Untitled: A Tale of RedemptionbyMunky of the North©
When his day at the garage had been as long and boring as this one, Kevin occasionally masturbated around closing time. He was titillated by the badness of it, but reassured by the relative safety: he was behind his desk, and should anyone walk in they would find a strong young man relaxing after a hard days work, his unzipped coverall the equivalent of a loosened tie. He wasn’t that young, though; in his late twenties but in fine shape, long hours in the garage wearing the fat from his body and broadening his shoulders, making him strong, if not young.
He felt young though, when he did this kind of thing. It was silly, but after a day like this, man did it help.
The Congressional Committee in his mind had just commissioned his hand to venture southward on a fact-finding mission; his hand had reported back that the proposal was well received by all concerned and recommended immediate action. He had just decided to drop his zipper behind his desk and get to work when the ding-strip out front chimed, informing him a customer had arrived. He muttered a silent curse and rose, damning himself for not flipping the OPEN sign over five minutes early, as was his wont. It was almost six o’clock, closing time; he’d successfully broken the habit of closing up the garage early (as it tended to drive off the business that inevitably arrived in that period), but this is what happened when he didn’t.
The front office was small and he traversed it quickly, peering between the blinds that flanked the door. A sexy little red car was humming outside; a Dodge Viper if he wasn’t mistaken. He sighed as he opened the office door, tingling the bell and letting in a gust of cold air. Rich customers were always the worst. Used to getting what they wanted when they wanted, the wealthier crowd tended to be impatient and condescending to Kevin, whom they mistakenly thought was just another dumb grease-monkey. But, a degree in electrical engineering notwithstanding, he was still a grease-monkey, and he stepped outside to see what this unwelcome guest wanted.
The front bumper was practically kissing the closed garage door, and as he rounded the car from behind, his short dark hair blowing in the stiff wind, the tinted window on the driver’s side lowered and an imperious, faintly British-sounding female voice issued from within. “If you don’t hurry up, I’m going to be even later, which will make you very unhappy.” Her voice was calm and composed, but was obviously one used to getting its way. As Kevin approached the open window, he saw that she looked like a business woman, very well put together, sunglasses (despite the cloudy, threatening day) and long, dark hair.
Damn. It was a Sunglasses Bitch. They were the severely pretty women who drove around in nice cars and never smiled, and Kevin had a special place reserved for them in his heart, a place he imagined every man held for the women he would like to sleep with but whom would never give him the time of day. A thin streak of anger boiled up his throat but he suppressed it, long experience informing him that it never helped to get pissy with customers like this, who could turn the pissiness back on him tenfold and still expect to get exactly what they wanted.
If it hadn’t been such a dog of a day, she wouldn’t have gotten to him, and he forced himself to speak in a reasonable tone. “Ma’am, I might not even be able to help. I’m just about to close and if your problem is a serious I’ll have to –“ Of course she cut him off. Of course.
“Look, boy.” Oooh! but she had a way with words! “I don’t have the time to tell you all the ways I can make your life miserable. I can tell you that you will now open the door, I will drive in, and you will fix my car. After that, we’ll never have to speak to each other again.” She hadn’t raised her voice or moved her hands from ten and two, but Kevin felt the force of her gaze from behind the sunglasses and almost began moving to the door switch in spite of himself.
“Look, lady,” he said acidly, trying to keep his tone cool and failing, “I clock out in five, no, four minutes. If your problem takes longer than ten—“ But she had already turned her head forward, looking at the garage door.
In the same calm, icy tone, she said, “Open the door, or I will put the car through it.” She punctuated this with a small roar from the car. “Then, you will have to not only fix my problem, but any damage incurred as well. Now GO.”
He started, hating himself for it. Without that accent, this would be so much easier…! “If you so much as think—“
“I’m sorry, did you misunderstand me? I said GO!”
He stared in disbelief for a moment. He briefly debated telling her to shove it and just letting her drive through the garage door, which he had no doubt she would do, but it would put him in dutch with the owner of the garage, who was grooming him to take over the joint in less than a year, and besides, he was so angry he couldn’t speak, even to tell her to shove it.
A tiny, mocking smile flickered across her mouth. “Do it. Now.” Kevin was so astounded at her temerity he couldn’t think, couldn’t even see. Then she revved the engine again, and his autopilot took over, carrying him to the panel next to the garage door, bringing his arm up, and flipping the switch.
The door rose slowly. He stood next to the switch, quivering with fury over his cowardice, impotent in his submission. How had she so neatly gotten under his skin? He’d been treated like this before, but… Was it that hint of an accent? Maybe it was her complete assurance that he was a toad, good for nothing but scurrying around to do her bidding. Yeah, that probably had something to do with it.
Another flicker of a smile and her window rose, cutting them off. He watched her purring car enter the garage, the ding-strip chiming again for her rear tires. When the car was fully inside, the engine cut off and there was silence but for the ticking of the car as it cooled down.
He took a deep breath to calm himself. I can get through this, he told himself. I can survive this. I don’t have to kill her. He shook his hands and shrugged his shoulders, loosening them up, took another deep breath, bracing himself against the inevitable, and walked inside.
The garage lights were shut off in the other two bays and the grimy windows were small, letting in only meager amounts of light from the chilly, gloomy day. He walked into the pool of light cast by the overheads (not fluorescents, thank God) and approached her car, which was really a nice piece of work, he noticed, now that he was (slightly) calmer. It was last year’s model, a bright, cherry red but sleek and sharp, almost predatory in its aspect. It had a sexy little useless spoiler and the side vents were scooped and rakish, different from the clumsy vents decorating the new Mustangs, and the hood was smooth between the twin mounds of the headlights, punctuated only by a small intake about a foot from the windshield. It was also in very fine shape, was obviously washed often and had been recently waxed.
Kevin walked around to the front of the Viper and felt himself slipping into work mode, the edge of his anger dulling under the weight of his professional interest in the car. It helped that he could barely see her in there behind all the tinted glass, but he needed to ask her what the problem was and beckoned her to come out.
Now, Kevin was a good-looking guy, had never had any problem with the ladies other than the usual miscommunications and opposing desires, but as his new customer swung the door open and stepped out of her car he took an involuntary step back in awe.
She was stunning. She was almost as tall as his 5’11”, and dressed like she was going to a corporate party, albeit a very late, loose one where much alcohol would be consumed and many secrets exchanged. Her suit was a deep blue, with a skirt that ended mid-thigh, dark stockings, and a very tight light blue blouse that looked like silk. Her jacket though, was cut like it was made for her body (which it probably was, he realized) and looked like it had been made with sexual power in mind: she was a voluptuous woman, curvy as hell, and the jacket clung to her waist, flaring out slightly over her generous hips and emphasizing her considerable breasts in a way that made Kevin feel a little weak in the knees. Her face, too, though marred by those damned sunglasses, was pale and clear, angular without being harsh, her sharp cheekbones complimenting a proud nose, a high, clear forehead giving way to piled masses of thick black hair. A strong gust from the gathering storm curled in through the open door and ruffled her hair and skirt, though whether it was the wind or its effects which gave him goosebumps he couldn’t tell.
She was dressed to kill, and as she looked at him looking at her, Kevin realized that she might just get away with it. She still infuriated him, of course, but coursing through the anger that still boiled in his stomach there was now a dark thread of animal lust, which only served to make him angrier still. How could this goddam woman, so fucking attractive she made it hard to breathe, be such an unholy bitch? Where did she get off throwing her amazing body around and expecting men to just crumble before her? Then, he realized, she probably did it because she could.
Kevin knew he wasn’t bad looking, but he knew when he was outclassed. Here he was in his coverall, clean, but dark gray to hide grease spots well, and his old, worn work boots, staring like an idiot at the office fuck-fantasy who’d stepped out of her car like God’s gift to men.
The tiny smile was back. Shit. She’d seen him gawking at her, just like all the rest, and knew that her normal plan was working just fine. Well, Kevin wasn’t going to just let her walk all over him. No, she’d have to earn that right. He recovered his composure and clamped down on his anger, allowing only a thin stream into his voice. He looked her in the eyes (in the sunglasses, really) and asked, “So what seems to be the problem?”
She was leaning on the drivers side of the car with her right arm, her left hand on an out-thrust hip, a stance which seemed only to augment her already impressive curves. The smile was gone, replaced with a reserved coolness that let him know exactly how uninteresting she found him. “It takes about ten minutes to start every time, no matter how warm it is, no matter how long I’ve been driving it.” The coolness, combined with the hint of an accent, only served to make her sound more reserved, more unattainable. “I’m going to the Algonquin and I need it fixed.” She stared at him. “Now.”
The Algonquin. Of course. She’d fit right in with the other kings and queens of commerce, laughing into their shitty bourbon while countless minions took care of all the real work. Kevin shook his head inwardly but smiled slightly, trying for a mixture of kindness and coldness. “Of course,” he said. “I just need to look under your hood. If you could--” But she was already opening the door and leaning in to pull the catch. She looked good bent over. Her ass was— No. Stop.
He pulled his eyes away with an audible pop, hunted for a moment, found the catch, and raised the hood. He almost dropped it on his head when he saw the engine compartment. It was filthy, covered with smoke residue and grime from the road. Whoever cared for this car did an incredibly superficial job. Kevin secured the hood and peered inside in fascinated disgust. He heard her heels clicking on the concrete floor as she moved up to stand behind him, but not too close, he noticed. Don’t want to catch anything.
The Bitch (as he decided to call her in his head) didn’t make a sound, but he could feel her eyes on him. “Huh. You take this in to the shop ever?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant, her proximity making him light-headed. He was furious with himself for letting her have this effect on him, but there was nothing to do for it but get the work over with and her out of his shop and out of his life. Though his earlier plan was seeming more attractive by the minute: an angry jerk sounded like just the ticket after this fucking headache.
Her voice drifted over his shoulder, cool and hard. “I don’t have to tell you my habits, boy, I just need you to fix it.”
She wasn’t that much older than him, five years at the most. He straightened and turned to face her as the storm broke outside, rain coming down in a sudden burst of white noise. He stared through her shades, trying to bore through the back of her skull. Slowly, with great calm, he said, “Look. I don’t know what your problem is, but I think you’re going to need to leave. I don’t have to put up with –“
A huge gust of wind came blasting in through the open garage door, rocking the car on its springs, bringing rain and wet leaves in on its heels. A Snap-On rack near the door fell over with a crash, sending tools skittering back into the darkened garage. “Shit!” Kevin said, whirling to look outside. He ran past the car to the door, hunched his shoulders against the rain, and dashed outside to flip the switch. He ran back in under the closing door half-drenched by the sudden downpour.
Water ran down his face and into his eyes as he walked back up to the open hood and the waiting Bitch. She looked vaguely amused by his disheveled state. “Now I can’t leave.” She shifted her weight, crossed one arm under her large breasts (which he couldn’t help noticing were straining against the silken shirt) and took off her sunglasses. Her eyes were stunningly blue, so dark as to be almost black, and looked out from under full dark eyebrows. Her face softened in imperceptible degrees as she smoothly said, “Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot. If you can fix this,” her voice hardened, “quickly, perhaps I can give you my number--?” A slight tilt of a beautiful eyebrow.
The ploy was so ridiculous that Kevin stared at her in disbelief for the second time in ten minutes. Did she think he was a complete simpleton? He stammered out a bit of a laugh and recovered, staring into those eyes. Oof. Those eyes. “Not a chance. I’m going to fix this, if I can, but after I try, you’re going to leave, and that—“ He turned and bent under the hood, trying to conceal his growing erection by pulling out a rag and wiping down the distributor cap, “—will be that.”
She was silent for a moment. Her proximity no longer weakened him, lust being buried under a calm rage. How dare she? Just who in the hell did she think she was? He heard her put her sunglasses on the work table behind her. She muttered something to herself as he pulled back the distributor cap to reveal the sparkplugs, also caked with grime. He smiled. There it was. “Excuse me?” Kevin said, straightening and turning to her.
She smiled, a bitter little thing. “Nothing. It seems merely that I was right about you.”
His hands were dirty. He stared at her. “Really.”
“I wasn’t kidding about giving you my number.” She was staring him down as if she were a foot taller than him. His anger pulsed, quickening in his veins like steel, mercury. “I would have seen you, too, after, but I was right. I knew you wouldn’t take it.” She took a step forward, smirking now. “I knew you were too small a man for me.” Her nipples were hard, pushing against the silk.
Kevin dropped the rag and slapped her, hard, leaving a dirty smudge on her left cheek.
A sudden lull in the storm outside plunged the darkened garage into silence. They stared at each other, standing a foot apart near the open hood of the car.
Her eyes widened a fraction as she lifted her hand to her cheek. Without a sound she struck out, swinging wide at his face. Kevin pulled back and her fingers scratched across his lips. Kevin turned quickly and, using all his strength, wrenched the hood support from under the hood. He turned back to her as the hood slammed shut, a huge sound in the quiet space. He faced her, holding the iron rod at his side. He brought it up slowly and stared at her. She looked back steadily, fury flushing her pale cheeks. Not a glimmer of fear touched her eyes, just a cold, consuming contempt. Neither said a word. She was breathing heavily, short, quick breaths, her breasts rising and falling.
Still holding the rod above his head, Kevin took a quick step forward, staring her down. She didn’t move, but her hands twitched almost eagerly. The moment stretched out until Kevin felt he would scream, the rage and lust demanding he use them. He chose both.
He threw the rod clanging into the darkness and grabbed her arm, spinning her around him and onto the hood of the Viper. She fell backward onto it, amazement painting her elegant features, heavy breasts bouncing, one shoe coming off, and he leaned over her, trapping her pelvis under the weight of his. He grabbed her other arm and held her down on the hood, staring into her eyes. His cock was huge, straining against his coverall and pressing into her skirt right where he wanted it.
Her eyes were wide, but unafraid. She smiled again, showing her teeth for the first time, which were white and straight, then sneered and spat in his face. He stared into those beautiful dark eyes, her saliva running down his cheek. He quickly lowered his face to her neck and nuzzled against her cool skin, wiping his cheek against it as her arms strained against his. Kevin brought her wrists together and held them both in his left hand, slamming them onto the hood above her head. He straightened and looked at her face, her cheeks, her lips, and ran his right hand down her cheek, to her neck, feeling her smooth skin slide under his rough, dirty fingers. She was fighting against him, her arms straining against his hand, her legs, both shoeless now, up off the floor, searching for a purchase to push him away.
Neither of them made a sound.
Kevin looked into her eyes as his hand slid down her neck onto the smooth skin of her chest, down over the silken blouse. It was begging to be torn, to shred under his force, and he obliged it, gathering a handful between her full breasts and pulling back with all his might. It separated easily, tearing away from her body with a soft whisper that exposed her lacy black bra, thin, with simple viney patterns that coursed over her large pale breasts. She stiffened as he dropped the tattered remnants of her shirt and ran his fingers down her sternum between her breasts. She panted. He felt enormous, hugely powerful, and the sight of her hard nipples through the thin fabric brought to life a hot, needy fire in his stomach. Still holding her struggling hands above her head, he peeled the bra away from her left breast and cupped its soft fullness in his hand. He leaned forward and kissed it next to the nipple, goosebumps racing away from his lips. She let out a tiny sound and relaxed slightly under him, her pelvis twitching upwards against his crotch. Good.
His tongue flicked out and traced around her hard nipple, warming the gooseflesh and eliciting another small sound from between her lips. His lips surrounded her pointing nipple slowly, warm breath washing over her pale breast, and he softly bit her nipple. Her pelvis bounded up against his, grinding into his swollen cock, as her left hand came loose. He bit and sucked at her nipple as she pounded against his back with a small fist, her head thrashing from side to side as he traced his tongue over her swollen breast, leaving a thin trail of wetness on her flushed, pale skin. He was pulling the cup down off her right breast when she got her hand against his chest and shoved him violently up with surprising strength.
They stared at each other, silent but for her quick breaths. Her breasts were soft and full, shaking gently as she breathed, and her suit coat was open, revealing her pale stomach and the remarkable sweep of her hips away from her slender waist. She was lush, full and beautiful, and another jet of flame seared inside his stomach.