Joe's Garage

"How long is it gonna take?"

"I dunno. Could be an hour," said the mechanic. Then, as a burp of an afterthought: "Ma'am."

Marie tossed up her hands and stalked to the pay phone. Twelve miles down the road, her sweet-natured client with the big green eyes was waiting, all saddled up with no one to ride him. And she had to be trapped with this, this DUDE, this slopey bohunk so knee-deep in nowhere that her cell phone didn't work.

Bohunk's nametag said "Joe," and Marie already hated the way Joe loped around the garage, like he had nothing but time at one in the morning. Maybe he had a silky farmgirl simmering away somewhere like a pot of okra, getting more tender and slippery every moment he was away. He had that look, that oily fuck-you-blind look, with sideburns and a dangling rockabilly spit curl, round chin and sensuous lips like Elvis Presley reimagined as Greek.

Marie came back from the phone (Green Eyes liked the abusive call, and an hour wait would teach him discipline, yes) to find Joe poised over the engine of her Camaro like a tabby dabbling in a fish tank.

He didn't even look up when she returned. "Nice car you got. Ma'am."

Goddamn right it's a nice fucking car. "Thanks," she said. *I'm the hottest piece in here*, she thought. *Maybe I look like ninety pounds of gristle to you right now, but under this coat I've got a body that would make you die stupid and smiling.*

She circled around to get a look at what he was doing, if he was even doing anything. Oil light goes on and suddenly a backwoods greaser wants to pray over it for a week.

*Huh. Nice hands.* Joe also had a waist nipped in like a Gibson girl. Marie had the urge to put one black boot on the back of his neck and give that waist a good bite from behind.

Joe wasn't even paying attention. Marie crowded him to watch him work -- let her long brown braid dust his forearm, even flashed him a flattering look from her black baby seal eyes. No dice.

"Aw, shit, caught my wrist," he said suddenly. Marie peered down the shaft of his arm -- sure enough, his gold ID bracelet was stuck on a spark plug. "Could you pass me a rag?" he askef.

She looked at him -- one arm stuck, the other reaching for her. Tapered waist, sculpted Art Deco mouth, black dangle of hair. He had baby seal eyes of his own.

Before she even knew what she had chosen, she had snatched a bungee cord from the wall and looped it around his free wrist. She was quick as a spark -- had to be in this business -- and had him tethered to the wiper blade in an instant.

He looked at her, unafraid -- maybe a little irritated. "That's real funny, ma'am..."

"SILENCE," Marie shouted, in her deepest, most piss-inducing voice. Green Eyes loved this voice -- it really gave him the shakes. Joe just looked sorta confused, like she'd offered him a bagel. "I will teach you DISCIPLINE."

He didn't know what to say next. Good.

She opened her coat and let it drop to the floor. She was in Green Eyes' favorite $125-additional costume -- white knee-high boots, black rubber garters, and a black and red corset tied so tightly that her body made an impressive X in the middle.

Four years of progressive work to get a waist like that, and Joe had one on nothing but Pabst and Camaros. He would be punished for that.

It was the corset that seemed to impress him. His eyes landed on that black and red X and he got the first shimmy in his knees -- not a big one, but enough to notice. He strained half-heartedly at the bungee cord.

Marie approached him and landed a pointed white toe on one of his feet. He winced.

"What is your name?" she asked.

"Joe?" he said.

She lunged forward and felt the bones of his foot grind against each other. To his credit, he didn't make a sound.

"Your name is MY BITCH!" she shouted, right in his ear. She pressed against him, her small, soft breasts warm on his shoulder. He smelled good.

"What is your name?" she asked again.

"Your bitch," he said, a little shaky. Good.

"LOUDER!"

"YOUR BITCH!"

"And what is my name?" she asked.

Joe said nothing. Fast learner.

Marie pulled out the back of his shirttail and raced her fingers up his spine. "I am your mistress," she said. "What is my name?"

"My mistress," he said, not daring to look at her. A pretty pink bloom rose in his cheeks.

"That's right." White boot still on his foot, she reached over her knee to seize him by the crotch. "AND WHO DOES THIS BELONG TO?" she yelled.

"MY MISTRESS!"

"Good," she said, circling behind him. She hitched up his shirt and pressed her breasts against his naked back, and she felt that nice knee shimmy again. He was weaving with every heartbeat, and with every heartbeat his sex hardened in her hand.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Your bitch," he said, so softly it was almost a whisper.

Marie bent her knees into the backs of his and drove him to the floor. Then she bit him hard on the back of the neck.

This earned Joe's first groan. And that groan earned Marie's first twinge of interest between her legs. Then she noticed the smooth muscle lining his spine -- muscle that met her breasts like a spoon creaming butter.

"Get up," she commanded, and he obeyed. She reached around his narrow waist to unfasten his belt. That old familiar jingle of a belt coming undone -- she never got tired of that. Her body echoed it with a jingle in her sex, and when she worked it off of him, she could feel her lips slip against each other.

She pulled the belt free, snapping at his hips, and threw it aside with a flourish.

Still from behind, she unbuttoned his fly, eagerly, her fingers fumbling with her enthusiasm. She had felt it through his jeans, she sensed it would be stunning -- and it flopped free like a sausage as she yanked his jeans and boxer shorts down around his ankles, ringing against the Camaro grill with a resounding *thunggg*.

She let him linger there a moment, naked, embarrassed, his beautiful bare ass gone gooseflesh with the chill and his thick dick swinging free. His ass blushed as prettily as his face.

She took his belt from the floor and looped it.

"Discipline is the key to pleasure," she said. She reared back and gave him a terrific WHACK. The graceful muscle of his back and thighs seized under it.

"DISCIPLINE IS THE KEY TO PLEASURE," she yelled, and gave him another WHACK. Lovely pink stripes lifted on his skin. Dark fur descended from the cleft of his ass to his dark, dangling balls, and she watched the whole operation shudder with every strike.

"DISCIPLINE IS THE KEY TO PLEASURE." WHACK. Joe recoiled and his dick bounced appreciatively. A pearly gleam appeared at its tip, and Marie felt her own pearl open and warm.

She dropped the belt and returned to her position behind him. She opened her palm in front of his face, and he flinched a little, as if she might strike.

"Wet it," said Marie. Joe hesitated.

"WET IT," she commanded, and slapped his thigh with her other hand.

Joe extended his tongue, uncertain, and gave her palm a firm dry lick from wrist to fingers. Marie smiled -- a dry mouth is always flattering -- but slapped him again.

"WET IT."

He took a moment to work up some moisture, and then obeyed with a warm, slimy lick.

From behind, Marie clasped his balls with her dry hand and pulled them down. With her wet hand, she gave his cock a long, smooth stroke from head to base. It was hot as a serpent, and it thrilled at her touch.

Joe shivered in earnest, and another pearl appeared at the end of it. Marie's sex was fairly singing with hunger, and now there was a warm ache as well.

She stroked him again. And again. Always head to base, never back up -- and slowly. It was driving him insane. His back was a furnace on her naked thighs, and his cock turned a tortured kind of purple.

"Discipline is the key to pleasure," she whispered. His legs were shaking. He let out a stifled groan. She saw his black hair cling in locks to his temples.

"Discipline..." she said, though she was running out herself. She changed tack.

"Fuck my hand," said Marie.

"What?" he asked.

"FUCK MY HAND."

Joe obeyed immediately, lunging his thick purple cock through the circle of her fingers. She trembled at the sight of it. He drove like a horse, strong, obedient, masterful.

She wanted to be that hand -- the pink ring inside her burned like a coal.

"Fuck my hand, bitch," she said, her voice almost a rasp.

Sweat dewed his forehead. Marie released his balls and worked her own sex instead. Even lefthanded she was an expert, and she was as swollen and hungry as he was in short order.

"I'm coming... I'm gonna come," he said, out of instinct, out of politeness to his string of silky farmgirls. No farmgirl here.

"DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE!" Marie screamed. She pulled the hood of the Camaro down on his arms, not hard enough to break, but hard enough to get a nice sharp breath out of him.

Quick as a fox, she laced herself in front of him, between his arms, and perched on the hood, all ninety pounds of her helping drive it down onto his arms.

"Jesus..." he breathed.

"BE SILENT!" she cried. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled aside the silky black fabric of her panties, exposing her small, furry sex, all but open to him, all but flaming red already. She produced a condom out of the front of her bodice.

Joe stammered. "Ma'am, I don't know..."

Marie clasped his balls in her free hand and squeezed. He didn't finish his sentence.

She rolled the rubber down his length -- so long that there was hardly any rim to spare -- and opened herself up to him.

Joe didn't know what to do. His arms were trapped, his eyes were wet, and his cheeks were red as wine, but his cock drummed a solo on the inside of Marie's thigh.

She pulled him forward, and just the tip pushed into her. Such a stretch, a good big stretch -- Marie groaned despite herself.

She pulled him further, and he coursed inside her, sturdy and thick -- almost too thick.

Marie arched her back, trying to compose herself. But he was rocking in and out of her, almost too much to handle. Her hand flew to her sex, trying to keep up.

There was no rush. Every stroke brought him closer to climax, but the pain in his arms pushed him back again. She held him there for what seemed like an hour, on an infinite plateau, on the very brink of orgasm but no further.

She felt her own climax build inside her, ready, hungry, angry, like a bull ready to burst from the pen. She lay back, stroking feverishly with two fingers as Joe thrust with relentless precision. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto the inside of her thighs.

All at once Marie howled as she came, the orgasm ripping through her like heat lightning, her thigh muscles slapping against Joe, the pleasure splashing out of her like an overturned bucket.

No sooner was she done than she sprang forward and wrapped around his body, letting the hood spring off of his arms. As soon as Joe was released from the pain, the climax that overcame him was the greatest he had ever known.

He thrust in stutter-steps, every muscle out of his control, driving into her like an exorcism. He exploded inside her, spurting like an artery, slamming like a screen door.

He broke free of both the bracelet and the bungee cord easily. The two collapsed slowly to the floor.

Marie rested against him, soaked and breathless. He wrapped an arm around her and kissed her on the forehead.

"Ma'am?" he asked.

"Yes?"

"Wherever you're going, I'll goddamn drive you there myself."