Fucking the Maid

"What was that?" she asked rhetorically. She stayed like that quietly for several minutes and then got up to remove the coffee mug.

We watched TV for an hour and went to bed. There was a morning fuck and this time she was on top. Just for a second, I thought she missed a hole but then it felt deliberate. Think my wife was teasing her asshole with my cock, just for a few seconds. Jesus, but I got hornier. Promise of ass play, finally, after all these years of her saying no to the idea. As she did that, she leaned forward and kissed me passionately. I don't remember the last time we made out but the combination of the new experiences made me rock hard. God, I'd get to fuck my wife in the ass finally. Not today, but someday soon. She made me cum and rolled over, exhausted. We were both late to work.

The next time the maids showed up, the mysterious girl was there.

Two of them arrived in separate cars and my mind tingled. Oh my god, finally. She had a face and everything. It was the way she kept her hair that was most memorable and messed me up - long flowy hair, hiding portions of her face under it. That's what was confusing me. She was beautiful, and imperfect. Not plain but harshness of life showed on her face and it was exciting. Yes, I decided, she was very pretty that way. And she started cleaning right away.

Wondering when I could slip into a conversation I waited until the two maids split up and followed the other one. Handing her a stack of bills I thanked her for her time and told her to leave early and that I was very, very happy with her level of service and will specifically ask for her next week. Smiles were exchanged. She shared a knowing grin with me and quietly left. She knew the other woman was a whore.

Then I found the other one, the young beauty, the one with the hair. Her hair looked so wild, I loved it. She did have a face and I tried to memorize it.

"Can I get you a bottle of water?" I asked and she shook her head, blinking at me.

I held two bottles in my hand and wiggled one of them as if it was a huge burden for me to be holding one. "Sure you don't want any?" I repeated myself, my best salesman voice and mannerism employed to the extreme.

"Thanks," she said and took it and drank, her lips pursed. She looked me up and down as if evaluating something.

"Should I come back another time?" she asked me impatiently, realizing she was alone in the house with me.

"Oh no, nonsense. I don't mean to be in your way, just killing time." I smiled and fake laughed. Was that too fake? I'll remember to dial it down a notch next time. "People like me who work from home need frequent breaks for circulation," I chuckled and drank water.

"Yeah, I work from home too," she said and grinned at me with a corner of her mouth. That was a burn, I thought. Or no, her attempt at humor? A cleaning joke? Burn? Which one? The tone threw me off.

The die was cast so I laughed at that as she drank her water. But I wasn't sure if she meant it as a joke after all. Think she was just punchy, and that was really hot. This girl wasn't a pushover. Nothing like my wife. Form demanded I had to pretend to be oblivious and move on.

"So where are you from?" I asked her and she was polite enough to answer. Too many sentences went by and I forgot to ask for her name and now it was too late or else I wouldn't come off smooth. Gotta know to pick your battles. After awhile she shuffled her foot in place and set her water bottle on the kitchen counter.

"So I should probably get cleaning," she grinned briefly, locking eyes with me. The look revealed something of an inner message. The secret we shared. The red thong had to be hers, but I had to negotiate this slowly. She'd take a look at it later and get the message that I was willing.

The sales pitch continued, "Nonsense. Why don't we go do something fun instead?"

She laughed at that. It was the sweetest laugh I'd ever heard in this house. She pushed the broom away from her body as a prop and laughed through the sentence. Was I that good? Her laugh had a certain rasp to it.

She teased, "You mean something just as fun as sweeping?"

As I chuckled through that I felt surprised - I realized she wasn't just using the broom as a prop. No, she really was a hard worker, it was confusing me. Not a hooker. Normally I thought I read people very well, it was one of my most marketable skills. But there was this small trace of body odor on her, and it smelled delightful. She smelled like a young active woman. It was difficult to describe. It smelled like sweat, like life, like youth, like pheromones. Like a pinch of lemon over something unexpected. Like a zing, a tang, combination of words I've never used before and didn't know how to put together. Prior to this moment I didn't think pheromones existed. God, I wanted her.

"How about we take my Porsche out for a coffee?" I countered. "Ever been in one?" The moment that came out of my mouth, I realized how condescending it sounded. I was moving in too fast, but I had to keep up the confidence so not to spook her.

She gave me a cryptic smile, "maybe."

Maybe what? Maybe she's interested in a coffee, or maybe she's been in a Porsche? I seriously doubted the latter so she must've been thirsty.

"Well c'mon then, lets go."

"Won't your wife mind?" she asked me with a funny grin on her face. Of course I shook my head at that. The grin stayed but twisted a degree. It wasn't playful? Was it? She was a difficult read.

"No, not at all. Don't worry about the cleaning," I reassured her, brushing away her paid responsibilities on her behalf. She sighed and leaned the broom against the kitchen counter.

"Just a quick coffee," she said skeptically, but she sounded interested.

It took me a few sloppy minutes to get the roof down. The maid waited until I was done and got in. Striking up more small talk, I took us the long way through the back woods on this great winding road with hills, the best kind to take a sports car through.

We took the car through the drive-through and she got a sweetened ice coffee. My treat. And that's when I discovered that my wife's car didn't have cupholders. Or at least I couldn't find one. Wanting to impress her, I just played it off, trying to drive stick with one hand. She chuckled and pushed a panel in by the center console vents and a cupholder retracted.

"I mean, they're kind of useless on this car," I played my ignorance off but I put my Pike down in it anyway.

She told me a bit about herself but I didn't retain much of what she said because I was starting to get a bit distracted shifting gears on this car. It took more mental bandwidth than I thought it would.

Once we got back, I tried to seal the deal. Eagerly. I just couldn't wait another moment. She was so perfect for me.

"So you like wearing thongs?"

She looked at me funny, like as if I was a dirtbag. Her face suddenly didn't betray the same secret that I thought we shared. For a moment I hesitated whether the thong belonged to her. Maybe she was just too shy, maybe she had to see it first and notice that I used them. She needed to see the mark of invitation on them.

"So, ... I'm going to leave" she said, gathering her things.

Think I flushed, I wasn't sure what to say to that. She was supposed to say yes. Not this.

"Why don't you call the company and reschedule a visit, okay?" she said calmly after she finished packing and then started walking out.

"Okay," I said.

She drove off a minute later in some kind of an unremarkable car. My heart beat so fast because I felt I got so close but she slipped right through my fingers at the last moment. Fine, I could wait for her next visit, I thought as I watched her drive off.

As I closed the front door I realized the house was a fucking mess. Shit. That was something I didn't want to explain to my wife so I spent the next hour scrambling for cleaning supplies, mopping the floor first. It took a visit to the store to get everything I needed. Then as I dusted and cleaned the counters, I realized I was getting dirt and dust motes on the floor, leaving streaks in my wake. So, when I was done cleaning, I had to mop the floors again.

With the failing light I had to get down on my knees to see it clearly and that's when I noticed fuzz on the baseboards. Fucking shit, I put some nitrile gloves on and grabbed a sponge and a bucket and washed them. The gloves kept tearing and I realized I needed thicker rubber ones, but there was no time to run to the store again. An hour later I realized it must have been like 2,000 feet of baseboards in the whole house and this whole time no one bothered cleaning them. I was getting pissy and racing against the clock. We didn't need maids if they couldn't get this simple thing done. Exhausted, I took a long shower and then remembered to put away the cleaning supplies before my wife got home.

As I relaxed over a beer, I thought about the rude maid. Fucking bitch, I took her out in a Porsche. What was her problem? It was probably me just being too pushy, I realized, she'd come around eventually. But maybe I needed to try the older coworker for a fuck to get it out of my system so I wasn't so eager.

That evening I texted Cathy, "wyd?" but got no reply. Wife and I went to sleep early. No morning sex, just a quick morning run followed by showers. She was moody, almost sulking.

Next day I stayed up late at the office and hoped to catch Cathy for a brief chat. Just to reacquaint ourselves. Maybe ask her to a drink after work later this week. She liked going out after hours. These things took time to develop so you had to get started early. She worked in a different department, in an office hidden by a maze of hallways I hadn't been to in awhile. Just before closing I dropped in.

"Heya..." I started, leaning on her desk, and got immediately cut off.

"Can you come back in twenty minutes?" she barked at me, staring. Green eye shadow made her look meaner. And yet she had this look of complete disinterest, of boredom.

"Just wanted to..." but I was cut off right away.

"Come. In. Twenty." she drummed and leveled off with a "I'm really busy right now."

Her colleagues ignored the exchange. They were just glad I was the target of her ire, and they were about to escape their hellhole anyway. She had a reputation.

"Sure, I can do that" I said and stalked off. That was too cold of her. Stewing at my desk I waited and returned, expecting to give her a piece of my mind. She didn't have to be that curt. Just a fucking drink. Fucking bitch, what was her problem?

When I walked back to her office area she put a finger over her nose and looked around. Guess she wanted to chew me out privately. After the coast was clear she grabbed her purse and walked us to the back of the office going through a nest of tall cubicle partitions, stopping by an open storage closet. She put her purse down on the floor and opened up with both barrels of a shotgun, leaning her body on one leg. Her perfume struck my nostrils and it was rich, bold and inviting but her pose said "fuck you."

"So you just come say hi when you want pussy on the side, is that it?"

She gave me a look of contempt that I suddenly felt I deserved. Now I felt guilty for just disappearing last year. This wasn't turning out the way I hoped it might and I guess that avenue was closed to me now.

"Fucking asshole," she mouthed quietly.

But before I could defend myself, Cathy slowly dropped to her knees and started unzipping me, a most surprising turn of events in the fewest possible seconds. Her mouth felt cold on my cock but it warmed up quickly.

"Did you miss my big tits?" she asked between sucks and pulled them out for me to admire. She already had me hard by then. She was an expert cocksucker.

Yes, yes I did, I thought as I reached down and felt them. They were just so big and beautiful as I remembered them, all woman. The alpha female I knew once, radiating sex and feeding on the joy she created. My hands got more familiar with her body.

"Ohhhh yes I did," I dragged out slowly, closing my eyes and enjoying her eager mouth. She loved a hand on her head, I remembered, and I too loved feeling her head move under it. God I missed her body, I realized. It shouldn't have taken a year for this. Why did I wait this long? Her jaw clicked open a couple of times as she took my cock deeper.

Feeling the imprinted texture of her bra on her skin made this moment more real than should have been possible. More intense. Her confined tits were freed after a long day at work, that's what those skin lines said. And I was the one she had to thank for freeing them, thoughts making the moment nastier. She peeled her green panties off and fingered herself ready for a fucking without dropping a beat. A dark-colored condom made its way out of her purse and onto my cock.

Within a minute we were on the floor and she was sitting on my cock and riding me as if a year didn't go by without us even so much as talking. She fucked me quietly, her open shouldered sweater dress riding up high on her waist, her face screwed up in lust. Or intensity. My hands were all over her tits, feeling them bounce, feeling their weight. Her hips mated with mine just perfectly, like she was designed for fucking. It's just that I hated condoms.

We hit a couple of rough patches of me going soft, but, she was a pro and adjusted the pace without intimating an intervention. By the time her cloth marks faded away, I moaned and came. We broke away fast after that. Just before I kissed her goodbye, I made sure to grope her tits for a horizontal check. She was puzzled by that. Yeah, they sagged some now. She got older over the past year.

It was okay, but I regretted fucking her again.

Weeks went by with nothing going on, either at home or at work. My wife was still sulky, so I let her have a quiet moment. Cleaning day came and I felt discouraged to even think about it. But I was lazy and thought about bailing from work so I did. The day was too long already so I went home early, under a guise of an offsite meeting.

As I pulled up to our driveway, I realized my wife's car was parked outside which was very unusual this time of day. And there was a beat up piece of junk parked next to it. Immediately I felt rising anger as nothing good could come of this.

Quietly opening the front door I left it propped open and listened for noises, of which there were plenty. A woman's unmistakable low key moan. The sense of anger came and multiplied uncontrollably. There were laundry baskets everywhere in the living room with my stuff in them but I couldn't care about the stupid thong being found now. Walking past the baskets my heart was beating fast and I just couldn't believe my wife would cheat on me. With a shaking hand I opened the door to our bedroom and shuffled inside, and I thought I would quell the betrayal through some form of violence. But what I saw undid me.

On our king bed was my wife, splayed out like a harlot and dressed up like a filthy whore. Red bra, pushed down, exposing her hard nipples. She had a pair of metal clips on them, tied together by a short chain. Red fishnets, hooker heels. Red thong, pushed aside. The thong looked very familiar. Passionate bite marks all over her body. Her hair was in pigtails.

Between her legs was the maid eating her pussy, her fingers doing incomprehensible things. My wife was nearly orgasming, her own fingers dug deep in the covers. Ages passed as I took it all in, shocked, when a floor creak betrayed me. The maid stopped what she was doing and looked back at me. She scowled for a split second, as if I did something wrong. My wife opened her eyes and screamed, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Oh god," was all she could follow-up with.

Mildly startled, the maid thought about covering up somewhat but quickly gave up on the idea. Oh my god, this was real. She was in nothing but black undies and a matching bra, her clothes discarded on the floor. Her body was so lean, her hair tied into a bun. My brain short-circuited. Wait, ... what the hell? She had a leather choker with metal studs on around her neck and a shiny toe ring and an ankle bracelet. She looked very hip. Geometric tattos in assymetric places. I could see the outline of her mound through her underwear and I felt excited.

The implications of this scene went places. My wife had grown kinky; years of pornographic mythology became very real as lipstick lesbians were not only real but getting warmed up on our bed. This was exciting beyond description. A feeling of raw power surged through me as I knew I'd get to fuck both of them now.

Within a moment I misread the situation entirely and started unzipping myself when my wife made a horrified face and put a fast stop to the idea.

She sat upright and spat, "Jacob, I didn't want you to find out like this."

"What do you mean?"

This was not going the way I had hoped. My betrayed penis still thought he was in the running. The maid looked away and briefly flashed a grin to herself, licking her lips dry. Grin was gone as fast as it came and her eyes whiplashed to different corners of the bedroom. She clearly wanted me gone and wouldn't even pretend to be polite about it.

My wife covered herself with a pillow and her voice wasn't pleasant.

"Honey, there's something I've been meaning to tell you for a very, very long time."

"Yeah," I drawled the question nasaly, fear and betrayal returning to their rightful places. My penis was now shrinking inside itself. The maid smiled for a short second and sat back on the bed, her face a mask of practiced neutrality.

"For some years I felt... well, different. And meeting Marcy, well..." She bit her lip and there was a look of sorrow on her face.

Marcy? They're on first name basis? I muttered, "I don't understand, I thought things were going so well lately."

Then I felt dumb. Of course they'd be on first name basis by the time they reached cunnilingus. But the ice cream, I tried to rationalize it all to myself. The silence was more telling than any sentence. No, our recently heightened sex life was just her way of comforting me for what was to come. A heavy sense of rejection registered somewhere deep in my stomach and it was novel to me.

"Is she even a maid?" I asked angrily.

"Seriously?" my wife asked sadly and waited a moment. The maid got up and put her hand on my wife's shoulder and finally spoke.

"No, I'm actually a housekeeper," she spat and gave me one of her wildly angular expressions of contempt. Her face expressed a range I was unfamiliar with and I realized she was happy. They both were. There was no anger here.

My wife kept going, "You are conceited, self-centered, and selfish. I really gave it a good try just to feel where I stood, because without that I really wasn't sure, and you know what - I found out. Yeah, I found out for myself. Yeah, I'm pretty sure now. Yeah. ... Yeah." She was nodding at herself, building herself up.

Finally she just blurted, "I'm moving out."