Marcie the Teen Housekeeper

A widower and his adult son hire a Filipina to do their housework. She is stunningly attractive, so 22-year-old Josh plans to bed her just as soon as he can!

Part One

In 1986, my mother died from pancreatic cancer. She went quickly. Only five weeks elapsed between the time she had been diagnosed with the disease until that awful Tuesday morning in March when she passed away. Mom was just 45 years old; I was 22.

I, Josh Green, lived at home with my now-widowed father, who was 48 years old. Before Mom became ill, I had planned to move into an apartment with a longtime buddy, but I sensed it would not be a good time for Dad to suddenly switch from living in a household of three people to one where he was the sole occupant. My father and I got along splendidly, so I had no trouble postponing my move for at least a little while to keep him company as he adjusted to life without Mom.

Dad and I were both very practical people. Shortly after Mom’s funeral, we decided to have a serious, two-person meeting one night to make some decisions about everything connected to our living arrangements. My mother was a zealous housekeeper. Dad and I were not. We weren’t slobs by any means, but we did not share Mom’s undying obsession with tidiness. We used to laugh at it—but we missed it now that she was no longer present. Of course, the cleanliness level of the house dropped immediately following her unexpected death. We both mentioned that as part of our general observations, so we agreed we likely needed professional help. That problem was solved by our longtime neighbor, Mr. Finnegan.

Dan Finnegan and his family were avid churchgoers. An immigrant family from the Philippines had joined their congregation recently. Dan informed us that their 14-year-old daughter was looking for a part-time job to help supplement the family’s income. Dan suggested we hire her to come in once or twice a week to do some general cleaning around our house, and maybe do the laundry as well. (That was another chore we did not relish.) After a brief discussion, Dad and I thought it was a splendid idea. Dan happily relayed the news. Starting the next day, for $10 an hour (the going rate in 1986), Marcie Flores became our occasional housekeeper, sight unseen.

Had we seen Marcie in advance, we would have hired her immediately based on her looks alone. This girl was extremely pretty! She had an attractive build and always seemed to have a beaming smile on her face. Furthermore, Marcie’s working wardrobe seemed to consist of tiny shorts and tight-fitting tops that exposed her midriff. When we got a look at her for the first time, neither one of us particularly cared about her housekeeping skills. (They turned out to be quite good, however!) We both were delighted to have Marcie in our presence for two or three hours every week just for eye candy alone.

When she was out of earshot, Dad commented, “Now that I’m a widower, I guess I’m allowed to look at pretty girls again. We’re lucky to have one of the prettiest I’ve ever seen in my life working for us.”

“Come on! When did you ever stop looking at them, Dad?” I asked him. “No normal male would ever stop admiring female beauty.”

“I suppose you’re right, Josh. I never stopped,” he confessed with a smile. “I just tried to hide it from your mother as best I could.”

Marcie typically came to our house on Mondays and Thursdays, walking the six blocks from where she lived. Occasionally, if the weather was inclement, I’d give her a ride home. She’d normally arrive around 4 p.m. with a cheerful attitude and start cleaning the kitchen thoroughly, move to the two bathrooms, and then to the rooms that needed less attention. Her typical shift lasted between two and three hours. Marcie was quite diligent at her job—and we appreciated it. We never formally kept track of Marcie’s hours. Approximations seemed good enough for Marcie, and we paid her every day once she was finished. Marcie’s English was not great, but it was always improving. She always understood our instructions, and we had no trouble understanding her questions and comments. Everything was working out splendidly.

Dad and I basically just left Marcie to her own devices, but sometimes I ended up doing something at the kitchen table while Marcie worked around me. I’d always apologize for being in her way, but she would just look at me with a very appealing smile and say, “This is your house, Josh. You cannot be in the way. It is I who must stay out of your way. You and your father are the bosses.” Then she would give me a girlish wave and return to her work. It got to the point where I’d stay in the kitchen as long as she was there, just to admire her. I think she knew that, because she’d often put on a sexy little show for me, bending down more often than necessary and thrusting her breasts toward me. If she was trying to arouse me—she was succeeding.

Part Two

One rainy Thursday in June when her work was completed, I offered to give Marcie a ride home so she wouldn’t be soaked. (To be perfectly honest, seeing Marcie drenched in the tank top and short shorts she had on would not have been a bad thing!) She happily accepted and got into the car with me for the short drive. About halfway home, Marcie, who was sitting beside me in the front seat, gently put her left hand on my thigh. She told me in a sultry voice, “I like working for you, Josh. You are very nice to me all the time. I wish I could think of a way to thank you for hiring me.”

I nearly slammed on the brakes, but I managed to keep my composure. I paused for a moment and replied, “Dad and I love having you as our housekeeper, Marcie. I wish I could tell you how much help you’ve been to us over the past three months. You are a godsend.”

“Maybe when I come on Monday, we’ll have it figured out,” Marcie said with a smile as I stopped the car in front of her home. She gave me one of her famous girlish waves as she got out of the car and another one just before she entered her house. My pulse was racing!

I paused again to compose myself before I pulled away from the curb. At that moment I decided if the opportunity presented itself on Monday afternoon—when Marcie next came to the house—I’d be as friendly with her as she would permit me to be!

Monday could not come fast enough! Over the course of the weekend, I plotted how to best approach Marcie sexually and came up with a few ideas. (I wasn’t at all interested in romancing this beautiful girl—I just wanted to screw her desperately!) On Sunday, Dad told me he had a commitment that would keep him away from the house until well after 8 p.m. He kidded, “That means you’ll be alone here with lovely Marcie for the first time. Can I trust you to behave yourself with this sweet, innocent girl?”

“Absolutely not!” I replied. “If I get the chance, I’ll happily take Marcie to my bedroom—but not for her to clean it!”

“Attaboy, Josh!” Dad said. “I’d do exactly the same thing. She’s a real prize worth pursuing!” Then he walked out of the room without saying anything else.

Part Three

I worked as a logistics coordinator for a local company. My job was mostly planning and doing arithmetic. I didn’t have to punch a timeclock. As long as I kept up with the workload that was presented to me each day, I was allowed to set my own hours. I made a point that Monday to be home around 4 p.m. to open the door for Marcie when she arrived—and for whatever else might happen, if I was lucky.

Marcie, as usual, arrived about five minutes ahead of schedule. Also, as usual, she promptly got to work in the kitchen first, scrubbing the sinks and the marble counter. With the weather becoming warmer, Marcie’s wardrobe became even skimpier. Her pink top, tight-fitting as always, covered her breasts and not much else on her torso. Her shorts, were just cut-off jeans. They, too, seemed a trifle more snug than usual. I watched Marcie work for no more than five minutes. When she made a point of bending over several times to best display her posterior, I could not take it any longer.

I slowly rose from my chair, walked up behind her and said, “Marcie, dear, you have a great derriere.” (I doubted she understood that French word.) “I’m getting the strong impression that you are trying to arouse me with it. Are you?” I asked.

“Do you like my bum, Josh?” she asked coyly.

“Yes, I do. I like it very much,” I replied sincerely. Then I made a bold move. “May I touch it?” I asked hopefully.

“Okay, you can touch it,” Marcie replied as she grabbed the end of the counter and continued to stick out her bum.

My heartrate increased. I moved as close to Marcie as possible and placed both my hands on her buttocks cheeks and began to rub them slowly and affectionately. “Very nice, indeed!” I told her. I meant it, too. She did not tell me to stop, so I merrily continued my manual exploration of Marcie’s bottom. Then I became bolder. I moved my right hand between her legs so I could caress Marcie’s pussy. Her only response was a contented “Ah!” Apparently, I was arousing her. Marcie’s mere presence in the kitchen had already aroused me.

This pleasurable contact lasted for two or three minutes. I felt Marcie’s shorts become slightly wet—which turned me on even further. “Marcie, may I remove your shorts and panties and fondle your pussy directly? It will feel even better for you, I think.”

“Oh, yeah!” Marcie said just above a whisper. “Yes, please do that to me, Josh!”

Marcie was still holding on to the counter when I slid her shorts and underwear off. Her frilly pink panties were noticeably damp—which I took as a compliment. Without telling her, I slid my trousers and briefs off my body, exposing my growing erection. I put the middle finger from my right hand against the opening of Marcie’s pussy and began to slide it up and down.

Marcie began to squirm with delight. When I stopped what I was doing for a second, she was unhappy. “Keep at it, Josh. This feels so good to me!”

Temptation got the better of me. “If you like me fingering your vagina, you really ought to like this!” I said as I surprised Marcie by shoving my hard penis inside her. She let out a slight yelp but then resumed enjoying this sexual encounter. Nothing but pleasurable sounds came from her mouth—and mine, too—from that point onward as I gave this Filipina girl an unexpected fucking.

I began with rapid-fire thrusts, but I quickly switched to slow, deliberate penetrations within her most private zone. I began to babble. “I love your tight pussy, Marcie. It fits my dick so nicely. I’ve been wanting to do this with you since your first day on the job. You are just fantastic!” then I picked up the pace again.

I’d had a few sexual encounters in my short lifetime, but I had never had intercourse with a female while both of us were standing up. it was new and fun for me! Marcie’s past sexual experience was anyone’s guess. It may have been more substantial than mine despite our age differences. It was my intent to please her as best I could, regardless if I was the first male to penetrate her—or the fifty-first.

Marcie still had her top on. I had become so fixated on fucking her pussy, I had totally forgotten about Marcie’s attractive bust. When I realized my silly oversight, I moved my hands from Marcie’s hips and squeezed both her tits, probably more roughly than I should have. Now I had it all: my penis inside Marcie’s vagina and my hands on her tits. Marcie helped me by pulling off her top and brassiere to expose her breasts to my lustful touch. I really couldn’t see her treasures, but her nipples were tremendous things to play with. They got hard in a hurry.

An ejaculation was imminent—and I told Marcie so. I pulled my rod out of her vagina, turned her around and fired a load onto her breasts at about the first instance I had a chance to see them unobstructed. They looked great! However, they looked even better splattered with gobs of my warm jism. As a perfect denouement, Marcie placed my penis in her mouth to suck every last drop of semen from my shaft. I suspected this was not her first rodeo—and I was absolutely right about that.

When Marcie was in the washroom cleaning the remnants of my large cum shot from her torso, she explained her sexual history without my asking her to do so. Marcie recalled that when she was living in the Philippines, money was often tight in the family coffers. Therefore, she occasionally performed sexual feats for cash to help her family get by. Most of her clients were American soldiers stationed at a nearby military base.

She explained, “They knew I was young, which was why I was appealing, I suppose, so most of them were nice to me. They just wanted quick fucks or blowjobs so they could drain their balls.” I laughed at the terminology that Marcie had used. She continued, “Sometimes one of them would stand by as a guard. He would watch over me to make sure his friends did not get too rough with me during sex. I appreciated that.”

I immediately pulled out a $20 bill and placed it in Marcie’s hand. I suspected that monologue, which I accepted as truthful, was a hint to have me pay her for letting me have that very enjoyable fuck and cum shot. She didn’t hesitate in accepting it.

I wasn’t offended in the slightest. That monetary transaction was actually helpful to me as now I understood exactly where we stood. For Marcie, having intercourse with horny me was solely a business relationship. All the girlish waves and sexy poses were designed as a slow-developing, money-making scheme. She had no romantic interest in me, either. That was okay by me. When Marcie had finished tidying up herself, she returned to her official job of tidying up the house. She did excellent work, as usual, for which I paid her the standard fee. Even though the weather was fine that day, I insisted on driving Marcie home.

When I parked the car, Marcie did not get out immediately. She told me, “I really liked our sex a lot, Josh. I honestly did. I would have done it for nothing, but I do appreciate the $20 you paid me. It helps.”

I told her she was welcome to it. I added, “Let’s make an arrangement together, Marcie: If you are ever at my home to do the cleaning and the laundry, and my father is out of the house, I’ll pay you for sex. It will be on a bed though. Screwing you standing up was something new, but next time I really want to give you a good, old-fashioned fucking with me riding you hard.”

“Okay, Josh. I agree,” Marcie said. “That will be a $40 fuck, though.”

I nodded. I sensed I had just gotten a bargain rate.

When my father got home from his social outing, he asked me if I had “gotten lucky” with Marcie and taken her to bed.

I decided to be honest. I promptly told him I couldn’t resist sexy Marcie that long. Instead, I had screwed her by the kitchen counter and ejaculated all over her tits.

Dad looked at me with no expression on his face. Then he said, “I hope she cleaned up the mess. That’s what she’s being paid for.”