Mr. Clean by Penelope Rivers Page B

where on earth Stanley had gone. A business meeting didn’t take all night and the next morning too.
                 
    It’s not my business, thought Mike quickly. He’s my employer. But the reality was, he was incredibly curious about the person that had deemed him distraction worthy. He wanted to see him again, as stupid and as ridiculous as that sounded to him.
                 
    Shrugging it off, feeling his muscles pop in agony, he trudged upstairs and went to go take a shower to distract himself from his flaring curiosity. Stanley was probably off getting horny with men wearing less than black pants. As Mike entered the bathroom, which was now sparkling clean, he noted how the shower was as large as a walk-in closet. It could fit eight people in there, he thought.
                 
    He stepped inside of the hot water and began to soak himself, and he leaned his head back and smiled. There was shower gel there, laying on the bath side. Sneaking a guilty look around, deciding that he hadn’t exactly been told that he couldn’t use his client’s bath gel, he sprayed it on himself and was overwhelmed with the rich scent that Stanley had carried with him right before he had left for God-knows-where.
                 
    Maybe my dad was right about me being strange , thought Mike darkly. It can’t be normal to think about another guy when you shower, but then again, I am. Shrugging it off, he looked down at the floor and realized that he had forgotten to grab his things from his room. There was a dirty pair of clothes lying on the floor, but heaven forbid if he put those on. The potential for germs was endless.
                 
    Nobody is here anyway, he mused, wrapping a towel around himself and nervously touching the floor with his bare feet. He had sanitized every floor from top to bottom with his hands, but the idea of wandering around the house without his slippers made him feel anxious. Still, it wasn’t like he could wait around in the shower.
                 
    After he had wrapped his towel around himself, he headed out onto the fourth floor landing slightly nervously. It was weird being nearly-nude in a house that wasn’t his own, though technically, this was his new “home.” After all, he now lived here as a maidservant.
                 
    Just as he skulked forward and had almost reached his room, he heard an odd squelching noise. Pausing briefly in confusion, he saw the door adjacent to the one that led to his room had accidentally been left ajar. There was a mirror in the hallway that had been covered in greasy fingertips but was now a sparkling clean. Almost like a television set, it showed exactly what Stanley was doing through the small sliver in his bedroom door.
                 
    Stanley was lying back in his bed running fingers up and down his penis while moaning softly. There was a dirty magazine at his side, but he wasn’t looking at any picture at the moment, since his eyes were partially closed as he peered at the princess hangings above his bed. As Stanley moved his fingers over his lengthy shaft, Mike felt heat run up his spine, and something happened that he couldn’t deny: He was getting horny.
                 
    I should go into my room, Mike thought desperately, his body now turned towards the crack directly instead of the mirror. But he couldn’t look away. As Stanley moved his finger faster and faster on his penis while moaning softly, Mike found himself getting hornier and hornier. Even the towel was having difficulty hiding what his body was doing. He licked his lips once, as he felt hot and unbearably shivery.
                 
    As Stanley’s body exploded all onto his fingers, the white oozing over his hands, he leaned to grab a tissue to clean himself up. Unfortunately, Stanley’s eyes dragged upwards at this moment, and their eyes met in a hailstorm of friction. Mike