Sexy Erotica
“A Handy Man,” a sex story by Cynthia Lucas
I began mowing lawns the summer before my freshman year at college. Money was tight back then and there were few jobs for inexperienced guys like me in our small town of Campbellville. The best I could have hoped for was maybe pouring coffee at the only donut shop or pumping gas at the Shell Station out by the highway. But a job like that would be obsolete. These days all you need is to swipe a credit card and pump your own gas. I would have been regulated to ringing up sales at the convenience store and checking the ID of the underaged kids trying to buy beer and cigarettes. I don’t know why they’d bother. In a small town like ours everybody knows everybody else and we all know how old these kids really are.
I figured I could make more money by starting my own grass cutting business. I could charge my own fees and set my own hours, leaving me with lots of free time in the evenings. After all, summer is the height of party season and I could think of no better way to spend a sultry summer night than with a cold beer, a blazing bonfire and a hot girl.
The Colton’s were one of my first customers. They lived about a mile outside of town in a big rambling Victorian farmhouse with nearly an acre of lawn around it. I began cutting their grass on Tuesday and Friday afternoons. I hadn’t realized what sweaty gruelling work it was, especially once the full heat of the summer hit. Mr. Colton was the local pharmacist who worked long hours at the drug store. Their kids attended day camp, leaving Mrs. Colton alone all the day. She would sit on the back porch with a pitcher of iced tea and watch me as I worked, trimming the edging and kicking her children’s balls and bicycles and little inflatable pools out of the way. I must admit, for a thirtyish woman, she wasn’t bad looking—wavy blonde hair swept up off her neck in a ponytail, long toned legs with just the right hint of a tan and big round tits bulging against the fabric of her tank tops. Sometimes, it was hard to concentrate on my work.
One especially sweltering afternoon in late July my lawnmower finally blew. It was as though it had given up in the uncompromising heat. One minute I was diligently pushing it along, the next minute it was rumbling and belching putrid back smoke in my face before it finally sputtered and died. Blinded by the smoke, I coughed as I groped my way toward the house, grimy tears stinging my eyes and dribbling down my face.
“Looks like you need a new lawnmower,” Mrs. Colton said as she wiped my filthy face in a damp towel.
“The thing’s a piece of shit,” I admitted. I blinked in the afternoon sun and regained some of my vision.
Mrs. Colton stood smiling at me, gently patting the last of the soot and sweat from my brow.
“Why don’t you take a break?” she suggested. “You won’t get any more work done today. Have something to drink.”
It sounded like a good idea. The shade from the portico provided some much needed relief and that pitcher of lemonade on the table beside the rocking chair looked mighty refreshing with cool drops beading the glass.
“Thanks,” I said and sank into a wicker chair opposite the rocker. Mrs. Colton poured two generous glasses of lemonade with tinkling ice cubes in them and I gulped mine down.
She crossed her shapely legs and smiled at me as she said, “You’re a mess. I was just about to throw in another load of laundry. Why don’t you give me your shirt and I’ll throw it in with the load?”
Another good idea. I peeled my soggy t-shirt over my head and tossed it to her. A warm breeze brushed the sweat from my bare back.
“I’ll be right back,” Mrs. Colton said and pushed through the screen door. “Make yourself at home. Have another drink.”
I poured myself another glass of lemonade and lit a cigarette before settling back down in the wicker chair. Mrs. Colton reappeared with a big bottle of Beefeater.
“Want some gin your lemonade?” she asked as she poured a generous dollop into her own glass.
“Sure!” I held up my glass. “I didn’t think a nice lady like you drank.”
“There’s a lot about me you don’t know,” she said as she topped off my glass. “Mind if I have one of those?”
“You smoke, too?”
Mrs. Colton laughed and helped herself to one of my cigarettes from the table and I lit it for her.
“How old are you now, Tom?” she asked as she settled into the rocker, her spiked lemonade in one hand and a smouldering cigarette in the other.
“Nineteen,” I replied. “I’ll be twenty in the fall, right after I start college.”
“Ah! Nineteen!” She leaned back and smiled. “I remember the summer when I was nineteen. That was the best time of my life. I fucked almost every guy I met.”
A drop of water drizzled from her glass and plopped in the crevice between those big succulent tits. She scooped it up with the tip of her finger and sucked it off. The drop must have been cold. Her nipples pushed through the thin material of her white blouse and I could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra.
Before long we were chatting about our lives, slightly tipsy from the gin and the afternoon heat. She never took her eyes off me as she spoke, licking the dew of her drink from her full pouty lips.
The washing machine trilled from somewhere in the depths of her house.
“I have another job for you,” she said as she opened the door. “Inside. Why don’t you come in and wash up a bit first?”
I followed her into the house and she directed me to the bathroom while she changed the load of laundry. The bathroom was littered with rubber ducks and toys boats and little pieces of plastic toys that kids like to play with in the tub. I washed my face and chest in the sink and dried myself off with a towel embroidered with little cartoon fish. Mrs. Colton crept up to the bathroom door so quietly I hardly noticed her watching me until I straightened and checked my reflection in the toothpaste-speckled mirror.
“You’re still dirty,” she said and sidled up to me. “And you have to be squeaky clean for the job I need you to do.”
Her blouse was unbuttoned all the way down and her round pendulous breasts swayed enticingly with each step.
At Ease by Ed Hicks, available at ObsessionArt.com
“What else would you like me to wash?” I asked.
Mrs. Colton smiled and tugged at my fly. “Let me show you.”
She tugged the zipper all the way down and dipped her hand into my jeans. By then my cock was rigid as stone. She tugged my pants and boxers down to my knees and cupped her cool fingers around the head, squeezing tenderly until a tiny warm drop oozed from the tip. I moaned and bucked against her hand. We kissed, long and hard, my tongue probing the depths of her mouth, sucking in those lush full lips. I could taste the gin and lemonade on her breath and smell the perfume in her hair. Her blouse fell away and I enveloped her big floppy tits in my hands, pinching the nipples until she groaned.
“I need to check if you’re clean,” she purred and lowered herself to her knees.
She cradled my cock in her cleavage, nibbling the head and running her warm moist tongue along the shaft. She picked up a damp washcloth and a bar of soap from the vanity and lathered it up, stroking the shaft until suds foamed between her fingers. She rinsed and dried me off. By then I thought my dick would burst from its skin.
“Better?” I asked.
“Much better,” she whispered and engulfed my cock in her mouth.
She moaned as she sucked, scraping her nails through the rough hair and along the curve of my tight balls. Her tongue slathered the shaft with spit. I bucked against her mouth and buried my fingers in her long tousled hair, guiding each stroke.
She pulled away and led me by the cock down the hall like she was walking a dog on a leash. I followed willingly, watching her tight ass sway under the frayed denim shorts that were so tight I could see the seam of her crack. Her bedroom was neat and airy. The window was opened and gauzy drapes danced in the breeze.
I’d never been with an older woman before and I couldn’t wait to get started. I tossed her onto the bed and tore at the button on her shorts. Finally naked, she stretched out like a languid cat. She had an amazing body, firm but soft and round in all the right places with a tiny silver surgical scar just above her pelvic bone. I plunged into the sweet musky folds between her legs. She tasted so good. I lapped up her juices, burrowing my tongue as deep as I could. I nibbled her clit, sucking at just the right time until she bucked and groaned and ground her pussy against my tongue. I tucked my hands under her ass and pressed in harder. She came in a gush, soaking my face all over with her love juices.
I kissed my way up her body, leaving behind a gooey trail. Mrs. Colton lay panting against the pillow, squeezing her tits together and pinching the big, pale pink nipples. I brushed her hand aside and sucked those magnificent tits, pulling the nipples up between my teeth until she keened and sighed and begged me to fuck her.
I was happy to oblige. I tucked a pillow under her hips and dove my throbbing cock deep into her waiting pussy. She gave a small cry of pleasure and tossed her head back as I pounded into her, deeper and harder, until the bed banged against the wall.
“Oh! Tom! Tom!” She wailed. “Fuck me! Fuck me hard! Fuck me like you’ve never fucked before!”
She wrapped her arms around me and dug her nails into my back, piercing the skin. Pain zipped through my body but I couldn’t care less. I could feel the blood trickle out as she scraped her nails up and down the length of my back. One more thrust and I exploded, filling her sweet pussy with my hot, creamy jism. Mrs. Colton cried out and dug her nails deeper into my flesh, prolonging what may have been the most intense orgasm of my life.
I collapsed in a twitching steaming heap on top of her, my heart drumming against her soft doughy tits. I kissed her neck, her chin, her nose and those beautiful sensuous lips until I finally regained some of my composure.
“Thank you, Mrs. Colton,” I gulped.
“Call me Gail,” she whispered and ran her fingers through my hair. She looked over at the bedside table. “What time is it?”
I checked the alarm clock. “Five-thirty.”
“Shit!” she snapped and pushed me off her. “Norm and the kids are going to be home any minute! You have to get out of here!”
She scrambled out of bed and searched the floor for her clothes. I found my jeans and boxers in the bathroom and hurriedly dressed while she ran down to the laundry room to get my shirt. I checked myself in mirror. Long bloody claw marks zigzagged across my back. Gail returned with my shirt and the cuts on my back stung when I put it on. A bit of blood seeped through the fabric but it was too late to do anything about it now.
Mr. Colton’s car pulled into the driveway just as I swooped down the stairs and headed out the door. Three kids, two girls and a boy, popped out of the car, lugging bulging backpacks behind them. Mr. Colton saw me and waved, smiling, as he climbed out and shut the car door behind him. The kids ran past me, barely saying hello, as they ran up the porch steps and into the house.
“Tom!” Mr. Colton called and headed up the path toward the house. I froze, hoping the floorboards would crack apart and swallow me into the depths of the house “Good to see you again. How’ve you been doing son?”
“Fine,” I said and stepped back, hoping he wouldn’t smell his wife all over me.
“Gail says you’ve been doing a hell of job on the yard work.” Mr. Colton patted my back and I winced under the fresh cuts.
“I do my best,” I gulped, trying to sound casual. “But my old lawnmower conked out on me today.”
By then Gail stepped out onto the porch with us, dressed in fresh clothes and looking very well put together. She dug into her purse and pulled out a wad of money.
“Here’s your payment for today’s work,” she said and handed me the bills. “Oh, hello dear. How was your day?”
“The usual.” Mr Colton frowned when he saw how much money she gave me. “Gail, give him more. The poor kid’s wearing himself out for you around here and now he needs a new lawnmower. Here you go, Tom.”
Mr. Colton pulled out his wallet and counted out another thirty dollars into my palm.
“Gee, thanks!” I said as I headed toward my truck.
“You’re a very handy man to have around.”
Mr. Colton put a hand on his wife’s shoulder and they both waved to me as I pulled the truck from the driveway and headed home.
Originally published November 2010