The Quickie Oil Change
There’s a little town out there where the guys don’t do their own oil changes. Smithville has a nice quiet downtown, a family restaurant, a dollar general, and of course the town square around the court house. There’s the county school nearby and a hair salon for the wives, but then there’s the Quickie for all the guys. A little mechanic shop that moved in a few years back. Old Lovern opened up promising 15 minute oil changes. Everyone tried to tell him that a little country place like this didn’t need someone to change their oil; they all did their’s at home on the weekends. He wouldn’t listen, just remodeled the old gas station and put up the signs. A few weeks went by and business seemed to pick up for old Lovern at the Quickie.
“Morning Stella,” said walter as he pulled his Toyota up beside the side garage bay.
Stella’s cheeks flushed with excitement as she peeked out the dusty window of Lovern’s Quickie Oil Change. The neon sign flickered in the muggy afternoon air, casting a red glow over the parking lot that was surprisingly full for a Tuesday. The scent of burning rubber and motor oil lingered, a scent she had grown oddly fond of over the past few years. She wiped her greasy hands on the even greasier mechanic’s overalls and glanced at her uncle, Lovern, who was busy under the hood of a beat-up old Ford.
“Walter’s here,” she called out, her voice echoing in the small office that doubled as their waiting area.
Lovern slammed the hood shut with a bang, wiping his greasy hands on an even greasier rag. “Send him in, darlin’.”
Walter, a burly man in a John Deere cap and overalls, sauntered in, his boots leaving mud prints on the concrete floor. He nodded at Stella, his eyes lingering a beat too long. She could tell he was eager for their usual service, a knowing smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. She led him into the garage, where the floor was slick with oil and the air was thick with the smell of gasoline. The men who had been waiting outside leaned in, whispering among themselves, glancing at Stella with hungry eyes.
“What can we do for you today, Walter?” Lovern asked, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.
Walter looked at Stella with a twinkle in his eye. “The usual, Lovern,” Walter says handing over the cash for the oil change.
Stella took a deep breath and nodded, hopping into the front seat of the Toyota. She knew the routine by heart: while Uncle Lovern worked under the hood, she’d take care of the customer’s needs. She’d learned quickly that this was the secret to their success—an off-menu service that had the men of Smithville flocking to their garage.
With a wink, Walter climbed in behind the wheel and started the engine. Stella leaned over, her heart racing, and whispered, “You know the drill, Walter.”
The engine hummed beneath them, a strange soundtrack to their illicit rendezvous, as he eased the car into the lift bay. Walter nodded and turned the key off, his eyes locked on hers as she began to unzip his fly. Lovern raised the Toyota on the hydraulic lift, the metal groaning with the weight, and slid underneath. The grime from the car’s underbelly coated his face, but he was used to it by now. This was just another job, another customer who paid double for the full service.
Stella took Walter’s cock in her mouth, her movements smooth and practiced. He groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head. She had a talent for this, a skill honed from countless hours of giving blowjobs in the cramped confines of the Quickie.
As she worked her magic, Stella couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. It wasn’t just the extra cash in her pocket or the way the men looked at her with a mix of lust and gratitude. There was something empowering about being the best-kept secret in town, the girl who could make any engine purr—both the ones in the garage and the ones in the drivers’ pants.
Meanwhile, Uncle Lovern went about his business under the car, his eyes focused on the greasy bolts and oil filters. He had seen it all before—his sweet, innocent Stella turning into a vixen for their customers’ pleasure. In the beginning, he had his reservations, but the steady flow of customers and cash had quickly changed his tune. Plus, she had insisted it was her choice, that she enjoyed the power and control it gave her. And she was good at it, really good. It was a win-win.
The interior of Walter’s Toyota was a mess of fast food wrappers and old receipts, but Stella had learned to ignore the clutter. The feel of Walter’s cock in her mouth was familiar, a part of the job she had come to almost enjoy. She liked the way he tasted, the way he grew harder with every stroke of her tongue. She liked the power she had over him, making him squirm in his seat, his rough hands gripping the steering wheel in a silent plea for more. The leather upholstery was sticky and hot against her bare skin as she slid her hand into her overalls, her own desire growing.
Her thoughts drifted to her fantasies—the ones she had while her head was buried in a customer’s lap. She often wondered what it would be like to take it further, to have one of them take her right there in the garage, amidst the grease and the grime. Her hand slipped into her underwear, her fingers finding their way to the wetness that had pooled between her legs. She moaned softly around Walter’s cock, the vibration sending a shiver through his body.
The sound of Lovern’s tools clinking together grew more muffled as the tension in the car grew thicker. Stella could feel the eyes of the other men on her, watching through the cracked open garage door, their own fantasies playing out. She knew they were there, and it only made her more eager to put on a good show.
Walter’s breathing grew ragged as Stella’s mouth moved faster, her hand now stroking him in rhythm with her sucks and licks. She felt his muscles tense, his body readying itself for the climax she was so adept at delivering. With a final groan, he emptied himself into her mouth, his eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy. She swallowed, smiling to herself as she pulled away, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
Carefully, Walter zipped up his fly and took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. He leaned back in his seat, his chest heaving. “Damn, girl,” he murmured, his voice gruff with pleasure. “You’re the best.”
Stella sat up straight and pulled her overalls back into place, her cheeks still flushed. She called out to her uncle, “How we coming?” The garage was quiet for a moment, except for the sound of Lovern’s tools and the distant hum of a lawnmower from the neighboring property.
“Almost done, sweetie,” Lovern’s muffled voice echoed from beneath the car. “Just gotta tighten the drain plug and we’re good to go.”
The hydraulics hiss slightly as the Toyota floats down. Stella stepped out of the car, her legs wobbly from the recent exertion. The cool concrete floor was a stark contrast to the heat that still lingered between her thighs. She sauntered over to the office and leaned against the counter, her heart still racing, and watched as Walter adjusted his seat, trying to make it seem like he hadn’t just had the best oil change of his life.
With a nod and a grin, Walter started the engine, the purr of the freshly serviced car mingling with the sound of his own satisfied sigh. He reversed out of the garage, the tires squealing slightly on the freshly cleaned floor. The other men in the waiting area pretended not to look, but Stella could feel their eyes on her, hungry for their own turn.
“See you next time, Walter!” Lovern called out, his voice echoing off the garage walls.
