Gave plumbing while my husband was at work

I still get a twinge in my balls when I think about that Tuesday. No, seriously. In my line of work, of course, you see all sorts of things. Women look at you completely differently when your man isn't home. But not like THIS... I was invited to a job site at 14 Lenin Street. It was a woman with a... you know, languid voice. She said there was a leak under the sink, I had an adjustable wrench, but my hands weren't in the right place. I'm a simple guy, 35 years old, I've been doing renovations since I was twenty. I'm used to women either turning up their noses at me or, on the contrary, clinging to me, because a man in the house is a man. The entrance is a typical Khrushchev-era building, third floor. I ring the doorbell. She opens the door. And then I froze. About twenty-five, no more. Her dark hair was pulled back into a bun, with a couple of loose strands falling down her neck. She was wearing a short, terrycloth robe, blue and worn, tied at the waist. And that robe... it was a little too small for her. The fabric stretched so tightly across her hips that I immediately realized she was either wearing no thong underneath, or she was digging in to the quick. Her eyes were green, languid, and they looked at me with a curious sort of curiosity... "Come in," she says, smiling. "I thought I'd never get here. I'm fed up with this pipe." She smelled of coffee and something else sweet, like vanilla. I walked into the kitchen and set down the toolbox. It's small, about six meters, but cozy. A cup of cold coffee and an ashtray with a single cigarette on it sat on the counter. The window was fogged up. I reached under the sink, and she was standing right next to me, almost touching me. I glanced at the connections, and out of the corner of my eye I saw her slender legs, clean-shaven, and her small feet, painted red. A familiar warmth immediately spread through my chest. "Here," I say, trying to keep my voice even, "the pad is completely rotted. I'll replace it now, five minutes." I crawled out from under the sink and turned around, and there she was, leaning against the refrigerator, her robe slightly open, and I saw the edge of her panties. Lace, beige. And the cleavage between her breasts. She caught my gaze and smiled even wider. “Don’t be in a hurry,” she said. “My husband won’t be here until seven. Would you like some coffee?” I didn't refuse the coffee. There was nowhere to sit, only one stool, by the table. She sat down on it, and I leaned against the windowsill next to her. She handed me a cup, and as I took it, her fingers lingered on my hand a second too long. "Do you always work without a partner?" she asked, sipping from her cup and looking at me over the rim. "It happens," I shrugged. "It's not a dirty job. So what?" "Oh, nothing," she put the cup down on the table and, suddenly, exhaling sharply, unfastened the belt on her robe. The robe fell open. Underneath, there was only a thin, almost see-through lace tank top and that same beige thong, which concealed practically nothing. Her nipples were hard, clearly visible through the fabric. "It's just boring," she said, looking me straight in the eyes. "Alone all day, within four walls. Dima, I think?" "Yeah," I breathed out. My dick had gotten so hard that even my pants felt tight. My brain was still trying to put the brakes on: "Work, client, husband coming home," but my erection was already giving me orders directly. "My name is Lena," she said, standing up from her stool and taking a step closer to me, standing right next to me. Heat radiated off her. "You must be tired, Dim. Look how dusty it is under the sink; you're probably all dirty." She ran her hand over my chest, over my T-shirt. It took my breath away. "It's my job," I croaked. My hand, as if it had a life of its own, settled on her waist. The skin was silky and hot. "Maybe I need to relieve stress?" she whispered, bringing her lips close to my ear. I felt her breath, her tongue lightly touching my earlobe. "While my husband is away." That was the switch. The last one. The brakes were fucking burned out. "Take it off, you say?" I squeezed her ass, crushing the soft flesh through the lace. She gasped softly and pressed her hips against me. I immediately felt her pubis press against my erect penis, hard as a crowbar. I spun her around and pressed her back against the wall, pressing my whole body into it. My hands were no longer ceremonious—pulling the straps of her T-shirt off her shoulders, exposing her breasts. They were stunning—firm, with large, dark nipples that begged to be sucked. “Oh, Dima...” Lena breathed out, throwing her head back as I sank my lips into her nipple, greedily licking and sucking it, biting it. "Why are you doing this, huh?" I growled between kisses, kneading her breast with one hand and already groping the wet fabric of her thong with the other. "Your husband isn't home, so you decided to have sex with the plumber?" “Don’t you want to?” she hissed, grabbing my hair and pulling my head even closer to her chest. “He hasn’t had an erection for a month, do you hear? No boner. But I can feel it in you. Oh, what a boner.” I couldn't take it anymore. I pulled away and yanked my pants and boxers down. My cock popped out, red, with a wet head, painfully hard. Lena's eyes widened when she saw it. I know it's not small—almost eighteen centimeters, thick in girth, with veins sticking out. "Wow," she breathed. "What a tool." She immediately, as if afraid I'd change my mind, dropped to her knees right on the tiled floor. She took my cock in her hand, stroked it, as if assessing its weight and size, and then opened her mouth and took it all in. Deeply. "Oh, bitch..." I moaned, throwing my head back. Her mouth was hot and wet. She did it with some kind of desperate greed, pushing her mouth all the way down to my throat, choking, but not stopping. Saliva ran down her chin, down her shaft, dripping onto the floor. She looked up at me with her huge green eyes, and pure, animalistic desire was visible in them. "Suck it, bitch," I whispered, holding the back of her head, but not raping her, just guiding her. "Yes, deeper, more." She moaned, taking it in again and again. I felt her tongue lick the head as it came out, and she ran it across the roof of my mouth as it entered. It was torture and pleasure all at once. But I wanted more. "Get up," I commanded, pulling away. She rose, her lips glistening with saliva, breathing heavily. "On the table. Now." She understood without words. She ran to the dining table, braced herself with her hands on it, arched her back, and stuck out her ass. Her thong was already pushed to the side, and I saw her pussy—wet, glistening, with swollen lips. I came up behind her and ran my head over her damp folds, teasing. "Come on, Dim," she moaned, wiggling her butt. "Fuck me, fuck me, come on!" I entered. Slowly, but all the way in, all the way. She screamed with pleasure. I felt her walls squeezing my cock, how tight, how hot it was inside. "You're so tight..." I croaked, starting to move. Slowly at first, deeply, pulling out almost completely and then thrusting back in, balls deep. She stood there, her forehead pressed against the countertop, moaning and moving in time with me. “Faster,” she begged. “Harder!” I sped up. My balls slapped her clit, the table shook, the cup of half-drunk coffee fell and broke, but we didn't care. I fucked her with wild force, slamming my cock into her wet hole again and again. The apartment filled with sounds: squelching, slapping skin, her strangled cries and my growls. "Whose whore are you, huh?" I growled, leaning towards her ear and tugging at her hair. “Yours!” she screamed. “More! More!” I flipped her onto her back. She immediately spread her legs, bending them at the knees and opening wide before me. Her eyes burned with a mad fire. She guided my wet cock back inside her. I fell on top, entered, and continued this frantic, furious fucking, looking into her eyes. "Look at me," I ordered. "Look who's having you." Her face contorted, her mouth opened in a silent scream. I felt the spasms building inside her, her grip on my cock tightening. “I... I... Dima, I’m coming...” she babbled. "Come on, finish!" I barked, increasing the tempo to the limit. And then it happened. She arched, digging her nails into my back, and screamed. A hot stream of squirt gushed from deep within her. It splashed right onto my stomach, onto my chest, and the last stream, before I'd even stopped, hit me square in the face. Warm, slightly salty liquid filled my eyes and ran down my lips. Blinded, I continued to thrust inside her, feeling her orgasm grip my cock like a vice. A couple more thrusts, and I growled, slamming into her one last time and spilling deep inside, releasing everything that had built up with hot, powerful thrusts. I came for what felt like a whole minute, flooding her hole. For a few seconds we just lay there, locked in each other's arms, breathing heavily. I opened my eyes and wiped the moisture from her face. She looked up at me with an absolutely happy, blissful smile. There was a puddle on the table. "Holy shit," she breathed. "You've never... done that to me before." I slowly pulled out of her. My cock was covered in a mixture of our juices. She sat up, looked at my still half-erect shaft, at the mess on the table, and suddenly laughed. “But you still haven’t fixed the pipe,” she said, playfully pushing me in the shoulder. I couldn't help but chuckle too. The tension had eased, but inside I felt warm and pleasant. “I’ll fix it now,” I said, pulling up my pants. She stood up unsteadily, wrapped her robe around herself but didn't tie it. She picked up a rag and began wiping the table, casting a quick glance at me. “Just... this...” she began. “Don’t tell anyone about this, okay?” “Of course,” I nodded. “Nothing happened. I was fixing a pipe.” She nodded and went to the bathroom to wash my sperm off of herself. I crawled under the sink and replaced the gasket in a minute. My hands were shaking. I turned on the water—the leak stopped. When I came out, Lena was standing in the kitchen doorway, already in pants and a T-shirt, combing her wet hair back. "Thank you, Dim," she said with a different, gentle smile. "For the repairs." “Go ahead,” I nodded and headed for the exit. I got into the car, lit a cigarette, and looked up at her third-floor windows. My head was still buzzing, and my balls felt empty and pleasantly aching. Half an hour later, I saw an old Lada pull up to the entrance, and a bored-looking man with glasses and a backpack got out. Her husband, apparently. I chuckled, started the engine, and drove away. That evening, when I was home, I caught myself wanting her again. Not just to fuck her—I'd already done that perfectly—but to talk to her, or something. A strange feeling. The next day she called herself. Her voice was cheerful. — Dim, hi. There's this... dripping faucet in the bathroom. Would you like to come and take a look? My husband won't be home again until the evening. I smiled into the phone. - I'll be there in an hour. This time I didn't even bother with tools. I knew we'd be fixing something completely different.