There is one utterly perfect time to talk about sex, and that is after you have it. The walls come down (or, when the sex is especially good, the walls are demolished via wrecking ball). Your bodies are tingly, your minds are sleepy and uninhibited. This is the perfect setting to discuss what it is you really want–what it is you might be too stiff or too scared to say otherwise.
I was in such a state of languid happiness when I told my boyfriend what it was I wanted. I’d been thinking about it for a while. Walking into his apartment, seeing the piles of papers scattered in random places, the bare walls, the residue on his stovetop, the clouded bathroom mirror. It was low-grade bachelor pad mess, but mess nonetheless.
I told him I wanted to clean up his apartment.
Now, you may ask, why is she talking about cleaning in bed? For those of us who genuinely enjoy doing the dishes (yes, we exist), cleaning actually brings us satisfaction.
But there is more to this fantasy, I promise.
My real fantasy is to offer up my body to my boyfriend. Give him permission to take me whenever the thought crosses his mind, or the mood strikes, or whenever he wants. He knows that when he sees me, he can have me. The idea of giving myself over completely to someone I love turns me on a lot. (Of course, consent is important, and if I changed my mind at any point he would understand).
“I want to clean your apartment in a short dress,” I said, already thinking of the dress I had in mind. A tiny maroon one that had popped up in a Facebook ad and I had to get, because I knew it would hug my curves perfectly. It was too short to wear out in public, but it showed off my hip-to-waist ratio.
Luckily, he understood what I was getting at. I didn’t even need to complete the thought “You want me to come up behind you while you’re on your knees, scrubbing the floor,” he said. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “Come tomorrow,,” he said. “Don’t wear underwear.”
The next day, he texted me a picture of cleaning supplies and told me to bring whatever else I needed.
I came over and got changed into the dress in the bathroom., then I started cleaning. And readers, I actually cleaned those nooks and crannies I’d been eyeing for a while. Meanwhile, he ignored me, to the point that I wondered if I’d dreamt up the whole conversation about him coming up behind me and taking me.
Now I know he was just doing it to tease me and turn me on. I was there to serve him. He would take me when he wanted. When I moved on to the bathroom, he left to take the dog for a walk. I kept cleaning until he returned.
He surveyed my progress. The apartment, I must admit, looked better. “You still haven’t done the floor, have you?” He pointed to the area under his couch. No, I hadn’t, and it needed work. I brought a few wet wipes and got on my knees. I angled my torso so that my ass stuck straight in the air while I scrubbed. I could feel his eyes on me. Could feel him breathing.
Without saying anything, he crouched over me and brought his hands to my slit. “Wet,” he said.
I nodded but didn’t turn around. I was scared to break the moment. The pure lightning bolt of being turned on—of being heard. I had laid out my fantasy, and here he was, carrying it out. DAMN!
“Is there a reason you’re not wearing panties?” he continued.
“Easier to clean,” I said.
“Huh,” he said, stretching my pussy out between his two fingers so that my clit was exposed. “I haven’t heard that one before.’ He leaned over and kissed my neck. I moaned, because, duh.
“It works,” I said. “Isn’t your apartment clean?”
“I still see something dirty here,” he said, hands going over my hips. The dress rode up so that it was bunched around my ass, with my legs and pussy completely exposed.
He leaned over so that I could feel his cock through his pants. There I was, completely at his mercy.
“Keep cleaning,” he said. And so I did, stretching away from his body so I could reach for spots underneath the couch, and then being pulled back to it by his hands on my hip. Each time, I felt his cock get harder. And still, he didn’t stop. He reached around to feel my nipples.
“Are you getting distracted?” he said. “Work harder.”
I tried, but then I heard him unzip his pants. By then I was experiencing the chills in anticipation for what he was about to do. When it happened, it happened fast. He pulled out his cock and placed his hand on my neck so that I’d angle my body down. Head resting on my arms, I tilted back so I could see him. He looked so serious as he rubbed my clit to get me wet (as if I weren’t already). Like he, too, was taken over by the role.
“Work at this, then,” he said, as he positioned himself at my entrance and then pushed in. Every time he fills me up I am delighted. But this time—phew!! He grabbed my hips and started off hard, like he had no need for restraint. Like this was for him, not for me, and he didn’t care how long it lasted. My knees chafed on the hardwood, my hands had nothing to hold onto. I was there to be taken.
As he thrust into me, he told me what a bad girl I’d been, coming over without underwear on, teasing him as I walked around his apartment. He said he’d thought about bending me over since the second he saw me in that dress. That my pussy was his.
He came fast, moaning as he did. I had one cleaning task on my to-do- list: Licking his cock clean. Then he took my dress off and brought me to the bedroom for more.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/scy255/i_was_his_maid_for_the_evening_mf
but op, did you finish cleaning his apartment???