Beemer Rescue
Copyright 2011 Bad Penny Press
Smashwords Edition
Please look for other titles from Bad Penny Press at Smashwords.com
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All characters in this work are portrayed as consenting adults.
Any assumption otherwise is solely in the mind of the reader.
Beemer Rescue
The Highway Patrol submitted the call for a disabled vehicle on Highway 65, informing me that the call came from a Roadside Assistance box meaning that I didn’t have a return number to call and give the motorist an accurate estimated time of arrival. I jotted down the number of the call box and checked it against the area map.
I’m not located in a bustling metropolis, by any means, but the call was from an even more remote area. Not a place to be stuck out this late a night. I threw on a jacket and headed out to my trusty F-650 car carrier. I fired up the C-7 engine and headed off to find my disabled motorist.
It was about a 15-minute drive to find the car, a task made much easier by the flashing lights of a Highway Patrol cruiser. I parked my rig behind the cruiser until I could get an idea of what I would be looking at. A female officer climbed out of her cruiser as soon as I had my flashers on and walked back to me as I climbed down from the cab of my truck.
“What do you have for me tonight?” I asked as the officer came up to me.
“A semi-hysterical woman all freaked out about the car breaking down,” the officer replied. “All she has is a flat tire, but the car doesn’t have a spare. Pretty lame for a new car.”
We walked around the cruiser until the car came into view.
“It’s a BMW Z4. The car comes with run-flat tires, so the company didn’t put a spare in the car,” I said. “Trunk’s really too small for one, anyways.”
“Well, if it has ‘run-flat’ tires, then why can’t she drive it with a flat?” asked the officer with a sneer.
“They’re not all they’re cracked up to be,” I replied. “The guys at the shop joke that they’re called run-flat tires because they’re always flat. She likely compromised a wheel when it went flat on her. I see it a lot, actually. I’ll take it from here.”
The officer turned on her heel and walked back to her cruiser while I went up to get a better look at the car. Once the cruiser pulled away I turned on my flashlight to look over the car. I shone the beam along the tires and, sure enough, the right front alloy wheel had a chunk out of it.
“What is the problem with my car?” called out a female voice from the driver’s side of the car. I tipped up the beam of my flashlight and the face of an attractive redhead came into view. “I’ve got to get home!”
“Well, you’re not going to get home in this car tonight, ma’am,” I said. “You’ll have to be towed.”
“For a flat tire? The dealer said that you can drive this car with a flat tire!” the woman whined, near hysterical. “You’d think for $50,000 it could do what they told me it could do!”
“You can drive these tires flat up to a point, ma’am,” I said, keeping my voice calm for her benefit. “It looks like you were driving well after the tire went flat and hit a pothole or something and cracked the wheel. No amount of tire can make up for a broken wheel.”
“Now what do I do?” she asked while throwing her hands in the air.
“You let me pull this car up on my flat deck and I take you however far your auto club or insurance company says I can take you,” I replied. “Other than that you get to spend the night out here, and I don’t think that’s a very smart decision for a lady to make.”
The headlights of my truck cast a cold light on her, enough that I could clearly make out an expression of distress. Something more than a broken wheel was a problem here.
“Don’t you belong to an auto club or other roadside assistance service, ma’am?” I asked. “If I’m not mistaken your car comes with a roadside assistance program and towing as part of the deal.”
“Uh, yes,” she replied, looking around as if she was trying to find an answer. Finally: “What kind of records do you keep on your service calls?”
“Well,” I started, thinking about the list of things I have to document on my calls, “there’s departure time, services provided, vehicle description and conditions, location of the vehicle –”
“Do you have to write down where the car was?” the redhead asked, interrupting me.
“Well, yes,” I replied, feeling a little irritated. “Whatever program you’re using needs to know where the breakdown occurred to determine the mileage you’re covered for and what dealership or garage you should be towed to.”
The woman seemed distracted; lost in thought. I knew very well the services offered in her program and couldn’t understand why she seemed so dense about it. And then it hit me.
“You don’t want anyone to know you were out here, do you?” I asked.
The look on her face was like that of a child caught with a hand in a cookie jar, confirming my suspicions.
“Wh-what do you mean?” she asked, visibly shaken.
“I find it hard to believe that you own a $50,000 car and don’t have a cell phone,” I said as I walked around the car to the woman. “In fact, your car probably has a built-in hands-free device. Yet you chose to call from an Emergency Service box.”
“My… cell phone is dead at the moment,” replied the woman, sounding more scared than defiant.
“No, your cell phone would leave a record of a call and a clue to your location,” I said. “Just like my documentation of this incident will leave behind a record with time and location.”
“So, what do I do?” she asked, her expression revealing a look of defeat.
“I can take cash or a credit card,” I said. “Even a little of both. If you have enough cash to get to a reasonable location to then use your credit card, it’ll probably kill any suspicion about how far out of town you were when you broke down.”
She eyed me for a moment.
“You’re being very… understanding,” she said with a hint of suspicion in her voice. “What’s in it for you to be so kind?”
“You’re a damsel in distress and I’m the guy trying to help you out,” I said. “If you think I’m going through these motions to get into your panties you need to think again. I don’t work that way.”
“Oh? A knight in shining armor... with principles?” she said. This time her words dripped with sarcasm.
“No ma’am,” I said with as much courtesy as I could muster under the circumstances. “I’m a guy that values my job enough not to compromise it by taking advantage of someone. Extortion is still illegal in this state. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get my truck turned around so I can load your car and get us both out of here.”
There was no comeback. Lo and behold, I had shut her up.
Once I had spun the truck around I noticed the owner was visibly shaking. I had her wait in the warmth of the truck while I tended to her car. Within 15 minutes I had the Beemer loaded and secured on the flat deck; it’s amazing how fast you can get something done without someone distracting you with every question in the book.
Ready to go – but to where exactly I still wasn’t sure – I climbed back into my truck to try to talk the woman into a sensible decision on what to do with her car. Once there in the cab with the interior lights in full glow I got a better look at my scatterbrained charge.
The red hair I had witnessed earlier was a strikingly rich shade of red under direct light. It rained down with a soft wave around a well-proportioned face with skin that was smooth and unblemished with a small, pointed nose over rich, full lips. Her eyes looked to be a deep jewel-like green, so green that I had to assume they were colored contacts. But despite the intense color of her eyes there was definitely fear and worry.
The rest of the woman was as well-crafted as her face. When standing face-to-face with her outside her car door I’d put her at around 5’6” out of her heels. I don’t like guessing a woman’s weight but the lady was firmly and proportionately fitted around a medium frame with long, almost sculpted legs and full breasts under her form-fitting dress that were so perfect that I figured they had probably seen some surgical work.
All in all, given her crafted appearance, the high-dollar ride and the enormous rock glittering on her ring finger, I figured I was in the presence of a late 30-something trophy wife. And, given her apparent distance from home and her clear desire for secrecy, I deduced that she had been out meeting up with someone other than the apparently well-to-do husband.
“So, what it is going to be…?”
“Scarlet,” she replied, filling in the blank for me. “Scarlet Hall.”
“Well, Mrs. Hall,” I said, keeping business safely between us, “have you made a decision as to how we’re going to handle this?”
“I don’t have any cash on me,” she said. “So I guess I’ll have to put the whole thing on a charge card.”
Christ, I hate being the bad guy.
“Do you want to call your… boyfriend… to see if he’ll at least pop for the cash to get you to a reasonable location so it doesn’t look so bad on your credit card?” I asked. “You can even use my cell phone.”
The look in her eyes was one of total shock.
“How…?” she began to ask as her question caught in her throat.
“This situation might require a bit more than simply putting two and two together,” I replied, “but I’m very good at math. Bottom line: you’re having an affair. The least the lucky recipient of your charms can do is to help bail you out of this situation that he is very much a part of.”
“Yeah, well, after all my excuse making to leave home and my long-ass drive he flaked out on me tonight,” she said, disgust painting her every word. “I hardly think he’s going to man-up now and help me out. And do you know what the really stupid thing is?”
“No,” I said, completely honest.
“I’m still horny as hell and you’re too goody-goody to even try to hit on me,” she said. “That sure as hell isn’t doing anything for my self-esteem.”
“And here I thought all you needed was a little respect and to have your car towed,” I replied. “Silly me.”
Scarlet chuckled for a moment and then said, “My car isn’t the only thing that needs servicing, but it’s gonna take a man with a nice tool kit to fix everything right.”
She leaned towards me, her gaze never leaving my eyes as her hand went straight to my crotch. Once her hand clamped around my package her eyes widened and her gaze shifted downwards.
“That’s some tool,” she said as she gave my swelling bulge a squeeze.
“Are you doing this to make up for your lack of cash?” I asked in mock suspicion.
“Does it matter?” Scarlet asked in return.
I switched off the cab lights as Scarlet covered my mouth with hers in a kiss that begged me to follow through. I pushed my tongue against her lips and they parted to let my muscle tickle the insides of her warm, receptive mouth.
I slipped my right hand behind Scarlet’s head and took soft hold of a handful of her thick red hair as I let my left hand glide down her satiny dress, feeling the curves of her body defining the nearly skin-tight fabric. My hand quickly settled onto a bare thigh and I could feel the heat rise between us.
The skin of Scarlet’s leg was as smooth as, if not smoother than, the slick fabric of her short dress. I slid my hand gently down the length of her thigh to her knee and then reversed direction and let my hand glide back up her taut quadriceps just to the hem of her dress. I repeated my massage of her leg again but this time I tested the waters and let my hand continue past the end of the dress until I could feel a moist heat just barely beyond the reach of my fingers.
Scarlet moved her leg and rocked her hip forward slightly and my fingers were tickled by her soft pubic hair. I didn’t know whether she had stripped herself of her panties while sitting in the cab waiting for me or if she had never had any on to begin with. It really didn’t matter; her sex was hot and fully available to me. I boldly reached further between Scarlet’s soft thighs and felt my fingertips slide between her wet folds.
In the meantime Scarlet’s hands were fumbling around at my pants, her fingers working to free my growing manhood. I was trying to shift my body to allow her better access to release my engorged cock from the restrictive confines of my pants but the truck’s steering wheel was making things much more difficult than they needed to be.
“Lean back,” I said softly. “Lean back into your seat.”
Scarlet withdrew from me enough to settle herself into the large passenger bucket seat. I reached between her knees to the seat track handle and pulled it as I slid the seat backwards as far as it would go. Then I scooted around and reached between her hip and the door and grabbed the seat latch and pushed on the headrest until the upper half of the passenger seat reclined deep into the extended area of the truck cab.
“You know, one of the first things I love to do with a lady is to attend a feast between her thighs,” I said. “I’m afraid that I can’t contort myself quite that much in here.”
“That’s okay,” Scarlet replied huskily. “I just need to be fucked good and hard.”
“That’s good,” I said with a wink while I worked my pants and underwear down to my knees, “because I’m hard.”
Scarlet lifted the hem of her dress up to her waist, exposing her neatly trimmed snatch to me in the dim light. She spread her thighs and put her right foot on the dash by the door and her left foot against the console as she shifted her butt down, making herself as available as possible in our makeshift den of iniquity.
I leaned forward as Scarlet reached a hand out to grasp at my erection. Even in the near darkness I could see her eyes widen when she realized just how hard I was.
“When I said I wanted a big tool, I didn’t think they came quite this big!” she said excitedly.
“I’ll bet you say that to all of the tow truck drivers you meet,” I said as she guided me to her heated love box.
Scarlet was red hot and wet. I used my arms to brace myself, pressing against the reclined seat back for both support and leverage. The head of my cock slipped easily enough into her but her body offered sweet resistance as I pushed my way slowly into her. Her breath quickened the deeper I pushed until I reached the hilt and our pelvic bones were mashed together.
“Now this is what I call roadside service,” she sighed as I pulled back slowly to begin stroking my manhood into her warm pussy.
I took my time at first, making long and patient strokes and letting our bodies become accustomed to each other. I didn’t want to cum too soon and I wanted Scarlet to get plenty of opportunity to enjoy the ride and build up her own excitement.
The feeling of her hot vaginal vice around my aching tool was absolutely incredible and sent sweet chills throughout my body with each deep stroke into her receptive cunt. In the meantime Scarlet was starting to write beneath me and making little mewing noises as she grabbed at the sides of the seat cushion while I drove into her.
“God, that feels good,” she sighed with a hint of strained reserve. “I love a man who’s good with his tools.”
Sensing Scarlet’s growing excitement I increased the tempo of my thrusts, building up speed little by little. The heat in the truck cab grew while moisture began to form on the windows. Within mere seconds I was pounding the horned-up woman at a frenetic pace, pummeling her pubis with hard and deep strokes.
By now Scarlet had reached over her head and was hanging on to the seat’s headrest and her thighs were spread wide and her legs were suspended in the air, making herself as available as humanly possible for my almost primal fuck strokes.
“That’s… it… fuck… me… fuck… me…” she chanted, her words driven out by my animalistic pussy-pounding. “Ohhh… Gaawwd!”
Scarlet’s orgasm hit her so hard that she screamed aloud and her body seemed to try to double over and she held fast to the headrest with enough strength that I thought for sure she’d tear it right off.
I expected her to the go a little limp and let me fuck her at my own pace until I came, but it seemed she was just getting started.
“Don’t stop,” she panted. “Please don’t stop!”
Scarlet was quivering all over, as if her orgasm was soldiering on. And that was all I needed to soldier on myself. I kept working my cock into her, stroking as deep as I could given our limited playroom. I’d have loved to have had the freedom to change places, to watch her ride me with the enthusiasm she was showing me as I pummeled her hot pussy.
“Oh, God,” she moaned. “I’m gonna cum again! You’re gonna make me cum again! Unnnhhh!!”
Scarlet arched her back, putting more pressure on my pelvis as I ground my meat into her steaming cunt. I then occurred to me that we’d found a perfect storm -- the situation, the angle of the seat, the heat of the moment -- and it was taking the beautiful redhead to heights she hadn’t expected or even imagined.
Once Scarlet’s second climax shot through her, my own had grown within me so fast that I was almost surprised at its suddenness and intensity. I growled like an animal as my balls seemed to swell up and my scrotum tightened at the same time and my intestines turned to fire as my cock exploded with near volcanic force into Scarlet’s hot love tunnel, filling her with a volume of sperm that I hadn’t known in a long time.
Still I pounded into her relentlessly, pumping every bit of my cum deep into her until I nearly collapsed on her and her legs wrapped around my waist and she clutched me firmly inside her as if she were afraid to let me withdraw my spent member.
Twenty minutes later we had recovered enough to clean up and begin our trip down the road towards a dealership near her home. After I dropped off the Beemer, I drove her to her rather expensive and exclusive house.
“He’s not home,” she said to me before I could ask. “He won’t be home until tomorrow, but I couldn’t take any chances. What do I owe you?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“No, I mean it,” Scarlet said, genuine insistence in her voice.
“So do I,” I replied. “I haven’t felt anything that good in a long time. It’d be a shame to expect you to pony up payment after that kind of ride.”
Scarlet looked out the truck window at the elegant but cold house. She seemed hesitant to leave.
“Can I… would you…” she seemed at a loss for words. “I want to feel that kind of passion again.”
I gave her my business card.
“Don’t wait for your Beemer to break down before you take the time to call,” I said. “I‘d much rather rescue you than your car.”
Scarlet leaned over and gave me a long, tender kiss and then let herself out the door of my tow truck and climbed down.
“Like I said, I love a man who’s good with his tools,” she said as she closed the truck door and headed into her home.
###