Cathy's Sick Desire

Obeying nasty Hairy Harry

"Shit...of all times for the damn kitchen sink to get backed up," she shouted out loud. She had to get to work. It was Friday and the end of the month reports had to be turned in, or her ass was grass. She quickly called a few plumbing companies, but none of them could by before the middle of next week. That just wouldn't do, as the garbage in her sink was already starting to reek horribly.

One of the companies was kind enough to give her a phone number for a small independent plumber who might be able to help her out. When the man answered his phone after eight rings, with a harsh, "Yeah." His voice sounded old, was gravelly and panting heavily. Apparently he had been working hard at something and she hoped that he wasn't going to be tied up all day. She quickly explained her dilemma, and told him the general area in which she lived.

He responded gruffly saying, "Well, here's the way it is. I'm in the middle of a big fucking job right now and I ain't going to be though until late this afternoon. Where you live is way the fuck on the other side of town, so I'm going to have to drive through Friday rush hour traffic just to get there. I might make it by four O'clock, but it could as late as seven. If that's OK, say so now, otherwise you can call somebody else."

His harshness and foul language was rather off putting for her, but she knew that she'd never find anyone else now, so she agreed. It didn't really matter if he was crude. He just needed to be a good plumber.

He coughed, cleared his raspy throat and said, "Oh and one more thing bitch, I'll want a cold beer waiting for me when I get there."

Her feminist instincts kicked in immediately, as she shot back, "I beg your pardon; did you just call me a bitch? Furthermore, I have no intention of helping you to get drunk before you work for me. I simply can not believe..."

He cut her off, "Hey what the fuck is it with you bitches. Do you want me to fix your fucking sink or not. Look lady, I'm hot, dirty and still have a lot to do here, before I even think about getting over to your place. I ain't in no mood to take any shit from the likes of you, so quit being a fucking cunt. I might be foul mouthed and a damn chauvinist, but my prices are fair and I'll do a good job. I take pride in my work, even as nasty as the job is. The reason I work alone is because I don't have to take shit from anybody.

"Now if you still want me to help you out before the weekend, there's three things you've gotta say to me. First thing is, 'Please come all the way over to my fucking house and help me out of this bad fucking situation'. Second thing is, 'I'll have a fucking ice cold beer waiting for you'. And the third thing is, 'You can call me a fucking bitch or a fucking cunt, as long as you fix my fucking sink'. If you don't say those three things word for fucking word, I ain't coming."

For a few brief moments she sat there in shock, at hearing the ridiculous demand he had made of her. Her first words to him were, "You've got some nerve. I'm certainly not going to say any such thing. Furthermore, I am going to report you to the Better Business Bureau."

Instead of the apologetic reaction, which she had hoped for, all she heard was his laughter. As his chiding guffaws faded away, he told her, "Listen bitch, you obviously haven't called the BBB, because if you had, you'd know that I have a string of complaints against me for bad temper and bad language. But you won't find one damn complaint about my work. So before I leave you high and dry, to deal with your problem, I'll give you one more fucking chance. Either you say those three little phrases, or I'm hanging up on you, cunt."

Again he had shocked her, with his vile cursing and arrogant attitude. He really didn't care. She struggled with the idea of an appropriate come back, but she was so stymied by his confident air that she was left bereft of anything clever to say. As the seconds quickly ticked away, she knew that he would do as he said and she'd be stuck all weekend, with the wretched smell of the decaying mess in her sink.

Before she could calm herself enough to say anything, he shouted, "Good by you fucking piece of shit!"

In a panic she screamed back, "No, no, no, please don't go. I need this taken care of."

There was silence on the line, and after ten seconds, she thought he had disconnected. Finally, just to assure her self that he was no longer there, she asked, "Hello, are you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm still here bitch. I'm patiently fucking waiting for you to say what I told you to fucking say."

She was both relieved and frustrated. He was still there and would come to unclog her sink, but his attitude hadn't changed, so the only way to appease him would be to tell him what he wanted to hear.

In a very hostile tone she repeated roughly what he had requested, including insertion of the word 'Fucking', at the designated locations. She rarely cursed, and never used such filthy terms when she did, but in her anger, it didn't bother her at all.

Again there was silence on the line. Now it was she who waited for a response. Finally, in a slightly more civil voice, he said, "That's better. See, if you'd just been a little quicker about it, we could have avoided this unpleasantness. I'll try to get there by four O'clock. And just because I made nice, doesn't mean I'm not going to call you a cunt to your face, so get used to it.

"Now, how about giving me a fucking clue what your name and address is, so I don't have drive all around your fucking neighborhood screaming for you to come out and make yourself known to me."

"She tried not to laugh at his comment, and did manage to stifle a chuckle. "My name is Cathy, with a 'C', Cummings."

He cut her off with his burst of laughing. "Oh this is just too good to be true. Are you fucking putting me on? Cathy with a 'C', like in cunt, and then Cummings, for Christ sake. Holy shit, wait till I tell the guys about your name."

She could feel the heat of her anger, as her face flushed, or was it embarrassment. She bit her tongue and went on, "I live at 2549 Piney Grove Rd. Do you think you can find it all right?"

His gruff attitude returned, "Jesus bitch, of course I can find it. I've done work in that neighborhood before"

She let out a sigh of relief, as much for his assurance, as the end of this arduous phone call about to end. She told him, "I'll try to be here by four, if I'm not going to make it, I'll call you."

He exploded, "You fucking cunt! You stupid fucking cunt! You will be there by four but I might not be there by six. If I get there and you don't open that fucking door, with an ice cold beer in your stupid fucking hand, I'm gone. I don't make idle threats, bitch. You fucking be there. Now say so and I mean just like you know I want to hear you say it, cunt."

To her own amazement, she volunteered, "I will fucking be here no later than four O'clock and I'll have a fucking ice cold beer in my hand for you."

He then insisted, "Because you've made this whole fucking thing worse than pulling teeth, I want to be sure that you understand something. When you hand me that beer, you better be dressed in something that makes you look good. I have already had a bitch of a day and you've only made it worse, so at least try to please me by dressing in something a little sexy. A hard working man appreciates that. And I'll expect you to tell me, 'This cunt is glad that you could get here for me.' Don't go getting crazy ideas about me raping you or something like that. I get plenty of pussy, I don't gotta go forcing any of you bitches to lay down for me. It'll just put me in a better mood, if I get to see a pretty lady looking kinda hot." Then he hung up, before she could respond.

She was very tempted to call him back and tell him to stick it up his arrogant ass. But if she did that, she'd be smelling garbage all the way into next week. Oh well, she thought, she could put up with an hour of crude talk and leering from him, as long as he fixed the sink.

A few minutes later, she was still angered by his attitude toward her. So it was a rather big surprise, when she noticed a wet spot on her panties, as she dressed for work. Cathy hadn't had any sexual thoughts, while talking to him. Why would she, he was a crude pig of a man and she would be much happier to see him go than to have him here. As long as he fixed the damn sink, she told herself.

Throughout the day, her thoughts went to her conversation with the plumber. He had really managed to get under her skin. She had never known anyone to take such vulgar liberties when talking with a lady. He really had some nerve. Yet, she found herself wondering what he looked like. Was he tall? She was very tall for a woman, almost 5' 10".

It had made for a difficult time in college, because she was taller than most of the boys she wanted to go out with, and they never asked her out anyway. She wasn't aggressive at all, so she never tried to catch any of the hot looking guys that drew her rare interest. Oh she had gone out from time to time, but usually with guys much shorter and all they wanted was a one night stand. Cathy had been sexually active in college; to the tune of three different young men. All of whom were woefully ineffective at arousing her. She had never experienced an orgasm with another person. Oh she had experienced the joy sexual release, but always due to the manipulation of her own fingers.

She felt that she was pretty enough, but far from a raging beauty. She had an average face, but she felt that her nose was to long. Her breasts were a nice 34 C-cup, with perky nipples, and mounted on her slender frame, seemed quite prominent. At that height, she had long legs, which she felt a bit awkward about, and her butt was very tight at one time.

She was 34 years old now and not big on exercising, which explained her twenty extra pounds. Still, she drew the occasional glances. She'd never had a serious relationship. She attributed that to her naturally submissive personality. She just didn't know how to send the right signals to a guy, when she was interested.

She worked quick and hard, skipping lunch, in order to finish the necessary reports. When she dropped them off at the boss's office she let him know that she had a plumber coming to fix her backed up sink, and had to be there to let him in, so she had to leave early. He gave her a thumb up and she was out on the road quickly.

Cathy arrived home at three fifty, with a fresh six pack of Bud. She didn't drink beer, but when she did, it was always a light beer. She figured that this guy, what ever his name was, struck her as a Bud man. It seemed to fit his crude persona.

The house smelled horrible. The order of decaying garbage filled her nostrils and instantly made her stomach a bit queasy. The aroma reinforced her desperation to have the sink drain taken care of. She opened all of the windows, in spite of the heat, just to air out the house.

She grabbed a quick shower, as thoughts of the vile man hopefully on his way to her house, ran through her mind. It occurred to her that thoughts of him had dominated her thinking the entire day. She had been doing her job by rote, as her brain kept repeating the conversation they had had; and for some reason, his potty mouth had kept her loins moist the whole damn day. How bizarre, she thought, that such a disgusting guy should affect her like that.

However, it did make her realize that she hadn't masturbated in a few weeks. That was her usual sexual outlet, and apparently her lack of attention to her needs, had caused an undue response, stimulated by this brusque character. She was very tempted to take care of the problem right then, but the plumber would probably show up, at just that moment. No, she thought; she'd wait until the son of a bitch leaves. Then she could get naked and really enjoy herself, by the gentle stroking of her fingers through the trimmed fur of her sex. What a great way to start the weekend.

It had infuriated her, when he insisted that she wear something sexy. Nonetheless, she decided to wear stockings and heels, a mid-thigh length beige skirt and a yellow blouse over a thin white summer bra. If that wasn't sexy enough for him then the hell with him.

As the time passed to five O'clock, she was getting impatient. He had said that he would probably be later, but she didn't like to be kept waiting by the foul mouthed stranger.

At five forty five, the doorbell chimed, while she was watching the early news on TV. She almost forgot to get his beer, but caught herself and quickly ran to the kitchen to get one for him. While the house had aired rather well, the kitchen still carried the wreaking order that had greeted her when she first got home. It was just another reminder of her delicate situation.

She quickly made her way to the door, opened it and faced a potbellied old fellow of fifty or so. He was bald on top, wearing dirty khaki pants, which drooped low on his hips, as they were being pushed down by his huge belly. He wore a green short sleeve shirt, also filthy which had a name patch sewn above the pocket that said Harry. The shirt was hanging outside of his belt and she thought she could almost see the hairy bulge of his stomach below the end of the fraying material. All of that aside, the two most prominent things about him were the fact that he was very short, probably around 5' 5"; and he stunk of sweat.

He stood there glaring at her, finally saying, "Well cunt, are you going to say the magic words, or should I go home now?"

Hell, she'd done everything he asked, except she forgot what she was supposed to say. Then she remembered. Damn it, she really didn't want to go this route, but needs dictated that she better keep him happy.

Reluctantly she said, "This cunt is happy that you have come to help me. I've got this cold beer for you." Then she stepped aside to let him in.

Walked into her home, as though he owned, grabbing the beer as he passed by her and popping open the top. He took a huge swig, belched and said, "Ok bitch, where's the fucking problem?"

Cathy escorted him into the kitchen. He took a look at the filth in the sink and said, I think it's going to be something simple, but you never really know with this things until you do a little digging. Pull up a chair, while I go back out to the truck and get some stuff."

She shook her head as he went back out. All damn day, she had let this little man irritate her and he was just a fat old blowhard.

When he came back in, she said, "I'll be out here watching the TV. Help yourself to another beer in the fridge if you need it."

He objected, "Oh no you don't, bitch. You're going to sit your ass down and talk to me, while I clear this up. Don't be such a fucking cunt."

He had angered her again, so she shot back, "Must you always use such nasty language?" She struck a pose, by standing with her hands on her hips and her face projecting out at him, as if to menace him.

Instead of getting mad at her, he just stared at her. Actually, he leered at her, shamelessly looking her up and down, in the way that some men do when undressing a woman with their eyes. She suddenly felt very uncomfortable, and she knew that he knew it.

He got down on his knees and opened the cabinet beneath the sink, as he said, "You know something bitch; I asked you to wear something a little sexy and that's the best you could fucking do? If you think that's sexy then it ain't no wonder that you live alone. I bet you haven't had a date in five years, and it's kind of a shame, 'cause you really ain't bad looking piece of ass."

He went from one shocking statement to another. She was about to explode again, yet she was able to restrain her temper. It would serve no useful purpose to be dragged into an argument with him. However, she did comment angrily, "That's uncalled for, Mr...whatever your name is."

He was reaching under the sink and looking back up at her, as he began to use a wrench to loosen the pipe fitting. He kept glaring at her legs and finally said, "Call me Harry. You got great legs Cathy, they go all the up to your sweet ass. It's hot; why in the hell are you wearing panty hose. Christ, you should be bare assed naked under that skirt. You are one tightly wound cunt. Why don't you go take that shit off, and lose the bra too, while you at it."

With righteous indignation she blurted out, "You just do the job, Harry. I'm not here to put on a show for you."

He sat up and shot her an angry glare. "You really are an uptight cunt. Lose the fucking attitude, bitch, or I'm out of here. Cunts like you always act so damn hoity-toity. You like to be ogled more than most woman do, because you're so fucking insecure about your appearance and worried about whether or not somebody's going to like you. Jesus Christ, bitch, get a clue. I'm a man. I like to look at women. You're a woman. You're supposed to enjoy the attention a guy gives you."

Although his anger was unjustified, she was somewhat taken back by his rather accurate observation of her. She had always been quite unnerved, when men gazed at her. Most women seemed to handle it with aplomb, but she was always flustered and insecure about it.

She quietly responded, "I'm just not comfortable about it, that's all."

He still hadn't returned to repairing her sink. "Well you know what, cunt. Now is as good a time as any, to get over it. Now do what I told to do. Get those damned pantyhose and panties off and get out of that bra. Then I'll get back to work. We'll talk some more and you'll start to feel better about yourself." With that, he folded his arms across his chest, thereby declaring his stubborn refusal to continue working.

For some strange reason, she wasn't afraid of him. She was afraid of exposing herself to anyone. She looked at him with pleading eyes, but said nothing.

He gave her a small smile; witch actually put her a little at ease. Then he softly, but firmly said, "Go! Do as your told bitch."

In a bit of a fog, she went to the bed room and began to remove her stockings and panties. She told herself the whole time that she wasn't going to do any such thing; but she did. After removing her bra and slipping back into her blouse, she left two more buttons undone, and then returned to the kitchen. She felt naked, as her nude loins and bouncing breasts made her aware of her vulnerability. But that wasn't all that she felt. Cathy was getting aroused as she felt the cool air on the lips of her wet pussy.

She stopped just before the entrance to the kitchen. She had second thoughts about this. It was crazy. What in the hell was thinking.

Before she could turn around, she heard Harry call out, "Don't chicken out now bitch. You're about to make a little fucking progress. Get in here and let me see you; and yes, I'm going to ogle you. You'll love it."

Cathy took a deep breath and went into the kitchen. She was about to take a seat, when he told her, "Don't sit yet. I want to look at you." He brazenly leered at her breasts and then down to her legs and back up. She felt her nipples harden and her face flushed with humiliation. She wanted to run back out of the kitchen. At the very least she wanted cover her breasts. But she stood there as Harry took his time in glaring at her.

Finally, he broke the silence by saying, "You got really nice tits, bitch. I could see the nipples, when you were wearing the bra, but they look even better now. You know, a man like loves to see a woman's nipples through her blouse. I mean the darkness of them and the size and everything. It's a real turn on."

Without warning, he dove under the sink and began working again. Only this time, he kept on talking. Cathy sat and listened. "I betcha got a wet pussy right about now, don't you? You ain't never done anything this before have you? But it turns you on doesn't it...Cunt." He put extra emphasis n the word and never stopped to hear if she would answer his, apparently, rhetorical questions.