After my defeat by Karen, I wanted to disappear, and I didn't care where I wound up. While reading the paper I found a classified ad for an assistant mechanic on a fishing boat docked in the harbor. They sounded desperate, and no experience was necessary, so I informed my advisor I was taking a semester off, and walked to the bay. When I got to the gangplank I told a sailor why I'd come and he ushered me on board to the bridge, where I met the first mate. He gave me the wage and how long I would probably be doing it, and led me to the engine room. The job wasn't centered on fixing anything, but required me to stand at a display console and watch a bunch of gauges, all of which were in German. If anything went haywire I was to sound a whistle, and the real technician somewhere in the ship's bowels would stop tinkering. After things went back to normal, I blew the horn twice more, and he resumed his service. This involved standing in a loud, steamy dungeon completely alone every day as the slave of an enormous machine. It was ideal.
As days passed I grew used to the situation. The mechanic never showed himself, but without fail the works would slumber whenever I gave the alarm, and they would start up when I gave the all-clear. The outside world didn't seem to exist in that cramped sauna, and I lost a little excess weight to the heat. I was hidden for a while at least, and when the engagement ended I knew I could find another one like it. No one could get to me.
Three weeks into this routine, the engines stopped completely. The longest pause in their running until then had lasted six or seven minutes, but this episode had gone on an hour when I decided to do something. I didn't want to go on deck in case everything began with nobody at my post to give warnings, but I couldn't stand there any longer while nothing happened, so I crawled into the depths of the beast to find the mysterious repairman.
It was when rounding a corner that I had my first glimpse of her, while she was hunched at a wrench that had been fixed to a giant bracket bolt. She was twisting it in a form-fitting black tank top tucked into gray boxer briefs, and nothing else except some oily war paint. Her hair was done up in a dirty bandanna, but a few tendrils of filthy, tangled brown sprang from it. I stood in a trance, captivated by her physique. The level shoulders beneath the straps were immense, and the restrictive fabric subsumed her breasts in the curves of her pectorals. Both of her arms and her trunk were wide, solid, and springy, though her pale, freckly skin lacked any muscular definition. Large, strong thighs flexed over thick, taut ankles, and her bare feet gripped the ground like puma paws. Not so much straining as firmly coaxing the stuck bar in repeated pulls, her focus was too narrow to include me while I watched her back tighten and loosen in the cycle of her movements. Suddenly she stepped out of profile to address the problem from a different perspective, and I caught sight of a bulge in her shorts that was the shape of a strapped-on dildo, which projected to a point near her left hip two inches above the waistband. My jaw dropped, and when I looked up at her she was mirroring my stare. Unfurling her fingers and replacing them on the handle but still looking at me, she drew up on the stubborn device, letting her big, capable chest puff out in my direction. This jolted me to my senses, and I retreated to my panel of dials.
Crouching there for several minutes I almost hyperventilated, not sure if that dick bound in cotton was an hallucination, a message from the sorority house, or just random chance. With my mind whirling, I tried to find the right course of action. At once I heard a terrible clang from the direction of her station, and then some dull whirring. Around me the dingy room came to life, as the engine started functioning. I reflexively checked the meters, and found nothing in the red. All the levels were still elevated, but they appeared to be declining very slowly. She had mended it.
"Ha ha! Alright," I cheered, even though I knew my stay aboard that vessel had most likely come to an end. "Yes!" Then I turned, and found her standing patiently at the door. "Well done,"
I said quietly.
In her right hand she carried the hefty wrench I'd seen her wield, and in her left an old coffee can that contained stiff globs of grimy red gel. Slung at her shoulder was a long, rotten shirt sleeve. Protruding from the unbuttoned hole of her underwear was a translucent rubber cock of disturbing length. Her eyebrows went up, expectantly.
"Look, I can't," I stammered. Without hesitating she cast the wrench at the wall, and flung the rag beside it. Then she tossed the cylinder to my feet. A chunk of the lubricant rolled from it to the floor by me. She put her hands on her hips. "Please," I whined, but it was no use. The dick nodded lightly at me. I inhaled deeply, and got on my knees.
I scooped up a generous wad of the substance and applied it carefully to the top of her dildo, scraping my hand clean as I ran it down the side of the shaft. Then I formed a circle with my fore and middle fingers and thumb, and slowly smoothed the lube over her in a rotating jack motion. Fro and to, base and head, I glorified her manhood as it bobbed an inch from my mouth, with my eyes on hers and she observing me. Adding two more dabs got it coated, and when I couldn't see an exposed spot on the jelly surface, I sat on my feet and folded my hands in my lap obediently. My gaze again found hers.
As she walked past me she grabbed my shirt at the collar and dragged me with her. I stumbled into a lope and trailed her to the desk, where she took my left arm in her left hand and spun me with enough zip that I doubled over it, so my back was to her. My arms scrambled for purchase among the papers and tools. She leaned her legs on mine to keep me in check. Her arms slunk around me and undid my belt.
"Oh," I moaned as the slithering dick smeared the seat of my pants.
