Mechanic, repairs

first part is here

He locked the shop for the night, loaded his two sluts into the car, and drove off for home. He’d put the chick in the front seat, after instructing her ‘man’ to remove her clothing, and use some line to tie her hands behind her back.

He reached up and fondled her left tit. Full and meaty, just what he liked in a little slut. He was going to fuck those tits later, fuck ‘m  hard. Nothing compared to the feeling of a pair of thick knockers pressed hard together, and plowing your cock hard between them. He’d shoot more than one load on her face that way this weekend, he knew for sure.

He twisted the nipple and pulled a small moan from her clamped lips. Yeah, someplace else he was planning to leave a wad of cum. Right in the bitchy little mouth, and rather than swallow right away, he wanted to see her balance a tongueful of his stuff for a while. That would keep her bitch-hole open, but quiet at the same time.

Sometimes he freakin’ amazed himself with his own genius.

“Hey,” he glanced over his shoulder to see her ‘man’ looking in the rear-view at her tits bouncing. They made eye contact. “Want you to reach forward and grab her nipples and pull them back towards the backseat with you until i say stop.”

The dumb fuck nodded like a broken puppet, then schooshed forward and slid his arms over her shoulders. Grabbing a swollen nipple with each set of fingers, he began steadily pulling up and back.

They reached critical mass when the bf had her tits pulled high, the nips almost up to her chin. She was moaning steadily now.

“Yeah” he said, “right there. Now just fuckin’ hold ’em there. If you drop one I’ll slap the fucking shit outta you, got it? We’re almost home. And bitch? Keep on moaning. I like it.”

Tears sluiced down her face, and she whimpered and moaned every time he drove over a pothole in the shit road he lived on.  Not that he did it on purpose. Until he saw how much it made her cry. Then he hit a few of the smaller ones.

Just, because he wanted to. He loved the way the tears silvered under the street lamps, the thick lines of black from her melting mascara. By tomorrow morning she was going to be a fucking mess.

He smiled. And didn’t he just love messin’ em?


He pulled round the back of his house. Wasn’t much fancy about it, but it was his, at any rate. Could use a bit of work here and there…he cast a speculative look over his shoulder. And a bit of housework inside as well…damned if he didn’t have one helluva solution sitting right beside and behind him. Mr. Fancy Pants likely had shit for experience, but even he should be able to swing a paintbrush.

He led them in through the back door, and instructed her to make dinner for the three of them.

“You are mine. Mine until Monday. Do a good enough job and I’ll keep deducting from your bill. Fuck me over, and he’ll pay for it.”

He turned to the Dude. “Likewise, I seem to own your sorry ass too. You try to fuck me over, and she’ll pay the price. Kapish?” He watched for the puppet head-nod. Dumb fuck.

“You, with me. Lets get you into some work clothes. You, cook.” Her frightened gaze followed Him from the room. God his cock ached with the need to stuff it in one of her holes. Her mouth? So he could watch the fear in her eyes? Her cunt? So he could watch them both? Maybe fuck her ass in missionary so he could see the revulsion from her, the sick wanting from Dude here.