The Electrician’s Unexpected Visit
The power had gone out suddenly, leaving my house in a stifling, silent darkness. I had spent an hour tinkering with the breaker box, but the fault remained elusive. Frustrated and desperate for light, I stepped outside into the humid afternoon air and spotted a utility truck parked just half a block away. A man, perhaps in his mid-forties with a sturdy build and a kind, weathered face, was stepping out of the vehicle. He wore a heavy-duty navy blue jumpsuit that hugged his broad shoulders and thick thighs perfectly.
I hurried toward him, explaining my predicament. He told me he was alone, as his partner was finishing paperwork at a nearby office, and he couldn’t leave his unit unattended. I persisted, pointing out that my driveway was empty and just fifty meters away. After a quick phone call to his colleague, he agreed to help. He drove into my garage, flicked on a powerful flashlight, and within minutes, his experienced hands had located the short and restored the power.
As a gesture of thanks, I invited him for a coffee. He accepted and asked to use the bathroom to wash his hands. While I was in the kitchen arranging the mugs and brewing the pot, I noticed he was taking an unusually long time. I walked back toward the bathroom and pushed the door open slightly. He was standing there, frozen, his jumpsuit pulled down to expose a thick, pulsing erection that looked almost painful in its intensity.
I stopped in my tracks, my breath catching. He didn’t try to hide himself; instead, he looked at me with a mixture of desperation and longing. “I’m sorry,” he rasped, his voice deep and strained. “My wife has been traveling for over two weeks. I’m so wound up that it won’t go down. It actually hurts.”
The tension in the small room was electric. Without a word, I stepped closer, the heat radiating from his body hitting me like a wave. “Don’t worry about it,” I whispered. “I can help you with that.” I reached out, my fingers closing around the velvet-hot skin of his shaft. He let out a low, guttural moan, his hand gripping my hip and pulling me firmly against his side, pinning me to his muscular frame.
Guided by a mutual, silent hunger, I slowly sank to my knees. I took him into my mouth, tasting the salt of his skin. He arched his back, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps as I worked my tongue and lips around him. The muscles in his thighs tensed, and his hips began to twitch rhythmically. I could feel the pressure building, the pulse of his heart echoing in the vein beneath my lips.
Suddenly, he stiffened, a loud groan escaping his throat as he reached his peak. The release was explosive, a torrent of hot seed that filled my mouth and overflowed, spilling over my lips and dripping onto my chest. It was an overwhelming amount, leaving us both breathless and shaking in the quiet of the bathroom.
I stood up and quietly rinsed my mouth, while he cleaned himself with a few sheets of paper. When we stepped back into the kitchen, the atmosphere had shifted from desperate to serene. He drank his coffee in a comfortable silence, the tension gone. As he prepared to leave, he stopped at the garage door and leaned in, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to my lips.
“Thank you,” he whispered with a knowing smile. “My wife won’t be back until next year.” With a wink, he climbed into his truck and drove away, leaving me alone in the humming silence of my restored home.