Sarah was in the kitchen wiping down counters when the doorbell rang. It was Tuesday morning, and the house painter David was due to finish the living room walls. She’d hired him last week after her husband complained about the chipped paint. David was in his late 30s, built from years of manual labor, always in paint-splattered overalls and a plain t-shirt.
She opened the door in her usual around-the-house outfit: tight yoga pants and an old tank top, hair in a messy ponytail. “Morning, David. Come on in. Coffee’s on if you want some.”
He nodded, carrying his drop cloths and brushes. “Thanks, ma’am. Should be done by lunch if no surprises.”
Sarah watched him set up in the living room. The TV was on low in the background, some morning talk show droning. She went back to folding laundry on the couch, stealing glances. David was focused, rolling paint, but she caught him looking her way once or twice. The room smelled like fresh latex and the faint coffee she’d brewed.
After about twenty minutes, she walked over with a glass of water. “Hot work today, huh? Here.”
He took it, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. Their fingers brushed. “Appreciate it. You’re keeping the place nice while hubby’s at work?”
She laughed lightly. “Yeah, trying. Gets boring alone though.”
David set the roller down. His eyes dropped to her chest for a second, then back up. “Bet it does.”
The air shifted. Sarah felt that familiar heat in her stomach. She stepped closer, pretending to check the wall. “Looks good. You’re thorough.”
He smirked. “I try to be.”
Before she could think, she reached out and touched a smudge of paint on his forearm. “Missed a spot.”
David caught her wrist gently. “Careful. Don’t want to get dirty.”
She didn’t pull away. “Maybe I do.”
That was it. He pulled her in, lips crashing against hers. Rough, urgent. No sweet buildup—just mouths hungry. Sarah moaned into the kiss, hands grabbing his shirt. He tasted like coffee and sweat.
They stumbled toward the couch. David pushed her down onto the cushions, still half-covered in laundry. She yanked his overall straps down while he tugged her tank top over her head. No bra underneath—her tits bounced free, nipples already hard.
“Fuck, you’re hot,” he muttered, palming one breast roughly.
Sarah arched up. “Shut up and fuck me before someone hears.”
He shoved her yoga pants down to her knees in one motion. No panties either—she’d skipped them that morning, half hoping something like this might happen. Her pussy was already wet, lips swollen.
David freed his cock—thick, veiny, rock hard. No condom talk; this was raw amateur shit. He rubbed the head against her slit, coating himself in her slickness.
“Put it in,” she hissed.
He thrust forward, burying half his length in one go. Sarah gasped, nails digging into his back. “Oh shit—yes.”
The couch creaked under them. He started pumping, hard and fast. Skin slapped against skin, loud in the quiet house. Paint fumes mixed with the smell of sex and her arousal.
Sarah wrapped her legs around him as best she could with pants tangled at her ankles. “Harder. Fuck my pussy like you mean it.”
David growled, slamming deeper. Her tits bounced with each thrust. She reached down, rubbing her clit furiously while he pounded.
The TV droned on—some ad about kitchen appliances. Neighbors could probably hear if they listened close, but neither cared.
He flipped her over suddenly. “Ass up.”
Sarah scrambled onto her knees, face pressed into the couch cushion. David spread her cheeks, spit on her hole for good measure, then pushed back into her pussy from behind. Deeper angle now—she cried out, muffled.
“Fuck yes—right there,” she panted.
He grabbed her hips, pulling her back onto his cock. Wet sounds filled the room—her juices dripping down her thighs. Sweat ran down her back; his shirt stuck to him.
“You like getting fucked by the help?” he grunted.
“Shut up and make me cum,” she shot back.
He reached around, fingers finding her clit. Rough circles. Sarah bucked, moaning louder. Her body tightened—orgasm hit hard, pussy clenching around him.
David didn’t stop. He kept thrusting through her spasms, chasing his own. “Gonna fill you up.”
“Do it—cum inside me,” she begged.
A few more hard pumps and he groaned, burying deep. Hot spurts flooded her pussy. She felt every pulse.
They stayed like that a second, breathing heavy. Then reality snapped back.
David pulled out slowly. Cum leaked out, dripping onto the couch. Sarah laughed breathlessly. “Shit, that’s gonna stain.”
He zipped up, adjusting his overalls. “Better clean that before your man gets home.”
She sat up, pants still around her knees, tits out. “Yeah. And you better finish the walls.”
He smirked, picking up his roller. “On it.”
Sarah stood, wobbly, pulling her clothes back into place. The living room smelled like sex and paint now. She glanced at the clock—still time before lunch.
David went back to work like nothing happened. She headed to the kitchen to grab a towel, pussy still throbbing, cum trickling down her leg.

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