Don't Lift A Finger!

Jessica lay in bed, half-awake, when Percy slipped in holding a glass of water. "Happy birthday," she said. Jessica smiled, surprised. Percy promised she’d take care of everything: meals, laundry, dusting, the whole house. Jessica didn’t have to lift a finger. Percy left to change. When she came back, Jessica’s mouth went dry. The black-and-white maid outfit barely covered anything, the skirt riding high, the frilly apron cutting across bare hips. Percy was all softness and curves. Jessica swallowed hard, said nothing, then fled. Percy started the chores anyway. She bent at the waist to pick up dropped towels, knelt low for dust under the table, reached high for the top shelf. Every motion flashed skin. Jessica kept moving room to room, but Percy always found her next task, bent over or on her knees, completely unaware. Each flash of bare thigh or the press of nipples against thin lace made Jessica wetter. Finally, she couldn’t take it. She grabbed Percy’s wrist in the hallway and blurted, "Take that off. It’s making me crazy." Percy blinked, then smiled, slow and sure. She stepped back, untied the apron with deliberate fingers, slipped the dress down her hips, every movement a slow tease. Naked now, she tilted her head. "Is that better?" Jessica answered with a rough kiss, already pulling Percy toward the bed.