Chapter 1

The first time it happened, I wasn't really prepared. After all, when you get a call to fix someone's plumbing, you expect their boiler needs some attention, or their toilet's developed a leak. What you don't expect is for the customer to want their own plumbing fixed.

I'm twenty-four, and served a full apprenticeship with a qualified plumber before leaving his employ (on good terms) to start my own business. I'm olive-skinned: my mother is quite pale complexioned, but I look as if I was born into a Mediterranean family: I don't know who my father was, but it wouldn't surprise me to know he was from Spain, or southern France, or Italy – or somewhere in that area. I'm fairly strong – you have to be when you're wielding baths and boilers around – and for the same reason, fairly fit. Now, in my later years, with the benefit of hindsight, I can see that I was something of a sociopath: I could fuck a woman without worrying about consequences – an attitude that allowed me peace of mind, as things turned out.

Anyhow, back to the tale. It wasn't the customer's plumbing that needed male attention.

The customer in this case was Mary Black. She was the single parent of a daughter she'd had – I later found out – fourteen years earlier, when she'd been only twenty herself. She had decided to have a new washbasin installed in her bedroom. There wasn't enough space in her small cottage to have a proper ensuite put in, but a washbasin would be a step in the right direction. I thought a small loo would be more useful, but the customer is always right, and I've long known I can't second-guess a woman.

Anyway, the bathroom was next door to Mary's bedroom, so it wasn't difficult to extend the pipework through the wall and mount the basin. Not difficult, just time-consuming, but as I didn't have another job on that day, it was no problem: I set about doing a good job.

I was just finishing off restoring the plaster where it had broken off where the pipes came through the wall when Mary popped her head round the door and told me she was "just nipping out" for a meeting of the local wives' club committee.

"My daughter will be home from school in a few minutes, Mr Lennard," she added. "She'll sort out paying you – I've left her the money."

"Thanks," I said. "Nearly finished."

"You've done a really fine job," she said, smiling.

"Glad you think so," I replied, pleased.

She'd been gone barely five minutes when I heard the front door open and close. After a few moments, footsteps sounded on the stairs, and seconds later I found myself staring at just about the most beautiful young woman I think I'd ever laid eyes on. At this point, I had no idea of her age: asked, I would have put her at somewhere between 16 and 18. Her poise and confidence supported this view.

She had shoulder-length chestnut hair, fairly straight except for where it curled under her chin, a generally pleasing shape, with grapefruit-sized breasts pushing out the front of her school uniform blouse. She wore a pleated grey skirt coming to a couple of inches above her knees – which, I noticed, were not the knobbly ones of youngsters, but the smoothly rounded ones that women achieve when they are entering their adult growth phase. Her legs were bare, and her feet were encased in black patent sling-backs with kitten heels.

I could do nothing to stop my cock stiffening. I was sitting on the floor with my knees bent and splayed while I was smoothing off the plaster – a job which had to be completed soon, before it began to dry and set. I saw her eyes focus on my crotch and colour appear in her cheeks, while one hand pressed against her mound and rubbed – just for a moment.

Then, she seemed to collect herself, and rearranged her body so she was half in, half out the door, with her crotch pressed against the door jamb and her legs slightly parted.

I realised neither of us had spoken for what seemed like a very long time.

"I'm nearly through here," I said. "Your mum left money and said you'd pay me."

I know it sounds corny, but I swear a 'calculating look' appeared in her eyes.

"Okay, but I want you to do something for me first – when you've finished in here."

I agreed and the beautiful nymph left me in peace to finish the job and let my tumescence subside. Five minutes later, I had packed my tools and cleaned up, so I went in search of the girl.

"Hello, Miss?"

"I'm in here," she replied, her voice guiding me to the bedroom the other side of the bathroom from her mother's.

She was on her bed, holding a thin hard-back book, with the stamp impression of her school library on the cover. Around her, on top of the duvet, were a couple of magazines, open at pages of photographs. She was propped up on her side, resting on one elbow as I came into the room, and put the book down, still open. It drew my attention, which had been fixed until that time, on her long legs, and I realised there was a line drawing on the page, which looked suspiciously like one of those anatomical drawings the kids were given during sex education classes – a penis partly inserted in a vagina. That's when I noticed the magazine photographs, when I looked away from the drawing in the book: they were colour photographs of real people in the same position, with cocks half in, half out of pussies.

The hand which wasn't holding the book moved down her flank and rested on her thigh, her fingers spread. She was looking at my crotch while she rubbed herself through her skirt, allowing it to ride up and gradually show me more and more flawless leg. My cock reacted as she no doubt wanted, filling with blood.

"Uhm, what did you want me to do?" I asked.

She looked up at me, her face pink, then at the magazines and book, and finally at my swelling crotch. She was still rubbing her thigh and every now and then, I caught sight of her panties. They were purple coloured and lacy. I felt my own face getting hot.

"Well, you see all these pictures and things?"

I nodded.

"I want to see the real thing, and feel it."

She tapped a long slender finger on a colour photo of a shaven pussy. "I have one of these..." Her finger moved to tap once, lightly, on the penis, the tip of which was notched into the pussy. " ... And you have one of those."

I nodded again and grunted. My tongue was temporarily stuck to the roof of my mouth.

She adopted a pleading expression, big blue eyes and pink cheeks. "Would you mind letting me see your ... penis? Please?" She looked down at my swollen dong, and suddenly moved her hand away from her thigh to rub me lightly through my jeans. "I find it hard to believe that what you have in your pants will fit inside what I have in mine. Show me how."

She rubbed me more firmly. My cock was pressed hard against the walls of its confines, and begging to be released.

"But, Miss, I can't do that. Your mother could come home. Anyway, it would be wrong."

She kept rubbing me. "Mother won't be home for hours, and as for whether it would be wrong – well, according to my school textbook here, it's for the woman to decide. It says here, that if a woman says no, it means no. When she says yes, or at least does not object in the least, she is giving her consent, and that means you can go ahead and do what you want with her. I'm saying yes, just in case you were wondering.

"Can I take your jeans off?" she concluded.

I knew I was playing with fire, but I desperately wanted one of us to take my jeans off, as I was in real pain, and besides, the thought of her small, delicate and perfectly-formed hand actually wrapping itself around my shaft was the last straw. I nodded again.

"Goody!" She reached out with both hands, loosened my leather belt, and tugged my jeans down to my knees. Then she slipped her fingers into the waistband of my shorts, and carefully pulled them over my erection and down my thighs to join my crinkled jeans.

She edged towards me. Seemingly, my cock had her full attention, and she began smearing my pre-cum over the glans, causing even more to leak out. Her face was very close as she concentrated on the experience. I began to hope she might lick the tip, but she looked up and smiled.

"Thanks for this. Umm, would you like to see my..." She used one hand to point briefly at her crotch, where her panties were showing signs of dampness.

I took it she meant me to get on with it, so I did.

I also took the opportunity to take my jeans and undershorts, shoes and socks, off.

Then I turned to the business of undressing the girl. I still didn't know her name.

"Josephine," she said, when I asked.

"I'm Nick," I told her, and unfastened the buttons down the front of her blouse. She watched me as I revealed her boob-filled bra. It was a front-fastening one, for which I was grateful, but before releasing her breasts, I got on the bed beside her, took her in my arms, and kissed her – at first, gently, then more firmly, pressing my tongue against her lips until she yielded to it, and opened her mouth slightly. While we kissed, I rubbed a hand up and down her back which curved as she pressed herself against me. I allowed that hand gradually to approach her firm, rounded butt, and then to caress her thighs, the fingers slowly approaching her moist centre.

She moaned softly into my mouth and her own hand slid down my back and eventually round, between us, where she took possession of my prick.

I began to roll her panties down her legs and push her skirt up round her waist. The scent of her arousal filled my nose, and strengthened my desire to get inside her. But I wanted her to cum first, and knew that if she was a virgin, she would need time to achieve her first orgasm at the hands of a man. I know she'd only invited me to "look" at her sex, but she had to learn that she couldn't offer that gift to a man and expect him only to feast his eyes on her. Not this man, anyway.

She was, to my eyes, so beautiful and desirable that there was only one outcome possible, that we would make love and I would be her slave until such time as she tired of me. In a mad moment, I was going to shove my prick as far up her tunnel as it would go and fire a torrent of sperm at her uterus – and hope – yes, hope! – she would conceive a child. My child. Our child. I know it would be totally irresponsible and wrong, but there was absolutely no way I could not put a baby in her belly. Total and utter madness, I know, when the means of avoiding conception were not difficult to get hold of. But I didn't have time. I wanted – needed – to unload into this girl, and without delay.

When her panties were down to her knees, she wriggled her legs and pushed them the rest of the way off, then settled back with her legs spread. I allowed my wandering hand to rub lightly over her abdomen, working lower and lower, until my fingers were pushing through her blond pubic curls. My fingers found her slit, moist, as I had expected. I pressed lightly between her outer lips and let her juices coat them before using thumb and fingers slowly to open them.