There was a window of time after I graduated from college where I was really putting myself out there, looking for a good job that would make the 4 years I had just spent in school seem worth it. I quickly realized that the small college town I resided in had little to offer, so I decided to relocate to a nearby bigger city.
The only catch was I was a young single guy who didn’t have any money. Or a job. So, I started scouring ads looking for someone in need of a roommate, hoping to find a place where I could maybe work fast food until I found an actual good job. And surprisingly, I hit the jackpot. Or so I thought.
The ad read: “Older lady in search of younger roommate to help with chores in exchange for room and board.”
This was perfect! I called her up and immediately connected with a woman named Mrs. Jansen. As it turned out, she was neither the elderly nor handicapped person I assumed she would be.
Rather, she was a busy widowed lady in her mid to late 40s who owned several local businesses. Her late husband had passed a few years back, so now most days, her work took up most of her free time. Things like cooking, cleaning, and yardwork mostly went undone. That’s where I would come in.
I would mainly be in charge of keeping up the outside of the house, things like the lawn and pool areas. In exchange for my help, I would have my own bed and bathroom. I immediately jumped on the opportunity and moved into her house that week.
Now, maybe I just had stars in my eyes because I was getting such a sweet deal and getting to live in a bigger city for the first time in my life, but I overlooked some red flags when I first met Mrs. Jansen in person.
Sonething about her made me nervous right from the start. I couldn’t put my finger on it exactly. Other than the obvious fact that she was a much bigger woman than I was a man.
I was kind of skinny and average height, but Mrs. Jansen was a larger, slightly overweight woman so that in comparison, she kind of stood over me, looking down at me.
In addition, she talked in a brisk, authoritarian manner. Very no-nonsense and business like in a way that I actually found intimidating and mildly demeaning. I guess if I had to put my finger on it exactly I’d say I came away from our first meeting feeling more like a lowly servant than an employee or roommate.
But, despite my reservations, the offer was too good to pass up and I moved right in. And things went pretty good for awhile.
At first, my responsibilities around the house were pretty manageable. I could work a couple of hours a day and finish most everything.
But, as Mrs. Jansen grew used to having me around the house, she began to notice how quickly I got my work done. And consequently, she began adding chores to my workload, even starting to have me clean inside the house. It quickly grew to the point that by the time I’d been there a month she had me working most of the day, 5-6 days each week.
The way she added these chores always left me feeling intimidated and subservient. She was such a big and beautiful woman. Even her boobs were intimidatingly huge! She’d come up to me while I was slaving over something and say, “Since you’re almost finished here, go ahead and get the dishes cleaned up too.” And then I would do that and from then on the dishes would lay waiting for me to attend to them.
Anyway, one particular evening, I was working late trying to finish up in the kitchen when Mrs. Jansen came stumbling in the front door, obviously drunk and very angry. She immediately began criticizing the “mess” I’d left behind, telling me what a terrible worker I was and how she ought to kick me out on the street for how worthless I was to her.
I recognized that this was the alcohol talking and helped her to a couch in the living room. Once I was certain she was okay, I returned to my cleaning.
I was nearly done with the kitchen when I got a strange, paranoid feeling. Turning around, I saw that Mrs. Jansen had snuck up behind me and was just standing there watching me clean with a strange expression on her face.
I smiled at her but she kept her face serious and said, “Watching a man do housework gets me so hot….”
My face flushed at this and I had to remind myself that this was my boss and she was drunk and if I wanted to keep this sweet gig then I needed to handle this situation very delicately.
I chose to ignore the comment and helped her back to the couch so I could again try to finish up the cleaning.
Before long, I heard Mrs. Jansen call me in a very flirty voice, “Oh cleaning boy! Why don’t you take a break and come sit over here by me?”
I glanced into the living room and my eyes about fell out of my skull. Mrs. Jansen had stripped down to her bra and panties, a matching yellow set that barely contained her enormous breasts. She had let her long honey-colored hair down and it was flowing over her shoulders and back so invitingly.
I about fell over when she looked me right in the eye and patted the couch next to where she was sitting. Without a word or thought, I just shook my head no.
Mrs. Jansen’s expression turned angry at this. “Come. Sit. Or be fired,” she ordered me.
Maybe I could somehow appease her, I thought as I found myself slowly moving toward the couch. I didn’t want to lose this living situation. She was drunk, so maybe she would pass out soon. Before anything bad happened.
I sat on the couch next to her. There was awkward silence for a moment, than Mrs. Jansen spoke in an almost tired voice.
“How I miss my husband,” she said. Then, more directly, “how I miss sex and fucking.”
I sat bolt upright at her words, certain I shouldn’t be hearing this, certain she’d fire me the next morning if she remembered talking to me like this. But she went on.
“You know, I agreed to let you stay here in exchange for services,” she said. “But I don’t see myself getting serviced any.”
My face turned beet red then. I was a lot younger than this woman. She wasn’t old by any means, but her age seemed to give her power over me, authority. That and the fact that she was my boss. And there was her size. All in all, I suddenly felt like I was the prey of some kind of very hungry apex sexual predator.
I dared not look at her lest my eyes get lost in the deep line of her heaving cleavage, lest I meet her predatory gaze and find myself unable to look away, unable to resist her advances.
Instead, I just sat there staring awkwardly forward, afraid to get up and leave, afraid to move at all. I felt her hand on my knee, squeezing, and I about jumped.
Mrs. Jansen took my nervousness as consent and leaned in close, pressing her mouth to mine. OH MY GOD! She was kissing me!
And then her tongue slipped past my lips, began probing my own tongue, exploring my mouth. It was electric fire, and I was lost in her hunger momentarily. Then I snapped awake.
She was drunk! My boss was drunk! And kissing me! Oh my gosh, was this date rape?! Was I a rapist right now?!
I panicked and tried to pull away from her, but she grabbed the back of my head with one hand, pulled me in close to her, and began undoing my pants with her other hand.
Now, I really began panicking. Her mouth grew hungrier, more frantic as I tried to escape her grasp.
“No, no, no,” she said even as her mouth moved over mine, her tongue pushing deeply past my lips like a fat, wet penis impaling me.
I pulled back hard, ended up falling onto my back on the couch. Mrs. Jansen wasted no time. She unclasped her bra, flung it across the room, and fell on top of me, burying my face in her tits.
I tried to get her off me, tried to push her away, but she used her weight to hold me down. I think I resisted pretty good, even with a mouth full of tit, until my lips found one of her nipples.
Maybe it was something from my childhood, some messed up breastfeeding experience I’d had. Whatever it was, when my mouth found her nipple, I just kind of went limp and started sucking.
“There ya go baby,” she said as if she knew the power her tits held over me. “There ya go.”
She smothered me with first one breast, then the other, teasing my lips at times by running her teet lightly over my lips, allowing me to get a breath, only to mash her boobs up tightly against my face again.
At some point while she was alternating feeding me one nipple then the other, she removed my pants and underwear so my raging boner was sticking straight out, exposed.
“God I need that dick!” she said, suddenly pulling off of me and lowering herself down to my crotch.
Before I even knew what to expect, her mouth was bobbing up and down on my cock, wet and hot. I was paralyzed with pleasure, the sensation of her mouth and tongue on my shaft along with the sight of her head moving up and down, up and down….it was almost too much to bear.
She seemed to know this, but couldn’t help herself. She sucked in as she moved her mouth up and down faster and faster. It felt so incredible, all I could do was lay there and let it happen. Then, abruptly, she stopped, and put all her attention on just the head of my penis. She licked and sucked my tip, using her hands to wring my cock like a wash cloth.
I was losing my mind! How the hell was this happening? It didn’t matter, because I was losing it. I started to buck uncontrollably, pumping my meat through her hands and into her waiting mouth, fucking my boss’s face.
I came hard and sudden. Mrs. Jansen seemed prepared for this. She held her mouth in place, allowing my semen to shoot down her throat. As I finished pumping out cum, she began sucking again, using her tongue to clean up my dick and squeeze out any remaining drops.
Then, she lowered her head down onto my shaft again, giving me a few final deep blows before pulling her lips from my cock.
She looked up at me hungrily. “That was delicious, cleaning boy,” she said and crawled up onto me til her face was next to mine.
Before I could react, she brought her mouth to mine and stuck her cum-covered tongue deeply between my lips. I struggled against her embrace, not wanting to taste my own semen, but she was a big woman and easily held me in place.
She began pushing the cum she had just sucked from my penis into my captive mouth. I struggled against her, but her mouth pressed tight against mine, her tongue pushing the globs of semen down my throat.
I refused to meet her tongue with mine, but she used hers like an artist’s brush, painting the inside of my mouth all around before finally finding and capturing my tongue with hers. She wrestled with it, pinned it in place, and probed my mouth relentlessly.
At last, she took mercy on me, pulled her mouth away slightly and stared down at me, her eyes still wild and hungry for sex.
“Cleaning boy,” she said, “I do believe it’s time for that servicing you owe me.”
I just laid there, disgusted with myself for having swallowed my own cum and wondering what she had in mind next. I didn’t have to wonder long though because she stood up, pulled her panties off, and turned so her giant beautiful ass was right in my face.
“I don’t think this is such a good idea…” I fumbled for words. “I mean…..you’re drunk, Mrs. Jansen.”
“Am I though?” she asked, giving me a flirty wink over her shoulder as she slowly lowered her ass closer to my face.
Oh my God! She’d been kissing me hard and deep, practically tongue-fucking my mouth! And I’d never smelled or tasted any alcohol! What the hell was going on here?!
“A woman’s got needs,” she said throatily, and then her ass was on my face. “And right now, I need you to service my ass and pussy while I get you another load to swallow.”
She plopped forward onto my dick then, and began lavishing my meat with her tongue. At the same time, her pussy began painting my face with her juices as she humped my mouth.
This was, unfortunately for me, the true beginning of my employment for Mrs. Jansen, an older woman in need of “cleaning” services in exchange for room and board.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/omrhro/mrs_jansens_cleaning_service_femdom_nonconsent_f4m