CLEANED (MF, exhib, control) He'd seen her a few times now around these offices. One of the cleaning ladies. There was a team of them employed by the building, responsible for keeping everything ship-shape. Mostly they spent their time sprucing up the common areas like corridors and bathrooms, sweeping and mopping floors and stairways. But every few days they came around to clean people's individual offices. Dust their bookshelves, sweep the tiled floor, mop if necessary, empty the waste paper basket. It was like a regular ritual. They came and went with great frequency - staff turnover, that is. Obviously a sign that the pay was lousy. And mostly they were older women. Serious women, with kids now all at school and needing some extra pin money. None of them could be considered glamorous. They were care-worn, stretched by serial childbirth, buttoned up in some corporate-image cleaning-uniform that made them look as straight as pipe-cleaners. Except this one. She alone stood out. She was young, early twenties at the most. Black. Short and petite, with a high rounded bum. And she had knockers. Out of proportion to the rest of her slight build. She did indeed manage to look glamorous. Though in a very low-budget sort of a way. Her uniform appeared to have been handed down from someone much bigger than her. It hung loosely on her, flowed around her curves, and seemed to accentuate rather than conceal. Her face was cute, like a young Billie Holiday. Her hair was often arranged in many tiny pulled-back braids, and sometimes she'd wear a small flower over one ear. Sometimes she didn't even bother wearing the corporate uniform, and that used to make her really stand out. She'd wear something like a long stretchy split-skirt, down to her ankles and tight across her bum. A skirt better suited for night-clubbing, though it was now grubby in places and sometimes had cobwebs stuck to the hem. This might be matched with a fashion t-shirt top, a bit too big and low in the neckline. One that easily fell away from her chest as she bent forward on her broom. Anyone in the right place could really cop a good look. And, standing up straight, it was sometimes apparent that her bra was a couple of sizes too small. Deliberate? Or just another ill-fitting hand-me-down from somebody? Her big boobs would try to spill over the undersized cups, giving an appearance through the loose but clingy material of her top that she had four medium breasts rather than two good-sized ones. She seemed well aware of the effect she had on men. She always had a very knowing look in her eye. She was almost smug in her prettiness. In ten years time she might end up as frayed as the others, but right now she still had that flush of youth. If ever he caught her eye while passing in the corridor, she'd meet his gaze unashamedly. Look straight into his soul, with an inscrutable Giaconda smile and eyes that seemed to say "Yes, I know I'm a spunk. And I know what you'd like to do with me." He was meant to act proper. He was a professional in this place. Quite senior. And very married. And he did act proper. Exceedingly proper. He started avoiding her gaze if ever it fell on him. Deliberately and self-consciously, he would refuse to catch her eye. And she knew it. Knew he was dodging her knowing look, the one that said her mind could read every single lustful thought he'd ever had about her. Knew she made him uncomfortable with just a glance. Knew exactly how hot the blood would get behind his ears as she passed. There was a polite knocking on his office door. He recognised it as the cleaners' usual knock, and reached across to release the doorknob. Three of them filed in, dusting implements at the ready. Two as plain as pikestaffs. And one sex bomb, looking ready to explode. Or so his fevered imagination was telling him. The other ladies paid neither him nor her the slightest attention. This was just another office in a long string of offices. Dust, sweep, mop, empty the bin, and get the hell outta here. But were they really as guiltless as their twin poker-faces made out? If so, why did they let her do most of the work? Why did they dawdle in the corridor as soon as they'd dusted, leaning on their brooms while she did the sweeping? Why did they say "We'll start on next- door, luv", leaving her alone with him? It was as if a conspiracy was at work here. She could have faced any other point of the compass as she bent over her broom. But no matter which part of the room she swept, she kept her body turned so that her dangling neckline was pointed right at him. He was trying to carry on typing, trying to keep his eyes on the glowing computer screen in front of him. Weakening, he glanced across at her. Fuck! What a cleavage! She was bent forward about forty-five degrees, her top hanging well down. Through that gaping neckline, he could see both bra-clad breasts in their entirety as they bobbed and wobbled and bulged out of their cups. It must indeed be a conspiracy. She would surely know that her goods were on display. And be conscious of his gaze upon her. Yet she kept her own eyes demurely downcast, giving her full attention to the growing collection of dust and mouse droppings at her feet. She was affording him the freedom to look as much as he wanted. With a superhuman effort he dragged his gaze back to the computer screen. He pressed semi-colons, apostrophes, random consonants, anything to make the keyboard clatter busily. A stream of nonsense inched across the screen. He wouldn't look at her. He mustn't look at her! It was embarrassing, humiliating, that without a word she now controlled all his faculties, drew upon every fibre in his being. She knew what was going on. Gave him every chance to see her gorgeous chest without being "caught". She felt his look boring into her. And inwardly she exulted. Once you can get them to look, you're halfway home. It's the litmus test of possibility, but has to be carefully judged. If they look, then something might be made of the situation. If they glance only once then never again, you know to back away. She started dusting. Along the bookshelf. Down the side of the filing cabinet. Along the front of his desk. Down the front of his desk. Down the front of his desk ... oh shit! She had to bend low for that one. Right in front of him, slightly to one side of his computer monitor. He only had to move his eyes a fraction and extend their focal length, and suddenly his view was into heaven itself. He felt like a rabbit, literally transfixed by two headlights. She dusted her way around from the front of the desk to the side. Now standing to his left, she flicked away imaginary specks while he kept his eyes riveted on the screen. She was so close now that she could read the gibberish he'd been busily typing these past three minutes. Seeing it, she gloated. She was standing next to him now, only inches away from him. Feeling his tongue getting thick in his throat, he forced himself to speak. "Shall I move out of your way?" "Don't worry, I'll just lean across." She did, reaching out over his keyboard with her duster to flick its feathers over the computer mouse. Despite him leaning well back in his chair, her posture brought her dangling chest level with his face. Time seemed to stand still. He didn't know where to look, or how he should react to her being so up close. "Would you like to touch one?" What!??! Her voice was so low as to be almost inaudible, but he'd heard correctly alright. In case he hadn't, she repeated "Go on, touch them." At this, his fortitude was reduced to jelly. Dreamlike, he raised his right hand, slid it in past the neckband of her t-shirt and got instantly enveloped by luxuriant warmth and soft sexiness. So stimulating, yet so maddeningly frustrating because of the obstacle of her undersized bra cups. "Wait a second." She straightened, turned behind her and snicked the door shut. Then she hiked up her skirt just enough to be able to step one leg over. She sat upon him, straddling his thighs, though well back from his burgeoning cock. Slowly, like the theatre curtain at the start of a performance, she raised her slightly grubby fashion top up over her head. It dropped to the desktop behind her. Reaching around behind her, that too- tight bra suddenly slackened and fell away, ending the cruel distortion of her round, pendulous breasts. He gazed in awe, seemingly struck dumb and paralyzed all at once. She waggled her shoulders to show them off, and they bobbled and swayed inches before his nose. She solved the paralysis problem by pulling his hands up onto them. Galvanized into action by this tactile trigger, he fell upon their fullness and warmth, lashing his tongue across their coffee-coloured slopes and underhangs, engaging each stiff nipple in turn. "That's it!" she cooed softly, "Suck 'em, baby!" She luxuriated in the attention he was devoting to her chest. He put his arms around to the bare skin of her back, the better to firmly pull her close and get as much boob into his mouth as possible. A sure sign of a confirmed titty-lover. But she felt it was time to take things to the next level. She reached down his front to his crutch, and easily located the upright ridge in his trousers. Unzipping him with difficulty in his hunched-down posture, she got the tip of it out, and played with it lightly. "You want to come, baby?" she whispered. His reply seemed affirmative, but was very muffled. Undoing his belt and waistband to open further access for her roving hand, she repeated the question. "Shall I make you come?" "Mmmm-mmmm!" Definitely affirmative. Time to get down to hard tacks, in a manner of speaking. "You just suck my titties, and I'll wank you till you come." She started rolling his foreskin back and forth in a way that experience had taught her was very effective for reaching this goal. Then suddenly, she stopped. "But it's gonna cost ya, honey!" "MMM!!! What???" "Got a hundred bucks on ya, baby?" Oh fuck. Realisation began to dawn on him. "Why?" "Cos nuthin' comes for free. I got what you need. A hundred bucks and it's yours." Her hand resumed a gentle tugging on his cock. Nice, but not enough to progress him anywhere. But his dawning realisation was being followed by anger. Anger at being duped in this way. With his arms still firmly locked around her, he thought he might have the upper hand. She was only little, after all. And he felt that she deserved anything she got, now. He dragged her hips forward toward him, and thrust his crotch upward, in an effort to get his cock up against her cleft. His hands thrust deep into her waist elastic at the back, trying to drag skirt and panties down off her butt, trying to expose her pussy to his upright prick. But she was ahead of him. Her hand had already encircled his testicles, and now she squeezed hard. He tensed up at the sudden agony of it, then went limp again as she eased off the pressure. Surprisingly, his cock stayed straight like a ramrod. "You don't get to fuck ME!" she hissed, "Just do as you're fuckin' told, and if you're a good boy I'll give you some relief. But you don't get to fuck me." She still had her hand right inside his trousers, at the place where he was most vulnerable. "And you gotta pay for the privilege." A flash of shiny stainless caught the corner of his eye. Where'd she got that little flick-knife from? It was tucked up in the palm of her other hand, and its blade was open. It's appearance had been so slick as to be almost magical - she was topless, and he hadn't noticed her skirt having any pockets. From down the side of her shoe seemed the only possibility. This little bitch was serious, and capable. In his genteel professional world he was unaccustomed to weapons, to violence. He knew he had a big size advantage if it came to a tussle, but his uppermost thought was that she might cut him. How'd he explain that to his colleagues? His boss? His wife? This ought not be romantic. His cock should be shrinking away and cringing like the rest of him. Why, then, was it still so rock hard? "A hunnerd bucks, please." "Can I touch your cunt?" "No. You get to play with my tits while I wank you." He was still very much in love with her ripe brown breasts. Their loveliness had not diminished even a jot upon the rude discovery of their possessor's street-smarts. He fished about in his side pocket and came up with some crisp notes. These disappeared down into her shoe. The knife, however, didn't. "Suck! And no more funny business!" He sucked. She wanked. He licked. She increased her motion, but kept it delicate. It's not easy wanking a guy to orgasm, there being a fine line between stimulating them enough to come, and pumping so hard it hurts. Faster and more reliable to suck him off, but that would come later, once she'd broken him in. And only with a condom on. "Can I come on your tits?" "That'll be an extra twenty." Magically another note appeared, and she hunkered down on the floor between his out-splayed legs, pulling his cock out straight toward her tawny melons. Looked like he needed a little bit of an extra push, so she tweaked a nipple through his shirtfront while concentrating on getting his foreskin moving just right. He loved this extra stimulation, and the sight of her big round boobs waiting to receive him. The smuttiness, the sheer filth of his entrapment by this Jezebel, was more than his straight-laced mind could yet absorb. And her control of him, the firm limits she'd placed on him, made a mere handjob so much the sweeter. So sweet his spine was tingling. And his cock was spurting. She loved this part. Loved the looks on their faces as they gazed in awe upon her dangling breasts. Loved the power of being able to make them shoot, and immediately see the results of her handiwork. Loved to tease them sometimes, by pretending to dodge out of the way and see how frantically they scrabbled to have their stuff land on her. Loved seeing the white rivulets standing in stark contrast to her own brown skin. Loved using gobs of it to annoint her near-black nipples. "Lick it off!" He hesitated, but then thought, why not? It added to his feeling of depravity. Not a feeling he ever thought he'd enjoy, but then he'd never found himself in this situation before. With outstretched tongue he delicately drew up all his silvery beads and threads off her warm smooth skin, and swallowed them down. He paid extra attention to her nipples, which had drips swinging from the teats. Satisfied with this standard of cleanliness, she reached for her hand-me-down bra and snapped it back into place. The t-shirt came over her head, and all was as it was before. Well, not quite. "Don't forget to put your dick away" she reminded him. He stood up. He towered over her - how the hell had she even been able to intimidate him so? She backed away to the door, and rested a hand on its knob. Her smug, knowing look was back in place. "I'll be back in a coupla days." She wasn't asking him, she was informing him. "I might make it a regular thing, if I can get you trained up right. Make sure you always got a hunnerd bucks handy." He allowed that he would, and she was gone. He sank into his chair in a daze. He still didn't know quite what had hit him. He felt revolted, yet eager. Eager for more. Fuck, she's got nice tits. She exulted in her victory as she made her way off down the corridor. She was looking for the nearest Ladies. She had to go play with herself, right this minute. It was all she could do to keep her hands away from her crotch as she strode along. In future, if he developed in the way she hoped, she'd allow him to do it for her. In more ways than one. God, it'd got her so hot, the way he seemed to just melt at the sight of her. She'd have wanked him for nothing just to see such adoration in the eyes of Mr Bigshot Edu-ma-cated Professional. That made three now. Three bookish types right here in this building, that she had eating out of her hand. Each slinking around with a guilty secret. Knowing that she only had to give them a glance and a glimpse, and they'd gladly humble themselves to partake of her desserts. It certainly wasn't for the money. Sure, it came in handy, but she usually gave much of it away to the other girls in return for keeping the coast clear. The best part was simply the act of getting them to pay for it. She wanted their attention anyway. Craved it, even. She needed to see their adoration of her body, to inflate both her ego and her orgasms. Yet what greater compliment could they give, than come up with hard-earned cash to earn the privilege of adoring her?