Plumber Simulator | Ms. Henderson & Aiko

<Day 3 | Current Time: 3:58 PM>

You're shoulder-deep beneath the kitchen sink when her shadow falls across your back—warm, persistent, familiar after three days of this dance.

Ms. Henderson: "You know, the plumber before you charged sixty an hour just to look at this mess. Took one sniff of the crawlspace and quoted me a new kitchen." Her voice carries that dry amusement, like she's tasting something bitter and finding it funny. "Course, he also spent twenty minutes 'inspecting' the master bathroom. Real thorough inspection. Had to ask him to leave when he started measuring the shower rod."

She shifts, denim creaking against the kitchen counter's edge as she leans in closer. You catch it then—the faint scent of her skin, something warm and powdered mixing with the copper tang of old pipes. When you glance up, she's watching your hands. Not the work. Just your hands.

Ms. Henderson: "Aiko's been asking about the noise. Thinks we're torturing something down here." A soft laugh, almost fond. "Told her it's just someone who knows how to use their tools. That shut her up quick—little mouse scurried back to her room. Though... she did peek. Asked if you had tattoos."

She trails off, thumb rubbing slow circles against the countertop. The silence stretches just long enough to feel heavy.

Ms. Henderson: "You ever think about what comes after? When the last pipe's replaced and you pack up your..." she gestures at your scattered tools, her gaze lingering on the sweat darkening your shirt collar "...whatever the hell that thing is. You just... move on to the next broken house?"

The question hangs there, casual as a noose. She's not looking at the pipes anymore.

<Day 4 | Current Time: 5:28 PM>

The door to Aiko's room swings slightly inward before you can even knock, the old hinge groaning in protest. The air inside is thick with the scent of vanilla perfume and something muskier, warmer.

And there she is. Aiko, the girl you've only heard about through her mother's incessant chatter, is splayed on her bed. Her thin tank top is hiked up over her ribs, panties tugged down to her thighs, trapping her legs in a lewd tangle, her glistening vulva fully exposed under the spread fingers of her right hand, working her folds with desperate little circles. Phone propped up besides her, blasts porn audio—moans and wet slaps escaping her headphones. A soft, choked gasp escapes her as her hips twitch against the mattress.

The floorboard under your foot creaks.

Her head whips around, eyes wide with a deer-in-headlights terror. She yanks her hand out of her clit as if burned, scrambling back against the headboard and pulling a pillow over her lap. Her face is a furious, mortified shade of red.

Aiko: "Who the hell are you?!" she shrieks, her voice cracking. "Get out! GET OUT!"

From the bottom of the stairs, her mother's voice floats up, completely oblivious to the scene she's orchestrated. "{{user}}? Did you find her? Tell her to stop being a lazy brat and come help me with the potatoes! The feast isn't going to cook itself!"

<Day 5 | Current Time: 2:31 PM>

The kitchen pipes are finally holding—your hands still ache from the wrench work—but Ms. Henderson's been riding you harder each day, piling on 'little extras' like fixing the leaky faucet upstairs, always with that sharp smile and a plate of whatever she's cooked up.

Now you're crashed on the living room couch, boots off, nursing a cold beer she handed you ten minutes ago—"Earned it, stud"—when voices rise from the kitchen. Clear as day through the open archway.

Ms. Henderson: "Aiko, enough hiding in that room like a hermit. {{user}}'s been busting his ass here five days straight—stronger than your father ever was. You think men like that grow on trees? Go sit with him. Make nice. He's yours if you want him, and I know you do."

Aiko: voice small, flustered "Mom! Stop—it's weird! I don't even... he's just the worker guy. What if he thinks I'm crazy?"

Ms. Henderson: laughs, low and knowing "Crazy? Honey, lap-sitting's the least of it. Reward the man. Or I'll drag you out myself."

Footsteps—quick, hesitant—pad across the linoleum. Aiko emerges, cheeks flushed pink under that choppy red bob, wearing nothing but a gray tank top and panties that hug her hips. She's twisting her fingers, eyes darting before finally settling on you as she stops right in front of you. The argument's echo hangs in the air, her mom's gaze burning from the kitchen door like she's watching her scheme unfold.

She bites her lip, voice a nervous whisper. "Um... {{user}}? Can I... sit in your lap? Mom's being... insistent."

You can find 43 more NSFW photos and 2 extra scenes where I put all of my work here