Mr. Wilson - After the Garage

This story takes place after the events between Nicolette and Mr. Wilson in his garage on that fateful August afternoon. Mr. Wilson's Garage Part I, II, III)

I spent the week after my time with Mr. Wilson staring at myself naked whenever I got the chance. I'd rush out of bed in the mornings and run to the bathroom to look at myself, admiring the scrapes, scratches and bruises he had left behind, working my pussy into a frenzied, soppy mess, his name on my lips every time I came. The moment I came home for the day I'd lock myself in my room and use a new dildo that I had bought, one that was shorter and thicker, one more like Mr. Wilson's cock, and I would fuck myself until I couldn't anymore. I would pinch and twist my own nipples until I winced then keep going, because even though he was nowhere around, I thought if he knew, he would like it.

I became distressed the morning I woke up and my tits no longer bore his bite marks, ivory and pale pink reclaimed their place where deep purples had temporarily reigned. My knees had healed from crawling across the concrete of the garage, the handprints on my ass had faded away.

For a few months after the events of that August day, we texted regularly and I sent him naughty pictures or grainy videos, he never asked for them, but told me I was a good girl when he received them. He came over less and less, staving off any advances I dared to make. Six months later my father said they had a falling out and one day not long after, he stopped responding to me altogether. When I finally decided to show up at his house to find out what was wrong, to ask why he didn't want me anymore, to throw myself at his feet to beg for another session with him, I was despondent to find it empty with a "SOLD" sign in the front yard.

No one in town seemed to know where he moved, but he left behind a salacious reputation. One night after a covered dinner at our church, the gossipy wives began to cluck and as soon as I heard his name, my ears perked up.

"The fact of the matter is, James Wilson was disgusting, having relations with all those young women." One said matter of factly.

"Could you even call an 18 or 19 year old a woman?" An older, sour faced one asked. "Ignorant girls really! Nicolette, your family used to be close to him, did he ever, oh I hope not, but did he..." She trailed off.

"No ma'am. I didn't know he was like that." It was a half truth.

"Well thank God!" Sour face exclaimed. "It seems he had a thing for brunettes!"

"I heard!" Another one chimed in. "You know Anna and Bill lived across the street from him. Said there were dark headed girls in and out of that house constantly. And he was old enough to have been a father to all them." My heart sank, I was merely a conquest in a line of who knows how many.

"Apparently, his wife left him years ago and took the kids because she found him with the babysitter and since then it's been a dang free for all!" They were in a tizzy and I didn't want to hear anymore. I excused myself and that night made a plan to get out of this town and away from the memory of Mr. Wilson.

It has been almost 10 years since my time in Mr. Wilson's garage. A decade since he used me as his personal rag doll; abusing every hole I had, covering me in a thin layer of sticky white, forcing his will on me, making me cum like I never had before.

I feel like I've spent the last decade chasing that naughty high. Partially feeling disgusting for wanting it and the other part not caring and wanting to be as filthy as I could be for whoever would have me.

Since Mr. Wilson, I've certainly had a type; significantly older, good with their hands, facial hair. I've been with men my own age, but they were never enough. On occasion, I would find myself as a third with an open couple, but recently I decided I wanted to exclusively date older men, then I have had to navigate those waters.

I was selective with the older lovers I took, but mostly they seemed to be two pump chumps who thought doggy style was out of the box and needed to dump inside someone because their wives wouldn't let them anymore. I found a few good ones here and there, who wanted me to be their sugar baby, who bossed me around like I wanted, got rough like I wanted, but they were still desperate for me the next day, which is all I ever wanted.

It was a decent little life that I carved out for myself. I was in a different state, had a small but loyal circle of friends, a new sugar daddy named Lyle and Mr. Wilson was a secret I had kept for myself but still occasionally enjoyed.

It was a lazy Tuesday afternoon, and I decided to hole up in a local dive bar and do some day drinking while my Mister was hard at work doing whatever it was that he did. We were four months in, he loved having a pretty young thing to show off and my learned lack of a gag reflex. I loved his Amex Black card and the fact that he would eat my pussy for hours.

The bar was busier than usual that afternoon. The backroom was having some sort of happy hour or something, a lot of men in jeans, drinking craft beers, talking in small groups. I tucked myself into a barstool in the corner, drinking my Miller Lite and taking an occasional shot of Jack.

A couple of hours had passed and the backroom happy hour was breaking up. Some of the men were saddling up to the bar, I scanned the crowd to see if there was anyone worth flirting with. Maybe, I thought as I guzzled the rest of my beer.

I continued scanning when my baby blues locked with a familiar set of hazel eyes. My stomach dropped and my heart pounded as I took in his whole face. The olive complexion, more salt but still plenty of pepper, that same mustache goatee combo thing, a more pronounced beer belly-Mr. Wilson was standing 10 feet from me. I felt like he was staring through me and I felt exposed, excited, horny, ashamed and a million other things. His left hand rested on the bar, I saw a gold wedding band. I was inexplicably sick to my stomach.

I threw a hundred dollar bill on the bar, told the bartender to keep the change, and I swiftly walked through the back room where some of the party lingered and into the private bathrooms hidden in the back. I locked myself in and stared at myself in the mirror.

I had been a pretty teen but I had grown into my looks, my curves even more pronounced, my face now devoid of baby fat, my high cheekbones something I got constant compliments on. My hair fell in long waves down my back, still dark but now with auburn streaks.

My low cut black, wrap shirt made my large tits stand out even more and I didn't have to think about how good I looked in my tight jeans. I looked sexy today, it was a good day for him to see me.

But had he even recognized me? Should I even say anything? He got married? To who? I'll say something, I'll be sly. No. I shouldn't.

I heard talking outside the bathroom door, male laughter, more muffled talking and then a jiggle at the handle. "Someone is in here!" I yelled. Back to my thoughts. A minute goes by and then a loud knock and more jiggling. "I said someone is in here dammit!" I yelled again. They began to bang and I was pissed at this rude fuck outside the door.

I yank it open and Mr. Wilson pushes his way inside the bathroom, puts his hand over my mouth and with the other hand slams the door shut but does not lock it.

He has me up against the wall, pushing himself against me, surveying me with his eyes. I gasp as his free hand slips down the front of my shirt, underneath my bra and he begins groping my breast, I feel the familiar sting of pain as he roughly twists my nipple. Still covering my mouth he leans down and begins to kiss my neck, right below my ear, and I moan into his hand and I feel a puddle begin to form in the g-string I'm wearing. I get my mouth around the tip of one of his fingers and begin sucking.

His roaming hand figures out I'm wearing a front clasp bra, his fingers move quickly and my tits break free, he pulls my shirt apart with both hands and his mouth goes busily to working on my soft mounds. I feel his teeth clamp down and begin to chew on my left nipple, I put one hand on his head, from this angle I can see a small bald patch on top and push his mouth further onto me. "Oh Mr. Wilson." My pussy began to vibrate. He stops abruptly and stands up straight, his left hand goes around my throat and I don't need to be told, I open my mouth, he spits into it then begins to kiss me hard. His tongue invades my mouth and it felt so familiar, it was what I had been craving. Everytime I tried to lean forward into his kiss, his grip tightened around my throat, I realized my place was on the wall. His kiss stopped and I whimpered. His right hand moved down and expertly unzipped my jeans and his hand plunged into my underwear, now sopping and I felt 2 fingers slide inside me.

"You always had the wettest pussy, Nicolette." Hearing my name from his lips makes me gush as he finger fucks me. I'm held against the wall, my hips out, bucking furiously for him. "I'm the only person you get this wet for?"

"Mmm hmmm" I moan in agreeance as another finger goes in

"Anyone ever filled you up the way I do?" Instantly all I wanted was a throat full of his thick cum.

"No Mr. Wilson. They've tried. Oh, fuck. But no." His thumb teased my clit and it felt like ecstasy. "I've missed you so much. I've needed this. I've needed you." I admitted.

His face moved in close to mine and I opened my mouth. "Please Mr. Wilson." He laughed and spit into it. He pulled me forward by my throat and spun me around so we both faced the mirror, he was behind me.

"Pull your pants down." He commanded and I quickly shimmied them down. I didn't have time to pull off my g-string as one of his strong hands tugged at the sides and ripped it. Looking in the large mirror, which sat above the sink, my shirt barely on, tits out, ripped underwear exposing my pussy, a tiny triangle of hair above it. I saw an old man behind me. My youth accentuated his age, he had to be 65 or so. I hadn't realized the depth of his wrinkles, just how much salt was in his hair, but all I wanted was to be bent over and feel his thickness rip into me like it had so many years earlier.

His grip around my throat was firm. I was shocked when his long arm reached forward and opened the door slightly. The noises of the bar filled the bathroom. I was frozen, was this a new kink? I guess he liked the idea of being caught, at least it seemed that way. But just like that scared 18-year-old a decade earlier, it didn't take much for me to realize I would do anything he wanted.

A rough nipple twist snapped me out of my head and we looked at our reflection as he spread my pussy lips apart, my wet dripping into my inner thighs, my mind and body begging for anything he would give me.

"You have always been such a whore." He whispered into my ear then began to nibble it. I felt shame but unbridled desire as I backed my ass into his crotch, grinding in circles, desperately searching for his erection. But all I felt was the material of his jeans and I realized he was still fully clothed.

"But I'm your whore," It was a half hearted protest. "I've been yours ever since that day. I'll always belong to you."

"You're goddamn right you will." I watched in the mirror and two fingers delved deep inside my snatch.

"More. Please Mr. Wilson, give me more." A 3rd finger joined and he roughly jammed his fingers in and out of me, almost painfully but I begged for more. I didn't care that I was naked and getting finger-fucked by an old man in a dirty bar bathroom. I didn't care that the door was ajar and anyone could be seeing this, I just needed him to be inside me. I didn't give a shit that the hand I saw in the mirror, the hand that grasped my neck had a wedding ring around it. But it was apparent that didn't matter to him either.

"Give your good girl another." I leaned back and begged into his neck. He pushed me forward so I was holding myself up on the sink and his grasp was once again on my throat and 4 fingers rammed themselves in and out of my juicy cunt. His dick would be in me any second I thought but not before my first orgasm. I cried out in shock and absolute satisfaction as his thumb joined the rest of his fingers and his hand was in me, down to his knuckles. He rocked it in and out his fingers hit my g-spot.

My orgasm showed itself in a series of splashes that ran down my legs, looking like I had urinated and a guttural moan I had never unleashed before.

"Thank you! Oh my God thank you Mr. Wilson!" I put my head down, trying to catch my breath, laughing in the sink. Mr. Wilson had done it again and now I couldn't wait for his cock, which I decided I wanted in my asshole immediately, but it wasn't up to me, he made the decisions and I would wait for them. As I continued panting and moaning into the sink, I felt his finger push something small inside my pussy, it was unfamiliar and uncomfortable, almost scratchy, but it would have to wait as I came down from my high. He said nothing.

I gathered myself and looked in the mirror. I was alone in the bathroom, the door now wide open, I could see some curious onlookers peering in. Horrified I slammed the door shut and locked it. My jeans still around my ankles, I waddled over to the toilet and sat down to compose myself.

That had actually happened right? I wasn't insane. Mr. Wilson had been here, had been inside me? Had he just left me again without a word? After all this time was I not worth a goodbye? I would have felt sad if I wasn't still coming down from my intense orgasm.

I then felt a scratch inside my vagina and remembered the unidentified object that had been inserted in me. I stuck two fingers inside myself, I was sore from taking the bulk of Mr. Wilson's hand. It took me a moment, but I got hold of whatever it was and pulled it out.

It was a small piece of cardstock folded in half, now somewhat limp from the waterfall I produced. I opened it up and a smile crept across my face; it was the business card of one Mr. James Wilson, with two contact numbers and an email.