The Plumber, His Wife, and What the Husband Wasn’t Supposed to See

The doorbell rang just as Esteban was about to lose patience with the kitchen faucet, which had been dripping all morning like a torture metronome. He opened the door and found himself facing a man who looked carved out of stone and sarcasm: tall, heavily bearded, wearing grease-stained coveralls and a look that asked permission for nothing.

—I’m the plumber. You called about the leak.

—Come in, come in. What a relief to see you. The thing is… —Esteban lowered his voice and glanced toward the hallway—. My wife, Carolina, is in a terrible mood. She’s very… proud. Don’t pay any attention to her. Do your work, and I’ll pay you well, in cash.

The plumber, who said his name was Bruno, curved one side of his mouth into a smile.

—I deal with ladies like that every day —he said—. Don’t worry. I usually find a way to get them to relax.

Esteban left him in the kitchen and retreated to his study, happy to wash his hands of the matter.

Carolina came in a few minutes later, a glass of red wine in her hand and an expression of general disdain. She wore an expensive linen dress and the air of someone who had just returned from somewhere much more important than her own home.

—You must be the plumber —she said, without looking at him, as if speaking to a piece of furniture—. Don’t make too much noise. And don’t make more of a mess than necessary.

Bruno didn’t even flinch. He knelt beside the sink with a calmness that irritated her more than any insolence could have.

—Don’t worry, ma’am. I’m a professional —he replied while inspecting the pipes—. I’ve worked in houses much more imposing than this one. And with ladies far more demanding than you. In the end, I find that almost all of them hide the same curiosity beneath all that posturing. You just have to know which button to press.

Carolina frowned.

—I don’t know what you mean by that cheap talk. Just fix the faucet.

Bruno worked in silence for about half an hour while she watched him from the other end of the kitchen, like an interesting insect. Every now and then, he tossed out a casual remark, a little hook hanging in the air.

—This marble floor is cold. It must be uncomfortable walking barefoot here, right, ma’am? Or in those high heels. I bet they hurt more than you admit.

—Do you like red wine? —he went on a while later, without looking up—. You look like someone who always chooses what’s right. What’s approved. Never what she’s truly curious about.

Each sentence was a little sting, a finger pressing precisely where it shouldn’t. And yet Carolina found herself answering him. First with clipped monosyllables. Then with complete sentences. Her empty glass was filled again. Her contemptuous stare slowly changed, almost without her noticing, into something else: an irritated curiosity, a tension that warmed the nape of her neck and made her panties damp without her permission.

At last Bruno stood up, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

—Done. I think it’s fixed —he said—. But to be sure, we need to test it thoroughly. I need someone to wash a good pile of dishes, let the water run hard, and see whether the leak comes back.

Carolina laughed incredulously.

—Me? Wash dishes? I have someone for that.

—Oh, really? Then call her. I’ll leave, and if it drips tomorrow, that’s not my problem. Or you can do it yourself and make sure the job was done properly. Your decision, ma’am.

The challenge left her speechless. She wasn’t going to bother her employee on a Sunday over some dishes. She looked at the pile of plates in the sink and sighed, defeated by her own pride.

—Fine. But I need an apron. I’m not going to stain my dress.

—Of course.

Bruno opened a cupboard as if he had known the house all his life and took out a simple white apron, the kind the maid wore. From the drawer he retrieved a pair of yellow rubber gloves.

—Put these on. It’s what your staff uses, isn’t it? Get into character.

Carolina protested with her eyes, but the desire to settle the matter—and something else she refused to name—won out. She tied the apron over her expensive dress and pulled on the gloves, feeling ridiculous and, at the same time, strangely exposed. She planted herself in front of the sink and began scrubbing.

Let him finish already and leave, she thought. But her pussy was already throbbing tightly beneath her skirt, and her heart was beating far too fast for that lie.

That was when Bruno changed his tone. He came up behind her without touching her yet, close enough for her to feel the heat of his body against her back and, above all, the hard bulge pressed inside his coveralls, outlined against the curve of her ass.

—Such a lady you seemed to be —he murmured beside her ear, his voice turned into a low growl—. And look at you now. Wearing an apron, washing dishes like anyone else. Does it bother you… or do you like it more than you expected, feeling my cock against your ass?

Carolina went very still. The water kept running. She could have stepped aside, told him to leave, reclaimed her dress and her composure. She knew that. And precisely because she knew it, she didn’t move. On the contrary: she pushed her buttocks back slightly, seeking to confirm with her body what her mouth still wouldn’t admit.

—Finish what you came to do —she said, but her voice trembled, and they both heard it.

—Are you sure you want me to finish? —he asked, finally placing his hands on her waist over the apron—. Because I can step away right now. One word from you and I’m gone. Or I can stay and fuck you against this sink until you don’t even remember your married name. Choose, ma’am.

There was a long silence. Carolina turned off the faucet. She braced her gloved hands against the edge of the sink and, instead of moving away, pushed her hips backward against him, rubbing herself openly against the hardness she had felt.

—Don’t you dare leave me halfway —she whispered.

That was all Bruno needed. He lifted the skirt of her dress with deliberate slowness, giving her every inch the chance to stop him. Carolina didn’t stop him. On the contrary, when he lingered, she lifted the fabric herself, impatiently, and rolled it up to her waist, offering him her round ass barely covered by black lace panties soaked at the crotch. Bruno gave a low laugh when he saw the dark wet stain showing through the silk.

—Look at you. Your wet pussy is showing through the fabric, ma’am. Quite the lady.

He yanked her panties down to her thighs and knelt behind her without warning. Carolina felt the plumber’s rough hands parting her buttocks and, a second later, his hot tongue running up the slit of her pussy from bottom to top, long, flat, utterly shameless. Her knees buckled. She clung to the edge of the sink with her yellow gloves and let out a guttural moan that bounced off the marble.

—Oh, God… you son of a bitch…

Bruno laughed against her thighs and licked her again, this time slowly, burying his tongue between her swollen lips, finding her clitoris with the tip and playing over it in little circles. He thrust two thick fingers inside her all at once while he kept sucking, and Carolina bent forward, moaning. Her pussy clenched around his fingers in spasms, slippery, and every thrust of his hand made a wet, obscene sound that mingled with the drip of the newly repaired faucet.

—You’re soaking wet, ma’am —he murmured, pulling out his drenched fingers and holding them up over her shoulder—. Look. This is what you hide beneath that expensive dress. How long has it been since someone licked you like this, huh?

—Shut up and keep going —she gasped, her forehead against the tile—. Shut up and eat my pussy.

Bruno obeyed. He buried his face between her buttocks and ate her pussy with genuine hunger, sucking and licking, nursing her clitoris between his lips until Carolina, who hadn’t come like this in years, felt her first orgasm rising from her heels. Her whole body trembled. She came on the plumber’s tongue with a long howl, squeezing her rubber gloves against the marble, and he didn’t let her go until she pushed his head away, overwhelmed.

Bruno stood, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and lowered his coveralls. His cock sprang free, thick and engorged, its tip gleaming. He gripped it in his fist and rubbed it over Carolina’s wet buttocks, searching for the entrance to her pussy with the head.

—Look at you —he said, now addressing her informally, caressing her with the tip of his glans between her swollen lips—. So haughty up there and so open down here. So wet you’re dripping down your thighs. How long has it been since anyone treated you the way you really want to be treated? How long since someone fucked you properly?

—Shut up and do it —she gasped, then immediately corrected herself with a crooked smile he didn’t see—: please. Put it in me now, please.

He penetrated her slowly the first time, measuring her, sinking inch by inch, listening as Carolina’s breath broke apart while his cock opened her pussy. She let out a hoarse moan when she felt him fully inside her, pressed against the back, filling her in a way her husband hadn’t managed in years.

—Oh, fuck… you’ve got such a big cock… —she moaned, throwing her head back.

When he felt her push backward again, asking for more, he abandoned caution. He gripped her hips with both hands and drove into her in a firm, unbroken rhythm, pulling almost all the way out before burying himself to the balls again, while she clung to the marble sink with her gloved hands. Each thrust made his thighs slap against Carolina’s buttocks with a meaty smack, and the sound of her wet pussy swallowing his cock filled the kitchen louder than the water.

—That’s it —he growled against her nape—. That’s what you were dying to do and wouldn’t let yourself. Say it. Say you love having some random guy fuck you in your husband’s kitchen.

—Yes… —Carolina admitted, her forehead resting against the tile—. Yes, this, like this. I love it. I love having you put it in me. Harder, you son of a bitch, harder.

She was surprised by how easy it was to surrender. She had spent so long measuring every word, every gesture, every glass of wine served with the exact right pose, that she had forgotten what it was like simply to want a cock inside her and ask for it out loud. The plumber ran one hand up her back, found the apron’s tie, and pulled until it came loose. With the other hand he tore open the neckline of her dress, exposing her tits. He grabbed them from behind, squeezing her hard nipples between his fingers, and kept fucking her without slowing down. The white apron fell onto the wet floor, and with it something else Carolina couldn’t name: the idea of who she believed she was supposed to be.

—What great tits for such a serious lady —he gasped, pinching them—. You’re going to end up with plumber’s milk inside you, you know that?

—Yes… yes… come inside me, I don’t care… come all the way inside me…

The entire kitchen seemed to vibrate. Every thrust jolted her forward, the white apron crumpled at her feet, the yellow gloves slipping over the wet surface, her tits swinging above the sink in time with the fucking. Bruno pulled out abruptly, turned her around against the counter, and laid her on her back across the marble, lifting her legs over his shoulders. He thrust his cock back into her in one stroke, and Carolina screamed, arching her whole body, while he gripped her hips and pounded into her from the front, looking into her eyes for the first time.

—Now I want to see your face while you come, ma’am.

Carolina, who had spent years always choosing what was right, what was approved, what was expected of her, found herself spreading her legs as wide as she could and bringing one hand to her clitoris to rub it while the plumber nailed her against the cold stone, shedding the immaculate image she had worked so hard to build. Her linen dress wrinkled beneath her back; the ridiculous yellow gloves remained on her hands, now gripping Bruno’s coveralls at the neck.

—Don’t stop —she repeated—. Don’t stop now. I’m almost… almost coming again…

It was at that exact moment that Esteban entered the kitchen, drawn by the noises. He stopped dead, his glass halfway to his mouth. The scene was impossible for him to process: his wife, the elegant and unreachable Carolina, lying on her back across the counter with her dress pulled up to her neck, her tits bare, the yellow rubber gloves still on, her legs spread over the plumber’s shoulders, and an unknown cock thrusting in and out of her soaking pussy in plain sight.

What finally undid him wasn’t the surprise. It was realizing, with heat climbing his neck and his own cock hardening inside his trousers, that he couldn’t look away. That he had spent years imagining his wife like this—open, fucked, without a mask—and had never known how to ask her for it.

Carolina opened her eyes and saw him in the doorway. For an instant, neither of them breathed. She could have stopped, invented an excuse, regained control. Instead, she held her husband’s gaze, smiled faintly, and without stopping her movements against Bruno’s cock, brought two gloved fingers to her mouth and sucked them slowly before speaking to him:

—Are you going to stand there… or are you going to watch properly while he puts it in me?

Esteban didn’t answer. He closed the kitchen door behind him, leaving the two of them inside, leaned against the frame, and lowered his hand to the bulge in his trousers without taking his eyes off her. He stayed.

Bruno gave a hoarse laugh when he noticed, and took the opportunity to lift Carolina from the counter, seat her astride him, and drop into a chair facing her husband. He spread her legs wide in front of him so Esteban had an unobstructed view of his wife’s pussy split in two by the plumber’s cock.

—Move yourself now, ma’am. Ride it so your husband can see exactly how you do it.

Carolina obeyed. She began rising and falling on his cock, bracing her gloved hands on Bruno’s knees, her tits bouncing, her eyes fixed on Esteban. Every time she dropped, a hoarse moan escaped her; every time she rose, the gleaming cock emerged from her pussy before sinking back inside her. Esteban pulled his own cock out of his trousers without even realizing what he was doing and began to jerk himself off while watching them.

—That’s it, darling —Carolina gasped without stopping—. Look at me carefully. Look at him carefully. This is what I needed. This.

Bruno gripped her waist and drove up into her from below, harder and harder, until Carolina came for the second time with a long cry, trembling above him, squeezing her pussy around his cock so tightly that the plumber couldn’t hold back and came too, emptying all his hot milk inside her in thick spurts that she felt burst against the back of her womb. At the same time, leaning against the door, Esteban came over his own hand while watching the plumber’s semen begin to run down his wife’s thighs.

Bruno, still inside her, looked over her shoulder and spoke to her husband, his breath ragged:

—I told you, sir —he murmured, giving Carolina’s buttock an almost affectionate slap—. I always find a way to get them to relax. Your wife turned out to be very willing. And she has a very good pussy, if you don’t mind me saying.

And Carolina, who had treated that man like a piece of furniture all afternoon, laughed between gasps, someone else’s come dripping down her thighs to the yellow gloves, discovering that the woman she had pretended to be suddenly fit her far more uncomfortably than the maid’s apron.