The Electricians' Flex

I am my most determined, obstinate, manipulative self when frustrated and, as will shortly become clear, I am also very good at getting what I want.

I'll explain. We have builders in the house. By builders I mean plumbers, electricians, chippies and so on. They're installing a new heating system, replacing a load of rotten windows, adjusting the kitchen with a new cooker, new boiler, new work surfaces, sinks, plus repairing some very dodgy drains, ripping out tree roots from the garden and generally being all over the place all of the time.

It's an old house so nothing is straightforward, no walls are 'dead plumb' -- whatever that means -- and there are no 90 degree corners: they're all 'out of true' (another phrase that has echoes of 'forbeetoo' - a kind of unintelligible builders' lingo). The net result is that I have to be here the whole time to make small and usually pretty silly decisions where none is really necessary since the answers would be obvious to all but a dead man who'd lost his eyesight a year before they buried him and two years after they'd dug him up and cremated the worm infested remains.

You may have gathered that I'm not too happy about this as it seriously limits my freedom, my privacy, my sex life and, worst of all any prospect of me getting something I sit on tanned. Add to that the fact that my husband is away for no-one knows how long and left just after the builders arrived so I'm not even getting any from him.

My resentment was made slightly worse by the electricians (two brothers) turning out to be a pair of very handsome guys wearing rather flattering overalls and 'tool belts' holding myriad collections of interesting... well, tools. James, the elder, is the taller and is slightly more 'dishy' and has a marginally more commanding air so, last Friday, when he turned up sans bro I found myself winding him up nearly all day. You know the kind of bratty things one says when one is frustrated and in need of a firm hand. Some of it was quite overtly sexual, which is unusual for me but mostly it consisted of sarcastic remarks about the questions he was asking which I would answer with something along the lines of 'don't all plug sockets get fitted at standard heights so: why are you asking me?'

James seemed to take it in his stride until, that is, I used the Andrew Mitchell 'P' word when I said "Oh don't be so Plebeian, it's a really nice lamp." He looked at me as though I was something the cat had just thrown up and I did think that perhaps I'd gone too far but his response was slightly encouraging:

"I wouldn't like to say what should happen to stuck up people that use terms like that". 'Whoa,' I thought 'better process this one a little further'.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Just getting ratty. Been alone in the house too long. Needed to be put in my place. Thanks for doing that" He said nothing but the rest of the day was better.

That was Friday and over the weekend I couldn't get him out of my mind. I was rattling around in the house like a spare part mainly alone but for Mother-in-Law (M-in-L) checking up on me (cow). I phoned my husband and told him what was on my mind hoping he would say I was mad and not to go ahead. But, as always, he surprised me.

"I've known those boys for years. They're good lads. Totally safe with them. Go for it - you must be desperate by now."

I ummed and ahhed, first thinking 'yes' then 'no', then 'why ever not', then wondering 'how on earth?' But eventually I decided that I'd take matters in hand so I hid a cane in the new airing cupboard where I knew James would be working on Monday. It's directly above my husbands' study, which I take over when he's away so I knew I'd hear when it rattled to the floor. My thinking was that such a prop would get the conversation heading in the right direction.

Well, Monday arrived and I dressed in a short kilt, full white knickers, white ankle socks, a crisp white button up blouse and full scaffolding underneath. Then James arrived and started to do all the things he had planned and then at about three I heard him move into the airing cupboard and almost immediately heard the rattle I'd so longed to hear. I nipped upstairs and walked into the bathroom and he was still holding it, staring at it.

"Oh, sorry, that's my husbands'" and watched as he put it to one side

"I thought they were illegal, hitting kids with anything these days." I turned and said in a nonchalant, over the shoulder, passing comment kind of way...

"Oh he's never used it on a child." Then I went downstairs and put the kettle on. Tea was to be a vital part of my cunning plan.

An hour later they were all packing up to go (I know, I know: six and a half hour day?) but I noticed James was still upstairs and as the vans all left the drive I heard him descending the staircase and went to interrupt his progress.

"Fancy a cuppa?" Do builders ever refuse tea? He looked slightly nonplussed but nodded.

"I'll put my things in the van." I boiled the kettle and made a pot of tea then sat down and felt the butterflies running rampant as they always do at this stage of a prospective encounter. He entered the kitchen.

"Look I just wanted to say how sorry I was for being so bratty and rude the other day."

"Yeah, you were a bit painful." He wasn't smiling.

"Where did you put the cane? I wouldn't want the other tradesmen finding it." Using that term was part of my plan to get him in the right mood again.

"I'll get it." And he took the stairs in two's and was back before I could finish pouring. He put it on the breakfast bar between us. I offered milk and sugar, he took both and I had mine black.

"So," he began, "if your husband doesn't use that" he nodded at the cane "on the kids, who does he use it on?" I said nothing for a few moments but could feel myself going beetroot. Then, just as I coughed and was about to say something he pointed at me and just added "You?" It was a sort of question but only in the technical sense.

"Only when I'm naughty." He said nothing so, fearing the trail might be going cold I added "or bratty and rude, you know how we can sometimes get." Obviously I said this in the hope that he would associate it with my behaviour last week. He sipped at his tea.

"And what if your husband's away?" 'This is it' I thought.

"He'd probably want someone else to..." I was stumbling through the sentence like someone half drunk "well, take matters, um, in hand." Another long pause and it seemed like an eternity, butterflies making it difficult for me to speak.

"What, someone... like me?"

Well I didn't quite know how to react which is odd as I've been in this situation before but I kept thinking that my husband was going to be writing out a cheque with lots of naughts at some point made out to Mr. Sparks who will then have been paid in more ways than one if things worked out the way I wanted.

"I suppose: if there's no one else." I looked down, crucially embarrassed but knowing that things were moving as I wanted them to but then, fearing he might go straight in with a caning from cold I added "He'd want me to get a good spanking first."

Silence sat between us like a still and foggy sea, the odd slurp from him, an occasional cough from me. Then as he drained the last of his tea he got up, picked up the cane and looked down at me, moving into my personal space.

"Where?" It was only one word but it was enough. I put my cup down, turned and decided to go for it.

"May I show you... SIR?" He was slightly taken aback.

"Okay."

"Just one thing."

"Yes?"

"There are rules."

"And they are?"

"No blood, scat, excreta, heavy blows above the waist, permanent marks or scars and no penetration..." I paused, lowering my voice and looking down then added "... although I'm sure you'd like me to thank you." My voice tailed off. He was silent for a moment, as though it sounded like much more than he was expecting.

"I can live with that."

I led him down the hall and then to our basement playroom. It's not really a true basement but as the house is built into a hill it's slightly lower than the rest of the house and, due to the very thick walls, is virtually soundproof. I pointed to a low chaise.

"There probably. To start with at least... SIR." He sat on it, jiggling his legs and moving his feet till they were in, what he felt was the right position. Suspecting he was a novice I took the lead and slowly draped myself over his lap. The first thing I felt were his fingers flicking the kilt up and out of the way and then his large, capable hand smoothing my knickers and then, the first spank. I sometimes think that the first spank tells one almost everything about ones' spanker but not so with James. Although it was quite hard I found myself thinking that this could be tough but ultimately quite satisfying. Well it was one but not the other: It wasn't tough, it was extremely hard but also unpredictable as no two spanks followed any form of pattern being hard followed by soft, by rapid, then slow. Gradually though and just after my knickers were peeled down the blows became intensely satisfying. My buttock blood was boiling up, my ears ringing to the tune of my heartbeat and my body jerking under the wonderful assault he was now visiting upon my bare bottom.

Some spankers stop to stroke, to soothe the fevered flesh, to savour the heat, the contour, the skin. Not James, he ploughed on till I was wriggling like a netted eel and then some more and when he finally did bring matters to an end he fair pushed me off his lap and onto the floor. I lay there, feeling very small.

"Get up."

"Yes SIR." I struggled to my feet.

"Fetch the cane." I hobbled across the room and picked it up and gave it to him. "Now bend over." I hesitated knowing that I only had one moment to steer the ship.

"SIR?"

"What?"

"I wondered SIR, well, whether before you cane me SIR..."

"What is it?"

"Well whether I should strip SIR." He looked at me, his eyes lighting up. Clearly he hadn't expected this and he took a moment to think. Then he took control once more.

"Everything except shoes and socks."

I looked him dead in the eye as I unhooked my kilt and let it fall to my feet and then kicked it to one side. I turned slightly away from him and lowered my panties and took them off as well, then moving fully away from him started to undo the buttons of my blouse knowing that very soon I'd be naked in front of this stranger, this electrician, this man of earth cables and RSJ's (whatever they are), this son of toil. I slipped the garment off and could feel his eyes drinking in what he saw and then, as I slowly reached behind my back to unclasp my bra I knew that I had him in my grasp. His look was lustful, his overall was tenting, the cane twitching in his impatient hand and my bra was slowly being removed from my breasts and being protected from his cruel gaze only by my arm. It too fell and I was naked but for shoes and socks. I slowly turned, faced him and lowered my arm to my side.

I love that feeling. When a man looks at one as though he's never seen a naked woman before, as though everything has now become suddenly clear and makes sense for the first time. It's probably a power thing. Some means of being in control when really actually out of control:- with lust and longing. I didn't wait for another order but slowly turned and bent, sideways on as though I had been formally instructed.

There was a long pause and I sensed that I was taking a big risk giving a cane to a man who, as far as I could tell, had never wielded one before and who was, almost certainly far too young to have felt one in childhood as we all did. But he'd obviously paid attention when watching porn because he measured his distance like a pro, tap tapped a few times to get the feel of it and then drew back and let it fly.

Oh my giddy aunt. Shit. Bollocks. Fuck.

It ripped into me and I could feel real vengeful anger, tangible class hatred and not a small amount of bitterness sweeping through my outthrust bottom. He clearly picked up on this being at or over my early limit because he stood back and watched as the rigid wheal appeared and seemed genuinely slightly shocked at what he'd done. For a moment I thought he was going to apologise so I stopped any chance of that. It would be a challenge but I knew I could take it so I gasped out.

"One SIR. Thank you SIR." That seemed to irritate him a little. Perhaps his strength was being challenged, his manhood (which I could see very clearly outlined) being threatened. The next one rent the air and landed more or less on top of the first.

Bejesuschristallfuckingmighty That hurt.

I scissored my legs to and fro, trying to get the air to massage my poor welted bottom.

"Two SIR. Thank you SIR."

The third landed and I howled aloud but knowing I needed more I quickly said

"Three SIR. Thank you SIR."

The fourth bit low and hard, harder than so far I'd endured but it was all getting the chemicals flowing properly and although I howled aloud once more I quickly steadied my target and thrust a little further back.

"Four SIR. Thank you SIR.

The fifth came home and now pain was truly my closest companion. It washed through my skin like stain remover on cotton Turkish towels, finding every crease and square inch of flesh as it oozed throughout my being.

"Five SIR, thank you SIR."

And then the sixth, ah the sixth, the sixth and final stroke, the master stroke, the hardest yet and with it all my dignity deserted me and I danced the dance of the defeated, the deflated, the brought down, the lowest most apologetic of human beings -- the happiest human alive.

It is however true to say that I was sagging a little and It was slightly surprising that James came to my side, put his left arm over my back and clasped the right side of my waist. I thought for a moment he was going to spank me again but far from it he actually started to rub the wheals and lines on my bottom in a soothing circular fashion and I could feel my hormones quickly beginning to boil once more. The closeness meant that I could feel that physical statement of lust rubbing against my thigh as he did so and I found myself clasping his leg to draw it more firmly against me so that it was pressing slightly sideways against my thigh. I placed my hands on my knees to steady myself as I felt his, once waist-encircling hand reach around further and cup my right breast. I squeezed his thigh in encouragement and then felt his hand pulling at my breast and then his fingers tweaking at my nipple. I have large nipples and they are directly connected to every sexual function in my body so I felt myself rapidly becoming even more wet. His buttock soothing hand was relieving one form of pressure but the activities of both were increasing another form and I wondered how on earth I could justify not allowing this hunk to have me fully.

I moved away from him slightly leaving enough room for me to push my left hand between us and to grip his heavy protrusion. He responded immediately by thrusting forwards into my hand.

"I'm so sorry I was so rude SIR." I said it in the tone of one truly repentant. "I did need to be put in my place SIR, so thank you SIR for punishing me so well - I truly deserved it." I carried on rubbing his cock.

"You were being a bitch."

"Yes SIR. And now that you've set me straight, well... may I say thank you... in a different way SIR?" He paused as his attention moved to my other breast.

"Stand up in front of me." I did as he'd bid and naked, breasts thrusting at him he took a nipple in each hand and twisted them with beautiful cruelty. My innards were stirring. He examined me head to toe. "What do you have in mind?" I reached for his protrusion.

"You may have noticed I'm quite well," I gazed into his eyes, "gobby."

"Yer not kidding" was his only response.

"Mouths have uses other than being rude and bratty."

"True." I massaged his cock through his overalls then raised my arms and started to undo the poppers of the garment and when I reached waist level slowly pushed them off his shoulders. He was broad and muscular and as it slipped down his arms I got my first view of his tight tee-shirt, nipples poking through. Before I knew it the overalls had fallen around his feet. I stroked his member through his briefs.

"May I, SIR?" He raised his hands above my shoulders and applied the gentlest downward pressure and as I slowly sank to my knees I gently pushed him back towards the Chaise and he settled more or less where he had been before. I helped him out of his over garment then reached up and lifted the front of his briefs and fished inside. I love men's appendages. They are at once so funny and so arousing and it's at that moment of first fishing one out of a pair of underpants that I know why one will never be enough for me. They're all so very different. James' cock was slender and long but had an unusually bulbous tip and as I pulled his briefs over his feet and off I realised that he was going to be a challenge to my deep throat technique but I'm no quitter so cupping his rather big heavy balls in one hand, the base of his cock in the other, I raised my head above him and licked the bulbous tip, around and underneath then slowly opened my mouth and took him deep down inside. The engorged head was strange at first but as I got used to it I was able to get him closer to my oesophagus and then just nudging at it and finally, as I felt him up against my sphincter was able to concentrate, relax and pull him all the way down.

I'm sure that, by now, you know that I love giving head. The smell, the taste, the lustful power but most of all I love to listen to the rampant groans and ecstatic noises that emanate as I relieve a man of his most essential essence. But James was different as he seemed to know one of my other pet loves for, as I started fellating him he gripped my head in his large strong hands and really took back control and, as he did so he got faster and faster, his moans becoming ever more urgent and his hands more demanding. I love that. My head being held I mean. It's a real turn on. And, straight out of the Quagmire school of blow jobs (Family Guy reference) I made eye contact, relaxed my throat muscles and felt his lust rising from his balls. He pulled out of me and his monster cock looked me in the eye for a moment just before he tilted my head back so I was looking at him, full in the face. This was a power play on his part, an 'I'm in charge' statement which I loved him for. At this point in proceedings most men are putty in my hands but James carried that air of command in a natural way that permeated every part of his being and it was only now that I realised this.

"I'm gonna squirt all over you, inside of you, push my cock to the back of your throat and then go further and you, my stuck up little tart will eat it all. SAY IT."

"I want you to squirt all over me, inside of me. I beg you to push your cock to the back of my throat and then fuck it and then this stuck little tart wants to eat all of it Sir."

One hand was still cradling his balls whilst my other hand found its way, almost robotically between my legs, and I could feel myself mounting the top, the very crest of a powerful wave. I groaned the groans of an orgasmic monster and as I gently squeezed his balls I felt his orgasm rip through his body as his cock started to shoot the contents of those bollocks into me. Most men have a couple of teaspoons to offer. James was different and the force with which it squirted into me was amazing. I swear he could have knocked over a box of matches on a mantle shelf if he'd aimed it right.

"Agggghhhhh, I'm coming" he yelled as he pulled out and shot semen onto my face, my hair, then stuffed himself back into my head and penetrated me fully, his pubic hair tickling my nose as he ground his lust out of him and into me and as I fingered out my own orgasm I found myself shouting out loud