Mari's Playful Maid Service Becomes a Night of Passionate Devotion

The rain fell in steady, rhythmic sheets against the panoramic windows of the NERV-assigned safe house apartment. Each drop that traced a path down the reinforced glass was a whisper of the world outside—a world of unending tension, of existential dread, of the ever-present threat of another Angel. But in here, for this brief, stolen evening, there was a fragile peace. The lights were dimmed to a warm, honeyed glow, casting long, soft shadows across the minimalist, yet luxurious, furniture. The only sound, aside from the storm, was the gentle hum of the climate control and the quiet, almost imperceptible thrum of my own heart.

We had made a stupid bet. A silly, childish wager over who could rack up a higher score in the latest simulation trials. I, in my foolish confidence, had underestimated her. Mari Makinami Illustrious was, as always, a whirlwind of unpredictable genius. She didn't just beat my score; she shattered it, leaving my own impressive run looking like a toddler's scribble next to a masterpiece. And the price of my loss? I had to submit to her whim for an entire evening. I had expected something embarrassing, perhaps having to sing old Showa-era pop songs in the command center, or wear a ridiculous costume. I was only half right.

The bedroom door opened with a soft click, and my breath caught in my throat. There she stood, a vision that simultaneously defied and perfectly embodied her chaotic spirit. She was dressed in a classic French maid's uniform, a stark contrast of crisp black fabric and immaculate white lace. The dress was tailored to perfection, hugging every curve of her stunning figure. The short, flared skirt revealed a tantalizing length of thigh, encased in sheer black stockings held up by a delicate garter belt. But it was the way the bodice strained against the magnificent swell of her big tits that truly stole the air from my lungs. The fabric was stretched taut, the buttons looking as though they might surrender at any moment, and the low, square neckline offered a breathtaking vista of the soft, pale upper curves of her breasts, promising a bounty of flesh just beneath the starched linen.

She adjusted her glasses, the red frames a familiar slash of color against her long, dark hair, which was tied back with a simple white ribbon. A playful, predatory smile danced on her lips. "Four-eyes reporting for duty, master," she purred, her voice a low, husky melody that sent a shiver down my spine. She performed an exaggerated, theatrical curtsy, causing her chest to press forward, the fabric of her uniform creaking in protest. The sight was almost too much to bear.

"Mari..." I managed to breathe out, my voice hoarse. "You didn't have to go this far."

"A bet's a bet, puppy-dog," she chirped, striding into the room with a confident sway of her hips. The little white apron tied around her waist only served to emphasize its narrowness and the generous curve of her backside. "Besides," she added, leaning close to my ear, her warm breath ghosting across my skin, "I thought it would be fun to play house. And tonight, I'm the humble servant, dedicated to your every need." The way she said 'need' was laced with a thick, suggestive promise that made my pulse hammer against my ribs.

She began to move around the room, her movements a parody of domesticity. She straightened a cushion that was already perfectly placed. She ran a gloved finger along a dust-free surface, inspecting it with mock seriousness. All the while, she hummed a cheerful, jaunty tune I vaguely recognized from one of her old records. The entire performance was designed to unnerve me, to tease me, to wind the tension in the room so tight it might snap. And it was working perfectly.

"Can I get you anything, sir?" she asked, her voice dripping with feigned deference. She bent at the waist to pick up a stray magazine from the floor, a deliberate, calculated move that gave me an even more spectacular view of her cleavage. Her breasts, barely contained by the uniform, seemed to spill from the top of the dress, two perfect, heavy orbs of flesh that promised untold softness. I could see the delicate lace trim of her bra peeking out, a secret invitation. My mouth went dry.

"A drink," I croaked, just to have something to say, to break the spell she was weaving around me. "Whiskey. Neat."

"Right away, master," she said with a wink, turning and swaying towards the wet bar in the corner. I watched her every move, mesmerized. The way the fabric of the skirt rustled, the impossibly long line of her legs, the tantalizing glimpse of the garter straps against her pale skin. She was a work of art, a masterpiece of temptation cloaked in the guise of servitude. This was Mari's battlefield, and she was a master strategist.

She returned with a heavy crystal tumbler, the amber liquid glowing in the soft light. Instead of just handing it to me, she knelt before the armchair where I sat. The position was deliberately submissive, yet her eyes, peering up at me over the rims of her glasses, held a fiery confidence that was anything but. She held the glass up to my lips. "Your refreshment, sir," she murmured.

I took a sip, my eyes never leaving hers. The whiskey burned a pleasant trail down my throat, but it was nothing compared to the fire she was igniting in my veins. As I drank, her gaze drifted downwards, lingering on my lap, and her smile widened. The game was escalating. I could feel the tell-tale hardening in my jeans, a physical response to her relentless, intoxicating assault on my senses. She knew it, too. Of course she did.

"Is there... anything else you require?" she asked, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper. She set the glass down on the end table and remained kneeling before me, her hands resting innocently on her own knees. But there was nothing innocent about the look in her eyes. It was a look of pure, unadulterated hunger.

My own voice was a low growl when I finally found it. "I think you know what I require, Mari."

Her smile became a triumphant smirk. "Ah, of course. My master seems to have a... tension... that needs to be released. This humble maid is more than happy to be of service." With a slow, deliberate motion that was excruciatingly sensual, her gloved hands moved from her knees to my thighs. Even through the denim of my jeans, the pressure of her touch was electric. She leaned forward, the top of her head brushing against my groin, and I let out a shaky breath.

With practiced ease, she unfastened my belt and undid the button of my jeans. The rasp of the zipper was deafeningly loud in the quiet room. She peeled the fabric away, revealing my straining, eager flesh. My erection sprang free, pulsing in the cool air, a testament to her power over me. She looked at it, her lips parting slightly in appreciation. "Oh my," she whispered, a genuine note of admiration in her voice. "Puppy-dog is very excited to see me."

She removed her white gloves, folding them neatly and placing them on the floor beside her. Then, she reached out with her bare hands, her fingers warm and soft as they wrapped around my length. Her touch was reverent, almost worshipful. She caressed me from base to tip, her thumb tracing wet circles around the sensitive head, drawing forth a bead of pre-cum. She brought her finger to her lips and licked it clean, her eyes locked on mine, a silent promise of what was to come.

Leaning forward, she pressed her face into my lap, the scent of her hair and the faint perfume on her skin intoxicating me. Her magnificent breasts pressed against my legs, soft and heavy. Then, she took me into her mouth. The sensation was blinding. Her lips were impossibly soft, her mouth a cavern of wet, searing heat. A low groan escaped my throat as she began to move, her head bobbing in a steady, perfect rhythm.

This was no simple act; it was an art form. Mari was a virtuoso. Her tongue was a living thing, swirling and dancing, exploring every inch of me with an expert's touch. She sucked with a gentle pressure that built and receded, a perfect tide of pleasure that washed over me again and again. My hands found their way into her hair, my fingers gripping the soft strands as I tilted my head back, surrendering completely to the overwhelming sensations she was creating.

But she was just getting started. The playful maid was gone, replaced by a creature of pure, focused desire. She wanted to please me, to consume me, to push me to the very edge of ecstasy. She picked up the pace, her movements becoming more frantic, more hungry. The sounds she made were muffled but intensely erotic—little gulps and moans of pleasure that vibrated through me, stoking the fire in my core. Her jaw worked tirelessly, her devotion absolute.

Then, she did something that shattered my last vestiges of control. Taking a deep breath, she slid her hand down to the base of my shaft and guided me deeper, taking all of me into her throat. The feeling was indescribable. It was an impossible, overwhelming fullness, a feeling of being completely and utterly possessed. I could feel the faint, rhythmic pulse of her throat muscles clenching around me. My hips bucked involuntarily, a primal urge to push even deeper. Her eyes, looking up at me, began to water slightly from the effort, but there was no hesitation in them, only a fierce, burning determination. This was her gift to me, an offering of absolute submission and total passion.

I was so close, teetering on the precipice of release. My breath came in ragged gasps. "Mari," I choked out, a plea and a warning. "I'm... I'm going to..."

She didn't stop. If anything, her throat tightened around me, her hand holding me firmly in place. It was a silent command: *Give it to me. All of it.* She met my gaze, a look of pure, unadulterated love and lust shining in her eyes. It was all the permission I needed. With a final, desperate groan that was torn from the depths of my soul, I exploded.

Wave after wave of hot, thick cum flooded her mouth. I felt every powerful, throbbing pulse as I emptied myself completely into her. She took it all, her throat working to swallow every last drop without spilling any. She didn't pull away until I had finished, my body trembling with the aftershocks of the most intense orgasm of my life. When she finally released me, her lips were slick and her chin was glistening slightly. She looked up at me, her expression a mixture of satisfaction, triumph, and genuine affection.

With a final, lingering lick, she cleaned the last traces from my skin before sitting back on her heels. A slow, deeply satisfied smile spread across her face. "Dessert is served," she whispered, her voice husky and thick. She swallowed one last time, a delicate, graceful movement of her throat, and then patted her lips with the back of her hand.

The tension in the room had not snapped; it had transformed. The electric, teasing energy had melted away, replaced by a warm, languid intimacy that was even more powerful. She remained kneeling for a moment longer, her gaze soft and adoring. Then, she rose to her feet, took my hand, and pulled me up from the chair. "The maid's duties are complete for now," she said softly, her playful persona returning, but tempered with a new tenderness. "But Mari's have just begun." She led me toward the bedroom, her hand in mine, the maid's uniform already looking like it was about to be discarded in favor of a far more personal kind of service. The rain continued to fall outside, a gentle lullaby for a peace that we had, against all odds, found in each other's arms.