Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Heterosexual, MaleDom, Spanking, Safe Sex, Oral Sex,
Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - The premature death of his beloved wife pushes Richard Hoddinot into an almost monastic existence. Sharon brings him out of it in a way that he would never have expected.
"When I've gone... don't grieve too long... Remember... life is for living."
Richard Hoddinot was forty-seven when Rachel died. It was less than six months from diagnosis of ovarian cancer, which had already spread, to her death. Richard was devastated and went into his shell.
His partners in his head-hunting business were compassionate and understanding during his Rachel's illness, and subsequently. When he told them that he wanted to work part-time and from home they agreed with him and everything was sorted out amicably and without long-term financial loss to him. He would continue to earn commission at the same rate and the company pension scheme, which he had set up, would still provide comfortably for him when he retired.
Richard decided to move. The house he and Rachel had lived in for twenty years held too many memories. Furthermore, although he still wanted somewhere his sons could bring their families to stay he could manage with something smaller. On the other hand, he did not want to move out of the area which he liked. He had friends there who had proved themselves during Rachel's illness and afterwards. His younger son and his wife lived close by and he did not want to re-establish himself with his leisure pursuits.
He found just the house he was looking for about five miles away on the edge of a small village. The village had no shop but it did have a post office and an excellent pub with lots of character, a delightful landlord and staff, a cheerful and friendly clientele of all classes plus very good food. The village was also peaceful and quiet with little traffic.
The house had three bedrooms (two of them double), bathroom cum loo, a kitchen with a dining area separated by a counter with double-ended drawers, a sitting-room and a tiny but adequate study. The kitchen was well furnished with plenty of cupboard space and accepted his largish fridge-freezer and his dishwasher. Under the stairs was a cupboard for outdoor clothes and things like vacuum cleaners. There was also a small lobby by the back door where he installed his washing machine, broom cupboard and dog accessories.
Dogs. He had two. He had always been deeply attached to them but after Rachel's death they had become even more important to him. He had a wire-haired dachshund bitch who, he had to admit, was his favourite and a quite beautiful and highly bred black Labrador, also a bitch. Neither of them had been spayed. Rachel had hoped to breed from them and now Richard could not envisage denying them their sexual identity. He thought of castration and shuddered. So he persevered with their seasons and the visits of the umpteen village dogs and put up with the girls' hormone induced mood swings around the times of their seasons.
He and Rachel had employed a cleaner called Sharon. She was in her mid-thirties with a twelve year-old daughter. She had shoulders like an all-in wrestler but her upper body tapered to a narrow waist and trim hips. She had dark almost shoulder length hair and deep brown eyes which were always sparkling, whether from fun or outrage.
She was strong and fit as a fiddle. Richard had never been sure whether her skin was naturally dark or whether it was due to a healthy outdoor life when she was not working. She was a noisy chatter-box and could be exhausting. Rachel had certainly found her a strain on occasions but she was an excellent worker with an eye for detail and definitely not someone to be let go.
Richard kept her on after Rachel's death and she helped him pack and clear the house. She was a Godsend and Richard told her so.
"Ah, it weren't nothing," she said. "What you goin' to do in your new 'ouse then? Clean it yourself or get one of them village women in to do it? Or are you just goin' to slum it and 'ave an occasional burst?
"I hadn't really thought about it," Richard admitted. "I'll probably get by."
"Get by? Get by?" she snorted. "That's no way to go about things. You've got a nice new 'ome and you 'aven't given no thought to lookin' after it. That's no good. You ain't never done that about your job, I'll be bound. Men!"
"That's true," said Richard meekly. "What do you think I should do?"
"What should you do? What should you do? Take on a cleaner, of course. It's not a big 'ouse. Someone could crack it in three hours a week and still 'ave time to do some special cleaning every six months or so like be'ind chesterdrawers an' things."
"Would you do it, Sharon? I'd pay you extra for the petrol coming that much further out?"
"Yes, I will and no you won't. I loved Mrs 'Oddinot and you're all right yourself an' I can see I'm goin' to 'ave to look after you. I'll come three hours a week like I 'ave been an' I won't take no extra for petrol. On the other 'and, if you want to give me a tip or whatever around my daughter's birthday that'd be great."
"I don't know when her birthday is."
"Oh you will, Mr H. You will," said she with dancing eyes and a huge grin.
"OK!" said Richard. "You're on."
"Great! I'll come Wednesday mornings like I always 'ave 'n' you make sure you're up and've 'ad breakfast by the time I gets 'ere."
"Yes, Sharon! Certainly, Sharon! And thanks!"
"No problem, Mr H. See you next Wednesday. 'Bye!" And she was gone.
Richard smiled. "She's a good egg," he thought to himself. "But I'd better dream up something for Wednesday mornings or she'll drive me mad."