Shelly and the Tow Truck Driver Ch. 02bySpartanWitherby©
It had been a shitty day.
I stood by the stove, waiting for the water to boil. Dinner tonight was pasta with butter. Plain, but I didn't have the money to fancy it up.
Hence the shitty day.
My car had blown up outside of town as I drove to the store. The tow truck driver had been nice enough, a cute kid in his early twenties working a summer job. We had had a nice conversation, I thought.
Then we got here, and shit hit the fan. I feel like tow truck companies should warn you that you're going to have to pay up front. But he hadn't, and the ride was expensive, and I had found myself offering a blow job as payment. I think I surprised myself as much as him. But I knew how low the balance in my account was. I figured he'd jump at the chance.
The water came to a boil, and I dumped in the noodles. I picked up the wooden spoon and stirred.
He had jumped at the chance. Sort of. Except he had wanted more. And he had blackmailed me, threatening to tow my car to some garage where the guys were happy to take their payment in sex. In the end, I agreed to almost all his terms: I dressed in lingerie. I did a strip tease until I was naked. I got down on my knees and sucked his cock. Twice.
A decent guy would have said, okay, that was fucking brilliant, thank you, we're square. But he had fucking taken videos of me with his phone. And he had threatened to upload them. No. He had fucking uploaded them, but kept them private. "Give me a good show," he had said, "and I won't want to share them." Bastard. What choice did I have?
I kept stirring. The water was cloudy, and a thin foam was at the surface.
And because I had, like an idiot, handed him my keys and forgotten to get them back, he had snuck in while I was showering, trying to wash the shitty day off of me. Then he had fucking raped me. I mean, I ultimately enjoyed it; I admit that. But he had still fucking raped me.
And then had the gall to suggest that his boss, by coincidence my landlord, would want more of the same later.
It had been a shitty day. And it didn't look like it would be picking up any time soon.
I plucked a noodle from the hot water and tasted it. It was done. I poured the pasta into a sieve, and put it back in the pan, mixing in a pat of butter. I ate it straight from the pan. One less thing to wash.
I went back and lay on the couch. Yes, today had been a bit on the kinky side. And if it had only been the one afternoon, well, maybe I could just brush it off and move on. It wasn't like I had been a virgin, or never engaged in a little kink. But the asshole kept my keys and said he'd make copies. That he'd come by whenever he wanted and do whatever he wanted. At least he was going back to school in two weeks.
My landlord, Mr. Sheldon, was a different story. I had noticed him checking me out, of course; he was a lech. But the rent was cheap, and he had always left me alone.
As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Who else would be visiting me?
My afternoon molester had suggested I wear something skimpy when Mr. Sheldon came a-knocking. Maybe nothing more than a bra and panties. Yeah, right. I knew they'd be swapping stories, and the shithead driver had said he'd go for my ass if I didn't do what he said, so I opted for skimpy: short shorts, a tight, white scoop-neck shirt that made my large breasts prominent, and nothing else.
"Coming," I yelled. I got up and slowly walked to the door. I looked through the peephole. Sure enough, Mr. Sheldon was standing there. He was short, bald, slightly overweight. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt.
I opened the door. I was surprised to see that he was carrying a bottle of wine and a laptop. He made no effort to hide his leering gaze.
"Mr. Sheldon?" He looked up from my breasts with a start. "Can I help you?"
"Shelly," he said. He looked to his side, quickly. "May I come in?"
"Of course," I said as I stepped back and motioned him in. I closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, crossing my arms.
"I don't know if you know this, Ms. Foster, but I run a tow truck company." Really, I thought.
"Turns out one of my drivers gave you and your car a lift today."
"I guess so, Mr. Sheldon," I said. I had kind of resigned myself to this, but I didn't feel the need to just strip off my clothes and fuck him there.
He cleared his throat. "He said you had to make special payment arrangements."
"We came to an agreement," I said.
He leered. "I'm sure, Ms. Foster. He's a very understanding kid." Yes. A real fucking prince.
"Did he say what was wrong with the car?"
"A busted clutch."
"Oh? Did he tell you how much those cost to fix?"
"He said a few hundred dollars."
I was surprised when Mr. Sheldon let out a laugh.
"If you're lucky," he said. "Going rate is usually around eight hundred dollars." My heart sank. "Most people just buy a new car. It's not worth it to fix up the old one in that case." New car meant car payments. The new clutch would have to do. Still, I wondered when he'd get to his point. Because we both knew what his point was.
He started to move down the hallway. "May I sit down, Ms. Foster?"
"Of course," I said.
He limply held out the bottle. "I brought some wine; would you like some?" I nodded. Might as well be as shit-faced as possible for this.
I turned into the kitchen, got down two glasses, and poured the wine in. Rather more in mine than his. But I didn't think he'd mind me being drunk. I carried them out to the living room.
"Come join me," he said. I sighed. He was sitting on one part of the L-shaped couch; I placed the glasses on the table and sat down on the other, facing him. Then he patted the seat to his left.
"Why don't you come over here, Ms. Foster, so I don't have to shout." I sighed and moved over, throwing myself onto the couch. I was near him, but he'd have to make an effort to touch me. He didn't move. I leaned forward to grab my glass and sipped.
"Well, you know," he said. "I hate to see my tenants in distress." No, I didn't know that. I turned my head to look at him.
"And, well, you know," he continued, "I do own a garage. I could take care of your clutch. Work some deals; try and get you a good price." I turned my head again, looking at the far wall. I knew what was expected of me.
"That's very kind of you, Mr. Sheldon, but I don't even have the cash for the price your driver suggested, let alone something more."
I wasn't looking at him, but I could hear the slime oozing in his voice. "Well, Ms. Sheldon," he said, "I'm sure we could figure something out."
I looked at him, frankly, and he turned his eyes down to my legs. "Such as?"
"Well, why don't you tell me about the deal you negotiated with my driver, and we'll figure it out based on that." He put his arm on the couch back and began playing with my hair.
How much had Jimmy told him? I knew what he'd tell him tomorrow. But tonight?
"Well, Mr. Sheldon, your driver was a real dick about it, if I may say so." He raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"He made me give him a blow job." I didn't feel the need to go into all the details.
"He paid a $100 towing bill for a blow job?" Mr. Sheldon laughed. "Well, he is new at this. He should have asked for more."
I flushed. "Technically, it was two blow jobs," I said. "And I did a strip tease." That shut him up. He leered again, looking unabashedly at my breasts. I moved my arms up to cover them some more.
"Now, now, Ms. Foster. No need to cover up. Put your arms down by your sides." I did what he said, and the hand that had been playing with my hair slid down to my shoulder.
"Honestly, Ms. Foster, with your fine figure and pretty looks, I'm surprised he didn't ask for some pussy." The act was over.
I frowned. "He tricked me about that. He took my keys and snuck back in when I was showering. Then he raped me."
Mr. Sheldon looked genuinely concerned. "He took your keys? Including the ones to the public areas?" Right. Why would I assume he cared about my feelings, when he was about to do essentially the same thing? "Would you like me to call a locksmith? We can just work out the payment as needed." I almost said yes. Then I remembered the videos. I shook my head quietly.
"Oh ho, Ms. Foster," he said, sliding his hand down my chest a bit and rubbing the skin below my neck. His fingers scooted along the neckline of my shirt, brushing along the crests of my breasts, and I felt the skin tingle. "You want him to visit again?"
"Well, Mr. Sheldon, I don't have a fucking choice." He started again. Did women never swear around him? He stroked my arm and moved his hand down to my thigh.
"Why not, Shelly?"
"Well, Jack," I said -- his constant saying of my name was annoying -- "because if I change the locks he'll just fucking upload the videos of me."
The hand slid up my thigh to the edge of my shorts.
"A video? You made a video for him?I like the sound of that." The stroking continued. I kept sipping my wine.
"Shelly," he said. I turned to look at him again. He was looking down at the hand on my thigh as if he couldn't believe it was happening. I couldn't blame him; I hardly did. "Your legs are very pretty. Why don't you open them just a bit for me." I sighed and, as unseductively as I could manage, opened my thighs a bit. His hand slid around them. I swallowed.
"Would you like to discuss your car?" he said. I nodded, silently. I could feel the tears coming back to my eyes, as they had this afternoon. I had stretched myself too thin last month, I thought. But I needed my car to get to my job. And I was paying the price that women always seemed to end up paying. He ran his fingers along my thigh again. Then he pulled it away.
"Wait here a moment, Shelly," he said. "I'd like to go get something from my apartment." And with that, he stood up and walked out.
I finished the rest of my wine and went to poor myself another.
I was well through the next glass ten minutes later when he opened the door again. He was holding a small camera and a tripod.
"I don't have video on my phone," he said. "But I have to say your story about this afternoon inspired me." He looked straight down at my breasts. "Do you like having your picture taken, Shelly?" I shook my head. "Well, that's too bad. Let's talk about your car."
"I'm willing to cover the costs, Shelly," he said. "We'll give you a new clutch, get the car all tuned up and ship-shape." He looked at me expectantly. If he expected me to jump up and down and simper, he was mistaken. I kept my mouth shut.
He cleared his throat again. "I know you're strapped for cash, but I think we can work out a payment plan." I kept silent. He stammered a bit as he proceeded. I could see a light sheen of sweat on him. He could talk the talk, but could he walk the walk?
"I'm a lonely man, Shelly," he said, "and you're a beautiful woman. I think we can come to an agreement." I still wasn't budging. Let him say it; I wasn't going to ask for it. He flushed.
"I propose that for seven nights I can come over and you will do whatever I want." Seven nights!
"Two nights, Jack, including this one." It was already late.
He stammered. "Five nights," he said, trying to sound bold.
"Four nights, including this one."
"Five nights, and I throw in a car wash." I raised an eyebrow.
"Five nights, a car wash, and another tune-up in the future when you want it." I had to admit that would save me a lot of money in the coming months. And this is what I had come to. It wasn't whether I should whore myself out. It was what I should get for it. I was tired of this game.
"Five nights including this one, a car wash, a tune-up when I want it, it's done by Friday, and no anal." He looked startled again. But he regained his composure quickly.
"Five nights _after_ this one, a car wash, a tune-up when you want it, it's done by Friday, and no anal." Whatever. It was just sex, I told myself.
"Okay, Jack," I said. "Deal." His eyes bulged.
"Yes, Jack. Really."
He flushed, stammered, and began fussing with his camera. He looked up and flushed again.
"Now, Shelly," he said. I was just standing there, looking at him. "I-I would like to take some pictures of you."
"Snap away," I said. I crossed my arms over my breasts and stood there.
"Um, I had something different in mind. Why don't you open the laptop. I-I brought some pictures that I want you to see." I turned around and bent over. I heard him gasp behind me as my ass came into view. Then I heard the click of his camera. Obviously.
I opened the laptop. On it was a browser pointed to a porn site. The pictures that were up were of a young redheaded woman in skimpy black panties standing with her hands over her tits. I felt myself flush. Her red hair was straight and natural; mine was wavy and from a bottle. Her breasts were the size of small apples; mine were like grapefruits. She was skinny; I was slightly plump. But it was clear where he was going with this.
"Do you... do you see anything there that might inspire you?" I stood up and faced him. "Nothing to inspire me, Jack." He took a deep breath and seemed to figure out what to do.
"Well, Shelly, I found it quite inspiring. I'd like to see you like that woman in the picture." Then he paused. "T-take off your shirt." There was no helping it. I put my hands on the edge of my shirt and began to lift it up. I heard another gasp as he realized I wasn't wearing a bra and that my naked tits had just come into view. My arms were over my head, and the shirt was over my face, when I heard, "Stop there for a moment." I heard the camera click.
"Stay like that," he said. The camera clicked again. Then I heard the unmistakable sounds of feet moving on the carpet. I tensed. My landlord's meaty hands closed around my breasts. He squeezed them.
"These are quite beautiful, Shelly," he said. He kneaded them and slid his fingers along the nipples. "I've been wanting to see your tits since you've moved in. I've tried to arrange binoculars to catch you undressing, but I haven't had any luck. I wish you undressed in your living room." I felt motion, and then I felt warm lips on my nipples. They responded to the erotic sensation. He continued to suck. After the exertions of the day with no orgasm, I felt a warmth slide through my body. I moaned.
"Oh, yes, Shelly," he said, as he withdrew his mouth, "I think you're going to like this quite a bit." I flushed.
"Mm," he said, "I love the way your freckles stand out when you blush." He stepped back. "Take off your shirt all the way," he said. I finished pulling it off and then tossed it to the side. He was standing just in front of me, looking at my eyes. He lifted his hands and began squeezing my breasts. I had to admit I was getting a little wet.
"Tell me the terms of our deal," he said.
"I'll do whatever you want except for anal for tonight and five other nights. You'll fix my clutch, wash my car, and give me a free tune-up." He slid his mouth forward again.
"Keep saying that. Emphasis on 'whatever you want'," he said. And his warm mouth closed over my nipple. It stiffened, and I moaned. I repeated the terms. He placed his hands on my hips. Again and again as he sucked on my naked breasts. Then he pulled away and stepped back.
"Now, Shelly, the girl in the picture." I flushed. "I'd like to see you in just your panties." I blushed even deeper.
"Um, Jack, I can't do that," I said. He languidly reached out his hand and then quickly flicked my nipple.
"Ow!" I shrieked.
"Whatever I want, Shelly."
I blushed again. "Yes, Jack. It's just that I'm not wearing any panties." He leered.
"Well, that's your choice," he said, as he walked back to the camera. "But the girl in the picture isn't wearing shorts, so you shouldn't, either." I blushed again. He stood behind the camera.
"Now let's see that pretty pussy of yours, Shelly."
I unsnapped the shorts and tugged down the zipper.
"Hands on your tits, Shelly," said Jack as he looked at his camera. I did as he said, cupping my large breasts in my hands.
"Now take your shorts off."
I slid my hands down and heard another click. I opened the front of the shorts and hooked my fingers in the waistband. Click. I pushed them down. Click. I pushed them down my legs, letting my breasts hang down as I pulled first one foot and then another out of the shorts. Click.
"Now, Shelly," he said, looking at my naked body with undisguised lust, "I think if you click on some of the other pictures you'll see some other inspiring poses by the young woman." I turned and bent over to look at the laptop again. I heard him moan. Click. Problem was, the young porn starlet was wearing panties in all these photos.
"I can go get some panties, Jack," I said. "I have little black panties kind of like this."
"Oh, no," he said, "I much prefer you like this." Click. "Though maybe on some other night you can give me a fashion show of all your slutty clothes." I flushed again.
And so I posed. I stood in profile, thrusting out my breasts with my hands on my ass, making a pouty face at the camera. I bent over with spread legs, arching my back up while Jack took pictures of my naked pussy and ass. I kneeled on all fours on my couch. Okay; I could admit it. This was making me hot and horny. And it wasn't hard to tell that Jack was horny as well. He was sweating, and I could see the hard outline of his erection through his pants.
He grunted as I posed, unbuttoning his pants around his hard cock.
"Come here, Shelly." He motioned me to him. I went.
He leaned forward and kissed me. I responded, at first languidly and then with more passion. He was actually a good kisser. I was standing, naked, in my living room kissing a man who was running his hands over my breasts, my ass, my arms, my naked crotch. I was turned on. I put my arms around him and he pulled me closer. He broke away for a moment. He began to unbutton his shirt. Then he looked at me, leering anew, and stopped.
"Why don't you finish taking it off?" I let out a little sigh and undid the last three buttons of the shirt stretched loosely over his stomach. He pulled off the sleeves.
"Lick my chest, Shelly." I bent forward a little and began to run my tongue over the fleshy expanse. He was fat, though also muscular, but I wasn't exactly a size zero. Who was I to judge? He moaned as I slid the tip of my tongue around his nipple.
"Oh, Shelly, you are so beautiful. I've thought of you so often."
"What have you thought about?" I asked as my hands braced myself against his chest and my mouth slid down a bit. His hands were cupping my breasts, stroking my nipples and keeping them hard.
I heard him gulp.
"I've thought of what you might look like naked," he said. "You're more sexy and beautiful than I ever imagined." I kept kissing.
"I've thought about how fantastic your tits must be." He squeezed them again, and I let out a little moan.
"I've thought about what you'd be like when you're being fucked." I moaned again. Damnit, I had been resigned to this, but the whole thing combined with this afternoon was making me super horny.
"I've masturbated to the thought of you having sex with me. What you might sound like."
"And now you get all that and more," I said. He moaned.
I slid my tongue up his chest again and stood up. I put my arms on his shoulders.
"Have you thought naughty things about me, Jack?" He nodded. I leaned forward and put my mouth next to his ear. "Tell me," I whispered. He moaned again.
"I-I've thought of fucking you doggystyle."
"Yeah? Like this?" I turned around and leaned back against him, and then I bent way over, pushing my naked, wet pussy against his pants. He put his hands on my hips and pushed.
"Oh god," he whimpered.
"It's yours Jack," I said, "for this night and five others." He moaned again, loudly.