Seventy miles beyond Phoenix the rental car just died. No warning, no coughing, hiccup, hesitation or grinding -- one minute 65 MPH, window down, wind streaming through her hair, something pounding and brassy on the radio and the next ... just the sound of tires on asphalt, slowly winding down to a dead crawl.
Luckily, out in the middle of nowhere, there was something: rust-pocked, grease-smeared, dirt-encrusted, GARAGE was nevertheless a blessed sight. Luckily, the rental had just enough momentum to carry Lisa off the endless stretch of highway and up to one of the antique pumps.
“Hello?” she said, slamming the door in frustration. “Anyone here?”
The only thing that responded was the sad squeaking of a Propane sign.
“Great,” she said, leaning back against the warm metal of the car. “Just great.”
The funny part was that the day had started out well enough -- her flight into Phoenix hadn’t been delayed, her luggage hadn’t gone on a whirlwind tour of Europe, and the deal waiting for her in Taos had looked mighty tasty.
That, and the drive had been pleasant -- the highway narrowing towards the vanishing point, dry desert air, a vast blue sky had been almost ... well, she felt more like a spry 21 than a respectable 30. Life had been looking sweet, profitable and -- yeah -- even fun.
Then the car had died; then she was stuck in the middle of a hot, dry nowhere; then realized that she was completely, utterly alone.
“Hey there -- having a little engine trouble?”
She was more startling to discover that after spending so much time trying to outthink her business competition -- she could still be shocked: but the feeling was right there, fresh and electric. Spinning around, she tried to gulp back the frightened little squeal that had started in her belly.
But then, seeing him, she let it out anyway. “Um, er -- yeah. It just conked out on me.”
He was someone she totally didn’t expect to run across in a dusty little corner of nowhere: tall, with broad shoulders that showed a great deal of poise and strength; a handsome, slightly tanned and windblown face; gray eyes dancing with a kind of deep, internal laughter. He walked out of the garage office, wiping his powerful-looking hands with a bright red rag. Dressed simply, in jeans and blue denim shirt, he looked much more alive than the tired, almost-dead, garage.
Against her will, Lisa felt her body respond -- feeling her nipples harden in her non-nonsense bra, and even her pussy give a sympathetic little twinge. Almost instantly, she tried to get her mind off him -- the randy college kid she used to be might have come onto him, might have tried to think of someplace private where they could get more ... comfortable, but this wasn’t her -- this was the more respectable, more cool and collected Lisa.
Still, he was damned hot.
“Could be anything I guess,” he said, walking towards her, smiling broadly. “Weather like this can totally screw up an engine.”
“It just cut out on me. Luckily I was able to coast in here.”
Closer, she was surprised even more by his face -- tanned, with a sexy play of laugh lines -- and by how much her body continued to responded to him being so close.
“I could take a look at it, but frankly these new cars with all their microchips ...” he shrugged, a gesture Lisa would normally have found irritating for its vagueness, but in him it was even more sexy.
“I’d really appreciate it. I have a meeting to get to --” it was actually three days away, but he being so close was driving her nuts.
He smiled again. “Roger --” he said, extending his hand. “If I’m going be prowling around under your hood we should at least be formally introduced.”
Warm, dry -- his hand in hers sent an electric shiver up Lisa’s spine. Despite herself, she started to think about how his lips might feel. “Like I said, it’s very important. I’ll do whatever it takes --” the instant she said it, she bit her lips, shocked at her bravado.
He never stopped smiling. “From a beautiful woman like you that’s quite an offer. How could I refuse?”
In a blur, his sleeves were rolled, and he had his head under her hood. Standing in the shade by the pumps, Lisa watched him -- almost too intently -- work. The jeans and his denim shirt showed a very strong back and -- very intently, she watched -- very tight ass. It was all Lisa could do to not just walk up and put her hands on him.
“I think it’s something with your electrical system,” he said, getting out from under the rental car’s hood and turning to face her. “I could try jumping it from another car, but I really think you need an expert.”
“Damn. Like I said, I really have to get going.”
“Like I said, I can give it a shot. Shouldn’t take that long to get hooked up I guess.”
“Thanks -- this means a lot to me. Just let me know what you need to get the job done. Like I said, I do need to get going.”
Roger looked at her, and she felt his sight like a warm hand flowing over her body. Normally she would have been shocked, maybe even insulted but there -- in the hot afternoon sun, miles from anywhere -- her body started to hotly react: she liked it.
“Well, you could start --” he said, leaning close, voice in a husky, playful whisper “-- by showing me what color panties you’re wearing.”
Again, she should have blushed, should have straightened up, and just walked away. Even in her wild college days she would have been shocked ... but, heat, miles and miles of empty road, a handsome man ... she blinked, blinked again, and then smiled.
Leaning back against the warm fender of her car, she took hold of the hem of her skirt and slowly -- very slowly -- raised it, giving him an inch by inch view of her long, shapely legs, the tops of her stockings (she hated pantyhose) and then the trimmed triangle of her pussy. “I never wear them,” she said in a husky whisper, grateful for removing her black thong before the drive. “I don’t like to feel confined.”
His eyes danced from her bush to meet her stare. “Great minds think alike,” he said, brushing a hand down the front of his jeans -- where Lisa noticed a spectacularly long bulge showed.
She was about to say something -- anything to give her an excuse to get down on her knees, unzip his confining fly and take out that huge cock -- when he crouched down next to one of the old pumps. “You know, you have a very pretty bush -- but I can’t see all that much of you,” he said, “Come here.”
Legs quaking, Lisa eased herself off the fender and slowly walked towards him, keeping one hand on the hem of her skirt, so his view wouldn’t be unobscured. Standing right in front of him, so close that she could almost feel his breath on her thighs, she said, “Is this better?”
“Much,” he said, staring up at her. One of his hands reached up under her skirt and cupped one ass cheek. The contact was electric, high-voltage -- it felt almost like a fragment of a come, it was so powerful. Without looking, Lisa knew that she was more than wet: she could feel herself start to flow.
With one of his powerful hands gripping her ass tightly, he pulled her inexorably forward. The touch of his lips was ecstatic -- even though that’s all it was: just a touch. In an instant, Lisa was aware of every sensation: the impression of his hand as he squeezed her cheeks; his hot breath on her public hair, on her so-wet lips; the dry desert air blowing around them, her way her feet skidded apart on the gritty asphalt.
Then he really started: first a few tenative licks, as if getting to know her wet territory -- tongue gently parting her lips, and then giving her long, strong strokes that sent shivers up and down her spine -- and then in earnest. He did more than just lick her; it felt like Roger was devouring her cunt.
Legs quaking, Lisa felt herself press down onto his face, a wild chorus of moans escaping from her pursed lips. Before she was even aware of it, she started to come. It was shocking, unreal: like a powerful jolt of body electricity, it rocketed up from Roger’s tongue on her throbbing clit, up her spine, past her aching nipples, and out her now-open mouth in a guttural cry.
Instantly, her balance left her and she stumbled back, ass smacking against her car’s fender. Panting heavily, she blinked -- and blinked again -- until she was finally able to focus. “My God,” she finally managed to say.
And what a sight greeted her clearing eyesight: Roger standing just a few feet away, smiling broad and happy, big cock in his tanned hand. For a moment -- her orgasm still quivering through her -- all Lisa could do was stare: he wasn’t huge, he wasn’t tremendous, he wasn’t even BIG, but Roger did have one of the most damned handsome cocks she’d ever seen.
Seven, maybe eight inches, with a glorious bulbous head that instantly started Lisa hungering for its taste, for it to fill her hungry mouth. Just before she was ready to straighten herself slightly, wobble over, kneel down and swallow him whole, he said, “Of course there might be an extra charge for parts --”
Despite her raging horniness, Lisa coughed out a short, hysterical laugh. “Well, I said I’d do anything --”
The ground didn’t look too inviting -- grease-spotted and covered with a sprinkling of God-knew what, so Lisa walked over and took hold of Roger’s cock and gently led him over to her car. “Get up there,” she said, patting the trunk.
In her hand, Roger’s cock had been incredible -- silken skin covering rock-hard muscle, a sweet drop of pre-cum glimmering at the tip -- but in her mouth it was magical. Leaning down, she first kissed the tip, relishing in the salty, sweet flavor of that pre-cum, then licked all around -- smiling at the chorus of delighted groans and moans Roger made -- before opening her mouth and slowly easing him inside.
For a long time it was just Lisa and his cock -- she felt she had gone ... somewhere else, somewhere where only her tongue, lips, the roof of her mouth and even (carefully) her teeth, and Roger’s magnificent cock were all that existed. She sucked, and licked, and stroked, and swallowed him, delighted in his cock’s texture, flavor, smell -- totally lost in her sucking.
She could tell he was ready to come, could feel it in the way his cock jumped and quivered as she stroked and sucked at him -- in her mind, she was ready for his come, ready for the flood of salty delight she knew was just around the bend, so was a little (just a little) shocked when he said. “I want to feel you.”
The words were odd, but she instantly caught his meaning -- and wasn’t disappointed at all that he wasn’t going to shoot in her mouth.
Getting off the hood, he passed her, stopping to give her a wonderful, passionate kiss, and then gently moved her till she was bent over the car.
Distantly, she felt her skirt raise, felt his gentle, slick cock probe between her cheeks, glancing by her cunt lips, then ... then he was inside her.
Slowly, at first, he fucked her -- and Lisa was grateful for his steady rhythm: she could feel him glide in and out, sliding back and forth between her ass cheeks. It was special, magical: a sedate oscillation when her body screaming for a pounding fuck. Sometimes, Lisa realized, the last thing you think you’d like is just right.
Hours, days, weeks ... time vanished in the pumping action of his cock in her cunt. Eyes squeezed shut, Lisa half-expected to open them to a dark desert sky, or a breaking dawn.
Then it changed -- and he was really fucking her, pounding her, slamming his heavy thighs onto her ass, banging his balls against her pussy lips -- and his cock into the depths of the cunt.
When he came, his come was like a blast of hot sunlight through her body -- a rush of deep body joy that knocked her legs out from under her, dropping her solidly onto the trunk of the rental.
Distantly, she was aware that Roger had collapsed next to her, his body a greater heat than even the sun.
She must have slept, dozed off, because the next thing she remembered was waking to the sound of an engine.
Someone, somewhere must have gotten dressed faster -- but Lisa was damned sure that they must have come a close second. In a furious comedic scurry of zippers, belts, tucks, and straightens, they tried to jump back into respectability.
Softly giggling as she straightened her seams, Lisa exchanged wicked smiles with Roger -- and trying to keep from laughing as he tried to fold his half-hard cock back into his jeans. It was only after she’d adjusted her seams and tried to make her hair not broadcast a ‘just-fucked’ look, that she looked towards the sound of that engine.
An ancient tow truck, all dents and rust had pulled up in front of the garage. Getting out of the cab was an old man, as wrinkled and gray as his truck was pitted and corroded. Seeing Roger, the old man smiled, saying, “Hey there, Mr. Bainbridge. Sorry it took so long, but it took me a while to find that alternator --”
Lisa stood next to Roger, her mouth -- she knew -- hanging open.
The mechanic smiled a gap-toothed grin and nodded towards Lisa and the rental. “Hey there, lady; got a problem with your car?”
Roger smiled, putting a hand around her waist. “Take care of it, will you? Just put it on my tab”
Slowly, Lisa smiled and put her own hand around Roger. “I’m certainly good for it,” she said, smiling.
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