Amily the personal maid-1

“Hi, I’m Amily from Acme,” the middle aged woman outside my door said cheerfully. Her hair was a natural grey, cut chin length, no bangs, parted just off center. Her smile was brilliant, her eyes a pale green. She wore no makeup. She did not need it, I decided.

I stood aside as I opened the door and let her step inside, not quite brushing against me.

‘Safe,’ I thought as I took in her baggy sweatshirt and formless sweatpants. My dirty mind did supply a quick impression of a trim waist, and noted that the hips were no wider than the shoulders even though the pants prevented me from checking out the curve of her ass.

The repeated masturbation did not deter my balls from swelling with appreciation of the mental images. My cock though did not throb, until she spun on her heel, looking me in the eye, and pulled out a metal tape measure.

“Time to measure you up,” she said, just as perky as when she had first spoken.

She placed her clipboard on the counter and started extending the tape as my blood flooded into my shaft, my scrotum drew tight to my groin, and my slit started to widen. In that instant, I realized fully for the first time how much I had been missing sex with another person in the same room.