I was the perfect maid. Sweet, French, with full pouty lips, porcelain skin and lilting musical voice. I catered to a very specific clientele. Specifically, to the kind of client that liked to see the lacy tops of my stockings as I bent to dust the sofa. I was hired not just for my lush breasts and ass, but to heal wealthy families. In the morning, I worked my way over to the dry repressed millionaire's wife and slid my hands over her breasts. I waited for that telltale gasp before I slid my hands down her stomach and opened her robe. I pinched her nipples and found her clit with my fingers. That simple move obliterated any inhibitions about lesbianism. In minutes, I had her on her back, my wicked tongue easing years of sexual frustration. In the afternoon, I worked my magic on the teenage son, guiding his hands to my breasts and pussy. I showed him my clit and taught him how to effectively manipulate it with his tongue. I pulled his fingers inside me and showed him where the G-spot was. Though I was being paid a handsome salary, I felt that I was doing my civic duty. In a few weeks, I turned the spoiled and selfish rich son into a man well versed in the arts of pleasing a woman. Under my guiding hands, he learned to tease a woman anally and make her come by eating pussy like a pro. In the evening, I let the lord of the manor fuck me left, right and center. At midnight, I was bent over the kitchen counter. At 1 AM, I was on all fours in the laundry room. At two, I was on my back in the study. I was handsomely paid, the perfect maid and perfect whore.