My Tesla Gets Me Laid

(female pov, flash erotica)

I kick open the door to the service center and shout into the empty garage, "I want to see the general manager!"

He steps out of his office and smiles at me, but it quickly fades as I stomp toward him in my rain-soaked shoes.

He says, "I guess this isn't a personal visit."

Fuck no, it isn't.

Sure, he gave me his number when I dropped off my Model 3. And we've texted. He has a cute butt, and I told him that one night after one (or three) too many glasses of Sparkletini. Sparkletini makes me flirty. But I'm a pretty shitty flirt because I also texted him, quote: "i liike yur teeth."

Sexy.

But for some reason, he thought that was cute. After my hangover, he told me that he could tell I wasn't wearing a bra when we first met, and that got him hard. I started riding my bike to work—because, no car—and during my commute, I also started grinding against my bike seat while imagining him jerking off behind his desk.

I texted him about my bike rides. He sent me a dick pic, so then my commutes featured fantasies of me sucking it in the backseat of my car. I swallowed his cum, and I lied that it was because I didn't want to stain the upholstery.

One day, he sent me a snap on Snapchat.

I ignored it because I was in a meeting, and thank god I didn't open it when I was back at my desk. I was alone in the bathroom when I opened the recording of him laying on his bed while gently stroking his cock. I had to shove in my earbuds so his soft moans didn't echo through the bathroom.

My pussy pulsed from what he typed in his message:

"My day off. Thinking of you."

Another woman walked into the stall next to me, but I didn't hesitate to pull down my pants and record myself rubbing my clit. I held my whine in my throat, but the recording still picked up my heavy breaths.

I continued rubbing my clit with one hand while I sent the recording to him.

Then he chatted me.

"That's right. Fucking touch yourself."

Heat surged in my body. I rubbed myself harder and got hotter with every new message from him.

"Stick your fingers in your pussy.

Get them soaking wet while you fuck yourself.

Put them in your mouth and suck them dry."

I recorded myself doing exactly what he said. I slid two fingers inside of me and finger fucked myself so hard that I came right there — sitting on the toilet just as my boss and her boss walked into the bathroom. I held my breath and trembled while they talked about preventative botox.

My body still twitched as I sent him the recording. Then I pointed my camera at my face and picked a lens that gave me cute kitten ears and pornstar eyelashes. I innocently smiled as I shoved my sticky fingers deep into my mouth. I sucked them like I was sucking his dick and then gave him an air kiss to finish the recording.

He responded with a recording of himself coming. A stream of cum shot from his dick onto his bedspread.

I lifted my shirt to take a picture of my tit, but then my phone buzzed. My boss texted me. I was late for another meeting.

We continued sexting at all hours of the day. He sent me a photo of him shirtless with a cup of coffee one morning. I sent him a recording of me sexily playing in a bubble bath one night.

It was a lot of fun. Until the rainy season started and I had to bike to work. An entire rainy month went by, and I still didn't have my car. I repeatedly asked him why I couldn't pick it up, but he only said it "wasn't ready."

Tonight, it's pouring, my bike was stolen, the Uber was late, and I've lost all my patience for him and his cute butt.

I shove him back into his office. "I want my fucking car."

He shouts in pain when he falls into his stupid office plant.

"I told you," he says from the floor. "It's not ready."

"That's ridiculous. I barely hit the telephone pole. There was only a little dent in the front of the car."

He winces as he stands. "Your 'little dent' made the car undrivable. You need a whole new front end — hood, bumper...all of it."

I throw up my hands. "Fine! I crashed it, but it shouldn't take five weeks to fix it!"

He throws up his hands back at me. "We're waiting for parts from the manufacturer. There's nothing I can do!"

"So, what are you saying? I bought a car you can't fix?"

He gives me a bullshit general manager's response. "We can technically fix it. Just not yet."

Fury and frustration take over me. I grab his crisp shirt collar with my dirty wet hands and ram him against the wall.

He stares at me, chest heaving and eyes wide with fear. I want to threaten him. I want to beat the shit out of him. But now that we're so close, after all of those nasty, naughty things we did with our smartphones...

I kiss him.

All of our feelings rush out of us into an urgent kiss. I grab his hair, and he squeezes my ass while our mouths ravage each other like starving beasts.

I peel off my shirt and rip off his—buttons flying and everything. I wiggle out of my soaked jeans and my underwear just after he unzips his pants. I can't wait any longer, so I shove him onto his desk. I take his hard dick out from his boxer briefs and slide it inside me.

We shout out, and the noise echoes in the empty garage. And I ride him hard and fast. Heat swells in my body while I grind against him. He groans, and curses, and grips me by my waist. My head falls back, and my eyes roll into the back of my head. I fuck him harder than I've ever fucked anyone with the stamina I built from riding my bike.

He grabs the back of my neck and pulls me toward him. He growls, "I want you to come on my dick."

I manically laugh. "Make me come, you piece of shit."

In a flash, he presses his fingers on my clit. I cry out and convulse in his lap, even as he twitches and comes inside of me. He holds me while I shake. Once I finally calm down, we rest in silence with our foreheads touched together.

After a moment, he smiles. "You know...I have a Tesla that I didn't crash. I could take you home."

I hit him on the shoulder, but I can't help but smile. "You owe me takeout, too."