Cleaning for Mr Quin


I couldn’t decide between Mature or Non-con/Reluctance for this piece. This time it’s two girls – twenty years old – who owe their pervy old landlord two months rent. He comes up with a suggestion that they could clean his house – one in a bikini, the other as the saucy French maid.

I hope you enjoy it. feedback is appreciated, either in public comments below, PM on Lit forums, or email. email is best if you want a response or have a question, or even just want to get involved.

There may be errors still in the text; if so, I apologise.

GA – Belize City, Belize. 21st May 2012.

‘You don’t mean it,’ Adele said, eyes wide, long hair sweeping as she shook her head. ‘It’s a joke … Please, Becky, tell me it’ll be all right.’

Rebecca Roberts gritted her teeth against the annoyance at her friend’s constant need for reassurance. When would the woman learn that she was just as worried by their predicament? She sighed and looked around the flat, it wasn’t much but they’d done their best to make the place homely. It had been fun going to car boot sales, visiting charity shops, collecting sticks of furniture and odds and ends, sanding down chairs, varnishing, painting; and having a laugh while doing so. Now the rent was due … again. The part-time work they’d both picked up, warehouse work, waiting-on here and there, had gone so far, but not far enough. Rebecca turned to her friend’s face, seeing her doe-eyed and close to tears.

‘Something will come up, Adele,’ she said, smiling cheerily despite the loose, watery feeling in her stomach.

‘Do you think so, Becky? Really? Because Quin is going to want his money …’ Adele’s face crumpled. ‘… And we already owe a month. Oh, Becky,’ she sniffed, close to real tears. ‘What are we going to do?’

Becky’s patience snapped. Why don’t you offer to show him your tits?’ she spat. ‘That might keep him happy for a day or two.’

Adele stared at her friend through her blonde fringe. She grinned weakly. ‘For a second I thought you were serious.’ She cuffed at her nose, sniffing back tears.

Becky’s eyes glazed for a moment, her lips pursing. She turned to her friend, her expression sly.

Adele responded, her voice faltering. ‘What … I mean … You’re not suggesting …’

Becky rolled her eyes. ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘But it wouldn’t hurt to flash some flesh when he comes round for the money. ‘He’s always drooling over your tits. Becky smirked, ‘Besides, it isn’t as though you don’t show them off anyway.’

‘Yes, but,’ Adele pulled a face, ‘he’s just such an old, pervy letch …’

‘Who we owe nine hundred quid … Two months of rent, Adele …’ She let their future prospects – eviction, ignominious return to their hometown in the South East corner of England – sink in. ‘No more university. Back to Maidstone to work in a pub or whatever.’ She shrugged. ‘My dad can’t afford to bail us out. What about your mum and dad?’ At a teary-eyed head shake from the blonde, Becky sighed. ‘Just give him a good eyeful. Flaunt the girls. Give the old perv a show. You never know, he might keel over with a heart attack.’

A guffaw blurted from Adele, a wet sob of cheer through the tears. ‘It’d serve the miserable old bastard right,’ she grinned, sniffing.


Robert Quin climbed the stairs to the top flat. ‘Thirteen properties,’ he muttered as he climbed. ‘Twelve pay on time, but these two girls …’ Quin shook his head, pausing for a rest, chest heaving, his breath wheezing from the laboured bellows of his lungs. He pictured the girls in his mind – a sexy pair, especially the blonde, with them big knockers and a lovely plump backside to counterbalance her frontage. She was a juicy one all right, voluptuous and ripe. The other one, Becky, was actually the better looking one, nice legs and a tight arse, she’d look great in stockings and shoes, the blonde was more in your face …

‘Enough of that,’ he muttered, one hand on the banister as he hauled himself to the landing. ‘Already had a month’s grace,’ ‘Nine hundred pounds or you’re out.’

He reached the top of the stairs and knocked. Adele, wearing a scoop-necked sleeveless vest, opened the door. Quin’s eyes instantly fell to the deep crease of the girl’s cleavage. Adele felt the heat of his stare and a flicker of distaste, unnoticed by Quin whose attention was solely on her chest, curled the girl’s mouth. She paused, giving the old man the opportunity to get a good eyeful of her curves before stepping back and allowing the landlord into the flat.

‘Becky,’ Adele called. ‘Mr Quin’s here.’ The young woman turned, deliberately showing off her round buttocks in a pair of short shorts. A sound from behind made her turn. ‘What was that, Mr Quin?’ she asked, looking back over one shoulder as she led Quin into the galley kitchen.

‘Nothing,’ I was just thinking out loud,’ Quin said, his eyes crawling across the girl’s backside. He turned at the sound of Becky’s voice, his eyes reluctantly rising.

‘Bad news I’m afraid, Büyükçekmece escort Mr Quin,’ Becky said as she entered the tiny kitchen and interrupting the man’s lewd thoughts. ‘We’re a bit short with the money.’

Quin’s gimlet eyes shone with avarice at the news. ‘How short?’

‘I’ve got about two hundred quid spare …’ She wrinkled her nose at the dour-faced man as he regarded her seriously. ‘Why don’t I pour us all a drink? We can sit in the living room and discuss it.’

‘Discuss what?’ Quin said gruffly.

Ignoring the question, Becky replied with one of her own. ‘Beer OK, Mr Quin?’

Quin sighed, the girl was insistent. ‘Grand. Thanks.’ He sipped at the bottle Becky handed him and surreptitiously, so he thought, stared at Adele’s breasts.

Noticing the man’s line of sight, and seeing her friend squirming under the heat of Quin’s gaze, Becky suggested: ‘Uh, shall we go into the living room. It’ll be more comfortable in there?’

She led the way followed by Adele, with Quin at the rear licking his lips as he followed Adele’s jiggling bottom.

Quin eased his pipe cleaner frame – knuckles and wrists, knees and ankles – into a deep-seated armchair. Adele sat opposite Quin and tucked her legs beneath her while Becky sat on the floor.

‘So,’ Becky began brightly. ‘What are our options, Mr Quin?’

Quin had plenty of options to put to the girls. A plan was forming in the old man’s mind. He’d done it before, he could do it again. He’d have to be careful though, times had moved on since the 70s, the first time he’d come up with his suggestion for payment-in-kind for rent arrears. He was also a lot older. These girls, sassy, modern young things might not go for it. Still, it was worth a go.

He began by going in hard. ‘You’ll have to go,’ he said, eyes still glued to Adele’s breasts. ‘I can’t afford to lose two month’s rent,’ he lied. ‘And since it’s a month’s notice … and you defaulted last month …’ He heaved a big sigh, turning his sorry expression to Becky. ‘I hate to see two lovely …’ he paused, tongue sliding over his lips again, ‘… attractive girls like you two out of here.’ His arm swept the room. ‘You’ve made the place look really nice, but,’ he shook his head, face lugubrious as a mourner’s, ‘but what can I do?’ He spread his hands and suddenly grinned, wolfishly.

As anticipated by Becky, briefed on what to do, Adele leaned forward. ‘But … but … Mr Quin,’ she said, ‘isn’t there anything we can do? Can’t you give us a chance to get the money?’

With only a quick glance at the girl’s cleavage, Quin pretended to be deep in thought. His eyes closed as he leaned back in the chair. A bony forefinger tapped his pursed lips. Suddenly, as though an idea had just popped into his head, his eyes opened and he shot upright grinning.

‘Well …’ he began, there is something …’

Becky shifted uneasily on the floor, more in anticipation of Quin’s proposal rather than any discomfort. Oh, God, not a blow-job …

Quin ran a hand over the creases and folds of his chin as though considering an idea. ‘…I need a cleaner,’ he said eventually.

Becky’s shoulders slumped in relief. ‘What’s the rate by the hour, Mr Quin? And how many hours a week are you suggesting?’

Quin sipped his beer. ‘For general cleaning …’ he considered, his expression vulpine, fingers brushing his chin again. ‘… Five quid an hour.’

‘Five pounds an hour?’ Becky spluttered.

‘Well, there you go,’ Quin said, face innocent, hands wide at the offer. ‘It was just an idea.’ He placed the half empty bottle on the carpet by his feet. Half-rising from the chair he said: ‘I’ll expect you girls out by the end of the week then.’ The man’s backside hovered six inches from the seat. ‘Or,’ he added as though the thought had just occurred, ‘you could maybe put on a bit of a show while you clean up and I’ll up the rate of pay.’

‘Show?’ Becky asked suspiciously, eyes narrow.

Quin dropped back into his seat. ‘Yes, just a little harmless fun.’ He pointed a finger at Adele, his eyes hungry. ‘Blondie here could work in a bikini.’ He heard Adele gasp but carried on. ‘And you,’ he leered at Becky, ‘would look tasty in a little French Maid’s outfit. Stockings, shoes … high heels of course …’ He left the suggestion hanging. It was out there now. They’d either go for it or not.

Following a considerable pause Becky asked: ‘What rate?’

‘Becky!’ Adele gasped. ‘No …’

‘Double,’ Quin responded.

‘Make it twenty pounds an hour … each,’ Becky returned.

‘I’ll think about it,’ Quin replied. ‘I’ll let you know.’

Becky knew she’d been outflanked. Having Adele display her abundant charms had backfired.


Becky checked the address in her notebook against the numbered tile on the red brick gate post.

‘He lives here,’ she said. ‘Quin lives in a fucking palace and has the nerve to say he can’t afford …’

Adele shrugged. ‘We owe him Çatalca escort bayan the rent,’ she said.

The outrage bled from Becky’s face at the simple truth of that statement. Her shoulders slumped. ‘We’ve been had,’ she muttered, shifting the day-sack on her shoulders. ‘Thirty quid an hour between us,’ she continued, mumbling to herself. ‘And I’m going to be wearing a fucking Halloween costume. How am I meant to do any work in those fucking shoes he wants me to wear?’ She pushed open the iron gate and walked up the long drive to the front door, Adele following.

The door swung open without the girls having to ring the bell.

‘Right on time,’ Quin grinned, showing tombstone teeth. ‘Punctuality is a virtue to be admired,’ he added, leering at Becky.

‘I need somewhere to change,’ the girl replied truculently as she stepped past Quin and into the house.

The old man led the pair to a door a few paces inside the entrance hall. ‘You can change in here,’ he said, eyeing the front of Adele’s tee-shirt with a lascivious smirk and eyes that glinted with anticipation. ‘In the cloakroom.’

‘Posh name for a fucking downstairs lav,’ Becky sniffed when the door snicked closed. ‘”Cloakroom” he says.’

Adele’s eyes widened. ‘This toilet is twice the size of our bathroom,’ she said, awed by the modest, suburban opulence of Quin’s detached house.

Becky muttered something unintelligible and dumped the bag from onto the tiled floor. ‘Better get on with it,’ she continued in a resigned voice as she unzipped the bag.

‘Oh my …’ Quin said, his eyes moving over Adele’s exposed flesh when she emerged, self-conscious and uncomfortable in a hot-pink bikini. ‘And here’s the French maid,’ he added when Becky appeared. The old man took a long, lingering look at Becky’s legs. ‘You’ve got great legs,’ he said to the girl as she tottered unsteadily on unfamiliar high heels.

Both women endured the heat of Quin’s stare until Becky asked: ‘OK, Mr Quin. Where do we start?’

‘Eh?’ Quin replied. ‘Oh,’ he said, suddenly remembering the supposed reason for the girl’s presence. ‘Cleaning?’ He waved a vague hand. ‘I thought you could get to that a bit later. I mean, if I’m paying by the hour, there’s no rush for you two. Is there?’ He pointed to a door at the end of the hall. ‘Why don’t we all just pop into the living room?’ Quin turned to regard Becky. ‘The kitchen is through there.’ A finger pointed to another door. ‘Since you’re the maid,’ he grinned, ‘you could fetch us all a nice drink.’

‘Becky …’ Adele’s voice quivered as, after a long, malevolent look at Quin, her friend tottered towards the kitchen, unsteady in her high shoes.

‘I’ll be through in a minute,’ Becky called. ‘Don’t worry.’

Quin took up the refrain. ‘Yes, my dear,’ he said, the Big Bad Wolf convincing Little Red Riding Hood, ‘there’s nothing to worry about.’ Quin smiled unconvincingly, the feral expression more lupine than ever. He pushed open the door to the living room. ‘After you,’ he invited with a sweep of an arm. Quin watched Adele’s plump bottom when the girl moved past him uncertainly, his hand moving to his groin.

The old man was still squeezing himself through his trousers when Adele turned to face him.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked, aghast. ‘Oh, God,’ the girl moaned. ‘I don’t want to be here. This is just …’

Quin moved into the room. ‘I’m sorry … ‘It’s … You’re …’ He sighed resignedly. ‘I can’t help it,’ he in a voice thick and treacly with lust. ‘Looking at you, so … so …’ he touched himself again, a low moan escaping from between his lips. ‘I’m an old man and it’s been such a long time since I’ve seen a girl as …’ The whine came again. Quin’s hand squeezed harder as his desperation grew. ‘You’re just so delicious.’

He stepped towards Adele. The girl, her eyes widening in fear, stepped back, away from Quin’s lecherous advance.

‘Don’t,’ Adele said, her face twisting with anxiety, hands coming up to ward off any attack.

The old man, apparently realising he was scaring the girl, halted.

‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated, shaking his head as though clearing away the insanity. ‘I … I wouldn’t hurt you.’

The pair stared at each other for a long moment, Adele’s eyes wary, while Quin’s expression told of a primordial yearning. The old man craved youthful, unblemished flesh.

‘How old are you?’ he croaked, and groaned as though in physical pain at the reply.


‘Fifty pounds,’ Quin said, ‘to take your top off …’ he explained, nodding towards Adele. I’ll give you fifty pound in cash.’

Quin turned when he heard the voice from behind. ‘You’re just an old pervert, aren’t you?’ Becky stood there, a tray balanced on one hand. ‘It took me ages to find the fucking tray.’ She gave Quin a hard look. ‘And when I finally found it I then find you offering my friend money so you can perv at her tits.’ Quin swallowed heavily while Becky spoke past him. ‘What do you reckon, Escort Esenler Adele? You willing to give him a look at your tits for fifty quid?’

‘I … I don’t want to,’ Adele replied, her hands clasped protectively across her body.

Becky walked into the room. She placed the tray down on a table. ‘Vodka,’ she said, holding a glass to her friend. ‘Take it.’ Adele circled around Quin and took the glass. ‘Mr Quin?’ Becky asked, offering a glass to the old man. ‘Now,’ she said, swigging at her own drink. ‘How much would you pay for me to take my knickers off, Mr Quin? How much to look up my skirt?’ The girl looked down, smirking at the irony. ‘Not that it’s much of a skirt,’ she added.

‘Keep the stockings and shoes on,’ Quin said, his voice cracking. His hand trembled as he swigged at the vodka. ‘Keep the little apron on, but take off the skirt and your knickers …’

Becky’s voice was barely audible. ‘How much?’

‘I’ve got to … I need to … please.’ Quin stared at Becky’s exposed pudenda when the girl, divested of the clothing Quin had listed, faced him. ‘Dear god,’ he blurted. ‘Smooth, smooth pussy …’ His eyes implored an implacable Becky. ‘I want to touch myself,’ he whispered, finally.

Becky laughed. ‘You mucky old bastard,’ she scoffed, her voice filled with derision. ‘You’ll be wanting pictures next …’ She regarded her friend who still stood, wide-eyed and afraid next to her. ‘What do you think, Adele? Shall we watch the perv pull his plonker? Do you reckon he can get it up?’

‘Becky …’ Adele whispered, her face shocked. ‘It’s getting out of hand,’ she continued tremulously. ‘Cover yourself up. Don’t let him look at you like that. It’s wrong. It’s disgusting.’

‘A hundred quid on top of the fifty for me flashing my pussy,’ Becky said to Quin. ‘And I’ll convince her,’ she nodded towards Adele,’ to take that bikini top off.’ A gulp and a nod from Quin and Becky turned to Adele. ‘Come on,’ she urged. ‘You’ve been topless on holiday before. Everyone saw your tits in Magaluff. Even in the bars at night … Come on, Adele,’ she coaxed softly. ‘He’ll pay a hundred pounds to look at them …’

Adele put her empty glass next to Becky’s on the table. With her eyes tightly closed, and while Quin, almost salivating, stared at her, Adele reached for the cord at the nape of her neck and pulled the knot loose.

‘Fuck …’ Quin gasped, his hand going to his crotch again. ‘Beautiful,’ he murmured, squeezing.

‘You should touch them, Mr Quin,’ Becky said, reaching for Adele. ‘They feel so good.’ She hefted her friend’s breasts in her palms. ‘So firm and heavy.’

‘Stop it …’ Adele admonished with a hiss when Becky jiggled her breasts. ‘This has gone far enough. We should just go.’

Ignoring Adele’s entreaty, Becky released Adele’s tits, leaving the big globes swaying. Quin’s expression grew ever more desperate at the sight.

‘How much would you pay for me to sit over there …’ Becky indicated a plush leather armchair, ‘… and open my legs? How much to look at my pussy, Mr Quin? I could play with it if you like. I could make it wet.’ She walked to the chair. ‘How much to see me touch myself?’ The girl sat in the chair. She opened her legs, exposing her vulva. ‘There you go, Mr Quin. Now, if you want me to touch it … How much? And,’ she added as she gently stroked the soft skin of her inner thighs. ‘How much to let you wank while you watch me play?’

‘Becky,’ Adele squeaked. ‘You can’t, you can’t let him do … that. You’re acting like a prostitute. Stop it. Let’s go. Let’s go now.’ She bent and picked up her bikini bra.

Quin’s eyes bulged, his mouth hung slack, his face took on that stupid, slack look of agonised lust. His fingers clawed at the front of his trousers. Breathing heavily through his mouth Quin stared at the cleft between Becky’s legs. He looked toward Adele, the girl standing there, breasts exposed, bikini hanging from her fingers as she too stared, fascinated by the awful scene unfolding in front of her.

‘Those tits,’ Quin muttered. His gaze fell back to Becky. ‘Legs … Lovely pussy … Those shoes …’ He massaged his cock again, unable to utter a coherent sentence.

The question was delivered softly: ‘How much, Mr Quin?’ Becky forced her legs wider, forcing another plaintive groan from Quin when he saw the sticky labia peel apart.

‘Two weeks rent,’ he sighed.’

‘A month. It’ll cost a month’s rent for a nasty, dirty-minded pervert like you to watch a sweet thing like me fingering myself.’ Becky’s chin jutted towards Quin as he stood three feet from her, his eyes hungry with his desperation. ‘And if you’re going to play with your disgusting old cock … Hurry up and get it out. Do it.’

Quin’s fingers scrabbled at the belt, trembling as he unzipped his trousers. Becky snorted a laugh when the old man’s trousers fell to his ankles and revealed a pair of hairy, skinny legs, so white they were almost blue.

When Quin pulled the baggy boxer shorts to his knees it was Adele let out a great gasp of surprise.

‘That’s huge!’ she cried, her hands going to her mouth. ‘Look at the size of it.’ She looked at her friend in the chair.

Becky’s legs snapped closed. She pulled herself upright, hands gripping the chair arms. ‘Bloody hell,’ she blurted. ‘Bloody fucking hell!’

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