The Electrician Looked at Me Like He Knew Something

It all started with a lamp. The one in the hallway of my apartment had been flickering for weeks as if it had a mind of its own, and no matter how many times I changed the bulb, it kept doing the same thing. A friend gave me the number of someone she trusted, an electrician who had done a whole installation for her without any problems, so one morning I picked up the phone and booked an appointment.

The one who showed up was a young guy. He was a few years younger than me, with that endearing clumsiness of someone who still doesn’t quite feel fully in command of his trade. I answered the door in house clothes, an old T-shirt and shorts, without thinking too much about how I looked.

And yet I noticed it right away. Every time I walked across the hallway, he lost track of what he was doing. His eyes kept drifting to my tits, moving freely beneath the thin shirt, and he’d snap back to the cable like a kid caught cheating. It amused me. There’s something about being looked at like that, without trying to hide it, that wakes up your body even if you don’t want it to. I felt my nipples harden under the fabric, and he saw it, and swallowed, and I knew that if I’d come two steps closer, he would’ve licked me right then and there with his mouth open.

—This is going to need another visit —he said at last, putting his tools away—. There’s a part of the installation I need to check carefully. I’ll come back in a couple of days, if that’s all right with you.

—That’s fine —I replied, and I swear there was no ulterior motive at all. Not yet.

***

Two days later, the doorbell rang at the agreed time. When I opened the door, it wasn’t him. It was a much older man, in his mid-forties, with the marked forearms of someone who really works for a living and a look that took its time over everything it observed.

—I’m the partner —he said, holding out his hand—. My colleague came the other day, but I’m doing this part. My name’s Andrés.

—Carla —I answered, and let him in.

That morning I was alone. I’d just gotten out of the shower when the doorbell rang, and since I wasn’t expecting him to be so punctual, I dressed in the first thing I found, in a hurry, with my hair still damp falling over my shoulders. Loose shorts, a thin T-shirt, nothing else. Halfway through getting dressed I realized I hadn’t grabbed any underwear, but by then the bell was ringing a second time and I didn’t want to make him wait. My naked cunt under the shorts, my nipples showing through the cotton: that’s how I received him, unwillingly and willingly.

Andrés worked without rushing, talking the whole time. He asked me about the apartment, how long I’d been living alone, about my job. I followed the conversation standing up, leaning against the doorway to the hall, arms crossed.

—My colleague told me about you —he said suddenly, without looking up from the wiring—. He said the owner of the apartment was a very beautiful woman. Now I understand why he came back so distracted.

I felt the heat rise to my face. I let out a laugh to cover it up.

—How exaggerated —I said.

—Not exaggerated at all.

He said it without looking at me, focused on his work, and that made it even more unsettling. It wasn’t the usual construction-site compliment. It was a statement, said in a low voice, as if he were commenting on the weather.

***

As he went on, he started asking me for things. To hand him a tool, to hold the flashlight, to bring him a screwdriver from the bag. Small, normal favors. Until he asked me to crouch down and hold a couple of wires against the wall while he fixed them in place.

I squatted down in front of him. And there, with the loose shorts and nothing underneath, I was acutely aware of my own body. Of how the fabric opened, of the current of air over my cunt, of the way he, from his height, had the whole scene in front of him. I could have stood back up. I could have said my knees hurt. I didn’t.

—That’s good —he murmured—. Stay there one more second.

The second stretched into forever. I felt his eyes moving over me with a calm that raised every hair on my skin. He wasn’t touching me, he wasn’t saying anything out of line, and yet there was something deeply shameless in letting myself be looked at that way. It was me allowing it. It was me staying still, with the shorts open and my cunt slowly getting wetter, feeling the dampness run down the inner side of my thigh.

I know exactly what you’re doing, I thought. And we both know I’m not moving.

When he finally let me stand up, my cheeks were burning and I had a tingling between my legs that I could no longer pretend didn’t exist. I stood there for a moment with my back to him, pulling myself together, still feeling the warm trace of his attention on my skin. It was absurd how much something so small affected me. He hadn’t even touched me, and I was breathing like I’d run up the stairs. I could feel my cunt throbbing, swollen, asking for something. Anything.

***

—You have a beautiful body —he said, now looking straight at me—. I hope you don’t mind me saying so.

—It’s a little weird for you to tell me that —I replied, though I didn’t mind at all.

—You’re right. —He smiled—. But there are things it’s worse to keep quiet.

He finished the job and put his tools away. Then came the awkward moment: he told me the amount, and I remembered, with a knot in my stomach, that I didn’t have that much cash in the house. I tried to pay with my phone, but the bank app kept loading, spinning around without connecting.

—The transfer isn’t working —I said, frustrated—. Let me try another way.

—Take it easy —he replied, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed—. I’m in no rush. And if there’s no cash, maybe we can find another way to settle the bill.

I looked at him without fully understanding. Or understanding perfectly and wanting him to be the one to say it.

—What way?

—My colleague thought you were the prettiest woman he’s seen in months. So do I. —He paused—. Let me take a few pictures of you. For him. And we’ll forget about the bill.

***

I stayed silent for a moment, weighing it up. It sounded simple, almost innocent, and at the same time I knew perfectly well that it wasn’t. For a long time I’d been carrying this part of me that gets turned on precisely by that: by being looked at, by being desired, by knowing I’m being watched. I never imagined it would happen with an electrician I’d known for half an hour, but the body doesn’t care about scripts.

—I have photos on my phone, if you want —I said, buying time—. There are several on social media.

—You didn’t understand me. —His voice dropped a notch—. I want more private photos. Of now. Of you, just like that. With your cunt out, if you’ll let me.

My heart hammered in my chest. I nodded.

—How do you want them? At least let me change.

—No need to change. You’re perfect like that.

He took out his phone. He asked me, with that same calm as before, to sit on the sofa and spread my legs as far as I could. I did it slowly, without taking my eyes off him. The shorts opened completely and I showed him my shaved cunt, wet, gleaming under the living room light. I heard the click of the camera and a shiver ran down my spine. I felt his gaze moving over the screen, back and forth between the viewfinder and my body, and I knew the photos were only an excuse. What he really wanted was to look at my cunt spread open. And what I really wanted was for him to do it.

—Open it with your fingers —he said, his voice a little rougher—. Show it to me properly.

I took my hand down there and parted the lips of my cunt in front of him, feeling how they stuck because of how wet I was. He took two, three photos, saying nothing, breathing through his mouth. I could see the hard bulge under his pants, the cock rising as he took pictures of me, and that made me wetter still.

—Pull your shirt up —he murmured—. I want to see your tits.

I obeyed. I rolled the fabric up to my neck and showed him my hard tits, the stiff nipples pointing at him. He lowered the camera for a second, just to look at me, then lifted it again.

—Touch your nipples. Squeeze them.

I pinched them slowly, playing for him, biting my lip. Every instruction from him was another twist of the screw. Turn around. Pull the fabric a little farther. Open your ass with both hands, leaning against the backrest. I obeyed with a mix of shame and excitement I’d never felt so intensely before. It wasn’t sex that was turning me on. It was being looked at that way, being the whole object of his attention, feeling like I existed only so he could watch me with his cock hard beneath his pants.

***

When I turned around and the shorts barely covered me, he stopped taking pictures. He took a step toward me.

—Can I? —he asked, with his hand halfway there.

—It was only photos —I said, but I didn’t even believe myself.

—Then tell me no.

I didn’t tell him no. His hand settled on my hip, firm, sure, and a sigh escaped me before I could hold it back. His palm slid down over my ass, squeezed it all the way, and my whole body trembled. Then he moved up along my waist, wrapped his arm around me from behind, and grabbed a tit through the bottom of my T-shirt. He pinched my nipple between two fingers, unhurried, and I threw my head back and moaned softly against his neck.

—You’re gorgeous —he said, using tú with me for the first time, his voice rough in my ear—. And you know it. You love being told that. You love having your cunt looked at.

—Yes —I whispered, because nothing else came out.

His other hand went straight to my shorts, slipped under them and touched my cunt all at once. He found me soaked. He ran his fingers through my wet slit, up and down, playing with my clit, and I opened my legs against the wall without thinking.

—You’re dripping —he murmured—. Look at you.

He pushed two fingers inside me with a slowness that made me grit my teeth. He pulled them out shining, held them up to the light to look at them himself, and then passed them over the lips of my mouth. I sucked them clean. I sucked my own cunt off his fingers, looking him in the eyes, and a low growl slipped out of him.

—That’s it, very good.

He went back down with his hand and put them in me again, now with his thumb pressing my clit in slow circles. I leaned back against the wall, legs open, and let him work me over. His fingers going in and out, thick, rough from years of work, finding a spot deep inside that made me rise up onto the tips of my toes. I felt the orgasm build at the base of my belly, tight, dense, and I didn’t hold back at all. I came standing right there, biting my hand so I wouldn’t scream, his hand soaking through completely, my knees shaking and him holding me against the wall.

—Good girl —he said quietly, pulling his fingers out slowly—. Good girl.

I leaned against the wall and let him look. Let him look at everything. The open cunt, the wet legs, the shirt hiked up, the tits out, the ragged breathing. There was nothing else but that, his gaze and his hand and my ragged breathing, and it was one of the most electric things I’ve experienced in a long time.

***

Afterward he straightened his clothes, licked the fingers he’d used on me, put the phone away, and went back to being the calm man from before, as if none of it had happened.

—Bill settled —he said at the door, with a half-smile—. My colleague will be very grateful.

—Tell him you’re welcome —I replied, still with my pulse racing and my cunt throbbing beneath the wet shorts.

—You know something? —He stopped at the threshold—. The installation in this apartment is old. It’s sure to give trouble again soon.

—You think?

—I’m almost sure. —He held my gaze a second longer than necessary—. And when it does, you know who to call.

I closed the door and stood there with my back against it, my body still vibrating and my thighs sticky. I knew he was coming back. I knew the next time he wouldn’t catch me off guard with wet hair and clothes thrown on in a hurry. The next time I was going to be ready, naked from the start, with my cunt ready for him to fuck me against that same wall. And honestly, I couldn’t wait for that damn installation to fail again.