Erica and Mr. Hargreaves Pt. 08


When Erica heard the knock on her apartment door, she took a moment before answering to check her lipstick in the mirror and give herself a self-congratulatory smile. Today, Saturday, was to be Mr. Cirillo’s last day working on the bathroom renovations, and she had contrived to have the apartment all to themselves. Her growing arousal was piqued by the reasonable expectation they would fuck like rabbits for much of the time.

Earlier that morning, she had persuaded her boyfriend, Stuart, to spend the day at her mother’s house helping to prepare the place for her fiftieth birthday celebrations, due to take place on Sunday. It was a well-established fact that Erica and her mother, Wendy, couldn’t bear to be in each other’s company for very long, as they inevitably argued, so she knew her suggestion that Stuart should go there on his own would not arouse suspicion.

In anticipation of Mr. Cirillo’s arrival, Erica decided, as a treat for the plumber on his last day, to dress in an outfit she had acquired some time before in an Elizabeth Winter’s boutique sex shop. It was a white lace, lingerie set, consisting of a half-cut bra, that barely contained her 32 DD breasts, a garter belt with adjustable straps that sat snugly around her hips and a G-string that left the perfectly rounded cheeks of her arse exposed. She accessorized with white, nylon stockings and a pair of black, high-heeled platform pumps, to complete the high-class whore look she was going for. When opening the door, she covered her outfit with a largely transparent, white lace kimono, a necessary concession in case one of the neighbors might be passing down the hall.

“Just out of bed, are we, Miss?” It wasn’t Cirillo who spoke but an older man, with a stock of grey hair and a wrinkled face from too many days spent working in the sun, who stood beside the plumber. The old man looked her slowly up and down before giving an appreciative nod of his head followed by a cheeky, lecherous wink.

“This is John. He’s here to lay the tiles,” said Cirillo by way of explanation.

Before she could pull it away, the older man took hold of her hand and brought it up to his lips. “I’ve heard so much about you, Miss. It’s nice to finally see you in the flesh, so to speak.”

Cirillo grunted something inarticulately under his breath.

Erica was left feeling awkward by the old man’s forwardness, not to mention a little exposed by what felt now as totally inappropriate attire. She drew the kimono tightly around her breasts as she stood aside to let the two men in. What did John mean by his curious comment? Had Mr. Cirillo told him something about what he and Erica had gotten up to?

“The bathroom’s down here,” said Cirillo, gruffly. He set off leading the way. Erica caught the tiler taking one last crafty look at her before the two workmen disappeared down the hallway.

Arousal had been building up inside her throughout the morning. All in anticipation of what she hoped to get up to with Mr. Cirillo while they had the apartment to themselves, but that energy was now converting itself into the all too familiar feeling of sexual frustration. She and Cirillo could hardly get up to very much with the old tiler hanging around. She may just as well have gone to her mother’s with Stuart.

Returning to the bedroom, Erica changed out of her lingerie. She had already made her mind up to go for a long, hot, and sweaty jog, then pop into the Hayden’s apartment across the hall and use their shower. The elderly couple were still away in Spain. At least there she could get herself off using their hand-held shower attachment. Her running gear consisted of a black, sports crop-top and a matching pair of three-quarter length capris, whose wide elasticated waistband showed off her flat, toned stomach.

While running through a nearby park, Erica found her mind drifting to those occasions during the previous week when she had managed to get home during her lunch breaks, and she and Mr. Cirillo had fucked. Erica had given herself up to him freely, no more faked resistance, no coquettish games, but the old, fat plumber always seemed bad-tempered and angry anyway, especially when he was ramming his manhood inside her. She even had to be careful not to give inadvertent offence because he always kept his leather belt to hand and would use it to strike her across the buttocks on those occasions when he got it into his head that she was disrespecting him. In truth, his brusque manner, not to mention his fat, hairy body, should have been a big turn off, but she was prepared to put up with all that because her orgasms with him had been out of this world. Even on a par with those early ones she had experienced with Mr. Hargreaves, Stuart’s boss at the Dale Corporation.

Oh no, Erica thought suddenly, when she realised the recollections of these erotic encounters had made her pussy wet. She looked down and found to her horror that a dark, damp patch had appeared in the crotch of her capris. She turned around and ran for home as quickly as she could.

When Escort Haramidere Erica arrived back at her apartment, she was surprised to find John, the tiler, looking through her kitchen cabinets. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Cirillo sent me out to look for a Phillips head screwdriver,” said the old man unperturbed at being discovered. “He thinks he left his around here somewhere.”

“Well, you won’t find it in there,” replied Erica.

The tiler raised himself up and appeared as if he were about to return to the bathroom, but then he stopped in front of Erica and said, “My, my, Miss. You’ve worked yourself up into quite a lather, haven’t you?”

Erica saw that he was looking intently in the direction of the damp patch on her crotch. She should have been outraged at the remark, appalled, and disgusted by the old man’s overfamiliarity, but her body seemed to have a treacherous mind of its own these days. She certainly had no control over her nipples which decided to pop into life at that moment and protrude visibly through the material of her tightly fitting crop top.

“Cirillo’s told me stories about you. I didn’t believe him at first, but now I’m not so sure. Is there any truth to them, Miss?” As he spoke, the tiler took a step towards her. He slowly looked her up and down, just as he had done when she answered the door in her lingerie.

She told herself she should be very annoyed at his manner, especially at that lecherous, cheeky smile he was sporting. Just who did this grey-haired, old fart think he was? Yet, there was something undeniably appealing about his polite demeanor, even if he was taking the most outrageous liberties in the salacious things, he asked of her.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” said Erica trying to muster up an indignant tone. She compelled herself to move but found that rather than providing herself with a clear route of escape, she had merely backed herself up against one of the kitchen counters, giving the tiler the opportunity to move even closer towards her. By now he was very definitely invading her personal space.

Erica’s knees felt a little weak, perhaps it was as a result of her run, perhaps it was something else that affected her. In any case, she placed both her hands on the counter’s edge behind her for support. For a moment, the rational part of her brain tried to take control of the situation and she had a strong urge to call out to Mr. Cirillo to come to her rescue, but it suddenly occurred to her, that the presence of two of these workmen, rather than just one, might worsen her predicament, rather than end it.

“Let me pass,” said Erica firmly.

“But you haven’t answered my question, Miss. Was Cirillo telling the truth?”

“That’s none of your business.”

The old man gave her one of his lewd smiles, this time grinning from ear to ear. It seemed he had all the confirmation he needed. Erica made to move but he closed what little space remained between them and placed his calloused hand firmly on her sodden mount.

Erica gasped and closed her thighs on the old man’s hand. She raised her arms, fully intend on pushing the old man firmly away, but then his thumb found and nuzzled the hood of her clitoris, beneath the thin fabric of her capris, and sent an electrifying shock through her body. Erica let her hands fall upon John’s shoulders, then drew him closer.

The old tiler needed no further invitation. He pulled at the tight waistband of her capris and pushed his hand downwards until he found her shaved pussy. Erica opened her legs, and the old man quickly inserted his bony forefinger past her inner lips. Then with his finger inside her pussy and his thumb caressing her love-button on the outside, she felt him alternatively tease and then apply pressure to all the densely, compacted nerves on either side of her clitoris. No one, not even Mr. Hargreaves, had ever managed to generate this intensity of feeling.

In order to stifle her moaning, and not be heard by Mr. Cirillo, she pressed her face hard into the meeting place of the old man’s shoulder and neck.

The old tiler continued massaging her clit and pussy in this way, steadily increasing the speed of his action until eventually, he pushed his forefinger all the way inside before rapidly withdrawing and reinserting his bony, old digit, while his thumb continued to rub against her love-button. He continued this frigging action, continually increasing it speed until it became frantic.

“Ah, ah! Mn… Fuck!” moaned Erica into the old man’s neck, as she quickly peaked with a very intense orgasm. She normally didn’t squirt when she came, but this time her vaginal juices gushed out onto the old man’s hand and drenched her capris.

“I want to fuck you,” said the tiler kissing her on the mouth.

“What about Mr. Cirillo?” asked Erica moving her head away. “He’s only down the hallway.”

“He’s heading off to the builders’ providers in a few minutes,” replied John, transferring his kisses to her İkitelli escort neck.

“Okay, but I want to shower first.”

“Fine, Miss, just make sure you wear the outfit you wore when you answered the door. You looked so fuckable, I thought I was going to come in my pants there and then.”

While Erica showered in the Hayden’s, she resisted the temptation to frig herself. She wondered what size cock the old tiler would have, and her curiosity added to her sense of urgency to get back to her apartment.

When she returned to her bedroom, Erica quickly dressed in her high-class whore lingerie, and had only just applied a sheen of bright, red lipstick on her luscious lips when there was a knock on the door. She let the old tiler in, softly closing the door behind him.

“Cirillo’s gone,” John said smiling lecherously. “We’ve a good hour or more before he returns.”

The tiler wasn’t as short in stature as Mr. Cirillo, but the black, high-heeled platform pumps made Erica tower over him. “Holy fuck, but you’re absolutely gorgeous,” he said, as she took him by the hand and led him to the bed where they sat side by side.

Erica placed her hand on the grey-haired man’s shoulder and drew him close, then they kissed. Earlier, she had been looking forward to a bout or two of Mr. Cirillo’s bad tempered screwing, but she wondered now if in fact she preferred it when she was allowed to take the lead, and given how wet her pussy already was, she concluded that must surely be the case.

While continuing to explore her mouth with his tongue, the old tiler began to gently caress her right breast. When Erica’s nipple stood to attention beneath the soft lace of her half-cut bra, he rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, exciting it even more. She issued a long-pleasured moan, for she loved having her tits played with. Mr. Hargreaves and Mr. Cirillo engaged in the activity on occasion, but they tended to maul her breasts in a way that inflicted as much discomfort as pleasure, before moving on to her other parts. John, like old George Hayden from across the hall, seemed to properly appreciate them.

Eventually, the old man lowered his hand to her thigh, fondling the small gap of naked flesh between the top of her stockings and her G-string, before proceeding up to her mound and finding it soaking wet. “You really are a naughty girl, Miss,” he said gleefully.

Erica had thought it was the rough treatment of these men that got her so aroused and overcame the fact that they were typically, old, fat, and ugly. Yet, as this old man used two of his bony fingers to glide inside the gusset of her panties, before slipping them inside her moist vagina, while his thumb softly massaged her clit, she couldn’t remember feeling this turned on by the foreplay of any of the others.

Erica would surely have climaxed if he’d continued, but the old man removed his fingers and said, “Lie back on the bed for me, Miss.” His gentle tone suggested it was a request rather than an order. In any case Erica complied.

The grey-haired tiler stood up and began to undress. Erica couldn’t wait for her curiosity regarding the size of his cock to be satisfied. She propped herself up on her elbows, eager to see what he was unpacking.

John, having first removed his shirt and work boots, quickly stepped out of his overall trousers and underpants. Naked, he was a scrawny old man with a sunken grey-haired chest and a protruding stomach, yet Erica found herself smiling appreciatively. His cock was as big, if not bigger than Mr. Hargreaves, but it also had the additional features of appearing straight and surprisingly smooth. It was also the first circumcised dick she had seen outside of internet porn.

What was it about old men having big cocks, she wondered. In her limited experience, it seemed the older they were, the bigger their manhood. Was it the same as noses and ears, appendages that, she’d read somewhere, continued to grow throughout a person’s life?

When fully naked, his circumcised erection standing up proudly, the tiler climbed onto the bed and lay upon Erica, his phallus pressing keenly into her pubic bone.

Erica closed her eyes. She was enveloped in the warm anticipation of taking the impressively big cock into her already receptive pussy, so she didn’t notice that the old man was holding something behind his naked back. She only came to her senses when she heard a series of rapid clicking noises. Looking at her right hand, she found the tiler had secured a cable tie around her wrist, then quickly, almost expertly, employed a second tie to secure the first to a vertical rung on the bed’s metal headboard. Her eyes widened in panic as he swiftly repeated the same process to secure her left wrist. It occurred to her that while the old man had been looking for a screwdriver in the kitchen drawers, he must have come across the cable ties Stuart used to secure their litter bags before being dropped into the garbage chute at the end of their corridor.

“No, please Çapa escort bayan don’t,” she said, trying to replace the apprehension in her voice with insistence. However, the old man simply ignored her protestations and began to secure her right leg in the same manner. This time, in order to gain enough length for the restraint to reach the footboard, he used two interlaced cable ties to secure her stockinged ankle. When he reached for her left leg, Erica tried to draw it away from him, but he wasn’t put off, and grabbed hold of it roughly until it was also secured.

Erica found herself helplessly stretched out on the bed in a spread-eagled position. When she pulled against her constraints, it only made them bite more painfully into the flesh of her wrists.

“Release me this instant,” she said. “I’m not into this… whatever this is. Cut me free.”

“Now, now, Miss,” said the old man with infuriating calmness. The lecherous smile that she had thought earlier to be somehow appealing in its unsubtle lewdness, now took on a sinister hue. “You don’t want to go raising your voice, now do you, Miss? What if one of your neighbors came running in here to find you all trussed up like this. That wouldn’t look very good, now, would it?”

Erica found herself shaking her head in agreement.

“Besides, you can trust me,” he said with an annoying reasonableness. “Haven’t you enjoyed our little antics so far?” Then, as if the matter had been settled, he got back up on the bed and straddled her body, his hairy, old, dangling balls resting on her stomach. He reached beneath her and unclipped her bra, pulling it free before throwing it on the floor. Then his calloused hands took hold of each of her breasts, squeezing them hard just below the areola, his earlier gentleness replaced now with an unrefined haste.

As Erica felt her nipples harden again and her pussy moistened, she put aside her objections to the restraints. She was totally at the old tiler’s mercy now and could not deny her situation brought with it a heightened state of arousal.

The old man leaned forward and pushed her ample breasts together to create a deep, soft valley for his raging erection. Manufacturing a long drool of saliva, he let it fall from his mouth and dribble down into the canyon of flesh. John began to hump her tits. As he lengthened his stride, the tip of his cock began to surface just below her chin. Erica bent her head forward as far as she could and made an ‘O’ shape with her mouth in order to catch the cock’s bulbus head and quickly circle her lips around it before it departed again. This seemed to have the effect of making the old man’s motions grow in speed and ferocity. As he see-sawed back and forth, he squeezed her tits together with ever greater intensity.

Soon Erica began to moan as the familiar signals of a mounting orgasm rippled through her senses.

The tiler was also groaning aloud. “Oh, yeah! Oh, fuck that’s good.” His breath had become quick and shallow. He had the appearance of someone about to either have a heart attack or shoot his load. Erica assumed it was the latter and thought the event couldn’t come too soon because her position was uncomfortable, and the restraints were getting in the way of her enjoyment. She let herself entertain the notion that once the old man came, he would release her from her bonds, allowing her to use her hands to ignite the magma of sensation that was coalescing just inside her pussy.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the bedroom door open, hesitantly. For a horrible moment she thought it might be Stuart, having returned to the apartment early, but it was Mr. Cirillo, the small, fat, greasy plumber. He looked at Erica stretched out on the bed while the older man rode her tits, then he stepped fully into the room and said, “I told you she was a slut. Now do you believe me? Why didn’t you wait for me, you old bastard, like we agreed?”

“I don’t remember agreeing to that,” said the tiler. He stopped what he was doing and sat back on Erica’s stomach, breathing heavily. “Anyway, I wanted to see how far I’d get on my own. Get her warmed up. Make her receptive.”

Cirillo, still grumpy and unmollified, quickly stepped out of his work boots and overalls, then began to massage his already fully erect penis. “Let me have a go?”

“This little beauty has more than enough holes for the pair of us,” said the tiler. “Haven’t you, Miss?” He leaned back and pressed his palm against her sodden G-string. “Her pussy’s dripping. It’s crying out for a good fucking.”

“Don’t I get a say?” asked Erica. A tingle of fear had rippled through her spine and nestled at the back of her neck. She was bound and completely defenseless. She sort of trusted the old tiler, despite the trick he had pulled on her, but she was far from sure she wanted another old, ugly fucker having unrestricted access to her prone body at the same time.

“Little whores don’t get a vote,” replied Cirillo. “Okay, move over,” he said to the older man and mounted the bed.

“You work that end,” said the tiler. “I’m not finished up here yet.” With that he walked forward on his knees, dragging his old balls through the valley of Erica’s tits, and pushed his dick into her mouth, coaxing it inside as far as it could go. Erica’s position would not allow it to go past her throat.

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