the naked man in my bathroom (the whole story)
I’ve never claimed to be a neat person. Before I was grounded for breaking curfew and kissing older boys, I was grounded for my messy room. Not much has changed. Except now, instead of a messy room, I have a messy apartment. While it is okay for living, it is not appropriate for hosting a party.
So what does a resourceful girl do? Why, turn to craigslist, of course. Yesterday, Dacia and I posted for a houseboy.
Houseboy desired for Thursday evening
My roommate and I are hosting a party this weekend and have become overwhelmed. We are looking for a houseboy to clean our bathroom this Thursday evening.
This will primarily involve scrubbing the sink, bathtub, and toilet, as well as cleaning the floors. You are welcome to sweep and mop the kitchen as well, if you so desire.
We would love for you to clean in an apron, panties, or the nude, but this is not necessary.
We are 25 and (turning) 23 (it’s my birthday party) respectively. One has dark hair, one has red, both have glasses. We’re students and all around busy girls.
No physical contact and no monetary reimbursement. We’re in Ridgewood, Queens off of the L and M trains.
Hope to see you soon.
We received a glut of responses. There were quite a few “why would someone do that for free?” and “what do I get out of it?”, a couple dozen “I’m interested. Call me. Now.” and about a dozen sincere inquiries.
Dacia and I were very excited about an enthused panty fetishist who was especially fond of the nude male clothed female power dynamic. However, when he did not immediately respond, we booked another houseboy. Who confirmed and followed-up with phone calls. But did not show.
So, at nine o’clock, we called our original choice.
“This is Jane. Are you busy?”
“No. What’s up?”
“Well, we are very disappointed. Our houseboy for the evening has not arrived. Would you be available?”
I put down the phone. “Damn, you were rocking the sexy voice,” Dacia exclaimed from her corner of the couch.
He called when he got off the train. We were waiting on the porch steps as he walked up, backpack slung over one shoulder, scrunching down to read the numbers on the apartment.
“Hi” he smiles.
“Thank you so much for coming.”
”Thanks for having me”
We led him inside and up the stairs to my apartment. We showed him the newly arranged kitchen. I took him to the bathroom. “The main things are the floor and the tub. I dyed my hair today, just for you. Do you think you can handle it?”
“I can handle it.”
Dacia and I sat down on the couch and Steve stood in front of us.
“Show us your panties.” He removed a plastic grocery bag from his backpack. Inside were a dozen pairs, mostly thongs. There were pink lacy Victoria secrets and white cotton banana republics as well as exciting finds from Conway and the dollar store. Dacia and I picked out five pairs we liked. A black silk string bikini cut, with full ass coverage to start with. Followed by a sheer red lace thong. A purple velvet thong. I sheer leopard print number with gold sparkles. And a teeny tiny baby blue number that was nothing more than a thin triangle of blue and three strings joined by a small silver hoop the size of a dime.
“Feel how soft this one is,” I said to Dacia.
“Ooohhhh… Put this one on.”
He looked at us, fully clothed, hands to his side. “Well?” he asked.
“Oh. Take off your clothes.” He began with his shirt revealing a well muscled but not over-buff physique (“I don’t like men with too many muscles.” “I didn’t make him for you!”).
“Now the pants.” He dropped trou. He was wearing grey cotton boxer briefs, embracing an exciting (and excited) bulge.
“I’m not wearing panties because what if I got in to an accident or something? My mother would freak.” I love a houseboy with a great sense of humor.
“Okay. And the boxers, please.”
“What about the socks?”
“Well, are you a duchess?”
“Some people prefer to leave their socks on. But obviously not you. Please take off your socks.”
“Feet are good,” says Dacia. “Now show us your cock.”
He blushes as he slides his boxers down, stepping out with one foot, flipping them up to his hand with the other, a maneuver that becomes a trademark of the evening. He rubs his semi-stiff cock with one hand. His freshly shaven balls dangle. Dacia hands him the silky black panties.
“Put these on.”
He slides into them. Tucking his cock inside, attempting to negotiate his balls.
“Now, turn around.” He has such a cute ass. “Okay, face us. Just stand there and let us look at you.” I curl my knees up on to the couch and hold my chin. “You’re just so beautiful.” He blushes.
“I think we should make him change again,” Dacia interjects.
“Okay.” We pick out the sheer red thong.
“Take off your panties.” He complies.
“Now, put these on.” He slides the red pair up his legs and against his cock. The head tucks in the cotton lining of the crotch, balls bulging on either side. It is one of the hottest things I have ever seen.
“Turn around.” His hand rubs his ass, then shyly pulls away.
“I saw that. Smack your ass.” Spank!
“And the other cheek.” Spank!
“Make them nice and rosey.” Smack, smack!
“Wonderful. Now, let’s get to work.”
I lead him in to the bathroom. I show him the milkcrate we had set up full of cleaning supplies. “You have a broom, mop, dust pan, shakey comet powder, windex, and bathroom tile spray, plus two scrubby sponges with the rough green sides. Think you can handle it?”
“Excellent. Get to work.” I walk back in to the living room to Dacia, giddy.
“Oh my god, he’s so hot” she mouths.
“I know. I want to jump him.”
“But not tonight.”
“Oh. Of course not. That wouldn’t be professional.”
As he finishes each section, there is an inspection and change of panties. After the sink he changes in to the purple velvet thong. As we are instructing his costume change, he asks, “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”
“Go scrub the tub!” is my reply. Dacia bursts out laughing.
While he is cleaning the bathroom floor my neighbor comes over to see if we want anything from the corner bodega. I tell her we have a guest. After checking with Steve, I invite her to join us.
He comes in to the living room in his sparkly leopard print thong.
“Rub your dick,” I instruct. “I want to see it pop when you pull down your thong.” Our neighbor is stifling laughter. There is far outside the realm of her normal day-to-day. Steve’s dick grows hard, straining the sheer fabric. When it is nearly bursting we tell him to stop and pull his panties down, slowly. His dick jumps.
We have him continue jerking off. “Turn around and brace yourself against the chair with your legs spread.” We admire the down of his ass and his balls bouncing between his legs. “Okay, face us and put these on.” I hand him the tiny baby blue g-string.
“Now?!?” he asks, motioning to his engorged cock.
“Yes.” He struggles into the panties. His balls split and stretched by the string. We have him pirouette.
“Damn, that’s one tight pair of panties!” Dacia exclaims.
“No kidding,” our houseboy teases, adjusting himself.
“Excellent. Now we need you to sweep the kitchen.” He begins. We admire and eat little chocolate donuts and gummy worms.
“Done,” he proudly proclaims.
He approaches, waiting our next command.
“We want you to jerk off.”
“But I thought we would save that for the end,” he protests.
“Well, this way you can come, and then mop it up.”
“Oh…” his grin speads across his face. He begins stroking his cock. Once erect, he stands and shakes his hips, sending his cock flying against either thigh, fwap fwap fwap. “That feels good”
“That looks good,” we agree.
He sits in a chair, legs spread, bracing against the floor. His tight shaven balls flushed like a nectarine. Dick flying as fingers pump around the shaft, index finger extended, conducting the experience.
“I want to see you shoot,” I say.
“On the floor,” says Dacia.
“Now,” says the neighbor.
He begins to shake, his muscles tense as his orgasm builds. When he shoots the spurts arc as they fly to the floor.
I applaud. After he catches his breath, I motion towards the mop. “Time to clean things up.” He eagerly complies, in the buff.
Before he leaves, I ask him what he wants his pseudonym to be in my “letter to penthouse.”
“You can call me Vladamir. Fresh from Coney Island. Big Dick. 12 Inches. We all have big dick on the Volga.” We crack up and invite him to my party on Saturday. Then Dacia and I go to bed, to happy dirty dreams of our new houseboy.
I’m still giggling.