I knew I had to have him to moment I answered the door to his knock and he stood there, all stubble and scruff, all manly man.
“I’ve come to service your boiler love,” he said, a line straight out of a porn film. I might have been immune to his rugged charms had I not just spent the morning writing my latest erotic tale of sex and seduction on a holiday resort. But my characters were so real to me, the situations I created so vivid in my imagination, the physical effect was as intense as if I was right there. In fact, I couldn’t finish a story without having to satisfy myself. I always made myself wait though, until after my characters had been satisfied too – so my own desire, my own desperate melting need, would translate into the story I was writing.
That’s exactly where I’d been when he’d knocked on the door – coming to the climax of the scene, moist and sticky between the legs, aching to be touched. I’d been five minutes away from fetching my faithful friend to bring me to my own climax as I re-read the scene – as was my routine upon finishing every new sexy tale. So then I found myself staring at this beautiful man, my heart racing, my body crying out to be touched, wondering if he’d been sent as some kind of divine intervention to see to my every need.
“Err, yeah sure, it’s through here in the kitchen,” I muttered, and he followed my pointing hand to my little kitchen where he proceeded to start unloading tools and examine my boiler. He’d barely glanced at me. I looked down. Of course he hadn’t, I was wearing my scruffy jogging bottoms and not a scrap of makeup.
“Umm, how long do you think it will take?” I asked.
“About an hour or so,” he answered, not glancing up.
“Okay, well I was just going to jump in the shower. I’ll pop the kettle on after.” I hoped the mention of the shower might elicit some kind of reaction – never before had I been so eager for a man to respond with cheesy innuendos. But nothing. I hurried upstairs and showered, resisting the urge to linger there, determined that this man was here to do that for me. That, of course, led to images of him in the shower with me, lathering me up, running his hands over my skin. I was nearly whimpering with lust by the time I emerged from the bathroom, I was so close to just striding downstairs stark naked and throwing myself at him. But I couldn’t be quite so blatant… subtlety was required, at least until I could be sure he was up for it. Oh, he would be up for it, I corrected myself. I just needed to get him up for it.
I did my makeup, let my blonde curls loose, and stood naked in my bedroom, trying to decide just how subtle to be. I opted for a nice set of purple underwear I saved for special occasions, and then wrapped my short robe over the top. It’s perfectly acceptable to walk around in a robe after a shower right? But it also provided also easy access. I walked back downstairs and into the kitchen.
“Sorry about that. How’s it going?” I stood behind him, hand on hip, robe pulled open enough at the top to show a hint of purple lace.
“It’s all fine love,” he answered without even looking up.
“Can I get you a cup of tea, coffee?” I asked, putting the kettle on to boil. Oh why was this so much harder in real life than in the stories I wrote? I made him a cup of tea and walked back through to my office, just opposite the kitchen, defeated. He’d not even looked at me.
Then it struck me. I couldn’t get my reward yet – because I hadn’t finished my story yet. I sat in my desk chair and opened my laptop, excited. Re-reading the last paragraph I’d written fired me up all over again. The two main characters were alone in the pool. His mouth was on her breast, his tongue circling her erect nipple as his hand slipped into her bikini bottoms, his finger teasing her swollen clit. My own hand found it’s way lower as I read, gently tracing my sweet spot as my breath quickened. The woman continued to stroke the handy man’s throbbing erection under the water as he thrust a finger inside her, then two. I moaned as my character moaned. I felt heat rising to my cheeks. I rocked my pelvis in my chair and typed with one hand. I was good at typing with one hand.
When they could take no more, he slipped his hands under her butt and lifted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist. I described every movement, every feeling, in great detail. I described how he pulled her bikini bottoms to one side and found her juicy opening with the head of his cock. I described how he pushed it inside her slowly, and how she forced it in by pulling herself onto him. I described how he used the power of his legs to thrust into her, the water splashing all around them as they fucked in the pool, how her breasts, now free from the confines of the bikini top, bounced up and down with every thrust. When they eventually reached climax, I undid my robe, barely conscious I was so possessed with need, and slid my hand inside my knickers. I was so wet, so warm, my fingers slid inside easily. I groaned and threw my head back.
It was then that I saw him. He was watching me from the kitchen. I’d been so lost in my story I hadn’t realised all the noise I’d been making. He was still kneeling on the floor but now he was facing me, his mouth open. I was too far gone to feel shame, or embarrassment, I turned my chair to face him, and opened my legs in invitation, allowing him to watch me as I rubbed my clit, dipping a finger inside myself every few seconds, groaning with pleasure.
He stood and walked towards me, and my eyes never left his. “Need a hand love?” He asked, his voice raspy. He stopped directly in front of me, my eyes in line with the crutch of his cargo trousers, the bulge there clear evidence of his willingness to help.
“Oh I need way more than a hand,” I answered, and unzipped him, delighted to discover he was going commando. His hard cock sprang out, ready for action and he groaned as I took it in my free hand and began stroking, continuing to play with myself at the same time. I tasted his head with my tongue as I stroked him up and down, his deep moan setting off new fires of want deep inside me. I stood and kissed him, and he kissed me back, hard. Our tongues clashing, our lips smashing up against each other in a frenzy. I couldn’t wait, I needed him. I pushed my body to his, and then he spun me around and put a hand on my back, bending me over my desk. The robe was so short he could see my frilly purple thong now, and no doubt my pink pussy throbbing with juices too. He kept a hand on my back, pushing me down, as he pulled the material of the knickers to one side, and thrust hard inside me with no warning.
“Oh yes!” I screamed out. This was what I’d wanted. This was what I’d needed. This was what I fucking deserved! He started pumping into me, his cock long, thick, and hard, filling me perfectly but sliding easily in my wetness, The desk was cold against my bare stomach, my breasts squashed against the hard wood. I slipped a hand between my legs and rubbed my pulsing clit as he pumped harder and harder, deeper and deeper, his balls slapping against me. I pushed back against him with each stroke, needing him even deeper still, my whole body alive with an electric pulse of ecstasy. I turned my head to one side and there was my laptop, still open on the story I’d just finished. As I felt my body begin to build towards climax, I read the last line, my characters fucking in the pool, her breasts bouncing up and down as she rode his cock. I finally let go and allowed the waves of orgasm to claim me, screaming out as this stranger fucked me, just as my characters did the same on the screen and in my mind. My boiler man grunted and growled an animal growl, his hands gripping my hips and pulling me even harder onto him, pumping harder and harder, banging me against him, the skin of my butt slapping into him, until eventually he released himself, crying out spurting his fluid inside me.
I smiled as I lay there, exhausted and satisfied at last. I knew exactly what my next story would be about.