tagLoving WivesThe Mechanic's Big Tool

The Mechanic's Big Tool


This is the first story I've ever posted in the Loving Wife category.

I'm eager to hear the comments of what is reputed to be Literoticas most interesting group.

Please, don't hesitate letting me know what you think of my tale. It's the feedback that makes writing stories fun.

Dallas, Texas 2005

"Will ya look at that?" I heard Uncle Mario hiss as I lay on the gurney under the Ferrari.

"What?" I grumbled, greasy and sweaty from a mornings work on the toys of the rich and famous.

"You gotta see this broad boss," he said as he knelt down and winked at me under the car.

I couldn't imagine any broad getting Mario this excited; when you work in the best Ferrari garage in the Southwest you see a lot of prime cunt. These old farts that can afford a half mill for a car (but are shit scared to even get them out of third), always trailed cunt. Hollywood cunt...major league stuff...

As I rolled out I saw the legs, fuck, legs that started in Houston and ended in Oklahoma. Snakeskin boots with pointed toes led upwards to long, golden thighs, thighs open to all our inspections given the cut of the silk summer miniskirt she wore.

Every one of the eleven men in the shop had a hard-on. If there'd been a queer among us he'd have had a fucking boner...Full, lush hips, and then, no waist to speak of. I knew my hands could easily encircle her flat, tiny stomach...and then upward to her high, firm breasts so casually displayed in the tight cut-off tank top she wore...big, sexy auburn colored Texas hair...

"Mr. Giuseppe Catelli?" she asked to the air.

We all watched silently. No one was going to make this easy, shorten our break...not even me, and I owned the joint.

She turned around slowly, looked at each of us as we drank her in...I knew suddenly she was enjoying this as much as we were. Her eyes passed me, then returned; I saw her glance at my greasy face, my dirty hands, saw her lick her lips as her eyes lingered on my large biceps, then moved to my hairy chest all too evident under the torn tank top I wore, saw her eyes linger at the bulge of my groin before returning to my face.

"Mr. Catelli?"

I don't know how she picked me out from the others; how she knew instinctively I was the boss.

"He's dead." I said after hesitating for seconds, saw confusion on her face as my eyes raked her tits, her flat midriff so casually bared, then added, "I'm his grandson, call me Johnny."

She moved towards me, fuck, it was more like magic, she seemed to float, suddenly she was right in my face, her hand outstretched. "Mrs. Charles Ryan Taylor," she announced as she reached for me, then added, "Veronica."

"I'm greasy, oily Mrs. Taylor," I said holding my hand away from her.

"You're a mechanic," she said impatiently, as though what else would I be, as she finally captured my hand.

"How can I help you ma'am?" I asked, knowing she was the wife of one of America's richest men, feeling her soft palm engulfed in my meaty, strong fingers.

"We need a service garage for our Ferraris," she answered, and I knew from how she'd emphasized the plural that we were talking more than two.

"Didn't know you and your husband had moved to Dallas ma'am," I said as I led her to the small office in the corner.

"We just arrived; I finally talked Charley into buying a house here. We've still got other places of course...but I plan on spending a lot of time here...both of us do."

All along she'd been talking like some upper class, twit Easterner, her posh accent announcing private schools and Vassar. But in her last sentence I'd heard something else, a little Texas twang. "You from West Texas ma'am?"

"Lubbock," she answered with a broad smile, happy I think that I'd detected her roots.

I couldn't help wondering what her story was. A girl from West Texas who had somehow lassoed Mr. Big. She was almost too young to be a trophy wife.

"I'm twenty-four," she said looking me right in the eye, answering my unasked question.

"We're pretty busy now Mrs. Taylor," I began, using the lessons gramps had taught me years ago. 'Don't kowtow to these pricks Johnny,' he'd ordered one day, 'show these rich bastards any sign of weakness and they'll be all over ya. We represent Ferrari! Italy! We're the best. Make em beg for it! Pay for it!'

He'd been right! No one in America could take care of Italian sports cars better than us.

I'd never fucked a client's wife before though.

"We were told you were the best Mr. Catelli," she said ignoring my statement, "and of course Mr. Taylor only wants the best."

"We're pretty short of mechanics right now...pretty much stretched to the limit ma'am," I countered.

"Are you married Mr. Catelli?"

What the fuck? "Six years now ma'am...two daughters," I answered proudly. If this broad wanted to beat around the bush I could play that game too. "You and Mr. Taylor have any ma'am?"

"Not yet Mr. Catelli, although Charley does have a daughter from a previous marriage."

"That must be nice. Does she live with you and Mr. Taylor ma'am?"

"When the little bitch...I mean, when the sweet girl isn't at school," she answered with a grimace.

"Your step-daughter isn't your favorite person ma'am?"

"She's a seventeen year old spoiled, private school brat Mr. Catelli. Close to anorexic. Who hates her step-mother. Have you ever met someone like that?" she asked in a now flat, hard uncompromising West Texas voice.

"Like the daughters of every one of my customers Mrs. Taylor."

"And do you give any of your customers advice on how to handle their wayward daughters?"

"Wife or daughter ma'am, my advice is simple, 'put then over your knee and give em a good tanning'."

"You sound like my poppa Mr. Catelli," she laughed. "Maybe some day I'll call you up and you can give little Melody a tanning," but then added, "Wives too Mr. Catelli?"

"If they need it ma'am," I answered grinning.

"My names Ronnie, Christ; I don't think I can take any more of that ma'am or Mrs. Taylor crap."

"So ma'am, Ronnie, do you want to discuss your needs?"

"I'm not sure a first meeting is the most appropriate time to discuss my needs Mr. Catelli," she said before running her tongue seductively across her upper lip.

Jesus! "I didn't mean..."

"I was kidding Mr. Catelli...but actually I didn't come here today to hire you."

"You didn't?" I asked perplexed.

"I just came to make sure you ran a good garage and knew what you were doing. I didn't want Charley putting his cars in the hands of some joker. You pass."

"I do? Just like that?" I said, thinking what's this broad know about garages.

"Daddy worked thirty years as a mechanic Mr. Catelli. Oh, not on fancy cars like these, but he earned his wages...and he taught me what a real mechanic looks like. You'll do."

"Thanks," I mumbled as she turned and started to leave.

"I'll send Charlie in to see you, work out the details," she called back over her shoulder, almost as though the fifth richest man in America was her driver. As she strolled nonchalantly out the garage door, her hips were screaming at me 'come fuck me'.


"Mr. Taylor," I said, recognizing him easily from the hundreds of interviews he'd given over the years.

"Charley," he corrected, a broad smile on his lips as he held out his hand. "Good to finally meet you Mr. Catelli. Ronnie said you were the man for me."

I could see immediately why he was not only powerful and rich but also popular. He had a charisma that allowed even me to understand how a man of his age might attract a woman as perfect as his young wife. He was tall and slim, silver haired and had a friendly, open face.

"Johnny," I answered smiling as I shook his hand.

"Let's go for a drive," he suggested as he tossed me a set of keys.

The car shone like a beacon in the early Texas evening. Of course it was a Ferrari 250 GTO coupe, one of the only thirty-nine ever made. Worth a cool ten million. Even I didn't get a lot of chances to drive one of these cocksuckers.

Fuck him, I thought as we pulled away. Let's see how Mr. Dot-Com billionaire does when we get his fancy toy really rolling.

He almost pissed his pants! Actually he did a little better under pressure than most of the oilmen and ranchers who I usually dealt with. But still, I saw the fear in his eyes when we hit 160 on the winding tree lined Preston Trail Road; decided at that exact moment that I'd fuck his wife.

I'll let him watch, I thought as I geared down and brought the ten million dollar car to a screeching stop an inch from my steel garage doors, heard his gasp.

Twenty minutes later we shook hands on a yearly maintenance contract, a contract that called for a monthly retainer twice what I charged anyone else.

"That seems expensive," he'd complained.

"You're my richest client, I've got to charge you the most, it's only fair."

"I guess," he'd agreed wryly.


Two days later, Mario and I drove over to the estate, wanting to check out all four cars (they also had a Lamborghini I'd agreed to take care of) and prepare a maintenance schedule.

She met us barefoot, clad just in the tightest fucking blue jeans you ever saw and a light blue, spaghetti strapped, silk tank top, under which her braless tits danced proudly with every step she took, her nipples threatening to poke through at any second.

It wouldn't have taken much for Mario and I to have just thrown her on the ground and screwed the shit out of her right there and then. But fuck it, we were here for business! She walked us through a garage bigger than most people's house, a garage so clean you could eat off the floor.

I left Mario to check out the setup and followed the lady of the house into the manor.

"A drink Mr. Catelli?" she asked as the hottest little Latina maid hovered at her shoulder. "This is Maria," she said nodding to the girl, "she'll be able to help you if Charley and I aren't here. She and her mom run the place."

Turning to the girl she rapidly instructed her in fluent Spanish that I was "Senor Catelli" and that anything I wanted or needed in the future was to be provided.

As we watched the sweet young girl scurry away, her hips swaying to some tune only she could hear, Ronnie put a hand on my shoulder and laughing said, "Your tongues hanging out Mr. Catelli."

"I'm a happily married man Mrs. Taylor."

"Are you?"


"You gonna fuck her Johnny?" Mario asked as we drove back to the shop.

"I'm married to your fucking niece, paisano! I don't fool around any more," I said, slapping the top of his head lightly.

"If I was thirty years younger I woulda had that bitch barking under me Johnny, married or not, business or not...". He boasted as he cupped his groin in his hand.

"She does have a nice chassis my friend," I laughed.

"That's why they make fucking Ferraris Johnny, for high titted, rich cunts like her."

You got that right Mario, I thought as we pulled into the garage.


I looked up from my paperwork when I heard the small outside door open at seven thirty three nights later.

"We're closed," I yelled just before I saw her come into view.

"I was passing, saw your light..."

"Mrs. Taylor?"

"I told you I prefer Ronnie," she started but then her eyes opened wide in shock when, with one hand, I swept everything on my desk flying across the room. "What?" she asked as I walked towards her.

I lifted her easily and dropped her pretty little butt on the edge of the desk. Ripped the buttons from her silk blouse as I bared her tits, high; proud, pink capped melons that just begged a hungry mouth.

"Please, no...oh God, I didn't," she whimpered as my left hand found and cupped a firm breast.

I was trying to swallow her tongue as my hand reached under her skirt and ripped her purple lace panties from her body.

"Oh God Johnny, I don't want to," she moaned as I pushed two fingers inside her slippery sheathe.


"Unnhh...Oh Jesus...hurry Johnny please," she cried, eager now as I undid my belt and lowered my zipper, freeing my rock hard snake.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," she groaned when she saw my big tool. "Gently Johnny," she pled as I pushed her knees apart and stepped between them.

"You don't want gentle baby," I growled as I grabbed her ass.

"Ohhhhh fuck!" Ronnie screamed when I buried nine plus fat inches in her in one hard thrust.

She was tight everywhere, squeezing my cock like a fucking vise. I pulled back hard, rammed back in deep, felt my cockhead hit bottom, hard in again ...again...again...again.

My big hands had lifted her ass of the desk, pulled her hips to me each time I thrust...felt her legs lock behind my back, felt her slippery pink insides adjust to my thickness.

"Pleassse...pleassse Johnny," she moaned as the first trembling spasm of her orgasm spread outward minutes later.

I bucked inside her, flooding her womb with strand after strand of hot cum.

Still hard, I started again without pulling out. Slower this time. Minute after minute I fucked her, sucking her tits as my fingers manipulated her clit.

Put a finger up her ass as we both got near. She was crying as orgasm after orgasm rocked her. I left it in, plugging her, after I'd shot my load again, wanting my sperm to stay inside her, wanting a Catelli baby in her womb.


"It's so big," she groaned minutes later, her fingers tightly clasped around my still hard horn.

"Suck it baby," I ordered, pushing her head down my body.

"It's too big!"

"Suck it," I insisted again, a hand on each side of her head, my fingers locked in her auburn tresses.

She looked up at me, and as she opened her mouth and then stretched her tongue towards my sticky cockhead, I saw an incredible hunger for my cock in her eyes. I pushed in...felt her tongues moisture...thrust deep...heard her gag as I bobbed her head on my long shaft...


Later, I turned her over, fucked her hard from behind as I pushed her firm tits into the hard, cold steel desk. Loved the feel of her juicy cunt as it clenched spasmodically around my spurting hardness...

Decided I'd save her ass for another day.


"You're an animal, a wild fucking beast," she complained as she lay spread naked on her back, a satisfied smile on her lips as my cum seeped down between her thighs and onto the hard desk.

"I never thought I'd get me one," I answered grinning.

"One what?"

"One of them wild, ferocious, cock devouring, West Texas pussies I've been hearing about all my life," I said as I ran my hand possessively up her thigh and then grabbed her mound.

"You coulda killed me, split me in two, I'm sore," she whined even as she licked her lip suggestively.

"C'mon here," I demanded as I grabbed her head and pulled it to my groin. "Clean me up, I gotta get home."

"Pig," she said between licks.


"I'm not coming here ever again," she promised between licks.


We were both smiling when she finally got up and walked gingerly out of the garage, naked and bruised.


I continued to get visits from Charley; every ten days or so he'd show up and talk cars for a while. One day I'd see him on TV talking to the President at the White House, the next night he'd wander into the garage in jeans, wanting to have a beer in some out of the way bar after we'd done a hard run in one of his cars.

And then, a couple of days a week I'd fuck his wife. Make her squeal. Made her my cock slave. She absolutely loved it. So did I. Her cunt drove me wild. Who was the slave of whom?

"He likes going out with you," Ronnie told me one afternoon with a thick strand of my jism hanging from the corner of her mouth. This was just after spending a quarter hour trying to stuff my prick down her throat.

"I think you're the only guy he ever meets who doesn't try to kiss his ass."

"No, I fuck his wife's ass," I answered.

"He thinks you're a real 'man's' man. Told me the other night he had more fun driving around with you than he's had in years. He told me all about you two ogling girls and getting lap dances in that titty bar."

"He talks too much. So do you."

"So fuck me then," she begged.


Slowly I learned all their secrets. "Charley really likes you," she said another afternoon as we lay panting after two hours of hard sex.

"He might not," I said, "if you told him whose cock has been stretching your sweet little pussy."

"Oh, I not so sure of that."


"He might like the thought of some wild, big cocked guy fucking his wife. He has some strange ideas. About sex, I mean."

"Like what?"

Charles had some sexual issues it seemed.

"He's insecure...but he wants to try different things."


"He's almost sixty now. He feels like he missed out on the sexual revolution...that he didn't get his share."

"Fuck him. He's worth billions. Like I'm going to worry about poor little rich boy who's got Miss West Texas to ball every night."

"I don't think he was happy as a boy or when he was a teenager"

"How come?"

"From what he's said, I don't think he had much normal sex until he was around twenty-five. He may have been a virgin when he married his first wife. I think he likes to watch. There was something weird about his mom and him."

"A little momma's boy?" I said with a question in my tone.

"I think maybe he was."

"What's that mean?"

"Ask him. You're his best buddy now."

"C'mon here bitch," I ordered, "We've done enough talking."


Ten days later, as we watched two strippers doing a lesbo scene at a local club, Charley told me he wouldn't be around for awhile, that he had to go to China for a week.

"There's an opening for us," he explained, "The President has been putting some pressure on them. Wants them to up their U.S. purchases. I'm going on a junket with a couple of Senators, the V.P. and some other CEO's."

"Sounds like fun. See if anyone needs a Ferrari mechanic over there," I kidded.

"I don't really want to go," he said, but I could see he was pleased as punch the President had asked him.

"Watch out though Charley, those chink girls got the tightest cunts in the world, being slanted and all. You fuck one of them and you may never get her off. You may have to bring her home with you in your fucking attaché case."

"I've never slept with one," he said musingly. "Have you Johnny?"

"Best in the world Chuck, best in the world. Fuck, why do you think there's so many of them," I said as I slapped his back.

"Make sure you keep my property in good running order while I'm gone," he ordered.

"Don't you worry about that boss," I promised, "I'll have her purring every day."

"The 250 GTO?"

"That too."


Two days later I drove over to Ronnie's at noon and surprised her at lunch.

"Johnny!" she welcomed when Maria escorted me in to her Mistress. "Can I get you something to eat?"

"Umm, maybe some hot pussy," I said licking my lips.

"Johnny," she hissed as she gave a quick glance at Maria. "A cerveza for Senor Catelli please Maria," she instructed.

"Miss me?" I asked as I pulled her into my arms.

"She'll see."

"Fuck her." I didn't care. Ronnie didn't really either and made no great protest when I bent her over the table, and after lifting her dress, tore her silk panties off.

"Oh god," she moaned looking back over her shoulder as I let my pants drop to my ankles, baring my straining sword.

I saw Maria out of the corner of my eye as I positioned my cockhead between Ronnie's widely spread thighs, then heard the girl gasp as I split her employer in one, long hard thrust.

I looked directly at the little Latina as I pumped into Ronnie, saw how her hand slipped to her crotch and rubbed herself with the beer bottle through the maids uniform she wore, knew it wouldn't be long before I took the hot little slut.

"So, how is he?" I asked Ronnie as we lay gasping between her silk sheets upstairs in her bed an hour later.

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