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“I suppose it does. I just never thought of it that way.”
“Then, it wouldn’t hurt to start. I consider you owned property. Mine to use, to share and exhibit. If that doesn’t work for you, tell me now.”
Every day, every email, every time he spoke to me, I moved a little deeper into the unknown realm of this man’s quirky fantasies. But now, the transformation was happening at light speed, faster than my ability to keep up.
My bones and blood quaked in recognition of what I heard. The words were powerful—owned, property, use, share, exhibit—echoing torrid accounts on those steamy websites, not to mention my own thoughts, which had wooed me toward this surrender with such undeniable force. I was losing all sense of time and place, the date, the season, and anything that would link me to reality. As I vacated one world, time shifted into some remote place where I was for those hours living a separate life, unsure when and if I would return to my real one. I became another person, different from the woman I knew well. This woman surfacing was now more real to me than the one I’d been for thirty-two years, but like a distant relative, I saw only rarely. She had no morals, no sense of propriety. Before the night was out, I’d see just how little she cared about proper behavior. I loved her—and as importantly, needed her—to get through what Preston planned for me.
It intrigued me that Preston, this man who barely knew me, could recognize the truth inside me. I wanted to question him, understand what he saw that other men did not. But it wasn’t the time. I was notably timid in his presence, cowed by his control over me, which to my perception, seemed to be complete. My mind might have been filled with a thousand competing questions, but my heart and body threw them off, remaining mesmerized, fixated and powerless to do anything but obey him. Force me to obey? I’m not sure he used much force at all… I was a willing collaborator in the game.
From the shop, Preston drove onto the highway, moving directly into the fast lane, pulling along side a diesel trucker on our right hand side.
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“Play with yourself,” he ordered.
I hesitated just a second, while staring up at the truck cab, wondering if the driver would look down and see me.
“What? You changing your mind?” he asked.
“No, sir.”
“Then don’t look up, just play.” Preston wasn’t happy.
I took his comment as a rebuke, and sliding a little deeper into thoughtless obedience, I did as I was told. Spreading my legs the way I’d done on the way to the dress shop, my skirt rode up nearly to my waist, leaving my pussy exposed to the eyes of anyone who might look down from above. I couldn’t tell whether the trucker beside me was looking or not, but I imagined that he was. The possibility was enough to give me goosebumps, enough to set my crotch on fire. Flicking my fingers against my clit, it took just seconds to bring the wild arousal to a razor-sharp edge. I wanted to come then. Forget the fingers, forget subtlety, both hands flew to my snatch, groping and mauling, pinching, squeezing and rubbing against my clit. My head flew back against the headrest as I moaned for real—this wasn’t fiction, this was real, gut-wrenching, primeval, uncontrollable sensation. While my hips churned, pumping against my hands, my head and chest tossed back and forth. My breasts tore against the generous armholes of the see-through sweater, with my tawny flesh stretching the material. Any second, my whole tit, nipple and all, might break through.
“Gawd, you’ve got to let me come!” I shouted to the man beside me.
“I don’t have to let you do anything!” he growled ominously at me.
My sex juice poured out on my hands as I quickly moved dangerously close to the point where I couldn’t have stopped my orgasm merely through sheer will power. I tried again, “Oh, please!”
“When I say so, Skye,” he held the climax off with his intimidating voice.
I realized then that we were exiting the freeway to a rest stop, with the Audi coming to a stop at the far end of the trucker area. The momentary pause concerned me, but not enough to stop the climax from urgently demanding its expression. Pulling into the parking lot beside us was the trucker, who had apparently seen the whole show. He was given an even better view of the finish, when after jumping from his cab to the asphalt, he opened the car door. He was an old guy—probably fifty, with a wiry, gritty body and a craggy timeworn face. In reality, it was a handsome face, beautiful for the clear blue eyes, if nothing else. Though he didn’t lay a finger on me, it was those eyes—the sex sparked eyes of a twenty-year-old—that made my body lurch forward and a huge, grinding spasm suddenly shake me end to end.
I’m not sure how much noise I made, but I know I wasn’t holding much in. I must have writhed against the car seat for nearly five minutes, going from one sexual peak to the next as the spasms skyrocketed through me. I’d think it was over, and my fingers would make me jolt again, then squeezing or pulling or rubbing myself to another climax. As the feelings lessened, I returned to the land of the living, panting heavily but feeling more alive than I had in some time. Both of my breasts were bare by the time my ass finally rested on the seat, having worked through the armholes of the sweater, nipples erect like tiny volcanoes. I opened my eyes and gazed quickly at the trucker, who stood next to the car, grinning at me in a most lurid way.
“She for hire?” he asked Preston.
“Not yet,” he said. “But I thank you for taking the time to watch. You don’t know how important that is for her.”
“My pleasure,” the man answered. He closed the door, since it was obvious that a good peepshow was all he would get. Preston gunned the car and we sped off. I like to think the trucker returned to his cab and jacked-off thinking me. Maybe he’s still jacking off with the image of me in mind.
“Not for hire, not yet?” I just couldn’t let this one go.
“So, what’s your question?” Preston asked, as if he had no clue what I was asking.
“Are you turning me into a whore?”
“Would that bother you?”
“Yes, I think it would.”
“But you’ll do as you’re told.” Another reminder.
“I’m not sure. Maybe I do have limits.”
“And so do I. Perhaps you need to trust that I know what yours are.”
