Garage Heat: My Devouring Night with the Mechanic

Every day for six months, I pass his garage doors. My job’s next door, but it’s ending soon. His grease-stained work blues hug his body. Sexy. Professional. I smile shyly. He smiles back. One day, flat tire. I bring him my car. Evening pickup, I thank him warmly. Too timid for more. I’m in my mid-twenties, petite. He must be forty. I feel like a kid to him.

Next days, bolder smiles. Tight jeans sculpt my round ass. Low-cut blouses tease my full breasts. Short dresses. His colleague glances, but it’s him I want. Last workday. Nothing to lose. Black lace thong, matching bra. Heart races. Beers with colleagues, then I park at the garage. He’s there.

The Fever Builds

“Problem, miss?” No. Pretend car needs inspection. “For you, neighbor, yes.” I stay. “Your assistant?” He blushes. Capot up. He slides under. “Pass the screwdriver.” On knees by his thighs. He sees down my top. Perfect breasts, pushed high. His cheeks flush. I stand. His bulge tents. Appetizing. Pulse throbs between my legs. Wetness blooms.

Ignited Blaze

Kneel again. Ask what he’s doing. Lean in, arch back. He stammers, eyes darting from car to cleavage. I stretch out beside him. “No, you’ll dirty your… beautiful… dress.” Bingo. I stand. Slip off the dress. Half-naked. Skin prickles hot. Heart hammers loud. He stares. Chest heaves. I burn.

He shifts tasks. I rise slow, show my ass. Camber deep. He gulps. His hand trails my calf. Knee hollow. Thigh. So soft. Shiver rips me. Skims low back. Frustrated, I turn. Eyes lock. Mouth parts. Desire screams. He snaps. Spins me rough against the car. Slaps my ass hard. I gasp, back hits his rock-hard groin. Sigh escapes. Pure fire.