Fucking After Hours

The fantasy I’m about to describe is just that, fantasy. However it’s one that’s based on an incident I remember from when I was scraping to make ends meet as a teenager and is based partly on a girl I met and partly on the flood of memories that washed over me on walking into the garage yesterday to get a new tyre fitted.

You see I worked for a time as a motor mechanic, before entering my chosen career, in a small garage. There’s a smell about a small repair shop that the larger places don’t have. The dealerships, while performing the same function tend to be cleaner, more pleasant places to work, while small workshops are dingy, damp, cold places, even in the height of summer. They smell of oil, grease, rubber and degreaser.

So when I smell a hot engine, or a new tyre, or gearbox oil things happen to me.

…

It was late one March afternoon. The phone rang in the small brick office in the corner of the workshop. A raucous cacophony because it was connected to an ancient bell fixed high on a wall outside.

It was the owner of the dark blue Audi parked in the middle of the floor. He wasn’t going to get back to pick it up today, it would be tomorrow morning. Was that OK? No problem.

The car was still being valetted by the contract cleaner we employed for that task. I left the office to begin securing the place ready to leave for the evening. The sound of the vacuum cleaner scouring the carpets masked my footsteps. I tapped on the glass of the rear passenger window. The cleaner looked up startled, “Sorry” I apologised. She turned the vacuum cleaner off.

“What’s up?”

“He’s not collecting this until tomorrow” I motioned toward the car.

“I’m nearly done, any chance of a cuppa in about ten minutes?”

“I think I can manage that.”

She disappeared back into the car, her round ass defined in a rather provocative way by her green overalls. Not that I was looking of course, OK yes I was looking, a lot. She’d been subcontracting to us for a few weeks and she was hot. Curly brown hair, permed, tied back, but hey that was in fashion at the time, a little mascara and on Fridays, red lipstick. Don’t ask me why Fridays were lipstick day, they just were. She always wore green overalls, which rather than androgynise her served to emphasise her more womanly features. Both of them. Look I was in my late teens, shoot me.

She finished up and came to claim her mug of tea from the corner of the workbench next to the sink which served as kitchen for the workshop. We sat down on the pair of old armchairs, covered in dust sheets, next to the wood burning stove that heated the place.

She clutched her mug in both hands. “Is it Friday yet?” she asked.

“Tomorrow.” I replied, tomorrow was lipstick day. But here lips were fine without it, more than fine. They were kissable, I’d venture to say pouting. Things began to stir as we talked. I was single, so was she, or I thought she was. I’d never been able to figure that one out and engaging her in conversation was difficult. We both worked hard and had little time for chat, until now.

“Brrr, is it getting cold?” she asked. “Or is it just because I’ve stopped working?”

“It’s getting a little chilly. Do you want me to move your chair closer to the heater?”

“That’d be nice.”

So I moved the chair, pulling it nearer to the stove. I turned to find her standing behind me, if she had been nine inches taller we’d have been nose-to-nose, as it was she stared up at me and breathed “Thank you”. She’d done it on purpose of course, but why? Flirting because she’d seen me eying her up? Teasing to teach me a lesson? Or maybe …

I stood to one side allowing her to sit, head now level with my restless crotch. No this isn’t a porn film, no she didn’t whip it out and have a good long suck on it. But she did stare at it, then up at me with dark brown eyes. I sat down in my own chair.

“Plans for the weekend?” I ventured, weakly.

“Not yet.”

“Oh.”

“How about you Alex?”

“Nah, a quiet one I think”

“That’s a pity.”

“Huh?” I was still undecided, another tease?

She began to unfasten her overalls. Underneath she wore a lemon yellow T and stonewashed jeans. Her womanly charms peaked invitingly out. Oh shit, this was going to be such great wank material for later.

She unfastened her boots and removed them. “Give me a hand with these overalls, would you?”. I didn’t need to be asked twice. She wriggled her arms out leaning forward pushing her breasts against her T-shirt, nipples full and hard against the cotton fabric, then slid them down to her hips. I pulled the legs and with a little hop to allow them to pass under her ass she was free of them.

She drew up her feet, knees under her chin and began to massage her feet. “Shit these are like blocks of ice”. Go for it Alex, I though. I slid out of my chair and knelt on her overalls in front of her chair. She smiled as I took one foot in my hand and massaged it through the sock.

“Mmmmm. That’s nice.”

Now the other foot. She was almost purring like a cat.

After a few minutes I asked “Better?”

“Much better.” She slid her legs around my back, pulling me close as if I was trapped in a vice with jaws clad in skin-tight denim. My face was level with her inviting chest. I looked up, she bit one side of her lip. I slid my hand up inside her T-shirt, the rough skin of my fingers and palm rubbing against the softness of her belly, until I found a soft mound. Cupping it I smiled at her. Her mouth opened slightly as I squeezed my prize, she gasped when I rolled the nipple between my thumb and forefinger.

There’s a certain sensuousness in groping an unseen partner, or touching them without seeing what you’re touching. It’s a pleasure that both parties in the act share. I kneaded her breasts for a while, watching her writhe with enjoyment, a smile playing on her gorgeous lips.

The though of her flesh was too inviting to stop there. I lifted here T-Shirt and unveiled her pert mounds. Cupping one in each hand I licked them with a hard tongue, flicking each nipple.

“Stop” she said suddenly. My heart sank, but she wasn’t having second thoughts, “Lock the door”. I jumped up, ran over to the roller-shuttered entrance, dropped the padlock through the hasp and staple to prevent anyone outside from pulling the shutter up and dropped the latch on the door.

When I returned she was kneeling on the chair, jeans gone, wearing her yellow T and a pair of inconsequential pink panties. I stood in front of her, breathing heavily. Her hands grasped my overalls and one popper at a time opened them. I shrugged the overalls over my shoulder as she unfastened my jeans and pulled them down. My tight briefs were now the only thing between my cock and her expectant lips.

She grabbed the waistband and pulled my underwear down just far enough to release me. Her hands took hold of me, cupping my balls and squeezing them in her palm. The other hand slid back my foreskin to reveal a glistening head. She blew gently on the tip, cooling it, making me clench my butt cheeks and draw up my balls against the grip of her hand.

She drew a wet tongue slowly across her lips. “Fuck me.” Was her instruction.

She turned, still in the chair, kneeling, with her head over the backrest. I pulled her moist panties to one side and pressed myself against her opening. She leant back against me, impatient for my entry. Slowly I pressed forward, stopping when she cried out when only half my shaft was inside her. “Don’t stop, please.”

I pushed a little more feeling her stretch relishing the pressure. She was no virgin, but the sensation was sweet and intense. She cried out again when I was almost fully inside her, but this time I carried on until I was pressed against her buttocks.

My hands grasped her shoulders, I took control, the cold air in the workshop cooling my shaft at every withdrawal, only to have it warmed again by each deep, satisfying plunge into her hot wetness.

It wasn’t a marathon fuck, only a few minutes, but I was in control, which is where she wanted me. Whether my hands were on her hips as I ground into her, or on her shoulders allowing me to pull her back onto my cock with as much force as my intense desire demanded. She came, once, twice? And with a final thrust I came too, gyrating my hips hard against hers as muscular spasms gripped my loins.

…

I’ll leave you to decide what was real and what was fantasy. Some of the above did actually happen, she did exist, but more than that? I’m not saying.