Milo

You and your brother had been staying at Milo’s house for weeks, and you understood perfectly why everyone called him hot. He was a mechanic—broad, thick muscles rippling under oil-stained shirts, forearms covered in dark hair and prominent, bulging blue veins that stood out every time he gripped a wrench or tightened a bolt. He was rude, blunt, short with everyone who flirted with him, turning down girl after girl like they were nothing. But with you it was different. He teased you constantly, his voice dropping to a rough, low rumble, his eyes lingering on your body a little too long, a little too hungry. You could feel it—he didn’t see you as just his friend’s little sister. He thought about you in ways he shouldn’t. And you thought about him too. All the time.

One afternoon you wandered into the empty garage, heat already pooling deep in your belly just thinking about him, and your eyes landed on one of his screwdrivers resting on the workbench. The metal shaft was smooth and cool-looking, the handle worn and shaped perfectly from his big, rough, veiny hands gripping it every day. Your breath hitched, your pulse spiking instantly, and before you could even stop yourself, you walked over and grabbed it.

You looked around to make sure no one was watching, then quickly lifted your skirt up around your waist and slid your underwear down your legs, kicking them onto the cold concrete floor. Your skin was already burning, your pussy already throbbing and wet just from the thought of what you were about to do. You brought two fingers to your mouth, licking them slowly and thoroughly until they were dripping with your saliva, then slid them down between your legs, rubbing your clit in slow, tight circles until you were even wetter, your inner lips swollen and glistening.

You wrapped your hand around the screwdriver, your fingers curling around the cool metal, and imagined it was him—his thick, hard cock instead of steel, his big, calloused hand guiding it instead of yours. You pressed the rounded tip to your wet, dripping entrance, and gasped when it slid in easily, sinking deep inside your tight, warm pussy. It felt so full, so hard, stretching you open just right, and you couldn’t help but moan loud and breathless as you began moving it in and out, up and down, the smooth metal sliding easily through your wetness.

“Fuck…” you whimpered, your head falling back, your eyes fluttering shut as you imagined it was him. “Milo… feels so good… imagine if this was his cock… thick and hard and real… pushing into me slow then fast… stretching me until I can’t take it…”

You moved it faster, your hips bucking up to meet every stroke, your other hand drifting up to your throat, fingers wrapping lightly around your neck as you pictured it was him—his big, muscular body hovering over you, his veiny, strong hands wrapping tight around your throat, squeezing just enough while he fucked you deep and hard, his thick cock sliding in and out of your wet, slick pussy while he watched your face twist with pleasure.

“God… his hands are so big…” you moaned, the screwdriver sliding deep then pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in, your wetness coating the metal, making it glisten. “They could wrap all the way around my throat… squeeze me while he fills me up… I want it to be him… I want him to feel how wet I am…”

You were getting closer, your thighs trembling, your breathing coming in short, ragged gasps, the pleasure building and building until you were right on the edge—until a low, rough, familiar voice cut through the air, freezing you completely.

“Well well well… what the hell do we have going on here?”

Your eyes snapped open and your head jerked toward the doorway. Milo was leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his massive, broad chest, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, those thick, veiny forearms on full display. His eyes were dark, burning, locked straight on you—on your bare legs, your skirt bunched up, the screwdriver still buried deep inside your wet, glistening pussy, your hand moving it back and forth. He wasn’t embarrassed. He wasn’t looking away. He was staring like he wanted to devour you right there on the workbench.

“Using my tools without asking now, baby? That’s naughty. And here I thought you were such a good girl. Bet you weren’t expecting me to walk in and catch you like this, were you?”

“Milo!” you gasped, your hand freezing around the screwdriver, your face burning hot but you didn’t pull it out. “I… I didn’t think anyone was here…”

He pushed off the doorway and walked toward you slow and deliberate, his heavy boots thudding against the floor, his eyes never leaving yours. “Clearly not. Otherwise you wouldn’t be standing here half-naked fucking yourself with my screwdriver while moaning my name like a desperate little thing. Go on then—don’t stop on my account. I’m enjoying the show way too much.”

He stopped right in front of you, so close you could smell the oil and soap and warm, masculine scent that clung to him. He reached out, his big, rough hand wrapping around your wrist, guiding your hand to move the screwdriver in and out of you once more, slow and deep, making you gasp.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice low and rough, sending shivers straight through you. “Did you imagine this was my cock sliding into that wet little pussy of yours? That my hands were the ones touching you? That I was the one filling you up?”