Chapter 2

May 4

It was 5:35 when I pulled the Porsche to the right lane and stopped. The horns began immediately. Didn’t they know I was picking up my Girl? I put on the blinkers as I waited. The horns continued.

She was waiting inside the building, and came out right away. The day was warmer and her coat was draped over an arm. She tossed it and a shopping bag in the back of the Porsche and slid into the leather bucket seat. I quickly looked at her legs as she settled: the shine of pantyhose – or stockings – greeted my gaze. Then I glanced at her dress: it was a sheath-type cream-colored dress, with buttons down the front, from the collar to the hem at her knees. The top five buttons were undone, showing just the start of cleavage.

I put the car in gear and started forward, much to the relief of the taxi behind me.

“Before you say anything,” Marty offered, preempting my criticism of her dress, “just wait.”

She put a can of the martinis in the cup holder, and opened the other she had in a paper sack. I guess she needed a drink to strengthen her resolve. Martha took a long, long pull on the six ounce can, before placing it in the other cup holder. Six ounces of gin all at one gulp – that’s a lot of courage she needed.

She began unbuttoning the dress. The next few buttons exposed a lacy white bra, as she not only unbuttoned it but peeled the bra back with the dress. Good thing the traffic wasn’t moving; my eyes were not on the road.

The woman – girl – kept unbuttoning the dress as it crossed her waist. She kept the material closed as it crossed the Mason-Dixon Line ‘til she eventually got to the last button at her knee. I found myself driving too slowly through the Holland Tunnel, when the blast of an air horn woke me from my self-induced hypnosis. As we passed the N.J. exit of the tunnel she casually threw back the sides of her dress.

“You could make me drive off the road, you know,” I said, making my way carefully through the traffic. I finally got to the verge of the road, and took a good, long look. There was a small triangle of white covering her sex. Two thin bands extended from the triangle over her hip bones, leading to who-knows-what. Beneath the elastic strips, she wore a white garter belt holding up tan-tinted stockings. On her feet were nearly invisible straps, apparently they were sandals with heels.

She stretched like a cat, and pushed the seat back to the maximum extent, simultaneously reclining it all the way.

“You like, sir?” she asked innocently.

“Good thing I have to drive, or else I’d rape you right here. See, there’s a trooper right over there. I doubt he’d approve.”

“So, find a motel. I already called Carl and told him I’d have to take a later train. Said I was going to be busy. I hope I am.”

I pulled back onto the highway, weaving through traffic as only a Porsche can. I got to the Turnpike toll booth, and said, “Do not move, girl.”

She only turned her head away from the expected gaze of the attendant. I’d pulled into an automated ticket machine, laughing silently. When I got back to speed, I held out my hand.

“Oh God,” she moaned softly. Well, one should speak softly when addressing a Diety. “Yes, sir. As specified they are small. Tiny even. And you’ll note that I’m not wearing pantyhose. I went to Vicky’s at lunch and bought this ridiculous outfit. I feel like a whore. Who wears clothes like this for a car ride?”

“Vicky’s?”

“If you’re going to dress me up like a whore, you gotta learn about Victoria’s Secret. On 5^th north of 52^nd Street. There are others at various malls.”

“My dear,” I replied calmly, “I didn’t dress you like a whore. You did that. And you didn’t do that for a car ride. You did it to please me.”

“And did it?”

“Don’t fish for compliments... girl.” I could see the slight clench in her thighs at the word. “I am still waiting for the panties.”

She lifted her ass off the seat and wriggled out of the thong. “If I have to ask again, you won’t like the surprise I have planned.” It sounded like something Bogart would have said, if he ever did a porno.

She quickly deposited it in my hand. I slung them over the rear view mirror. “Good. Now, you will like the surprise. It’s in the glove box.”

She sat up quickly and retrieved a smallish box. Upon opening it, she uttered a very unladylike word.

“Now you are sounding like a whore.”

“Bastard. That’s what you are.” Marty rolled the two steel balls in her hands. “They’re heavy. What if they fall out?”

A simple question deserved a simple answer. “Then, girl, you’ll have to reacquire the offending ball, and reinsert it ... ON THE SPOT. Just the thought of doing that in an elevator will keep you from letting them fall out.”

“Double bastard. What if I don’t insert them at all?”

“That’s even easier. When I find out, we’re quits.” I thought about saying something other than ‘quits.’ Like: ‘we’re done’ or ‘we’re finished.’ But ‘quits’ sounded more like Bogart, at least to me. On reflection, why I had Bogart on the brain, mystified me.

I put out my hand again. She looked like I did nothing.

“Girl, if you’re going to stay in my... service ... for long, you’re going to have to pay attention. When I gesture toward you, that requires a response. Now, GIVE ME THE FUCKING BALLS.”

That got her attention, and she quickly put the box containing the aforementioned balls into my hand.

THAT got my attention.

I pulled over to the slow lane, and put the box on the center console. I reached over to push on her chest. She flopped back against the nearly-horizontal seat. Then I slid my hand down to the center of her sex. I fumbled through the small patch of golden pubic hair – she never felt she needed to remove it, I remembered. As I settled my hand lower, I searched with my thumb and two fingers for the small shaft of her clit. I gave it a small stroke toward the opening of her sex.

She moaned.

Then I gave her clit a hard pinch, holding the grip like a clothespin. Once that had time to register on her consciousness, I increased the pressure as I twisted it, first clockwise and then counter-clockwise. When the little shaft was back centered, I increased the pressure again.

“Listen carefully, cunt,” I said cutting through her outraged scream. “Are you listening?” She quieted. I pitched my voice low and very quiet. “You knew damn well what I wanted. And it wasn’t the box. Get rid of the attitude. I won’t tolerate it ... Do you want out right here? I can pull over and leave you on the shoulder of the Turnpike. You won’t have any trouble getting a ride dressed like a whore.”

I maintained the hold on her clit. She reached for the box, opened it and offered the balls to me. “No, sir. Don’t put me out,” she sobbed. “Don’t hurt me again. That really hurt.”

“I won’t hurt you again... unless you deserve it.” I released her clit and took the balls from her hand. “I will punish you when you don’t behave. I will punish you when and how I feel like it ... Sometimes for no reason at all, except that I want to do it.”

She covered her sex with both hands. “You want me to ... what? To do every damn thing you say? To worship you? Like a god?”

“I will say it again. Listen carefully. I’ve said it to you every month for the last half year ... You are the boss at work. When you say jump, they all say ‘How high?’ You have a lush for a husband, who can’t do anything without your guidance. Can he even pay the bills? Is he sober enough to pick up the girls at school? You have an thirteen-year old, almost fourteen, who depends on you to get her grown up. You need me to be in charge of you, to put some balance in your life. You need some sex in your life. Cancel that. You need a lot of sex in your life.

“So,” I continued, “Do I want you to think of me like a god? I think god-hood is too far. Do I want you to worship me? Maybe, just one part ... about eight inches long and seven inches around. Do I want you to do every thing I say for you to do? Yes. Damn right. And I want you to be glad to do it.”

“It’s nine inches,” she said under her breath.

She was quiet as I paid the toll at the Turnpike exit. I took the road to my condo, not to her train station. She popped the lid on her second can of double martinis, and took another couple of swallows. That was at least seven ounces of gin in about forty-five minutes.

“And take your hands away from your cunt. Do not cover it up from me ever again. Do not deny it to me.” She slid her hands down from their position on her sex and brought them to her sides.

I slid my hand over to her puss and slid the two stainless steel balls in to her cunt. I patted her pussy. “Close your legs, girl.” She did.

“They’re cold, sir ... Um ... Master”

Master, where did that come from? I raised an eyebrow, in my best Mr. Spock impression. She didn’t see it.

I pulled into the underground parking in my assigned spot. Next to the Porsche was a Land Rover. I got a very nice buyout package when I sold the company.

“Stay,” I told her. I got out and walked around to her side of the car. Opening the door, I said, “As you are, swing your legs out and sit on the edge of the seat.” She did, but had to bend low, so she wouldn’t hit her head on the top of the car. The bra was very cute and framed her breasts quite nicely. I hadn’t seen them in years; they were quite tasty, looked like they’d fed a kid, which they had. Her legs were still clamped against the possibility that one of the stainless steel balls would escape. She was naked from the waist down, except for her garters and stockings. On her feet were the strappy heels, which I now noticed were about four-inchers.

She looked up at noticed that my cock was sticking out of the opened fly in my pants. I took a half-step toward her, tangled my hand in her blonde shag and pulled her head toward my cock. She moved but was not tending to her business. I thought my intentions were perfectly clear.

“SLLAAAAAPP!” The sound of my right hand on her left cheek echoed in the garage. Her face swung to the left, but my hold on her hair centered it again.

“Did I make an unclear gesture? Bitch, this is the time to start worshiping my member. Suck it now!”

She paused a second. “Yes Master.” Her mouth opened and voila! my cock slurped into her mouth. She sucked and licked and licked and sucked. I pulled on her hair, and she leaned forward another inch, until her nose touched my trousers; she had about five inches of cock to work with, but she only got four inches in between her lips.