Amily the personal maid-1

“Should I hold the end for you?” I suggested, instantly regretting even that remote double entendre.

Her grin was the only answer I needed. I placed the open end against a wall and enjoyed watching Amily walk across the living room. She returned and made a note on her chart. We repeated that for the other dimension, and then the kitchen.

“We don’t measure bathrooms,” she said, making notes about the condition of the main floor powder room.

“The bedrooms and full bath are upstairs?” she confirmed.

I just nodded in reply, my voice stuck in my throat.

She stopped to count the stairs and then bounced up the stairs without waiting for me. From that angle, the roomy pants did not disguise the fact that her ass was high and firm. Amily might be middle-aged like me, but she clearly took care of her body.

I cautioned myself to relax, to not fantasize. Amily was just the estimator. No doubt the regular cleaner would be someone much less attractive.

Lost in wonderland, I barely heard Amily asking if I was going to come hold the tape for her. I still do not recall going up the stairs. Amily already had made notes about the bathroom, which was just off the landing.