My Housekeeper - Sex Stories

My Housekeeper

My Housekeeper

It's near the end of a most eventful day. Savoring an eighteen-year-old Glenlivet single malt. Rocks. Planning for tomorrow. I'll need to sift through some likely candidates, online, to find a new housekeeper. My previous one, Rita, resigned today. Moving away. I'm going to miss her terribly.

I'm staring at a frilly little maid's outfit, draped over the ottoman in front of me. Rita gave it to me. She made me wear it when I cleaned house. My house. For her. After which she turned me into a sex slave for her and her boyfriend. Pathetic, huh? What the fuck?

I'm shaking my head in disbelief. Had anyone - family, friends, acquaintances, complete strangers, seen me scurrying around my home, in a silly, cheap maid's outfit, dusting, vacuuming, making beds and scrubbing sinks, I'd have been mortified. Humiliated. Imagine, a man my age and station in life, engaged is such fetishistic behavior.

And then...the sexual servitude she commanded. How is it that I'm both ashamed of it and thrilled by it? Repelled by it yet seduced by it?

I'm not the least bit resentful. On the contrary, I submitted willingly, hell, eagerly to her edicts. As only a true male sub would understand, I was downright giddy about surrendering to her authority. She had conditioned me to a point where my outfit, my house cleaning, and the satisfaction of following her commands was intoxicating. The cherry on the cake was my anticipation of gratifying sex. The sexuality of female ...

... domination. My submission and my obedience to a domineering housekeeper stirred a roiling, boiling sex drive. A churning libido. Real passion. Lust. Man, she was really something. I wish she weren't leaving.

This is the story of how my relationship with Rita began, evolved and, sadly, ended.

My wife of twenty years passed away several years ago. Bless her heart, she was totally OCD and was an impossible-to-please stickler for a tidy house. Way more concerned about it than I. It tortured her that we (a childless couple) both worked all week and then devoted much of our Saturdays to cleaning bathrooms, doing laundry, changing bed sheets, swabbing the kitchen, vacuuming - all the stuff associated with impeccable housekeeping. And in her mind it HAD to be done. AND it came with a ridiculously high standard that she herself set.

She truly resented having to devote so much time to these endeavors. I accused her (and she confirmed my depiction) of perceiving herself as a princess and that the manual labor of housekeeping was beneath her position in life. It soured her mood. Her dissatisfaction evolved into rants. Rather than live with her misery, I succumbed. I assumed more and more of the "shared" responsibilities. Extensive Saturday housework became an immutable ritual in the rhythms of my life.

I probably encouraged the dynamic. We unveiled, over time, my proclivities for submission; she ordered me to do things and I complied. Subserviently. Dutifully. What can I say? I'm a ...