Amily the personal maid-1

Acme’s phone had been answered by a young female voice, with a bit of an Island lilt. I was distressed the next morning to wake up to find my cock hard in my hand, my brain undeniably generated uninvited imaginary pictures of the woman – I imagined beaded dreds, lively sparkling eyes, a generous set of lips, a slim young body with perky conical tits, but a big bodacious booty. My brain started flitting between thoughts of those lips sucking my hard cock, my hands filled with those tits, and that ass pressed back against my loins as I fucked her. Shame flooded my mind as quickly as semen filled my palm.

A long hot shower did not cleanse my soul, and I had to reassure myself that the woman likely stayed in the office, and the estimator would no doubt be her wrinkled stooped grandfather, or hulking boyfriend. These thoughts were not particularly effective in taking my mind off forbidden sex, as I found my brain generating images of that imaginary boyfriend and the woman arriving to clean my house, not knowing I was still there. As she cleaned, her body moved gracefully, her booty twitching as she danced to the reggae playing on their battered portable radio. As she reached to dust upper cupboards, her nipples showed hard against the thin, worn fabric of her T-shirt. At her age, she did not need a bra while working. Boyfriend worked vacuuming carpets and wiping counter-tops, but the quality of his work had to be questionable – his eyes never left her dancing beauty. I could hardly complain though, as in my imagination, I suffered the same affliction.