That summer Vixen took a job as a driver for one of Taylor Wilkins' wealthy friends. She was outfitted in a very mannish uniform complete with military-style cap and high boots, and when she was properly dressed in her small room above the four-car garage, she reported to the library for her instructions, feeling a bit ill at ease.

A portly man and his stylish wife were waiting for her.

"You look very nice," the woman said, arching a manicured eyebrow. "I'm glad the boots fit."

Vixen pulled the short jacket down and stood up straight, well aware that the tight britches displayed her rounded buttocks and shapely thighs to their best advantage. Since the Ike-style jacket bloused a bit, her lovely breasts were not so obvious, but the heavy belt around her middle certainly emphasized her small waist.

"Indeed. I'm very pleased," said the man licking his lips. "Taylor said you were a fine looking girl. Pity about that, awful thing. Our regular driver was in an accident on his motorcycle and will be out of action for six weeks or so. Your job is to drive me to work every morning, Monday through Friday, and out of the club early on Saturday, the county club, not far, then to church on Sunday, to be on call otherwise and take care of the cars, keep them clean and so on. Martha?"

"Yes," said the woman with a smile. "We have a young daughter, and he has two sons, nearly full grown; the girl and I will need your services from time to time to shop and visit and so on, perhaps to take us out to the club. The boys have their own cars. We seldom go out in the evenings."

"Any questions?" asked the man.

"Do I get any time off?" said Vixen, not sure what she was getting into, but feeling the need for sex already. During the school year she was getting filled four or five times a week.

"Not really," he said. "We have agreed to pay you ten thousand, with all taxes paid, for six weeks work. Seems to me that's pretty generous."

Vixen nodded. "Yes sir, it is. About meals?"

"In the kitchen with the staff," said the woman. "Talk to the cook. You can tell her what you like, but she seldom listens."

"And laundry?" asked Vixen as a young man sauntered in and looked her up and down.

"It will be taken care of," said the man. "This is our son Charles. She's the new driver, my boy."

The young man smiled and nodded. "She's going to take over for Mike?" he asked. "Sandy won't like that."

"Hush," said the woman. "Take her out and show her around the garage. You know where the keys are kept."

He gestured and Vixen followed him down a long hall and out into the huge, clean and orderly garage where four cars stood: an older model black Cadillac Fleetwood, a new Chrysler 300, a bright yellow Nissan 350Z and a MG TD in British racing green with yellow wheels.

"The Z car's my brother's. He's up in Newport," said the boy with a chuckle. "Screwing rich girls. The old MG is mine. The gold- colored Chrysler is the every day car and the Caddy is used once in a while when they want to show off."

"Don't you have a sister?" Vixen asked.

"Yeah, half-sister, but Sandy's only thirteen. Dad's wife doesn't drive so you'll be hauling her around a lot. The keys are over here." He showed her a cabinet.

Vixen nodded. "That's sure a good looking MG."

"Yeah. I wanted a TC, but this is OK. You got time for a quickie?"

"Beg your pardon?" said Vixen, wondering if she had heard the boy correctly. He was only about her age she had guessed.

"Oh shit," the boy said. "They didn't tell you. Sex is part of the job. Mike, our regular driver, he laid my stepmother regularly and found girls for us now and then, bikers mostly. I'm sure Dad will want to get between your legs." He grinned at her. "They're some fine legs; do they go all the way up?"

Just then the boy's father came striding out with a golf bag on his shoulder. "Charlie, want to play a round?" he asked.

"No, I'll come out later and go swimming," he said.

"Get this brute's keys," said the man, nodding at the 300. He got in the back seat and Vixen started the car and buckled herself in.

"Garage door's on the button by the mirror," said the man.

Vixen pushed, watched the door rise in her rearview mirror and then backed out. "Go north. I'll give you the turnings," said her employer. "Did Charlie proposition you?"

"Sir?" she said.

"He's horny as hell. Up to you of course. Wife's gonna be unhappy that we hired a female. She'll survive."

Vixen nodded and drove, quickly becoming aware that the heavy car was hemi-powered.

When they reached the impressive clubhouse, the man said. "My wife will be coming out this afternoon. You might want to drive around the area, get to know the roads some. You don't have to fuck Charlie, or his brother, or me either, if you don't want to." He trotted off with his heavy bag.

An hour later Vixen returned to the home on the hill and pushed the button to open the garage. When she went up to her room, she found a young woman arriving from the house. "I'm Sondra," said the girl, sticking out her hand.

The slim girl sat on Vixen's bed and she rested on a desk chair. "Your brother told me that your regular driver, ah, he, um, was a friend of yours and your stepmother?"

"All he'd do was lick me," said the girl with a grimace. "He humped her like a goat. I watched. I'm not going to ask you to use your tongue on me, but we've got this strap-on thing and there are a bunch of boys out at the club that are panting to get in my shorts."

"You know the age of consent's sixteen, right?'

"Nobody around here pays any attention that. I don't know a girl my age that hasn't done a blow job and most of them have hooked up with somebody or several somebodies."

Vixen shook her head and held her tongue.

"So what I want, I guess, is your help, however you can, getting back and forth mainly, so I can get laid, and promise to keep it a secret."