Part 3 in a an erotica tale by Pervyworm. No content has been altered from original content
My senior year was a blur. I had cleaned out Mrs. Fuentes’ garage (twice), re arranged the furniture in every room, mowed her lawn every weekend (front yard and back yard), and somehow became her chauffeur after she accidentally got my provisional license in the mail. She lorded it over me until I took my test last week, taking her to the salon, the mall, even picking up her daughter from volleyball practice. I was made to wear a driver’s hat every time I picked her up.
She started making me wear “uniform’s” after she settled with my mom that I would be helping her around the house. Mrs. Fuentes told her how clean I had made her bathroom after “saving” her from a nasty old bug. I had prayed she would leave out how her and her daughter bullied me into doing it and she did. When I came over to clean out her gutters, I asked if she had spare clothes for me. She did. I ended up watching myself online after a few people pointed me to the “Flying Pink Apron man” on the roof. She laughed at me, covered in dirt as I came down the ladder. “You look fucking ridiculous! Here, come in I have another chore for you. You’re a big strong you man you can do this.” I fumbled with my apron for a while and after she watched me struggle with it. We walked back to her bedroom. She laid on the bed and continued to watch TV. I waited until she told me what to do. I realized that’s what ai was doing when she popped a few pistachios from the shells and threw them on the floor. There were a bunch already a bunch on the floor.
“I’m so tired of looking at that clothes stand. Take the clothes off, hang them in the walk in and take it outside. When you’re done come back and vacuum this room.” She said as she threw more shells on the floor. I protested about my part time volunteer job at the public pool. I needed the hours for my college credit. She blinked at me like I was speaking Chinese. “All this breath you’re wasting talking, you could be putting towards those clothes. The faster you finish, the faster you can go. That is unless you want me to tell your mother how rude her son is, promising to help us neighbor then going back on his word. Tsk, tsk.” Her look brokered no argument, so away I went to attack the clothes.
I could tell these clothes were old. They were faded and smelled like Mrs. Fuentes. The aroma was intoxicating. It smelled of vintage cigarette smoke and perfume of 1000 scents. I was reminded of how she would blow smoke in my face everyday I handed her her coffee each morning. “Be careful with em, Boo boo. You drop them, you wear them.” Somehow I knew she was serious, so I moved fast but efficiently. There was something in that instance that made me want to obey. Maybe it was the scents, maybe it was the way she managed to keep me to herself every summer as her personal errand boy. Plus I knew that if I didn’t make her happy, she’d let me know.
One day Mrs. Fuentes, wanted a large cup of coffee from 7-11. Regular brew with two French vanilla creams and two packets of raw sugar. I accidentally put sugar and when she got her coffee, she too.k one sip and spit it directly into my face. “Wrong. Get me another one.” With that she poured the cup over my head and finished her cigarette. The 7-11 was across from my old elementary school which I cut through to get to Biology first period. This meant I had to walk to the store, get the coffee, bring it to her, get it wrong, then walk back up to the store, get it right, bring it back to her, make sure it’s right, then get permission to go to school. By the time I got to school, it was halfway past second period. Not only that, but I didn’t even have time to clean the coffee she put into my face, so I went the whole day stinking like regular brew with two French vanilla creams and two packets of Stevia.
¬†When I got home that night after my chores at Mrs. Fuentes, all I could think about was her, like most nights. When she smiled and called me “Good boy”, I began to feel validated. I never had a girlfriend, so I didn’t get affection from them. This was the closest thing I had and didn’t want it to go away. I continued to clean her clothes rack, moving hem into the walk in closet with the largest shoe collection ever. I estimated about 200+ pairs since I had all week to walk in n out of it. My eye kept going to a corner, though. A box. I kicked at it one day and noticed some older clothes. “Hurry up, Boo boo. You’re keeping me waiting. What did I say about that!”. I hurried up and before I left, I had learned to ask for permission before leaving. She checked my progress and let me on my way. Not so much as a thank you, like always.
It was then that I had a knock at the door. I opened it to nothing. I looked down and found a note that read “To Boo Boo, these are for you.” It was attached to a boxed wrapped in brown paper. I took it inside and opened it. It was a pile, no a roll. A roll of old pantyhose and nylons, inside were old worn panties. The smell was of the clothes in the closet. The intoxicating aroma of Mrs. Fuentes. The humiliation, the teasing all came to me in a waft of sweat and sex. I went rock hard immediately. I looked next door and found the blinds moving. At the bottom was another note. It read: “You got the honey, Boo boo. Wait for the pot” I went to bed with the riddle bouncng around my head, and her nylons around my nose.
To be continued…
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