Desert Breakdown Sparks Wild Ride with Muscle Mechanic

My truck died on a dusty stretch outside Tucson last July, the engine coughing once before going silent under the brutal sun. I walked two miles to the only garage in sight, a low cinderblock building with a rusted sign reading Pete's Auto. Inside the open bay stood the biggest man I had ever seen in real life, six-foot-five at least, shoulders stretching a grease-stained white tank top, arms thick as my thighs and glistening with sweat. He wiped his hands on a rag and looked me over with dark eyes. Name's Rico, he said, voice low and rough like gravel. What broke?

I told him about the truck and he nodded, already moving to grab tools. We walked back together in silence at first, the heat pressing down. Rico's presence filled the space between us. He wore faded jeans that hugged heavy quads and an ass that flexed with every step. When we reached the truck he bent over the engine and I caught the scent of motor oil mixed with clean male sweat. He asked if I had water and we shared the bottle I carried. His fingers brushed mine and lingered. You from around here, he asked. Just passing through, I answered, my voice tighter than I meant.

Rico worked fast, declaring the alternator shot. He offered to tow it back to the shop and let me wait in the air-conditioned office. Once there he locked the front door and flipped the sign to closed. No one else is coming today, he said. The single fan moved hot air around the small room. He stepped closer, chest to chest, and I felt the solid wall of muscle through his tank. You been watching me, he said. I nodded. Good, he answered, then his mouth was on mine, tongue pushing deep while his huge hands grabbed my ass and pulled me against the thick ridge already straining his jeans.

We stripped fast. Rico's body was carved, broad pecs covered in dark hair, abs like cobblestones, and a cock that hung heavy and already half hard, thick as my wrist. I dropped to my knees on the concrete floor and took him in my mouth, tasting salt and skin. He groaned and thrust slowly, hands holding my head while I worked him deeper. His balls were full and tight. After a minute he pulled me up, spun me around, and bent me over the desk. Lube appeared from a drawer. He prepped me with thick fingers, scissoring and stretching until I pushed back for more.

Rico slid inside in one long thrust that stole my breath. He fucked me steady and deep, the desk creaking under us, his heavy balls slapping my skin. Sweat dripped from his chest onto my back. Every stroke hit the right spot and I moaned loud enough for the empty garage to echo. He reached around and stroked me in time with his hips until I came hard across the desk. Rico kept going, pace never slowing, until he growled and flooded me deep.

We caught our breath and he suggested we grab food and head to his place a mile down the road. His apartment was small but cool, with a big couch and no neighbors close. We showered together, soaping each other's bodies under the spray. Rico's cock rose again against my stomach. I dropped to suck him once more while water ran over us, then he turned me and took me standing, one leg hooked over his arm, the angle letting him drive even deeper than before.

Later we moved to the bedroom. Rico lay back and I rode him, controlling the pace while his massive hands gripped my hips. He sat up to suck my nipples, teeth grazing, sending sparks straight down. We switched positions twice more, once with him behind me on all fours, pounding until the headboard slammed the wall, and again with me on my back, legs over his shoulders, watching every muscle flex as he buried himself to the hilt. He came again, slower this time, kissing me through it.

We lay tangled in the sheets afterward, the desert night finally cooling the room. Rico traced a finger down my chest and asked if I needed a ride anywhere in the morning. I told him the truck could wait another day. He grinned and pulled me closer, already half hard again against my thigh. Different location, same hunger. We started over in the dark, slower and even filthier than the first round.