Honey do... 3 Marcy

Honey do... 3 Marcy

8-minute read

So, now I am a widower with four kids under four. I still owned a business that I had to work, since I depended on it for income. The demand for my talent and service was seemingly unending.  

I figured out how to capitalize on the experiences from being a kid on a hard-scrabble farm in the post-World War 2 era. It seemed in my experience on the farm, nothing got repaired or continued to work without a struggle.  

I lived the adage, 'Only sailors and farmers never throw anything away, because it might make the difference between living and dying.'

The piles of rusting metal all had some value, even if it meant reducing the use of one thing so that other thing would run adequately enough to get a job done. To apply that to "Honey do this... honey do that..." was a natural-seeming transfer of values and a learned determination to 'Make it work.'

After Ellen died, I got serious about the business out of necessity, as much as a sudden influx of customer demand drove me. I found wonderful help for the kids and rededicated myself.  

'Honey do this... Honey do that...' became a viable company with a word-of-mouth reputation among single professional women. That happened because I was introduced to the human resources director for the Richfield office in Anchorage when I was picking up a dishwasher to install from a major retailer.

She was buying a dishwasher and hired me to install it. When I had installed it for her, she had the company employee newsletter write an article about the service and dependability I showed her.

I was suddenly surrounded by a flurry and a constant flow of women customers thirty-five to forty-plus years of age. Most had never married, were career-minded, and consequently, childless.  

As a group, they realized their biological clocks were ticking, and they had no one to fulfill their desire to be in a relationship that would lead to marriage and a family.

These women usually had dated but didn't take time out from their career to seriously be ready to find 'Mr. Right.' Now that available men were not as numerous, and consequently not much more than the leftovers from other women marrying them. These women, as a group, had a desperate sense about themselves wanting to beat their biological clock.

My schedule for work filled a six-hour day, then time at home with my kids each day for three or four hours, and then back to work for a call or two in the evenings.

I was aware that I was the only business in Anchorage that was doing the broad range of repairs I was capable of doing. I checked with my customers and suppliers to make sure my prices, service, and attention to the detail these professional women expected were met.

Leaving their homes cleaner than I found them was the surest way to keep customers. I found that it made them happy to have me in their homes. I would make it a point to allow time for that finishing touch, and it paid in dollars, and referrals.

After about a year of being lonely, I gave an estimate for a floor replacement in the kitchen and a repair problem in her shower.

She had requested an evening meet so I arrived when she expected me, and I noticed she was in a bathrobe. At first, it seemed bizarre, but then I remembered she was meeting me after work. I assumed she was just being comfortable in her home.

We looked at the kitchen floor and discussed the ramifications of replacing it. Then Marcy walked me up stairs to her bathroom shower that would spray erratically while she was adjusting the direction of the shower head.

I assumed I would test it to see what needed to be done.  However, she thought she needed to show me instead. I was not very alert, and as we entered the bathroom, her robe fell to the floor.  

She was naked and stepping into the shower when I became conscious again; I said, "What are you doing?"

"I'm showing you what is wrong with the shower."

I bent over and picked up her robe, offered it to her, and started to speak.

She said, "I don't want to get my robe wet; put it on the counter, please."

"No, Marcy, you need not demonstrate the problem. I can do it without you getting wet."

I again pushed the robe toward her. As she turned to face me, my dick, which for about a year had become unresponsive, came to life, pushing a tent into the front of my pants.  

I was already embarrassed by her approach to the problem. I stared at her naked body, nipples pointing at me, from spectacular, softball-sized breasts.

For me, standing and staring, who had hardly thought of sex or a woman in any way except as a potential customer, the world rolled over. I became a man again and stared flagrantly and hungrily at this wonder.

She slipped the robe back on, which was like a reverse strip tease, and said, "I am so embarrassed."

"Don't be. It makes sense that you would want to demonstrate. Forget it, and I will try to forget it, but no promises."

"Marcy. I don't need to explain, but I want you to know it has been over a year since I have considered a woman anything but a customer. I definitely have had a change of mind just now. My apologies for staring. You are a beautiful sight."

"Wait, Mr. Honey do. You haven't seen a woman since your wife died?"

"No, Marcy, my four kids are hungry, so I have been working with my nose to the grindstone, attempting to stay afloat and create a future for the kids."

"Come with me," she said as she left the bathroom. "Sit on the bed."

On the tall dresser she had a CD player she opened and inserted a disk.

Marcy queued up the sexy strip tease music from Demi Moore's, 'Striptease.'

Her back was to me as the music commenced. She said, "I have been doing this in my bedroom for three years or so, and I usually do it in front of the floor-length mirror. I always wish I had an audience. Tonight, I have an audience, innocent as you may be, so I am going to be Demi Moore and perform her routine for you."

As she was talking, the music played on. She was moving and swaying her body side-to-side, and the sexiness was not wasted on me or my dick that had now become a cock.

She turned toward me and did a few deep bends forward, revealing her loose top's captive cleavage. She moved her hips like a hula, and as she pushed her hips, she released the buttons up the front of the robe.  

My cock was hard, and I could feel the wetness growing against my jockeys. She skipped a button at the level of her nipples and unbuttoned from the bottom until there was only one button holding the robe closed.  

She again did a deep forward dip and, at the same time, released the last button. Her robe was now open to the floor. I could see the tops of her breasts and her rigid and hard, pointy nipple tips.

She looked up at me through her eyebrows and eyelashes. I was sitting in front of her as she slipped the robe off. She handed me the robe and said, "You decide what to do next, Mr. Honey do."

I was silent, stunned, and hotter than I could recall ever feeling.

She waited and then slowly raised her eyebrows in that question that we all know from a raised eyebrow.

I wanted to touch her. I imagined this to be a trick, but when she said, "You can be the first in too many years, Mr. Honey do... I want you to break your year-long abstinence with me." 

"I need it, and looking at the wet spot on your pants, you need it."

I put the robe to the side, stood up, slipped off my T-shirt, unfastened the belt and button at my waist, and said, "I made my next move, Marcy. I think it is now your move."

Without hesitation, Marcy reached forward, over the top of my jockeys, and with the palms of her hands against my hips, shimmied my pants and jockeys to the floor.

She placed her knees on them and simply took my cock in her mouth at the split second that I came.

Fuck me!

Talk about a strip tease. Marcy had done it, and her timing was perfect. She slathered my load up ad down my cock, and was taking my cock from cumming to beginning to flag and then back to as hard as before, nearly.

Before I could do anything, she pushed me onto my back and stepped onto the bed, straddling my hips. She planted her feet at my hips and squatted until the wetness of her pussy was dripping and tickling my still-hard cock. Looking at me were two lust-filled eyes with gold flecks against green irises. Strategically placed were two breasts that threatened to poke my eyes out as she dragged them over my face.

"Let's start with mutual oral. Maybe between us, we can come together," she said.

I pulled her down and kissed her, sliding my tongue into her mouth still tasting of my come. We French kissed, eventually stopping to catch our breath; she said, "I meant for you to eat my cunt while I suck your cock and balls. Although I like the short-stop trick of French kissing me. I'd like to try that kissing again. But I want your lips on my lips, and I don't mean my mouth. Are you okay with eating pussy?"

"Just hide and watch," I said.

"Then we need to change positions so I can see us in the mirror."

We untangled, and when I saw her vagina up close, I marveled at the size of her labia. Her inner lips were bright red, puffy, and engorged. Her clitoris was peeking from the edge of her clitoral hood, and her outer labia were swollen so big they blocked the opening of her vagina.

Not to be denied by a pair of beautiful, fully engorged labia, I separated her pubic thatch of hair with my tongue to get into her vagina. She was soaking wet and oozing her perfume when I separated her labia. I could taste the sliminess of her female ooze and smell her desire.  

We went at it for the right amount of time, and when she tasted my cock's slimy precum, her focus changed from oral to vaginal.  

She said, "I want you to be careful because I don't know how tight I've become through my abstinence. But I'll want you to be in charge and domineering. My reaction will be wild, so do not lose your focus because I seemingly want to fight your fucking me. I want you to fuck me, eat me again, and suck on my tits." 

"I don't want to turn you off, but after you have fucked me silly, I want you to fuck me in my ass."

"Okay, Mr Honey do... to the rescue," I said.

Marcy and I finished without finding out how my cock would fit up her asshole, and after hugging and kissing for a few minutes, I went to work on the list, and I watched her naked body tease me. She first inserted a butt plug, then removed it after a few hours, and then inserted a hot water bottle nozzle and cleaned her butt from the inside.

As I worked, she would flash her tits, her ass, or her pussy, trying to tease me into doing Honey do this and Honey do that... to her.

It was one of my best Honey do jobs.

Marcy was the source of frequent couplings. Her attitude toward men changed, and she married one of the slope workers. I was lucky and gave her away since her father was deceased.