Chapter 4

I allowed myself a forty minute siesta after leaving Randy and the girls and awoke somewhat refreshed some two hours later when the phone next to my bed started ringing. Although I wasn’t scheduled to start until the following day, I answered it and heard a breathy female rapidly tell me that her unit was flooding and she couldn’t stop it and could I please, please, please come help her!

Her unit was on the far side of the complex and I told her I’d be there in five or six minutes. I had no idea where the tools were kept on premises and ran to my car, pulled my basic tool kit out and headed to the troubled unit.

The door opened before I could knock a second time. “Hi, I’m Jim Grabowski, you called about a flood,” I said, taking the woman in. She was dressed in a long tee shirt and I was convinced if there was anything on under it there wasn’t much to it. Her hair and face were wet and she was barefoot. Oh, yeah, she had a terrific pair of tits swinging loose under the tee shirt.

“Thank goodness you’re here!” she said, “the bathrooms a mess. I mean there’s brackish water everywhere. I mean the toilet’s overflowing, the shower’s backing up and even the kitchen sink won’t stop running.”

She had already turned away and headed back to the flooded area and I followed, not taking my eyes off her lovely derriere—which was partially covered by a thong, but I’d have to give the thong an “F” for failing to cover much of what it was supposed to.

“Can you believe the mess in here?” she said then added, “So better watch where you step, huh?”

Even though I was following a first rate rear end on a body that rated at least an eight on the 1 – 10 scale of quality measurement in women, the living room reeked of beer, cigarettes and weed. I pretended not to notice the shambles as I passed through it. There were beer cans and dirty paper plates strewn all over the floor and three large pizza boxes stacked willy-nilly on a battered coffee table. And I caught sight of at least three adult sized handprints on the wall just outside the bathroom.

“Just come this way through the mess and I’ll show you what it’s doing,” she said and stepped over a pile of trash piled by some chairs.

“My boyfriend, Harry had a football party last night with six of his ass-hole buddies; they got drunk and trashed the place. He and my girlfriend had a big fight after the party and again this morning; he’s such a bastard. I would’a kicked his ass out, but this is her place you know? Anyway, I’m only a guest here, you know?”

“Without pausing, she rambled on, “Are you married Jack?”

“It’s Jim, and no, I’m single.”

“Yeah, well ... hi, I’m Fiona.”

She made a show of clearing enough of the dirty dishes away so I could see the faucet and determine what the problem might be. It was easy to see it required a new washer.

“I can fix this, no problem, what else is there?”

She made a point of leaning in next to me revealing her nipples through her thin shirt. I needed to fix the leaks and get the hell out of there.

“The commode, shower and bathroom sink in the friggin’ bathroom are all backing up. Something’s really clogged somewhere’s.”

“What about the other bathroom?” I asked as plumbing is usually tied in to one another.

“Oh ... well, I don’t know shit about that one.”

I gave her a look and she provided a little more information, opening a door to what might have been the filthiest bathroom I’d ever seen.

“That’s Harry’s shithouse,” she said simply, covering volumes that don’t need to be written.

Fiona looked down the hallway at the closed door and yelled: “Betty, you coming outta there? He’s waiting, you know?”

“Just a sec. Lemmie get my robe on,” I heard her say as we passed by her bedroom. I took a quick peek in and found it spotless and well kept. I saw movement off to the side and glanced at the mirror and saw a naked woman about Fiona’s age. She was putting on a short robe; just as I looked away, she looked at the mirror and smiled as she pulled her robe closed. I saw bruises on her butt and her breasts before she covered herself.

“Hi, I’m Betty, sorry about the mess. My boyfriend had the guys over last night and they got drunk, you know? Me and Fiona will have it cleaned up by the time you fix the shower; which, by the way won’t shut the fuck off.

Moving into the bathroom and leaving Betty behind, I lifted the top off the commode tank and saw that the chain on the clapper was tangled and not letting it drop down to seal off the water. I got it straight and replaced the lid. As soon as it filled, it stopped running. The water in the toilet was clear which indicated the problem was with the shower, except that everything seemed to have gone haywire at about the same time, or had it?

Fiona answered that question with the next words out of her mouth. “Damn, that thing has been running for two friggin’ years and you fix it in two seconds, sorry about my foul mouth, I’m just not in a good mood this morning.”

“That’s alright, I get upset at times myself,” I said to keep matters running smoothly between the woman and me. I stepped into the shower stall, trying to avoid setting foot in the queasy brown sludge seeping up from the shower drain. “Um, Fiona, would you hand me that coil of wire I left by the sink, please?”

I was referring to the ‘Snake,” basically a heavy duty wire flexible enough to feed into the drain and piece or break up whatever’s clogging things. I rewound the snake and found the guilty culprit, hair, hair and more hair.

She was incredulous when I revealed the cause to her.

“I never knew...” Fiona said, gawking at the clump of hair I held out for their perusal.

“Every so often, say once a month or so, pour a small amount of Drano down and let some water follow it, not a lot at first just a small amount to help it get to where it’s needed. Then maybe ten minutes later, run the water for a couple minutes to clear the Drano from your line. That should prevent this from happening.”

It was fairly evident the shower and sink were both in need of washer replacement.

“Um, look, Fiona,” I said, “You need new washers for the shower and the sink. I don’t have any with me. I’ll have to go get some. When I come back it won’t take but a couple minutes to have them running like new again.”

“Hey, that’s okay ... I’ll get to work on this shithole the guys made. It’ll look like a different place by the time you get back with the washy things,” she chirped happily, not trying very hard to keep the short robe closed over her heavy breasts. I judged her to be forty something and that she’d look a lot better if she even half tried.

I drove about three miles to the nearest hardware store, bought several boxes of assorted sized washers a new plunger and a repair kit for future use, figuring I’d submit the bill to my boss, Joan Biddle later that day.

When I got back to Betty’s unit I could hardly believe my eyes. I’d never have thought the living room had been partied in the previous night. Fiona was still in her robe, bent over scooping something up off the kitchen floor. The thong was still there, a little off kilter, but still there, not hiding much which of course is why I was staring in the first place.

Fiona heard me and turned, then shrugged as if to say, Feel free to check me out.

What she did say was: “Betty’s gone; had a hurry call from a client. Um, she’s a masseuse, and very good. You want I’ll give you her number.”

I smiled and winked back at her then went to work on the sink; crawling under the cabinets and turning off the water before backing back out. At this point Fiona was leaning over the counter but now she was holding the robe in place by pressing against the counter as she used an old toothbrush to clean some crud off the knobs.

Speaking of knobs, from my viewing point I could see her big breasts shaking as she brushed, they were almost completely exposed to me. But I went on with my work and finished replacing the worn out washers, tightened the nuts and turned the water back on. I showed Fiona how to turn the water off properly, stopping when the water stopped and not twisting the knob as tight as it would go; which would only cause excessive wear. The sink was now working in grade-A fashion and I was off to the shower.

She followed me through the bedroom and into the master bath. Fiona kept up a running conversation while watching me do my thing. I answered as best I could, but reached a point where I just shut her off. I do that sometimes.

Fiona plunked herself down on the side of the tub at the other end from where I was working. After shutting off the water in the bottom of the linen closet, I took the faucet apart. I reached back to get a replacement washer and she leaned over to hand me the box. I looked right down the front of her opened robe and saw both breasts. They were heavy, full breasts that had some sag because of their size, but still stood proud and erect. It wasn’t a second later that she started to laugh.

“Very funny, now hand me the damned washers,” I said, but I was laughing myself.

Fiona was even more direct after that, opening her legs to expose her recently shaven pussy. “It wasn’t meant to be funny, not really. I---I was kinda hoping you’d use that plunger on me.”

The plunger Fiona was referring to was my dick, which she was quite clear about as pointed an obviously long, fake fingernail at it.

“Fiona, you know I find you very attractive ... but I could get my ass fired and maybe kicked pretty good too for fucking you.”

“Or both,” she giggled lewdly. “It’s a perfectly good pussy, Jimmie. Just put that condom on and it’s all yours. Ohhhh, and if you’d leave the tool belt on ... I think it makes you even hotter,” she said and I could swear her nostrils flared with each word she uttered.

It took a second, but I recovered my senses and protested, “Look, let’s cut it out. Fun’s fun, but I’m serious. I’ve only started this job and...”

But Fiona dropped the robe to the floor leaving her stark naked. “C’mon, Jimmie, drop the damn pants. Remember, um, keep the belt on. We can use the bedroom ... yeah, the bedroom.”

I was deciding whether to walk off the job and tell Joan Biddle about the crazy broad in 232, but must have hesitated a second to long---Fiona jumped up, and as fast as a snake had my zipper down and my semi-hard dick in her hand.

“Holy shit, look at your personal tool!” Fiona chirped just before slurping my cock into her mouth.

“Hey, c’mon Fiona, you need to stop!” I said, knowing it sounded half-hearted---because it was. Fiona was tearing the condom out of its wrapper while slurping away on my joint. I have to admit, she was a multitasker, and a good one at that.

And while I stupidly continued to protest, she took me from her mouth and rolled the rubber on my dick. “Put that big tool in me Jimmie,” she cawed, bending over the vanity presenting her sexy, wide ass. My resistance went down the drain right then, I’m an ass man all the way.

Fiona loosened my jeans and pulled them down, leaving my wide, leather tool belt above my waist. I knew there was nothing but trouble ahead---well maybe some fun too, but trouble came with a capital T.

I fed my dick into her puss and hit bottom on the first stroke. Fiona was one wet broad.

She grunted, YEAH!” and we were off.

My tools were swinging back and forth from the loops on the tool belt as I fucked her. I have to admit, it was pretty erotic, looking down and watching my cock slam into her pussy from behind while my work tools banged her thighs and butt.

Fiona liked it too. “Motherfucker, give it to me, Mr. Tool Man! You’re hitting places never been reached before!”

Hearing that gave me pause and I decided to make a real show of it and reached around her to cup those Double D’s, letting her sharp, pointy nipples slip between my fingers as I clamped down on them and pulled her big momma’s back, hunching my cock even deeper into her slippery channel.

“WHOA!” Fiona screamed, and I felt her pussy contract around my dick as she began to cum. Three more thrusts and I pulled out and sent my tongue into her steaming cunt. That set her off big time. I honestly couldn’t recall any woman screaming that much or that loud when I fucked them.

I finally rolled off her to the floor. Then we both scrambled into the living room where she wound up sprawled on the couch, her blond hair matted to her forehead, panting for breath. I kissed her anyway and to my surprise our mouths and tongues intertwined. Somehow Fiona was able to breathe just fine, not that I gave a shit, but I digress.

My hand found its way to the inside of her thigh. Fiona moaned and opened her legs wider than I thought possible. We were still kissing, when I sent two fingers into her steaming snatch, she tilted her head back and I gently gnawed at the larger veins in her neck. If possible it turned her on even more.

Her hand found my hardon and started jerking me off. She leaned forward to kiss me and I cupped both her more than ample breasts. Her head moved in rhythm with my tongue, her body with my hands. Then I slipped my left hand around to hold her close and bent down so I could work both hand and mouth on her left breast. She leaned forward and I pressed my hand between her legs again.

“Fuck me, baby,” she groaned hoarsely. “It’ll only take a couple of strokes and I’ll cum forever.”

My hand lost its place and I squirreled around, put the head of my dick against her cunt and shoved. Whoosh! With that one stroke I was buried to my balls and Fiona was going crazy, humping like you wouldn’t believe. She wasn’t lying when she said it would only take a stroke or two. And while she didn’t cum forever, she came big time, and ended up completely fucked out.

So when I decided to finish myself, and started in again, she lay there like a rag doll, enjoying things, but unable to respond in kind.

I got dressed and left her on the couch with my sperm running out of her. She told me I was the greatest and that anytime I wanted another go round with her, or her and her girlfriend Betty, just drop on by. I said I would, but knew I wouldn’t, not with her boyfriend, or friends there at all hours.

The following day brought no major problems my way and I decided to celebrate by offering to take the lovely Millicent Travois out to dinner. Millie accepted my offer and I drove over to my former apartment building to pick her up and ran into Reese, the teenager that I had shown a few sexual moves to along with her girl friend Olivia and her horny brother Randy.

“Oh gee, it’s funny we should meet Mr. Grabowski.”

“Well, I was just...”

“I ... well we need your advice on something serious.”

“More sexual problems?” I asked, preparing to turn her down.

“Um, no, not at the moment ... school stuff, you know?”

“Go on,” I said, glancing at my watch. I’m usually punctual, but had arrived with a few minutes to spare just in case Millie wanted to jump my bones before dinner.

“I could use a mature ... you know ... person’s thoughts on what we’re thinking of doing.”

“Sure, I’d be happy to help in that regard,” I said.

“Well, we all wanna go to college. A good one, you know? Not just the local community college.”

“I understand,” I said trying not to look too hard at her perky tits.

“Thing is, our grades aren’t up to what you’d call desirable from a college’s point of view.”

“Oh.”

“Olivia heard it was possible to get onto the school computer and like ... maybe adjust some of our grades?”

“And...” I said leaving the sentence hanging.

“Randy knows enough about computer programming to handle that part. What we don’t know is how to get into the school without being caught.”

“And you think I do?”

Reese chose that moment to rub her hand over my forearm. “Mmmm, yeah, we do. I mean you got that job running that other complex and all. You know the in’s and out’s. I know that for a fact.” Then she giggled lewdly.

“Me and Olivia would be happy to suck you off if you could get Randy in and out of the school without being caught.”

“That’s a lovely offer, Reese,” I said shaking my arm loose.

But she caught sight of my boner and smiled. “So you’ll help us?”

“I can’t guarantee anything. What I mean is ... I don’t even know the name of the school.”

“Warren G. Harding, on Fifth Street,” she said quickly.

“Give me a number I can reach you. I don’t want your mother answering the damn phone I want your number, Reese. Just you.”

“Oh thank you, Mr. G. You won’t regret this!”

I already did, but the thought of her lips wrapped around my dick and various other possibilities overshadowed rational thought.

I filed her number away and entered the building then rang Millie’s bell.

Millie answered the door wearing a t-shirt and shorts and was sweating. It was obvious she was unprepared for him and she apologized, saying, “I didn’t know it was coming today, but I just took delivery of all these items and ... I’ve got to put them away. Maybe we could have dinner another night?”