Speaker 1: It's Monday, September, first in time for your daily fock.
Speaker 1: The sound of a power saw screaming through wood has
Speaker 1: been a soundtrack to my life for three weeks. It
Speaker 1: starts at eight in the morning. It doesn't stop. My
Speaker 1: new next door neighbor is a reclusive, noisy menace. I've
Speaker 1: never seen him, only heard him, a phantom of hammering, sanding,
Speaker 1: and sawing that has had every picture on my walls
Speaker 1: and every nerve in my body. Today I've had enough.
Speaker 1: I march across my lawn and bang my fist on
Speaker 1: his workshop door, a well rehearsed speech above zoning ordinances
Speaker 1: and common courtesy on the tip of my tongue. The
Speaker 1: sawn cuts off. A moment later, the heavy door slides open,
Speaker 1: and my entire argument evaporates. He's a mountain of a
Speaker 1: man framed in the doorway. He's shirtless, his chest and
Speaker 1: arms corded with muscle, all covered in a fine sheen
Speaker 1: of sweat and a light dusting of sawdust. His face
Speaker 1: is a mask of annoyed concentration, his eyes dark and stormy,
Speaker 1: his jaw set under a layer of rough stubble. What
Speaker 1: do you want? He grunts, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.
Speaker 1: My prepared complaints about noise pollutions dissolve into a single
Speaker 1: primeal of thought. I needed to feel those calloused hands
Speaker 1: all over my body. This was no longer a complaint.
Speaker 1: This is a conquest. A slow smile spreads across my face.
Speaker 1: I came over here to complain about the noise. I
Speaker 1: let my gaze drift from his eyes, down his sweat
Speaker 1: slip chest, to the low slungingians hanging on his hips,
Speaker 1: and meet his gaze again. It's good honest work and
Speaker 1: good honest noise. I ponder my next move. I can
Speaker 1: see the faint outline of his cock and his jeans.
Speaker 1: It's the kind of bulge that says, I'm not trying
Speaker 1: to show off my dick, but it's big enough that
Speaker 1: I'll need to look me screaming fuck me harder is
Speaker 1: a good honest noise too. But you don't hear me
Speaker 1: saying that, do you. His stormy expression doesn't change, but
Speaker 1: a flicker of something new, Surprise, then intrigue ignites in
Speaker 1: his eyes. He looks me up and down, a signent
Speaker 1: thorough appraisal. But God, do I want to be screaming
Speaker 1: that his bulge is a little more pronounced, and I
Speaker 1: smile wickedly at him. Or it did. Perhaps I say
Speaker 1: too much? He stares into my eyes. So you don't
Speaker 1: like my noise? I haven't heard your noise. I lick
Speaker 1: my lips. I think I'd probably like it at dad,
Speaker 1: he laughs, He's something else. You know that? Before I
Speaker 1: can reply, he yet, I get it. You need some good,
Speaker 1: honest work in your life, and without it, you're just
Speaker 1: going to complain. I'm not sure exactly what he means.
Speaker 1: Was that a so proposition? He's maddeningly hard to read.
Speaker 1: I decide to just plow ahead. This is either going
Speaker 1: to end up with me getting fucked or learning how
Speaker 1: to do woodworking. Show me. He moves aside and waves
Speaker 1: me in. I walk into his workshop and the heavy
Speaker 1: door rumbles shut behind us, plunging the workshop into a dim,
Speaker 1: dusty light. The air smells a fresh cut pine wood
Speaker 1: stain in his sweat. Before I can speak, he shoves
Speaker 1: me back against a massive solid wood work bench, the
Speaker 1: rough edge digging into my lower back. He cages me
Speaker 1: in his hands, planting on the bench on either side
Speaker 1: of me. You want honest work, he growls, his face
Speaker 1: inches from mine. I'll give some good, honest, hard work.
Speaker 1: His mouth crashes down onto mind. It's not a kiss.
Speaker 1: It's a collision, rough, demanding and utterly consuming. I meet
Speaker 1: his energy with my own. My hand's coming up to
Speaker 1: grip his muscular shoulders, my nails digging in. This is
Speaker 1: what I wanted, this raw, unspoken passion. He breaks the
Speaker 1: kiss only to rip my t shirt up and over
Speaker 1: my head, tossing it onto a pile of wood shavings.
Speaker 1: His calloused, sawdust covered hands are on my breast. His
Speaker 1: thumb's scraping over my nipples, through my lace bra The
Speaker 1: rough texture is an exquisite torture that makes me cry out.
Speaker 1: He haankes my skirt up to my waist and with
Speaker 1: one hand pulls my pantsies aside. For a second, I
Speaker 1: think he's going to be gentle and go down on me,
Speaker 1: or perhaps find a soft tarp or something. But then
Speaker 1: he grabs my hips and spins me around with a shove.
Speaker 1: He bends me over his workbench. I don't even hear
Speaker 1: him unders up his pants before I feel him entering
Speaker 1: me with a single powerful thrust that lifts me onto
Speaker 1: my toes. A gasp is torn from my throat. He's thick,
Speaker 1: hard and hot, filling me completely. He immediately begins to
Speaker 1: fuck me, his hips slamming against my ass with a brutal,
Speaker 1: steady rhythm that's far better than any hammer. He is
Speaker 1: all force and function, a machine of pure animal need.
Speaker 1: My hands scrabble for purchase on the cluttered workbench. My
Speaker 1: fingers knock over a jar of screws, and they scatter
Speaker 1: across the floor with a series of sharp clinks, heading
Speaker 1: to the symphony of our fucking. He pounds into me,
Speaker 1: his powerful body, driving me back against the wood, each
Speaker 1: thrust deeper and harder than the last. I'm being taken
Speaker 1: completely and utterly by this grumpy sigment man, and it
Speaker 1: is the hottest thing I've ever experienced. The friction in
Speaker 1: the force are building a frantic, desperate fire inside me.
Speaker 1: I'm close, so close. I throw my head back and
Speaker 1: scream as my orgasm rips through me, a vioment shuddering
Speaker 1: away of a pure bliss. My climax triggers his with
Speaker 1: a final guttural roar that vibrates through my entire body.
Speaker 1: He comes deep inside me, his release a hot, welcome flood.
Speaker 1: He stays inside me for a moment, his forehead pressed
Speaker 1: against my back, my ragged breaths mingling in the dusty air.
Speaker 1: Then he pulls out, leaving me a trembling and a
Speaker 1: weak need mess. He steps back, zips up his fly,
Speaker 1: and looks at me, a mess of sweat and sawdust
Speaker 1: leaning against his workbench. A slow, almost imperceptible smirk plays
Speaker 1: on his lips. I smile, good, honest work. Huh At that?
Speaker 1: He smiles, turns, picks up his sander and flicks it on.
Speaker 1: The roar fills the workshop once more. I walk back
Speaker 1: to my blessedly quiet apartment, my body both jazzed and sore.
Speaker 1: He fucked me like he'd hammer in a stubborn nail,
Speaker 1: with no preparation other than knowing that if he pounded
Speaker 1: good and hard, he'd get the job done. God, did
Speaker 1: he get the job done. I decide, I don't mind
Speaker 1: the noise, although after a few more visits the other
Speaker 1: neighbors might