Miss Fix-It

Notes: This story contains lesbian themes, graphic sex, and vulgar language. Please don't read it if you aren't old enough. This story is fiction: resemblance between the characters and any actual person or persons is coincidental.

I posted this several years ago on a defunct site under another name. I hope you've never seen it before!

Miss Fix-It

by pacifist91w

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Have you ever used a vending machine and something went wrong?

Yeah, dumb question!--but I had a reason for asking. No matter what you've seen or been told, sometimes broken machines do get repaired! I happen to be one of that rarest of all breeds: the vending machine mechanic. I have been one for a couple of years. Most of my work is done in the repair shop, but I occasionally make "house calls" when the machine gets a lot of use and the fix sounds simple.

This time was the first house call I'd had in a month. It was in an office building on the outskirts of my town, Cincinatti. I made sure it would be after business hours when I arrived to work my magic, because I don't like dealing with angry customers (and most customers are angry when a machine has taken their money. I'm sure we've all been that way).

At a little after 9:00 p.m., I parked my company pick-up in a guest stall of the abandoned parking lot and let the security guard know I'd arrived. I was directed to the employee lounge on the second floor. They had a decent selection: nine machines. My business was with the sandwich/yogurt seller on the right: one of the "wheel of death" models. I pulled up a chair and opened my tool bag.

It was a pretty easy fix: just a worn out return mechanism. I had the old one out and the replacement installed quickly. I was about to close the access panel....

"Are you doing what I think you're doing?" said a voice behind me.

I've always been jumpy. To make matters worse, I'm irritable when startled. I hopped up and spun to confront the gal who I felt had sneaked up on me.

"Why? What do you think I'm doing?" I asked in a defensive tone.

The woman who had addressed me was probably in her late 30s, wearing a pretty nice medium blue skirt suit and cute shoes with low heels. She looked surprised and a little hurt.

"Sorry I said anything," she muttered and turned away.

"Wait, I'm sorry I snapped at you," I said, taking a small step toward her. "You startled me and that always makes me annoyed."

"Did I? I thought you would have heard me coming--I mean, with the tile floor." She gave me a meek little smile.

I gave her a large smile in response. "The floor and the walls have noise-dampening material," I pointed out. "But forget that, let me just answer your question. I'm fixing this machine. So if you thought I was doing that, you were right."

She seemed to accept my olive branch. "That's what I thought, but I'd never seen anyone doing it before. Besides, I was a little startled when I saw you; I'm usually the only non-security person here this late."

"If you don't mind me prying, why are you here?" I asked, keeping my voice conversational.

"Expense reports," she said. "I'll be here another hour at least."

"So you're here for a snack," I assumed.

"For coffee, actually."

"Really? Tea's better for you."

I think I had her attention. One of her eyebrows rose a little. Was she trying not to laugh? "Is it?"

This woman didn't mind talking to me. I liked her manner. I'd expected her to be business-exec snobby and pretty much ignore me, but now I wanted to keep talking with her, for a few minutes at least. To be forthcoming, I also liked her looks: she was average height but had long arms and legs, as well as full hips and an equally full bosom. Her hair was up, but the color was a rich chestnut brown, with a trace of honey blonde. Her voice was unexpectedly high, but soothing.

"Sure, you ever had green tea?" I answered.

"I tried it once, I think," she said. "That was when I was in middle school."

"Well, how about I buy you one?" She looked ready to argue or refuse, so I quickly added, "Let me do that to apologize for my rudeness."

"Okay," she said. "Don't take it personally if I don't like it and get the coffee anyway."

I got a cup for her and one for myself. I leaned against a counter and took a sip; it was decent stuff. She tried hers. "It's not bad," she pronounced.

"Glad to hear that," I said.

"It's got caffeine?"

"Yeah."

"Good," she said. "That's the point of coffee for me at a time like this. I don't mind saying that I put off the reports because they're boring. I want to keep going until they're done; dozing off simply won't do."

"I heard that; it sounds kind of boring--no offense."

"Your job is probably never boring, though."

I laughed a little. "It can be. Heck, it is more often than it's not! I usually do my work in a concrete block shop under drab flourescent lights. I look forward to errands like this one."

"That's interesting," she said. "What made you want to be a repairman? Sorry!--I mean--!"

At this point, she was floundering and I was laughing hard. "No, it's okay," I said, waving my free arm. "I've heard that term a thousand times! Machine repair: everyone thinks of it as a guy's job, or a dyke's. To me, it's just a way to earn a living."

Her face, which had been embarrassed, became unreadable to me. I thought I caught a glimpse of gleaming white teeth as she made a quick grimace, but I couldn't be sure I'd seen it. Feeling a little unsettled, I returned my attention to the office worker's words. In a more serious tone, she was saying, "My job was a man's job too until about two or three decades ago. I'm glad I'm doing what I'm doing though; overall, it's a very good job."

"What made you want to do it?"

"High math skills, low people skills," she said.

"I believe you about the math skills," I told her, "but not the people skills. To me, you seem like a people person."

"I don't like groups," she said. "Thank you for saying that, though. I have been working on socialization."

"Well, it was nice meeting you," I said, tossing my empty cup into a wastebasket.

"It was very nice meeting you, too," she said. "What do I do if I want to see you again? Break another vending machine?"

Thinking that was a joke, I laughed and turned around to get my tool kit. But suddenly, I felt this woman's body pressed against my back. She felt firm yet soft, and so warm! Despite her shirt and suit jacket, her large breasts were unmistakable as they pushed against the back of my ribs. She smelled faintly of cucumber and melon. "I wasn't kidding," she whispered. Then I felt her lips on my neck.

This had gone far enough. I whirled. "Hey, what the fuck are you doing?" I asked, more confused than anything else.

"That should be obvious," she said, leaning in to me and kissing my mouth. Her pleasantly yielding, voluptuous chest met my firm, somewhat smaller chest, and my nipples grew erect instantly.

My mind felt foggy as I tried to adjust to the reality of a woman hitting on me; some part of my conscious didn't believe it. Even more, I couldn't believe my reaction. My body enjoyed this attractive, sweet-smelling woman's attention. I needed to think. "We can't do this," I said, my voice sounding faint to my ears. "I have a boyfriend and a three-year-old daughter."

She didn't answer. She moved, kissing my neck, jaw, and ears while her hands worked on the zipper of my coveralls. My strong legs weakened, beginning to tremble at the knees. My breath caught as she pinned me with her light brown eyes and challenged me with her amazing confidence. I admit that it wasn't just because I was stunned that I didn't stop her. Her intensity turned me on, and she was a damn good kisser.

"Do you have anything you could pass on to me, honey?" she murmured.

That was my chance.

"Nothing!" I blurted. I couldn't believe I'd passed up my chance to lie and end this encounter! To make matters worse, I was humiliated by how I sounded; my voice was so eager--almost desperate.

For her part, the executive chuckled, sounding very sultry. "Good. I'm perfectly healthy too, so don't worry your pretty head. Now--" she yanked my coveralls open and down with startling force "--let's get access to this body of yours."

"Please don't," I forced myself to say.

If she heard, she didn't let me know. The brunette office worker turned me around, put her hand between my shoulder blades, and pushed. She bent me over the table her tea still sat on. She opened my jeans with one hand and pushed up my grey t-shirt with the other. She was graceful and powerful. I felt a tingle in my crotch that compelled me not to fight her. She disposed of my shirt and bra, then undid my belt. Nonchalantly--almost arrogantly--she slid my tight denim pants to my ankles. She had another surprise for me then; she took hold of my cotton panties and tugged sharply, ripping first one side, then the other. Oh fuck, that made my pussy juice flow! I won't lie, I loved how ferocious she was.

I was naked and she was completely clothed. That turned me on even more. She instinctively knew that; she rubbed her body up and down mine, making me feel the soft-but-harsh tweed of her suit and the cold brass of the buttons on her jacket.

"You're in the dyke job, but I'm the dyke," she gloated. Her high voice was still pleasant, but it had a steel edge. "Ironic, isn't it? Now, you want me to fuck you, little straight girl?"

I hated myself. "Yes!" I moaned. My insides burned in anticipation.

"What was that, bitch?" she teased.

"Please, fuck me," I begged, feeling tears of shame and frustration collecting in the corners of my eyes.

I heard a zipper and a jingle. She must have been getting something from her purse.

"Oh!" I gasped as she shoved her dildo into me. She rubbed my clit with her free hand. She had amazing rhythm--and power. The toy was like an extension of her will, and she knew how to use it to excite me from the inside even as her wonderful fingers drove me wild from the outside. She kept kissing my neck and ears--biting softly occasionally--I knew she must be leaving visible marks. How would I explain? I didn't care; her passion was thrilling!

I lost control. She gave me the best fuck of my life right there, in a corporate lunchroom. I don't know how many times I came. Finally I collapsed onto the table, sweating and heaving.

But she wasn't done. She turned me over and a second later I felt heat and wetness above me.

She lowered herself onto my face. "Lick me, you slut," she purred, grinding onto my mouth. She must have shaved or waxed very recently; her pussy was smooth. Her lips were thick and pink with excitement. Clear liquid coated her gleaming vulvae. The smell drove me wild.

It was only fair...okay, I wanted to! She'd fucked me so good; I wanted to prove that I had some skill in love-making too. I licked and sucked her pussy and it was fun! I thrust my tongue between her tight outer labia and slurped. I used my lips to massage her clitoris while I tried my best to shove my tongue as deep as it would go. I loved how wet she got and how she called me every filthy name in the book when I made her come.

At last, she was satisfied. I groggily started to rise, but I felt her hand on me again. Tenderly this time, she slipped her fingers into my throbbing cunt--I groaned and squirmed, since I was quite sensitive from her attentions--then pulled them back out. She looked into my eyes when I sat up. "Taste yourself," she whispered, and popped her fingers into my mouth. I had no idea that that would be so arousing! I found myself slurping her hand, drooling as I ran my tongue all over her palm and around her fingers.

While I tried to recover, I saw her rinsing her toy, drying it, and putting it away.

She shrugged herself back into her jacket. She straightened her skirt. She barely had a hair out of place, and I was a mess! This woman--she intrigued me. My normally strong willpower was overwhelmed. She was irresistible to me.

I got off the table and pulled up my jeans. "See you around," the woman said casually.

I panicked. "Don't leave!" I said. "I--just--"

She folded her arms. "--You've got a boyfriend and a kid. Isn't it better to leave it like this?"

I had no answer, but I was so afraid of her leaving. "Wasn't it good for you? Didn't you feel anything?"

I expected her to laugh at me, but her voice softened. "You're straight. I'm gay. We can't work, babe."

"I thought I was straight," I said, my voice quivering. I put on my t-shirt while she considered this.

"You aren't sure," she finally said. "Let me tell you this: I'm single and I enjoy being free to 'hunt'. I like seducing and having my way with women. Does that make you more sure of yourself?"

"I'm not sure of anything, except that I want to have you in bed," I told her.

"And I'd like to fuck you again, hon," she said. "You don't bore me."

We introduced ourselves and exchanged numbers. I don't know what will happen from here. But I'm meeting her at a bar tomorrow night...my lower insides are burning just thinking about it.

+End note+ Please review, vote, fave, comment, etc. I love feedback!