Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Carl came almost immediately.  The patio door installation had proven
faulty and rain was seeping through onto the kitchen floor.  I was fresh
out of the shower when he arrived, ominous claps of thunder overhead. 
"What's the problem again?" he asked bluntly.

   "Rain, Carl.  Look at me, Carl.  Not the sort in the sky that you can't
help but the kind oozing in through the patio door.  I'll be changing . . .
my mind, if you don't do something about it." I murmured as I sauntered
down the hall into the bedroom.  Carl seemed, to be candid, dumb as a box
of rocks but, holy Jesus, was he hot.  A firm, square jaw, piercing eyes .
. .  or maybe that was just his low brow . . .  and a body that made me
want to drop to my knees.  I slipped into the tightest pair of Capri pants
that would fit and a wide necked blouse that hung about my shoulders with a
silly, pompous ruffle, then primped my hair, hidden and dry beneath a
shower cap - hell, I had bought the damned thing for the occasion -
arranging one long blond highlighted bang over my left eye and hoping it
would stay there, I wandered back to the kitchen.

   Carl was hard at work on the door, preoccupied by something along the
top.  He didn't seem to notice me as I walked to the cabinet and reached
down to open the door to the recess that held the trash can.  Wiggling my
butt in slow circles, I asked in a low, throaty groan, "Carl, could you
please help me?  It's in so tight.  I don't know why, I don't know how it's
always so hard.  You're so strong.  Can you?"

   I turned my head and saw Carl's eyes transfixed on my ass.  He nodded
mutely.

   "It maybe needs to be pushed in deep first, to break the tight grip on
the box.  Bag, I mean." Carl walked over and lifted the trash bag out as
effortlessly as I could have, tied its top and set it down on the floor
without a word.  What was wrong with this man?  Yes, I was ten years his
elder, but he plainly found me attractive.  Remembering what a man had told
me years ago, that he found it interesting that a woman would offer a man
oral sex rather than ask him out nine times in ten, I mustered my courage
and walked up behind Carl.  Brushing my fingertips down his spine in a
light teasing caress that started him, I murmured, "Carl, if you follow me
back to the bedroom, I'll suck your cock."

   I heard his footsteps behind me in the hallway then, only somewhat
humiliated, I sat on the edge of the bed and waited for him.  He entered
the bedroom, leering at me, then turned around and left.  "A promise is a
promise," he called, his voice receding into the kitchen.

   Carl stood in front of the glass patio door, tugging on his . . .  well,
it was bigger than I'd seen in a while.  I knelt before him, wobbling from
side to side smiling up with whorish glee at my own wantonness.  My lips
tenderly wrapped around the head of his dick then, with one thrust, it
filled my mouth.  Christ, I was tempted to bite it.  He grabbed my head in
his hands and began fucking my face like a toy, leaving me gasping and
gagging and still not taking all of him.  Once my astonishment wore off, I
noticed that there was a bit to be said for the experience.  If you could
get past feeling like a toilet, being helplessly used to please a man,
unable to escape . . .  except not entirely unable.  Something held me
there long enough that I took his cock until I thought I would become sick
or suffocate or like it too much.  Unable or unwilling to do more to stop
it than reach a finger into his butt crack and slide it into him, feeling
about his asshole for his prostate until he screeched and came.  Right in
my mouth.  Determined not to swallow, I tried to shake free, only he
resisted.  Struggling through my nose for air, I finally managed to
collapse on all fours and spit his seed on the linoleum.

   I looked up but he wasn't there.  A hand grasped my crotch.  Holy
Christ, was I wet, like I had peed myself.  Hands worked at the ties on my
pants and soon they were being pulled out from underneath me.  "Carl," I
whimpered.  Huge hands spread my ass cheeks and lips mouthed at my flesh.
Arching my head back, I whined.  "My pussssy." Two thick, invading fingers
tore a half gasp and half grunt from me.  He wouldn't move much so I
wriggled back onto them as he teased the walls of my wet pussy into
excruciating neediness.  Too soon released and pulled up onto my knees, I
groaned, "Oh, yeah.  Oh, God." Only nothing.  I wiggled me ass
tantalizingly and heard a "Hmmmm." I began to coo and whine until finally
my mouth formed the words, "Fuck me," and the head of his dick fit itself
to the entrance to my dying, screaming hole.  "Fuck me really good," I told
him.

   He impaled me with one stroke.  I groaned in enormous relief, filled
again by a nice, hard cock.  Thinking it was over, that there was nothing
left but mindless rutting and orgasm, I sunk my head in for the ride.  But
Carl had other plans.  I heard a familiar sound that I for some reason
couldn't place, a metallic whisk.  Then, half a minute later, I screamed as
blazing hot metal pressed into my ass-cheek.  He grabbed me with both
hands, dropping the lighter and fucked me fast and hard as I shook my head,
mouth opening and closing with wordless whimpers of bewilderment and
self-pity, tears in my eyes, and fiery lightening strikes of ecstasy firing
around his cock.  "Ooooh, no," I moaned.  He knew better than to reply. 
"Oh, God.  Oh, yes.  Oh, yes.  Oh, yes!!" I screamed, cumming in rigid,
humpbacked paralysis.

   Carl eased me down with down with his hands until I lay on my stomach,
then touched the inside of my shoulder, urging me to roll over.  I froze,
uncertain.  The pressure of his tugs became stronger and I relented.  His
mouth fell to my breasts and I couldn't help but cradle his head as he held
one nipple fast after the other, trying to nurse.  Wordless, he backed off
and sat on the floor with his legs out before him and his huge swollen dick
rising upwards from his lap.  Instinct took over and I swung my legs over
his, dropping down to take him in me ever so slowly, riding just the first
two or three inches for half a minute with my eyes on the rest, then
sinking lower with a sag, stroking his hair back and beginning to buck. 
"Do you need me?" I asked.  He only stared back, confused.  We kissed, or I
kissed him, almost like kissing a man who'd recently had dental surgery,
his lips moving slowly and not in response to my rhythm, but in their own
that I adapted to, hungrily feeding on him as he fed on me.  I grasped my
arms around his back and held him close, whimpering as I came again, but
not breaking the unrelenting pace or my embrace until I heard him jabber
and whine and twitch inside me.  "Shhhh.  That's good.  That's good," I
reassured him, then leaned back and stared at his stoic face.  "Get to
work, you." I said, slapping his leg several times.  "I hate to think what
would happen I had flooring people over."