Helen was finding it hard to make ends meet, what with college and her day-to-day living expenses. She had had to take a job as a cleaner in a private house. It was a bit “upstairs downstairs,” but what choice did she have?

Her employers where only too aware of what a beautiful mansion they owned... the woman was always going on about it; as for her husband, he was hardly ever there. Helen dismissed them in her own mind as “a pair of snobs”.

She had been working there for several weeks (twice a week) when she found herself alone in the house. Before this there was always one of them at home. Mrs Smythe (as she called herself) gave Helen a set of keys, and repeated endlessly how important it was that she shouldn't lose them.

Helen couldn't help thinking how attractive Mrs Smythe was for her age (she was 42) and how, being a promiscuous bisexual into older women, in other circumstances she would try to seduce her. In her case, however, it would be impossible, not because she disliked her so much (she had long ago learned that sex with a person you disliked could be as erotic as hell), but because she was extremely uptight and repressed. Helen doubted whether she had ever had a climax in her life.

No, any sort of sex with Mrs S was absolutely out of the question.

Helen was dusting in the living-room. There were lots of awkward shelves containing books and DVDs. She had been told “not to be too fussy about the shelves”, but Helen was nothing if not thorough, and she decided to take all the books and stuff out to clean them. She reached in behind the books and found lots of DVD boxes; they were black and plain. Helen opened one and noticed it just contained an unmarked disc.

She couldn't resist putting it in the DVD player. She nearly fell off the arm of the chair where she had parked herself when she realized she was watching a threesome with a middle-aged couple and an eighteen year-old woman. She tried several others, and they all had the same theme. Not one to miss an opportunity, Helen soon stripped off and masturbated to one of the discs. She put everything back, finished her work, and went home.

When she got home, she sat there thinking how strange life was; who would have thought Mrs Smythe was a swinger? Or at least, that she enjoyed watching threesomes. She and her husband were obviously turned on by young women (like her) so what should she do about it? Helen concocted a plan.

Thinking that she had nothing to lose (except, perhaps, her job) Helen decided she would try to seduce the pair of snobs. So, she set about doing just that.

Next work day, she pulled on a bright red thong and skimpy red bra. Over them she wore the briefest of tops and a short, black skirt. She made sure that the skirt was short enough so that anyone standing behind her would be able to see her knickers if she bent over.

She set off for the mansion. She knew that they would both be home; at least, Helen hoped that nothing had gone wrong as her whole plan depended on this.

Eventually, Helen was ensconced in the living-room with Mr and Mrs Smythe. He was sitting poker-faced at his laptop and his wife was curled up on the sofa with an enormous book and a cup of coffee.

Helen went into her act.

“Do you want me to clean that leather settee?” she asked.

“Of course,” Mrs Smythe replied.

Helen bent down to get her cleaner; she made sure they could both see her red thong. She picked the bottle up, and then pretended to drop it, so she could give them another flash of her panties. She heard a “tut, tut” from She Who Must Be Obeyed behind her, and thought to herself, Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

Still, Helen wasn't one to be easily discouraged, so she decided to press on with her plan.

She polished that settee from every possible angle that would display her underclothes, then she stood up and said casually, “It's hot in here; do you mind if I take my top off?”

Mrs Smythe replied in a voice like granite, “Do what you like, just get that work finished!”

Helen gave up. Obviously they were just two people who enjoyed erotica but had no desire to take it further, into swinging territory. What more do I have to do, she thought, hand it to them on a plate?

An hour later, just as Helen was leaving, Mrs Smythe suddenly said in her usual miserable voice, “Would you like to come to dinner tonight? We could have a game of cards afterwards if you like.”

Helen was amazed. “Sure,” she answered, as she generally did when caught unawares.

That evening Helen didn't know what to prepare for, a threesome or a boring night of middle-class “oldie” conversation.

Anyway, she headed off to the house and arrived on time. Mrs S didn't seem the type who would enjoy being kept waiting. The dinner was predictably boring, with the older couple talking incessantly about politics. They both seemed even more miserable than usual; poor Helen wished she hadn't come.

At last it was all over, and they all sat down together on the corner settee. Mrs S put a card table in front of them and it was then that the first surprise of the night happened.

“Have you ever played Strip Poker” asked Mrs Smythe.

“Once or twice” answered Helen.

“We'll play that, then, shall we?”

So the three of them got their cards (Mrs S was dealing...

naturally). Helen soon got the hang of it. The first thing they had to do was equalize their clothes; ie make sure they had the same number of garments to take off... Mrs S organized this with her usual efficiency. Her husband had a pair of socks, undies, trousers, shirt and shoes; seven in all. Helen had knickers, bra, top, skirt, and sandals; six in all. Mrs S had (naturally) the most: panties, bra, suspenders, stockings, dress and shoes; eight in all.

So her husband had to take one shoe off, and his wife had to take off two. Helen wondered if the game was ever going to start.

But it did. However, Helen had to try hard to suppress a fit of the giggles at the sight of these two middle-class, middle-aged people making such a meal of what was usually a very light-hearted game. She had given up any hope of a sexual outcome; she imagined this game would end as these games often did...with everyone sheepishly pulling their clothes back on at the end.

So the game started at last. Helen did not do very well. After twenty minutes she was down to her bra and panties, and she had just lost again...Mrs S still had all her underclothes on (Helen was surprised at how raunchy they were, and at how hot she looked in them); her husband had only lost his shoe, socks and shirt.

“Come on,” she said, “don't keep us waiting”.

Helen, who was very experienced sexually, actually felt a little shy. Oh, what the hell! she thought, and unhooked her bra strap, letting her pert little tits fall out. The look on Mrs S's face amazed Helen. For the first time she lost her habitual frown, which was replaced by probably the most lustful look Helen had ever seen. The older woman licked her lips, and Helen felt a warm glow suffuse the area between her legs and spread. She suddenly wanted to be fucked so badly.

“I don't know if I mentioned it” said Mrs S, “but we have a rule when we play that the person who gets naked first has to masturbate to climax while the others watch; OK?”

Helen sat there with her mouth open, and barely managed to mutter her habitual “Sure”.

They played on; Helen lost again.

“You lose,” announced Mrs S, “Drop the panties!”

Helen stood up, feeling incredibly horny. She slid her knickers over her narrow hips and let them drop to the floor, stepping out of them.

“She's naked,” panted the older woman. “She's fucking naked”.

Then she pushed Helen back onto the sofa.

“Sit down and open your legs, you little bitch!!”

Mrs S suddenly knelt down in front of the younger woman and pressed her face into her muff. Helen felt her rigid tongue enter the hole of her cunt like a wriggling snake returning to its lair.

Mrs S sucked at her vagina and at the same time reached up with her right hand to squeeze her left breast. As she twisted the nipple Helen pulled off the older woman's remaining clothes. She, too, was naked now, and for the first time she kissed Helen. Helen could taste the familiar bouquet of her own love-juice on the older woman's tongue, which set her on fire.

“Fuck me!! Fuck me!” she said.

For the first time Mr Smythe appeared from out of his grey cloud... and what a transformation! He had stripped off and his cock was rigid.

“Fuck the little CUNT!!” his wife shouted, “Fuck her hard!!

Helen rubbed her clit while Mrs S's husband entered her on top. His wife masturbated furiously while her husband shagged Helen for all he was worth. Helen climaxed twice, then Mrs S suddenly shouted in her best commanding voice,

“Suck his dick, you whore!”

Her husband withdrew and lay back as Helen licked his shaft from root to tip, then deep-throated him down to his pubes. Behind her (her arse was in the air) the super-respectable middle-class Mrs Smythe approached Helen's arse cheeks, licked along the crack between them, and pushed two fingers into her anus while sucking and nibbling on the young girl's sensitive clit.

Unable to hold back any longer, Mr S ejaculated, as Helen knelt with her mouth open and received a splattering of warm pungent cum all over her face and tongue. Mrs S licked the sweet nectar off her face.

Helen slipped onto the floor with Mrs S, and somehow they got into the 69 position. Both women climaxed three or four times as they sucked each other relentlessly, Mrs S's orgasms sounding like a demented killer whale. While she was down there, Helen couldn't help noticing that Mrs Smythe's cunt smelt of nothing in particular... unless it were the odour of respectability.

This performance (or its equivalent) was repeated twice that night and, when they were all too exhausted for any more fucking, the couple went to bed. Mrs S wouldn’t hear of Helen sharing their marital bed, deeming it inappropriate to do so; she was given a spare room.

Helen was surprised in the morning when Mrs S informed her that it would be inappropriate (that word again) for her to continue in her employ. She gave her £500 cash to, essentially, 'Clear off.'

Sitting at home, still somewhat sore from the night's exertions Helen thought (not for the first time) how strange life was, and how wrong it was to judge people by their appearance.