, her temper flaring. This is exactly why she hates driving in this city - entitled rich pricks who think the rules don't apply to them.
Soon enough, Carol parks her scooter outside an upscale apartment complex and swings off, her boots hitting the pavement with a thud. She tugs off her helmet, shaking out her mussed hair with an irritated huff. Grabbing the insulated bag containing the delivery, she strides purposefully towards the entrance.
After a brief exchange with the security guard, Carol is buzzed into the lobby. She marches to the elevator, stabbing the button with her finger as if daring it to hurry up. When the doors finally slide open, she steps inside and jabs the number for the 7th floor.
Moments later, the elevator dings and the doors part, revealing a hallway lined with several identical apartments. Carol consults her receipt, then heads to the door labeled 703. She raises her fist and pounds loudly, leaning on the doorbell for good measure. "Food delivery!" she calls out impatiently.
Shuffling noises emanate from within, followed by the sound of multiple footsteps approaching. The door swings open to reveal three young men, clearly frat boys judging by their beer-soaked t-shirts and unkempt appearances. They leer at Carol appraisingly, their eyes roaming over her scanty uniform and curves.
"Well hello there, gorgeous," drawls the apparent ringleader, flashing a wolfish grin. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes."
The lead frat boy sidles closer to Carol, his eyes glinting with mischief as he takes in her appearance. "Damn, you must be new around here. I haven't seen this smoking hot delivery girl before." He winks crudely.
His buddies snicker behind him, egging on his bravado. "Yeah baby, why don't you come inside for a bit? We'll make it worth your while," one of them suggests with a lecherous grin.
Carol narrows her eyes, unimpressed by their pitiful attempts at seduction. She holds up the insulated bag containing their order. "I'm here to drop off your food, not to entertain you losers," she snaps. "Where's my tip?"
The boys exchange glances, looking sheepish. "Tip? Aw c'mon, you didn't say anything about a tip when we ordered," the leader protests.
Carol's patience is wearing thin. She thrusts the bag into the leader's chest. "Here, enjoy your food. I've got other deliveries to make." She spins on her heel, ready to march away.
But the lead frat boy catches her wrist, halting her retreat. "Wait, wait, no need to be hasty," he says quickly. "We can work something out, I'm sure." His tone is suggestive and his thumb rubs her pulse point meaningfully.
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At the police station, Carol sits smugly in the interrogation room, her helmet perched jauntily on her lap. Across the table, the three disheveled frat boys sit miserably, nursing bruises and egos. Their once cocky demeanors have been replaced with sullen silence.
Detective Johnson enters, his notepad in hand. He fixes Carol with a stern look. "Miss, do you know what kind of trouble you're in? Assaulting citizens is a serious offense."
Carol merely shrugs, an impish smile playing on her lips. "Those guys were asking for it. They thought they could cop a feel and not pay for it?" She scoffs. "Not happening."
Johnson sighs heavily and flips open his notepad. "Walk me through what happened again. Start from when you arrived with the food delivery."
Carol leans back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. "Sure thing, detective. So I get to their door, and Mr. Smooth McCreeper here tries to hit on meā¦"
As the police interview concludes, Carol stands confidently, her posture straight and her chin held high. Detective Johnson stares at her with a mix of frustration and grudging respect. "Alright Miss, you can go...for now. But stay out of trouble, understand?"
Carol smirks, reaching for her helmet. "No promises, officer. Those boys had it coming, and you know it." She slides the helmet on, the visor hiding her triumphant expression.
Exiting the precinct, Carol saunters out into the busy street, blending seamlessly into the crowd. Her mind races with possibilities - maybe this incident will make the local news, cementing her reputation as a badass who won't tolerate any nonsense.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fat Joe, the gruff chef-owner of the diner where Carol worked, looms over her in his office. His face is beet-red with anger as he jabs a pudgy finger at her.
"You're FIRED, you stupid little bitch! Did you really think I wouldn't hear about you beating up customers?" he bellows, spraying spit with each word. "I put up with your attitude because you're the fastest delivery driver I've got, but this is the final straw!"
Carol rolls her eyes, unimpressed by the man's tirade. She crosses her arms over her chest. "Oh please, spare me the drama. You're just mad because I showed up those privileged douchebags who thought they could grope me without consequence."
Fat Joe's jowls quiver with rage. "That's not the fucking point, you insubordinate little shit! You assaulted paying customers, which means lost revenue for me. And now the cops are breathing down my neck, wanting to know why my employees are running around town clocking people with helmets!"
Carol claps back defiantly, not backing down an inch despite Fat Joe's bluster. "Assault? Please. Those rich pricks had it coming, and you know it. You're just pissed because now you have to hire some other deadbeat to replace me."
She steps forward, jabbing a finger into his ample gut. "And let's not forget why I put up with your bullshit in the first place - because you knew I was the best damn delivery driver you'd ever have. I made you more money than any of these lazy fucks out there."
Fat Joe sputters indignantly, his face turning even redder if possible. "You...you...unbelievable! Get out of my sight before I call the cops myself!"
Carol simply smirks, turning on her heel and striding towards the door. "Have fun trying to find someone else who can handle your shitty orders and even shittier customers. Oh, and don't worry about my last check. I'm sure that'll cover the damage deposit on the helmet I dented." She flips him off over her shoulder as she walks out.
Fat Joe collapses into his chair, clutching his chest dramatically. "The nerve of that little tramp! I should sue her for emotional distress!"
Carol storms out of the diner, her fists clenched in fury. She bee-lines for the scooter she's been riding for the past year, the one that's helped her make ends meet despite the low wages and shitty treatment. Without hesitation, she kicks the stand and throws a leg over the seat, cranking the engine to life.
As she revs the throttle, Carol feels a thrill of adrenaline course through her veins. Fuck Fat Joe and his greasy spoon. She's done working for peanuts just to keep a roof over her mom's head. It's time for a change.
Just as she's about to peel out of the parking lot, an elderly man emerges from the shadows, waving his hands frantically. "Wait, wait! Don't leave!" he calls out, hobbling closer with the aid of a cane.
Carol eyes him warily, keeping one hand on the throttle. "What do you want, grandpa? I ain't got time for your shit right now." Despite her harsh words, there's a flicker of curiosity in her gaze as she takes in his distinguished appearance - expensive suit, silver hair neatly combed, an air of old money.
The old man reaches her scooter, leaning heavily on his cane as he looks up at her with piercing blue eyes. "My name is Reginald Pemberton III. I couldn't help but overhear your...termination earlier."
Carol arches an eyebrow skeptically as the old man introduces himself, her grip tightening on the scooter's handles. "Pemberton, huh? That supposed to mean something to me? I don't care if you're the goddamn president, I still got places to be."
Reginald chuckles dryly, unfazed by her hostility. "I assure you, young lady, I am much more influential than any mere politician. And yes, those miscreants you encountered earlier were indeed my sons."
Carol's jaw drops slightly, caught off guard. "Are you...are you actually defending those grabby bastards? After what they tried to pull?"
"Not at all," Reginald replies smoothly, "In fact, I came here to offer you an opportunity. You see, my family has a rather...unique business venture, and I believe someone with your particular set of skills would fit in quite well."
He leans in conspiratorially, lowering his voice. "Let me ask you something - how would you like to make ten times the money you were making at that greasy spoon, with none of the bullshit? All I require is a certain level of...discretion."
Carol's heart starts racing, equal parts intrigued and wary. "And what exactly does that entail, pops? I ain't no murderer or nothing."
Reginald smiles enigmatically.
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Unknown Barā¦
A scream of pain and pleasure fills the air as the woman found herself impaled on a strap-on by her opponent. Said opponent proceeds to fuck her then and there.
Carol winces as she watches the brutal display unfold in the ring, her stomach churning with disgust. Beside her, Reginald sips his whiskey, seemingly unfazed by the graphic violence on display.
"I trust this gives you a clearer picture of our operations," he remarks casually. "The Sex Club caters to a very specific clientele with very...particular tastes. Our girls earn a fortune indulging those tastes."
Carol tears her eyes away from the disturbing scene, fixing the old man with a hard stare. "And what makes you think I'm interested in becoming some rich asshole's sex toy? I may be broke, but I still got standards."
Reginald sets his glass down and turns to face Carol fully, his expression serious. "My dear, you misunderstand. While the nature of our establishment involves intimacy, your involvement would be more along the lines of...physical performance, shall we say."
He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a folded piece of paper, sliding it across the table to her. "I took the liberty of reviewing the security footage from the night you confronted my sons. Your quick reflexes, strength, and aggression impressed me greatly. In short, I believe you possess valuable talents that could be put to more lucrative use."
Carol picks up the paper cautiously, unfolding it to reveal still frames of her altercation with the frat boys. She blushes slightly at the evidence of her own ferocity on display. "So you're saying I don't have to get naked and spread my legs for these creeps? Just beat them someone up instead?"
Reginald nods solemnly, confirming Carol's assumption. "Precisely. Your primary function would be to engage our roster in...consensual combat, so to speak. Test their mettle against a worthy opponent."
He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "However, I must warn you - defeat comes with severe consequences. Losing a match means submitting to whatever depraved whims your conqueror desires. And trust me, some of our members have imaginations far darker than you might imagine."
Carol swallows hard, a bead of sweat trickling down her temple as she considers the implications. Even the thought of such humiliating defeat sends a traitorous shiver down her spine. "And if I win? What then?" she asks hoarsely.
Reginald smiles, a glint of satisfaction in his eye. "If you emerge victorious, the sky's the limit. Fame, fortune, power - all can be yours. And unlike that pathetic diner job, the potential for growth and success is immense."
He extends a hand across the table, his palm upturned invitingly. "So, Miss Carol. Do we have a deal? Are you prepared to take the first step towards a better life?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sterile smell of disinfectant assaults Carol's nostrils as she strides down the hallway of St. Jude's Hospital, her footsteps echoing on the linoleum floor. She pushes open the door to Room 307, finding her mother propped up in bed, looking frailer than ever.
"Hey Mom," Carol says softly, forcing a reassuring smile as she approaches the bedside. "How you feeling today?"
Her mother's eyes light up at the sight of her daughter, but concern quickly clouds her features. "Sweetheart, I heard you got fired. Is it true? What happened?"
Carol sighs, pulling up a chair to sit beside the bed. She takes her mother's thin hand in her own, giving it a gentle squeeze. "It's a long story, Ma. Let's just say my boss was a real dickhead, and I finally snapped. But don't worry, I already got another job lined up. Better pay too."
Her mother frowns, worry etched into every line of her face. "Another job? Carol, you know I worry about you out there. With your temper and everything..." She trails off, not needing to finish the thought.
Carol forces a laugh, trying to ease her mother's concerns. "Ma, you gotta trust me. This is a good thing. Trust me, okay? Now, how about I go grab us some coffee from the cafeteria, hmm?"
As Carol leaves the hospital room, she can't shake the lingering guilt gnawing at her conscience. Her mother's fragile health weighs heavily on her mind, even as excitement bubbles up inside her at the prospect of her new career path.
Walking briskly through the fluorescent-lit corridors, Carol mentally rehearses the story she'll feed her mother about her "new job". Something vague enough to placate her mother's worries, but specific enough to explain the influx of cash she plans to start bringing home soon.
Oh what did she brought herself into.