Mr. Clean

Mr. Clean

Copyright 2011 by Penelope Rivers

ISBN: 978-1-61829-010-6

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Author’s Note: All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or book reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by New Line Press

Cover by Fantasia Frog Designs

Mr. Clean

By Penelope Rivers

When Mike Tavern had told his father that he wanted to be a maid, the look on his parent’s face would have been comical had the situation not been so serious. “You want to be a maid and not go to college?” his father had barked. “You’re mad
—
look at your sister and mother!” Despite the fact that his sister was a lawyer and his mother was an oral surgeon, he knew that cleaning was all that he wanted to do.

In high school, it had been a quirk of his, something that his mother had joked about to all of her friends. She had always said, “My son loves to clean things. You should see our house. It positively shimmers, and I never have to lift a finger.”

After the day that he had announced his career choice, though, she stopped laughing, as had his father and only sibling. He didn’t care if his family scoffed at him. There was an itch inside of him, something so insane that it was neurotic, that he loved. His hair was always parted precisely down the middle, he washed his face five times a day, and heaven help him if he didn’t clean his hands once every half an hour.

Which was why he was now standing in front of his new employer’s house. It was large, glistening, and pristine even from the outside, the front lawn decked out with a whole bunch of nude statues of women and men. There was a large upheaval of shrubbery on the right side. Though the company that had sent him here to be a live-in servant had not said what his client did, Mike would have thought him to be a movie star or a famous talk show host. The only way that somebody could afford a house this big was through showbiz.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the most gorgeous man that Mike had ever seen came striding out onto the lawn. He was medium height with black, messy hair and a sharp look in his eye. He was wearing a good looking suit with a blue tie. The hair, though, had to be fixed without a doubt. What was such a man doing, walking outside like that? Even as an eighteen-year-old, Mike could see that this guy needed to at least introduce himself to a comb.

The man approached him, and Mike shoved his hands into his pockets, desperate to not go beyond his duties of cleaning the house into something monkey-like and obscene. No client wanted their hair picked through, no matter what the reason. He did his best to grin when approached. It was very, very hard.

“Hello,” said Mike weakly, looking at his new, gorgeous employer. “The cleaning company sent me. They said that you needed a maid.”

The man was instantly sharp and said, “A guy? And not just any guy, but a kid too? I thought that they were sending me a woman.”

What had this man expected? Immediately, he felt affronted, and who wouldn’t, woman or man alike? Just because the word maid was used didn’t mean that he didn’t fit in the career field. He was so mad that he wanted to spit, or at least scrub down a sink.
Calm down,
thought Mike desperately.
If you come home on the first day, then you’ll never live it down.

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Mike quickly. “I promise to do my best, though, regardless of my lack of femininity.”

“That’s not the problem,” hissed his employer. “You’re a guy
—
I’m attracted to guys. The last thing that I want right now is to be distracted by some man wandering around my house in tight black pants.”
             

Mike was stunned. In high school, he had been very reclusive. As far as things went, he spent the majority of his time working as a custodian after school. He had never really thought much about dating or anything else, so having someone
—
especially an older, prince-like man
—
imply that he would be distracting because of his body was not what he expected. Deep down, he felt flattered instead of repulsed. He wondered what that said about him.

“I’ll do my best to stay out of the way,” he said after a moment, carefully trying to avoid the main subject.

“Fine,” said his employer, looking entirely too hassled. If he cared about whether or not he had spooked Mike, then it did not show upon his face. “I’m in a bit of a hurry, so let’s make this quick. My name’s Stanley Burgess, and I’m the CEO of a translations company down on south side.  Your room will be the third one down on the fourth floor, alright? I expect you to start first thing tomorrow. The house already needs a good scrub down. I haven’t had time to hire somebody.”
             

Stanley pushed a button on his key chain that was in his hand, causing one of three garage doors to open. After that, Stanley rushed off towards his black BMW that was glistening before Mike, which instantly made his mouth drop open.
Enough gawking,
he thought darkly, eyes wide.
Let’s just get inside before this scary guy kills me.

He headed towards the house, intrigued. In his whole life, he had never been inside of a mansion before. As he hustled forward, expecting to see paradise and fine furnishing, he instead gasped as an awful stench hit him the moment that he stepped inside of the already opened door. “The house already needs a good scrub down” was the understatement of the year.

First off, there was garbage and leftover food everywhere. What had been a gorgeous, red, Oriental front room carpet was now smeared with muddy tracks. There was a kitchen as large as three regular-sized rooms in the back that was filled with used dishes and trash bags. Evidently because Stanley was so rich, he had thought that buying dishes continuously was far easier than actually doing the ones that he had. Mike gasped, feeling sick and sensing his incredible need to clean resurface.
I can’t believe this,
he thought darkly.
Oh my God.

After that, he rolled up his sleeves and began to clean.

***

He cleaned the entire night through and well into the next morning, and he was overwhelmed with what his parents had liked to call, “Squeaky Clean Syndrome.” If he had gone to bed
—
had he even been able to find it underneath all that dust
—
he would have had nightmares about the state of the house. Now, as he lay face down on the floor on the freshly soaped rug, he exhaled sharply and wondered where on earth Stanley had gone. A business meeting didn’t take all night and the next morning too.

It’s not my business,
thought Mike quickly.
He’s my employer.
But the reality was, he was incredibly curious about the person that had deemed him distraction worthy. He wanted to see him again, as stupid and as ridiculous as that sounded to him.

Shrugging it off, feeling his muscles pop in agony, he trudged upstairs and went to go take a shower to distract himself from his flaring curiosity. Stanley was probably off getting horny with men wearing less than black pants. As Mike entered the bathroom, which was now sparkling clean, he noted how the shower was as large as a walk-in closet.
It could fit eight people in there,
he thought.

He stepped inside of the hot water and began to soak himself, and he leaned his head back and smiled. There was shower gel there, laying on the bath side. Sneaking a guilty look around, deciding that he hadn’t exactly been told that he couldn’t use his client’s bath gel, he sprayed it on himself and was overwhelmed with the rich scent that Stanley had carried with him right before he had left for God-knows-where.

Maybe my dad was right about me being strange
, thought Mike darkly.
It can’t be normal to think about another guy when you shower, but then again, I am.
Shrugging it off, he looked down at the floor and realized that he had forgotten to grab his things from his room. There was a dirty pair of clothes lying on the floor, but heaven forbid if he put those on. The potential for germs was endless.

Nobody is here anyway,
he mused, wrapping a towel around himself and nervously touching the floor with his bare feet. He had sanitized every floor from top to bottom with his hands, but the idea of wandering around the house without his slippers made him feel anxious. Still, it wasn’t like he could wait around in the shower.

After he had wrapped his towel around himself, he headed out onto the fourth floor landing slightly nervously. It was weird being nearly-nude in a house that wasn’t his own, though technically, this was his new “home.” After all, he now lived here as a maidservant.

Just as he skulked forward and had almost reached his room, he heard an odd squelching noise. Pausing briefly in confusion, he saw the door adjacent to the one that led to his room had accidentally been left ajar. There was a mirror in the hallway that had been covered in greasy fingertips but was now a sparkling clean. Almost like a television set, it showed exactly what Stanley was doing through the small sliver in his bedroom door.

Stanley was lying back in his bed running fingers up and down his penis while moaning softly. There was a dirty magazine at his side, but he wasn’t looking at any picture at the moment, since his eyes were partially closed as he peered at the princess hangings above his bed. As Stanley moved his fingers over his lengthy shaft, Mike felt heat run up his spine, and something happened that he couldn’t deny: He was getting horny.

I should go into my room,
Mike thought desperately, his body now turned towards the crack directly instead of the mirror. But he couldn’t look away. As Stanley moved his finger faster and faster on his penis while moaning softly, Mike found himself getting hornier and hornier. Even the towel was having difficulty hiding what his body was doing. He licked his lips once, as he felt hot and unbearably shivery.

As Stanley’s body exploded all onto his fingers, the white oozing over his hands, he leaned to grab a tissue to clean himself up. Unfortunately, Stanley’s eyes dragged upwards at this moment, and their eyes met in a hailstorm of friction. Mike turned around quickly to run into his room, but Stanley was on his feet now too, heading after him to most likely beat him up. After all, he hadn’t just been passing by, which was obvious
—
he had been staring.