The Mechanic's Mistress

The Mechanic's Mistress

A lonely housewife is an insatiable creature, so much so that she may go to extreme measures to... settle her unholy desires. Especially when said housewife's husband is away at the office all day.

“Excuse me,” Mrs. Carter said to the young woman behind the counter as she sauntered into the auto shop. Her black high heels clicked on the grease stained tiled floor. “I'm here to see Mr. Thompson. I have an appointment.” Mrs. Carter had never seen this woman here before- she must be new.

Mrs. Carter was an alluring older woman. At the age 45 her hair still shown an auburn shade of red and her green eyes sparkled with the light of a woman half her age. Her body was well rounded, soft in all the right places, but also tight and well taken care of. Her husband was a fool for taking what he had for granted... but was she truly his?

“Yes, of course.” The young woman said, digging around a stack of papers on the desk. She picked one up and squinted at it. “Mrs. Jane Carter?” She asked, looking back up at the older woman in front of her.

Mrs. Carter pursed her lips. “Yes.”

“Have you already pulled your car into the garage?”

Mrs. Carter smirked at that. “That won't be necessary.” She's definitely new.

She looked confused at that, obviously not comprehending. She held up her finger in a just a moment sort of way and then picked up the phone on her desk. She dialed in a quick number and Mrs. Carter rolled her eyes. “Mr. Thompson, I have a Mrs. Carter here to see you. Would you like me to send her back?” She nodded and hung up the phone. “Mr. Thompson is his office. Would you like me to show you the way?”

Mrs. Carter raised her eyebrows. “No, thank you. I think I can manage.”

Mr. Thompson “office” was actually just down a short hall adjoined to the front area, the first door off the right. “Office” isn't the word Mrs. Carter would use to describe the little room. It didn't even have a desk! No, it was more of a lounge with two ratty old love seats and a beat up TV. Posters of half naked women plagued the walls and there was more than one mysterious stain on the floor.

When Mrs. Carter entered, Jake (Mr. Thompson) was eating a meat pizza and watching an episode of South Park. She could smell the garlic breath from the doorway.

He was disgusting. He was so hot.

Jake Thompson was the local mechanic. He had his own shop and business running at the ripe age of 26. He got most of his business because of his looks. No housewife could resist a sexy, well muscled grease monkey and he knew it. He was smart. He knew what he had and he worked it well. A cocky motherfucker.

“You ever thought of cleaning this place up?” Mrs. Carter asked from the doorway. She crossed her arms against her chest and kicked at a dirty, grease rag on the floor. “It smells like a teenage boy rubbed one out all over the walls.”

“I did.” Jake said, standing up from his spot on the couch and rubbing his hands together to get rid of the excess garlic butter.

She wouldn't be surprised if he was telling the truth. “You disgust me.”

“Then why do you keep coming back for more?” He was in front of her now, his muscled chest against hers. His gray eyes stared down into her green ones. How could someone that was so dirty be so fucking hot? Mrs. Carter didn't know and, for now at least, she didn't care.

She hadn't came since their last... appointment. And that had been almost two weeks ago. She probably needed this more than he did.

“I want you to bend me over that grimy couch of yours and fuck me into next week.” His breath was hot on her face and it was driving her insane. She reached up to kiss him, but suddenly his right hand was in her hair, pulling her face upward before her lips could connect with his.