Testing the Submissive(26)

This time Xochi made the suggestion, “I think the maid should clean up the mess.”

By maid, she meant me. I wasn’t about to object, and Marjorie’s soft nod was my green light. I leaned forward and started with Marjorie’s chin where another drip was forming. I lapped it onto the flat of my tongue and swallowed it down. Once the chin was nicely cleaned up, I started in on that eye socket. At one point I had to practically slurp it into my mouth. I did her cheeks, the side of her nose, her forehead, a little on her neck, and those two big droplets that had landed on her breasts. All of Kevin’s cum was now in my tummy, and the mess was all cleaned up. Kevin meanwhile had zipped up, and found his coat. One last round of hugs at the door and he was gone as quick as he had arrived.

We talked until the early morning hours. I couldn’t believe how, in such short order, I felt almost closer to these three women than I did with my own best friends. There was no pretense among us. No competitiveness. No jealousy. An inherent air of trust. At one point, Christie began to masturbate in mid conversation as if it was the most natural thing in the world. None of us offered to help her or join in, as we knew she was doing it alone by choice. She simply wanted to give herself a little quickie, so why not right here, right now? It was beautiful. Her face contorted for a half-minute, while the rest of us just kept gabbing. Then she rejoined the dialogue, muttering “excuse me” as if she had just sneezed. We giggled.

She also whispered to me, “Still on clean-up duty?”

I enthusiastically nodded, and her hand crept up from within her bathrobe shiny wet with her juices. She extended her arm toward me, and I craned my neck to reach the wet fingers. I sucked on each digit, loving her musky scent. Again, it all felt so natural.

That night Marjorie and Christie slept in one bed, and Xochi and I in the other. We cuddled which felt so sweet. It was the first time I’d ever fallen sleep cuddling another woman.





CHAPTER 13: MORE VICTOR


The next day…

I woke up first, at 9:30 or so. With the others quietly sleeping, I made my way to the in-suite coffee station and brewed a few cups. By 10:30 we were all awake, chit-chatting and indulging in a lovely breakfast tray that had arrived, courtesy of the network. I texted Lewis and told him I’d be ready for pick-up by noon. He replied with confirmation that Victor would be waiting.

We showered and applied make-up, sharing tips on the latest and greatest from Lancôme, M.A.C., and Bobby Brown. I was the least prepared as I was the only one who had not known about the sleep-over in advance. Lewis and the network are strict with the rules, and this was all intentional on their part. The other girls had brought overnight bags with fresh clothes for a new day, while I was stuck with that damn Banana Republic outfit that would not disappear. It felt like I had worn this thing for a week!

We all said our goodbyes. The girls explained to me that, while contact between us was not forbidden, generally it did not occur. This was a mutual decision between the network and the submissives, and upon further reflection, it made infinite sense. If we stayed in regular contact, we’d start warning each other about certain clients; we’d have post-session discussions; and we’d be tempted to meet for coffee and possibly more. It was best we live separate existences so that our individual focus remain that of our Master/Sponsor, and our vulnerability and naiveté regarding clients remains intact. From what they told me, we’d probably bump into each other once or twice – but the next sleep over wouldn’t happen until our annual network interview a year from now.

Victor was waiting. Since he was driving my car and not his limo, I jumped into the front seat.

“Mister Lewis wants you to call him on the speaker phone,” Victor mentioned.

Lewis was in a great mood, quite cheerful and happy to hear the sleep-over had been such a success. He wasn’t surprised I fit into the group so seamlessly. It felt slightly odd to have Victor listen in on the conversation, especially when Lewis asked if there was sex after all.

I didn’t go into specific details because that’s not what Lewis was asking, but I did admit my face had been buried between the legs of all the three of the women, and that I’d cleaned up the mess left on Marjorie’s face. Lewis was more pleased, not so much because of the sex itself, but rather it was further proof the subs were a happy bunch of campers. When a natural pause in the phone conversation occurred, I anticipated Lewis was about to say goodbye.

Instead, he directed his next question to his driver: “Victor, do you remember the last time you dropped off Abigail?”

“I sure do, Sir. Yup. I remember well,” Victor said. He sat up in the seat, clearly feeling haughty.