A Plumber's Tale

This kind of thing happens all the time! I have had a few experiences myself, though perhaps I was just not smart or cool enough as Jordon Poole to bring it to this level. Enjoy the story!

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Jordon Poole wrenched himself free of the clinging, though sleeping woman. Even unconscious, she seemed to devour him. He slowly pulled his limp dick from her hungry pussy. She moaned at his absence, but failed to wake, clutching instead at his still warm pillow and pulling it down between her meaty thighs.

"Jeezus!" He thought, it's almost frightening! The woman is insatiable! Self preservation told him he could not take his eyes off her until he was clear of the bed, and positively beyond her reach. He wasn't taking the slightest chance of being pulled back in by this Scylla of a woman. Like the mythological character, she seemed to have endless appendages to entrap and please him, and more than one head to work him over until he could stand no more.

The myths were wrong - she'd not become a rock outcropping after all! Hercules would shiver in the timbers of his boat if he knew. She lived! And now commanded Jordon's bed, and his body! He had to get out of his own apartment fast if he were to survive the most thorough and exhausting fucking he'd ever had.

He stepped past his dresser on his way to the bathroom, picking up a fresh set of briefs and socks. He snagged a "T" from the second drawer and left it open to avoid making unnecessary noise. Brushing his teeth and splashing a little water on his face was all he dared for fear of waking the monster up, and he scooped up his jeans from the floor and stepped into his shoes as he quietly but quickly passed out the door.

"Phew!" He sighed as he buckled his pants. He walked down the outside deck to the stairs leading to the ground floor and quickly opened the locked door of his truck, using the key, not the electronic lock that beeped when pressed. He stepped in slowly, leaving the door ajar, and started the engine. The red, Dodge Ram 3500 Quad Cab SLT, burbled to life and quieted quickly to a purr with enough power to back him away from the building with no additional coaxing necessary. He even let it's idle speed move the truck a half block away before he gave it anymore gas. It wasn't until he did so that he breathed a final sigh of relief and began to think of what he would do with the time before his first job.

"Coffee!" He announced to no one, accustomed to speaking to his truck in the absence of people. The drive to a nearby Denny's was less than five minutes, and at five-thirty in the morning unencumbered even by traffic lights. He let the engine idle a few seconds before cutting its ignition and leaving the cab, still just a bit shaky from the vigorous night of bed-bound warfare. This breakfast was going to hit all the right buttons indeed.

"Hi, Jordon. Up a bit early, aren't we?" She winked at him as she slid the plastic covered menu across the booth table.

"You should know, Rita," He smiled back at her and raised the familiar listing as if to read what he already knew. He and Rita were not unfamiliar with each other's bodies either. Several times she had dropped by after work on the morning shift and waited patiently for his return, usually mid-afternoon. Rita was not an unwelcome sight on the stairs to the second floor deck, but she just wasn't his type either, a bit too clingy and a bit too chatty. To her credit, she was totally non-judgmental and seemed to have not a flake of jealousy in her. She knew he was a poster bachelor, and seeing different women all the time, many thinner than her hundred and fifty pounds, but she never complained.

Jordon liked her for the person she was. He hoped she didn't think he was doing her a favor on those days when he'd take her up to his apartment and let her please him until dinner when just as he was about to slip her the salami, she'd have to leave for some almost forgotten engagement. He wondered if maybe she had some kind of disease, or maybe she was trying to remain faithful to someone else. In any case, she always gave him the blowjob and other masturbatatorial ministrations of fantasies run amuck, and for that he was grateful. He did wish he could culminate their sex for her too, but she absolutely refused anything but hand and mouth manipulation. Odd, but hey, we all have a right.

"Yes, I do know, don't I?" She smiled devilishly and let a hand brush under her pendulous breasts. "So are you coming home early today?"

Jordon's internal reaction was one of dread, no more! "I uh, sorry, Rita. I had a rough night and a big day ahead. Maybe tomorrow? Or some other time?"

"Tomorrow then, big fella. I'll bring some 'aids', if you know what I mean." She winked again and smiled before turning and flinging over her shoulder, "I'll get you your breakfast."

"Aids!" Did she have to use that word? He wondered if he'd be up to another fling with Rita with only thirty hours to recover from the serpent tailed, twelve legged, six headed voracious sea monster still occupying his bed. Hell, he thought, would she even leave!

Six miles away, Moira Langston spooned snuggly up against her sleeping husband. Over his shoulder she could see the red, digital readout on the clock radio on the nightstand. They had a half hour before the alarm. She shook her head to flip her long wavy hair up and over his exposed upper arm where it hung down and grazed the skin of his chest. Her breasts were softly pushed up against his back, and her thighs pressed against the back of his, her loins against his ass.

Breathing softly down the back of his neck, she quietly slipped her arm over him, just below the narrowest section of his waist, and let her left hand's long slender fingers extend fully. Slowly, she pulled her arm back to assist in making contact with his early morning hard on.

His spine stiffened at her touch as if he'd just stuck his finger into a socket. "Unnn..." He groaned.

Moira tried not to hear. His tone was not a welcome one. Though this approach had worked flawlessly in their first year or two of marriage, its effectiveness had diminished over time until even this brazen act scarcely worked at all anymore. So far, she'd refused to let herself believe their marriage was going the way all her friends had predicted, based they claimed, on their own experience. "The climate changes, Moira," One said, putting it rather disturbingly, "Winter sets in and just never leaves."

She ignored his complaining groan and began to stroke his meat in long slow pulls, a technique he had taught her early on. She squeezed firmly on his shaft and moved its entire sheath along its length, then back, never touching the head with her own skin, only his. Her spirits climbed suddenly when she felt a pulse run through the member's veins, followed by a noticeable, further hardening of its trunk. Encouraged, she increased her pace and pressure.

"Honey! What time is it? Damnit, I have to work in the morning!" He moved his head on the pillow but not his body. It could have been a dismissal, or a man saying "No," when he really meant, "Yes!"

Moira let her little finger separate from its locked fist to touch his ball sac each time she pumped his prick back into its socket. She knew he liked this sensation too, along with the one her other hand was about to perform, gliding down his crack from behind. She allowed herself a smile at her husband's inevitable capitulation.

"Stop, Babe!" He rolled over on her ass-bound hand, his weight forcing her to withdraw her other hand to push him back a moment so she could remove herself from beneath him.

She pulled away and rolled over on her back, releasing his cock like a hot pan handle. She exhausted in one breath, her entire passion to take and be taken by her husband. "Damnit to HELL!" She screamed silently to herself. She was nearing the end of her rope.

An hour and a half later, she was cleaning up the last of the breakfast dishes and looking around the kitchen and dinette table for any more. Seeing none, she closed the dishwasher and hung the towel she'd used to dry the frying pan. The morning had evolved from one of hope and lust to habitual routine and boredom. Stepping over to the calendar beside the back door she pointed toward the date and said aloud, "Oh! That's right!" The plumber was coming today. Something different was in store after all, even if it was just to install the new pedestal sink in the foyer bathroom.

She looked at her wrist and realized she'd been so distracted by her frustration she'd forgotten to put on her watch. Short of that, she looked over at the microwave and eyed the time as eight-ten, only twenty minutes before the plumber was due. She looked instinctively down at her robe, calculated the time it would take to get "decent" for the public, and rushed out of the kitchen and back up the stairs. Halfway up, the doorbell rang.

Jordon rang the bell again, hoping like hell yet another customer hadn't forgotten scheduling his work today. Admittedly, he was early, but he'd never heard a complaint about that. Only when he was late, for whatever legitimate reason, did he hear any comment at all about his arrival, and that was usually in the form of complaints. Never had he heard a customer ask, "Is everything all right?" The door handle clicked and the door began to open.

The red head poked only her head around the door as if to keep the rest of herself concealed. Of course, he thought, she might not even be dressed yet! "I'm sorry, Mrs. Langston. I'm early. I didn't even think. I'll come back when I'm supposed to." He started to turn away.

"NO!" She paused, wishing she could retrieve some of the excitement in her voice. The man was a hunk, at least in her eyes. She loved that he had a little "executive bulge" as her husband called the slight padding above the waist of middle aged men. She liked the broad shoulders of course, but the narrow hips too. His hair was cropped short with maybe an inch of the black, slightly receding hairline showing above his forehead. His eyes were the richest hazel she'd ever seen, something she'd noticed the first time they'd met when he came to estimate the job. She looked at them again now and almost swooned in their glow. "I mean, come in. I was just cleaning up."

Jordon stepped inside, being careful not to let his tool box touch the walls or door jam. It was a heavy box, hardwood with corners that could dent even metal frames if bumped soundly enough. "Really, I could leave and come back. Are you sure?"

"Of course." She was quickly relaxing with the man's attitude and politeness. She pushed the door closed and allowed herself to be seen from head to toe. When she'd let the door go, she looked down and noticed her right breast was nearly free of the robe and she quickly grasped the lapels and closed herself in.

Jordon did notice the breast, despite his sexual exhaustion, and was too slow to turn away. She saw him looking. The silence lasted a few seconds before he asked, "The uh, bathroom, Mrs. Langston?" He nodded toward the other door, on the wall behind her.

"Moira," She suddenly jerked, as if hearing the rest of his words in a different sentence. "And yes, that's it." She stepped aside and pulled the door open for Jordon. She felt a little foolish, for he'd already been there and seen it for the estimate. "Please, call me Moira." She smiled, even batted her eyes.

Jordon smiled back and nodded, but said nothing. The last thing he wanted to do was encourage yet another lonely housewife when he was so through with sex after last night. It's funny, he thought, he didn't feel satiated, only exhausted. He wanted to flush the entire affair from his mind and he used thoughts of Rita's comment about aids to thoroughly confuse his mind. He stepped forward to put his tools on the tile floor.

"So, the sink. Where is it?" He turned after confirming it was not in the larger than normal half bathroom.

"Oh! Sorry. I meant to have my husband bring it up here this morning. Damn, I'm sorry. I completely forgot." Worthless bum, she thought. She tried to shuffle by Jordon. "It's in the basement. Do you think...?"

"Of course." He turned to follow her and added, "I know what it's like to have to leave in a hurry in the morning."

Moira turned the hall corner and asked over her shoulder, "Oh! Well, at least you go right to work." She regretted the words immediately. She knew her husband would not be at work before nine. He would be at a diner with friends, coworkers from the office, talking about sports or something until then.

"Well, not really. I just had breakfast at a Denny's." He couldn't help but react to the vision of her ass cheeks alternately accenting the woman's robe as she walked.

"Your wife doesn't make breakfast?" She had reached the basement door and pulled it open. Looking directly at him, she was about to inquire further when he answered her.

"I uh, am not married." He knew this was not going to go well.

"So, why did you have to leave in such a hurry then?"

The woman seemed to know no bounds when it came to curiosity. She'd looked him over in the door, asked him probing, personal questions, and so far knew more about him in a few minutes than most people learned about him ever. But her attitude seemed one of genuine curiosity at that, and not in the least accusatory. What the hell, he thought, "I had a guest, a guest I hope will wake, leave, and go on with her life."

Moira's stare lingered a moment longer in the silence and stopped only when she started down the stairs, flipping the light switch as she did. "I see."

Jordon watched after her till she reached the mid point and looked back, "Is this too much? Would you rather wait until my husband moves the sink upstairs?"

She'd brushed right over his disclosure. Perhaps it was her disarming frankness, or maybe that non-judgmental nature again that quelled his concern, or guilt, and prompted him to start down the stairs. "No. Just thought I might have offended you."

Moira smiled and turned back down the stairs. What woman didn't like to hear the dirt? At the bottom, she waited for the plumber to join her before she moved aside and directed him to the boxes containing the new sink and its pedestal. A third box rested atop one of these, presumably containing other, smaller parts. "I can take this one," She said as she grabbed the smaller box.

He chuckled and gasped half way through the laugh. As she leaned over to pick the box up, her robe had opened wide to reveal two very large, very full breasts, the areole and nipples very visible to the plumber.

She heard the gasp of air and looked at his face, then where his eyes had been looking at her, "Oh, sorry. Again."

"Mrs. Langston, you have nothing to be sorry about." He paused, but added before she could respond, "Why don't you let me have that." He took the small box from her despite her reluctance to give it up. When she finally did, he was surprised how heavy it was, and how handily she had managed it. "Looks like you have muscles under there too." Again he regretted his words.

Moira smiled at the reference and said, "Well thank you."

He placed the small box on the one containing the sink and bent to pick both up easily.

"Seems you have some muscles too." She said and led him back up the stairs. Once back in the foyer bathroom she said, pulling her robe's lapels together once more, "You know where the basement is, so I'll get out of your hair while you do whatever it is you need to do." She turned coyly but didn't leave yet.

"Yes." He wanted to tell her to just drop the robe where she stood, but didn't. He wanted to kick himself in the ass for even thinking of fucking another woman this morning, but he didn't. He simply smiled then put the boxes down as an after thought. She finally left and disappeared around the corner and up the stairs, Jordon's last glimpse of her being a momentary view of the white skin of her legs reaching up into her robe.

Jordon retrieved the pedestal box from the basement and shut the light and the door. He carried the heavy box toward the front of the house, stopping at the bottom of the stairs to listen for any indication of the rather pretty, not to mention beckoning body. He inhaled at the sad silence and went to work.

An hour later, Moira stepped around the corner and peered silently in on her plumber. He was sitting under the sink, one knee high on either side of the erected pedestal, and with his arms wrapped around under the sink, apparently assembling one part or another by feel rather than sight. His head was side ways to the sink so he could get the rest of his body closer, and he was concentrating too hard to see or feel her presence.

On the floor around him was an assortment of tools, wrenches, a hammer, several pliers and a few things she did not recognize. There was a coil of copper tubing too, and some white tape and a tub of something she had no idea what it was. She also noticed a tin of some kind of gel on the floor. It reminded her of her hand lotion, but when she looked, it was still on the ornate shelf array to the right. She wondered if he'd used it anyway, and whether for dry hands, or something else.

She was still looking blankly at the dispenser when she heard, "Sorry, I only used a little."

"Oh, don't worry." She said, looking down at his head still plastered up against the sink, though on the opposite side so he could see her.

Her puzzlement, or curiosity again was apparent. "I used a dab to grease a washer. I always keep my eye out for something better. Mine still beat yours for washers."

When she didn't say anymore, Jordon thought she didn't understand. "They sent the wrong size, so I had to trim one down. Tight fit."

She finally responded with, "Yes, I bet. No problem though, I mean with a tight fit?" She recognized immediately where she and the plumber were going with all the growing innuendo, and decided not to fight it. Hell, she thought, it sounded exactly like the right thing to do.

Jordon felt a familiar motion in his pants upon hearing her last remark. She was looking again at the lotion dispenser and he took the moment to better examine her face and hair. She was indeed pretty. Her face had a few freckles, just under the eyes, and her features, her nose flaring slightly, her not-so-deep eye sockets, and certainly her red, better than shoulder length hair pulled her back from that brink of commonality and left admirers with a sense of the exceptional. One could not let her pass without a second look.

She was also wearing clothes now, though the word hardly described the vision they presented. Her sleeveless, high collared yellow shirt sat loosely fastened only half way up, above a pair of very loose fitting campaign styled short pants. If she weren't headed for a chaise by the pool on a cool day, she had to be off to the club for round of golf. Her legs caught his breath with their long run and shapely calves. He didn't realize he'd been staring for as long as he had.

"Approve?" She almost laughed, but held it in.

"Huh? Oh! Yes! I mean, sorry. You..."

Now she did laugh, relieved that his secret was out. "It's all right. I don't mind."

He said nothing, hiding his embarrassment in his busy hands behind the pedestal.

"So? Do you approve?" She couldn't believe she'd come right out and asked again.

Jordon froze. There was no question at all anymore where this woman, and this day was leading. He'd seen it too many times. Lonely housewife, strange man in familiar surroundings. Fear of discovery near zero. "I wouldn't say approve." He smiled to himself and went back to work as if she weren't there.

Moira pouted, her hands on her hips. Her tenor changed to one on the verge of anger, "No?"