Working at the Quick-E-Lube was miserable, tedious work, especially in my position as "lower bay technician." Basically, my part in the process of changing a car's oil was to remove the drain plug, remove the filter, replace drain plug, install filter. Not exactly an intellectually challenging job, not to mention the fact that it was dirty and, at times, dangerous.
I hated my job. I would go in each morning with a feeling of dread, and leave each day wanting to quit. Until Christa was hired.
Christa had just turned eighteen. Fresh out of high school, she was working at the Quick-E-Lube to make a little cash before starting college in the fall. Working side by side with her, I couldn't help but notice how attractive she was. Petite and "cute" with long blonde hair and a bright, sunny smile.
The Quick-E-Lube uniforms did nothing for the female figure, but she worked around that, ordering a smaller sized shirt so her petite breasts didn't disappear beneath it and substituting a pair of her own black pants that better highlighted her adorable little ass.
Now don't get me wrong. It may seem as though I immediately began evaluating her as a potential sex partner, but initially, I had no intentions of trying to sleep with her. I simply ran through the nearly subconscious mental check-list that I, and most men, do whenever I meet a person of the opposite sex. My interest in her, at that time, was almost entirely professional.
But after working with her for a few weeks, the dynamic of our interaction began to shift. She became more talkative, which I first assumed was just because she was more comfortable with her workplace and coworkers. Then she started arranging to take her lunch break at the same time I did. Our conversations became more personal and "flirty," laced with innuendo. And believe me, working at a shop that specializes in oil changes and preventative maintenance, there is no lack of material for double entendre.
"Would you like help lubing your chassis?" She'd ask, feigning that wide-eyed innocence that for some reason I find incredibly sexy. Or, leaning in close, she'd ask with a wink and a flash of her sunny smile, "Would you service my gear-box?"
There was also more and more physical contact. She would frequently come over and, standing next to me so that our shoulders and hips were touching, offer to help me with even the simplest tasks. She began insisting on a hug at the end of her shift, squeezing me tighter and holding on longer than could be considered strictly friendly.
Call me oblivious, but I still had no idea that she had any interest in me beyond idle flirting to wile away the dull hours of a slow work day. The thought that she was slowly and not too subtly trying to seduce me, never crossed my mind.
Then one Friday it happened. It had been a particularly busy day, and I was exhausted. As soon as the bay doors had been closed and locked, I retired to the employee restroom to clean up and change out of my dirty uniform. As was my habit, I grabbed my clothes from my locker, locked myself in the bathroom, then proceeded to strip and scrub every drop of oil and grease from my body.
I was about mid-way through my cleansing ritual when I heard the break room door open, and James, the closing manager, call out. "Hey, I'm taking off. Lock up for me?"
"Sure thing, boss." I called back, shutting the water off and drying myself with paper towels. It wasn't uncommon for the manager to finish his closing tasks before I was done changing, so I frequently ended up being the last one out of the shop, killing the lights and locking the doors behind me.
As I stuffed my dirty uniform into the laundry bin, I started to let my mind drift. It had been busy, but it had been bearable due mostly to the fact that Christa had been working. Having her around to chat with, to flirt with, always made a hellacious job a little easier to survive. I pictured her in my mind as I began to gather my street clothes, how she looked bent over the hood of a car as she pulled the dipstick and checked the oil level. How, no matter how busy we were, she somehow always managed to stay nearly spotlessly clean. She never seemed to get frustrated or overwhelmed. And she somehow always managed to find a reason, no matter what was going on in the shop, to be near me.
I was a little surprised to notice, as I pulled my jeans on, that I had begun to get an erection. I chuckled quietly to myself, shook my head as if to clear my thoughts, and zipped up my pants. I quickly finished dressing, pulled my shoes on, and headed for the door.
I flipped the bathroom light off, pushed the door open and stepped into the break room. I froze. Sitting on the single table in the break room, smiling brightly, was Christa. My first reaction was an unreasonable embarrassment. As if somehow, just by being alone in the shop with me, she could have known the flow of my thoughts a few moments before I stepped out of the bathroom. I quickly overcame that illogical fear.
"Hey, kiddo, what're you doing here? Weren't you off an hour ago?" I had seen her leave, about an hour before closing time, so I honestly couldn't think of any reason for her to be there.
"Yeah, but I figured I'd come back and help you lock up. I know James leaves you here alone sometimes to lock the doors for him. I thought it'd be nice if you had some company." She leaned back, arms straight and palms flat on the table top. "If you don't want my company, though..."
"No, it's cool. Just surprised me, that's all." I noticed then that she had gone home and changed after work, and was no longer wearing the unflattering blue and black Quick-E-Lube uniform. The blue shirt had been replaced by a white button down blouse, and the black pants with a black skirt that stopped about half way down her thighs. This was the first time I'd seen her in anything other than her work clothes, and I couldn't help but stare. I immediately began to imagine what she would look like in even less. The erection that had started in the bathroom began to reassert it's presence and I again found myself feeling somewhat embarrassed.
Apparently she was able to pick up on my thoughts through my facial expression, because she laughed softly, uncrossed her legs and pushed herself down off the table. This put her within about a foot of me, close enough that I was able to smell a hint of her perfume.
"I already locked all the doors for you, by the way, so you don't need to worry about that." Her tone of voice had changed, becoming somewhat deeper, and softer. Still oblivious as I was, I immediately found myself wondering why she had already locked the doors. I opened my mouth to say something about how I usually lock on my way out, but she interrupted me. "So you don't need to worry about anyone else getting in here."
At that point, it finally dawned on me. Her tone of voice, the way she was dressed, her unexpected appearance. Most importantly, the locked doors. "So, we're alone here now?" I asked.
She nodded, once, her eyes never leaving mine. Without another word, I reached for her, sliding my hand around her waist to the small of her back, and pulled her into me. She tilted her head back as I leaned over and met my lips half-way. I could taste her lip-gloss as we kissed, some kind of berry. Her breath was warm as she parted her lips and slipped her tongue into my mouth.
Any doubts I still had regarding her intentions disappeared as soon as her hand hooked into the waistband of my jeans and pulled me against her. My head spun as I kissed her, my mind reeling. I couldn't believe this was happening. Up to this point, situations like this had only been something read about in magazines that came wrapped in black plastic. When Christa slipped her hand into my pants and stroked my cock through the tight fabric of my boxer-briefs, the reality fully sank in.
I slid my hand from the small of her back upwards, following the arch of her spine, then brought my hand over her shoulder and down to her breast. She broke the kiss and gasped as I cupped her breast and gently squeezed. I could feel her heart pounding through her shirt, and her nipple harden under the gentle pressure of my thumb. She whimpered softly as I stroked her, and the movement of her hand in my pants quickened.
I couldn't wait any longer. I had to see her. All of her. Still massaging her breast, I used my other hand to reach up and started unbuttoning her shirt. With each progressive button, I became more and more excited. I got down to the last two buttons before my shaking hand betrayed me. I couldn't seem to manage getting them undone, so finally, in frustration, I grabbed the thin fabric and yanked. The buttons popped off, skittering across the floor, and her shirt opened. She wasn't wearing a bra.
Her tits were amazing. Smallish, maybe a 'b' cup, but perfectly formed and capped with slightly puffy, pencil-eraser sized nipples. The skin was creamy white, silky and smooth, and hot under my hand. I bent over, bringing my face down to her chest, and lightly flicked first one nipple, then the other, with just the tip of my tongue. She gasped and her grip tightened on my cock as I opened my mouth and began to suck. I pulled at her nipple with my mouth as I ran circles around her areola with my tongue. Even her skin tasted sweet.
