Theif to Maid p1

Thief to Maid Part 1 By Majalis Jan 13, 2012

As rumor has it, some rich foreigner recently moved into the abandoned château on the hill, and he hired a dazzling array of beautiful local maids to service it. Looking in through the window, the thief sees that it's true,

particularly as one bends over to dust an old bust that likely hasn't been cleaned since before the war. The thief waits patiently for her to leave, and sighs in frustration when she stops dusting to sneeze. Hearing the noise, she turns

towards the window, but the thief ducks into the bushes just in time, and she, fortunately, doesn't spot him. When she finishes, she takes one passing glance at the window, and then saunters off, her heels clacking on

the floor loudly. She closes the parlour door behind her, and he hears the sound of her footsteps fading down a hallway before he slips the wire under the glass. The window opens outward, and he idly pushes aside a

curtain as he enters. He silently hides his sack under a four-legged armchair, and then appraises the room for light yet valuable goodies. He squeezes between a chair and a table, and that proves to be his undoing: a vase tips, falls, and

shatters. He freezes, and listens carefully, but no one apparently heard him. Relieved, he begins to pilfer everything that isn't nailed down. Having filled the sack enough to make a tidy profit, but not too burdened so as to slow him down, he

hoists it out the window, carefully dropping into the bush. He looks around the room for anything he might have missed, and then as quickly and silently as he can, jumps through the window and into the bush, landing deftly on his feet at a

knee. On the ground before him is a pair of slick shoes, and when he looks up, a man's face looks down at him. The contents of his heist are strewn along the floor, and before he can speak, the sack that had contained them covers him,

than fair terms that made him more than suspicious. The head maid, a lusty looking older, native woman with a heavy bossom and a cold demeanor, took the responsibility of prepping him for service. She shaved of him of his few

pale, blonde hairs, admiring his smooth, milky skin in an uncomfortable way, before offhandedly remaking about it. "You 'ar a very preety boy... unfortunate." It wasn't until he was presented with his uniform, which was identical to what

the other maids were wearing, were his suspicions confirmed, but because the master had confiscated his clothing, and with it his identification papers, there was little he could do to object. The first few days passed without

incident. He felt awkward wearing women's clothing, but the other maids rarely commented on it, and the master didn't pay any more attention to him than he did the unused furniture. The other maids occasionally made flirtatious

comments to him, but relations with the rest of the staff was on the long list of things the head maid had listed as verboten. Top of that list was"disobeying the master," and he wondered when, if ever, the master was going to start giving

commands or acknowledging him in any way. After almost a week, he got his answer, though it wasn't one he'd been hoping for. He's cleaning the window... the very same one he'd climbed into, while the master is reclined in a chair, reading. He

moodily wipes the window, unaware that the master is watching him... right until he feels something click onto the choker around his neck. He tries to turn to see what the master's doing, but the master tells him to stay still with one

firm command. He feels a tug on his neck... and realizes that the master has affixed him with a leash. He would have been surprised if the next thing the master did wasn't to pull down his undergarments. The master holds onto his leash while he

prepares himself... including the ominous sound of a zipper. He remains still... until he feels the master's suggestion. "Non! Non, monsieur!" Were it not for the leash, within the rules the master set, he would be able to avoid it. Instead, he

can't pull away his exposed backside, even as the master exerts more and more pressure on his soft, tender entrance. That pressure grows and grows, until it mutes all sound, the image of a pressure cooker ready to burst flashing

into his mind. He opens his mouth to object, but all that comes out is: "Ee, n... UNF! Merde!" The rings suspending the curtain start to bend and warp as the master slips in a few more inches than even the most experienced whore in all of Paris

would be pleased to accept, prying open the boy's hallowed gates even more than he'd expected. Though his initial response was to swear, shock quickly gives way to discomfort, his toes curling in his high-heeled

slutshoes and his knuckles turning white and his teeth grit tightly as his anal rings attempt to adjust to the unnannounced, unexpected intrusion. The master moans, satisfied, as if he'd just achieved one of his life's goals

(plugging a feminine boy's bottom while he protests feebly wearing a maid's outfit?), before nonchalantly flipping up the boy's skirt, so that he can view firsthand the penetration. He snickers at the sight, while the boy lowers his head, biting

his lip, bidding his anus to open up and swallow what it's given... no matter how fat. The master moans again, swearing under his breath, noting how exquisitely tight a virgin boy's butt is, waiting for his unfortunate paramour to

adjust slightly before rendering all such adjustments worthless. He pulls firmly on the leash, and the boy desperately clings to the curtains, trying to pull himself forward, but the master is stronger, and they both can feel the

inevitable backwards slide where it counts. "Merci! Merci!" the maid pleads, finding his attempts to cope with his rigorous anal debut fruitless. Though he complained, the master was amused that the boy still allowed himself to be fucked,

women's clothing and all. He only penetrates about halfway before allowing the little thief to steal away again... but he holds the leash firmly, and pulls him back again just the same. Eventually, the master lets the

leash go slack, and grabs onto the frills of the boy's skirt instead, gliding his receptive tart's smooth, hairless hole over his long, slick, pulsing shaft with audible results. He didn't even thrust, instead opting to move his little Ganymede

where his master desired, which was closer, or, as it resulted, deeper. The boy began to ramble in french, expressions of embarassment, frustration and discomfort, to no one in particular, although the curtains were a captive

audience.He's amused by the boy's whining in the language of love, but more importantly, he was enticed by it. Combined with the skillful, if unintentional, massaging of his tool by the boy's beleaguered (buggered), pleasant-to-look-a

t and better-still-to-plow rear, he's building towards a 'le petit mort' that would be the triumphant crescendo in his symphony about the boy's ruined masculinity. The boy seems unaware of this rapidly

approaching threat to his interior design, although the hardening of the thing attacking his weak spot had caught his attention, prompting another swear. The sounds get increasingly wet as he pulls on the skirt, sliding the boy's

tight, pink anal ring up and down his shaft, which looks more and more ominously stiff. He can see that the quarter of his cock at the base is still dry, which gives him his final, wicked idea. He pushes the boy away, almost

knocking him over, so that almost the full length of his shaft is pulled free of his aching pit, so that just the tip remains, keeping the pucker pried open slightly, denying the boy of his relief. It was a french kiss in a greek style, the boy

unsuspecting that the precum dribbling into the final part of his rectum is a foreshadowing of events to come. The master pulls insistently on the skirt, slowly, and the boy keeps otherwise still, likely embarassed by the sudden change of

pace. He sees his cock disappearing inch by inch into the boy's miserably undersized hole, into him, where he knows it will not emerge again until it is sated. When the boy realizes that what he thought had been the master's best offering is

already inside, but his pulling does not cease, he panicks, singing a song in French likely about the benefits of leaving the deepest portions of your lover's canal mercifully unfucked, as he suffers through the twofold discomfort of his

anus gripping roughly onto the dry base of the master's cock, and his previously unmolested pipe getting laid anew. He thinks there should be a turn, but if there iss, the master has either somehow snaked it through or straightened it

out, and he wasn't sure which was worse. He shudders and swears the whole length, but especially those last few inches, during which he grinds his heels into the wooden floor like a screw, and the only reason he

doesn't finally tear the curtain from its very final ring iss because he knew that then he would fall, and then he would be the one getting screwed on the floor. For the first time, they touch somewhere that is not bratwurst and canal, as the

boy's plump derriere taps lightly against the master's abdomen. The boy's face is red from effort, and the master's from exertion, but his pulling and pushing of the skirt is over: he merely held it tightly in place. The boy's

rings try desparately to expel him, tightening at random, unknowingly coaxing it out of him better than any professional. He looks down at the base of the sausage that he is hiding almost entirely in the poor boy's

bum, and laughs, knowing that as the boy's stranglehold on his shaft built him towards the inexorable grand finale, his maid is too busy complaining about the lack of floorspace in her recently rented out living area to

notice. He looks past and around his buried pole at the boy's coinpurse, and sees that he's puffy and full. Of course, he was forbidden from relations with his fellow maids... despite his boyish good looks. But he doubts the boy is

building towards anything unsightly, which he doesn't mind one way or the other. The pathetic display of confused arousal he's already showing is enough, along with his effete French protests and his rear's unbidden

performance to bring the master to a boil. He'd been pent up for a bit too long, so he groans loudly, and then sighs, going to heaven inside his little lover in a more than satisfactory finish. "She" had never been kissed, never

been hugged, never been "touched" where it mattered most, and yet "she" is in the process of receiving the steamy result of their affair.The boy realizes too late what's happening, his eyes going wide with surprise, and he turns to see if it

had been an accident, but sees by the look on his master's face that it was not. Already, the master had cum in his ass, so deeply that he couldn't even feel it, aside from a growing pressure that could have been anything.

Still, the master was using his hole to ride out the rest of victorious climax, tensely rocking the boy back and forth so that his tight, spasming anus milked him at the base involuntarily, screwing the boy in an uncomfortable way in an uncomfortable

place. His shaft bloats as he spurts, and the boy's hole constricts as it spasms, so that when he's at his largest and the boy is at his tightest, it's impossible to shoot, but this only delays him a beat, a rest in the bar, before the next sad note