Girl on the Net

Years ago when I used to browse Gumtree ‘sex buddy wanted’ ads for fun, I’d spot a lot of messages from submissive guys offering to clean my house in exchange for a beating. While I was pretty tempted by the idea of having the mould scrubbed clean from my bathroom, I figured, well, you get what you pay for, right? Someone who’s horny for a spanking is unlikely to make good work of scrubbing the bath. Still, I am delighted to discover that this arrangement does sometimes work, and while the housework/spanking exchange might not be the best idea, if you have cashmoney it’s more than possible to hire a naked maid.

This week’s guest blog comes from TeachersHaveSex. As you can tell from the blog title, right now she’s a teacher. But in the past she had a job that did exactly what it said on the tin: she was a naked maid. I hope you enjoy her story as much as I did.

Naked maid in San Francisco: a true story

San Francisco is a magical city where unexpected and charming things happen all the time; a place of limitless possibilities. It’s a city rife with entrepreneurs, and I couldn’t think of a better way to be one than to clean peoples’ homes in the nude.

I put up my nude maid ad on Craigslist (it was a simpler time… a time when Craigslist didn’t require a registered credit card to be able to post an ad in the adult services section) shortly after finding an apartment and started fielding emails. Some were from wankers or picture collectors; some were from men who asked me to do other types of erotic work, like massage, and one was from swingers looking for a partner (it is Craigslist, after all; it wouldn’t surprise me if there were couples looking for unicorns in the electronics for sale section or the rideshare section)! However, once or twice a month I was able to make appointments with kind, good-humored, and respectful clients.

There was the one with an already immaculate home who wanted me to clean his shower with it running because he liked to watch the water cascading down my body; the one way out in the suburbs who wanted me to clean in sheer stockings and high heels, which he was kind enough to purchase for me; the yoga instructor who did naked yoga while I cleaned; the nudist who had me wear a collar and cuffs while cleaning his floor to ceiling mirrors and then asked me to hang out on his eighth floor balcony with him naked after I was done, looking down at the unsuspecting pedestrians below.

I had two favorite clients — both repeat customers. One worked for the Young Men’s Christian Association (I know I could have written the YMCA, but it’s so much more fun reading it when you think about what it stands for); every time I went to his house, he played an awesomely bad eighties pony play porn — the same porn — on all of the televisions throughout his house simultaneously while I cleaned. He always asked me to do the living room last; I’d get down on my knees with orange-scented wood oil and polish his whole living room floor with long, slow strokes that extended from my knees outward, so that I’d end up stretched out forward with my ass (and my exposed cunt) in the air, while he sat behind me and jacked off.

My other favorite client was a guy who worked in Silicon Valley but lived near the Castro. He was young, good-looking, and a witty conversationalist (I often talked to my clients about politics, current events, and hobbies while cleaning). I left my first visit to his house thinking, “Can I ask a client out on a date? No, probably not. But maybe? *Sigh* No.” I was stoked when he asked me to come back a few months later.

While I was cleaning his kitchen, I mentioned that I also worked in a kinky play space and talked about what that entailed. He said that the idea of having a session with me excited him, which in turn excited me, so I asked if he had any rope. He didn’t… but he had a lot of computer cables! I told him to strip and made him pull a kitchen chair out from the corner, then watched as he sat on it nervously, blushing in anticipation. Boys are so beautiful when they blush. I started by binding his wrists behind the chair and his ankles to the chair legs, then wrapped cords around his chest and the chair, binding him as best I could with cables (quite a difficult task), brushing up against him with my bare breasts and legs and breathing into his ears, breaking a bunch of rules I’d made for myself. I made an effort to make it the sexiest cleaning I’d ever done, and he couldn’t touch himself (I didn’t touch myself either, but in hindsight, I wish I had put on a show for him).

I never did ask him out on that date — it was a professional boundary I wasn’t willing to cross — but I thought about that day a lot afterward. About how easy it would have been to straddle and lower myself onto him on that chair in the middle of his sunny kitchen in the middle of a Saturday afternoon with tiny dust motes floating down around us. About untying him and asking him to take me over the sink so I could gaze out his window onto a steep street lined with beautifully-painted houses while being pounded. About getting down on his kitchen floor immediately after mopping it and making the floor dirty while becoming slippery with Pine-Glo scented water and sweat. I didn’t carry out my desire, but it served as fantasy fodder for years — hopefully it did for him, too.