Anon - Dash & Gilda fuck up

>Dash fucks up everything she cooks. She isn't being passive aggressive, she just eats out and has noodle cups at home. Food is burnt every night, and before long she has four fingertips cut and bandaged on her left hand and a burn on her right

>Uses too much soap in the laundry, suds flood across the floor and she busts her ass hard scrambling to get the mop

>Gilda, meanwhile, fucks up the vacuum instantly and spends half an hour on the floor with her butt in the air, miniskirt ridden up all the way, picking at the mouth of the vacuum before giving up and resigning herself to sweeping

>She knocks down all your pictures and knick knacks with her feather duster, cursing nonstop and scrambling to tight everything before you realize, misplacing everything as she cannot remember how it was set up

>Together they stand by your side as you eat you dinner, Gilda pouring your water as Dash's hurt fingers and bruised ass rob her of her dexterity

>Six days left

>Dash brings you tea at 7:30AM. She looks like a disheveled wreck, having never woken up before noon under any circumstances

>Gilda prepares breakfast, humming to herself while deftly cracking eggs into the skillet. She's a natural, patting the bacon dry and tomboyishly drying her hands in the frills of her short skirt

>Dash complains as she draws your coffee from the aeropress, the machine far too complex for her to understand. Gilda shows her once more, pulling cups for herself and Dash as well.

>You sit, at the head of the table in your lavish chair. The help eats with you, benevolent master that you are. They sit at your left and right, table set with freshly baked english muffins and the rest of the spread Gilda had prepared.

>She really is developing so nicely. You shower her with complimemts, watching Dash grow cold and upset from the corner of your eye.

>Her burnt hand struggles to manerver the fork, her bandaged fingertips unable to firmly grasp her cup. Here and there she eats with two hands like a child, wincing each time she must roll around on her bruised end.

>Funny, Gilda was a corollary that you'd picked up by accident, yet she was far outshining what you had earmarked to be your main course

>You have Dash attempt to play the piano. She looks at the alien thing before her, afrid to touch it as though each key were barbed. At your stern command she fans her fingers, placing them haphazardly nowhere near the home position.

>Terrible jarring tones assault you, her bandaged fingers losing purchase and slipping away, causing her to gasp in frustration and pain with each stroke.

>Enough of this, you dismiss her to prepare lunch.

>Gilda takes her warm seat at the bench, eager to please her master. She wiggles her butt into place, hem of her skirt ridden up in the sitting position. Delicate fingers find the ivory keys, Gilda allowing a hint of culture from her childhood to shine through and fill your manor with an elegant charm.

>You really are so pleased with yourself, you dare to take a calculated risk, pressing your plan ahead of schedule. You lean forward and grave her neck with a small kiss, her feathered hair tickling your neck as she giggles

>Dash nearly makes it to the restroom in time to puke from the frustration and betrayal

>Your tea sandwiches are absolutely miserable. The smushed bread is cut unevenly, the fillings are sliced drunkenly lopsided and assembled with no measure of finesse, speared together by a lifeline toothpick as though a club.

>The tea itself is miserable as well, scalded and over steeped. Even as your tongue lamented the wasted leaves you heart soared, your charge overstepping her boundary and making you proud.

>"Dash you dweeb, don't you remember what l showed you? You can't just boil the water with the bags in it, you gotta let it cool first. And what the hell are these-"

>Dash cuts her off. The pain in her eyes is unmistakable, it's outright delicious. She smacks the teacup from her friends hand, the porcelain delicate exploding on the floor as loud as a gunshot. Each of their faces bears incredulousness. Dash cannot believe her friend has changed sides so soon, Gilda cannot understand her former friend's jealousy and frustration.

>Gilda shoves Dash, her hurt bottom laying in the near scalding tea, splintering pinpricks and burning heat ravishing the skin above the deeply bruised muscles. Dash cries out, a breathless gasp followed by a wounded groan. Numb from impact and pain she marshals her legs into obeying her once more and skitters from the sitting room, heavy gasps echoing down the long hallways.

>Gilda's confusion is consoled with your warm hand on her shoulder. You banish the wayward friend from her mind with a caress, trailing your hand down her back, cupping her curve and brushing her butt.

>Soon she will be completely locked under your spell, your mouth salivating at the though

>You follow Dash's trail into her chamber. You find her soaking wet panties in the hall along the way, now cool to the touch. You leave them for one of the girls to pick up later.

>Dash is laying on her bed, shamelessly leaving her rump exposed as her skirt is pulled up to her waist and her face buried in her single firm pillow. Her rear end has a bright cherry red blotch along the right cheek, freckled by pinpricks from the teacup.

>You remind her again of her offer she'd given you on the first day. She incredulously whips her head up to glare at you, eyes puffy from obvious crying

>"Why would l suck your dick now, it's been over half the week already! Why wouldn't l just stick around? It can't get any worse."

>You smile, and lick your lips. You can't resist grinning like a Cheshire cat as you whisper your next offer to her.

>"Then, how about you suck it and we let Gilda go home early?"

>She twists her face in confusion, trying to process the implications of why she should blow you to bail out her friend. As dense as she is you know she cannot detect the subtle enrapturing spell you've laced upon Gilda, nor will she take things to it's conclusion. You must be blunt for this little girl.

>"Because if she spends one more morning in this home, l'm going to fuck her."

>That brought a jolt of fear into her, her tanned face draining white. The thought of her friend taken, defiled by a man like you, it threaten to make her sick on the floor right there. Yes, better she took the 'hit' now than let this monster hurt Gilda like that.

>She mutters a "F-fine, for Gilda" while gingerly getting out of bed without letting her butt touch anything.

>You shut the door and sit in the reading chair in the chamber, presenting yourself to the forlorn waifish little cunt

>She drops to her knees, still nude below the waist, cold unaroused muff briefly visible as she settles before you.

>She puts her mouth on it, perhaps the only part of the act she knew for certain. It's obviously fresh territory for her, with utter revulsion on her face she experiments with your cock attempting to find a rhythm.

>Dash performs the sexual chore the same as any other, sloppily and without the slightest modicum of skill. You must coach her, telling her how to flare her tongue and to mind her teeth. She resists at first, until you remind your little dim bulb that the better she does the shorter she suffers.

>It's still amateur at best, but you would still rank it among the most thrilling you've ever received. Sheer perverted joy at twisting your authority and seducing her friend, driving this little dyke to suck her first dick, you applaud yourself and arrive to an end almost in spite of Dash's lack of skill

>You brace her head and lose your seed down her throat, swallowing not a choice as it coats the rear of her mouth. She coughs and sputters, but the tacky blessing of yours remains in her body, obviously weighing heavily on her mind.

>You excuse yourself, she dresses in clean clothes and joins you in the hall. You grasp her warm arm, skin flushed with shame over most of her body, and lead her into the kitchen where Gilda was preparing the Dinner's slow roast for the evening.

>You smile at Dash, and call out to your busy maid

>"Gilda, dear? I've decided you may go home early now. You're released from the bet, thank you for the wonderful past few days."

>Gilda smiles, peeking over her shoulder. Her frilly apron is pink with the juices of the beast she's trimming the fat from, waving her slippery knife she calls back to you.

>"No thanks master, l'd rather stay the whole week, please."

>Dash's body now feels remarkably cold to the touch

>"No, Gilda! You gotta go home, ok!"

>"Bug off Dash, stop being so jealous. I'm having tons of fun here, and eating like a champ, too. Look at this cut of meat, see? Now go clean up the mess you made in your pussy fit, all right?"

>Dash protests again, but you cut her short. Sternly commanding she obey Gilda brings a smile from your favorite maid, her position cemented and authority reassured. For the rest of the evening you let Gilda lord over Dash, relishing every command she barks as she becomes the stern mistress.

>Tonight at dinner you and Gilda sit together, while Dash remains standing to refill your glasses. You excuse yourself, acting as your own sommelier, fetching a bottle of fantastic wine for an underdeveloped palette such as Gilda's

>Horror reflects in Dash's eyes as plainly as the candlelight, Gilda taking great draughts of the wine and feasting on the meat without any feminine reservations

>Laughing, you hold an arm out for Gilda, she takes your strong lead and leaves the dining hall with you. You let Dash know she is free to eat any if the scraps before she cleans up, having refrained from even setting a place for her.

>Nothing but cum in her bubbling stomach she whispers 'G-good night' before sitting at Gilda's place and pocking at her bones

>Turning away from the miserable creature you lead Gilda past the doorway to her wing. As you keep walking, her arm tightly held against your body, you feel her wine flushed cheeks blush further with warmth as she rests her cheek against your shoulder. Sidled tightly against you, walking down the halls as though a single creature, you bring her into the master bedroom and tightly lock the door behind you.

>Your lover needs no further cues, the lavish heat inside her body from the wine bore no fight against her magically eroded reservations. Her slim, athletic frame stood nude before you in the crack of moonlight seeping in through the parted velvet curtains

>It deserved to be a painting

>Encircling your prey you delicately trace your fingers around her body, as though shaping her from clay. She smiles and closes her eyes, her head spinning from the drink and dizzy from watching you walk in circles.

>Her skin is so warm to the touch, so soft, yet with the slightest pressure you find layers of unyielding muscle tone. You raise your caressing touch to her small chest, little play in the taught and perky breast. Your fingertip brushes rough, aroused areola, the sensitive nub of her nipple proudly jutting free.

>It was simply too hard to resist. Your own shirt discarded you place both hands on her hips, pulling her close and tightly bonding your bodies together. Nipples on pert breasts drag circles on your chest as you kiss her, the warmth on her cheeks nothing compared to the warmth inside her wet mouth. Her tongue, drunkenly less dexterous than isual, wallows in your mouth as you shame her with an excellent display of kissing on your own part.

>Her hands rest on your chest, idly playing with your pecs as though breasts before recalling you were male, then tracing her hands down your solid core and dipping into the waist of your pants. Firmly clutching your hipbones, fingers digging into your firm butt, she pulls your hips into hers as hard as you've done to her, the crushing heat and pressure between your bodies as you kiss threatening to bond you together

>She must throw her head back, having forgotten to breathe. Saliva drips onto your chests from her open, panting mouth, her intoxicated mind slowly forming an idea. Slick with spit she rubs her small, sensitive breasts on your firm chest. Her mouth still wide open, her hot breath nearly fogging in the cool evening air.

>You bend your knees, grasp her, and lift. She clings tightly for the short walk to the bed, her lothe muscular body heavier than you might have expected. Tossing her freely into the bed you're concerned you may lose her sinking into the mass of soft sheets and pillow

>She giggles to herself as shettles into the king, four poster bed. Her head finds the pillows as her writhing body carves a divot into the sheets. When you crawl into the bed with her she presents herself, legs wide open. She holds her hands under each knee, pulling herself as far apart as her inner strings would allow, granting you a clear view. From thigh to thigh already glistens in the moonlight.

>It is an adorable little cunt, perhaps one of the finest you've seem. Soft, petite inner labia do not fight the outer for dominance, a fat, handsome little clit heads the top of the folds, and all around it she has kept it neatly buzzed. You find youself drawn it it, ensorcelled by her pheremones and choosing to indulge yourself.

>Sinking your head between her thighs your face is assaulted by a blistering wet heat, as though opening an oven door while peeking too closely. Your tongue lolls itself out almost without your permission, eager to taste your conquest. From bottom to top, just a single teasing lick, you dig the tip of your tongue into her folds.

>The sensation is almost like running water as the hot nectar wets your tongue, it parts the smooth velvet curtains as it travels higher, flicking at her clit drives her into a fit of spams from the released tension of anticipation. Her moans are enchanting, it's all you can do to resist clamoring up and mounting her immediately.

>Instead you sink down onto your elbows, burying your face in her and sinking your chin into the wetness. You lips ring the delicate button, gentle flat strokes on the hooded nub wear away at it's hypersensitivity before you build up to playful flittering.

>She groans eagerly now, both hands on your head, pressing your face deeper into her muff while her thighs threaten to crush your head. As your smooth, steady polishing picks up tempo she growls, moving her hands to her pubic mound. Digging her fingertips into her mons she tugs back her hood, jutting her clit out defiantly

>Breathing through you nose, scent and taste overwhelming, you increase your fervor and intend to finish her. Her shallow, rapid breathing only gives way to groans and idle cursing, her hips slowly rise from the bed and jut into your face as she grows close.

>Finally she clamps her thighs on your head as tightly as an iron vice, convulsing from head to toe as you ride out the tremors with a flat tongue pressing down. Her orgasm passes, legs open limply and arms fall to the sides, her panting interrupted by a gasp as you break the seal on her once more hypersensitive clit.

>You lift your head to peek at her, cool air chilling the thicker slime on your chin. Her half lidded eyes stare down at you, cheeks still visible ruddish in the dim light. No more needs to be said.

>You slowly climb on top of her, neither of you with the patience or inclination for any exotic position. She's so wet you could blindly thrust and make it in, you're so hard you could drive it in anywhere. You kiss her deeply, pressing your tongue into her mouth and smearing her own cream on her chin as well. Were she not blushing before she most certainly was now, shame and exhilaration consuming her.

>You guide yourself to her slick lips, idly rubbing to coat yourself in the sea of slickness. Tenderly pressing in amidst her groans you're thrilled at how fresh she is. While her hands scratch at your back and her toes curl in the sheets from your simple presence inside her, you struggle to maintain your own composure under the crushing velvet warmth. She's very tight, almost painfully so, and she bottoms out just before your deepest stoke can reach.

>She's perfect.

>You continue kissing her, her moans echoing in your mouth as you defile her, leaving your permanent mark on her. She'll always be your now, no matter what Dash tries to do or say, Gilda will always remember you, and every time your name is spoken she'll feel the sensations of being taken by you.

>The aches of adjustment subside, her hips start bucking of their own accord almost immediately, led in tempo by your rhythmic thrusting. Elbows to either side, supine palms grasping her shoulder, you rock her entire body back and forth with each stoke.

>Your only command, the only words spoken during the act, were those demanding that she call your name. Through the rough act, no matter how heavily she panted or lost in the moment, she called your name on every cue you gave her, burning it into her mind as a fire burned in her loin. Lost in the moment, mind torn away by alcohol and lust, Gilda became an animal who could only speak your name, mover her hips, and cum, and she did each of these things quite well over the course of the affair.

>The damage has been done, she's been thoroughly imprinted, her subconscious forever stamped with a sigil of your ownership of her. Your own enjoyment a plesant side effect, the evening passed far too quickly, moon already visible in the west window. You ceased to deny yourself your own pleasure, unleasing your reservations and allowing yourself to go past the forbidden point of no return.

>A deep kiss on her neck turned to a powerful clamp of suction in the throes of your own orgasm, her skin instantly bruising in a plain spot high on the neck. Within her she kept her master's gift safe, her own delayed climax in response drawing the seed deep within her womb.

>Each exhausted, you collapse and rest in the lavish sheets. The large bed quickly wicks away the moisture of sweat and fluid, restful sleep comes swiftly.

>Dash arrives with the tea at 7:30, bleary eyed from lack of sleep and tears. You do not chastise her restlessness this morning, instead opting to simply cover Gilda's nudity with a sheet. Dash's hands tremble violetly as she pours the tea for you, threatening to chip the fineware and spill the liquid before she can even bear it to you. You sweetly tell her to leave her tray on the bedside table.