Having a Cleaner In Pt. 01

I didn't have to work anymore. I had a very decent investment income and a bit of capital. I had a nice house and I was on my own and liked it that way.

The one fly in my ointment was housework. I hated it, I messed about with my machines, went fishing, I bowl to a fairly good standard and I have my cars and bikes.

The best bit of my life is, I get to play in my cellar whenever I want to, for as long as I want to. I can indulge all my pervy fantasies and spend as much time and money on them as I want.

Except of course, when the house or part of the house needed cleaning. I had to be strict with myself about that. I woke up one morning and realised I was the star in my very own episode of "A Life of Grime".

My house always seemed to need cleaning though. It was much too big for me, with 14 rooms, a 6 car garage, a barn and a very big cellar. I used the garage, the barn and the caller. I cooked in the kitchen slept in one room and lived in a study lined with books. A family of extremely dirty invisible people were using the rest, it was always dirty.

I needed to get someone in to clean and do it for me but who. What I didn't want was a tittle-tattle. I didn't want to know the progress of the 45 soap operas on telly at the moment or any of the local village gossip.

Then one day she came to me. I opened my garage door and there she was. She spoke heavily accented English and was dressed in rags. What Daily Mail readers call an economic migrant! She didn't have anyone or anything, she was going through my bin looking for something to eat.

She was scared out of her wits when I found her, "please no police: please no police. I will work to pay." I nearly cried. She was offering to work to pay for the contents of my bin. Economic migrant my arse! She was fighting to survive.

I told her, "be calm, no police are coming."

"I'm Kevin, what's your name?"

"Gilla"

"Can I call you Gillian?" I think it's the same as Gilla but in English"

She nodded, and said "yes," but sounded very unsure.

"Are you hungry Gillian?"

"No"

I laughed at her. "You look hungry, you're eating the contents of my bin, you are dressed in rags, and to be honest girl, you don't smell too good. I'll ask again are you hungry"

"Yes sir"

I'm not Sir Gillian, I'm Kevin."

"Yes Kevin"

"Come on in, it's lunchtime." I like cooking but being alone I cook in batches. There is always a selection of meals in my freezer. Usually curries, chillies spag-boll or some such thing. I even batch-cook brown rice and keep it frozen in single portions in plastic bags. I put three plastic bags in one of my two microwaves and three takeaway containers filled with chicken dopasie in the other.

Then I set my kitchen pride and joy into action I have an industrial-sized coffee machine. Gillian was still standing watching me. "Sit down girl" do you want coffee? She looked at me with nothing short of awe in her eyes.

"Do you have real coffee?"

"Yes. How do you like it." she didn't answer so I repeated, "how do you like it?" Then using my best comic gay voice, "I like mine like my men, strong and black!" She looked a little shocked. "It's a joke, Gillian." Then when the penny dropped she laughed. Her smile was beautiful. It lit the room.

"Yes please, just the same."

The microwaves were still churning away so we sat across my kitchen table sipping coffee. "Where are you from Gillian, I asked.

"Please my name is Gilla."

"Ohh I'm sorry, Gilla it is in this house then."

"I come from Yugoslavia."

"Is your family from there" I was desperately trying to do something I'm useless at? Keeping a conversation going.

"My family is all dead" she replied.

Nice one wanker, I thought to myself, just at that moment the first microwave pinged and saved me from the inevitable crash and burn when I attempt normal. I got the rice out and plated it up and right on cue the second one did the same I plated the curry up.

We ate in silence. Mostly because the poor girl seemed to be starving. She couldn't shovel it in quickly enough. She still looked hungry I picked my plate up and did what I've always done when I enjoyed the food. I licked my plate. It took a second but she followed suit. We both laughed, it's easier to laugh when you have something in your belly.

Gilla still looked hungry. In the back of my cupboard, I had some tinned rice pudding. I showed her a tin. Do you want some of this? She gave me a very blank look. "Rice pudding" I offered. Still the blank look. I opened a tin and offered her a spoonful. That smile again told me everything I needed to know. "Most people eat it hot but I like mine cold."

Cold for me, please. Seconds later the food was gone and Gilla was at the sink washing everything up including the tins.

"Gilla, do you want a job."

"I can't do a job I have no papers."

"I want a housekeeper, you don't need papers to work for me."

"What do you want me to do."

"Keep the house clean, cook a bit"

"Is that all."

"Yes, that's all"

"How much?"

In the U.K. we have something called minimum wage. I'll pay you that, plus all you can eat. I have a little house at the top of the drive. You can stay in that for free. It needs a good cleaning and a bit of work but the roof is good and I think the heating and hot water work. Or you can have a room here.

Gilla got a bit defensive "If you mean it I'll take the job but I only clean and cook, I'm not a wife."

"I don't want a wife Gilla, I want a housekeeper. Do you want to look at the Gatehouse?"

I've seen it hope you are not angry but I've been sleeping in the shed behind it when it's wet."

"I'm not a bit angry I wouldn't mind if you had slept in the house. We can go up in a bit and look if you want."

I put my best conciliatory voice on and repeated that she stank. I took her to the bathroom and pointed out the bath, the shower, soap and towels and the lock on the door.

"I've got some jeans, you will need a belt cos these will be much too big, some tee shirts, and a jumper or two you can have as well. I've some men's underpants if you want but I can't do anything about a bra." She laughed again.

"There's a dressing gown on the door look. I'll be honest Gilla. I think we ought to burn what you are wearing now. I'll sub you some money. We can drive to Leominster and buy you some nice clothes."

"What is a sub".

"Some of your wages in advance."

"Wait for a second or two I'll get a bin bag for your old clothes."

"My old rags, she said quietly."

I had a look around and found a pair of passable jeans. A Rolling Stones" tee shirt that never fitted me and a couple of jumpers I had never worn. A pair of trainers that had been in the house when I bought it and a bloody awful pair of one-size stretchy socks.

I waited for her in the kitchen with another coffee. I was playing some Stones stuff on a Bluetooth speaker from my iPad. She looked like a different woman when she walked in and I couldn't help thinking if she has no bra they are a lovely pair of hooters.

The stones were into an old R and B number called down the road apiece and Gilla came in dancing some 6-step jive. What could I do? I pushed her around a few moves for the last 30 seconds of the song and she laughed. A proper loud belly laugh.

There is a jive club that operates around Herefordshire. I told her we were going and I wasn't taking no for an answer.

We walked up to the gatehouse. It's a tiny two up two down. Kitchen/Dinner, sitting room down and two bedrooms up. There is a sort of a downstairs lean too that has a toilet bath and basin in it.

The toilet was smashed and the bath was a horrible pressed steel job that had its enamel chipped and rusted through. "It's no good Gilla. You can't stay here it's not fit for a pig to live." Her face fell a mile. "Come back to the house with me. Upstairs at the back of the house is a guest bedroom. It has a nice en-suite it also has a bloody great lock on the door and the bathroom is nice." I showed her that when we got back.

"I'll get Bob the builder to convert the small bedroom in the gatehouse into a bathroom, decorate the place and get his mate in to service the heating properly. That's going to take weeks though. Meanwhile, you sleep here".

Gilla looked very worried. "What about you she said."

"I'm on the other side of the house. Unless you have a wild party I won't know you're here."

Gilla looked genuinely scared. "No, I don't mean that"

"I don't understand Gilla"

"You're a man, men scare me".

The penny dropped. "Ahh. OK, what if I put a lock and bolts on your door?"

"I don't know, all men scare me now"

The penny dropped a bit further down the slot. "Ohh Gilla. I think I understand. I can't do that, I need other things!"

"What?"

"I can't say. But honestly, you are safe with me." I needed to change the subject. "Let's go into town, we can buy you some better clothes. I'll get a lock and a big door bolt so you can feel safe.

"Feel safe?"

"Yes, I know you're safe but it's more important that you know you are"

"She nodded yes but still looked like her thoughts were saying no."

"I'm not taking the piss here Gilla. Are you OK being in the car with me, just the Two of us?

Yes, I think I understand now. She looked at me and smiled a proper relaxed happy smile.

Leominster was horrible as usual. I hate shopping. As soon as Gilla realised her appearance didn't attract everyone's attention she relaxed. We visited a few shops where she refused point blank to buy anything. I offered to buy her a pair of jeans. She looked at the fifty-five quid price tag and winced. Then gave me a bollocking for spending too much.

"You spend too much, you pay me too much you will make us poor." I laughed at her naivety. She had said us though. I'd never been a part of us before.

We were walking up the high street when I came upon a charity shop I'd not been in before. I hate shopping but I can spend hours going through old CDs and vinyl albums. I have over five thousand albums. It's a bit of an addiction for me I'm afraid. Most just get put on massive data storage units I have and then put into physical storage units, then I keep them in the attic.

Gilla was fascinated every two minutes she was coming to me with armfuls of clothing, "do you like this, Do you like that? Can I buy this, can I buy that?" I have to be honest here. I wasn't listening much. I said a lot of "mmm, yes, nice. Yeh, that's a good price."

When I had picked out 20 vinyl albums and fourteen CDs and looked around I couldn't find her. I was in a bit of a panic, I was just about to run out looking for her when I heard her call from the back of the shop. She had been in the changing rooms.

This was the first time I'd seen her dressed as a woman and she looked good. She was wearing a checked man's shirt, tied under her boobs, blue jeans and a pair of red high heels she had found. She looked like just had just walked out of my dreams. My rockabilly chick. She had a supermarket carrier bag with quite a few items as well as the stuff she was wearing.

She tried to haggle, I wouldn't let her, I had to explain it was all for sale in these places to fund charities.

I was happy to pay. She looked happy and it was going to come out of her wages wasn't it?

We did 5 charity shops. I bought even more CDs. Gilla went home with 5 carrier bags full of clothes.

Two weeks later I went back to my secret stuff in the cellar. When I bought the locks and bolts for Gilla's door she became a lot less jumpy about being in the house with me and started to chat and talk a little.

That was not normally my strong point. I'm very shy around women. Gilla was easy to talk to. Back in the time of the troubles in Yugoslavia, she had a relationship with a Muslim boy. That's as far as it went. But she was ostracised by her people.

She became one of the many disposed people at that time eventually being trafficked to the U.K. she worked for people who would claim they were respectable farmers, working in their fields. Living in tents and being forced to buy food from them. Her bills were higher than her wages. So she ran away, she had been running away for so long she could not remember how long.

I had assumed because of her nervousness with me to begin with that she had been raped but she told me that was not so. She had managed to escape dire situations twice by claiming she had a sexually transmitted disease.

We had stuff in common. We didn't like television. I have one, I watch sports, some films and nothing else. I'd rather sit and watch stuff on my iPad. I offered to put the TV in her room but she turned the offer down flat.

She was however fascinated by my desktop computer. I showed her eBay. When I invited her to the next RnR club dance in Leominster she went onto eBay and bought herself a pair of dancing shoes from her wages. I paid with Pay Pal she insisted on paying me back.

Again on eBay, she found a sewing machine going for a song, I bought her that. It was simpler to let her have my eBay and pay-pal log-on details. She told me about every penny she spent.

A lot of stuff was for the house. I had to insist she didn't pay for that stuff. On my birthday she gave me a silk bowling shirt. It was superb, she made it, most of it hand stitched. It was the best dancing shirt I've ever had up until that point.

I paid her 40 hours a week. The house shone, she shone, and I shone. It wasn't long before I came home from a fishing trip to find her digging up a poor weedy lawn behind the house. She had ordered seeds of all sorts, fertiliser and stuff to grow stuff.

She wouldn't accept money for that so I gave her my redundant desktop. It wasn't bad, it wasn't good. It was nowhere as quick as my new laptop. She was delighted with it and set about educating herself with it.

On the dance night we got there earlyish, I made sure we did so we could pick one of the small tables. I went to the bar to get a drink, a beer for me and Gilla wanted a cider. When I got back the woman of the couple who ran the dance was having a chat with her.

They were talking about strolls, Rock' n' Roll line dances. We had a good evening until I went to the bar again. As I was waiting to be served I had a bad feeling.

I left the bar without a drink. Gilla was not at our table. I caught sight of her. A guy I had seen there before had his hand inside her shirt mauling her boob. She looked terrified, I didn't think, I just did, I decked him, it wasn't a great punch but he went down like the sack of shit he was. The husband of the woman Gilla had been talking to was over in a flash.

"Steady on mate," he said.

"Steady on, I'll kill the cunt."

"I was only dancing with her", he whined.

"What fucking move requires you to rip the buttons off my wife's shirt and get her tits out I yelled. The guy who ran the dance stood there open-mouthed. I aimed a kick at his head but Rick, the guy running the dance just got a nudge on me so my shoe missed his nose by an inch. As is often the case in these situations the women were well in front of the men.

One was helping Gilla to her feet and trying to get her to go to the ladies with her, she had a little sewing kit in her purse. All the rockabilly girls were cutting the spare shirt buttons from their checked shirts. One of the other girls fetched a slap around maty's face that must have loosened a tooth or two.

I played a blinder when he said, "She ain't your wife she's illegal" said the guy just picking himself off the floor.

"You snivelling cunt, I met and married her while I was on my second fucking tour in Bos. We've only just got the papers right." The secretary of the British Legion Branch was just arriving with the rest of his squad of various veterans. I made another move toward Gila's assailant.

"Listen, Son," he said to me. "Your rather attractive but very scared wife needs you, much more than you need to damage this hero. I'd take her home and show her you love her if I were you."

When we came back from the dance, it was a horrible wet rainy night I parked the car and she kissed me. Now it was my turn to be scared and distant. I pushed her away after the first kiss.

Then she surprised me again and said it's OK I understand. Just kiss me once more. I did and I enjoyed it. My useless dick stiffened a little but I knew it would fail me again. It always did. She just smiled stole another kiss and said, "thank you for a wonderful night."

The next morning I went back to the cellar and my self-bondage equipment and what had now suddenly turned into deeply unsatisfactory masturbation. It was the only game in town or so I thought.

Things had gone well. My imagination was pretty fruitful, my skills good enough to convert ideas into hardware and I had several good interesting items of nefarious cellar furniture and machines, all with self-release mechanisms.

I was always worried about the last bit, I had made time lock key boxes. Twin time lock key boxes. I was always concerned about mechanical issues and ending up stuck. So time and time again I went back to the tried and tested ice lock.

It was the tried and tested ice lock that had never let me down.

I had built a queening throne! I suppose as I had a model close by I had built it with a fine big healthy lass in mind. I pretty much lay under it but with my legs strapped to the Queen's backrest. My arms were at my sides, all buckled in. Apart from my right hand. That was held in a three-sided locking box with a hinged bar across one side.

That was held in place by a lock I could open that lock with the key while I was locked in it. That key was suspended on a string above the lockbox. My problem was it should have dropped an hour ago and I had no idea why it had not as it was out of my line of sight.

I did know the ice had stopped dripping some time ago. My ice realise was so simple it could not fail. I had a silicone mould, the key was tied to one end the other end had a loop that went over a hook above my hand.

I dropped two pieces of knotted string into it filled it with water and put it in my fishing bait freezer. In my garage. In the fairly constant temperature in the cellar, it took about an hour to melt. I was now two hours into this adventure and I wasn't enjoying it anymore.

It was round about this time I heard someone. I fervently hoped it was Gilla. I was wearing a rather large dildo gag, my end had a much smaller dildo. The protruding end was nine inches long and thick. My end was shorter and fat. It did not silence me but I could make no intelligible sound.

After kicking against the woodwork and screaming into the gag for some time Gilla broke the lock into my cellar room. She smiled. She opened up the backrest cover and had a good look at my spiked chastity device.

She tickled my balls and gently squeezed them. "I'm glad you wore that one. Do you want me to stop?" I shook my head. Then she picked up a rather nasty riding crop and let me have two dozen carefully aimed cuts to my backside. "You cannot say no to me now. Then removed the gag and kissed me again."

"I've been waiting for you to use my ice release. It's a little different to yours. Mine only has one piece of string. I don't think you will be needing an ice release anymore though, do you?"

"No mistress not if you say I don't."

"Well seeing how you made me break that door because you can't be trusted, I think I have to be the one who looks after the key."

Ohh yes, mistress!"

"I think there are more keys I need to look after, Don't You!"

"Yes, Mistress."

"There are lots of keys here, besides the key to my new room, make no mistake it is MY ROOM NOW boy. Which keys do you want me to keep?"

"The keys to my chastity mistress."

"Yes, that's a good idea. I think your cock is my cock now, don't you?"