For a couple hours after she left her tenant’s house, Lupe was in a daze. Legs trembling, she took slow steps in her heels to her car, and from her car back to her apartment. She vaguely supposed she should clean herself up. Her makeup was a mess, and she reeked of the man’s sweat and cologne. She reeked of the mess she squirted down her legs when he made her cum with his fingers. And of course, she reeked of the load he had left for her, deep in her ass.
She had never so much as teased her asshole before, and she had never been aware of the place in her body that his cum now filled. She was hyper-aware of it – it kept pushing its place to the forefront of her mind as she mechanically went through the motions of unlocking her door, going to her room, walking into her bathroom.
She had supposed she should undress and take a shower when she caught a look at herself in the mirror. Her slim, nubile body still looked incredible in her clubbing outfit. Her skirt clung to her ass, hugging the long, slow curve of her hips. Her flat brown tummy was exposed. She could easily discern her nipple piercings through her sheer white blouse. Somehow, the sight of them excited her. She began tugging on them as she stared at herself in the mirror.
Of course the tenant had taken her like he did. She had arrived on his doorstep in the same outfit she wore to whore herself out on the dance floor. Her young body had power, and she used that power to get what she wanted, had become an expert in it. But before today she hadn’t anticipated the kind of power he had. The strength to simply take her. The confidence to do it, to feel entitled to it, without sheepish offers of money, without shameless wheedling. He had seen her, and known what she was, and had made her belong to him. The realization of it had her twisting her metal piercings now, mouth open and eyelids fluttering as the delicious mixture of pain and sedation rippled outward from her tender nipples.
He had made her his servant. Given her orders that she found her body obeying before her mind had even processed them. As he had every expectation she would. He saw a young, beautiful Mexican girl and had immediately labeled her “maid”. And she had confirmed the truth of his bored stereotyping. She had been his maid, barely questioning, and it had felt simply natural. She had felt serene, her mind a delicious blank, being his servant.
Then she remembered the taste of the roll of cash he had stuffed in her mouth. The price of her body and her dignity. She had been his maid for that cash. She had been his whore for that cash. Not some pretty young arm-candy, or flirtacious cock-tease. She had let him take the deepest, most secret part of her, on his own terms, and was happy to it, and to take his money like an eager puppy in her mouth when he was done.
By now, Lupe’s clit was throbbing. Her nipples were sore and sweetly aching, her body pulsing with energy. She left her clubbing outfit on, and began fixing her makeup.
She had never felt so electrically alive, crackling with ardent heat, as she did that night in the club. The strobelights flashed over her body as it twisted and undulated to the music. Her skin was hot and she was covered in a sheen of sweat. Her white blouse may as well have not been there, soaked as it was. Her gorgeous young tits bounced with every movement of her body, for all to see.
And see they did. It felt like every eye was on her. Uncertain, over-smiling middle-aged men. Cocky young guys in muscle shirts, drinking her in. Many approached her, danced with her, craving a taste of the friction of her body against there. She let them have their tastes. She had always loved being the center of attention, the focus of desire. It had been her reality for almost as long as she could remember, and it still intoxicated her, being the object and cure for so much ravenous need.
Before, though, she always made sure to keep herself just out of reach. To tease, to glide away, even to tell someone to fuck off if she had to, if they were coming too close and weren’t taking the hint. She knew the danger of being wanted. She took pains to protect herself.
But tonight, she felt completely safe and completely free. She could still feel her tenant’s seed, dripping down her asshole. The utter and complete ownership that it symbolized, that it demanded. The men surrounding her, smiling her, clumsily grinding and groping at her; they were nothing. They could never have her, never had a chance in hell of anything more than a taste of her. That undiluted certainty, blooming up from deep within her, made her feel blissfully safe and impossibly free. She let them bask in her splendor, and she danced all night long.
The next morning, the man who owned Lupe awoke to the sound of running water and the smell of something hot on the stove.
“I hope you don’t mind, Papi. I let myself in with the landlord’s key. I wanted to start early,” Lupe called from the kitchen.
The man, Mark, blinked groggily. He slept in his boxer briefs, and pulled himself out of bed and through his bedroom door without bothering to put on anything else. The sight that he found waiting for him should have surprised him, (and did, if he were being honest) but simply caused a pleased and knowing smile to spread across his face. Lupe was bustling around his home, tidying here and there while continually coming back to the pan of eggs and chorizo on the stove. He smelled hot coffee brewing, but that was only an afterthought, as he greedily looked her up and down.
She was wearing sneakers, with her thighs and ass rippling under her yoga pants; her normally abundant breasts were kept reasonably restrained in a sports bra.
“I wanted to have a quick run before I came by to take care of you, Papi,” she said, noticing him notice her outfit. “But of course I’ll get changed later. I have a feeling I know what you want me wearing.”
“Of course you do. You’re getting very, very good at anticipating my needs, aren’t you?” Mark replied, grinning.
She looked at him, beaming. She was getting better. She was improving, and he was pleased. She was pleasing him. The joy it gave her floated up from her stomach into her chest.
“Did you make it out to the club last night?” Mark asked her.
“Oh yes, Papi. It was so wonderful. I wore that outfit you liked so much and I…I took the present you gave me,” she replied, her cheeks suddenly burning.
“The money? Or the hot load I put deep in that thick, bouncing ass of yours?”
Lupe’s whole face was hot now. “The…yes…the…your…your leche, mi amor,” she stammered in reply.
“Did it feel good, having that slick hot seed dripping down the inside of your dirty little asshole while all those men watched you?” Mark asked knowingly.
“Oh my god, yes, yes sir. I could feel their eyes on me. Their hands on me. I could even feel how hard they were when they grinded themselves on me. They fucking loved this young Latin body, they needed it. But the whole time I could feel you in my ass and I never forgot it already belonged to you,” she rambled, nearly panting.
She noticed by now that she had been staring, fixated on the bulge in Mark’s tight-fitting boxers. Brought to awe as it rose, fighting against the fabric, thick and warm. Her body tensed as her muscle memory recalled the feeling of its girth in her asshole. She licked her lips and realized she was salivating.
She looked up at him, her big brown eyes communicating a wordless plea. Mark met her gaze, held it, and then simply snapped and pointed to the ground.
She was on her knees and crawling towards him in half a second. She kneeled in front of him and started kissing the bulge of his cock through his boxers like she was venerating a saint. She sucked and lapped at it as she pulled the waistband of them down to his ankles, and slipped it past her lips.
Despite her eagerness, she had only gotten two-thirds of it into her mouth before her gag-reflex kicked in. Her gags came out low and guttural, like an animal, but still she pushed her mouth down deeper, feeling its swollen head against the back of her throat. The effort brought tears to her eyes, but she was still struggling to take it all. She whined in frustration and disappointment. Her body was his property, and it was failing him.
That’s when she felt his hand on the back of her head, and inside she collapsed in relief. He was taking control. He was going to show her what to do, how to please him. All she had to do was give him everything. The relief was palpable, and washed over her.
And then she was gagging. Luke had gripped her thick black curls hard, so that her entire body tensed, and he was pushing and pulling her mouth up and down the shaft of his white cock like she was a toy. He pushed his cock down her throat, past the point she thought was her limit, and she heard herself burp up loud, vulgar gulps with every thrust. She had no control over her mouth, and her drool was coming down her chin in warm, thick streams. Her mascara was dripping again, from the tears involuntarily forming around her eyes by her body’s reflexive response. She felt herself becoming a mess after spending so much time to look pretty for him, and felt a flicker of shame, before it was subsumed into the ecstacy of giving him exactly what he wanted.
Suddenly he yanked her head back, pulling his cock out of her mouth, streams of saliva dripping from it over her cleavage.
“Are you crying, little maid? Is that big white cock making my pretty girl cry? Is it too much for her?” he gently jeered her.
“No…NO…I promise, Papi. I’m not crying. I can take it. Please, let me take it for you, I love it so much,” she wheedled.
“Are you sure? You’re going to take it without being a little crybaby,?” As he asked her this, he slapped her across the face with a firm but gentle palm, that shocked her far more than it hurt her.
“Oh my god, please. I’m not a crybaby. I’m a big girl. I can take it. Please, Papi, PLEASE. Don’t take it away. Use my mouth like a little doll, PLEASE,” she responded frantically.
She was desperate, on the point of tears. She had only just discovered how good it felt to be owned, how right it felt to know her purpose was to please this man. She couldn’t bear the thought of having it taken away. She needed it. She would do anything.
She was flooded with relief when he resumed fucking her pouty little mouth, through her gags and through her tears. Sometimes he would stop to taunt her or slap her; once he spat on her, adding his saliva to the mess she had made of her face and mouth and neck. The raw disrespect of it stung her, enraged the dignity of the girl she used to be, the girl she was to the outside world. But even that pang of indignity just drove her even more. She needed to please him. That was her salvation. That was her pride. That was her worth. She would debase herself to any extent to earn the pride of giving him pleasure.
When Mark erupted slick hot streams of cum all over her dripping lips and face, the relief flushed through her like heroin.
He made her wear it while she finished cleaning the house.