Lana's Plumber Worships Her Sissy Surprise

Sissy Lana smoothed the tiny black-and-white maid dress over her hips for the tenth time, the crisp fabric hugging her slim waist and flaring out just enough to show the lacy tops of her sheer black stockings. The garter straps bit deliciously into her smooth thighs every time she moved. Beneath the ruffled hem, her lace panties were already struggling. Her cock, tucked back between her legs, had been half-hard since she deliberately poured grease and coffee grounds down the kitchen sink that morning.

At twenty-eight, Lana lived for these moments. The click of her patent Mary Janes on the tile, the whisper of nylon, the way her long auburn wig brushed her bare shoulders. She dialed the plumbing company with a breathy little voice and waited.

Jake arrived twenty minutes later. He was exactly what she had hoped for: thirty-five, broad through the chest and shoulders, with a day’s stubble and forearms corded from real work. His gray work shirt stretched tight across his back as he carried his heavy toolbox through her front door. His eyes flicked over her immediately, lingering on the long, stocking-sheathed legs, the delicate ankles, the way the maid skirt barely covered the lace bands of her garters.

“Sink’s this way, big guy,” Lana purred, turning so the skirt swished and gave him a flash of thigh.

Jake cleared his throat. “Lead the way, ma’am.”

She did, deliberately slow, hips rolling. Every few steps she bent forward to “adjust” something on the counter, letting the skirt ride up until the dark bands of her stockings and the soft white skin above them were fully on display. She could feel his stare like heat on her ass.

In the kitchen, Jake set his toolbox down and crouched under the sink. Lana didn’t give him space. She hovered, handing him tools before he even asked, brushing her stocking-clad thigh against his thick shoulder each time. The coarse fabric of his shirt rasped against her nylon and the sensation made her cock twitch hard inside the delicate lace.

“Need the channel locks,” he muttered.

Lana bent at the waist, deliberately pressing her thigh fully against the side of his face as she reached past him into the toolbox. The movement lifted her skirt completely. Jake froze. His eyes were inches from the growing bulge straining the front of her panties, the fat head of her cock already leaking a wet spot against the lace.

For a second the only sound was the hum of the refrigerator.