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The Shatter Machine

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         Dash Wilder sucked down the rest of his lemonade, doing his best to enjoy his lunch break. He worked as a mechanic, servicing classic cars. It was a dream job he had gotten used to, and he wasn't getting rich, either. He was going to finish the last forkful of wilted salad on his plate when he was interrupted by a text from his dominatrix, Sasha Banks.

 

 

SB: Hey Dash, I need to cancel our play session. somethin' came up

DW: What am I paying you for?Lol

SB: I can remove your 95% "favorite customer" discount 🙆🏾

DW: nooooooo

SB: Yeah, when this client was last in town they gave me a whole-ass Mercedes-Benz as a bonus- so sorry chief. I'm gonna send you your money back and give you a free session some time

DW: I can pay                                                  

SB: I dont need ur millennial wage slave money to live, Dash. Youre basically just paying for the lube we use up lol

DW:Sorry Boss

SB: Being insecure aint cute, Dash. I'm only saying this cuz you clearly respect my boundaries, but you're a friend, and I'd want that ass in my sling even if *I* had to start paying *you*

DW: Thanks Boss

SB: Good boy. I'm gonna try to get another car

DW: In me mums car

SB: I need you to shut the fuck up

 

          Dash set down his phone, a little bummed out, and not just because he was sitting in a Panera Bread. He made idle squeegee noises with his empty fountain drink's straw, pondering what to do with his suddenly free evening. Dash's phone buzzed, and he resumed his text conversation with Sasha.

 

 

SB: I know a kinky person w a free evening if youre horny

DW: I am, but I'm not really a sex right after meeting somebody dude

SB: I think its time you finally do something gay

DW: Sasha its like, Thursday

SB: Thursgay

Ill send a pic of the guy, just say Yes or no 😈

 

          The man in the picture had a shaved head, muttonchops, and a handlebar mustache. He was scowling, wearing a cut off tee shirt, black jeans and some shitkicker cowboy boots. His vibe was somewhere between a knowing emulation and sincere expression of blue collar manliness. He reminded Dash of his high school buddies' older brothers. Quiet rednecks with adult responsibilities, already done with being young and raising hell; despite what their beer coozy might say. They'd sit around the bonfire on a summer's night and intone fatherly advice over a miller high life. Leaning back in their folding lawn chairs, grabbing the back of a younger man's neck, to look him in the eye.

 

 

"Dash, you better not get that girl in trouble."

"Yes, sir."

 

   Dash paused. Maybe today was Thursgay. He texted Sasha back in the affirmative. On his walk back to work, he recieved a text from a number he didn't recognize.

 

 

SD: Hello Dash. My name is Scott Dawson. I will meet you at the Shatter Machine at 10 PM. They have an "at least one article of leather" dress code. I recommend wearing the harness you're wearing in the photo Miss Banks sent me. You're free to do what you want, or suggest another meeting place. I have no expectations.

DW: Thanks. I'd like to take things slow. Just talk tonight. The leather bar sounds fun.

SD: Yeah, it's your "rookie season" on the team. I'm pretty easygoing. If my mug didn't scare ya off, my attitude won't lol

DW: Well you dropped the formalities after one text haha

SD: Well you told me to take it slow. So I am. See you at 10?

DW: Yes sir

SD: now who needs to slow down??

DW: lol

 

   This guy seemed nice. Dash didn't know exactly what he was afraid of for so long. He was a stocky and strong man, who was pretty assertive when he wasn't in Sasha's lap. He trusted her judgement- that Scott was a good guy to (possibly) be his first. He was wondering if it would be too presumptuous to clean out his butt before 10, when he wandered back into the garage. His thoughts were interrupted with a question about the Shelby Cobra that just rolled into the shop.

 

"Dash, did that spare dashboard clock end up fitting?" his boss, Alexa asked.

"Nah, it was too small. It wasn't a great color match anyway," he replied.

"Well I'll approve the cost of ordering another one, just show it to me first."

"Yes ma'am"

 

   Dash was slightly annoyed by Alexa's scrimping, but since she took over for her old man, a lot of regular clients stopped coming in. Ms. Bliss was in a little over her head, and not just literally. The business had enough capital to run with no customers for a while, but he knew it stressed Alexa out that she couldn't run the same community events and give the same charitable contributions her old man did. Dash wondered if the older men who were the primary clients of the shop back in its heyday were even still alive. Maybe they just didnt trust a woman a third their age to know what she was doing. That's their mistake. Alexa grew up in this business. She had a legendary story about how she had to change a tire in an evening gown on her way to senior prom because her boyfriend didn't know how. The kicker is that she didnt get a spot of grease anywhere on the dress.

   He was walking over to his workstation when he spotted a pair of legs sticking out from underneath a '63 Lincoln Continental.

 

"Yo, Rhea!"

"Fuck. What?" the Aussie, Rhea Ripley said, sliding from underneath the car, shiny with sweat and grease.

"Well, first, how's the suspension on the Lincoln?" asked Dash, smirking. He did the intake and estimate on this one. And man it was-

"Fucked! Like you don't know. It's fucked, mate. The rear axle is cracked in fucking half! If I had to produce an unbent suspension strut from a Lincoln Continental to save my life-" Rhea ranted.

"You would die?"

"Precisely, mate. What's up?"

"Well I've got the date you wanted for me," said Dash.

"Wait- with a man? Dash Wilder, you homo!"

 

   They laughed, and she stood up for a hug.

 

"Yeah it'll be fun." said Dash, coolly.

"You're not gonna tell me anything, then? I guess I'll have to wait til it's Instagram-official?" Rhea asked.

"It's a first date. I'm taking it slow."

"That doesn't sound like you, my perverted colleague, but I'll leave your bloke alone."

"-and you leaving me alone doesn't sound like you," joked Dash.

 

   Dash went back to his workstation and busied himself ordering parts. He was excited for tonight and that made the hours at work feel excruciatingly long. When it was quittin' time, he bid the ladies adieu, and got in his car, an 86 Chevrolet Sprint, that he restored himself back in high school. It was ugly, but with a new stereo and some ad hoc safety features like forward collision and lane departure alerts, it almost approximated the comfort of a newer car. Not to mention the model's famously absurd gas mileage. Dash got 50 miles to the gallon in this ugly old thing, and that was enough for him to keep it around. He was rolling out of the parking lot when he caught a glimpse of himself in his rear view mirror. his hair was unkempt, and beard unruly- it was too late to schedule an appointment with his usual hairdresser, so he resigned himself to doing the best he could to tame it himself at home. He laughed a little when he realized how nervous he was getting. It felt brand new, like he was in high school again- going on his first date- he had over-prepared, wearing a tie, and perfuming the interior of his car (the very same one he was sitting in now)- for what turned out to be 65 minute excursion to Pizza Hut for buffet dinner.

   The ride home to his one-bedroom was short, and he pulled into the one-car garage he also rented and climbed up to his unit via the rear porch stairs. Dash was a pet-less singleton, and everything was as he had left it- mostly clean, mostly retro, and maybe a little overstuffed. The kitchen and en suite bathroom were small, and the only rooms not bursting with brick-a-brac. His living room was full of classic car and movie memorabilia, vinyl, and books. His bedroom was, in short, dramatic. The cheery open spaces of the living room were met with an all-black-everything dungeon. It was pretty professional, if a bit small. A four poster bed with black linens was fitted with tie points for slings, and various bondage scenarios. A massive black steamer trunk at the foot of the bed concealed the bulkier items- rubber sheets, the sling, straight jackets, spreader bars, wedge pillows, etc. on the wall opposite the door, black and red cotton rope was coiled, hanging neatly, waiting patiently for Dash or Sasha's deft hands. Dash would occasionally be the top for some of Sasha's straight/bi girl clients- he'd get half the fee, and he enjoyed guiding other bottoms to new experiences. Usually the scene would involve some kind of anal play- which, as a bottom, he knew as much about, or more, than Sasha did. The bed, the top of which was at Dash's waist, had four large drawers built underneath it, two on each side. Two were filled with Dash's fetish clothing- femme to butch, in almost any material you could name- latex gloves, silk panties, lycra singlets, leather harnesses, rubber jackboots, etc., etc. Dash had so many things in this category he'd occasionally forget he owned something. One drawer was miscellany- sensory toys, e-stim equipment, medical toys- he kept his travel douche in here, as well as a few failed experiments- dog collars, chastity cages, gags- things that he thought were going to be more fun for him than they ended up being. The last drawer was heavy and full to bursting with anal toys and impact tools. Canes, plugs, floggers, dildos- he had one in every size. He had preposterously large dildos- Sasha joked that Dash's eyes were bigger than his ass. Many of them had never been used. Dash, a worrier, long ago gave Sasha a key to the place. If he died, he had instructed her to come clear out all his stuff before his mom or whoever got over there to do it. Rhea had come over one night a year ago, and burst in the door, suspicious of why Dash kept telling her to not go in there. She quickly understood. She teased him about it, but it was clear she was going to tease him in any circumstance, so past the initial embarrassment, things went back to normal quickly.

   After a diet-conscious dinner of grilled chicken and steamed broccoli, Dash set about the business of getting ready. To be clear, it was probably two hours early to start getting ready, but he wanted to make a good impression. besides, he wasn't above chilling on the couch and watching tv for a while in a leather harness. Dash got naked, stripping off his dirty-grey Carhartt work pants, and Bliss Mechanics uniform T-shirt. He popped them in his bathrooms compact washer, while stepping out of his sweaty boxer briefs. Dash was a handsome man- his stocky body was covered in a moderate amount of light brown hair- he had an average sized cock and a tight, relatively small ball sac, that Sasha once characterized as "cute". His muscular legs terminated at Dash's pride and joy- his ass, which would turn himself on if he stared at it for too long. It was round, untanned, and also covered in a smattering of light brown hair. He ran his hands over his body- his stiff shoulders, soft belly, sensitive nipples. He was ready to step into some hot water and let the physical exertion of the work day run down the drain. And, maybe, while he was in there, he would clean out his butt. Just in case.