Vesna, the cleaning lady

Pico Rizzi rarely thought about whether he was a pig or not. He had spent his entire life in the bed of his aunt Lila and had never seriously looked for a wife after her death, let alone thought about getting married. He was fully occupied during the day busy with his work and read in the evening or watched television until his eyes closed. For his sexual satisfaction, masturbation seemed to be sufficient. Notoriously, he would go to town on his concubine, but he never thought he was a pig because of it — he had a pact with her, and that was that! When he went on a sailing trip with a gentleman's party or stayed in hotels on his travels, he sought to seduce the floor women in the hotels — those servant spirits who cleaned the rooms —. Chambermaids, kitchen maids, cleaning women: in his experience, it was 3 to 7 that he succeeded. This success rate was enough for him to try again and again.

His cleaning lady was called Vesna and came from Yugoslavia. In the early nineties, a terrible fighting tore apart the former Yugoslavia, and refugees poured north. Pico had lived in his apartment without the slightest thought of cleanliness, but when the refugees came with the Yugoslav wars and, apart from the obligatory appeals for donations, refugees were increasingly looking for work, someone well‐meaning from the bank put him in touch with Mrs. Vesna so that she could spruce up his bachelor pad. Later, he would not have been able to say whether it was old Krause who urgently recommended to take a cleaning woman recommended, or the fat Gabi, with which he put away the archive and with which he had hastily slept some dozen times.

He was very uncertain at first when Mrs. Vesna came to clean and tried in vain to strike up a conversation with her, but she spoke no language except her own. Her scraps of words were just enough to find out that she had fled together with her terminally ill husband after their house and village had been destroyed. What her husband did, he could not find out, nor whether they had children. It seemed to him that she could certainly be a grandmother by now, but that didn't stop him from thinking about nothing but how to get hold of her from day one.

The masturbation had become too monotonous for him sometimes, he was looking for variety, but did not dare, like other men to approach women in pubs or bars. The old fear, the fear that he had since childhood of women, sat deep. Never he would have dared to go so simply on bride search; to address women directly seemed to him incomprehensibly difficult. Only when an opportunity offered itself — or like the fat Gabi, who imposed herself — then he grabbed quickly. Often he thought to himself that he was not a hunter, but a scavenger — the hunting and killing had to be done by others. Now that Vesna came to his apartment once a week and was thus available in a certain way, he needed her only once a week. Available in a way, he only had to get her around. It didn't matter to him whether he could talk to her or not, whether she was fat or thin. It also didn't matter to him that she might be older than he was. Yes, she was probably several years older, Pico thought. He waited several weeks to see if an opportunity would arise of its own accord, hoping in vain that she would make advances on him and pondering cagily how to go about it.

Thursday after Thursday he waited with hot coffee for her to appear, drank one‐two cups with her. With hand signals and gestures they tried to make themselves understood. Mrs. Vesna's family name Pico did not know for a long time — she learned a few more words week after week, and despite her taciturn manner she tried to tell him about herself and her family. That her husband was seriously ill at home and could hardly move (Pico was sure that she no longer had sex with the bedridden man). That their only son had been living in Canada for many years and was helping them out with a little money on an irregular basis. He, for his part, tried to make her understand that he was a bachelor, worked in a bank and was 53 years old. She calculated half aloud in her language and said that he was 12 years younger than her. After coffee, he put on his jacket and went to work. Later, he took Thursday morning off to have time for her (and himself).

She didn't seem to have understood at first when, on one of the following Thursdays, he stood in the shower and called out for her to soap his back. She got as far as the bathroom door, but she didn't go in and asked through the half‐open door what Mr. Rizzi wanted. She had understood him very well, because the next Thursday she brought a shower brush with a long wooden handle and handed it to him with a friendly, winning smile. Pico thanked her with a false grin and ate his disappointment inside. That he sometimes patted her arm had become natural over the course of the last few weeks, but he knew that more was not in it at the moment.

It wasn't until she told him about massaging her husband on a case‐by‐case basis so that his muscles didn't completely atrophy that a plan matured in him. He had even given her a few bottles of massage oil, because he assumed that she did not afford this expensive luxury. But now he remembered the damned massage came back to him daily, even hourly. He feverishly awaited Thursday morning and let Mrs. Vesna in. She was not a bit surprised that he was wearing only a bathrobe. Then, as every Thursday, they sat down at the kitchen table and drank coffee. Pico told her how bad his witch's foot was today; witch's foot, that is like sciatica, as he tried to explain. He put a bottle of massage oil on the table and pointed to his aching back; "yes, yes, it hurts a lot, it needs to be massaged urgently." Mrs. Vesna did not understand him and wanted to put the bottle in her handbag, presumably for her husband. Pico shook his head and said, no, massage him, massage Mr. Rizzi! "Mrs. Vesna Massage Pico," he said with a hypocritical pain‐distorted face, pointing his thumb at his poor aching back. Sensing that this was his chance, he quickly stood up, grabbed the vial and Vesna's hand. Then, with her in tow, he limped to his bed.

Mrs. Vesna stopped indecisively as he let the bathrobe slide to the floor and lay naked on his stomach, not without groaning painfully, of course. Then, with his face averted, he beckoned to Mrs. Vesna and impatiently patted the mattress so that she would sit down. Mrs. Vesna hesitated for a while, but then she sat down next to him and took the bottle. He closed his eyes while she skillfully massaged his supposedly aching back. Pico was a fucking pig, a real bastard.

He grunted pleasantly, because that really did feel good, even if there was no witch's foot far and wide. She uncramped herself a bit and was pleased that it was so obviously doing him good; soon she was chattering away blithely in her gibberish and massaged his back while his cock, on which he was lying, began to throb. When she stopped and said, "Now finish!" he turned over on his back. Mrs. Vesna stared speechlessly at his erect cock and raised her oil‐smeared hands defensively.

"Please, Mrs. Vesna, please!" said Pico urgently, "please!"

"Not good," said Mrs. Vesna defensively, "Yessasmarja, not good at all!"

Pico held her knee as she tried to get up, repeating, "yes, yes, it had to be," and pulled her closer to him; actually he wanted to pull her on top of him, but she was too heavy for him. Mrs. Vesna, staring at his cock as if hypnotized, mumbled something in her language, shaking her head languidly. Pico's voice grew more urgent, closer and closer he pushed his pelvis and steeply towering cock toward her until he was only inches from her breast. It became increasingly clear to him that her resistance was beginning to flag, and he tried to make her finally compliant by grabbing her hands and placing them on his cock. Ms. Vesna jerked as she touched him, but his hands were on hers and hers on his cock.

They must have sat like that for several endless seconds, when it became too long for Pico and he stirred, moving to pull her onto himself, he really wanted to fuck her now. But Vesna had apparently been thinking about something else the whole time, because she kept breathing tonelessly, "Yessasarya, don't do it!" as she vigorously strove to get free of him. The oil from Vesna's hand burned like hell on his glans, and the magical moment was over. Vesna quickly got up and went to the bathroom to wash her hands. Then he was left alone while she started working loudly and roughly. He could hear her anger.

Pico remained lying, absent‐mindedly wiping himself with the bed sheet and thinking about how he could still get to the goal. He pondered throughout the morning while listening to Vesna tinker in the living room, bathroom and kitchen. At some point the desire came again, and Pico stroked his cock a little under the covers. No, he did not want to masturbate now, because he felt a disappointing emptiness inside because he hadn't fucked her. Around noon he was still in bed, and Mrs. Vesna was a bit displeased because he was blocking the bedroom and therefore she didn't get to clean there, until she gave herself a jolt and came in determinedly.

"Me now cleaning, must be!" she said with some annoyance in her voice. "Sorry, but I now finish!" she added energetically and began sweeping the floor. Pico watched her from snake eyes, looking at her roundish corpulence as she stooped or knelt to wetly mop the floor. She was old, unattractive and fat, but nevertheless horniness stirred in him when her thin cleaning dress bulged over her underpants. With feverish eyes he followed the lines of her body as she knelt again to damply mop the wooden floor. The dress kept sliding up to reveal the edge of her panties, greedily watching her as she firmly preened and wiggled her ass, giving him a glimpse of the black gloom between her thighs. She rubbed the bottom with all her body so that he couldn't look at her wiggling ass any other way than the big, wiggling ass of a woman who was fucking. When she got too close to the bed, he surprisingly grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into bed with him. It happened way too fast for Ms. Vesna as Pico laid her on her back. She lay there out of breath for a few seconds as he quickly lay on top of her, rubbing his naked abdomen on hers.

"Jessas!" gasped Vesna as Pico undid the lowest buttons of her dress, "Jessas!" She seemed rigid with horror as he grabbed the waistband of her panties and pulled it down with a jerk, over her thighs and knees and legs, and then tossed it carelessly to the floor. She made a frightened face as he pushed her down and hugged her, rubbing his horny body against hers. Her "Yessas!" repeated over and over again, but Pico realized she was not even beginning to resist his attack. "I got man," Vesna stuttered fearfully, "I got husband, that .... not good!", but at the same time her thighs spoke a language of their own when he touched them lightly. The thick, firm thighs slid apart as if moved by magic, Mrs. Vesna murmured one "Yessas" after another and turned her head away shamefully as she pushed herself wide open towards him. "I won't hurt you," Pico grumbled and Mrs. Vesna moaned at the same time, "Jessas, must not do, I good woman, have man!"

"Jessasmarja" moaned Mrs. Vesna as Pico searched her vagina with his hand, for his hormone program was already running at full speed. He was amazed at how wet she already was, gently stroking her labia and intensitively rubbing the clit. She put an arm over her eyes and moaned in time with his rubbing, stammering over and over that it wasn't good because she had a husband, punctuating all of this with lots of ah's and ah's and yesses, but Pico felt her straining against him. Pico continued to excite her until she was dripping wet, hot and highly horny, then he quickly penetrated her.

Instantly, Ms. Vesna fell silent. For a split second he wondered how soft her tight vagina was. She held her breath, clutching his back with both hands staring at him with wide, reproachful eyes. Her vagina claimed otherwise, however; he felt it immediately. She was towards him even though he wasn't fucking her yet, like a greedy mouth her vagina was devouring his cock. Before he could even stir, she thrust her hips up and down quickly and rhythmically, fucking him from below. He was kind of shocked because she seemed so unexpectedly horny. She rubbed herself against him, rubbing her clit urgently against his cock, then all at once she stopped and shuddered in orgasm.

Tears slowly filled her eyes as he began to fuck her now, and from time to time she shook her head. He was not particularly aroused yet and was fucking her fast and hard when she suddenly closed her eyes and tensed up violently. Pico thought to himself, no, that can't be, no woman gets an orgasm that fast! Vesna after orgasm lay still and smiling softly as he continued to fuck her. Pico was surprised that Vesna opened her eyes again, obviously sensing his coming. "Ready!" she whispered, opening herself softly, squeezing him tightly and invitingly inside her. Pico poured into her almost painfully as she looked at him with her mouth open in amazement, perhaps a little curiosity, as he squirted in little waves. He sank down on top of her and slowly slid off, laying beside her, panting.

They lay motionless next to each other for several minutes. Ms. Vesna's hand rested lightly on his thigh as his breathing slowly calmed. He lit a cigarette and smoked in silence. Vesna sighed sadly and said very softly, "Twelve years already. Haven't done this with a man, twelve years." They were both silent. Vesna cried a little and whispered that her husband was a poor, sick man. She cried louder and said that it was not good, her poor husband and what she did now.

Pico was silent. He was not ashamed and certainly not interested in thinking for more than a fraction of a second about the cripple who could no longer fuck with his wife. It had done him good, that was the important thing first, then perhaps his curiosity as to whether or not she had really had an orgasm. Or not, he quickly judged, not a single woman had ever had an orgasm with him, not just like that while fucking.

Vesna mumbled, twelve years and she was still sick to her stomach, because she had already lived like an old matka and nothing with man in bed, twelve years no man. He's a nice man, Mr. Rizzi, she said, stroking his chest hair lightly, but she could no longer come to clean because her husband was so ill and she could not come to bed with Mr. Rizzi. Vesna was very sad, but she doesn't want to do it because her poor husband doesn't know all that and that's not good for her to do when she has a husband.

Pico was still exhausted and let her continue whispering for some time, then he laconically said if she would agree if he paid her more, — he quickly calculated it quickly in his head — about twice as much if she kept coming to clean. He said she should just clean his apartment, normally, and she needn't think about the rest, it just happened, as sometimes happens. He would understand that she was worried about her husband, and she was a good woman to think so fondly of her husband, but she should just just forget everything. To fuck a man did her good.

Mrs. Vesna was silent for a long time, then she said that it was good about the money and that she would come again on Thursday to clean, she really needed the money really, also for husband. Pico finished his cigarette, then he quickly dressed and went to town.

Naturally, Pico kept the pact as he interpreted it. On the first Thursday he still feigned cowardly an important appointment and disappeared right after the first cup of coffee, because he couldn't stand it from sheer excitement, but from then on he took it as he pleased. She endured his advances bluntly and without resistance. advances, let him take her in the bathroom, in the kitchen and in all positions. He never knew what she thought about it, because if he came from behind, she lowered her head like an ox and waited for him to fuck her until he was done. If he pulled her onto the sofa and lay on top of her, then she remained willing but closed off, staring fixedly into his face. Even when sometimes in the spring the devil rode him and after the first time in the morning he approached her again ruthlessly around noon, she looked stony‐faced in front of her until he poured out the jets stamping and panting. She orgasmed very lightly when he fucked her, her orgasm was always quiet without any fuss. She never let him touch her clit. When he once groped with his finger for her clit, she screamed at him completely hysterically in her language, and there he let it be.

He cynically gloated over her astonishment when, still completely exhausted — from a surprise morning orgasm, he couldn't do it at all on Thursday morning. Looking bedraggled, she sat on the edge of the bed and tried to get him stiff with her hand to get him stiff, until he gruffly waved it off because it just wasn't working. He wondered at her consternation and her obvious guilt. She had resigned herself to it — but had not grown accustomed — to performing part of her obligations in the form of fucking and couldn't understand why he was too dull to do it today. She had probably done everything wrong and slipped out, embarrassed, to clean.

He pushed away the thought that she was somehow very similar to Lila. She wasn't, definitely! Vesna's age and figure had always been indifferent to him; what mattered to him was her availability, her full, heaving breasts and her fine plumpness as well as her orgasmic fucking. She could often orgasm twice or three times and it was obvious that she loved this. Her wrinkles and folds, her flesh growing older with the years could no more inhibit his greed than the thought of her age. He became accustomed over the years to her dull, animalistic devotion as well as to her simple way of coming straight to sex and surrender herself willingly to it. Willingly was probably an exaggeration, actually she tolerated his assaults only to keep her part of the pact. Probably — if she had found the right words — probably she despised him for it. If he — which was increasingly common — was not fully aroused, then she worked him immobile and silent until he stiffened and fucked her. She was going to hold up her end of the bargain even after her husband died, and she was going to do it more faithfully than he ever thought possible.

When her husband died, he gave her so much money in an envelope that she could transfer the dead man to Bosnia and give him a proper burial. This was the only way he could silence the bad conscience he had towards the unknown dead man. She was very shy as she accepted the money almost reluctantly, and Pico was almost ashamed to death because she surprisingly took his hand and kissed it. "Mr. Rizzi is good man," Vesna whispered, then she disappeared for several weeks.

After her husband's death, he became very aware that she was already approaching seventy. Nevertheless, he stubbornly insisted on his pact, but he wanted to be kinder, perhaps more tender with her. It no longer occurred to him to jump her on the kitchen floor or in the bathroom.

When she came back a few weeks after the funeral, he pulled her by the hand into the bedroom, hugged her tenderly before slowly stripping her completely naked (which caused her a lot of trouble at first), and fucked her in bed as if she were his wife. She had overcome her contempt for him in those weeks and let him love her — it amazed him himself, but he would sometimes say "Come, let's make love" to her and marvel at how soft she became at those words.

Who knows how it would have gone on had not the thing happened with Peter.

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