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 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 smile.
