The Double Life of an Office Cleaner

Marina froze, clutching a duster in her hand. Her husband's voice was heard from behind the office door. "Thanks for staying late, Stas. Let's go over the estimate again, and then I'll let you go. Lenka's probably waiting at home, and she's probably pissed off." "It's okay, Sergeich," Stas replied. "Lena can wait. It's important." Marina was kneeling before the director's desk, completely naked except for rubber gloves and a headscarf. This was exactly how she was supposed to look on Fridays, when she came to "clean" her husband's office after hours. Only her husband didn't know this. He thought the cleaning lady came on Saturday mornings, and that it was some Aunt Zina from the cleaning company. In reality, for six months now, Marina had been coming here every Friday, undressing in the utility room, and getting down to her duties. But instead of a mop and bucket, she was given a different task. Sometimes it was literally cleaning—she'd scrub the hallway floors on all fours while employees who'd stayed late passed by. Sometimes it was serving "clients" in the conference room. Today was a special day: her husband stayed at work until ten o'clock, and Marina sat in the adjoining office the entire time, waiting for her turn to go on. "I made a deal with Dimon; he'll ship us the materials at a discount," the husband continued from behind the door. "We just need to adjust the estimate." Marina listened to his calm, businesslike voice and felt her insides clench with both shame and arousal. This was her personal hell, one she'd voluntarily entered three years ago when her husband relegated her accountant's salary to the "pocket allowance" category and her to the category of housewife. She was bored. Unbearably bored. And then Oleg, his deputy, showed up, staying late with her after a corporate party... The office door quietly opened. Oleg entered. He was wearing a shirt with the sleeves rolled up and holding a plastic cup of water. Seeing Marina kneeling there, he nodded with satisfaction. "Aren't you bored?" he asked in a whisper. Marina shook her head. Oleg came closer, unbuckling his belt. It was a ritual. While her husband discussed estimates and contracts in the next office, his deputy was having sex with his wife on the director's desk. Sometimes Marina thought Oleg got more pleasure from the proximity to his unsuspecting boss than from the sex itself. "Seryoga's been stuck there with Stas for a while," Oleg said, pulling out his dick. "We've definitely got forty minutes. More, maybe. Let's get going quickly..." Marina obediently opened her mouth. Oleg took her headscarf and guided her head. Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Someone was still in the office. She heard the bathroom door slam and the hum of the water cooler. A typical office evening. Only she was naked, with a rag in one hand and the deputy director's penis in her mouth. Oleg fucked her throat steadily, without rushing. He knew he had enough time. Marina tried not to make any sounds, but it was difficult—his cock was thick, and her throat was constricting. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her headscarf slipped to one side. "Good cleaner," Oleg commented, taking out his penis and letting her catch her breath. "Did she dust everywhere?" “Yes,” Marina croaked. — And the table? Is the table clean? - Clean. — We'll check. He jerked her up from her knees and flipped her stomach onto the table. The same table where her husband had sat that afternoon, signing contracts. The same table on which their framed family photograph sat. Oleg swept the frame into a drawer and spread Marina's legs. She rested her forehead on the polished tabletop and bit her lip. "Quiet," Oleg whispered, entering her from behind. "Or they'll hear." He began to move. Fast, deep, gripping her hips. Marina stared at her reflection in the dark screen of the switched-off monitor—a naked woman with a disheveled headscarf, a rag in her clenched fist, being fucked on her husband's desk by his deputy. The image was surreal. At that moment, her phone vibrated on the table. An incoming message. Her husband had written: "Honey, I'll be late today. Stas didn't submit the estimate, we'll sort it out. Don't wait, go to bed. Love you." Oleg, without stopping moving, read the message over her shoulder and laughed quietly. "I love you," he quoted. "Do you hear? He loves you. And you're here... cleaning." “Shut up,” Marina whispered. "I won't shut up," he fucked her harder. "You came here yourself. No one forced you. Remember the first time? 'Oh, Oleg, this is wrong... Oh, Oleg, I have a husband...' And now what? Every Friday feels like you're going to work. Marina didn't answer. She hated him for those words, but she hated herself even more for the way her body was betraying her. She could already feel the approaching release; her muscles were tensing, her breathing was ragged. The door to the next office opened. “I’ll go get some water,” said the husband. “Should you get some?” “Yes, Sergeich, please,” Stas answered. Footsteps headed toward the water cooler. They passed their office. At the last moment, Oleg clamped his hand over Marina's mouth and left, retreating behind the cabinet. Marina rolled off the desk and crouched behind it, clutching a rag to her chest. The footsteps stopped just outside the door. Her husband stood a meter away, pouring water into cups. "Oleg's out somewhere," the husband remarked, turning to Stas. "He's probably been delayed too, sorting through papers." “Hard worker,” Stas responded from the office. - Okay, let's finish the estimate and then go home. The footsteps faded away. The door to the next office closed. Oleg removed his hand from Marina's mouth and grinned. "We almost got caught," he said. "Okay, let's finish. I still have to write a report." He turned her around to face him, sat her back down on the table, and entered again. This time quickly, roughly, without foreplay. Marina wrapped her legs around him and buried her face in his shoulder to keep from screaming. After a couple of minutes, Oleg froze, letting out a strangled breath. He came inside her, right on the family table, and immediately pulled away, buttoning his pants. "Don't forget to clean up," he said, nodding at the table. "Otherwise, Seryoga will come home in the morning and... the workspace will be a mess." Marina silently picked up a rag and began wiping the countertop. Oleg left the office, adjusting his shirt as he went. A minute later, she heard him knock on her husband's door: "Sergeyich, I've finished my report. I'm going home, if you don't mind." - Come on, Oleg. Thanks for staying late. - You're welcome. You're always welcome. Marina squatted, her back pressed against her husband's desk, listening to the staff leave. The front door slammed. The office fell silent. The only sound was her husband whistling in the next room, getting ready to go home. She quickly pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, stuffed the rag into a bag, and tucked her hair under her hat. She slipped out the fire escape and down two flights of stairs to call the elevator. Fifteen minutes later, she was sitting in her car, looking up at the glowing office windows. The phone vibrated again. Husband: “Okay, I’m leaving. I’ll be there in an hour. Sleep, darling.” Marina started the engine and drove home. She needed to take a shower, wash away the smell of someone else's sweat, and freshen up to meet her husband in bed, in lacy lingerie, with a sleepy smile and the words, "How was your day, darling?" She knew she'd be back in the office the following Friday. And that Oleg had already texted her: "We'll connect Dima next week. With a discount, ha-ha."