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Hardwood Floor.

Workman gets more than he asked for.

She heard the van turn into the driveway a full minute before he made it to the door, so she was already waiting downstairs by the time the sound of his even, firm footsteps on the porch revealed his presence outside the entrance to her home. Despite the fact that she was there, waiting, leaned up against the other side of the door, she would not have thought of opening it immediately. She waited until he reached out and, barely a foot away through the thick, heavy oak door, confidently pushed, once only, the button to ring her bell. Knowing it would come, she heard the bell only absentmindedly. She waited another full thirty seconds, then leaned slowly from the door, took a step and turned on her heel, running a hand through the long, thick dirty blonde tresses that fell casually over her shoulders and breasts. She reached forward and unceremoniously opened the door.

"The company said three-thirty. You're late."

She looked him over. He wore blue coveralls with a company logo that strained against his lean, well-muscled figure. Tall with piercing blue eyes and a two-day beard, he was all her neighbor had described and more. She smiled very slightly to herself. This would be fun. Mentally satisfied, but revealing nothing of her intentions in her gaze, she directed him to enter her home. "I assume the company filled you in on the details?" she said curtly.

"They don't usually tell us much. I only know you are looking for an estimate for putting down a new kitchen floor."

"That's right. Since my husband left earlier this year, I've decided to redo the entire house. I was hoping you could recommend a material and quote me a price for whatever would work best in the kitchen. Price is no object."

"That sounds straightforward enough," he replied, and found himself immediately being taken by the hand and pulled gently toward the foyer and into the house.

"The kitchen is this way," she said, turning to walk away but letting her head drift back just enough to flash him a brief smile – a smile and a look that only for the briefest moment turned into a bitten lower lip and a set of cast down eyes. Immediately her gaze was back with his, and as she allowed her red lacquered nails to scrape lightly against the inside of his palm, she dropped his hand and allowed the momentum of her tug on it pull him with her into the next room. She consciously allowed her hips to sway slightly as she walked, giving him something to follow as they walked single file through the hallway.

When she reached the kitchen, she bent from the waist to pick up a magazine she had left on the floor before he arrived. As she bent, the short summer dress she wore began to ride up her thighs. Even as the man's eyes bulged it rode higher. Even as the man's coveralls bulged it rode higher. By the time she had stretched out the three seconds it took her hand to reach the ground, the skirt of her dress had ridden up to expose a thong barely wide enough to cover the pen the workman carried in his pocket. She turned and followed his gaze from eyes to eyed, and smiled at him knowingly. She retrieved the magazine, and placing it on the counter, beckoned him into the kitchen.

As he broke the threshold between the rooms, she lay an arm across his muscular shoulders and snaked a leg around his, leaning her full breasts on his chest to maintain balance.

"Well, what do you think?" she asked in hushed tones after allowing his eyes to indulge the scenery around him. "Do you think this room would be best floored with tile -- or with hard wood?" She annunciated these last two words with a pause and desperate finality, already sure of her decision and waiting only for his response.

With that he tossed the freshly retrieved magazine back onto the floor, lifted her up by the warm, full buttocks that his hand found like a missile to its target, and tossed her onto the counter to mount her. His hands went to her full breasts, rubbing them even as she pushed back against him. His tongue sought out her nipples, alert as sentries. She stared with desperate eyes at the bulge in his pants, and pushed her hand down to knead his tool even as he tore her dress from her shoulders and forced the slight piece of fabric covering his goal aside. With expert fingers, she pushed her hand down and pried his pulsing periscope from his pants. Before she could gasp at its size, however, it had re-submerged, and she had a new reason to gasp. Impatient and overwhelmed, she rocked violently against him, and it was all he could do to keep up. The sounds of their tryst echoed in the house, and when he could contain it no more, he erupted into her, the Niagara of his manhood filling her as nothing ever had. Exhausted, she collapsed onto her back, and asked him if he couldn't come back the same time the next day with materials and begin laying some wood on the floor.

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