Fix It, Please

All of these stories were written by my wife and parts are based on actual experiences.

We brought my sewing machine to the local repair shop. It was so much more convenient than sending it 40 miles out of town to the authorized repair center for service.

The repairman and my husband appeared to be about the same age but the repairman, Marty, was a little stockier. I liked that. It gave me a nice familiar feeling. My husband and I left the machine and a pair of pinking shears, and zipped away to visit friends.

A mere two days later my machine was ready and I went to pick it up after work. It was a rush to get there before he closed his shop at six. After we talked awhile about what had been wrong with the machine he began to chat about sewing classes he held. He was a very nice man. But I wasn't going to sign up for a beginner's sewing class which was all he offered when I'd been sewing for twelve years. I picked up my machine to go but the conversation continued and I set it down.

When I definitely decided to leave I bent to pick up my machine and he offered to carry it out for me. I turned toward him to politely decline and from my position noticed a definite bulge in his crotch. How very flattering, I thought. I do love male attention especially signs of sexual arousal. It makes me feel so very good. My nipples tingle.

I didn't encourage him, I am happily married, if a little oversexed, and I don't need the complications. But the beginnings of his hard on gave me a glow all the way home.

The atmosphere for the next week at work was designed to keep me hot. A visiting consultant made a point of finding a moment or two during the day to come to my desk to flirt. It was such fun. I don't know about men or even other women for that matter but when I sit, my genitalia is in contact with my chair. It throbs, it hums, it pulses. It is a center that lets me know it's alive and ready. And was I ever ready for a long, hot fuck. And my thoughts wandered from my husband, to the sewing machine repairman, and the consultant.

My level of excitement also increased because my husband and I took the consultant, Harry, out to dinner Wednesday night, as he's by himself away from home. While I wore a low cut dress I acted like a perfect lady. Thursday, Harry told me he didn't get to sleep until 1 AM.

Friday he told me he liked my dress and that was why he had trouble getting to sleep. I had mentioned that I wasn't in the mood to work Friday morning. Harry came by in the afternoon to ask me if I was in the mood yet. Pretty tame stuff to you, maybe, but it keeps this married lady's pussy tingling still. Wouldn't I love to wrap my lips around his imagined fat little cock. (He reminds me of my husband, too. Harry is a mini version of my beautiful tall husband.)

Imagining what a man's cock will be like is a preoccupation of mine. There's so much variety. I like them all except for needle dicks. But large and small and medium, there's a place in my heart for almost all those sweet delights. When my sweet baby sticks it in me, I am in heaven. There's nothing like it. Can you blame me if I want more? And to suck on his cock. I could do it for hours. A cock in the hand is such a thrill. It is wonderful in itself and I know in a while it will be in me and I will be getting fucked so good. Men everywhere with these beautiful things between their legs. It keeps my mind active, I'll tell you.

And imagine this, I forgot to pick up my pinking shears when I got my machine. So I had to go back. And after a week of titillation from thoughts of Marty's hard on and Harry's come on's, I was afraid I was going down. I was about ready to fuck a stranger on the street. True, my husband gave it to me twice during the week, but I was over stimulated. I'm just not used to that much attention. I was running hotter than usual.

I walked into Marty's shop. He closes at three on Saturday. I went at ten till three. He didn't have any customers. I was wearing short shorts and a tank top. I knew my round breasts were totally outlined and my nipples were hard. I didn't say hello to him right away but bent over to look at a machine he had on the floor. My knees were bent and my legs together with my ass in the air, presenting itself to him. That's right, Marty. Think about doing me from the back.

"Hi, Marty," I said warmly when he came over.

"I picked up my sewing machine Monday but I forgot my scissors. Do you remember them? I didn't' get a tag." I smiled at him in a way I hoped he found inviting.

"Sure. You called, didn't you? Mrs. Hughes, right."

"Oh, you can just call me Alice, Marty."

We chatted for a while. He asked me where my husband was. It came up that my husband is older than I am. I said that in most ways it made no difference at all.

"Where does it make a difference?" he asked.

I really didn't know how to say it so I just blurted it out.

"He doesn't care to have sex as often as I do."

Then I just looked away. I was trying to hook this guy but I don't want him to think any less of my husband or to think I'm unhappy. I just want to fuck some more. I want to fuck you, Marty, is what I was hoping he'd understand but I didn't want him to jump on me right then and there either. I like to play a little. Maybe a lot. I decided to be bold. I was dying for it. Dave was home napping . He'd never think anything of it if I was an hour late.

"Isn't it time you closed your shop, Marty?"

"You don't have to leave do you?" he asked startled.

"No. I don't have to leave."

He walked to the front, locked the door and put the CLOSED sign up. Then he walked over to me.

"I'd really like to kiss you," he said.

"I'd love that Marty. You're so sexy. But not here. Can we go to the back?"

We went to the back. I leaned against a wall. He approached me and put his hands on my hips. I put my arms around his neck so I could press my breasts against him. I hoped he was a good kisser. He was. We kissed and kissed. He ran his hands over my ass and pulled me into him. He pressed his hard cock into me and was grinding me. His hands were on my breasts, stroking and squeezing and tweaking my nipples. It was all so good. I was weak and sighing and moaning and so very happy. He slipped his hand into the leg of my shorts and stuck a finger into my pussy. I was slick wet. His finger was like dying and going to heaven. I could barely stand up.

"Marty, can't you do it to me, now? Let's lay down. Do you have anything we can lay on?"

He found a cushion and some cloth and put it down and I sat down and pulled my shorts and top off. I watched him undress. I love the sight of a hard cock. It's got "I want you" written all over it in big happy letters.

"Come here, baby," I said. "Come stick that big thing in me."

Could he hump. His thick body made me spread my legs wide and his sides were always rubbing against the inside of thighs, a major erogenous zone for me. I was so filled up with his cock. And he took his time. Not really slow, there was urgency, but not a fast hump either. I couldn't get enough. I don't come easily and he could tell, so he stopped and we sucked each other and I came then. He put it back in me and fucked me some more. It was so good. I came then. He didn't stop. He kept fucking me until I thought he'd never come. Then I could tell he was getting close. He fucked me harder and faster. It was so exciting. I love making a man come.

"Fuck me, baby, fuck me. Oh fuck me, Marty," I whispered to him. He heaved into me and sighed.

Marty and I said good-bye. I have such a good sewing machine, it probably won't need service for another year. But I'm sure I will long before then.