Date: Sun, 23 Sep 2012 08:23:08 +0200
From: Amy Redek <adultreading@gmail.com>
Subject: A Star is Porn. Part Four.

   This story is for persons of eighteen years or over.  All comments, good
or bad, are welcome and all will be answered.

  Part Four.

     He was right! She was a bit of a witch, very bossy too, wanting to
know the inside of the cat's arse. In fact, I did start to lose my temper,
but I think she sensed that she had pushed a bit too far, so she backed
off.

     After being given a screed of paper, `Rules for the cleaner.' she
said, and after reading them, asked, `Do you understand?'

     I replied that I did, not being completely ignorant and then filled
out an application form, putting Paye as a reference. This was accepted as
he had already phoned her that morning before I had.

     So for a probationary period, I had to work with her, cleaning some
houses that were her own clients. When I say work with her, it was more me
doing the work and her watching, but I must have passed her examination
because I was soon let loose to work on my own.

                                                            *

     `What the hell are you thinking of? Cleaning up after other people!'
Mike not liking the idea one little bit. `What about me? What about Epsom?'

     Typical of men. Think of themselves first and as usual, it took sex to
get him to say yes. After a good dinner, I let him drink what he wanted
before I started in on him. Zip down, cock out, in mouth and as a treat, we
finished up in the sixty- nine position.

     It all started to work out. Mike was getting his oats at night, and I
got my extra in the mornings with Derek. Epsom was quite happy at Jane's
house, and Philippa was satisfied with my work. So were the clients that I
began to get.

     Not that I went to Derek's every morning, I didn't want to kill the
golden cock, so I let him dangle without quite often.

     With me now working for the agency, I think that I had better set the
record straight. The author of this book also wrote one about my
experiences as a cleaner. That, though not very original, was also the
title, "The Cleaner".

     Now I let her use my name, and that of some of my friends as they
didn't mind and thought it would be a good hoot. All of the clients were
given fictitious names to protect their innocence, as were their
occupations. The book is a work of fiction in reality, so if you have
previously read that book before this, you might think you have found some
inconsistencies between the two.

     That is what is called poetic license. The author changes times,
events etc. to suit the story that the person is telling. For example; when
I had sex with James Mortimer just a few pages into the story, it appeared
that this was the first time I had ever given `head'. But as you will
already have read in this book, that I have already done so, and enjoyed
it.

    So this book is the definitive issue of my life. Though what I have
done for the sake of coherence, is to use the same names that the author
used in the original story. But so as not to disappoint you readers that
haven't read "The Cleaner", I will recount some of these escapades as they
occurred in their proper time sequence.

     With that out of the way, we can carry on with my life.

     One of my first clients, was at it happens, old Mr Mortimer. John was
his name, a widower with two adult children, James and Sybil. I only ever
met Mr. John once and that was at the initial interview when Philippa
signed him up with the agency. It seemed I passed muster and so he had a
cleaner and I had a job. I cleaned for them for just over two years, going
in once a week, usually on a Monday for three hours. Fifteen pounds would
be left out for me, so when the work was done, the
  money went into the pocket.

     I would quite often encounter the two siblings, as it seemed that
daddy made enough money for them to swan about as they pleased. It didn't
appear that they `worked', anyway.

     My first confrontation, sexually that is, was with James when I went
into do the bathroom not realising his was in there. He must have only just
entered the shower because it wasn't running until, without really looking
I pulled opened the door just as he turned the water on.

     We both jumped with shock and the water shot off him and absolutely
drenched me. I couldn't see or speak because of the water, but a towel was
thrown over my head and I could feel him rubbing my hair. I didn't feel his
fingers undo the buttons of my blouse or undo the clip of my skirt, though
I felt it fall to the floor. I tried to speak through the towel, but my
blouse was quickly pulled off my shoulders and down off my arms.

     I managed to get my hands on the towel and pull it off my head and
held it across my breasts. I could only stand there, red faced and
spluttering. He was facing me, also wet and very naked. I could see him
looking down at my lower body, so I leant forward to look also. My panties
were small and tight, and being wet, showed everything. My small bush and
quite clearly, my crack.

     Before I could straighten up, my eyes had already seen that he had an
erection, he grasped the towel and flipped it over my head so it was behind
my neck.

     With a short pull, my breasts were crushed up tight to his chest, and
his erection was pressing hard into my stomach. He kissed me. Strong and
with incredible heat and I couldn't help but let my mouth open for his
tongue to probe inside. Conscious of my near nakedness and his throbbing
cock pressed up hard against me was my undoing. My legs went rubbery and I
became wet between my thighs, and it wasn't water from the shower.

     He must of sensed my immediate surrender because he suddenly scooped
be up into his arms, and carried me through to the bedroom. I didn't have
time to orient myself before my wet knickers were off and he was in between
legs, poised ready.

     I can see him now, standing there, cock bouncing and ready as he bent
down and moved into me. As big as he was, his length slid into me like a
knife into butter. The penetration was painless and exquisite and so
fulfilling. Then his weight was on me, still wet, but warm. It only took a
few thrusts before I orgasmed, his rigid tool reaming my inside was
heaven. I bucked my hips to meet his downward push, a wet smack of flesh,
then a partial withdrawal before he pushed forward again. He
  moved faster, my body being slammed by his weight as he reached his peak
and came in shuddering jerks and I could feel the hot comings as they
splashed inside me. Thank God for the pill was my odd thought as I came
again just after him.

     We finished up in the shower together and with his soapy hands, he
brought on another orgasm that left me clinging to him, trembling. I
couldn't help but sink to my knees, and naturally took his erection into my
mouth.

     This was, then, the first time that I gave him head. It was lovely
holding that throbbing penis between my lips, tonguing the inside of the
foreskin, then forcing it back so that this acted as a clamp around the
base of his swollen tip. Gently scraping it with my teeth drove him wild,
and he soon shuddered and rammed himself hard into my throat making me
choke. But I managed to control him and let his sperm fill my mouth before
I spat it out. Too much salt!

     After this session, and letting me wear some of Sybil's clothes, he
put twenty pounds into my hand. I nearly flung it back at him, saying that
I'm not a whore, but realised that in reality, that is what I was. Not the
street corner type, but a whore anyway and I needed the money, so who was
losing out? I enjoyed it, so why not take his money? To me, well my
argument was that I had worked and got paid! Didn't everybody work and get
paid? Just because it involves sex, you get called a whore. All wrong. The
only time you don't get paid for it, is when you do it with
  your husband. But he does pay in the long run, so where's the difference?

     Well let me carry on with the Mortimer Saga as it really
happened. Over the next two years, I had sex with James at odd times, which
were lucrative as well as being satisfying.

     Then came the inevitable encounter, sexual, that is, with Sybil. As I
have already said, they seemed to be at home all the time and on this
particular occasion, I was working, when Sybil asked me into her room.

     `Angela. You are a sensible girl and I'd like your opinion on some of
these clothes that I've got on approval, as to which I should buy, or not
as the case might be.'

     Spread across the bed and hanging about the room, were various dresses
and lingerie. They were of the best, all designer labels that no way were
they the kind of clothes that I could afford.

     `The only trouble is,' Sybil was saying, `is that I don't know what to
select from this lot. They all look good when displayed, but how would they
look when worn, if you know what I mean? Well what I mean is, could you,
would you, model them for me. You have, what I think, is the perfect figure
to show these clothes off to their best advantage, and give me an idea as
to what would suit me. Do you see?'

     I didn't exactly and what I really didn't know, was that I was being
very carefully set-up into being seduced by another woman. Now I was very
familiar with the male approach to seduction, but not with the female
predator. Even being married, well sort of, and having had a child, I fell
in the trap.

     `Would you try this one on first for me, please?' Sybil asked sweetly.

     `Sybil,' I replied, `I'm here to clean your house. That's what I'm
paid for. Not to model clothes.'

     `Darling. I'm sorry,' Sybil countered, `Forget the bloody cleaning. I
can do that later. All I'm asking for is a little of your time to help
me. Now if you don't think these clothes would look good on you, well
okay. I'd just have to take the chance on what I select, but.' She took
hold of my hand, `I would deem it a very good favour if you would help me
with my selection. I'll see that you are well paid for it.'

     What the hell, I thought. Modelling some clothes, and getting paid for
it.

     `This one?' I said, picking the first one that came to hand.

     `That will do nicely to start with,' she said sweetly.

     I picked up the dress, and started towards the adjoining bathroom to
change.

     `Where are you going?' was the shocked voice.

     `Into the bathroom to change,' I replied.

     `Don't be so silly,' she said. `we're both women. Change here.'

     `But I'm not wearing a bra,' I said.

     `What difference does that make. I sometimes go without a bra. Now
stop being silly, and put on that dress.'

     So, somewhat self-consciously, I disrobed, and fully aware of my
breasts being observed by another woman, struggled into the dress, and with
a sort of smug satisfaction, twirled round, displaying the flair of the
material.

     `Very nice,' Sybil said, coming up and adjusting one of the shoulder
straps, `but not quite right for me. Try that one,' she indicated.

     So we went through five different dresses. Each time my breasts were
exposed whilst changing. She eventually remarked on them as I took off the
fifth dress.

     `I must say,' she said, `you do have the most perfect breasts I have
ever seen. I must also admit that I have seen quite a few during my years
of buying such clothes, but never seen someone so perfectly endowed as
you.'

     I blushed at the compliment, and asked, `What next?'

     `Well I think we can dispense with the bra's that are there, don't you
think? They are surplus to requirements. Try on those panties,' indicating
a ghastly pink pair.

     `Surely not those,' I exclaimed, `the colour is terrible.'

     `It's not the colour I like, but the design. Go on, try them on.'

     So, blushing again, I pulled down and stepped out of my panties, and
pulled on the horrid pink pair. I then stood in front of her, bra-less,
letting her see this pink thing on me.

     `Come here,' she commanded, beckoning with her finger. I moved closer
to her as she reached, and hooking her fingers under the fabric close to my
stomach, rubbed the material between her fingers.

     `Not bad,' she murmured, her fingers now also touching my pubic
hairs. `Quite soft don't you think?' her fingers moving round to the crotch
of the panties, also brushing in between the lips of my labia.

     My own body betrayed me!

     At the touch of fingers there, caused my inner being to tremble and
cause my juices to begin to flow. I stood there petrified, unable to stop
the small flow from trickling down over her fingers and wetting my thighs.

     `Now what's this?' Sybil said, withdrawing her hand, and with an
agonisingly slow motion, raised her hand up to her mouth and licked her
fingers. Her tongue so pink from them pale lips slowly sucked them clean of
the moisture from my body.

     `What an exquisite taste,' she said, her eyes hooded, but shining and
without taking her eyes from mine, hooked her fingers into the elastic of
the panties, and drew them down from my hips. I instinctively lifted my
feet in turn so that the panties were then taken off of me. Her eyes still
held mine as she raised them up to her face and inhaled from the crotch
piece.

     `It smells delicious too,' she murmured, and then to my astonishment,
she licked the crotch.

     `What's turned you on Angela?' she said as her hand swept upwards
between my legs, her fingers parting my lips so that they made contact with
my love bud. I shivered at the touch and trembled, but still couldn't tear
my eyes away from hers.

     She moved in close to me and slowly moved me back till the backs of my
legs touched the bed. I couldn't help but fall backward, and she followed
me. Her body heavy on top of me, kissing me, her fingers delving deep
inside of me. I couldn't help but respond. I held her tight as she brought
me to an orgasm, my whole being, shuddering as I came. In a flash, she was
between my thighs, sucking and drinking my fluids as they poured forth.

     I remember laying back, arms splayed out wide, breasts heaving, as
Sybil's head worked between my wide open legs. I was enraptured at the
tonguing that I was getting, so much so, that I orgasmed again. Sybil
lapped it up as I wallowed in the pleasure of that release.

     I neither saw, felt or heard her disrobe, but realised she was also
naked as she came up my body with her tongue and our breasts met as she
kissed me. My own juices I could taste in our kisses as our pubic bones
ground against each other. My hard nipples rubbing against hers, small
sparks of electricity emanating from them as they made contact.

     She somehow, twisted round, so that we were then kissing upside down,
and her lips moved down to my throat. My lips were kissing her as she moved
over my body. My tits were on fire at the nibbling of her teeth on my
nipples. I did the same to hers as they came in reach of my mouth.

     She pulled her breasts free from my mouth and carried on her journey
south. Over my rib cage and across my stomach before burying her face
between my legs. Which naturally brought her sex just above my face into
which I raised my neck and did the same to her. With my mouth, I parted her
lips and inserted my tongue into her vagina. Pushing and waggling it as far
as I could. Then nibbling on her clit, sucking and pulling on it.

     I felt her shake as she came. The juices flowed into my mouth and ran
down my chin. It was sweet and lovely so that I came at the same time,
Sybil sucking and licking the same as me.

     With us both spent, she came back up the bed and we cuddled and
explored each other's breasts. Hers were smaller than mine, but still
enough to hold and caress.

     This then, was my first experience of lesbianism, but not the last. As
you are well aware, if you are a connoisseur of film pornography, that that
is part and parcel of the job in the making of these type of films.

     Now what I didn't know about James and Sybil is what I shall relay
next. I'd had my lesbian relationship with Sybil, and several heterosexual
relations with James, (James paid, Sybil didn't), but didn't know how close
James and Sybil really were.

     This I found out one morning.

     I was bending over the bath, cleaning it, when money floated down over
my shoulder. Oh shit!, I thought the house had been empty. It was James
behind me.

     `Angela, my darling. Stay just as you are,' I heard him speak from
just behind me. I felt my skirt being lifted and his fingers then pulling
the gusset of my panties to the side. The tip of his penis nudged me, so I
moved slightly, opening my legs and thought of the money lying in the bath
in front of me. He pushed against me and the head of his cock slipped into
me.

     Even though I wasn't prepared for it, I do love the feel of a hard
cock, throbbing and pulsating being pushed into me. Being blunt, I do like
being fucked. Bent over as I was, I could feel every throbbing inch filling
me. I wiggled my bum to accommodate his thrust, until his thighs touched
mine. I squeezed my muscles as hard as I could, and heard him gasp at the
pressure. He then began his strokes and if I hadn't released my juices at
first contact, he would have rubbed me raw. With his hands firmly holding
my hips, he banged away at my rear end, his balls making
  that slapping sound. He held me tight as he came, hips jerking as he
spunked into me, as I came at the same time, though I don't think he
noticed, or cared.

     He then withdrew, leaving me feeling cold, even after he had flipped
my skirt back down. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that he was naked as
he left the bathroom and entered the bedroom, closing the door behind
him. Only the door didn't close properly, the door latch didn't connect, so
I heard what he said and, looking through the crack saw what amazed me.

     `Sybil! Look what I've got for you to suck on.'

     I saw him approach the bed, his erection still up and glistening with
both our juices. Sybil sat up, naked to the waist at least. She shifted to
the edge of the bed and held his hips as she took his erection into her
mouth. She took it in deep, sucking as she did so. She slowly drew her
mouth back along its length till it popped out.

     `You've just fucked Angela, haven't you, you bastard? I can taste
her.' She said, looking up at him.

     `So what! There's enough left for you.' He said grasping her hair and
ramming his tool back into her mouth. He held her head tight between his
hands as he worked his hips, fucking her mouth.

     `You've fucked her! So what's the difference?' he said between gritted
teeth. `The difference is this,' as he pulled back as he came, his sperm
spurting over her mouth and chin. `This I can do. She can't.'

     Sybil licked the sperm off her chin with a smile.

     `But she tastes better than you do, and that's a fact! But let's put
this, dear brother,' she took hold of his still erect cock, threw back the
sheets and opened her legs, `where it really belongs.'

     She let go of him as he obeyed and climbed onto the bed and went
between her thighs. Sybil gave out a sigh as he sank his tool inside of
her.

     I watched in amazement, as he then slowly started to fuck his own
sister. I couldn't condone nor condemn, neither could I cast the first
stone, but I was still shocked. I'd had, in the past, exciting and
memorable experiences with both of them, so why should I be the judge of
what they did now.

     Now I see that I have fallen into the same trap as most story tellers
and I've condensed two and a half years into what seems a continuous
scenario, so please forgive me.

     Over the three years I did cleaning, there were many different
clients. Some that I can recall quite clearly, some are forgotten. Other
things happened as well.

     Epsom was growing up and had started school. Mike lost his job in the
garage. He argued too much with the boss, so he went onto the dole and
relied on me to support the three of us so at least I didn't have to pay a
baby sitter now.

     There was one highlight of my relationship with Derek that I must
record, because we could have been killed on one of our trysts. With me now
almost working full time cleaning, I didn't get to see Derek very often, so
we used to make the most of it when we did.

     This day, Derek picked me up in a snazzy two-seater sports car
job. Strapped in bucket seats with the top down, we flew down the country
lanes like the wind. The throbbing power of the motor excited me, as did
the impression of high speed. Being so low to the ground gives one that
impression that you are going faster than you really are.

     We'd swept round these blind bends, touching hedges one side, then the
other, until we came onto a dual carriageway. I put my hand into his lap to
see if he was as excited as I was. My knickers were wet right through and
he was excited too. His cock felt as hard as iron through the cloth. I
looked up and saw that the road was long and straight, so acting on
impulse. I unzipped his fly, and managed to pull his erection out. The car
wobbled a bit as I did this.

     `Phew,' he said, `I can feel a draught somewhere.'

     I laughed and undid my seat belt and squirmed down into the foot
well. With one hand holding his erection, I had one hell of a job getting
my head underneath the steering wheel and pulling his cock downward and
into my mouth. Was he hard? As stiff and solid as the gear lever with the
knob on the end!

     I couldn't do a lot in that restricted position, just short bobs of my
head using my tongue and virtually jerking him off as I felt his pleasure
mounting. I held the head of his cock as firm as I could in between my lips
as he groaned and started to surge. Just as his come shot into my mouth, he
gave a groan, and the car left the road!

     He must have shut his eyes as he let his cock take over with him
coming. The first jolt nearly put his tool through the back of my
throat. My head was jammed up under the steering wheel, his crotch pushing
my face up. The grass verge that we were now running on must have been
corrugated making my head go up and down like a pneumatic drill. The back
of my head banging the wheel, his cock choking me, throat full of his come,
my nose smothered in his pubic hair. The only reason that I didn't pass out
was the one hand banging my head as he fought the steering wheel to correct
the direction of the car. It seemed ages, but must have only been a few
seconds before he had it under control and stopped.

     I couldn't stop the choking as I managed to get my head off his lap
and his dick out of my mouth. Dribbles of sperm, saliva came out as well to
be joined with my tears, spewing onto his trouser front. I couldn't get
myself out from the foot well, twisted round as I was. I just lay my head
down on the seat, gasping for breath between the coughing fit that now
started.

     Through my tears I could see his now wilted dick shining with what I
had coughed out, his hands gripping the steering wheel, knuckles white with
the strain. Looking up further, his neck was bright red, but his face was
white. Beads of perspiration had just started to run down from his
forehead. His eyes staring blankly ahead.

     `Some fucking ride that was,' I croaked out. I struggled about and got
myself back up onto the seat, took the handkerchief from his top pocket and
wiped my eyes and mouth, and then dropped it into his lap over his limp
dick.

     `You can clean that yourself,' my voice still croaky, 'I've had my
fill of that today. You don't know how lucky you are that I didn't bite the
bloody thing off. What the fuck were you doing? You nearly choked me to
death, apart from trying to kill me in this thing!'

     His hands came off the wheel and he wiped them across his
face. Looking at the wetness of them, he wiped them down his shirt
front. His hands shook as he got a cigarette out and lit it. He took a deep
lung full, closed his eyes and leaned back letting the smoke slowly wisp
out from his nose. He then sat up and took another deep drag and looked at
me, squinting through the smoke around his eyes.

     `I'm sorry Angela,' his voice shaking a little, `I lost control back
there. In more ways than one. When...when you,... when I, when I started to
come...your tongue, your hot mouth. It...it was so...so good. I must have
shut my eyes for a moment. I'm sorry. I really am sorry. I didn't hurt you,
did I?' His voice now plaintive.

     `I've got a bloody sore throat,' I said, rubbing the outside of
it. `We're not doing this again in a car! Now clean yourself up and take me
back, I don't feel like doing anything else.'

     He picked up the handkerchief and wiped himself down and put his John
Thomas away. He went to put the cloth back into his breast pocket, but then
looked at it with distaste, and threw it out of the car.

     We drove back to town more slowly than on the outward journey, and he
dropped me off at our usual corner.

     `When will I see you again, Angela?' he asked with a slight whine in
his inflection.

     `When I've got over this sore throat and calmed down from the fright,'
I threw back at him as I walked away. I had this sore throat for the rest
of the week. It was three days before Mike complained of the sloppy dinners
we had been having. I didn't tell him why we only had meals that could be
swallowed easily.

     I think it was round about this time that Pippa phoned, I sometimes
called her that to annoy her.

     `My name is Philippa! Not Pippa or Pip, but Philippa! Kindly remember
that in future,' she would scream down the phone.

     Well anyway, she phoned one evening to say that she had signed up a
new client that would suit me down to the ground. I didn't catch the name
that she mumbled, but noted the address. Vicarage Road, which I think is
obvious that it runs past the church. Not many houses down there I mused,
looking at my street atlas. Dead-end road, ha, ha. It overlooks the
cemetery.

     I was to meet Philippa in the pub next day at lunchtime to collect the
keys. I timed it so that I saw her go in before me and I quickly hurried up
and came up behind her just as she was ordering a drink for herself at the
bar. She couldn't help but ask if I wanted one. Pint of best I got out of
her, which put me straight away into a good mood.

     I got the keys and the number of the house off her while we drank, and
when I finished mine, said that I couldn't stay drinking in a pub all day,
I had work to do. So left her there with her nearly empty glass. I must
have chuckled over that all the way to Vicarage Road, though why it was
called a road, I don't know. It was more of a dirt track with only seven
houses down its length. Sod's law came into effect, as the one I wanted was
the very last one. Set quite away back from the road and even further from
the house next door so to speak. It must have been almost
  half a football pitch away from it. Must be bloody spooky at night, I
thought. So far away from anybody else, and overlooking the graveyard. A
cold shiver went down my spine at the thought.

     It wasn't that large a building, but it looked to have at least four
bedrooms and several parlours judging by the number of chimney pots
clustered together. I think that you would say that the house was early
Victorian. You know the type, four chimney stacks that stick way up above
the roof with the little clay pots on top.

     They must employ the use of a gardener, I thought, because the front
garden and what I could see of the back, was in quite good condition. Front
door could do with a lick of paint though.

     Stupid me, I said to myself as I got closer to it. Heavy oak door and
it would be a sacrilege to use paint on it. A large iron knocker in the
middle, which thankfully was not brass. Coach lanterns flanked the
entrance, but the modern doorbell set into the wall on the right marred the
picture. I had expected to see the large pull down iron ring, from which a
bell would send a mournful toll throughout the house.

     I pushed the little button of this modern bell, hearing it tinkle
inside. I waited, and waited. Rang again, but still no response. Even
though I had the key, I think that the first time you ever go to a new
client, it's only common decency to announce yourself properly at the
door. Not just walk in, a complete stranger and surprise them. But after
standing there for several minutes feeling foolish by ringing a bell that
no one was going to answer, I let myself in with the key.

     The hall was lovely. Spacious and high, with a large staircase going
up one side. All panelled in what I think was oak, and every other panel
displaying a portrait of some be-whiskered gentleman. Ancestors? Might be,
I thought as I passed on through an open door into what appeared to be the
lounge.

     Not very tidy, was my first reaction. The coffee table in front of the
large fireplace was littered with plates and glasses. Magazines and papers
on the floor beside it that looked as if they had been pushed off to make
room. I was surprised to see a small baby grand piano in the corner
alongside a set of drums. They didn't really seem to belong in that
room. They should have been in a room of their own, a music room, if you
know what I mean. There were two other doors leading off and I chose the
one on the left, which took me into the kitchen.

     It's a bloody housekeeper they want, I thought indignantly, not a
cleaner. Pots and pans everywhere. On the stove, in the sink and on the
table. Plates, cups, glasses, ceramic dishes and cutlery everywhere. I bet
that they've used everything and only wash up when the last piece is used,
was my thinking. The table in the centre of the kitchen was of the old
fashioned wooden scrubbed type that I would love to have in my place, but
it wouldn't have fitted. This also was cluttered with the remnants of the
occupant's last meal preparation.

     `Where do I start,' I said aloud looking round at this mess. I tried
to think what Pippa had said about how many hours I was expected to
work. She had said when I was drinking her beer, but I was so full of the
fact that I'd managed to get a drink out of her, that I hadn't listened
properly to what she had said.

     I looked around, but didn't see any money left out to give me a
hint. Shit, I said to myself. Just the kitchen alone will take all
afternoon, and who'll pay me?

     I found the coffee percolator, washed it clean and set that off to
start this job with a decent cup of coffee. It had just started to bubble
and filter through, when I heard a door slam!

     I stood stock still, all nerves a tingle. It had sounded like an
upstairs noise. I strained my ears listening for any other sounds of
movement. My mind was playing tricks with my ears. First I think I heard
something, then silence, then a squeak. Was it a door or a stair tread?
Nothing!

     Then came a scuffing sound. What was it! That came from what must be
the lounge! My heart started to hammer inside my chest. The cemetery's just
over the road, my mind screamed. The kitchen door started to open, then
stopped halfway. My hand was in my mouth with my heart and I was about to
pee myself. I squeezed my thighs together praying that I wouldn't.

     I could hear a sniffing noise and I moved back till I was hard up
against the sink. The sniff again and the door pushed open fully, and in
walked a naked man, his hand up to his face, stifling a yawn.

     `I thought I smelt coffee,' he said, his hand then running up through
his tangled hair while the other scratched at his groin.

     `Just what I need at this moment.' My eyes followed him as he moved
some cups about and picked up the one that was the least dirty. He poured
out some coffee, inhaled the aroma and took a sip.

     `Aaaah,' he uttered, turning round and seeing me for the first
time. `Hi! You must be the cleaner. My name's Stephen, what's yours?' He
took another sip of coffee.

     I was amazed. There he stood, bollock naked, sipping coffee and asking
my name without turning a hair.

     `An...Ang...Angel...' I stammered, not getting the last syllable out.

     `Angel! You look the part,' he took another sip of his coffee. `Blonde
hair, blue eyes and a smashing figure. Yes,' he said, nodding his head, his
eyes travelling all over my body, `smashing figure.'

     I started to come of my shock and looked just as frankly at him. About
five foot ten, dark hair, stubbled chin with a dimple in the middle. Not a
lot of hair on the chest, not that big in the dick area.

     My eyes snapped back up to that chin. I knew that chin! I'd seen it
before, but where? Then the penny dropped.

     `You said your name was Stephen?' He nodded. `Would that be Steve
Finch? The drummer with "Spin"?' he nodded again, a smile at his lips now
as he took another sip of his coffee.

     "Spin" was the rock group that played regular at one of the pubs in
town. I'd seen them several times.

     `I didn't recognise you without your clothes on.' I said in a shaky
voice. `This is fabulous. Wait till I tell the girls. Wait till they know
I've had you naked in front of me.'

     `But you haven't had me. Not yet anyway,' he smirked. I could see he
was starting to get an erection.

     `You can forget about that,' I said, pointing to it. `As you said, I'm
the cleaner, not some groupie! Haven't you noticed this...this mess?' I
indicated with a sweep of my arm. `How many of you living here? Ten?'

     He shook his head as he pulled out a chair and sat down at the table,
pushing some of the debris aside to put his cup down.

     `Just me and Dave, but we do have the odd guest stay over.'

     My knees trembled. David Salmon! He was second guitar of the group. My
knickers were suddenly all wet. I had to move as it was getting
uncomfortable between my thighs. I turned to the sink and started clearing
it so that it could be filled with hot soapy water.

     `Do you always walk around naked?' I asked over my shoulder.

     `Well seeing as I've just got up out of bed, yes. In fact I won't get
dressed till about eight o'clock. Don't worry about it. You'll get used to
it. You might even come to like it.'

     `Pig's might fly,' I retorted as I started with the first sink load.

     It took me all of four hours to wash and dry everything, including the
items from the lounge. With everything put away, I just had the kitchen
floor to do. For the whole time, Stephen sat and watched me, drinking I
don't know how many cups of coffee.

     `Now's the time to shift your bum,' as I started mopping the last bit
of the floor around him.

     `Okay.' He said wearily as he got up, `you've got a nice bum too. I've
been watching it. Just the right amount of wiggle when you move, stirs the
blood you know.' His hand caressing his erection.

     `Aw piss off and get dressed. Oh, you don't get dressed till eight, do
you?' I said sarcastically, `well go and have a wank then?'

     `I don't wank. I don't have to. Somebody usually does it for me. Would
you like to try your hand, or an even better thought, have you ever given
head?

     `As I said, piss off. I've worked bloody hard today and you owe me
twenty pounds. And before you ask, no I won't take it in kind.'

     `Ah well, another time maybe.' He said going into the lounge and
returning a few minutes later with the money. He still made a play for me
by putting it down between my breasts.

     `Hands off what you can't afford,' I said pushing him away. `Try and
keep the kitchen clean and maybe I'll have time to tackle some more of the
house next week.'

     As it happened, we had to increase the time spent there to six hours
every week, and for all the times that I went there, only once did I ever
see him with some clothes on, except when he was on stage. Of David, most
times I saw him was when he was in his bed. Sometimes asleep, sometimes
with some groupie. I had to pass the bed to get to the bathroom, to clean
it.

     I remember the first time I saw him awake. I'd opened the door and
walked in,


     `Oh,' I stammered. `I'm sorry. I didn't realise?'

     He was in the throes of fucking some young chick, his arse going up
and down, her legs wide open and jerking.

     `Don't mind us,' he gasped, not missing a stroke. I averted my eyes
and hurried into the bathroom, but couldn't resist peeking back round the
door. He was really grinding away into the poor girl. I could see the sheen
of sweat on his back as he pounded away.

     `Just...how...you...like...it...Babe,' he was
grunting. `Hot... and...hard. Say...it!' She gave out a little squeal.

     `I love it...Dave. Hot and...hard. Fuck me...harder, harder, I'm
coming...Ooooh aaaaaargh,' she screamed out and went limp beneath
him. David's back arched and his hips pumped jerkily as he obviously shot
his load into the girl. I never did see her face, even after he collapsed
on top of her.

     I turned and cleaned the bathroom, knickers wet from what I had just
witnessed, wishing it had been me underneath him. I did get there
eventually in a somewhat unorthodox way.

     It must have been about six weeks later that I was out with the girls,
it was a Saturday night and we were, or I should say, they were looking for
some action, when one of them spotted that "Spin" were performing at a pub
we were just passing.

     `Whoa!' I screamed, `that's them! I told you about them! Let's go in.'

     We had seen them before of course, but now with my cleaning
relationship, it made it more exciting, so in we went.

     Well you know what it's like. Dark, smoky and smelling of stale beer
and sweat. Not forgetting the perpetual haze of cigarette smoke that
swirled about. The flashing lights of the group's console mixing with the
pub's own strobe lighting was disorientating at first, but it didn't take
long to get into the swing of things. After a few drinks quickly swallowed,
we were on the floor, dancing as wildly as the rest of them.

     As I found out a few minutes later, it is very hard to pick out faces
from the crowd with the strong lights flashing into your eyes. But David,
off to one side saw me and beckoned me up to him. Light headed and
foolishly, I climbed up onto the stage and stood next to him, swaying with
the beat of the tune they were playing.

     It was a real raunchy song they were belting out, and in the middle of
it, he grabbed my hand and rubbed it up and down his crotch. I tried to
pull it free, but he held it very tight and continued moving it over his
obvious erection, much to the howling delight of the crowd.

     I must have been very red in the face with embarrassment as I
struggled to get my hand out from under his. I did eventually, and jumped
off the stage, which was further down than I thought, because I landed
quite flatfooted. This sudden stop caused one of my breasts to bounce back
up and out of my top. I was so embarrassed standing there, panting with one
of my tits out on show to all those in front of me. As I hastily stuffed it
back inside, one drunk swayed in front of me holding his crotch.

     `Here darling. Grab hold of this! It'll do you more good than those
Nancy's up there.'

     All I could do was to give him good shove, which sent him sprawling on
his backside, which made his cronies laugh at him. I then hid myself in the
crowd with the girls for the rest of the evening.

                                                         *