I’m a bit of a closet naturist. I’d never go nude in public, not even on a nude beach or at a nudist camp, but at home I have a tendency to shed my clothes. Why not? There’s no-one there to see me and I find it liberating. I do all my housework nude.
I’m not careless about my nudity. A certain natural modesty prevents that. I keep a slip-on housedress available on a peg next to the front door. It’s the work of a moment to put it on before answering the door. If I have visitors who are actually going to come into the house I take a moment to slip into my bedroom for some underwear.
Currently I was in the kitchen doing a bit of cooking, listening to the radio and trying to keep one ear peeled for the door-bell. I’ve been expecting a package for several days now, and I’ve been bugging the postman about it. He has to deliver it to the door because he needs to get a signature. I have stressed several times that the package is important and that I need it.
Truth to tell, it wasn’t need, but greed, that was making me impatient. My parents are abroad and they said they’d sent me a present by registered mail. I’m dying to see what it is.
I nearly died when Ron, the postman, walked into the kitchen. There I was, naked, and my dress was up next to the front door. I was thinking, “Oh god, I’m naked and there’s a man in the house. This is it. I’m about to be raped.” He was complete blasé about it.
“Hi, Kelly,” he said casually. “I have your parcel. Your doorbell isn’t working and you didn’t answer my knock, but I thought I’d better bring it in anyway. I know how desperate you have been to get it.”
I’d heard some banging but thought it was just kids out in the street. Noisy little tykes they are at times.
I’m like, “Ah, yes, um, thanks,” while inside I was screaming, “Get out of here. Can’t you see I’m naked?”
Apparently not. He just passed me this silly little computer toy for me to etch my signature on. Still dithering I signed it and took my package, clinging to it. (Not that it was big enough to hide any of my charms. Where Ron was concerned it seemed to be a case of what charms? I wondered if he was gay.)
Ron took his little toy, tapped it a couple of times with the stylus and slipped it into his belt. He nodded to me and turned to go and I was so relieved that I opened my mouth and stuck my foot in it.
“Oh,” I said, “this means that you’re not going to rape me?”
I’d been a little worked up over his unexpected presence and my own nudity. I thought I sounded relieved. Ron apparently thought I sounded disappointed.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said softly, turning to face me again, “I hadn’t realised that you wanted me to. You have to forgive me. I’m a little slow picking up on things like that. No problem, though. I’ll be happy to oblige.”
“Wait,” I gabbled quickly. “I didn’t mean that I wanted you to rape me.”
“Of course not,” Ron agreed. “That’s the essence of being raped, isn’t it? I fully understand that you have to say no. Don’t let it bother you.”
Oh my god. He didn’t believe me. He thought I wanted this. Even while I was protesting and he was saying soothing nothings, he was turning me to face the table and pushing me to bend over it.
“Seriously, Ron,” I assured him, “I don’t want this, and don’t touch me there.”
That last was added on when his hand went sliding across my pussy, rubbing me. I squirmed and tried to move away but to actually get anywhere I’d have had to climb up onto the table. I gave a squeal as I felt his fingers probing between my lips, pushing inside me.
“My, my, what a surprise,” he said. “You’re already nice and wet.”
He certainly didn’t sound surprised. He sounded downright smug. Me, I was astounded. How could I possibly be wet from just wondering if a man was going to rape me and if so what would it be like. I hadn’t been aroused by the thought, not really. [read more](https://realsexstoriesx.blogspot.com/2018/05/naked-housework-woman-likes-to-clean-in.html)
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/iuzdhy/naked_housework_woman_likes_to_clean_in_the_nude