*This is the first trip into the Mature part of Literotica. As always, help me improve by giving constructive criticism. It’s easy to say the story sucked, but WHY did it suck? Help me out. Or if it was brilliant, tell me what you liked and where I can improve. Have fun!
Angela cursed her poor, depressed version of America. Her part of southern Florida had little money and few employment opportunities. She wasn’t a fisherman, so she couldn’t get into the charter business, which took 95% of local tourism. Her family barely made enough for food selling junk on the side of the road by their house. Arts and crafts, her mother cheerfully referred to them. Angela felt like she was going to live and die within 30 miles of this house.
She glanced at the half-page of want ads. Nothing. She needed a job to go to school, to get the hell out of here. She was 20 years old and chomping at the bit for escape. But there wasn’t enough money for her to survive.
“Wait,” she said aloud. Her eyes reread the same sentence.
Entry Level Position – Green Glades Retirement Home.
She scanned the fine print. It was a maid position for a retirement home twenty minutes from her house. She immediately called and scheduled an interview.
Two days later, she was hired on and began working, one of two steady wage-earners in her household. Angela made barely over $6.00 an hour, but she was scheduled for 40 hours a week. She was excited to enter the real workforce and not be shackled to a rocking chair while people from Ohio picked through their shit.
Angela rather enjoyed her job. She never minded doing some light cleaning. Half the time she was at work, she was to socialize with the clients. The two dozen of them were very wealthy and fairly old. Almost all male, they were a nice group of people. Many chatted politely, listened to her more then her parents, and offered advice. She wished she could live like this later in life. They had two beautiful pools, manicured lawns, and sat in the shade drinking iced tea and playing chess. Work passed by quickly while she pretended she was a younger version of them, not an employee.
But she wasn’t. She worked there and she worked hard. A month in and her manager had complimented her during their weekly staff meeting.
“I know you all are getting to know Angela, but I wanted to say she did a great job getting involved in the activities and still maintaining her responsibilities around here. Thanks, Angela!”
The seven other maids mimicked high-fives and grinned at her. They were a close bunch and supportive of each other. They always helped out and never squealed when someone was late or snuck a nap. They were her older sisters and always helped her out.
“On a more serious note, several of you have complained about Mr. Lemosh. I know he’s been problematic before and we’re going to have a talk with him again. Some of these guys get a little out of hand with Mrs. Fairn in the hospital with her hip problem.”
Laughter broke out at the joke. Mrs. Fairn was what passed for a 70 year-old slut.
“But, honestly, as management, we are here to help you and protect you. Sexual harassment Escort will not be allowed if I have anything to say for it. Our waiting list is a mile long and if we bounce Mr. Lemosh or any other client, we can easily fill their spot. I want you all to be safe.”
The maids expressed their appreciation. The meeting was adjourned.
Outside, Angela steered Jane aside. “Jane, what happened?”
Jane was the most senior maid working at the center. She was mid-40s, grizzled in a Truck Stop Diner Waitress sort of way, and was down-to-earth and grounded in reality.
“Well, honey, Jackie and Melissa both said he slapped their asses when they walked by him the other day. These old guys, sometimes jerking off isn’t enough and they need to feel the real thing. There aren’t strip joints nearby, so they’re stuck with us. And I don’t want any of their meat hooks on my skin.”
Angela laughed, “Who would?”
“Well,” Jane answered, “between you and me, five or six years ago, we carried two staff nurses instead of the one now. Maybe she was really hurting for cash, or she needed a thrill, who knows, but she let the guys touch.”
Angela was shocked. “Really?”
“Yeah, but for a fee. These old guys have millions stuffed in their banks; they can afford some money for a quick good time. And she was all about it. Hell, it was a win-win-win situation, since those grabby hands stayed away from the rest of us. She made money, they had their fun, and no one squeezed my tush. In a way, I almost kind of miss her service.”
“What was her name?” Angela asked.
Angela did the math that night. She made about $700 a month. More then half went into supporting her family. If there were a local strip joint, she’d be there, making that much in a few nights. At the rate she was saving money, she couldn’t make it out until she was 45, it seemed. Maybe she could weasel hundreds out of her clients for a few glances at her tits. She had a nice body, she stayed in shape, and she liked dancing. Maybe she could be a pseudo-stripper for whoever was interested. That might work.
Angela’s chance came later that week. Mr. Lemosh was wandering down the hallway towards his door. He held up a hand as she moved past him.
“My dear Angela, could you do an old man a favor?” he asked.
“Of course!” she responded brightly, “How may I help you?”
“My key is in my front pocket here and my arthritis is killing me. Would you mind fishing it out?”
Angela’s mouth went dry and her pulse picked up. She saw the twinkle in Mr. Lomosh’s eye and knew what he was playing at. It seemed so creepy. She might have rubbed up against the guy, but this was too much. If he met a price, she’d give him a few seconds of groping. She didn’t know how to barter, so she just went with it.
“I’ll put my hand in your pocket to find your key for 50 bucks,” she said, surprised to hear no trace of nervousness in her voice. She felt like she was trembling and shaking.
Mr. Lemosh blinked and nodded. Angela’s hand snaked forward.
“No, no, dear, the other pocket.”
He turned a half-circle and she put her hand in his pocket. She immediately felt wrinkled Escort Bayan skin and hair. Of course, he would have cut the fabric away from the pants. Inwardly sighing, she slid her hands across his hip, down his lower belly, and onto his crotch. His chest involuntary caved as she gently held his cock and balls in her palm. She squeezed them lightly and counted to ten. She pulled her hand out of his pants and fought the urge to wipe it on her shirt.
“Oops,” he said, a huge smile on his face, “Silly me. They’re in this pocket. And this wrist feels much better.”
He got his key out, opened his door and walked toward the dresser against the window. Angela followed him in and looked out at his view. Seniors were out playing shuffle board and walking laps around the pool, as opposed to swimming them in it. She refocused on Mr. Lemosh, who held three twenties in his hand.
“Here you are,” he handed them over, “I know it’s a little more, but I’m fine with that. You have a very soft hand.”
Angela took the money and walked out the door, closing it gently behind her. She immediately went to the soft, overstuffed chairs near the unused ping-pong table at the end of the hall. She felt a rush of emotions. Had she really just held a 75 year-old man’s junk in her hands? She had his 60 bucks in her hand right now. And for what? Fifteen seconds of contact? She could figure out the hourly rate, but she was marveling at the potential money she could make. She was also a prostitute. Kind of. She’d deal with that image of herself later.
The next day, Mr. Lemosh smiled at her from his chair by the pool. She walked past and he swatted at her butt. She jumped out of the way and shot him a frown.
“That’ll cost, Mr,” she said. He calmly asked how much.
“50 bucks to touch me, but only with my permission and only my ass.”
He motioned for her to stand next to him. The uniform of the day was often a pink long dress made of heavy material, but today was Sunday, visitation day, so the maids were encouraged to wear relaxed clothing. Angela wouldn’t call today’s apparel a sundress exactly, but that was the closest definition. She turned and faced away from Mr. Lemosh. They were in the far corner of the pool area, and most clients were much too hot to be outside. There was probably no one watching.
Mr. Lemosh’s hand made contact with the back of Angela’s knee. His fingers walked their way up her tanned, smooth leg. He palmed her ass and squeezed very gently. He kneaded one cheek, then the other. She was never more thankful for wearing granny panties then today. She waited for him to finish. His hand dropped out from underneath her dress.
“100 more if you take off your panties,” he said cheerfully.
Angela started. 210 dollars in two days, cash. He was more gentle then the last two guys she dated, who squeezed her like they were checking cantaloupes. She threw a glance at the building. No one appeared to be watching them.
“Deal,” she said, sliding her panties down to her ankles.
His hand moved back up her legs, massaging and caressing her skin as it climbed. It covered her ass, ran along her hips and her lower back. She felt Bayan Escort one finger trail down her crack, trace between her cheeks, and run in gentle circles around her asshole. She had never been handled so carefully and confidently before. She felt the warming of a dull head in her belly. This old man, born over 50 years before her, was turning her on with his touch. It was nice to be touched like this. She was almost enjoying herself.
“Angela,” he said in low voice, “I’ll double it if you turn around for me.”
She turned. His hand slid around as her body rotated. The single finger ran quickly up and down the fronts of her legs. His well-manicured nail lightly scratched at her inner thigh. She gasped as the lone finger ran up and down her slit. More of his fingers joined in and started rubbing at her pussy.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she thought to herself. She picked her foot up and pulled it out of the leg hole of her underwear. She stood, feet wider apart, giving Mr. Lemosh better access. Tingles of pleasure turned to waves as he sat up and put his other hand to work. Angela’s entire world focused on her crotch. The old man was rhythmically pumping two fingers in and out of her pussy. He rubbed his thumb against her slit, lubing it with her juices. He moved it up and stroked her clit, increasing the speed as her hips started to sway. She fought the electricity shooting through her body.
‘My God,’ she thought, ‘I’m going to orgasm.’
As soon as the thought hit her, she came hard. Her entire body bucked and shook. She grabbed Mr. Lemosh’s head, the only thing she could hold on to. Her whole body continued to spasm as Mr. Lemosh kept his hands moving in her crotch. After what felt like several minutes of pure pleasure, the waves in her body started to recede. She collapsed on the grass next to Mr. Lemosh’s chair, breathing heavily. He said nothing, waiting patiently for her to recover.
For several minutes, she laid in bliss in the shady grass. The sounds of the pool filter and her slowing heart calmed her. Angela felt light-headed. It was one of the best orgasms she ever had.
She looked up at Mr. Lemosh. He smiled down at her, then glanced between her legs.
“Oops,” he said, “You should fix yourself.”
She pulled her underwear back on and straightened her clothes. She sighed, content.
“Well, Angela, my billfold is on the bureau. Please help yourself, I trust you. Thanks for making an old man happy.”
Knees still shaky, she walked to his room. She pulled 300 bucks of from his drawer, excited to put it into her bank account.
“What are you doing?”
Two other clients, Mr. Warren and Mr. Deerly were staring at her, holding Mr. Lemosh’s money. They were friends of his and were probably coming by to see what he was up to.
“Mr. Lemosh and I have a deal worked out. He owes me 300 dollars.”
“For what?” Mr. Warren demanded.
“That’s our business.”
“Bill, stay right here and watch her. I’m going to talk with Jim. She’s a no-good thief.”
Mr. Deerly, who hated conflict, quietly stood, eyes on the ground. Angela felt like he was the one caught at stealing. The clock’s minute hand made five slow sweeps around its face. Mr. Warren finally returned, grinning.
“Well, it looks like everything’s okay. And Bill? We have the return of Nurse Vernon in front of us.”