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Things were never quite the same after my parents died. My relationship with Mrs. Bancroft didn’t fundamentally change. I was still her ward and protégé. But our physical relationship transitioned from tutor/student to something completely unique and different. The term “friends with privileges” comes to mind except we weren’t exactly friends. And although we spent a lot of time naked in each other’s arms, I also wouldn’t call us lovers. We were who we were, and it worked.
By that time in my life, I was having absolutely no trouble wooing girls and no longer needed her to import a different one each month for me to practice on. Yet, Mrs. B still employed a different maid every month … mostly because the Company paid for it and not having to do domestic chores made our lives easier.
Penny was a great example. She was our maid during the tumultuous period when I received the heart-breaking news of my parent’s death and also had my heart broken for the second time by Amanda. The last thing on my mind during those four weeks was getting into yet another young lady’s pants.
I made absolutely no attempt to seduce Penny. Not that she wasn’t desirable. With long auburn hair, dark brown eyes and a body that belonged in a centerfold, she might have been the best-looking maid of the bunch. But my mind wasn’t in it. I was so focused on the disasters in my life I hardly spoke to the girl. And when she slipped into my bed a week after she arrived, she didn’t have much to say either. She didn’t have to. Her naked body said it all.
Mrs. B didn’t hire normal domestic servants. Some were budding actresses, many were students and let’s not forget Jasmine, the infamous sommelier. Penny was no different. She was working on a graduate degree in social work, and one might think she took me on as a pro-bono client. Like a parent giving a crying child a Teddy Bear, Penny gave me her body to soothe my grieving soul. Some nights I made love to her, if for no other reason than coaxing orgasms out of the woman kept my mind and body busy. More often though, I just held her, letting the feel of her soft warm body comfort me as I tried to sleep.
But were Penny’s nightly visits completely altruistic or was there something else in play? Perhaps, instead of being a modern Mother Theresa with high cheekbones, she was responding to an instinctual, animalistic need? Like I said previously, I did absolutely nothing to encourage Penny. We didn’t tell her that my parents had recently passed. She didn’t know that the one girl I truly loved chose her career over me. Yet every night, she waited until she thought Mrs. B had gone to bed, stripped naked and snuck into my room.
My theory was that Penny was indeed a wonderful caring woman who would help anybody that needed it … with her clothes on. But she went the extra mile for me. Because, for some odd reason, women were drawn to me. As I approached my twentieth birthday, I exuded a shy confidence, a timid power, a hidden openness that women craved. Yeah, I know those words don’t belong together. I just don’t know how else to say it other than, deep down inside, women knew I had what they wanted. Kind of like I exuded some mystical “come fuck me” pheromone. And it wasn’t just the maids that were affected by my mystical powers.
***
Two weeks after Quinnlyn replaced Penny in the upstairs bedroom, Mrs. B sent me on a little errand.
Several months earlier, the Company had planted several bugs and video cameras in the office, home and car of a mid-level German diplomat named Gunter Feiner. Gunter was suspected of passing NATO secrets to the Russians. After a hundred days of constant surveillance, the Company discovered that the suspect diplomat was screwing his secretary, his wife was fucking their next-door neighbor and their eighteen-year-old daughter routinely smoked pot in their garage. But they had absolutely no evidence that Gunter was a Russian spy. And that was the rub. The bugs and cameras had to be clandestinely removed before Gunter found them and accused the UK of spying on an ally. The British government would naturally deny the accusation and eventually place the blame on the US … i.e. the Company.
So, the bugs and cameras had to be retrieved without the Germans’ or Brits’ knowledge. That was my errand. Get rid of the bugs.
Gunter, being a good German, drove a Mercedes which he parked in an underground carpark when at work and his garage when home. Not wanting to risk being seen breaking into a car in a public place, I chose to remove the bug from his Mercedes when he was sleeping. I started the job at midnight, a good two hours after all the lights in the main house had been extinguished and felt confident that I wouldn’t be disturbed. Opening the unlocked garage door, I immediately smelled the distinctive earthy smell of burnt weed. I closed the door behind me and crouched by the side of the car for a couple of minutes before convincing Kazan Escort myself I was alone.
With a little luck, I’d quickly find the bug, snip a few wires and be on my way.
Like everything else in a modern car, the bug was damn near impossible to get to. I ended up laying on my back with my head stuck under the front passenger side dash. My ass was propped up by a short stool and my feet were flat on the concrete floor. With a penlight stuck in my mouth, a pair of wire snips in my left hand and a Philips head screwdriver in my right I damn near jumped out of my skin when a voice said …
“Was machst du gerade.” (German for what are you doing?)
“Shit.” I spat the penlight out of my mouth and speared my cheek with the screwdriver. “I’m uh … from the auto club. I’m here to fix your car phone.”
“At this hour?” the female voice asked with a distinct German accent.
“I could ask the same of you. Why are you in the garage with the lights out? Is that marijuana I smell?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said after a pause. “This is where I go when I want to be alone.”
“Sorry I disturbed your solitude. I was told the garage would be empty.”
“No need to apologize. My parents think I’m in bed.”
“Is there anything you need to get off your chest?” I asked. “I’m an excellent listener.”
“Get off your chest?” she laughed. “Is that a British expression?”
“I think it’s American. It means to tell someone about something that’s bothering you.”
“If I tell you my troubles, will I feel better?”
“No guarantee, but you won’t feel any worse.”
Having successfully guided the conversation away from why I was in her parent’s garage at midnight, I retrieved my penlight and continued my search for the well-hidden bug.
“I miss him,” she said.
“You’re boyfriend?”
“His name is Eric. He’s a few years older than me.”
“Your parents don’t approve?”
I finally found the bug. It was neatly tucked amongst a myriad of other wires.
“That’s why papa took this posting. To get me away from Eric.”
“Can’t you go back to Germany? You’re old enough aren’t you?”
“I turn nineteen next month. But I start University here this August.”
“So, find a nice Brit boy to go out with.”
“That’s the problem. They’re all too nice. And they’re boys. I want a man.”
“Last I checked, there are no shortage of men in London. Pick one you like and go after him.”
I snipped the power chord to the bug and was trying to figure out which wire connected it to the car-mounted phone when I felt a pair of hands undo my belt buckle.
“I thought you missed your boyfriend.”
“I do,” she said as she unzipped my pants. “I miss his smile and his sense of humor. I miss the way he looked at me when we went to parties, like I was the only girl in the room. But more than anything else, I miss his big cock. How it bulged in his pants when I took my shirt off. Watching it grow even bigger when I freed it from his underwear. Licking up that first little bit of cum from his slit. And I truly miss sucking his head deep into my mouth while I finger my pussy.”
I cut three more wires, tucked the loose ends up where they wouldn’t be seen and was ready to go home … except for the small problem of a homesick German girl who was using my dick as a lollypop. Not that I was complaining. She wasn’t an expert practitioner of the fellating art … several of the maids were much better and none of them could hold a candle to Mrs. B’s talented lips … but it was obviously not her first rodeo. And there was something strangely satisfying about getting a blowjob from a pair of lips I had yet to see. So, I got as comfortable as I could, considering the circumstances, and tried to picture what the young girl looked like.
Was she tall, thin and athletic? Or maybe a big girl, like the pictures you see of the German beer hall waitresses who carry three giant mugs of beer in each hand. In my mind, she was a blonde, with hair flowing halfway down her back. And her face was that of a Nordic goddess with high cheekbones, sky blue eyes and unblemished white skin.
Halfway into my musings, she unplugged her lips from my erection and replaced them with an extremely wet and tight pussy. I took advantage of the opportunity to explore the rest of her anatomy using the brail technique. She had apparently chosen to ride my stallion in the reverse cowgirl position. I knew this because, as I reached forward with my hands, the first things I encountered were two firm ass cheeks that were slowly descending towards my belly.
“Ach du lieber Gott, you are much bigger than Eric. Are all Americans as big as you?”
“I can’t say. I’m not in the habit of measuring other men’s pricks. Maybe after you’ve tried out a few British dicks, you should hop across the pond and sample a few of my countrymen.”
Yeah, I was lying. But Keçiören Escort I’d never see her again. Hell, I hadn’t seen her yet. And, from the way she was treating me, I felt it my patriotic duty to steer her towards one or two more Americans before she realized that all men were not created equal.
She continued to ride my “average American cock” while I resumed my blind exploration of her body. Having confirmed that her bum was nicely rounded and devoid of excess fat, I continued upwards to discover a slim waist and, slightly further north, was pleased to tangle my fingers in a cascade of hair that reached down to where her bra strap would have been, if she had been wearing one. I tried to reach around to her boobs but, with my head still trapped under the dash, the geometry didn’t work. So, I took a handful of hair and, with gentle pressure, pulled her head backwards.
Not willing to unplug, she leaned into her father’s car, placing her hands on the passenger seat and her boobs within my reach. I slipped my hands under her loose-fitting t-shirt to find a pair of smallish breasts topped with equally small nipples. Now I will readily admit that I’ve always preferred larger breasted women, but let’s not forget Mrs. B’s prime directive.
“Give the girl what she wants…”
Which in this case was the little extra push required to get the girl currently riding my cock like a rodeo Queen into the winner’s circle. So, I took a tiny nipple between the thumb and forefinger of each hand and squeezed.
That’s all it took. Her soft moans turned into a high-pitched squeal which sounded like a highly excited chipmunk fighting for an acorn. Her already tight pussy contracted around my cock so hard I thought I might never get it out and a flood of lady cum soaked the rich interior of Gunter’s Mercedes. Once her initial peak subsided, my hands continued to play under her shirt while she remained impaled on my cock. Through a bit of experimentation, I found I could command seemingly unlimited aftershocks by alternately caressing her tiny boobs and then twisting a nipple while slowly probing the entrance to her cervix.
But all good things must come to an end.
I wasn’t in Gunter Feiner’s garage to bang his daughter. I was there to clandestinely remove the bug from his car. And while I was fairly sure his daughter wouldn’t mention fucking the auto club man after smoking weed in the garage during the next morning’s breakfast table conversation, the less time I spent inside his garage (and daughter) the better. So, I stepped up my pace, gave her one last orgasm to remember me by and then pulled out before I made Gunter a grandfather.
***
The next day — a Friday — was my opportunity to get the bugs and cameras out of Gunter’s house. This would be a more time-consuming task since the Company’s magic department (as they called their collection of geeks who, among other duties, were responsible for electronic surveillance) went a little overboard. I don’t know if they were always this thorough when bugging a residence or if the presence of a good-looking teenage girl had something to do with them putting cameras in every damn room of the house, to include the bathrooms. Regardless, my job was to retrieve them all.
According to the surveillance team who were still monitoring what went on in the Feiner household; Gunter Feiner left for work at the normal time. His daughter seemed tired but unusually cheerful at breakfast and departed for school just after her father drove off. His wife was meeting a friend for lunch and then planned to spend most of the afternoon shopping. The house would be empty most of the afternoon.
I pulled up to the Feiner house a few minutes after noon in a small van with Maxwell Exterminators painted on the side under a drawing of a dead cockroach on his back with his feet sticking up in the air. I wore a pair of white work pants, black sneakers and a button-down work shirt with the same Maxwell Exterminator logo on the back.
I knocked on the Feiner’s front door, waited what I thought an appropriate amount of time and then picked the lock to gain entry. We already knew they didn’t have any sort of alarm system nor any pets. I closed the door behind me and soon had the living room microphone and camera disconnected. One room down, seven to go. Gunter’s study had more than one camera, so it took me a little more time than the living room, but I still had its bugs and cameras free in ten minutes. The stealth electronics in the kitchen were hidden in an overhead light fixture. Instead of going to the van and retrieving a ladder, like I should have done, I pulled a stool under the light and was balancing on my tip toes, trying hard not to drop the glass globe, when Mrs. Feiner walked into the room … followed by a man who was not her husband.
Instead of exhibiting any sign of outrage, which is what you would Kızılay Escort expect when finding a stranger in your house, Mrs. Feiner froze in place with her mouth open, although no words came out. Her male friend, who should have stepped forward to take charge of the situation, instead retreated backwards a few steps and also remained mute.
“Good afternoon,” I said in a cheerful voice. “Don’t mind me. I’m almost done with the kitchen.”
“Done doing what?” Mrs. Feiner stammered.
“I’m sorry. Didn’t your landlord let you know? I’m the exterminator … I’m checking for termites and other nasty little critters. We’ve had a bit of an infestation in the neighborhood.”
“You’re the bug man?” she asked.
“Exactly. And don’t worry about the expense. The bill will be sent to your landlord. Please continue with whatever you and your husband had planned for the afternoon. I promise to be as unintrusive as I possibly can.”
“He’s actually … well he’s not …”
“What my wife is trying to say is that I’ve got to get back to work,” the mystery man said. “Goodbye dear. We’ll take care of that little problem we discussed later. Maybe next week sometime.” The man, who I suspected was her adulterous neighbor, gave Mrs. Feiner a chaste kiss on the cheek and nearly ran out of the house.
With her paramour gone and convinced I wasn’t a burglar, Mrs. Feiner’s attitude towards me immediately improved.
“Is there something I can do to help?” She took a few steps forward, giving me an excellent view down her low-cut dress. Her daughter must have taken after Gunter’s side of the family when it came to the bosom gene. Mrs. Feiner had a healthy chest that, despite her age, still woke the snake from his slumber.
“Something to drink perhaps?” she offered. “Or should I just stand here to make sure you don’t fall.” She closed the distance between us and reached up over her head to place her hands on my waist … putting her eyes level with my belt buckle and her mouth so close to my growing erection that I could feel her hot breath through the fabric of my trousers.
“Now that you mention it, I am a bit thirsty,” I said.
“A cup of tea? Or maybe something stronger. I have some Weisen beer, imported straight from Bradenburg.”
“Uh … yes ma’am a beer would be wonderful.”
“Oh, such a formal young man. You make me sound like an old Frau, which I am not.” She grabbed my ass and would have pulled me off the stool if her lips against my crotch didn’t stop me.
“For the rest of the day, I think you will call me Annie.” She kissed my zipper covered cock and then released me to go fetch my beer.
I hurriedly retrieved the camera and bug from the light fixture and replaced the globe, hoping the Company was no longer monitoring the Feiner house. There were still numerous functioning cameras, and I didn’t want whoever might be watching see me drinking on the job. Not to mention whatever Mrs. Feiner had in mind.
Several of the cameras and bugs were hidden in ceiling mounted light fixtures. I guess that made sense. They had a convenient source of power, were easily concealed and provided coverage for all of the room. I’m sure they were relatively easy to install and would have been similarly simple to remove, if I didn’t have a horny German housewife following me around, intent on getting into my boxer shorts.
After the second time I nearly dropped my electrical tools down her blouse while she dropped my drawers trying to get to my other tool, we decided the task would be more easily accomplished without the encumbrance of clothing. Not that I minded having a large breasted, relatively attractive woman suck on my dick while I extracted the snoop gear from each room but, since the cameras were active until I disabled them, someone in the Company was getting video proof that the new guy was face fucking the wife of an innocent German diplomat.
And there was also the issue of maintaining my cover. After three or four rooms, I had plenty of proof that Annie knew a lot about sucking dicks, but how smart was she when it came to entomology? Did she really believe I was searching her house for real bugs? Or did she not give it a second thought? More importantly, once her lust was satisfied and I was long gone, would she wake up in the middle of the night and wonder why I would look for termites in bedroom light fixtures and behind bathroom mirrors but not in the floorboards.
Just to be on the safe side, I pretended to search for bugs where I thought a real exterminator might. I looked under the beds, peered behind a few pieces of furniture and crawled around their closets.
Which is where I found it.
I had retrieved the last set of microphones and cameras. I had brought Annie to a warmup orgasm by simultaneously sucking her clit while fingering her g spot. I had sent her to a place she’d never been before by alternating between her two lower openings while abusing her boobs and spanking her ass. And I gave her a cool down cum with a gentle session of missionary work.
She asked for a few seconds to catch her breath before she gave me one last blow job. I spent that time reinforcing my cover … playing the part of a good exterminator … and wandered into her closet.
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