20-01-2022, 05:02 PM
Sidharth pulled up behind a newish looking Honda Civic sitting at the stop sign. No traffic, yet the driver failed to proceed. He tapped his horn to alert the distracted driver of his presence. The car lurched forward and Sidharth followed in his beat up, piece of shit, pickup truck. He stepped on the gas and passed the little Civic, glancing at the car's tinted windows which prevented him from seeing its driver. The tail pipe of his truck belched a cloud of burnt oil as it pulled in front of the newer car. He knew this area well and there was another mile to go before they reached the next cross street where the driver might turn off. He let up on the gas once in front of the car and watched it catch up with him from his rear view mirror. The driver was a white female that kept looking down at the cell phone she held. Sidharth waited for her to look down at the device again.
The map on Pinky's iPhone screwed up and brought her to the wrong place, making her late for another job interview. She was lost. Her eyes quickly scanned the phone's tiny screen and then refocused on the road. The old pickup truck in front of her had come to a stop. She was going to run into it. Pinky's foot stomped the brake pedal. She veered to the right. The Civic screeched but didn't completely stop until colliding with Sidharth's old truck.
"Shit!" Pinky exclaimed as she came to the realization she was at fault in this accident. She couldn't afford a ticket or the higher insurance costs that would result. After a moment, Pinky took a deep breath and finally unclenched her fingers from the steering wheel, bracing herself before looking at the damage.
As Pinky got out of her car, the other driver, a tall, strapping, black man in his fifties, climbed from the old pickup truck she had just ran into. He looked like a body builder, huge muscles in his chest and arms bulging beneath his shirt. Pinky surveyed the damage as the black man approached: a dent on her left fender and some of her car's paint on the truck's rear bumper which was badly bent. She looked up at the black man towering above her.
"I'm sorry. Are you okay?" she asked.
Everywhere Pinky went, she captured eyes. Men and women desired her, invoking jealousy in wives and girlfriends.
Sidharth hesitated before answering, carefully considering his words as his eyes feasted on the petite, white girl with red hair and green eyes standing in front of him. She was a young, slender beauty -- couldn't be more than 30 years old, he thought -- with a nicely curved ass, perky tits, and fine facial features. He noticed the small engagement ring she wore.
"I'm not sure," he replied rubbing the back of his neck and examining his rear bumper, which had been banged up pretty good from a previous accident. The thin metal of her fender couldn't possible bend the thick steel of his bumper like that. But there was no way a young, dumb girl like her would know that. Besides the small scuff mark, she hadn't really caused any additional damage to his already smashed up truck. "It looks like you messed up my bumper and your fender. My neck is hurting some too. Do you have that cell phone you were using when you ran into me handy so we can call the security officer and file an accident report?"
Pinky fetched her phone and did something very unusual for her, she started crying. Usually strong and self-confident, everything seemed to be going wrong lately. Her wedding was in a month and what a terrible way this was to begin her marriage. She and her fiancé, her high school sweet heart, were eager to make a family, but she was unemployed, unable to pay her bills, and now faced a big, fat ticket for careless driving and much higher insurance costs. It was a stretch financially with Larry's small paycheck before, but now they certainly couldn't make it.
Sidharth watched tears flow down Pinky's face. Her hands nervously trembled holding the phone that got her in this mess in the first place. "Why are you crying like that?" he asked.
Between sobs Pinky explained her situation, "I'm going to get another ticket and I won't be able to afford insurance. We'll never be able to get married."
Her crying aroused Sidharth with thoughts of stuffing his gigantic, black cock into her tight, young twat -- of pumping her little pussy full with his potent cream and putting a black baby in her white belly; but she was too distraught to notice the large bulge forming in his pants.
The two sat on the curb of the lonely stretch of highway, just outside of town, surrounded by empty fields. Tall blades of grass waved in the warm summer breeze, early morning dew drying from them. An occasional car or truck whizzed by.
"Wait," Sidharth said placing his hand over Pinky's phone so she couldn't finish her call to the security officer. "Perhaps we can work something out where you won't get a ticket and your insurance won't go up. I hate to see two young people start out with such hardship," Sidharth explained now driven by appetency greater than greed.
"Really?" Pinky sniffled, her eyes red a swollen.
"Sure, I have a friend who can fix that dent and I can probably set you up with a job. Let me see your phone."
Sidharth was moving fast on Pinky. Before she had the chance to even consider his offer, its potential costs, his ulterior motives, he took the phone from her hands and called his friend: "Hi Amit, it's me, Sidharth. I need to call in a favor, buddy. I'm on Highway. A Honda Civic ran into me and the owner needs her car towed to your shop and repaired."
Pinky's jaw dropped. The damage to her car didn't look that severe to her. "I think I can drive it," she said.
Sidharth held up his finger gesturing for Pinky to wait until he finished the conversation on her phone. "Okay, we're on the side of the road."
"It's not that bad. I can drive it." Pinky repeated when Sidharth ended his phone call.
She was right. Her car was perfectly drivable. But Sidharth knew women were easily deceived when it came to cars and mechanical issues and she didn't need to know how minor the damage to her car actually was. "Are you serious? You can't drive your car with that dent in its fender. It's unsafe like that and you'll ruin your tire when you make a left turn."
Pinky started crying again, "But I can't afford a tow truck or repairs."
Her tears caused Sidharth's penis to fill with more blood, making his erection even harder. "It's either this or we file a security officer report and get the insurance companies involved. Amit owes me a few favors and he does nice work. Let's see how bad your damage is when he gets your car back to his shop. I bet he can fix it for less than your deductible. I guarantee he will cost a lot less money than if you take your car elsewhere."
"I don't know about this," Pinky replied. "I just don't have the money."
"Well you need to make a decision now while I can still call Amit back and cancel. It's not fair to make him come all the way out here and then for you to change your mind. Either way you're going to need a tow truck. But at least my way your insurance won't go up and you'll avoid getting a ticket. I am just trying to help you out."
Pinky felt confused. She wanted to ask her fiancé, Larry, what to do, but he wasn't supposed to get phone calls while at work and she didn't want to upset him with more bad news.
Sidharth sensed Pinky's hesitancy, but the dark, primitive compulsion sparked by Pinky's tears and originating from his swollen penis had become stronger than his urge to breathe; like a high pressure salesperson, he pushed to close the deal before she backed out.
"It may not cost much, if anything at all, since Amit owes me. If money is that much of a problem now, I'll vouch for and you can pay them back later," he added.
A lot of people owed Sidharth favors for things he provided to them. Sidharth had dabbled in a number of illicit businesses.
"Okay, I guess," Pinky answered.
CHAPTER 2
Amit pulled up in a rusty, old tow truck that looked like a bigger heap than Sidharth's pickup. Sidharth stood up and ran to meet his friend, leaving Pinky sitting by herself on the curb. Amit, still in his truck, lowered his window as Sidharth approached.
The two punjabi men chatted like good friends, occasionally glancing her way and laughing, but Pinky couldn't hear what they were saying to each other from her distance and over the chugging of Amit's truck. She watched Amit -- a wiry fellow with short, kinky, white hair atop his head -- hop from his truck and briefly examine the damage to her car. He shook his head disapprovingly and then proceeded to attach her disabled vehicle to the winch. Next to his huge friend and the heavy equipment he operated, Amit appeared slight. The two men walked over to Pinky after hooking up her car.
"It's a good thing Sidharth stopped you from driving your car like that," the old punjabi man said. He grinned as if thinking about something funny -- his smile containing dark gaps where teeth were missing -- and added, "I'm Amit."
"Hi Amit, I'm Pinky. Thanks for helping me out. Do you have any idea how much this is going to cost?" the girl asked, her pretty, green eyes still pink and puffy from crying earlier.
"It's hard to tell just yet. Until we get that fender off, there is no way to know if any underlying damage to the frame occurred. Don't worry about that now. Sidharth says he'll vouch for you."
Amit turned to Sidharth and continued, "I'll take her car back to my shop now and get Raj working on it. Unless he finds major damage to the frame he should have it drivable later today. The rear bumper on your truck looks like it needs some work too."
"Okay," Sidharth replied. "We'll take care of my bumper later." He then explained to Pinky, "You'll ride with Amit. I have some business to do and then I'll meet you at his garage."
As Sidharth opened the passenger door for Pinky, it sounded like it shrieked in pain, its rusty hinges arthritic joints forced to move. After Sidharth helped her into the truck's filthy cab, Pinky sat in the tattered seat and watched the old man pull himself up into the truck. She could tell it was becoming a struggle for him as he aged.
Amit waved to Sidharth as he drove away with Pinky beside him and her car attached to the back of his truck. His admiration for Sidharth reached an all-time high. Pinky's beauty was even more striking close up; and her presence brought some life to his long dormant cock, which twitched slightly each time his eyes took in more of her lovely, model-like features.
After Amit and Pinky headed to Amit's shop, Sidharth went to seek medical attention for back and neck injuries he had just sustained. His story would be that the late model, blue Honda Civic Pinky drove had left the scene. If turned in, say by the shop that repaired her car, Pinky would be charged with felony hit and run.
CHAPTER 3
It didn't seem to take this long to reach them after Sidharth called Amit on her phone; but Pinky was upset and not paying attention to time. Amit drove slowly and took a detour back to his garage while uneasiness festered in Pinky. She had never spent much time around punjabi people and the old man's body odor added to her discomfort. His eyes kept wandering up her legs and staring at her breasts each opportunity he got to take them off the road. The more she thought about it, the more precarious her situation appeared. But she couldn't just demand for him to stop and give her car back. She felt paralyzed by an inability to act and sat silently as Amit drove to their destination -- wherever that was.
Amit's garage sat in a part of town where bengalis were rare and Pinky had never visited before. Her fear subsided some when they arrived. In five hours Atul would be off work; she planned to call him and let her fiancé know what had happened and where she was.
Amit's place looked more like a junk yard than a repair shop, with cars and their parts strewn about in overgrowth and a tall chain-link fence with barbed wire on top surrounding the property. Two large Doberman Pinschers with spiked collars around their necks, appropriately named Demon and Savage, ran to Amit's truck as it pulled up the driveway. They angrily barked and snarled at Pinky when she opened her door. Pinky froze with fear.
"Demon... Savage: heel!" Amit thundered in a tone that didn't match his stature and sounded like it came from a big, Nazi drill sergeant. The dogs cowered to his feet. "Get out of here you mangy mutts!" he yelled. At his command they scurried away like scared puppies. Pinky suspected the dogs reacted that way from cruel treatment. In a volte-face, Amit politely smiled and helped her from the truck.
They walked into the garage where the smell of oils and solvents hung in the air as thickly as Amit's body odor in the truck. A young, punjabi man, around Pinky's age, dressed in denim coveralls with grease stains on them, worked under a car on the lift. Amit barked like one of his excited dogs, "A, bring this young lady's car in here and get to work on it right away. She was just in an accident, and needs it fixed now."
From his broad shoulders, Raj's lean body narrowed down in the form of a "V" with muscular pecks, biceps and buttocks his baggy coveralls poorly concealed. He performed quick repairs and quick paint jobs on cars. He also dismantled a few stolen automobiles for Amit who used them for parts. Raj didn't ask questions, but somebody made his boss more volatile than usual. He looked over to his boss yelping and saw a beautiful white girl. "Wow" he muttered under his breath, his mouth forming a smile of bright teeth that contrasted his dark skin. His eyes punjabi like obsidian lit up at the sight of Pinky.
CHAPTER 4
Pinky sat in a waiting area that consisted of a table and several plastic chairs in the corner of a small room. A number of disgusting girlie magazines -- Hustler, Barely Legal, Oui, and Penthouse -- covered the table and momentarily brought back the uneasy feeling she had experienced while riding in Amit's truck. A layer of filth deposited over the years from the bottoms of mechanics' shoes darkened the white terrazzo floors worn by traffic. A television that only received one boring channel was mounted to the wall. With nothing to read and her cell phone out of charge, Pinky passed the day in the dirty waiting area at Amit's garage watching stupid shows on the television.
Raj started working on Pinky's car. The damage was minimal but his boss explained the situation. Raj would have it fixed late that day -- after Sidharth returned -- even though it could be repaired sooner. Except for the dent in her fender, her car appeared immaculate inside and out. Even the contents in her glove box were neat and organized as he went through them curious of her personal life. He found the papers from the dealer where she purchased the car in an envelope: a bill of sale and completed credit application. She lived in a nice part of town and had just turned 21-years-old, a year older than him. Raj believed cars resembled their owners. He imagined Pinky looked as flawless under her clothes as her car looked under its hood. A girl perfect as Pinky was as easy to win as the lottery. But Raj couldn't help fantasizing about taking Pinky for a spin, and putting his piston in her well-oiled cylinder anyway.
A service counter with a cash register and telephone sat at the far end of the room where Pinky waited. A door behind the counter led to the garage. The door opened and Raj came in pretending to look for something. From this location the young stud had a perfect view of Pinky as she watched the television. Her silky, black hair, flowed down to her shoulders. Her shapely breasts were not excessively large, but filled her white blouse nicely. Her tight, black skirt, which reached just above the knee, revealed a slim waist and long, smooth legs she kept crossed. But her face was indescribably beautiful with large, luminous, green eyes that looked like they belonged to a cat, high cheek bones, a little nose, a narrow chin, and full lips. Raj stood undressing Pinky with his eyes, imagining her naked like the models in the porno magazines on the table -- magazines he took to the bathroom and wacked his monster sized penis off to three times a day. Raj's cock got hard as he stared at Pinky. He had broken up with his girlfriend over a month ago and was tired of jerking himself off.
Amit walked from his office down the short corridor to the waiting room and saw Raj leering at Pinky and grabbing his coveralls to adjust his very large penis. "What are you looking for?" Amit asked, knowing good and well what Raj was up to.
"I'm looking for the keys to her Civic," Raj nervously replied.
"I gave them to you, cretin! Get back in that goddamn garage and get her car fixed." Amit barked.
Although Pinky disliked Amit's tone, she was thankful he chased the guy away. She pretended that she hadn't noticed Raj staring at her, but from the corner of her eyes she saw his blurry image standing there grabbing his crotch. The entire time she had concealed how uncomfortable he made her feel. She never had an interest in punjabi men before, and certainly didn't have one now. She was off the market to all men. Soon she would be Mrs. Pinky Donovin, wife of Atul Donovin. She just wanted her car fixed so she could get away from these creepy punjabi men.
But now instead of the young guy, the old pervert ogled her for several minutes. At least Amit didn't keep obnoxiously grabbing his penis like Raj had done.
The old man could no longer get full erections, at least not without help from blue pills. However, the sight of Pinky made more blood flow into his dusty prick without Viagra than it had received in a long time, which rekindled Amit's memories of youth. How he wished he was a younger man again. Like Raj now, at one time he could get boners from a simple breeze. Amit thought how this gorgeous, white chick must be torture for the poor kid.
The phone rang, diverting Amit's attention. "Amit's Garage," he answered.
"Don't say my name," Sidharth's voice carefully instructed him from the phone. "I'm at the hospital and the security officer are taking a report. They already took a paint sample from my bumper but I didn't give them her license plate number or description. Make sure you keep her there until I get back."
"Sure, we can take care of that for you," Amit said with that same funny grin he gave to Pinky when he introduced himself to her -- the one that exposed his missing teeth, a semi-toothless grin. "Bring her in and we'll fix her up. We're open late tonight."
Amit hung up the phone and went down the corridor back to his office -- probably to look at some nasty magazines, Pinky thought.
By five-thirty Pinky's car still was not finished. She was about to ask if she could borrow the phone so she could call Atul to pick her up when Sidharth walked in.
"They finish your car yet?"
"No," Pinky replied shaking her head.
"Amit?" Sidharth yelled down the hall. "What's up with her car?"
Amit emerged from his office, "Let me go check."
He went out to the garage and for a few seconds, only Sidharth, Pinky, and an awkward silence filled the room. Unlike the other two guys, Sidharth knew how to work a girl like Pinky. He knew not to come on too strongly at first and to wait until the time was right and her defenses were down. He checked Pinky out without her realizing it.
"Okay, he's finishing up right now," Amit explained coming in from the garage holding paperwork for the repair. "Let's go back to my office and hash this out."
The apprehension Pinky had experienced off and on throughout the day -- when she had ridden in Amit's truck, when she had noticed the hardcore, pornographic magazines on the table, every time Amit and Raj had taken turns ogling her, when Raj had fondled his crotch and Amit had given her his semi-toothless grin -- returned again like bad indigestion. Yet her conscience compelled her to follow Amit down the hall with Sidharth close behind her. They had given her a tow, repaired her car, trusted her to pay them back without getting insurance companies or the security officer involved. Now it was time for her to return their good will, Pinky thought, ignoring the anxiety she felt in her gut.
Contd ...
The map on Pinky's iPhone screwed up and brought her to the wrong place, making her late for another job interview. She was lost. Her eyes quickly scanned the phone's tiny screen and then refocused on the road. The old pickup truck in front of her had come to a stop. She was going to run into it. Pinky's foot stomped the brake pedal. She veered to the right. The Civic screeched but didn't completely stop until colliding with Sidharth's old truck.
"Shit!" Pinky exclaimed as she came to the realization she was at fault in this accident. She couldn't afford a ticket or the higher insurance costs that would result. After a moment, Pinky took a deep breath and finally unclenched her fingers from the steering wheel, bracing herself before looking at the damage.
As Pinky got out of her car, the other driver, a tall, strapping, black man in his fifties, climbed from the old pickup truck she had just ran into. He looked like a body builder, huge muscles in his chest and arms bulging beneath his shirt. Pinky surveyed the damage as the black man approached: a dent on her left fender and some of her car's paint on the truck's rear bumper which was badly bent. She looked up at the black man towering above her.
"I'm sorry. Are you okay?" she asked.
Everywhere Pinky went, she captured eyes. Men and women desired her, invoking jealousy in wives and girlfriends.
Sidharth hesitated before answering, carefully considering his words as his eyes feasted on the petite, white girl with red hair and green eyes standing in front of him. She was a young, slender beauty -- couldn't be more than 30 years old, he thought -- with a nicely curved ass, perky tits, and fine facial features. He noticed the small engagement ring she wore.
"I'm not sure," he replied rubbing the back of his neck and examining his rear bumper, which had been banged up pretty good from a previous accident. The thin metal of her fender couldn't possible bend the thick steel of his bumper like that. But there was no way a young, dumb girl like her would know that. Besides the small scuff mark, she hadn't really caused any additional damage to his already smashed up truck. "It looks like you messed up my bumper and your fender. My neck is hurting some too. Do you have that cell phone you were using when you ran into me handy so we can call the security officer and file an accident report?"
Pinky fetched her phone and did something very unusual for her, she started crying. Usually strong and self-confident, everything seemed to be going wrong lately. Her wedding was in a month and what a terrible way this was to begin her marriage. She and her fiancé, her high school sweet heart, were eager to make a family, but she was unemployed, unable to pay her bills, and now faced a big, fat ticket for careless driving and much higher insurance costs. It was a stretch financially with Larry's small paycheck before, but now they certainly couldn't make it.
Sidharth watched tears flow down Pinky's face. Her hands nervously trembled holding the phone that got her in this mess in the first place. "Why are you crying like that?" he asked.
Between sobs Pinky explained her situation, "I'm going to get another ticket and I won't be able to afford insurance. We'll never be able to get married."
Her crying aroused Sidharth with thoughts of stuffing his gigantic, black cock into her tight, young twat -- of pumping her little pussy full with his potent cream and putting a black baby in her white belly; but she was too distraught to notice the large bulge forming in his pants.
The two sat on the curb of the lonely stretch of highway, just outside of town, surrounded by empty fields. Tall blades of grass waved in the warm summer breeze, early morning dew drying from them. An occasional car or truck whizzed by.
"Wait," Sidharth said placing his hand over Pinky's phone so she couldn't finish her call to the security officer. "Perhaps we can work something out where you won't get a ticket and your insurance won't go up. I hate to see two young people start out with such hardship," Sidharth explained now driven by appetency greater than greed.
"Really?" Pinky sniffled, her eyes red a swollen.
"Sure, I have a friend who can fix that dent and I can probably set you up with a job. Let me see your phone."
Sidharth was moving fast on Pinky. Before she had the chance to even consider his offer, its potential costs, his ulterior motives, he took the phone from her hands and called his friend: "Hi Amit, it's me, Sidharth. I need to call in a favor, buddy. I'm on Highway. A Honda Civic ran into me and the owner needs her car towed to your shop and repaired."
Pinky's jaw dropped. The damage to her car didn't look that severe to her. "I think I can drive it," she said.
Sidharth held up his finger gesturing for Pinky to wait until he finished the conversation on her phone. "Okay, we're on the side of the road."
"It's not that bad. I can drive it." Pinky repeated when Sidharth ended his phone call.
She was right. Her car was perfectly drivable. But Sidharth knew women were easily deceived when it came to cars and mechanical issues and she didn't need to know how minor the damage to her car actually was. "Are you serious? You can't drive your car with that dent in its fender. It's unsafe like that and you'll ruin your tire when you make a left turn."
Pinky started crying again, "But I can't afford a tow truck or repairs."
Her tears caused Sidharth's penis to fill with more blood, making his erection even harder. "It's either this or we file a security officer report and get the insurance companies involved. Amit owes me a few favors and he does nice work. Let's see how bad your damage is when he gets your car back to his shop. I bet he can fix it for less than your deductible. I guarantee he will cost a lot less money than if you take your car elsewhere."
"I don't know about this," Pinky replied. "I just don't have the money."
"Well you need to make a decision now while I can still call Amit back and cancel. It's not fair to make him come all the way out here and then for you to change your mind. Either way you're going to need a tow truck. But at least my way your insurance won't go up and you'll avoid getting a ticket. I am just trying to help you out."
Pinky felt confused. She wanted to ask her fiancé, Larry, what to do, but he wasn't supposed to get phone calls while at work and she didn't want to upset him with more bad news.
Sidharth sensed Pinky's hesitancy, but the dark, primitive compulsion sparked by Pinky's tears and originating from his swollen penis had become stronger than his urge to breathe; like a high pressure salesperson, he pushed to close the deal before she backed out.
"It may not cost much, if anything at all, since Amit owes me. If money is that much of a problem now, I'll vouch for and you can pay them back later," he added.
A lot of people owed Sidharth favors for things he provided to them. Sidharth had dabbled in a number of illicit businesses.
"Okay, I guess," Pinky answered.
CHAPTER 2
Amit pulled up in a rusty, old tow truck that looked like a bigger heap than Sidharth's pickup. Sidharth stood up and ran to meet his friend, leaving Pinky sitting by herself on the curb. Amit, still in his truck, lowered his window as Sidharth approached.
The two punjabi men chatted like good friends, occasionally glancing her way and laughing, but Pinky couldn't hear what they were saying to each other from her distance and over the chugging of Amit's truck. She watched Amit -- a wiry fellow with short, kinky, white hair atop his head -- hop from his truck and briefly examine the damage to her car. He shook his head disapprovingly and then proceeded to attach her disabled vehicle to the winch. Next to his huge friend and the heavy equipment he operated, Amit appeared slight. The two men walked over to Pinky after hooking up her car.
"It's a good thing Sidharth stopped you from driving your car like that," the old punjabi man said. He grinned as if thinking about something funny -- his smile containing dark gaps where teeth were missing -- and added, "I'm Amit."
"Hi Amit, I'm Pinky. Thanks for helping me out. Do you have any idea how much this is going to cost?" the girl asked, her pretty, green eyes still pink and puffy from crying earlier.
"It's hard to tell just yet. Until we get that fender off, there is no way to know if any underlying damage to the frame occurred. Don't worry about that now. Sidharth says he'll vouch for you."
Amit turned to Sidharth and continued, "I'll take her car back to my shop now and get Raj working on it. Unless he finds major damage to the frame he should have it drivable later today. The rear bumper on your truck looks like it needs some work too."
"Okay," Sidharth replied. "We'll take care of my bumper later." He then explained to Pinky, "You'll ride with Amit. I have some business to do and then I'll meet you at his garage."
As Sidharth opened the passenger door for Pinky, it sounded like it shrieked in pain, its rusty hinges arthritic joints forced to move. After Sidharth helped her into the truck's filthy cab, Pinky sat in the tattered seat and watched the old man pull himself up into the truck. She could tell it was becoming a struggle for him as he aged.
Amit waved to Sidharth as he drove away with Pinky beside him and her car attached to the back of his truck. His admiration for Sidharth reached an all-time high. Pinky's beauty was even more striking close up; and her presence brought some life to his long dormant cock, which twitched slightly each time his eyes took in more of her lovely, model-like features.
After Amit and Pinky headed to Amit's shop, Sidharth went to seek medical attention for back and neck injuries he had just sustained. His story would be that the late model, blue Honda Civic Pinky drove had left the scene. If turned in, say by the shop that repaired her car, Pinky would be charged with felony hit and run.
CHAPTER 3
It didn't seem to take this long to reach them after Sidharth called Amit on her phone; but Pinky was upset and not paying attention to time. Amit drove slowly and took a detour back to his garage while uneasiness festered in Pinky. She had never spent much time around punjabi people and the old man's body odor added to her discomfort. His eyes kept wandering up her legs and staring at her breasts each opportunity he got to take them off the road. The more she thought about it, the more precarious her situation appeared. But she couldn't just demand for him to stop and give her car back. She felt paralyzed by an inability to act and sat silently as Amit drove to their destination -- wherever that was.
Amit's garage sat in a part of town where bengalis were rare and Pinky had never visited before. Her fear subsided some when they arrived. In five hours Atul would be off work; she planned to call him and let her fiancé know what had happened and where she was.
Amit's place looked more like a junk yard than a repair shop, with cars and their parts strewn about in overgrowth and a tall chain-link fence with barbed wire on top surrounding the property. Two large Doberman Pinschers with spiked collars around their necks, appropriately named Demon and Savage, ran to Amit's truck as it pulled up the driveway. They angrily barked and snarled at Pinky when she opened her door. Pinky froze with fear.
"Demon... Savage: heel!" Amit thundered in a tone that didn't match his stature and sounded like it came from a big, Nazi drill sergeant. The dogs cowered to his feet. "Get out of here you mangy mutts!" he yelled. At his command they scurried away like scared puppies. Pinky suspected the dogs reacted that way from cruel treatment. In a volte-face, Amit politely smiled and helped her from the truck.
They walked into the garage where the smell of oils and solvents hung in the air as thickly as Amit's body odor in the truck. A young, punjabi man, around Pinky's age, dressed in denim coveralls with grease stains on them, worked under a car on the lift. Amit barked like one of his excited dogs, "A, bring this young lady's car in here and get to work on it right away. She was just in an accident, and needs it fixed now."
From his broad shoulders, Raj's lean body narrowed down in the form of a "V" with muscular pecks, biceps and buttocks his baggy coveralls poorly concealed. He performed quick repairs and quick paint jobs on cars. He also dismantled a few stolen automobiles for Amit who used them for parts. Raj didn't ask questions, but somebody made his boss more volatile than usual. He looked over to his boss yelping and saw a beautiful white girl. "Wow" he muttered under his breath, his mouth forming a smile of bright teeth that contrasted his dark skin. His eyes punjabi like obsidian lit up at the sight of Pinky.
CHAPTER 4
Pinky sat in a waiting area that consisted of a table and several plastic chairs in the corner of a small room. A number of disgusting girlie magazines -- Hustler, Barely Legal, Oui, and Penthouse -- covered the table and momentarily brought back the uneasy feeling she had experienced while riding in Amit's truck. A layer of filth deposited over the years from the bottoms of mechanics' shoes darkened the white terrazzo floors worn by traffic. A television that only received one boring channel was mounted to the wall. With nothing to read and her cell phone out of charge, Pinky passed the day in the dirty waiting area at Amit's garage watching stupid shows on the television.
Raj started working on Pinky's car. The damage was minimal but his boss explained the situation. Raj would have it fixed late that day -- after Sidharth returned -- even though it could be repaired sooner. Except for the dent in her fender, her car appeared immaculate inside and out. Even the contents in her glove box were neat and organized as he went through them curious of her personal life. He found the papers from the dealer where she purchased the car in an envelope: a bill of sale and completed credit application. She lived in a nice part of town and had just turned 21-years-old, a year older than him. Raj believed cars resembled their owners. He imagined Pinky looked as flawless under her clothes as her car looked under its hood. A girl perfect as Pinky was as easy to win as the lottery. But Raj couldn't help fantasizing about taking Pinky for a spin, and putting his piston in her well-oiled cylinder anyway.
A service counter with a cash register and telephone sat at the far end of the room where Pinky waited. A door behind the counter led to the garage. The door opened and Raj came in pretending to look for something. From this location the young stud had a perfect view of Pinky as she watched the television. Her silky, black hair, flowed down to her shoulders. Her shapely breasts were not excessively large, but filled her white blouse nicely. Her tight, black skirt, which reached just above the knee, revealed a slim waist and long, smooth legs she kept crossed. But her face was indescribably beautiful with large, luminous, green eyes that looked like they belonged to a cat, high cheek bones, a little nose, a narrow chin, and full lips. Raj stood undressing Pinky with his eyes, imagining her naked like the models in the porno magazines on the table -- magazines he took to the bathroom and wacked his monster sized penis off to three times a day. Raj's cock got hard as he stared at Pinky. He had broken up with his girlfriend over a month ago and was tired of jerking himself off.
Amit walked from his office down the short corridor to the waiting room and saw Raj leering at Pinky and grabbing his coveralls to adjust his very large penis. "What are you looking for?" Amit asked, knowing good and well what Raj was up to.
"I'm looking for the keys to her Civic," Raj nervously replied.
"I gave them to you, cretin! Get back in that goddamn garage and get her car fixed." Amit barked.
Although Pinky disliked Amit's tone, she was thankful he chased the guy away. She pretended that she hadn't noticed Raj staring at her, but from the corner of her eyes she saw his blurry image standing there grabbing his crotch. The entire time she had concealed how uncomfortable he made her feel. She never had an interest in punjabi men before, and certainly didn't have one now. She was off the market to all men. Soon she would be Mrs. Pinky Donovin, wife of Atul Donovin. She just wanted her car fixed so she could get away from these creepy punjabi men.
But now instead of the young guy, the old pervert ogled her for several minutes. At least Amit didn't keep obnoxiously grabbing his penis like Raj had done.
The old man could no longer get full erections, at least not without help from blue pills. However, the sight of Pinky made more blood flow into his dusty prick without Viagra than it had received in a long time, which rekindled Amit's memories of youth. How he wished he was a younger man again. Like Raj now, at one time he could get boners from a simple breeze. Amit thought how this gorgeous, white chick must be torture for the poor kid.
The phone rang, diverting Amit's attention. "Amit's Garage," he answered.
"Don't say my name," Sidharth's voice carefully instructed him from the phone. "I'm at the hospital and the security officer are taking a report. They already took a paint sample from my bumper but I didn't give them her license plate number or description. Make sure you keep her there until I get back."
"Sure, we can take care of that for you," Amit said with that same funny grin he gave to Pinky when he introduced himself to her -- the one that exposed his missing teeth, a semi-toothless grin. "Bring her in and we'll fix her up. We're open late tonight."
Amit hung up the phone and went down the corridor back to his office -- probably to look at some nasty magazines, Pinky thought.
By five-thirty Pinky's car still was not finished. She was about to ask if she could borrow the phone so she could call Atul to pick her up when Sidharth walked in.
"They finish your car yet?"
"No," Pinky replied shaking her head.
"Amit?" Sidharth yelled down the hall. "What's up with her car?"
Amit emerged from his office, "Let me go check."
He went out to the garage and for a few seconds, only Sidharth, Pinky, and an awkward silence filled the room. Unlike the other two guys, Sidharth knew how to work a girl like Pinky. He knew not to come on too strongly at first and to wait until the time was right and her defenses were down. He checked Pinky out without her realizing it.
"Okay, he's finishing up right now," Amit explained coming in from the garage holding paperwork for the repair. "Let's go back to my office and hash this out."
The apprehension Pinky had experienced off and on throughout the day -- when she had ridden in Amit's truck, when she had noticed the hardcore, pornographic magazines on the table, every time Amit and Raj had taken turns ogling her, when Raj had fondled his crotch and Amit had given her his semi-toothless grin -- returned again like bad indigestion. Yet her conscience compelled her to follow Amit down the hall with Sidharth close behind her. They had given her a tow, repaired her car, trusted her to pay them back without getting insurance companies or the security officer involved. Now it was time for her to return their good will, Pinky thought, ignoring the anxiety she felt in her gut.
Contd ...
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