Handyman Lends a Hand (and his holes)

(((I’ve started writing erotic fiction on my spicy page, and this is part one of my first story! I hope y’all enjoy it! 🤗)))

Pulling up to the small, Tudor-style home, I was immediately self-conscious about my dilapidated old truck. It huffed and puffed audibly, threatening to blow down the quaint blue-and-white house as I parked out front. Taking in the meticulously-manicured lawn, ornate garden, and well-cared-for home, it was evident to me that this homeowner was not poor. Many of the people I encountered as a jack-of-all-trades tasker were well-off, but this was next level. As I made my way up the path towards the front door, I could see the living room through a large bay window, and was struck by the glistening, opalescent light splattered across its walls by an impressive (and obviously expensive) chandelier. My work boots clomped heavily up the few steps between the yard and the front door, which was painted a jovial pink. Seemed like Savannah, the woman who lived here and whom I’d met through a task app, may live here alone. That, or her husband let her have her way with the aesthetics of the house. I made a quick attempt to brush away a fine layer of white drywall dust which was caked into my work pants, and rang the doorbell.

A few seconds later, the door opened, and for a moment it seemed as though I was face-to-face with another light-scattering chandelier; so dazzling was the beauty of the woman who came to the door. With long, gleaming copper hair ablaze in the sunlight, smooth porcelain skin, limpid blue eyes, and sensuous lips that demanded my full attention, Savannah left me nearly incapable of uttering a word. A strange sound gurgled in the back of my throat, and an amused expression blossomed over her mesmerizingly-sculpted face.

“You must be Ethan?”

“I’m yes. I mean, um - yes. I’m Ethan,” I managed to blurt out.

Savannah smiled and stepped back, motioning for me to come inside. As she did, my eyes tore themselves away from her face and travelled along the perilous curves of her body. Large, round, ample breasts strained against a plain white tank top. Tiny waist. Hips soft towards the back but angular in front, disappearing into small grey sweat shorts that did little to conceal her mile-long legs. She must have been nearly as tall as I was, which isn’t common given that I’m over six feet. Only more nervous as the seconds passed, I stepped into the house as I felt a stiffening in my pants.

Savannah waited as I took my boots off, careful not to stray from the mat by the front door until I had. Though I didn’t look up, I could feel the intensity of her icicle-blue stare, and was acutely aware of the sweat beading on my brow. Once my boots were off, she turned and began making her way down the hall towards the kitchen in back of the house. I followed behind her, basking in the sway of her hips as she walked.

Just before she reached the kitchen door, she stopped to bend down and pick up a plastic shopping bag that lay on the floor of the hallway. As she did, her shorts rode up over the curve of her ass cheeks. I was so distracted by quickly glancing around to make sure there was no one watching me stare (or a mirror in which she may catch me doing so) that I almost didn’t see when a testicle, low-hanging and impressive in size, popped out the side of the shorts’ crotch and swung into view. My breath caught in my throat as I realized what I was looking at, and the slow flow into my cock since she’d opened the door became a torrential rush. I’d spent years beating my meat to trans women in porn, but never ventured as far as to attempt to find one in real life - and now, here I was seemingly alone with arguably the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes upon (trans or otherwise), and I was staring at her testicle. The moment it freed itself from the confines of her shorts, she straightened her back, bringing the bag up off the floor with a slender, manicured hand, and the hem of her shorts fell just low enough to barely conceal it. I looked up just in time to meet her gaze when she turned over her shoulder.

“I went to the hardware store and bought what I’m hoping is everything you should need,” she said. Her face was difficult to read, but behind her confident and casual demeanour was a shadow of ‘did he just see that?’ Somehow, I managed to act as though I didn’t have a raging hard-on at the sight of her right nut.

“Great! If you missed anything, I should have stuff in my truck.”

“Always be prepared,” she said, grinning. “Were you a boy scout?”

‘Were you?’ I thought to myself.

“I sure was,” I instead replied.

She chuckled softly and stepped into the kitchen, laying the plastic bag on a large and finely-crafted butcher block centre island. I watched surreptitiously as she busied herself removing items from the bag and shifted her weight and position slightly in an attempt to further hide her wardrobe malfunction from view.

“So I got some caulk, a palette knife, and sandpaper. Is there anything else you need?” I looked down at the items she’d purchased, desperately wishing I had the courage to tell her that it was cock, not caulk, that was on my mind.

“That should do,” I said, my eyes making my way across the walls of the pleasantly-decorated room. “So the previous owners really did a job on these walls, I see.”

She sighed and shrugged, shaking her head slightly, and a lock of fiery hair fell into her eyes. Tucking it behind her ear, she explained that she’d moved in a few weeks ago and had been surprised to see that the last residents of her new home had left umpteen holes in the walls where they had hung family photographs.

“I’ve just been so busy with work that I never got around to dealing with it, and I finally decided it was probably smart to hire someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”

“That would be me,” I responded, shifting my own weight in an attempt to conceal the situation in my own pants as our eyes met across the sun-dappled room.

“That would be you,” she purred. “Well, I’ll leave you to it for a bit. I’ve got some work to do, but I’ll check in with you in a bit.” She began to make her way towards the door through which we’d just come, and I was surprised to hear the nosey question that inexplicably escaped my mouth.

“What is it that you do for work?”

She turned slowly, her eyes seemingly searching the space between us for the correct answer before finally responding.

“I’m a content creator.”

She didn’t say anything more than that, but before she turned and went back into the hall, her eyes certainly did.

(((To be continued…)))