Jack’s friend needs some help in the garage.
Warnings: Sir kink, sex in exchange for services (between friends), language like slut, single mention of ‘Daddy’
I don’t know shit about cars, but my butch friend Jack knows a thing or two, so the next time the oil light indicator pops up on my dash, I text them about it.
Me: “Hey this happened” [picture attached]
Jack: “Come over tomorrow. 2”
It could be a booty call. I wish it were.
I wear a black t-shirt and a chain necklace with black jeans and boots, an outfit that makes me feel masc. They’re wearing a pair of navy coveralls plastered in grease stains, and damn if they don’t make it look good on their buff frame.
“Hey, Jack,” I say, stepping out of my truck in their garage. “Thanks for helping me out, man.”
“No prob, bro.” I like it when they call me bro. I like to imagine that it’s flirty. You never know with butches.
My truck is a green 1999 Toyota Tacoma. Nothing special, and definitely not a sexy truck. It’s had a long life. The paint is peeling, and the leather of my seats is worn and cracked. It’s a miracle it’s still kicking.
They tell me to pop the hood, and I fumble for a second with the handle inside. Jack struggles with the safety latch on the hood, muttering something about Tacomas, and I watch their thick fingers gently coax it open. They start explaining the process of an oil change to me, and I nod along and pretend to understand. Honestly, I’m mostly looking at their lips and jaw and eyes, thinking about their strong, dirty hands, thinking about them getting to their knees for me in their coveralls. I lick my lips.
They grab a wrench and kneel to set up a tray to collect the oil beneath the truck, twisting off the old filter and letting the oil drain. I swallow as I check out the curve of their sweet ass, watching Jack carefully. They stand back up, and I pretend like I wasn’t staring.
We chat about work, school, and our friend Ryan for a bit, shooting the shit. They ask teasingly about my erotica writing that they see me post about on Instagram, and I blush, saying that I’m working on a piece about a Halloween party. They smirk at me in that cute way that gives them a dimple on their right cheek. We get on to talking about Halloween costumes in general, and I’m both relieved and disappointed that we moved on so quickly from talking about erotica.
The oil finishes draining, and Jack explains something about replacing the filter while I pretend to care. I would listen to them talk about anything in their rumbly, deep voice. They get back underneath the truck with a rag and a wrench, and I swallow as I watch their body. They fiddle with something beneath the truck, and then they grunt and stand back up.
“The next step is to refill it with oil,” they say, handing me the bottle. “You got this, champ. In there.” They point.
“Okay,” I nod. I have to bend over the truck a little, carefully pouring the oil into the engine. I feel their eyes on my body.
They tell me when to stop and say, “Good boy,” and I blush so hard I practically burst into flames. That’s no fucking accident. They read my erotica and know what I like.
Jack finishes checking the oil level, looking for leaks, and they have me turn the truck back on to make sure that the oil maintenance light has disappeared.
“Thanks so much, man. Can I Venmo you?” I ask, stepping out of the truck.
They close the door behind me and press me against it.
“No,” they say. “There’s something else you can do.”
I’m breathing hard, pinned to the truck with their thick arms on either side of me.
“What?” I squeak.
They bring their lips to my ear. “You can be a good boy,” they say, and a flame lights in my belly. “And take my cock in your cunt right here on top of your cute little truck.”
I whimper, and then I snap my lips shut.
“Do you want that, dirty boy?” they ask, pressing their body against me. “Do you want my cock in you? Hmm? Have you fantasized about it? Written about it?”
My knees are weak and I’m breathing hard. “Yes,” I whisper.
“Yes, what?” they demand.
“Yes, I want that,” I pant. “Yes, I’ve fantasized about that.”
“Did you write about it?” they ask.
“I will if you want me to,” I promise eagerly.
They chuckle. “Good boy.”
They press me into the side of my truck, reaching a hand to unbutton my pants and using the other to pull my necklace back, choking me a little. They unzip me and start rubbing my cunt through my underwear. I moan and start rutting my hips on their hand. “Please, Jack. Fuck.”
“Please what?” they ask, rubbing harder.
“Please. Please touch my pussy.”
“Good boy,” they growl, reaching into my boyshorts and rubbing my wet opening, drawing the wetness up to my clit, pulling desperate gasps and moans from my throat.
“Please, Daddy,” I beg.
“Call me Sir,” they say. Oh, fuck. My pussy clenches at the order.
“Yes, Sir,” I say, for the first time. It makes my mouth go dry. “Please, Sir. Please finger me.”
A grin spreads across Jack’s face as they dip their finger inside me, so slowly I melt into their touch.
“Yes!” I cry. “Yes, Sir. Oh fuck. Your fingers feel so good, Sir. Oh, fuck me.”
They add a second finger easily, fucking me open for their cock. They flip me onto the hood of the truck, bending me over and pulling my jeans down to my knees, my underwear with them. I gasp in surprise, hot from being manhandled.
“Beg for this butch cock,” Jack orders.
“Fuck—please, Sir, please fuck me with your butch cock, Sir,” I beg. They sink their cock into me slowly, and I brace my hands against my truck, letting out a low moan as they fill me up. They bring their arm around and start circling their fingers on my clit. I’m panting and gasping for it. “Please, Sir, fuck, oh fuck.”
“God,” Jack grunts, fucking into me harder, stroking my clit in time with the rhythm. My legs start to tremble. The attention on my clit is feeling so sinfully good. I’m getting close to cumming already.
“Fuck, Sir,” I pant. “I’m so close.”
“So what?” they ask, continuing their movements.
“Please,” I start to beg. “Please can I cum, please, please?” But it’s too late—the pleasure is taking over my body and I’m cumming already, without permission, and oh, oh, it’s so good, oh fuck. Fuck. The electric flames lick through my clit and body, making me tremble underneath Jack, gasping and moaning with no regard to who might hear.
“You didn’t have permission,” Jack threatens. “Bad boys get punished.” A thrill of fear and excitement runs through me.
“I—” I start to say, but I’m not sorry. That orgasm was good, and there’s a smile on my face to show for it.
“What’s that?” they ask, their hands rubbing my ass.
“I didn’t mean to,” I squeak.
“I don’t care,” they reply. “How many spanks do you think this hot ass can take, hmm?”
Their hand slaps my ass, hard.
“Fuck!” I yell. I’m surprised, and I want to say something, but I don’t want to admit that I liked it.
“Count,” they order. Fuck.
I obey. “Yes, Sir. One.”
They slap my ass again. It’s sharp and stinging, then tingly and warm.
Again and again. I count up to ten, and they stop.
“Good boy,” they say. My pussy throbs, wet from being spanked and being called a good boy again. They massage my stinging ass, spreading the cheeks and letting them bounce back together. I feel their fingers stroke up my wet cunt and I gasp.
“Are you wet? From getting spanked?” they ask. “You dirty boy.” Jack keeps rubbing my pussy, my knees shaking under their attentions.
“Fuck,” I whimper. “Fuck, Sir.” I can barely hold myself up under the pleasure.
They grab my neck with their free hand, choking me gently while stroking their wet fingers up and down my clit. “What’s the matter, boy?” they ask.
I look into their eyes, desperate and wanting. “It, um, feels good, Sir,” I stutter. “I just, want you… not to… stop.” I force myself not to look away from their eyes while I say it.
“God, you’re such a dirty little slut for it,” Jack says, looking me up and down while I whimper and grind on their fingers, half-undressed. They pull their hand from my pussy and stick their slick fingers in my mouth, making me suck them clean. I whimper, and their fingers taste like oil and artificial orange underneath my salty-sweet taste.
Jack pulls the black t-shirt over my head, discovering that I’m wearing no bra. “Slutty,” they smirk. “Did you want this to happen, boy?”
I stammer, but they don’t wait for me to articulate an answer. They pull my jeans down to my ankles and bend me over the truck again, getting to their knees behind me and licking up my wetness.
“Oh fuck,” I moan. I spread my thighs as far as I can with my pants at my ankles. They eat me up and I moan louder and louder at every stroke of their tongue. Their hands are on my ass, spreading me open so they can reach every inch of me. My chain dangles down off my neck, swinging back and forth.
“Jesus fuck, Jack,” I pant. “You’re gonna make me cum again. Fucking hell. Ohhhh…”
I want to grip onto something but there’s nothing in front of me but the hood of my truck, so I just make two fists while I gasp and grind on Jack’s face. Their tongue swirls around my clit in circles just the way I like and then I’m cumming again on their face, crying out their name: “Jack!”
They hold my ass firmly, keeping me steady and licking my clit through my whole orgasm.
I pant and gasp when it’s over, trying to catch my breath, and they spank my ass and pull my pants and boxers up for me. I turn around and smile at them, grabbing behind their neck and pulling them in for a sloppy, salty kiss that sets my insides on fire again.
“Thanks for… taking care of my truck, Jack.”
“Anytime, bro,” they smirk.
I drive home, and when I park in my driveway, the check engine light comes on. I smile.