Service with a Smile Ch. 02

WARNING:

The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult, or reading sex stories upset you, or you are offended by subjects of a sexual nature - do not read any further!

This story is for entertainment only. It contains adult oriented material. This is a work of fiction. The acts and characters contained within are figments of my imagination and have no basis in fact. I do not practice, advocate, condone or encourage acts portrayed here. The characters in the story are entirely fictional. You need to believe that all of the characters are over the age of eighteen.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author. This story may be freely distributed with this notice attached.

* * * * * * * * * *

Mr. Marcus's wife, Harriett, arranged for a local girl, Inga, to perform a ministry once a week while she's away. The first visit surprised Mr. Marcus, who got a good look at Inga in her undies as she cleaned out an attic room. However, Inga saw Mr. Marcus watching a porn tape and found his stash of adult magazines. Did Inga tell anyone what she saw? And where might Inga's visits and continued exposure lead? If Inga was a service station, would Mr. Marcus fill 'er up?

* * * * * * * * * *

I choked on Harriett's first words after getting home from her latest business trip. "You didn't take advantage of that sweet girl, did you?"

Did Harriett suspect something? I never laid a hand on Inga despite her prancing around in her underwear. "What do you mean?"

"Her ministry is only one hour a week. I didn't invite her to cook and clean for you all afternoon."

"I didn't give her household chores." Nor any personal sexual ones. Not that the thought hadn't crossed my mind. But I was being good, for a change.

"Good. I expect you to keep the house in order while I'm away. You know how I need for the house to be kept tidy."

But who would care for my physical needs? Not Harriett. Never Harriett. One of these days, when Zenellis sends me my first royalty check and I'm financially independent, maybe I'll leave Harriett and her frozen demeanor towards sex.

After a quick twenty-four visit that was a living hell compared to the four days when she was absent, Harriett flew off again. These business jaunts were giving her great pleasure and adding more than a few bucks to the household stash. I counted the days until Inga's next visit. It was difficult, deciding between my normal daily masturbation or saving myself. Hell, there wasn't any promise that I'd get into Inga's panties, pussycat decorations or not. I settled on jerking off every other day, as a compromise, careful to put my source material away.

Finally, the day. The doorbell rang twenty minutes early. Was Inga as anxious to be together as I was? Peeping through the glass pane, it wasn't her. An Avon woman, perhaps? Her make-up and decorum were high class and precise. Under other circumstances, I'd let her in and let her do her spiel. Who knows? Maybe she's selling women's lingerie and would be willing to model the latest nighty fashions? I opened the door and smiled warmly. "I'm sorry. The lady of the house isn't here. If you'd like to come back some other time-"

She stuck out her hand. "I'm Inga's mother. May I come in? There are some things I'd like to discuss with you."

Damn! Inga ratted me out. The porn film, the magazines! But I never touched her, not once! Well, there was that hug in the bathroom when I wrapped her in a towel, but that was harmless.

I extended my hand to shake. Her grip was firm. I had the fleeting thought about how her grip would feel around my dick. Damn, my mind slips into the gutter so easily.

"Can I get you something to drink, Ms-?"

"Doctor. Dr. Stephanie Crumholtz. A glass of water, if you please."

"What kind of doctor are you?"

"I'm a practicing psychotherapist."

Practice is supposed to make perfect, but I didn't know a psychotherapist from a psychiatrist from a psychologist. No reason to display my ignorance. "Oh."

Dr. Crumholtz parked herself on the couch. As I walked behind her, she opened her coat and struggled to get her arms out of the sleeves. She wore a boat neck blouse, where the boat was the Queen Mary. The front scoop collar hung loose. When she bent forward to extract her arm from a sleeve, I got a great view of cleavage and uplifted breasts, probably from one of those Wunderbras. She had measurements Inga could strive for, as she got older. The good doctor glanced up, caught my stare, and hugged the material to her chest.

I hurried into the kitchen, embarrassed at having been caught. I took a deep breath, brought out the glass of cold tap water and placed it on the coffee table in front of her. She was still holding the front of her blouse close. I'd spooked her good, having come to lecture me about corrupting her daughter. Now she was armed with evidence of lascivious behavior.

Since she had taken a place in the center of the couch, I was forced to select one of the facing chairs. "It's nice to meet you." I folded my hands in my lap. No reason to show a partial erection to this stranger.

"Inga spoke to me about your fixation with large breasts."

Doc doesn't beat around the bush, and Inga has a big mouth! The paused porn film with breasts filling the screen. My Juggs magazines, hidden upstairs in the attic. My comments about checking one's self for lumps. A natural conclusion, I guess. Oh, and then I take advantage of a tit shot down her mother's blouse. Nice work, Harvey. I could claim this was all a mistake, but then what? 'I'm not interested in large breasts.' And she replies, 'Oh, then you like Inga's smaller ones perhaps?' This was a no win. Time to take my lumps and hope Harriett doesn't get word. "I'm sorry Inga was exposed to that." I was careful not to apologize for doing it, just that Inga saw it. After all, a man's castle is his masterbatorium.

"I'm quite disturbed, after all of the background checks I'd performed, that this would come out." She wrung her hands. "After all, I can't have my daughter in jeopardy from perverts or psychopaths."

Background checks? And I passed? Was she more upset at what Inga saw, or that her checking was deficient? "I assure you, I pose no threat to your daughter."

"It's too late to request an alternative family, and with your wife traveling, I believe we're stuck with you. However, I'd like to offer you free counseling, to assist you with your problem," she continued.

That's a switch. No harassment, no lecture, just an offer to cure me. Who says I want to be cured? And anyway, I don't have a large breast fixation. I like all sizes. "And how would you do that?" I asked.

"Counseling sessions at my office. No charge, as I said."

"It's a kind offer," I replied. No way was I going to get analyzed about a fictitious sex problem. "Let me think about it."

Her voice sounded like a military command. "My office, tomorrow, at 4:30. Or, I'll inform Harriett."

Damn! Okay, so this would be my penance for getting caught with my pants down. "I'll be there."

She reached for the glass, holding her blouse from sagging, and took a large sip of water.

The doorbell rang. The doc stood and went to answer it. I didn't complain, since I was sure who it was.

Inga stood in the doorway, again in her blazer/blouse/skirt/stockings uniform. She held a garment bag in one hand, a small duffel in the other. "Mama! What are you doing here?" The two females hugged.

I was jealous. Inga never hugged me. Neither did her mother, just a handshake.

"Just stopping by for a chat with Mr. Marcus about your ministry." Doc kissed the top of Inga's head. "He had nothing but positive things to report."

Yes, about how perky her tits looked before I wrapped her in a towel, and how her round and firm ass filled out her panties. "You're doing a great job," I said. "I told your mother to be proud."

She pranced past both of us. "Hello, Mr. Marcus."

"Moving in?" I quipped. I knew just what bed I'd offer her - mine.

"Don't forget, I'll be by to pick you up today," said Doc.

Inga waved the clothing bag as she jogged up the stairs. "I didn't forget. See, my change of clothes."

I prevented myself from turning to watch Inga's skirt wave as she ascended the stairs, so I missed her unblemished thighs.

"I'll see you soon, Mr. Marcus," said Stephanie.

I'd been warned. Show up tomorrow, or face a top-to-bottom search of my house for my porno collections, plus whatever penalty Harriett chose to apply. There was something missing. A warning, 'Stay away from my daughter!' or something similar. Perhaps she thought my fixation with big tits made her daughter safe from my advances. Shows that someone with a doctorate doesn't know everything.

I held Stephanie's coat while she pushed her arms into the sleeves. She stepped past me onto the stoop, and then paused. "Of course, it goes without saying, that you'll keep your hands off Inga."

I nodded vigorously and held up the Boy Scout three fingers. She probably took it as swearing a promise. I meant 'read between the lines, sister.'

Inga had put her clothing and tote bags upstairs and was already coming down, panties flashing as she lifted her knees high. No pussycat today, merely pink flowers. "I got an IM from Mrs. Marcus."

So, Harriett was IMing now? "What did she have to say?"

"She's fine, and she wants the pantry cleaned, top to bottom," Inga said.

Taking the pantry apart and putting it back together, ignoring the cleaning in-between, was a Herculean job, not a one-hour quickie. Harriett was being unreasonable, after just advising me not to take advantage of Inga's ministry. What the hell was Harriett doing, suggesting this chore? "You'll never finish that in an hour."

"Not even if you help?" One finger dangled dangerously from Inga's lower lip.

Work in close proximity to a nubile young woman in bra and panties? Sign me up. Way up. I crossed my arms over my chest. "Nope."

"Then we'll start today and I'll finish it tomorrow," she replied.

"I thought you could only do one hour a week." Did I have it wrong?

"One of my other families is on vacation, so I have the time. It's okay, isn't it, me coming here tomorrow?"

As far as I was concerned, Inga could move in. Even share my bed. She was so nice to look at, and certainly nicer to touch. If I ever took the opportunity. Which I wouldn't. Not with her mother breathing down my neck with threats to expose me. "Sure."

Inga disappeared into the pantry, a narrow room paralleling one wall of the kitchen. For storing all of the canned goods, dry goods, excess pots, pans and bowls, not to mention infrequently used appliances, the "alley" was a welcome feature. The aisle was just wide enough for a ladder, which was always necessary for reaching the upper shelves. On several occasions, Annie and I had both been searching for food items in the cramped space, and needed to slip past each other. Those were the first times I'd felt Annie's breasts or ass rub against me. Funny how memories flash back.

I cleared off both the kitchen and dining room tables, to make room for everything that would be removed before cleaning. By the time I got to the pantry door, Inga was already down to bra and panties. Damn, I missed the striptease.

I sat in a kitchen chair, watching Inga parade by with canned goods, boxes, bags and appliances. Every time, she'd flash a smile. I'd smile back, then stare at her ass as she returned to her chore.

"You seem so comfortable, walking around like that," I said.

Inga carried an armful of cereal boxes. "What? You mean in my undies? This is nothing. My whole family walks around naked most of the time. Mama says it's mentally healthy."

I tried to picture Doc naked, with some difficulty. How did Mr. Crumholtz keep from wagging an erection in front of his wife and daughter? Maybe he didn't, and Inga was used to seeing a man with an erection.

She put the boxes on the nearby table. Inga continued, "Back where we came from, lots of families practiced nudity, except when it got too cold."

"Where was that?" Sweden? Norway?

"Ohio." She turned to fetch another load.

Next time I'm in Sandusky, I'll have to check out the neighborhoods more carefully.

How long could I just sit there, watching this barely covered nymph? When she put down the bulk food containers, her bra sagged, exposing the soft curve between her breasts.

It took more than half an hour, closer to forty-five minutes, for Inga to clear all but the top shelf.

"Those things up top look heavy. Can you give me a hand?" she asked.

I'd wanted to give her something all afternoon, but not a hand. "Okay."

"You should take your shirt and pants off, to keep them from getting dirty," Inga suggested.

Did I want my blossoming erection tenting my jockeys to be exposed? Not when Little Blabbermouth tells her mother everything that goes on in my house. "No thanks."

For the highest shelf, someone would have to climb our ladder to fetch the top items, large boxes and bags. "Do you want me to get them?" I asked.

"Nope, I'm fine."

That was certainly true. Inga climbed high on the ladder, to wrestle a bag of flour. God, what a beautiful ass! I closed my eyes and daydreamed of Inga, on all fours, legs spread, giving me a clear view of -.

"Mr. Marcus!"

Huh? Damn! In my reverie, I'd leaned forward, my noise poking one of her buttocks.

"You almost pushed me over." The large sack filled her arms.

"Sorry."

She bent to hand me the flour without descending. The weight nearly toppled her from the ladder. She tried to hang on, while I grabbed at the falling bag. With a whoosh, white powder exploded, coating everything in sight. Inga looked like an angel more than ever.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered.

"That's okay. Harriett doesn't bake anyway."

That brought a smile back to her face. "We should take a shower."

Was she suggesting a joint bathing? I wasn't sure I could get through that experience without violating her mother's "No touch" rule. "Before we track this all over the house, we need to brush off the excess. No reason to clog the pipes."

I tiptoed through the kitchen to the garage. Inga followed. I had a shop vacuum that would suck the powder off us. I threw an old drop cloth on the floor. "Stand still."

Inga stood with perfect posture. That put her shoulder back, emphasizing her perky chest and rounded butt. I turned on the vacuum and ran the open end of the plastic hose above her. Her hair stood up as the machine inhaled flour from her head. I made sure to keep the nozzle a few inches away. After her shoulders, it was time for the tricky issue of navigating across her chest. I was surprised when the bra held against the pull of the machine. I'd envisioned her bra getting sucked in, and then where would we be? Well, she'd be naked on top for one thing. Two things, actually.

"I think I got some inside," Inga said. Without hesitation, she reached up, undid the front latch and pulled the bra off.

My eyes were saucers as I viewed her teacup-sized breasts. Sure enough, there was caked white powder forming crescents above them. Damn, and her naked breasts were capped with inverted nipples. I'd never seen innies before. I stood, frozen.

Inga guided the nozzle to her chest, and the white streaks vanished. The nozzle slipped from my grip as she moved it, clamping onto one of her breasts. "Ooh! Ooh! Ooooh!"

I pulled it back, but not before I saw Inga's expression adopt a far away look. Uh oh! The vacuum sucking on her tit had pulled her nipple out. A very suckable nipple at that. Best to get the remainder done and send her off to the shower. Inga had the nozzle on her other breast before I could react.

"Ooooh! Ooooh!" Now both nipples pointed outward, demanding attention. I ignored their pleas.

She remained standing, but less erect, while I did her back and stomach. Now I was at danger zone two. "Maybe if you just -"

Inga pulled the waistband of her panties forward, and then jammed the nozzle in, directing it up and down. She was masturbating with the suction!

This was better than her demanding that I do something to get her off, so I let go and stood back, allowing her pleasure herself. Her panties had slipped from her hips, and stalled at upper thigh. With two hands and bent knees, Inga slid the nozzle up and down inches from her pussy. Her pubic hair stood at attention. My dick joined them, but my jockey's held. She moaned and coughed, then let the vacuum hose drop. She grabbed a shelving unit to steady herself. The vacuum hose snaked around at our feet until I killed the power. She looked up with new eyes, demanding eyes. She'd tasted an appetizer of sexual arousal. I'd be damned, literally, if I delivered the main course.

"What just happened?" she asked.

"You got excited," I said. "Haven't you ever done anything with yourself, before, I mean?" Her panties were still at half mast.

She shook her head. "Was that sex?"

"Sort of. Personal sex, the kind one does for themselves, usually alone."

"Is that why do you have all those magazines? The ones with pictures of women with large breasts? And that movie?"

I never thought of Inga as stupid. My copies of Juggs, the ones with small hand prints in the accumulated dust, were on the top of the stack. "Uh huh. And now your mother thinks I'm a pervert that needs to be cured. Speaking of which, hasn't she ever had a birds and bees discussion with you?"

"No. When I ask her about stuff like that, she changes the subject. I learned everything I know from my friend Norma."

I wondered where Norma got her education, but didn't ask. "Why don't you go take a shower? You're going out tonight, remember?"

"We've got time. I want to do you." Inga stroked the hose.

She doesn't mean what she's saying, I told myself.

"You can't vacuum yourself off," she explained.

"Okay, go ahead."

Inga turned on the vacuum and pointed the hose at me. "Take your shirt off and kneel down."

She'd ignored her panties, which were now bunched at her ankles. With her next move, she stepped out of them. On my knees, I was face high with her belly, and the promise just below.

Inga giggled as she sucked the flour from my head. She must have been witnessing my hair, standing up. She passed the hose over my neck, shoulders, and back. "Stand up."

Was it obvious that my penis was doing the same thing?

"Take off your trousers."

I hesitated. "If I do this, you can't tell your mother."

Inga's face flushed. "I'm sorry, but I tell Mama everything. She says no secrets is the best policy."

I folded my arms across my chest. "Then go take your shower. I'll clean myself off." My slacks were dusty, but there was no way any flour had made it past my belt and the elastic of my jockeys.

Inga stood, motionless. Her eyes were on my crotch. "What's that?"

The bulge in my pants was obvious. Didn't she know? "You said your family practices nudity. Haven't you ever seen your father, uh, excited?"

She shook her head. "Show me."

This was a moment of truth. Expose myself to this young woman? She stood naked before me, holding the vacuum nozzle, a distinct phallic symbol.

"Only if this is between the two of us," I demanded. If we were about to walk the slippery slope, and I hoped we would, then Dr. Crumholtz could know nothing of it.

"I don't tell Mama about my talks with Norma." She paused to consider her decision. "Okay, I won't tell."

I unzipped my pants and tossed them to the side. I took a deep breath and dropped my jockeys.

She pointed at my erection. "Your plumbing is sticking up!"

No one had ever called it that, not even my pediatrician. I would have remembered. Although, in college, fucking a coed was sometimes referred to as 'cleaning one's pipes.' "It's my penis."