“Can I help you?”

The bearded man behind the counter asked as I wandered past him in the hardware store. I looked at him — met those stone-gray eyes of his — and blushed. Was it that obvious I was out of my element?

“I need rope,” I said. But before I could finish, he quipped, “Don’t we all?”

“I mean,” I continued, stammering, “for a clothesline. I want to hang one in the backyard, but I’m not all that…” What was the right word? “Handy.”

He smiled at me, and I felt my heart race.

“Cut yourself some slack,” he said gently. “Everyone has to start somewhere.” I saw from the tag on his shirt that his name was Max. I introduced myself and explained that I’d been in hardware stores before, of course. But I have never been all that adept in the DIY department. Mostly, I’ve relied on significant others to do the “it” for me. Now, that I was single, I had decided to make a change.

Max seemed happy to lead me to the display and help me choose exactly what I was looking for. I had a clothesline in mind. How did I end up with other hanks in assorted weights and colors? There was simply something in the way he offered them, in the way he kept fondling the cords, that made me wet in the panties and weak in the knees.

“Do you have the rest of the tools you’ll need?” he asked as he rang me up.

I couldn’t answer because I was thinking about his tool and wondering how ballsy I could be.

“If you’d like, I could come hang your line for you.”

 “If you’d do that, I’ll repay you with dinner,” I offered quickly, and just like that we had a deal.

When Max came over after his shift, things got a little knotted and a lot naughty. He said that he’d never seen a woman look so beautiful before as I had with my basketful of hemp.

I said, “I don’t know the first thing about how to lay rope.”

“Luckily,” he said, “I’ve got enough experience for both of us.”

Later that balmy evening, I found myself tied to my bed. It might have been late fall, but we were having a heat wave, which is why I’d been after a clothesline in the first place. He roped my wrists and bound me to the headboard, then took care of my ankles with the same finesse. When I was fixed in place, he fixed himself between my thighs and licked up and down my juicy split. I raised my hips upward, as if I wanted to reach the ceiling, when really all I wanted was to press my pussy to Max’s magic mouth.

“Being bound had unleashed my inner tigress. I roared and growled.”

He’d given me enough slack for that, but basically that was as far as I was going until he set me free. He parted my pussy lips with his fingers, and he used his tongue to make darting, dangerous circles up and over my clit. What a handyman! He really knew how to please a woman, and in seconds his mouth was coated with my juices.

In the past, I’ve covered my eyes when a lover has gone down on me. I’ve hidden my pleasure behind my hands. But with Max, I was unable to do that. I was fixated on watching him bestow the most sublime bliss on me with his talented tongue. He seemed delighted to bring me to the verge, where I no doubt had sparkles of stardust in my eyes. He thrust his tongue forcefully into my pussy, and then he pulled out to tap the tip against my clit until an orgasm burst through me like an electric rainbow. I was gone. Demolished. Totaled by his tongue bath.

Only when I’d caught my breath did he strip out of his clothes and join me on the mattress. Clearly, he was ready to be in me, yet he kept me tied for this part of the ride, as well. His thick, hard cock probed me deeply. I would have — in any other time — wrapped my legs around his waist. But again I was thwarted. I was under his control, and I liked that sensation.

Being bound so firmly had unleashed my inner tigress. I roared and growled. I hummed and purred. When he came, I came with him. Giving in and giving up, I surrendered to the power of his thrusts, crying out loudly.

My handsome handyman roped me to the bed, and then he lassoed my heart.

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