Passing The Time

"Okay listen, dicksuck," Lauren snarled, "you can take that patronizing tongue that smells like your own ass and tuck it the fuck in, because the next time you talk to me that way, I'll knee you in your insignificant little balls."

That's what she

wanted

to say. Badly. She wanted to lean into the smarmy mechanic right here in his own garage, bracket him with her blue eyes, and remind him that when he talked about air filters and brake shoes, she knew damn well what the fuck he was talking about, and that he didn't need to use

that

tone, thank you very fucking much.

Except that, alas, she had no idea what he was saying about air filters and brake shoes. And he knew it, too.

But still. Did he need to savor his smug little explanation

that

much? "Yeah. Well, so here's the thing, ma'am," he went on now, his lip curling; motherfucker couldn't even stop himself from smirking for three seconds, "it

was

under warranty.

Was

. But when the manufacturer went to a fixed-maintenance model last year, that modified the terms of your warranty. Understand?" He gave a reasonable facsimile of sincerity, belied by that damn curled lip. Lauren wanted to pull out her little Swiss army knife and slice that lip clean off. "They emailed you about it."

"I get, like, three emails a week from that dealership!" she protested. "Each one is, like, eight thousand words!"

"Well," the man shrugged, his lip curling even more, "somewhere in those eight thousand words, ma'am, is the information about changes to the warranty policy." He looked suddenly bored, his eyes seeking out her cleavage again. "Look, I can't tell you how long the wait'll be. You're probably best off just sitting out by the cashier if you can't figure out a ride."

She found herself staring dully up at his big, stupid face with its big, stupid nose and that curled lip, and she decided she very much wanted to knee him in the balls. But she also knew she had a car that wouldn't run, and he had it up on a lift with her keys in his pocket. She sighed. "Fine. Thanks, uh, Mr..."

"Hal." His eyes went vacant once more as he studied her tits, so she turned away and made sure she was facing well away from him before she rolled her eyes, her bold stride down the seedy hallway through the buzz of the fluorescents spoiled as soon as she realized he'd be checking out her ass. "I'm Hal, honey."

"I bet you are," she hissed under her breath, shoving the door open with one smooth bop of her hip. It shook on its hinges, the little spring at the top groaning as she stepped through into the little waiting area. She'd already spent half an hour here while sleazy, smug old Hal had taken his first look at her car, and now the little cashier glanced up with the same bright smile from earlier.

"All set?" She had a pucker to her lipsticked mouth that looked oddly familiar, in a round pale face with frazzled hair she'd swept back off her forehead. There were a couple of zits up there, nothing major; the girl couldn't possibly be older than nineteen, and Lauren found herself smiling back before she even knew it. "Cash or credit?"

"No. He's not even started on my car yet." She sighed back down onto the hard chair and grabbed the nearest dusty copy of

House and Home

off the rickety table under the defunct TV. "I did, however, get a free lecture about warranties and an unsolicited helping of low-grade sexual harassment." To her shock, the girl behind the register laughed.

"Yeah, he tends to do that." She hesitated, an impish smile sprouting from those mobile little lips as she studied Lauren. "No offense, ma'am, but... you're sort of his type."

"Meaning?" Lauren was too shocked and defeated to be offended, at least so far. She girl's smile grew.

"Well, let's just say he tends to go for women with big boobs, and leave it at that," she giggled. She flipped through some papers on her counter beside the register. "I'm sorry," she added, and Lauren sighed.

"No, it's not your fault." She glanced down at her shirt, the cloth straining hard, and shook her head ruefully. "These things can be a fucking curse sometimes."

"Tell me about it," the girl nodded, giggling some more. She glanced over her shoulder at the door to the service area, then leaned out from behind the register. "It's not just you," she smiled, arching her back; the buttons of her flannel strained to hold her in, and Lauren found herself laughing back at her. "My name's Abby."

"I'm Lauren." She hesitated, then glanced at the cashier's chest. "So that's why he hired you?"

"No!" Abby rolled her eyes. "It's even worse than that. He's my dad."

"Oh!" Lauren had no clue what to say, except, "sorry..."

"Yeah, well." Abby tossed her hair back. "That's how I know his type. My mom's like a 34F."

"Fuck," Lauren marveled, then she covered her mouth. "Oh. Excuse me. It's been a stressful day."

Abby laughed again. She seemed like the kind of girl that did it easily, and often. "You want to swear? Fuckin' swear!" They both grinned. "This is a car repair place. I hear about forty f-bombs per hour. And yes, Lauren, I do get my share of glances." She paused, her lively eyes flickering down Lauren's seated body. "He likes nice butts, too, so you're double-screwed here."

"Oh. Great." Lauren felt herself stir, sitting up straighter in the hard chair. She worked hard to keep herself in shape, and it bothered her when only men seemed to notice. "Thanks, though."

"Hey!" The cashier put both hands up. "I see dozens of people in here every day. I know what I know, and you're a fucking ten." She winked. "Eleven, maybe."

"Wow!" Lauren was grinning widely now, feeling herself respond to this careless little sweetheart. "You're going to make me blush."

"You already are," Abby pointed out indulgently.

"Fuck." She glanced across at the only other person in the room, an elderly man waiting while Hal did his safety inspection. The guy's head was tipped back against the big front window, his eyes closed in cowlike docility. Abby noticed.

"It's okay," she smiled. "I'll quit bugging you." She straightened the stack of papers on the counter, humming to herself while an impact wrench whined in the distance. Lauren felt the flush slowly dissipate, her annoyance with Hal very much forgotten now. The girl's hair spread in untidy whorls across her face as she bent over her paperwork, her fingers tapping decisively at a filthy keyboard off to one side.

Lauren's mind wandered as she paged through some spread of a celebrity home out on PEI or Labrador or someplace, wondering to herself what Abby looked like under her flannel, what her legs could do, what that wild hair would feel like trailing over naked skin as that wry little mouth crept down, down... With a start Lauren found Abby's face again, realizing the girl was staring right back at her.

The eye contact was an electric jolt sizzling through her body.

The wrench wheezed once more, a series of loud stutters, and then they heard heavy footsteps out in the hall. "All set!" The door rattled open, its spring giving that same high-pitched groan, and then there was Hal, looming in the doorway. "I'm finished on the green Pontiac." He held out a grimy clipboard for Abby, his eyes resting comfortably back in their accustomed place atop Lauren's tits. She raised the magazine instinctively, Hal giving a short laugh. "Not your car, honey. You'll be with us awhile." His work boot nudged at the old man's chair. "That's you, bud. Ring him up, Abigail."

"Come on over, sir," Abby told the man, her voice soothing as the guy blinked. "I'll go over the bill." Lauren locked eyes with Abby's father, the man's face easing again into that same superior smirk. She glanced down to make sure the magazine was covering her chest, then thought about the tightness of her jeans across her thighs and wished she'd grabbed her hoodie from the car before she'd surrendered it to Hal. The old man and Abby carried on, their low voices overlaid by shuffling paper and the tap of her little fingers on her keyboard, while her father just leaned against the door jamb and nodded across at Lauren.

I'm gonna move this chair out of sight of that door,

she told herself.

Just as soon as he leaves

.

Which he did, blessedly, taking the old guy back to pick up his Pontiac. Lauren slid her eyes up to Abby, who rolled hers. "Nice job, with the magazine," the younger woman nodded.

"When you're built like me, you learn all the tricks." It came out as a surly mutter, Lauren scotching the chair loudly along the linoleum until the back side of the counter hid most of it from the door. Abby laughed.

"If you're sick of looking at me," she beamed, "just say so." It was true: the register completely blocked her now.

"Oh, no fear of that." The two shared a small, secret smile. "You're making this whole thing bearable, frankly."

"Good thing you decided to come here, then." The girl stretched her arms up high, her back arching steeply back. "In spite of my dad, I mean."

Lauren gave a bark of laughter. "Not like I had much of a choice. When your car starts puking out black smoke and you're a moron about auto shit, you pull into the first shop you find." She yawned. "It's not like I pulled over and Googled this place."

"Good." Abby arched her eyebrow. "Our reviews fucking suck."

"Gee. I wonder why." She hesitated. "I'd have missed out on this fun little convo, sadly. It would never have occurred to me to search for all the mechanics named Hal, for example," she laughed, and as expected, Abby joined in.

"You'd have been SOL." She twisted to the side, jamming the old man's paperwork into a metal tray on the wall. "His name's not even Hal. He just thought that would sound more mechanic-y."

"Are you shitting me?"

"No. His name is actually Lawrence."

"Oh." The girl's smile bewitched her. "Wow!"

"Yeah. You'd get like forty thousand hits. Every other car guy in this part of the province is named Hal. Or Gary."

"That seems... not very useful." Lauren smiled despite herself. "Like, this one time, I got obsessed with this volleyball player at the Junior College. All I knew was her first name, Kailey." She shook her head. "You have any idea how many chicks named Kailey play volleyball?"

Abby tossed her head back and roared with laughter, her bangs dancing. Lauren had a sudden urge to get up, march over, and tuck her hair behind her ear for her. She paused, staring over the counter. "You, uh, easily get obsessed with female volleyball players, do ya?"

Lauren saw her big eyes drop to her chest, and felt herself respond. Those eyes were amazing. "I mean, come on." Lauren shrugged and finally put the magazine on the little table. "They're volleyball players. The shorts..."

"Oh, hell yeah. The shorts." Abby's smile grew. "You like short shorts, huh?"

Lauren felt her nipples prodding at her bra as she leaned forward. She was almost sure this wiggly little cashier was flirting with her. Goddamn, she

hoped

she was... "I like

girls

in short shorts," she nodded seriously.

Abby licked her lips unconsciously. "I feel that."

"Fuck," Lauren nodded, fervent, "I wish I

did

feel that."

Abby was nodding when Lauren glanced back up. "Mmhmm," she muttered, her lips quirking, "nice little asses in those shorts. Usually."

"Usually," Lauren nodded, sitting forward in the chair now. Definitely, the girl was flirting.

Imagine

, Lauren thought to herself,

finding a horny little bitch out here in the boonies...

"Volleyball players are almost always hot," she admitted, and then she waited until the other woman's big eyes found hers. "So. You play volleyball, Abby?"

"Oh my god!" the girl blurted, her face catching fire. Her hand flew to her mouth, but her eyes shone. "Shut up! I do

not

play volleyball." She cocked her head. "My butt is too big to look good in those shorts."

"You forget," Lauren winked back, fighting to keep the excitement out of her voice, "I like girls in short shorts, and you're a girl." She made a show of leaning sideways in the little chair, her head craning around the cash register. "Guaranteed, your butt would look amazing in those."

"Lies."

"Seriously." Lauren shrugged, still peering around. "Trust me. I've spent many, many hours poring over pics of women in volleyball shorts. I'm an expert."

Abby fidgeted with the register. "What are you doing?" she asked, soft and a little playful. "Why are you trying to see around the register?"

"Well," Lauren smiled, feeling her heart beat faster, "you brought up your butt being too big. I'm trying to see."

"Stop it." She didn't mean it, though, her eyes still gleaming.

"Come on." Lauren took a deep breath, her heart pounding now; she could feel her pussy stir. The girl's smile was a sorceress' spell, her eyes amazing. "I told you. I'm an expert."

The girl lowered her hand, her fingers drumming softly on the counter. "But I'm not wearing shorts."

"I have a vivid imagination." She glanced at the door behind Abby. "Look, I'm also trying to stave off boredom here. Humor me."

"Humor you. By showing you my ass."

Lauren made a point of scanning around the room. "Like you're so busy..."

"You're crazy," Abby said softly, but she was grinning as she slid off her stool, the evening outside passing through that moment, so sudden out here in the boonies, where "afternoon" became "evening." Lauren grew suddenly very conscious of little details: the clang of a dropped tool in the maintenance bay. The flicker of a fluorescent high above, its ballast iffy. Passing headlights as a pickup truck flew by on the curving road outside.

And the smirk on Abby's face as the girl stepped out from behind the little counter.

"I'm telling you," she was saying, shaking her head, "all you're going to see is my fat ass in a pair of ratty tights." She was flushed as she said it, her whole body looking alert and alive and so very fucking

ripe

to Lauren's overheated mind, the flannel falling from her full breasts down to just barely cover her mound. She hesitated, simpering. "Wanna come around back? Or should I just twirl?"

"Twirl away," Lauren managed. The girl was short, vibrant, her energy reaching across the room straight to Lauren's pussy. "Or, like, better yet? Just turn around and bend over."

"Fuck!" Abby laughed, her whole face lit up. "You're not very subtle, are you?"

Lauren sat back in the chair, feeling sweat start under her armpits. Her whole body trembled. "What are you? Chickenshit?"

"Ooh. A challenge from a chick who doesn't even know what an air filter does?" They both laughed.

"Sure I do." Lauren licked dry lips. "It filters air. Now come on. Turn around and touch your toes. I promise I won't be too harsh."

"Some girls like it harsh," Abby blurted, but she whirled anyway. She stood a moment, posed with her fingers under the back of her shirt where it fell to the bottom of her butt. She turned her head to smirk over her shoulder at Lauren. "Ready?"

"Born ready." Lauren crossed her ankles, her legs stretched out before her. Her pussy tingled now. It had been awhile since she'd flirted all casually like this, meeting up with a cute girl in a public place and letting her tongue get loose; this was far more than she'd been looking for, and as Abby curled her body slowly over, her hands flipping the flannel up, Lauren felt her mouth fall open.

Abby's ass stretched the tights across a pair of smooth, full young cheeks, the black cloth sinking in where her crack marched down from her spine, the whole expanse boldly, even proudly on display with no hint of any underwear. She scooched her ankles out to the sides, and that frazzly hair of hers dipped into view between her thighs. "I was never very good at touching my toes," she apologized, her voice strained.

"Am I complaining?" Lauren stared between the younger woman's legs, watching the muscles of her thighs tense as they drew the eye up, up to where the tights cupped her crotch. She could see where the seam parted her pussy lips, and she felt herself shudder. "Wow, Abby. That's some ass." She heard a giggle. "You sure you don't play volleyball?"

"Oh, I'm sure." The girl was arched deeply now, her legs spread wide so her fingertips could rest on the filthy floor. Her reddened face appeared, inverted, between her legs. "Enjoying the view? I might need some help straightening back up," she laughed. Lauren shifted in the chair, sitting forward now, her eyes drinking in the young body before her.

"Not yet," Lauren breathed. "I'm telling you, I'm an expert. I need time to, like, study." The woman's butt was gorgous, big, grabbable. But still fresh and youthful. Lauren felt a strong urge to lean in and kiss it.

"I just think you like my ass." It came out in a rush, on the exhale, as her face got redder. Abby was bent way over now, her eyes crinkling in amusement as she took in Lauren's reaction. She giggled. "Imagine if my dad came in now?"

"Fuck." Lauren rolled her eyes. "Way to spoil the mood. I'm enjoying myself here."

"Yeah?" Abby said it low and husky as, slowly, she drew herself back upright. "You are, huh?" She stretched her neck, taking care to keep her flannel up at her waistband, showing off now.

"Sort of." Lauren had to fight to keep her hands in her lap, to stop them from reaching out and burying themselves in Abby's cheeks. The girl's feet stayed spread, that seam tempting her as it split her lips... Lauren drew a deep breath. "A lot, actually, if I'm telling the truth."

Abby giggled again, her hair whipping as she spun her head back over her shoulder. "I'm happy to hear it. A girl can dig it when her ugly old ass gets some attention, you know?"

"I mean," Lauren stammered, composing herself, her eyes slow as they crept back up toward Abby's face, "I always think so. But yeah, Abby, don't you worry. That ass? That's neither ugly, nor old."

"That's so sweet." At last she let the flannel fall, turning coolly to look down at Lauren. "While there you sit, like a girl waiting for a lapdance or something."

Lauren laughed, giddy. "Yeah, 'or something.' Unless, you know, you're offering?" She hesitated, head cocked, waiting once again to see what the girl would do. Her heart leapt when Abby merely nodded.

"I totally would," she sighed, "only with my luck, my dad or one of his employees would come in looking for an invoice just as things got good."

Lauren was definitely feeling careless now, her pussy weeping into her panties. A strange buzzing had started in her ears, like the room was small and hard to breathe in, like she needed fresh air. "Just as things got good," she mused.

"Oh yeah." The girl tossed her unruly hair back as, at last, she returned to her stool. "I give outstanding lapdances."

Lauren forced words into the sudden silence that followed. "I can't believe I'm going to be waiting around here for, like, hours," she complained quietly. "This is not what I was planning when I got up this morning."

Abby nodded thoughtfully from behind the counter, her chin in her hand. "I can relate. Did you, like, want anything? Some coffee, water, need to use the bathroom?" Her big eyes bore down into Lauren's. "Anything I can do for you?"

"Know what? I think maybe I do need to use the restroom." Lauren gulped. "You should, like, take me back. Show me where it is." She gulped back her excitement. "Give me the grand tour of this amazing establishment."

"If it'll help you pass the time, I guess," Abby said quietly. "When my dad's not in a hurry, he's not in a hurry. And he won't like seeing you go."

"Yes he will," Lauren shot back grimly. "You're not the only one with a nice butt."

"He does like peeking at a girl's ass," Abby nodded, her eyes straying down to Lauren's lap. "Show me."