Knobs and Knockers

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Bit of a wet morning, but still warm on this early September day, glad I’m working under the porch today, keep me out of the rain. A steady job of fitting new locks and door furniture to their front door. In trying to keep everything in keeping with its Georgian exterior I’m fitting a big hefty knocker, door pull, letterbox and escutcheon, so quite a bit of work to be getting on with.

I’d been working for Kate, the daughter of an ex-work colleague, and Chris, her partner, for around two years and had completely landscaped their back garden in that time, that was finished and I’m now their regular weekly gardener coupled with the odd job like this.

A few years ago they would have been the atypical yuppies or dinkies, both early thirties in good jobs, he in IT and she in recruitment, with good salaries. No kids, nice house and cars and no idea what to spend their money on.

And they lived like students: house was a mess, they’d go food shopping and then live out of the carrier bags for the week. Sink full of washing up. They seemed to go through cleaners every three or four months: guess they’d just get fed up of the mess. Curtains were rarely opened. Washing would stay out on the line for days on end, although I didn’t object to that one, Kate’s underwear was certainly in the lingerie bracket, and the detritus from a weekend garden party would still be out there on my Wednesdays; and I would work around it, no way I was cleaning up after them. They played at getting fit: had all the gear but no idea! He was a big lad, maybe 18 or 20 stone, she was nowhere near that, but definitely a curvy size 12.

But despite all that, I liked them. Especially her, she was a bit bonkers with a wicked sense of humour.

When I arrived at 8am that morning the house was quiet with all the curtains, as usual, still closed, his car was missing so I guessed he was out, although that was not always a certainty as he occasionally left it at the station after a business lunch had gone too far the day before. And I figured that she was in as her car was still there, but again not a guarantee as she occasionally got a cab to the station.

Then, at around 11am, an upstairs toilet flushed so someone was in. 30 minutes later I heard Kate’s footsteps on the stairs: no way it was 18 stones making its way down, and sure enough she appeared, freshly showered, long black hair still slightly damp and still in her dressing gown, hands stuffed into the pockets.

‘Morning Dave, coffee?’

‘Morning Kate, yes please. Working from home?’

‘Piss off! You don’t want coffee then?’

‘Oops, sorry, yes please.’

She always had quite a chirpy voice unless she wasn’t happy, and today she was clearly happy so I wasn’t upset by her response to my quip.

The dressing gown wasn’t too unusual either; she was in charge of the house and garden makeover and more than once she’d wandered around discussing jobs attired just as she was now. And I certainly didn’t object when she did.

After a few minutes of the smell of brewing coffee: and that was another thing, Chris always made instant, Kate always made fresh, she appeared with two mugs in her hands, put them down and went off again to reappear carrying a kitchen chair, set it down in the hall and sat facing me.

‘How’s it going?’

‘Pretty well.’ and I went on to explain how I was getting on.

As always, our conversation wandered, I carried on working and chatting, she sat there drinking coffee and chatting; if she was supposed to be working she didn’t seem to be in any rush. I, as with most things with Kate, definitely didn’t mind: her occasional shift in posture had caused her dressing gown to slip off her crossed legs exposing a good length of them to view, with the long line of her thigh disappearing into shadow. And so I quite happily carried on working, chatting and casting the occasional glance at her legs.

Having finished the lock and the letterbox I picked up the heavy ring knocker, and holding it up to the door I glanced at Kate, “Seeing as you’re there; that ok for the knocker?”

She smirked and chuckled. “That’s a lovely knocker.”

I pretended to frown “Kate, stop it!”

She laughed “Sorry”, stood, stepped up to my side and put her hand up to the knocker to test its height.

She smirked again, “And where’s the knob going?”

“You’re doing it again, it’s a door pull.”

Chuckling, “I like knob, much prefer a knob.”

I groaned, “I’m sure you do.” picking up the door pull I positioned it against the door and looked at her “Ok then, where would you prefer your knob?”

She dropped her hand to the door pull and began to stroke it, “My, that is a big one.”

Starting to get a little turned on by her innuendo I glanced at her face; her green eyes were slightly unfocused and she had a soft open mouthed smile, bahis firmalar─▒ she was a bit turned on herself.

“Mmmmm, in your experience, is that a good place for the knob David?” Her voice had changed, before light and full of laughter now low and croaky.

Groaning again but deciding to join in, “In my experience the knob should go right where it’s most wanted.”

Her voice dropping even further, “That sounds like the perfect place.”

She glanced back up at the knocker, her other hand moved up and touched it “And if a knob’s where it’s most wanted, where’s the best place for a knocker?”

“Hmmmm, if the knob is where it’s most wanted then knockers should be where they can be best handled.”

“Do they take much handling?”

I carefully place the knocker on the windowsill beside the door and touch the door pull, my fingers brushing hers. My own voice not much more than a whisper “I find that knockers are able to take quite a lot of handling.”

Her voice now getting really croaky “And have you done a lot of knocker handling David?”

I brush my fingers across her knuckles and then slowly up her dressing gown sleeve, “A little, but I’ve always found that every knocker is different and needs handling differently.”

I can barely hear her voice “Mmmmmm.”

I move the door pull from under her fingers, place it beside the door knocker and push the door closed.

Her hand drops to her side and I turn to face her, her eyes are closed her lips parted.

Her voice barely a whisper “Glad we’re in agreement.”

“Me too.”

The hand that had trailed up her sleeve slips under her recently washed hair to the back of her neck, I bend my face to brush my lips across hers. I kiss them, they are dry, soft and receptive, taste of coffee. I lick along their length and then pull back, drop my hand to take hold of her’s and lead her towards the dimly lit lounge.

Stopping in the centre of the room between one of the sofas and the coffee table I turn back towards her and, leaning into her, kiss her again. This time a long searching kiss.

I fumble with the knot of her dressing gown sash, pull it loose to let her gown fall open. Looking down the six inch gap in her dressing gown my eyes follow the perfect inside curve of her breasts, nipples still tantalisingly hidden, just the faintest hint of dark areola, to the slight bump of her tummy and a shadow of dark crinkly hair.

Slipping my hands inside the hanging folds I brush my fingertips across her tummy:, she shivers at my touch, stroke up until the edges of my fingers touch the underside of her breasts. Turn my hands to cup the delicious weight, follow the curves out exposing more and more of her areolas as her gown is moved out of the way, the edges catch briefly on her nipples then fall away to give me my first full view of them. They aren’t huge but they’re not small either, certainly more than fill my hands: they’re gorgeously rounded, feel heavy with perfectly centered dark areolas and nipples begging to be touched.

So how can I resist. Thumbs reach up, flick across them, they instantly harden. She gasps and shivers again. Rub my thumbs across them then around the edges, feel the skin tighten, goosebumps rise. Bend my head to kiss the top of her shoulder, lick and nibble at her neck; she groans at the back of her throat, up to her earlobe; suck it between my lips, release it and follow the line of her neck back down to her shoulder then, as I bend my knees to sit on the coffee table, across her upper chest and into her cleavage.

I sit back, watch her face, a hand at each breast, thumbs circling her nipples, feel the texture of her puckered areolas, flick across taught nipples. Hands claw, fingers and thumb roll and pinch her nipples, nails drag across her skin. Her eyes are shut tight, forehead creased, mouth opening and closing, head angled to one side. Her hands lift and settle on my shoulders.

Lean forward, touch my lips to her smooth warm skin, follow the outer curve of one breast then the other, then find the areola, it tightens even more. My lips push my thumb off her nipple. Suck it in, it’s hard, the size of the tip of my little finger, with a tiny dimple at its centre.

Tease both nipples, one with my hand, the other with my mouth.

Flick my tongue around it, suck it, graze my teeth across it: one of her hands now against the back of my head, nails scratching. Rub my palm over the nipple, drum my fingers across it, scratch it, rub it between my fingertips. Teeth and fingers pinch, bite, squeeze and chew. Feel her groan, increase the pressure, her breath hissing, fingernails digging in.

Her breathing shallow, fast, the muscles in her legs begin to quiver. A long groan, she presses my face into her breast and shivers into an orgasm.

She sighs and relaxes, releases my head ka├žak iddaa and I sit back.

‘Mmmmm, that was sooooo nice.’ She sighs again, a tone of regret in her voice. ‘There is a slight problem to this….’

‘Oh?’

She looked into my face ‘I’m afraid that this isn’t a good time of the month for me.’

‘Ah, that’s a shame, but we can still….’

She interrupted, ‘But there is another……avenue of exploration.’

I pause for a moment, then, thinking I understand her meaning, ‘Yes there is…..if the exploree is happy to be explored.’

She giggled, ‘Is that even a word?’

‘Exploree? Probably not, but it should be.’

She giggled again, ‘Well this exploree loves being explored, if a certain person is happy to be the explorer.”

“If the certain person you’re referring to is me then he is a very happy explorer.”

A wide smile flashed across her face, “Oh goody.” then a slight look of embarrassment, “If you look at the back of that bottom drawer,” nodding towards the sideboard, “you’ll find something that will ease that path of exploration.”

Turning around I open the drawer and rummage until I feel the unmistakable shape of a tube, pulling it out I find myself holding a tube of KY Jelly, now I fully understand her meaning.

Looking back at Kate, “Now there’s a coincidence, fancy finding that there.”

Laughing, “I’ve been trying to interest Chris in a little of that exploration, but he keeps saying it’s not his thing.”

I raise a questioning eyebrow “But you have had previous…..explorers?”

She smiles wistfully, “Oh yes, there were boyfriends before Chris, and a couple of those became very experienced explorers.”

“Well, it’s definitely my thing.”

She closes her eyes, smiles and repeats, “Oh goody.”

Putting the tube on the table I pull my trainers, socks and tee-shirt off.

I look up and down the rest of her body, largely ignored until now, she certainly has the curves and they’re in all the right places. A trim waist with flared hips, the bump of her tummy, nice shapely legs with a neat triangle of crinkly hair at the junction of her thighs; with the telltale of the time of the month for her peeking through.

I touch her legs, run my hands over her skin: start at her ankles, all the way up the sides of her legs over her hips to her waist, continue up the sides of her breasts to reach her shoulders, ease the gown down her arms and off, flick it to one side.

Gentle pressure on her hips until she gets the idea and turns her back to me. Mmmmmm, she really does have a lovely shapely bum. Swirling fingertips around her buttocks, the dimples and that most favourite place of mine: the crease between the tops of her thighs and her bum, down the backs of her thighs, her knees and calves back to her ankles, push against them until she edges them apart.

Then, without me doing or saying anything, she bends forward across the sofa and takes her weight on the sofa back, which all has the desired effect of presenting her bum to me along with a delicious rear view of her pussy, her buttocks slightly parted, puckered arse peeking out.

One hand trails up the inside of her leg, index finger brushes very lightly across her pussy then up over her anus; her bum squirms against this first touch and she unconsciously widens her legs even further bringing her arse into full view.

I spread her bum, lean in and, catching her a little unawares, lick across the puckered skin. She groans and pushes back against me, I lick again and again, the hard, flat muscle of my tongue pressing against her.

Seal my mouth around her, nibble, suck, push back, suck again, massaging with my mouth. The texture of the skin around her anus totally different to that of her buttock, the nerves under that little ring of brown skin so much more sensitive. Gently scratching with my teeth, tongue tasting her, pushing against the tight elastic of muscle, reaching as deep as I can.

Press the tip of my tongue into the centre, force it against the resistance, then suck her body into my mouth, push saliva back, press with my tongue again, steadily increase the pressure against her until I ease passed that resistance to enter her body. Tongue alternating between licking and pushing, I can hear her breath rasping in her throat with the occasional gasp, feel groans rumble through.

My mouth begins to tire, I push my hand up between my face and her bum, my finger between my tongue and her saliva soaked arse. Press against her, the resistance of her sphincter there again, push and, knuckle by knuckle, my finger sinks into her body, I pause, fumble around until my other hand finds the tube of gel, grip the top with my teeth and twist it off. Slowly withdraw my finger, squeeze a little gel onto her bum, push my finger back in, no resistance now. Much ka├žak bahis prefer fucking pussy but I have to say that I do like the feel of my finger in a woman’s arse: that first few centimetres of tight muscle and then the soft, almost jelly like feel of the rectum, love it!

After several easy thrusts I pull it out and quickly replace it with my thumb, it’s thicker and again comes up against a slight resistance but a little more gel and slight pressure and it slips into her. Twisting and pushing quickly stretches the muscles so I withdraw my thumb and my index finger slips back in, no resistance at all now as I squeeze out more gel. After half a dozen easy thrusts I slow down, my middle finger joins it, and slowly, gently, both fingers push in. She groans against the pressure, pushes back, hands gripping the sofa back.

Very short thrusts against her, each time penetrating a little further until each push sees their full length buried inside her .

I keep a rhythm going, long gelled thrusts, twisting and turning each time, her sphincter relaxing, her breathing easing and she groans with the rhythm.

Keeping my fingers moving I push myself upright, undo my shorts belt and let their weight drag them to the floor then push my boxers down.

My cock has been painfully hard for about an hour and as I left handed squeeze some of the KY along it’s length the coldness makes my hot skin throb, I drop the tube and massage the bead of gel all over with a generous amount on the head. I ease my fingers out and, gripping the base of my cock touch it to her glistening, slightly gaping, arse, somehow she instantly recognises the change, she lifts her head and a tension creeps back into her body.

Hold my cock against her with one hand and her hip with the other and push, she groans and pushes back. Despite the attention of my fingers her sphincter is still tight but we both want this so I keep up the pressure, easing through the resistance until, without any warning the first swollen inch sinks into her.

She gasps and tenses “Oooo fuck!”. I stop pushing and wait for her to adjust to the intrusion, stroke her hip and back while looking down at the totally erotic sight of my cock partially buried in her arse. As I feel her begin to relax I slowly push forward, bit by bit I bury my cock in her. She’s breathing fast through pursed lips, her head now pressing on the sofa back.

A totally different feeling to a pussy; the squeezing tightness of her sphincter around the base of my cock then the liquid feeling around the rest.

After giving her a minute or two I slowly pull back, just to the point where my glans touches her sphincter, then gently push back in until my stomach touches her arse, start a steady rhythm of fucking her: long smooth strokes. I reach round her hip, it restricts my movements slightly but I figure it’ll be worth it, fingers follow the top of her thigh, reach her pussy, a little higher and I’ve got that bundle of nerve endings at my fingertips, start to play it, “Oh yes that’s the spot” she breaths.

And that’s what I do, drive long strokes into her arse with my cock and play her clit with my fingers.

And what I’m doing seems to work, seems to meet with her approval; feel her cum once, just a slight ripple through her bum, then again. My balls start to tingle. She cums again “Oooh fuck!”.

Nearly my time, trying to hold out for more but each time she cums her arse squeezes my shaft even tighter. Hear her hissing against her teeth, feel her bum pushing back against me, her legs starting to shake, she’s muttering, “Ahhhhh, cumming, cumming, cumming” her arse grips me in a vice and that’s it, my own self control disappears and I jam my cock in as far as it will go, shoot stream after stream into her.

Her legs continue to shake as her knees try to collapse. I slow my fingers and squeeze the last drop into her bum whilst trying to hold her up. Ease my hold on her and she slides off my cock, sinking onto the sofa; for a moment she rests on her knees before flopping sideways. “O my fucking god!” she mutters.

I look around then shuffle, shorts and boxers still around my ankles, passed the coffee table to drop onto an armchair.

She draws her knees up to her chin, heels to her bum, looks at me, breathing still a little ragged, “Wow! If I’d known you had that in your toolbox I’d have delved earlier.”.

I laugh, also still a little shaky, “I’m never one to take advantage of a client.”

“Think that was a joint venture.”

“Glad you feel that way.”

Giggling, “Oh most definitely.” “Does your toolbox have any other…….tools?”

I look her in the eye, judge her meaning, is she implying further ventures? Her eyebrow lifts……yes I believe she does. “Only the one I’m afraid, along with those items in a supporting role of course but…….they are very adaptable and always available on request.”

A glint in those eyes, “In that case I think we can safely say that there is a new line in your job description, if you’re agreeable?”

“Mmmmm where do I sign!”

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