"You just can't get good help these days!" I know, we have all heard that comment many times. I was grumbling it as I once again came home to find a sub-standard job as well as a few personal items missing.
I called the cleaning service, and canceled my account, stating that I was no longer in need of their services. As for the missing stuff, I figured, why bother? The girl was Mexican, probably not legal, and would do the "I not understand English" crap. As for the necklace she took? Well, it was cheap, and belonged to my ex-wife.
Okay, so who am I? Well, I'm just your averaged divorced fellow who writes. No, not major blockbuster novels. I am actually a "ghost" for a publishing house that puts out a lot of stuff by the latest pop-star or actor/actress who thinks that since they are famous, they can now write a story or book. Come on, how many times have you picked something up at the store, thinking that the story might be decent, and it turned out to be garbage? That's where I come in. I take these disasters and fix them (or at least try to). I also do a lot of technical writing for manufacturers. Ever wonder about the companies that have two hundred and fifty-eight page instruction books on how to program your DVR? My doing. It exceedingly pays well, but I will never be filthy rich from it. Plus, I can do most of it, from my home here in Northern California.
Anyway, like I said, I'm divorced. No, it wasn't anything major. One day, my wife and I realized that with the kids grown, the house paid off, and each of us with separate jobs, well, we had nothing in common and weren't interested in re-learning what the other person was about. She moved out, since she wanted to get a total fresh start. I've been to her apartment a few times over the years, and we're actually pretty good friends! Holiday dinners are shared with our two married sons, and their respective families, and we all get along quite well.
But, I'm not too good at picking up after myself. I admit it; I'm a bit of a slob. Thus, the use of a cleaning service.
Picking up the phone book, I opened it to "cleaning services". Here was an advertisement that I had not noticed before: CUTIE-PIE CLEANERS; AN ADULT FANTASY CLEANING SERVICE. Well now! This sounded interesting! I dialed and spoke to a customer service rep.
I was told that this was an actual cleaning service, but that the girls (and if I wanted, boys) would come to the house and while doing their job, wear suggestive outfits and role-play. Did I want a Catholic School Girl? They had them, complete with white blouse, plaid skirt and knee socks. A Roman Slave in a toga? Sure. Perhaps the traditional French Maid? She was on her way. It sounded like fun, the girls were all Bonded, the company had been in business for several years and I could check them out with the local Chamber of Commerce.
"One final thing," the CSR told me. "We do not in any way condone the idea of prostitution. Some folks get odd ideas about this service. However," and her voice lowered slightly, "I am sure that several of our employees will be willing to provide slightly more than our standard services for an extra tip." I agreed to have a girl come over on Monday's and Thursday's, and I would provide any needed cleaning materials. "Any particular style of dress?" Surprise me.
Thursday evening, there was a knock at my door. I opened it to see a lovely woman of about 24 standing here, wearing a long coat that went to her ankles. She had dark blonde hair that went to her shoulders, and twinkling green eyes. She looked up and smiled. "Mr. B? I'm Teresa from the cleaning service. May I come in?" As I opened the door, she came in, and asked to use the telephone. She dialed (what turned out to be the office) and stated: "Teresa, number 40. Account 6218. Start 7:15. All good." She hung up and smiled. "We have to check in for safety reasons." I nodded.
She hung her coat over a chair and turned to me. I could see she was wearing a leather corset, fishnet stockings, high-healed boots and a tiny thong panty. Her voice turned thick with a slightly German accent. "Now, vorm! Ve vill get dis pigsty cleaned! Komm! I kommand you to git started"
I had to laugh. "Excuse me, but I though YOU were here to do the cleaning. After all, I'm the one paying."
Teresa giggled. "Okay. I just figured that some guys like to have someone tell them what to do. How about this... ?" She took off her boots and sighed as her feet relaxed. Her attitude suddenly changed, and she knelt in front of me. "Master, how may I serve you?" She placed her forehead at my feet.
"Much better," I smiled. "We can get stared with the laundry, and then the kitchen. I'll show you where everything is. And if you get mouthy with me again, you will get a spanking. Understand?"
"Yes Master," Teresa replied. "But," her saucy mouth twitched into a grin, "spankings cost extra."
Well, Teresa did as instructed, and I was quite pleased with the results of her work. However, I felt compelled to remind her that if she was ever assigned to my house again, she must remember to behave properly. As she lay across my knees, I made sure her ass-cheeks were bright pink as I slapped them about a dozen times each. I think she was getting turned on, because I detected a certain "perfume" in the area of her thong. I paid her an extra tip, and she was off. Who would be there on Monday? I had no idea. The company would send random girls in various outfits until I found one or two to my liking, and then they would work for me almost exclusively, on the assigned days.
Well, over the next several weeks, I was treated to numerous beauties who came to my house dressed in outfits that included; Harem Girls, Goth Babes, a French Maid, a Cheerleader, Catholic School Girls, several Slaves (a popular choice, I was told), Space Aliens, a girl in military fatigues, a Vampire, an Olympic Figure Skater, and all willing to do a little "extra service" for a generous "tip". Numerous times I was treated to pleasurable blow-jobs, massages, and once, the French Maid took a long bubble-bath with me. Then, there was Crystal.
Crystal stood about 5'1", had bleach blonde hair, and had breasts that defied gravity. They were 42DDD and had the largest nipples I had ever seen on a girl. How did I know that? Well, she came to my door as a "Cowgirl", dressed in a white hat, boots, leather chaps (that left her tight ass exposed) and a fringed vest. Nothing else. As she did her work, she chattered endlessly about stuff. She was married, her husband was in the ARMY and was currently in Iraq. She did this to help with finances. She also had a daughter who was six months old. I saw a picture of the baby and said she was pretty (what else could I say?). Crystals "talent" was that she was lactating, and could squirt milk from her breasts at almost any target, and if you wanted some, you could have a taste as well (for a generous tip, of course). She also hinted (as she bent over to pick up a laundry basket so I could see her buttocks) that she might be willing to do more, since she was alone and her husband wasn't due for leave for nearly eight months. How could she EVER survive? I admit I was tempted as I studied the heart shaped tattoo that was inked into the small of her back, just above the crack of her ass.
However, she was married, and for the sake of my peace of mind, I declined her implied offer. No need having some guy knocking at my door with his M-16.
It was two weeks later that my life took an interesting turn. It was Monday, and as the doorbell rang, I opened it to see a lovely Pirate Lass. She stood nearly 6'3" in her boots, had a tattered black skirt that covered a set of dancers legs, a red shirt that was tied off just above her midriff, a kerchief around her head, and a look of shock on her face.
"Mr. Sterling," she sputtered. "I thought..."
"Come in, Erin," I chuckled. "It's nice to see you again."
"But when I saw the name, I didn't know... And the address, I figured you had moved."
"Nope, still here. The name is the one I use for work. Remember?"
"And please, just call me Bob."
As I ushered the girl in, I could see she was blushing bright red. She checked in at work on the phone, as required, and turned to face me.
"Okay," she stammered, "where do I get started?"
I gave her the list of things I needed done, and she got to work, occasionally looking over at me as I sat at this very computer, writing a biography for the latest "goober" who sang in some "boy band" and had attempted to write a story about a brave chicken. (Like I often have said, most of these folks are idiots.)
I first met Erin about ten years ago, when she was the younger sister of my older son's best friend. She would often be seen tagging along with her brother because her divorced mother wanted her to go out and play. There were not many girls in the neighborhood her age. Around he time she turned 15, her mother re-married, and they moved to another section of town. This was five years ago. Well, the skinny kid with acne and braces had grown up quite a bit, and she was now what some modeling places called "girl next door wholesome-beautiful". Her heart-shaped face was smooth and clear, and her deep brown eyes were framed by thick lashes and high cheekbones. Her hair was chesnut, and hung to the small of her back. The only thing "lacking" were breasts. She was hardly an "A" cup. I remembered how some of the boys had teased her, calling her "Miss 2x4". Still, I was pleased with how she had turned out.
.... There is more of this story ...