Clara had never been the type to burden herself with deep thoughts. She was kind, sweet, and always ready to help. The only thing bigger than her heart were her massive DD titties. Her brain never tried to compete with them. She wasn't smart in the traditional sense, and even less in the age of fast minds and sharp tongues.
But she was beautiful. Tall, with a graceful figure, bright red hair and large innocent blue eyes. Her fair skin was dotted with light freckles across her cheeks and nose, adding to her full red lips.
Her waist? Tight as hell, like someone had grabbed her in the middle and squeezed. That made her ass pop even more, round, firm, the kind you couldn't help but stare at.
But she was also lonely.
Other girls, threatened by her looks, turned cold and cruel. Boys weren't interested in a genuine friendship, took advantage of her kindness, and hurt her feelings.
And so, she chose to leave the comfort of her parents' home behind and take charge of her own destiny.
It didn't take long until she found a small place in a shared building. Her landlord, Mr. Kuntz, a gentle old man with warm eyes, told her they'd get along well.
Clara wasn't entirely sure what he meant with that, but for the first time, pride bloomed quietly within her. She had done something on her own, and it mattered.
He assured her that the rent was extremely cheap, and that he had even lowered it further just for her, because of her warm smile and because he felt a duty to help young people.
That made Clara so happy that she threw her arms around him in gratitude.
And that, in turn, made him happy. For now, and for whatever might follow.
As her soft chest touched his, he let his hand glide down, pressing gently against her buttock, testing boundaries with a delicate touch.
High on endorphins, she didn't notice a thing.
And for the next few weeks, that blissful haze stayed with her.
She shopped like there was no tomorrow, danced through the nights, dined wherever she pleased. So this was adult life, she thought. And she loved it.
But as beautiful as it began, it ended just as quickly.
Three months in, and the money had vanished. Mr. Kuntz started showing up more often, gently asking about the rent. She helped him out sometimes, dusting, sorting, folding. He even had work clothes for her to wear in his apartment. They were tight, short, and not quite her style, but he insisted. He said it was more practical. She smiled and slipped into them without thinking too much. His kindness made her feel safe.
Mr. Kuntz was a very kind old man, but Clara knew he wouldn't be satisfied with small favors forever. He needed money, too. And she missed shopping so much. So she borrowed her parents' car and decided to go look for a job.
But first, she was hungry.
She slipped out of her sweatpants and hoodie, squeezed her lovely buttocks into a pair of jeans, and pulled a white crop top over her head. After tying her hair into a ponytail and slipping on her white sneakers, she was ready to go.
She got in her car and quickly arrived at the nearest ATM Burger. In the drive-thru, she ordered a vanilla milkshake, a cheeseburger, and some fried chicken wings.
At the window, a skinny young guy with braces lisped, "Good afternoon, miss. My name is Norman. Here is your o--"
The sight of Clara and her body was just too much for him. Even though she was simply sitting in the car, with only a small part of her belly visible, he immediately got a boner.
Poor guy, Clara thought. He probably had some kind of condition. She smiled, nodded, and said, "Order, right. You did a really great job."
A little embarrassed, Norman realized his behavior and closed his mouth again. But he couldn't just let her drive away now. This was the highlight of his day. Maybe even his week.
He quickly thought and asked, "Miss, would you like to try our brand-new fries with our special sauce? They're not officially on sale yet, only special customers get the chance to try them now."
"Oh, sure, why not?" Clara said.
Now he just had to find something that looked the part. As quickly as he could, he mixed all the sauces in the store together, picked up a few fries from the floor, blew off the worst of the dirt, and covered the rest with sauce.
"Okay," he said as he leaned as far out of the drive-thru window as possible. "Our company is very interested in your honest opinion."
He tried to feed her the fries directly, but Clara, startled, pulled back and took them in her hand instead. Disappointed, the employee leaned back inside.
She tried the brand-new creation and immediately grimaced. She didn't want to be rude, after all, she was now a very special customer, and he was, well, disabled. So she chewed twice and forced it down.
"Not bad," she said, not very convincingly.
"I'll be sure to pass that along. From our new favorite customer," he said with a smile that revealed both his braces and his yellowed teeth.
Just as she was about to drive off, he called out, "Sorry, miss, you've got something there," pointing to his own lip.
Grateful for the hint, Clara ran her tongue over her lips.
For him, time suddenly slowed down. His little boner turned into a full-on plank. He shook his head, imagining all the things that tongue could do to him. Unreal.
When she asked for the third time if it was gone, he snapped back to reality.
"No, let me help."
Before she could respond, he grabbed a napkin and swung himself out of the window.
Leaning into her car, he lifted the napkin to her face, letting it slip from his fingers at the last moment so that it landed gently on her ample breasts.
His fingertip traced slow, teasing circles over her parted lips before slipping inside. His expression darkened with desire, his breath growing heavy as he pushed deeper, a glisten of saliva forming at the corners of his mouth.
Clara, caught off guard and unsure how to react without seeming rude to someone who might be different, froze in place. The blaring honk of the cars lined up behind her finally shattered the tense moment, offering her an escape. As he pulled away, he let his hand linger for a final, firm squeeze of her soft breast while retrieving the napkin.
"We can't wait to welcome our most delightful customers again soon!" he called out with a grin as Clara, heart pounding, sped away.
Still uncertain about what had just happened, she drove on, sipping her milkshake. Had he been inappropriate? And given his apparent condition, would she have even had the right to react? Instead of dealing with the questions, she turned on Taylor Swift and blasted the volume to silence her thoughts.
One hand on the wheel, the other switching between her milkshake and chicken wings, She shook her body, and her massive tits, to Shake It Off, that her black silk bra barely managed to contain them.
Sadly, the last chicken wing slipped from her fingers, tumbling down to her feet. But fortunately, she was both athletic and flexible. Leaning forward to retrieve it, she felt her full breasts press against her knees, forcing her to shift sideways to reach itsuccessfully. Humming along to the song, the redhead straightened back up, examining the wing to see if it was still good to eat. That's when her eyes suddenly locked onto a stop sign ahead.
Boom. In that moment, she completely forgot she was in a moving car. And that she was the one driving. The impact wasn't too severe, glancing off the side rather than hitting head-on. Her head knocked lightly against the steering wheel, leaving her with nothing more than a mild headache.
She stepped out of the car, her heart pounding as she inspected the damage. The left headlight was shattered, and fine scratches marred the paint around the impact. The stop sign stood at an awkward angle, evidence of the collision. She clasped her hands over her head in dismay. This couldn't be real. She had damaged her car. But how? She had been so careful...
Clara carefully gathered the shattered pieces of the broken headlight, her fingers brushing over the sharp edges as she attempted to reattach them.
But it was no use. She put all her strength, spit, and a lot of care into trying to fix it, but nothing worked. Desperately, she even spoke softly to the shattered pieces, hoping for some miracle, but it remained unchanged. The pole of the stop sign also blocked her way. Frustrated, she tugged at her vibrant red hair, her mind racing as she wondered what to do next.
Glancing around and finding no one in sight, she quickly hopped back into the car, her movements swift and fluid.
As she sped down the road, her mind raced. She needed to find a repair shop fast. Her parents could never find out about this; they already doubted her abilities and treated her like a child at times. If they thought she couldn't handle driving... No, she couldn't let that happen, not after everything.
After driving around for a while, she finally discovered what she had been looking for. She sighed in relief and stepped out of the car.
The workshop was located on the outskirts of town and had a run-down appearance. The rusty corrugated metal roof was bent in several places, and the old sign above the entrance, reading "Bodyshop & Beyond" hung crookedly with faded letters. The windows were covered in a thick layer of dust and grease, making it nearly impossible to see inside. "The ground in front of the shop was stained with dark oil spots, cracked and worn in places, with weeds pushing through the gaps in the weathered surface."
Abe squatted in the filth, knee-deep in old oil and brake fluid, cursing as he wrenched at an exhaust pipe that refused to budge. Sweat dripped from his temples, mixing with the grime already smeared across his flushed face. His faded Ramones T-shirt stretched over his gut, the armpits tinged a sickly yellow from years of use. What little hair remained on his head was slicked down in a desperate, greasy arrangement that fooled no one.
His work pants, riddled with stains and worn thin at the knees, barely clung to him, kept in place only by a belt so tight it seemed to be punishing him. Meanwhile, his back--thick with coarse, dark hair--cascaded downward, framing the generous portion of ass crack he displayed with absolute indifference.
"I'm sorry, I could use some help," Clara murmured, her initial relief at finding the place quickly turning to unease. But she had to get the car fixed, she couldn't let her parents find out about her little mishap.
"Can't you see I'm busy?" Abe shouted at her, without even looking her way. "Go inside and check on my dumb fuck of a son, maybe for once in his damn life he can be helpful," he muttered to himself as he was continuing his work.
"Okay, okay, sorry," she said, shocked by the harsh words. "I'll go inside and look for someone. Sorry."
When Abe finally made the effort to look up from the vehicle and glance at her, all he saw was her tight jeans, her long legs leading down to her full, rounded ass, her white top, and her long red hair, which blew in the breeze.
"Oh fuck, wait a minute," Abe gasped, struggling to get up. But Clara, moving briskly, had already vanished into the garage.
The workshop was dimly lit and chaotic, with a single weak lamp casting flickering shadows. The floor was also stained with oil and dirt, littered with empty beer crates, bottles, and tools. Old advertisements and faded posters of naked women covered the walls, some curling at the edges. Shelves overflowed with rusted equipment, spare parts, and crumpled magazines. A battered red compact car sat in the center, surrounded by tires, a jack, and loose screws.
To the left, a metal staircase led up to a lofted area cluttered with dusty boxes and forgotten junk. At the back, two doors with chipped paint and worn handles stood closed. The workbench was buried under full ashtrays, sticky coffee cups, and a discarded pizza box. The air was thick with dust, sweat, and stale beer.
„Oh, what do we have here?" Dwight's eyes raked over her. „You don't see a piece like this around here too often."
„Hi, I'm Clara. Are you the son?"
Dwight stood a little shorter than Clara, and despite being no older than 20, she guessed, his hairline had already started its retreat. His short, ginger-colored hair framed his face, and the patchy beard beneath his chin gave him a A dirty, sleazy vibe. The rest of his physique seemed to have been passed down from his father, though his body hair had yet to fully mature. But she wasn't looking for a lover, just someone to fix her car, she thought.
"Yeah, that's me," he said, staring at her chest. "So, how can I make you happy?"
