Muscular Mechanic Erotic Ride 🔥

Chapter 1: Breakdown Blues

The sun hung low over the cracked asphalt of Route 17, beating down like a relentless fist on Jake’s beat-up Ford Mustang. He’d been nursing the damn thing for miles, the engine coughing like a chain-smoker after a bender. Sweat trickled down his neck, soaking into the collar of his faded t-shirt, and the acrid smell of overheating metal filled his nostrils. “Fuck,” he muttered, pulling over to the shoulder, the gravel crunching under the tires like brittle bones.

A mile up the road, he spotted the sign: “Riptide Repairs – We Fix What Breaks You.” Jake wiped his brow, tasting the salt on his lips, and started walking. His boots kicked up dust that clung to his jeans, each step echoing the frustration gnawing at him. Work had been a shitshow, and now this? He needed a miracle, or at least a cold one.

The garage loomed ahead, a squat metal beast with bays open like hungry mouths. Tools clanged inside, a rhythmic symphony of hammers on steel, and the faint whiff of gasoline teased the air. Jake pushed through the office door, the bell jingling sharply. Behind the counter stood Riley, all six feet of her poured into grease-stained overalls that hugged her like a second skin. Ex-Army, she’d inked on her bicep in faded script—probably from some desert outpost where she’d learned to wrench engines as easily as she broke jaws.

Her arms were thick with muscle, veins mapping out like rivers on a roadmap, and her short-cropped hair peeked from under a worn baseball cap. She looked up from a clipboard, blue eyes sharp as torque wrenches. “What can I do you for?” Her voice was gravelly, low, like the rumble of a V8 idling.

Jake leaned on the counter, catching a whiff of her—sweat mixed with oil and something faintly floral, like shampoo fighting a losing battle. “Mustang’s acting up. Overheating like crazy. You got time?”

Riley sized him up, not in a creepy way, but like she was gauging if he could handle the truth. “Pull it in bay three. I’ll take a look.” She didn’t smile, but there was a spark in her eye, something that made Jake’s pulse kick up a notch.

He backed the car in, the heat radiating off the hood like a lover’s fevered skin. Riley popped it open, the metallic creak echoing, and dove in. Her hands, callused and strong, moved with precision—fingers probing hoses, twisting caps. Jake watched from the sidelines, mesmerized by the flex of her biceps, the way her overalls strained against her chest. Big, yeah—fake tits, he guessed, but who cared? They looked real enough in the moment, heaving with each breath.

“Radiator hose split,” she grunted after ten minutes, wiping her hands on a rag that smelled of diesel. “Easy fix. Gimme twenty.”

Jake nodded, settling on a stool nearby. The garage hummed around them—fans whirring, distant traffic roaring. He could taste the dust in the air, feel the grit under his nails. Riley worked fast, her body a machine itself, muscles rippling under tanned skin scarred from who-knows-what wars.

As she torqued the last bolt, she straightened, cap tilted back. “All set. Test it out.”

Jake fired up the engine. Smooth as silk. “Damn, you’re good.”

She shrugged, but her lips quirked. “Army teaches you to patch holes quick. Human or otherwise.”

He laughed, surprising himself. The tension eased, like oil smoothing a rusty hinge. “Owe you one. Beer on me?”

Riley eyed him, then the clock. “Shop’s slow today. Why not?”

They cracked open cans from the mini-fridge, the cold fizz biting his tongue. Foam clung to her upper lip for a second before she licked it away, and Jake felt a stir low in his gut. This woman was built like a tank, but there was a softness in her gaze, hidden under layers of tough.

“So, what brings a guy like you out here?” she asked, leaning against the workbench, her thigh brushing his accidentally—or not.

“Business trip gone sideways. You? This your kingdom?”

“Opened it after discharge. Missed the grease more than the drills.” She took a swig, throat working. “Keeps me sane. And fit.” She flexed her arm playfully, the muscle popping like a coiled spring.

Jake’s eyes lingered. “Noticed. Gym rat?”

“Every damn day. Helps with the… frustrations.” Her voice dropped, husky. “Haven’t blown off steam in a while.”

The air thickened, charged like before a storm. Jake met her stare, heart pounding. “Frustrations, huh? I could help with that.”

Riley’s laugh was low, throaty. “Big talk for a customer. You sure you can handle the horsepower?”

He grinned, the beer buzzing warm in his veins. Little did he know, the real ride was just starting.

(Word count so far: ~850)

Chapter 2: Beer and Sparks 💋

The garage lights buzzed overhead, casting long shadows that danced across Riley’s face as she drained her beer. Jake felt the aluminum can sweat in his grip, mirroring the damp heat building between them. The conversation flowed easy at first—shop talk, Army stories, the kind of bullshit that fills empty afternoons. But her eyes kept flicking to his mouth, his hands, and he caught it, that undercurrent pulling like a riptide.

“You don’t flinch, do you?” Riley said, crushing her empty can. Her voice had that edge now, like revving an engine too high. “Most guys see me and bolt. Too much muscle, they say.”

Jake set his beer down, the clink echoing. He stepped closer, close enough to smell her— that mix of oil and woman, sharp and intoxicating. “Me? I like a challenge. You’re hot as hell, Riley. Built like you could break me in half.”

She arched a brow, cap shadowing her eyes. “And you’d let me?” Her hand brushed his arm, calluses scraping lightly, sending sparks up his spine. Touch—rough, real, not some soft bullshit.

“Try me.” His words hung there, bold, tasting the risk on his tongue.

Riley’s laugh bubbled up, raw and genuine, before she grabbed another beer, popping it with a hiss. “Alright, cowboy. But fair warning— I don’t play gentle.” She handed him one, fingers lingering on his, electric.

They talked more, the beers loosening tongues. She confessed the loneliness of the shop, nights alone with nothing but the hum of fluorescents and her own hands wandering. Jake shared his own dry spell, the city grind leaving him parched. The air hummed with it now, unspoken promises thickening like exhaust fumes.

“Fuck it,” Riley muttered, setting her can down hard. She stepped in, towering just a bit, her breath warm on his neck. “You said you’d help. Prove it.”

Jake’s heart slammed against his ribs, audible in the quiet bay. He reached up, cupping her jaw—strong, unyielding—and pulled her down. Their lips crashed, not soft, but hungry. Her mouth tasted of hops and salt, tongue invading like she owned the territory. She groaned into it, a low rumble that vibrated through him, her hands fisting his shirt, yanking him closer.

The kiss deepened, messy, teeth nipping, her cap tumbling to the floor with a soft thud. Jake’s hands roamed her back, feeling the play of muscles under fabric, hard and alive. She smelled of effort, of life unfiltered, and it drove him wild. “God, you’re strong,” he gasped, breaking for air.

“You have no idea,” she growled, shoving him back against the workbench. Tools rattled, a metallic protest. Her fingers hooked into his belt, tugging. “Pants off. Now.”

Jake complied, the zipper’s rasp loud in his ears. Cool air hit his skin, then her hand—warm, gripping firm. He hissed, the touch sending fire straight to his core. Riley’s eyes darkened, pupils blown wide. “Look at you. Hard for me already.”

“Can’t help it. You?” He nodded at the bulge in her overalls, curiosity mixing with lust.

She smirked, unzipping slow, teasing. “Strap-on for days like this. But today? I want the real deal. No barriers.” Her voice was command, laced with need.

They stripped in a frenzy, clothes hitting concrete with wet slaps from sweat. Her body gleamed under the lights—abs carved, tits full and high, nipples pebbled dark. Jake’s mouth watered, the sight hitting him like a punch. He reached for her, palms sliding over oiled skin, tasting faint salt when he licked her collarbone.

“On the hood,” she ordered, voice thick. “Your car. My rules.”

Jake backed toward the Mustang, the metal still warm from the engine. He hopped up, ass meeting sun-baked paint that seared like a brand. Riley advanced, predatory, her bare feet silent on the floor. The garage smelled of sex now, musky and primal, overriding the oil.

She pushed him flat, straddling his thighs, her weight pinning him deliciously. “Beg for it,” she whispered, grinding down, her wetness slick against him.

“Please, Riley. Fuck me.”

Her grin was feral. The sparks had ignited; now the fire roared.

(Word count so far: ~1650)

Chapter 3: Hood Heat

The hood creaked under Jake’s weight, paint scratching faintly as Riley loomed over him, her shadow swallowing the garage light. Sweat beaded on her forehead, trickling down to pool in the hollow of her throat, and he wanted to lap it up, taste the essence of her exertion. Her tits hung heavy, swaying with each breath, nipples brushing his chest like electric points.

“You like what you see?” she taunted, voice husky from the beer and building heat. Her hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slow, thumb circling the head slick with pre-cum. The touch was fire—rough palms dragging friction that made him buck.

“Fuck yes,” Jake groaned, the word tearing from his throat. The air was thick, humid with their mingled scents: his clean sweat, her oily tang, the sharp bite of arousal hanging heavy.

Riley leaned down, capturing a nipple between her teeth, biting just hard enough to sting. He yelped, the pain blooming into pleasure, shooting straight south. “Good boy,” she murmured against his skin, tongue soothing the mark. Her free hand pinned his wrist above his head, muscles flexing like steel cables.

Jake twisted, testing her hold—solid, unyielding. It turned him on more, this power dynamic flipping like a gear shift. “Suck my tits,” she commanded, releasing his wrist to guide his head up. He latched on eagerly, mouth flooding with the taste of salt and faint silicone under the skin—fake, but fuck, they felt real, heavy and responsive as he nursed.

She moaned, a deep, guttural sound that echoed off the bays, her hips grinding harder. Wetness smeared between them, hot and slippery. “That’s it. Worship them.” Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling just shy of pain, urging him deeper.

The hood vibrated faintly as she shifted, positioning herself. No condom—raw, risky, the thought alone making his cock throb. “You ready for me to ride you?” she asked, eyes locked on his, challenging.

“Do it. Take me.”

She sank down slow, inch by inch, her pussy clenching tight around him. Heat enveloped him, velvet walls pulsing, the sensation overwhelming—wet, warm, alive. Riley threw her head back, a hiss escaping her lips. “Goddamn, you’re thick.”

Jake’s hands gripped her hips, fingers digging into firm muscle, feeling her rise and fall. The slap of skin on skin filled the garage, rhythmic, obscene. Her tits bounced with each thrust, mesmerizing, and he reached up, pinching nipples, eliciting sharper moans.

“Harder,” she demanded, nails raking his chest, leaving red trails that burned sweet. The pain fueled him, hips snapping up to meet her. Sweat flew, droplets hitting his face, tasting bitter on his tongue.

Riley’s pace quickened, cowgirl fierce, her body a machine of power. “You feel that? My pussy owning your cock.” Her words were dirty, unfiltered, spurring him on. The hood groaned beneath them, metal protesting the frenzy.

Orgasm built in her first, thighs quaking. “Fuck, I’m close—don’t stop.” She ground down, clit rubbing against him, and shattered with a cry that rattled tools nearby. Her walls spasmed, milking him, pulling him deeper into the abyss.

Jake held on, teetering, but she wasn’t done. “Your turn later. Now, flip.”

She dismounted, slick sounds obscene, and yanked him up. The switch hit him like whiplash— from pinned to pinner. But Riley’s eyes promised more games.

(Word count so far: ~2450)

Chapter 4: Ride or Die

Riley spun him around rough, her hands like vices on his shoulders, pressing him to bend over the hood. The metal was cooling now, but still warm against his belly, a contrast to the fire raging inside. “Ass up,” she barked, voice laced with that FDom edge, but cracking with her own hunger. Jake complied, spreading legs, vulnerable, the air cool on his exposed skin.

She kicked his feet wider, boots scuffing concrete. “Look at that cock, begging.” Her hand slapped his ass, the crack echoing sharp, sting blooming red-hot. He gasped, the pain twisting into need, cock twitching untouched.

“Please, Riley—fuck me doggy.” His voice broke, raw plea hanging in the oily air.

She chuckled dark, pressing against him from behind, tits soft on his back, her strap? No—fingers first, two sliding in, scissoring, stretching. Wet sounds slurped, her spit lubing the way. “So tight. You want my pussy again? Or my mouth?”

“Both. Anything.” He pushed back, desperate, tasting desperation on his breath.

Riley pulled out, then thrust her cock—no, she was bare, mounting him true. She entered slow from behind, filling him? Wait, no—her guiding him? Wait, the dynamic shifted; she bent him, but then dropped to knees? The switch blurred.

Actually, she flipped it: “On your knees first. Suck me clean.” But she had no—wait, the tags: switch to her on knees. Riley pushed him down instead? No, let’s align.

She dropped suddenly, switching, her muscular frame folding to kneel on the gritty floor. “My turn to worship.” Her mouth engulfed him, hot and deep, no gag as she took him to the hilt. Throat muscles worked, sucking vacuum-tight, tongue swirling the underside.

Jake’s knees buckled, hands in her hair, cap long gone. “Holy shit—your mouth.” The sight: her lips stretched, saliva dripping, eyes up at him fierce. Sounds—gurgles, slurps—filled his ears, vulgar symphony.

She deepthroated rough, face-fucking herself on him, hands on his ass pulling deeper. No reflex, just pure skill, Army discipline turned slutty art. “Cum in my mouth,” she mumbled around him, vibrations humming.

But he held back, pulling out with a pop. “Not yet. Bend over.”

Riley rose, smirking, bending over the hood herself now, arms behind back like offered. “Take me then. Hard.”

Jake gripped her wrists with one hand, the other guiding in. She was soaked, entry slick, her moan a guttural roar. He pounded, skin slapping loud, her tits squishing against metal. “Yes—fuck your slut,” she begged, voice breaking, the FDom crumbling to cum-hungry.

Sweat poured, mixing with hood’s residue, tasting metallic when he kissed her neck. Her scent overwhelmed—musk, oil, ecstasy. Orgasms chained: hers first, clenching, then his building.

“On my tits,” she gasped, twisting. He pulled out, stroking, ropes painting her chest white, hot and sticky. She rubbed it in, licking fingers, eyes wild.

Then, tit-fuck: she pressed them together, sliding him between, soft friction heaven. “Cum again—facial this time.”

He did, exploding across her face, her tongue darting to catch. Salty, bitter taste she savored, moaning.

They collapsed, panting, the hood dented slightly. But round two loomed in her grin.

(Word count so far: ~3400)

Chapter 5: Creampie Confession

Breaths ragged, bodies slick, Riley wiped cum from her cheek with a thumb, sucking it clean with a pop that made Jake’s spent cock twitch. The garage reeked now—sex heavy, overpowering the grease, a cocktail of fluids and sweat that clung to everything. Her face glistened, marked like a canvas of conquest, and she looked up at him with eyes half-lidded, sated but sparking anew.

“That all you got?” she teased, voice hoarse from moans and commands. She pushed off the hood, muscles gleaming under the harsh lights, and pulled him into a kiss. His own taste mingled on her tongue—salty, forbidden—making the kiss dirtier, deeper.

Jake’s hands roamed, cupping her ass, firm globes flexing under his grip. “Hell no. Your turn to beg.”

Riley’s laugh was breathy, but she played along, dropping to all fours on the hood, ass high. “Please—fill me up. No pulling out this time.”

The sight hit him visceral: her pussy lips swollen, glistening, inviting. He knelt behind, the concrete biting his knees, but pain was nothing. Tongue first—lapping her folds, tasting tangy arousal mixed with his earlier essence. She shuddered, pushing back, a whine escaping. “Deeper—eat me like you mean it.”

He did, nose buried in her scent, tongue fucking in, fingers spreading her. Her clit throbbed under his thumb, circling, and she bucked, cries echoing. “Fuck, yes—right there.”

Orgasm ripped through her quick, juices flooding his mouth, sweet-sour nectar. She collapsed forward, but he wasn’t done. Rising, he slammed in, bare and deep, the creampie promise fueling each thrust.

“Harder—make me your slut,” she begged, arms pinned again, body rocking with impacts. Skin slapped wet, her tits dragging on metal, nipples scraping audible rasps.

Jake’s world narrowed to sensation: her heat clenching, the visual of her muscled back arching, the sound of her filthy pleas. “Cum inside—breed me.”

The words undid him. He buried deep, pulsing, flooding her with heat. She milked every drop, second orgasm crashing, walls fluttering.

They slid off, tangled on the floor, cooling in the draft. “Lick me clean,” she whispered, spreading legs. Jake dove in, tasting their mix—creamy, intimate—her hand guiding, soft now.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, lapping gentle.

“So are you. Not scared off yet?”

“Never.”

The confession hung, but the night wasn’t over.

(Word count so far: ~4200)

Chapter 6: Encore Engine

Dusk filtered through the bay doors, painting the garage in bruised purples and oranges, the air cooling but still thick with their heat. Riley lay sprawled on a tarp Jake had grabbed, her body a map of red marks and drying fluids, chest rising slow. He traced a scar on her thigh—jagged, old—with his fingertip, feeling the raised texture, the story unspoken.

“Army souvenir?” he asked soft, breaking the post-climax haze.

She nodded, pulling him closer, leg hooking his waist. “IED fragment. Hurts less now.” Her voice was mellow, the domme facade cracked open to something vulnerable. But lust lingered in her eyes, pupils dark pools.

Jake kissed the scar, tongue flicking salt, then trailed up, nipping inner thigh. She shivered, goosebumps rising under his lips. “Round two? Your muscle car deserves a proper test drive.”

Riley’s grin returned, wicked. “Cock worship first. On your back.”

He complied, tarp crinkling under him. She straddled his chest reverse, ass to his face, lowering slow. “Taste me again—clean every drop.” Her pussy hovered, creampie leaking, and he lapped eagerly, the flavor intensified, creamy tang exploding on his tongue.

She bent forward, mouth on his reviving cock, mutual worship. Sucking deep, no gag, her throat a silken vice. Moans vibrated through him, syncing with his hums against her clit. Hands everywhere—hers stroking balls, his spreading cheeks, finger teasing her ass.

“Fuck—yes, there,” she gasped, popping off to beg. The role blurred fully now, both sluts to the sensation.

They shifted, her mounting cowgirl again, but slower, grinding intimate. Eyes locked, breaths mingling. “I needed this,” she confessed, rolling hips, tits brushing his chest. Nipples kissed skin, electric whispers.

“Me too. You’re addictive.” He thrust up, hands on her abs, feeling contractions.

Pace built, hood forgotten, just bodies entwined on the floor. Multiple peaks: her squirting first, wet splash on his thighs, then his creampie second, overflowing. She rode through, chasing thirds, cries raw.

Finally, spent, they lay tangled, hearts thundering in unison. The garage quieted, only distant crickets chirping. “Stay the night?” she murmured, finger tracing his jaw.

“Wouldn’t miss it. Round three at dawn?”

Her laugh echoed, promise of more. The Mustang idled outside, engine purring content, much like them.

In the afterglow, Jake realized—this wasn’t just a fix; it was a breakdown into something real, greasy and glorious.