Her job

Rex Auto was a squat, square building with two garage doors leading into the service bay. The actual storefront and office were a tiny little adjunct. There wasn’t much need for more than that. Peyton included, only three people worked here (not counting Harry, the owner, who barely did anything other than pull random customers into the back room to suck his grotesque cock).

Peyton parked up and turned off the engine. It looked like there was already a vehicle in one of the bays. She grabbed her bag, got out of the car, and made her way into the shop.

There was nobody at the front desk. Peyton frowned. She stepped behind the counter, and leaned into the half-open doorway to Harry’s office. He was inside, sitting in front of a computer with its screen split between an Excel sheet and an online poker game.

“Morning”, Peyton said. Harry responded with a grunt, not taking his eyes away from the game. There was a masculine, musky smell coming off of him, and Peyton **** herself to ignore the pleasurable cringe it sent racing to her cunt.

“Where is everyone? I saw there’s a car in bay one—figured Amber must have checked it in, but she’s not at the counter.” Peyton asked. That finally got Harry’s attention properly. Turning and pushing himself out of his chair, he shoved past Peyton (once again forcing her to suppress a surge of instinctive arousal), grunting, “What? Where the hell did she go?”

When he saw that the front area was empty, he stood there, scratching his faintly balding head.

“Coulda sworn she was here…”, he muttered.

Peyton moved up to his side and said, “It’ll be at least an hour before Avery shows up.” Harry grunted his agreement.

“Well, she’s probably just in the can”, he eventually said. Rex Auto didn’t have its own restrooms, but they had a deal with the gas station across the street. “Check the intake record to see what the deal with the vehicle is, then get to work. If she doesn’t show up for another ten minutes or so, let me know and we’ll see if we can find her.”

With that, Harry returned to his own ‘work’. Peyton gave a sniff (out of disdain, mind you, and absolutely not at all to get another whiff of his musk before he left) before leaning over Amber’s terminal. She found the record for the most recent client, opened it, and… it was incomplete. A half-filled intake form stared back at Peyton, seemingly having been interrupted partway through taking the client’s contact information. Only the name—Mark Harreton—and a mailing address were finished.

Well… fuck, Peyton thought. She walked through the door out into the garage itself. The car in question (a Civic—2015, at a glance) was in place, but hadn’t been jacked up.

She tossed her bag onto a workbench, then did a quick visual inspection of the Civic. There was no body damage she could see, and since the client hadn’t finished filling out the forms she couldn’t legally start work even if she knew what was wrong. She sighed.

An idea struck her then, and she pulled out her phone. In hindsight, this was the obvious thing to have done in the first place. She placed a call to Amber's cell, then put the phone to her ear. It started ringing out… from two places.

She frowned. So... Amber’s phone was near enough that she could hear it ringing? It was hard to tell exactly where it was coming from, but turning on the spot made it clear that it was back out the rear garage door—behind the building somewhere.

Behind the building.

Fuck's sake.

Peyton massaged her temples. She was beginning to figure out this entire mystery—really, the first and simplest clue should have been the male name on the intake form.

She trudged around back, and her suspicions were confirmed. The smell of sex filled the small, wire-fenced alleyway. The sounds of flesh on flesh could be heard between rings of the cell phone. Not more than ten feet away, a broad-shouldered man in his thirties held Amber, her legs folded up, using her like a slender teenage fleshlight. Her tongue was lolled out of her mouth, and jets of pussy juice splattered the alleyway with every other thrust of the man’s thick cock into her overtaxed little cunt. Her jeans had been tossed onto the ground nearby—the cell phone was singing merrily from one of the pockets—and her panties were around one ankle, barely staying on. Amber had pulled her bouncy tits out of her shirt, and they flopped around with every rough thrust.

Amber had been hired a year ago, initially working part-time during her last year of high school. She’d moved to full time after graduating. She was a nice enough girl, and she’d picked up the job quickly. Peyton had actually objected initially (though in private), feeling that the shop didn’t get enough business to warrant a full-time receptionist—especially one without any actual automotive knowledge. Still, the perky brunette did her job well enough… as long as there weren’t any men around.

Peyton had met some horny femmes in her time, but Amber took the cake with ease. There hadn’t been a male customer in the last year that she hadn’t tried to proposition. She’d gotten surprisingly good at it, and now seemed to score more cock in a month than a lot of women could manage in a year. Still, it was only just past nine o’clock, which might make this her all-time record for how early in the day she’d successfully abandoned her job to get her cunt stuffed (not counting the “Good Morning, Boss!” blowjob she apparently gave Harry every day).

Peyton cleared her throat loudly. The customer—Mark, wasn’t it?—glanced over.

“Oh… hey…”, he said. His tone was casual, as if he wasn’t currently blowing a teenage slut’s little mind. “You can have a turn after, if you want.”

“No thank you, sir…”, Peyton said, trying to balance her withering tone with as much customer-service politeness as she could muster. Her pussy immediately objected—she’d started getting wet as soon as she saw the size of his dick—but Peyton pushed on. “I actually need you two to come back in and finish filling out the form so I can get to work on your vehicle.”

“Oh. Okay. Just… give me a moment to finish up”, he requested. He started to pump harder, causing Amber to squeak, and a cascade of trembles to race through her body.

Peyton nodded, and left before she broke down and asked for a turn. She wanted one—of course she wanted one—but she hated giving men the satisfaction of knowing that.

Back inside, she dropped into Amber’s desk chair. If they took more than five minutes or so, she’d go back out and bug them again. In the meantime, she fiddled on her phone for a bit.

Finally, she heard steps.