MILF client

Bill showed up with his cable toolbox and the same can-do grin he always wore. Ms. Alvarez greeted him at the door in a silk robe that hung open just enough to suggest underwear was not on today’s agenda. She watched him plug in the line and punch in her info, then asked if he did other, let’s say hands-on services. He laughed, set the router on the counter, and wiped his palms on his jeans. "Tell you what, Mrs. Alvarez, most folks just want Wi-Fi faster than their ex. Your request’s a first, but I’m game if you are." She peeled off the robe and his toolbox clicked shut. Bill was average height, wiry, forty-something; she was lush, fifty, used to getting her way. He kissed the swell of her breast first, then dropped to one knee the way most techs kneel to check a splitter. His tongue worked circles that made her hips lift and her French-manicured nails drag across the granite. When she guided him upright, she unzipped him like she was tearing open a late-night snack. He bent her over the couch, one hand clutching her hip, the other cupping and teasing the heavy bounce of her tits while he worked a steady rhythm that rattled the new remote. She came fast, louder than the cable demo video still looping on her TV. Bill pulled out, finished across her lower back, grabbed the paper towels from his kit, and wiped everything down like a pro. "Service call complete," he said, straightening his shirt. She tipped him with cash and a crooked smile. "Call me if the signal drops," he added, already heading for the truck.