Stepping foot into the shop - 2.

Hot chick walks in, takes one look at the chrome and the dudes dripping grease, and she ain’t leaving till she climbs aboard. She drops her eyes to the fit mechanics first — sweat-soaked tees, thick arms, the whole package. She wedges her way between a wrenched-open hood and three ready boys, kicks off one boot like she’s leaving a calling card, then plants her bare foot right on the lip of the driver seat. One mechanic wipes his hands, grabs her ankle and drags her in; she pops the buttons on his coveralls with practiced ease, drops to her knees, and wraps her other leg high over his hip. She grinds the arch of her foot along his cock until it’s steel, then swings both bare soles around his shaft, squeezing him between the curves of her toes while she pumps and strokes with shameless rhythm. Another guy steps in behind her, yanks her shorts aside, presses into her cunt and pounds till her voice echoes off the lift posts. She balances on tiptoe, feeds one mechanic her tits, works her feet like well-oiled pistons on the first guy, every thrust jerking her body so her toes clench and flex in perfect time. Sweat, motor oil, moans, the smell of hot metal and hotter skin—she never pulls off till they’ve painted her soles, her belly, her throat with thick, fresh loads. Only then does she roll her neck, smile, and moan she might come back tomorrow for another full service.