Chapter 15: Plumber Takes Care of the Bitchy MILF’s Pipes

T. Ropex

I appeared in the back of a vehicle.

A very cluttered vehicle.

I blinked and looked around. It was moving. I grabbed a shelf that was full of strange parts. Pipes of various lengths. Rubber circles. Gaskets, maybe. Others had fasteners of various types and materials. There were primitive-looking tools. A craftsman of some sort.

“Where are we?” I asked, glancing up front. I could not see who drove this conveyance.

“We are in the van of Phil Meyers, owner of Satisfactory Plumbing,” the AI reported in my mind. Awe fell on me. “A plumber? Truly?”

“Yes, yes, from my profile of your desires, I know that you greatly respect earth plumbers. Satisfactory Plumber seemed like the perfect match to make your holiday a success.”

“Yes,” I said, such awe pushing down on me. “You see, they are greatly respected. Women adore them because they ensure the flow of water. And women get so wet around them. The plumber must deal with their own pipes, their pussies.”

“Yes, yes, I understand,” the AI said.

“Often, women pay with their bodies, too,” I added, “because the plumber’s seed is so desired. Even married women will become sluts for them.”

The van made a turn. I was so eager for the plumber to arrive at the destination. This was a wonderful surprise. I could follow him on his route all day. Witness him dealing with many different women’s pipes.

It was a perfect choice.

“I am so glad that you find this scenario highly enjoyable,” the AI said. “If you would take a moment to fill out our customer satisfaction survey as we wait to arrive at the destination.”

“Sure,” I said.

“On a scale between one and two-hundred-and-seventy-seven, how would you rate your vacation so far? Keep in mind activities, the amount of adjustment, the choice of scenery, and the ease of the experience when making your rating.”

I had to think about it. While I had been disappointed by the humans, the AI had recreated them to become how they should be. Such a duplicitous race to put out those life re-creations and not have them reflective of real life on Earth. It was a blatant false advertisement, but that wasn’t Earthling Dream’s fault. It was the human’s fault.

The travel agency and their Fantasy Assist Version 4.27 had served me flawlessly.

“An easy two-hundred-and-sixty-nine,” I said. I couldn’t rate them the full points.

“Excellent,” the AI said. “We are Earthling Dream are glad that you chose us for your vacation needs. Now, we are about to arrive.”

The van turned. I had to grip the shelving again to keep from falling over. I smiled as we were arriving at the destination. The van came to a stop. The engine turned off. The door creaked open and the van rocked. That was surprising. It would take a great deal of weight to do that.

The back of the van opened and ... a very fat man was there. He wore jeans and a T-shirt that hugged a rather ... fat body. His belly hung out, covered in hair. He was pasty and ugly with greasy hair. I grimaced in disgust at him.

This was not a plumber. This was ... a ball of dough shoved into clothes. How could any woman be turned on by this?

“Adjusting the scenario,” said T. Ropex.

Phil Meyers

I hitched my pants before I opened the back of my van to grab my tools. A nondescript account was back there. I ignored the putz and yawn, my shirt riding up my belly. I needed to lose some weight, but, damn, those burritos were just too fucking good.

And the hamburgers. The shakes.

Life was short. Why should I starve myself because my jackass doctor said so? What did he know? I had some Karen that was screeching at me to fix her plumbing. It was an emergency. Her hot water heater had a blown hose. Probably take five minutes to fix. If she had a man in her life, she wouldn’t have to be such a harpy.

I knew she would be the type to hover, too. Wouldn’t believe I could do it. Criticize me. We were in suburbia. Probably drove her husband to fuck some nicer broad and was offended when she learned he was banging some tight-ass side piece. Kicked him out. Kept the house. The kids.

Bitch.

I grabbed the toolbox and grunted. Fucking thing was heavy. I started to lift it when this dizzying ... warmth swept over me.

I lifted the toolbox with ease. I lifted far more than that every day. I had hit the gym this morning. Had to get my pump on. I wore a tight-fitting muscle shirt for the ladies. I hope this Karen that called would get so fucking wet at the sight of me. Just dripping.

I’d fix her pipe. Her husband had to be out of the picture. This would be a simple fix. Just replace a rubber hose. Five bucks from Home Depot. Just needed a flathead screwdriver. A monkey could do it. Even a Karen.

I marched up to the door, jeans tight. Women loved staring at my ass. I loved being a plumber. I got so much pussy. Why the wife got fed up and left me. She thought she owned my big dick. She was married to some dweeb. I was free to bang as many bitches as I could.

I headed to the door with a smile on my face.

T. Ropex

I smiled and nodded at the sight of the hunky plumber. He was a handsome beefcake. The sort of man who got the sluts.

A proper plumber. I jumped out of the back of the van before he could close it. He marched up to the front door. That toolbox looked heavy, but he carried it with ease. I was so eager for the slut to be dripping for him.

He rang the doorbell.

I rubbed my hands together in anticipation.

Phil Meyer

I put on my most panty-melting grin. The door wrenched open to reveal one mousy-looking Karen.

“I called two hours ago!” she hissed, glaring at me. “Two!”

“Relax,” I said. “I’m here. I’ll get you sorted out.”

She sneered in disgust. “Don’t be a pig. I need you to fix it. Now I have no hot water!”

That was for sure. She had fucking ice in her veins. Probably was a dyke. She wore a baggy sweater and sweatpants. She was clearly thirty or forty pounds overweight and trying to hide it. Probably pigging out on ice cream since her divorce.

“Just lead the way, Mandy,” I said.

“Mrs. Cartwright,” she hissed and marched through the house.

God, she was married? Poor bastard.

T. Ropex

I was appalled by the lack of respect this woman showed. I expected her not to be a perfect ten in looks, but to have such a vile personality. It wasn’t right. He was a plumber. He deserved her respect. Her worship. The AI made him into a hunk for her.

And this was the thanks she gave him.

“It’s down here,” she said. “And don’t stare at my butt!”

The plumber shook his head and muttered, “Why would I want to stare at your fat ass?”

“Did you say something?” she demanded as she opened the door.

“Just lead on,” I said.

She headed down the stairs in a huff. The plumber followed, gripping his toolbox. I followed them, not pleased about this at all. Something had to be changed about her. I knew the AI would take care of it.

“Adjusting the scenario,” the AI said.

Phil Meyers

This was going to be a nightmare.

“There!” said Mrs. Cartwright the Karen. She pointed at the hot water heater. “Floors a mess. Look at it! Burst in the middle of the fucking night. I didn’t know what to do. I finally figured out to get it off, but look at this! It ruined a box full of old keepsakes. I can’t believe you put it in so badly.”

“Lady, I didn’t work on this,” he said. “And they don’t last forever. Fuck, your husband should have changed them out when they were supposed to.”

“He’s dead,” she hissed. “Now get to it. Hurry! And you better use the best hose or whatever.”

“That’ll cost,” I said.

“Bullshit! Don’t think—” She swayed and I blinked. She was ... dressed in tight-fitting jeans that hugged her curvy hips. A belly shirt clung to her big titties. They were clearly fake. It left her belly bare. She was a hot MILF.

Hadn’t she been fat and mousy? Her hair’s blonde now.

What a dumb thing to think. This bitchy MILF had been hot from the start. She just thought she was in charge. Her nipples poked at the front of her cress. She was turned on, the fucking whore. She wanted this to get hot and nasty. I could see it in her eyes.

The nondescript man at the foot of the stairs nodded.

“Hurry up and fix it, dick,” she said. “Stop staring at my tits and get to fucking work. I’m not paying you to ogle me.”

“Then why’d you dress like that?” I demanded of her.

She glared at me. “What?”

“Why’d you dress like a slut, Mrs. Cartwright?” I asked. “Did you dress like that when your hubby was alive? Or did you turn into a fucking whore after he died?”

She tried to slap me. I grabbed her wrist and gave her a warning look.

She wrenched her hand free and hissed, “I don’t have to put up with this. Get to fucking work!”

She turned around. I could see that tramp stamp. “MILF Slut.” She wanted everyone to know. Probably banging every young cock she could. A widowed cougar on the prowl, set free from her husband. Probably drove him to an early grave with her nagging. She deserved to learn a lesson.

I grabbed her and spun her around. “Were you going? I have to get to work fixing your pipes, too.”

“What?” she gasped as I pushed her toward a table.

“You heard me, slut,” I growled. “I know your type. You gotta leaky cunt that needs my big tool to fix. I’ll get you sorted out.”

“Pig!” she hissed, her eyes so bright with lust, her cheeks red and nipples hard. “You think I want that!”

“I know it,” he growled. “And you better start treating me with some respect, bitch.” I opened my toolbox and pulled out my leather strap. She gasped at the sight of it, a shiver racing through her. I grinned at her as she looked panicked.