I was on my knees in the kitchen, the leaky faucet still dripping like a tease behind us, but who cared? This plumber guy’s rough hands gripped my hips, pulling me back onto his thick cock with every thrust. God, it was so fucking real, still fresh in my mind. I’m Olga, 27, and yeah, I’m that girl who loves it raw, the rush, the sweat mixing with desire. Let me spill it all, like we’re whispering over wine.
It started that morning. Water gushing from under the sink, soaking my cabinets. I was pissed—my apartment’s old, and I’m no DIY queen. Grabbed my phone, called the emergency line. « Yeah, leak won’t stop, » I told the dispatcher, pacing in my tiny shorts and tank top, no bra, hair messy from bed. Hour later, doorbell buzzes. There he is: mid-30s, built like a wall, grease-stained shirt hugging his chest, jeans tight over those strong thighs. Smells like clean sweat and metal. « Ma’am, where’s the problem? » Deep voice, eyes flicking over me quick.
« Kitchen, » I say, leading him in, ass swaying a bit ’cause why not? He crouches, toolbox clanging, wrench out. I lean on the counter, watching his arms flex, veins popping. Drip-drip from the pipe. « Been driving me crazy, » I mutter. He grunts, « Tight fit here. Gonna need to get under. » His head disappears under the sink, ass up—fuck, those jeans strain. I bite my lip, heat building between my legs. « You okay down there? » I ask, voice husky.
« Yeah… almost… got it. » Tools scrape, water sprays once—splashes his shirt wet, clinging to his abs. He emerges, wiping his face, water dripping down his stubble. Our eyes lock. Tension thick, air heavy with his musky scent. « Thanks, » I breathe. He stands too close. « No problem. Anything else… need fixing? » His hand brushes my arm—electric.
I don’t back away. « Maybe. » Heart pounding. Next thing, his mouth crashes on mine, rough, tasting like coffee and salt. I moan into it, hands yanking his shirt off. His skin hot, damp, muscles hard under my fingers. « Fuck, you’re sexy, » he growls, lifting me onto the counter. Cold Formica on my ass cheeks, but his hands shove my shorts down, fingers finding my wet pussy. « Soaked already, » he says, thumb circling my clit. I gasp, legs spreading wide. « Shut up and eat it. »
He drops, beard scraping my thighs—rough, perfect. Tongue dives in, lapping slow, then fast. Slurping sounds echo with the drip-drip. His fingers plunge deep, curling—oh fuck, that spot. I grab his hair, grinding. « Yes… right there… don’t stop. » My juices coat his chin, tangy on my nose. He sucks my clit hard, humming—vibrations shoot through me. I cum fast, thighs shaking, squirting a little on his face. « Shit… yeah… »
He stands, unzipping. Cock springs out—thick, veiny, precum beading. Smells musky, manly. I drop to knees, sink dripping forgotten. Wrap lips around head, salty burst on tongue. Suck deep, gagging a bit, saliva dripping down shaft. « Good girl, » he groans, hand in my hair. I look up, eyes watering, stroking base. Pop off: « Fuck my mouth. » He does, thrusting gentle then harder, balls slapping chin.
Pulls me up, spins me. Bent over counter, tits smashed on cold surface. He rubs cock along my slit—teasing. « Beg. » « Please… fuck me hard. » Slams in—one thrust, balls deep. Stretching me, filling every inch. « Tight pussy, » he grunts, pounding. Skin slaps loud—plap-plap-plap. I push back, ass jiggling. Sweat drips, his on my back. Pulls hair: « Like that? » « Harder! » Switch—me on back, legs over shoulders. Deep angle hits g-spot. Nipples pinched, bitten. « Cum inside? » « Yes… fill me. »
He swells, roars low—hot spurts deep. I clench, orgasm ripping, toes curl. We collapse, panting, his cum leaking out, mixing with sink water on floor.
Best. Fix. Ever. Still tingling.