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I still remember the first day I saw Cheryl.
The only reason why I noticed her at all that day was because her car was in “our” parking space. There was an old, grey Nissan in front of our house. My wife, Theresa, had driven our car to her office, and our neighbor commutes and leaves his car behind.
We live in a gated townhouse community in the DC Metro Area. There are no garages or assigned parking spaces, so it’s a general “agreement” by most of the residents that the space in front of your house is “yours”. On more than a few occasions, neighbors have almost come to blows over parking spots.
I was a little annoyed, so I’d periodically peak through the curtains like some “little old woman” to see who the Nissan owner was. An hour or so later, Cheryl came out of our neighbor’s place loaded down with cleaning products and a vacuum cleaner.
Apparently, Jeff (our neighbor) had hired a cleaning lady.
The first thing I noticed was that she’s black (Theresa and I are one of less than 20 black households in this community). Cheryl wore a Baltimore Ravens ball cap, sweats and flip-flops, and seemed to be around our age (mid-40s) or not much younger.
Jeff told us about her a few weeks later. Cheryl did good work and her rates were reasonable. Theresa immediately wanted to give her a try – she hates my inept and infrequent house cleaning attempts.
We contacted Cheryl and scheduled for her to come by every other Thursday. Thursdays and Fridays were also the days that I’d most likely to go in to the office. I usually only briefly saw Cheryl as I was leaving or she was leaving as I was returning. As promised, she did a good job (which made Theresa happy) and wasn’t too expensive (which made me happy).
One Friday afternoon, I came back earlier than expected. A client had reneged on a contract so there was no need for me to stick around (I’m a graphic designer).
It was just after 2:00PM and Cheryl’s car was still there.
“Cheryl…!” I called out when I walked in, “it’s Kevin…”
There was no answer.
“Maybe she’s in the back…” I thought to myself. I went to my office/studio to drop my portfolio case then proceeded up the rear staircase to our bedroom. I wanted to change into some shorts.
I stripped down to my boxers and looked for my favorite hoops shorts, didn’t find them and walked down the hall to check the laundry room. We’d just recently purchased a new washer and dryer, with all the latest features and improvements, including how “quietly” they operate. So I didn’t notice that the washing machine was running before I opened the door.
On the day that we met her in person, I’d noticed that Cheryl was BWB – “blessed with booty”. THAT ASS was exquisitely and naturally PHAT! Cheryl has a hardcore, Ghetto-hip-hop-video-‘badunkadunk’. Nikki Minaj would be both proud and put to shame…
PS: ALL heterosexual kadıköy escort black men notice BWB. My wife also KNEW that I’d noticed.
Cheryl was in the laundry room pressed against the washing machine as it went through the spin cycle. Her back was facing me. She wore her usual Ravens cap, turned, a white lace thong and white ankle socks. Standing on her toes, with feet slightly apart, and both hands firmly gripping the top edges of the machine, the vibrations made her thick thighs and THAT ASS jiggle and shake.
“What the fuck…” I gasped out loud.
Cheryl abruptly turned to face me. Her mouth and eyes went wide, her C-cup breasts, jiggled and swayed. Sweat ran down her face, neck and belly. There was a damp spot at the crotch of her thong.
“Oh shit…oh shit…I’m so sorry…I’m so sorry…!” she cried out mortified, covering her fully erect, dark-chocolate nipples.
I just stood there for a long pause, taking it all in – the virtually naked cleaning lady, in our house, masturbating against our new washing machine – surreal.
Cheryl’s tearing eyes dropped to the “tent” in my boxers from the almost instantaneous hard-on I’d grown. The thought of my wife suddenly walking in on this scene flashed across my mind so I composed myself. Suddenly I was as mortified and frightened as Cheryl.
“I’ll…I’ll be downstairs…” I blurted out as I backed out of the room and closed the door behind me.
I grabbed some sweats and a t-shirt and went down to the kitchen. My heart was racing – THAT ASS was still in my head. My first instinct was to go to the bathroom and jerk one out into the toilet, but this had to be dealt with first.
I got a beer from the fridge and waited in the living room as the hard-on slowly faded.
What should I do? Fire Cheryl? Call Theresa and tell her what happened?
I was just about to dial Theresa’s office when Cheryl came down wearing one of Theresa’s robes that she must have found in the laundry room. My wife is petite, so the robe didn’t exactly fit. Cheryl’s thick, almost muscular thighs and THAT ASS were barely covered.
“Oh…my…God, Kevin!” Cheryl started, teary-eyed and still mortified, “I am so, so sorry…”
She paced nervously as tears began to flow.
I hate seeing women cry – it’s my kryptonite. Theresa ALWAYS gets her way whenever she cranks up the water-works. Cheryl was about to get the same.
I drained the beer bottle to steady my nerves. Without saying a word, I got up and went into the kitchen and returned with two more beers, handed one to Cheryl and sat down again.
“Tell me what happened…” I sighed as I swallowed another swig.
She took a long drink, wiped away tears and finally sat down at the opposite end of the couch.
“OK, so I was cleaning the shower upstairs”, üsküdar escort she said more calmly, “and I wanted to check out that nice shower gel that Theresa had bought…so I unscrewed the cap to smell it…but my hands was still kinda slippery…and it slipped an’ I got it all over me and my clothes…”
We both took swigs as she continued her story. I was trying to focus, but it suddenly occurred to me that she looked a little like Tiffany Haddish…and the way she was sitting exposed a generous portion of thigh.
“So I had to get cleaned up…an’ I thought I could just wash my clothes real quick, ’cause I figured you was gonna be gone for a while…” she went on.
I took another sip and noticed how nice her calves looked. The hard-on had previously subsided, but it was trying to make a comeback.
“An’ I had put my sweatshirt an’ bra an’ jeans in the machine…an’ it started goin’…an’ I was leanin’ up against the machine and thinkin’ about what I used to do when I was a youngin’ an’ I was at my cousin’s house…’cause my aunt had a washer-dryer, an’ my mother would always send me over there to wash our clothes when money was tight…an’ my girlfrien’ had told me about what she always would do when their washin’ machine was shakin’ real hard…an’ since I was always there by myself…so I tried it, too…”
The hard-on made a FULL comeback, so I did my best to hide it with a pillow.
“An’ you wasn’t here…an’ I didn’t think you was gonna be back for a while…” she took the last swig. “So, I was like…do it…’an it started gettin’ good – REAL good…!” she paused and sighed. “… I didn’t think you was gonna be back for a while…”
She lowered her head and closed her eyes.
“I am so, so sorry, Kevin…” She breathed. “Please don’t think I’m some kinda freak…”
Far be it from ME to think that of anyone.
“Cheryl”, I finally shrugged, “shit happens…I have done so much worse throughout my life. If you don’t sweat this, I sure as hell won’t.”
The beer and the hard-on were probably influencing my thinking, and I wanted a quick and simple way out.
Cheryl managed a tepid smile and nodded. She slowly rose and turned towards the stairs. My eyes and mind immediately went to THAT ASS barely hidden under my wife’s robe.
I waited for her to walk a few steps (the hard-on was still obvious), then I retrieved the empty bottles and walked towards the kitchen.
Cheryl paused at the first step as if she’d read my mind.
“Umm…” she almost whispered. “Are you gonna…tell Theresa…?”
I let that run through my brain for a few seconds: tell my passionate, short-tempered spouse how I caught the cleaning lady, half-naked and masturbating against the new washing machine in our laundry room…in our house…and THAT ASS…
I immediately imagined Theresa’s tuzla escort first question: “Kevin, did you get a hard-on?!” My wife knows me well.
“Nah”, I shook my head. “Probably best we keep this between us. Our little secret.”
“Thank you.” Cheryl smiled again, proceeding up the stairs.
I stopped to catch another glimpse of THAT ASS. When she left I finally jerked one out in the bathroom.
When Theresa arrived later that evening I didn’t bother to mention the incident to her – right away.
“Cheryl did a good job today.” She said glancing about the living room. We had just finished dinner and were binge watching on the couch.
“Yep.” I answered not turning from the screen. THAT ASS jumped vividly back into my head at the mention of her name.
“So,” my wife started. I knew what was coming next. “Did you see her before she left?”
“Yep.” I mumbled. “Just as she was leaving.”
Wait for it…
“And did you see…THAT ASS…?” Theresa had turned to glare at me with a raised eyebrow.
I intentionally didn’t answer right away, pretending not to have heard her.
“Huh…?” I finally responded, and turned to catch her glare. “What did you say…?”
She punched me in the arm.
“You heard me…!” she demanded, half serious.
She giggled at my fake shocked expression.
“Okay…” I relented, unable to maintain eye contact. “I saw her…and…THAT ASS…”
Theresa reached for the remote and paused the program. She tucked it into the pocket of her sweats and crossed her arms.
“What happened?” she insisted. She had a talent for knowing when I wasn’t telling her the whole story.
I told her – she listened. Her expression never changed. I figured I was destined for the guest bedroom for the next two weeks.
There was a long pause when I finished.
“You got a surprise ‘up-close-and-personal’ with Cheryl’s magnificent ass…it gave you a major hard-on…you talked to her…she left…you jerked one out…” Theresa summarized.
I nodded, smiling nervously. The ‘other shoe’ was going to drop very soon.
“I get it.” She shrugged. “I can’t be mad at that.”
I had to suppress my reaction.
“But I am NOT happy that you didn’t tell me right away…” she continued.
I agreed and apologized. She accepted – no guest bedroom – yet.
She took out the remote and un-paused the show.
“I guess that means I get three of your best tonight.” She ended with and we went back to our binge in silence.
The “three of my best” that my wife was referring to was the number of orgasms she was entitled to receive from me when we went to bed tonight. Her tone and silence meant that I better bring my A-game – if not, the guest bedroom – or worse. This was my “punishment” for not immediately telling her what happened that afternoon. I was both turned on and intimidated. Theresa loves it when I eat her pussy, she can almost go for hours between orgasms. I figured that my tongue would be numb by morning.
The next day, everything was back to normal. With one exception – Theresa had something in mind for Cheryl (and us).
She can be full of surprises…
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