Cleaned 20 By timos111@hotmail.com "Great news!" "What?" Doug wanted to know. A few days later, she'd come bursting in while he was seated at the computer in his study. "Susan's swung a job for me!" "Selling sexy boots?" "Nah! Not in HER store. In another one, at the same mall. There was an opening, and she put in a good word for me." "What kind of store?" "Ladies fashion. We get a commission on sales, so the money's not too bad. And best of all, I can tell that god-dammed office-cleaning company to go fuck themselves! No more coming home all sweaty and stinky!" "Just so long as you don't spend major chunks of your working day sneaking off to gossip and swap enslavement tips." "I'm not blowing this opportunity. At last I can make a lil' money, and look good doin' it!" "What are you worried about money for? I got money." "This way, I get money AND my self-respect." "I've said all along - I promise to still respect you in the morning," he quipped with a chuckle. "Stop it! I'm being sincere. Besides, if I ever want YOUR respect, I can get it with forty strokes of the lash!" "Of what - your eye-lash?" Her steely glance told him he should drop the levity for the time being. He leaned over and pecked her on the cheek. "No really, I'm glad for you. You should have quit that cleaning job a long time ago. Don't know why you stuck it out for so long." "I hadda do something, or by now I'd be sleeping under a bridge somewhere." This gave him pause to think. He'd got so used to having her around, to having her in his life on at least a semi-fulltime basis, that it was easy to forget what fate might have had in store for her otherwise. The knife-edge her life had been balanced on, not so very long ago. The grit and determination she'd shown to get away from drugs, to swallow her pride and accept the help of family, rather than continue her slide into the abyss. It was something he could never fully appreciate without going there himself, but he knew enough to get a fair idea. Little victories. The title of a song by Stevie van Zandt from the E- Street Band, it seemed to sum up the situation. Getting a job in a shop in a mall did not seem like such a big deal to him, but he regretted his teasing her and making light of it now. To her, this would definitely be another little victory. *** From then on, her daily routine was different. Sometimes she'd do two half-day shifts rather than a single full day, which left a morning or afternoon free, and would then work into the evening. It gave her chunks of time off during the day, and Doug soon observed that she seemed to be using this time productively. One day he came home to find her sitting down at the dining room table with a pile of books out of the City Library. He stood beside her and leafed through a couple of them. Art history. Famous artists and their works. Techniques for drawing and sketching. How to paint in oils. "What's up?" he enquired. Janelle looked up from the book of Monet she had opened out in front of her. "It's all your fault." "Huh?" "Don't you remember? Christine's exhibition? You told me that I should try it if I think it's so easy." "What have you got in mind?" "Don't know yet. I'll try some drawing and painting, to see how I get on. Mind you, it's going to cost. I had a look in an art-and-craft store and I gotta tell ya, that stuff ain't cheap!" He thought for a moment. And saw how engrossed she was in it all. "If you're serious about it, I can help you there." "Thanks, honey." She squeezed his buttock in appreciation. But she had to find out what sort of stuff she needed first. Well, a pad and pencil might suffice, at least for a start. And lets face it, back in the 'hood the main medium for expression of artistic talent was a subway wall and a shoplifted can of spray-paint. She, on the other hand, wanted to do this properly. Though she didn't want to blow money needlessly. But who to ask about it? Who else but Christine. Next day, Janelle dialled the cellphone number she still had scribbled-down in her purse. "Hello." "Christine, it's me." "Janelle!" the older woman cooed in honeyed tones. "Can I come and see you, to talk art and stuff?" "Whatever. Whenever. Feel free!" Janelle dressed down for this one. Jeans. A loose sweatshirt top, although her boobs were difficult to conceal at the best of times. She wanted Christine to be talking some sense today, and not be getting unduly distracted. The loft apartment door swung open and Christine, almost a head taller than petite Janelle, bent down to brush lips against her glossy dark cheek. Christine had dressed up, not down. Smart skirt and slightly-translucent silk blouse, through which her bra was faintly visible. Jewelry, and a touch of make-up. Mind you, she was a person who probably dressed up just to go to the bathroom. "It's good to see you again! Come in, get comfortable!" They sat at opposite ends of a big leather sofa. "How's the statue with the big tits coming along?" "Oh, it's done. I've sent it out to the kiln to be fired." Janelle bit her tongue from asking how those clay breasts, the precise form for which Christine claimed to be lost for inspiration, had eventually turned out. Judging by the copious licking her own bust had received from Christine's very active tongue during her last visit here, she reckoned she had a pretty good idea what template had been used in the end. She changed the subject. "I want to get some art materials together, to get myself started. What should I purchase?" "What medium?" "Sketching, and oils." "Okay, I can make you a list that will cover the basics. There's other stuff you can add later, but don't need right away." They spent the next while going over brush types, colour tints, canvasses, easels, and so on. "I mean, you can just paint straight onto blocks of wood if you really want to," Christine finished up. "That's what Beryl Cook did, and look how famous she got!" Janelle nodded gravely, in a manner calculated to suggest she knew who Beryl Cook was. She scanned down the notepad sheet of items Christine had written out for her. "Coffee? I got donuts, too." Christine bustled off and brought everything across to a low table in front of them. She sat again, much closer to Janelle this time, and poured. Passing across a cup and saucer, her warm arm brushed slightly longer than necessary against Janelle's. "So, how's Julie?" Janelle asked pointedly. "As if you care," Christine riposted. Janelle shrugged at that, then asked "Are you the woman she left Doug for?" "The "scarlet woman"? No, that was someone else. Who then couldn't handle her contrary ways. It fell to me to make a decent lesbian out of her." "And how did you do that, exactly?" "There's a sub side to her that needed to be explored, before either she or I could feel fulfilled." "I wonder if Doug ever had any inkling." "I doubt it. Typical man, would always rather look right past the obvious." "Doug's doin' okay!" Janelle blurted defensively. "Yes, you've done rather a good job on him. How did you manage it?" "I don't talk about my sex life. Though I've no objection to talking about other peoples' sex lives." This killed the conversation for a moment. Christine filled the silence by turning and raising her feet up onto the sofa. Her outstretched legs now reached across to Janelle, and she tucked her stockinged toes under the younger girl's denim-clad thigh. Janelle attempted to divert attention away from this body contact, by asking "Are those real stockings?" By way of answer, Christine swept her black skirt up and put her stocking tops, suspenders and creamy dimpled thighs on display. She left them like that, as if to say "There you are!" "Christine ..." "Yes, sweetie?" "You can put your legs away now." "I thought you might want to run your hands up them." "I thought you might think that I thought that." "Don't you think my thought is a thought worth thinking?" "I think not." Christine heaved a sigh. Her massive chest rose and fell. "Janelle, I have to say that I'm totally smitten by you." "Yes. I know." "We only had sex together the once, but it was pretty hot." "Yes, it was." "You don't feel the urge to repeat it?" "Right now, no." "Are you going to go all hetero on me again?" "I'll always be both ways but, for me, girls are seldom. I happen to like cocks. Provided they do my bidding, of course." "What motivates you to fuck with a girl, then?" "Either I'm feeling a powerful need and have to do something to satisfy it, man or no man. Or it's because the girl is so goddamn young, sweet and sexy that I get swept off my feet." "Gee thanks. I guess that puts me firmly in the first category, then?" "Yes", Janelle answered simply. "So long as I know where I stand" the big woman answered with a barely-concealed hurt in her voice. "Why are you so smitten by me, anyway? What about you and Julie?" "I do love her, and she loves me. She's a muddled-up kid in many ways but she has some lovable qualities, and is definitely a true lesbian, no doubts about it." "So why you want to run me as your secret passion on the side?" "I look at you, and I melt. It takes every ounce of willpower to not just reach out and start fondling your breasts. It's not love - I probably could never love you the way I love Julie. This is pure lust. It's naughty, and it's wrong. And that's what makes it such a powerful thing." "How very ... masculine of you." "You only have to walk into the same room as me, and I turn into a quivering mass of hormones." Janelle gave a snort of amusement at this imagery, then quickly stifled it as she saw how serious and sincere Christine was being. "And you feel this way now? Like you've got to have me?" "Desperately. I want to bury my face between your legs and leave it there forever." "Not an idea I'm so keen on right now. Frankly, I'm not feeling any powerful urges for girl sex. If it'll help though, I'll allow you to masturbate in front of me." Janelle hadn't really intended to say this last part, but it made her feel suddenly wicked. It was true she had no drive right now to hurl Christine to the floor and domme her to within an inch of her homosexuality, like she did previously. But Janelle wasn't feeling entirely un-sexy at that moment. Nor was she entirely un-intrigued by the domme-sub possibilities of such a situation. She had come to know that Christine had mainly domme tendencies, and didn't take naturally to being sub. Janelle found herself filled with a morbid curiosity as to how far down that road Christine would be willing to go. How far her lust for Janelle's sweet tender body might drive her in that direction. Purely as an academic exercise, of course. Call it a behavioural study. "Bullshit", her conscience pricked her. It was the same old formula. Sacrifice, suffering, discomfort, humiliation. All for her sake. Queen, and knight. A formula guaranteed to trip her trigger. And she soon got her answer. "That's like dining on the crumbs from your table", Christine responded rather dramatically, "but it's either that or I starve ..." "Then do it. Masturbate." "And you?" "I'll watch from over here." "You're not going to ... ?" "No." "But can I ...?" "No. You're not going to see or touch me naked." Christine looked pleadingly at Janelle, whose face remained impassive. Then her mind conceded, and her next action was to hike her skirt up under her bum and spread her thighs apart. Janelle turned slightly toward her, the better for which to look, and rested an outstretched arm along the back of the plush leather sofa. Whoo-eee! Christine's dressing-up had even extended to a nifty little black g-string. What you could see of it, that is. Christine had an incredibly large muff of fluffy brown hair at the juncture of her pale and dimpled thighs. Her wearing of a g-string was like laying a cotton thread across a grizzly bear. As Janelle's eyes feasted on this sight, Christine slipped her top four blouse-buttons undone. The creamy silk parted like the Red Sea before Moses, slipping sideways down the slopes of her massive white-brassiered tits. Christine placed her hand in position, and began by delicately tracing that hairy cleft with her middle finger. Her eyes bored into Janelle's face, who in turn had her gaze fixed in fascination on the hirsute genitals being fondled before her. Christine wriggled the toes of a foot even further under Janelle's thigh, to try and gain some extra measure of body contact. The silence was such that you could hear a pin drop. Janelle scarcely dared to breathe, so as not to break Christine's concentration. Pulling her floss-like undergarment to one side, Christine began to dig deeper. Her eyes travelled from Janelle's face, to her chest, and back to her face again. Her toes wriggled and twitched slightly under Janelle's firm thigh, as if it were the closest they could come to a mutual caress. Janelle laid a hand on her other foot, and massaged it slightly through its dernier covering. Christine's hand was moving faster now. Her body was tensed, every sinew beginning to quiver. Her free hand tugged her bra down, until both boobs popped out. She seized the blind little pink nipple at one of these trembling summits and began twisting, tugging. In a low voice she pleaded "Janelle, fuck me!" "No." "Just stroke my thighs!" "No." "God, I'm wet! I want your hand up me!" Janelle didn't deign to answer. She could tell the big woman was getting close. Sure enough, the breathing was heavy, ragged. Occasional whimpers came from the back of her throat. Then her back arched, she dug her feet deeper beneath Janelle's thighs, and she shuddered. Eyes screwed tight and head turned away, breasts quaking, Christine's body language indicated an orgasm less than massive but nevertheless still good. About a six on a scale of ten, Janelle judged. Janelle jumped to her feet and scooped up her hand- written notepaper list from the coffee table. "Thanks for your help, Christine. Catch you later!" Anyone coming down the hall at that moment would have caught an unusual sight. Christine, standing in her own doorway with skirt still bunched at her waist, broad pale thighs gleaming, copious amounts of pubic hair on display, blouse undone with tits flopped out over her bra, calling plaintively "Janelle! Wait!" But Janelle darted into the elevator, and its doors hissed shut. It was only six floors down to the lobby, so time was of the essence. She unsnapped her jeans in an instant and thrust her fingers down into her own sex. She was pent-up fit to explode, so this quickie of hers was going to be extremely quick. But not quick enough. Her body was still being wracked by her orgasm when the elevator reached the lobby and its doors slid open. People were standing there, waiting to go up. A middle-aged gentleman, his wife (presumably), and a repairman of some description. They goggled at her while she fingered herself to completion, body slumped against the back wall for support as she frigged, staring with unseeing eyes. A very long half-minute elapsed, during which time the quick-witted repairman kept the elevator in place with its doors open by holding down the "Up" button. Finally Janelle came sufficiently to her senses to remove her hand from inside her jeans and zip them back up again. She strode past the gathered audience and headed for the street, with nary a backward glance. She had her list, and now she had some shopping to do.