Gangbanged for Garage Repair Gratitude

It was a hot July day, and my best friend Amy and I were driving from Kansas to Colorado to watch Denver play the Chiefs on Sunday. I was driving my sweet little blue EcoSport with the cool air on high as I looked over at Amy in her white shredded tank with no bra. She knows how I admire the view, lol. I swear, those nipples of hers were always hard, and that sweet short denim skirt of hers was almost as short as mine. "Pass me a bottled water from the cooler," I demanded with a smile on my face, spilling a little on my paper-thin Rolling Stones t-shirt. We were quite the pair when we got together, and both of us leaving the boyfriends at home for a girls' weekend in Colorado meant it was time for some fun.

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Amy kept busy blasting songs on the radio, and we sang as loud as we could. We laughed so hard we cried and ignored calls from Robert and Roger. Surely they could survive without us for a few days, we agreed.

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But as things that can go wrong usually will go wrong, we were about two hours away from Colorado when a warning light came on in my car and it seemed to lose some power, which alarmed me quite a bit. I told Amy to be on the lookout for a service station—anywhere—just so we could get things looked at.

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Amy pointed at a sign up ahead that let us know a garage was at the next right turn off the main road. I felt a bit of relief knowing we weren't going to be stranded as I made the right turn and drove the extra ten minutes to Kyle's Garage. We both got out together, and Amy joked that we looked pretty trashy as I told her to hush and keep walking. Once inside the main office, Amy and I went up to the desk and rang the bell. The only people that seemed to be around were three greasy-looking guys sitting in the only available seats and looking me and Amy up and down like we were delicious snacks and they were starving.

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"Excuse me, does anyone work here?" Amy blurted out, ringing the bell again as a door in the back swung open and footsteps could be heard coming down one of the aisles. The three grease monkeys laughed and just kept staring as a middle-aged, balding, pot-bellied guy with "Steve" written on his name tag made his way to the desk. "How can I help you ladies?" Steve asked, getting right into our faces, his lip full of Skoal.

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I swallowed hard as the aroma from his breath made my stomach churn. I backed up slightly. "We are just trying to get to Colorado for the weekend, but the oil light came on in the car and it seems to be losing power," I said sweetly, smiling. "Could you please give it a look?"

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Steve looked over at the three greasers, and they gave a collective head nod. "Well, ladies," Steve mumbled, pulling the cloth from his back pocket and attempting to wipe layers of grease off his hands. "Follow me. Umm, I don't think I got your name," he said, waiting for an answer. "Alyssa. My name is Alyssa," I said, "and my friend's name is Amy." Steve continued, "Nice ta meet ya, Alyssa. Amy should probably sit inside and stay cool—keep the boys company." I looked at her, and she was about to panic, but what could I do? The guys were already sitting around her, asking her a million questions.

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"Now let's give her a look at your car!" Steve insisted, and I followed him out the door. He opened the door, cranked the car, and I could tell he was listening intently to the motor as he reached down and popped the hood. He made his way from the inside to looking under my hood, and I couldn't help but notice through the window that Amy was struggling inside. One of the guys had his hand on her upper thigh, and another was standing up directly in front of her for some reason. "Is she going to be okay in there with those men?" I asked Steve. He briefly looked up and smiled. "Oh, those boys are harmless!" he said before popping his head back under the hood.

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I glanced back inside at Amy, and it looked like she had stood up to leave while two of the guys were holding the door shut and the other was groping her under her shirt. "HEYYYYYYY!!! LEAVE HER ALONE!" I screamed, and running on pure adrenaline, I pushed that garage office door open and told them to "leave her the fuck alone!" They backed off, and Amy followed me to the car where Steve was standing, looking all confused. "What's going on, pretty ladies?" he asked as Amy told him that his friends were creeps and needed to keep their hands to themselves.

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Steve looked back at the guys and then at me and Amy and softly closed the hood to the car. "You're not going to fix it?" I asked, confused. "Well, Alyssa," Steve said, "it seems you need a new radiator and a couple of hoses, or you aren't going anywhere." "Okay, great," I said. "Now that we know what's wrong, let's get it fixed. Price isn't important!" I said as Amy chimed in, "Yes, hurry so we can get out of this place!"

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Steve looked at us up and down, shaking his head as the three others came out and stood behind me and Amy. Things started to feel a little uncomfortable as Steve spat on the ground, wiped his glasses, and began to speak.

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"Well, girls," he began slowly, "the way I see things, you need me, or else you call someone to pick you up." "Just fix it," we begged together, watching a smile cross his face. "Sure, I could fix it!" Steve said. "But then, where's the fun in that?" he asked, reaching out and running his dirty, greasy hand up my arm and across my shirt, grazing my breasts. "Hey, I can pay you double, whatever you ask. Please just fix it," I begged again, pulling back from his touch.

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"Seems to me like you two girls have a problem with us working-class men. And if you want this car fixed, then you need to be a little more grateful," Steve said, pushing Amy back against the guy he called Bobby. "What do you mean by grateful?" I asked as Bobby reached his arms around Amy and pushed his dirty hands up under her shirt and cupped her tits in his hands. She tried pulling away, but she was too small and Bobby was a big guy. "See," Steve said, "grateful!"

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Another guy by the name of Derek moved in front of Amy and pawed at her shorts. She tried kicking, but he laughed as he held her in place with one hand and unbuttoned her shorts with the other, shoving his dirty hand down inside and his fat fingers inside her. "Now I bet you appreciate that!" Derek said, finger-banging her as Bobby pulled her top up and over her head. "Fucking nice tits!" Steve said. "But we might need to take this inside." And with that, Derek and Bobby dragged Amy inside, and Steve grabbed my hair and led me inside.

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I couldn't believe this was happening, and I felt so bad for Amy. I was also terrified about what they had in store for us once we were inside. With all of us indoors, the door locked, Amy's top and shorts were ripped from her body, and she stood wearing only a white lace thong. "Don't think you are getting off easy, Alyssa!" Steve said as he stood me in front of the window and put his dirty hands on my face, turning my head and kissing me with that smell that made me gag. His tongue darted in and out of my mouth as he ripped my shirt off and let it fall to the floor. "Now these are tits!!!" Steve yelled, bouncing them up and down, sucking them, biting my nipples as I squirmed in shame. "Oh yes, Alyssa. Let's remember the gratitude!"

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Amy and I stared at each other as my shorts were cut away, and Amy and I were both pushed to the floor on our knees. Steve and Bobby were on either side of me, and Derek and his fat friend Mark were on either side of Amy. "Here's where shit gets real, girls!" Steve laughed, dropping his pants, and his big hairy dick with its sweaty musky smell was only inches from my face. The other three stripped down, and Steve shoved his dick into my mouth and, over and over, chanted, "Gratitude, gratitude. Come on, bitches—gratitude!" Between him fucking my mouth and Bobby getting his turn in, I was struggling to breathe.

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I could hear Amy gagging behind me as Derek and Mark were both putting their dicks in her mouth at once. Drool was dripping down onto her tits, and they took turns slapping her hard in the face with their rock-hard cocks and then shoving them down her throat, making her struggle to breathe.

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It seemed like this went on forever before Steve finally gave the order to fuck us like the whores we were. "Don't waste that high-class pussy, boys. Give 'em some blue-collar dick. That's what they wanted the whole time anyway!"

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Needless to say, Amy and I both felt trapped but just wanted it over with, and there was no point in fighting because they were just too big. We got pushed up against the garage glass windows, our tits pressed against the glass, and somehow we lost track of time. But one would fuck each of us hard, then bend us over to suck their nasty dicks clean before the next one took over, tormenting our pussies until we lost control and came. I can't even remember how many times I came. I just couldn't believe that I did. But dick after dick, we showed them gratitude. Dick after dick, we were used. And when they couldn't hold it back any longer, we were shoved to the floor again and forced to hold our mouths open as they flooded us with cum, forced us to swallow, making us say "thank you" over and over again, teaching us all about gratitude until every last drop of cum was swallowed or somewhere on our bodies.

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Once they were all finished, they all dressed, went out and locked the shop up for the day, leaving us there—cum-covered—with ripped clothes, a broken-down car, and nothing left to do but to call our boyfriends Robert and Roger to come get us.

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