Written by Tom
7 Jan 2005
cleaner cleans up
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Living on your own on the fifth floor of a flat in the centre of a large industrial town in the north of England can be a problem for many people, especially if, like me, they have mobility trouble causing great pain to the legs and the flat has no lift. In other words, I'm more or less housebound and my only regular contact with the outside world is the occasional intercom chat with the postie and the weekly visit by the lovely young stair cleaner, who always makes a pont of knocking on my door to have her water bucket filled before doing the last stretch. This happens every Wednesday evening.
Last Wednesday was no different, except for two things: the postie delivered a letter from an old school friend who was coming into town at the weekend and fancied visiting my flat; and the cleaner cleaned more than the stairs that day.
Her knock at the door came, as usual, at about 7:00, just while I was wondering how I could invite anyone into my flat, seeing as it was in need of a good scrubbing. After our general chit-chat about the weather etc, Sarah - the young cleaner - followed me through to the bathroom to fill her bucket. It was then I hot on a great idea. Quietly, and a little timidly, I asked her if she minded giving my floor a once over. I told her about my old friend coming and she very politely said it would be no problem, even turning down my offer of some money for the inconvenience.
Now Sarah, as I said, is a lovely young girl of 22 and I'm - well I've seen better days. However, she's always friendly and chatty with me. But I never thought of anything happening wih her beyond the pleasantries - how wrong I was.
She said she would quickly finish the stair and then come back to do my flat. Twenty minutes later she knocked again at the door, but when I answered it this time there was something a little strange in her look. Strolling in quite boldly, she headed straight to the bathroom taking off her company overall at the same time. She said it wasn't necessary when doing indoor work. Not only that, she took off her shoes, this time saying her feet were aching after climbing up a fair number of stairs all day. I thought no more about it. Cleaning must be a hard job in this town. It was only when she asked if I minded if she took off her stockings that I began to think something was up. "I don't want to ruin my new pair of stockings", she said with a wicked glint in her eye.
As she was removing them, I shyly looked away. But instead of saving her - and my - blushes, I looked in the direction of the bathroom mirror, just in time to see her hitch up her skirt and lower her tights. The sight of her lovely white knickers and the glimpse of her pubic bush peeeking out the elastic left me hot, transfixed, and feeling a little awkward again. But when I finally lifted my gaze upwards I could see that she was looking at me in the mirror with a smile on her face.
"Come here", she said. "I need a hand with this belt. It's always getting knotted." As I went over to her, she placed my hand on her crotch and held it there for what seems an eternity. I could sense it was a little moist. Then, she adeptly pressed my middle digit in such a way that it entered, through her knickers, her still moistening pussy. I was beside myself. I said I needed to sit down.
She very lovingly took hold of me and suggested a nice soak in the bath would soothe both our aching legs. I couldn't refuse. We stripped each other slowly - me in order to take in every pleasurable moment of this affair, her in order not to hurt my knees, which is where most of my pain comes from.
As we waited for the bath to fill she caressed my now stiff cock, working her hands up and down the shaft slowly and with great attention to detail. This was heaven. I could only moan with divine pleasure. As I was now seated, I also had a great view of her beautiful rear and the little tufts of hair hanging under her glistening cunt. I laid my hands on it gently and started to copy - as near as possible - her own loving hand movements. I think it worked. I could hear her give off little stifled sighs every now and then, and certainly her pussy was telling me I was doing something right, judging by the juices I was feeling. I decided to kiss it, drink from it, devour every last morsel in my mouth. Her sweet yet salty taste still lingers in my memory.
She decided to copy, bending over and taking all 7 inches in her mouth at once. And, just as with her hands, her mouth moved up and down in a slow twisting motion, producing yelps of delight from yours truly.
When the bath was full we climbed in, me first and then Sarah on top. Taking my shaft in both hands she slipped it gently between her legs and in her love-hole. She moved back and forward, causing litle splashes of water on the floor. I was beyond caring. She could flood the flat and the whole stair as long as she continued fucking me in this way. And she did - continue fucking me, that is.
When I finally shot my load some time later I didn't know who or where I was. I only knew that my cock was deep in her mouth and she was draining every last drop as quick as I could shoot it.
Drying ourselves off a little after 8:30, I could only say thank you - it seemed a pathetic gesture after everything she had done for me, especially as she went on to clean my flat as promised - still naked and looking lovelier than ever before. She left just after 10:00
I'll never forget that day. I don't know if it'll happen again. It doeasn't seem to matter. If it only happens once in my lifetime, still I'll die a happy man.