The Mature Technician Who Came on a Saturday Morning
It all started with the refrigerator. It had been making a strange noise for weeks, and one ordinary morning it stopped cooling altogether. My mother spent two days glued to the phone looking for someone to come take a look at it, and after many calls she managed to get a technician to come by on Saturday. The night before, the two of us emptied the freezer, throwing out everything that had gone bad, and left the kitchen ready for the visit.
On Saturday I got up late. I went downstairs for breakfast like any other day off, wearing black leggings and a loose white T-shirt, without a bra, because I liked to be comfortable at home and wasn't expecting anyone so early. I was pouring myself coffee when the doorbell rang. I looked out the window and saw a man with a toolbox. My mother went out to greet him.
“Renata, do me a favor and put something on over that,” she told me quietly when she came back inside. “You're wearing far too little, and a stranger is here.”
I went upstairs to my room and came back down wearing a sweatshirt. When I reentered the kitchen, the technician was already kneeling in front of the refrigerator, his work clothes somewhat stained. He must have been around fifty, with some gray at his temples and a slight belly beneath his shirt. He raised his head to greet me and, for an instant, his gaze dropped toward my breasts before returning to the motor.
“Good morning,” I said, and sat beside my mother to finish my coffee.
I can't really explain what happened to me that morning. Maybe it was the boredom of a Saturday with no plans, or that look he tried to hide and couldn't. The truth is, I began watching him work while pretending to look at my phone. He had large, steady hands stained with grease, and he moved with the calm of someone who had been doing the same thing for thirty years. Every time his eyes met mine, I smiled at him slowly as though nothing were happening, and noticed that he took one second too long to return to his work.
Meanwhile, my mother chatted with him about the warranty and the price, and he answered her politely without completely losing track of what was happening on the other side of the counter. There was something electrifying about that silent game, about knowing I was the only one who understood what was really happening in that kitchen while we talked about refrigerant gas and loose parts.
“Excuse me,” I asked at one point, “can that noise it sometimes makes be fixed too? It sounds like a little bell when it shuts off.”
“That's something loose in the motor, miss,” he replied. “I'll check it for you now, don't worry.”
My mother and I cleared away what was left on the countertop. When we were nearly finished, I came up with the perfect excuse.
“Mom, go upstairs and rest if you want, or put on a load of laundry,” I told her. “I'll stay here working on my laptop in case the gentleman needs anything.”
“Good idea, honey. I'm going to put the clothes in and take a bath, and then we'll go somewhere so you can get ready too.”
“Perfect. I'll finish what's left here, and when you come out, I'll go upstairs to shower.”
I accompanied her to the stairs. As she went up, I turned toward the technician and gave him a smile. He answered by looking me up and down, this time without trying quite so hard to hide it. As soon as I heard the bathroom door close upstairs, I took off my sweatshirt and left it hanging on the banister. I returned to the kitchen, and this time I positioned myself on the other side of the counter, facing him, my nipples hard and showing through the thin fabric of my T-shirt.
“Is it very difficult to fix?” I asked, resting my elbows on the counter so that my cleavage would be right in his line of sight.
“It has its tricks, miss. There's always some little detail that comes up.”
He was paying less and less attention to the refrigerator. I realized he was getting nervous as I moved closer, so I went around the counter.
“And why does it make so much noise?” I insisted, lowering my voice.
“Here, come a little closer and I'll explain.”
I knelt beside him. He began pointing out parts inside the motor, and I nodded without hearing a single word, my heart beating faster and faster and my pussy already soaked inside my leggings. I don't know where I found the nerve, but I leaned toward him to kiss him. He pushed me away abruptly, looking frightened.
“Hey, what are you doing?” he said quietly. “Your mother is upstairs.”
I shrugged with a mischievous smile, without backing away. I placed my open hand over his crotch and felt the bulge harden beneath my fingers. And then something changed in his face. The fright gave way to something else, a look I knew well and that was anything but innocent.
“Tell me,” he murmured. “What is it you want, you filthy girl?”
“I want your cock,” I whispered in his ear, squeezing it through his pants. “All of it.”
His left hand went around my waist and pulled me toward him slowly. This time he was the one who leaned in to kiss me, and I returned the kiss with all the desire I had been building up that morning. His tongue pushed hungrily into my mouth, stirring it, and I sucked on it as if it were a warning of what was to come. I climbed on top of him, straddling him, and began rubbing my pussy against the hard bulge of his pants, moving my hips in circles without breaking my mouth from his.
One of his hands searched for my breast over my shirt and pinched my nipple, twisting it between his fingers until I let out a muffled moan against his tongue. His other hand slipped beneath my leggings, playing with the edge of my underwear, tugging at it again and again until two of his rough fingers slipped in from the side and found my already slippery lips.
“Fuck, you're dripping,” he growled against my neck as he pushed his fingers all the way in. “Such a little slut right under your mother's nose.”
“Shut up and keep going,” I panted.
Suddenly he moved away just long enough to yank my shirt off. He stared at my tits for a few seconds, mesmerized, before taking them in both hands, squeezing and kneading them, burying his face between them to lick and bite my nipples one after the other. I dug my nails into the back of his neck. His tongue moved down and up, sucking, and I burned with every movement, rubbing my pussy against his thigh like a cat in heat.
My hand went straight to his belt. I undid the buckle, lowered his zipper, and slipped my hand inside his underwear. There it was: thick, hard, hot, pulsing in my fist. I pulled it out and stared at it for a few seconds, squeezing it slowly, watching a clear drop appear at the tip. My mouth began to water.
But he didn't give me time. He pulled me to my feet and turned me around against the refrigerator. I felt his breath on the back of my neck as he slowly lowered my leggings, kneeling behind me, kissing my ass, biting one cheek and then the other. I could do nothing but surrender, arching my back and pushing my ass out behind me to offer it to him.
“Ahh…” escaped me when his tongue pushed its way between my cheeks and found my pussy from behind, licking me from bottom to top in one stroke.
After that I couldn't hold anything back. He finished taking off my leggings and underwear, which bunched around my ankles, and made me turn toward him again. He looked at me completely naked with an expression of pure arousal, his cock jutting from his open pants and twitching on its own.
“Look at that delicious pussy you've got, you bitch,” he said, running two fingers over my lips and parting them to see inside me. “All pink and wet.”
He lifted one of my legs and rested it on his shoulder, leaving me spread wide open, my back against the cold door of the appliance. He buried his face between my legs and made me tremble again. His tongue worked over my clitoris in slow circles, then fast ones, then he sucked it whole, then lowered himself and pushed his tongue inside me, fucking me with it. Two fingers entered at once, curling upward, searching for a spot I could never find on my own.
“Yes… like that… don't stop,” I panted, holding on to his shoulders so I wouldn't lose my balance.
I grabbed his hair and he understood, increasing the pace, sucking my clitoris while his fingers thrust into me hard, drawing wet sounds that echoed throughout the kitchen. I was beside myself. A few seconds later I began to tremble for real, breathless, biting the back of my hand to muffle my moans as I came against his mouth in waves, pressing his head against my pussy, grinding my hips against his face. I felt my juices running down his chin. He continued for a while longer, slowly, licking up every drop, until he stood and kissed me again, smearing my own taste across my lips, his hands kneading my tits once more.
“You taste delicious,” he said against my ear. “I love women with your nerve. Let me get a good look at you.”
He stepped back to look at me from head to toe while finishing lowering his pants and underwear to his knees. His cock was left pointing at me, hard as a rod, veins standing out and the head shining. I smiled at him coquettishly and let his hand guide me down to my knees in front of him. I took him by the base, feeling his weight, and began slowly, sticking out my tongue to lick him from his balls to the tip, with long, flat strokes that left him gleaming with saliva.
“Fuck, baby… that's it…” he panted, throwing his head back.
I sucked the tip first, circling the head with my tongue, pushing it into the groove to steal the drop of fluid appearing there. Then I took him all the way into my mouth, as deep as I could, until I felt him hit the back of my throat and tears sprang to my eyes. I pulled him out with an obscene sound, a strand of saliva hanging from my lips, and put him back in again and again, bobbing my head up and down while squeezing and massaging his balls with my other hand.
“You suck so well, you filthy girl, you take it so well,” he growled, enjoying my impatience. “You can tell you love having a good cock in your mouth.”
I answered with a moan around his cock that made him shudder. He couldn't hold out much longer: he gripped my head with both hands and set the pace, fucking my mouth faster and deeper each time. I felt his whole body tense, felt his cock begin to throb against my tongue, and suddenly he exploded. The first jet struck my palate, the second my tongue, and the third escaped from the corner of my lips. Hot, thick, salty. I swallowed it all with his cock still in my mouth while he held my head and I tried to stifle the sound he was wrenching from me.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, gathered what had escaped down my chin, and sucked my finger while looking up at him, pleased with how much fun we had had in those stolen minutes.
“You liked it, didn't you, you little slut?” he said, helping me to my feet and giving me an affectionate smack on the ass.
I nodded with a smile, my knees still trembling. And just in time, because upstairs we heard the bathroom door open. We began getting dressed in a hurry, holding back our laughter in case my mother came downstairs. I pulled my leggings up without my underwear, which he tucked into his pocket with a wink; he fastened his zipper and knelt in front of the refrigerator again as though nothing had happened.
“I wish we had more time,” he murmured, coming close one last time to kiss my neck and squeeze one of my breasts beneath my shirt. “I would have liked to fuck you slowly, in a bed, all day.”
“Maybe next time I'll show you my bedroom, in case there's something up there that needs checking,” I replied, winking at him. “And you can put it wherever you want.”
“Write down my number,” he said, smiling, still tasting of me on his lips. “Then we'll arrange to meet without rushing.”
I entered his number into my phone, and we kept playing for a couple more minutes until we heard my mother coming down the stairs. By the time she entered the kitchen, the technician was already putting the refrigerator back in place as if nothing had happened.
“I've given it a thorough inspection, ma'am,” he explained naturally. “It only needs to be recharged with gas so it will cool properly again. And the noise is fixed now. I'll message you this week to see what day I can come back and finish.”
“Thank you very much,” my mother replied. “Let me know how much I owe you for the repair.”
When they finished talking, she accompanied him to the door and said goodbye. I stayed in the kitchen, my pulse still racing, my pussy throbbing beneath my leggings without panties, and a smile I couldn't wipe away. I had been more than satisfied with that man's work, and I wouldn't mind repeating it.
“Where would you like to go?” my mother asked when she returned, oblivious to everything.
“Anywhere you want, Mommy,” I said. “I'm going upstairs to shower; my body feels sticky from all that cleaning.”
I ran up the stairs two at a time. Under the hot water I could still feel his semen sliding down the inside of my throat, the weight of his hands kneading my tits, his beard scraping my thighs, and that number saved in my phone, waiting for the message I knew would arrive before the end of the week.
