Controlling the Mechanic Pt. 01

Seeing as it was such a long day, John Anderson crabbed a cold bottle of beer from the work fridge and sat down in the break room, crashing on the couch, exhausted. He popped off the cap with the bottle opener on his car keys, taking a sip. It washed down his palate, the golden flavor picking him up. Nothing quite like a nice drink on a warm summer day. John was a mechanic, so his shop wasn't anything too fancy; the surroundings were modest, and the customers ranged from teenagers getting their first oil change to the college student hitting a deer when they weren't paying attention. The radio buzzed on, but John wasn't listening to the music, as he'd rather just think in the downtime.

John may be the owner of Anderson Motors, though he doesn't work alone. He was snapped out of his trance by one of his hires, Clay Li. Clay only recently moved into town, and he told John that he hadn't honestly made very many friends since he showed up. It was a bit surprising, considering Clay really was a warm and charming person, at least to John. A little fresh, but he knew his way around a car. Clay sat down in a chair opposite of John in the break room, sighing in exertion.

"You'd think at some point they'd make some sort of robot that makes our job require a lot less heavy lifting," complained Clay. John raised his eyebrows for a second in acknowledgment. Sometimes those old clunkers that stop by do have some outdated equipment.

"Suppose so, but at that point we'd probably also be out our jobs," said John, taking another sip of his beer. "I'd do some more heavy lifting if it means I have job security."

"Yeah, you're right, but it still sucks sometimes," said Clay. Clay didn't grab a drink as he walked in, instead fiddling with one of the coasters on the table.

"You want a beer? Just got a fresh pack at the store," offered John. Clay shook his head.

"No, I'm not a big fan," said Clay.

"Too bready for you?" poked John. Clay exhaled through his nose.

"No, the taste's fine, but I don't want to get dehydrated at work," explained Clay. There was a lull in the conversation. The crickets, bugs, and frogs outside could be heard as they chirped to their hearts' content. Clay kept fiddling with the coaster, turning it around and bonking it on the table ever so slightly every few seconds. After a second, Clay shifted in his chair.

"Hey, John, if you want, I have a couple drinks I imported off the Internet," said Clay. He got up and walked to the fridge to pull out his lunchbox, taking two bottles of a red liquid out. The label wasn't in English, so John couldn't understand it. "It was on sale, and I thought it would be cool to try something from abroad while I had the chance. John inspected the bottle, trying to discern any more information of it other than being: 1) red and 2) not in English.

"What flavor is it?" asked John. Clay popped open his bottle with John's bottle opener, taking a quick sip. The bubbles were dramatic for a second, but quickly flared down.

"Tastes like strawberry," answered Clay. "Really is pretty nice."

John shrugged and popped open his bottle, setting aside his beer for now; no doubt he'd finish it later. He took a quick swig of the red, foreign strawberry drink. The drink surprised him, as for just coming out of the fridge it was quite warm. The bottle was cold to the touch, but as the drink went down his throat, John felt a little hot under the color. He cleared his throat, setting the bottle down gingerly on the table. "Really an interesting flavor."

"I like it a lot," admitted Clay. John was surprised to see that Clay had already downed half his bottle of the surprisingly warm strawberry drink. "Makes you feel good." Clay agreed. John couldn't place a specific reason, but he wanted to finish that drink partly because Clay offered him it and partly because it honestly was a good drink, so they downed their drinks in silence in the break room for a few more minutes. After a bit, John checked the clock to see it had already hit 6 pm.

"Man, how's it already 6 pm?" asked John. "Felt like it was just 5! I got to pack my things and head home." Clay nodded and stood up himself, packing his own things. The two took care of their dishes and trash, and, seeing as they both finished their drinks, were in a bit of a good mood.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" said Clay, seeing John about to head out.

"Bright and early," responded John, grabbing his keys to the shop. The two headed outside and set their things in their cars.

"Catch you tomorrow, tiger," said Clay. In a playful way, he slapped John's rear, all in good fun. John was about to offer a witty response, but for some reason he was caught off guard, and no words came out of his mouth for a quick second.

"Yeah, tomorrow," said John, somewhat hastily. He jumped into his truck shortly thereafter, starting the engine and grabbing the wheel, exhaling deeply. He couldn't bring himself to look at Clay for some reason. John wasn't sure why he got so flustered for a second. Was it the slap? Something about it felt different than their usual shenanigans. Was it a slight pinch? Did it feel... good?

With no radio, it was a quiet drive home.

As John lay in bed, he felt hot and bothered. The blankets were too warm, the fan made him too cold, and he kept twisting and turning in bed. He wasn't sure what it was specifically, but he was having a rough time falling asleep. Eventually, at some odd point in the night, he managed to fall asleep.

As John found himself in his dream, he looked around his surroundings. He didn't recognize where he was; it seemed like a run-of-the-mill room. Furniture scattered across the room, canvas pictures on the wall, and the sound of a ticking clock hanging in the hallway connected to the room. It was surreal; John doesn't often have dreams that feel this realistic. John looked down and discovered he was laying on a couch in the room. It was a nice couch, dark blue in color. It was then that he felt the heat rising into his body. John smiled, knowing what sort of dream he was about to have. He started to undress, taking off his shirt and unbuckling his belt to remove his jeans. Just as he was about to get down to business, he heard the doorbell ring. He froze.

Coming inside the room was none other than Clay. Clay? Why is Clay in my sex dream, John asked himself. He was about to speak up, but he realized that no words could come from his mouth. John frantically searched for his clothes to cover himself up, but couldn't remember where in the hell he put them. Clay walked into the room with John, and looked directly at John, traveling his eyes up and down his body. If John could speak, he'd ask, what the fuck?

"I see you've gotten yourself ready for me," cooed Clay, his words dripping with honey. Initially, John was mortified, but some deep part of his brain lit up in response to that, sending a warm rush down his nerves. John turned around in the couch, sitting himself up on the edge. Finally, he felt like he could say something.

"I was waiting for you all day," said John. Wait, what the hell? That's not what he was going to say! Clay said nothing, but let out a satisfied sneer. It was then that John realized he didn't have as much control over his body as he did a little while ago. In front of him, Clay began to unbutton his shirt slowly, revealing a nice tan torso. Clay, please stop, you're making me uncomfortable, John wanted to say, but no words again came from his lips. Instead, another warm rush traveled down his nerves and he let out a heavy breath.

"Lucky for you, I've been saving this all day," said Clay, finally taking off his shirt. John never really looked at Clay like this before, but he realized that he was indeed in good shape. Suppose that's what happens when you spend all day lifting heavy machinery at the shop. Things took a turn, though, when Clay unbuckled and dropped his pants to the floor, standing in front of John with only dark gray boxer briefs, which only covered Clay's modesty in the faintest of senses as you could see it standing in attention behind the cloth. John was at a loss for words, partially in shock and horror, but also the ever so slightest hint of interest. "Now, show me how much you missed me." Like he couldn't control his body, John found himself getting off the couch and moving his way up to Clay on his knees. Wait, wait, wait, no, no, no, thought John. I thought this was supposed to be my sex dream, he was asking himself. John couldn't wake himself up or control his movements, so he braced himself for when he grabbed the bands of Clay's underpants and started to slowly pull them down his impressive thighs.

As he did that, Clay's manhood bounced in front of John's face, a healthy six inches and of a solid girth, and a head slightly darker than the rest of Clay's skin. Clay's hands brushed into John's hair, pushing his head ever so closer to himself. John grimaced internally, but his mouth opened to take Clay into his lips, eagerly running his tongue around the sides as Clay's hips began to rock down John's throat. "Oh, fuck, you don't know how long I've been waiting for this," moaned Clay. Like hell you did, John wanted to say, but all he could do was moan sensually as Clay's movements sped up, his thighs slapping John's face more aggressively.

Eventually, though, Clay stopped, and pulled his cock out of John's throat, causing John to cough and gasp for air for a quick second. "Yeah, you like that?" asked Clay. "Now, turn around for me," he instructed. It felt like a rock dropped down John's stomach. This could not be happening. Needless to say, John found himself turning himself around, climbing onto the couch, presenting his behind for Clay. He began to pleasure himself as he felt Clay inserting two lubricated fingers into his behind. Clay spread John out for a quick minute before he put some lubricant on himself. John was breathing heavily, pleasuring himself rapidly as he felt Clay's cock pressing on his hole.

Soon thereafter, Clay pushed deep into John's depths, moaning contentedly as he rocked himself around quickly to feel all the pleasures of going balls deep. Holy fucking shit, how is this happening, John was asking himself, but his body could only moan and plead for Clay as Clay began to pound away. One of Clay's hands gripped John's thighs and the other held onto his hair, and he pounded away blissfully, pulling his length to the very end only to send it plunging into John again, sending shivers down his spine. John was horrified, and part of him was disgusted that he honestly began to enjoy it ever so slightly.

After a minute or two of deep fucking, Clay grabbed John's chin to turn his face around, plunging his tongue down John's throat for a deep kiss. Clay slowed down for this, opting instead to bury himself ever so deeper into John's hole, thrusting ever so slightly as he was in deep. Clay broke the kiss to exhale lustfully. "I'm going to cum in you, baby," he managed. Please, dear Lord, anything but that, John pleaded to himself.

Instead, John cried out, "finish inside me, Clay!" and he rocked his hips against Clay in order to feel his cock deeper inside his walls.

"Oh, fuck!" cried Clay, as he slammed himself deep into John, shooting out strand after strand of his seed. "God, we are definitely doing this again." John couldn't even bring himself to say anything internally.

It was after that dream that John woke up once again in his room, blankets strewn everywhere and his fan still going as usual. He found that he had finished in his sheets in his sleep, much to his shame. After he noticed the mess, his alarm went off, letting him know it was 7:30 in the morning. He realized he didn't have any time to dwell on it. John groaned and got out of bed to take a shower, steeling himself for work the next day with Clay.