tagExhibitionist & VoyeurPlumbing the Depths

Plumbing the Depths


I was feeling even more frustrated with my husband Jeff this particular morning. He seemed too busy at the office, too tired to take me out, and more importantly…too tired for sex!

It had all been different a year ago, before he got that damm promotion. Now I had to make do with the occasional quickie once a month. But even that seems to have diminished, of late. The only thrill I seem to get these days is by pushing myself up against the washing machine, whilst it completes its spin cycle. Oh I have all the usual girls toys to facilitate my sexual urges, but a six-inch piece of black pulsating rubber, is no substitute for the real thing. I was sexually frustrated, and as any girl will tell you…that’s a recipe for matrimonial disaster!

This morning was no different. As usual Jeff woke up with his normal morning ‘stiffy’, but soon pissed it away in the bathroom. That in itself is as frustrating as hell! What a waste. I’d have let him pee all over me, if I thought that it would have got him interested. Instead it was the usual peck on the cheek, and off to work.

So there I was, twenty-six, married for only eighteen months, and sexually deprived of a woman’s needs. Nothing for it, I would finish my coffee, get on with the housework, and then sort through my laundry. Thank you ‘Whirlpool’ at least you had the forethought to build your machines with a super fast spin cycle.

Sods law decreed that ‘If there’s a chance that something can go wrong…then it will’ and mine had! As I leaned over the sink to wash the pots…no water! Well not out of the taps anyway, everywhere else yes…but the taps…no! I watched in horror as a great pool of water seeped, from inside the cupboard under the sink, onto my nice clean kitchen floor. I reached under, getting soaked in the process to access the damage. It looked liked a pipe had burst. The only thing for it was to turn off the stop-valve and call in the plumber.

Mister Latimor, of Latimor and Latimor associates said they would send someone round immediately. I put down the receiver, not sure whether I had actually spoken to the plumbers, or a firm of overpaid stockbrokers. What ever happened to plumber’s names like Fred Wilkins, or Jack Mathews? Latimor and Latimore associates I ask you. There it was though at the top of the page in the Yellow Pages. At least I knew that some ‘yuppie’ from the stockbrokers wasn’t going to mistakenly call round, although the way I was feeling, it perhaps wouldn’t have been so bad.

It was over an hour later that the front door bell rang. I was upstairs changing at the time, so I leaned out of the window and called down. Whether or not the bell ringer heard me, or just chose to ignore me I don’t know, but he repeatedly kept on ringing anyway. Only half dressed, I pulled on my housecoat and rushed downstairs, before he lost heart and went away.

I must say… I was impressed as soon as I opened the front door. There’s something really sexy about a man in denim work overalls. My first thought… ‘He’s dishy.’

“Something wrong with your pipes Miss?” he asked, as if he didn’t really care. “I’ve been sent to sort them out.”

Talk about an opening straight from a cheap porno movie. I wondered if this was the part where I was supposed to wet my lips and drool. Or maybe rub myself all over whilst I wriggle about seductively, and reply, “I hope you’ve got a large plunger.”

Anyway, that’s what he said, ‘He’d been sent to sort my pipes out.’ I must admit though, it was the best offer I had received for over a month now. Apart from my interludes with the washing machine, and getting to stuff the occasional Christmas Turkey, my sex life to date was zilch!

“You’d better come in then,” I replied, before my imagination got the better of me, and I really did blurt out something about his plunger.

Showing him into the kitchen, I opened up the cupboard under the sink and pointed out the offending pipe. I stepped away whilst he got down on his hands and knees, and buried his head deep inside the cupboard. ‘Mmm nice arse,’ I thought admiring his manly derrière, trying it’s best to burst its way out through the denim fabric.

“Ahh yes I can see a lot of wetness,” he declared, “Luckily its only a small split.”

“You’ve hit the nail right on the head,” I replied, trying to hold back a snigger. Call it coincidence; call it clairvoyance…I don’t really care. He was right in both instances. In fact, the way I was feeling, I was probably much wetter than the pipelines could ever be. It was definitely… My… ‘U’ bend that needed the servicing…desperately!

“Look can I leave you at it whilst I finish dressing?” I asked, hoping that he’d reply, ‘Don’t bother, I’ll be ripping your clothes off soon enough.’

“Sure you just go on right ahead, I work better alone.”

‘Bloody Hell’ I thought as I climbed the stairs, ‘Don’t tell me he’s a bloody Wanker!’

Stripping off my housecoat, I picked up my jeans and ‘T’ shirt from the floor, where I had thrown them in haste when the front door bell rang. The way I was feeling, a simple shirt and jeans would not do at all. I needed something sexy, something that said, “Look… come and lay me, I’m all up for grabs!”

Rummaging through my closet, I decided upon a white skimpy halter-top, and the tiniest red tartan kilted skirt, in the world. No I really mean it. The thing was positively indecent! Jeff had bought it for me from one of those sex catalogues last year. I had only ever worn the thing once, when he had brought home this porno movie and a cheap bottle of wine. We were supposed to be having, ‘A romantic night in,’ as he called it. Some night, as I remember! I was dressed cheap, but the wine proved to be even cheaper, and after Jeff drinking nearly the full bottle, he ended up in a drunken stupor on the floor. So there I was, dressed up like a dogs dinner, with no hungry hounds in sight! I did a lot of laundry that night too.

Yes the kilt was ideal. Like a wedding speech, just long enough to cover the bare essentials, but short enough to remain interesting. A deliciously naughty feeling crept through my body as I stepped into it. Smoothing down the pleats at the back, my fingers brushed against the cheeks of my bottom, which were trying their very best to escape. Yes, the kilt was perfect for what I had in mind. I slipped the skimpy halter- top over my head, and then stepped back to admire my reflection in the mirror. Reaching under my top, I gave my nipples a quick tweak, causing them to stand stiffly to attention. Now I was ready for action.

“Everything alright?” I asked as I returned to the kitchen. He still had his head buried inside the cupboard. I felt a bit disappointed. Silly really… because after all, he was only doing his job. I took a seat on one of the bar stools at the breakfast bar and waited. It could only be a matter of time before he decided to come up for air. In the meantime, I hitched up my kilt as much as I dared without being too obvious, placed my foot on the bar stool support, and waited…and waited…and waited some more.

I was beginning to think that he had died on the job. I wonder if he would have stayed so long with his head buried under the sink, if he’d known, that just a few paces away sat a bored, randy housewife, with no underwear waiting to be severely fucked! I doubt it…unless he was gay! Oh my God…I never even gave that avenue a thought. Suppose he was?

After what seemed like ages, he emerged at last and sat up facing me. I felt the butterflies welling up in my tummy, as I sat there like a bitch on heat, giving him a perfect view of my ‘snatch.’

The expression on his face, plus the obvious bulge that had started to grow in the front of his pants, when he looked across at me, reassured my doubts about him, at least he wasn’t gay.

“See anything?” I asked. Then suddenly realized the dual meaning behind my words.

“Oh yea…quite a lot. I can see it’s really wet down there.” He grinned.

‘Jeeeze’ He was as bad as I was. This really was developing into a cheap porno movie script.

“Your inlet pipe had worked loose,” he continued, “should be ok now.”

I crossed my legs, watching his face as I did so. I was pretty certain that he’d noticed that I was devoid of panties. If he did though, his face hadn’t given anything away.

“What could have caused it?” I asked, wishing that he would just run across the kitchen and jump me.

“Dunno, probably the vibration from your washing machine.”

Without turning my head, I glanced across at my Whirlpool. I’m sure he saw me blushing. It’s amazing isn’t it? How everything good in life has its consequences.

“Show me,” I suggested, as I slid off the stool, pretending that I hadn’t noticed the hem of my kilt, which had ridden up, briefly revealing my naked pussy.

I walked over towards the sink, and knelt down on one knee. From this position he had a clear view up my skirt. I saw him take a quick look, and though I couldn’t be certain… I’m sure I saw him lick his lips. Moving out of the way to let me see, I placed my other knee onto the floor. Now I was on all fours, the hem of my kilt had ridden up well over my naked buttocks. I could feel the dampness, trying to seep out from between my swollen labia. God I was really ready to be fucked! I buried my head inside the cupboard, in pretence of examining the pipe. I hadn’t the slightest idea of what I was looking at, but from the way I could hear the plumber fidgeting behind me, I was pretty certain that… He… knew exactly what he was looking at.

Then it happened! I must say that I was hoping it would, but it still caught me a bit by surprise. I felt his hands stroking my ankles. I just knelt there, with my head buried beneath the sink, not daring to move or say a word, my heart pumping like a ‘Jack Hammer’ out of control. I felt his hands slowly creep up my legs, caressing my thighs, until at last; they moved across my naked buttocks and pushed the hem of my kilt over my hips. I shuddered with anticipation, as I felt his hot breath on my bare cheeks.

I parted my legs a little as I felt his tongue lick along my inner thigh, in search of my overflowing honey pot! My cunt felt like it was on fire. His probing tongue had found its mark. He buried his head deep within the cleft of my buttocks, his nose pressed tightly against my anal entrance. I tried to move in order to face him, but he held me rigidly with these strong plumber hands of his. A small shudder of electricity passed through my groin, as I felt his teeth gently nibbling at my clit.

I gripped the water pipe under the sink tightly for support, and pushed back, grinding myself harder onto his face. My breath was coming in short gasps. I had waited so long for this. A girl can only do so much laundry.

He timed the moment perfectly. Just as the first throes of my orgasm began, he stopped his administrations and entered me from behind. A bolt of lightening shot up from my aching cunt, finishing up deep within my chest cavity. He was big…much bigger than Jeff. I could feel his hard cock filling me, banging against my cervix with each new thrust. It was a mixture of pain and pleasure…exquisite pleasure! Small fire-bolts seemed to run along my spine, with each forward thrust, as his balls banged against my clit. I was coming…I was coming big time!

I gripped the pipe harder for support as my body, which now seemed to have a will of its own, sent my muscles into climatic spasms. Every nerve ending in my body felt alive, causing me to twitch violently. Then I heard the scream…it was me…but I couldn’t have cared less. My noisy release from months of enforced celibacy, and frustration, seemed to spur him on even more. His thrusts became deeper and harder, threatening to lift me completely off the floor at one point.

I felt my climax begin to subside, then start to build up once again. The plumber…my saviour must have known my needs, for he suddenly plunged his thumb into my asshole. I shuddered at the new sensation. Jeff had never even thought about touching me there. Jeff had always treated me with respect…like a lady. He didn’t know that a lady isn’t someone that you just introduce to mother at dinner; a lady sometimes likes to be treated like a whore…to be fucked on all fours like a bitch on heat…even to be taken up the ass on occasions. Oh! I prayed that this was to be the occasion.

My prayers were answered, in what could only have been a mili-second…half a heart beat... I felt his hard cock pressing against my tight little hole. I tried to relax my muscles to facilitate his entry, but whether he noticed or not, I don’t know. He just forced it in anyway. I could feel myself gripping his shaft, causing him to suck in breath in short little gasps. Reaching down between my legs, I wiped my hand around my sopping cunt, collecting the freely flowing juices, and smeared them onto his cock as it withdrew, ready for the next forward plunge. This seemed to do the trick, enabling him to increase the pace.

I could feel my second…or was it my third? Orgasm approaching. I frigged away at my clit in desperation. Like a woman possessed! I didn’t want this to end. Suddenly, I felt him go rigid, his cock seemingly increasing in girth, as he pushed hard against me. Then, with a little moan, he exploded deep within me. The sensation of feeling his hot spunk pumping out of his cock, took me over the edge…I screamed again!

We both collapsed onto a heap in the middle of the kitchen floor, he with his overhauls around his ankles… and me with my skirt around my waist. The funny part about it was the fact that I was more worried about the spunk, which was seeping from my now throbbing ass, spoiling my nice cleanly polished floor. Which does prove one point. Men think about a six-pack and pizza after sex, whilst we women think about more practical things…like ‘I wonder if he’ll forget the plumbing charges?’

Needless to say that he didn’t. Mind you I really couldn’t care less. After all I got the best shagging I’ve had for years, plus the fact that I noticed a loose electric wire under the sink…Mmmm…perhaps I should give the electrician a ring…what do you think?

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