The classified advert in our local newsletter was slightly ambiguous.

Elderly bachelor seeks services of a naked cleaner. Details plus photo to Box 3679.

It was pretty obvious that this horny old gent was looking for someone like a gorgeous young Latino who he could feast his lascivious eyes on, while she polished the mahogany sideboard. Culminating, no doubt, with a session in the bedroom, followed by a generous payment for services rendered. All perfectly harmless and certainly a lot safer than visiting a hooker, or using the services of an escort agency.

The only trouble was I wasn't a drop-dead-gorgeous 20-something Latino. I was an unemployed 48-year-old bi male singleton. I decided to pen a saucy reply to this old duffer, in the hope that I wouldn't be up against too much competition.

I would like to apply for the job advertised in this week's Courier. I am 25, slim, petite, with small breasts and a firm bottom. I would be happy to do some cleaning in your house in the nude, so long as I receive some 'special attention' when I reach your bedroom. Sincerely, Clara Gomez.

To the point and leaving little to the imagination. But the obligatory picture was going to be the big headache.

I walked into town and visited our main shopping mall, where I knew there was a coin-operated photo booth. I was in luck, as a small crowd of giggling schoolgirls were clustered around the little cabin. One of their number was inside behind the curtain. After three or four flashes from the camera she emerged. And what a looker! Over 18, but petite and a flesh colour like a fresh cappuccino. She scanned the sheet of images that eventually plopped into the delivery tray, discarded two into nearby litter bin and walked away arm-in-arm with her friends. One of her 'rejects' suited my project perfectly.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was almost a week before I received a reply to my job application. In an expensive hand-addressed envelope there was a single sheet of velum notepaper. The message was written in green ink. I vaguely knew the location of the property - some 20 miles from where I lived. If it was the house I thought it it might be, then my possible new employer was an extremely wealthy man.

Dear Miss Gomez. I am indebted to you for your expression of interest in my recent advertisement in The Courier. I found your photograph quite charming and have no hesitation in inviting you to an interview to discuss the nature of your duties, which are not onerous. I am sure we can come to some arrangement concerning the 'special attention' which you allude to in your missive. Pray telephone me on the above number to arrange a mutually-agreeable day for your visit. If you are traveling by public transport, I can arrange for my chauffeur to collect you from the local bus station. Please come dressed in the maid's uniform you intend to wear. With my warmest regards, Sir Algernon Hardcastle. 

The signature at the end had an especially grand flourish.

The following day I was back in our shopping mall, buying my outfit. It was to be an ultra-short white pleated cotton mini-skirt, with a tight-fitting buttoned white silk blouse (I already owned several padded bras). For my own salacious enjoyment to complement this costume, I added a pair of black fishnet stockings and a black suspender belt. I considered buying a wig, but finally rejected the idea: Sir Algernon would see that I was a cross-dressing male as soon as I stepped out of his limo.

I called the number on the notepaper when I got home. It was answered by a suave and cultured male voice. "May I enquire who is calling, madam?"

"Tell Sir Algeron it is Clara. In response to his letter about a cleaning job at the mansion."

"Very good, madam."

Suddenly the old duffer himself was on the line. "Good afternoon, my dear. How good of you to ring. Do I take it that the position interests you?"

"Very much so," I cooed in my best falsetto voice.

"How would tomorrow at about 3.00pm suit you?"

"Perfect."

"If you are traveling by public transport, I can arrange for my chauffeur to collect you from the town centre."

"Yes, thank you."

"Reginald will be parked in the bus station. Look for a midnight blue Bentley convertible."

"I'll be there, Sir Algernon."

"That's the spirit! And don't forget to come dressed, will you?"

"But of course. I was getting my maid's uniform out earlier."

The old boy brightened up noticeably at this news. "Really? I say: do tell what you'll be wearing."

I ran through my items, leaving the fishnets until the end.

"Capital! We'll take tea in the Library when you arrive, then afterwards I'll show you around The Grange.

"But of course, Sir Algernon."

"Until tomorrow, Clara."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The bus journey was pretty painless, with no curious rubber-neckers. We pulled into the halt just before 3.00pm. A uniformed chauffeur was standing at attention beside a gleaming blue Bentley.

As I approached him I checked his expression. I was clearly no Latino lovely, though with my freshly-waved blonde hair-do, I certainly looked good. He didn't bat an eyelid. Just swung open the convertible's back door for me to climb in.

The mansion stood at the end of an avenue of stately lime trees. The gothic pile positively exuded wealth. Old wealth. I'd heard that it originated from Caribbean sugar plantations.

My discreet and silent driver handed me over to a disdainful butler, who announced, "Sir Algernon will receive you in the Library miss." I'd been demoted from 'madam' overnight.

Sir Algernon Hardcastle was seated in a wing chair turned to face the garden. Through the broad bay window he was viewing the vivid autumnal purple display of an arched Japanese maple. He was well into his seventies, stooped and balding, but offering a warm and welcoming manner.

"Miss Gomez, Sir Algerngon," announced my haughty guide, as if delivering a parcel.

"Shall we take tea first?" the old man enquired.

"Thank you." I took a seat opposite him, giving him an ample opportunity to look me over. On the bus journey I'd decided that my cd credentials were pretty impressive (after all, I'd been at parties where guys were 100% fooled -- until my boxers came down).

I finally decided that he'd eyed up this filly and was sure it was a young stallion.

"Would I be right in thinking, Clara, that you have had little or no experience as a naked cleaner?"

"That is correct, Sir Algernon." I ran a hand slowly across my crotch and gave a lovely smile. Was I about to be shown the door?

Quite the opposite. He seemed to reciprocate (in the crotch-rubbing department). Indeed a veritable bulge was forming in the old man's trousers. I slid the hem of my maid's skirt up a couple of inches. Now the tops of my fishnets were clearly in view.

"Ahem!" He gave a hearty cough. "I see that your stockings are not hold-ups, but... ahem..  supported by suspenders."

I batted my eyelids. "I've always loved sussies."

He rang a small brass bell that stood on a side table beside his armchair. The butler appeared as if by magic. "You rang, Sir Algernon?"

"You may remove the tea things Corbyn."

"Very good, sir."

"And bring us a bottle of Bolli and two glasses, will you?"

"Certainly sir".

Handing me a fizzing glass of champagne, the old boy smiled mischievously. "We'll go and take a look at your domain in a bit. But let's have a glass or two of fizzy first, shall we? And do call me Algie."

In less than half-an-hour we'd demolished an entire bottle of Bollinger. This sprightly old man seemed to have hollow legs. My skirt was now well above my suspenders. He moved closer to lift it up, exposing my erect cock for the first time. "I have to say, I like what I see, young lady." He took my hand and placed it on his fly, which he had already unzipped. "How do you feel about me?"

Without hesitating I slid my hand inside, to grasp an impressively-large semi-erect penis. "I like the feel very much indeed, Algie. In fact, I'd like to see more."

"So you shall,my dear. All in good time. When we get up to the bedroom. But first I must show you the Gun Room, where you will have to polish all my mahogany gun cases. And then I will show you the staircase of the Great Hall. He took my hand and lead me from the Library.

In the Gun Room (doubtless excited by the sight of all the erect shotguns) my would-be employer began furiously massaging the cheeks of my bottom beneath my skirt.
"Into spanking are we, Clara?"

"Mmmm I love it. Especially with a swishy riding crop."

"That's the ticket. And d'you know what the finest balm there is for soothing the welts on an enflamed posterior?"

"Tell me."

"Lovely warmy creamy spunk. Lots of it. Flooded over those raw bum cheeks, with a little up the rear entrance for good measure. Had many visitors in by the back way?"

"One or two. I'm certainly not an ass virgin."

"That's what I wanted to hear. Well after we've seen off another half of Bolli I think I should give you a good rogering upstairs. How does that sound young lady?"

"I'd like that a lot, Algie."

"Then you've got the job!"