Cost of a Transmission

[This story was written for the 750 Word Project 2024. Below this line are exactly 750 words.]

The flatbed pulled into Billy's Garage in Beatty, off highway 95 between Las Vegas and Reno. Darleen's old Mustang had made it nearly this far toward Las Vegas, but no further. She frankly was surprised she'd gotten this far toward her new dream.

Sam, the young, hunky guy who had put her Mustang on the truck, had kept her from thinking too much or too hard about what it would take to put the Mustang back on the road. For this she was grateful. She also was grateful that he was such a young, solid hunk with a ready smile. If he probably wasn't ten years younger than she was...

For his part, Sam hadn't seen anything this good looking and sexy in months. He couldn't help but smile and give a long, low whistle for the strawberry blond in her halter top and Daisy Duke jeans shorts standing by the Mustang in the middle of nowhere, looking all forlorn.

Billy came out of the garage, wiping oil off his hands with a rag, as Sam pulled the Mustang off the flatbed and into a garage bay.

"I don't know what's wrong with it, and it can't be much or I can't get it fixed," Darleen said to Billy.

"We'll get it fixed and you on the road somehow, little darlin'," he said, giving her the once and twice over. He knew a women in the business when he saw one. They were always driving between Reno and Vegas. "Where you goin' and comin' from?" he asked.

"I've been in Reno and have work to go to in Vegas," she said.

"Entertainment work?" Billy asked. "You entertain people?"

She gave him a look. She knew what he was thinking. He was speaking to her augmented, melon-ripe breasts, so she knew how he swung. Well, he looked real good too. Not as young and hunky as Sam. He was older, maybe in his forties. But a great body for his age. He looked experienced.

"I dance the poles," she said.

"And do tricks on the side, I wager," he said.

Sam came back. "It's the transmission. Not shot, but still in the hundreds to fix."

Darleen moaned. "I can't cover that."

"I know how you can start paying for it," Billy said. "If you'll let me watch."

Sam fucked her, Darleen bent over the Mustang hood, belly down, halter unbuttoned, shorts off, from above and behind, fucking her in the cunt while his hands squeezed her melon breasts. She moved with him, not the least bit upset. Billy watched and smiled.

"It'll take at least a day to fix the transmission," Billy said afterward. I doubt you'll find lodging in Beatty. You can come to my place and work off the rest of the bill--that is if I you like what you see when you look at me."

"I like what I see fine," Darleen said.

Billy drove her to his place and returned to work. She looked around, with the understanding that this was a single man living here. The house had good bones but he wasn't exactly tidy.

When Billy came home, he heard both the washer and dryer in motion and was amazed how much the place had been tidied up. He saw surfaces--dusted ones--that he hadn't seen in months--not since Avis got disgusted and moved on.

He hadn't had any since Avis had left either.

Greeting Darleen, he went in to prepare dinner--to see that she had almost finished with that as well.

After dinner, she let his ballgame on TV be finished before she stood expectantly in the doorway to the bedroom.

Billy proved to be an attentive, forceful, and vigorous lover. Despite knowing she was a hooker, he treated her like a princess. After she knelt in front of him and sucked him hard, he lifted her, put her on her back on the bed, and tongued her clit and pussy, holding her captive, as she writhed under him. He ate her out until she flowed and then picked her up from the bed, put her back against the wall and her knees hooked on his hips. He grasped her wrists, raising her arms, put himself in position. He fucked the hell out of her, making her squeal.

Later, in bed. "Was that good enough for you, sugar?"

"Yeah, that was great, Billy. I'm wondering what I'd have to give for a brake job on the Mustang."