Copyright 2007 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without the author's permission.
Please note: this story depicts oral and sex between male adults. If this offends you or is illegal to publish in your jurisdiction, or you are under the age of 18, read no further.
The characters, locations and incidents in this story are fictional. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Semper Fi
It had been one of those weeks. On Monday the boss emailed me to say he expected to see my report on his desk first thing Thursday morning. I worked at home, which was great. Telecommuting beats the expressway any day. But that didn't change the nature of deadlines and ultimatums.
Then on Tuesday morning, Mom called that she was flying into town Thursday night and would be staying with me for a week. Not a request, mind you. She told me. The house was a mess and I couldn't spare the time to clean it up. I needed help fast.
After I hung up with Mom, I flipped the local yellow pages open to "Cleaning Svce," where I was re-directed to "Housecleaning Svce." I quickly scanned down: "AAAA Home Cleaners (party cleanup, bathrooms and kitchens scrubbed, . . .)," "American Dust Busters (house maintenance, weekly, monthly, one-time, . . .)," "Maid to Order (insured and bonded, emergency, . . .)" "MOMS Cleaning (are you sick of ...dishes in the sink, dust on the furniture, everyday chores you just can't get to, . . .?)." Several of them sounded promising. But then, I spotted one of those white rectangles. How much extra do the advertisers pay to make their listing stick out like that? For some reason, this one intrigued me: "Semper Fi Service. Discover how quickly you can get you barracks squared away." I dialed the number, and was surprised to hear a man's voice. Then I was relieved that I could be accommodated on Wednesday. He told me his price (much more than I was expecting) and asked me a lot of questions about what equipment and cleaning products I had on hand. Then he asked for my address. I also gave him directions. "Be at your hatch at O-eight-hundred," he said curtly, and hung up.
I don't know why he had to send his crew over so early. But I figured, good, I'll be up, and dressed, and I'll be able to work the whole day on the report while the lady (-ies?) turned my sty into a place a mother could set foot in. Wednesday morning, my alarm went off at 6:30. I showered, had my coffee and a bowl of cereal, and picked out my outfit. I wasn't planning on socializing with the help, but, who knows, SF might send over a cute young thing or two. I better look halfway decent, in case. I got out my new pair of Dockers, and a light blue pullover. A pair of boat shoes (no sox) and I was looking fairly sharp, sexy perhaps. I set up my computer on the desk in my bedroom where I could stay out of her (their) way and work on my report. The doorbell rang; I checked my watch. It was only 7:50. A little pissed, I opened the door.
There he stood. A strapping guy in his mid thirties, boots, cammie pants, a cammie shirt with no sleeves, a USMC tat on his right arm, an armload of mops, brooms, a work box full of cleaning bottles, and a clipboard.
"Pennington?" It was the same deep voice I heard on the phone.
"Oh, uh, yes, that's me. And you must be from Semper Fi. You're early."
"Don't believe in wasting time, Pennington. Let's get this field day under way."
"Well, sure, OK. Come in. Kitchen's over there. Bathroom's down that hall. In this closet is my vacuum and the supplies we talked about. If you need anything, I'll be working at my desk. Oh, and why don't you call me Harry, OK?"
The Marine glanced around. I wasn't sure he heard a word I said. He saw the washing machine just off the kitchen. "OK, Pennington, you better get started on the laundry. There's probably going to be several loads. They can be processing while the other chores get tackled." I was about to tell Marine where the hamper was, but he ordered, "Bring the whites first. Ooh-Rah."
Well, I guess, sure I could get the stuff for him. He seems so anxious to get going. I'm not going to waste both our times arguing with him. I went in the bedroom and dumped everything from the overflowing hamper into two laundry baskets, put an arm around each one, and brought them to the kitchen. Marine was filling a bucket at the sink.
"I said the whites, Boot." He took the two baskets, and dumped them on the floor. "Now sort them right, Pennington." Marine started to fill the machine with water.
This was getting ridiculous. I didn't hire this guy to order me around. Yet, something in his tone told me I'd better do what he said. I bent over and began putting underwear, shirts, socks, shorts, anything white, into one basket. On top, I threw my jockstrap. It was white. Sorta. "Fuckin' Boot. Didn't your mama teach you nothin? You don't throw elastics in with whites." He reached down and threw my jock back on the floor. "The bleach will kill it. Your sorry little dick will be falling all over the place. Now put all that load in the machine. Add a capful of detergent and half a cap of bleach. You think you got that, Pennington? Ooh-Rah."
"Yes, Sir." I heard myself respond. Marine's mention of my mother made me realize I was in no position to object. I had to get my house in order immediately. I couldn't afford to lose this guy.
"Good." Marine checked his clipboard. "When you finish, you can start mopping the kitchen deck. It's a disgrace."
"Yes, Sir." I thought wistfully about the report I needed to write, due in one day. I finished loading the washing machine, closed it, and set myself to doing the floor, or deck, as Marine called it. I got the pail of water he had filled, took out my box of store-brand cleaning powder, and asked Marine for the mop I remembered he brought with him.
"No mop, Boot. Ground in grime like this needs muscle. You'll get down on your knees and use this here brush. And what's more, you can throw that box of junk in the garbage. From here on, you're not going to waste your money on cheap supplies. Always buy the best. Lucky for you, I stopped by the PX and bought the right cleaner. I'll add it to your bill. So, what are you waiting for, Boot? Get down on your knees."
"Well, these are new Dockers, Sir."
"If you didn't come prepared for field day, that ain't my fault, Pennington. Take them off, then. Ooh-rah."
"Yes, Sir." I started to head for the bedroom to change.
"Where the fuck are you going, Pennington? You ain't dismissed. I told you to take your pants off, not go AWOL. At Lejeune, you'd be in the brig by now." I stood frozen, staring at Marine. He never flinched. I slowly slipped the Dockers off. "Well, what the fuck are those? They ain't regulation skivvies, Boot!" I dropped my eyes to the floor. What had possessed me to wear my heart-covered boxers today? Was it some fantasy about getting inside some pretty maid's skirt? "Throw them Docks into the colored basket, Pennington. Then get down and start scrubbing the deck. Show a little gung-ho or we'll be here `til O-Dark Thirty"
For the next half hour, I was mostly on my hands and knees, scrubbing every tile of the kitchen floor. If Marine thought I missed a spot, he spit on it with deadly aim and kicked my valentine ass. "Get that one there, Boot." However, periodically I had to get up to change the dirty water, move the clothes from the washer to the dryer and start a new load, or load the dishwasher. Meanwhile, Marine made himself a cup of coffee and began puttering around, inspecting things, making marks on his clipboard.
"I see you didn't make your rack this morning, Boot. I guess your mama never taught you how. Get in there and do it right, Pennington." I assumed he meant my bed. I pulled the covers up and he pulled them down again. Apparently, I was supposed to tuck the bedclothes in a certain way, real tight. After twenty or thirty attempts, he was finally satisfied, though grudgingly.
"Your head is going to take a lot longer than I planned on. Especially the rate you're movin, Pennington. Ooh-rah." Head? head? oh yeah, it came to me. Bathroom. Marine showed me which cleanser to use on the sink and shower, which on the toilet bowl, which on the counter, which on the mirror. He assumed by now I knew how to handle the floor. He graciously agreed to put the clean clothes away for me as I got my "head" all "squared away."
I took my shirt off. I figured if I was going to be crawling around behind the toilet, it would probably be easier to do it in just my boxers. After a while, I figured the fixtures were glreaming and ready for inspection. I was almost "gungy." I came out of the bathroom to see Marine had set up the vacuum for me. He was standing at ease, wearing a smirk. "I see you got some sort of shit on your pretty little hearts there." I hadn't noticed. "Better take them off, Boot. You won't need them to vacuum." My jaw dropped. "What's the matter, Pennington? You don't want another guy to see your pecker? . . . Yeah, that's right, off they come. Good soldier. Hmm, I see you do got balls. I wasn't so sure before. Oh, one more thing, before you turn on the old hoover. Stick this thing in." He brought his hand out from behind his back, holding a big pink butt plug. My butt plug. The one I keep in my sock drawer. I had a girl friend once who loved that game, and every so often when I'm alone, wanking, I put it in for old times sake. Now I cringed. "What's wrong, Boot? You like to use this, right? Else, why you keep it in your drawer? Come on, Pennington, in it goes. That's an order." I reached out to take it. "I think you'll want this first, Boot." He showed me his other hand; the KY tube I keep in my bedside table. The guy had gone through everything I own. I sheepishly took the lube and knowingly slathered it on the plug. I crouched down on the floor and pointed it at my anus and deftly inserted it. Marine couldn't help but notice I was no novice. I stood up again and, somewhat bow-legged, began to vacuum. Marine helped himself to my refrigerator and made himself lunch. Every so often, he would come up behind me and give the plug a little wiggle or a push. After the vacuum was put away, still butt naked and butt plugged, I emptied the dishwasher, polished all my shoes and dusted all the tabletops.
Marine checked his clipboard. "O Four Hundred. I guess my work is almost done here." His work? "Here's my bill. I had to add overtime and the cost of the supplies. It's all spelled out. I already marked it `Paid' cause I took the cash out of that fake copy of Oliver Twist on your bookshelf. You really ought to find a better place to keep your dough, Boot. Never know who might take it. One last chore and then we can secure the quarters."
"Sir?" I was standing in front of him, naked and plugged. I couldn't imagine anything I hadn't done.
"Just one more thing you gotta make shine before I leave, Boot." Marine opened his cammie pants and pulled out his massive manmeat.
"Yes, Sir. Ooh-rah." I knelt down in front of him and opened my mouth. As he fed me his cock, I closed my eyes and considered the day. My home was spotless. I didn't dread my mother's visit. I had learned what I was capable of doing. I still had the evening to work on my report. So all in all, it was really a good day. And best of all, I now had my butt plug stimulating my ass and a quite delicious piece of Marine meat in my mouth. Semper Fi!