Clean It Out

“Guess who’s still here!” Meghan half-sang, to Austin.

“It’s for free, so alright,” Austin said. Where was he this time? His hotel room? But Meghan could hear an undertone on his end. The TV? “Everything going okay?”

“Oh, I guess,” Meghan said, casually. In truth her anxiety had been going pretty up and down all day. Every so often a keening sense of strangeness, wrongness, would find a way to break through: why did she just throw out all but two pairs of undies? Why was her work wardrobe all skirts with short hems? All her comfortable shoes were outside in the trash. Why?

She had even tried to bring these concerns up before Trey: did she really need to get rid of her leather jacket? It had brought her through many different concerts in style. To her enormous relief he’d let her keep that one, on the condition she wear a cute pair of heels. To keep her feet from tracking dirt on the wood.

“You’re not slacking around the house, right?” Austin needled. “Watching him work?”

“No!” Meghan was indignant. She would never. “Austin, come on. That isn’t funny. You know I work hard. I keep a nice clean house, sir.”

She’d worked SO hard. After losing almost all her clothes she’d ironed the remnants. That had always been an Austin job, ironing. So one of her shorts had a big brown burn imprint, before she’d figured out how to put water in the iron. But after that it had been as soothing as she’d hoped, so mindless, all her concerns about major lifestyle changes ebbing away. She’d found herself humming a stupid little tune, and laughed when she realized it was one of the porno soundtracks. It was catchy.

“You’ve got the laundry done? Floors swept AND washed? Sinks scrubbed?” Austin pressed. There really was something in the background with him. A girl’s voice? She was laughing.

“Yes, yes, and yes!” Meghan insisted. She squirmed. In one of her shows the man had come home for just this kind of stern inspection. When the housewife turned out to have neglected shower scouring, he fucked her in the ass. It was kind of hot.

“Well then, good girl.”

Meghan shivered, very pleasantly. That wasn’t a reward, her mind tried to tell her. Oh yes it was, her pussy countered. Her nipples were hard and firm.

“What if I didn’t?” she purred.

A shocked intake of male breath. This was fun. First, the possibility of a well-deserved spanking, and, second, the truth that she was actually being very good, sir. Meghan tried to remember – he must’ve spanked her before, right? At least playfully. To show her who was, ultimately, in charge.

“We’ll see when I get back,” Austin said. She giggled. That, her mind told her, she had definitely never done. Meghan was not a giggler. She needed to go, to get away from the TV. It was on babysitter mode. TV hubby was indulging in some barely-legal trim. She didn’t really approve, but relationships between men and women were complicated. Fucking the babysitter was just something men had to do sometimes. No– that wasn’t right. There was definitely a woman in the room with Trey. She felt one of the increasingly rare flushes of strangeness, and grabbed onto it.

Meghan **** her legs together, and up. Away, away from all this. Her car was right outside. True, she was wearing – what was she wearing? Heels and painted-on shorts? A too-tight blouse? What was she doing?

But Trey was in the hallway, working away. Between her and her purse, her keys. He gave her a friendly wave. Did he notice the wet stain between her legs? No, Trey was too nice a guy for all that. Meghan reluctantly walked back to the living room. The babysitter had been joined by the housewife, each taking a side of husband’s big dick. It was a relief. Everything was fine, everyone was having fun.

“I’ve got a surprise when you get home,” Meghan said, absently. There was the sound again, behind her husband. This one was more of a moan.

Austin sounded distracted. “Y-yeah? Save it for me. I’ve got to get going. Keep an eye on Trey, okay, sweetcheeks?”

“Sweetcheeks?” Even for Meghan, aroused and confused, it was a bit much. Who said sweetcheeks?

“No?” Austin sounded uncertain. “Look, I’ve got to go. How about hottie? Is that on the list?” The feminine noise on the other end got insistent. “Okay, see you soon, bye!”

He hung up. Meghan looked at the phone, discomfited.

The big surprise had been that she’d shaved her pussy.

Trey had quietly suggested it. She’d completely forgotten to tell him that her tired and abused panties were getting a try-on party. So she’d walked in on him working away, while just in a faded pink pair of tattered panties and a hoodie she’d ultimately thrown away.

Obviously, from the way his eyes flickered, he’d seen her untrimmed mane. He’d put one of her razors on the bathroom sink.

Meghan could take a hint. So she was pleasantly bald down there. It felt nice and wet. The only problem was that she really needed a lot more underpants. She was soaking them.

—-

“I guess I have been thinking about making some sort of career change,” Meghan said. She refilled Trey’s glass, again, and punctuated it with a nervous giggle.

“Considering some life changes” was a powerful and comforting way to consider all of her very odd behavior over the past few days, and she’d sunk her teeth all the way into it. She was exploring alternatives, she was assessing her role in life. That was normal, very normal behavior.

Shaving her pussy at the handyman’s direction, that was odd. Growing a few extra cup sizes in something like 48 hours — was weird. But instead she was just figuring out a new direction for her body. Maybe it made sense for it to be curvy, underdressed, and aching for cock. For her.

“You’re, what? What do you do?” Trey said.

“Well–” it took her a long moment. She was a– what? Something with books. “I’m a liter—” her tongue just wouldn’t push it through. Her mouth hung open, slack. She found a way around the pink mist. “Editor! I edit things.”

“What’s that mean?” Trey said.

She wasn’t really sure either, and hid her confusion with another uncertain laugh. There should be all sorts of memories up there. Instead all that kept playing was a rewind of the last few hours of porno reels. Generally butt play. “You know! Words! I take the bad ones, I make them good ones,” there, she’d managed it. This wasn’t a strange sort of brain drain, it was proof of her cleverness, working around gaps made out of ass fucking.

To avoid seeming condescending Meghan tugged her blouse down a little farther, although that wasn’t much possible. Her nipples were practically on a rack, for Trey’s amusement. “But I’ve been doing stuff around the house and its fun! We had fun together, right?”

He’d appointed her tool-fetcher. Meghan had done her very best, but his truck was completely full of complex gear and canisters with names like ‘Titexpander’ and ‘Nomind’. It had quickly become an excuse instead to practically rub her ass in his face. Legs together, heels in a row, bending over for a set of– metal grippy things. Just so he knew how smooth she was.

“This is GREAT,” Trey said, holding up a fork. Meghan had to hold on to the table. Her pussy, already overheated, delivered something very close to an orgasm. She had to act fast to avoid drooling on the table.

She’d made spaghetti and meatballs. The sauce was can glop and the meatballs were smooshed together meat, but Trey seemed genuinely thrilled. “SO good,” he raved. “My Dad and I– neither of us cooked. I mean, sometimes we had a discard around and she’d poke around the kitchen. But they weren’t discards because they were good at anything. Yes I would like more wine, this is what chardonnay is?”

It was the most gratitude Meghan could recall, ever, from anyone. Her clients usually took her feedback like she was informing them what kind of cancer they had. And Austin was – he was polite. He was never ecstatic, and definitely not over meatballs.

“There’s dessert!” Meghan gushed. All over the stool, too. “Ho-hos with ice cream!”

“My Dad loved hos,” Trey said. He shook himself. “I gotta stop bringing him up. It’s pathetic.”

“No, no,” Meghan protested. “Its sweet!”

“I thought about a career change too,” Trey said. He put his knife down. He looked a little unsteady. They were both really drunk. “You know. Like, is this it? Making– uhh— doing cable work to women? Yeah, it’s steady work, but, I don’t know. It gets a little same-y. But I guess you just gotta do what you’re good at. Even when you’re not that good at it.”

“I think you’re doing great!” Meghan said. She was having a little trouble following him. It was dark out. Other than that she had no idea of the time, or, really, the day.

“Dad would’ve had you vacuuming, more ways than one, in twelve hours. Plumped and dumbed, full burn-in,” he tried to focus on her, and she on him. It wasn’t successful, their eyes mutually wandering. In truth Meghan was barely listening to him. Over in the living room it was prime time, which meant actual high-production porno. The primo stuff, with the real stars. They moaned in excellent audio.

“You’re his son,” Meghan said. She put her hand on top of his. If this man was her husband she’d let him fuck her ass.

“Alright,” Trey said. He stood up, decisive. Meghan checked between his legs. He just had to be hung. It was a certainty. Cheesy electronica played in her head, and she wasn’t sure if it was from the TV, or just her new background track. Trey led her – oh, please, she hoped, to the bedroom – and then made a left turn. The office.

“I need you to throw away some of these books,” he told her.

“My books?” She had three entire bookcases full. One for work slash contemporary, a second for the classics, and a third just for her. And non-fiction. Her own novel was on there. It was about – what was it? Something something modern woman depression depression. Not a single sex scene at all, come to think of it. “Why?”

“I need to–” Trey wavered. He seemed unsure. He let his hand fall to rest on the curve of her butt. “The wood. I have to fix the wood. It has whorls in it.” He patted her rear, reassuring. “Just throw away one. After that it’s easy.”

Meghan made a sound, deep in her throat. She was so wet, so full, so unsure. A memory hit her: a week ago she’d nursed a gin and tonic after a bad fight with Austin. She’d read Zadie Smith. Not for the first time. Which meant – Trey’s hands dug into her ass – it was fine to toss. “This one,” she said, looking back for his approval. Into a trash went White Teeth.

“Good girl,” Trey said. He gave her a friendly spank. After that Meghan didn’t remember a whole lot.