Serving My Maid

"Derpy's confidence in taking over my space grew slowly. After claiming my Luntendo Switch, she started making more and more requests.

It began innocently enough.

"Anon, can you grab me a drink?" or "Anon, I'm a little hungry, could you please bring me a snack?"

But soon, her requests began to escalate.

One Saturday morning, I came out of my room in the kitchen. She had my coffee mug in her hand, sipping lazily coffee from it.

“Morning, Anon!” She greeted me cheerfully. “I was thinking… Could you make breakfast today? I’m starving!”

I was confused. “You want me to cook breakfast? But isn’t today your maid day?”

She leaned on the counter with an exaggerated pout. “You make better omelets than me. Pleeease?”

I couldn't say 'no' and sighed.

Moments like these started happening more frequently. Lunch, dinner — on weekends, she’d casually drop hints about what she wanted to eat, leaving me to figure out how to make it happen.

"Morning, Anon," she said, her voice still thick with sleep. "Smells good in here. What's for breakfast? I could really go for some pancakes right now."

This started to irritate me and I tried to resist.

Derpy," I said, trying to keep my voice firm as I flipped pancakes in the pan, "you're supposed to be making breakfast today."

"Mmm?" she replied absently, not even looking up. "Oh. But your pancakes are sooo good! Let's make an exception today. In the morning I can't eat anything but your delicious pancakes."

I shot her a glance, but she didn’t seem to care. "You're not going to make anything for your favorite maid? What if I starve to death? How would you explain that to the maids' agency?" She joked.

I rolled my eyes. "Fine, Fine, but this is the last time."

She watched me work, her chin resting in her hand, smiling happily.

Sometimes, I would come home from work to find her sprawled on the couch flipping through a textbook. The moment I stepped inside, I’d hear her voice call out with a smile:

“Hey, Anon! Could you cook dinner tonight? I'm hungry!”

And oddly, I didn’t mind it as much as I probably should have. There was a strange satisfaction in taking care of her. Her playful requests and demands started to feel like a natural part of my life.

On her maid working days, she still wore her uniform and went through the tasks of cleaning, cooking, and doing laundry. But even then, she managed to flip our dynamic on its head.

One evening, while she was supposed to be cooking dinner, I walked into the kitchen to find her standing by the counter, chopping vegetables.

“Anon,” she said sweetly, “I think dinner would be so much tastier if we cooked together. Don’t you think so?”

I hesitated, but I liked her company and eventually relented. “Sure, I can help you with this once.”

That “once” quickly became my routine. On her workdays, she’d always have a reason for me to take over in the kitchen.

"Anon," she sighed dramatically one evening, looking at me with those big, doe-like, apologetic eyes. Her hands rubbed her neck slowly, as if the stress from her university work was visibly weighing on her.

"I know today is my day 'on'. But I'm so exhausted... I’ve been at the library all day, and my brain feels like mush. Could you maybe cook tonight instead of me? Please? I just need rest."

She stretched her arms over her head, yawning dramatically. "I promise I’ll make it up to you," she added with a playful wink. "Maybe a nice foot massage for me later, hm?"

Derpy continued to shift our balance of responsibilities, subtly persuading me to do more.

I wanted to argue, but the exhaustion in her eyes made it hard to resist. And the thought of her feet was also a compelling argument, so I took a step toward the kitchen. “Alright, fine. But you owe me.”

Her eyes lit up, and she practically skipped over to the couch, collapsing dramatically onto the cushions. “Thanks, Anon! You’re my best boss!”

It felt odd — this was supposed to be her job. But her charm and excuses always made it so difficult to say no.

Finally, she had stopped cooking entirely on her workdays. Cleaning? Yes. Laundry? Sure. But meals? Now those were problems for her every time.

“You know,” I said, “you really should cook more often on your maid days.”

"But your cooking is way better than mine, Anon!" she exclaimed, leaning forward with her elbows on the table.

"You're such a great cook, and I really loved it when you helped me out in the kitchen on my workdays. Honestly, I don't think I've ever tasted food this delicious before."

Her words took me. I hadn’t expected such a glowing review of my cooking.

"You've done so much," she continued. "I’d really like to repay you somehow..." She trailed off thoughtfully, tapping her chin with one finger.

I was intrigued. “How’s that?”

Her smile widened mischievously. “Do you like my scent, don’t you, Anon? I noticed one day my dirty sports t-shirt was in your room. Forget to return it, did you?” She giggled.

“It smelled pretty badly with my sweat after my training. What did you do with it? Oh, I can guess.” Her voice softened. “But don't worry, I won't tell anyone.”

I had gotten used to sneaking into her room when I was home and she was at the university. One day, I forgot to return her T-shirt because she came home earlier than expected.

My face went hot, and I opened my mouth to apologize, but she cut me off. "And I have an even better reward for you," she teased. "Instead of just smelling my unwashed clothes, why don't you sniff my armpits directly?"

My cock twitched involuntarily. That sounded utterly humiliating, yet undeniably alluring. Before I could formulate a coherent response, she stood up and stepped closer, lifting her arm and waving it under my nose.

My eyes caught her armpits were a little hairy. It was damp with sweat, and her feminine scent.

"Go ahead," she whispered. "Sniff me like the perverted maid-fetishist you are." She pressed her arm harder against my face, rubbing it gently across my cheek. "Isn't that what you've dreamed about, mister Anon?" she breathed into my ear.

I inhaled deeply, savoring her aroma. She was right; this was exactly what I'd fantasized about.

"Yes..." I murmured, my inhibitions melting away. "Yes, I want it..."

"Now, why don't you show me how much you appreciate your cute little maid, hmm?" she purred, still holding her arm to my face.

Overcome with lust, I began lapping at her moist skin, the taste of salt mingling with her natural musk. My tongue swirled around the contours of her pit, exploring every inch of her. I pulled back briefly to admire her armpit hairs, then resumed my eager licking, feeling the coarse strands tickle my lips and tongue.

"That's it," she encouraged. "Make your maid feel good."

As I licked, I suddenly felt something unfamiliar brush past my lips and settle on my tongue — a single long, curly strand of hair. I paused for a moment, trying to remove it from my mouth.

"Aww, look what you found! Your very own piece of Derpy xD." she giggled.

I blushed furiously as I carefully extracted a hair.

Embarrassed and aroused, I continued my oral ministrations, flicking my tongue rapidly over her skin, eliciting giggles from her.

"You're such a pervert, Anon," she teased, running her fingers through my hair. "But that's okay. I'll indulge your little fetishes, as long as you keep cooking. Deal?"

"Okey," I managed to choke out between breaths.

My hand wandered down to cup her ass.

"Oh, Anon," she let out a sigh, pulling away slightly. "Enough for today. You've been such a good boy."

I released her reluctantly, feeling flushed and dazed from the intense encounter. My cock throbbed uncomfortably in my pants, begging for release.

From now on, every evening after the meal was done, she’d follow up with her usual “armpit reward” for me.

I enjoyed her company. But this wasn’t what I had envisioned when I agreed to let her move in. My house didn’t feel like my house anymore; it was becoming our house, except “our” wasn’t an equal partnership.