So Much

T abby DaSilva was crouched in the alleyway around the side of Silver Daughters Ink, scrutinising every car, bike, human, dog and human-looking dog that passed her family's tattoo studio. Unlike the many times she'd done this before, her plan wasn't to jump out clutching an imaginary stab wound and screaming ‘AVENGE ME!" at one of her older sisters.

No, she was squatting beside a bunch of empty nitrous canisters and gnawed KFC bones to intercept whatever sex gift Toby Tennant had sent to her today.

She would have fretted about how much the guy was spending, but Toby had money out the wazoo. The shy, nervous man she'd once known had made a bomb in cryptocurrency. Fucking him was the biggest moral compromise Tabby had ever made, and she'd tattooed dudes who'd killed people.

Her ex-best friend had come wandering back into her life after a two-year ghosting, and Tabby had done what any jilted friend would have done—told them to fuck off and die already. But he hadn't. Instead, Toby had talked her into giving him a tattoo.

She'd debated covering his left arm in My Little Ponies but instead gave him a gorgeous forest scene that sent his already offensive hotness into Greek God overdrive. Aaaaaand somewhere along the line, she started banging him. And sure, that was terrible, but it was also the best sex of her life. Life was stupid that way.

She and Toby were keeping things quiet, thank Christ, but the guy was dangerously close to exposing her via his sugar baby kink. In the fortnight they'd been screwing, he'd sent her a present every day Australia Post did deliveries.

"It's merch," Tabby lied to her sisters over and over—always failing to clarify whose merch it was and why she was getting it.

Sam and Nicole DaSilva were swallowing the falsehoods, but Noah—Nicole's husband—wasn't. He was an ex-biker and naturally distrustful of parcels, having sent his share full of meth and/or human fingers, and he had an eye for deception. Yesterday, he'd straight-up asked to see what was inside the box Toby sent her. She almost agreed because not all of Toby's gifts were filthy. Sometimes, they were a new phone or Earnest Sewn jeans. But since there was a non-zero chance of the contents being a dildo moulded into the shape of her ex-best friend's cock, it wasn't worth the risk. Unable to come up with a convincing lie, Tabby screeched, "I'm being blackmailed by nefarious people, and they're trying to kill me!" and ran away.

A solid diversionary tactic, but it would only work once.

Thus, the hiding.

Noah didn't know she was sleeping with Toby. As far as he and her sisters were concerned, they were still enemies. The truth—that she still hated the knob but kept showing up at his house to be degraded into screaming orgasms—was confusing enough in her own head without trying to explain it to anyone else.

She spotted a yellow hi-vis vest and rushed out of the alleyway to find the delivery guy on his little scooter.

"Tabitha DaSilva?"

Tabby nodded, rushing forward to sign for the parcel. The process seemed to take ten times longer than usual, and when the delivery guy handed her the box, she almost dropped it. It felt like a stack of bricks. Praying it wasn't one of those fucking machines, she dashed down the alleyway and along the dirt track toward the house that lay behind the tattoo studio. Casa De DaSilva was mercifully empty, so Tabby ran to her bedroom and locked the door. She placed Toby's parcel on her bed, picked up her now extremely well-used pair of scissors and started cutting through the packing tape.

She'd predicted the present was of the horny variety and was surprised to uncover a black velvet mini-dress. Pulling it out of the box, she saw it had a white lace neckline and boning in the bodice but was still very much not lingerie. Wondering if Toby clicked the wrong item on RichBallbagSexGift.com, she lifted the dress and saw foamy layers of petticoats. Then it hit her. It wasn't a dress. It was a beautiful, clearly stupidly expensive, French maid costume.

The rest of the parcel contained a bonnet thingy, a lace-hemmed apron, sheer panties, silk stockings, and a beautiful pair of black suede Mary Janes. But the coup de gras was a duster with soft brown ostrich feathers.

"Holy fuck," Tabby whispered. "You're batshit, Tennant. And I'm enabling you..."

A second later, she was tearing off her clothes. She had a tattoo appointment soon but needed to know how all that lace and velvet would look on her. Studying herself in the mirror, she thought she looked amazing. Slutty but oddly elegant, her tits swelling tastefully over the neckline, and the puffy skirt flirting with her ass but never quite exposing it.

‘Slutty but elegant' was a theme that ran right through Toby's sex fantasies. God knew why he was screwing her instead of some ballerina-type—but she didn't want to think about that. After checking the house was still empty, she called him. He answered on the second ring. "Hello, Tabitha."

"Shut up," she said. Toby always called her ‘Tabitha' like a cop reading her license. "I got your… thing."

"What thing?"

"Shut up. Your present. Your… outfit."

"Ah," he said, smug as balls. "Like it?"

Tabby's insides squirmed. It wasn't fair. Why did Toby get to be mega-hot, own beachside real estate and have a sexy voice? Where was the justice in that?

"It's quite…" she began. "It's very… Look, mate, what am I actually supposed to do with this?"

There was a beat.

"Put it on, come over, and clean my house."

Tabby scowled at her reflection in the mirror. "You're not serious?"

"I'm serious about the fact that I'm gonna gag you if you don't quit talking back."

A tingle went down her spine, and she pressed her thighs together.

"Be at mine by seven. Wear a coat, but the whole outfit has to be underneath it."

He was already talking to her like she was some impertinent domestic, and Tabby wanted to be annoyed but couldn't. As piggishly irritating as Toby Tennant was, the man could put it down like nobody's business . And really, this was a logical progression in their roleplay. Instead of a put-upon sugar baby, she'd become a straightforward employee Toby could sexually harass for their mutual pleasure.

"Tabitha? Did you hear me?"

She felt herself soaking her new thong and yanked it down. Hopefully, it wasn't too wet, or she'd have to wash it…

"Of course I heard you," she snapped. "Fucking relax already. I'll be at your place at seven to dust your stupid wine cellar."

"Oh, you'll do much more than that, Tabitha ."

He hung up before she could curse at him.

Swearing under her breath, Tabby discovered she was now late for her next client and still dressed like a horny maid. She yanked off her costume, wishing she had the willpower to resist Toby Tennant's dick.

…Just as soon as she fucked him again.

Toby's three-storey property was less intimidating now she'd been defiled inside it so many times, but it was still a shock to walk up the footpath to the gigantic mansion and remember he owned it.

Exhaling nervously, she whipped off her coat and tossed it and her tote bag behind a statue of some dead dude before ringing the doorbell. She held her feather duster aloft, hoping her fake boss didn't want her to do any actual cleaning. If she was required to scrub out his oven, she'd need a lot more than ostrich feathers...

The front door opened, and there he was, tall and ridiculously handsome in jeans and a white cable-knit sweater. His sleeves were shoved up to display his tanned forearms, and Tabby almost stepped backward.

Fuck me, mate, are you allowed to get around in clothes like that?

Her former friend looked her up and down, his eyes burning like pale blue coals. "You're the maid?"

"Y-yes," Tabby said. "You… you wanted me at seven?"

"My wife did, but she's not here. Come in."

Tabby could imagine his fake wife, all blonde and fancy. Jealousy spiked through her like nails, but she kept her face smooth as she followed him into the house.

"This needs a wipe," Toby said, gesturing at a table covered in rich-person bullshit. "You can do that later. I want you upstairs."

"Okay," Tabby said, resisting the urge to poke him in the back of the head with her duster.

He led her to his top-floor living room, where she'd tattooed his arm and gotten herself into this mess. There was no sight of his old cocker spaniel Mopsy. Tabby guessed she was hidden away somewhere with a huge pile of dried pig ears.

"Um, what do you want me to clean?"

Toby wandered toward his bar. "The bookshelves need a going over. And if you want to get paid, move each book out of the way. Don't just go around them."

Pedantic swine , Tabby thought, but she wobbled over to the bookshelf, ostrich feathers at the ready.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Toby pour himself a scotch and sit on his ostentatious white leather couch. He picked the spot right behind her, his gaze dragging across her legs and ass. Tabby arched her back in a way guaranteed to show off her stocking tops, and his low grunt had her fighting back a smile.

"So," Toby rasped. "You're a student?"

"Um, yes…"

"Look at me when you're speaking."

Asshole, Tabby thought, but she turned to smile at him. "Yes, I'm a student."

"Much money in cleaning?"

"Um, enough."

"Right." Toby's gaze lingered on her neckline. "Keep cleaning then."

Both hating him and desperately wishing he'd do something depraved, Tabby returned to the bookcase. She'd barely lifted her duster when he cleared his throat. "Can you help me with something?"

She glanced over her shoulder. "Um, sure. What?"

"What, Sir," Toby corrected. He set his scotch on the arm of the couch and pulled his sweater over his head. "I'm sore. Usually, my wife massages me, but seeing as she's not around, why don't you do it?"

"Oh…" Tabby's mouth went dry. Toby Tennant had an all-time body. Rippling muscles, zero body fat, the works. She tried to look shocked instead of desperately aroused. "Sir, I don't think…"

He tossed his jumper aside. "You don't mind, do you? It's my house, and you're my maid."

"But—"

"Stop talking." He flashed her a wolfish smile. "Come here, or I'll tell your boss you're incompetent."

Tabby felt a sweet flutter of guilt. God, getting ordered around did it to her. "Just a massage?"

"Yes," he said, sounding like a liar. "Now, do what you're told."

Heart racing, she dropped her feather duster and wobbled around to the back of the couch. As usual, the feel of Toby's skin sent a zing through her fingers. The spark couldn't just be psychological, but then what was it?

"That's good," Toby groaned as she massaged him. "Harder."

Tabby's fingers trembled, and she felt a little ashamed of how turned on she was by this fake married asshole. But she couldn't deny that the wrongness made it delicious. She loved bad boys. What was she supposed to do? Not get wet for this one?

She continued massaging Toby as he drank scotch and directed her hands. Then he shifted, adjusting himself through his jeans. Tabby stared at the distorted denim, her cheeks burning. "Is, um, everything okay?"

"It would be if you'd do your fucking job."

"Sorry, sir."

Tabby continued kneading. Toby's hand never moved from the bulge in his jeans. He began to stroke it, his cock growing harder by the second. She offered a silent prayer to any and all gods that he'd end this charade and just fucking fuck her already .

"Do you mind?" Toby asked, and without waiting for an answer, unbuttoned his jeans and extracted his thick, blood-dark cock.

Tabby let go of his shoulders, as shocked as if she was his maid. "Oh my God!"

"Calm down," he said, slowly pumping his shaft. "I'm not touching you. I just want something to look at while I jack off. Get over here. Kneel in front of me."

"I can't," Tabby gasped. "I'll get fired—"

"I'm not an asshole," he said, his tone implying precisely the opposite. "I'll pay extra."

He produced a folded hundred-dollar note from nowhere. "This do?"

"I'll get in trouble!"

"Not if you keep quiet." He turned, shoving the note between her tits. "Done. Now, kneel ."

Head spinning like she'd been drinking scotch, Tabby staggered around the couch and fell to her knees before Toby. He sneered at her. "Pull down your top. Show me those big tits."

Tabby yanked down her velvet bodice, the air cool against her nipples.

"Christ, they're fantastic. Pinch them hard. Like a man would."

She pinched her nipples roughly, and a bolt ran from her chest to her aching pussy.

Toby stroked himself faster, his gaze locked on her tits. "You easy little slut. Ever done this before?"

She shook her head, still pinching her nipples.

"You should cam. You'd make ten times the money."

"I'm too shy."

Her fake boss leered at her. "Are you now? Let's see. Stick your hands into your underwear."

"I… what?"

"Touch yourself for me. Like you're trying to come."

Tabby knew she should probably put up a fight, but it was entirely too easy to slide a hand inside her panties and stroke. The feel of her fingertips against her swollen clit was so good her eyes slid closed. "Mmmmmf…"

He laughed nastily. "Yeah, you're so fuckin' shy. Okay, slut, time to make your money."

Tabby's eyes flew open, and she found Toby's cock angled to her mouth. She yanked her fingers out of her panties. "No! I can't—"

"Open wide. I wanna cum on your face."

"I can't," Tabby whispered in a passable imitation of fear.

"You can. I've got cameras in here, and unless you do what you're told, I'll send the footage to your boss. Via a few other people who like slutty maids."

Tabby's mouth fell open.

"That's it. Now, stick out your tongue."

"You won't…?"

"I won't touch you. Now, do it."

She hesitated, then closed her eyes and extended her tongue past her lips. The second she felt the velvety head of Toby's cock, she wondered how she could have ever been so stupid. But then he was in her mouth, pushing deep. The betrayal felt so real she shuddered with horrified delight.

"Fuck yes," Toby said through gritted teeth. "Suck. Suck like you're starving for cum."

She didn't want to give in right away, but autopilot had her lips drawing tight around his shaft, her tongue laving the base as she drew him deeper.

Toby clasped her right breast, squeezing roughly. "Want me to fuck you?"

"Yerghhss."

"Too bad. You're not worth it."

Tabby whimpered, her lips stretched wide around his shaft. Toby's hips were rocking the way they did when he got close, and she watched, transfixed, as her former friend dropped his head onto the back of his couch. "Fuck I'm there… Fuck… Drink it down."

Tabby drank, the taste warm and strange as it always was. She felt a rush of humiliation and pleasure, the two emotions so closely bound inside her that she didn't know she could unwind them. But that was irrelevant. Right now, it was just her and him. Two bodies. One fantasy.

"Yes…" Toby rubbed his shaft on her face, spreading saliva and semen across her cheeks.

She sputtered, but Toby gripped her wrist as she raised a hand to bat him away. Twisting it behind her back, he continued painting her face. "Want more?"

"No!" she moaned, but they both knew she didn't mean it. He shoved her onto the carpet. "Get on all fours. We've got an hour before my wife's back."

"Noooo," Tabby breathed, already assuming the position.

"Yes, or I'll put your pretty face on every porn site on earth."

A second later, her petticoats were around her waist, and her thighs driven wide. She shrieked as Toby split her open, every nerve buzzing like an electric saw. "Stop! Please?"

"No," Toby snarled. "But keep telling me to stop. It makes me so fucking hard."

He slammed into her pussy so hard that goosebumps sprayed along her back and thighs, but Tabby was aware the good feeling was more than just a good feeling. There was a sense of… homecoming. A return to wholeness that reminded her of that myth about people being half an entity, forced to search the globe for their missing part. But it was a ridiculous thing to think, much less when someone you hated was fucking you senseless.

Tabby tried to make her mind go blank as she came screaming and clawing at the carpet. She fought to stay in her body as Toby slapped her ass and called her a good little whore. She attempted to feel nothing but lust as he jetted inside her, snarling her name.

She was doing a halfway decent job until Toby collapsed on top of her, holding her to his big, sweaty chest and moaning, "Jesus, Tabitha," in a way that made her want to tear her skin off.

Once upon a time it might have meant something, her and Toby being together. But not now he'd changed, and she'd changed. Now it was just sex. Just games. Just nothing.

And as her former friend withdrew from her body, leaving her panting and empty, Tabby vowed this was all it would ever be.