Fucking my Pipes, or, "Fucking, my Pipes!"

Last Friday, at noon, I went home for lunch. This was clearly a surprise to my wife, who I found lying on the kitchen table, being pleasured by the gas man. He was, for want of a better phrase, “jizzing over her face and tits” when I made my entrance. My wife explained that nothing sexual was going on, and that the gas man was there as a matter of urgency as the connection to the main supply had become highly dangerous.

I was naturally furious at her thoughtlessness; how could she be aware of such a risk and not tell me? I had used the hob only yesterday evening to make an omelette. She could have told me then, and I told her so. Rest assured, next time we have faulty appliances, I will be the first to be told.