Rob and the Running Mate

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Running Mate
By Fantasmic

It took me a while to recover from my adventures in the US, with Jenny and Lexi.  Not physically, mind you, but financially.  They weren’t very demanding, but I spent a small fortune on gifts, clothes, toys and travelling out there for the weekend break.  Never mind the cost of that cabin.

But that’s not what broke the bank.  My wife, perhaps justifiably - I’m not an idiot - smelled a rat and finally divorced me.  That was fine by me really, we’d run our course and I was happy to go through with it, and hopeful she could find someone else out there.  But it meant selling the house, splitting the proceeds, me buying a new house, taxes, fees and all that.

My work had also started giving me grief.  They weren’t doing to well, and some idiot in finance started looking at my expense reports.  I got away with the extra night and meals I shouldn’t have expensed, but I was called in to explain myself.  I didn’t get caught, but I could tell the prick smelled something fishy.

So almost a year later, in the early spring, I had finally gotten myself a new house in the suburbs.  I’d even started running to keep fit, and browsing some more local Sugar Daddy sites, but not yet taken the jump again.  It felt like I’d sort of done it all.  Jenny and Lexi pretty much ruined it for me - there was no chance I’d meet girls like that again - not individually and certainly not as a pair.

* * * * * *

Then one Thursday morning I was out for my morning run.  I work from home most days in the week, only going into the city when I need to for meetings.  So instead of commuting, I run in the early hours and get behind my desk by eight and am usually done with most ‘work’ by mid morning.  Using the rest of the day for conference calls or just messing about.
I usually run for fifteen minutes in one direction, then at the half-way ‘ping’ from the app, just run back.  Simple and lets me try new routes and mix things up.  This time I ran towards the local park, and about ten minutes in I was overtaken by a young woman.  I noticed, oh I noticed.  I mean, you always look when a female runs nearby, and mostly it’s disappointing. But I sensed someone come by and made space (heard nothing over the music) and suddenly there were legs, tiny shorts and sports bra, topped by blondish hair tied in a pony-tail, bobbing up and down.

I know my fitness level well - It’s not great, I’m in my mid forties and have never exercised regularly before - so quickly realised I would not be able to keep up.  But I tried, sensibly.  The legs were gorgeous, the butt tight, cheeks almost visible under the shorts, the waist slim and toned and even the neck looked perfect.

Soon she had turned a corner a fair bit ahead of me, and being flexible with my route, I followed, only to see her running back my way.  I discreetly timed my movements to allow me a look when she was closer and realised that I knew her.  The neighbour’s daughter.  Literally next door.
I’d done the decent thing with my neighbours either side when I moved in, and recalled that the owners were a couple.  He worked container ships, a captain or something and she a nurse.  I hadn’t seen the daughter at the time, but spotted her coming and going a few times after.

She was pretty, and I was sure I saw a smile my way as she ran past me, the other way, effortlessly.  Shortly after my half way ping went, and I turned back.  I was now behind her again, albeit by some distance.  I was pleased about the distance as I really didn’t want the neighbours hearing from their daughter that the new neighbour was some sort of perv, chasing her on her run.

Then she slipped.  It was one of those lovely trees planted in the pavement by well meaning urban planners decades before, now grown large with roots cracking the tarmac in long bulges.  She rolled but sat up rather quickly, holding one leg to her chest.

Just then I caught up with her, and stopped.  I removed my earbuds and asked, “Are you okay?  That looked like a nasty fall.”

She looked up at me, and seemed to recognise me, as her face went from annoyed to more friendly. “Yes, I think I twisted my ankle.”
I stooped down to have a look, not really knowing what to look for, then offered, “We’re neighbours, right?  Let me help you get back.”

“No, don’t worry, I’ll be okay.” She said and started trying to stand, collapsing back down as soon as she put weight on her ankle.  I reached out a hand, and she grabbed it and let me pull her up.

She put one arm around my shoulder and neck and I held my arm loosely around her waist, not wanting to make a reputation or be accused of anything.  And we hobbled back, taking half an hour to do the distance that would have taken ten at a run.

“You’re going to need to rest that ankle, and get some sort of bandage or sleeve on it.” I helpfully offered.
“Tsk, my mum’s a nurse but she never has anything useful like that at home.  Not even paracetamol or ibuprofen.  Always scared I’d take too much.”

“I’m pretty well stocked.  Always planned for getting myself injured.”  I didn’t want to propose going to my place, so left it at that.

“Thanks.  If you’re sure?  I’ll get out of your hair quickly, and pay you back.”

So we hobbled back to my place.  Being utterly paranoid, I helped her to my sitting room, which has a large bay window to the street.  You’re not exactly on display in the room, but curious passers by have a good view.  She sat down in my recliner chair, with a footstool under her foot. I added a pillow, before going to find some meds and bandages.
I found a pack of ibuprofen, a tube of deep heat and a self adhesive elasticated bandage.  When I returned to the sitting room she had removed her shoe and was gently probing her ankle, wincing.

“Here, take two of these,” I handed her the unopened pack of ibuprofen and a glass of water.  “If you haven’t eaten, I’ve got some bananas to go with it. Best not have this stuff on an empty stomach.”

“Thanks.  I never eat before running.”  I left her to take the pills and brought back a banana from the kitchen.
I’d now had a chance to have a good look her.  She was quite pretty and looked just as toned sitting in my chair as she had been running.  It was hard to tell what her chest was like with the tight sports bra on, but it seemed like she had something going on there.

“Oh…. fuck…. I’m cramping….” She was holding her calf, just above the strained ankle.
I quickly moved over and massaged it for her, looking at her to check if it was okay.  That seemed to help, and she thanked me gratefully, “Thanks…. Ha! I don’t even know your name.  I’m Carly.”

“Hi Carly, I’m Rob.”  We exchanged smiles.

“You’ve been quite the hero, Rob.  Sorry to ruin your morning.  You must be late for the tube or something?”
“No, not at all.  I’m home based today, so I will start when I’m ready. No rush.  Wait for the ibuprofen to kick in and I’ll help you over.”  She seemed okay with that, so I sat down on the sofa.

“Sorry about the mess in here.  Been here months and still haven’t sorted out a cleaner.”
She looked around the room.  “It’s not so bad…” she hesitated a bit, “but if you’re after a cleaner, how much does it pay?  I was looking to get a part time job.”

That surprised me.  Normally cleaners are old ladies, or Eastern European or both.
“The normal rate is about fifteen pounds an hour.  Probably twice a week, three or so hours each time. Bonus if it’s good work.”  She did the math in her head, and seemed okay with the result.

“Do you have all the stuff?  I mean, I don’t have a vacuum cleaner I can lug around.”

“Sure, and if anything is missing let me know and I can get it, or give you money to get it.  I must admit I feel better having someone I know doing the job.  Well, at least sort of know.”  I picked up the elasticated bandage, “You ready for this?”

“Okay, but be gentle.” I stood up and grabbed the bandage from the table, and wrapped her ankle in it.  Then grabbed the TV remote and handed to her, “watch some TV if you want while it settles, I’ll catch up with some emails upstairs and take you over in an hour - is that okay?”

“Thanks Rob.”

I left her to it, and did as I had said.  An hour later I came down and helped her hobble back to her house.  She unlocked the door and hobbled in, and holding the wall turned around.

“Thanks again Rob, and for the job! Is next week okay?”  I had already thought of this, she’d need to rest that foot after all.  I also wanted to be home when she cleaned.

“Sure thing, why don’t you start Monday - if  your foot is okay by then - and then do Monday’s and Fridays.  Starting at ten am okay for you?”

“Sounds great, see you Monday.”
“Great, see you.” I turned to leave and heard the door close behind me.

I had not planned anything with Carly.  It was a chance encounter and I was pleased to have someone to clean and tidy the house, felt good knowing she lived next door and looked forward to seeing a pretty young woman in my house a couple of times a week.  Beyond a bit of eye candy, I was not expecting anything.

At ten am the following Monday, Carly arrived.  She was no longer wearing her running outfit, of course.  Instead she wore yoga shorts, tightly fitted around her thighs and buttocks and a short sleeve, cropped t-shirt.
The top didn’t reveal anything, but from the shape I could see that I hadn’t been wrong about her breasts, which looked like a C cup or so.

“Hi Rob,” she said cheerfully, “I hope you were expecting me.”  I was, and showed her in, marvelling at her behind as I watched her walk into the house.  I showed here around, pretty standard configuration.  Entrance way to stairs leading up, sitting room immediately on the left, dining room facing the garden past the stairs, kitchen at the back - upgraded with an extension.  Upstairs two bedrooms and a bathroom, and my study in a large loft room.

“So the job is really to make sure all floors are cleaned or vacuumed, try to work out a rota to dust skirting boards, picture frames, windows etc. No need to clean the windows, a guy comest to do that inside and out.  The shower should be scrubbed twice a week, helps stop limescale build up. Oh and clean all kitchen counters etc.”

“Okay.” She seemed unfazed and I showed her where the cleaning stuff was kept.

She worked hard enough, and got through the house within the three hours.  I got her to start on the first floor, with the bathroom and bedrooms, then my study in the loft and finally the downstairs.  Mostly she was on her own, but I made sure to go make a coffee and check in on her on the first floor and stayed in my study while she cleaned there as well, and moved downstairs to make lunch while she was down.  Not following exactly, but keeping an eye out, and exchanging some pleasantries here and there.

When her time was almost up and she was finishing with the counter tops in the kitchen, I sat at the kitchen table and decided to try something out.
“Can you make sure to clean along the fittings under kitchen units, needs a wet wipe and a soft touch to avoid damaging anything.”

As hoped, she got down on her hands and knees, and I enjoyed watching her arse as she scrubbed away for a couple of minutes.  Then she was done for the day and I paid her forty five pounds in cash.

She came again on the following Friday, and repeated much the same routine.  She was dressed the same way again, yoga shorts and cropped t-shirt.  This time I got her to dust under my desk and enjoyed the view.

The next Monday I offered her a sandwich as I was preparing myself one while she was doing the kitchen floor, this time taking care to wipe the fittings under the units as I’d asked before.  She accepted my offer of lunch and ate with me after her shift.  We chatted a bit and she told me more about her dad who was only hope a few weeks per year.  He was actually a captain on a container ship, usually on the high seas.  Her mum, a nurse, worked all shifts available - although Carly seemed to think perhaps there was more to it.   She herself had started at university, but left half-way through her second year, for reasons she didn’t get into.

And so we established a working routine that endured for a couple of months.  She cleaned efficiently, got good at tidying up as she went, had a few jobs to do that involved getting on all fours, and I was usually around to witness those.  We then would eat a sandwich together in the kitchen and chat for ten or fifteen minutes.

Then one Friday there was a change in routine.  Instead of her usual cropped t-shirt she wore a sports bra, probably the same one from the running, although I can’t be quite sure.  In some ways it wasn’t a huge change, a bit more stomach on display I guess, but she’d been so consistent with her cleaning outfit before that I noticed.

She cleaned as usual and towards the end I was making sandwiches in the kitchen, admiring her and her handiwork.  Her final job was always doing those skirting board bits under the kitchen units, and this time she stood up and mock-wiped her brow with a “phew”.  The counters run parallel down what would have been the original kitchen, opening up at the end into the extension, where there’s a kitchen island with stools, and beyond that the kitchen table in a conservatory style area with nice views of the garden.

Anyway, I was at one corner of the kitchen counter, ensuring I had a good view.  She stood up with the “phew”, walked over towards me, or perhaps the kitchen island where we normally ate, and patted her stomach. “I think all this cleaning work is giving me abs.”

She stopped right by me, or perhaps I stopped her. Either way, my hand was on her stomach before I had thought about, and after a couple of strokes over it I said “I think it looks just perfect, flat and soft.  Six packs don’t look good on girls.”
Carly seemed a bit taken aback at that.  There was a little nervous laugh and she made her way to the kitchen counter, and I followed with the sandwiches.  We ate, talked about the weather and the news.  After finishing I cleaned up and paid her for the day’s work.

The Monday after, and a couple of weeks more at least, she wore the usual outfit again, and the routine was the same as usual.  Then, again on a Friday I think, Carly showed up again in the sports bra.  She went about the usual cleaning routine, and as she was finishing up in the kitchen, with me positioned as usual.  As she stood up, she stretched, hands on hips bending backwards with a “urgggh”, and headed to the kitchen island.

“I’m glad that six pack hasn’t come out yet.”  She paused at that, next to me, hands still on her hips and sort of rotated her torso a bit.  I took that as an okay to check again, and stroked her stomach, still flat and soft. We then ate our lunch as normal, chit chat and all that.

The next time, Monday after, she was again wearing the sports bra.  And again we were in the kitchen.  She did her usual routine, stood up and stretched, then looked down at her stomach and said “No six pack, huh.” I walked over and checked it over with my hand and said, “no, still just perfectly flat and soft.” This time my hand went round her waist and, as she didn’t move, down a bit to her hip.  So tantalisingly close to that phenomenal taut arse.

“Oh, is that how the bonus is earned?” She asked, not offended, but not quite humorously either.  “I’ve noticed you like watching me clean sometimes.”

I was taken aback, but there was no denying anything at this point. “Well… you’re attractive. Normally cleaners don’t look as good as you.”

“Hah, I knew it” she said.  “So if I wear something… more revealing I'd get a bonus?”

Deciding not to get into trouble I just said, “well that’s up to you.  If I’m happy, I’ll pay a bonus”.  She took that in, and went to sit at the kitchen island.  We ate our sandwiches, making small talk.

On the Friday she came back, wearing tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt, and I figured that was it.  Show over.   Although I also wondered why she wouldn’t just quit if she reckoned I was a perv.  After I closed the door, Carly took her trainers off, then, without further ado, pulled off the t-shirt revealing a black bra.  She then removed the bottoms as well and stood there in her underwear.

The bra was nothing special, showed off a fair bit of breast meat, what looked like nice and firm C cups.  The knickers were also black, but not a set with the bra I reckoned, high waisted.  Not thongs, but as she turned around to go upstairs I saw that they left her butt cheeks mostly naked.  It was a lovely sight.

I made a point of following the usual routine, not more gawking, but certainly not missing my cues either.  Carly got on with the cleaning and tidying as usual, ending the usual way in the kitchen.  When she finished, she stood up, without any stretching or drama this time and asked me straight out “Did you enjoy the view today Rob?”

“Sure, very nice, Carly.”  She walked over and I put my hand on her stomach and let it slide around her waist as she walked past.

We had the usual chit chat, albeit this time I got the chance to enjoy the view of her cleavage.  It was tantalising, I figured her breasts would look very nice out of there.

I then paid her, the usual forty five for the cleaning and another ten pounds on top.  She seemed disappointed, and said “Is that it?”

“Well, if you go to a strip club you’d get twenty for a lap dance and stripping off completely.”  She seemed to accept my logic as given.  So I added, “What if I get you a costume? I’ll give you the full twenty each time if you clean in that.”
She pondered it over, then shrugged and said, “okay, but it has to cover, you, my bits.”  I agreed and she left for the day.
I practically ran up stairs to my office to research some outfits.  I ordered three that I liked, with a little plan forming in my head.  The outfits arrived on the Saturday - delivery costing more than the outfits themselves.  I put two away, and hung one up in the guest bedroom.

When she arrived on the Monday, again wearing the tracksuit bottoms and t-shirt, I showed her to the room and wardrobe, then left her to get changed.

“Just come upstairs when you’re ready, so I can see.”  I told her as I closed the door.
I sat down at my desk upstairs, not quite focusing on work.  Soon there was a knock on the door and Carly stepped in, wearing the maid outfit.

I’d chosen one that came as a one piece dress.  The bottom was short, but covered most of her buttocks as long as she was standing up.  The top bit was tightly fitted, with a triangular white lace section widening up from the little apron, showing her breasts through the lace, but hiding the nipples.  There was of course no bra, so I got a good sense of the shape of the breasts, which looked pretty damn nice from where I was sitting.

“Wow, that looks smashing,” I said, continuing, “twirl around.”  She did and I got a nice look again at that pert arse, and the little black lace knickers that came with the outfit.

“Why don’t you start up here today.”  I stepped back to sit on the couch I have in the study - handy for thinking time or just having a nap close to the computer, and watched as she went through her cleaning routine.  I then stayed in my office as she went around the rest of the house, bar the occasional coffee trip to check on her, ending up with the usual lunch routine in the kitchen.

After finishing, Carly sat in her usual place at the kitchen island and I brought our sandwiches over.  We ate and had our usual small talk, with the added bonus of her looking quite sexy in her little outfit.

After lunch she went to get changed, and I handed over her cash at the door.  An extra fifteen pounds.
“That’s it?” She asked. “I figured it would be more than that.”

“Sure, but although it’s nice this outfit doesn’t really reveal much.” I put on a thoughtful look, “why don’t I get a couple of more outfits and when you come next time you can pick. I’ll put price tags on, so you know what you’re getting.”
“Okay, let’s do that then.” She didn’t seem that bothered.

So for Friday I prepared the other two outfits.  The one she had worn I put a £15 price tag on, a second one that had a similar bottom piece but a fully sheer top got a £20 tag and the final and third £30.  That last one was not much of an outfit, a satin piece with a very small lace apron, just enough to cover her pussy, no back piece, a slim satin belt and a satin and lace vertical piece that attached to a satin and lace choker.
My terms laid out, I waited eagerly for Friday, also nervous as to whether she would take it badly, even if she had the choice of wearing the same outfit again.

So the Friday came, and Carly arrived on time as usual.  She went upstairs to the spare room and I waited in my office.  After what felt like an interminable wait, the knock came and in stepped Carly.  She’d chosen the middle outfit.
I smiled at her and asked her to come closer, which she did.  The top did it’s work as I had hoped and I had a great view of her perky breasts with perfect, pink round nipples.  She twirled for me and then set to work.  I watched as before from the sofa, and she put on quite a show, moving sensually around, and making a bit of a show of cleaning under my desk.
The usual routine then followed, and we finally came together in the kitchen again.  Routine is a powerful thing.  I made the sandwiches, and watched as she cleaned under the kitchen units.  When she finished I asked:
“Do you think the cleaning is firming your bottom up too?”

She stood quiet for a moment, then walked over to me and turned around, “What do you think?”
I went straight in on that invitation, and stroked my palm over her buttock and squeezed a little, lingering a bit to avoid any pretense of it being all innocent.  Then as I removed my hand I said, “It feels like it’s getting plenty of exercise.  I should start charging you!”

We then sat and ate. Small talk as usual, but I decided to ask. “What do you need money for?  I assume you are saving for something?”

“Going back to uni.” She answered, “I’ve still got debts from last time and want to go again, just do a different course.  I want to do Biology, and I’m doing some courses to cover some missing A levels.  But I don’t fancy going with lots of debt and piling more on.”

“I see.” I decided to leave it at that.

We finished our sandwiches, Carly got changed, I paid her the money, including the extra twenty pounds for the outfit.
The next couple of weeks then went largely like that.  She’d wear outfit number two, clearly finding that her comfort zone, I’d watch and get in a cheeky ass grab at the end of the day.  I decided not to push anything else, unless she decided she was ready.

Then one Monday, as I sat waiting for her in my office, the knock came and in she walked in the third outfit.  Her C cups were perky and gorgeous, sitting on that lithe, slim frame.  She walked towards me and gave a little twirl, demonstrating the lack of knickers.

I watched her clean with renewed interest, studying her anatomy like a student trying to memorise for a test.  The view of her behind, as she cleaned under my desk, hairless pussy with what looked like a small neat triangle of blondish hair above it.  I had to get lots of glasses of water that morning, to check on her as she went over the first floor and the ground floor. And watch with huge interest as she cleaned under the kitchen units.

When she finally finished I could probably have cum in my pants there and then, from the boner that had been on most of the morning now.

“Are those real?” I asked, figuring she’d get the hint.  She did and walked over, practically sticking them in my face.
“Of course they are.”

I cupped one and gave it a squeeze, checking thoroughly that it was indeed a real, soft but firm, heavy and glorious breast.

We ate our sandwiches, and I continued to enjoy the view.  After a bit of small talk, I asked: “So you decided to go for a bigger bonus this time.  Still need more money?”

“Yep.” She answered, chewing.  “I lost my two days at GAP this week, so need to find something else.”

“You know, I’m happy to give you an extra bonus for extra work.”  I left it at that, to gauge her interest.

“I can do with the money.“

“How about this then.  Today I could do, with some stress release, won’t take long, and I’ll add fifty as a starting bonus.” I took a moment, then continued, “then we add a couple of jobs for you.  A bit of lick and polish in my office after you finish there, then you can join me for an after lunch nap.  That will be an extra hundred on top of the cleaning, each time.  Almost a grand a month.”

I’d gone a bit low on purpose. It was all I could afford, seventy quid for going from naked to blow jobs and fucking.  But I counted on her looking at it as extra monthly cash, and for her not to have too good a grasp of what a girl like her would make with businessmen in London hotels, if she wanted.
She didn’t spend long thinking about it, just said “Okay, sounds good.”

I put my sandwich down and went to stand behind her, my hands stroking the sides of her body, up from the hips, until they met at her breasts, which I took one in each hand.  Holding onto her breasts, I leaned down to kiss her neck, then moving up to find her lips.  I wanted to lay some ground rules, and I could live without kissing, but I’d much rather live with it.  Thankfully, she responded with a hesitant, but gradually more enthusiastic kiss.

I pulled her up from the stool and undid my pants, pulling my cock out.  My hands explored down to her pussy and found that she was satisfyingly damp. I positioned her to bend over the kitchen island and my cock found her wet snatch, easing in gently.  Carly was wet, warm and tight. I was gentle, went in slowly, gradually increasing my pace.  I held back from going too hard, I wanted to be nice this first time.

I fucked her like this, over the kitchen island, months of anticipation and desire coming out of me much quicker than I would have liked.  I kissed her afterwards, turning her around and holding her, stroking her back and buttocks as our tongues found each other.

She then went to get changed and I paid her at the door, and received a peck on the cheek.

* * * * * * *

And so a glorious year began, lasting from that late summer until the following September.  Carly would come at her usual times, Fridays and Mondays.  She’d get changed, but there would only be the one costume for her, no choices.  At first that was the very slutty maid, but I occasionally mixed it up with whatever took my fancy - anything really, from the very slutty and sex oriented to more basic sexy halloween costumes; superheroes, sexy princesses or whatever.  A choker only, or a sexy elf, not showing much flesh.

I would watch her clean the office, then she would join me on the sofa for a making out session, leading to a blow job, and sometimes sex if I fancied it.  She got good at sucking and before long she would swallow my loads with no complaint.  Then she would get on with the rest of the cleaning, leading to lunch.  After eating we would go to my bedroom, undress and fuck.

There was no time limit on the bedroom.  Mostly just what I had time for, which sometimes meant we would have less than an hour.  Often she would wait for me to go on a call, occasionally joining me sneakily in my office (hot, but I had to put a stop to it for concentration reasons), or just waiting for me to have an annoying conference call organised for the wrong time.

Other times we would spend most of the afternoon in bed.  I tested her limits a bit at first, but it was quickly clear that she didn’t have a submissive streak and certainly had no interest in being tied up.  But she nevertheless aimed to please, and although we snuggled and kissed almost like a couple, there was always a clear undercurrent of her being there to take care of my needs.

The twice a week routine kept me pretty satisfied, but occasionally I would text her for a ‘interim’ and for seventy five pounds she’d come over, on a Sunday afternoon or weekday evening and we’d fuck and play.

I’d like to think we tried every position under the sun, although that is unlikely.  She agreed to anal, and we tried it a few times, but she didn’t enjoy it, so I didn’t press for it.

Eventually that September came and she went back to full time study, at St Andrews.  We met up a few times after that.  Holidays, if she needed cash she’d text me if I wanted to meet up, and I got in touch half a dozen times to take her for a dirty weekend.

Then we simply stopped. I presume she got a boyfriend, or perhaps another source of ready cash.  It didn’t bother me too much, I’d grown fond of her but also perhaps a little bored.  Even with her perfect body, I desired some change.

I recently bumped into her on one of my morning runs.  Oddly, that never happened during our ‘arrangement’, or even while she was just cleaning.  She came running the other way, and as often happens, we both felt obliged to stop and exchange pleasantries.  I didn’t ask any probing questions, nor did she and we didn’t mention her time as my cleaner.  After a minute or two we said our goodbyes, and ran our separate ways.