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Reality Rings: The Maid free porn video
John Kent had the perfect life. He also had a maid, and she
wanted that life for herself.
Reality Rings: The Maid
by BobH
(c) 2012
John Kent
In my study I poured myself a Scotch, sighing appreciatively
as its familiar odour assailed my nostrils. This was the start
of a long weekend break for me, my first in quite a while, and
I intended to relax and make the most of it. Many people think
TV news presenters have an easy job, but there's a lot more to
it than you see onscreen, and I was tired. Three days rest was
something I badly needed.
I placed the bottle back on the mantlepiece next to the framed
photos, one of me as a child with my parents and my brother Toby,
and the other of me and Kevin embracing. I raised my glass to
Kevin's picture.
"Cheers, my darling!" I said, then threw back the whisky,
wincing as it seared my throat.
I walked over to the French windows and stared out into at the
driveway, where my BMW was parked on the drive, and out over
the garden where Max, our gardener was tending the manicured
lawns of the half-acre of land our neo-Georgian manor house
stood in. It took both mine and Kevin's salaries to afford it,
the lavish salaries of a TV star and his high-flying corporate
lawyer fiance, but it was worth it. This was our little piece
of heaven. The remodelling was almost done now, with everything
finally exactly as we wanted it.
"Mr Kent, sir?" said a female voice. I turned to face Saira,
our Sri Lankan maid.
"Yes," I said, "what is it Saira?"
At six-one I was a good foot taller than the girl, but she did
not look up at me as she spoke. Rather, she kept her eyes
lowered, her voice as quiet, as timid as always.
"The builders," she said, "they call while you out, say must
have final approval of plans."
She was not entirely fluent in English, though she had improved
a little in the month she had been with us.
"OK, I'll ring them and get it sorted out," I said. "Was that
all?"
"Ah, no," she said, nervously, fishing something out of the
pocket of her maid's uniform. "I have gift for you."
"A gift?" I said, surprised. "I'm not sure if that's..."
"No, no, you please take," she said, thrusting something into
my hand. It was a silver ring, engraved with a representation
of a set of scales.
"It's very nice," I said, "but I couldn't possibly...."
"You try on please, yes?" she pleaded, clearly agitated.
"Oh, alright," I said, slipping it over my right ring finger.
I'd have sworn it was too small, but it slid on as comfortably
as if it had been made for me.
"I too have ring, see!" she smiled, showing me the ring on her
own right hand. It was identical to the one she had given me
save that hers had what looked like some sort of rune over the
balance point of the scales.
"You like ring and not take it off, yes?" she said.
Somewhat to my surprise I found myself nodding in agreement.
I'd only put it on to humour Saira, intending to then hand it
straight back to her, but that now seemed silly. Of course I
was going to to keep wearing it.
"I go now...make dinner for you and master Kevin," she said,
backing out of the room.
She was a strange girl but hard-working, if not particularly
bright, and very attentive. She was on a short contract and
would be flying back to Sri Lanka in a few weeks to marry a
man she had never met, someone chosen for her by her parents.
She didn't talk about it much, but I got the impression she
was less than thrilled by the prospect.
When she had gone, I sat down at my desk and turned on my
computer. It was time to write my weekly newspaper column.
I lit a Gitane - I couldn't write without cigarettes - and
pulled open a drawer to check the notepad where I jotted down
ideas as they occured to me throughout the week. Scanning my
scrawled notes, I quickly identifed what I wanted to
write about. Turning to the computer, I began to type...
*
Saira Krishnamurthy
I am in my room and my heart beats fast. I did not think
master John would take ring, but he did so is all good. I
test it now, swap something with him. I focus on ring...and
deed is done!
*
Kevin Somersby
It's been a tough week at work but as I pull up in front of
our house, parking my Saab next to John's BMW I let out a
long, deep sigh, releasing the tension that has built up
over the past several days. Ah, John! Love of my life and
ruler of my heart! Since we met when we were both students
at Oxford, there's never been anyone for me but you. I never
thought I could be attracted to someone so short, but that
'take charge' attitude, the blond hair, those blue eyes that
someone could lose himself in.... I shook my head and laughed
to myself, climbing out of my car and heading in.
Saira was there as I entered the house.
"I take coat and case, yes?" she said.
"Yes, thank you, Saira," I said, handing them to her. She was
sweet-natured and eager to please, but at six-foot-one tall
she loomed over me and that could be a little intimidating in
a maid. John emerged from his study as Saira hurried away with
my coat and case.
"Hello, honey," he said, smiling and opening his arms to me.
As we hugged and kissed so I could feel more of the tension
leaving my body.
"That feels so good," I said, disengaging from him, "and after
I've had a shower you can help melt away all the stresses and
irritations of the week."
"Oh, I am so up for that!" he grinned.
Blowing him a kiss, I headed upstairs to the bathroom.
*
Saira Krishnamurthy
In garden I am shaking but laughing, too. master John and master
Kevin not notice anything different. Rings give, take, swap, and
copy so I decide I now take something from master John and copy
something to him.
*
John Kent
Glancing out the study window I see Saira on a cigarette break,
lighting up one of those French cigarettes of hers. Since neither
Kevin nor I are smokers and don't care for the smell we don't let
her smoke indoors, but she doesn't seem to mind. I wonder if I'd
be as timid and as eager to please if I'd been born and raised in
Sri Lanka? Since I'm as dark-skinned as Saira, a South Asian child
born in Britain but raised by white foster parents, it's something
I've wondered from time to time. While I'm waiting for Kevin to be
done with his shower, I finish off my article. Even for me this
was a fast piece of writing and I'm pleased it reads so well. As I
start my printer, I look up to see Saira standing in the doorway.
She gives me the strangest look.
"Yes?" I say.
"Now I know rings work is time to finish changes," she says,
fingering her ring. "Goodbye, master John!"
*
Sarah Kent
For a moment, the girl looks dazed, but only for a moment. Smoothing
the skirt of her maid's uniform, she looks up at me expectantly.
"That will be all, Sushmita," I say.
"Yes, mistress Sarah; I go now," she says, and she actually gives me
a little curtsey!
I laugh as she leaves. Sweet little Sushmita, our none-too-bright but
hard-working maid. And I'm the only one who'll ever know she used to
be John Kent, or who will even remember there ever was a John Kent!
I'm amazed and delighted by my improved cognitive abilities, and by
how I'm effortlessly thinking in perfect English. Glancing down at
myself, I nod approvingly at the tailored trouser suit, silk blouse,
and Louboutins I'm wearing. Everything is now perfect, is now just as
it should be.
I pour myself a Scotch, sighing appreciatively at its odour, an odour
now as familiar to me as it had been to John Kent, assails my nostrils.
I take a sip, savouring it. Placing the bottle back on the mantlepiece,
I study the framed photos, one of me as a child with my adoptive
parents and my brother Toby, and the other of me and Kevin embracing.
From the moment I saw sweet little Kevin it had been love at first
sight, and now he was mine. I raised my glass to his picture.
"Cheers, my darling!" I say, then throw back the rest of the whiskey.
"And cheers to you, too, sweetie," says Kevin, coming up behind me
and sliding his arms around my waist.
I turn and there he is, smiling up at me, my beautiful Kevin - freshly
showered and looking like an angel. I kiss him slowly, deeply,
savouring every moment, every last sensation, one hand slipping beneath
his bathrobe and gently caressing his manhood. When at last he pulls
away from me, slightly breathless, his eyes unfocussed, he says:
"Wow, that was some kiss! Now, about helping me get rid of all the last
week's stresses...."
Taking his hand, I lead him back upstairs to his...to *our*...bedroom,
and to the start of our new life together.
*
Kevin Somersby
Lying in Sarah's arms, my whole body still tingling and alive from
our love-making, my wrists slightly sore from the handcuffs, I gasped
softly as she began to idly pinch my left nipple. She was only a
couple of steps removed from being a dominatrix. And it was wonderful!
Ah, Sarah. Love of my life and ruler of my heart! Since we met when
we were both students at Oxford, there's never been anyone for me but
you. I never thought I could be attracted to a woman so tall and so
commanding, but that slim athletic body, that brown skin, those deep,
dark eyes that someone could lose himself in.... Everyone thought you
were just a college fling but here we are, still together, and engaged
to be married.
"A penny for them?" she says, lighting a cigarette.
"I was just marvelling at how happy you make me," I reply.
"And you me, my darling," she says, kissing the top of my head, "and
now you're mine."
It's a bit of an strange thing to say given the years we've been
together, but I let it pass.
"Champagne?" she asks. "I can get Sushmita to interrupt her chores
long enough to bring us a bottle."
"Yes, please. That would be fabulous."
She picks up the bedside phone and makes an internal call to the
kitchen. As she talks to Sushmita there's a note of glee in her voice
and she has the oddest expression on her face. It's almost as if she's
gloating about something. Then I smile, remembering just how passionate,
how wild our lovemaking had been, knowing we have more ahead of us
before the afternoon is done.
*
Sushmita Krishnamurthy
I carry champagne in ice bucket upstairs to mistress Sarah. I know what
she and master Kevin do together and I envy her very much. I knock on
bedroom door and mistress Sarah opens it. She is smoking cigarette and
wearing only high heels. I blush, and quickly lower my eyes. She takes
bucket from me.
"Thank you, Sushmita!" she laughs. "Master Kevin and I will be at least
another five or six hours so there's no need for you to start cooking us
a meal yet. Just carry on with your cleaning duties for now, there's a
good girl!"
"Yes, mistress Sarah," I say, backing away. I lift my eyes as she close
door, see master Kevin on bed, naked except for stockings and garter belt.
It gives me funny feeling in my stomach...and lower. I know such feelings
sinful but I can not make them stop. Downstairs, I polish silver, but can
think only of master Kevin, naked on bed. Later, cleaning outside bedroom,
I hear them together, hear sounds of passion, hear master Kevin moan and
squeal. I clean harder, try to drown out sounds, unhappy is not me giving
pleasure to him.
*
Sarah Kent
Sitting at my desk I gazed at my computer screen. It was time to write
my weekly newspaper column. I lit a Gitane - I couldn't write without
cigarettes - and pulled open a drawer to check the notepad where I jotted
down ideas as they occured to me throughout the week. Scanning my scrawled
notes, I quickly identifed what I wanted to write about. I began to type,
and it just poured out of me. In less than half an hour I'd finished the
article. Even for me this was a fast piece of writing, yed it reads very
well. I started my printer, then gazed down at the small package on the
desk.
The package was plain and has no address or postage stamps. This is how
I will drop it in the mail, secure in the knowledge the rings will find
their way to their next intended recipient just as they found their way
to me. I don't know how I know this anymore than I understand why I
instantly knew how to use the rings when the package meant for me first
arrived. I just did. It was immediate recognition on my part, just as it
was when I found that magazine all those years ago in Sri Lanka. Why my
father should have had a fetish magazine at all I don't know, or where he
would have obtained such a thing, but seeing all those dominatrices within,
those strong women bending submissive men to their will, coalesced feelings
and urges within me I had never been able to properly articulate or put a
name to. I knew then I wanted to *be* one of those women. Given my
circumstances it seemed an impossible dream yet here I now am, living that
dream.
Not for the first time I found myself wondering at the power of the rings,
at their ability to reshape reality itself. In the village I came from
they believed in witchcraft, but this wasn't the sort of power a mere
witch could command. No, this was the power of a God.
And I knew which one.
A Google image search on the rune adorning the master ring had revealed
it to be a symbol associated with one of Aesir, the gods of the Norsemen.
Loki, god of mischief.
I could see the situation the rings had enabled me to engineer appealing
to a trickster god such as Loki, and I hoped that would be enough to
satisfy him. Because if not then I was now indebted to a god, and who
knew what payment might eventually be demanded of me in return.
Hearing a small cough, I looked up to see Kevin standing in the doorway.
"I've finished vacuuming the house," he said, smiling at me expectantly.
He looked gorgeous in his French maid's outfit. Legs that spectacular
should always be displayed in fishnets, a tiny skirt, and five inch heels.
Covering them with trousers, as Kevin had to for his day job, ought to be
a crime.
"Come here, sweetie," I said, swivelling my chair and patting my lap.
Kevin needed no second invitation. Giggling, he hurried over to me,
stiletto heels tapping a pitter patter beat on the hardwood floor.
As I put my arms around his slender waist and kissed his painted lips I
couldn't help thinking of our former maid, Sushmita. With Kevin assuming
all the cooking and cleaning duties - and looking much sexier doing them
- I'd let Sushmita go early and she had returned to Sri Lanka. That had
been almost three months ago. By now she would be married to the husband
my parents - *her* parents - had chosen for her. I hope she's happy in
her new life.
I know I am.
*
THE END.
Note:
This one was written as a tribute to Catherine Durham's 'New Maid Maria'
and, like too many other tales, has set round on my hard drive semi-complete
for several years.
Oprah
- 13.01.2021
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