Home Help Handywoman Ch 01

My name is Jan and I'm 41 years old. I've been faithfully married for 16 years and have got 2 kids. Now that they're getting older, I've started working as a home help, going to people's houses and doing whatever needs to be done. For a long time this was your usual range of everyday chores but recently things changed.

A friend of mine works for Social Services and sometimes recommends me to clients of hers. She rang one day to tell me that she had a new referral who she thought could do with my services. As it happened, I'd just lost one of my regulars so I was pleased to get a replacement so quickly. We're not exactly hard up but a little extra money always helps with the unexpected bills. My friend gave me the man's number and told me he was expecting to hear from me. "He seems very nice," she added. She's normally a good judge of character so it was reassuring to hear that.

I was a bit nervous when I phoned Mr Thompson but within a couple of minutes we were chatting easily. I found out a bit about him. He wouldn't give his age but did mention he was receiving his pension and said he needed someone who could lend a hand with things around the house. I told him that my late afternoon booking had become free and he said that would be fine, so we arranged for me to start the next Monday.

Because of the kind of work I do, I tend to wear quite practical clothes, normally jeans and a sweatshirt. It's not exactly glamorous but that's not what I'm there for. That said, I still like to look presentable and make an effort with my hair and a bit of make-up. Despite having hit the "big 4-0" I'm in pretty good shape. My 36C chest hasn't gone south yet! Being 5'5" and curvy I've managed to maintain a consistent short but shapely figure while some of my friends have gone from tall and thin to tall and not so thin. I think I scrub up all right.

That first Monday I arrived in good time and rang the doorbell. A man who looked to be in his late 60s answered and I asked, "Mr Thompson?"

"You must be Jan," he said and welcomed me in. It was a neat 3 bedroom semi and I was impressed that a man of his years kept it so well. He explained that he wanted it to stay this neat and that's where he hoped I'd be able to help. He took me for a quick tour of the place, pointing out little bits of work he was planning to have done.

"This is one thing you've got to be careful about," he told me, pointing at the washbasin in the bathroom. "The water pressure is very odd. I don't know if it's the washers or something in the pipe but sometimes there's barely a dribble and at other times it's like Niagara Falls, except going upwards!"

I took careful note and we moved on, ending up in the kitchen. Over a cup of tea, we chatted a bit more and I felt glad that I'd be working for Mr Thompson.

****

During the next few weeks, I settled into the routine and became familiar with the house and the chores I was expected to carry out. Everything was going smoothly until one day Mr Thompson told me he'd joined the local chess club and that he was due to attend his first meeting with them that evening. He explained that he wanted to be able to wash and get ready to go out, so would it be okay if I finished early? I agreed and wished him good luck with his game later on. I got on with my usual chores and was on my last, vacuuming the lounge carpet, when the 'bag full' light came on. As I removed the bag, a giant rip appeared in the side, along with a mountain of dust from inside it, all over the carpet I'd just been cleaning. I swore and then went to find Mr Thompson.

He was upstairs, getting ready for his shower. I explained what had happened and suggested that if he didn't mind I'd stay on and sort the vacuum cleaner out while he had his shower. He said it was fine as long as I let myself out while he was otherwise occupied in the bathroom.

Well, a change of bag later and I was cleaning the lounge carpet for the second time. Finally, I'd finished and was putting the cleaner away when I heard an almighty crash upstairs. I rushed up there.

"Mr Thompson! Are you all right?" I banged on the bathroom door but there was no answer. I hesitated for a minute, wondering what to do. "Mr Thompson?" I called again, before deciding I had to brave it and go in.

Fortunately, he hadn't locked the door and I opened it slowly, not sure what I'd find. As I looked in, I saw Mr Thompson must have slipped in the shower. Not being used to seeing naked men other than my husband, I was a little embarrassed but luckily the way he'd fallen kept his modesty intact. I turned the water off and grabbed a towel to cover him, then went to phone an ambulance.

****

A week later, I heard from my friend at Social Services that Mr Thompson was back home but had been told he had to stay in bed until he'd recovered from his fall. I was glad that he hadn't suffered any serious injuries but I knew he'd need some extra help at home. I arranged for someone to cover for me so that I could extend my time at Mr Thompson's by getting there earlier. I was given a key to his house and was due to visit the next day.

"Jan? Is that you?" called Mr Thompson, as he heard the front door open.

"Yes, hello. Would you like a cup of tea?" I shouted up the stairs. I was already in the kitchen when I heard him answer yes. A couple of minutes later I was chatting to him upstairs and chiding him for not being more careful. He took it with good humour.

"Being stuck in bed has made me notice a few things that need doing in here. Would you care to spend your extra time sorting them out?"

"Sure, what do you want done?" I asked.

"Nothing exciting, I'm afraid. It's all the things I can't quite manage anymore, like those high shelves and cleaning the wall behind them once the things are taken off them."

He pointed and I saw what he was referring to. There was a real assortment of odds and ends plus a pretty grotty looking wall behind it showing through which I knew would need a bit of energy.

"No time like the present. Have you finished your tea?" He nodded, so I took the mug and went to rinse it out in the bathroom washbasin. As I turned on the tap, something happened. It was like being hit by a water cannon. I was drenched and grappled to stop the flow.

"Jan, are you all right?" Mr Thompson shouted, anxiously.

"Yes, just a bit wet." I appeared in the bedroom, soaked to the skin.

"You can't stay like that. I tell you what, check in the spare bedroom drawers. My daughter's got some clothes there. I don't know what she's left but they'll be dry at least."

I dried myself off and went to see what was in the drawers. I quickly found a white blouse that looked like it'd fit me but no amount of hunting revealed any jeans. In fact the nearest thing I could find was a button-up denim skirt. I tried it on and it wasn't a perfect fit but it would do. As I caught myself in the mirror, I realised that some of the buttons were missing. Good thing I'd shaved my legs recently, I thought.

Returning to Mr Thompson's room, I said I'd better start work. He was reading and I began by clearing the items from the shelves on the wall opposite his bed. It was a precarious business at times, standing on steps and stretching across. But I concentrated on the job and after an hour felt I'd made a good start.

"Why don't you have a break?" said Mr Thompson.

"Good idea," I replied and sat down on the chair next to the bed. We were chatting for a few minutes when suddenly Mr Thompson started to look a little strange.

"Are you okay? Do you want me to call the doctor?" I was getting quite bothered.

"No, no, it's okay," he said.

"Are you sure? I think I should call someone. You can't be too careful after the sort of experience you've had." I didn't want to risk anything bad happening.

"Jan, it's not anything like that. It's just..." He stopped mid sentence.

"What? What's wrong?"

"It's just a twinge." At that moment, he twitched slightly.

"I think you should rest. No more reading." I reached forward and picked up the book which had been on the bed. Suddenly I realised why Mr Thompson had placed it there. Just below his waist there was noticeable ridge in the bedclothes.

"I'm sorry, it's being stuck here in bed for so long and not being able to take care of certain things," he began. I wasn't sure what to say or where to look.

Mr Thompson continued, "And then when you came in wearing that skirt..."

I glanced down and realised that where the buttons were missing, most of my legs were visible, to mid-thigh at least. Sitting down for my break, I'd crossed my legs and it must have been quite a show.

"I'm sorry, Mr Thompson. I didn't even think about it. Will you be okay?"

"I think so. It normally disappears after a little while." He didn't sound too convinced. Being used to regular sex with my husband, I wasn't too sure either, not really knowing about these things from the man's side. I decided to get on with the work again.

A couple of times I glanced at Mr Thompson and he seemed to be dozing. This was good, I thought, as hopefully other parts of him would have become similarly relaxed. I reached across to brush some dirt off an awkward bit of the wall and found that the skirt was restricting me. Another quick look at Mr Thompson suggested he was still asleep, so I undid a couple of the remaining buttons on the skirt. As I did so, I was quite pleased with what I saw. The exposed leg was shining nicely in the light and looked toned. Still, back to work. I made good progress on the wall and before that long I was ready to finish for the day.

As I climbed down the steps, Mr Thompson woke up. Depending on when he actually woke, he might have caught a fair eye full of my legs. He didn't say anything though and I told him I was on my way home and that I'd be back the next day.

It was only when I'd opened the front door that I remembered my car keys were in the spare room, left there when I'd changed clothes. I closed the front door and went back up the stairs. Just before I could say anything, I realised I could hear strange noises coming from Mr Thompson's room. It sounded like he was having trouble breathing, so I rushed in.

"Jan!" he said. "I thought you'd gone! I heard the front door..." His voice trailed off as I looked at him. The covers were down and his 'problem' from earlier had obviously returned with vigour.

"I thought you were short of breath...I left my car keys..." I said by way of explanation. I didn't know what to do or where to look. Again. Mr Thompson pulled the covers up and sighed.

"It's no use anyway. I just don't have the strength to finish the job, if you get my meaning." He looked sad and frustrated.

Without thinking, I sat down in the chair next to the bed and crossed my legs. As I did so, the bump in Mr Thompson's bedclothes twitched. Immediately, I realised it was the effect of me crossing my legs. I felt bad that I was making his condition worse.

"If only I could just get rid of it," he said. "I just don't know how I can. That fall seems to have taken my strength in ways I never thought possible."

I was in a dilemma. I felt at least partly responsible for his state but what was I meant to do? I'm a very moral person and have never cheated on my husband, nor would I want to. Those same morals also made me feel that I should help people when possible, especially if I've been the cause of their need. I sat there trying to work out what I could do to help. As I did this, I absent-mindedly ran my hand up and down my leg. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr Thompson twitch. Suddenly, I had an idea.

"Mr Thompson, I feel partly to blame for all of this. I think therefore I should play a part in trying to get rid of your 'problem'." Before he could interrupt, I continued. "Don't get me wrong, I am faithful to my husband and would never do anything to betray him. However, my actions have inadvertently caused you to become stimulated and I wondered if further exposure might lead to your problem reaching a conclusion."

I looked at him meaningfully, having completed my little speech.

"What did you have in mind?" he asked.

Slowly, I pulled back the covers and revealed his hard cock. It was pulsating with desire. The tip glistened with escaped precum. I didn't think it would take much to unleash whatever else was in his balls.

"Maybe if I make what I'm doing more intense, it'll make something happen," I said. I stood up and put my right foot on the side of the bed, the split in the skirt causing it to fall either side of my thigh. Mr Thompson's gaze became fixed on my leg. I began to caress myself there, flexing my calf muscle.

"You know, I think I should have moisturised better." With that, I reached into my handbag and found a small tube of lotion. Squeezing a little of it out, I began to rub it into my skin, watching how it started to glisten. "That's good...it feels so soft and smooth."

I looked over at Mr Thompson's cock, twitching and pulsating as his hand did its best to get him some relief. Part of me felt a little guilty, as I was in some ways being a tease but it was with the best of intentions.

After about 10 minutes, Mr Thompson's cock was dripping with precum but no final orgasm had occurred. He groaned and for a moment I thought he was about to cum.

"It's no good, Jan," he sighed, his hand by his side. "I just can't reach the point. It's almost painful now." I considered the predicament. "Would touching help?" I figured that allowing someone's hand, someone who was a friend and employer after all, to make contact with me was hardly infidelity, even if the scenario were a little unusual to say the least. Perhaps letting him caress my legs would finish things.

Mr Thompson looked at me with surprise. "Yes, I think it might, if you're sure. I didn't think you'd want to go that far."

"It's not really a big deal," I smiled. I climbed onto the bed, my right leg resting under me and my left stretched forward towards him, and reached my hand out, with the intention of guiding his onto my knee. His left hand found mine and there was a moment of confusion before I realised we'd been at cross purposes when talking about touching. Too late though, for in that moment of confusion his hand guided mine onto his rock hard shaft.

I was about to protest when he said, "Thank you, Jan, I don't know how I'd be able to bear this feeling any longer."

My hand felt frozen, gripping the throbbing erect cock of my pensioner employer. Thoughts raced through my brain. Did this constitute infidelity? How could I face my husband after this? Until now, I'd not touched another man's cock. Even so, we normally just had straight sex and I hadn't given him a hand job for as long as I could remember. I was brought back to reality by Mr Thompson's voice.

"Jan, when it happens there may be quite a lot given how long it's been since the last time. Can you use this to catch it in? Since I'm stuck in this bed I don't really want to be lying in stickiness..." He handed me a tissue.

I took a deep breath. "Okay, Mr Thompson, I don't have much experience with this but I'll do my best."

I gently began to move my hand up and down on his shaft. At first it felt a little awkward and I wasn't sure he was enjoying it very much. Then I found a rhythm and I heard him moan appreciatively. I didn't know how fast I should be doing it but tried to imagine my husband's cock inside me and how he moved. Gradually Mr Thompson's breathing began to quicken.

His left hand had found its way onto my leg and was squeezing up and down my shin, then round the back to my fleshy calf, up to my knee and then along my thigh. "Oh yes, it feels so good, don't stop, oh yes..." moaned Mr Thompson. My hand kept pumping him, maintaining a steady rhythm. I tried varying the lengths of my strokes, sometimes covering the entire length of his cock and sometimes concentrating more on the tip. The purple head was oozing more precum.

My arm was beginning to ache a bit and I realised it was quite exerting. No wonder Mr Thompson had not been able to bring himself off. My free arm brushed my hair away from my sweating head and I opened the top of the blouse a bit to vent myself. Mr Thompson eyed my generous cleavage as my breasts bounced with my movements.

"Tell me you want me to cum," half-whispered Mr Thompson. "Talk me through it, Jan. It will help get me there."

As Mr Thompson continued to massage and caress my leg, I hesitantly tried to talk dirty. "Do it, Mr Thompson." It didn't sound very sexy to me but I wasn't entirely happy about what I was doing, was I?

"Tell me you want me to cum, Jan. Tell me you like the way I touch you."

I pumped his cock more slowly and tried to get into what I was doing. "Cum for me, Mr Thompson, do it for me. I want to see your cum shoot out of your hard cock. It feels so good in my hand." I surprised myself with what I was saying but continued. "Feel my legs, squeeze my thighs. Feel how smooth they are, how shapely. I bet you'd like me to shave them just for you, wouldn't you? Just so you could shoot your stuff all over them and rub it in. Imagine what they'd feel like with your cum on them."

Mr Thompson groaned and I started to increase the speed of my jerking. "Shoot that cum, Mr Thompson. Where would you like to shoot that cum? I want to feel it on me." My hand was now pounding his cock hard and fast. Mr Thompson's gaze darted from my face to my cleavage and to my legs, which he still caressed.

"Jan! I'm going to...get the tissue...Jan...keep doing it...Oh, uh..." I quickly grabbed the tissue and held it at the end of Mr Thompson's cock. The first spurt of his thick white goo shot out with such force that the tissue went flying out of my hand beyond reach. At a loss, I tried to catch the second in my hand but the amount was too much.

"Get your mouth over, girl, quickly do it," shouted Mr Thompson.

"But I've never..." I started to protest.

"Quickly," he ordered.

The combination of the authority of his voice and my bewilderment found me dipping my head over and taking his cock between my lips. It spurted like a fountain and I became aware of Mr Thompson's hands resting on the back of my head as he shot hot sticky loads into my mouth. So much was coming out of him that my mouth was getting full. The pulsating organ continued to empty itself and I had no choice but to make room for by swallowing what I'd taken. The salty, bitty sperm was strange to have going down my throat but I was concentrating on what was still being shot into my mouth.

After that first mouthful had gone, Mr Thompson's grip on my head seemed to relax a bit but as I raised my head I found that he was guiding it down his shaft again. I began to realise he was lowering and raising my mouth on his cock like he was fucking it. Slowly I realised I was giving Mr Thompson a blow job. I swallowed again and cleared my mouth of the remainder of his cum. I looked up and saw his blissful expression, like he was in a trance. His fleshy bulb no longer pulsated in my mouth like it had when he was cumming but the shaft was still quite hard. This was the first time I'd had a cock in my mouth and it wasn't the greatest experience of my life, nor was it with my husband. My jaw was beginning to ache and I looked up at Mr Thompson, trying to get him to release my head. Finally, he guided my head up.

"Thank you Jan," he said. "You've been very kind to me." Still in a state of shock over what had happened, I just nodded. "I've never known an orgasm like that."

I climbed off the bed and did my best to straighten my clothes. Mr Thompson seemed to be falling asleep, so I quietly made my way to the bathroom, where I washed my mouth out to try and get rid of the taste of his seed. It didn't have much effect. My own clothes had dried and I changed back into them, hoping that I'd leave the memory of what had happened behind as I did so. I left the house with a lot on my mind.