The Broken Pump

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How can Martine's aching desire be satisfied?
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Martine had given up expecting anything of men. Her last boyfriend had tired of her and left her for a big-breasted Dutch girl who spoke worse English than she did. She hadn't been too disappointed. Her three English boyfriends had been mediocre lovers. The only good sex she'd had was with her very first boyfriend back in France when she was nineteen. But she didn't dwell on that. Jean-Henri had broken her heart.

She was relieved when her friend, Elaine, invited her to her mother's for the August bank holiday. The house was in Herefordshire, a pretty spot in the country. The good thing about England were these little country villages where you could have a quiet weekend break without going too far from London. Elaine's mother needed help clearing the garage. She was a widow and the garage hadn't been cleared since her husband's death a year ago.

'Bring some old clothes, if you don't mind helping,' Elaine had said.

'I'd love to help.' Although not strong, Martine was looking forward to doing some physical work to take her mind off her troubles. Bank holidays could be the loneliest time. With nothing to do, she would lie too long in bed, dwelling on impossible dreams, aching inwardly with desire. She was tired of touching herself. Yet she was unable to resist her body's needs, which were becoming harder and harder to satisfy. Was a morning wasted if she spent it entirely in secret self-stimulation? Maybe not, but Martine needed a change of scene.

The house in Herefordshire was beautiful. It was quite small, though, and the garage had become a store room. It was full of junk. The women arrived on Friday night and first thing on Saturday they put on their old clothes and started to clear it out.

'If you see Mister Needham, you could ask him to help you put things in the skip. Some of those pieces of furniture are quite heavy.'

Mr Needham was a neighbour. He had already helped Elaine's mother by hiring the skip and letting them leave it on the driveway at the side of his house. The houses were set back from the road and were reached by a lane that was too narrow for a skip. Mr Needham's driveway was right by the garage so it was very helpful of him to let them use it.

'I told him you were coming,' Elaine's mother added. 'He said it was a crying shame to let two beautiful women do such donkey work.'

Elaine was twenty-seven, blonde and used to compliments. Her boyfriend was a company director who worked in Cambridge and played squash in his lunch break. Martine was two years older than Elaine and couldn't remember the last time anyone had called her beautiful. Today she had her long black hair tied up and knotted beneath a baseball cap. With her old jeans and scruffy T-shirt, she felt anything but beautiful. Still, Mister Needham was welcome to help.

He appeared later in the morning.

His timing couldn't have been worse. She was bending over trying to pull a heavy box out from beneath a work bench when she heard his voice behind her. She tried to stand up quickly but her back was beneath the bench and she was afraid of hurting herself. She struggled backwards, wondering what sort of view she was presenting. She felt undignified, hardly the beautiful woman he was expecting.

But when she stood up and faced him he smiled warmly. He was in his late thirties with light brown hair and a strong, handsome face. 'Let me get that box for you,' he said at once. 'It looks kind of heavy.'

He bent down under the table and pulled it out. Martine could see the muscles in his back and shoulders working, even beneath the black cotton T-shirt he wore. When he stood up again and lifted the box, he grunted faintly. Martine was standing right beside him, close enough to smell him. She stepped aside to give him room, but it was with reluctance. He smelled good and the warmth he gave off was charismatic. She could sense his physical power. Martine couldn't resist flirting with him. It was harmless banter. She knew there was nothing in it. He was married and had two children. Boys. There was something manly about men who had boys, she thought. Was it because they could kick a ball around with them and teach them how to fix a car?

His company enlivened her and she started to feel good about herself again. She missed him in the afternoon when she and Elaine resumed their work alone after a light lunch.

In the evening they drove into town and rented a couple of DVDs. One of them turned out to be a dull thriller so they watched the other one, a romantic comedy. Although not at all erotic, it made Martine think of sex. She kept thinking about it. She wanted a shower but the shower pump was broken. In any case, she had already washed herself down right after they had finished in the garage so it would look strange if she disappeared into the bathroom again; but she needed some place private to go so she could relieve her sexual tension. She had her own bedroom for the weekend but it was right next to Elaine's mother's and there was no lock on the door. She supposed no-one would walk in on her and she was good at keeping quiet while she satisfied herself, but she was also feeling a little nervous from being in the strange house and she was unsure if she would be able to get aroused enough to find fulfilment. By the time the movie was over it was late anyhow and she was tired. Once in bed, she tried to read a book but couldn't concentrate. After a little while she began to feel relaxed. She started to touch herself and imagine Mister Needham making love to her in the garage, entering her from behind while she was bent over the dirty work bench. But she was too tired and the fantasy dissolved in sleep before she could come.

In the morning she was woken early by the sounds of Elaine and her mother moving about. Elaine had warned her that she and her mother would go to church on Sunday, so she paid no attention until the door slammed and she realised she was alone. The idea of being alone at last excited her. She stretched out in the bed and felt the air on her toes as they pushed through beyond the duvet. She wriggled her feet and became aware of a stiffness in her muscles all along her legs and lower back. It was all that bending she did yesterday. She started to massage her legs, thinking all the while of Mister Needham and the way he had come into the garage while she was bending down. Suppose he had fucked her like that from behind? She wondered if he had thought about that. He had been friendly with her without exactly flirting. He had behaved very properly and shown no favouritism either to her or to Elaine. This surprised her slightly as she believed Elaine to be the attractive one and she imagined that Mister Needham had more reason to be friendly towards Elaine, being her mother's neighbour. But she thought he had really liked her.

Her fingers travelled up the insides of her thighs and she lay back and started to dream. She was just beginning to get aroused when she heard the door slam again. Back so soon?

She pulled the duvet over herself and curled up in her sleeping position. There was a heavy tread on the stairs. It didn't sound like Elaine or her mother. Then there was a banging in the bathroom. She thought she had better go and investigate.

She had forgotten to pack any night clothes but Elaine had lent her a T-shirt. That was all she was wearing. She slipped on a pair of jeans and went into the hall. It was Mister Needham in the bathroom. Instinctively she covered her breasts with her arms. She didn't want him to see her nipples poking through the thin cotton.

'Mister Needham, what are you doing?' she asked.

'Ah, sorry love, I thought you were all at church. Betty asked me to look at the shower pump and I thought now would be a good time. I didn't know you were still here. I could go and come back another time.'

'No, er, it's quite all right. I'd like the shower fixed. Will it take long?'

'Depends what's wrong. I'll have a look.'

'Thanks.' She went back into her bedroom. She supposed she had better get dressed. But it was sexy having the man she was thinking about in the bathroom down the hall while she was undressed in her room. She took off her jeans and lay on the bed. She couldn't resist touching herself. She spread her legs and imagined him coming to her. Her nipples were hard. Now that she had started she became very aroused very quickly. Already her heart was racing. She touched inside herself and felt the wetness coat her fingers. She was very wet suddenly. She was unusually wet.

'I think that's done it,' he said, and his voice grew in loudness. He was coming down the hall. She leapt up and put her jeans back on. He knocked at the door.

'Just a minute.' Did her voice sound strange? Breathless? She put another T-shirt on over the first. Two T-shirts? Was she crazy? She was self-conscious about her nipples. She had small breasts but her nipples were very prominent. She knew they were visible through most clothes unless she wore a padded bra.

She opened the door. 'Fixed so soon?' she said. 'That was quick.'

'It should be all right,' he said. 'Try it and see. If it gives any trouble I'll come back.'

She nodded. Did he mean now? 'Haven't you tested it?' she asked.

'Well, I'll show you,' he said. 'Come with me.'

He showed her a dial on the pump that could be turned with a special tool. 'That's for the temperature,' he said. Another one was for the pressure. A part was worn on the pressure valve, that was all. But he needed her to try it to check that it was now at the right pressure. 'You have to let it run for a while,' he said. 'It needs someone to take a shower is what it does.'

He spoke with a Herefordshire accent. It was hard for her to understand at first. And sometimes he used these crazy idioms. 'It needs someone is what it does.' What kind of English was that?

'OK,' she said. 'I want a shower anyway.'

She had the strangest feeling that he was still in the house while she was showering. She had locked the door and made sure there was no gap in the curtain. She was completely alone. But still she couldn't relax enough to do what she wanted to do. She washed conscientiously. Her fingers roamed freely. But still she was unsatisfied. As she bent over the bath afterwards, combing out her long hair, nothing but a small towel around her, she again thought of Mister Needham coming up behind her in the garage. Suppose he was in the house now? Suppose he was right outside the door? Suppose he was watching?

She turned round suddenly. There was no-one. She unlocked the door and checked. No-one. But he must have heard her unlock the door for he called out from downstairs, 'How was it?'

'It does is good,' she stammered, her English failing her as she subconsciously adopted a variant of his crazy idiom.

She went to the top of the stairs and looked down. There he was. He was waiting anxiously, his toolbox clutched at his side. 'Was the pressure OK?'

'The pressure was fine,' she said.

His foot was on the first step. It was as if he was expecting her to say it needed adjusting. But it didn't need adjusting. So why did he move his other foot up the stairs?

She became aware once more of the smallness of the towel covering her. It barely reached her thighs. She backed up a little, but that seemed to pull him towards her. He came up the stairs, taking long strides. She walked backwards towards her room. But he came faster. He was at the top of the stairs before she knew it.

'Good,' he said. 'I'm glad it was fine. The temperature? How was that?'

'It was fine,' she said, clutching the towel beneath her armpit, her arm across her breasts, hiding them.

'Good.' He was staring down at her and she was as if frozen. She felt fear and desire equally. Or was it anticipation?

He put his tool box down and gripped her arms suddenly. 'Don't move,' he said. 'You look smashing like that.'

Smashing? What did that mean?

Then he kissed her hard on the mouth. She cowered down but he had her arms firmly in his hands. She gasped and her body buckled but he held her up.

He stopped then and there was a moment when she thought he wasn't going to fuck her and she was disappointed. But he only stopped to look at her. He placed a hand on her hip, felt the dampness of the towel pressed gainst her body. She could have stopped him then. She could see the sensitivity in the way he looked at her.

'You're beautiful,' he said.

She almost smiled, but she shut her eyes as his hand went under the towel. She was damp from the shower. He pressed his hand against her mound, his fingers laid along the crease, curling up around her, pressing gently. She closed her eyes and let him do it. It felt so good. Why could a man's touch achieve what she had failed to achieve for so long? Why were his fingers any different?

And then he was kissing her again. Not satisfied with kissing her mouth, he moved his head down. He nudged the towel away and rubbed his chin across her chest trying to reach her nipple. His chin was rough and she cried out. 'No!'

'It's too late to say no now,' he said, and he pulled the towel away with one hand while gripping her arm with the other. She was totally naked. She flinched and he stared at her. His hand dropped the towel and cupped a small breast. Then he stuck his mouth on it and sucked her nipple. Her nipples were already long. He pulled them out with his mouth, one after the other, then he turned her and pushed her towards her bedroom, placing a hand on her behind, touching her with complete freedom.

She didn't resist. She wanted him. She let him toss her on the bed. She lay with her head off the edge, her hair trailing on the floor. He stripped off his clothes and straddled her. She lifted her head to see his cock. She could feel it pressing into her tummy. It was big, as she expected, but longer than she expected.

He made free with her body. He touched her everywhere and bent his head down and touched her with his tongue. His fingers went inside her. She moaned involuntarily. It felt strange but very arousing. Then he lifted her shoulders up and made her sit up. She was limp, like a doll, so he held her. He knelt beside her and held her head and pulled it down over his erect cock. He moved her head slowly back and forth, and she panted, finding it difficult to breathe. He was moaning softly now, he was saying something, some strange English words that meant nothing to her.

Then he pulled his cock out of her mouth and pushed her back down so that her head hung off the bed. She could feel the blood rushing to her head. It was like being blindfolded. All she could see was the bright wash of light from the window. Then she felt his cock at her entrance. Her vagina was very sensitive. She felt the skin stretch around his fat cock. His cock was wet from her mouth and her insides were wet from her juices. It slipped in easily. She could feel her heart thumping. His body bore down on her and she felt him grind against her, dizzying her with an onslaught of sensations.

Strangely, he didn't fuck her the way she expected. He just held his cock inside her, pressing his body against her. 'Fuck me, fuck me,' she almost cried, but she didn't. She waited to see what would happen. What was he doing? There was an unbearable silence, a moment of tension. He had been inside her for three or four minutes but it seemed like an age. Then he slid out of her.

'It's too intense,' he said. 'I can't bear it. I have to come.'

As he spoke the words she felt a splash of warm rain on her chest. She raised her head with an effort. He was holding his cock. As she lifted her head it spouted sperm. A thick gout of it struck her chin and she fell back. She felt more fluid fall on her ribs. Then a warm puddle oozed onto her tummy.

She put her fingers where his cock had been. She was very aroused. She needed to come. He couldn't leave her like this. Please, please, she thought, don't leave me like this.

He put his mouth against her pussy. His tongue flicked out. 'Yes,' she thought. She could feel his cock against her leg. It was still hard. Sticky and hard. She ignored the stickiness and concentrated on the feelings inside her body. She was on the verge of orgasm. His tongue flicked across her clitoris and his mouth dripped wetness into her vagina. 'You are so beautiful,' he whispered. 'I want to fuck you again and again.' And when his tongue touched her again it electrified her body and she arched her back and spasmed with pleasure.

'Gently does it,' he said. Then, 'Look at your body!'

'It needs another shower is what it does,' she said.

'It does that,' he said. 'Good job I fixed it.'

'Good job.'

And they showered together quickly before Elaine and her mother came home. Her last glimpse of his cock was of its still hard shape bulging against his jeans. Wow! If only they'd had more time.

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