Summer 2000

by Robin

Caution: This True Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, True Story, Cheating, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Workplace, .

Desc: True Sex Story: A semi-true account of a project on social housing and some hot mums.

My mobile phone rang and vibrated on the desk in my site office. I picked it up and glance at the screen to see if it was a recognised number, perhaps even the caller's name. The screen told me it was the office calling.

"Hello?" I said a second after hitting the green answer button.

"Hello Brad, its Lucy here, I have Mr. Ash on the line for you. Just putting you through." The line went quiet for a moment.

Mr. Ash was the Managing Director of Ash Construction who had employed me as a Site Agent. I had been with them for only six weeks, two of which had been spent on holiday in Crete.

Things had gone bad when I returned to work on the construction of a new annex to a primary school. As I walked on site, I found a seventeen-ton 36o degree digger sitting astride a three-meter deep trench. The sides were crumbling and it had been raining all weekend.

To top it all, no trench supports had been put in place and Murphy was asking for a ladder so he could get down to the bottom to retrieve his hard hat. The machine was likely to topple into the trench and probably bury Murphy at the same time.

To cut a long story short, I stopped the job on health and safety grounds. Tore a strip off the Construction Manager who had been baby sitting my job while I was away and very nearly came to blows with the ground working sub-contractor who owned the machine.

I guess I had been expecting the call from Mr Ash and fully expected to be invited to fuck off.

"Robin, its David Ash here." He didn't sound too pissed with me. "I understand you have stopped the job in Caterham."

I told him I had and the reasons for my calling a halt to the madness. I reminded him that I was ultimately responsible for what went on on-site and I had no intention of being jailed because of some crazy Irishman and a Construction Manager too lazy or stupid to see what was wrong.

"Well yes, I see your point. However, that wasn't what I was calling about..." He paused, perhaps to allow me to stop spluttering.

" ... I want you to come into the office, today, if you would. Your company car is waiting here for you. It isn't a new one, but will do for now. I also want to go over a new project with you. I need someone to run a job we have, one hundred and eighty flats in Deptford that are being refurbished. We are sacking the two site Managers who between them have fucked it up royally. Can you get here within the hour? Oh, and by the way, your probation period is over.

I was flabbergasted; three months probation had just turned into six weeks. I guess stopping the job had been the right thing to do and I was getting a nice shiny car to boot. I called my wife to let her know.

And so, that afternoon, stepping from my Ford Focus, I found the site I was to run. Two large blocks of brick built social housing that had been constructed just after the war as a quick solution to the housing shortage caused by the bombing of London. The flats (apartments) were stacked on top of each other with a shared balcony connecting each front door and a concrete staircase at each end. They were hideous and depressing to look at.

The site compound didn't thrill me too much either. Three converted steel containers formed the site-office; stores and an admin hut all encompassed with steel, mesh fencing. It didn't look promising and I soon found out the extent that the two previous Managers had made a mess of things.

Each of the flats was to have new PVC double glazed windows, a new front door, a new fitted kitchen, a refurbished bathroom and a new heating and hot water system. This was to modernise the living conditions of the flats and bring them up to an acceptable European standard.

The thing was though; each flat was occupied and would be, all the way through the program. The upheaval to their daily lives was incalculable and perhaps, that is where the two Managers and the Council, who was the client, had not understood the effect on their customers.

I knew I was in for a rough ride and asked Mr. Ash a few days later, if this was a punishment. He laughed and then told me it needed someone with balls to run it and dig it out of trouble. I thanked him for his faith in me and told him he owed me one. Big time.

I took me a few days to get myself sorted and to understand the degree of works in each flat. Some were having more works than others and it really came down to my assessment of the existing conditions for the dwellings. It meant that I had to visit every household to survey each room and form a specification and schedule of works. That was when the fun began.

I cannot remember exactly, the job was completed many years ago now, but I suppose it much have been about three weeks into it. I visited a flat on the fourth floor, having made an appointment.

The woman answered the doorbell in her housecoat and slippers which I though a bit odd. It was, after all, gone ten in the morning, a bit late to be undressed. Especially as she would have had to be up for her children, take them to school, feed them and so on. I accepted her invitation to enter with my clipboard and prepared forms for various rooms.

This small woman, just less than five foot with mousey hair and a small frame, offered me coffee, which she put on the table in the living room. The survey its self took no more than fifteen minutes. I was ready for the coffee and sat in her living room to talk her through the program and what to expect. I asked if she had any questions at the end of my prepared speech.

"Any chance I can choose the tiles in the bathroom?" She asked, her head cocked to one side and an enigmatic smile on her face.

I told her that we only did diamond white. She sat opposite me in an armchair and damn! Her smile grew wider and her legs parted to show she had no underwear on. I had a grandstand view of her snatch.

"So no chance of a nice light blue then?"

I don't remember what I said, but in fairly quick order she was on my lap, my hand buried up her hole and her tongue down my throat. Man! But could she wriggle. She smelled fantastic; her perfume was subtle and intoxicating. The housecoat was discarded and her tits, even after childbirth, were well formed, not huge and didn't sag. Her belly was nice and tight and all in all, a neat package and willing to use her body to get what she wanted.

I fucked her over the arm of the settee, plunging into her willing body, our juices squishing merrily at the rhythmic onslaught. I don't know how long it lasted, but I do remember blasting a massive load into her guts and then, her saying we could not allow me to leave smelling of sex. This crazy woman sucked off all of our essences.

Needless to say, her bathroom was tiled in a nice duck-egg blue.

Until this job, casual sex was not something I was overly familiar with. Not through naivety, but more a lack of opportunity; How that was to change over the next twelve months.

Men may think they have the power, not so. The female of the species has the tools to make a grown man beg, cringe or become enslaved, all for the want of cunt. We are such sad bastards really.

A misses Jackson on the third floor of block one showed me just how easily men would snatch at opportunity. My survey appointment took me less than ten minutes, I was getting more proficient at assessing the needs of each flat. She was black. She originated from Guyana and spoke with a typical accent. I was pleased to see she did not carrying the usual 'big booty' favoured by African women. Mrs Jackson was tall, around six foot and slender as a rake handle.

Memory fades what her particular want in relation to the dwelling upgrade was, but I do remember how pink and hot her mouth was as it gobbled up my dick. Her dark eyes never left mine as my pink cock disappeared into her willing mouth. I thought it would never stop. She had my whole length in her mouth and was throat fucking herself on me. She had the hottest mouth I had every come across, or cum down as a matter of fact. Her nose was squashed against me so that every available inch was twitching as deeply as possible. She maintained her stare as her tongue massaged my cock and then, just as I gasped I was about to come, she managed to find a few more millimetres to shove down her red hot gullet. She showed no signs of swallowing, but it was obvious she had and her kiss of thanks carried that taste of man juice. I had never thought about having a black woman before. Any prejudice I might have carried was blown away by her expert throat action.

After her, any woman was fair game.

The most memorable though was Sally. All she wanted was a choice of colour for her front door. Simple enough and just a matter of juggling the palette of specified choices.

I sat at her kitchen table on a wooden stool, explaining the process she and her family were going to be subjected to when the kitchen was ripped out and her bathroom was totalled. Sally kept her flat very clean and scrupulously tidy. It was one of the larger units with three bedrooms. Her flat had the advantage of overlooking the communal garden with a grandstand view of the swing park.

We were on a third week of a super hot June, when even breathing was a trial. Instead of my usual suit and tie, I was dressed casually, in a short sleeved, open neck shirt and slacks. Sally had a pair of brilliant white hot-pants on and a gingham print blouse, open at the front and tied under her breasts exposing her stomach.

I remember, as I sat at the table, dribbling on about the need for her to pack stuff up in the kitchen, thinking that she was possibly the prettiest woman in the whole complex. Sally had her dark blond hair tied back in a ponytail. Somehow it just accentuated the curve of her long neck before the collar of her blouse obscured the view. I could see the myriad of veins and arteries just under her clear skin and wanted nothing more than to be biting her, just under the ear.

She had one child, but was hoping for more. Her little daughter was about to start in primary school, but was having a holiday with her Gran in Sussex for a few weeks. Hubby was a delivery driver for a tool hire company. He didn't make a great wage, but they managed.

Her blouse only had two buttons on it and only one was done up. I tried not to stare at the swell of her breasts that showed between the openings of the garment. She didn't make it any easier for me to ignore those partially hidden delights when she sat at the table opposite me and lent forward.

Sally was slender. Not thin in anyway, but I guess the correct term would be trim. Seeing her exposed stomach showed that she had absolutely no excess fat and the flare of her hips was just perfect. She had made her eyes up with a little colour on the upper lid and perhaps a little gloss to her lips. Those lips that were working at forming words, but were saying to my sub-conscious, kiss me.

I suppose I must have gone off track or something because suddenly, Sally touched my arm to bring me back from whatever fantasy I was wondering around in. I had to apologise and I know I blustered and she laughed. Her laughter lit up her beautiful face and put a sparkle in her eye.

I knew that I wanted her. I knew that I wanted to make love to this gorgeous woman and for her to return the passion. My mind's eye had her naked and trembling in my hands while my mouth went to work on her like some starved vampire.

I don't know why or even what made me ask it, but I blurted out, "Would you like to go swimming?"

She looked quizzical for a moment, and then smiled as the idea appealed.

"Yeah, why not?"

We arranged to meet in ten minutes. I needed to set my teams up for the afternoon and excuse myself for the remainder of the day. In record time, I had closed up my site-office and had the car running by the time she came down the stairs.

It was madness of course. A pure moment of irrationality, but immediately an appealing idea in the heat of this flaming June we were suffering. I didn't have a bathing costume and had to buy one on the way to Tooting Beck Lido.

The place was rammed, heaving with bodies, all trying to get cool and find a bit of personal space in which to put their towel. Of course, I didn't have one with me, but Sally had thought of that and brought two bath towels which, as she found me when she left the changing room, were doing a damned fine job of obscuring her curves.

I had managed to secure two sun beds at the deep end with a bit of shade from the burning sun. Sally placed the towels down and I had my first really good look at her form. She was as near to my idea of perfection as it was possible to be and my cock recognised the lust running amok in my veins. Her shorts curved into the crack of her arse and just seemed to be caressing her cheeks and holding them in pace. I was mesmerised.

I had to jump in the water and thankfully; the coldness shrank the stiffness of my dick into a manageable condition.

Sally swam like a fish. She laughed and relaxed as we splashed and messed around in the pool. Her laugh was tinkling and a joy to hear. The pleasure of floating and just being childlike was written all over her beautiful face. I guess I realised that I was in danger of falling in love with this delightful creature, but somehow, I didn't care. I just wanted her company and if we managed to get horizontal as well, then that would be a bonus.

Sally's costume went virtually see through when she got out of the pool. As she dried her hair the outline of her pussy was as if she had nothing more than gauze covering it and the darkness of her aureoles was plain to see. The bikini she wore was white, but at that moment, was skin coloured. She stopped rubbing her hair and stared at me staring at her.

"Like what you see?" It was not a coy question and felt like an invitation.

"Very much so. Sally, you are beautiful". It was a simple statement of fact. I though her as gorgeous and telling her felt good.

"Shall we go?" Sally picked up her things and headed for the changing room while I went to the men's locker room.

Ten minutes later, we were sat in the car with the engine running and the air-conditioning at full blast to take the heat out of the stifling cockpit.

"Where to milady?" I asked smiling.

"James, why not point the car in a direction and see where it leads?" She said this in a Lady Penelope voice, posh and nothing like her normal speech pattern with its London accent. We giggled like children as I headed for the countryside of Surrey and a certain place where steppingstones crossed the river Mole.

Her hand rested in my lap, fingertips drawing lazy circles through my slacks and inching ever so slowly towards my crotch. My cock was bent double and really uncomfortable. I shifted, trying to ease the discomfort without giving the game away, but Sally was on top of that.

"A bit uncomfortable are you Brad?" It was a totally unnecessary question, teasing if anything.

"Mm, yes." I tried to concentrate on driving.

Suddenly, she had my zip down and had fished my poor dick out of my trousers. And then, she was sucking the juice right out of it.

"That is so not fair." I told her, but it made no difference. Sally was on a mission to empty my balls and empty them she did, without spilling a drop. God knows how we didn't end up in a ditch as she slurped my cum down her throat.

Eventually, we arrived at the steppingstones and climbed out of the car, but not before I had managed to get my dick back to its rightful place. I had taken her to my favourite spot in the whole world, near to where I had grown up and very likely, my heart's true home. I loved this place and knew every inch of the River over a five mile stretch as it meandered around the foot of Box Hill.

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