Llamé a mi vecino para arreglar algo más que la lámpara

Hi, how are you? I’m doing very well tonight. And I feel like telling you something that happened to me recently. Like in almost all my stories, part of it is true and part of it I leave to my imagination to complete. You decide where the line is.

So, I was painting one of the rooms in my house and the fan broke down. I don’t understand anything about electricity; whenever something breaks, even if it’s something silly, I have to call on someone who knows what they’re doing. Usually I ask one of my brothers or a nephew, who’ve already learned how to fix things. But that fan had the light built in and I needed to keep painting, and the afternoon was closing in on me. So I decided to call one of my neighbors, one of those who always offer their help. So selflessly, I suppose, every time they see me walk by.

My neighbor’s name is Ramiro. He’s worked from home since the pandemic, like so many people around here, and takes his breaks between work and household chores. He’s married to a woman from Veracruz, voluptuous, with a very pretty face and a hellish temper. They have two sons of about eighteen and twenty, and a twenty-four-year-old daughter who’s half the neighborhood’s secret fantasy.

It was four in the afternoon and the sky was starting to turn gray. I knew Ramiro’s wife didn’t allow him much contact with me. Several neighbors are suspicious of me because I live alone; they think I’m a homewrecker. Nothing could be further from the truth. If they knew what kind of man turns me on, they’d sleep soundly knowing their husbands would never interest me.

I decided to hurry before she got home from work and found out he’d been in my house.

I knocked on the door and one of his sons opened it. He discreetly looked over the neckline peeking out of my sweater and gave my legs a quick glance.

—Is your dad here? —I asked.

—Yes —he answered, and shouted inside.

A minute later Ramiro appeared with an annoyed look on his face, a look that turned into a friendly smile the moment he saw it was me looking for him.

—Tell me, how can I help you? —he asked.

—I need you to check a ceiling fan with a light. It turns on and then suddenly it seems like it wants to turn off. Could you take a look?

—Of course. Give me a couple of minutes to get the tools.

—Perfect, I’ll wait for you at home. Thanks a million!

***

He came by a while later, I opened the door and led him to the bedroom. Since it’s a room I almost always keep closed and the fan wasn’t working, it was stifling hot inside. I showed him the light, and he immediately confirmed that yes, something was wrong.

—Sorry, Ramiro, I’m going to take off my sweater, I’m really hot.

I took off the garment and he stood there stunned when he discovered that underneath I was only wearing a tiny, very revealing dress. I have to confess that sometimes I like to walk around like this inside the house, because I enjoy catching myself in a reflection and seeing what certain men look at when I go out on the street. It turns me on a little. The truth is I’d even forgotten I was wearing that dress so short; I’m so used to it that it becomes a second skin.

I noticed he was getting nervous. And that he was loving the situation. I brought him a small stool so he could reach the fan. He asked me for the voltage tester, and when I handed it to him I decided to play a joke on him: I pressed my breasts against his leg. Almost immediately I noticed how his breathing quickened and how, without meaning to, a tight bulge formed under his pants.

While he checked the fan, we talked about random things. He steered the conversation toward compliments, toward me, and I knew perfectly well he was doing it as a flirtation.

Ramiro doesn’t seem attractive to me at all. But the idea of feeling desired turns me on.

I get incredibly aroused imagining what fantasies some men have about me. I get turned on thinking, just as a fantasy, that I could help them fulfill them. And I was coming off a few rough days: I was really in the mood for sex and the opportunity just hadn’t come up. It had been almost two weeks since I’d been fucked, and my pussy was so sensitive that even the seam of the dress rubbing against me made me squeeze my thighs together. One thought led to another, and Ramiro’s deliberately seductive chatter ended up waking up the little devil living in my head.

I spent a few minutes wandering around the room, pretending to tidy up. I did it so he could watch me walk, because I knew he looked at me every time I passed in front of his house. That was going to be my way of paying him: a private show, a little bit of filth brought right to his door.

Now and then I bent down in front of him and the neckline almost left my nipples exposed. Just when I was about to pass by, I’d suddenly turn to look at him and he’d dart his eyes away, embarrassed.

—How does it look, Ramiro? —I asked.

—Well, you look very good to me —he replied, letting out a little laugh.

—I’m talking about the fan, dummy.

—Oh, that! —he said, pulling himself together—. It’s shorting out. If I insulate the wires properly, it’ll be fixed.

—Do you want me to bring the electrical tape?

—Please.

I brought it over, and when I saw him stretching to reach, I said:

—Should I hold you here so you don’t fall?

And I grabbed him by the thighs.

It was obvious he was insanely turned on, and the truth is I was too. Although more than arousal, what I felt was curiosity and a desire to play. I was amused by his nervous reactions, his effort to seem composed.

—Hey, do you think your wife will take long to get back? —I asked, just to unsettle him, to make him think I was planning something more serious.

—I don’t know if she’ll be long —he replied—. But I’m almost done, in case you need help with… something else.

He said those last words in a sly tone that left no room for doubt. You don’t have to be very bright to understand he was offering me an affair.

—And why are you asking me? —he insisted, trying to get me to make the first move.

By then I was already set on playing with him for a while.

—Well, for this —I answered, while stroking the bulge in his crotch.

He jumped and tried to get down from the stool immediately, eager to take control.

—No, don’t get down. Keep working on your assignment, and I’ll take care of mine. Please, finish fixing it.

He accepted without a word and let me touch him while he kept insulating the wires. Every so often he’d lower his hand and brush my breasts, but I’d firmly move it away and repeat the order for him to keep working. I squeezed his cock through the fabric and felt it swell, pressing against his leg, searching for me. Every time I ran my open palm up and down over the bulge, a short sigh escaped him that he tried to disguise with a cough.

I unzipped his pants and slowly started taking out his penis. It wasn’t fully hard yet. It was very hairy, which made me think sex with his wife probably wasn’t very frequent, or at least he didn’t have the delicacy to groom himself for her. In my experience, that usually means they also don’t get oral very often. His member pulsed, still soft, maybe from nerves. I pulled back the foreskin and slowly brought my tongue toward the head. I gave it a long, flat lick from base to tip, and felt his cock jump in my hand. Another lick, and another, and by the fourth I had it hard as a rock, the head dark purple, throbbing against my lips.

I took it into my mouth halfway and kept it there, still, tasting the salty pre-cum he was starting to leak. Then I started moving slowly, sucking only the head, wrapping my tongue around it, hollowing my cheeks so he’d feel the suction hard every time I let it slip out. With my free hand I grabbed his balls and squeezed them carefully, rolling them between my fingers, while with the other I jerked him in rhythm with the blowjob. Ramiro gripped the edge of the fan with one hand so he wouldn’t fall. His knees were buckling.

—Oh, God… oh, my God… —he murmured, voiceless, looking down, hypnotized by the movement of my head.

I swallowed his cock all the way down, until I felt the hairs against my nose, and stayed like that for a few seconds, holding back my gag reflex, eyes watering. When I pulled it out, a strand of saliva and drool still linked our mouths to the head. I spit on it, ran my hand over it to smear it all around, and took it back in. Now faster, greedily, letting him hear it, making those wet, filthy sounds that men lose their minds over.

His phone started ringing. He ignored it. It rang again. He took it out of his pocket and answered, with his cock still dripping saliva an inch from my mouth.

—Hi, sweetheart. Yes, I came to take a look at a fuse box. We’re done, I’m on my way back now.

Right then I took his penis, now fully erect, into my mouth. With a pained note in his voice, he managed to ask:

—Do you want me to bring anything?

I kept going hard, in and out, sucking forcefully, blowing him without the slightest shame while he tried to hold a conversation with his wife. I squeezed his balls and ran my tongue under the head, on that sensitive spot that makes any man jump. From the other end of the line, his wife could be heard asking whose house he was at.

—I’m at Joaquín’s place, don’t worry. I’m coming.

Snatches of sound slipped out of the speaker that sounded like scolding. She was yelling something at him. He hung up, breathless and red-faced.

—Forgive me —he said—, I really have to go.

—And you’re not going to finish the lamp?

—Better if I come another day with more time and we finish whatever you want, my queen.

—There won’t be another chance like this —I said, and swallowed him again to the hilt, mercilessly.

I yanked my neckline down and left my tits uncovered, nipples hard, pointing upward. He let out a hoarse moan when he saw them and nearly lost his balance on the stool. I grabbed his cock with both hands, one over the other, and started jerking him, twisting my wrists, wringing back his foreskin, while with my tongue I attended to the tip, giving quick, flat licks. He hurried to finish the last details of the repair and I hurried to make him come.

—Cum, Ramiro, cum already, your wife is waiting for you —I whispered, and took him all the way back into my mouth.

I intensified the pace with my hand on his cock, jerking him fast, with my mouth open beneath, sticking out my tongue so he could see how I was offering it to him. I ran the tip of my tongue along the frenulum again and again, and immediately he gave me an urgent signal with his hand: he was about to come. I could feel it in his cock, swollen, throbbing between my fingers, veins standing out.

—Now, now, now… —he gasped.

I let him burst. I pulled his member away from my face at the last second and let his cum fall to the floor in three thick, hot streams, while I kept moving my hand up and down, milking him, squeezing out the very last drop. A little of it hit my cheek and neckline, and I rubbed it there, between my tits, looking him in the eyes. He was shaking all over, mouth open, eyes glassy, unable to say a word.

He was still standing on the stool, his cock beginning to soften, shiny with saliva and cum. I took advantage of those last few seconds to stimulate him again with my tongue and lips, sucking the sensitive head after he’d come, until I got some pretty exaggerated contortions out of him. He writhed, tried to push my head away with his hand, let out little moans that were almost painful. I did it on purpose: I wanted to strip him of any chance of a second erection, any intention of spending the afternoon fucking me with that hairy, desperate cock. I didn’t want that. I just wanted to play.

He got down from the stool with the job finished and the astonishment still in his eyes. Like a hungry calf, he headed toward my erect nipples and gave them a couple of clumsy sucks, squeezing my tits with his hands, moaning against my skin. He brought one hand to my sex, slipping his fingers under my dress, searching for my cunt; I pulled it away before it got there. Then he grabbed my ass, squeezed it hard, and tried to press his body against mine. I gently moved him away.

—Well, I think that’s it for today. I really appreciate it, and I’ll appreciate even more if you keep quiet about what just happened. This wasn’t payment, it was my way of thanking you for the help. We’re even.

With my tits still out and a thread of his cum marking my cheek, I walked him toward the door. He used the last few moments to admire me one more time, his cock still poking out of his open fly, and before he could ask me if we could do it again, I shut him up. I said goodbye firmly and pushed him out, while he was still adjusting his pants in the hallway.

Thus ends my story for this afternoon. And I hope that Ramiro’s participation in any of my future adventures ends there too. Because believe me: next time something breaks at home, I already know who I’m not going to call.