Maid to Order

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College

I work from home, and with all of the crazy nonsense going on recently, I have been even busier than normal with freelance work coming in left and right. This has left me with little or no time to clean or even cook a decent dinner for myself, so I decided to go online and find a housekeeper that could tidy things up a bit for me.

Not knowing exactly where to begin, I of course went where anyone would go to find a reputable product or service on the Internet; Craig’s List. Okay, so it’s not the most reputable place I know, but I wasn’t really sure how to find a housekeeper, so I figured it was a good place to start. I promise you, it sounded like a really good idea at the time (10:00 PM after a few mixed drinks), and found what seemed like a promising post: “French maid for hire. Full or part time work; $15 an hour, cash only. Call Monique at xxx-xxxx.”

It could have simply been a sex ad, but I dialed the number anyway and got a voicemail, which didn’t surprise me, given the late hour. I left my name and number, and then prepared to turn in for the night when my phone almost immediately rang back.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Is this Monsieur Jacques?” a female voice inquired.

It was obviously Monique. I wasn’t sure if she was really French or not, but the accent sounded real, and calling me the French version of my name, Jack, was kind of cute.

“Yes.” I replied. “This is Jack Benedict. Is this Monique?”

“Oh oui, Monsieur!” she said happily. “I got your message. Merci beaucoup for phoning me. You are in need of a housekeeper?”

“Yes. I’ve become quite busy lately, and I’m afraid my house has gotten a little unkempt.” I explained.

“Why are you afraid?” she inquired.

With a question like that, she was either dumber than a bag of hammers and a really good actress, or else she was genuinely French and didn’t understand American colloquialisms.

“It’s just an expression.” I answered. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

“Oh. You need me to clean your house? What about cooking and laundry? I do that too. I can also feed your pets if you have any.” she offered enthusiastically. “Whatever you need, Monsieur Jacques.”

“Well, let’s start with cleaning for now.” I suggested. “Perhaps you might make me dinner if I’m really busy or something. If it looks like maybe I can use you on a regular basis, perhaps we can discuss that. When can you be here?”

“I can start tomorrow!” she said energetically. “Oh thank you, Monsieur Jacques! I will be there at Eight if it’s okay.”

“I’ll see you then.” I replied.

I gave her my address and hung up. I was curious why she was so cheap and cash only, but I was too tired to analyze the clues to answer a simple question. Had her accent been Spanish instead of French, it might have dawned on me but like I said, I was tired.

Monique arrived at precisely 8:00 AM the following morning and rang the doorbell. I opened the front door was pleasantly surprised to see her wearing a traditional French maid’s uniform; black blouse and skirt with white trim, matching cap and black heels. Coupled with shoulder length blonde hair, she was really cute. She was about 35 or so, and still looked absolutely delicious! She reminded me a lot of the porn star Laura Bentley, and as soon as I saw her I felt a slight tingle in my prostate. She was definitely hot!

“Bon jour, Monsieur Jacques!” she greeted me with a smile. “I am Monique! I am so happy to meet you.”

“Happy to meet you as well.” I replied, motioning for her to come in. “I love your uniform, by the way.”

“Oh, merci beaucoup. I made it myself.” she responded. “Wearing it makes me feel more at home, you know.”

I wasn’t certain if that meant making herself feel at home in my place, or referring to where she was from.

“Where is home?” I inquired.

“Bordeaux, France.” she said, beaming brightly. “Where ze best wine in ze world is made. My family has a winery there. They make ze best sparkling white wine.”

I smiled in amusement at her accent. It was really cute; just like her. I was beginning to wish it had been a sex ad after all. I was definitely going to have to find someplace to jerk off while she was busy cleaning, to get my mind off of her gorgeous face and amazing body.

“I will get my cleaning supplies!” Monique said spiritedly. “I will start with dusting and then vacuum. If you need me to fix you lunch or anything, let me know, okay Monsieur Jacques?”

She popped back out the door excitedly and headed for her car. She seemed pretty gung-ho about working for me; like being pumped on your first day at a new job. I wondered how long it had been since she’d worked for someone. If she was that desperate for this small, part time gig, she had to be in some serious financial difficulties. She returned a few minutes later with a basket of cleaning stuff and smiled again.

“Okay Monsieur Jacques,” she said eagerly, “show me what you need done.”

I showed her around the house to familiarize her with the layout, and she nodded. Her gaze fell on a tall crystal vase çankaya escort sitting on the floor next to the cherry sideboard in the dining room, and her eyes widened.

“That vase is as we would say, gorgeous!” she said softly.

“It was my grandmother’s.” I explained. “It’s made by Dorflinger. There’s a matching bowl in the sideboard. I always liked that vase when I was a little kid for some reason. When she passed, my mother gave the vase to my older sister and the bowl to me. One day, I was at my sister’s house and saw the vase in the garage. I asked her why it was there and she said she was going to put it in a yard sale! Can you believe that? Our grandmother’s vase!

“I brought it home and put it right there where I can look at it.” I continued. “I put those peacock feathers and grass pompoms in it. I think it goes well with the date palm, don’t you?”

“Some people don’t appreciate nice things.” Monique said in the same soft voice without answering my question. “They just let them go.”

She seemed strangely removed for a second or two, but suddenly brightened again.

“Yes, I think it is a nice look.” she agreed. “Where would you like for me to begin?”

“How about my office?” I suggested. “That way, you won’t have to disturb me later on, once I get to work.”

It would also give me the opportunity to slip off somewhere, and pull my pecker while she was busy. She’d never even notice I was gone.

“Okay,” she agreed, “but I won’t bother you at all. I’ll dust off your monitor first, and then I’ll be very quiet. You will not even know I am there.”

“Well I guess.” I concurred somewhat reluctantly, still desperate to relieve myself. “I need to get this site finished up today if I can.”

“What do you do, if you do not mind my asking?” Monique inquired curiously.

“I design websites.” I explained. “With so many people starting up home businesses lately, I’ve gotten a ton of work.”

“Oh, that is wonderful!” she exclaimed. “Do not worry, I will be as quiet as a mouse in church, I promise.”

I smiled at her misuse of the phrase church mouse and nodded.

“Okay,” I agreed, “go ahead.”

Monique smiled and began dusting the monitor as I sat back, watching every curve of her body as she bustled about. She bent over to dust the CPU, and to my surprise it was abundantly obvious that she was not wearing any underwear. This wasn’t helping my situation any, and she straightened back up and smiled at me. She then walked around the desk to dust off my stack of papers, leaning over once again, as she did so. This time, her tits dangled alluringly, and I got a nice downblouse view of them. They were jiggling and dancing around under her chest as she moved her arm around. She was wearing nothing underneath that cute little outfit at all! No bra and no underwear. It was all I could take. I was desperate to cum, and I needed to go.

“Monique,” I managed to croak, “I’ll be right back.”

“Are you not feeling well, Monsieur Jacques?” she inquired. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Anything you can do for me?” I echoed. “No Monique. I think I need to do this by myself. I mean-“

Monique paused and looked at me, then followed my eyes back to her sexy chest.

“Oh Monsieur Jacques!” she cried out. “I know what is wrong with you. I am so sorry. I did not stop to think about my dress. My last employers liked me to work like this. I did not even stop to think that it might not be professional. I am turning you up.”

“On.”

“On, I mean. Here, let me help you to feel better.”

With that, she put the feather duster down and approached me; unbuttoning her blouse as she did do. She let it slip away, and pulled her short skirt down and stepped out of it, leaving her fully nude except for her black heels and maid’s cap.

I unzipped my jeans, and Monique pulled them down and then off, along with my sneakers. She then moved in, and I could feel her hot breath on my skin as she gently began running her tongue around my balls one at a time. One by one, she gently sucked them into her mouth as she caressed my rock hard cock. Then came the moment I had been waiting for. She engulfed my penis in her warm, wet mouth and slowly slid her lips up and down the shaft, turning her head back and forth as she did so.

I sighed blissfully and gently caressed her head in my hands, as she performed fellatio on me like an expert. Her tongue danced around the thread of my frenulum, bringing me ever closer to a wonderful climax.

“Oh Monique,” I whispered, “that feels so good! Oh Nique, don’t stop. Oh my god, it feels so fucking good! Oh shit, I’m going to cum! Oh fuck…”

My voice trailed off as I ejaculated in her mouth, filling it with spurt after spurt of my sweet, salty semen. Monique smiled sweetly, and swallowed every last drop. She pulled her mouth from my cock as it began shrinking back down, and licked her lips.

“Ooh la la, Monsieur Jacques.” she said, pulling her cap off and running her fingers through her blonde hair. “You were escort çankaya certainly in need of my services, weren’t you?”

I swallowed hard, and nodded.

“Is that part of your normal duties?” I inquired.

“Not usually,” she replied, “but this was my fault, so it was my responsibility to help you with your trouble. Do you feel better now?”

“Yes, thank you.” I replied. “At least now, I can focus on my work.”

“Tres bon.” she responded. “I will get back to work now. Should I put my clothes back on, Monsieur Jacques?”

“If you’re comfortable working nude, then I certainly don’t mind.” I answered, running my eyes up and down her unclothed body. “Monique, you have such soft tits. Would it be okay if I felt them?”

“You wish to squeeze my titties, Monsieur Jacques?” she asked in an almost girlish voice. “Would that please you?”

“Yes it would.” I said with a vigorous nod. “They look so soft and cuddly.”

“Since this is my first day working for you,” she began, as I reached out and started squeezing them firmly, “it is okay, but if you wish to continue, we will have to discuss my compensation for the additional duties you will require of me.”

“I see.” I replied, as I put my lips around one of her succulent pink nipples and sucked it gently. “Well, let’s see how your first day goes, but so far, I am quite impressed with your skills, Monique. I think you will make a fine maid for me.”

She smiled and stood up, taking the feather duster and heading for the bookshelves along the left wall. She resumed dusting in the nude, and I resumed my work as best as I could. After a while, she turned to me with an inquisitive look on her drop dead gorgeous face.

“Monsieur Jacques,” she said quietly, “would you have anything to drink, by any chance?”

“Yes, I am so sorry!” I apologized. “I didn’t even think to offer you a beverage. I have water, milk and some sodas in the fridge, if you’d like. Just help yourself.”

“Merci,” she responded, “but I was thinking something a little more French, like some wine perhaps?”

“I don’t have any wine,” I said apologetically, “but I do have some vodka and sparkling white grape juice. Maybe I could mix them for you, and make something like champagne with a little bit more of a kick.”

“That would be nice.” she said brightly. “Merci beaucoup, Monsieur Jacques.”

Monique followed me down to the kitchen, and I found a pitcher in one of the cabinets. I poured about a quarter cup of vodka into it, followed by a bottle of the sparkling grape juice, being careful not to disturb too much of the fizz. I then poured it into a glass for her. She took it with a smile, and drank it down much quicker than I expected.

“May I have another, sil vous plait?” she inquired sweetly.

“Sure.” I replied, beginning to wonder if this might be the reason she was so desperate for a job, but at least she wasn’t asking for crack.

“Merci beacoup,” she responded as I poured another. “Would you join me for a drink, Monsieur Jacques?”

I shrugged and poured one for myself as well. It was very similar to a sweet champagne, but packed a little more of a wallop. Before long, we were both a little tipsy, and I suggested we sit on the couch to finish the pitcher off. Monique put her arms around me, and kissed me on the side of the face.

“I like you, Monsieur Jacques.” she whispered in my ear. “You are a very nice man.”

“Thank you, Monique.” I replied, smiling at her. “I like you too.”

“Maybe I could be your live-in maid?” she suggested. “I could take care of all of your needs, you know.”

“That would be nice,” I acknowledged, “but I don’t think I make enough money to afford that kind of service.”

“Living with you would make it cheaper.” she coaxed. “Wouldn’t you like a plus jollie fille to take to dinner sometimes, and have le sport with? I will cook and clean for you, and do your laundry. I will make you a happy homme, Monsieur Jacques.”

“How much are we talking?” I inquired dubiously.

I was making a pretty decent living with my web designs but still, I was no Howard Hughes, and paying for a mistress was likely beyond my financial capabilities at the moment.

“Only five hundred a week.” she said carefully, her speech beginning to slur a bit from the homemade “champagne.”

I shook my head.

“Not for cash.” I replied. “No taxes, you have a place to stay and no food to buy. Four hundred. Something tells me you need money and a place to stay, so four hundred in cash; all under the table. That’s my deal.”

My sexy little French whore thought about it for a moment, and nodded.

“Okay, Monsieur Jacques.” she agreed. “You are right. I do need a place to stay, so I guess this will work out for both of us. I really do like you though.”

I smiled.

“I like you too.” I said wistfully. “I’m glad I answered your ad.”

“Mi aussie.” she responded. “I have to pee now. Where is ze toilette?”

“Down the hall and on the left.” I answered, pointing.

Monique stood çankaya escort bayan up, but quickly lost her balance, lurching forward and tripping over the coffee table. She landed flat on her face, and the heavy drinking glass flew out of her hand and sailed across the room. I could only watch in silent horror, as it arced through the air and smashed directly into my grandmother’s beloved Dorflinger vase. The vase rang like a bell for a split second, before the note went flat and a huge crack appeared on the side. A moment later, the drinking glass shattered, as it hit the tiled floor and literally exploded.

“Oh no!” I exclaimed, jumping up and rushing over to the antique vessel.

It was still intact, but the crack had ruined it. What had once been a hand cut work of leaded crystal art worth thousands of dollars, was now completely ruined and worthless. It wasn’t the money as much as the fact that I had a matching flawless set with the bowl. The Dorflinger museum had been pestering me for years to donate the pieces, and now I wished I had.

“I am so sorry, Monsieur Jacques.” Monique mumbled, picking herself up and wobbling over to me. “I broke your glass.”

“You broke my vase!” I snapped. “That piece was priceless, Monique! I don’t give a shit about the glass. That vase meant a lot to me though.”

She looked really frightened. I don’t think it was the fact that I was very angry and about to fire her, either. She was genuinely scared. Did she think I was going to beat her or something?

“Please forgive me, Monsieur Jacques!” she cried out. “I did not mean it. It was an accident, I promise. Forgive me, sil vous plait!”

It was a freak accident, I will have to admit that. The chances of that glass going that far and hitting the vase were probably a billion to one. It really was not her fault, but she was still responsible for breaking it, nevertheless.

“It was an accident,” I said slowly, trying not to sound as angry as I felt, “but I’ll need your insurance information so I can contact them to make a claim.”

“I-insurance?” Monique stammered.

“You are licensed and insured, aren’t you?” I demanded.

Suddenly, it dawned on me why she was advertising on Craig’s List and not Monster. It was also beginning to dawn on me why she was working under the table as well. That accent was real, and she was most likely here illegally. Now, I was going to have to use my own insurance to collect on it. Fortunately, it was insured separately from the general contents.

“I just work.” Monique answered, her voice quavering. “I didn’t know I needed a license or insurance. Monsieur and Madame Henderson never asked me about it.”

“Well you do,” I said sullenly, “and this is a good example of why. Look, you need to pay for this somehow. If you can’t, I’m going to have to call the police, Monique.”

She suddenly looked absolutely terrified.

“No, please!” she almost shouted, dropping to her knees and clasping her hands together. “Please don’t call the police, Monsieur Jacques, sil vous plait, I beg you! I will do whatever you want to pay you for the vase, but please do not call the police.”

“Why?” I queried. “Are you wanted by the law?”

She shook her head.

“Are you here illegally, then?”

“Oui, Monsieur Jacques.” she admitted, nodding her pretty little head. “My visa expired three years ago, but Monsieur and Madame Henderson said not to worry about it. They would take care of me. But then, Monsieur Henderson lost his job because he was stealing, and went to jail. Madame Henderson said she couldn’t afford to keep me on any more and let me go.

“That was when I found out that I was here illegally. I needed a job though and I don’t want to be deported. Oh please, Monsieur Jacques; do not call the police, sil vous plait. I will do anything you want, just please do not turn me in. I love this country and I do not wish to go back to France.”

At that point, she burst into tears and began shaking violently. I held my arms out and she dove into me, embracing me tightly and crying hysterically on my shoulder.

“I just wanted a steady job and a place to live again.” she sobbed. “I didn’t mean to break your vase. It was so beautiful! I would never do something like that on purpose! Please believe me, Monsieur Jacques!”

I did believe her. If she was indeed acting, she belonged in Hollywood, with a star on the sidewalk and an Oscar in her hand, for a performance like that. Insurance would cover the loss of the vase and I could probably get one of those windshield repair guys to come out and fix the crack, but it was still completely devalued. Then again, what was I going to do with it anyway? I had no children to pass it onto. I would most likely have left it to the glass museum anyway. In the meantime, I could just turn it around with the crack against the wall so it didn’t show. It wouldn’t fix it, but out of sight; out of mind.

“I believe you, Monique,” I said quietly, “but you are still going to have to pay for the damage somehow.”

Monique sniffled and nodded.

“You need a place to stay, and you have that.” I explained. “You need food to eat and will have that too, just like we agreed. The difference now is, that I will not be paying you four hundred dollars a week to live here and be my maid and girlfriend. In fact, I will pay you nothing.”

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