The Man That Could

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Ass

I was only half listening to the news. The correspondent’s voice rose and fell pleasantly, his speech punctuated from time to time by my husband’s animal-like grunts and snores as he slept off his dinner. I could see him from where I was standing in the kitchen; the Daily Sport lay open and tented above his belly which hung a good three inches over the waistband of his jeans. The once white t-shirt he wore was a testament to his sloppy eating habits, but he would not be parted with it until he had three or four days wear out of it. Only another two to go; by then it would be dragging itself to the washing basket.

I turned back to the sink and plunged my hands deep into the soapy water, washing the dishes slowly, daydreaming. I was twenty-six but after three years of marriage I felt at least ten years older. Jeff was twelve years older than me, but people were beginning to think that the age gap was a lot wider. His once smooth jaw-line upon which I would plant eager kisses now sported a patchy, half-hearted attempt at a goatee. There were bags on the bags under his eyes, most probably gained from watching the x-rated channels into the early hours of the morning, after which he would crawl into bed behind me, pushing his semi-erect cock between my thighs, demanding his husbandly rights with an insistent thrust of his hips.

Most of the time he couldn’t quite manage to push his way inside my cunt, seemingly content just to feel my thighs pressed tightly around his cock as his hips slapped rhythmically against my ass. Sleep would come quickly for him after shooting his load, and I would be left with sticky thighs, wondering why I let myself get used. Deep down I already knew the answer, and it was simply that I could not bear the thought of being alone.

With almost mechanical movements the dishes were done and the table was wiped down. I decided quickly that it was time to shatter my husband’s peace, but instead of gently shaking him awake, I set the washing machine to the spin cycle. I had been reminding him on and off for the best part of a fortnight that the machine was on the point of conking out, and each time he had told me that he would ‘see to it’. As the machine hit the height of the cycle I stood back, eyes trained his sleeping form, unable to hold back my laughter as he shot of his chair like a greyhound out of a trap; his yells drowned out by the thunderous racket of the washing machine as it danced its way across the kitchen floor.

“Oh dear! Did the machine wake you up?” I shouted, but my voice was barely audible.

I only just managed to keep a straight face as he charged through to the kitchen, his belly jiggling as he leaned in against the vibrating machine, trying valiantly to push it back into its place under the worktop.

“You know fine well it did woman! I wish you wouldn’t keep doing this, I told you already, I’ll see to it!” He gave me a look of disgust and held on tight for the last minute of the cycle.

“That was two bloody weeks ago, how the hell do you expect me to wash the clothes with a washing machine that acts like an industrial strength vibrator?” The end of rope I had been hanging onto slipped out of my hands.

“In my mother’s day, she didn’t have the luxury of a washing machine, you’d do well to learn some lessons from her.” He turned his head away from me and I raised my middle finger in a salute to my mother in law.

“Don’t fucking start Jeff, I’m sick of hearing about your bloody mother, sort that machine out tonight or I’ll find someone in the yellow pages tomorrow when you go to work!” All I got in response was a vague shrug of the shoulders.

A couple of hours later there was still no sign of him getting his toolbox out so I gave up waiting and went to bed alone. Calling someone out from the small ads was going to sting, but I was sure it wasn’t going to come out of my pocket, and with that thought, I went to sleep with a smile on my face for the first time in weeks.

The next morning dawned bright and without a word of what had happened the previous evening. In the kitchen there was no sign that he had been messing with the machine, my mind was made up. When I pressed his sandwich box into his hand after he zipped up his work jacket, I reached up and planted a kiss on his rough cheek, getting a look of bewilderment for my efforts; still he said nothing.

I tidied up quickly before pulling the local paper out from behind a cushion on the sofa where it had been pushed out of view, taking it through to the kitchen so I could read through the trade ads while I enjoyed my first coffee of the morning. I found a ‘man that could’ quite quickly and was told when I called that I could expect someone round later that morning; which meant that he would be in and out before Jeff got home from work. To be perfectly honest, I didn’t relish dealing with any nasty little scenes Jeff might cause if he came home and found a stranger in our house, especially one that was brought in by me to sort bahis firmaları out a problem that he had already promised to sort out. Even if he had no intention of fixing it, that wasn’t the point; it was never the point.

I took my morning shower with haste and after towelling myself dry I walked naked through to the bedroom, uncaring that the curtains were open. If anyone living in the small block of flats across from us had a notion for spying on me, then they could without complaint from me; besides it always gave me a little kick to think of who might be watching.

I rummaged though my underwear drawer, discarding quickly the sensible belly warmers that Jeff’s mother kept buying me for Christmas and pulled out a less sensible but very sexy lace thong and a push-up bra to create a cleavage that was otherwise non existent. Most of the time I could have gotten away without wearing a bra at all, my small breasts were still very perky, as were my nipples; they ached with the cool air and the light brush of the lace against them. I wished for a moment that Jeff hadn’t let himself go; that he was still the attentive lover that he had been before we had marched down the aisle, but I had long given up hope that things were going to change in that department. Instead, I began to wonder about the repairman.

Even after three years of mind numbing drudgery being Mrs Jeff Adams hadn’t curbed my imagination so in my mind I started to play out little scenarios; trite and cheesy, ultimately ending with my submission at the hands of the unknown fixer of washing machines. He would be spectacularly built, in all departments. His lips and breath would be hot on my skin as his teeth nipped their way down the side of my neck; his tongue would lave wet circles in the dips and hollows of my collarbone while his hands cupped and kneaded my breasts, pinching my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. He would nudge my thighs apart while I was perched on the edge of the table in the kitchen and the thick length of his huge cock would press against my cunt, my slippery juices soaking him. I would feel that delicious throb of need and my heart would beat so loudly that he would be able to hear it. I would wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him into me, and he would fill me with his cock, stretching me almost painfully around him but I wouldn’t care, my head would be thrown back, pushing my tits high, a silent invitation for him to bite on my nipples while he fucked me hard. I wouldn’t care about being heard, his shouts would mingle with my cries, his body would ask and mine would answer.

For a moment I considered myself pathetic. I was spending time fantasizing about a man that didn’t exist. More than likely the person that would come to fix the machine would be in his fifties, dragging a beer belly to rival that of my husband, jeans hanging off his arse to display a spectacular butt crack and he would demand a cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit before starting work. After much tutting he would say that there was a missing part that would need to be ordered in, and ultimately I would be charged a fortune for his services. Still though, after dressing, I walked back down stairs, slightly aroused from my earlier sexual thoughts, my clit pulsing slightly within the damp folds of my pussy.

I made it downstairs just as the repairman knocked on the door, and, after pasting my ‘most grateful’ expression onto my face, I opened it, ushering him inside. My eyes widened appreciatively as I let him walk through to the lounge in front of me. Of the butt crack, there was no sign; in its place though, was a tight ass that begged to be squeezed. I was surprised too to see that he was wearing a clean deep blue shirt, tucked neatly into the waistband of his trousers; this only emphasized his broad back; I swallowed deeply. I curled and stretched my fingers as they itched to reach out and touch, just stopping myself in time as he turned around quickly, nodding his head slightly in the direction of the kitchen. I said nothing, instead, giving him a small smile, my mouth had gone bone dry.

In the kitchen I watched as he ran his hand back and forth along the edge of the washing machine before turning back round to me, spearing me in place with his catlike green eyes.

“Well, what seems to be the problem?” His voice was soft, his accent local. I couldn’t help but stare at his mouth, I knew I was doing it and it took real effort to drag my eyes upwards.

“It vibrates uncontrollably, then it starts bouncing, banging and jerking before it reaches the climax of the…” I swallowed deeply as a wave of heat flooded my face.

I could see him biting down on the inside of his cheek in an effort to hold back his laughter. I looked away for the briefest of moments, realising how he might have misinterpreted my words.

“So you have a problem at climax? I just want to be sure before we go any further.” He let go of the inside of his cheek and his lips relaxed into a very naughty kaçak iddaa smile.

“Let me show you what I mean.” I brushed by him slowly and reached back behind him to switch the machine on. He didn’t move at all as I crouched down in front of the machine, my eyes were level with his crotch as I fiddled with the knob.

I stood up quickly and held onto the edge of the machine as the spin cycle began to kick in. I listened without looking up while he cleared his throat noisily as the machine started to bounce forwards. I pushed him out of the way a little and used both hands to try and push it back but I wasn’t strong enough; the vibrations were going through my hands and up my arms. I let out a groan of frustration and leant forwards into it.

“Looks like you need a little help, don’t you?” He shouted, stepping away from the machine for a second before positioning himself behind me. His hands lay alongside mine as he bent forwards against me while the cycle hit its height.

As the vibrations grew stronger I could feel his crotch pressing against my ass, pushing me into the washing machine. The shaking began to go through my whole body, and in turn, into his. It didn’t take long for me to feel the thick length of his erection pressing against my ass, and all I could think of were my earlier wandering thoughts.

“I think you’re more than equipped to deal with my climaxing problem Mr…?” I realised then that I hadn’t even asked for his name.

“Allcock, but you can call me John.” He shouted, but as the machine suddenly decided to cut out, his voice echoed around the kitchen.

“Excuse me?” I wondered if I had heard him right.

“Allcock, Mrs Adams.” He whispered against my ear.

“Well if that’s not stating the obvious.” I heard myself reply. Well at least I thought it was myself; it didn’t sound like me, this voice was lightly flirtatious, thickened with a note of need. I grinned to myself, relieved for a moment that he couldn’t see my face.

There was no need for me to stay standing where I was, but he hadn’t made any move to distance himself from me; the evidence of his attraction was still pressed against me so I wriggled my hips a little, mainly to see what reaction I would get, but still he stood there. His hands moved to cover mine, squeezing them gently, bending his head down so that his mouth was level with my ear.

“Washing machine first Mrs Adams.” He whispered, lifting my hands off the edge.

Never in my life would I have used the word ‘spoilt’ to describe myself, but right there and then I felt like a spoilt child being denied her favourite toy, but I moved away as he stepped back. I made my way over to the kitchen table and sat down, tapping my fingers lightly on the surface as the hands of the clock inched round slowly. My eyes were constantly drawn to his crotch as he worked and it was more than a little obvious that he was still aroused, but my patience was wearing thin. In my mind I wanted what I had been fantasizing about; he was here, the man that could fulfil that dream, the one could give me what I had been missing. I had had enough; my chair scraped back as I stood but he didn’t look up, the only sign I had that he knew I’d moved was in the slight stilling of his hands as he worked. I turned on the radio and found a station that was playing some deep pulsing music; it suited my mood.

After a trip out to his van for spare parts, I sat down once more and watched as he dismantled the machine, but soon got bored of that and he didn’t seem intent on pursuing any sort of conversation with me. That didn’t bother me too much; I was interested in something else entirely. He didn’t look up when I stood up a second time, or when I hopped up onto the edge of the table, but at the very moment when I began to part my thighs I could see his head turn slightly in my direction. The sound of throbbing bass filled the room and I bit down on my lip as my hands slid up the inside of my exposed thighs, stopping only when they reached the lacy top of my stockings. I knew he was waiting to see what I was going to do next; there was no sign of rejection in his face and I felt emboldened, there was no guilt; not even a fleeting shadow of it.

Jeff got his kicks watching women being fucked on the x-rated channels at night and never once asked how I felt about it, or for my permission. I let my tongue dart out to moisten my bottom lip, inching my fingers higher, wiggling a little so that my already short skirt barely grazed the top of my thighs. I listened as his breathing began to quicken, the music not quite managing to block him out. Tiny beads of sweat had broken out across his forehead but he continued to work; his hands were shaking badly. He pulled the machine out and tried to tilt it back to get a better look at the underside; his shirt pulled tightly across his arms as his biceps began to bulge. I was getting turned on just with watching him work and I knew without touching with my fingertips that the thin material kaçak bahis of my thong would be soaked through. My clit was throbbing, and there was no way that I was going to ignore it.

Sliding two of my fingers under the thin elastic, I found the pulsing little nubbin and began to frig it gently, half closing my eyes as I looked to where he was trying valiantly to concentrate on his work.

“There’s a crack…” He said, his voice strangely hoarse.

“Oh I know!” I managed in between short breaths as I circled my fingers through my slippery folds, a little faster now.

“In the block of your machine, there’s a crack in the concrete block in… Oh fuck it!” He stood up quickly, dropping his tools before walking quickly over to me.

“Lord I’m sorry if I’m distracting you John, I really am.” I gasped.

“Somehow, Mrs Adams, I very much doubt that you are sorry.” He said, with his eyes trained on the fingers working between my legs.

His forefinger pressed against my lips; the conversation was over. I was being pushed further onto the table, his hands grasped my feet, lifting them up and placing them on the edge of the table, as far apart as they could possibly be. I ran my fingers through his dark wavy hair as he dipped down to rub the stubble of his cheek against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. I was shivering with anticipation; wanting to feel him touch and kiss me everywhere, satisfying my selfish needs. I was rewarded with the flick of his tongue across the tops of my stockings as his fingers worked their way in alongside my own, pushing them out of the way unceremoniously. He was taking charge and I was only too happy to let him dominate me. His breath was hot and fast across my wet snatch, suddenly though it felt as though he was covering the whole of my mound with his mouth, sucking on me. The fingers I had been touching his hair with gripped his head, holding him against my wetness, demanding more of him. No one had ever done this to be before and I was both shocked and turned on by it; I was being brought to orgasm without penetration of any kind. I made a futile attempt to lift my hips off the table but was pushed back down quickly so instead, I slid my hands up under the hem of my t-shirt and began to play with my already hardened nipples. I pinched them tightly and moaned softly, gasping as I felt his fingers pull my thong to one side; his tongue was there, plunging straight into my cunt, circling and diving inside my sopping entrance.

His fingers pulled the narrow strip of material back and forth, dragging it over the puffy lips of my cunt; I wanted to mash myself against his face, to grind myself on his tongue; but more than anything, I wanted him fucking me. I tried to talk but it was impossible, the words were incoherent mumblings, in between moans. His mouth worked me hungrily, lapping and sucking as I started to cum, being held down by his hand all the while. At last he stood up, his face shiny and wet, his green eyes clouded as he looked at me; I knew then, without him saying anything, that our brief encounter was far from over.

His hands left me, but only for as long as it took him to pull his shirt out of the waistband of his trousers and unzip himself. I jumped as he moved in close to me, feeling the heat of his body, drawing in a breath as he laid the length of his thick shaft along my slit. His hands went to my knees, holding them, pushing them open further, making my cunt lips stretch wide as he pulled back so the bulbous head of his cock rested against my entrance. Long seconds seemed to pass and I wanted to push myself onto him but there was no way that I could move forward. It happened in a blur, one moment I was desperately needing to feel him thrust his way inside my cunt, and in the next moment he was doing just that; balls deep and stretching me painfully. My breath felt as though it was being pummelled out of me as he began sawing his cock back and forth, a slow deep fucking. As I felt him pick up the pace, his hands slid underneath my ass, raising me up to meet his thrusts; the pain faded away as he got me wetter, my juices were flooding around the base of his cock but he didn’t let up. His fingers bit into my flesh, hurting me, but I didn’t care, I had waited so long to be fucked this way that he could have got a little rougher and I still wouldn’t have complained.

I let go of my tits quickly and hooked my hands at the back of my knees, pulling them back as far as I could, rocking myself on his hands, pushing my cunt down onto his thrusting cock. I tried biting down on my lip as I started to cum again but there was no way I could keep my mouth closed, hoping that my neighbours weren’t listening as I screamed long and loud, begging him to fuck me harder, willing him to finish. His grunts were overshadowed by me and I could see the sweat trickling down the side of his neck, soaking into the collar of his shirt, veins stood out in sharp relief at his temple as he forced himself faster and deeper than ever, and I felt the first spurts of his hot creamy cum splash inside my bruised cunt. Seconds later he slid out of me and laid his still pulsing cock along my gaping slit, dripping his wetness into mine

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