The Mechanic’s Girlfriend Rough Sex Story
Rough Sex Story don’t just turn readers on—they rip you into the moment. The sweat, the noise, the control. This one’s loud, messy, and impossible to forget.
In this 2500-word NSFW read, a dominant mechanic takes his girlfriend for a ride she wasn’t expecting—and she’s all too eager to get dirty.
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The Mechanic’s Girlfriend Rough Sex Story
It started with an oil change.
The shop was closed, the summer heat thick in the air. Sweat clung to my back as I leaned against the dented red tool chest, watching him wipe his hands on a rag, grease smearing across his forearms.
“Keep looking at me like that,” he growled, “and I’m going to bend you over this hood.”
My mouth went dry. “Then maybe I want you to.”
He dropped the wrench. It hit the concrete floor with a heavy clank. Two steps later, I was pinned between the tool chest and the solid wall of his body. His hands were rough, calloused, the kind that fixed engines and ruined panties.
“You came here dressed like that on purpose.”
“I figured you’d appreciate the view.”
He grabbed the hem of my sundress, fingers curling as he dragged it upward until it bunched at my waist. I wasn’t wearing anything underneath. The moment his eyes landed on my bare pussy, he growled.
“You knew exactly what you were doing.”
His mouth crashed against mine, tasting like metal and sweat. He kissed me like he owned me—like I was the only thing that mattered and he was starving.
“I don’t have time to be gentle,” he muttered.
“Good,” I gasped. “I didn’t come for sweet.”
He spun me around and shoved me against the hood of a half-fixed Chevy. The metal burned against my skin, but I barely noticed. His hands gripped my thighs, spreading them open. I braced myself on the hood.
I heard the sound of his zipper. Then the slap of spit. And before I could take a breath, he shoved his cock inside me.
“Fuck!”
“You wanted rough,” he grunted, slamming into me harder. “Now take it.”
He pounded me like I was just another part that needed fixing. Each thrust sent tools rattling off shelves. My moans echoed off concrete walls. I was loud, messy, completely wrecked—and I didn’t care who heard.
“God, yes. Just like that.”
His hand wrapped in my hair, yanking my head back. “Louder.”
“Fuck! Yes!”
“I want them to hear you at the gas station.”
He pulled out suddenly, flipped me over onto my back. My sundress was bunched at my ribs, tits bouncing with every move. He lifted one leg over his shoulder and drove back inside.
“Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
He slapped my thigh. “Again.”
“I’m yours! God, I’m yours!”
His sweat dripped onto my chest. I clawed at his shoulders, pulling him deeper, begging for more. Every thrust sent shockwaves through my spine. My body screamed with pleasure.
He reached between us, thumb brushing my clit.
“I want you to cum with me.”
I was already there.
My orgasm ripped through me, raw and uncontrollable. He groaned, hips snapping forward as he spilled inside me.
We stayed like that—tangled, breathless, soaking in the heat and the smell of sex and motor oil.
He pulled out slowly. My legs trembled.
“Still want that oil change?”
I laughed. “Only if it ends like this.”
But it didn’t end there.
He helped me onto the lift platform, pressing me back against the vertical beam. “Not done with you yet.”
His tongue found its way between my thighs. I moaned, already sore but hungry for more. He licked me clean, then fingered me slow and deep while watching my face.
“You love being used, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I breathed.
“You love when I fuck you like a filthy little toy in my garage.”
“Yes.”
He stood, stroking himself, hard again.
“Turn around.”
I did.
He pushed inside once more, slower this time, but deeper. My ass pressed against his hips, my cheek against cool steel. I felt everything. Every inch. Every moan. Every curse from his lips.
This wasn’t a quickie anymore. This was punishment.
He whispered filth in my ear. Told me all the things he was going to do to me. Told me how I’d come back begging for more tomorrow. How I’d never fuck anyone who wasn’t covered in grease again.
And I believed him.
When we finally finished, I was shaking.
He wrapped me in a shop towel, kissed my forehead, and whispered, “Don’t wash off yet. I like you dirty.”
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