The Cleaner Pt. 01

As she leaned away again however, she dropped the cloth she had been using, right on the peak of the protrusion in front of her. She quickly reached to pick it up, like a reflex reaction, but used the action of picking it up to gently feel the end the huge bulge beneath for just a second before withdrawing. It was definitely real now.

At this point I couldn't help but slightly twitch my cock, making the duvet jump a little, and I opened my eyes to find her gaze meeting mine, and a kind of friendly rather than sexual smile on her face. I mirrored her smile with an added look of embarrassment, and her gaze returned to what was now a fully erect tent in the duvet. That moment seemed to last for a long time, until fearing she might leave, and that like a point had already been crossed where something else wouldn't really make it any worse, I asked timidly:

"Would you wank me off?"

I was immediately shocked that I'd actually asked that question and was frozen again as I examined her expression. I felt like she sensed the intended implication than it would be an act of sympathy or kindess on her part, and that maybe somehow she wasn't going to run off to report me.

"I don't have much time" she said in a hushed friendly voice.

That seemed positive but ambiguous, but her intention became clear as she quickly stepped over to lock the door properly, and then slowly lowered herself into a kneeling position beside the bed.

We briefly made eye contact again, before she carefully lifted up the side of the duvet, and her right hand crept in underneath. Her arm snaked its way in and I felt her cold hand touch the side of my leg, and then slowly crawl over the top like a spider. Her cold open hand slid around my cock, which had softened a little. It was a moment of pure ecstacy. She grasped it very tightly in the middle of the shaft, squeezing blood to the head, and in that moment that feeling alone seemed greater than any orgasm I'd experienced.

A shiver went down my spine as her other hand also disappeared under the covers, again creating a tingling sensation as it located my side and then crawled it's way over the top. With spread fingers she pressed this hand flat against my abdomen, and them slid it downwards to secure the base of my cock. As she squeezed the base with this hand and held the shaft loosely with the other I was now rock hard again, and her right hand got to work.

She had a vice-like grip and strong arms, perhaps built up from performing manual work for many years, and she pumped her hand up and down the full length of the shaft and slightly over the top of the head, while slightly rotating her hand. She did this with the same almost robotic rhythm and the same focused but personally disengaged look that she exhibited when she was cleaning. It was like she was just performing a task as part of her duties, and all the more impersonal as it was all taking place under the covers, almost like we were both pretending it wasn't happening. She didn't look into my eyes, just at the duvet going up and down and up and down with her hand movements. The room was silent apart from the rustling of the duvet and the occassional breathy sigh from me. I wish it could have gone on like that all day.

After a short while though, she started to look like she wanted to finish up. I knew this couldn't go on for very long. In a change of tact she shuffled down the bed a bit so her hand was holding my cock more from beneath than the side, and she started pumping me with her thumb dug in right below the head of my cock. The pleasure was unlike anything I'd ever felt from masturbating, and within a few seconds I was approaching climax. With the technique and the speed she was wanking me I could feel it coming on, building up and up. I allowed my whole body to tense up completely, and then began to thrust and squirm in ecstasy as I started to cum, only restrained by her other hand pressed on my abdomen. I savoured the feeling as hot, thick cum poured down over her still pumping hand and wrist, whose movement slowly decelerated until she was just holding the whole sloppy mess in her hand, motionless.

As a wave of of immense relaxation, contentment and euphoria came over me, our eyes met again for the first time since she'd started, and she smiled in the same friendly, non-sexual way. She carefully lifted up the duvet with her clean hand, and withdrew the other. We both looked at her hand, covered with thick cum that was now running down her arm, and then at each other again. Before I could blurt out a desperate "thank you" she raised a finger of the cum-covered hand to her lips and let out a quiet, reassurring "ssh", as several long trails of cum now converged on her elbow and formed a large gloopy droplet. I wish I could have stopped time and stared at this image for hours, but in a matter of seconds she'd casually wiped her arm, rinsed her hands in the sink, looked back a final time to exchange a smile, and left without a word.