Able to Fuckbyuksnowy©
"You don't get many of those to the pound man," chuckled Winston.
"For fucks sake Winston. Piss off," moaned Les.
"I am man," roared the huge fat black man, noisily spraying the stainless steel urinal with such force, the youngster was sure he felt the odd splash on his hands.
As Les shook the drops off his own knob end, he couldn't help glancing at the huge brown sausage like cock that his supervisor waved with such free abandon. Even allowing for the projection of Winston's stomach, Les could see several inches of flaccid piss pumping penis, the flow seemingly endless. It was not the first time he had occasion to view the black man's privates. Winston Sampson was often in the habit of showing it, sometimes at great risk to their work situation. Only two days ago, he had whipped it out of his overalls and waved it like a baton, while they worked in an office as an attractive, middle aged but very busty secretary earnestly told Les the location of the electrical supply in the main kitchen. The fact that she insisted on bending over the cupboard and peering in to where Les was squatting, did not help his own attempts to keep his libido in check, when her top fell forward, revealing many inches of lush pale cleavage and the top of a lacy black bra. But he managed to restrict himself to the odd glance as against Winston who was making all sorts of rude gestures, whilst bending down to see up her shortish skirt.
One of these days, he mused, Winston was going to be caught on the ever increasing CCTV set ups offices were setting up.
Equally at break times when Les and Winston would sit in their company van and eat their sandwiches, while reading the papers, he would either get it out and waggle it grotesquely at some glamorous celebrity photograph - or even more dismaying to Les, Winston would wave it some pretty or maybe not so pretty female passing by. But just enough not to be seen Les realised.
He knew Winston was married and had seven children and Les quite liked the eighteen year old Sampson daughter who worked at the offices of the same company as the two electricians. Nothing like her father - Josie was quiet, inhibited, pretty and slender with the most luscious smile, blindingly white teeth accentuated by the inky black tones of her skin and high round pert breasts. The whole of her desirable being was perched on two long slim legs which were always footed in kitten heel sandals, giving her the most sexy walk. Les chatted to her and that was as far as the young twenty two year old electrician had got with Josie, but the vibes seemed good.
Les washed his hands diligently and waited for Winston to join him in the van, hoping that the black man's piss hadn't stained his overalls as they were clean on that morning. He didn't want his mother to have to handle piss stained work wear, she had enough to put up with, looking after Les's lazy, unemployed, boozy father.
Their last job of the day was on a social housing area part of a new development, designed -- at least in theory, to mix the social scales of the market town. Well off uneasily mingled with the poor off and all those beings in between and Les spotted the change in the house sizes as well as the exterior maintenance and upkeep across the social scales.
"What's this one?" asked Winston wearily, parking outside a row of small one bedroomed dwellings. "Another fucking single sponging state supported mother as usual?"
"Certainly a woman, A Ms Smith, that's all I can tell you. But she's on the council lists, so it's a get in quick and cheap and do the job as usual. Fairly new houses round here. Remember that one last week -- round the corner. Same sort of house as this?" said Les.
"Yeah! I could have got in quick with her Les," boomed Winston, energetically rubbing his crotch but managing to keep his tackle under cover. "Remember her tits, they were round near her waist. I love big sloppy tits like that"
"She must have been in her mid sixties for fucks sake...."protested Les until he was interrupted, but thinking that Winston's wife Lettie had small tits.
"Yeah! But with nipples like chapel hat pegs man," argued Winston. "A widow and no bra. Anyway, age no matter to Mr Winston Sampson."
With that boast, the big man slid heavily from the driving seat of the Mercedes Sprinter three panel van and opened up the back doors for his tool box. Les joined him, shaking his head in disgust and wondering how long he would have to endure the ribald and downright filthy attitude of the overweight, overbearing senior electrician. Tool boxes and a sheaf of papers in hand, they approached the scruffy front door, which was slightly ajar.
It was opened by a small boy about two years old, who smiled happily up at them and stood to one side. The boy was naked except for a grubby vest, which didn't hide his little cock. Les tutted at the sight as Winston bellowed into the depths of the home. At least, as befitted the protocols of the company, he didn't just barge in un-announced. A female voice called out.
"Yes maam," bellowed Winston.
"In here, first left, the kitchen," she responded.
The two marched in and found the tiny room and were faced with the rear end of a woman bending over and peering into the under sink unit. Winston nudged Les heavily with his elbow as he made a great show of placing his tool box on the floor. Whilst stooping, he shoved his face forward and tried to see up her denim skirt, but it was too tight round her fleshy white thighs, although some half way up them. Les grimaced and despairingly shook his head before he spoke.
"Is the mains under there.. er Mrs Smith?"
"Water is. Electric is under the stairs, through there."
A hand came out and flapped at them, but Les and Winston stared at the stumpy digits on the extreme end of a very tiny hand which was sprouting from a stunted forearm. They stood stupidly, glancing at each other - Winston's eyes swivelling from Les, to the hand, to her backside which was of ample proportions and back to the hand. Winston gestured obscenely with his forearm towards her rump, which remained steadfastedly towards them for several minutes, until she sighed and started to unwind from the unit.
"Christ! That was a struggle," she chuckled pleasantly, straightening up to her five feet height and facing them. "Ollie had lost his comforter, but I think George had hidden it from him. Found it?"
She waved a small furry toy and the child that had let them in, ran round their legs, grabbed the toy and curled himself round her right leg. His hand snaked up her inner thigh and disappeared from view up her skirt as he clung tightly to her. Les heard Winston groan with evil lust until she untangled the clinging child who scuttled from the kitchen. Somewhat dumbfounded, they faced the woman who was not pretty, but had big, brown partly hooded eyes which suggested a sort of exotic ancestry. Her mousy but glossy, thick hair was tied back from her square face in a bright red band.
A narrow upper torso, developed into classic pear shaped big hips, but the huge bump at her front betrayed her advanced state of pregnancy, as she leaned back against the sink unit.
"When's that due?" blurted Winston rudely, nodding at her belly, trying to avoid the even more obvious malformations of her body.
"In seven weeks and that is a she," she replied quietly but firmly. "George, leave Ollie alone."
The last words were shouted past Les and his colleague into the hallway, where two boys squabbled, distracting Winston and Les for a moment from their blatant staring. They reverted to Ms Smith in unison and both sets of eyes took in the distorted pair of arms, jutting almost in a swaggering pose from her shoulders. Her purple shirt had short arms and a wide but not low vee neck. She had a small bust although there was a rim of spare flesh above a badly fitted brassiere. Her arms looked sturdy, but totally were only the length of normal arms to the elbow.
"Right -- let's make a start," stammered Les. "In the hallway...Winston, under the stairs remember," he jostled the big black man from his fixed stance.
The pair bumbled from the kitchen in confusion as she went past them, through the back lounge and into the garden, picking up a basket of washing from a table. Les and Winston watched her and grimaced at each other at the ease with which she did things, including hanging the washing out on a line.
"Thalidomide I'll bet you," Les murmured. "Poor thing."
"Yeah. Weird isn't it. Fucking normal otherwise and preggers for fucks sake," added Winston quietly, watching Les squirm into the gap under the stairs. "Didn't know they could have kids."
"Course they do. She's probably married..... Oh no - she's a Ms, not a Mrs, but could be in a relationship. Torch please," puffed Les, grabbing the black man's trousers to remind him to concentrate on the job.
"Did you see that kid's hand? Right up her skirt. Fucking hell, what I would give to do that. Bet it's all warm, sweaty and not deformed up there," Winston chuckled, but getting no reaction from a seriously concentrating Les.
Soon the work was done and the new security lights fitted outside, at back and front as Ms Smith fussed round the neat house, dealing with the two boys, making Les and Winston a cup of tea, answering the phone and ironing. The electricians got glimpses of her doing all the mundane chores without difficulty.
As they walked to their van Winston moaned.
"You and I have to pay for that work. She gets it fucking free. Crazy yeah?" he grunted.
"It's only a couple of lights," said Les, writing notes on the file.
"Mind you I'd wire the whole fucking house for free if I could shag her," chortled Winston. "But not when she's preggers. Leave her alone for a few months is what I do. It's only right they have a little rest."
Les shrugged his shoulders indifferently and wondered what it will be like to shag anyone, as he hadn't tried it yet, although that was his secret.
"You wouldn't force yourself on her would you?" he asked, putting the file in a tray.
"No force man. She'd want my dick when she saw it, like they all do. Christ! That's why Lettie has seven. Can't get enough of big boy here," wheezed Winston, rumbling his genitals about with great glee. "But not when she's got one in the oven."
Les shook his head in distaste, but thinking at least Winston did have some morals and respect in not wanting to fuck a woman when she is pregnant. He thought and puzzled.
"The way you talk, what do you when she is pregnant?" he queried, wondering what the fat man's reaction would be to this private intrusion.
"I do alright man. You know me heh heh! Give her it up the ass." was the gleeful answer as the van was driven to base.
Two weeks later on a Friday, Les was despatched on his own to change the front security light which seemed faulty according to Ms Smith. He arranged the time with her to call on his way home as it was not out of his way. She seemed at ease with the fact that a faulty product had been installed, she just wanted it changed before the really dark nights came in.
Les parked his car down the road. It was after rush hour and several people were already home, blocking many of the parking places. He sauntered to her house, checking his watch and noting he was bang on time at 6.15pm and surveyed the light from the front garden before knocking her door. Ms Smith almost immediately opened it.
"Saw you from the bedroom," she puffed. "Putting Ollie to bed, he's tired out. Been to a party and George is with his Auntie Margaret for a birthday party then a sleep over."
Les,. dismissing the information on the family, opened his collapsible ladder, tools and the new fitment and did the job easily, testing it time again, with Ms Smith approving. He watched how she clutched the top mound of her huge stomach, making the soft loose all enveloping, loose yellow shift ride up and expose her pudgy knees and the front of her pasty thighs
"You didn't test it as much last time," she told him and he agreed and apologised, getting her to sign his papers.
"Tea?" she asked.
"Yeah OK thanks," he replied and gathered his things to take his car.
Just then a vision left the front door. The most gorgeous looking young girl trotted past on very high heels, her bouncy breasts encased in a tight red crop top, which exposed about six inches of bare skin before her black hipster pedal pushers, complete with the fashionable exposure of the top inch of a white thong hugged her arse. She smiled generously at Les and he stammered a sort of greeting, but was dumb struck by her raving beauty as her undulating butt retreated from his view. He had noted her short, spiky, gel styled, brunette hair and her skilfully made up face and wondered who this good looking chick could be.
He ditched his tools and papers in his car.
Ms Smith had told him the door would be ajar and on his return he heard the unmistakable sound of a power drill from the lounge. Puzzled - he wandered in, just as he heard a female voice wail and burst into tears. He entered the room.
"Oh the fucking thing," Ms Smith sobbed, as she knelt on a cushion which seemed precariously placed on a low cabinet. "Why can't I do these things on my own?"
She held a cordless drill in her little hands and seemed to be trying to drill into the wall. Les neared her and spoke, not without noticing the seeming lack of panty line under her shift. His months of working with Winston had insinuated some of the filthy black man's thoughts and ideas. He liked panty lines and noticed that Josie at work didn't seem to have any, but reckoned she would wear a thong. Involuntarily, he found his cock throbbing.
"Can I help Ms Smith?" he asked gently, wondering why she was doing this instead of making the promised tea.
"It's Muriel, not Mrs," whined the woman, glancing over her shoulder, with tear stained eyes. "I'm not married."
"Sorry," muttered Les. "Still, can I help then?"
She ignored him and tried to start drilling again, using only one arm and he watched helplessly as her stunted arm vibrated and her tiny hand slid over the chunky handle of the tool. He could see what the problem was immediately and tried to take the tool from her.
"It's the wrong speed......"
His words were cut short as she whirled defiantly on him. As her mouth opened to retort, the cushion slipped. Luckily the power tool crashed from her hands, bounced on the stool she must have used to climb up with and down to the floor as Muriel lost her balance. Les went to grab her. His knees fouled on the edge of the stool. She slid backwards, heavily against him, his hands round her upper torso, her butt against his crotch. For a moment, they were suspended in time and motion as each one realised the predicament they were in. No danger, no injury, just two persons locked together as the thing that was silencing and stilling them - Les's instant growing erection, thrust dramatically into her arse crack. The sudden intimacy of contact, her tits resting on his forearms, the thin material of her shift not managing to mask the soft warmth of her bounteous body all contributed to the young man's sexual arousal.
Muriel's arms started to wave as if to signal the need for release, then they hung stiffly over Les's strong limbs, but she turned her head. She grinned and gave the slightest wiggle of her butt as he allowed her to lower one leg, then the other to the floor.
"You naughty electrician. Honestly -- all you workmen are all the same. Catch a lady unawares and you're wanting to shag them," she chuckled throatily.
Les dropped his arms and spun away, flustered and Muriel stumbled back to regain her equilibrium. He apologised profusely as Muriel slowly turned and leaned back against the cabinet. He stood motionless, his face flame red with embarrassment, dying to fumble with his trousers to try and hide what was jutting from his crotch. Muriel grinned at his crotch but didn't say a word, but as Les stared, her tee-shirt began to rise over her thighs and he watched her miniature hands gradually pull the garment upwards, ever higher as her plump thighs came fully into view.
Les squeaked. Muriel giggled as the huge bump of her pregnancy loomed into view, completely masking her crotch with it's low slung enormity.
"Muriel...!" he gulped as the shirt was drawn ever higher, his guess at no knickers proving correct.
Les saw the pronounced lump of her navel and a strange dark brown stripe from it, curving down over the dome of her swollen belly until it disappeared beneath the overhang. Then her cute tits were exposed by Muriel who kept an unwavering smile on her face as she watched his embarrassed yet fascinated gaze. She clutched the gathered cotton over her tits as Les took in the full extent of her blooming body and especially the extremely dark circles round her nipples. The circles had even darker rims to them and seemed to be standing proud of the inner disc shape, which in turn encompassed an almost brown/black plump teat.
"Like it?" she murmured. "A pregnant body. Ever seen one before?"
"No!" Les stammered, captivated. "It's beautiful."
"Thanks. More?" she lisped, chuckling at his immediate nods. "Well then I'll have to lie down if you want to see my pussy. That right?"
Les mewed and squeaked, but the words wouldn't emerge from his dry mouth. What made her do this? Muriel took his furblings as a yes and waddled heavily to the sofa, as Les watched the undulating roll of her buttocks beneath the gathered tightness of her shirt, which had refused to roll up over the mass of her butt. She sat down, still holding her shirt high as Les pinched himself, wondering if this was a dream. Why him and not Winston? The answer was easy, he reasoned -- the black man wasn't here, but why at this point of time, why him, why was she horny when she was about to pop? The questions rolled through him as he let his erection take over, forgetting the fact that it strained forward at his trouser leg, trapped in the tube of material, not allowing it to rise and jut forth. Muriel beckoned him closer and told him to kneel down beside her, which he obeyed.
She opened her legs wide and Les got a whiff of female odours as her pasty white thighs parted. He liked the scent and inhaled it as his eyes homed in on the forested vee of her crotch.
"Sorry about the hairs, but I can't reach you see," she simpered with mock shame.
"No no it's alright," he gurgled, bravely shuffling forward between her knees.
He couldn't care less about the hairy aspect of her cunt. He knew all about that sort of thing from the dozens of porno magazines he had invested in over the years. In fact he quite liked it hairy, but as he hadn't experienced a hairy, even less a shaved or semi shaved cunt before, Les's preferences were wide open anyway.
"You can touch if you want," Muriel told him gently.
Les licked his lips and wondered the best way to touch her. He reached forward and to Muriel's delight he stroked the dome of her lower belly, his forefinger delicately tracing the strange line that divided it, from her navel to her cunt. Gently he smoothed his hand over her soft taut skin, amazing her with his gentleness and the fact he didn't crudely dive in and prod around. Slowly his hand filtered lower, into the hairy nest and she helped by shunting her heavy torso lower so that she was virtually lying down. Les fumbled around in the warm bush and finding moistness, he fingered into it and found a decidedly wet gash. He knew what to expect, he just hadn't felt one.
He glanced up at her face and got a smile of encouragement and a contented sigh from Muriel, who was gripping her right nipple between her tiny fingers. Les placed two hands into her crotch and pulled the soft mound open. Her hairs tickled his hands slightly as he gazed in wonderment at the red gash that stickily opened. It was glistening wet and he revelled in the first real close up of an actual pussy, rather than the glossy pictures he had wanked to over the years.