The Hell- Bound Mistress: The Cum of a Hatamoto

From her well manicured hands, she produced an ornate translucent flask of lavender glass, imported from the white barbarians of the Southern Seas. Within it contained spools of pearly, porridge of her many lover's seeds. A full night of tribute, in white and mottled gold of their exertions, which they lovingly spilled for her. She made a show of the cloudy wax in the bottle, which, judging from this night, the maid guessed was discharged tonight from at least one honorable Tycoon, one feared gang boss, and a whole sports team of aroused and impatient men, all coiled upon each other.

And although it was often expected for her Mistress to delight in exalting in such spoils, which she often brandished triumphantly before the other expensive painted whores of the District, there was something else in the amused eyes of her Mistress, a devilish glint.

“Rare love from a Hatamoto.” The mature woman's sharp eyes hardened.

At this whisper, the wounded girl's expression melted away. And suddenly, his loving face came to her, young, keen with concern and sympathy, and so often asked her of her day. The exact kind who had melted her heart and sex.

"Take this, you can't let them see your eyes like this okay?"

“Oh I taught him a few things. Free of charge even.”

The smile widened on the Mistress's face, glad that she had stole away whatever comfort that girl had regained after that foot's slap. Knowing fully that the stupid Piss Pot had an interest in such a man. A pathetic budding Interest which was reciprocated in some measure between the two of them in disgusting sweetness.

“He left a love- sick Hatamoto.”

She Knew! The girl shrieked in her terrified skull. Fully grasping the full measure of the Mistress's threats, the long foot on the maid's servile cheeks pressed down, and she felt the Mistress's weighing in it. Her cold hawkish eyes were like cruel black diamonds. And the the white silk drool- which she guessed were also from her Hatamoto shifted the tense, silent air between their faces. The smile which widened as Mistress enjoyed that blushing cheek warm up beneath her feet.

“I hope he made you happy Mistress.” The girl croaked demurely. But her eyes were already leaking again, running over the long planted foot of her Mistress.

"There's so much to live for. 

Just keep it girl. 

I have no use for it."

“Oh he's quite forgettable, actually.” the Mistress let out a trilling song of giggles, like she could barely remember the boy in her afterthoughts.

“But he did promise many gifts the next time he comes back to me.” At this, the dam of the maid's eyes broke, and she began to cry, first in small fits as that foot rested on her face. The images of the Mistress's long fingernails digging deeply on his naked back raked her mind like a school of coiling mud eels. Then, more fully in cough wracked sobs as she convulsed with all that that he meant within her.

“If you want to see more from him, just look down at my chamber pot the next time before you empty it. Whatever came first there's got to be a bit of him in there if you squint.”