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!”

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…”