The Mechanic

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He wants it. She needs it. Her husband is gone fishing.
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alextasy
alextasy
580 Followers

I'm primed and ready. This morning, my husband's loving tongue treated my little clitty to a couple of sweet, sparkling orgasms. After he left for his weekend fishing trip with our son, I stayed in bed and fingered myself to another, still relishing the taste of him. Now I need that satisfyingly full feeling that he hasn't been able to give me in a while. I twist the switch at the base of my vibrator, and... Nothing happens. I try it again. Fuck! The batteries must be dead.

Frustrated and determined, I toss on some old, torn panties and the pleated skirt I wore last night, and grab one of Bill's old tie-dyed wife beaters from our hippie days. I know that I look like an over-the-hill, overweight slut, but it's just a quick, early morning drive to the drugstore. I'll probably need some lube this weekend anyway.

When I click the dongle, the car door doesn't respond. What the fuck? I unlock it with a key instead - how long since I had to to that? - then turn the ignition. Nothing. Not even a ding, and no lights on the dash. Banging my fists on the steering wheel, I yell, "Dammit!"

Life can have such a cruel sense of humor. Fortunately, my cell phone still works.

"Martin's Auto and Wrecker." The voice is familiar, but with a lower tone than I remember.

"Gary?" I ask, uncertain.

"Yeah? Oh, wait. Is this Mrs. Blake?"

"Uh, yeah, Gary," I respond quizzically.

"Still recognize Mitch's number," he laughs. I've heard that laugh hundreds of times echoing up from our den, but it sounds so deep and manly now. "Whatcha' need Miz B?"

"My car won't start, Gary. I think it might be the battery. I know it's Saturday..."

"Not a problem, Miz B. I was just about to go fix a flat over on highway 80. I can swing by in about half an hour. Is that okay?"

"That would be great, Gary."

"You still driving that old brown station wagon?" he asks, with a hint of disparaging mirth.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," I answer with a resigned sigh. "After all these years, 'the tank' still gets me where I want to go. At least, it usually does."

Gary says, "Now that Mitch and Kelly are out of the house, maybe you should look at something newer, Miz B. Wouldn't you like rather be driving a muscle car for a change? Something with some real power under the hood?"

I laugh. "No, Gary. I'm fine just putting around town in my old clunker. I'm too old and frumpy for anything that sporty."

"You're not that old, Miz B," he says earnestly, "and you've never been frumpy. If you're still half as pretty as I remember, you could take your pick of about any car you wanted to drive."

Are we still talking about cars? I don't have to look in a mirror to know that I'm a plump little middle-aged housewife with sagging boobs, but his silver-tongued flattery zings straight to my chest and makes me feel warm and desirable. But then, Gary's always been a bit of a flirt.

I respond modestly, "You're too kind, Gary. You may change your mind when you see me."

"I doubt it," he says. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

Sure enough, his big yellow tow truck pulls up at the curb in less than twenty minutes.

"The guy already had the tire off when I got there," he explains. "So where are the keys to that old wagon?"

He turns the ignition, and gets the same result as I did. He pops the hood and looks around, fiddling with the tangle of wires and mumbling "hmm...okay...yeah..."

Standing behind him, I marvel that he's no longer the scrawny kid who played video games with my son. Gary is a pure hunk. Several days growth of whiskers darken his tanned face. His jet-black hair is clean, but a little too long and rebellious - he's constantly pushing a lock off his face. His blue eyes are more piercing than I recall. He has filled out quite nicely, and obviously lifts weights - I'm mesmerized by the way his biceps bulge and flex. His black t-shirt shows off the sculpted chest and the ripples of his abs. When he leans a little further into the engine well, his jeans hug his tight ass. I"m sure the girls are all over him.

My reverie is broken when he asks, "How's Mitch doin'? Done with school yet?" His head is still under the hood, searching for the problem.

"Huh? Oh, Mitch. Yeah. I mean, no," I stammer, lost in a lecherous daze. "He's got one more semester to finish up his Masters degree in Biomedical Engineering." I have to squeeze my thighs together to quell the liquid pooling in my panties. I'll be rushing to the store for those batteries as soon as he leaves. When did I become so perverted?

Gary says, "Mitch is a good kid, Miz B. You should be proud of him. I wish school had been as easy for me. Maybe I'd have made it past eleventh grade."

I remember that he tried it twice, then he was forced to leave. "It wasn't your fault, Gary. Your family depended on you after your dad's heart attack. You should be proud of yourself, too. You're running a good business and have done well with yourself, even without a diploma," I commiserate.

He hands me the keys. "Okay, try it now," he says.

The engine roars to life as soon as I start it. I'm all smiles. Gary slams the hood, and I switch it off, try it again to be sure, then off.

"What was it?" I ask, as if I'd have a clue.

He gives me a quirky look. "The alternator connector came loose."

"Oh. Um, okay. How much do I owe you?"

He chuckles. "For you, Miz, B? Not a thing. It's great to see you again." His lascivious eyes scan up and down my body, lingering at my bare legs and the cleavage between my big, floppy boobies. "Really great," he says with a gleam.

As if I wasn't already feeling like a depraved old cougar, the scandalous look on this young man's face prompts a fresh wave of arousal coursing through my body. I feel my thick nipples popping up through the thin cotton of the old wife-beater, and I'm not sure whether I'm more embarrassed or excited that he can see them.

"I can't let you do this for free, Gary. Surely I owe you something," I tell him, vaguely cognizant of the change in my voice and manner, a lilting, honeyed tone, and the way I look at him from the side of my eyes. He wants to play like a flirt? I still remember how to play, too. No harm in that, is there?

"I'd sure like a glass of water, if you don't mind, Miz B," he says, wiping the beads of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Only ten o'clock, and it's gotta' be over eighty."

"How about a soda?" I offer. "Or maybe fresh lemonade?"

That gets his attention. His voice is almost like a little boy's again when he says excitedly, "You've got some of that great lemonade you used to make?"

"Sure, come on in." I lead him to the kitchen, my big butt swaying provocatively.

I lean against the counter while Gary sips at the iced lemonade as if it were ambrosia. His eyes drift over my body again, pausing at my alert nipples, then settling on my face.

"I wasn't wrong, Miz B," he says. "You were always the prettiest mother of them all." I feel a glow, then he says, "Too bad about your husband, huh?"

"Wh-what do you mean?" I ask, curious.

"You know, that thing after his surgery?" He points his finger up, then lets it droop.

How the hell does he know about Bill's problem? My husband has always been exceedingly private, especially about any medical issues. After he had his cancerous prostate removed, the doctor told us it might take a few months before he could get it up again. It's been nearly a year, and even the little blue pills don't work for him. Our love life was quite adventurous, so it's been tough on both of us. He knows how frustrating it's been for me, and he sometimes uses the vibrator, but it's just not the same as his hot, throbbing penis. He even suggested that I might want to take a lover, so long as I kept it a secret, even from him. I couldn't ever do that, and I told him so.

"Where did you hear about Bill?" I inquire suspiciously.

"Mr. B told me last week when he came by for an oil change," he says. Even as he tilts his head back, taking a long drink of his lemonade, his eyes are looking down, continue to rake over my body.

I get a sudden chill. Bill always changes his own oil. What the hell is going on?

Gary sets his glass on the counter and takes a step closer to me. "That's got to be tough for a sexy woman like you, Miz B, isn't it?"

His posture is aggressive, his face twisted into a leer as he comes a little closer. Suddenly I don't feel so playful.

"Gary?" I say. My voice is shaking. "Wh-what are you doing?"

In a husky voice, he says, "Here all by yourself, your husband gone for the weekend..."

"What makes you think I'm alone, Gary?" I demand.

His grin is devious. "He mentioned his fishing trip, too."

I'm backed up into a corner of the counters, frantically searching for an escape route.

Gary tells me, "You know something funny, Miz B? That loose connector under the hood? That wasn't an accident. Somebody had to unscrew it to take it apart. Now, I wonder how that happened?"

Oh, God. The car drove fine yesterday. Did Bill...?

Gary is looming over me, only inches away. My heartbeat is pounding in my ears and my skin is crawling.

He pushes a strand of hair behind my ear. "Yeah, Miz B. Sometimes a beautiful woman like you needs what only a man can give her, doesn't she?"

"Gary..." I plead weakly. My breath catches in my throat when his huge hands take hold of my breasts and begins pawing them.

"Y'know, Miz B, I always admired your tits. You have the most perfect tits of any woman I know. Look at the size of these nips sticking out here." He pinches them through the fabric, and my head rolls back and my hands ball into fists. I can't stop the surge of fluids dampening my panties.

"Gary, please stop..." I beg.

"Can I see them?" he asks, but doesn't wait for my answer. He jerks the thin straps off my shoulders and halfway down my arms, exposing my pendulous breasts and restraining my elbows at my side.

I'm mortified, staring up at his sinewy body, towering over me. What disturbs me even more is that I could probably wiggle my arms out, and yet I don't. I want it. But I don't want it. Hell, I don't know what I want.

Gary squeezes my boobs rudely, and my mutinous body responds. "Damn, these are some fine tits Miz B." Then I yelp as he slaps the side of my breast. It is not a powerful slap, but it stings, and even more exasperating, a jolt of pleasure immediately zaps from his pink handprint straight to my puss, and it clenches. He does it to the other breast, then the first again. I'm fighting for control of my lust, biting my lower lip. My knees feel rubbery.

"You like that, don't you Miz B?" Gary asks.

"N-no, Gary," I tell him, but he knows better.

"I think you're lying to me, Miz B." His hand goes under the skirt and cups my panties. "I thought so. You're wet, Miz B. Does Mr. B ever slap your titties around the way you want him to?"

"No!" I tell him. "Please, Gary. Stop this."

"You want me to stop?" he asks.

"Yes, Gary. Don't do this."

"Don't do what? This?" The soft pad of his finger rubs lightly over my clit, and I'm gasping. He pushes the panties aside and thrusts a thick finger up into my slippery pussy. My thighs tighten around his hand, and my hips squirm of their own volition. "Is that what you don't want me to do?" he asks, taunting.

"Oh, God, Gary. Please..."

"I know what you need, Miz B." I hear the scrape of his zipper, the chink of his buckle. He pushes his pants down, and pushes his erection into my loosely bound hand, wrapping my fingers around it. "Look at it," he commands.

I'm powerless to resist. My eyes float downward. He is beautiful. It isn't particularly large - not as big around as Bill - but it is hot and velvety and twitching, and it is alive. I'm salivating.

He says, "This is what you want, isn't it, Miz B?"

"No, Gary," but my lie is revealed in the tender way I stroke him, exploring the irregularities, the veined ridges along its length.

"You're lying again, Miz B. You need this hard, young cock drilling your wet pussy, don't you?"

Before I can answer, I shriek as he grabs my arms and effortlessly lifts my butt onto the counter-top. Pushing his hands between my legs, he seizes the panties and I squeak when he rips a hole in the middle. The tip of his penis prods insistently at my lower lips.

"Don't, Gary. Please..." The inner conflicts are tearing me apart. I'm nearly in tears.

He is pressing the head rhythmically to my entrance, teasing. "It's just me and you, Miz B. Nobody else will ever know. Tell me you don't want this cock in your sweet pussy."

"No. Please..." I whimper.

Clenching a handful of hair, he jerks my head back. "Say the words," he growls. "Tell me you don't ever want to fuck again. Tell me you don't want a hard cock stretching your pussy just one more time. Just say the words, and I'll stop right now."

Gary waits, glaring at me and kneading my breast. I stare back helplessly, and he sees it in my eyes. I can't force myself to tell him that I don't want it. Equally, I can't admit to my desire, how much I need to be filled, and he seems to know that as well. Thankfully, he's not going to make me beg for it. His cock pushes more firmly, and still I can say nothing. I inhale suddenly as I feel the thick crown slip inside.

"Fuck," he groans quietly. His half-lidded eyes full of lust, he leans forward, puckering, and pulling my face towards his.

"No!" I shout, desperately trying to twist my head out of his tight grip. "No kissing!" I insist. It is the last bastion of my dignity, and I will not surrender that part of me.

He is momentarily crestfallen, then his face contorts into a cruel smile. The grip on my hair and on my breast both tighten callously, and he presses deeper and deeper into my hungry kitty. God it feels good. Each centimeter of his advance incites another ragged gasp, and I relinquish control. My hips rock forward, eager for more of him.

When I feel the kiss of his pelvis, the thick head embedded deep in my belly, I sigh. Gary slowly pulls my head back and leans in to suck on a dark nipple while he pulls my t-shirt the rest of the way down, freeing my arms. I hug his head to my bosom as he licks and suckles, his teeth nipping at the tender flesh.

He pulls back, and his features are soft and kind, the way I remember them. He begins thrusting with long, slow strokes, touching every nerve in my cunny.

"God, you don't know how long I've wanted to do this, Miz B. You are so fucking beautiful."

The sincerity in his compliment thrills me, almost as electrifying as an orgasm.

With a chuckle, he says, "I used to find your underwear and beat off into them."

I'm shocked. "I always thought that was Mitchell!"

He laughs. "No, it wasn't 'your' underwear that he was interested in, Miz B."

Not mine? Then whose? The only other woman in the house was... My mouth drops open, my eyes big as the moon. "Kelly?"

He nods with that squinty-eyed grin again. "I don't know for sure, but I think she took his cherry."

"Oh, my God!" I whisper. My son and his little sister? I close my eyes to imagine their naked, athletic young bodies embracing on her bed, and I'm chagrined by how titillating the scene is. I wrap my arms around Gary's neck and clutch his hard body to my chest as he starts driving his lovely cock harder. "Yes!" I hiss.

Suddenly, my young lover grabs my big butt and picks me up. My legs lock around his waist, my arms tight around his neck. I'm awed by the ease with which he carries me through the house and up the stairs, as if I was no more than a child. I'm momentarily concerned that he wants to do it in our marital bed, but he turns left at the top of the stairs instead, then into Mitch's old room. He sets me on the spare twin bed where he used to sleep when he came over.

He unzips my skirt and withdraws long enough for me to help him pull it off. His thick muscles ripple as he rips my tattered panties the rest of the way off. Sprawled across the small bed, with only an old hippie t-shirt draped around my waist and my legs spread invitingly, I look up at him like the slut that I am.

"Roll over," he says, circling his finger.

Oh, goody! In a second I'm on my knees, ass high, head down. Did Bill also divulge that doggie was my favorite?

"Fuck, Miz B. You have the most perfect ass," he exclaims, then I shriek as he slaps one of my cheeks. He's pushing all my buttons. Just how much did Bill tell him?

A half-dozen more slaps later, my buns are hot and prickly, and I feel his weight settle on the mattress behind me. With well-aimed precision, he buries his wonderful cock into my soupy chasm, and I grunt as the air is expelled from my chest. His fingers dig into my pudgy love handles and he starts pounding my pussy hard and deep. Damn, he's good.

Gary's finger traces the cleft of my backside to my anus, and tickles it. He seems to know exactly what I need, almost as if he's working from Bill's script.

"Does Mr. B ever fuck your incredible ass?" he asks, poking his finger a little more firmly.

"Yes," I answer. "And he's the only one. You can't go there."

"Not even like this?"

His fingertip pops through the ring, twisting and nuzzling, and I mutter, "Fuck!", unable to control my lust. I have to draw the line, though. "Yes, Gary. That's all. Nothing else."

Something cold and wet dribbles down the crack; it is his spittle. With a little lubrication, his finger plumbs deeper, then a second one opens me wider. Bill uses only one.

The first tingles begin gathering in my belly, and I know it won't be long. Gary is slamming his hips against my bottom, and it feels great. When he figures out how to reach around my waist and find my clit with a finger, the buzz grows louder in my ears, and a mantra of "fuck, fuck, fuck..." begins pouring from my mouth. Before I know it, the climax has built in a rush and the waves roll over me. I press my face into the mattress to quiet the bloodcurdling howl that erupts from my chest.

The bed is shaking, and I think it is my tremors, but I realize it is Gary laughing heavily.

"Wh-what's so - so fucking funny?" I ask with labored breaths.

"I can't tell you how many times I've heard that scream, Miz B," he laughs.

"All the - all the way down the hall?" I ask, embarrassed.

"You're pretty loud," he says. "Sometimes I was beating off, and when I heard you, it made me come."

"I didn't know you were a little pervert, Gary,"

"Everybody is a pervert, Miz B." He leans over my back and grabs a breast in each hand for leverage. His six pack molds into my cheeks, his firm chest against my back, and he lunges ferociously, his cock pistoning hard and steady with wet, slapping sounds, barreling toward his own pleasure.

The fury of his onslaught and the crude crushing of my breasts are is enough to re-ignite the fires in my belly, and when he bites the loose rolls of skin on my back like a tomcat and shoves himself to the hilt with a muted roar, a fresh orgasm rolls through me, and the heat of his semen warms my insides like liquid glass.

We collapse, side by side on the old twin bed, gazing at each other, speechless.

I'm finally able to gather enough rational thought to break the silence. "You're a bad boy, Gary."

"And you are still as beautiful as ever, Miz B." he says, stroking my hair.

"Any special girls in your life?" I ask

He shakes his head. "A few girlfriends, but nobody serious. Women as sexy and smart as you are hard to find."

"You'll find her, Gary. Be patient. She's going to be a lucky girl." I shiver as his chilly semen trickles across my thigh. I'd forgotten what a sweet, poignant sensation that can be.

"I need to get back to work," he says sadly.

Arm-in-arm, I escort him back downstairs to the kitchen, where he puts his clothes on. I'm still practically naked. He leans forward to kiss me, but I press two fingers to his lips. He smiles and kisses my cheek instead, and gives my titty a sharp slap for good measure.

alextasy
alextasy
580 Followers
12