Alex Becker, ‘Opening Scene, Unfinished Novel’
In the timeline, this story takes place immediately after the first. It was the first inkling of the chemistry I’d explore with these two in my outlines and plotting, but didn’t get very far. I hope to pick this story up in the future—I have a novella or short novel idea based on these two staying together through Cuffing Season, and breaking up on St. Patrick’s day. Might get to it someday.
‘Opening Scene, Unfinished Novel’
I was very impressed with the maid the escort service offered. Not her fucking skills, mind you—those were great, but that was expected from Vicky’s girls. I was genuinely pleased with the work she did—after she got up from her little cat nap, Betty made her way through the real list I kept for the real housekeepers and had the boxes checked before she left.
But what really impressed me was her boldness, how she wore those gloves without shame around me.
***\
Over the next few weeks, Betty was my regular. She seemed happy to be over, and—honestly?--she was better than the actual housecleaners. I called them off. Betty turned out to be cheaper anyways—I factored in a few extra fees for myself for jacking off to her. It was nice seeing someone do the work—which sounds really condescending, now that I think about it. I respected the fact that she showed up, did what she felt she needed, and then took off. Sure, she’d throw a few glances my way, leave her worn panties in my bathroom, place a single glove with a kiss print on the palm on my pillow, but…yeah. I could definitely tell that she was interested in getting paid.
The idea had been in my head for a bit. I had masturbated to it a few times in the past, but never acted on it. Even for someone like me, the idea was slightly eccentric. I got around a lot, and I had a reputation for indulgence, but never the kind I had been thinking about.
Latex had been on my brain ever since seeing a friend wear it for a photoshoot, and my innocent little maid fantasy had been kicked into overdrive since meeting my new regular cleaning lady, Betty. I’d never really paid attention to my staff—they tended to be married, unfuckable, or both—but Betty was single, age appropriate (!), and gorgeous. She also wore cleaning gloves when she worked, in several different colors—yellow, obviously, but also green, blue, pink, purple, and even red. That was enough for me to pay attention, but then I noticed they all fit so tightly, so snugly on her hands. She never wore big rings—those would rip the gloves—but her left hand was always bare.
Obviously, the scenario coalesced in my mind: Betty knocking on my door, clad in sweats, hands in her hoodie pocket, apologizing for her choice of outfit, but it was the easiest way to prevent damage to the material. I’d ask, “what material?” and she’d strip and reveal that she was wearing a perfectly form-fitting catsuit, topped off with those immaculately fitted yellow kitchen gloves.
Nights had been spent pleasuring myself to the thought of having her in my bed like that, but I never acted on it. That was just unprofessional. I mean, it wasn’t, but there was a thought wiggling around in my head.
It wouldn’t be unprofessional if she was getting paid.
But maybe I wouldn’t—
The thought quickly went away as my alarm went off, prompting me to take my meds and go work out.
***
Betty was handcuffed, laying in a heap on my bed. She was breathing hard, heaving underneath the non-adhesive bondage tape I’d put over her mouth (duct tape was number one on Vicky’s list of no-no’s). I held her legs together, gripping her ankles with one gloved hand. “You like that, you fucking slut?” I asked while pounding her pussy. She was so wet.
She nodded, her eyes watering. It was ruining her mascara.
I kept thrusting, listening to her attempt to moan through the tape. I reached down and picked up the tape and rolled it around her ankles, still in those cute, pink, thin little socks. “Don’t fucking move, alright?”
She was still as I tied her legs up, adding additional layer just to be sure. "I finally ask, weeks later, if you’ve done the one thing I asked, and you tell me no." I pump her a little more while rolling the tape. "Didn’t I tell you to follow instructions?"
She nodded while her eyes rolled back in her head.
Now securely restrained, I pulled out and rolled her onto her knees, admiring her arms cuffed behind her back, her gloved fingers flexing. She kept them, but she never did masturbate—or, that’s what she told me. I chose to believe her, good faith and all that. But obviously, this was unacceptable, and I had to punish her. So she lay there, ass in the air, as I slid three fingers into her inviting pussy. She moaned again, and I probed my fingers deeper inside, curving in a little hook to get her extra noisy.
“Are you going to disobey me again?” I asked.
A muffled noise came from her. I assumed it was “no”.
“Good girl,” I said, stroking myself to stay hard. “Now turn over, I need you to eat my cum. You don’t get your cream pie until you learn to follow fucking instructions." There was a moan of disappointment.
I grabbed her by the armpit and roughly moved her head to my cock, dripping with precum. I tugged on the tape, and pulled off the square that kept her mouth shut. “You’re going to eat my nut, aren’t you? You’re going to swallow my cum like a good girl.”
“Yes, Alex,” she said, sticking her tongue out to lick my member. I tugged on her hair slightly, right before she could reach it.
“You don’t get to call me that,” I said through gritted teeth, and wrapped my free hand around her neck, gingerly—something told me to lower the intensity. “What do you call me?” I asked, more measured in my tone—serious, but without the edge.
“I’ll swallow your cum, Mr. Becker. Please cum in my mouth, Mr. Becker,” she gasped frantically, and I swear I could see a satisfied shit-eating grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.
That made it swell and release quickly. I put her mouth on my head, and pushed it all the way to the back of her throat. She flared her nostrils, looked me straight in the eye. And she did it again. I think…did she…
I pinched her nostrils and didn’t break eye contact.
My cock tensed, filled with the ecstasy of tension, and then release. My cum filled her mouth, dripping down from her lips. I watched her throat work to swallow, trying to catch every drop. I knew she wouldn’t, but her eagerness counted for a lot. The dribbles from the sides of her mouth were hot as fuck, too. I heard her sucking gasps and released my fingers.
I pulled my cock out, and let her lay for a moment, her chest heaving, smiling, her mouth looking like she’d been smashed with a cinnamon roll. She undid the cuffs, and rolled onto her back, masturbating.
“Getting started early, I see. Good girl.”
She looked up at me with those mascara streaked eyes, and smiled, making little moaning and gasping noises for me. “I won’t disobey you again, Mr. Becker.”
I leaned in, and put two gloved fingers into her pussy, watching her eyes roll into the back of her head. “You just might, Betty. You’ve seen what I do to bad girls.”
She came with a shudder, letting out a strangled growl as she jerked around. Her pussy contracted on my fingers, twitching with each movement of my hand.
Through her hazy afterglow, her auburn hair wild and sticking to her forehead, she opened her eyes enough to look at me. “Maybe you’ll take me on a date if I’m a good girl.” She pulled each finger, and her gloves came off with a tiny rustle of material.
I raised an eyebrow at that. “Well, I just might, if you do what I tell you.”
Fuck.
"Also? I lied. I’ve used them once a week. But you’re less…hmm…distracted when you’re upset. I get more attention." She licked her lips. "I have trouble not reading people all the time. Sorry." She winced, like the admission hurt. "I like how you push and pull."
Perceptive, attentive, hot, and kinky. Goddamn.
"Uh, okay?"
"You softened. I didn’t want it, but you did. It was nice. But then, you knew. You pushed, hard, and you caught me." She sighed, a happy one. "Thanks."
The only thing I wanted to do right then was tumble into bed with her. Instead, I peeled off my gloves, got dressed, and grabbed my e-reader. Maybe a little Bradbury would soothe my nerves.
"No aftercare, Mr. Becker?" Betty asked. "If I’m being honest, it would be nice." She paused. "No extra charge, but I’d take some ice cream if you’ve got any."
I put my hands on my hips. "First thing you did was clean the fridge."
"I know."
Betty rolled onto her stomach, looked up at me. "Do you have any with calories?"
I felt the grimace, but…"I can grab some?" My gut twisted and I wanted to die from embarrassment. I DID NOT just offer to buy my escort ice cream.
She shook her head. "Nah, you’re snack enough." She held out her arms like a baby. "Your paid sub demands cuddles. Free cuddles, no extra charge."
***
I woke up.
11pm. My house.
Alone.
I’d fallen asleep a few minutes after snuggling up to her. She was warm and soft, a little chubby, but rock solid under the padding. Like me, she worked out as hard as she fucked. Unlike me, she had settled any lingering complexes she’d had over carbohydrates by deciding that they were worth it.
The thought of her coming over welled up again, but this time, after stripping, we watched a movie together, had pan seared steak, red wine.
For some reason, that made me harder than the idea of fucking. I pulled out a pair of my long cuff medical gloves and went to town. I was finished in seconds. Dana would have been livid—Ms. "Fuck me for thirty minutes" saw her marathon stallion bust like a chump—but a nut was a nut.
I wished someone would come over to lick it up. Knowing there wasn’t anyone who could, I wiped it off and fell asleep again, making a mental note to have Betty over by herself sometime—which she always was, because that was our exclusively professional relationship.