Helga dusted off the top of the television. A glance at the screen confirmed her own perfect reflection and that no window spray need be squirted upon the glass.

They usually frowned on the window spray, however. Their precious electronics were always thought of as too particular for regular cleaners and rags. What if it scratched? What if it broke? What if it landed on a vanilla channel?

Helga considered, for a moment, flipping the television on. She had little doubt that she would be greeted by porn. With all the pornstar homes she cleaned, it was rare to find it on anything else. Somehow Helga had become a cleaner to the pornstars…not only but to a certain type of pornstars. The ones that tried to keep up their intimate facade in all aspects of their lives. She had heard of some people in porn claiming to have conventional lives off camera, but not this lot.

This career had never been her intention.

Meek and quiet Helga had succeeded simply from keeping her mouth shut. Though she did wonder if this really was a success. Working for pornstars went against her faith and virtue…but it did put food on the table.

In this particular place, the cleaning was being done for one Doris Driver. The headshot on the wall in the front hallway suggested Doris was a young redhead with medium breasts.

With that face, however, Helga figured the breasts were not as necessary as they were for some in the business. There were ass-men, leg-men, and breast-men, but she believed that a face was the first thing men saw in their daydreams of fellatio.

Helga was skilled at fellatio. Or so she was told.

Not that Oscar ever requested fellatio…nor sex at all for that matter. Two sons and it seemed he had evolved to asexual in his existence. His need for Helga had been completed outside of her being required to mother his boys.

Bloody husbands.

Helga, only 31, looked goods because of her curves. Again, that was what she was told by some other than Oscar.

“I could have been a pornstar,” she mumbled as she fluttered the duster over the frame of the hallway headshot. “I could have sucked so much cock that I’d be filled with cum.” Guilt stung at her mind for a moment.

Jesus wouldn’t want her talking or thinking that way.

She glanced into the headshot emerald eyes of Doris again.

Doris likely didn’t give a shit of what Jesus wanted.

Helga wondered how she could do that. She had such desires to have this guilt, little as it seemed, lifted from her. These men who told her she had gorgeous curves…and the ones that said she was good at fellatio…she wanted no more guilt from consorting with them. Why would she be given desires and libido, yet be expected to shut them off?

It wasn’t as though Oscar needed them. He was busy watching whatever sporting event the boob tube had on.

“Mmmmm…boobs,” she whispered and grinned. Moving away from the headshot she continued on with her cleaning. These were the finishing touches before the roar of the vacuum cleaner.

The kitchen was usually first, then the restrooms and bedroom before any sitting room. After that was all done came windows and dusting. Finally, mopping and vacuuming were completed before the business was finished.

With the number of condoms Helga had thrown out, she often wondered if there were any way to make money recycling rubber. It had its gross insinuation, but when one was barely getting by it was easy to let the mind wander to new ideas.

Helga finished her dusting off and wandered back to the bedroom with her yoga pants swiping as her legs moved. Her black t-shirt featured a buxom blonde overtop some heavy metal band name she did not know. The shirt had been purchased at the consignment shop simply for work. It was the perfect tightness to show off just a little cleavage through the neck, though.

The room had dark green walls, likely to keep the bright sun from overtaking the room during the day as, on the fifteenth floor of a condo like this, the only protection the place had been the window blinds. On the wall was a black and white picture of young Doris bent over in front of one of the known porn studs in the business, Fella Lashio.

“I’d do him,” Helga whispered as her eyes studied the curves of his shoulder muscles.

It seemed an odd picture to have in one’s bedroom, but it was gorgeous.

Her hands pushed down on her yoga pants until they were mid-hip. Sitting back on the bed, her right hand kept her propped up while her left hand slipped between her thighs. It was moments before her fingers were soaked slipping inside her and soft moans were leaking from her lips. Her eyes closed as she imagined Fella was behind her.

The moans, however, were loud enough to make her miss the click of the front door.

Doris, having slipped her shoes off in the hall, got to the bedroom door near silently. She leaned against the door frame and watched as Helga writhed on the bed. Her red tank-top scrunched as she folded her arms across her chest.

Helga continued with her fantasy. Knowing she had yet to strip the bed meant she could make a mess if she wanted to but… her eyes popped open hearing a swish of fabric.

Doris had crouched down and her jeans had given her away. With a smile, she moved to Helga and pulled the yoga pants down further. “You don’t mind if I cut in, do you?”

“No, please.”

Doris put a hand on each of Helga’s knees and spread them open. Lowering her mouth between, her tongue found the clitoris and began to play.

…

Helga woke up with a scream.

It was a good scream, but a scream nonetheless.

Glancing around, she recognized the bedroom and regained her surroundings. The clock beside the bed suggested she had been asleep twenty minutes. The pressure of yoga pants around her upper thighs suggested she’d been dreaming of the redhead.

Her shoulders relaxed as she stood up and pulled her pants back up.

Time to mop.

Getting home, she hopped out of her little Chevy and walked up to her corner townhouse. As expected, Oscar had roses waiting for her on the table.

“You bastard,” she said with an exaggerated eye roll.

Roses meant it would be a late night before he was home. Being Oscar was in part sales, Helga wondered just how stupid he thought she was.

Not that it mattered. He was likely between the legs of the twenty-year-old receptionist by now.

Ignoring the roses, she pulled a soda can from the refrigerator and filling a glass two-thirds. The other third came from a bottle of spiced rum. She took the glass to the bedroom and placed it on the side table. At the foot of the bed sat a large computer screen. She took the keyboard and mouse back to the bed with her. Undressing, she crawled in and tapped on the keyboard until the video she wanted showed up on the screen.

“Okay, Fella,” she whispered at the screen, “take me there.” She watched as the screen illuminated to show Doris Driver kneeling down in front of Fella Lashio and working to open his pants. With a long sigh, Helga took a gulp from her drink before allowing her hands to return to their proper duties.

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