Clare's Houseboy

by Daniel Guy.

Splitting up with Mark had been traumatic for Clare. Never again would she go for the macho, football loving types who dreamed of nothing but fast fucks and fast cars.  When she moved into her own house, she was looking forward to living independently again, and enjoying the sexual freedom she used to have before Mark.  Clare was a tall and attractive 27 year old, with long legs, firm pert breasts, deep blue eyes and long blond hair.  Although she had a good job, working as a graphic designer, she thought it would be a good idea to find a lodger to help pay the bills. 

She interviewed about a dozen girls of a similar age but they were all brain-dead, neurotic or uninteresting.  Then late one night a young man called Jean Paul phoned, saying he’d seen the ad and though it was made clear that Clare was seeking women to share with her, he asked if he could be considered.  His soft youthful voice intrigued her and she would always admit to finding men who spoke with a French accent quite horny.

Clare invited him round the following evening and as they sat chatting, she studied him closely. He was younger and shorter than Clare, with a slender body, a soft smooth pretty face and short black hair.  Clare thought he was probably gay and the more she thought about sharing her house with him, the more it seemed like a good idea.

She also felt a little sorry for him. He had moved over from Paris to get away from a suffocating family and had found a menial job in a warehouse ten miles away.

She helped him move in. He hadn't much stuff; a sound system, a laptop, a small rucksack of clothes.

Clare made him welcome during the first few days.  Jean Paul was coy and polite, asking her if he could do this and that, use this pan, keep his things on that shelf and so on. He settled in easily enough.  Clare sensed that he quickly began to look up to her because she was older, more confident and financially more secure.  There was also something passive and accepting about him, which intrigued her.  She was very pleased with her choice, not least because she felt that Jean Paul would be very compliant. He also had a nice ass.

He kept the house very tidy. It amused her to watch him washing up every plate and fork the moment he used it. One day Clare brought home a pair of black rubber gloves and when she dropped them onto the kitchen table and suggested he should wear them to protect his hands, he put them on immediately. She smiled. The sight of him in his white tee shirt and denim shorts, bending over the sink with black rubber gloves on made her just a little bit horny.

A month after he moved in, Jean Paul came home one evening looking pale and miserable. It took him several minutes before he could confess that he had been told he was getting fired from the warehouse.  Clare had got used to having him around the house and didn't want him to go and without thinking she found herself telling him that he could stay if he wanted and that she wouldn't charge him rent until he found other employment.

She offered him a beer and they sat and talked about him losing his job. He said his boss didn't like him from the start.  Clare told him that he had to do something to stop him feeling defeated by them.

'You need to steal something from the place before you leave,' she said. He looked at her quizzically.  Clare convinced him he had to get even somehow. He couldn’t let his boss win. Jean-Paul said he had never stolen anything in his life, and that there wasn't much to steal.

'There must be something in the warehouse.’

After a moment of thought, he said,

‘There are many rolls of that industrial cling film they use to wrap up pallets..'

‘Perfect!’ she said.  'Make sure you nick some before you leave.'

'O.K.' he said, smiling.

He had been given a week's notice and sure enough, to Clare’s delight, he did exactly as he was told and came back the following week with a large roll of pallet wrap.

Clare was amused when Jean Paul told her how grateful he was, and how willing he was to do anything she wanted in return for letting him stay rent-free.

At first Clare told him not to worry, but in the weeks after he had left the warehouse she couldn't help but accept his kindness. It began with him shopping for her and doing the house chores. One evening he offered to cook and Clare accepted.  He was a good cook and as the hot summer wore on, she got used to sitting in the kitchen, sipping wine as he prepared her dinner. It was pleasantly arousing. Once, when the meal was over and he had finished washing all the pans and dishes, Jean Paul asked if there was anything else he could do.  

‘The floor needs washing’ she said, surprising herself with the strict tone of her voice. There was no mop so he had to fill a basin of hot soapy water and scrub the floor on his knees.  Clare sat in the centre of the kitchen, and chatted to him as he scrubbed the floor around her.  She didn't move from her chair, even when he had only the floor beneath it to clean.  She was amazed by how horny she was getting, how stiff and hard her nipples had become and how wet she was between her legs.  

'Take your tee-shirt off - you're sweating.'

He looked up and stared at me for a moment before nodding in agreement and slipping out of his tee shirt.

It was then that Clare realised that she had found her very own houseboy.

One evening she came home with a bottle of tequila.  They finished the meal and Clare poured out two large shots of tequila.

'Are you sure you don't mind?'  He asked.

'Drink it.’  She replied, and then she proceeded with the next part of her plan. She went on,

‘I was talking about you to a girlfriend at work, but it was funny because when I started talking about my wonderful new house mate, she thought I said ‘house maid’ and we had a laugh imagining you as a pretty maid, dressed in a black shiny rubber maid’s dress, dusting around the house….’

Clare studied his reaction carefully.

They carried on chatting and emptying the tequila bottle and Clare was happy to watch her young pretty houseboy get drunk. He started to talk more openly about things, and told me how much he liked living in her house. Even at that moment Clare didn’t think that anything sexual had crossed his mind. Or if it did, he certainly hid it well.

After a lull in the conversation Jean Paul looked sheepishly across the dining room table and said,

'If you had the choice, would you prefer it if I was a girl?'

Clare smiled at this leading question.

'Why, are you offering to wear a rubber dress?'

He flushed for a moment, disguising his embarrassment with a smile.

'I don't mind.’ he said, then added,

'Look - I am really grateful that you're letting me stay here for free. I'll do anything you want to make you happy.'

What was tantalising was that Clare still didn't know whether he was incredibly naive or incredibly careful about exposing his own sexual interests.

She poured him another tequila and said softly,

‘I think you’d look great…’

He reached over, took the glass, screwed up his face and swallowed the contents.

Clare wanted to tell him about the black latex skirt she had in her bedroom, which Mark had bought her, but which had been too small.  Clare had kept it nevertheless and was trying hard to work out whether she could get him to wear it for she was sure the skirt would fit him perfectly.

The following morning, before Clare left for work, she told him that if he had time, perhaps he could tidy her bedroom and in particular her wardrobe.

That evening she was very pleasantly surprised. When she stepped into the kitchen, Jean Paul was bending over by the oven, fetching out lasagne he had cooked. He wore nothing but the black latex skirt. Clare stood at the door and grinned. He turned and placed the dish on the table and then looked up, flushed with embarrassment.

Clare studied him closely. He looked beautiful. The skirt fitted him perfectly.

His upper body was naked. He was nervous, uncomfortable and embarrassed.  Finally he said in a soft feminine voice,

'Shall I open the wine, madame?'

'Yes.'

Then after a pause, she said.

'I don't know what to call you.  'Jean Paul' seems inappropriate.’

He began to spoon out the lasagne onto the plates. Finally he said,

'Call me Nicole.'

Clare said, 'You look very pretty, Nicole.'

And Nicole said, 'Thank you, madame.'

They ate in virtual silence although the atmosphere was tense and exciting.

Clare watched him as he ate and then later, when he was standing at the sink washing the dishes, wearing the black rubber gloves, she couldn’t resist squeezing her erect nipples between her finger and thumb.

Clare had to make herself come so she left the kitchen and ran a bath.

As she lay submerged and wonderfully relaxed after a wonderful orgasm, she began to plan her next move.  It dawned on her that as Nicole had drunk half a bottle of wine during the meal, she would probably want to use the bathroom. Clare deliberately stayed in the bath for a long time, waiting to see what Nicole would do. Sure enough, eventually there was a tap on the door.

'Come in, Nicole. It’s all right. I won’t look.'

The door opened slowly and Nicole came in. She went over to the toilet bowl and began to pull down her shiny black rubber dress. For the first time, Clare saw Nicole’s cock bulging inside the latex skirt.  Nicole lifted the toilet seat and pulled down the skirt, forgetting for a moment that she was now a woman. Realizing, she lowered the toilet seat and sat down, leaning forward awkwardly to push her erect cock down into the direction of the bowl.

She glanced across at Clare and smiled very coyly as she peed. Clare made sure that her shiny round breasts poking up between the soft mounds of bubble bath foam, were clearly visible.  She felt very horny again.

When Nicole finished, she pulled up the tight black latex skirt up over her bum and stepped over to the bathroom door. Clare couldn't resist.

'Nicole...'

Nicole stopped, looked nervously but intently down at the floor. Clare continued.

'Tell Jean Paul that you can stay as long as you like.'

Nicole stared at the brass knob of the bathroom door.

'Thank you, madame.'

Next morning, as Clare was leaning against the fridge with her coffee and toast, Jean Paul came downstairs. He said an embarrassed ‘hello’ and walked sheepishly over to put the kettle on.

'Where's Nicole this morning?' asked Clare.

Jean Paul smiled. He thought for a second and then replied,

'She's upstairs.'

Clare said 'I was really pleased to have met her last night. Will she be around tonight?'

He nodded.  Clare reached over for her purse, fetched out a few notes and held them out to him.

'I think she needs make-up, oh and possibly a bra and top. Why don't you go and buy her these things today?'

After a long hesitation, he stepped forward and took the money.

That evening Clare came home and enjoyed a candle-lit dinner with Nicole, who wore with her short shiny black latex skirt, black nylon stockings and a white cotton blouse. She was also wearing lipstick and eyeliner and looked remarkably pretty.  During the meal Clare asked whether it had been Nicole or Jean Paul who had cooked the meal. Nicole replied in her soft, feminized voice, that it was Jean Paul.

'Then you must tell him he has done a great job. This fish is delicious....'

Clare told Nicole that she wanted to know more about Jean Paul.

‘Was he gay?’

Nicole sipped her wine and thought about it, before saying she didn't think he really knew.

‘Interesting’ said Clare.  ‘Doesn’t Jean Paul feel a bit sexually frustrated, living here and with no lover on the horizon?’

'Sometimes..'

When the meal was over Nicole collected the dishes and left silently.

In the weeks that followed they continued the game. Both Nicole and Jean Paul became indispensable to Clare.  She tried hard at first to avoid making any overt sexual advances, for fear of destroying the game, but eventually she couldn't resist it.  

She returned from work one evening and found Nicole waiting for her.  The meal she cooked was impressive and as she poured Clare’s coffee in the lounge, Clare asked Nicole if she was still a virgin. She looked down at the floor and said she was.

'Have you had any experience with women?'

'No, madame.'

Clare was so horny she was almost shaking. She unbuttoned her blouse.

'Come here, Nicole. I'll show you some things that women like.'

Nicole froze.

'Come on. Come and kneel down.'

Nicole thought for a second and then stepped over.

'Lick my breasts.  You may enjoy it.'

Nicole knelt down, opened her mouth and leaned forward. She began to lick Clare’s nipples so softly and so gently, that Clare groaned almost immediately with pleasure.

‘Mmmmmmmmmmm…. Nicole, that is sooo good.’

Clare gripped her maid’s pretty head tight and pushed her firm round breasts hard into Nicole’s face. Then she pushed Nicole away, stood up and pulled down her jeans and white lace knickers.

‘Now lick me more…’

Nicole lowered her head and did as she was told. Clare sat with her legs wide open and rolled her head back as Nicole’s stiff tongue began to make circles around her clit.

‘Aaaah, yes….oh God, yesss.. Nicole - just keep doing that till I tell you to stop.’

Nicole did as she was told and it didn’t take long before Clare reached orgasm.

With every muscle in her body quivering and tingling, she rocked in the chair, and gave out a loud deep groan of ecstatic joy.

Nicole stayed on her knees, head bowed and when Clare had recovered, Nicole looked up and said,

‘I have a gift for madame.’

Clare smiled.

‘A Gift? Well, where is it?’

Nicole left the room and came back with a small box, wrapped in pink cellophane. Clare opened the present and grinned when she saw that the gift was in fact a black latex strap-on dildo.

Clare grinned with delight and said,

'Take off your stockings and knickers and lean over the kitchen table.'

When Nicole was ready, Clare found a bottle of olive oil from the shelf and stood behind her. She moved her legs apart and lifted her black rubber skirt to reveal Nicole’s soft pink ass.  She poured olive oil into her palms and began to rub the oil in between Nicole’s cheeks. Nicole was tight but with gentle, careful probing, Clare soon was able to ease her slippery fingers in.   

'Keep still, Nicole or I may have to tie you up.'

Clare was quite surprised when at that moment Nicole moved her hands behind her back and crossed her wrists together, as if she wanted her hands tied.

Clare happily obliged.  She reached over for the stockings and used them to tie Nicole’s wrists tight together.  Clare fitted the strap on and then oiled the thick black latex dildo projecting out from between her legs.  She pushed it gently between Nicole’s cheeks and gripped the sides of her ass firmly with both hands before pushing it slowly inside her.  Nicole tensed and began to groan with discomfort.  Clare thrust harder, ignoring the half-hearted faint pleas.

 She had never done anything like this before and the feeling of power made Clare uncontrollably aroused once again.  

The following morning was Saturday.  Clare got up late but when she went down into the kitchen she was surprised to find the breakfast had not been made and dishes left by the sink unwashed.  

There was nothing she could do because she had to go out, but when she returned later that day, she found Jean Paul in the lounge hoovering. He stopped the machine when she walked in.

'Hello Jean Paul. Is Nicole about?

For the first time, Jean Paul's voice was hard and cold.

'She's gone.'

'Where to?' asked Clare?

'She won't be coming back.'

'Why not?'

'Because of last night..'

‘Last night?’

'She should not have done what she did.’ said Jean Paul softly, staring 

down at the carpet, 'She's a cheap tart and she’s not coming back.'

Clare suddenly found herself feeling angry.  This was the first time her house mate displayed defiance.

'But that isn't what I want. I want to see her. Now.'

'I've destroyed all her clothes. I cut them up and put them in the bin.'

Clare left the room and walked into the kitchen.  She looked into the bin and saw the stockings and the rubber dress cut up and disposed of.  She called Jean Paul into the kitchen.

'I want her back, do you hear. And you will pay for her clothes this time.'

Jean Paul looked straight at her for the first time in months. His face was red.

He appeared nervous, and ashamed.  

'Sorry. I can’t….’

There was silence for quite some time while Clare worked out her next move.

Finally she said,

'Then maybe you should find somewhere else to live.’

Jean Paul slowly got up and left the room.

Clare pretended to watch tv but she could her Jean Paul upstairs packing, and several minutes later she saw him pass through to the hall and then she heard the front door open and then click shut.

A week passed but it was a long, dull and lonely week for Clare.  She thought about what she had done and decided she had been too selfish. She tried to forget Jean Paul. She stayed out late with colleagues from work to avoid being at the house by herself.   

Then one evening as she was walking back home from work, she looked ahead and saw someone sitting on the wall outside her house, holding a bright red umbrella. As she approached she noticed the woman was wearing a shiny black pvc raincoat and black rubber heeled boots.  She had long curly hair and despite the rain was wearing large dark sunglasses.  The moment Clare realized who it was, she smiled.  Nicole was back, and looking more ravishing then ever.

Daniel Guy