With some guidance

Ben drained the rest of his pint and set the glass down with a thud. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes gleaming with an idea.

"Tell you what, Dave," he said, his voice cutting through the loud pub chatter. "Since you're so keen on showing off, why don't you take Tom out to the car park and show him the Beemer? Let him see the engine bay and all those custom bits you were waffling on about."

Tom’s eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas. "Yeah, alright! I'd love to see it. If you don't mind?"

"Yeah, fine with me," Dave said, already sliding out of the booth and grabbing his coat. "Come on, let's go have a look."

"Be right back, babe," Tom said, leaning over to press a quick, oblivious kiss to Emma’s cheek before following Dave toward the exit.

The atmosphere in the booth shifted instantly. The air grew thick, heavy with a physical, electric tension. Ben didn't look at the door. He turned his body fully toward Emma, his smirk returning.

He spread his legs slightly under the table, the straining bulge in his denim practically begging for attention.

"Well," Ben murmured, his voice dropping to a rough, gravelly purr. "Looks like we've got some time to ourselves while the car nerds are outside admiring the exhaust."

Emma’s breath hitched. Her heart was hammering in her chest. She looked at him, her eyes wide, silently asking what he was going to do.

Ben leaned in close, his breath smelling of beer, "Since you're so inexperienced with real drving," he whispered, his hot breath fanning across her ear, "I figured it's time you got some hands-on practice with a stick."

He sat back slightly, his eyes locking onto hers with a commanding intensity. "Undo my trousers. Get your hand on it."

Emma swallowed hard, her hands were trembling as she reached under the shadow of the table. Her fingers fumbled with the heavy metal buckle of his belt, the clink sounding deafeningly loud to her ears. She pulled the leather free, her fingers brushing against the rough, sweat-stained denim of his jeans.

She grabbed the button and the zipper, pulling it down slowly. The flesh of his cock immediately sprang forward, straining against the confines of his boxer shorts.

"Pull them down," he commanded softly. "Get it out."

With shaking hands, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his underwear and pulled it down just enough to free him. His dirty and compelling cock bounced free, heavy and fully erect, twitching in the air. It was intimidatingly large, the mass of it held her gaze.

"Wrap your hand around it," Ben instructed, his voice thick with arousal. "Feel how heavy it is. None of that neat, automatic bullshit. You gotta learn how to grip the stick, how to work it."

Emma closed her fingers around his thick shaft. The heat of his skin radiated against her palm, the heavy veins pulsing against her fingertips. She gave it a tentative, clumsy squeeze.

Ben let out a low, rough groan, his hips bucking slightly forward into her hand. "That's it. Don't be shy. Stroke it."

He reached down, his large hand covering hers, forcing her to grip him tighter. He guided her hand, making her pump his shaft up and down. "You gotta pump slowly and feel it in your hand," he muttered as he watched her hand work his cock. "Smooth strokes. Don't stall it on me. You feel how hard it gets when you slide your hand up and down?"

Emma nodded frantically, her face flushed burning red. She was terrified someone would walk back in, terrified of Tom seeing her, but the sheer degradation and taboo thrill of it was fillimg her brain, removing every other thought. She fell into the rhythm he was forcing on her, her small hand sliding up and down his thick, veiny shaft, smearing his pre-cum over his skin.

"Good girl," Ben praised, his thumb reaching down to flick over her knuckles. "You're a quick learner. Keep working the stick. We've got plenty of time before those idiots get back"