GB96 s2 - Professionals

It’s just another hot day at the garage. Maybe a bit less comfortable than usual thanks to these clothes that your mom bought you, but it was sweet of her. You don’t mind.

People bring their cars. You watch the keys, run credit cards and take cash and checks while you keep the books straight. It’s still funny to you that you were in tutoring a month ago and now Mr. Gibson is trusting you to do math. But accounting math is no problem for you. It’s the algebra and trig and stuff that you don’t like.

Classic rock plays. Tools clank and frogs croak in the swamp.

You’re getting used to working, but that doesn’t make it any less boring.

It’s about two o’clock when Mr. Gibson comes into the office. He’s wiry like Stef, only a little taller than his daughter, and always has stubble on his face.

“You look nice today,” he says, taking a sip of iced tea. It’s the first time he’s been out from under a car long enough to notice.

“My mom says it’s professional,” you reply.

“It is,” he says. “Maybe this isn’t the right profession for it, though.”

“You’re telling me,” you say, lifting your arms to show him the sweat stains. He snorts.

“What do we got left?” he asks, coming over to the desk to look at your clipboard.

“Just the Neon and Caravan. Unless you want to get into that rebuild,” you say, tapping on the final entry.

“I don’t have the parts yet. OK. Go ahead and get out of here. Take Stef with you. She’s bouncing off the walls.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I need the peace and quiet.”

“I’m peaceful and quiet,” you pout, but you grab your stuff and stand up. You and Stef don’t put up much of a fight. Mr. Gibson knows that his daughter isn’t that useful at the shop when her mind isn’t on work.

No, Stef’s mind is on something else. She’s so fixated on it that a little sweat isn’t going to get in her way.

“No!” you shriek as she pushes you down on your bed, not even letting you get to the shower first. But she’s already climbing on top of you.

“Num num num,” she says, planting ticklish kisses on your salty neck. You shriek with laughter and try to squirm free, but she has you pinned. Straddling you, she unbuttons your blouse, though you can tell she just wants to rip it open.

You settle down and let her strip you.

“You feel no shame that your dad can tell when you’re horny?” you ask her, lifting your legs so she can slide your panties off.

“Zero shame,” Stef confirms, throwing off her overalls and then her tee. She flops down on top of you roughly, her naked body on top of yours.

“Oof,” you start to say, but she kisses your mouth hard. She’s not a bad kisser lately. It’s a little hot in your room on a day like this to be pressed against another person, but that’s not stopping you from getting hard. Or wet. Your bodies glide together as she rubs against you, pushing her tongue deeper into your mouth. You warp your arms around her neck and run your fingers through her hair. Your toes curl as her erection rubs against yours.

She pulls back and looks down at you. You’re feeling too good to have anything snarky to say. Stef gazes into your eyes, then touches your cheek, then your hair. You smile, but before you can make a move, she buries her face in your chest. “Num num,” she goes, taking your hard nipple into her mouth.

“Mm,” you say as pleasure shoots through your body.

You cover your own mouth when she goes down on you, rubbing her palm over your cock as she laps hungrily at your pussy. But she avoids your clit and she keeps stopping and giving you this look. Stef is so ridiculous. You know what she’s doing: trying to tease you so much that you beg. Two can play that game.

“Look!” you say, pointing past her.

“Huh?” She turns and you grab her from behind, wrestling her onto the bed with your arm around her neck.

“Yeek!” She thrashes, but you’ve got her.

“Hey, this feels kind of good,” you say, rubbing your cock against her smooth, sweaty back. Her cock slaps against her tummy, and you reach around and grab it. She squirms adorably, but you never actually deny her what she wants.

So you hold your arms above your head, gripping your headboard as she breathlessly thrusts into you, her panting face getting closer and closer the more **** she gets. She finally makes a noise that’s half grunt and half whimper. You can feel every drop of her generous load spilling out inside you, then she drops limp on top of you so heavily and suddenly that your heads knock together.

“Ow,” you say, but she didn’t even feel it. Her dead weight smothers you, but the blissful look on her face is too cute to look away from. Seeing her happy is all you need. Well, that and a cigarette.