The Repair Guy

He pushes my legs up and then apart so I’m lying with them open like a butterfly’s wings. He exclaims that my lips are swollen and begins to massage my inner thighs.

I close my eyes and marvel at his technique, his hands knead my thighs, legs and pull my knickers out and then position them back straight. I am all his, this is all I’ve wanted for a week : to be in his bed.

I feel exposed: I don’t care what he wants to do to me and I trust him completely.

His hands touch every part of me except my pussy. He licks my chest and caresses my breasts, asking all the time if the pressure is okay. His tongue flicks to my neck and he plants kisses there and across my shoulder.

Finally he eases off my knickers and rolls them down my legs. He settles back to lick now, using his fingers as well to position himself perfectly. I am in rapture. He beckons for me to sit astride his face – I clutch at the cold wall trying to get purchase, moaning as he infiltrates the inner me.

We tumble down and he pins me to the bed just flicking my clit. I’m in a catch 22 situation of extreme pleasure and pain. I can’t tolerate stimulation of my clit for two long but IT IS SO GOOD. I enjoy the weight of him on me, the inability to move and his delicious strumming. We switch and 69 with him on top. I can barely swallow his beautiful cock, thick in my hand and hard on my lips.

It is not long before I flail at his touch and feel myself grow wetter. But I don’t make a sound. He comes over my chest, his load hitting my ear and hair.

The bed is not so glamorous- the sheets are far from clean and I realise a long time afterwards that it is a single one.