The Cleaning Lady	Back to K	Back to main page

Collected by Djian

The Cleaning Lady
by anonym

Carol straightened up and, placing both hands into the small of her back, stretched. As her weary body
arced backwards, she let out a small groan. "This job is going to be the death of me," she muttered to herself as
she glanced at the cheap watch strapped to her wrist. "Five to three - time to pack away." Night office cleaner - it
wasn't much of a job, Carol knew that, but as an unmarried mother living on a council estate in an area with high
unemployment, she was lucky to have even that. And there were some advantages about being employed by a
cowboy outfit like Duncan Ellis Cleaning, the main one being that they paid cash in hand with no questions asked.
No P45s, no tax. And, of course, it didn't affect her benefits. All strictly illegal and god help her if the Benefits
Agency ever found out but it was good while it lasted. True, she earned below the legal minimum rate and the
thought of leaving her kids alone in that tower block flat for a large part of the night was always a worrying one
but there was no other way to survive as far as Carol could see ... apart from working the streets, of course, but
she couldn't bring herself to even think about that option.

Gratefully she opened the cupboard up in the dingy foyer of the rundown office block that was her
responsibility and started to put her materials away. Shit, but she was tired ... weary to the bone
and the kids would have her up early again tomorrow. Maybe an hour or so snoozing on the sofa at
lunchtime while the kids were at school would help? As an idea it sure sounded good.

"Better hurry," Carol thought to herself, "Steve'll be here soon to let me out and run me home." Steve, the
Assistant Manager for the cleaning company, in his mid twenties and thus ten years or so younger than Carol and
yet oh-so-cock sure of himself. The thin woman hurried to complete her task, brushing her greasy blond hair out
of her eyes as she heard the sound of the worn out Transit pulling to a halt outside. Then there came the sound of
a key unlocking the front door of the building and suddenly Steve was stood there, his overweight, bloated body
towering over Carol by at least a foot. She looked up at his red hued face and immediately smelt the alcohol on
his breath. “God, he’s disgusting,” Carol thought to herself, “and he’s been drinking more than usual. Hope he
gets me home in one piece…” “Come on then,” the man slurred at her, his eyes drinking in her bony, but still
not-bad-looking form. Carol cringed inside for she knew that Steve fancied her … but, then again, she thought,
he’d fancy anything in a skirt! As far as Carol knew, Steve was the most disliked person in the area – rude,
unshaven, bullying and ugly with rancid breath. “Bet even the tarts turn him down!” she joked to herself. Carol
climbed into the van and waited till Steve locked the building up and clambered into the driver’s side. “Get
everyone else home okay?” she asked. “Yeah … not that it’s any of your business,” came the reply. Carol was the
only employee to finish so late – all the other girls ended their shifts at two which gave Steve half an hour to kill
with his bottle after dropping the last off and before doing Carol's pick up … and which was why Carol always
ended up sharing some whisky fumes on the way home. As the Transit’s sluggish diesel engine shuddered
reluctantly into life, Carol lapsed into silence and, closing her eyes, leaned her head back against the plywood
screen that separated the cab from the load carrying area of the van. Steve ground the gears into first and
pulled, shuddering, away. A loss of momentum and yet more grating sounds told Carol that the manager had
changed into second. Tut-tutting silently to herself at his lack of skill, Carol made herself more comfortable … and
then snapped her eyes open in shock for Steve had placed his hand over her denim covered right knee. Should
she say something, Carol asked herself, or just let it go for the moment? Maybe he’d just remove it again if she
didn’t react?

Deciding to follow this course of action, Carol kept mum. But Steve didn’t remove his hand and,
instead, it started to slowly crawl higher up her thigh, moving round to the inside as it did so. Carol was no prude
and she full well knew what Steve was up to…. but she was damned certain that she wasn’t going to
accommodate him! Coughing gently, she took hold of Steve’s meandering wrist and removed the offending hand
from her leg before returning it to the Transit’s gear lever. A certain coldness radiated out from the man beside
her but at least the hand didn’t return. Carol started to relax … only to discover, to her horror, that Steve was
swinging the van into the side of the road and applying the brakes. “What … what are you doing?” she asked
nervously.

Steve didn’t reply but as soon as the van came to a halt, his right hand snaked out and fastened itself
upon her breast, squeezing hard. A small sound, not unlike the squeak of a small mouse, slipped out of Carol’s
mouth as her body jerked backwards and both her hands moved to try to catch hold of Steve’s wrist. But things
didn’t quite go the way she planned and she felt her breast released just before some metal bands were
clamped around her wrists. Then her torso was yanked forward and there came the sound of a third click … and
the woman discovered that she could no longer lean back fully into her seat. Something had been used to attach
her to the grab rail that ran along the van’s dashboard. “What do you think you’re doing, Steve?” she demanded
harshly. “I’ll report you for this, you bastard!” “No you won’t,” the man replied in a quiet, almost conversational
tone. “You won’t because you’re going to promise me that you’re never going to mention a word about what’s
about to happen.” “You must be fuckin’ joking! I’ll be screaming the roof of this tin can off in about thirty seconds
if you don’t let me go!” Steve reached forward and flicked on the interior light. Now Carol could see what was
holding her wrists together and, at the same time, was attaching her to the van – a modified set of handcuffs with
three locking loops. The man beside her leered and held up a small mobile phone, inches before her eyes. Carol
struggled to focus upon the small, illuminated screen before her … and eventually made out the words displayed
there – ‘Social Services – Emergency 24 Hour Contact’. “You know it’s a crime to leave kids as young as yours
unattended, don’t you, Carol?” The woman closed her eyes and slowly nodded her head, already seeing where
this conversation was going. “You’ll do what I say or I make the call and get the Social to check out your flat.

They’ll take the kids away, Carol … and you’ll do time…” “But … but,” the woman protested. A sickly smiled started
to show itself upon her tormentor’s face, “Yes, yes you little cow, I know why you did it … but that’s no excuse in
law. I make the call and your kid’s are in care before you know it. Do I make the call or do you do as I say?” “Fuck
you!” Carol snarled defiantly. The smile only widened as Steve pressed the small ‘transmit’ button on the phone.
Carol’s nerve held for a few more seconds … and then cracked. “Okay! Okay!” she cried out desperately. “I’ll do
whatever you want. Cancel the call, god-damn it!” Steve hit the button illustrated with a picture of a small red
handset before putting the phone down. “Now there’s a sensible girl. And let’s see just what you’ve got under
that blouse….” Carol cringed as the man’s rancid breath washed over her while he unbuttoned her blouse and
pushed the material aside to reveal her bra beneath. Something glinted in the pale light inside the van – a
Stanley knife that Steve then used to cut the undergarment away, leaving Carol’s naked breasts dangling freely.
“Hmmm … not bad,” Steve mused with the air of a connoisseur. “A bit droopy but that’s to be expected with a
woman of your age.” His hands reached up and, cupping a gland in each, he carefully weighted them. “C’s?” he
suggested aloud. Carol could only nod dumbly in response. The man’s thumbnails harshly jammed into her bare
nipples making Carol flinch. “Answer me, cunt!” he snapped angrily. “Yes … yes … thirty-four C.” “Sir!” he barked.
“Sir?” “You call me ‘Sir’, you cunt!” “Yes … Sir. Thirty-four C, Sir,” came the dutiful, if frightened, reply “Better.
Right, let’s get moving.” Releasing his grip, Steve straightened himself in his seat and turned over the engine.
Once it reluctantly caught, he eased the van back into the sparse early morning traffic and Carol found herself
bouncing along the Old Kent Road, exposed for all that were sharp enough to see… After a short journey, Steve
turned the van into a small dark side road with most of the street lamps extinguished. After bouncing along its
uneven surface for a few moments, they pulled to a halt before the tall doors of a lock-up built into the archway
of a railway bridge. “End of the line, bitch,” Steve muttered before turning off the engine and unlocking the third
‘cuff from the dashboard rail. “Okay – now get out.” Carol twisted in her seat and unlatched the door. She swung
back to face her tormentor. “But, Sir … my children. I should be home by now, looking after them,” she pleaded, a
tear running down one cheek. “A bit late to be playing the responsible mother, isn’t it? Four in the morning … six
in the morning … what’s the difference? Does it matter what time you get home? They’ll not miss you. And, just
maybe, if you weren’t such a slut, you’d not have any kids to worry about anyway. Now, get out!” Reluctantly Carol
did as she had been instructed and was soon standing at the side of the van holding her blouse closed with her
hands. “Who said you could do that?” Steve demanded as he moved around the bonnet and saw just what she
was doing. “No-one … Sir,” Carol responded, releasing her grip upon the material. “I can see I’ll have to punish
you for that, bitch … make you see that you mustn’t act without specific instructions.” The Stanley knife flashed
and made a straight cut down through the back of the white material from collar to hem … and then flashed again
and again. The blouse separated into several parts, all of which fluttered to the ground leaving Carol naked from
the waist up.

The woman felt herself reddening and prayed that no one was looking. ?Now, move towards the doors!?
Once the doors had been unlocked and opened, Carol found herself stood in a large, almost empty area
that was dominated by a bed set in the centre of the room. Scattered around in an apparently random fashion
were various tripods, cameras, lights and other photographic paraphernalia. Screwed to one wall was a large
pin-board and attached to that were numerous black and white glossy photographs, all clearly taken inside the
very room Carol was standing in. Each showed a woman in some so-called ‘erotic’ or otherwise demeaning pose;
in most cases the women were naked but in a few they were dressed in some fetish gear or other. To Carol’s
surprise, she recognised over half of the women as being employees of Duncan Ellis Cleaning. Watching the
woman before her, Steve smiled. “That’s right – most of your colleagues have something to hide too … although
one or two of them posed for the love of it. Kinky little bitches!” Carol turned slowly to face him, a slightly defiant
tone entering her voice. “And you expect me to do the same?” “If you want to keep your kids and your benefits …
and maybe even your liberty too…” The woman’s eyes dipped towards the floor and her shoulders sagged.
“Sorry….” “Better. Now, face me and get undressed.” Carol’s hands moved reluctantly to her belt buckle and
slowly unfastened it. She couldn’t bear to look at the man before her but she knew that his eager eyes would be
drinking in every moment of her humiliation. Trying to buy herself just a little time, she next removed her shoes
and pop socks … but now there was nothing left and so, an inch at a time, she unzipped her jeans and wiggled out
of them. Steve’s tongue slipped out of his mouth and licked his dry lips as he took in the sight before him, the
bright scarlet red of a tiny thong standing out in stark contrast against pale skin, the material then vanishing into
the crack that divided her bare buttocks. She tucked her thumbs into the elasticised waistband … and then
paused. “Have pity, Sir! Don’t make me do this!” she begged. Down in his nether regions, Steve felt himself
stiffening, growing – this was the best part of all, that moment when the whores were willing to do anything for
him. “Get down on your knees and beg for charity from me!” Carol swallowed hard and removed her thumbs from
out of her panties. “Dear god! I don’t want to do this,” she thought to herself, yet what choice did she have?
Reluctantly she lowered herself to her knees and, clasping her hands before her, started to plead to be released.
Never in her whole life had she been so embarrassed, so humiliated. The man looked down upon her and
smirked, a sensation of dampness coming back to him as his precum oozed out and soaked into his y-fronts.
Slowly he advanced upon her and, wordlessly, he unzipped his fly, his groin level with her face. Carol understood
what was expected of her and so, while suppressing a shudder of revulsion, her hands reached into his trousers
before easing out the bloated penis that nestled therein. Closing her eyes, she clamped her lips around the erect
organ and began to suck, the taste of stale pee and unwashed flesh swiftly filling her mouth. Steve gasped as the
girl went to work upon him – life didn’t get much better than this! And just wait till the bitch found out what was
coming next! Almost before the thought was completed, Steve’s whole body shuddered as he climaxed and shot
his load down the woman’s throat. Satisfied, but wishing that he were able to hold out longer, the man pulled
himself free and slipped his manhood back into his pants. Before him the woman was wiping her mouth with the
back of her hand and trying not to gag; clearly she had not enjoyed the experience but, shit, what did that matter?
“Now, get your knickers off and climb onto the bed,” he briefly instructed her. “But…” “No buts – get up there now.
Just a few shots for the family album then I’ll give you a lift home.” Doing her best to hide herself from his gaze,
Carol eased her panties down and off before clambering up on the king sized bed. Steve turned away and walked
to a cupboard before returning holding several lengths of rope, a broom handle and a few other props. “What …
what are you doing?” Carol nervously inquired. “Just setting the scene. Surely one of your boyfriends used to like
tying you up? You must have tried it before?” The female slowly shook her head in the negative. “Ah, well, here’s
a new experience for you to try. I’m sure a wanton slut like you will enjoy it. You women are all the same. You try
to pretend differently but none of you can get enough of it and you don’t give a shit about how perverted it is. The
more extreme, the more you love it. By the time I’m finished with you, your cunt’ll be dripping floods. You just like
to blame everything on us men, saying that we’re led by our cocks when it’s all really down to you slags leading
us on, encouraging us for your own ends.” Despite his rather wonky logic, Steve was quite expert at his
self-appointed task and it wasn’t long before he was finished. Taking a stride or two backwards, he paused to
admire his handy work. The cow on the bed had one ankle lashed to each end of the broom handle, forcing her
legs apart and exposing her totally to his sight. Her wrists had been bound together before here and were then
strapped to a ring screwed through the middle of the handle, forcing her to arch her back and to pull her knees
up. A rubber ball gag ensured that he could work undisturbed by her pleadings or protestations – and it would
look good in the photos he was about to take. Satisfied, Steve reached for his light meter… Half an hour later,
Steve was finished and, after putting his prized F-1 Canon away to one side, he set about untying his victim. For
her part, Carol had hated every moment of the photo shoot and, despite the lewd suggestions and innuendoes
that the man had heaped upon her as he worked, she felt nothing but disgust for both him and her predicament.
Tossing the faded blue jeans back to Carol, Steve told her to put them back on. After rummaging about in a box in
the corner, he also gave her an overly large man’s shirt with which to cover her modesty … or what was left of it.
“Now, just one more little detail to get out the way…” he oozed. “You expect me to fuck you? No doubt you think
I’m already teetering on the edge of an orgasm after that arousing experience you just put me through.” Carol
quickly realised that her sarcasm was wasted as Steve laughed out loud. “No, better than that. I want you to sign
a piece of paper.” The woman’s expression of incredulity was indescribable and Steve wished that he’d not put
his Polaroid away. Carol’s mouth opened and closed a few times before she managed to splutter, “What? A
signature?” “Yes, my little cunt. You’re going to earn me some cash. You’re going to sign a model’s consent form
so that I can legally sell copies of those photos. Certain magazines of a more … specialised nature than Playboy
will pay between fifty and a hundred pounds for that set. You won’t make me rich, but you’ll keep me in beer for a
few days.” “You’re going to publish those photos? My god! You can’t! I won’t sign!” The man did not reply, he
simply picked up his telephone and looked at Carol. “Alright … alright. I’ll sign…” Carol just hoped that no one who
knew her would ever see those pictures. Taking hold of the offered biro, she quickly scribbled her name on the
line as instructed. “Good girl. Now, get into the van and I’ll run you home.” “No thank you!” came the snapped
reply. “I’ll walk if you don’t mind.” “Not at all. Saves me the diesel. See you at work on Monday…” Steve smiled as
the door of the lock-up was slammed in his face behind Carol’s retreating back. “And if you think that one
appearance before my lens is the end of thing, my dear, you’d best think again. Just imagine what you'll have to
do to prevent a set of prints from turning up anonymously at the offices of the Child Protection Agency…”

The End?

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