Drilling Deep

[©2010 BY CLINTON09; ALL CHARACTERS OVER THE AGE OF 18; NO EVENTS DESCRIBED ARE TRUE; STORIES HAVE A 'HARDER EDGE' THAN MOST; BE WARNED; HERE BE DRAGONS]

[Plumber works hard; a mom and her daughter recognize it; rich husband offends plumber, who decides that only deep drilling will solve household problems]

My name is Richard, call me Rich. I was going to be a teacher before I went into the plumbing business. Seems I couldn't get tenure and, well, it's a long story. I always tried to be the proverbial 'good plumber'. You know, neat, clean, on time, no surprise charges, no charging for copper when I used PVC, etc. Most of all, having been divorced, I never treated myself to the household 'goodies' unless they happened to be unattached, and even then...

My business is small, only about 5 trucks and 7 plumbers with various odd (and I mean 'odd') plumbers' helpers. We got a Cracker Jack job to do: some rich swells were rebuilding a fixer-upper and wanted a ton of problems fixed. They had the traditional 'shaking hot water pipes', bad water taste, uneven pressure, and freezing pipes, plus change-out of everything that uses water. Bonanza!

I met the people. It was a smart, bald, business executive named Maurice. His trophy wife was named Eve, a true babe in the MILF tradition (blond, about 40-ish, maybe 36D-25-37). Finally, their daughter, Candy, 18 (dyed blond, not like her mom, more gymnastic lithe than built) who was equally as hot as mom, though totally different.

Maurice told me the vision he had for this house. Like most fixer-uppers, it was an extravagant waste of money, money better spent on a newer house with none of the inherent problems of some old dump. I guess these people didn't realize that whatever the looks of the house, the innards are as worn down and deficient whether the Ritz or a fleabag hotel...

Like I said at the outset, I was divorced and as a result, I became almost religious about respecting other people's marriages. This was overcompensation, looking back, because no one respected my marriage, least of all my treacherous, if gorgeous, brunette witch (I mean wife.) So, this little nasty weasel of a man had nothing to worry about, leaving me alone working in his house with his super sexy wife and daughter while he was on some corporate junket. No sir, I wasn't going to mess with anyone...that is, unless he was a real jerk...but no one could be that much of a jackass could they?

Maurice told me all of the new appliances they wanted installed.

I totaled the costs and told them we would need progress payments.

He was reasonable about that.

I told him that changing the entire hot water system just because of the pipes 'singing' was unnecessary.

He said they could afford it. He added (gratuitously): "I am sorry that you think it is unnecessary; perhaps if you had gone to college and pursued a real career, you would be in my shoes ordering the work instead of having to perform it..."

I had a master's degree in education (secondary thru junior college), thesis the curriculum for 'radical reconstruction', circa 1877. I didn't appreciate his comments but I just stored that away. The customer is always ripe, I always said.

He left with a flourish, his stylish Ralph Lauren rolling bags nicer than anything I owned. His wife gave him that buss on the cheek that I gave my grandmother when I was departing after Thanksgiving. He waved to the daughter and left in a corporate black Lincoln town car. Hooray, he's gone!

There was such a change in atmosphere in the house it was palpable. Eve, the mom, had been wearing a stylish Yves St. Laurent silk house outfit with blouse, loose fitting pants, and shoes from some overpriced New York leather works.

Candy had been wearing a dress from Mervyn's, and Converse for women. (no, I didn't spot all of this myself; as I stared at the obviously expensive duds, they told me about them.)

Now that he left, Eve put on a mohair sweater that was very tight, slacks that were painted on her and jewelry shoes...i.e. no shoes, only jewelry wrapping ankle and toes.

Candy put on a team jersey for the state college and pedal pushers with flip flops.

I couldn't exactly watch them change; I was heavily involved in tearing down plaster and finding new problems almost every five minutes.

Whenever I had crew members around, the women would put on frumpy clothes and shoes, but when they knew it was just me, back would come the real casual stuff.

When Eve wore that damn mohair sweater/top, she never wore a bra. From a distance, that was no big deal. When she approached, her perfect 36D bust would bounce and bounce and BOUNCE. Better still, once she was close by, the poor mohair was pushed to the bursting point by her breasts. I can't tell you how sexy, how unnerving it is, to see the customer's wife with a top so tenuous that her nipples were only partially concealed by the overstretched material. I had a devil of a time to keep my ten inch long friend cooped up in my corral down there. Also, I have no idea how she knew I was the type who would be driven crazy to see a pair of perfect, demure, smooth feet, sporting ruby red toenails and some shiny jewelry, but nothing else obstructing my enjoyment of her gorgeous feet. Ay, Chihuahua!

So, when Eve went out shopping and I was left alone with Candy, things were placid...right? Well, no. If I had to work near their interior courtyard pool, then she would suddenly feel the need to put on this string bikini and catch some rays. The bikini was so minimal that you could clearly see tufts of wavy blond hair sticking out in all directions from the micro bottom. Well, a man can only take so much, and that day, as I turned to get tools from my truck, she couldn't help but see that I was bone hard, my tan work pants clearly outlining my erect cock which now was so long and hard that I had to fidget and lay it on its side so it stretched across my waist.

When I came back from the truck, Candy was still there, sunning herself. The thing was, with her eyes under plastic eye covers, I could stare, and boy did I ever. I guessed that she had seen herself hanging out down below. She must've shyly pushed her enticing bush back under the tiny bikini bottom, because it was much less noticeable. I stared and then, shock. No, she hadn't done a thing; her beaver fluff was still there, but it had matted and coiled up, being as wet as it was. God in heaven, she saw my most important 'tool' and got sopping wet! May the gods of self-control work overtime.

Later, in the house, Eve (the sensuous mother) had eschewed the mohair top for a Liz Claiborne blouse, like a tight fitting t-shirt. As I struggled with the washing machine pipes in the constricted laundry room, she chose that time to struggle past. To be honest, though I faked working through her passage, my complete concentration was devoted to feeling every sensation. Sure enough, her jutting tits which bobbled braless under that thin blouse were literally rubbed across my blue workshirt. Her nipples were so hard that I could even feel them. For a moment, I froze...it was the hottest moment of my life up till then, and I include my wedding night with my raven haired jezebel (I mean wife.)

About 10 days into the 21 day scheduled project, Maurice returned, tanned and cocky as ever from his important corporate work on Saint Vincent. He asked how the work was going, and then criticized the bathrooms, demanding that they be re-centered.

I explained to him that they had to be offset in order to allow for the pipes to pass thru the slab as it was.

He said if I had graduated from a decent college, I might have found a solution by now; we had to dig, if necessary, but the 'facilities' had to be exactly centered. He also said he wouldn't pay for overtime but that our contract would require me to cover it, at my expense! Tough luck, sucker?

Well, that was it. It was going to be undeclared war between this jerk and me. I guess he didn't realize that he was but 5 foot 5, 145. Both his wife and daughter were slightly taller than him; jeez, his daughter once told me she was even stronger than him...and I mean like twice as strong at the bench. Here he was pulling some chicken sh-t clause in the contract. Well, two can play a game.

I brought in a crew that had me make all of his changes. Okay, not all of the guys were documented, but we made the contract cost levels. So, whereas he thought he had taken me big-time, I ended up making a small profit. I did lose out on the 'gravy' I originally expected, but then, I wasn't thru 'working in their house.'

The work was done and the contract paid. I told him that we had quality control and that I would go the next week to check all systems out.

He said contemptuously that: "Boy, you toilet bowl cleaners sure have a hard job to do...I'm just glad I picked a different line of work. My wife will oversee your work and report to me if anything at all isn't perfect."

I got there the next week with my toolbox. Eve let me in, wearing a silk Halston robe, silk slippers, and absolutely nothing else. She was soon going to have all my attentions, let me tell you.

As I checked out her dishwasher for safe, leak-free operation, she sat, 'reading the paper', dangling a slipper sexily from her gorgeous showgirl, tanned leg, the robe loosely attached, gaping in front showing cleavage. Enough was enough!

I asked her if I could remove my shirt, since the dishwasher put out an enormous amount of heat when using its full drying cycle. This was the first time I had overtly responded to their 'prick-teasing'.

She said: "Sure, I guess so." [Her response left me wondering if they both were only prick teases or if they really wanted it...I was going to gamble they wanted it...badly.]

My shirt came off. Compared to her wimpy five foot five husband, my six foot frame must have been a revelation. And, whereas he could be outlifted by his slender daughter, I doubt my 23" biceps laden arms would have the same difficulty. I heard an audible sigh when I flexed them, to limber up before work...

Now came the real gamble. I told her my workpants got caught on the dishwasher lever; I would have to take them off; she could look away if she wanted. She put her hand over her face, with obvious gaps between her fingers.

I let them drop, purposely devoid of any jockey shorts. I turned proudly, my ten inch cock steel hard. Her hand left her face, the charade over.

I went up to Eve, wife of the weasel who tried to screw me in writing; I picked her up and put her on that square wood table. The Halston robe fell open, her lush, incredible breasts out in the open finally. As I approached the table, her hand almost magically appeared down there, guiding me in. She looked to the ceiling, moaning in pleasure, as I fed her inch after inch, inch after inch.

In a voice that was so turned on, Eve could've been a 900 operator: "My God, you are SO much more of a man than my wimpy husband...every inch you gave me after the first three was a bonus. Oh, and these magnificent family jewels of yours!" (she cupped my balls, swollen to the size of mangos, heavily laden with potent seed) "If I wasn't a loyal wife to my dear husband, I would tell you to seed me, hard...but I AM married, and I can't afford any complications. So could you please, oh, pull, oh my God, pull out before it's too...ummm...oh"

As I literally inched forward, I wasn't sure if she wanted me to keep going or not. My eyes had been so closed with passion that I didn't see something staring me in the face. Candy, her trampy daughter, was standing at the doorway to the huge kitchen. She had an opinion on these doings:

Candy: "Mr. Plumber man, I heard you argue with my father. I must say, it sounded like YOU were the one being screwed. So, why not screw my mother...it's only fair. I DO have to warn you, though. She and I have the same cycles, and this is a hazardous time to be playing down there. So unless you think that mom can convince micro-dick that HE got her knocked up, I would pull out before it's too late."

I said: "Thanks, I think." In spite of the 4-11 from the daughter, I began sawing in and out of the hottest, tightest, most welcoming snatch I had ever experienced. Her moans of excitement made me glad all of the windows were closed for the summer. To my amazement, the daughter did not leave us; indeed, she brazenly sat down, at that table, reaching around and cupping my family jewels!

Candy said: "I don't know, mom, I can feel his unit and his seed storage is in this bull-sized sack. You can't see as they sway but it is the sexiest display of virility and manhood I have ever seen. He must have 100 million sperm in there, just dying to get you divorced from your bald, boy-size equipped, troll husband. You better decide in the next two minutes, because, wow, those huge nuts are retracting into him, waiting to finish his housework by painting your womb white with foam. Mom, I mean it, 60 seconds to babytime! Mom, mom?"

Eve didn't speak. She extended those shapely legs, one of them pushing Candy away in a defiant show of independence. She then brought them together around my back, locking her ankles. To my astonishment, her daughter got up and actually tried to undo those locked ankles, knowing what came next. Candy felt the first surge, as a ripple went thru me, making her mother moan in ecstasy. It was so stunning, so visceral, that Candy gave up her 'rescue mission' and sat back glumly, watching her mom get seeded...hard.

She watched as my huge balls and the underside of my mammoth babymaker shuddered and shook eight additional times, each time eliciting an orgasmic cry from her mom. Her little rat of a husband had really insulted me and tried to screw me big time; now I was screwing his wife, big time. If, by mistake, I was to leave her pregnant, well that would just be a mistake. I mean, gosh, it would really pain me to have the wife of this scumbag get a swollen tummy carrying my baby. That would be horrible. Worse, what about when he went out of town on his next junket after the birth. I might have to suffer visiting the new mom and her baby. Oh, the pain. I might even have to lend a hand, drinking her warm, sweet breastmilk, perhaps even suffering the fate of trying to get a start on the next illicit baby. Heavens, what a terrible fate!

After we had finished our business in the kitchen, I picked up Eve. Carrying her in my arms, we kissed as I carried her out to the Italian leather sofa. I gently placed her there, replacing the robe around her perfect body. Before I did it up, I kissed her tummy, for good luck. I bent over her as she gasped for breath to recover. Kissing her lips lightly, I went to her ear. I blew ever so gently, kissed the inside of the ear, and whispered for her to "have my baby!"

There was a cloth loveseat across from the sofa. I totally collapsed there. The two of us slept like hibernating bears for four hours.

To both of our surprise, the daughter had prepared egg foo yung, egg drop soup, roast pork, and a few other things. They were the easiest Chinese dishes to make, but at least she did them well. As we ate at their formal dinner table, rain forest hardwood, designed for 12-20 guests, Candy persisted in playing footsie with me. I must say, it was damn sexy. Not only were her legs perfect and her feet petite and perfect, but this was a change from the girl trying to stop myself and her mom.

After dessert and cognac (it was great, and I do not drink as a rule), we retired to that same living room. With the drapes drawn, the only light was an indirect mercury bulb in the built-in bookshelf. The two women sat on the Italian sofa, while I was again on the loveseat. As we were in partial darkness, we had that special feeling that people get in the dark, speaking freely.

Eve said: "I know that my husband tried to screw you; it's not that we need the money; we don't. It really is a sport with him now. He is so used to cheating customers, big and small, that he's lost all conception of honesty. Speaking of honesty, I married him for money, and I stay with him for money. So to be honest, I would love, absolutely love, to dump him right now and run off with you. But, again to be honest, I am not going to. What I will do is have him service me when he gets home, under the guise that I was so 'horny', I missed him so much. That will give you and I cover if I do get knocked up."

I said: "God, thank you. To be honest, I was going to pull out and make your daughter happy, but when you locked me in, I was even happier. The feeling of giving you all of my seed, pumping your married unprotected, fertile vagina full with my babymaking sperm, thinking about that weasel husband of yours, well that was the most satisfying moment of my life. And even though it might make a mess of things, I am still a man...and I pray that I got you pregnant, and that you will give birth."

Eve said: "I don't know how I feel about all of this, but I swear to you...on my honor...if you got me pregnant, I will carry it to term...and I will give birth. Just the thought of carrying YOUR child while that sissy chrome-dome boasts that it is his would be worth the price of admission."

I said: "Call me sentimental, but I would like to see you, somehow, around that time. I know that you would hate the feeling of 'sneaking', but your cellphone would allow you to quietly signal me when he comes, goes, everything. Once he left, I could visit the baby...our baby...whether it was with you or in the observation nursery. Either way would be fantastic!"

Candy said: "God, what IS it with you and the older generation; sentimental? Preferring having a baby to aborting it? Who needs a rugrat, anyway?"

Eve said: "Do you see what I have to put up with? So where will my grandchildren come from anyway? She already has her million dollar trust fund set-up from her wealthy grandfather. The ironic thing is it is only triggered when she settles down and starts her own family. So, it is her childish attitude that keeps her tied to my apron strings."

I made the 'come over here' finger sign to Eve. To my relief and delight, she came over and sat on my lap. I then whispered:

Me: "Does that trust require her to be married or just to have her own family?"

Eve said: "Her grandfather did not consider the possibility that a woman would just have a baby out of wedlock, so it did not specify. I think I know where this is going..."

I said: "Okay, are you on board with it? She said that she was the exact same as you on her cycle calendar. If you help, it will look a lot less threatening than if I do it all myself."

Eve jumped off my lap. I had no idea what she was going to do. She looked at Candy and the time.

Eve said: "Sweetheart, I think it is time that we all retire to our respective rooms. Good night dear." [She bent over and kissed her on the forehead.]

She winked at me. She continued: "Our beloved plumber Rich will sleep here and leave early tomorrow for a 6am start job. Good night, all."

Eve knew that her daughter watched at least two hours of TV to get super tired before nodding off. She timed 'our arrival' for this crucial time.

Sure enough, two hours later, she waved me over to Candy's room. She whispered to her 18 year old daughter: "Candy, sweetheart, Rich can't sleep on that hard loveseat...can he just snuggle with you, just for tonight?"

To her mom and my relief, she said sleepily: "Sure mom...as long as he just wants to sleep. I'm too tired for anything else."

Eve kissed me fully on the lips and whispered "good luck" as she left the room.

Now, dear reader, you are probably thinking that I would just do 'my thing' now that she was absolutely exhausted and not on her guard. Why not, even her mother expected and wanted that. However, that was not what I was about. I would be in her bed, and there I would stay until morning, that one time. If she wanted to avail herself of this utility then so be it.