I saw him watch as I unfolded my legs for the hundredth time. The plumber could see straight under the table and up my skirt from where he lay on his belly, with his arm wrenched up under my kitchen sink. He'd thought it would be another routine house call, he made them day in and day out. He found out fast that this was a different scenario. Not many of the house wives he rescued with his wrench were this hot. My shoulder length wild curls of chestnut brown bounced around my face. My lips were sticky sweet, slicked with some kind of sparkly gloss he couldn't resist imagining on his tongue. And then there was the outfit. I had chosen a slinky tunic dress with long sleeves, and a pair of black stiletto Mary-Janes. The neck line on this thing was cut down precisely in the middle of both my breasts.
He wasn't your average plumber, either though. He was bic-bald, his face angular and rugged, with a clean shave. His body was trim and tapered perfectly. The service uniform he wore fit him like a dream, and in this dream he had a backside any housewife would have drooled over. The wrench fell out of his hand as my skirt hiked, revealing the lack of underwear I had chosen that day. His slip caused the elbow of the pipe to pull free, dumping sludge down his arm and neck as he craned to see me better. I jumped up as he did, and walked over to him. He was hastily trying to keep the sink-goo from going down the collar of his shirt to no avail. I began pushing past his frenzied motions and unbuttoning his shirt. The name tag over his left peck said "Chris".
"Calm down, we'll just toss this in the wash. You can grab a shower quick before you get back to the sink, as long as you don't charge me for the extra time." I said. He looked down at me, my face was a hair's breadth from his, my lips pouting slightly as I undid the last button of his shirt. The black sludge, presumably what had been blocking my drain, had gone through his uniform and spotted the white tank he wore underneath. I tugged that out of his pants as he stood mutely watching my hands in disbelief as I undressed him as deftly as I would myself. I turned and walked into the laundry room between the kitchen and mudroom, throwing his shirts into the yawning maw of the washer and starting the load with the aid of some detergent.
Returning to the kitchen, I urged him to follow me to the bathroom upstairs, as the downstairs bathroom was "being renovated." In reality, the first floor bathroom was intact and spotless, as it always was. However, I knew that my boyfriend would be home any moment, and that if he heard the upstairs shower going, he'd come in to join me. A giddy smile curled the corners of my mouth as I showed Chris into the bathroom. I grabbed several towels and wash cloths, showing him to where John's toiletries were on the shelves. I left, or pretended to, leaving the door propped open a crack as I walked out. I listened to the rustling as his pants hit the floor, his boxers not far behind. I peeked in, watching him step away from the pile of clothes and into the shower. Waiting until his back was turned, I pulled my dress up over my head and left it to hang over the stair rail to entice my boyfriend into further investigating.
I made my way silently in through the door, leaving it cracked slightly as I walked over the tiles as softly as I could. I stepped out of my stilettos next to the pile of Chris' clothes and walked to the shower, wrapping my fingers around the handle on the sliding glass door. I could smell my boyfriend's body wash as Chris scrubbed himself down. He jolted around in shock when I slid the glass door open, and stepped into the shower with him. His eyes were big and round as silver dollars, and they were the slate gray of a storm churned ocean wave. I stepped toward him, and he retreated backward. The closer I moved, the further he tried to get, until his back bumped up against the dark blue tiled shower wall. I planted my hands on the wall on either side of his torso, pressing myself against him and batting my lashes up at him. He caught his lower lip with his teeth, and ground out an oath as he tried to look at anything but me.
"Your husband made the service call ma'am. I could get fired for sleeping with a client's wife." He cleared his throat again uncomfortably, but his body would not yield to the halt his mind was trying to issue. His cock stiffened against my smooth belly, hardening between our slick bodies.
