Ernie is 85 years old and definitely one of those people you’d call ‘a character.’ He’s surprisingly sprightly and despite his years he still lives on his own in a two bed
bungalow. There is a care package in place meaning he has carers visiting him on a daily basis, mostly to check on his well being. Ernie is forever lambasting them – Ernie does like a good moan. As you might
imagine he is also old fashioned, by which I mean he likes me to wear a French maid’s outfit when I clean his bungalow. Well, he’s either old fashioned, or a little kinky – probably a bit of both.
‘How are you today sir?’ I ask as he opens the back door. The first time I visited him was an introductory meeting, during which he said from that point onwards I was to use the back door. He likes to think of me as his servant, so I use the tradesman’s entrance. The back door opens into a small utility room which leads straight to the kitchen.
‘I’m in excellent health thank you miss,’ he says. ‘I trust you are well?’
‘I am indeed sir, thank you for asking.’ I remove my long overcoat and hang it on a coat peg behind the door. As requested, I’m wearing the French maid’s outfit and under it nothing but a pair of frilly, white rumba panties. I bought the panties from an online burlesque store. I know they’re not traditional but I’ve always thought they go rather well with the ensemble. Besides, Ernie seems to like them.
‘I’m pleased to see you’re appropriately dressed miss,’ he says. ‘Inspection!’
It’s a ritual we perform each time I visit. As usual, I stand to attention like a soldier but without a rifle. Ernie circles me, eyeing me up and down, checking of the details of my attire. Facing me he grasps the cups of my outfit with his thumbs and forefingers, sliding his forefingers inside enough to just touch my nipples. He grasps the fabric and attempts to tug the cups up higher over my breasts.
‘Decency at all times my dear,’ he says. ‘We can’t have too much on show.’ His attempt makes no difference to how much of my breasts are covered, nevertheless, he seems content his efforts have made a sufficient improvement. He walks behind me and smoothes the skirt over my bottom, giving it a gentle pat on completion.
‘All set,’ he says. ‘Let’s go.’ He leads the way into the kitchen. When I first started working for him, I explained the best order to clean his house to avoid spreading germs, which means starting in the kitchen. ‘I’d like you to start in here,’ he says.
‘Yes, of course sir. Is there anything in particular that needs attention?’
‘I’ve been cooking some pork joints over the last month and inside the oven door has got a bit greasy,’ he says.
‘I can do that,’ I say. ‘Is there anything else?’
‘No, just the usual.’
‘Then I’ll make a start sir.’
‘Good, good. I’ll wait in the lounge until you’ve finished.’ With that he leaves me to my work and heads into the lounge.
Ernie has lived in this bungalow for about twenty years having moved here with his wife shortly before he retired. His wife, Edna, died nearly ten years ago and he’s been on his own ever since. It’s clear that Edna was the main influence when it came to decorating, and Ernie has had neither the heart nor the inclination to change much about it since he lost her.
I take a detergent spray from my caddy and a green microfibre cloth and get to work, wiping down the cupboard doors and surfaces. I find the oven door is indeed as greasy as Ernie said, so I don my marigolds and tackle it with an oven cleaner spray. It takes me about forty five minutes to get the kitchen spic and span, after which I meander into the lounge to see what Ernie wants doing next.
‘Look lively girl,’ he says.
‘Yes sir,’ I say. ‘I’ve finished the kitchen and I wondered what you wanted doing next.’
‘My other helpers have cleaned the bathroom, but I’d like you to check it to see if it’s up to standard.’
By ‘other helpers’ I know he means the carers who usually clean up after themselves. I’m assuming they’ve been helping him in the shower. I bet he loved that. One of the things I like about working for Ernie is that he trusts me. He knows my work standards match his high expectations. Well, I assume he does, however he might well be saying things about me behind my back and getting the carers to check what I’ve done. Somehow I doubt it though – I bet they don’t wear a French maid outfit for him.
I do as he asks and check the bathroom which has been converted into a wet-room. Wet-rooms are so much easier to take care of as they don’t have any shower screens. In general there are less little corners for damp to get trapped where mould can develop. The bathroom looks clean however I take some toilet paper and a spray from under the sink and clean up the rim. I flush the paper away and after the flushing has finished squirt some bleach around the inside of the toilet and give it a brush. It’s little details like this that let Ernie know I was in there and did indeed check.
‘Everything is okay in there,’ I say, reporting back. ‘In the interests of hygiene I cleaned the toilet rim and bleached the pot.’
‘Good girl,’ he says with a smile. ‘I know I can always rely on you.’
I imagine his lounge is pretty much as it was when Edna was alive, save for a few small changes. It’s been decorated since with some chintzy, flowered wallpaper, probably what Edna would have chosen had she still been alive. There are a few pictures hanging on the walls, mostly countryside scenes. I guess the biggest change in the lounge is the TV set up. There’s a small, two seater sofa on one side of the room but Ernie sits in one of those remote control, recliner loungers, which is smack in the middle of the room facing a very large TV. The TV is on one of those black glass stands. I really hate those things. Don’t get me wrong, they’re easy enough to clean, but no sooner have you wiped all the dust off then you can see it starting to settle again.
‘In here next I think,’ he says.
‘I won’t disturb what you’re watching?’ I say, nodding towards the TV.
‘No love, it’s only Homes Under The Hammer, and a bloody repeat at that. I swear I saw this one just a couple of weeks ago.’
‘Is it any good?’
‘All these improvements all look the bloody same. Same fittings, same colour schemes, same ruddy laminate flooring. They’ve got no character.’
I know what he means. I see a lot of different homes in my line of work and the trend for new-builds and make-overs do all look the same.
‘Well that couldn’t be said about your place Ernie,’ I say.
‘No love. My Edna would hate it if our home looked like that.’
‘I bet she would,’ I agree.
‘Anyway,’ he says. ‘That damn TV stand is dusty as hell again. Would you give it a good going over? Oh, and the fireplace.
‘Of course,’ I say.
I pop into the kitchen to get a mild detergent spray and a couple of cloths, one for general cleaning and a special one that buffs up glass to a streak free shine. By asking me to give the TV stand a good clean I know exactly what Ernie wants, but I’m going to make him wait. It’ll be like foreplay for him.
Back in the lounge I make for a dresser style cabinet and begin wiping the shelves, lifting each of the ornaments and giving them a wipe before replacing them. I don’t see Ernie as the type to collect ornaments, so I’m guessing they were Edna’s. There are a couple of porcelain cats, a working carriage clock, a couple of ballet dancers, and several decorative plates on plate stands. Out of the corner of my eye I see Ernie casting occasional glances my way, but so far there’s nothing to tickle his fancy.
I know he’s waiting.
When I’ve finished the shelves I squat down to wipe the cupboard doors. I hear a little gasp from Ernie. I know my skirt has ridden up and is revealing a hint of my white panties. His gasp makes me smile. ‘Are you okay there sir?’
‘Yes, yes,’ he says. ‘Carry on, don’t mind me – just have to catch my breath sometimes.’
‘Okay sir,’ I say, giving him a coy smile.
After I’ve finished the dresser I stand up and pull my skirt down. I decide to do the windows next, which are on the other side of the room. I could go round the back of the chair, but where would be the fun in that! I swish my way between Ernie and the TV, smiling at him as I pass. I notice one of his arms is resting on the chair arm, the other on his thigh, close to his crotch. If I’d been in heels it would have added to the effect, but I’m in flats, nevertheless, I make full use of my hip wiggle as I pass him. He smiles back at me in a different way to his earlier ones. Now he just looks downright cheeky, giving me a sense of the younger man he once was. Ernie was obviously quite a strapping chap in his younger days, and he’s lost none of his sense of style with age. He’s from the generation that still wears a suit everyday, regardless. I’ve never asked but I think, judging from his posture, that he’s spent some time in the armed forces.
I tuck the net curtains up over the wire hangers so I can clean the windows. As I reach up, standing on my tip toes, I feel my skirt hitching up. Ernie lets out a little puff of air and I grin.
The filthy old bugger.
I chuckle to myself, thankful that Ernie’s bay windows are hidden from the road by a high hedge. If they weren’t anyone passing would get a healthy eyeful of my cleavage as I lifted the nets. Cars might well have crashed had their drivers seen me. I’m an actual health hazard!
I spray each of the windows and begin vigorously cleaning them with the special cloth. As I do my breasts jiggle in the outfit, and as I’m stood slightly sideways to Ernie I know he’s giving me his full attention. I’ve trained myself to be quite ambidextrous while working which means as I move round, cleaning each of the windows, I can switch arms so that he gets a good view.
Once the windows are done and I’ve replaced and aligned the nets so they’re neat and aesthetically pleasing, it’s time to do the fireplace which is on the other side of the room. I’m purposefully leaving the TV stand until last. I swish and wiggle past Ernie again, exchanging smiles once more. His hand is now even closer to his crotch.
A gas fire now sits where, judging by the chimney breast, there was once a coal fire. It doesn’t take me long to clean the mantel after which I squat down to clean the marble hearth. When I first started doing this work, I quickly realised I was developing some bad posture practices, bending from my back to clean rather than using my legs. Since then I’ve always squatted to do low work and consequently developed strong thigh muscles. I’m quite proud of the strength in my legs, it comes in handy for other, more fun activities too, if you get what I mean, however it also means my thigh muscles are quite thick which causes the short maid skirt to ride up, considerably. As I move along in a squatting position I know Ernie is getting a great view of my panty covered bottom bobbing along too. I can hear him taking long, deep breaths.
I think I’ve teased him enough. It’s time to give him what he really wants.
‘I think it’s time to do the TV stand now,’ I say.
‘About bloody time,’ he says, unable to control his anticipation.
‘I won’t be interrupting your programme will I?’ I know I’m just teasing him.
‘Bugger the programme,’ he says.
‘As you wish sir,’ I say.
But I can’t help myself, I have to tease him a little more. I stand right in front of the TV, my legs slightly apart and I swish over the top with the cloth. Then I get on my hands and knees at the side of the stand and, resting on one hand I use the other to clean the sides of the glass stand. My breasts are hanging low, almost popping out of the top. Once I’ve done that side I crawl, slowly, to the other side of the stand and repeat my actions. Ernie can’t take his eyes off my cleavage, his hand has moved right up to cleft of his crotch and I love it that I’m teasing him and turning him on. It’s now time for his treat. Crawling again, slowly, I make my way to the front of the TV stand, positioning myself so I’m facing the stand with my bottom towards Ernie. My skirt has ridden up right up over my hips giving Ernie a full view of my panty covered backside.
‘Oh my,’ he says.
‘Are you alright there sir?’ I ask turning my head and flashing him my best innocent look.
‘Oh yes,’ he says. ‘Oh yes indeed.’ His head nods like one of those nodding dogs you used to see in the backs of cars, and he’s biting his lip.
I turn back to what I’m doing, which is actually making a show of cleaning the stand. In reality it won’t take me that long, not much more than a couple of minutes, if that, but after leading Ernie to this point it would be cruel to cut his treat short. I also need to make sure he gets the best view for the duration, so, starting at the left side of the stand and keeping one hand on the ground, I use my other hand to alternate between spraying the glass, wiping it clean and finally buffing it. I guess that for Ernie the best part is when I wipe and buff because that’s when my bottom wiggles the most.
Being such a proud man I don’t think Ernie would ever be so bold as to reveal himself to me, neither physically, nor emotionally come to that. Nevertheless I can hear his hand rubbing against the material in his trousers. I don’t turn round because I think he would be embarrassed if he was caught. I decide to up the ante a little, so, I part my legs a few inches and I lower myself, cocking my head to one side so I can make a show of looking under the stand for bits of litter. The outfit is quite tight around my midriff but by sucking my stomach in I know I’m giving Ernie a view up the front so he can partially see my naked breasts now squashed against the floor.
He’s letting out rapid, shallow breaths and the rubbing sound is getting more fevered. He lets out a stifled moan.
With my breasts still flat on the carpet I push my top forward a little, using the friction of the carpet against the dress to tug it down, just an inch or two. Then I lift myself up and carry on cleaning the stand, shuffling across on my hands and knees and making a show of cleaning every inch. My whole performance takes no more than five to ten minutes, but it’s enough. When I’ve finished and sit back and turn so I’m kneeling to the side of the TV and sideways on to Ernie. My show of looking under the stand has done what I’d hoped and the top of the outfit has pulled down over my breasts partially revealing my nipples. I take a deep breath as though exhausted from working, but really I’m just making a show of my chest.
‘There, that’s much better,’ I say. ‘What do you think sir?’ I look across at him.
His face is lit up like a child at Christmas. Brazenly he looks me up and down, wetting his lips a little with his tongue. His gaze stops when it reaches my chest and his ruddy, thread veined cheeks seem to glow even more than normal.
‘My dear, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more wonderful,’ he says. I’m not sure if he means the stand or me.
‘But,’ he continues. ‘I’m not sure you’re good for an old man’s heart.’