Month: September 2014

Good use of the clutch

Gladys had always been nervous about learning to drive. Like her friends, once she had passed her 17th birthday, she had been desperate to get going. But an early bad experience with a ferocious female teacher (who had told Gladys NOT to wear stilettos to drive) and the unfortunate incident with the award-winning rose garden (confusing directions from the said instructor) had left her anxious. For years she had avoided even considering it, but Mr Grommet came highly recommended by her friends…

He did not disappoint: he was tall, reaching right to the top of his head and as far down as the ground, and he had a mop of curly black hair. Gladys was disconcerted by the mop and was glad when he put it in the boot.
“Call me Nelson” he said “It’s my favourite name – I love it when people call me that”

She settled anxiously into the driver’s seat. “Let’s get that seat belt nice and tight” said Nelson, pulling the strap firmly across her volumpty breasts and curvy tummy. He liked the way it defined her cleavage.

“I’m very nervous” she said. He put a hand gently on her knee and squeezed it comfortingly. “We’ll do this together”
Gladys was puzzled, but put her hand alongside his, and together they squeezed her knee.
She began to feel a surge of warmth stir within her… After a little while it became uncomfortable and she wriggled (fetchingly) in her seat. Nelson noticed this and switched off the heated seat.
“Have you ever done this before?” he asked. “I have” she answered hesitantly. “But it was a bad experience: I ended up with a lot of pricks”
“Well let’s hope I can make it better this time. Women are usually very satisfied after my lessons”
“I don’t think I’ll be any good” said Gladys.
“Let me be the judge of that” he replied, smiling…

He was very good: he explained to her about the proper use of the clutch, getting a smooth change of gear, the possible consequences of leaving your hand resting on the knob whilst driving, when to go for the horn.

They went very slowly for a while, but Gladys’ confidence was swelling.
“I think I’d like to go faster” she said, risking a sideways glance at Nelson, and noticing has his confidence was also swelling
Thrilled by her growing confidence,he encouraged her to press on the throttle with her stiletto, and she did, enjoying the feel of being thrust back into her seat by the power.
“Wow, this is fantastic!” she cried, but at that speed she didn’t dare to wipe her tears away. Nelson, all concern, dabbed gently at her cheek.
“What on earth are you doing?” she demanded. “If you’ve got a hanky, wipe my face”

They were approaching a stretch of dual carriageway: Nelson had no more lessons booked that afternoon. He leant across to Gladys and whispered “There’s no turning back now, you know” She nodded, and took a deep breath which pulled the seat belt even tighter across her chest. Her jubblies appeared to rise up like the headlights on a sports car.

A few moments later Nelson said breathlessly “Pull over!”
“Are you cold?” asked Gladys, scrabbling to find the heater control.
“No, I mean stop the car. Up ahead, in that lay-by”
She pulled into the lay-by, sliding smoothly in, as far as it could go.
“I know I’m just a beginner, but do you think I’ll get it in the end?” asked Gladys, and Nelson assured her that she would.

With a sudden surge of accelerating passion, she turned to him and said “Dab my cheek again will you?”
He did, as he gathered her into his arms. (She had spread all over the place)In fact he dabbed both her cheeks, which were warm from the seat.
“Gladys, darling! Let me instruct you! I’m going to have you doing three pointers, we’ll do some reversing into tight spaces. You’ll be as happy with your rear end as with your front bumper when I’m done, I promise you!”

A spanner in my works

Suds! Suds! Everywhere. Darlene opened the door of her kitchen and was met by a huge mound of bubbles. Pausing only to scoop up a few handfuls and toss them playfully, she waded through and found her pad of Useful Numbers. She had never had to call a plumber before. But this was a crisis. Luckily a Pipes@Home engineer was not too far away. Darlene cleared the mess as best she could and then went upstairs to change out of her wet trousers. She had only just undressed when the doorbell rang. Not wanting to miss the engineer on any account, she grabbed her satin dressing gown and wrapped it around her voluptuous and still slightly damp body.
She descended the stairs two at a time, the dressing gown flapping around her shapely legs. This was the view which greeted the engineer waiting on the doorstep: The front door had a glass panel which now bore the imprint of his nose, pressed against it as he watched her approach.
She fumbled with the lock inside, he fumbled with his overalls outside
The door eventually opened, and a flustered Darlene beckoned the engineer inside
“Such a mess!” she exclaimed, but the engineer disagreed, telling her she looked fine really. Darlene blushed and played with her hair

In the kitchen there were still bubbles spreading in a slow tide across the floor.
“Stop cock! That’s what we need” said the engineer
“Stop cock? That never occurred to me” said Darlene, feeling foolish. Then she suddenly realised he was looking around for somewhere to put his bag
“Do you need somewhere to put your tools?” she asked “it’s not a very big kitchen and that’s a huge toolbag.”
She cleared a space for him and the engineer eased his toolbag onto the table.
“I expect we’ll find the stopcock under the sink” he said helpfully “why don’t you have a look?”

Darlene opened the door of her under-sink cupboard. The floor was still very wet so she bent carefully down, grasping her dressing gown with one hand to stop it falling into the puddles. Sure enough the stop cock was there. She tried to turn it with her free hand, but it was stiff.
“It’s so stiff!” she cried, but the engineer did not at first reply: he was adjusting his overalls again as he watched Darlene, her dressing gown the only filmy barrier obscuring her succulent butt as she bent over the cupboard.
“I said it very stiff” she repeated. There was a pause, and then the engineer muttered awkwardly “I’m sorry miss, it just happens”

Darleen turned round to look at him: he was young, with a strong jawline, muscular muscles and two good eyes. He also appeared to have a large spanner inside his overalls.
“Let me take care of this!” he said confidently, striding forward. Darlene could see he was carrying a pipe wrench and a sink plunger, one in each hand. So where was the huge spanner?

In a moment he had turned off the water and stemmed the rising tide of suds. “No more stop cock problems for you!” he said triumphantly. “Now I just need to flush through your pipes”
Darlene was flushed already, and couldn’t help but stay close and watch as he pulled out her washer and felt along her tubing with a firm but gentle stroking and squeezing action.
“What are you doing that for?” she asked. “I’m wondering if you have a blockage along here” he replied, and Darlene stood back a little to let him finish the job. She watched his strong back as he squeezed the tubing vigorously, and felt a deep, damp yearning to be that tubing.

“I think I’ve found the problem” he said suddenly, and in a flash he had whipped off her connections, released her tubing and the blockage, (a coin) fell to the floor. “Oh how marvellous!” Darlene exclaimed “Will you need to flush through now?”
The engineer straightened up awkwardly “I fear so, yes”
To lighten the moment, he glanced down at the coin on the floor and said
“My tip!”
Darlene looked searchingly at him, and yes, she thought she could see his tip…

In a sudden surge of passion, she flung open her satin dressing gown: the effect on the engineer was immediate, (though mollified by the fact that Darlene was still wearing her sweatshirt…she had only taken her trousers off when the doorbell rang)he sprang forward, taking her in his arms. The huge spanner seemed to get in the way a bit at first, but after a while they made room for it.

The engineer was good, very good. No leaks, and the pressure was higher than ever before. Darlene had worries about blockages in her tubing, or her stopcock or valves any more. Her engineer from Pipes@Home was right at home in her pipes…

The Rude Mechanical

Clarissa Tilbury was distressed: her beautiful brow furrowed in concern. Her beloved BMW convertible was unwell: it made strange noises, stranger even than the ones Clarissa had sometimes made in it. She loved to feel the power of it beneath her, a tickle of her right foot enough to make it growl and surge forward. But now she feared it was not reliable, and no woman to fear that power drain away at a crucial moment. She booked it into a garage – Honest Mike’s Reliable Repairs.

As she explained the problem, her hands anxiously twisted the strap of her fabulously expensive designer handbag. “I’m afraid I don’t really understand mechanical things…” she faltered, pressing her perfectly manicured hand to her chest apologetically. Mike noticed the polished nails and pale smooth skin, and contrasted it with his own oily hands.
“When I press for more power, I get a big knocking”
Mike nodded. He had had that very same problem himself, but there is never anyone around for a man to talk these things over with.

“it could be your big end…” he suggested, snatching a quick glimpse at it “How about if I take a look?”
“At my big end? If you think that’ll help” she giggled, blushing
“Let me get underneath for a moment. I find that works better for me”
Mike laid down on the hard concrete floor and wriggled underneath the car. The action dragged his jeans kneewards slightly, exposing hairy belly and the top of his underpants. Clarissa stared, mesmerised, at his toolbox
“I can’t see any leaks, no damp patches or anything” he reassured her.
“Can you see anything helpful?” Clarissa asked. Mike assured her that yes he had seen something useful (as Clarissa was wearing very tight jeans) and that he would sort her out if he could.

“Oh thankyou!” she cried “I can’t wait to get back in the driving seat, feeling my hair being rippled and my cheeks flushing. It’s just the best thing ever”

Mike rubbed his oily hands down the front of his jeans by way of distraction. “I’ll just get my overalls on then, love, then I’ll get to work. I’ll give her a thorough check while I’m down there, don’t you worry. Tappets, timing, I’ll grease her nipples and everything. You have a seat over there” He pointed to a grubby chair in the corner of the office.

Clarissa sat down in it, wondering if she would have a dirty bottom at the end of all this, while Mike got to work.

After a little while he returned. “I’m afraid it’s looking quite serious my dear. I don’t think I can finish in one go. Can she stay over?”
Clarissa looked upset “Oh no! I just thought you’d be able to sort her out quickly…you look like a man who could do that” she purred, like the engine of a well tuned Jaguar.
“I’ll certainly do my best” he said. “I’m known for my skills with a wrench, but this could be quite a big one”

“While she’s in, how about going over the bodywork?” Clarissa asked
“Would you like me to?” Mike asked, beads of sweat appearing through the grime on his forehead
Clarissa nodded, suddenly realising she found the smell of sump oil strangely alluring. She reached her soft, clean hand out to Mike, who looked confused, and then tenderly placed his spanner in it.
“Oh my! That’s huge! ” cried Clarissa, “and so heavy! How do you manage to hold that all day?”
Mike drew her to him, his huge spanner still between them, pressed between her swelling baps.
“I don’t want to get you dirty” he said, concern in his voice
“I am already very dirty” Clarissa murmured, sliding her hands over the spanner. It was hard and oily
“Take off my jeans, Mike” she whispered
He pulled away, shaking his head. “You’ve got this all wrong Miss Tilbury”
“Why?”
“I’m not wearing your jeans”
“Never mind, take off the ones I’m wearing. I’ve got oil on them”
“Do you want me to get them cleaned?” asked Mike anxiously
“No!” she gasped, grasping his well-muscled arms in her dainty hands, “I want you get oil all over me…”

Gnocchis for ever

Sharon had always dreamed of something more…something beyond the small town in which she lived. She had seen plenty of American movies where the heroine starts off as a waitress in a little place somewhere, and meets the hero as she pours coffee for him….It was why she had got a job at Gnocchi’s restaurant.

The months had passed though and although she had altered her uniform to make it shorter and tighter, leaned further and further over the customers as she served them, no heros had appeared. She had been quite optimistic about one young man who, for several months had been a regular. He had sat in a corner with his laptop for hours at a time, ordering snacks and coffees in a distracted fashion as he worked away. Sharon thought he might be an author working a novel (maybe she could be his muse?) or an intellectual finalising his doctorate. Whenever she brought something to his table she walked with her special wiggle, and leaned as far forward as she could manage, a feat which often helpfully caused her top button to pop undone – (“Ooh goodness me! Look what’s happened!”)but she produced no response other than a clutching of the laptop to his rather buff chest. It was depressing to think that a girl could blot out the light with her sumptuous norks and get no reaction….

Eventually she decided that she had to act: Summoning her courage she approached him with an espresso and a plate of little biscotti.
“I love to nibble on these….don’t you?”
The man looked up, the sunlight through the open doorway fell on his strong jawline, injuring it slightly.
“I’m sorry?” he replied
On impulse she sat on the edge of his table. “I like a nibble”
The table rocked precariously: his previous cup and saucer slid to the floor with a crash. The young man grabbed his laptop. Other customers and the staff to turn and stare. Sharon didn’t care! She wobbled back onto the table, hitching her short, tight skirt up and leaning further towards the young man.

“What are you working on?” she asked him. he looked embarrassed – though whether at the question or the sight of Sharon’s ample bangers bursting out of her uniform is hard to say. Leaning a little to the side she caught a glimpse of the laptop screen.
It was a dating site. He had been internet dating all the time whilst she had been serving him with her goodies. It was a bitter blow. She slipped off the table (not entirely intentionally) straightened her skirt and walked (still trying to do the wiggle)back to the kitchen, struggling to control her emotions.

She had been so wrapped up in her fantasy about the handsome young man that she had been oblivious to Carlos Gnocchi the chef and proprietor….
For weeks Carlos has been watching Sharon’s uniform shrink until it gripped her luscious form like the skin of a salami. He had watched her gradually developing wiggle, the top button of her uniform spontaneously popping open and her rapturous bazookas erupting out of it. The last few moments had been torture for him…seeing her leaning forward over the young man’s table, her already miniature skirt almost vanishing. She was offering him nibbles! It was too much.

Sharon burst through the swing doors into the kitchen and stood, sobbing and oblivious, before him. Before he could reach her, the heavy doors swung back and hit her full in the face. She crumpled, but before she quite hit the floor, Carlos was there. The hero in chef’s whites, his apron tied tightly, – fortunately – barely concealing his desire for her.

She fell into his arms, seeking solace and comfort. He gathered her to him, seeking something moister. Would their two desires ever blend and combine? How about their bodily secretions? For the moment it was enough that he was holding her in his arms.
After a few more moments Carlos realised that it was actually too much. She was a curvaceous girl, and starting to feel quite heavy. But she was still crying loudly and damply on his chest.
He eased them both to the corner of the kitchen where he could sit down to take the weight.
In that position he could feel her heaving bosom pressed against him.
“Sharon!” he cried
For a few moments she just cried
Then she looked up, wiping her slightly snotty nose on his whites. “Nobody will ever love me, Carlos. I will be stuck here forever”
Carlos lifted her chin with his hand, looking into her bloodshot eyes. “Sharon my beloved, I have nothing to offer you but Gnocchi’s. Will you take Gnocchi’s for your knockers?”

She opened her eyes wide, suddenly seeing Carlos in a fresh light. He was not just the chef, he was so much more.
She remembered how he kneaded the pizza dough, his hands caressing the warm squidgy mixture like a lover. She remembered his muscular arms stirring pans of sauce, and him pausing whilst chopping herbs to flick back a lock of black curly hair….he should have had his trousers done up whilst cooking, that’s true. But she could overlook that.

Maybe she didn’t want to be taken away from here. Maybe she wanted to be taken. Here.
By her hero in an apron……

Be Dental with me!!!

She desperate for a filling: Arriving early for her appointment, she flicked through the glossy magazines in the waiting room with a beating heart. Indeed, it was better that way: if she had not had a beating heart, no dentist could have helped her.
An article on celebrity bust-enhancement managed to engross her, despite her mounting excitement. After all she had to be realistic: she might not get mounted.
Finally her name was called and the nurse ushered her in.
She climbed into the chair, smoothing her T-shirt down in a beguiling way, and glancing provocatively at the dentist. He was busying himself with arranging his tools, and hardly allowed himself to look at her. The dental nurse pressed that special button and the chair reclined. He could not prevaricate for long: she was laid back and waiting for him, lips parted.

“Relax” he murmured, momentarily brushing her arm with his hand and feeling the tension. “It’ll be so much easier if you relax”
She tried, she really did, but as he leaned forward over her, his eyes above the surgical mask met hers, shook hands, exchanged pleasantries and bought hers a coffee. It was a long moment. So long in fact that the nurse cleared her throat loudly and reminded them both that they were not alone.

“Open wide for me” he whispered, with gravelly authority. She could not resist and her enhanced red lips parted to reveal dazzling white teeth.
“Mmmm” he murmured approvingly “I see you have been following my advice”
“Oh yes” she replied, her breath uneven, possibly hitching “I’d always do EVERYTHING you say”
“Is that so, Miss Lush…”
“Call me….Claudia” she whispered.
He turned abruptly and glanced at her notes, strewn sensuously about the desk. “I thought you were called Bernadette?”
“I prefer Claudia…it makes me feel….exotic” she purred “as do you…”
“Do I?” he leaned forward uncertainly, his tool held tremulously in one hand. “Don’t speak for a moment, …Claudia”

She opened her lips wide, easily accommodating his probing tool. Eyes closed in ecstasy, she felt as he tenderly inserted the tip around, above, below, between…occasionally wiggling it in a way which made tremors of agitation run through her body.

When he had finished he pointed towards the mouthwash, and offered her a swill. She accepted, and as she did so he wondered if she was the swallowing sort….

She glanced sideways and was thrilled to see his green apron lifting until the bulge was right underneath the arm of the chair.
“I hope I haven’t hurt you” he said, pulling away….from where he could see a tiny trickle of sweat running over her collarbone. His eyes followed it down, down, down, until it disappeared into her heaving cleavage.

In one crazy impulse Claudia/Bernadette grabbed his upper arm (feeling the manly muscles flexing enticingly inside his tunic) and drew him closer. “Mind yourself on the arm of the chair!” the cried, pulling him towards her and pressing her red lips urgently to his.

The kiss was crazy, passionate, insane. Their hot breath mingled, but sadly not their tongues as he was still wearing the surgical mask.

“Claudia! this is insane!” he cried, pulling away and straightening his mask. Flustered and flushed he waved the nurse away. She had been standing nearby, white with shock. “Go and mix me some amalgam, Mavis”
The nurse looked confused “Amalgam? I thought her teeth were fine?”
“Her teeth ARE fine, Mavis, but she’s going to get a filling anyway!”

Mavis rushed out of the room, giving the door a hard banging behind her. This further inspired the dentist, who pulled down his lipstick-stained surgical mask and gathered Claudia into his muscular arms.

“I’m going to recline you right back!” he cried, pressing on the appropriate button. Claudia squealed in delight as the chair descended, creaking a little under their combined weight.

“Drill me!” she gasped, lifting his green apron. Their throes of passion sent the instrument tray crashing off its fixings, and teeny tiny drill bits skittered all over the floor.

“Oh no!” Claudia cried, “You’ll have to re-sterilise everything now!”
“I don’t care!! For you I would re-sit my orthodontics finals”

It seemed only a few moments had passed before he cried out to her “I’ve drilled you, now I’m going to fill you!”

How unfortunate that Claudia’s injection had only just started to work and he had already finished the job…