The plumber (part one)
Her arms pumped up and down, her fists clenched around it. Harder and harder she pumped, faster and faster. Still nothing. If anything the smell was getting worse.
This was how you were meant to unblock a sink though, she knew that, she’d done it before, plenty of times: block the overflow with something and pump the plunger repeatedly over the plug. She had been doing this for ages now and her arms really ached with it. She didn’t want to call a plumber, and not because she couldn’t afford it – she was a successful woman – but because she didn’t want some man patronising her. She pumped away again for another good ten or fifteen minutes but the ugly, foetid water just sat there stinking and belching. She relented, she had so much to do, “Local plumber!” she barked into her Blackberry’s voice search.
Maybe it would be a woman plumber she hoped, there were a lot of women plumbers, it was more common than people thought. Perhaps she should have checked. Too late now.
It wasn’t a woman though and she was a little annoyed at herself that she wasn’t disappointed by this; he was gorgeous. ‘As if that makes any difference!’ she chastised herself, but he was. Not in the traditional sense, he looked more like an artist or a writer than a plumber, it was something in his eyes. Anyway he was strong and powerful and that’s what she needed right now, what the sink needed, rather.
There hadn’t been a man in the house since the divorce. Just her, her and her girlfriends, who would come round and get her drunk and agree what a bastard he was, what bastards men were. She showed the plumber the sink. There was something about his smell that confused her. He looked at the the sink, and under it, tapping at things and making little ‘hmm’ sounds as he went. ‘Its only coffee grinds blocking a sink’, she thought, ‘not Fuku-bloody-shima!’
“Its coffee grinds.” he told her.
“Really?” she smiled as sarcastically as she could manage.
“It won’t take long.” he grinned, seemingly oblivious to her hostility.
She watched his powerful arms working the plunger up and down, watched his energy, his rhythm. He worked with just one hand at a time and it could only make her think of one thing. It was only when she found herself licking her lips that she realised that she had been daydreaming of watching him doing that to himself. Then it happened.
The sink exploded! Gallons of disgusting, months old, drain water, erupted through the plug hole in a stinking torrent of filth, drenching the plumber as he tried, vainly, to stem the flow. She shrieked at the sight of him when he turned round. He was gagging and covered in brown, slime. “Oh er, er” she said, looking around as though the solution lay within arms’ reach. Then, ‘Of course.’ she thought, collecting herself. “The shower.” she said, “This way.” and lead him round into her bathroom, pointed at the shower and left him there.
Door closed, she leant back against the wall, surprised to find herself shaking slightly and wondering why. He’d be naked by now she thought and then suddenly that she should perhaps get his clothes, naked and wet, so that she could wash them. She waited until she could hear the water running and knocked on the door. “I’m just coming in for your clothes.” she called, and opened it. He was under the shower, his back to her and he had not heard her come in. She watched transfixed as pools of lather cascaded down his back, caressed his buttocks and trickled down his thighs. She opened her mouth to say something, but the sight of him there, naked, washing himself, water and foam tracing his outlines, robbed her of her powers of speech. His soapy hands slid around and down his body.
She wondered if he was washing his cock, it looked like he was. She imagined it, lathered up, wondered whether it was stiff or not. She could touch herself right now she thought. She could, she could easily see if he started to turn round and stop – she was only in here to get his dirty clothes. He was definitely washing his cock though, she was certain of that, and taking his time too. She rubbed at herself through her clothes, glad that she had chosen to wear silk panties. It looked to her, that he was doing more than just washing it too. Was he masturbating she thought. Would she get to see his back and butt shudder in orgasmic pleasure? Would she have time to cum herself? What if he turned round when she was in mid-orgasm? All these questions raced round her mind but she rubbed at her self harder and faster all the same, making little thrusting movements with her hips.
Suddenly she remembered the silver ball. The one she got for Christmas one year, for the tree, but liked so much she hung it up in here. She liked the way, when she had candles round the bath, that it reflected their lights, like little stars, on the ceiling. She liked how you could see the whole bathroom at once by looking into its reflection. She froze. He was looking at it now, into its reflection. Looking at her.
Part two tomorrow…