The Maid
 
Lucy places the silver fork on the white linen napkin, brushing her fingers lightly over the sharp tines. She imagines his strong brown fingers gripping the fork and feels a liquid clench deep in her belly. His beautiful dark eyes fill her thoughts, the way his gaze skims over her lips when he gives her directions. She moans slightly and leans on the table, catching her reflection in the silver spoon. This smooth belled curve of spoon will soon be in his mouth as he sips the clear consommé the cook has been sweating over all day. Lucy grips the spoon and looks quickly around the room. She is alone, the last of the house staff readying the table before the big party. She reaches under her skirt and slides the heavy silver spoon up her leg. 
 
A molten heat spreads through her core and her legs shake as she imagines his hands instead of the spoon, running softly over her skin, pausing at the top of her thighs and then easing over her panties. Lucy presses the warm hard spoon firmly against her swollen lips and gasps, wishing for his fingers to slide around her slippery nub. Tapping the spoon hard against her soaking pussy, she thinks of his fingers plunging inside her and then with one hard thwack against her clit, she cums in a soaking rush, the spoon wedged deep between her lips as her body pulses. 
 
As her orgasm subsides she lifts the spoon to the light. Her juices coat the spoon and drip down the handle. Lucy licks the spoon, tasting her musky heat, and then wipes the spoon down with her apron. smiling as she places it neatly by his plate. That consommé is going to be delicious.

​Do you think of me
as often
as I think
of you?

• — Richard Brautigan