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Pimping Emily: Part One

Short of cash, a wife makes a deal with a repair man.
They were both in a very bad mood when Phil grabbed his briefcase and headed out of the kitchen through the laundry room to the garage. Already it was in the high 80’s and the walls of the breakfast nook were visibly moist.

“Look, it’s your problem now. I’ve got to be at the courthouse in forty-five minutes.”

The loud slam of the door probably kept him from hearing Emily’s parting endearment, “Asshole!” She had to be at her breaking point, otherwise she would never have used language like that. But neither of them had slept much. The machinery had been squeaking for several days. They hadn’t thought much about it. But about eleven o’clock they realized that the air blowing out of the vents was not cool at all. Not at all. Phil jiggled the switches, then finally turned it off. At least they wouldn’t have to hear to squeaking. With the windows open the warm wet air blew through the small house and brought with it the sounds of those insects, whatever they were, that scratched out their arc of rasping buzz minute after minute until dawn.

When they had bought the house, a couple of months before, they figured that a new coat of paint inside would do it. The vinyl siding was intact, the appliances were scratched and dirty but worked, and it was cheap enough. There was the problem with the driveway. But it was not urgent. A starter home. Not very grand for a Yale law grad, but both of them had the public service bug. With her nursing job and his in a public-interest law firm, they could pay the mortgage and their student loans. Both of them could cook, and they didn’t need much to entertain themselves.

But the failure of the heat pump with its air conditioning was a devastating blow. And now, today, it was Emily’s problem. She sat at the breakfast table melting into her cotton nightshirt. This kind of heat made her crazy. At the hospital there would be air conditioning. But that was now more than twelve hours away.

Before then, she would have to solve the problem. Phil could not do anything about it during the night, and she didn’t want to return from her shift and plunge back into this steambath.

At least the wireless was working. She was surprised that any kind of delicate electronic signal could make its way through such sodden air, but she googled air-conditioning repair and found a bunch of sites. How to find the right one? She tried googling “Atlanta air-conditioning service complaints” and found a site where people vented about bad service. She went through the different threads and mentally crossed out a bunch of the companies. Down to a couple she just chose the one with the prettiest design and punched the number into her phone.

The woman who answered sounded on the ball and sympathetic. They’d send Bob. He was on a job not too far away from her location. He should be there in a couple of hours.

Two more hours! Time slows with the heat. She was sure of that. On a cool crisp autumn day in New Haven the moments used to skate by. Too quickly, in fact.

She took a long shower and toweled herself off. Her hair could air dry, she thought. The blower would be torture. . She sat and read in the small living room, wearing only the short cut-offs—no bra, no shirt. She couldn’t bear the feeling of clothes on her skin.

When the bell rang, she pulled on a sleeveless t-shirt, and opened the door to find Bob.

He had a dark blue short-sleeved work shirt with a white oval over his heart where she saw in red script “I’m Bob.”

“Hello m’am. Hotter than blazes, ain’t it?”

She saw his eyes dart downward toward her chest, then back to her face. Was it a smile? Or a leer?

“Makes you want to just strip down to ‘bout nothin’, don’t it?”

She thought it really didn’t matter how much he looked her over, as long as he gave the same degree of attention to the pump.

She followed him to the thermostat, which he jiggled, the way Phil had, waking the machinery into its ear-splitting squeak.

“Compressor and probably the belts, too.”

“Is that really bad?”

“Sorry, m’am. It don’t sound good at all. No sir. Not at all.”

He went outdoors and let himself into the crawl space. Emily heard some clanging. Then Bob was at the door again.

Once again, a very appreciative and somewhat longer glance at Emily, from legs to face.

She realized that the cotton was clinging to her sweaty breasts and she could feel the circles of wet under both armpits.

“M’am, could I trouble you for a glass of cold water? That would be a blessing, right about now.”

She couldn’t stand any more of the m’am.

“It’s Emily, Bob. Come out to the kitchen.”

She offered him a choice of water or iced tea. He chose the tea, and she poured each of them a glass.

They sat at the breakfast table. Bob sipped the tea slowly.

“That’s real iced tea! One of the simplest things in the world, and one of the hardest to get right!”

He paused and smiled slyly. Then added, “Like sex, ain’t it? Simple, but ain’t everyone who can get it right!”

Emily was beginning to realize that she and Bob were all alone. It was a funny feeling. Not exactly unpleasant. He was a muscular blue-eyed white man with a shaved head and tattoos on both forearms. A handsome face. Powerful hands. He smelled of an old-fashioned aftershave, plus his own masculine scent.

His blue eyes were enjoying her. She found herself sitting up straighter, pushing her breasts up and forward.

They sipped their tea, and Bob’s glass was soon empty. She got up and walked to the fridge for more, aware that the cut-offs showed several inches of her toned cheeks. Even without turning around she knew that Bob was taking it all in. And she liked that. Maybe it was because she and Phil had been so busy the past few weeks fixing up the house before they started their new jobs. Maybe it was because she was pissed at Phil for leaving her with this mess. Maybe it was just because a new man is more appetizing, especially one who makes no secret of his very direct, very basic interest in her.

When she poured him another glass of tea, her hip brushed against his right shoulder.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. And she laid her left hand apologetically on his arm, feeling a rush as her palm met his skin.

“No problem, Emily honey,” said Bob. “Thanks for the refill.”

She put the pitcher back into the fridge.

When she sat back down opposite him, she was very aware of her nipples pushing out against the damp white cotton.

“So, sweetheart, are you at home every day?”

“No, I’m a nurse. I’m working mostly nights these days. Well, four nights a week actually.”

“I want to make sure you’re comfortable. If you’re home during the hottest part of the day, you sure need the AC.”

She didn’t need to tell him that she’d pulled on her shirt just before opening the door. But she did, relishing the picture it would make in his mind.

“Ah, Emily honey, you didn’t need to do that. I’m a big boy. I’ve seen tits before…I mean, breasts. I’m sorry you went to the bother.”

“I bet you’re sorry, Bob.” She laughed and he laughed too.

“My ex had hers pierced, little barbells in her nips. It was cute. You have anything like that?”

“No, just my belly button. Pierced nipples would be nice. I’ll do it some day.”

“Maybe your man can give you them for your birthday, or somethin’.”

“Not anytime soon. We’re counting every penny. You know, the mortgage, student loans, gas.”

“I hear you, Emily. And now with your compressor and those belts. That’s a real shame. I better give you the figures.”

Finally, Bob turned his attention to the triplicate invoice form, sitting on top of a thin metal case he had on the table next to him. He wrote a few things down, then pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and called the office.

“Hi, Shirley baby, it’s Bob. Can you give me the wholesale on the…” He continued with a series of numbers and wrote things down. Then he ended the call and used the phone to add up the figures.

“Emily. It’s pretty bad. The main part alone is 350, and with a few other things, the belts, some new clamps, the old ones are really warn, and most of all the labor, you’re looking at 700 before you get this system working again.”

She could feel herself suddenly sweating even more, this time from her forehead. This was money they didn’t have. The credit cards were already maxed out. She and Phil had cut it so close that even paying the electric bill wasn’t obvious.

“I can’t stand the heat!” she wailed.

“Excuse me, Bob. I’ve got to call my husband.”

She took her phone and went into the bedroom.

“Thank goodness I didn’t get your voicemail. I would have screamed! Yes. It’s much worse. It’s fucking awful! Seven hundred bucks! That’s right! Seven hundred freaking bucks!”

She paced back and forth while she listened to whatever he was saying.

“Fuck you, Phil. You’re in an air conditioned office! I can’t do this anymore! No, we cannot put it off! How? How am I going to get some kind of a fucking deal? You’re a great help! No, fuck you!”

She threw the phone onto the bed. And she screamed, “FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!”

Bob’s face appeared in the doorway. The tears were falling down her face and onto her already wet t-shirt. He came up behind her and put his arms around her waist. She laid her head back on his shoulder. He touched her forehead with his right hand.

“It’s going to be ok, Emily sweetheart. I’ll help you.”

She turned around and pushed her face against his chest, right against the “I’m Bob.” She could feel her nipples pressing against him and his large hands pressing on the thin fabric on her back.

“We can work something out. Your husband doesn’t have to be part of it. Look, I need the money for the parts, but the labor can be free, if you want. It’s just the two of us here.”

She could feel his hands slip under the t-shirt and press against the skin of her sides. Slowly they moved up. She didn’t move but simply let him touch her, even when his hands reached her breasts. Her eyes were closed, and in the dark the two things she perceived were his manly scent and the electrifying contact of his palms with her nipples. After several minutes of this—neither one of them talking—she raised her face to his and pushed her mouth against his mouth.

It had been so long, years, since she had tasted another man’s mouth, and Bob’s wet tongue against hers was entirely different from Phil’s. Their kissing was only briefly interrupted when Bob pulled her shirt up and off. She raised her arms to help, then resumed kissing. It felt good to be bare, and the sensation of her skin against his work shirt was novel and exciting.

She pressed her hand against the crotch of his jeans and stroked the swelling up and down. Her heart was pounding and she felt very, very good. Very liberated. Very, very bad.

She unbuckled his belt, unfastened the snap, and pushed the zipper down. As she did, the back of her hand rubbed against the cotton-covered erection. Then she pushed her hand behind the elastic and downwards, so that she could now grip his bare cock. He made a little sigh.

It went very fast after that. They pulled the rest of their clothes off, they got into the bed, still sweaty from the restless night. Emily thought for an instant about needing a condom, but she knew she didn’t have any and so she just let him push on in, his bare cockhead feeling incredibly liberating. She was already dripping. His strong arms were around her shoulders pulling her up as they kissed. She came quickly the first time, and then her excitement mounted more slowly for a second massive orgasm. He had great staying power, Bob.

When she felt him start to throb, she thought again about the flood of semen he was going to pour into her, and she asked him to come in her mouth.

“Oh honey, I’d love that!”

He pulled out and straddled her torso so that he could put his cock into her mouth. As he gripped his wand to direct it, he started coming, so that the first load landed on her face, and the next spasms filled her mouth.

Phil was astonished by the cool, dry air that greeted him when he opened the door into the laundry room.

“Emily, what happened? It’s working again?”

“No thanks to you, Yale law school grad! But it’s working.”

“You sounded so angry on the phone. I’m sorry, I just couldn’t do anything from the office. And I was right to have confidence that you could solve the problem.”

“Yes, that’s right. Emily the problem solver, that’s me.”

“But the money? How did you do it?”

“I cut a deal, the way you said.”

“What deal?”

“Just enjoy the AC, sweety, I have my secrets. That’s all.”

“But how much did it end up costing?”

“It’s in the checkbook.”

Phil went over to the desk where they kept the checkbook. The register had the entry for 300, made out to the HVAC service.

“That’s unbelievable! Holy shit! From 700 down to 300? Does that mean they gave us time to pay the rest?”

“Nope. All paid.”

Phil was beside himself. He dropped the checkbook and wrapped his arms around Emily, who was wearing the nice light-blue dress that he liked. Her hair gleamed and she smelled really sweet. He gave her a big kiss, which she returned and more. She pushed her tongue deep into his mouth. Clearly, her success and the crisp comfort of the house had put her in the mood. It was a while since they had made love, and Phil’s hands explored the front of her dress. No bra! He felt her firm medium-sized breasts through the linen and was immediately ready. Very ready.

He pulled her into the bedroom and instantly they were rolling around, pulling off each other’s clothes. Shirt, dress, pants, sox, briefs and panties flew onto the floor. Emily pulled down the bedspread and soon they were rolling on the clean cool cotton sheets. She was taking the initiative, holding him down while she mounted him. It had been a long time since Phil had seen her so aroused, so eager. Being on top, she could control the timing, and she varied her up and down thrusts so that he didn’t come too soon. Meanwhile, she rubbed her clit. This was something he had never seen, her fingers playing on her clit. He always had wanted to watch her masturbate, but she was always too shy.

Finally, with a huge groan, she started to come, and at the same time she thrust herself up and down quickly, pumping his cock so that he unloaded into her. She fell forward onto him, and he panted into her hair.

“Wow!” That was all he could say for a while.

They lay there, catching their breath, until Emily sprang out of bed.

“I’ve got to get the food on the table. I need to be out of here in an hour.”

She rushed into the bathroom. He heard the water splashing as she washed up. To be helpful, he pulled on his briefs and got a t-shirt and some jeans out of his chest of drawers, then went out to the kitchen and set the table. Emily came out shortly afterward, wearing the white pants and pale green tunic of her nurse’s uniform.

Phil returned to the topic of the heat pump, but Emily just told him that the serviceman was a guy named Bob who was really sweet and gave her a big discount. Then she asked him about the court and his cases. As usual, Phil easily slipped into a detailed and enthusiastic narrative of his day, and before he could even cover the eight busy hours, Emily was up and headed to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

“Sorry baby, you’ll have to do the dishes.”

When Phil was alone, he did the dishes, and then picked up the clothes from the bedroom floor. He went to the hamper in the laundry room with his briefs, socks, and shirt. When he pulled the lid off the rattan bin he noticed how full it was with sheets and pillow cases. There was an unfamiliar sweetish scent, almost like aftershave. Why the sheets in here? he thought. Usually they changed the bed on Saturday. He took a closer look, pulling a bit on the tangled pile of white. His hand hit on a patch that was damp and a little slimy. It smelled unmistakably of sex. And then there was that aftershave…

With the sheets all out, he could see that there were some patches of white that had almost dried, and others that where still damp. This had been one very, very active fucking session!

He threw the sheets back into the bin, along with his dirty clothes. Now it dawned on him that he and Emily had just fucked on clean sheets and he hadn’t even wondered about it.

Now wave after wave washed over him. In our bed! Another man in our bed! And Emily was all sexed up and happy when he got home! And she had worked a deal! A deal! She had fucked someone for 400! What was his name? A guy named Bob, for 400. And this was his aftershave! And this was his cum!

“On my sheets!”

Phil ran into the bedroom and grabbed his phone. Then he dropped it. This wasn’t something for the phone. It had to be face to face.

But Emily wouldn’t be back until the morning, after he had left for work.

Phil poured himself a scotch. Then another. Then another.

Then he pulled off his clothes and slipped into bed naked. He felt the cool sheets where he and Emily had fucked. And it was the same place where Bob and Emily had fucked.

His heart was pounding. He was furious. He wanted to fuck her again. Hard. He wanted to fuck her in the ass. He had never fucked her in the ass. But now that is exactly what he wanted to do. Pull off her uniform, tear it off, throw her on the bed, face down, ass up. He would push her cheeks aside with his hands, then aim his cockhead right at her little puckered hole and push.

“Fuck you! Fuck you in the ass! Little whore!”

A four-hundred-dollar whore. Not cheap. Nurses don’t come cheap. And she’s so hot. So slim and hot, with a firm ass and nice dark nipples that stand up like dowels.

By now, he was fully aroused. Angry and aroused, and he could feel his stiff cock rubbing against the percale. He needed to relieve himself. He thought about all the cum on those dirty sheets. He turned over and started rubbing his cock against the bed, humping the bed. If these sheets were going to have cum on them, Jesus Christ! it was going to be his own cum!

As he rubbed up and down on the cotton, with his eyes closed, he imagined Emily with some big, muscular guy with a farmer tan, some tattoos and an oversized cock that was thrusting right into her pussy. He could picture the lips hugging the smooth skin of the cock-shaft as it went in and out. Every once and a while the purple cock head would pull all the way out of her, gleaming with pre-cum and with her juices. Then Bob would thrust it in, deep, deep. She would be fingering her swollen clit as her head strained upward so that she could kiss Bob deep on the mouth.

Then Phil exploded, his distended penis discharging its white load right onto the sheets. His hips bucked a few more times, and then he passed out, sleeping in the puddle he had created.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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