Westley was the type of hot entitled prick that didn’t know just how good he had it, having always come from a life of privilege. His attitude was more than apparent to Joziah when he had brought in his luxury sports car to the shop. Joziah had his way of dealing with such jerks that involved sabotaging their sound system so that only his special recordings would play when the vehicle drove. One couldn’t switch from satellite to local radio or simply turn the radio off – if the car was on, the special music was playing.  The offending client would call in demanding the service be fixed for free – “it was fine until I brought it to you!” Joziah would agree, but claim to be backed up for at least a week and since a radio wasn’t a life-threatening emergency would apologize and offer additional services on the house to make up for the delay.  They were never happy at first, but by the time they brought the vehicle in, they wanted to know how they could still choose to listen to the catchy beats if they so desired. They also would often end up giving into a newfound lust for the mechanic, providing him with a steady stream of blowjobs from snobs he loved seeing down on their knees – a position they would love to take for minorities going forward, regardless of what their orientation had been before. But every once in a while, when the person was a complete classist and usually also racist jerk, he liked to take the programming even further.

This was the case with Westley, who found himself craving not just Joziah’s cock but his whole lifestyle. All the perks he had from his live as an executive suddenly started to seem hollow compared to the value of getting to work with one’s hands. The idea of getting down and dirty was being programmed into his subconscious in more ways than one, and the suggestions were definitely taking hold.  At the office, he found it harder and harder to concentrate on the business deals that increasingly bored him, wanting instead to get online and watch stock car races. Westley certainly had a tendency to speed before, but he never truly appreciated the rush one could get from the world of autos. He was beginning to crave the different smells of the environment – the sweaty musk of a man working hard, the grease and oil representing  manly pastimes. His business suits felt more and more constricting – he envied having seen Joziah in his loose orange jumpsuit that looked so comfortable. By the time he brought his vehicle in to be fixed, he had started wearing  the basics meant to be worn under such a jumpsuit. “You’re, uh, looking a bit skimpy in the pants department today, buddy,” Joziah joshed as the athletic former exec responded: “I quit my job today and thought maybe you’d let me try on a jumpsuit? I think I need to wear one.” Joziah smiled at the man’s admission, knowing his programming had worked. That smile led Westley to think with his dick as he went in for a kiss.

Occasionally, a client looked at the new employee before asking, “Don’t I know you from somewhere, um,” and then looking at his nametag, “Ratchet?” “That’s what they call me, ma’am, and don’t reckon ya do.”  The more he forgot who he was, the more Joziah had started making changes – gone was the New York accent as a redneck country accent took its place. And even ‘Wes’ started to not feel right as those changes under his “hood” completed, for it was right a mechhead like him had a nickname! Hearing him talk seemed to erase their suspicions. Some may say a wretched man got what he deserved; others that Joziah went too far – but there was no denying Ratchet was very happy in his new life. He loved getting down and dirty working on  cars, and he loved getting down and dirty as the Boss man fucked him in the garage!