An Unexpected Replacement
The call from the maid company came on the morning of your scheduled service, just as you were settling into your work. “Your regular cleaner has quit,” the manager explained, her tone hesitant, her voice laced with apology. “We’re sending Andrea as her replacement—she’s young, still new, still learning, but she’s eager.” You sighed, already dreading the adjustment—some inexperienced girl bumbling through your condo, breaking things, missing spots, ruining clothes, taking twice as long. You were annoyed, but reluctantly agreed. Then Andrea arrived, and in an instant, your irritation evaporated.
She stood in your doorway, a disheveled vision, slightly breathless, as if she’d rushed to be on time. Her blue hair was tousled from the wind, her oversized glasses slipping down her nose, hastily pushed back up with one finger in an adorably nerdy way. The uniform—gray shorts that hugged her toned thighs and a tight, wrinkled blue shirt—looked like it had been thrown on in a hurry. And yet… there was something about her, the faint flush on her cheeks as she introduced herself, shy and awkward, yet polite and submissive. But it was her body that seized your attention. Young and inexperienced? Maybe. But you were suddenly very interested in giving her a chance.
The Slow Art of Seduction
Andrea was, as promised, terrible at cleaning. Tasks that should have taken three hours stretched into an entire day, but you found yourself not minding the delay. In fact, you started to look forward to it—the way she bit her lip in concentration while dusting, the way her shirt rode up just slightly when she reached for high shelves, the deliberate arch of her back as she mopped the floors, the way her shorts tightened over her round backside when she bent to retrieve clothes from the dryer.
At first, she was all business, nervous and distant. But as the weeks passed, something shifted. Her posture relaxed. Her smiles lingered. And then one day, you noticed—her top buttons were undone, revealing a teasing glimpse of her smooth skin, the pale slope of her cleavage. The next week, she wasn’t wearing a bra. The soft peaks of her nipples pressed against the thin fabric, hardening when she caught you staring.
A Deliberate Game
You weren’t imagining it—Andrea wasn’t just cleaning your condo anymore—she was flirting. She found excuses to linger near your office, asking unnecessary questions just to hear your voice. Her old-lady glasses vanished, replaced by contacts that made her hazel eyes even brighter, even more hypnotic. She caught you watching her more than once, but instead of looking away, she’d bite her lip, letting her eyes trail down your body.
She was toying with you. The ether between you felt ominous, every interaction charged with something unspoken. Every time she bent over, her shorts riding up, you imagined gripping those hips and pulling her into you.
A Special Request
You couldn’t take it anymore. One afternoon, your restraint slipped. As she bent over to wipe down your coffee table—slowly, deliberately—you cleared your throat. “Andrea,” you murmured, your voice rougher than you intended. “I have a… special request.” She turned, curious, and you handed her the package you’d been hiding in your desk.
When she pulled out the skimpy black-and-white French maid uniform designed to showcase every inch of her, her breath hitched and her eyes widened in surprise—but not displeasure. “You want me to wear this… while I clean?” she assumed correctly, her voice breathy. You nodded, “Please.” To your shock, she didn’t hesitate. “I’ll try it on,” she whispered, her voice trembling with excitement.
The bathroom door clicked open, and when Andrea stepped out, the air left your lungs in a rush. The dress was shorter than you’d even imagined. It hugged every curve, the neckline plunging, revealing the soft swell of her breasts. Black stockings clung to the toned curves of her thighs, the garter straps pulling taut against her hips in a way that made your fingers itch to trace them. A wisp of blue hair had escaped her pinned-up style, curling against her collarbone, and when she turned to give you a slow, deliberate spin, the skirt flared just enough to reveal the bare curve of her backside.
“Do I… meet your standards, sir?” she teased. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. You could only stare. She bit her lip when you didn’t answer—like she knew exactly what she was doing to you. “I'll get to work,” she murmured, dragging a fingertip along the edge of the dresser as she passed you. The sway of her hips was a provocation. An invitation.
End of the Innocence
In the subsequent weeks, Andrea cleaned with a new kind of energy—lingering near you, brushing against you, her touches no longer accidental. The tension between you both had become unbearable. Things escalated quickly. Then, one day, as she knelt to scrub the bathroom floor, you appeared in the doorway, watching. She turned, her chest rising with quickened breath, and before you could speak, she closed the distance between you.
Her lips were warm, insistent, her inexperience only making the kiss hotter. When she pulled back, her lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed. “I’ve never done this before,” she admitted, embarrassed, her voice trembling. “But I’ve wanted to since the first day I saw you.” The admission sent a primal rush through you. Her innocence wasn’t a barrier. It was a gift, one you’d ruin in the best way possible.
Her First Time
You didn’t hesitate. You lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around your waist as you carried her to the bedroom. Her body was pliant beneath your touch, her breath hitching as you explored her. Her breasts were perfect—soft, responsive, her nipples hardening the moment your tongue flicked over them.
As you finally pushed inside her, her back arched, a broken moan spilling from her lips. Andrea was tight, so deliciously tight. “Oh God—” she whimpered, her inexperience giving way to raw, unfiltered arousal. She was eager, responsive, as you taught her what pleasure felt like. She quickly learned the rhythm of your thrusts and the absolute surrender to your demands.
Every gasp, every shudder, every cry, was yours. You took your time, slow and deliberate, just like her cleaning. And when it was over, she curled against you, her skin still electric, her blue hair fanned out across your pillows like a victory flag.
The Promise
Andrea lay sprawled across your sheets, her skin still flushed and gleaming from exertion. You reached for the envelope of cash—far thicker this time—and slipped it into the pocket of her discarded uniform. She’d more than earned it.
She curled against you before stretching lazily, her fingertips tracing slow, possessive circles down your chest. When she lifted her gaze to meet yours, her lips curved into a knowing smile. “Same time next week?” she purred, voice low and velvety with promise. You smirked, dragging a thumb along her bottom lip. “Only if you wear the uniform again.”
Her laugh was warm and sweet. “Oh, I’ll wear it,” Andrea assured you, rolling onto her elbows until her face hovered inches above yours. “And next time, I’ll make sure to… clean even better.” The deliberate hitch in her words, the way her thigh slid over yours—it sent a thrill straight through you. You smacked her ass, then pulled her down for a searing kiss, already counting the days. You knew then—this arrangement wasn’t just continuing. It was just getting started.