The Houseguests - Sex Stories

The Houseguests

... floors in a maid’s uniform by the time the month was over.

My husband knew I was considering his request, and he lifted my leg, gently kissing it, moving his lips to my ankles.

“Queen Elena,” he said between kisses as he worked his way up my leg, “With a flirty little bitch AND her boyfriend… Owing you for your hospitality… Living under your rules… Doing your… Bidding… Serving you…”

He looked up at me as he reached my inner thigh, studying me to see if I was on board.

“How much prettier than her am I?” I asked, looking down my body at him, eyebrow raised.

“No competition,” he smiled, “You’re superior to her… In every… Single… Way.”

His kisses up my thigh won me over.

I ran my fingers through his hair.

“Make sure they know that it’s my house, my rules,” I said assertively as my husband began to use his incredibly talented tongue to pleasure me.

My full breasts began to heave as my husband worked his magic, a smile on my face as I imagined this girl, wondering what she looked like, thoroughly enjoying the idea of having her at my beck and call.

I was dressed to impress on the day they were to move in. I wanted little miss Peta to understand her position immediately. Of course, my husband had rejected her - his wife was smarter, richer, hotter, more successful - and now totally in charge of her. I wore tall black heels that had me standing at least 6 foot tall, and a stunning little yellow dress that showed off both my ample cleavage and my long, ...

... shapely legs.

And when I looked out of the window to see Kevin and Peta making their way up my driveway with their suitcases hand in hand, I smiled. My husband was right. Peta was simply no match for me.

I studied her. She was my equal in terms of breast size, but I guessed she was barely 5 foot 3, meaning I was much better proportioned. Her face might rival mine for prettiness, too, with a big gorgeous smile. But that’s where the comparisons ended. Like me, she had the deadly combination of dark hair and piercing blue eyes, but my hair was perfect as it gathered around my shoulders. All my friends said I had “rich-bitch hair”, never a single strand out of place, whereas Peta’s simply didn’t have the same luxurious look and shine. She did have a nice, flat stomach, showed off by her white boob-tube - but it was no better than mine - and rather than being encased in my flawlessly tanned skin, hers was pure white. She looked like she’d never spent a day in the sun. I glanced down. Peta wore tiny denim shorts - and I wasn’t sure why. I mean, sure, her thighs were thick and milky, calves with a nice definition… but no man was looking twice at those legs if someone like me was around.

“Basic bitch,” I chuckled as my studying of her concluded with me growing at her floral flat sandals that looked like she got them from Target for $10.

“Hi Elena, thanks so much for this,” Kevin said, giving me a friendly hug and a quick peck on the cheek.

Peta took that opportunity to ...