Household Help
Household Help
By the Muse of Caprice and Whimsy (mocaw.deviantart.com)
This story, the setting, all characters, and their distinctive likenesses are the property of the MoCaW and may not be used without prior consent. This story may be distributed freely as long as it is distributed in its entirety without editing, and with this disclaimer block intact. In other words: please give credit where it is due, it's the decent thing to do. Thanks.
*****
There are some days when a man just reaches his limit, when the stresses of work and life just seem to pile up so far that he either needs to seek relief or spontaneously combust. This had been one of those days. I'll spare you the details: suffice to say my father had gone off-world on a business trip, and in his absence, a minor crisis had emerged. Nothing critical, but his associates wanted the assurance that the Count of Elysee was aware of the situation and working to fix it. Needless to say, they were a little miffed when all they could get was his son (yours truly).
In any case, I'd finally managed to, shall we say, convince a lot of half-panicky nobles to unbunch their panties and calm down as I fired off a burst-transmission to inform my father of the situation. Now, there wasn't much left to do but wait for his response the next morning (even Slipspace transmissions take time.) So basically, I was all riled up, with a lot of excess testosterone that needed dissipating right away.
Thankfully, I knew just how to take care of THAT problem, at least.
"Fiona," I said into my wrist com, as I undid my necktie and leaned back in my favorite chair. "Are you busy at the moment?"
There was a brief tone, and the image of my favorite slave girl appeared in the air in front of me, projected from the holoprojectors in my wrist com. "Not at the moment, young master," Fiona said brightly. "I was just dusting the furniture in the parlor. Is it important?"
"Hmm. Well, more important than dusting furniture," I said, rubbing the back of my tired neck. "I've had a bad day, and I could really use one of your. . . massages," I said, emphasizing the last word.
Fiona ahhh'd and winked at me flirtatiously. "Of course, young master," she purred. "I'll be right up. Fiona out." There was a brief tone, and the transmission winked out.
I grinned happily as I touched several of my desk controls, dimming the lights, setting the diamond-glass windows to opaque, and turning on a little mood music: one of the old-Earth pieces that Ellsworthy De'Laile had introduced me to on our last visit to Victoria colony. Within a few minutes, there was a knock on the door. "Come in!" I said, leaning back in my chair and rubbing my hands with gleeful anticipation.
Fiona walked into the room and closed it behind her, her furry orange tail flirting excitedly. Like all of the manor's housemaids, Fiona was a vat-grown chimeric slave constructed of both animal and human cells: in her case, the animal portion was mostly feline (orange tabby, to be exact), with a hint of Red Somali for a fluffier tail. She was dressed in the household livery of Bonaparte Manor - a slave collar, frilly maid's hairpiece and apron, lace panties, a garter belt with matching stockings, high-heeled shoes, and absolutely nothing else. It was, I had to admit, a daring uniform even for the rather cosmopolitan morals of Elysee, but what was the point of being a Bonaparte if you didn't get to scandalize Imperial society?
Fiona wore the uniform well - her figure was a perfect hourglass, with ample, firm breasts, a round, smooth ass, and a slim waist that women had forced themselves into corsets to try and attain without success. A shock of black hair fell over one eye: the other was big and green, and it gleamed happily as she asked, "Well, young master, what can I do to serve you?"
She was, as usual, way too happy. My father blamed the trainers, whom he claimed had not sufficiently conditioned her with the proper, respectful and submissive attitude. Personally, I preferred Fiona's happy-go lucky personality to the meek and servile attitude of the other girls. Which was why she was my favorite bed-partner as well.
"Well, Fiona," I said, sighing. "I've had a difficult day, and I could really use a massage. You can start with my neck and shoulders and go on from there."
"Of course, young master!" Fiona said, grinning cheerfully. She flounced something resembling a curtsey in my general direction and. . . I'm sorry, the only word I can use is scampered. . . around behind my chair. I sighed with satisfaction as her hands began kneading the knots out of my neck and shoulders, massaging away the stresses of the day.
Trust me: cat-girls give the best massages. You might not think so, but who else would understand petting better?
I'm not sure how much time passed: all I know is that I was resting my head on my desk and groaning with relief when I was suddenly pulled out of my bliss by the realization that Fiona was nibbling at the back of my ear as she massaged my back and sides. She knew exactly what I liked, as she nuzzled the back of my neck and licked lightly under my chin, sending little tingles across my skin, the sensations building up in a little point a few inches below my navel, tenting my trousers visibly.
"Oooh, young master," Fiona purred, as she hugged me from behind, reaching around to fondle my manhood through my trousers. "This muscle seems horribly tense," she mewed, rubbing her firm breasts against my back as she perched on the arm of my chair. "Do you want me to massage it as well?" she whispered into my ear.
I sighed. "Yes," I murmured contentedly. "I'd like that very much."
"As you wish. Please lean back, young master." I reclined my chair slightly as Fiona got up and walked around to the front, slowly untying the apron strings around her neck so that the garment hung loosely from her waist, her firm, furry bosom exposed for me to see. "I think I'll use these to massage this muscle," she said, cupping her breasts and pushing them up and together for a moment before letting them fall free, and I felt my erection snap into full attention as I watched her breasts bounce. She lowered herself to her knees and undid my fly with her teeth, very gently easing my swelling cock from its confining clothing to stand freely before her.
I moaned with pleasure as her soft, furry orbs closed around my hard cock, her silky-smooth fur stimulating my pleasure centers and drawing a single, clear drop of pre-cum from the tip, which she licked off with her smooth, warm tongue (no sandpaper-like papillae here, thank God.) She was giggling at my obvious pleasure as she continued to wank me off with her tits, her warm softness enveloping me in a lover's embrace. . .
. . . that was about when my wrist com chimed. "Incoming call!?" I exclaimed in disbelief. I glanced at the panel and swore. "It's my father!" I groaned. "I can't believe he's actually spending the money for a direct connection, this must be costing him a fortune!"
"Oh, dear," Fiona sighed. "Just when it was getting fun, too."
"I know. We'll finish this up some other time, I guess," I said, disappointed.
"Hmmm. Begging my pardon, young master, but I must disagree." And then, without another word, Fiona ducked under my desk, pulled in my chair, and began licking the tip of my cock like a lollipop.
"What the. . . are you nuts?" I hissed, looking down at her in surprise. She looked up at me mischievously and began slowly running her tongue around the glans of my penis, making me shudder. "This is crazy," I moaned, as I hit the "RECEIVE" button.
My father's face appeared in the air over my desk. "Finally!" he said. "What took you so long to answer, son?" he asked, more curious than annoyed.
"Um. . . n. . . nothing, sir," I replied, trying to keep a straight face as Fiona cupped my balls in one hand and began slowly stroking up and down my shaft with the other. "J. . . just. . . um. . . taking care of some. . . things."
"Well, I got your burst transmission. . . and seven others from my closest associates saying that the world was coming to an end. What the heck is going on?" my father asked, steepling his fingers in front of him.
"Well, um. . . oooh. . . um. . . sir," I fidgeted uncomfortably. Fiona was running her lips up and down that little nerve on the underside of my shaft as her other hand firmly massaged my scrotum. "It was a slight . . . matter, actually, s.s.s.s.ir. . ." I stammered. "Just, well, Baron Corsevich was under the impression that the shipment was supposed to arrive today, and n-not next week as planned." I tried to ignore the fact that Fiona was now rolling her tongue over my balls as her other hand stroked my tip deftly, and pressed on. "I tried to expla-ha-haine the situation to him, but he just wouldn't listen, sir. And by that time, he'd already contacted the others to "inform them of the crisis," and things just went ba-ha-ha-hadly from there. . . ooh," I concluded.
"Um, I see," my father said, giving me a sidelong look. "Well, it seems to me like that should have settled it right there."
"Um. . . maybe." Fiona had finally stopped beating around the bush and was taking my dick into her mouth, her head bobbing back and forth out of view of the camera as she expertly deep-throated me, the head of my cock sliding down her throat as her tongue ran up and down my shaft, rolling around the tip at the top of each stroke. "Unfortunately, the others didn't seem willing to accept my word for it. They kept wanting to talk to you, even when I insisted that it was impossible and unnecessary."
My father sighed. "They always were like that," he said idly. I gripped the edge of the desk tightly with my left hand, feeling my swelling cock starting to throb as I neared orgasm. I patted the back of Fiona's neck with my right, trying to get her to stop, but she just kept on going, her eyes twinkling mischievously as she started drawing me slowly, inexorably, towards the inevitable release. "Especially Jacoby," my father went on. "I remember one time, when we were in the war together, he'd found a shipment of Spartan weaponry and insisted that. . ."
The rest of his words faded away as I came. My hand clamped around the back of Fiona's neck as I spurted pulse after pulse of hot, white cum into her mouth, willing myself not to moan out loud in pleasure as she gulped down every drop, closing her eyes as she forced down the salty, thick fluid. My knee thumped loudly against the bottom of my desk as I fought the urge to arch my back, and that restraint just seemed to make it worse. . . or better, from your point of view, intensifying the pleasure of release.
". . . all right?" my father said, as I came down from my release.
"O. . . of course, sir," I sighed, trying to still my breathing.
"Good, I knew we would see it that way!" my father said. "Oh, and Fiona?"
My heart skipped a beat, and there was a long, awkward pause. After a moment, Fiona poked her head up from below the desk, wiping daintily at her mouth with her apron. "Yes, master?" she asked, addressing my father.
"I hope," my father said, "that you were not doing such things when my son was trying to negotiate with my business associates?"
"No, sir," Fiona said guiltily.
"Thank God for small favors, at least," my father muttered. "Seriously, William, you really do need to discipline your slaves more often." And with that, he shut off the connection.
I glanced down at Fiona wickedly. "Did you hear that?" I asked. "He just asked me to discipline you."
Fiona mroooowed! in mock terror as I grabbed her and turned her over my knee, kicking her legs helplessly, "Well, then, I grinned, running a hand down her back to cup her warm, firm buttock. "Let's begin. I've got a few minutes before I can go again, and I intend to make full use of that time to teach you a lesson. Understand?"
"Yes, young master," Fiona said humbly.
The End, for now. I think