Hot Water

My mother is what is known as impecunious. This is a fancy word for describing someone who had too much month left at the end of the money. She has this little tendency to buy her luxuries first and then wonder why she hasn't got the money to buy the essentials. Now that I'm eighteen and working I can help out to a certain extent, but I'm seriously thinking of getting my own place.

I have to admit that my mother is also a bit of a tart, or at least she tries to be. She thinks she's twenty years younger than she is and is always madly flirting and chasing men. I've learnt to ignore this sort of behaviour, but it is another factor in my wanting my own place.

It was the impecunious bit that got me into trouble. Mother knew that the hot water service was breaking down and she kept putting off the repairs, insisting that it was good for a while yet. It wasn't.

I'd been out in the garden half the afternoon, doing the lawns, and weeding, and putting in some bulbs. When I was finished I was grotty, filthy, sweaty and sticky, muddy and grumpy. What I wanted first and foremost was a hot shower. What I got was cold water.

Towel wrapped around me, I went looking for my mother.

"What's with the hot water?" I demanded.

"Oh, I meant to tell you, dear," she said. "It gave up the ghost this morning. I've arranged for a plumber to come out on Monday to look at it."

"This morning?" I asked sweetly, and she nodded.

"So you knew this morning, before you sent me out to work in a muddy garden?"

"Ah, yes, dear. I said it was this morning."

"It didn't occur to you that I might need a hot shower after getting cover in mud and grime and miscellaneous bits of vegetation?" I asked, making it a straight question, carefully omitting any signs of sarcasm.

"Well, of course you'll need a hot shower. Oh, there's no hot water, is there?"

I was speechless, which was probably a good thing. What I wanted to say would have blistered the ears of a sailor. My mother filled in the silence with what was, for her, a reasonable idea.

"Why not have a hot shower next door?"

"A good idea," I agreed, "but Cheryl went out earlier. I saw her go. I guess I'm going to have the fastest cold shower known."

"Not at Cheryl's. At Joe's place."

Mother's idea promptly turned from reasonable to you've got to be kidding. I just gave her a look.

"He's at the football this afternoon and won't be back for ages. It just so happens that I still have a key to his back door. You know I feed his cat when he's away. You can go in and have a shower and as long as you clean up after yourself he'll never know."

I couldn't stand the thought of a cold shower and if Joe had gone to the footy he wouldn't be back until the evening. He always went to the pub afterwards, either to have a drink to victory or a drink of consolation. I could nip over there, have my shower, and be back in ten minutes. It wasn't the half hour I wanted, but it would be hot water.

I grabbed the key and nipped over to Joe's. Not being an idiot, I knocked just to be sure he wasn't home. Unlikely, as his car was missing. No answer so I let myself in, smiling happily.

Into the bathroom and into the shower. A nice hot shower. Bliss. Then the bathroom door opened and I had a heart attack. I was standing there, horrified, as in stalked George, with George proving instant recovery from the heart attack. George might be male but he's also a beautiful long-haired Siamese cat. George settled down on my clothes and lay watching me. Typical male, watching the naked female.

"Don't you go shedding all over my clothes, George," I warned him, resuming my interrupted shower.

It turned out that I must have insulted him because when I next looked he was gone. I stepped out of the shower to get dried and found the towel was gone. So were my clothes. That damned cat had probably dragged them out of the room to make himself a bed somewhere else. And there were no other towels there. Typical man, Joe probably just forgot to put towels in the bathroom in case they were needed. I'd have to go and find where George had dragged mine. Still, he wouldn't have taken them far.

Dripping wet, which meant that I'd have to wipe the hallway, damn it, I stepped out of the bathroom to try to find George and my towel. I didn't see George but my towel was right there in plain sight. The trouble was, Joe was holding it, and he was holding it open as though inviting me to step forward so that he could wrap it around me.

There wasn't much else I could do, was there? Stark naked and red of face I stepped closer, expecting Joe to pass me the towel. Joe, in case I haven't mentioned it, is a miserable, bastard, ratfink. He didn't pass me the towel. He started drying me.

"I can do that myself," I protested and he just laughed.

"Maybe, but it's much more fun if I do it," he said, continuing to dry me.

I was so not going to look at him. Face burning I looked pointedly up and away, trying to ignore him. A bit hard to do when a man is rubbing your breasts with a towel. He was thorough, drying me properly. A little improperly, too, in my opinion, when he started rubbing my mons to dry it.

"Enough," I snapped, finally looking at him and trying to pull the towel away. He laughed again and pulled the towel away from my clutching fingers and tossed it aside, leaving me standing there naked. Do you know the worst part? What with not looking at Joe, and him having the towel in front of him when I came out of the bathroom, I hadn't realised that I wasn't the only one who was stark staring naked.

Not only was he naked, he was aroused. Well and truly aroused. I wasn't a virgin. I knew damn well what that cock wanted. I just didn't want to be the one to deliver it.

I was going, "Oh, no," and backing away, while he was smiling and moving towards me. My problem was that I could move away only as far as the wall behind me while Joe was able to advance until he was pressing against me. He moved slightly and I could feel my nipples brushing against his hairy chest but what was of more importance was the fact that I could feel his cock pressing against my tummy.

"No way," I was telling him. "Not going to happen. Back off, please."

His hand slipped between our bodies and I could feel his cock being dragged down. He had a hairy knee (he was, I found, a very hairy man) pressed between my legs, forcing them apart, and I could feel his cock slip between them, leaping up to press against my lips.

I was still protesting and denying Joe any right to do this and he didn't say a word. He just slipped his hand between my legs to join his cock, helping it to get started. Joe dragged my lips a little apart and I could feel the head of his cock pressing up and into me. I straightened up, standing tall, then standing on my toes, trying to get higher, but I ran out of toe before Joe ran out of cock.

One moment I'm protesting, giving a maidenly, "No, no, no," and then my eyes are opened very wide as I feel his cock surging forth.

"Stop that," I wailed. "Don't you dare stick that thing in me. Oh my god, you're doing it. You can't do this. Aah."

I probably said several other things as well, calling his ancestry into question and generally trying to get the message across that I didn't think this was a good idea. None of it helped. I could feel him, his cock sliding slowly up into me. He wasn't rushing but I wasn't sure if that was a plus or a minus. It meant there was less strain on me as he took me but it also meant that I could feel him that much longer, penetrating deep into me.

Joe was somewhat taller than me. Not surprising, as most men are taller than women. I found out what that meant in a situation like this. Joe's cock kept coming, filling me, and it wasn't all that long and I could feel his groin (yes, it was hairy, too) pressing firmly against mine. He didn't stop pressing up against me, even though he was fully inside me. He straightened up, hoisting me off my feet, pinning me against the wall with his cock, while his hands rubbed against my breasts.

"Wrap your legs around my waist," he told me, finally having something to say. I was going to tell him not in this lifetime but I had to admit it was good advice. By lifting my legs and hooking them around his waist I was able to use them to support myself somewhat, instead of dangling on his cock like a puppet.

As soon as I settled my legs around his waist he turned and started walking down the hallway, his hands clasped around my bottom.

"What are doing?" I demanded. "Where are you going? Will you stop this? This is not funny, you know."

He didn't bother answering me. Why should he. It was pretty obvious he was taking me somewhere, and that somewhere proved to be his bedroom. It was also pretty obvious that he had no intention of stopping what he was doing. The only stopping he did was to stand by the side of his bed.

"Do you want me to lie back on the bed so you're on top?" he asked.

"Why would I want to be on top or on the bottom?" I demanded.

"I just thought you might like me to lie back and you could sit astride me and do some twerking," he said, a great big smirk on his face.

My face went red just thinking about it. I'd been over at Cheryl's place the other day and we'd been doing some mucking around and had tried our hands at twerking. With just the two of us there it had seemed pretty funny. Now it registered that it was like having sex without a man. If I started twerking with Joe lying under me. . . It didn't bare thinking about. So why was I thinking about Joe lying there with me busy twerking, sliding rapidly up and down his shaft? I shook my head to clear the image away.

Joe seemed to take my shaking my head as a refusal to be on top, which I guess it was in a way. It didn't phase him. He just turned so my back was to the bed and let me fall onto the bed, him coming with me and landing on top of me, pressing me down into the bed.

I lay there feeling completely squashed but also acutely aware of Joe's cock inside me. Pretty hard not to be aware of something like that. I glared up at him and he smiled down at me.

"Time to get serious," he said, and he pulled slowly back and then thrust firmly back into me. He didn't try to ram himself back in. Just gave a nice steady push, letting me feel him sliding along my passage. That was just the start, of course. He kept right on doing it, pulling back and then driving home in a nice controlled manner.

It wasn't long and I was moving with him. What else could I do? Oddly enough he adjusted his pace to make allowances for me pushing up against him, so we were still moving at the same rate, his cock sliding along my passage in a controlled fashion, rousing all sort of feelings.

If I'd ever stopped to think what Joe would be like as a lover I'd have put him down as a he-man type, rushing his own pleasure and not worrying about his partners. I would never have put him down as someone who seemed determined to drag the whole thing out for as long as possible. He kept up those long slow thrusts, building on my arousal, inflaming my excitement whether I wanted him to or not. Slow but sure wins the race, they say, but he'll only win it if he bloody finishes.

As he took me I was moved from 'I do so not want this' to 'if I must' to 'it's not too bad' to 'all right. Let's do this." From there he'd taken me to 'will you get a move on' and finally to where I was now, which was "If you don't finish this I will go mad."

Joe just kept on and on, the pace he set just that fraction too slow to really lift me up to full excitement. I was burning with need by this stage, doing my best to push him along, but he absolutely refused to hurry. It was maddening.

"What the hell? Are you a closet eunuch or something?" I demanded. "Can't you do this properly?"

"What's wrong?" he asked. "I'm enjoying this."

What could I say? That I wanted more? That he was an inconsiderate asshole who needed to learn how to please a woman? I groaned and said nothing.

Finally something that I said or did seemed to get through to him. He started moving faster, really serving it up to me. Oh, I was so ready for this. I was moving with him, responding enthusiastically, feeling those glorious feelings gathering, and their sweet promise of delight teasing me.

I was panting, gasping, pleading for release, and then I climaxed with a scream, shaking so hard I was surprised that the bed didn't come apart.

I lay there in the aftermath, not wanting to move, but also desperate to get out of there. Joe stretched and rose up off the bed. Would you believe it? He rolled me over and gave me a hard spank on the bottom.

"You'd better go and finish your shower," he said. "You'll find a hair drier under the sink."

With that he walked out of the room, not even bothering to get dressed. I scrambled to my feet and ran to the bathroom. This time I was able to finish my shower and dry myself. Dressed, I fled home.

"You were longer than I thought you'd be, dear," my mother observed. "Feeling better now?"

I just nodded and went to my room. I didn't know if I wanted to sulk or not. I did know I needed to be alone for a little while for a rest. I was exhausted. Showering is hard work.

- -

The next day I got up, had a cold wash and headed off to work, happy in the knowledge that the plumber would be out to fix the hot water. Mondays I only work half a day, and by two o'clock I was home again. The plumber's van was parked outside our place which I considered a good sign.

I came waltzing into the kitchen and my mother looked a little disconcerted.

"Oh, dear. I forgot that today was your half-day at work. Um, you might want to go down the street for a while and come back when the plumber's gone."

"Why? The plumber doesn't worry me. I'll be in the front room watching some TV."

"Oh, I'd rather you left, dear."

Ever noticed how some people make a complete mess of trying to be cagy? My mother was up to something.

"What have you done, Mother?" I asked, my tone showing that I was going to get an answer.

She dithered for a few moments and then confessed.

"Well, I'm a little short and I haven't got the money to pay the plumber. I told him I'd sleep with him to pay the bill. I'd prefer it if you weren't here while we do it."

"This creep agreed to that?" I asked, shocked.

"Not yet, but he will. He pretends that he's not interested but he's a man and they're always interested. He'll come around."

I wasn't prepared to bet on it. My mother might be a bit of a tart but she's also a bit of an old tart. I suspect most men would consider her past her use by date. I thought I'd better stick around for a while in case of fireworks.

And it looked like there was going to be some fireworks. The plumber came stomping into the kitchen, and he was spitting chips.

"Listen, lady, I work for cash," he was yelling. "As far as your idea of a bit of sex is concerned it's looking like a damned fine idea."

Half-way through that second sentence he'd caught a glimpse of me out of the corner of his eye and turned to look at me and his whole attitude changed. I was still dressed for work with a tight black skirt and demure white blouse, although I have to admit that I filled out that demure while blouse in a very un-demure way.

"A damned fine idea," he repeated, looking at me. He turned back to my mother. "Why don't you take a hike while I discuss the matter with your friend?"

"Ah, she's my daughter. Why do you need to discuss it with her?"

"I'm sure she'll tell you later. Just take a walk for a while."

With that my mother just shook her head and walked out of the house, leaving me alone with this mongrel.

"Hey, don't look at me if you're thinking of getting a quickie," I stated. "Any such offers you can take up with my mother. Count me out."

"Take up with your mother," he derided with a snort. "You have to be kidding. That old duck is so far past it she can't see it with a telescope. You, on the other hand, are it and a bit."

When he'd come busting into the kitchen he'd wound up standing right next to me. When he turned and saw me he was right there next to me. I went to move away but I was too slow, his arm snaking out and capturing my wrist.

"Listen, I'm not having sex with you," I stated.

Really, I couldn't be any more definite than that. He didn't even bother to reply, just turning me around and having me bend over the table. His hand pushed my skirt up. That's the trouble with pencil skirts. Because they're tight, when they ride up they stay up. The same applies if a man pushed them up.

With my skirt pushed up high enough to reveal my panties he slipped a finger under the crotch of them, levering them to one side. Just like that I was showing things that were meant to be private and I was still fully dressed. I heard his zip coming down and promptly felt an erection brushing against my lips.

I could believe this. I was being jumped twice in two days by two different men, and all because of the stupid hot water service. The only difference between today and yesterday was clothing. Yesterday we were both completely naked and today we were both fully dressed, with just essential items rearranged slightly.

I was wrong about clothing being the only difference. There was also a difference in style. Plumber man roughly massaged my mound and then he was dragging my lips apart and pushing into position. No gentle easing into place, just a hasty driving home, barely giving me time to adjust, slapping his cock into place with what I considered indecent haste.

With his cock in me, two big hands slapped against my hips, holding me, you wouldn't believe what he had the audacity to say.

"I'm ready. Want to start twerking?"

What's with men and twerking, anyway? I very much doubt any woman actually does that. My answer was short and succinct.

"Get fucked," I snapped.

"OK," he said happily and started fucking me. There's no other way to describe it. He wasn't making love to me, or seducing me. He was fucking me. His cock came driving in, seeming to bounce once it hit home, and driving in again. In sheer self-defence I was moving with him, timing my movements to his, and his cock was barrelling down my passage, time after time.

I was like, "Ah, oh my god, ah, etc, etc." and he was driving in briskly, never slowing down for a second. I think I mentioned running through a gamut of emotions when Joe took me. With this guy it went from 'Oh no' to 'Oh my fucking god' in no time flat. If told beforehand, I wouldn't have believed that I could be aroused so quickly.

He was going flat out right from the word go, building my excitement fast. I was panting and gasping, my hips working overtime trying to keep up with him, and if I'd had spare breath I'd have been asking him to slow down. I didn't have any spare breath and he didn't give me a chance to get any. He just kept going and then, when I thought he couldn't go any faster, he really laid it on.

His cock was like a steam driven piston, driving into me, the friction raising my internal temperature to an unbelievable level. I couldn't keep up with him and my body just totally yielded, climaxing vigorously, leaving me screaming and panting for breath.

I'm guessing that he climaxed as well, although I was too busy attending to my own to really notice. He seemed to slowly wind down, then withdrew, leaving me bent over the table, spent.

Another question about men. Why do they have to slap bottoms? It hurts, damn it.

"Right," he said, laying a spank on my bottom. "I'll be going. "Tell your mother not to call us again for any work she needs, as we won't be coming. You, of course, can feel free to call me anytime and I'll be here in a flash."

With that he picked up his bag of tools, that I hadn't even noticed lying there, and headed on out. All I had to do was wriggle my skirt back down and I was perfectly dressed again. Feeling very sticky, but neatly dressed. You'd never guess what had happened by looking at me.