Nature's perfect alarm clock, the smell of frying bacon, led him zombie-like into the kitchen, where he was presented with a vision of an improbable intruder. Rubbing his eyes dislodged some of the crust that sleep had deposited, but failed to erase the enchanting sight before him. There was a golden haired goddess clad in the rich morning sunlight pouring in from the open window, a dazzling white apron, and naught else save a small tiara made of half a doily. She was squatting on the balls of her feet, humming and studying the window on the door of the oven. So far she hadn't seen him.
He did not pinch himself. If this was a dream, he wanted to prolong the illusion for as long as possible. Eventually he spoiled the moment by yawning, which caused the stranger to spin around and stand to face him. This rapid motion caused a prison riot in the front of her apron: her boobs made a valiant escape attempt, surging both against each other and the straps in their bid for freedom, but ultimately they failed, coming to rest with a sullen wobble. The upper slopes of the right one was dappled with drops of muffin batter from the whisk she brandished. Spotting the mess, she ducked her head down and lifted her breast to greet it. Then she returned it to a state of flawlessness with her lapping tongue, all the while maintaining eye contact with her host. Grinning, she licked her lips. "Mmmm!"
Experiencing this almost murdered him. And he would have died a happy man. Instead, he dove into a chair at the kitchen table to hide a tenting malfunction in his boxer shorts. She seemed sweetly oblivious to his arousal. "Well good morning!" she lilted.
"H-hi." His brain was having trouble stringing words together. It was still trying to make sense of the scene in front of him. "Who, uh, well... um, who are you?"
"Zille, of Magic Maid." She gestured to the sparklingly clean room. "You scheduled me for today, remember?" To verify this, she peeked at a folded invoice sheet that had been tucked in her cleavage.
"Uh, yeah, I guess so. I'm showing the house tomorrow and the Realtor said..." But that didn't seem important now. She was bent over the open oven, wiggling her perfect heart shaped bottom and whistling while taking a tin of steaming blueberry muffins and placing them on the windowsill to cool. Had oven mitts just appeared on her hands? It was hard to be sure. He shook his head.
"Is something wrong? Would you like banana nut instead?"
"No, no," he smiled his reassurance. Idiot! Don't jinx it! In the sunlight silhouetting her, he fancied seeing the shimmering outline of luminescent butterfly wings. He blinked and the vision reverted to motes of dust suspended in the air around her. Now was not the time for analysis that robbed life of its richness.
Apparently, now was the time for piping hot waffles slathered in syrup. And delicious savory bacon. And muffins. And enchanting breakfast conversation with a scantily clad creature. One in his service for a too-short day.
WootNote: I gotta dedicate this one to h-7, as he was both fond of maids, and instrumental in inspiring me to start posting on his OBBS, The Cute Paradise.
haha man, nice job on the story. Pretty random, but funny none the less! The picture is great, love the pose =P "silhouetting, shimmering, luminescent" all in one sentence...now that is PRO!
He did not pinch himself. If this was a dream, he wanted to prolong the illusion for as long as possible. Eventually he spoiled the moment by yawning, which caused the stranger to spin around and stand to face him. This rapid motion caused a prison riot in the front of her apron: her boobs made a valiant escape attempt, surging both against each other and the straps in their bid for freedom, but ultimately they failed, coming to rest with a sullen wobble. The upper slopes of the right one was dappled with drops of muffin batter from the whisk she brandished. Spotting the mess, she ducked her head down and lifted her breast to greet it. Then she returned it to a state of flawlessness with her lapping tongue, all the while maintaining eye contact with her host. Grinning, she licked her lips. "Mmmm!"
Experiencing this almost murdered him. And he would have died a happy man. Instead, he dove into a chair at the kitchen table to hide a tenting malfunction in his boxer shorts. She seemed sweetly oblivious to his arousal. "Well good morning!" she lilted.
"H-hi." His brain was having trouble stringing words together. It was still trying to make sense of the scene in front of him. "Who, uh, well... um, who are you?"
"Zille, of Magic Maid." She gestured to the sparklingly clean room. "You scheduled me for today, remember?" To verify this, she peeked at a folded invoice sheet that had been tucked in her cleavage.
"Uh, yeah, I guess so. I'm showing the house tomorrow and the Realtor said..." But that didn't seem important now. She was bent over the open oven, wiggling her perfect heart shaped bottom and whistling while taking a tin of steaming blueberry muffins and placing them on the windowsill to cool. Had oven mitts just appeared on her hands? It was hard to be sure. He shook his head.
"Is something wrong? Would you like banana nut instead?"
"No, no," he smiled his reassurance. Idiot! Don't jinx it! In the sunlight silhouetting her, he fancied seeing the shimmering outline of luminescent butterfly wings. He blinked and the vision reverted to motes of dust suspended in the air around her. Now was not the time for analysis that robbed life of its richness.
Apparently, now was the time for piping hot waffles slathered in syrup.
And delicious savory bacon.
And muffins.
And enchanting breakfast conversation with a scantily clad creature. One in his service for a too-short day.
WootNote: I gotta dedicate this one to h-7, as he was both fond of maids, and instrumental in inspiring me to start posting on his OBBS, The Cute Paradise.