Bridget, A Diesel City Grease Girl

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Bridget O'Dell looked at herself in the cracked and smoky mirror. Her red hair was restrained by her green and black bandana to keep it out of moving engine parts. She smirked to herself. She'd almost succeeded in getting all of the grease and grime washed off her lovely, pale face. She wore a gray tanktop that stopped short of her bellybutton with no bra underneath to cover her perky, C-cup breasts. For pants she wore oversized fatigues stuffed into Tanker boots. Her lithe, pale body was sore, but that was nothing new.

The factory air horn sounded. She sighed, and grabbed her motorcycle goggles as she headed up the concrete stairs that led out of her basement apartment. Once on the sidewalk, Bridget unlocked the roller door to get to her bike. She road a Skura Intimidator that she had modified for optimal horsepower, optimal fuel consumption, and excellent handling.

She slid her leg over the seat, and settled in. She thought back to her home country of Ireland where her father first showed her how to fix a leaking oil tank on a British Bombardier government issue rocket pack, the item the biggest factory in their town produced. She smiled at those thoughts. This was her favorite time of day, before all the...work.

Moments later, Bridget pulls out onto the slick, wet road and guns it toward "Sid's Auto and Service", the garage she worked in. She couldn't complain too much. Her boss rarely used her and most of the guys left her alone after their morning fuck. Having a job meant having a bike, and that meant not having to walk down the street where every hobo and drifter can fuck you. Bridget understood this better than most, so tolerated some of the more "inspired" situations her coworkers had cooked up for her.

She pulled into a parking spot next to Johnny's bike. She looked at it enviously. He'd had custom chrome work done to it, and had actual vehicle paint on what looked like the correct model for that tank, but she couldn't be sure. She walked away from the bikes, and entered the garage. Half a dozen men were in there, bearing down on wrenches, hoisting steel bearings, and welding. She stopped for a moment, admiring them before they descended on her. Most of them were really a great bunch of guys.

"Hey guys!" she said. They turned, to a man, to look at her. "So then, who'll be needin' attention? Doug, you good?" she said, walking over to her workbench.

"I'm good, Birdie; took the bus to work today." Doug said.

"Danny-boy, how 'bout you'?" she asked. Dan shook his head.

"Not today, Birdie. Found out my wife got knocked up by the Boss. Like I can afford that kind of liability insurance. Yeesh." Bridget shook her head. She was successfully able to open her toolbox and retrieve her tools unmolested. This was a really rare day. Still, she sat down, unbuckled her pants, and squirted two sprits of a throat numbing agent into her mouth.

She almost thought the day would go smoothly at this point, and started sketching her diagram for the Catalytic Converter she was going to install in Fat Bob's chopper. She was halfway done when Jake approached her. She sighed, and set her pen down. "Hey Jake." she said.

"H..hi." he replied. Bridget thought of his shyness as somewhat endearing. She quickly hooked the hoops of her beltloops, and slid her pants down her legs swiftly. Bridget stood up, and leaned over her desk. Jake shuffled closer to her nervously. She looked back, uninterested in what he was doing, and fished a cigarette from a belt pouch. She lit it just as she felt Jake's cock sliding up and down her pussy lips. She took a puff, held it, felt a decent sized cock slide into her, and exhaled. Just another day on the job.