Doggies Make Good Maids

Dear reader—

Let's see. Mind control, femdom, transvestism, autofellatio, cum-eating, mild homophobia, and some late autumn cleaning. Also, no violence. If such things float your boat, then enjoy. If not, best to move on.

The characters appear my stories Adam at the Arcade, Doggies Don't Wear Clothes, and Drilled by Desmond. The events of this story take place some months prior to Drilled by Desmond.

*****

Lily and Jill breezed into Jill's home, feeling great after three hours of hard leisure: yoga class, spin class, showering, and coffeehouse chat. It was a bright, sunny, cool Saturday morning. A slanted autumn sunlight streamed through tall windows. Lily loved Jill's home: Tall ceilings, plush carpet, and a vast, clean living room opening into a kitchen of chrome appliances and spice racks and heated tile flooring.

They sipped coffee on Jill's enormous white couch, talking happily. Jill sported a black tank top that showed off her stringy, alabaster-white yoga-trained arms. Her calloused feet poked from beneath a flowing hippie skirt of blue, red, and white swirls. Lily was comfy as always, happy to be in sweatpants, T-shirt, and footies. From downstairs came occasional sounds of cleaning: spraying, flushing, vacuuming, sweeping. Lily had dropped off Adam earlier and set him loose in Jill's basement.

"Thanks again for the loaner," said Jill. She tied her blonde dreadlocks behind her head. "It's been forever since the basement got really cleaned. You're sure he doesn't mind?"

"He can't mind if there's nothing there to mind with," said Lily.

Jill laughed. "I just don't have the time, and we don't have the cash for a cleaning service."

Jill taught yoga six days a week, sometimes twice a day. There wasn't much money in it. She just loved the exercise, how it trained her body, and the people she taught—mostly middle-aged white ladies with leisure time. The rest of her time, Jill worked on art. Painting, sculpture, pottery, mixed media—whatever struck her fancy.

"No Desmond today," Lily noted. Jill's husband.

"He's out working. A construction job, I think. Or maybe it's his landscaping business. Not that he tells me."

"So he's in a 'noncommunicative place,'" said Lily.

"God, please, no more 'marriage counselor' jargon. He's not in a 'place,' he's being a dick. He won't talk, won't do anything around the house. Works all day for other people but won't do anything for us."

"He works for money," Lily pointed out. A ton of money. She couldn't understand how Desmond could make so much but they couldn't afford a cleaning service. "I still think it's a cultural thing. You know."

"Yeah, cultural. 'I'm a black man. We're not like white men. You can't be in our business all the time.' Fine. But he married a white girl. I've changed for him. I pry less, I give him space, I don't ask what he's thinking all the time. But he's not giving me anything. He's just angry." She sipped, then said, "Sometimes I want to do to him what you do to Adam. To get him talking."

"It doesn't work that way. He wouldn't get Desmond's memories. The man cleaning your basement doesn't know anything about Adam."

"'Man' in my basement?" said Jill. "You mean 'doggie.'"

"Sure," said Lily. She didn't him that unless she was playing with him directly. "Anyway, there's just something wrong about turning a black man into a slave."

"He wouldn't be my slave," said Jill. "He'd be my lover. My occasional lover. I mean . . . well, you know. We're not doing well. We haven't had sex in weeks. What you do to Adam . . . can we do it to Desmond?"

Lily considered. "It takes a lot of time and patience. A lot of late nights. You have to be careful not to wake him while the training's going on. Then he'll know, and he might not appreciate it."

"Couldn't we do it to him while he's awake?"

Lily shook her head. "The waking mind isn't as pliable. You'd have to force so much into his brain at once that you'd damage his daylight mind. It's best to build from below, in dreams, than it is to enforce from above."

Jill pouted. "If he keeps up being such a pain in the ass, enforcing from above might not be a bad thing."

Then came a heavy clonking up the basement steps—20 steps, Lily counted. Adam entered the living room and towered over them, dazed, trusting, attentive.

Adam was pimped out in full French-maid fantasy garb. Three-inch black pumps, black thigh-highs, garters, black corset, choker, maid's cap. His short pageboy hair framed his heavily made-up face: ruby lips, purple eyelids, blue eyelashes. His knees were coated in the filth of an unfinished basement. He'd been on all fours a long time. Scrub, scrub, scrub.

"Goddamn, Lily," said Jill. "Your hubby is a cute guy, but he's a fucking ugly tranny. I don't think even Balthazar would fuck him."

Adam's panties swelled, and a wet, fleshy mushroom poked over the rim. "Oh, look," said Jill. "He gets off on being insulted."

"He gets off on pretty much anything. I'm not selfish. I want it to be fun for him, too."

"How can it be fun if he doesn't remember anything?"

"It's fun at the time. Doggie, you're having fun, right?"

"Yes Ma'am. Doggie has fun serving you and Jill."

"That's hot. Like he's a Barbie doll or a bimbo."

"Goth Barbie," suggested Lily.

"Ugliest fucking Barbie doll ever," said Jill. They laughed, and the mushroom poked out more and sprouted a clear bead of liquid, making them laugh harder.

Jill said, "Doggie, you've been working so hard—you must be thirsty and hungry. Kneel on the floor. Good boy. Now go to Balthazar's bowls in the kitchen. Don't worry, Balthazar's outside. Finish them all up. Lick them clean. Then come back." Adam crawled away. Soon they heard lapping water and crunching kibbles.

"It's been about four hours, now," said Jill. "Won't he notice the lost time?"

"He'll remember cleaning up the basement, but he'll think he did it because he's a super-nice guy. Then he'll remember hanging out with us and having lunch, all in his normal clothes. None of this tranny stuff."

"Adam is a super-nice guy," said Jill. "Like, the real Adam is really nice. Did you make that happen? Muck with his head a bit?"

Lily shook her head. "I can't affect the real Adam at all. That's just him. He's just a really sweet guy. Thoughtful, attentive, he doesn't mind cleaning or cooking, he listens to me, he likes doing what I do, but he's not clingy. He's got his own interests and life."

"Then why'd you do this to him? Most girls would kill for a nice guy like that."

"One fatal flaw." Lily sipped her coffee for the dramatic pause. "No libido."

"No libido? You mean low libido."

"Nope. I mean no libido. He's scared of sex. Lots of shame, lots of guilt. Decades old stuff, foundational to his personality. So he just puts all his energy into working, writing, exercising. But not sex."

"Are you sure he's not gay?"

"Well, he's gay NOW," and they laughed. "He's pretty much everything now."

"Do you and Adam ever have sex? I mean, when he's just Adam?"

"Nope. We did a couple of times, before all this started, but . . . well, he just wasn't really into it. It was painful for him, brought up all kinds of bad feelings. I could tell he was doing it for me, not him."

"But what happened to him? What's he so guilty about?"

"Sorry. That's personal. I won't betray my husband's trust. I will say that I did this to help him. To let him feel pleasure and give pleasure without guilt or shame. In fact, this is how he gets past the guilt and shame. By serving, and making others happy. It's atonement. It's the one time in his life he can be free."

Jill pursed her lips. "It still bet he's gay."

"Nope. He swears on his parents' graves that he's straight."

Adam crawled back into the room and knelt on all fours in front of Lily and Jill. His belly hung low, full of food and water.

"Hunh," said Jill, brushing hair from Adam's eyes. "Well, you sure turned this straight guy into something pretty bent. And speaking of bent . . . should we get started?"

"Sure," said Lily. "Do your thing."

"Doggie," she said. "Stand up, and strip." Adam complied. He stood before them, nude, his cock still hard from earlier insults.

"Hum," said Jill. "Let's keep him a little whored up, though. Not just the makeup. Doggie, put the thigh-highs and pumps back on. The choker, too." Adam put them back on and grew 3 inches taller.

"Fuck, that's hot," said Jill. "I can't decide if it's because he looks like a whore or if it's that he's got no power."

"Yes to both," said Lily. "This wouldn't be nearly so fun if he had any power. 'Sisterhood is powerful,' right?"

"It's about goddamned time it was," said Jill. She retrieved a pink yoga mat from a closet and set it on the floor so that it and the couch formed a T-shape.

"Doggie," said Jill. "Lay down on the mat, on your back." She assumed her yoga-instructor persona: helpfully stern. "Put your head up here by the couch, near me and Lily. Good boy."

Jill cleared her throat. "Doggie: Ouroboros pose."

Adam swung his legs up and over his head, curling his body into a C. The pumps on his feet dangled up by the couch, their weight keeping him from rolling back. His muscles shook lightly, trying to keep balance.

"Use your feet to brace yourself. Against the couch, doggie. Good, right. That'll keep you steady."

His ass pointed toward the ceiling, and his cock pointed down at his head, about an inch from his nose.

"Doggie," said Jill. "Hold that pose. Breathe in . . . hold it . . . hold it . . . let go. Good boy. Keep breathing that way. Let your back relax. Let it relax. Breathe, and relax. Hold that pose for a while, Look at your cock, dangling above you. Look at that beautiful, big, hard cock. Look at that precum . . . .oh, it's starting to string down. The string is getting longer, longer . . . can doggie catch it on his nose? Oh, good doggie! Here come more strings. Catch them with your nose."

Jill moved to the floor next to Adam. She lightly stroked his lower back, his ass, the backs of his thighs. At times she came close to his balls, but not too close.

Lily shifted on the couch, putting herself directly in front of Adam. From this angle he looked like a mutant elephant, its trunk growing out of a wrinkled bump above its eyes. She took out her iPhone. "Want a souvenir?"

Jill squealed. "Oh, God, yes! But don't get me in the picture."

"What," said Lily. "You don't think this would drum up the yoga business?"

"Seriously, Lily. No pictures with me in it."

"Don't worry. Nothing incriminating. Not that we're doing anything wrong. What's a little yoga among friends?"

Adam's back relaxed more, and his groin dropped lower. Soon his cockhead rested below his nose, precum flowing onto his upper lip.

"Doggie," said Jill. "Snort your precum. Right up your nose." Adam shifted, bringing his cockhole to a nostril. He inhaled, hard. His nose burbled, and then he swallowed.

Lily giggled. "Oh my God, you're terrible."

"Other nostril, doggie" said Jill. More inhaling, burbling, swallowing. "Keep it up."

Lily leaned down, took another picture. She looked in Adam's eyes. Nothing but frantic arousal and absolute obedience in that so-called brain . . . "Doggie is a sick fucking pervert, isn't he?" His cock replied for him, sliding past his nose and poking him in the eye.

Jill chimed in. "Rub your cockhead on your eyes, doggie. Get those eyes wet." Lily was about to say that would make his eyes sting, but then realized she was fine with that. "Now all over your face, doggie. Make your face gleam for us." Adam's musk filled the air.

"Soooooooooo fucking hot," said Jill. Now she was stroking Adam's sac. "You gotta tell me how you did this."

Lily ignored her. "He looks ready."

"So you're the yoga instructor, now? But yeah, you're right—he's ready. Doggie: Open your mouth." Jill took Adam's cock between her thumb and fingers. "Good doggies lick themselves clean. Clean yourself, doggie."

Jill popped Adam's cock into his mouth, his bright red lips wrapping around it. He began sucking, his balls resting on either side of his nose. The strain was obvious, but by lifting his head slightly and pushing his hips he attained the in-and-out motion of a true blowjob.

"God, do I love your husband," said Jill. She brought her hand to Lily's ankle and began lightly caressing it.

Lily pulled her leg away. "Nuh-uh," she said. "We've talked about this."

"C'mon, Lil. I could convince you."

"Totally not interested," said Lily. "I'm not a dyke, no thank you."

"So, what, what Adam does—"

"What doggie does," Lily corrected.

"—fine, what doggie does is totally okay, but two girls together is a problem?"

"It's a problem for me," said Lily. "I don't even like to think about it. So, no."

Jill sighed. "Fine. Oh, hey. Does he seem kinda close to you?"

Lily looked. Muscles trembling, light sweat on his thighs, asshole spasming, scrotum bouncing like a hackeysack. "Yeah, that looks pretty close to me. You wanna slow things down, make it last?"

"Um. No, I'm not sure when Desmond's going to get home. Let's just get this done. I've got some painting to do."

"All right," said Lily. "Let's help him out, then."

Lily reached out and traced a fingertip around his asshole. Adam moaned, the first sound beside breathing and sucking he had made. Lily kept it up, and he kept moaning. Then she began tapping lightly on his asshole, and his moans got louder.

"C'mon, doggie," said Jill. "Good doggies clean themselves, inside and out. Your balls are full of dirty cum. Suck that dirty cum right out of your balls."

Between Lily's touches and Jill's encouragement it didn't take long. Adam's breathing quickened, his body shook, his eyes widened, and the muffled screams started. His cock tightened, pulsed one, two, three, four times . . . Lily couldn't see the semen, but she knew his mouth was filling with it. But she had to be sure.

"Don't swallow it, doggie. Keep it all in your mouth, no matter how much there is." His cock pumped for a few more seconds. Lily watched his throat. He didn't swallow. "Good doggie," she said.

Jill and Lily helped Adam out of his pose, bringing him down slowly so he wouldn't strain his back. His face was a mess: smeared lipstick, smudged eye shadow, and runny mascara from the cock-painting he'd given himself.

"It's hard to believe he could get even uglier," said Jill.

"Be respectful. This is my husband." Lily took another picture. "Doggie, sit up. Good boy. Now, without letting any cum leak out, open your mouth." Adam did, showing off a slithery silver pool on his tongue. Lily took a picture, then another.

"Good doggie," she said. "Now swallow." Down it went.

"I am completely fucking soaked," said Jill.

"TMI," said Lily. "You want him to take care of you?"

"God, yes, please," she said, and began pulling down her skirt.

"Let me leave the room first," said Lily. "Just not in the mood to watch."

"Fine, go watch television. Help yourself to anything in the fridge, do whatever. Doggie, off the mat. Get on all fours. Yeah, let me lay down. Yeah, that's it." She shucked off her panties and spread her legs. So skinny, pelvic bones showing from her vegan diet. "Doggie, lick my pussy, make me cum."

Lily went to the kitchen, took a bottled water from the fridge, and went into the television room, chased by Jill's noises and moans and words. Sure, Lily was a little jealous, Adam pleasuring another woman. Adam was hers, he was her husband, he was her love. Except that this wasn't Adam, she told herself. This was doggie. That's why it wasn't cheating: It was doggie, and doggie wasn't Adam. And she could let doggie play with whomever she fucking well wanted to. It wasn't cheating.

Lily turned up the television, loud.