I suppose it was an accident. I was not supposed to see it. But after I did, I was never quite the same.
It started out when my wife and I, having just returned from our honeymoon, returned to the new house that was waiting for us. It was a beautiful place in Northern Virginia, a real steal at the price we paid. Four bedrooms, three and a half baths, and a lot of space. We even imagined a basement office eventually, among other things. Sure, it needed work. But it was ours, thanks to the crash in housing prices and the sudden availability of foreclosure properties that came with the crash.
Unfortunately, I am not much of a handy man, and we had placed every dime we had into buying the house, leaving little for the fixes that were needed. The cash was pretty right, and Lauren wanted a baby. So, we decided to take on a renter—someone who would at least pay enough a month to finance our house-repair budget. And then we struck gold.
Almost immediately, we had a great response from, of all people, a local contractor. Apparently, he had lived in the area before a recent divorce, and he wanted to stay close to his business. He was thinking of buying his own place, but he was not sure exactly what he wanted. And he was not sure how much he could spend, given his pending hearings on alimony and child support. He seemed like a nice enough guy, and, when he heard what we wanted, he made us an offer we couldn't refuse: he would personally work to re-finish our house at only the cost of materials so long as he could stay there free as long as the work continued. I thought it would not be bad to have an extra person around the house, if anything to protect Lauren when I was away on business. He was quite a bit older than us, but that also made me more comfortable. He didn't exactly seem like the kind of young stud that would try to hit on Lauren, and that made me comfortable too. And so he moved in.
Now I wish I could say he made a move on my wife—because then I would have had a reason to be mad at him. But he did not do anything. He was a real gentleman, and he started work right away. He had a small team that worked on other houses with him, but our house he treated as his pet project. He warned us that he would be planning to work when we were at work, and told us to call to make sure it was safe if we had to come home unexpectedly. He was so good at timing his work to be when we were out, in fact, that I forgot he was working at all. And so one day, upon realizing I left my briefcase at home, I heading back to the house without calling.
It was only when I got home that I realized he was working. It sounded like he was busy working on my office, which made me smile. What a guy. I went upstairs to get my briefcase, figuring there was no need to disturb him. Then I heard a female voice from downstairs. I suddenly went back downstairs, just to see our handy man come upstairs from the basement. In particularly, it was how he emerged that surprised me.
Before I knew what was happening, he was standing there, wearing only a work-belt and with a massive erection standing out in between the belt's pouches. While he stood frozen for a moment, I couldn't help but stare at his cock—it was clearly uncut, and the foreskin looked incredible covering his penis head. I had not seen many other men, and I had never seen another man erect. So looking at him was the first time I really felt small.
As he started to stammer an apology, I regained my senses, demanding to know what was going on. What was he doing like that when my wife could be around, I demanded. A second later, I was even more concerned. "Is my wife here?" I yelled, feeling the blood rush to my face. "I heard a woman's voice, so, if she is, I want you out of here!"
To that, he actually cracked a smile, and told me to calm down. There was a woman there, he explained, but only an "assistant." He apologized for being naked, but he confided that he loved working naked. "It's incredible foreplay," he confided, not even bothering to cover his cock.
Calmed a little, I asked who his assistant was, and he offered to introduce me. So down to the basement we went. When I first saw her, she looked incredibly embarrassed, and tried to cover herself up. She was a neighbor's daughter, barely over 18. She had a rather small chest, but an incredible mat of fluff between her thighs. She was only wearing a work belt too. "Meet Stacy," John said, as if boasting about his catch. "She needed some extra money, so I brought her onto my team. She just loves working with her hands."
Stacy blushed. "Please don't tell my parents," she implored, sounding so hot that I couldn't believe it.
"He won't, Stacy, don't worry. Mr. Morgan is nice," John told her, "so why don't you be nice to him. Nobody needs to know." He smiled. And then he added, "And don't worry—it's on the clock."
Before I knew it, she was leading me upstairs, with him telling us to "have fun". I loved Lauren, but I couldn't resist this girl. This was better than any fantasy I'd ever had. When we got to my room, she just stood and stared at me, clearly nervous to be there. "I feel dirty," she said, looking down. Guilt suddenly hit me. "You don't have to do this," I replied, backing away a little." "No, I feel sweaty and dirty from the basement, silly," Stacy said, with a devious little smile. "Can I take a shower first?"
"Sure," I muttered. I was astounded. For years I had tried to get Lauren to have sex in a shower, and Lauren had always refused. So now I figured I had the goods on Stacy, and I was going to take advantage of it. No sooner had she turned on and adjusted the water, and stepped in than I was stripping off my clothes. Looking down, I saw myself at full-mast, but it suddenly struck me how much smaller I was than John. To hell with it, I thought, she won't know the difference. I made my way to the shower.
John had already placed a nice clear glass door on our shower after he moved in, and I spent a little time appreciating it now. Watching her clean herself, and touch herself, as I prepared to join her. It was only when she told me she was almost done that I opened the door, and stepped inside. And she knew just what to do.
She dropped to her knees, and began to suck me. But I was so aroused that in less than a minute I knew I was close. So I told her to stop, get up, and turn around. I wanted to pump that nice hairy snatch. And she did get up, turn around, and grab my cock to guide me in. But the way she grabbed me, with her eagerness and soft hands, was too much. Before I knew it, I was spewing my cum all over her snatch—but mostly not in it. I didn't even get to feel her pussy walls. She looked sad and disappointed. Turning around, she cutely asked, "Will you at least eat me? I'm so wet."
For a moment, all I could think of was my cum all over her cunt. But I figured we were in a shower, so it probably was all wiped off. And she did have a beautiful form. I wanted to please her, so I got on my knees and began to lick her. Almost immediately I realized I was tasting myself. But I was tasting her too, and that itself made me more eager. Before I knew it, she was cumming too, and I was happy. When I got up, she smiled innocently and asked "how did I do?"
Before I could respond, I heard him.
"Brilliantly, girl. Go wait for me in my room." I turned, and to my horror saw John standing there with a camera. Suddenly I was not so happy about the glass doors. And I wondered how I didn't notice him there before. Sadly, I watched Stacy's ass as it bobbed about leaving my bathroom, taking the camera with her. And there I was, naked before a very clothed and apparently very happy handy man. John broke the silence. "Good job, twig dick. Now you know why you should have called first."
"I thought this was a peace offering," I implored. "You honestly thought I'd let you fuck a girl I worked that hard to tame? You're dumber than I thought then. That girl cost me my kids and my marriage. And now she could cost you your marriage too, if you don't play ball, you ball-less fuck."
