The Maid (v.1)

She unlocked the door, juggling her vacuum, her bucket, her purse, and prayed something wouldn’t slither out of her grasp before she could get inside.

It took a bit of finangling to do it, but she did, and  she couldn’t resist the little cha-cha-cha as she made her way inside. She set the vac just inside the living room, her keys on the table in the foyer beside her purse, and took the bucket, full of her rags and cleaning fluids into the kitchen.

Slipping her ear buds in, and turning up her “Cleaning List One”, she filled her bucket with suds, and prepared to mop up the kitchen counter, then the floor.

For a guy who lived alone, Michael sure lived like a saint, she mused. And while she was thrilled by the job, it always amazed her that he paid her to come by each week, when clearly he didn’t really need that much help.

Once the floor was mopped, she jogged upstairs to start his laundry, scooping up her dustrag and polish. While the first load began to agitate, she would wipe down his bedroom furniture, and his study.

Other than a light coat of dust, things up here were just as below stairs; neat and tidy.

She  went into his bedroom, noting the covers on his bed were skewed, pooling on the floor. The shades were drawn. Yet his car was gone, the house clearly locked up tight. His coffee mug had been in the strainer where he always put it after his one cup, rinsed and awaiting his evening tea.

She crossed to the window and pulled up the shade. Light flooded the room.


The sound of a very pissed man came from behind her,through her earbuds,  from within the twisted tangle of covers. She turned to stare in shock at the man, who was not Michael, sitting there and glaring at her.

She pulled the earphones from her ears, glaring at him.

“Who the fuck are you?” They asked each other in unison.

“I’m Mattie,”

“I’m Evan.”

Again, simultaneous. She pointed at him to go first.

“I’m the houseguest. Guessing Mike didn’t tell you I was going to be here this week.”

She shook her head.

“I’m sorry to have woken you. I… come here every Tuesday, and every other Saturday. I was just getting his laundry…” she trailed off as he stretched. His chest hair arrowed down to his hips, which were lost below the covers.

He had big hands.

He wasn’t an Adonis, to be sure. There was a bit of a pot belly there, and a bit of silver at his temples, but there was certainly a goodly dose of “sexah man” in there.

At least, she felt the hit of it. That stretch did wonderful things along his body, and made her mouth water.

“Bad girl,” she admonished herself.

She turned towards the bathroom. She dug down to the bottom of the hamper, struggling to reach the one black sock down there. She hated his hamper! She looked up, arm buried to the shoulder as her fingers crabbed along the bottom seeking it.

He came to stand in the doorway, watching her. His eyes were honey-golden. And hungry.

He was wearing boxers, the front tented out. With a sly smile, he came into the bathroom, and began taking a piss. She stared at his back, openmouthed, still bent over the hamper, sock forgotten.

“I….I…” she stammered.

“Never saw a guy piss before?” he asked, a laugh in his voice.

“Of course i have,” she snapped. “But you’re a stranger.”

“a stranger who really needed to pee.” He shook off the last drops of urine, then put his shaft away. He moved to the sink after flushing, and washed his hands thoroughly.

She watched him in openmouthed fascination.

“never see a guy wash his hands before?” he asked, openly laughing at her face.

She blinked. Geeze. Snap out of it, woman, she chided herself.

“Well, i’ve never seen one put the seat down when they were done,” she zinged back at him.

He threw back his head with a guffaw. Taking another step, he lifted her out of the way with his hand at her nape. Reaching easily into the hamper, he took out the sock, laying it on top of the pile in her arms.

Cupping her nape again, he softly licked her bottom lip, then took it in a tender kiss. A kiss that became hotter, deeper. In moments, his tongue was exploring hers. She was moaning, her arms still wrapped around a pile of dirty laundry.

He stepped away.

“Take care of that, will you?”

Turning he went back into the bedroom. He watched in the mirror as she left the bathroom, bemused. In a moment, he heard the lid of the washer clank up. Mike had done him a huge favor, letting him bunk here during his conference.

And who knew he had a cleaning lady that was quietly attractive? Not beautiful by modelesque standards, but just about what he liked in a woman.

She was shorter than most of his other girls had been, but she was softly round. Her tits weren’t huge, but proportionate to her body. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail that fell to the middle of her back. Her ears were small, her mouth a bit generous.

Oh, that mouth.

He watched for her to come back from the laundry room. She stopped and looked into the bedroom. He crooked a finger at her.

She shook her head.

He nodded, pointing at his feet.

He watched the shiver run through her.

That was a very good sign.