Cleaning

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Seduced while cleaning.
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Ashson
Ashson
8,514 Followers

My mother likes housework and when she decided to go back to work full time it was just natural for her to take up housecleaning. It gave her satisfaction, paid well, and she could see the results of her efforts straight away. All pluses as far as she was concerned. It didn't take her long to build a stable of regular customers and she developed a fairly steady routine.

Being her long-suffering daughter I had no choice but to learn how to keep house, and to do it well. The upside to this was that I had a skill that I could fall back on if my first choice of career fell through. That first choice, oddly enough, is Software Engineering. I picked up the bug at school and am now pursuing it at University.

One noticeable downside to being an expert housekeeper is that my mother considers me an available resource if something goes wrong with her work. For instance she normally sees her clients fortnightly, but every so often they'll have an emergency and want her to come in for a special clean. As she's generally fully booked, and can't be in two places at once, she tends to send me along to fill in for her on one of the bookings, generally whichever she deems will be easiest.

That's what had happened today. I'd only had classes for the morning so, ignoring my need to study as I could do that anytime, she sent me along to speak to Mr Brandt, apologise for her absence, and hop to with the cleaning. I got the Brandt house because he never made much of a mess and I could be in and out in an hour or less.

I checked her note-book for any idiosyncrasies that he might have, found none, and trotted around to get the job done so I could get back to studying.

I explained to Mr Brandt that I was filling in for my mother and he just nodded. If I wanted him for anything he'd be in his office, he told me and then just left me to get to it.

Not bad looking was my impression of Mr Brandt, as well as being polite and well-mannered. All-in-all he made a favourable impression on me. I'd say he was about eight or nine years older than me, ten at the most, as I doubted that he was over thirty. Still, I wasn't there to make goo-goo eyes at an attractive man. I hopped to and started cleaning.

My mother was right about Mr Brandt not making much of a mess. A light dusting and a quick spray and wipe covered most of the work. It wasn't long before I'd reached a point where I could vacuum the carpets, mop those rooms that had tile floors, and I'd be gone.

One nice thing about the Brandt house was the in-floor vacuuming system. There were three plug-in positions around the house and all I had to do was push one end of the hose home and I had a really powerful vacuum cleaner. When you can put the motor outside in the garage you can have a lot bigger motor than you have in a little tow-around vacuum.

The down-side to the plug-ins was that people tended to have them put in obscure places so as not to mess up their nice carpet. Fortunately my mother included these positions in her instructions. Inside the walk-in robe, behind the couch, behind the door in the office. The walk-in robe and the office were easy. Just bob down and jam the end of the hose in and away I went. Behind the couch? Not so easy.

The couch was big and heavy and I wasn't going to break my back moving it. I was standing on one foot, the other resting against the armrest of the couch, while I tried to reach behind it and push the hose into position. It's positions like this that cause me to wear tights when I go on these jobs. You never know when you're going to have to reach into some obscure corner and I had no intention flashing my panties at anyone who came wandering past.

Apparently that didn't worry some people. I'd just pushed the hose into the socket when a hand ran along my inside leg, all the way along it until it goosed me.

I gave a scream of fury, stood upright, and turned around to face my assailant all at the same time. That was the theory. The fact was that I screamed, tried to stand, totally lost my balance, and found myself sitting on the floor glaring up at Mr Brandt, who was laughing at me.

"Sorry, Miranda," he said, "but I just couldn't help myself. For a moment I forgot it was you and thought it was Margaret."

"My mother?" My voice was nearly a scream. "You intended to assault my mother?"

"Not assault, as such. More of a small joke. You have to admit you look like her."

"In my late thirties?" I demanded. "Are you blind or deliberately insulting."

"Whoa, calm down. I just meant that you're both slender and shapely. No aspersions were being cast."

"So you're saying, in a non-insulting way, that my mother is a tramp who'd welcome your sick attentions."

"No, I'm not saying that and you know it." He sounded slightly ruffled now. At least, he was no longer grinning like a chimp that'd pinched the last banana. "I'm just saying that it was a joke. Your mother would simple have laughed it off or slapped me and read me the riot act."

By now I was belatedly scrambling to my feet.

"Well, stand right there," I told him. "I'm quite willing to get with the program where slapping you is concerned."

"Oo, kinky," he said, back to laughing at me. "Are you into spanking as well?"

That was it for me and I took a massive swing at him. If it had connected it would have knocked his head right off. Unfortunately he ducked and the force of the swing spun me around and he promptly stepped up behind me and slipped an arm around my waist to hold me still.

"You need to be a little more careful," he murmured into my ear. "You could have broken your hand hitting me like that."

How thoughtful of him, more worried about my hand than his face. I pulled away from him, slightly surprised to find he let me go. I turned and faced him again, glaring at him and breathing hard.

"You look marvellous," he said, taking me aback a little. "Why don't you take your clothes off?" he added, taking me aback a damn sight more.

"What?" I yelled, horrified at the suggestion and even more horrified to find I found the idea intriguing. I wasn't a virgin but neither was I a slut and the thought of getting undressed before a strange man was, well, shocking.

"I asked why don't you take your clothes off?" he repeated, looking at me as though he was assuming that I'd do that right away.

"You've got to be kidding," I said firmly. At least, I think I said it firmly.

"Why would I be kidding? You're looking good as you are right now but I can't help feel that you'll look a damn sight better once you've got your clothes off."

"I couldn't," I protested. "I just couldn't." I was starting to get annoyed. I was supposed to be mad at him. Not explaining why I wouldn't get undressed.

"I quite understand," he said helpfully. "Nerves getting in your way. Don't worry. I don't mind helping you."

In what I'm sure was a spirit of pure helpfulness he took a step forward, his hands landed on my waist, slipped inside my waistband, and pushed my tights down, thoughtfully collecting my panties along the way.

"What are you doing?" I yelped, hastily pulling the hem of my top down to at least give me some protection. "I said no."

"No, you didn't," he calmly informed me, lifting one foot to slip my tights right off. "You only said that you couldn't do it yourself."

He tossed my tights and panties to one side as he stood back up.

"Let go," he told me, tugging at my top.

"I will not. Why are you doing this?"

"I told you. I want to see you naked. See if you're as lovely as I think you are."

"I don't care. That doesn't give you the right to tear a girl's clothes off. Just back off and leave me alone."

"Oh, that's not the only reason," he said. "Once you're naked I'll explain in loving detail the rest of my reason."

"You're mad," I told him, shocked all over again. "There's no way I'm going to let you, ah, let you. . ." My voice trailed away. He knew damn well what I wasn't going to let him do without me actually saying it.

His smile just got bigger and he pushed my hands away from my groin and slipped his hands between my legs and cupped my mound, rubbing it.

"Yes, you will," he said confidently.

I could understand his confidence. He could feel the heat and dampness that had gathered there.

With that he took hold of my top again and lifted it up and I didn't try to stop him. I was feeling rather frustrated as I couldn't tell if his arrant arrogance made me excited or annoyed. I mean, the excitement of knowing a rather hot man wanted me was warring with his assumption that he could take what he wanted.

There I was, naked apart from sneakers and socks, and this was the first time I'd ever met him. I was having trouble believing this had happened. It wasn't the first time I'd finished up naked with a man but I'd known the other boys for quite a while and even then they had a real struggle to talk me out of my clothes. Mr Brandt hadn't even tried to talk me out of them. (Suggesting I take them off is not my idea of persuasion.)

I tried to tell him to back off but he kissed me, at the same time his hand closed over my breast, rubbing it. It just wasn't fair. Any time I tried to speak he'd either kiss me or press a finger to my lips if his mouth was busy elsewhere, like on breasts.

He kept touching me and tasting, sucking on my nipples, stroking me. It got worse when he started paying some serious attention to my mound, rubbing it and exploring.

Somehow or other he got me backed up against the armrest where he'd first goosed me and he was kneeling in front of me and his mouth was on me. And when you remember that I was standing you can guess where his kneeling put his mouth.

I was clutching at his hair, trying to say no, but I don't think I was expressing myself very coherently. His tongue was doing terrible things to me. A couple of times I had to strangle a scream as his tongue touched places it most certainly shouldn't have.

When he finally rose to his feet I was a quivering mess. I just stood there, leaning back against the armrest, looking at him with wide eyes as he slowly dropped his trousers. After that I was still looking at him but not eye to eye anymore.

I just watched, fascinated, as his erection moved into position. Previously, any sex I had had, had just happened. I mean, we'd have been just mucking around and things would just happen, not that I'd complained at the time. This was the first time that a man had deliberately taken my clothes off and lined me up for some sexual shenanigans.

I gave a small gasp at the first touch of him and then he was pushing into me. I wanted to pull back away from him while at the same time I wanted to push forward to meet him. I finished up not moving, just watching as his cock went deeper and deeper, stirring up all those forbidden little sensations deep inside me.

I was starting to make a little 'ah' sound, wanting him to move in faster, but still not willing to actually do anything to bring this about. Not that it seemed to worry him. He just kept on coming in at his own pace.

He finally gave one last push, I gave one last gasp, and his hands closed over my breasts. That done he started moving. He wasn't in a hurry to start with, just gently easing himself back and forth, and I found myself responding automatically.

That slow movement felt wonderful. It seemed to me that this was something I could keep on doing for the rest of the afternoon. We were just rocking together, him sliding in and out of me, each movement warming my blood, increasing my excitement. At the same time he was rubbing my breasts, teasing my nipples, adding to my pleasure.

He was dropping little kisses on my face, his lips wandering around, while I just arched my neck, giving him access to anything he wanted. (Well, why not. He had already possessed everything else.)

I was just drifting along on a sea of pleasurable excitement, letting it happen. I don't think it really registered on me when he picked up the pace a little. I just kept on moving in time to his exquisite touch, lost to all but him.

His pace picked up again and I was right there with him. My legs had come up and wrapped around him, my hands clutching at his shoulders, holding him tight as he picked up the pace yet again. Now he was really thrusting into me and I was yelling at him, urging him on. Later I'd probably be embarrassed at what I was saying but at that moment all I wanted was more of him.

I finally climaxed, quite noisily, too. At that point I was glad to have my bottom firmly anchored to the armrest as I was able to just lean back a little to be leaning against the couch back. If I'd tried to stand I'm sure my legs would have collapsed under me.

He steered me towards the bathroom so I could get properly cleaned up. By the time I got back to the lounge room he had actually finished the vacuuming and packed the hose away. Shortly after that I gave him our standard account and trotted off home.

As I headed homeward there was one thing I couldn't help thinking about.

Mr Brandt had obviously thought that there was nothing wrong with him goosing my mother. Did that mean he'd done it before and, if so, had anything else happened? Not the sort of thing a girl could ask her mother, now is it?

Ashson
Ashson
8,514 Followers
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6 Comments
prinnaveaprinnaveaover 5 years ago
This

story cracked me up. I will be thinking of this one and laughing for a few days.

I always enjoy reading your quick little stories.

AnonymousAnonymousover 5 years ago

Good stuff.

AnonymousAnonymousover 5 years ago
Socks and Tights

Hiya, you say she was wearing tights but then standing there in only her socks and sneakers.. Even if she was wearing tights under the socks, you wouldn't be able to take them off without taking off the shoes.

tirreno12tirreno12over 5 years ago
Very good

So well written

DamianthesilverwolfDamianthesilverwolfover 5 years ago
Well done

The pacing slips from time to time but over all well done

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