Victoria’s fingers fumbled for the fastener at the top of his overalls, and then unzipped him all the way down to his crotch. The heat beat off him like a radiator. He was wearing a thin, worn t-shirt underneath, and then . . . Her hands explored. Boxer shorts. No trousers. And there was something big in there. But first . . .

She broke the kiss. ‘Strip,’ she said. He looked puzzled. ‘Go on. I want to see you. Take your clothes off.’

Would he go all macho on her? She’d never had a Polish lover before – if he was Polish – and for all she knew they could be one of the more prudish nations. After all, they were Catholics – and even Massimo, despite all her training, was far from comfortable with being regarded as a sex object.

Plumber Boy seemed to have no such qualms. He wriggled out of the top of his overalls, revealing massive arms, dusted with golden hair. There were damp patches in his armpits, around his chest. The overalls peeled off him, like skin from a moulting snake, hanging from his hips. He grabbed the bottom of his t-shirt and lifted it over his head. Muscled rippled under the hair on his stomach, on his chest. He pulled his head free from the t-shirt, his hair standing up, his arms hanging by his side.

Youth certainly did have its advantages. In his fifties, Massimo was a real man’s man, the epitome of masculinity, strong, solid, a fabulous lover – but there was something about young skin, young muscle, the freshness, the smoothness . . . Victoria ran a hand down his chest, down his stomach. He wanted to grab her again, but she pushed him lightly away.

‘Now the rest. Boots first.’

She watched him crouching, fiddling with his laces, which, naturally, knotted. He was like a schoolboy, too eager to get out of his uniform at the end of the day, in a hurry to play football, fumbling, awkward. She liked it. Finally the boots were off, and he stepped out of the overalls completely. All that was left now were his white sports socks and a very worn pair of cotton boxers, which were strained to bursting point by a very large and eager cock within.

Victoria was tempted to drop to her knees and finish the job herself, but the subject was taking orders rather nicely, and so she finished his training. She clicked her fingers. He got the message. Freed from the elastic waistband, his cock slapped up against his belly, cushioned by a light fuzz of blond hair.

‘Hmmmm. Not bad.’ She gestured a little circle in the air. ‘Turn round.’ The rear view was just as good as the front. ‘Very nice. Now.’ She clicked again, pointed to the floor. ‘On your knees.’

He did as he was bidden – no macho hangups here, she was glad to see – and looked up at her with those ice blue eyes, his cock pointing the same way, his arse resting on the heels of his white socks.