The Mechanic

I squeal in surprise. The thrill shoots straight to my clit, and makes it stand straight up. I resist an overwhelming urge to push him down to the floor and ride him.

"Miz B, any time you want me to..." he begins, but I'm shaking my head.

"You were right, Gary; I needed that. But it can't happen again."

"Yeah, I was kinda' afraid you might say that." His head droops. Then he looks up, smiling. "But I'll never forget this, Miz B. You're the best. If you ever change your mind..."

How long will it be before I get antsy again? Knowing that I've broken my vows once; will it be easier the next time? When will my loving husband decide that I need another tune-up?

"We have your number, Gary." I wink.

He kisses my cheek again. This time, his fingertips glide across my breast longingly, one last time, before he turns and struts down the driveway to his wrecker, whistling happily.

I plop into a chair at the kitchen table, a thousand emotions whirling, and I drop my head on the table and cry.

Bill comes home late on Sunday afternoon. He smells like fish and campfire and dirt, and he hasn't shaved since Friday, but I don't care. He's my husband. I surprise him at the door with a long, loving kiss. He gives me a curious look, but seems to let it pass.

He filets a couple of trout and I pan fry them while he takes a long, hot shower. After dinner we watch a little TV, sitting closer than usual, his arm draped over my shoulder. The familiar signals pass between us: a knowing glance, my hand high on his thigh, his fingers stroking my neck, then flitting casually down the side of my breast. We turn off the TV and he takes my hand as we go up the stairs together.

We slowly undress each other.

"Did you have a relaxing weekend, all by yourself?" my husband asks, unbuttoning my blouse. Normally that would be a trivial question, but it is not just my imagination that his eyes are burning a hole straight into my soul.

"Mostly," I answer innocently, pulling his shirt out of his pants.. "I had a little car trouble on Saturday morning." With a quick, nervous glance, I see his intense interest. Unfastening the buttons on his shirt, I already feel a trickle between my legs.

"Really?" he says, feigning nonchalance as he pulls the blouse off my shoulders and down my arms. The sleeves lock my arms for a moment, reminding me of Gary's similar maneuver. "Did you, um, call somebody?"

"Yes, Gary Martin came by. Remember him?"

"Sure," he says as he moves behind me to unclasp my bra. "One of Mitch's old friends. How's he doing these days?"

I have to bite my lip to keep from grinning. I doubt his slip was unintentional. He knows exactly how Gary's doing.

The bra falls away, and when Bill's big hands reach around to massage my unfettered breasts, just the way he knows I like, I moan a thankful "Mmmm..." .

I feel the heat rising in my cheeks. My fists are clenched, desperately trying to control myself. I clear my throat, and tell him, "Yeah, Gary came straight over. He's a good man. Something got pulled loose, but he had just the right tool for the job. He took care of everything."

Bill steps around beside me. "Everything?" he asks softly.

I can barely look my husband in the eyes. I nod slowly. My voice cracks when I confess weakly, "Yes, everything. Good as new." Tears are welling, threatening to gush at any second.

"Good," he smiles, then he kisses me, and I pour my guilt and my fears, and my heart and soul into our kiss, my arms so tight around his neck that I may choke him.

I have to have him now, to show this marvelous brute how much I love him. I fall to my knees and in seconds his pants and his jockeys are at his knees. Since the surgery, this is the only way I've been able to satisfy my husband. On the plus side, I can stuff his entire flaccid cock in my mouth, and that's what I do. He toys with my hair while my fingertips tickle his wrinkly sac and my tongue and lips caress his failing member.

And then it happens - the miracle we've been waiting for. He begins to grow in my mouth. I don't know whether it is jealousy, or anger at my infidelity, or perhaps my husband is even more depraved than I thought, and is somehow excited that another man has had me. Maybe it's just because the healing took this long. Frankly, I don't care why. In a matter of seconds I'm bobbing on a genuine erection. When I raise my eyes, I see he is just as surprised as me.

Immediately I leap onto the bed, whip off my panties, and throw my legs in the air. I'm soaked, and with two quick strokes he is balls deep in my kitty, pounding me. I enjoyed Gary's hard and dirty fucking, but it felt so disconnected, almost mechanical. With Bill, it is pure love, and that transforms mere sex into something wonderful. Both of our faces are stretched with giddy grins.

The magic is short-lived, however. Long before Bill gets his relief, he begins to deflate again, and can't continue. He groans in frustration at himself, his half-hard cock not firm enough to do the deed. For the first time, though, we have a glimmer of hope.

He runs and swallows a blue pill, then dives between my legs. Over the next hour or so, our mouths and fingers go back and forth, praying that the modern alchemists can turn his limp lead into solid gold. His patient and agile tongue makes me a sweaty, sodden wreck, hungry for a stout cock.

And there it is - his flagpole, waving high and proud. With a sudden, powerful thrust, he splits me in half, forcing the air from my lungs. He rages, violently reaming my poor little kitty as though he's scared he will lose his rigidity again before he can finish. I'm fucking loving it!

It's only a few seconds before he is whispering my name reverently, again and again, and then he arches upward, his head thrown back, and he roars like the huge, savage beast that he is. The warmth of his joy blooms deep in my glove, and my skin is tingling from my head to my toes. With a contented smile, he collapses on top of me and we kiss. My arms encircle him, holding his massive weight right where it belongs.

We lie together, cuddling and cooing. His cream drizzles down into my crack, and I breathe a satisfied sigh. Over the next few days, I'll drop a few hints about our incestuous offspring - if I know my kinky husband, that will get him cranked up. If I can work up the courage, I might even ask him to slap my boobs the next time he spanks me. The future is suddenly much brighter.

With both hands, Bill guides my face to his crotch. In short order, his shaft is revved up again, and I'm climbing into the driver's seat.

Yeah, the old car's running just fine. I don't think I'll need to call a mechanic for a long, long time.