The Viking Handyman

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Moving House is one of the most traumatic experiences in an adult’s life.

Having moved from Northampton to London, I concur. What seemed like a steal has become a nightmare. My front door doesn’t close, heating doesn’t work, shower is freezing and due to a hole in the bedroom wall, my neighbour has taken to watching me like television. Dirty git.

My landlord sucks, seems a small rent means no response. Until I threatened Legal Action. All my tears and ire dissipated the moment I opened the door to Ash.

Well over 6-foot, shaved head, full Viking beard and tattoos of forests up his forearms, Ash introduced himself and asked if he could come into my flat.

I didn’t know why he was there, but I said yes regardless.

Smiling a full mouth of gleaming white teeth that I imagined sinking onto my thigh, he asked me to show him the issues. Immediately I forget the flat and think of the fact I hadn’t had sex in a year and had never been intimate with a specimen as grandiose as Ash.

Sense kicked Çankaya Escort in, and I showed him the door.

Watching him remove it from its hinges and spin it on its side and gracefully start planing the edges, I imagined him thrusting into me with the same strength and determined repetition. Again and again, stripping the door down, I gritted my teeth as I imagined him grinding against me, making my edges sleeker and more malleable to fit. He spoke of varnish and oiling and I felt my body moisten but nodded vigorously in the hopes of appearing not lust impaired.

Less than 15 minutes later my door was back, fitting snug in the frame and my knickers were soaked. He made me repeatedly shut the door to ensure it worked and with each closure I felt a tingle in my clit, the same friction again and again. Leaving my house now is going to be interesting.

Ash smiled and asked me where my boiler was and it took everything I had not to gesture to my Keçiören Escort pants, but I slowly lurched to my kitchen. I offered him a drink, but he declined sweetly, heading straight to the wall mounted boiler and doing something he called “topping up”

His strong tattooed hands turn valves and levers, and I heard pressure, filling my boiler and my loins. He told me to wait 30 minutes and I nodded, willing to wait an eternity. Ash tells me my heating will be back on as well my hot water, that my pressure was simply low, and I thought that this may be the man I had waited my life to find… that he truly understands me.

And then I remembered why he was here and that he meant my appliance and not my body. But damn, my pressure was low but climbing exponentially with every minute he was in my house.

Grinning he asked to see my hole… I damn near lost it. Blinking like a deer in the headlights, he asked again, and I led him into my bedroom.

The Etimesgut Escort hole in question was about 6 inches, large enough to see in or out and caused by my neighbour. Directly over my bed and looking straight into my mirror which meant he could see me in bed. I’d covered it with a blanket, but he could still hear me sleep.

Ash saw the hole and was noticeably angry, his jaw clenched, visible beneath his beard and I felt his rage.

He asked me if I was okay and I told him of the intrusion, and I saw his facial colour change from pale to blush.

He asked me to look through the hole, so I straddled my bed and peered in, seeing my neighbour’s room full of detritus and dust.

I felt Ash behind me, his hands not touching me yet gently pinning me in place, whispering,

“This is not acceptable, and you deserve better.”


“Fuck gorgeous, your pussy is so fucking wet!”

Ash slammed the walls, groaning loudly and lustily for what felt like an eternity, building to a savage climax with a howl,

“My Valkyrie!!!!”

We both heard the gasp of shock and smiled at each other.

Ash filled the hole and CT1d it. Neighbour was never seeing anything again.

Of course, he didn’t lay a finger on me, professional to the end. But as I take a hammer to my door hinges now, I live eternally in hope.

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Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

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