The Stud and the Streamer

The driveway was an obstacle course of garden gnomes and decorative flamingos. Lance stepped around a glittery wind spinner and smirked. The place had personality, he’d give it that.

It was a scorcher of a day, and the busted air con in his uncle’s truck meant he had cooked like a rotisserie chicken all the way from the shop. Lance’s overalls were knotted around his waist; his white tank was damp with sweat and clung to every ridge of his muscular chest and washboard abs. He tugged the toolbox from the passenger seat and strode up the front path, boots thudding against the concrete.

He knocked twice—firm, professional—and took a half-step back. No answer. He was about to knock again when the door opened.

And there she was.

She looked like she’d stepped out of a poster taped to a dorm room wall: blemishless chocolate skin, thick thighs, thick everything, really, wrapped in a pink satin robe. Glossy blonde hair fell in ringlets around the slightly dazed expression of someone who hadn’t expected the repair guy to show up looking like him.

Lance cleared his throat, the heat suddenly a little more intense. She was a total knockout, and he was standing on her stoop like a sweaty mess. His own mocha skin glistened in the sun, and he had to slick back his dark hair to keep the shaggy pile out of his face.

“Hey there. Lance. I’m here for the job?”

She didn’t say anything for a second. Her eyes flicked down, then back up to his. Her plump lips parted like she was about to ask a question, but forgot what it was.

Then she smiled. “Right. Of course. Come in.”

The house was blessedly cool and smelled of coconut and something sweet—maybe perfume. He stepped inside, feeling weirdly out of place like he’d wandered into someone’s dream home by mistake. Everything was white and pastel, soft textures and golden light filtering through gauzy curtains.

She led him to the living room with a sway in her step that felt, frankly, unfair. Especially given the obscene grandeur and shape of her booty. Lance watched it shift beneath the sheer nightgown, like two heavy watermelons swinging in a hammock. One cheek lifted, then dropped before the other rose, as she strutted on glass platform heels.

The heels seemed… extra, but Lance was detecting a theme to the gaudy home and its equally glamorous resident. With her cascading golden hair, two-inch-long fingernails (painted violet), polished ebony skin, and fake lashes, she resembled a black Barbie doll.

“My friend Gina wasn’t lying when she recommended you. Color me impressed. Love the getup by the way. Very 80’s sweaty workman.”

“Um, thanks?” Lance glanced about, searching for the kitchen. His uncle had mentioned a leaky sink. “It’s hot out. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“It’s Kira. Kira Bubblez.” She cocked her head in puzzlement. He tried not to stare into the canyon of ebony cleavage spilling from her flimsy robe. “Did Gina not pass on my details?”

That was a stripper name if Lance had ever heard one. Her expectant gaze warned him not to comment.

“Probably spoke to my Uncle Gino. He handles the business end and assigns me jobs. He’s getting old and has a bad back. The kitchen’s through there?”

Kira watched Lance hoist the heavy toolbox onto the Formica countertop. The play of dense, sculpted back muscles beneath his translucent tank was mouth-watering.

Her friend Gina had been right; this man could melt panties like ice on a scorching summer day. His broad shoulders and shredded torso tapered down to a slim waist in that classic masculine ‘V’. His caramel skin and wavy chestnut hair denoted a mixed heritage–a delicious cocktail she badly wanted to sample.

Was he actually going to fix the sink? Perhaps he was a method actor. She’d reported the fault to her landlady weeks ago and never heard back. The ancient crone disapproved of Kira’s lifestyle but took her money readily enough.

She didn’t even strip anymore! Performing as a camgirl paid better, reached a wider audience, and kept her safe from grabby hands.

Hands that clung to stiff pricks, jacking off while Kira played with her toys.

“You said your uncle sent you?” She asked. He seemed young. Maybe college-aged. “How long have you been doing this kind of work?”

“A while. I’ve been taking gigs part-time to pay for school.” He replied, bending to peer under the sink. She hungrily eyed his taut rear, wishing she had a roll of quarters to bounce off it.

“Yeah, we’re all paying our way through school.” She drawled, having used that alibi herself once upon a time. “What’s your major? No, let me guess… pumping iron?”

“Business analytics and computer science.” He flashed her a far too charming grin over his shoulder. A steel ring glimmered in his ear. “But I also hold the national record for the 400m outdoor track in intercollegiate athletics.”

He was good! The first time a customer had hit her with that question, Kira had floundered. She upped the ante by loosening the tie on her robe, letting more luscious goodness peek out.

“Sounds complicated.” She crooned in a tone smooth as velvet. “So, you’re just here to snake my pipes?”

“Yep, unless there’s anything else you need me to take care of?” Lance replied, testing the drain pipe.

She’d lobbed him a softball and he’d returned it like a pro. Kira would have to thank Gina later.

Her friend had listened sympathetically as the headlining stripper-turned-streamer griped about her viewers' demands for more hardcore content. Gina, a stunning, full-figured redhead, pulled six figures a month partnering with ambitiously endowed male pornstars.

They’d fuck like animals live on stream while the donations poured in, then split the profits. Gina always took the lion’s share, but everyone walked thoroughly satisfied and richly compensated.

She’d encouraged Kira to set a pledge goal–as high as she liked–and if her subscribers met whatever astronomical figure she chose, then Gina would send Kira a hard-fucking stud who’d show her a good time.

The pledge counter had risen alarmingly fast.

So there she was, dressed in her slinkiest nightgown, watching a gorgeous young buck loosen her U-bend with his massive monkey wrench.

Kira groaned at the ironic innuendo, wishing it were less literal.

“No man should be this pretty.” She lamented, then slapped his fine ass.

Lance jerked upright, almost braining himself on the underside of the sink when something stung his butt.

“What the hell?!”

Clutching his pained skull, Lance wheeled on the offending party, only to find Miss Bibblez leaning lazily against the kitchen island, smirking.

“See anything you like, hotshot?” Her robe had fallen slightly open, baring a hint of ivory lace around the hefty cup of her breasts and below her flat navel.

Frilly lingerie. He gulped silently.

“There’s some water damage in the cabinet. Nothing too bad—swollen wood, mainly.”

Dammit, why had he phrased it like that? Mayhaps because the vision of raw feminine sexuality had set his wood to swelling. Very unprofessional.

Lance was there to knock out a quick job, get paid, and then get back to studying. He had a track meetup at six and an Ethics 201 paper due in a week. Ever the diligent student, he’d resolved not to treat college as ‘a fun experience’ but a solemn rite of passage towards a successful and fulfilling future.

He sure as shit wasn’t paying backbreaking tuition fees for the sake of getting stoned or chatting up cute coeds, even if more than a few had made less than subtle passes at him.

“Hmmm, swollen wood. You don’t say?” Kira’s smirk had graduated to a lecherous leer. She twirled a blonde lock around a taloned finger before adopting a wide-eyed, helpless expression. “Whatever should we do about that?”

Her voice rose a few octaves as she fluttered those batwing lashes at Lance like a damsel in distress. Thrusting out one long, succulent leg, she pushed out her mountainous chest and arched backward in a flawless silver-screen swoon.

Jesus, her bodacious buttocks were so thick and juicy, the outermost contours were visible past her generous hips as she smooshed them against the countertop.

“Shouldn’t be a problem.” Lance wheezed past the apple-sized lump in his throat. “I can remove the damaged panelling and replace it after patching the crack in your drain pipe.”

Kira’s playful demeanor evaporated as though she’d been stabbed. Her head snapped up to glare at him.

“Pardon?”

“There’s a crack in your water waste disposal. I can clean it out and seal the breach with Loctite. Won’t take more than an hour to set.”

Her alluring face relaxed, posture turning languid again.

“A whole hour? My, my. How will we pass the time?”

New story, who dis? This one is a quick lil' firecracker I wrote as a commission. Just a bit of horny fun. If you’ve enjoyed my silly smut, why not support my smut writing aspirations by joining my Patreon? All donations go towards high-octane coffee to keep me writing and treats for my two adorable furballs.