Rich Man’s Toy: Discipline, Curvy Exhibition, Humiliation, and MFM Menage



Amber thought the maid agency job would get her a steady paycheck, but it’s come with a whole lot more than a few cleaning duties. The days of fighting it – if she ever really wanted to fight it – are over. She’s Mr. Randolph’s toy. She wears what he wants her to wear, does what he wants her to do, and acts how he wants her to act.

She might secretly enjoy the discipline sessions when she makes a mistake, but she’s grateful that so far he hasn’t pushed her limits. But when he tells her that at his next party she’ll be serving more than drinks, she has a feeling things are about to change.

Reader Advisory: This story is for mature audiences only and features intensely erotic situations, sexy billionaires and the young, curvy maid they take as a plaything, forced exhibition, public humiliation, discipline, dominance, and rough group sex. All characters are 18 or older.

Excerpt:

When I returned with a coffee tray in one hand and a platter of dark cake in the other, the room had fallen silent. I carried my offerings over to Mr. Randolph, who glanced at them briefly in approval.

“Excellent,” he said, his eyes not on the food but on me. “A little closer now.”

I stepped forward obediently.

“It’s our job as hosts, you and I, to make sure our guests don’t get too bored, isn’t it?” he asked.

I nodded hesitantly.

“I knew I could count on you,” he said smiling. He withdrew from his pocket a pair of fabric scissors and beckoned me a final step closer to him.

Standing helplessly with my arms full of delicately balanced platters, I could only stare down in dawning shock as he reached out and cut down the bust of my already skimpy outfit. He pulled the discarded fabric away, letting my breasts to settle soft and naked out into the open. I looked between him and my bared chest in shock, my mouth slightly open in amazement and chagrin.

Before I could entirely process what had just happened, his hand reached up the short length of my skirt, hooked into my panties, and drew them down my thighs, into full sight of the room, and then let them fall to my ankles.

I stared down at them in turn, paralyzed.

“You’re a good actor, Amber,” he said, gesturing at the prominent wetness in the crotch of the panties. “I almost couldn’t tell how much you were enjoying all of this.”

“I – ” Words failed me.

He gestured. “Well, serve the guests. Don’t be rude, now, Amber.”

Slowly, I turned back to my captive audience, my face scarlet and my heart pounding in my chest. In little steps constrained by the panties around my ankles, I began serving coffee and dessert.

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