"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?"

"Oh, right."

"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.

As Erin went about her business, I asked her how life was going for her. She was now twenty, going to school at the local community college, and trying to save enough to move out on her own. She didn't like her step-father at all, but respected her mother's decision to marry him. When she was finished, I noted there was still about half an hour allotted for my service. I usually had the girls for two hours. I told her to sit and relax, and if she wanted a coke, to help herself. At this point, she got quiet.

"Um, I know the agency states that the employees are not supposed to... And that some girls will..." Her blush came on full. "You aren't..."

"Relax," I smiled. "You're here to clean the house of an old man who enjoys seeing pretty girls working. I'm not going to molest you," I winked.

She seemed visibly relieved. "Thanks. It's hard, sometimes, because you can go to a place where the previous girl did 'extra stuff', and now the customer wants the same from you." She studied me. "You didn't expect... ?"

I had no choice but to laugh. "Erin, you are indeed beautiful. But no, I was not going to proposition you. I hope you don't mind."

{LIAR!!!} My mind screamed. I was thinking all sorts of thoughts about her, but wasn't going to do or say anything that would frighten her. After all, I had known her as a child.

"Okay. Say, you don't mind if I leave a little early, do you? I got a test tomorrow I need to study for."

As she left, I smiled. I told her that if it made her feel any better, she could come over in regular street clothes if she was assigned here again. She blushed and said that she would think it over. She also pocketed the $20 tip I gave her for getting done so quickly.

Well, over the following months, I saw just about all the girls the service had to offer. Often, these girls would have one or two costumes that they kept, alternating them each time they came over. I soon learned that I was one of the "preferred" clients, since I didn't demand anything too unusual, and wasn't a pervert. (The girls would tell me what some of the other clients had requested of them, and it made my mouth drop. "Scat", "Golden Showers", and stuff that was REALLY insane, like the controlled choking was just some of the stuff listed.) Most of the girls actually WANTED to come to my place, so they took even turns, laughing that I was a "tame" client. The only one who wasn't expecting any extra duties, was Erin. I didn't have the heart to ask for or let her offer 'extra services', as much as I might have enjoyed it.

One night, as she was finishing up, I asked her how much she made from the cleaning service. It turned out that she only made about $20 per customer, even though I paid the service $50 for the two hours that the girls were in my place (no wonder lots of the girls charged for 'extra services'!). She also told me that with final exams just around the corner, she might have to cut back on work, which would really cramp her ability to save up her money.

"Erin, how does his sound? Suppose I call the agency and tell them that I no longer need anyone, and you work for me, two nights a week? I can just pay YOU the $50 each night. What do you think?"

She kissed me on the cheek and said it was sweet of me to offer, but that wouldn't be fair to the other girls. She was actually friends with a few of them. We did work out a compromise though. I would call and say I wanted to reduce my service to once a week, and on Thursdays, Erin would come over to clean. I would pay her the $50 for that night's cleaning. To keep it from looking suspicious, Erin would still come over on Mondays about once every few weeks.

The following Monday, Crystal was back. She was starting to complain that her breasts were drying up, and she was (as usual) tight for money. She had to buy formula for her daughter on her way home from work. (I asked who was watching her child when she worked, and she said she swapped babysitting duties with a friend.) Well, I was suckered into giving her $50 for her kid. Okay, so she also gave me a lovely blow-job as a thank-you, but I was worried about her not being able to properly feed her child. After all, she only saw $20 from working at my place. After swallowing my spunk, she climbed up into my lap and stated that if I wanted her to, she could come over at any time. It was no trouble at all. I confess having that little nymph sitting naked in my lap with her arms around me, nuzzling my neck made me think seriously about her offer, but I declined, saying that I was happy with the way things were. She then asked me why I only had a once a week service now. I answered that I was learning to not be so messy, and that I was watching my finances. She accepted the answer.

And so, Erin came over on Thursday's, and the other girls on Monday's. I confess that I preferred Erin's company to the other girls. Why? She was sweet, and honestly, I liked her. She would often sit with me, after she was done, and we would talk about all manner of topics. She also started feeling more comfortable with me, and soon the "costumes" gave way to shorts, sweats and t-shirts. She looked a whole lot prettier in those things, as opposed to her pirate outfit or the serving wench costume she wore on occasion. In fact, she was staring to get so comfortable around me, that she would often give me a hug and a kiss on my cheek as she got there and left for home. Many a night I would see her to the door, and then go to my room and relieve myself, with images of her in my mind.

One night, Teresa was over, and said something that surprised me. "I heard Crystal saying that you were a push-over for a sob story." Excuse me? "She was giggling with a friend that she told you she needed cash to get baby food, and you forked it over, with no thought. She plans on hitting you up again soon."

I tugged at the leash that went to her collar and had her sit up like a good puppy and repeat herself, no barking.

Sitting up on hind legs and panting, Teresa elaborated. "She likes to brag about how much she can get from certain clients. It seems you've been tagged as an easy mark." She gave a small "yip" and tilted her head to one side, trying to look like a happy puppy who was trying to please her master.

This gave me pause for thought. I unclipped the leash, and Teresa scampered towards the laundry room on all fours. "What to do about Crystal?" I though as I watched Teresa in her white body stocking (it had spots to make her look somewhat like a dalmation).

Well, the following week, she was there. I asked her how her daughter was doing. She said that she needed to shop for new clothes, since she was growing so much. I agreed to fork over another $50 (for yet another delightful blow-job). The following day, I called the cleaning service and asked that Crystal come back the following week. She showed up, all smiles, expecting more sex and money.

"Sit down, please," I instructed her. "Tell me what you purchased for your daughter with the money you earned last week."

She was at a loss for words. Well, I eventually got it out of her that she was taking the money and spending it on herself. This angered me, since if she had simply told me she wanted more cash for herself, I would have been okay with it.

"You have been a VERY bad girl!" I pulled Crystal across my lap and started spanking her ass. Remember, her open cowgirl chaps left them exposed. "I don't like little girls that tell lies. Now you will go home, and not return here to work. No more extra money for you, since you don't spend it properly on your child."

Well, she got a mean look on her face. "I can call the police and press charges of assault and solicitation."

"Fine," I smiled. "And my lawyer will ask your employer for the list of customers you have worked for, and we can see what you have done for them, to earn a little extra cash." Her face froze. "Crystal, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. I don't like being taken advantage of. You lied. And I doubt you want this to blow up in your lovely face, especially since it might call into question your ability to parent your child. And, what would your husband say?" I stood and escorted her to the door. As she put on her coat, she did her best to look chagrinned.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered. "Can I have a second chance? Please?"

"Goodnight Crystal. Drive safely."

So, for two months after that, all went well. Until one night Erin showed up at my door, crying. Someone had been spying on her and had seen her coming to my place to work. Her employee contract stated that she was not supposed to work privately for clients of the service. As a result, she was fired. Guess who felt guilty, since he had been the one to suggest the idea? And guess who had been the one spying? If you guessed Crystal, you were correct. And after that, guess who would now be coming over to clean TWICE a week? I felt it was only proper, since I was the one who created the mess.

After that, we settled into a routine that worked well for us. On occasion, I had to travel for my job, so Erin would let herself into the house with her own key. Usually there was little to do by now, so I often had her just sit, relax, work a little and enjoy dinner with me. To a casual observer, one might think we were father and daughter. But oh, how I continued to fantasize about her.

The night Erin turned twenty-one, she was supposed to go to dinner with her mother and step-father. It was a Friday, and I was at home watching an old movie on cable. Around midnight, I heard the door open. Erin came staggering in, drunk, and her makeup was smeared across her face from dried tears. Her dress was slightly twisted and she was barefoot. "Gotta work," she slurred. "Erin's gotta work for her money to get her own place now."

I grabbed her before she toppled over and asked what had happened.

Well, her step-father had decided to open her mail and saw her bank statement. She had several thousand dollars in her account. He grew angry, saying that since she was now a legal adult, and had all her money, he was throwing her out. As a final gesture, he took away Erin's car and house keys, saying the car was his, and she could come for her stuff when he was there to make sure she didn't steal anything. Her mother did little to stop his actions. All this, over a nice dinner out. He was a real "prince". On her walk over to my place, Erin had stopped at a liquor store and purchased a bottle of rum, which she had "chugged" and tossed away when finished. Where her shoes were is anyone's guess.