Loading...My senior year in high school, it looked as if it were going to be a bigger bore than all the rest. I had just turned 18, the weather was getting warmer and here I was with no job, no car and that meant no girl. On the rare occasions my father let me use his; I’d head to the local drive-in restaurant. I’d sit there ogling all my buddies’ girls, not to mention their cars.
One Saturday morning while I was having breakfast with mom, dad, and grandma was there too; the phone rang. It was Doug. He was a friend whom I’d met in homeroom at school.
“Hey Troy, Jim just had a guy quit and walk out on him here at the gas station. He said he’d give you an interview if you’re interested.”
Brother was I interested! I hung up the phone and leapt from one end of the house to the other. Mom and dad had all the typical questions. How would I get there? What were the hours? Would it interfere with school?
I assured them that I would manage everything. As for getting there; it was a quick 6 or 7 block walk. Well worth it for the opportunity to get some cash, which translated into a car. After getting there and meeting Jim and the guys, it seemed as if he were almost running a shelter for wayward boys. Everyone laughed, joked, and teased each other like they were family. He offered the job and I accepted on the spot. He explained that as we were still in school, our hours would be in the evening. Two or three of us would rotate evenings working. The same went with Saturdays. He expected two and sometimes three in on Saturdays as that was his busy day for mechanic work. One lonesome guy would man the gas service on Sunday from 9am till 3pm. I was told it would be the most boring 6 hours of one’s life.
I reported Monday evening right after school at 4 pm. Now this was back in the days of the true “service station”. It was in my small home town so we knew 98% of our customers. Self service was just making start. We still had to walk out and unlock the pump. I believe at the time you saved a whopping 4 cents a gallon by filling your own tank. The local hotrodders would stop in and borrow a wrench or just do a burnout across the lot. A drive in theatre adjoined our lot. We were treated to tittie movies on the week ends. Silent tittie movie mind you, as we had no speaker. The owner of the drive in had his maintenance trucks serviced by us, so we all got free admission to the drive in. That did me one hell of a lot of good with no car! All in all it was small town America at its best.
After about a month there, I was made privy to some company secrets. If you worked alone in the evening, and a flat repair came in; you just didn’t log it on the labor sheet and the 5 bucks went in you pocket. The same could be said for topping off washer fluids and master cylinders. One of the more entertaining secrets involved the ladies restroom. The women’s restroom was accessible from the outside of the building. However it sat directly beneath an area where we stored paper towels, wash wands and stuff like that. When any of these items needed replacing at the pumps, it was a matter of going in the back room, climbing a ladder to the storage area and retrieving said products. I soon found out that by sliding a box over and looking through a vent beneath it, I had a direct view over the women’s toilet. I spent a lot of time up there looking at a shapely ass squatting over the bowl. Sometimes we were even treated to a tit shot if they adjusted their clothes. If a sexy woman asked for the restroom key, it was not uncommon to see all the attendants disappear!
After several months of working and saving I managed to by myself a car.
It was a little black 67 mustang. She sure looked nice, but it was no hot rod. Where friends drove Chevelles and Roadrunners, I had to opt for a six cylinder. That way it was insured in my parent’s name. But at least it was transportation. When school was out Jim allowed us to take turns rotating to working the day shift. We met a whole new clientele here. A lot of the businesses used the station for repairs and fuel. This is where I first met the Billingsfords. They owned a corrugated box company not far from the service station. John Billingsford came in for gas one day while I was on duty. He roared onto the lot driving a huge black Chrysler imperial. He shouted over his shoulder to fill it up wit super, as he went looking for Jim.
I did as was told. I even washed the windshield and cleaned the bug guts off his headlights. He came back, threw his charge card my way, scribbled a signature and roared off. Not even a fucking tip!
All the guys told me his wife was much nicer.
One Saturday night as I was preparing to close a beautiful British Green Jaguar XKE hardtop pulled up. I stood transfixed as an elegant lady opened the door and stepped out.
“I hope I’m not too late” she said
“No maam! I would open back up for a car like this!” I said
“It figures! I believe I could drive this thing naked and the car would get the attention.” She laughed
I apologized profusely telling her we didn’t get many truly classic sports cars around here. She informed me it was a present from John her husband.
I laid on the charm telling her that John had excellent taste in cars and unsurpassed taste in wives. She blushed as I complimented her.
“You’re new here aren’t you?” she asked
I told her I was Troy. I worked the evenings during school and now rotated around a lot. She introduced herself as Jean Billingsford. HOLY SHIT! I thought. This sweetheart can’t be married to that old grouch John.
She replied, “Yes THAT Jean Billingsford. I’m sure you’ve met my husband. He’s the one that’s always in a hurry. And I mean in a hurry about EVERYTHING!”
She gave me a seductive smile as she handed me a wad of bills for her gas. I opened her car door for her and offered her a hand to get into the low slung seats. As she swung her legs beneath the steering column, I was treated to a view of her long legs encased in nylons. I even caught a trace of stocking top and garter. Jean saw me gawking, and just smiled. After she drove away I counted her money, only to find she had left me a 10 dollar tip.
I quickly closed up shop and turned out the lights. I went to the manager’s rear office and pulled a few Penthouse and Hustler magazines from the stations stash. I pounded my meat like a mad man. All I could envision was bending Jean over the hood of that Jag and fucking her good. After dumping a huge load down the utility sink I went home.
Over the next several weeks Jean seemed to time her gas purchases with my work schedule. We began a friendly flirtatious relationship. The other guys, (Jim included) told me she wanted in my pants. I laughed them off secretly hoping they were right.
One Friday evening Jean drove onto the lot followed by John in his black menacing looking Chrysler. They were leaving the Jag for Jim to do some minor maintenance the next day. I couldn’t help but stare as Jean sauntered sexily over and got in the front seat of the Chrysler. While John was leaving instructions for the Jag, I strolled over to speak to Jean.
Fully intending my meaning to be taken about her car, I asked, “So Mrs. Billingsford, when are you going to take me for a fast ride?
She said, “Any time you’re ready. I don’t know if it will be fast or not? And when we’re done I’ll take you for a ride in my Jag!”
I must have looked like the deer in the headlights. She giggled as I made my way to the service island. I busied myself cleaning her husband’s windshield before he was ready to leave. As I wiped the passenger side, Jean lifted her short skirt to reveal those garter belt and hose that had so affected me the first time. This time she caressed her thighs as she showed me she was also without panties. I almost had to wipe the drool away as I took a good long look at her neatly trimmed sandy colored bush. Just as her hubby approached, she gave me a quick view of her lips and clit.
Grouchy John thanked me for the service and I mumbled something as they drove away. The guys gave me one hell of a razzing when I went back inside. If they (and I) only knew what lay ahead for me.
Saturday morning, a day off for me. I was up at the break of day. I washed and cleaned the mustang in front of mom and dad’s house before hurrying in to shower. I’d drop in the service station to pick up my check, cash it and have the day to enjoy. It was warm outside, I had wheels and money, the day was all mine. As I got to the gas station I noticed Jim had finished with Jean’s Jag. It was parked on the front lot for security reasons. As I was getting my check out of the drawer the business phone rang. Seeing Jim busy with a customer I answered it.
“Hello, Jim’s Service.” I said
“Why Troy, is this you?” I recognized Jean Billingsfords voice
“Yes maam, I just stopped in to get paid.” I told her
She proceeded to chat me up about what I had planned for the weekend. I informed her that my weekend was only Saturday as I was the one up for Sunday work this week. She asked if I’d like to make a few extra bucks. All I had to do was deliver her Jaguar to her house in Indian Acres. (Somehow I knew they lived in the swanky part of town) She said John was called out of town on business and she wanted her jag for the weekend. She had already confirmed from Jim that it was ready. I told her I’d be happy to do it as a favor. There was no need to pay me. She laughed and said I’d be well compensated for my trouble.
“Jim has directions for you along with the Jag’s keys. Don’t be long now.” She said as she hung up
Jim gave me his lecherous smile and said, “If you’re not back by closing time, I’ll put your Mustang in the garage bay.”
I responded with, “I’ll be back in less than an hour.”
This brought roars of laughter from everyone.
I felt like hot shit behind the wheel of this fine European auto. I took the liberty of going by my parents and by a few friends’ houses. When I made my way through Indian acres and to the Billingsford estate I was stopped at a security gate. I guess due to closed circuit TV the gate slowly opened. I followed the driveway through the woods until it stopped before an attached 6 car garage. Mansion was the only word I could think of to describe this place.
As I stepped from the car Jean came from service door leading to the garage.
She was wearing a knee length terry cloth robe. She also had on a pair of stiletto pumps. Even dressed like this, she was sexy as hell.
“Troy! I can’t begin to thank you enough for bringing me my beloved Jaguar.” Jean said
She ran up, gave me a peck on the cheek and stuffed a huge wad of bills in my pants pocket. When I objected, she hushed my complaints and insisted I join her for a swim. She said there were new trunks in the swim house and I should help myself.
When I saw the pool grounds and cabana I was awestruck. The size of the pool rivaled that of many communities. The trunks in the pool house were Speedos. Now I’m no John Holmes, but good and hard I go 7 or 8 inches. The thing that worried me was my cock head. You see the good doctor who had clipped me left me with quite a ridge to the old “helmet”. I was sure this would be noticeable through the thin trunks.
I swallowed my pride and joined Jean on the deck. She had on a miniscule bikini that did little to conceal her tits. The bottoms only covered the center portion of her fine ass too. The thing that really caught my eye were those tall black come fuck me pumps she had on. They seemed to put her ass at the perfect level to kiss or fuck. I felt myself blush as she whistled and patted my ass. I told her I should be giving her the cat calls.
She held up her tits and patted her ass and said, “Not to shabby for a 47 year old huh?”
I told her she looked more like 22 than 47. She laughed and pushed me in the pool. As I swam laps I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her body stretched out on her chaise lounge. After a while I caught her diddling her nipples and reaching into her bikini bottoms. As I exited the pool I’m sure she saw my hard cock straining against my Speedos.
I walked up to her chair and pulled my cock free from my swimsuit. Without a word she started licking my cock from tip to balls. I held her head and gently began fucking her mouth. With me controlling this, she went back to work on her clit.
When I suggested we go someplace comfortable she said, “I know just the place!”
She led me into the garage. When we got to the last stall I spotted a Duesenberg limousine. This car was absolutely priceless.
“This is his baby! She hissed, He’d rather rub on this piece of shit than me any day.”
I opened the door to the passenger quarters and ripped the bottoms from Jean’s ass. As she started to kick her heels off I stopped her.
I briefly explained my shoe fetish. She lay back on the priceless leather and I buried my face in her wet snatch. I soon had her bucking with an orgasm. I lay on her and sucked her tits until she was ready for some cock. I jumped up into the open topped driver’s compartment.
“Would madam care to go for a ride?” I asked in my best cockney accent
With the seat pushed back, Jean straddled me. I pushed her back against the steering wheel and plunged my cock in and out of her pussy. When I felt my impending orgasm, I stood us up, bent her over the windscreen and pounded her good. I could look down and see her tits smashed against the windscreen glass. When I shot my load in her, she took great pleasure in letting our combined juices drip on John’s priceless upholstery.
Remembering my fondness for shoes, she insisted I spend the night. She modeled every piece of lingerie and shoes she owned. The straw that broke the camel’s back was when she came out wearing a leather corset. It supported her tits, but let them jut out. This was accompanied by black stockings, mile high come fuck me pumps, and to top it all off; a leather riding crop.
I grabbed Jean and bent her over the back of her deep sofa. A few well placed smacks with her riding crop and I was fucking the daylights out of her. When I had spent my load in her and was kissing away the red marks on her ass, she told me that John had seen her in that same outfit and actually smirked. I showed her how I felt about it by eating her to another orgasm while she sat on the arm of the couch.
After a few hours of sleep, Jean woke me, fed me breakfast and told me a cab would take me to my car. That was a good thing because I was due to open the service station in about an hour.
Jean instructed me to keep our “friendship” quiet and good things lay in store for me. She told me to close the station at 3 as always for a Sunday and drive back to her house. We were no where near finished.
That was the longest six hours I’d ever spent in my entire life!