these are the naughty things that keep me awake at night…~n~

Pacing the floor wouldn’t get the guy here any faster. She knew it, but she still hopped up every time a vehicle drove down her street. Her electric was out-but only in half the rooms of half the house. The dryer had a squeal that sounded like someone was being eviscerated every time it ran. There was a drip under her toilet tank that was filling up the bowl beneath it a little faster every day.

Her house was a freaking disaster.

But it was hers, her money pit, her sanctuary, the place she came home to each night, the lawn she mowed, and the driveway she shoveled. But the few little things to be done had become more things to be done, and now was a veritable pile of things that had to be done. And while it was true that she could, and did, handle a great deal of the small stuff on her own, there were things she just wouldn’t do. Electricity. Plumbing. Dead things in the walls.

And really, dead things in the walls were sort of self-cared for anyway. All it took was a cold snap or a good hot spell, and after a week, ten days at the most, the smell went away. She imagined there were any number of skeletons in the walls of her home.

Where the holy fucking hell was he?  she wondered for the hundredth time. She’d set aside this time to be here and she wasn’t enjoying a work-day-home, oh hell no. Her fingernails with the pale pink polish drummed lightly on the counter. Her long hair was caught up in a messy pile on top of her head, and her jeans were old, soft and comfortable as only old jeans could be. Noting the very soft spots on her thighs, where her hands tended to rub, and the even thinner spots between her legs where those rubbed, she ruefully accepted that this could be the final day these could be worn.

“One good sneeze and I’ll blow the ass out of them,” she mused, trying to look over her shoulder at her butt. Still, they hugged that bum delightfully. Going commando on off days was the normal dress code, so she doubly appreciated the near-velvet texture of the aged denim.

At the crunch of gravel, she straightened. At last! NOW she could really get some shit done around here.

Stepping out to the driveway, she lifted her hand to block the brilliant sunshine. Whoa. He was huge. Easily topping six feet, he stood beside his beat up truck. All manner of compartments beckoned her curiosity.

“Hi, you must be Julia?” His hand, which could easily have juggled bowling balls, engulfed hers.

“And you must be Will?”

“Sure am…at least I was when I woke up this morning!”

She laughed a little at his folksy humor.

“So, I hear you have a huge list of things needing my help,” he said. He slipped a cell phone from his pocket, and a stylus from behind his ear.

“Why don’t we do a walk-through first, and you can tell me what you’re thinking.”

It was a good idea, she knew, so he wouldn’t need to take things out of his truck that would be unnecessary. She showed him the drippy toilet.

“Supply line,” he murmured, jotting a note on the phone. She pointed at the dimmer switch that always shocked the finger that dared to touch it,  (new switch, make sure ground is on), the window that wouldn’t go up (broken cording inside the sill plate) and the dryer that screamed, (bearings), before taking him to the electrical panel. After explaining the strange and wacky electric situation, he asked to go up to the attic.

“Yup, just as I thought,” he said as he made his way down the ladder. “You have a sub-box with old glass circuit breakers. I’ll replace those, but you may consider running the wiring back down to the main and getting rid of the old wires that aren’t code anymore. Not today, but at some point in the future.”

She agreed to all the fixes he’d proposed, and got busy working around the house while he did his thing. They talked a little while he worked on the toilet in the hallway outside her bedroom. Her head was under the bed, her ass in the air as he stepped into the room. She didn’t realize that the soft cotton had parted ways at the seam over her crotch, and that her pussy lips, flushed and swollen from the rubbing on the denim, had slipped outside of the confines and beckoned him.

He stood between her legs, his own legs not letting her back out from under the bed. His fingers caressed those puffy lips, then worked under the thin strip of seaming to pierce her hole.

“Wha! what the….”

She could not move back, his tree-trunk legs blocked her. She could not move sideways, or any way, could only just be there. His finger, his thick, rough finger, slid in and out, round and round, diddling her pussy, until she felt the moisture build. At this angle he kept rubbing her spot, just a flick of intense pleasure every few wiggles of his finger. A second finger joined the first, the two wriggling digits making her shudder and rock back against him.

“So. FUcking. Tight.”

She heard the groan in his voice, then the pressure as he knelt behind her.

“Don’t move.”

She couldn’t imagine what he was doing. What he was going to do. There was a sudden tightness as he tugged the tight strip of seam pulling it away from her pussy, then the quick snapping release as it broke free. With one hard pull, the entire crotch of her jeans gave way with a gentle fabric sigh.

Shocked by the sudden brush of cool air against her hot cunt, she didn’t hear him unzip his own jeans. The push of a very large cock against her slippery opening made her struggle for a moment, but it was too late. He slid into her as if she’d been made for him.

“Aaaaah, gawd,” he groaned. “I’ve never fucked a cunt that could take it all.” He pushed steadily forward until she felt his thighs on her buttocks. His hands reached under her pulling away more of the jeans until her entire ass and pussy was bared. Still buried inside of her pussy, he looped an arm under her belly, and began crawling them back, freeing her from under the bed.

“Please,” she said, but he cut her off, lifting her and carrying her to the living room. She dangled, impaled on his cock, catching sight of herself, hair falling everywhere, her mouth open in a gasp of pleasure and pain and shock.

He threw her over the back of the couch, reaching up and under to tug her bra up and over her tits, then grabbed them, using them like handles to pull out, then slam back into her.

“OW!” she yelped.





He grunted, thrusting deep with every word. She barked out a short scream with every slam, the flared head of his cock slamming her cervix. It hurt, her belly felt stretched and torn.

His fingers found her nipples, pinching them hard, then twisting them. She arched back, whimpering at the dual slap of hurt on her sensitive tits. His hips pulled back then swiveled, driving deep. Her knees buckled and she impaled herself further on him, his grip on her nipples and his cock in her cunt the only things holding her up.

“Oh gods it hurts…please…”

Pulling her back over the couch, he slid out of her cunt, then lifted her head by the hair.

“Look at that. Look at my monster cock.”

She could hardly look away. It glistened, the head almost as big as her fist. It flared, red and dangerous looking, a weapon, not a sexual toy.

“It’s wet. Not with blood, you little whore, but with your cunt-juice. Your cunt is gobbling my cock, welcoming it. Wanting it. But okay, I’ll give it a break. Open your mouth.”

She shook her head, despite the tearing of her hair to do so. He shook her head harder, pushing her to her knees, wiping the tip of his cock on her lips.

“Suck it.”

Again she shook her head. He dropped her there, and strode into the bedroom. He returned with a pair of pliers from his tool belt. His fist grabbed her left tit, the pliers grabbed the nipple and pinched, slowly tightening the grip on her swollen bud.

“No…nooo..” she could not break eye contact, and his implacable look cowed her. Her mouth opened to scream as he twisted the pliers that were mashing her nipple. A little pop of his hip shoved the tip of his dick between her lips. It was too big. It was not going to fit all the way.

He pushed harder, his grip on the pliers steady. A scream built in her throat as he kept twisting. Her head fell back, and he plunged forward, dropping the pliers and grabbing her head. Fingers twisting in her hair, he fucked her mouth, splitting the corner of her lip as he battered his way into her throat. Gagging, vomit rising, she implored him with her eyes to let her go, but he smiled down at her. He pulled out as her throat spasmed, as the vomit rose.

Swallowing hard, stomach heaving, she was limp as he lifted her up, spinning her around and back over the couch. Into her dripping cunt he slipped, fingers bruising on her hips as he lifted her higher to accommodate the thrusts of his body.  He ground against her crotch, banging hard, nearly throwing her over the couch as he began to spurt seed into her.

“So. Fucking. Tiiiigghhhaaarrgghh!” he groaned, dumping what felt like acres of cum into her.


He dropped her onto the couch, came over it to sit beside her.

“You…came in me,” she murmured. “I could get…”

His fingers kneeded one nipple.

“Free milk,” he said. “Don’t worry, next time I’ll fuck you in the ass.”

“Oh no,” she said.

“Well, yes,” he said, pointing to his still-hard shaft. “Mr. Woody doesn’t go away after the first shot.”

He squeezed her nipple hard.

“Roll over.”



4 thoughts on “Handyman”

  1. nilla, there must be some award you can get for this story. The best thing I have read on a Sunday morning in a long time. I do like these stories where the trades guys take advantage of the lady’s, and it appears that you do as well. Tip

    1. Thanks Tip, that’s a wonderful comment! I do love those tradesmen tales. Even the ones I don’t write…



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