The Maid

I was in my Freshman year at college when I decided to move out into my own place.

Granted, it wasn't the most sound financial decision I ever made, but my mom was fucking unbearable to live with. I was 19, and decided I was going to leave home. Mom was furious, but there wasn't anything she could do about it. We fought for weeks, but Moving Day arrived, and I left.

It was a harsh lesson in financial reality. Very quickly I realized my job at the coffee shop wasn't going to cut it. I needed extra income - and fast - if I was going to avoid crawling back to my mom in humiliation. Thankfully, the college had a job board on it's website, and I did odd jobs for a while. It was a hustle, but I could tread water if I was careful.

One day, a wanted ad for house-cleaning services caught my eye. It was in a home that was just a few minutes away from campus, close enough to comfortably bike there and back. I have to be honest, I didn't have a whole lot of skills to trade. But if there was one thing my mom had taught me to do, it was keep house. The ad was from a couple, not some single white creeper dude, which made me feel safer about it. It couldn't have been more perfect.

I talked on the phone with the couple, Carlos and Matilda. They were busy professionals with two dogs ("They're our kids! Ha ha!"). They weren't slobs, but the house was kind of big and with the dogs, it would sometimes get away from them. It happens. Life is messy.

They needed someone to do a deep clean every month with once-a-week maintenance to keep the place looking nice. They were willing to pay me more than my job at Coffee Bliss, and they were flexible with my schedule so it wouldn't interfere with my classes. They didn't mind my long hair and I'm an animal person, so the dogs weren't going to be a problem. I nailed the phone interview, and they invited me over to finalize the arrangement.

I met with Matilda on my first day. She was in her mid-thirties and took care of herself at the gym. She wasn't too tall, but I'm a short guy so she was still taller than me. She had that earth-mother shape about her, huge tits, huge ass, and a curvy waist to tie it all together. Her hair was really long, nearly to her waist, and jet jet black. It set off her dark eyes and was so thick and luxurious, you could hear it rustle as she walked. She had a slight accent, Cuban maybe? Her business-casual skirt and top barely hid any of her curvy body, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't notice her as she showed me around the house.

She was very professional and left me with detailed lists about her expectations, and we arranged for the first deep-clean that weekend. She wouldn't be at the house, but her husband would be and he could let me in. I hadn't met Carlos yet, but there were pictures of him around. He was a pretty big guy from the looks of things, with salt-and-pepper hair and beard. I don't really swing that way, but I wasn't ashamed to admit that he was a handsome man. There was one picture of him in particular, one with his sleeves rolled up, that stuck in my mind.

I went that next Saturday, bright and early. I wore some old jeans and a t-shirt, because I knew I'd be getting dirty. Carlos met me at the door and, I gotta say, he was impressive in person.

The first thing I noticed was that he was big. Like, works-out-every-day big. Shoulders, chest, thighs, all massive and swelled. The second thing was his eyes, which were a piercing, icy blue. The third was his smile, which was big and friendly and turned his face from Disapproving Principal to Mischievous Uncle in an instant. I don't know what it was about his energy, but I liked him almost immediately, and I could see why a woman as beautiful as Matilda had put a ring on it.

He directed me to the kitchen, told me what they were expecting, and left me with a pile of cleaning supplies and rubber gloves.

The kitchen took me almost two hours, but by the time I was done it sparkled and smelled faintly of bleach. I'd moved everything, cleaned under it all, swept, mopped, done dishes, I felt like I'd done a good job and, frankly, needed a bathroom break.

The bathroom was next to a home gym. I'd seen it before when Matilda had shown me around. It was all cables and handles and shiny chrome and I found it intimidating. I always meant to go to a gym myself, but I'd never gotten around to it. I'm kind of soft in the middle, to be honest.

Carlos was in there, sitting with his back to me and doing some kind of lifting exercise. The handles on the machine would rise above his head, and then he'd heave them back down, making his back swell and flex. I mentioned that he was big, right? Well, it really came to light when he was shirtless. I could see the striations in the muscles as they strained and pulled, and the sweat on his back shone in the light. I stood there watching him and listened to him huff and grunt. I swear I could smell his sweat, even from where I was standing.

I watched him for so long, he turned around and caught me.

"Hey there," he said, grinning his dangerous smile."You all done?" He stood up, and his abs looked like cobblestones under his skin. The hair on his chest was salt-and-pepper too, matted with his sweat. I noticed his nipples. I couldn't tell you why, but I definitely noticed them and felt myself get aroused. Carlos was a handsome man, but right at that moment I realized he was a sexy man as well.

"Yeah," I said, unaware of how much I was staring. "I was gonna go do the bathroom now." (I cringed the moment I heard myself say it.)

"No problem. It's just there." He pointed helpfully, wiping the back of his neck with a towel. His bicep swelled up like a coconut in a sock. I was hypnotized by it's curves, and the way it slipped under his shoulder muscle smoothly, like a machine made of skin and muscle.

"You okay?" He asked and that snapped me out of it. He was looking at me intently, like he was sizing me up. I stopped allowing myself to see how his chest was flexing and remembered I was at a job.

"Oh, yes. Sorry. I'll just get started." I scurried off to the bathroom, barely hearing him thank me as I closed the door. My face was red and hot and I was sweating under my clothes. I sat on the toilet and tried to calm down.

My mind was racing furiously. He had totally seen me staring at him, he must have. He had totally caught me. I was flat-out busted and he would probably fire me. Shit, I really needed this job.

I was mildly frustrated and amazed to realize my cock was so hard it almost hurt. I looked down at the tent in my jeans as it wrestled against the fabric.

If you'd told me about the concept of stress erections, I would have totally understood. But all I knew at the time was that my dick was raging and stiff. My jeans dug into my skin painfully, and I had to open them to readjust myself. It was probably a mistake, because the second I felt the smooth, warm skin of my cock in my hand, all I could think about was getting off.

My cock surged when I closed my cool hand around the hot shaft. By the feel of it, this wasn't going to take long. I was really horny, and fucking my hand felt good, even dry. I noticed a bottle of cocoa butter lotion on the sink, and had my dick slathered with it two seconds later. It smelled sweet and delicious as I slid my hand over my erection, and it was perfectly wet and slick.

This wasn't a self-care kind of beat off. I wasn't into loving myself or freeing my sexual spirit or any of that kind of horseshit. All I could feel was my cock and it's turgid need to cum. I felt it completely taking over my mind. I needed to blow my load so I could think properly again. I was stroking myself fast and hard, almost businesslike, blissfully ignorant of the sticky, slurping noises my fist was making as I stroked that cocoa butter into a froth.

My nut was just about there. I was forgetting to breathe, and one eye was tearing up as my balls lifted and hugged tight. My hips were pumping and I'm sure I was grunting and I remember the very stroke when I thought "That's all I got . . ."

I came. I came hard. The first gob that shot out of me almost reached the door.

I say 'almost' because the door suddenly opened as Carlos chose that exact moment to walk in.

He entered so fast I barely registered his presence before he was treated to a three-foot rope of semen that hit him on the hip. I watched in horror as my load splattered all the way down his leg to his knee. He stopped short in shock, and I saw his blue blue blue eyes open in surprise. Then the second spasm of my orgasm hit me and I shot another blast at him.

I couldn't stop. I watched helplessly as my dick jerked and jumped and sprayed Carlos (and the bathroom) like an out-of-control lawn sprinkler. My hand just kept moving and my cock felt fucking amazing and there was no way I could quit. It couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds, but it felt like I was cumming for hours. I looked Carlos in his incredible eyes as he stood right in the blast zone and I painted him with warm semen.

The post-orgasm clarity made my stomach drop.

Carlos was going to have to wash his gym shorts. And socks. And shoes. Also, he'd probably need a shower for the gobs on his bare legs. He was staring at himself, wide-eyed and speechless, the fabric of his workout gear striped with rapidly spreading cum stains. He looked back at me, still a little pop-eyed, and then backed out and closed the door. I heard him apologize from the other side.

If there was ever a time I wished the Earth would open up and swallow me whole, that was it.

I was sitting on a stranger's toilet in a strange bathroom listening to my own semen drip thickly on the tile floor. I wondered if I should clean up the jizz before I ran out of the house, or if I should just make a break for it. Should I give myself up to the police? I'd just committed sexual assault after all. I was certainly going to jail.

I looked at my hand, gloved in a mix of cum and used cocoa butter. It still smelled really good.

Carlos burst into the bathroom again, starling me so bad I screamed something obscene and slipped in the puddle of cum on the floor.

He was in a bathrobe and carrying his workout clothes in his hand. "You'll need to wash these," he said, tossing them to me. "After you've, uh, cleaned up, wash your clothes too. You can't track cum all over my house."

"I'm . . . I'm so so sorry, sir." I said, humiliated and embarrassed and too freaked to realize my dick was still hanging out. "Please don't call the police."

"It's okay, I just . . . can you, uh, just get everything cleaned up?" He said, his icy eyes looking everywhere but mine.

He had put his robe on in a hurry and hadn't tied it shut properly. It flared open and I saw his leg was still streaked with lines of cum. I also saw a cock that looked like it was bigger than my arm. No fucking joke. He wasn't even fully hard and it was formidable. I could smell the sweat from his workout with the musky scent of my cum. My mind was racing, desperate to find a way to fix the situation.

The only choices I could see in front of me were: A) distract him by putting that car-sized cock in my mouth or B) find myself in jail before sunset.

Pretty easy choice.

I put my hand on his leg before he could turn away. "Wait . . ." I said, sinking to my knees and opening his robe.

My legs squished in the cum I'd left on tiles. It was cold by now, and slimy. I knelt in front of him - bringing my face to the rope of cum trickling down his knee - and began to clean up my mess. I stretched out my tongue and softly began licking my shameful load off the man's leg. I worked from the bottom up, making absolutely sure there wasn't a trace of jizz left. His muscles were hot and hard under my mouth, and I felt him flex them slightly as I worked. It took me a few passes, I'd cum a lot. When I was done his leg was still wet, just not with my sperm.

This left me face to face with the biggest cock I'd ever seen. I know that's a worn-out thing to say, but in my defense, I wasn't too familiar with dicks at that point. Still, I watched porn, I had the Internet, I had a general idea of how big cocks should be. Carlos was sporting a ridiculous package. It was thick, veiny, and had a fat, intimidating head on the end. You could have fit my cock inside his twice, with room left over.

My first thought was "Where the hell am I gonna put that?"

But I knew where it went. I opened my mouth as wide as I could, and slid that cock in as deep as it would go. I almost choked immediately, there was so much dick. I desperately stretched my jaw and thrashed my tongue, but Carlos was just packing my mouth from end to end. I hadn't even gotten past the half-way mark and my jaw was feeling like stretched wire.

That fat head of his was like a shovel in my mouth, making spit and goo waterfall from my mouth to my chest. If jerking off with that lotion had made a lot of wet noise, Carlos made a goddamn concerto once he was fucking my mouth. Between my desperate gasps for breath, the sticky sound of my wet throat being cored out, and Carlos' grunting, the room was filled with the sound, smell and taste of cock.

I really should have known it was coming from the way he took my head in his big hands and pushed his cock deep into my face. I should have recognized the way his dick was swelling harder in my mouth. I should have recognized the taste of pre-cum sooner. But I had no idea what was happening until he rammed that monster into my mouth so deep I felt the back of my throat lock around the base of his cockhead.

My throat filled up with cum on his first pulsing spasm. My mouth filled up with his second. I violently coughed out a thick glut of semen on the third, which exploded from my mouth and mixed with the spit on his cock to join the mess on the floor. His fourth pulse blasted cum into my sinuses, stinging and thick. I felt it burst from my nostrils in twin jets that made my nose ache for days. I swallowed desperately, choked and gurgling. I felt hot liquid pouring out of my mouth, spattering my chest and thighs and down my throat in heavy, phlegmy bursts. I bubbled and belched and gagged and made sounds like I was being drowned in a sump pump while his balls emptied themselves onto me.

Finally, after a breathless lifetime, he sighed in satisfaction. His Winnebago dick pulled out of the wet ruin he'd made of my mouth. I coughed a thick wad of cummy slime onto the floor, almost unconscious from the lack of air. It took me a bit to clear my throat and swallow my mouth empty enough to talk. I looked up from my knees, covered in spit and cum, and hoped that I'd at least started making things right.

Carlos squeezed his cock clean with his hand, wiping the gobby remains of his load on my face. "I'll clean that up," I said, pointing to the jizzy mess of the floor. "I'll make it spotless."

He walked off, still wearing his robe, still dripping cum from his huge cock. I watched him go, staying on my knees and wondering how I was going to get sperm out of the towels. I was aware that I'd gotten hard again, and I started jerking off with the slimy mess dripping down my chest. I managed to rub myself to a small, quiet orgasm in that bathroom as I remembered the way his cum had felt blasting out of my nose.

Then, I got the bathroom spotless.

As I was leaving, Carlos was smiling and friendly. It was like nothing had ever happened. If I wasn't still tasting his seed in the back of my throat, I would have thought I'd dreamed the whole thing.

He told me to come back in a couple of days for another cleaning and to wear something a little more professional. "I want you to take this job seriously, and a work uniform is part of being employed," he said. If I needed one, he said they'd be happy to provide it. I should have thought about the offer, but I was still off-kilter from our bathroom encounter (and two orgasms) and just agreed.

He put a pile of neatly stacked cash in one hand, shook the other (the very one I'd been jerking off with ninety minutes ago), and walked me to the door.

I wasn't scheduled to go over again for a couple of days, and my stomach ate itself inside out for that entire time. I was absolutely convinced I was going to get a visit from police or campus officials or someone who would want to have a conversation with me about my inappropriate behavior. I was sure I was fired. I had no idea how I was going to make my rent or buy my books.

But nobody came, nobody called. The world just kept ticking away, completely unconcerned. Eventually the days rolled around to the next cleaning appointment. With a pounding heart, I messaged Matilda and asked if she still needed me to come by. It took me an hour to write a three line text. My hands shook the whole time.

After a ten-minute eternity my phone buzzed with her reply. Her message said to come on by after class and thanked me for checking in. Absolutely nothing to indicate she knew that I'd used her own cocoa butter lotion to defile her bathroom. And her husband, for that matter.

It seemed like the coast was clear. The only person who seemed upset about anything was me. I still needed the money. Bills don't wait for anyone. What could I do?

I showed up on schedule, knocking on their door and hoping nobody could hear my heart pounding away in my chest. I'd put on black slacks and a button down shirt that I could take off before the cleaning really started. It was too warm for the outfit, but I wanted to appear as professional as possible. I could feel the sweat running down my back as Matilda answered the door and smiled at me.

She must have been getting ready to go somewhere. She was wearing this black top, low cut and tight. Her tits were practically spilling out, and it was hard not to notice that the one button keeping them contained appeared to be under tremendous stress. Her tapered pants hugged tight to her waist, but clung to her massive ass so tightly I couldn't help but see that she wasn't wearing anything under them. She had this chunky, colorful necklace that matched the four or five rings on her fingers, and they pulled the outfit from somber to playful and fun. I noticed all this in seconds, right before I noticed that my dick was getting hard again.

I wondered just what the fuck was wrong with me and why my penis hated me.

It didn't stop me from watching her ass bounce as she walked into the kitchen. She was in the middle of making some late lunch, and asked me if I wanted some. I was a student. I was living on ramen and stolen courtesy chocolates. An actual meal cooked by an actual person on an actual stove was a mind-blowing luxury. The smell of paprika and sauteed onion was filling the room, and my stomach growled as she effortlessly flipped an omelette in the pan

We ate, talked about what she wanted me to clean while I was there, and I felt my anxiety finally calm down. Maybe things were okay after all. She had specifically mentioned that the bathroom was excellent and she was very happy with the deep cleaning of the kitchen. I took a deep breath of relief, and ate my lunch like a man who's cheated death. It was the best omelette I'd ever had.

Later, she cleared the plates from the table. But as she did it, she leaned forward and, I swear to God, her tits just spilled into view. Not bare, mind you, just THERE, plump and soft. It was just like those teen sex comedies where the sexy MILF puts a low-cut shirt right in the protagonist's face. I couldn't help but stare. Not just because they were an *amazing* pair of tits, but because they were filling my whole cone of vision. I squeezed my legs together as I saw juuuuuust a hint of areola above her shirt line. It felt like she took a long time to gather the single dish in front of me, but it couldn't have been more than a few seconds before she was across the kitchen and putting dishes in the dishwasher.