Household Chores Ch 01

I was 18 when I left home.

I had applied to art school. But, because the course was already oversubscribed, and I hadn't done art for my last three years at school, I didn't make the cut. The admissions officer suggested that I spend some time compiling a portfolio of work and that I apply again for the following year. And so, when I saw an advertisement for an 'art trainee' at a high-profile ad agency -- albeit one located in a city about 150 miles from where I lived -- I decided to put in an application.

I realised that it was a really long shot. But, on the other hand, nothing ventured nothing gained. And if I did by some chance get the job, it would be the perfect opportunity to get together a portfolio of work.

As I remember, it was just a couple of days later that I got a phone call inviting me to an interview with the agency's creative director. And then, a couple of days after I had been to have 'a cup of coffee and a bit of a chat', I got another call saying that the job was mine.

I remember being thrilled. And more than a little bit surprised. But my parents were more concerned than pleased. 'Where will you live?' my mother wanted to know.

Of course, I had no idea where I would live. I hadn't thought that far ahead. I hadn't even thought that I'd get the job, for goodness sake.

'You don't even know anyone there, do you?' my father said.

Did I know anyone there? I think I was about to concede that my father may have had a good point when I suddenly remembered that Leo had an older sister who lived somewhere in that direction. 'Well, there's Dawn,' I said.

'Who's Dawn?' my mother wanted to know.

'Leo's sister,' I said. 'She's married. Quite a bit older than Leo. I'm sure she can help me find somewhere to live.'

I hadn't actually met Dawn at that stage. But when Leo phoned her and explained that I was moving north and might need some help finding somewhere to live, she said that it wasn't a problem: I could stay with her and her husband for a few days, and they'd help me find somewhere.

And so, a couple of weeks later, I found myself 150 miles from home, knocking on the door of a neat-and-tidy townhouse tucked away down the end of a long driveway.

When Dawn answered the door, I could tell immediately that she was Leo's sister -- although she must have been almost 20 years older than Leo. At the time, Leo was about 20; so I guess Dawn must have been close to 40.

'You'll have the place to yourself for the next couple of days,' she said. 'I hope that's OK. Howard is away on a course and I have an overnighter.' (Leo had already told me that Dawn was a Cabin Services Director for an airline.) 'I'll be back Wednesday afternoon though.'

I remember spending most of the next couple of days exploring the neighbourhood, getting my bearings, trying to work out where I might want to live. Within a 15-minute walk of Dawn's place there was good little shopping centre with a small supermarket and all the usual service stores. The shopping centre was also on a bus route that went right into the centre of the city. Yeah, I thought, if I could find somewhere to live in that area it would be just about perfect.

'So ... worked out where you want to live?' Dawn asked when she got back.

'Well, somewhere around here would be good,' I said.

Dawn looked at me with a sort of a frown -- as though she was trying to remember something or decide something. 'Hmm,' she said, eventually. 'Let me just make a phone call.'

I remember her going off into the kitchen to make the call. I didn't really get to hear what she said, but when she came back she seemed pretty happy about something.

'Are you ready?' she said, grabbing her car keys.

Was I? I wasn't even sure what it was that I was supposed to be ready for. Still, I grabbed my jacket and followed her out to the car. And maybe five minutes later we were pulling up outside number 37 Forrest Place.

On the way over, Dawn had sort of explained that we were going to look at a flat that was attached to the home of her friend Diana. 'It's quite small,' she said. 'But see what you think.'

Diana was waiting for us. 'Come and have a look,' she said, and she led us down a path at the side of the house.

Diana was slightly older than Dawn -- I guess about 50. But she was a very tidy 50.

The flat was also very tidy. Yes, it was small -- a sort of a living room with a kitchen at one end, a bedroom that looked out onto a garden, and a bathroom -- but it looked just fine.

'What do you think?' I remember Diana asking.

I told her that it looked just fine to me.

I remember her looking me up and down. 'Can you mow lawns?' she asked.

I told her that I could.

'And cars? Can you clean cars?'

Again, I assured her that I could.

'Right,' she said. 'If you agree to mow the lawn and keep my car clean -- and do a few other little chores about the house -- you can live here rent-free.'

'Really?' I said. 'Gee, I don't know what to say.'

I remember her stepping forward and giving me a little hug and a kiss on the cheek. 'Welcome to 37B Forrest Place,' she said.

As we drove back to Dawn's place to pick up my stuff, I remember her saying: 'Now you're sure you're OK with that arrangement?'

'Well, it didn't look like a particularly big lawn,' I told her. 'And even a really big car can't take more than an hour or so to clean.'

'And a few other little chores around the house too,' she reminded me.

'Yeah. I'm cool with that,' I said.

My first 'little chore' was on the following Saturday. I had woken quite early and I was just about to make myself a cup of tea when Diana arrived. She looked as though she had just got out of bed. Her hair was all tousled and she was a wearing a nightgown which, while not exactly transparent, certainly left little to the imagination.

'I've been thinking about my sitting room,' she said. 'I think it would work better with a different layout. I need you to come and help me move some furniture.'

'OK,' I said. 'I'll just get dressed and I'll be right over.'

'Oh, don't bother about getting dressed,' she said. 'You'll be fine as you are. It's not as if we're going down the street or anything.'

And so, for the next half an hour or so, Diana and I -- she in her diaphanous nightgown, me in a pair of pyjama pants -- moved furniture. Although I tried to keep my eyes discreetly averted, each time Diana leaned forward the scooped neck of her nightgown gaped open and offered a tantalising view of her womanly breasts and beyond. And then, after each piece of furniture was moved into its new position, she went and stood with her back to the French doors to survey the new arrangement. The morning sunlight flooding through the glass turned her into a very shapely silhouette indeed and I found it hard to concentrate on the job at hand. In fact, concentration was not the only thing that was becoming hard.

Eventually, Diana decided that we had the room arranged in the way in which she wanted it. 'Right,' she said. 'Time for coffee, I think.' I remember saying that I really should go and get dressed. But Diana would have none of it. 'There'll be plenty of time to get dressed later,' she said.

As Diana heated the water and ground the coffee beans, she kept glancing over at me and ... well ... looking me up and down, I suppose.

'You're a very good looking young man,' she said as she poured the water onto the ground coffee.

'Don't know about that,' I replied.

'Well, I do,' she said. 'Do you have a girlfriend?'

I told her that I didn't. 'Well ... not really.'

'You surprise me,' she said. And then she added: 'So I suppose masturbation is your main means of relief.' It wasn't really a question. It was more of a statement. But she still seemed to need some sort of an answer. 'So, how often do you masturbate?' she asked. 'You know ... just roughly.'

I think I muttered something like 'just now and then'.

'And what does "just now and then" mean?' she asked. 'Twice a day? Three times a day? More than that?'

'Sort of depends,' I told her.

She nodded. 'You know, when I was younger, I used to get myself off two or three times a day. But, these days, it's more likely to be just once.' She seemed a little saddened by the diminished frequency of her autoerotic events. 'And today?' she said. 'Have you tugged your todger today?'

I told that I hadn't.

'No. Me neither,' she said. 'Perhaps we could have a bit of a mutual masturbation session. I realise that I'm no longer the pinup girl that I once was, but I don't think you'll find my body too unattractive.'

'Not unattractive at all,' I assured her.

'Well, there you are,' she said. 'We can have the coffee later. Right now I think we should go through to the bedroom.'

I remember waiting for her to say: No, it's OK, I'm only kidding. But instead, she took my hand and led the way to her bedroom.

'I'll just need to grab a towel,' she said. 'I'm afraid I'm a bit of a gusher. You can sit in that chair ... and I'll position myself on the edge of the bed. That way, I can watch you and you can watch me.'

I sat down in the chair -- my head spinning -- and waited while she went and got a towel.

'Right,' she said, as she placed the towel on the edge of the bed, hoisted her nightgown up around her waist, positioned herself opposite me, and spread her shapely thighs. 'So ... what do you think?' she asked as she began to gently rub her already-wet pussy.

It was the first time I had actually seen a proper grow woman playing with herself. I had, of course, seen pictures in magazines and on the internet. But that was the first time I had ever seen a real-life woman. So what did I think? I thought it was fantastic. I thought she was fantastic. I thought the whole thing was incredibly erotic. I also thought that if I wasn't careful, my own wank was going to be all over in just a couple of quick strokes.

'Are you going to get those pants off?' she asked. 'Or do you need some help? I want a ringside view of you stroking your cock. Despite what you may have read, we women are not averse to a bit of visual stimulation.'

I slid my pyjama pants down, letting my twitching cock stand proud.

'Yes, that's better,' Diana said. 'That's much better.'

I remember thinking that if I didn't actually look at her fur-fringed cunt I might be able to last a bit longer. I tried to keep my eyes on her face, but even that now seemed incredibly sexy. Eventually, after two or three minutes, I decided to just 'go for it'.

I can't really remember what happened next. One moment I was looking at Diana's cunt and pumping my cock for all it was worth ... and the next moment Diana was on her knees in front of me, my cock spurting cum into her waiting mouth.

'Sorry about that,' I said once I had managed to catch my breath. 'I couldn't hold on any longer.'

'Don't be sorry,' she said. 'I'm honoured to have played a part. And I'm sure we can soon get you up again.'

Actually, I don't recall going completely 'down' anyway. And, by the time Diana had licked and sucked and sucked and licked for another three or four minutes, I was ready to go again.

'See,' she said. 'Right ... where were we?' And she returned to her perch on the edge of the bed and resumed her ministrations.

I too went back to stroking my cock -- although only gently this time. After unloading the first time, it was still a bit sensitive.

'I don't suppose you'd like to be a good boy and lick my clit,' she said after a few minutes.

Well, it was going to be another first for me. But I was more than happy to give it a go. I got down on my knees and began to explore her open cunt with my tongue.

'Just a little higher,' she said. And then: 'Oh, god, yes, perfect!'

For the next few minutes, Diana lay back on the bed, her thighs spread, her knees raised, with me lapping away at her warm, juicy slit. And, as I became more confident in my work, Diana began to squirm and moan. 'Oh, yes!' she said. 'Oh, fucking yes!'

And then she came -- and came -- and came again -- squirting me with her juices.

With my eyes fixed on her now pink and saturated cunt, I too came again -- this time spraying my cum over her delicious slightly-rounded tummy.

For a few minutes, neither of us said anything. Diana lay back on the bed; I sat on the bed beside her; both of us lost in our own thoughts.

Eventually, Diana turned her head towards the bedside clock. 'How's that?' she said. 'Just 9:30 and we've already got some of the day's most important chores done.' And then she added: 'Of course we may be able to tackle a few more chores -- this evening -- after supper -- you know, if you're feeling up to it.'