When Eric got down to his panties his client said, "Hold on. I like you in those. You can clean for me like that."
Then the man held out an upturned hand and gave Eric a fondle. "Nice. Silky. Where do you get panties like that?"
"My wife buys 'em for me," Eric replied.
"Your wife? You married? To a woman?" the man added after a pause.
"No shit," the astonished man said. "She know you do this?"
"For other men? In the nude? Or...," caressing Eric's cock now through the flowery microfiber, "...in your cute little panties?"
Eric nodded again. He was smiling. It felt good, the hand's caresses. "She encourages me," Eric replied. He went on: "We both got furloughed because of the pandemic. Then our benefits ran out. We need the money," he explained. "My wife seems to think I have a nice body, so..."
"You do. Great legs. Very sexy," the man said in praise. He'd gone back to fondling Eric's medium-sized balls. Like the rest of his slender body, aside from the thinning mop atop his head, that is, they were shaved. As smooth and soft on the inside as they felt on the outside, to an exploring hand.
"My wife says I have the legs of a girl model," Eric smiled.
"You do. They go on forever. Very sexy," he repeated. "Does your wife clean house for men, too?"
"No," Eric laughed, softly. "She does temp work out of our home—when she can get it. It's all that's available right now. You can't even get a job as a waitress these days."
"No," the man absently agreed. At the moment he seemed preoccupied with the soft and silky feel of Eric's genitals in the microfiber. "So she encourages you to go out and be with other men?"
"Work for them, yeah."
"But it's not just housework, hon. You're nude, or nearly so. And there's the part about the complimentary blowjob..."
"Oh, sure," Eric smiled. "I'll suck you when you're ready."
"Do you ever get hard?" the hand having returned to its up-and-down caresses over the narrow vee front.
"S-Sure," Eric stammered. "I'm a little nervous..."
"It's just at first. I'll be fine," Eric informed his latest client.
"So your wife," the man stated. "She's kind of your pimp?"
"What? No, I wouldn't call her that," Eric said emphatically.
"What would you call it then?"
Eric had no immediate answer. And yes, he was finally starting to get hard. It was as if the man's query about it had been a trigger.
"She buys you your little panties," the man said, filling in his own blanks. "She encourages you to go out and clean in the nude for other men. She must know what all goes on."
"She does," Eric blurted—as if in his own defense.
"The money. You turn it over to her when you get home?"
"Pretty much," Eric admitted.
"There you go then, hon. She's your pimp and you're her little whore. Not that you're so little anymore," the man noted with a smile, glancing down at his massaging hand.
"You stay hard when you're getting fucked?" he went on to ask.
"Turn around, sweetie."
Eric obeyed. He wasn't sorry to leave the man's pleasure-hand behind. He didn't want to cum prematurely, as was his wont, and promptly lose interest in everything, and spend the rest of the three hours going through the motions, pretending. There's nothing worse than having to suck a man's cock, regardless of shape or size or desirability, when your own mojo has abandoned you. A mixture of disinterest and guilt having filled in the void.
Eric's client, still fully dressed, now pressed against him from behind. "Can't wait," the man hissed, "to fuck this sweet ass. Pull these little panties down and...fuck you!"
The man began to kiss Eric's neck behind his left ear. While Eric struggled to work up the courage to say, to not-say, "Well, you know that's gonna be an additional forty. Forty on top of the sixty for the three hours of cleaning. Forty for the fuck. A hundred total. Remember? We talked about it on the phone? You're welcome to fuck me but...it's extra, OK? Remember? An enhanced, uh, service?"
Eric's client filled in the silence with actual words: "The Viagra should kick in any minute now. Can you feel it? You will in a minute. I'm gonna yank these panties down and fuck your sweet ass, shoot my load in you. I've been saving it up. A whole week's worth...
"You had the vaccine?" the man abruptly asked.
Valerie had that just-fucked look about her. That pinkish glow. This working from home gig paid one dividend: while husband Eric was out cleaning men's houses, meaning he'd be gone three and half, four hours, she could send Paul a text and he'd be johnny on the spot: over at her place in thirty minutes or less. That left a lot of time for fucking, and Paul, a stud in his early thirties, was certainly up to it.
"How'd it go, hon?" she asked Eric, the moment he walked in the door.
"Fine. Was Paul here?"
"A while ago."
"And how did that go?"
"How do you think? I asked you first."
Eric fished in his pants pocket and handed over two wadded twenties and a five. At which Valerie frowned. "What's this?"
"It's what's left."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I stopped off at Rudy's for a burger and a beer. I was hungry. Thirsty."
Valerie's frown lines had deepened as she listened to her husband and fingered the wrinkled money. "You mean...? I'm sitting here eating a cheese sandwich for lunch while you're out treating yourself to—"
"You didn't just finish three hours of manual labor, Val."
"Oh, sure!" Valerie said mockingly, her plump body rotating slightly as her free hand crashed against the outside of a thigh. "All that heavy lifting!" she went on, in the same tone. "Dusting, polishing..."
"I did a lot more than dust and polish."
Valerie stopped and stared. "Like what, Eric?"
"I hope you didn't do anything more'n clean for this guy?"
Another shrug. This one half-hearted. "I sucked his cock..."
"I know that," Valerie acknowledged, putting a spin on "that." "What else did you do for him? Or with him I should say."
Eric thought for a moment. They'd arrived at a rule, he and Valerie. One of the Rules of Marriage. Valerie wouldn't keep anything from him about her extramarital affairs, of which she'd had more than a few; and in return Eric wouldn't keep any of his same-sex adventures from her. The nude housecleaning and the complimentary blowjobs were a given. But if anything else happened between him and a client, Eric was obligated, as he handed over, it was hoped and expected, the hundred bucks, to fess up. A fuck, bondage, pee-play...Whatever.
Eric wore the panties in the family. Valerie wore the proverbial pants and controlled the purse strings. She set up his gigs online—her anonymous side job—and then sent him out on them. Then, afterwards, collected the money and used it as she saw fit. Eric had no real say in the matter. And he was not a fighter. Not anymore, anyway. His will power had been gradually eroded away. Rule of Marriage #2: Let your wife take charge and then do what she says.
Be cooperative, submissive and OBEY. Always.
"He fucked me," Eric admitted, in near mumble.
Valerie's hands were now fully fixed on her wide hips. And he watched, in a near tremble, as her blue eyes widened and then narrowed to slits. He wasn't sure which to fear more: the flaring anger when wide and round; or the revenge, the retribution and rebuke those blue slits suggested. And threatened.
For Eric, there was nothing left to say. A fuck is a fuck.
"You let him fuck you? For fortyfive dollars!"
"Yeah," Valerie nodded, her whole body seemingly animated, "and you blew fifteen of it at a gay bar!"
"I have a right to eat, Valerie. And blow off some steam."
"Steam? What're you talking about, Eric? Steam?"
"It can be stressful, Valerie," Eric claimed, as he watched his wife of eleven years, in dubious response, twist her body clockwise, then turn back.
"Oh yeah, nothing like running a vacuum to get you all stressed out."
"Sometimes I'm not in the mood, Val."
"Well get in the mood. It's business. And...what's not to be in the mood for?"
Eric sighed, the weight of Rule #2 pressing down on him. "I came in his mouth, Val. I sucked him, then we did 69 on his carpet, then..."
"You did your usual premature thing then you stopped giving a shit?"
"Then he fucked me. It all happened before I..."
"Before what?" hands again on both hips. Good thing she wasn't wearing a pair of holstered six shooters.
"Before I could explain..."
"What's there to explain, Eric? You want to fuck me, dude? It's forty dollars extra. Did you even mention it to him?"
"I...It was all over before I..."
"You're such a wuss!" Valerie informed her husband, and not for the first time, before stomping a bare foot, turning and walking deeper into the kitchen. "Useless!" She turned back: "Good thing Paul loaned me some money today or I'd..."
Valerie blinked, the anger seeming to miraculously drain from her face. She appeared almost...innocent. "Fifty."
"For a fuck?"
"Not because he fucked me! It's a loan! We've got bills to pay, case you didn't know!" Valerie returned to the offensive. Shook a finger at Eric. "You owe me fifteen dollars. No! Fifty-five dollars. It's coming out of your allowance, Eric," finger still wagging. "Don't you tell these men of yours the extra services cost money?"
"When we talk on the phone. You tell 'em in the email, Valerie, when you schedule everything."
"It has to be verbal, Eric! Verbal! I can't put it in an email! It's potentially...incriminating!"
Valerie took a deep, calming breath before saying: "I've got him in our system now. Today's guy. I'm gonna email him and tell him, the prick, discreetly, he owes us more money. You more money, I mean."
"I am. I will. I'll do it right this minute."
"Valerie..." Eric reached out as his wife tried to slip thickly past, cash in hand again. She shook him off. She was headed for the stairs. Her second-floor office. A converted bedroom that still had a just-used double bed in it, against the curtained window. How convenient! The sheets probably needed changing, and that was Eric's job. He didn't just clean house for male strangers.
Rule #3: Let the husband do the bulk of the house cleaning. Put him to work!
As Valerie mounted the first step Eric said: "It wasn't a total loss."
Valerie paused, looked back. "What?"
"Rudy's. My friend Devin, the bar manager?"
"I know Devin. What about him?"
"He said another dancer has crapped out on him. He offered the gig to me. I could start tonight if I wanted, he said."
"What's it pay?" Valerie, ever the money manager, asked.
"Fifteen an hour...four hour minimum...free drinks. Plus you keep all the tips."
Val smiled for the first time since Eric had walked through the door. It was a painted smile, her eyes angled off into thoughtful space. "Well what are you waiting for then?"
"It would be, like, three or four nights a week."
"And I'm a little old for it."
"You'll be fine," Eric's smiling wife said encouragingly, as she looked her husband up and down. "Those legs?"
"I'd be able to dance in my panties," Eric beamed, returning Val's smile.
"We'll have to get you some new ones, hon."
After all the rancor during the past few minutes it was back to "hon" again. Back in his wife's good graces, it seemed.
"Long as the money is right. Listen, I have to get back to work," Val informed her husband, mounting another step. "Be a dear and change the sheets when you get a chance?"
"Sure. Be right up. Yes, dear."
Rule #4: The essence of a successful marriage is compromise. Always aim—work at it—to reach a consensus.
To be continued??"