The Garage

When I was small my mother used to say that after God made me he broke the mould. She lied. There are thousands like me in every town and village and you can find us all waiting at the school gates every afternoon ready to pick up our two point four children and take them back to our identical new build boxes on the new estate in the leafy suburbs in the nicer parts of town. We're the wives, the mothers, the carers and I'm a fully paid up member of the club. School plays, violin practice, cubs scouts, Sunday football, swimming practice; I'm right there ferrying the little darlings hither and thither, filling their lunch boxes, ironing their clothes and in all ways possible being the perfect mum.

But it's not just the kids I have to look after, far from, for if you're not there for your man then it's your fault if he strays, or so says the school gate gossip. We may be the liberated generation but you would never guess it around here. Domestic goddess in the kitchen, nursemaid in the playroom and whore in the bedroom; these are the roles we have to aspire to and it doesn't come easy. His status depends not just on the job but also on his acquisitions like the car, the house and, of course, the "little woman" and to boost his ego we're expected to look our best at all times. Hours down the gym keeping the body fit and trim, trips to the beauty parlour and, of course, exactly the right designer labels all combine together to show the world just how successful he was to bag you. And then, when the kids are asleep, it's upstairs to bed where, with the lights out it's a quick grope followed by wham, bang, thank you ma'am and as long as he's satisfied then where's the problem.

The one plus side; I've always had a soft spot for sexy clothes and Roger, my husband, sees pandering to my Janet Reger and Jimmy Choos habit as part and parcel of looking after his possessions and there's nothing like fine undies and beautiful shoes to help you look and feel your best even when doing something as mundane as the school run.

But I was bored, bored with the sameness of it all. Bored of the pettiness of lives measured out by who's got the biggest SUV or who went on the most exotic holiday let alone whose kid won the most prizes at sports day. Bored of a social whirl that consisted of cocktail parties with neighbours and work colleagues where lukewarm chardonnay and Marks and Sparks "nibbles" let people get just drunk enough that the "friendly" grope by Roger's boss was somehow deemed acceptable and I'd be a party-pooper if I were to make a fuss about it. Anyway, making a fuss might imperil Roger's annual bonus so I had to bite it back.

So maybe it was boredom that made me do it. I can't think of any other reason.

It all started with a flat tyre. I was down in town trying to track down a new bit for Roger's home gym. The supplier's warehouse was located in a set of lockups underneath the railway arches down an old cobbled lane around the back of the docks which is just about as off the beaten track as it sounds. The sat-nav was leading me through the maze of backstreets when the car lurched and slewed to the right. I got out and, tiptoeing gingerly around the oily puddles, I went to the front of the car and had a look. Technology isn't my strong point but it didn't take much to see that one of the front tyres was completely flat and I was going nowhere. Even if I had known what to do white jeans and a pale cotton blouse, let alone designer heels, are not the clothes to be doing it in so I looked around for help. There, two doors down, was an auto repair shop and so I set off to see what I could find.

As I approached I found that the double doors sealing off the archway were padlocked but the Judas door was ajar so I knocked a couple of times and, getting no answer, went on it. The inside was dark and grimy, much as you'd expect from a working garage in a place like this and, at first it seemed unoccupied. A large Mercedes which was propped up at the far end took up the main body of the archway but there was plenty of room to make my way past looking for someone to help me. I called out 'hello' a couple of times but got no answer and was just about to leave when a loud curse told me that someone was, indeed, here. I looked again and at the front of the Merc where a pair of legs sticking out indicated that someone was busy working underneath so I leant down and tapped them gently. The owner of the legs was lying on a sort of trolley and they pushed themselves out from under and, for the first time, I saw her.

The woman that emerged was Rosie The Riveter's rougher, tougher sister; whilst quite obviously a woman she made no concessions whatsoever to femininity. Her oil-stained overalls were tied off around her waist revealing a singlet that had once been dark blue cotton but had seen far better days. The singlet was tight enough to show every ripple of her well muscled body and to reveal that she was not wearing a bra. Her light brown hair was short cropped which only emphasised her toughness, that along with the numerous tattoos on each arm. She took off the iPod headphones she was wearing and looked up at me with the impatience of one whose work has been disturbed.

"Well?" She asked.

For the life of me I don't know what came over me. I couldn't speak, I was transfixed, my heart was racing and my throat was dry. I still can't explain just what it was about her, I've never been into women, I'm as straight as an arrow, but there was something about her that I responded to in a very physical way. Was I scared, well, sort of, she is a pretty scary character, but it was far more like a rabbit caught in headlights, fatally fascinated by their ultimate doom. All I could do was stare.

"Well? Come on, I haven't got all day." She repeated.

"My car..." I managed to stutter. "The front tyre..."

"And you want me to fix it?"

"Please, would you?"

She stood up slowly and walked round me looking me up and down. It was as if I were being weighed in some sort of balance and found wanting. I kept wondering whether she would touch me and wasn't sure whether I wanted her to or not. I was now really scared and was about to run away when...

"We'd best have a look at it then. Where is it?" The woman seemed to have come to some sort of decision.

"Outside, out in the alleyway."

"Come along then."

Together we went out to where my car was waiting. She went over and squatted down next to the tyre to inspect it.

"You've got the luck of the devil. I just so happen to have one of these in the back of the lockup. It'll only take ten minutes or so to fit it. We'd best move the car out of the middle of the alleyway. Give us the keys?"

I passed the car keys to the woman who went back into the lockup, opened up the doors and returned carrying a plastic seat cover. She then jumped in and manoeuvred the car until it was just inside the lockup tight against the tail end of the Merc.

I could only stand and watch as, with practiced skill, she jacked up the car and removed the wheel. Again I felt the overwhelming physical attraction; it wasn't that she was beautiful in any ordinary sense of the word but she was so strong and sure of herself, so self contained, so different from anyone I had ever met before and I was mesmerized; I couldn't help but stare. She swung the wheel up onto some sort of bench and, as she did so, her unconstrained breasts moved beneath her singlet. I wondered what it must be like to be so strong and yet still so much a woman. I wanted to touch her, to feel her skin but more than that, I wanted her to touch me, to grab me, to...

With a start I pulled myself together. The thoughts that had rushed unbidden to my mind were thoughts of being taken, held, molested, raped and, to my horror, that didn't terrify me but turned me on! I could feel myself beginning to panic, my heart was racing, I had to calm down, I had to...

The woman looked up and gave me a smile but that didn't calm me, it was the smile of a predator and I was her prey.

"Are you OK?" She asked. "You seem a little on edge. Perhaps you should sit down." She motioned towards a chair over in a corner which, like everything else in the lockup, was covered in a thin film of oil.

"No, I'm OK." I lied. There was no way I could sit on the chair without ruining my jeans.

"Well, if you say so." She turned back to her work and, after a few minutes had the new tyre fitted and inflated. Effortlessly picked it up and headed back towards the car. As she squeezed past me and I was pushed back against the wall in my efforts to get out of her way.

"Careful, now." She joked. "You don't want to get dirt all over your nice clean clothes, do you?"

"No, no, of course not." I replied but all the time I was thinking that someone who could manhandle a heavy wheel like that would have no trouble manhandling me.

With practiced movements she fitted the wheel back on and lowered the jack.

"There you are, good as new." She wiped off her hands on a piece of rag. "Come on back and we'll sort out the paperwork." I followed her through to the back of the lockup where there a makeshift office had been partitioned off. A desk, a chair and a couple of filing cabinets were all it had room for and she sat down behind the desk and pulled out a receipt book. Although it was cleaner than the workshop there were still oil marks everywhere so I remained standing rather than use the 'customer' chair. The woman found a notepad, searched in a draw for a rubber stamp, wrote out the receipt and, after a little work with my credit card, I had paid for the new tyre. However, once the transaction had gone through she didn't return my card but stood up and held it in her hand just out of my reach.

"A new tyre's not the only thing you want around here, is it?" Her whole tone had changed.

"What... What do you mean?" I had calmed down as we did the paperwork but suddenly I was very scared again, scared, and something else as well.

"I mean, my pretty little thing, that I saw the way you were watching me. Your tongue was practically hanging out; you couldn't get enough of me, could you? I know that look; I know what it means. You la-di-da types, you think you're better than us. You're all prim and proper on the outside but inside you're all hot and bothered and gagging for a bit of rough, aren't you? What's up, girl? Husband not giving you the shag you need, eh? Fancy some hot girl-on-girl action?"

"No, I'm not like that, really, I'm not. Please, you're scaring me. Please give me my card and let me go." I was close to tears.

"Come and get it then." She waved the card at me but, as I stepped forward, she dropped the card on the desk, grabbed me, spun me against the wall and pinned me there with her strong hands gripping me by the shoulders.

I knew I should be scared, I was scared, but the feel of her powerful hands pinning me to the wall sent a thrill through me the likes of which I'd never known before. I felt scared but I felt alive. Still holding me with one hand she reached for my blouse with the other and ripped it open sending buttons flying about the room.

"Oh, pretty." With her free hand she fondled my breasts through the fine lace of my bra, running her thumb back and forth over my nipple, feeling it harden through the thin fabric. "Very pretty indeed."

She cupped my left breast in her hand and eased her thumb under the lace of the bra until my breast popped out exposing my nipple. Taking it between her thumb and forefinger she squeezed hard until I gave a little cry.

"That's what you wanted, isn't it." She gave my nipple another squeeze. "Isn't it?"

All the time I had just stood there, unable to move, unable to resist. The sensible me knew I should tell her to stop, knew I should run away, but, as she tweaked my nipple yet again sending another bolt of lightning through me, something dark and animal within me just wanted to surrender and I was powerless to deny it.

"Please..." I half whispered.

"Please what? Do you want me to stop?" Again she tweaked my nipple. "All you have to do is ask. Well, do you?"

I looked into her eyes and saw nothing but amused contempt. Whatever game this was she had me caught and she knew it. Every fibre of my being was screaming at me to get out and run away...

"Please don't stop." There, I'd said it, god knows why. I bowed my head in shame.

"Yeah, now we're getting to the truth. Do I make you hot and horny?" She laughed. "Do I get your juices flowing?"

"I... I..." I started but my mouth was dry and I couldn't continue.

"Can't tell me? Cat got your tongue? We'd better have a look then, hadn't we?"

She stopped playing with my breast and reached for my waist. Her fingers yanked at my belt undoing the buckle and then popping open the button at the waistband of my jeans. All the while I just stared at the floor as my arms hung uselessly by my sides, I was too overcome to either resist or help. With my jeans now loosened I felt her hand thrust beneath the waistband of my panties and on down to my waiting crotch; I even moved my legs apart to help her. She pushed her hand further until her fingers found, parted and entered my waiting slit. The ease with which she penetrated me spoke volumes, that along with the groan of pleasure she forced from my lips; whatever the shame and humiliation I might be feeling my body couldn't help but betray my arousal. She pushed her fingers deep inside me before removing her hand and holding her fingers, still glistening with my juices, in front of my face.

"Hot and ready to trot. Just as I thought. You horny little housewives are all the same; uptight bitches, the lot of you, but when faced with a real woman your cunt drips with need."

Without waiting for a reply she pushed her hand back into my jeans and, cupping her fingers up back into my waiting pussy, started to rhythmically rub against my sex. Meanwhile she pushed herself against me, coming in close, crushing me against the wall. There was neither finesse nor subtlety about what she was doing but I wanted neither and, unable to help myself, I was responding, humping her hand, pushing myself towards my fast approaching climax.

"That's it, little girl, don't be shy, come for me, come for Rhonda. Come for me, now!" She snarled in my ear.

And come I did. Never, ever, had I felt anything like it. Her coarse brutality between my thighs was far more erotic than a lover's caress. My senses exploded, pushed beyond what they could cope with and I was consumed with a burning pleasure which seemed to flood from deep within me. I lost all control and if it were not for the woman I now knew to be Rhonda pinning me against the wall, my rag-doll body would have collapsed in a heap. As the last animal cry was squeezed from my lips Rhonda stopped rubbing and just gripped her hand inside me, squeezing, pulling, almost lifting me off my feet. For a long, long moment she held me there like that before standing back and letting go and, without her support, I slumped to the floor, exhausted and drained.

Eventually, once the room stopped spinning, I looked up and saw her standing over me.

"Had enough?" She asked.

"Enough, yes, enough." I panted. "But... but what about you?" Even after being raped I couldn't help my manners. It had all seemed a little "one way" to me.

"What makes you think a little housewife like you could have anything that I might want?" Her derision was clear, as if I were beneath contempt. "I'm more woman that you could ever handle; I play rougher than you have ever dreamed of. You've had your thrills, little girl, now get your kit back on and get the fuck out of here."

Still shaking I clambered to my feet and pulled up my jeans from where they had fallen around my thighs. My crotch and my panties were a sodden mess, so much so that it looked as if I had peed myself; it would seem that the flooding sensation had been very real and my sticky juices were everywhere. When I turned to my blouse I found that half the buttons were missing and, unable to fasten it, I ended up tying it off at the bottom showing far more cleavage than I was comfortable with. All the while Rhonda just looked on amused at my discomfort.

"Run away, little girl, run back to your husband, run back to your safe little life with its safe little rules. You haven't got the guts to play with the likes of me; I'd chew you up and spit you out like the little nothing you are."

From anyone else this would have been bravado but Rhonda didn't just talk the talk; she had already shown me that she could walk the walk as well. It was hurtful and humiliating to be so dismissed but she had a point. Distraught and dishevelled I turned towards the door to leave.

"Don't forget these." Rhonda called after me. I turned and she was holding my credit card and the receipt. With a muttered 'thank you' I grabbed them from her and ran.

I drove home in a daze. The alleyway was empty as I had backed the car out or the lockup and I made my way home on autopilot. Home was the only place I could go; there was no way I could continue shopping. Apart from my mental state my clothes were torn and oil stained and the large damp stain around the crotch of my jeans reeked of my arousal. I needed my home, needed to throw my clothes in the bin and needed to get under a long hot shower and scrub and scrub and scrub. Even then, when I was safe in the shower with the water cascading over me, I couldn't scrub away the feelings, how Rhonda's raping me was both deeply abhorrent and wildly thrilling. What was worse was how she had hinted at more, that she had hinted that she had gone gently with me. How much more did she have to give; how much more could I have taken?

I finished my shower, got dressed, and hurried off to the school gates. It was time to pick up the children; my "normal" life had reasserted itself.

*****

I tried to settle back into the old routine, really I did, but I couldn't control my subconscious, I couldn't control my dreams. The worst of it all was there was no one I could talk to about it, it had to be my secret. There was no way any of the school gate brigade, let alone Roger, would have understood what had happened to me. No, I had to bottle it all up inside me where it niggled away like a bad tooth. And then, on Friday night, when Roger, slightly pissed after a couple of whiskeys was demanding what he half jokingly called his conjugal rights, she was all I could think of. Roger's pathetic attempts at foreplay, not to mention his thirty seconds of penetration, could never, would never, satisfy me the way the Rhonda had done but, by thinking of her as Roger pounded away I came as close to coming as I had ever done with him. In a way this just made it worse; now that Rhonda had introduced me to earth shattering orgasms any other sex just wouldn't be the same. It wasn't that I wanted to be unfaithful, per se, at heart Roger is a good man and he doesn't deserve that, but after just one taste of forbidden fruit I craved more.

At first it was just a little niggle, at first it was something I could handle, at first it was just a memory I kept going back to but, as the days turned to weeks and the weeks turned to months I kept on fantasising about returning. More and more I'd find myself lying on my bed in the mid morning sunshine wearing out the batteries in my vibrator and letting the housework go hang as my fantasies became increasingly wild and, in my dreams, I had got the guts to play Rhonda's games, whatever they might be.

And that, in itself, was another point of frustration. Her taunt that I hadn't got the guts to play with her, that she was too much woman for me teased me with its implications that I was missing out, that there was something more if only I could put my fears aside and just do it. I wondered what more was involved, what it was I was missing out on. For all my fantasies I didn't really know for sure. She liked to be in control, there was no doubt about that; was forceful sex her thing? If I were to go back how else would she force herself upon me? What else would she make me do? What else would she want of me? Significantly in my thoughts I'd gone from "I'll never go back" to "what would happen if I were to go back."