Peter the Persistent Plumber

It all began with a knock on the door from Debbie..

She lived in the flat downstairs, and was the worst neighbour ever! She complained about anything and everything, even about noises I was supposed to have made while I wasn't at home!

I hated her even more than she hated me, which was quite something as she was so openly anti-trans.

As usual, she was angry, rude, rapid and loud. If a machine gun could speak, it would be called Debbie!

"Your shower's leaking!" she bawled, "There's water pissing through my ceiling! Just you come and take a look!"

As I'd answered the door wearing a bathrobe and with a towel wrapped round my hair, it was hard to pretend I hadn't just been showering, so reluctantly I followed her downstairs to see what her latest complaint was about.

And just for once, she had a point..

Water was indeed pouring through her lounge ceiling. It was coming through the light fitting, which looked more than a bit dodgy.

"What you gonna do about it, eh? That's what I'd like to know!" she hollered.

Looking at her red, eczema-riddled face, which she'd told me at least a thousand times had been as smooth as a super model's until the day I moved in, I was tempted to suggest that she stand underneath it till she'd cooled down a bit!

But as usual, I was more diplomatic, and agreed instead to fetch a plumber..

Now I'd read that some plumbers are millionaires, but after phoning a few and asking how much it would cost to have them come round straight away, I began to wonder how any of them AREN'T filthy rich?!

Time, of course, was a factor. While I was ringing around, Debbie was busily yelling up a verbal barrage that compared her lounge to the Niagara Falls, among other things. So the first time a responder sounded like he might not fleece me on the spot, I begged him to come as quickly as possible.

And that's how Peter got the job..

He promised to be with me in half a jiffy, which turned out to mean forty minutes. Whilst waiting I dolled myself up, with the radio on just loud enough to drown out the endless stream of complaints echoing up the stairs.

I've always found that, when unavoidably at the mercy of a man, it's a good idea to look one's best. Whilst reasonable compared to some of the others, the call-out fee that Peter had quoted me on the phone would more or less clear out my bank balance, and that was before he even picked up a spanner!

So it was more than likely I'd not be able to pay him all at once, and we'd have to come to some kind of arrangement..

Which in my experience is best done nicely dressed!

So, whilst Radiohead vied with Debbie to make the most background noise, I made myself nice and presentable, donning a translucent white top over a red bra and a black leather miniskirt which I wore with black hold-ups that had red seams and tops.

After putting my face on with cherry red lipstick, more blusher than usual and lashings of mascara, I slipped into a pair of divine white, spangly peep-toe stiletto sandals.

There was just time to dry and tidy my hair before the bell rang..

I opened the door to find a tall man in dirty overalls carrying a rusty toolbox. He was around fifty, pale and balding with a toothy grin that got a whole lot broader as he looked me up and down.

"So you're Carrie?" he asked, whistling.

"That's right," I said, "Come in."

While I put the kettle on, Peter made small talk. He'd been waylaid by Debbie on the way up, he explained, and had taken a look in her place and no, she wasn't a very nice woman! Still, we can't choose our neighbours, can we? It had to be a burst pipe, he said, so he'd need to pull up a few floorboards.

"I'm afraid it's gonna cost!" he sighed, sounding not half so sorry as I was!

After finishing his coffee and half of my Hobnobs, he eventually got to work. For more than an hour he pulled up carpet here and floorboards there, making a right old mess.

Then, at last, came a breakthrough..

"Found it!" he exclaimed, "It's only gone and burst on a joint and in a really tricky spot. Some cowboy's used PVC where he should've used copper! Never mind though, I'll soon put it right.."

Another hour and the job was done, with everything back more or less where it should be and Debbie's lounge ceiling no longer offering free showers.

Though I was grateful, I trembled, knowing the next bit was going to be tricky..

"All done!" Peter said cheerfully, "That'll be £240 altogether, thanks Carrie! Now then, how would you like to pay?"

In the bank just then, I had a little over £90..

"To tell the truth Peter," I confessed, "I'm really hard up just now -- could we maybe talk about instalments or something?"

He frowned and his face hardened, though I noticed a particular twinkle in his eye..

"That depends," he mused, "What do you know about pipes?"

"Nothing much!" I replied, "Why?"

"Well," he explained, "There are some pipes that I'm good with, such as those made of PEX, PVC and copper, but there are other kinds of pipes that might be more your kind of thing. In which case," he suggested, "We could trade expertise?"

"W-what kind of pipes?" I stammered.

"I was thinking," he explained with a sly wink, "of CUM-PIPES!"

Saying which, he began to play with his cock through his dirty overalls. I could see the outline all too clearly, and saw that he was very well endowed with around eight inches of stiff, throbbing meat. But just in case I'd been short-sighted, a damp patch was spreading rapidly from the outline of his cherry right across the front of his oily rags!

"What did you have in mind?" I asked, quaking awkwardly in my heels.

"Well," he explained, "I've a cum-pipe right here that urgently needs a thorough clean out! And if you can do as good a job for me as I've done for you, then we'll call it quits! So how about it?"

"Okay," I replied, "it's a deal!" My mum taught me never to look a gift horse in the mouth, and I knew a gift horse when I saw it, even if it WAS dressed in dirty overalls and fiddling lecherously with its cock!

Peter smiled and, in the blink of an eye, unzipped his overalls..

They fell to the floor around his feet, and when he stepped out of them he was wearing nothing besides safety boots and socks.

I gulped, keenly aware that the discarded rags had, if anything, underplayed the size of Peter's bulging cum-pipe. It throbbed so hard in his oily hand that I began to wonder if it wasn't plumbed into the mains!

He massaged it impatiently, something the greasy fingermarks along the stem suggested he'd been doing quite a lot of. Eager to seal our deal, I hastily knelt before him and gently eased the mighty baton from his hand.

After blowing gently on his cherry, I began to lick the glistening pre-cum off it, but Peter had other ideas..

"Start with the balls," he ordered, "a good worker always begins at the bottom!"

He opened his legs a little, allowing his balls to hang freely, and I buried my face in his sweaty crotch and began kissing them gently with my moist, cherry red lips. I took them both at once then one at a time, alternately sucking and blowing as the tender orbs sloshed tantalisingly over my tongue.

"Mmm, nice!" he cried, groaning with satisfaction, "Now give the exterior a good polish!"

Obediently, I turned my attention to his pulsating stem, working my way slowly upwards from his balls. I licked every last millimetre of hard, throbbing skin, choking more than once on the sour, oily grease deposited by his dirty fingers.

At last I reached the summit, and finally popped his throbbing cherry between my quivering lips..

A polar icecap of creamy pre-cum had returned since my last visit, and I sucked it off and swallowed every drop before easing his throbbing stem deep into my pulsating throat.

"Oh, yeah!" he groaned, grabbing my hair with both hands and forcing me ever further down onto him, till his cherry was tickling the back of my throat.

Gurgling furiously for breath, I did my best to satisfy his insatiable appetite as he worked my lips and tongue remorselessly, forcing himself in and out to a cacophony of rippled burbling as I grappled with the twin tasks of satisfying Peter and breathing, which frequently seemed woefully at odds!

At long last, a salty explosion at the back of my throat brought some much anticipated relief..

Groaning with delight, Peter almost tore my hair out as he tugged in ecstasy whilst firing a furious volley of salty cream past the back of my throat and straight into my belly.

I swallowed all that I could, though much spilt from my mouth, which couldn't even begin to cope with such a copious overload. The deluge was such that it made me think of Debbie's ceiling! But it ended at last, and I finally felt his cum-pipe slowly soften between my tired and aching lips.

The bargain, I thought, had been settled..

How little I knew of bargains!

"Well," purred Peter, "That was a most satisfactory flush -- now for the stress test!"

"W-what do you mean?" I exclaimed, "We're quits now, surely?"

"Oh, Carrie!" he chuckled, "You don't half make me laugh! You had £240 of plumbing done, and there's a tranny hooker not three blocks from here will do me a BJ for £40 -- so do the maths, darling!"

"I'm not a tranny hooker!" I shrieked.

"Alright, calm down!" he said, "You're a tranny, ain't you? But still, that was such a good blowjob you just did that I'm willing to pay a bit extra -- just so long as you're a good little girl and don't give me no more bother!"

"Okay!" I muttered sheepishly.

"That's better! What I've always liked about your kind is that you do as your told -- and of course there's no chance of a paternity suit!" he chuckled, "Now take that skirt off, so I can have a proper butcher's!"

Trembling in my stilettos, I took off my black leather miniskirt..

"Wow!" he whistled, "Those stockings ain't half something! And to think you say you ain't no hooker! Well, never mind. We'll do it right here -- just take off those knickers and get on the sofa!"

I felt utterly humiliated, but knew the best thing to do was obey him. I was already in too deep, and there was nothing to be gained from falling out with him now.

So I bent over the arm of the sofa and spread my legs wide apart..

"Not yet!" Peter chided, "I want to inspect YOUR plumbing first!"

I sat down on the sofa instead, and Peter cosied up beside me and placed a large, greasy hand onto my boy-bits..

"There's all different kinds of cum-pipes," he said, "so let's see what we can do with this soft, flexible little widget!"

Saying which, he grasped the stem of my small, perennially flaccid cock between a filthy thumb and forefinger and began jerking it furiously every which way.

I screamed, then gasped, then spasmed as the first of several rapid spurts of cream danced in the air before splashing across my stocking-tops and naked thighs. The whole process took less than a minute, and I blushed at how much Peter chuckled.

"Pathetic!" he sniggered, "But useful, cos now we've got some lube that I'm sure you'll prefer to my plumber's grease! So you can bend over now, darling!"

And so once more I bent over the arm of the sofa, hiding my shame in the seats along with my face, whilst my bum protruded for Peter's pleasure.

"Mmm, very nice!" he chuckled, rubbing my cream around my quivering rim with a filthy, stubby finger, "You could say you're about to be foisted by your very own Peter -- geddit?!"

Needless to say, the joke went down with me like a lead balloon..

It caused a deadly silence, during which you could have heard a pin drop. It only lasted a moment though, and was broken by my sharp squeal as he forced his rejuvenated cum-pipe swiftly into my tight little bumhole..

Having given him what, by his own admission, was an excellent blowjob, I knew every inch of Peter's cum-pipe, so was in for no surprises. His manhood was a solid eight inches of thick, throbbing meat that would have caused envy in many a younger and much more attractive hunk.

It was stiff as iron! I gasped repeatedly as he forced it in and out of me as far as it would go, building to a furious pace and more than once tearing my rim.

As I sobbed softly into the seat of the sofa, Peter ploughed on regardless. He had no care for me, only for his own satisfaction, which he was determined to have at any cost.

As my bumhole burned so my legs flailed, and it was only Peter's firm grasp upon my butt-cheeks that kept me where I was and utterly at his mercy, till at last a low groan of pleasure foretold of things to come.

"Oh, yes!" he cried, as the first copious load of warm cream emptied into my aching boy-pussy. He dug his dirty fingernails into my badly bruised butt-cheeks so deep I screamed, but thankfully it signalled his swansong, and the last of his warm, salty cream was soon inside my aching bumhole.

"Wow!" he exclaimed, sinking exhausted onto the sofa, "That wasn't half a nice fuck! I think if you just clean me up then we can definitely call it quits!"

A gesture told me just what he meant, and I was too shattered to argue. Instead I passively lowered myself to the floor and, burying my head between his thighs, licked and sucked every last drop of our commingled juices off his slowly receding cum-pipe.

I'd barely finished before he was on his feet and pulling those filthy overalls back on.

"All round, I'd say that was a good bargain for both of us!" he proclaimed cheerily at the door, "So if you ever need any more plumbing done, don't hesitate to get in touch, Carrie!"

I didn't reply, just smiled sweetly till he was safely through the door, then said loudly to myself..

"Fat chance, asshole!"