The Painter

A fictional story about a fictional woman.

I'd never had an orgasm. I'd married him because, I guess because he was available, and he asked. Sex was good I think, but then I had no other experiences for comparison. We'd fuck, he'd cum, and roll over. Sure some infrequent times we'd make out beforehand and some even less frequent times we'd cuddle afterwards, but I always had the feeling there was more to it.

We live in a condominium complex. We take care of the inside and the home owner's association takes care of the outside. Every year or so they make some upgrade or repair. This year they were painting the exterior. It was a grey with white trim, now it'll be a sand color with a brown trim. I think it's an improvement.

I arrived home one day from grocery shopping. There was this man applying brown paint to the wooden surfaces with a brush. He was a large man with enormous hands. He had unsightly coarse features. He glanced at me, barely, then he looked back at me again. Slowly this time, his eyes scanned my body up and down. He seemed to be drinking me in.

I'd never been looked at like that before in my life. It was like I was a piece of meat. Quickly I ran into the house and slammed the door behind me. Why did that hideous man examine me like that? As I put the groceries away, I kept thinking about the look he gave me. Am I a good-looking girl? Do men view me sexually? Do they desire me? Did he?

I sat for a moment and thought.

I found a pair of cutoff jeans. They were cut high in the front and fit snugly around my bottom. They showed off lots of leg. I tossed on a button front shirt, by tying the front tails together so someone could see my flat belly and cleavage.

I took a plastic glass filled with ice water outside for the man. Stepping down from a ladder he said something in a foreign language. His eyes went to my chest, then to my legs, then to my face. The leering look of lust let me know he approved.

Slowly I turned and walked back to my front door. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure he was staring at my wiggling ass.

My heart was pounding. I entered the house and left the door partly ajar, something I hadn't entirely planned on doing. He entered behind me.

He grabbed me by the small of my back and pushed me face down onto the armrest of our couch. His powerful grip easily restraining me. He brought his mouth to mine, but I turned my face in disgust.

He laughed. Then he pulled off my shorts, partially ripping them, and tossed them. While still holding me, he shoved his face onto my cunt.

I'd never really had someone eat me out before. My husband would gingerly lick me, but it was never satisfying. This man was using his tongue and lips to pleasure all of me, even my asshole.

He released me and said something. He knew I wasn't going anywhere. He dropped his pants and showed me his cock. It was massive, easily twice the size of my husband's, maybe three times. I knew I had to have that in my mouth.

I got on my knees and opened my mouth. He shoved himself in there. I felt him enter my throat. I couldn't breath or swallow. But I wanted more.

He pulled out and propped me back up on the armrest. He walked around behind me. He thrust his huge cock into me. I'd never had an experience like that before. I felt like I was a virgin losing my cherry all over again. Every part of my cunt felt his cock. Every part felt pleasure.

He pumped me a few times and I came, not a grand climax, but I did cum. He continued to pump in me. I fully expected he would cum soon as my husband usually does, but the painter kept going. Soon I felt another orgasm, this one more intense than the last, and soon I felt another, and another, like they were layering on top of each other. I wondered if this is what sex should be like. Does every man make his girl cum this way?

He pulled himself out. I cried out in protest. I wanted to keep on cumming.

While still pumping his giant cock with his hand, he brought it to my face. With a revolting sneer, he said something I couldn't understand. Not knowing his intention I opened my mouth.

He came, squirting all over my face, my hair, my mouth. His jism was dripping off me and onto our couch. His repellent expression is one I'll never forget.

He squeezed a few more dollops out onto my face and hair then he packed up his cock and walked to the front door. There were six $20's sitting on the counter. Household money. He showed me 5 of them, pocketed those, and left.

With his junk still dripping off my face, I ran outside. His truck was driving away. I never saw him again.

I spent the afternoon cleaning up the mess.

That night the husband felt amorous. I asked him to fuck me over the armrest on the couch (where the painter had). He looked at me quizzically and walked to the bedroom with the expectation that I follow. He came in a few minutes after entering me.

Several days later new painters started. There had been some email from home owner's association about an unexpected delay.

I walked outside to see if he was there. He was not. Instead, a couple of painters stopped when I walked by. While speaking in the same tongue as the other guy, they gave me that lecherous look. In an exaggerated fashion, one of them wiped his lips with his tongue.

I held up my two index fingers about a foot apart. They both shook their heads and resumed painting.

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Wotton
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