Date: Fri, 09 Feb 2007 08:33:47 -0500 (EST)
From: Herb Cat <herb_cat@lycos.com>
Subject: New Story: Semper Fi

Copyright 2007 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without
the author's permission.

Please note: this story depicts oral and sex between male adults. If this
offends you or is illegal to publish in your jurisdiction, or you are under
the age of 18, read no further.

The characters, locations and incidents in this story are fictional. Any
resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.

As an author, I welcome feedback on my writing. Please send any comments
about this story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank
you.

-----

Semper Fi

It had been one of those weeks. On Monday the boss emailed me to say he
expected to see my report on his desk first thing Thursday morning. I
worked at home, which was great. Telecommuting beats the expressway any
day. But that didn't change the nature of deadlines and ultimatums.

Then on Tuesday morning, Mom called that she was flying into town Thursday
night and would be staying with me for a week. Not a request, mind you. She
told me. The house was a mess and I couldn't spare the time to clean it
up. I needed help fast.

After I hung up with Mom, I flipped the local yellow pages open to
"Cleaning Svce," where I was re-directed to "Housecleaning Svce." I quickly
scanned down: "AAAA Home Cleaners (party cleanup, bathrooms and kitchens
scrubbed, . . .)," "American Dust Busters (house maintenance, weekly,
monthly, one-time, . . .)," "Maid to Order (insured and bonded, emergency,
. . .)" "MOMS Cleaning (are you sick of ...dishes in the sink, dust on the
furniture, everyday chores you just can't get to, . . .?)." Several of them
sounded promising. But then, I spotted one of those white rectangles. How
much extra do the advertisers pay to make their listing stick out like
that? For some reason, this one intrigued me: "Semper Fi Service. Discover
how quickly you can get you barracks squared away." I dialed the number,
and was surprised to hear a man's voice. Then I was relieved that I could
be accommodated on Wednesday. He told me his price (much more than I was
expecting) and asked me a lot of questions about what equipment and
cleaning products I had on hand. Then he asked for my address. I also gave
him directions. "Be at your hatch at O-eight-hundred," he said curtly, and
hung up.

I don't know why he had to send his crew over so early. But I figured,
good, I'll be up, and dressed, and I'll be able to work the whole day on
the report while the lady (-ies?) turned my sty into a place a mother could
set foot in. Wednesday morning, my alarm went off at 6:30. I showered, had
my coffee and a bowl of cereal, and picked out my outfit. I wasn't planning
on socializing with the help, but, who knows, SF might send over a cute
young thing or two. I better look halfway decent, in case. I got out my new
pair of Dockers, and a light blue pullover. A pair of boat shoes (no sox)
and I was looking fairly sharp, sexy perhaps. I set up my computer on the
desk in my bedroom where I could stay out of her (their) way and work on my
report. The doorbell rang; I checked my watch. It was only 7:50. A little
pissed, I opened the door.

There he stood. A strapping guy in his mid thirties, boots, cammie pants, a
cammie shirt with no sleeves, a USMC tat on his right arm, an armload of
mops, brooms, a work box full of cleaning bottles, and a clipboard.

"Pennington?" It was the same deep voice I heard on the phone.

"Oh, uh, yes, that's me. And you must be from Semper Fi. You're early."

"Don't believe in wasting time, Pennington. Let's get this field day under
way."

"Well, sure, OK. Come in. Kitchen's over there. Bathroom's down that
hall. In this closet is my vacuum and the supplies we talked about. If you
need anything, I'll be working at my desk. Oh, and why don't you call me
Harry, OK?"

The Marine glanced around. I wasn't sure he heard a word I said. He saw the
washing machine just off the kitchen. "OK, Pennington, you better get
started on the laundry. There's probably going to be several loads. They
can be processing while the other chores get tackled." I was about to tell
Marine where the hamper was, but he ordered, "Bring the whites
first. Ooh-Rah."

Well, I guess, sure I could get the stuff for him. He seems so anxious to
get going. I'm not going to waste both our times arguing with him. I went
in the bedroom and dumped everything from the overflowing hamper into two
laundry baskets, put an arm around each one, and brought them to the
kitchen. Marine was filling a bucket at the sink.

"I said the whites, Boot." He took the two baskets, and dumped them on the
floor. "Now sort them right, Pennington." Marine started to fill the
machine with water.

This was getting ridiculous. I didn't hire this guy to order me
around. Yet, something in his tone told me I'd better do what he said. I
bent over and began putting underwear, shirts, socks, shorts, anything
white, into one basket. On top, I threw my jockstrap. It was
white. Sorta. "Fuckin' Boot. Didn't your mama teach you nothin? You don't
throw elastics in with whites." He reached down and threw my jock back on
the floor. "The bleach will kill it. Your sorry little dick will be falling
all over the place. Now put all that load in the machine. Add a capful of
detergent and half a cap of bleach. You think you got that, Pennington?
Ooh-Rah."

"Yes, Sir." I heard myself respond. Marine's mention of my mother made me
realize I was in no position to object. I had to get my house in order
immediately. I couldn't afford to lose this guy.

"Good." Marine checked his clipboard. "When you finish, you can start
mopping the kitchen deck. It's a disgrace."

"Yes, Sir." I thought wistfully about the report I needed to write, due in
one day. I finished loading the washing machine, closed it, and set myself
to doing the floor, or deck, as Marine called it. I got the pail of water
he had filled, took out my box of store-brand cleaning powder, and asked
Marine for the mop I remembered he brought with him.

"No mop, Boot. Ground in grime like this needs muscle. You'll get down on
your knees and use this here brush. And what's more, you can throw that box
of junk in the garbage. From here on, you're not going to waste your money
on cheap supplies. Always buy the best. Lucky for you, I stopped by the PX
and bought the right cleaner. I'll add it to your bill. So, what are you
waiting for, Boot? Get down on your knees."

"Well, these are new Dockers, Sir."

"If you didn't come prepared for field day, that ain't my fault,
Pennington. Take them off, then. Ooh-rah."

"Yes, Sir." I started to head for the bedroom to change.

"Where the fuck are you going, Pennington? You ain't dismissed. I told you
to take your pants off, not go AWOL. At Lejeune, you'd be in the brig by
now." I stood frozen, staring at Marine. He never flinched. I slowly
slipped the Dockers off. "Well, what the fuck are those? They ain't
regulation skivvies, Boot!" I dropped my eyes to the floor. What had
possessed me to wear my heart-covered boxers today? Was it some fantasy
about getting inside some pretty maid's skirt? "Throw them Docks into the
colored basket, Pennington. Then get down and start scrubbing the
deck. Show a little gung-ho or we'll be here `til O-Dark Thirty"

For the next half hour, I was mostly on my hands and knees, scrubbing every
tile of the kitchen floor. If Marine thought I missed a spot, he spit on it
with deadly aim and kicked my valentine ass. "Get that one there, Boot."
However, periodically I had to get up to change the dirty water, move the
clothes from the washer to the dryer and start a new load, or load the
dishwasher. Meanwhile, Marine made himself a cup of coffee and began
puttering around, inspecting things, making marks on his clipboard.

"I see you didn't make your rack this morning, Boot. I guess your mama
never taught you how. Get in there and do it right, Pennington." I assumed
he meant my bed. I pulled the covers up and he pulled them down
again. Apparently, I was supposed to tuck the bedclothes in a certain way,
real tight. After twenty or thirty attempts, he was finally satisfied,
though grudgingly.

"Your head is going to take a lot longer than I planned on. Especially the
rate you're movin, Pennington. Ooh-rah." Head? head? oh yeah, it came to
me. Bathroom. Marine showed me which cleanser to use on the sink and
shower, which on the toilet bowl, which on the counter, which on the
mirror. He assumed by now I knew how to handle the floor. He graciously
agreed to put the clean clothes away for me as I got my "head" all "squared
away."

I took my shirt off. I figured if I was going to be crawling around behind
the toilet, it would probably be easier to do it in just my boxers. After a
while, I figured the fixtures were glreaming and ready for inspection. I
was almost "gungy." I came out of the bathroom to see Marine had set up the
vacuum for me. He was standing at ease, wearing a smirk. "I see you got
some sort of shit on your pretty little hearts there." I hadn't
noticed. "Better take them off, Boot. You won't need them to vacuum." My
jaw dropped. "What's the matter, Pennington? You don't want another guy to
see your pecker? . . . Yeah, that's right, off they come. Good
soldier. Hmm, I see you do got balls. I wasn't so sure before. Oh, one more
thing, before you turn on the old hoover. Stick this thing in." He brought
his hand out from behind his back, holding a big pink butt plug. My butt
plug. The one I keep in my sock drawer. I had a girl friend once who loved
that game, and every so often when I'm alone, wanking, I put it in for old
times sake. Now I cringed. "What's wrong, Boot? You like to use this,
right? Else, why you keep it in your drawer? Come on, Pennington, in it
goes. That's an order." I reached out to take it. "I think you'll want this
first, Boot." He showed me his other hand; the KY tube I keep in my bedside
table. The guy had gone through everything I own. I sheepishly took the
lube and knowingly slathered it on the plug. I crouched down on the floor
and pointed it at my anus and deftly inserted it. Marine couldn't help but
notice I was no novice. I stood up again and, somewhat bow-legged, began to
vacuum. Marine helped himself to my refrigerator and made himself
lunch. Every so often, he would come up behind me and give the plug a
little wiggle or a push. After the vacuum was put away, still butt naked
and butt plugged, I emptied the dishwasher, polished all my shoes and
dusted all the tabletops.

Marine checked his clipboard. "O Four Hundred. I guess my work is almost
done here." His work? "Here's my bill. I had to add overtime and the cost
of the supplies. It's all spelled out. I already marked it `Paid' cause I
took the cash out of that fake copy of Oliver Twist on your bookshelf. You
really ought to find a better place to keep your dough, Boot. Never know
who might take it. One last chore and then we can secure the quarters."

"Sir?" I was standing in front of him, naked and plugged. I couldn't
imagine anything I hadn't done.

"Just one more thing you gotta make shine before I leave, Boot." Marine
opened his cammie pants and pulled out his massive manmeat.

"Yes, Sir. Ooh-rah." I knelt down in front of him and opened my mouth. As
he fed me his cock, I closed my eyes and considered the day. My home was
spotless. I didn't dread my mother's visit. I had learned what I was
capable of doing. I still had the evening to work on my report. So all in
all, it was really a good day. And best of all, I now had my butt plug
stimulating my ass and a quite delicious piece of Marine meat in my
mouth. Semper Fi!