The Cocktail Date

The man finishes my shoe shine as I watch the arrival board to the left.  I like him.  He is a young, muscular black man, who gives the appearance of being the most leisurely person on earth.  He does not do anything that looks like work.  He gives a few offhand licks with the brush, and the cloth, effortless.  He turns between each action with his hands to scan the esplanade for girls, and give them a look.  I don’t even try to compete, this is his territory.  But when he is done, my boots are shiny, better than she gets them, even if she gets a studious look and works hard.

She is about five minutes late. She can’t help it of course, and I know that.  Knew it when I wrote the schedule for her.  I want her scared and anxious.  I've set her up to fail because I know it will get her off balance. The Commuter Rail Service is southbound against the City’s rush hour and I know from experience the nearly empty Southbound commuter trains are given lowest priority on the CSX right of way. 

She could have taken the mass transit, the subway lines.  They run to the same boarding point where I’d instructed her to leave her car.  But I wanted her to take the regular passenger train.  I did not want her crammed like a sardine into a car full of people  I wanted her relaxing in the low light of the “quiet car,” with easy access to a restroom. 

The commuter rail also allows passengers to bring drinks on board.  I’d told her to pack an airline bottle of vodka, and a mixer in a clear soda bottle.  She would step inside the lavatory, mix it, throw the bottle away, then put her "public" collar on.  She would also take off her panties and throw them away.  She’d had the card since this morning with my instructions so I presumed she’d pick some panties she didn’t like very much. 

 I’d stirred myself from the bar when the digital board showed her train arriving.  I always loved the station.  I focused on that to relax a little.  Even after a drink there was a knot of tension knotted in my gut that wouldn’t be gone until the night’s scene was played through to conclusion.  I had nerves and no amount of drinking was going to fix that.  There was a chance that she'd hate me, even feel betrayed by me, after tonight.  That would be the worst, was hard to take. 

I took a deep breath and focused on the scenery around me.  The station was built in a classical-nouveau style just after the turn of the century.  It was about the same age as my house, but the plumbing worked better.  In the 70s they had turned the place into an upscale shopping mall, and there were marble walkways and brass railings a flight above the main floor where you could have coffee, or walk and look down. 

I watched for her to come through the main hallway.  I could pick her out of a crowd in a moment.  There were other girls that looked a little like her; young, petite, brunette.  But when she was in her collar, she had a walk and seemed highlighted to me, with a bit of a glow. She was carrying a small clutch purse big enough for the airline bottle, her phone, and two twenty dollar bills rolled up in case of an emergency.  I liked her to be safe, and sometimes I even let her know that.    

 It was a chain, heavier than most jewelry but within the range that was acceptable for a modernesque fashion.  It was fastened by the tiniest lock I had ever seen, small but functional.  She was entrusted with the key to both of her collars, a trust she had never violated.

I held a dark morocco folder.  It was one of five I owned, all slightly different.  Three were locked in an antique desk of polished wood, and seldom perused, except when I wished to draw lessons from the past.  Or to remember.  There were initials on the cover, and they were hers, her true name. It contained a synthesis of all I knew about her, and designated her as one of the special ones, so maybe that was why light seemed to attach to her when I watched her walk from a distance.  I always felt a strange surge of pleasure a mixture of pride and ownership in the first sight of her, especially when I could observer her like this, not knowing that she was being watched. 

It wouldn’t be a disaster if I couldn’t get a connection but my cell phone showed a signal, and it rang through.  Good timing.

She almost fucked up.  She started to keep walking.  But I saw her catch herself and stop dead.  She stepped slightly out of the line of traffic and answered the phone.

“Hello.”

She used to second guess me by answering my number “Yes Sir,” but eventually she’d had to explain that to her mother when she made a mistake.  Her mother did not know about me.  Her mother did not know about a lot of things her baby daughter did in the heat of the night.  I knew this because I could make her wet by reminding her of the fact.   I’d fucked her at their house once when her mother did not even know I was there.  I’d had to shove the side of my hand in her mouth to stop her screaming when she came, and she’d left bite marks so deep they broke the skin. 

I took one breath to steady my voice.  Wouldn’t do to let her hear me sound excited, even if I was.  “Good Evening.” My voice came out slow and steady.  Good. 

“Is there anything Sir requires of me.”

“Yes.  You have a change from your default plans.  In your purse you have three dollars in change from your on board ticket purchase.”

“Sir is correct.”

“I want you to fumble in your purse right now and drop one of those dollars to your left.  Then I want you to turn and bend over and pick it up.  You will do this the way you have been shown.”

Her posture training did not allow her to bend her knee.  To retrieve an object she’d dropped, she’d be expected to bend from the hips and reaching out her fingers to the ground.  There was only one time when she was allowed to be on her knees.

I watched to see if she shook her head as she put her ass up in the air.  She was good.  A month ago she’d have given a little ironic shrug.  Of course by now common sense told her that I was watching her.  She wasn’t allowed to look up to see where.  She wasn’t stupid.  She was anything but stupid.

I loved this part of the evening.  The big stuff was still far enough off I had some breathing room.  These were the easy points, the freebies, the ones that started her on the roller-coaster ride and that were pretty much foolproof.  I already knew what her responses would be like, could feel them even at a distance, from familiarity, could savor them without having to worry very much.

“Good” I said.  “Now I want you to go to the lockers.  They are coded so you don’t need a key.  You will be going to Locker 78, and the four digit code would be the year the Hundred Days took place.”  The new lockers allowed you to key in any combination you liked, so I’d taken advantage to give her a little something to think about.

She would enter it correctly the first time.  She was anything but stupid.  It was a date she’d know in her sleep, or at very worst could calculate quickly.  But it reminded her why I valued her, while giving no real chance of failure. 

She repeated the code back to me – “one eight one five.”   I couldn’t quite see the locker area, but I wasn’t worried.  I had a few minutes while she dealt with what she would find there. 

If being without panties had made her feel vulnerable I was pretty sure that taking off her clothes in a stall, packing them in the small handbag I’d provided, and putting on a black women’s coat  with a thin blouse and nothing else would make it worse.

She phoned me when she had finished and was outside the bathroom.  “Does Sir have any further instructions?” she asked.  I could hear that she was breathing a little fast. 

“Join me at the Centre Café.  You will arrive before me, so you will order my usual.   You are having a Cosmopolitan, and we are having the Calamari.  Ask for a table towards the back, you’ll be happier that way.” 

One of the features I adore about the station is the Centre Café.  It stands in the very middle of a vast atrium at the front of the station, and is a raised dais two stories high which has a full bar and café.  It’s not particularly pricey, but is seldom crowded because people assume that it is.  It can only be accessed by two steel staircases at the outside edge.  I suppose it’s in my nature to enjoy looking down.

I could have walked there in half the time that it took her, but I wanted her to walk up those stairs alone, and be seated by the waiter.  It was early fall and in fact she’d look no different than any other woman at the Station who was still wearing a shortish skirt and top, but a coat for the slight evening chill.  But she would feel every single passerby staring up into her cunt, and that was what I wanted.

“Sir…may I have permission to speak freely?”

“Of course.”

“Sir is a bastard.”

“Yes…”

That was allowed.  It was her one outlet.  She knew I liked to hear it, as much as she liked to hear that she was a slut. 

I'd brought a couple of things to give her at dinner, but when I walked down the spiral staircase and made my way towards the front, I passed the Godiva Chocolate shop and had one of those momentary bits of malicious inspiration.  I made an impulse purchase of one of the small four piece boxes.  It was gold and tied with a neat little elastic string that came on  and off quite easily.

Stopping at the railing outside the store, I opened the box and took the chocolates out, and rolled them up in a plastic bag that I was carrying for later.  Then I slipped my gift for her inside to make it a surprise.

There were two stairways up.  She’d managed to be seated next to one, so I actually was able to approach behind her and tap her on the shoulder.  I smiled at sat with her. (typo here)  We made a pretty couple.  She was small and young but energetic, a pretty brunette.  I was at least well dressed, and could pass for handsome.  I was old enough to take her in hand, and not so old as to be mistaken for her father.  When I was in Junior High, I looked younger than I was, and that made it hard on me, but the same looks that had been a curse then had served me well in adult life.

Seated in public she would not call me “sir” within anyone else’s hearing, and any of the variety of pet names I had for her would be kept to within standards that the Motion Picture Board would find acceptable.  “Plaything” was pushing the boundaries, but “My Little One” was not so bad.  I had a lot of names for her, depending on how I felt at the moment.  She answered to “slut” at all times, and I often called her by her given name, sometimes with exaggerated courtesy.  “Miss C____.”  She was seventeen years younger than I was, and unlikely to marry anytime soon.   We both knew that she would eventually, both knew that what she was learning from me would in some ways prepare her for that.  I was not a dead end but a finishing school.  She said she was in no hurry to move along. 

She’d already placed our order.  She was apologetic.  “I must apologize to Sir that this one is late,” she said, in her most formal tone.

I knew she was nervous about that.  Being timely was one of the first things I had to teach her.  She was very young, given to doing what she pleased when she pleased.  Time was valuable to me, more precious than money.  It was necessary that she learn that when she paid no attention to time, or planned poorly in regards to me, she deprived herself of our time together.

She hated the discipline at first.  It was the first thing that had taken us beyond the bedroom, or dungeon.  I was not out to reform her life.  But with me, she would have discipline and I secretly suspected it would trickle down to other parts of her life with no poor effects.  She suffered from lack of focus and I saw it hurt her daily. 

She had jealous lovers before.  And that made her suspicious.  Demands for time often became demands for attention and then a push to control her with others.  Her previous relationship was with an immature boy who left her expecting the worst, and it was almost a breaking point with her – she had no idea of waiting around to be hurt, and nearly walked away without giving it a chance.  But the days rolled by and I made no demands.  The more she told me of her schedule the better I was able to give her what she wanted, but I never demanded, and never asked questions about her other lovers.   I drew a strong line between what happened between us and the rest of her life, and refused to step across it.  At times she wanted me to, but I knew she’d regret it.  By the time I eased slightly she had learned what she really wanted.

 At first she was secretive, eventually she wanted to talk to me about them, and finally she came to me for advice and counsel.  The intimacy of that trust in me gave me more pleasure than anything I might have gotten from giving in to jealousy and making demands of her that weren’t mine to make.  What we had was delimited, and that gave her a safe place to be, and a light in her eyes when she was with me that gave me something I needed in return.

Which had led us to this night.

For now she was scared.  She had violated a major rule.  She had not been punctual.  She was a little afraid and that meant she was excited. 

“Did you follow the transportation plans laid out in your card?”

“Yes sir” she looked even more concerned.  I watched the faint movement of her throat as she swallowed.  I kept my face impassive.  What she was feeling was delicious to me and I wanted to draw it out.

“Were you late because of any act of neglect on your part.  Is there anything you could have done to have arrived more timely?”

She looked worried.  “She does not think so, sir, but it may be that there is something she is missing.” 

Watching her struggle like this was in a way much like watching her take a flogging.  There was a suffering and a focus I could see in the set of her jaw, and arch of her back.  I was in no hurry to answer her.  Her anxiousness was beautiful and I wanted to watch it for as long as I could.  I waited a long time watching her breast rise and fall her mouth slightly open.

 “I believe, little girl, that the Commuter Rail always runs a bit behind.  It was taken into account.  It pleases me however that you gave full attention to the matter.” 

I watched her come down. “Little girl” was an endearment to her.  She was little, though she was no girl but a woman.   Her body fell a little and her breathing relaxed.  She had changed much in a year.   As much as I enjoyed watching her writhe, it was a catharsis to me to let her off the hook.  I suppose maybe I felt good about myself, as I watched the relief flood into her.  I had taken her away from every other concern in life.  She was happy because I was not displeased.

 I chatted with her about her day, and the train ride.  I looked into her face and she tried not to look at mine.  Eye contact rules were always hardest on her.  She was naturally social and curious and it was hard for her not to make contact.  We talked about the upcoming season at the Folger, and a mutual friend who was an actor in New York.

“I brought you something” I said.  “But it may cause you a bit of difficulty.  It’s something that goes inside your body.”

She looked concerned.  I passed her the gold Godiva box.  She smiled and laughed at my little joke.  In fact I never put chocolate up a woman’s cunt.  There are places that sugar has an odious effect and that is one of them.  But she didn’t know that or wasn’t thinking of it. 

Then she opened it.

“It is most interesting…may I put it in my purse?”  The waiter was nearby and she omitted the honorific.

I looked steadily into her eyes. “You may put it inside you.  Now.  I think it’s clear which orifice it is meant to go into, but I can explain if you have any questions.”  I put a little of an edge into my tone.  She had not been down for long and now the roller coaster was going up again. 

“I am not sure precisely how Sir intends me to manage this,” she stammered, forgetting several of her rules.

I smiled.  “I thought you might need some help.”  I slid a small glass phial across the table to her.  It had a black top and said “Eros”  I was pretty sure that there were cheaper lubricants but this one was very photogenic.   Her eyes widened in a satisfying way.

 “If I were you I would palm it off the edge of the table, and try to navigate it into my lap….then I’d slide it back between my cheeks, and push it into place with my fingertips, screwing my body down sitting on it, pretending to adjust my skirt. Of course the act might be more convincing if you were wearing a skirt, but I think you’ll manage.”  She didn't really need the advice but to tell her what to do in this detail while she was still getting her bearings was just slightly degrading to her, and I knew that would raise her excitement.  Every little bit helps.

She pursed her lips and sighed.  The way she tried was the thing that made me love her the most.  She slid the plug into her lap, and then without too many funny looks managed to get it through the front of her coat, between her legs, and slip her hand in, pushing it up. 

I kept up a stream of small talk,  occasionally requiring her to answer.  Eventually she made a half standing motion, sat back down, then repeated it.  She finally settled back down.  I’ve worked around stages and visual art for a long time. From my point of view I knew that diners on the centre platform were virtually invisible, since very few people looked up and if they did they were distracted by the statuary. However to her it must feel as if she were on a giant stage, with every single person staring up at her.

“You will be happy to know that it is in place.”

There was no-one else around.

“What is in place.”

“Your anal plug, Sir…”

"Where is it?"  I wanted to make her say it aloud.

“Your anal plug is in my ass sir.”

“Good.”

The Calamari came.  Afterwards I gave her another small box.  I had already prepared this one.

She took the clamps and smiled.

“I am certain they’re not earrings.”

I shrugged.  “If  you would care to wear them around on your ears, I am willing to indulge that.”  This would be easy for her.  I wanted to level her out a little in preparation for what was going to come next.

She shook her head with a slight smile.  The clamps were elaborately mechanical and it was passing obvious what they were.  It wasn’t going to be a real trick for her to slip them under her coat without exposing herself, but again it worried her.  She took this one in stride and  managed with not too much trouble.  She thought it was getting easier, and that’s what I wanted.

While she maneuvered, I pushed the folder onto the table.  To her it was as much a symbol as her collar, maybe more.  I’d had a storied sex life, and it was not until I showed her the folder I’d had made for her that she she’d first fully understood that she had become one of the special ones to me.  I could still remember the way her face looked when it hit her.  We didn’t use the word “love” very often, but I could see it all the same.

“Yes.  I was reading your questionnaire while I was waiting for you.”

The way I said it made it seem that tonight’s activity would be an offhand thing, as if an idea had just occurred to me as I sat sipping coffee.  She knew this wasn’t the case.  I was nothing if not a careful planner, and when she had received the card, she knew that signified something major.  My offhand tone was understatement, and she knew it.  I watched her eyes grow a little wider. 

“I think we’re going to try a little something new.  Something from the pink column…you remember that don’t you? ”

I saw her swallow and thought how I loved watching panic rise in her.  That was the trick.  She wanted, needed, to feel the fear.  The key was for her to trust me enough that it did not kick over into “real life” and bring her down.  That was a constant low level anxiety.  Keep her safe.  Keep her trust.  There was a world of writing on these responsibilities, most of it pretentious. To me it was like driving a car fast.  There was little margin for error and you kept it under control.  It was exciting and demanding and that made it rewarding.  At times like this her emotions fed it and made it worthwhile.

“Yes sir…” she replied, with a slight smile and flush.  She was beautiful when she was excited and afraid.

“Tonight, unless you choose to safeword, it will move to another column.”

“Yes sir…” she did not immediately tense, I’d already gotten the rise.   There were many things I could have in mind.  She’d known that something was going to happen, and she could probably guess that I was preparing to push her this way.  

 We finished the appetizer and I led her downstairs, and took a taxi from the line.  The car wasn’t very big and I largely ignored her.  Usually I would pull her to me when we shared a vehicle, but I sat alone beside her, leaving her awkward on the seat.  I laid a hand on my leg to keep her in place.   I did take a moment to put my hand under her coat and press my fingertips against her cunt, as much to remind her that she was in public without a skirt as because I needed to check that she was wet, because by that point I didn't have much doubt.  She would have been working herself up since she opened my card this morning.  I  knew she would expect me to do something to her in the cab, but it was highly impractical.  I tried to make sure she never knew when or where I would take her, but then and there was not the place. 

I had us dropped near an alley on Capitol Hill, about seven minutes away.  There are several cut through alleys that have their own street addresses, and our destination was the back of a two story brownstone that actually fronted on the alley.   I could have had the cab pull down the alley, but I wanted the effect of walking up the brick walkway together.  It had rained when we were in the Station, and there was a light mist swirling around the garage lights. 

When I mentioned the “pink column” it had meant something special to her.  Nearly every dominant uses a questionnaire with anyone he…or she…intends to take on as a submissive for any length of time.  To collar.   Every dominant uses a different questionnaire.  I had worked mine up over the years, to the extent I cringe at the one that might be found in that first Morocco folder which is now opened only to receive the occasional postcard.   Most questionnaires ask for a submissive’s “interest” in certain activities, making them play a guessing game of what things that excite them are safe to tell a man who is going to use those things against them.  I long ago noted that there is a strong discrepancy between a fantasy interest and a real life interest and constructed my questionnaire along those lines.

 On her questionnaire were two columns.  The far left was purple, things which interested her in fantasy, but she had no wish to see become real.  The other, the pink column, was for fantasies she wanted me to push her on.   Things she had never experienced, that she feared, but wanted me to do to her. I worked carefully when I pushed those things into reality.  Some of hers were explosive, playing with force, prostitution, humiliation.  Tonight's fantasy was dynamite.  I had to play cool, be strong for her, but if I was wrong about what she was ready for, all that could happen is that I’d destroy everything I’d built with her over two years, destroy her trust in me.  Destroy her love for me.   No pressure. 

Right now was the time when it hit.  There was nothing yet going on to draw me into the excitement, and I was no longer distracted by her reactions.  Nothing for me to do but run through the details of what was going to happen in my mind again.  Think about everything that could go wrong, and how I’d spin it if it did.  Think about the known dangers, the ones I couldn’t spin.  I wished I could have another drink, but I needed to be straight for this.  We were in a cab, but I was definitely the one driving.

I talked and admitted in my head it was as much to break tension as because it was something I needed to tell her.  She was much calmer than me right now.  Trusting, anticipating. 

“I suspect you will have some questions about this thing, once it has happened.  I will supply you with answers after the fact.  If at any point you do not trust me to have made good decisions, you may use your safeword.   If you use ‘yellow’ you will not destroy the scene, but it is only fair to warn you that I think it will lose some of its impact.  You will be allowed to see certain things.  I will not punish you for using your safeword, anymore than I ever would, “

“Yes sir…” her voice had turned quiet now.  Almost reverent.  The light and mist had that effect.

This was a tricky business.  If she panicked and used her safeword, the scene would be very nearly ruined, or at least lose a great deal of its power.  She had almost never used “yellow” in that context, the safeword that allowed her to stop a scene temporarily and ask questions or gain reassurance.  Tonight, I wanted to discourage her, but I never wanted her to feel she could not use her safeword, or that doing so would make me angry with her.  A submissive who will not safeword because she trusts her dominant is one thing.  A submissive who is afraid to safeword is a very dangerous creature.

 Everyone wants someone who loves them.  But a submissive also needs someone who understands them, or at least tries, not just in the casual way all lovers want to be understood, but truly gets down into their mind and gives a fuck what they want and need.  I was taking a chance that she was ready for this. It was a gamble, but gambling is what the game is about.  I remembered one time making an all or nothing bet on red for four hundred bucks in Atlantic City.  Maybe it was just the humidity.  I pressed my palm against the fabric of her coat to keep it from sweating.

There was an old garage there, probably built as a carriage house.  I opened a side door, walked inside and flicked a switch to raise the garage door for her.  It sounded ominous and I fed off watching the expression that darted over her face.

 Inside two overhead bulbs gave off a warm but dim light.  There was a car in slight disrepair.  At once time it had been a rather prestigious Lancia Flavia four door sports car, but now it did not move, though she had no way of knowing that.  It still had the lines and muscles of sex to it.  The place was dry and not musty, but it smelled slightly of dust and old motor oil.   I swung the rear door open.  The leather seats were still in good condition, and gave off a satisfying smell of leather.  I helped her out of her coat, and took off the light silk top I had allowed her and she stood exposed in the old garage.  I folded them on the front seat, out of her reach. 

“Sir, may I ask, are we going to fuck here?” she said.

“You are,” I said.  “I am not.”

I watched her face as the impact of that statement hit her.  Her mouth opened twice and her eyes were wide.  I’ve only seen her like that once or twice.  She was terrified and I saw her knees shake a little and I thought it was possible she was going to come on the spot. 

She looked at me.  Her eyes held absolute fear and complete trust.  I don’t know what it is exactly that makes us want to possess and hurt the people we love, that makes us want to take smart, beautiful women and make them debase themselves in an old car garage, but I wanted her right then more than I’d ever wanted her before. 

It had occurred to me that she might actually safeword at this point.  If she did I’d have some explaining to do, though it wouldn’t be as bad as if she continued the scene, and it was too much for her.  I’d only be humiliated.  Not shattered.  That was the game.  I could fall as badly on this as she could, but I was driving and showed a poker face.  Women did not seek a dominant because they wanted to have to watch out for their own safety, or be strong, or take the lead.  They sought someone to surrender to, to take possession of them, to use them to make them explore the places they are afraid to go.  And all failure would mean was betraying her trust.  No pressure.

She didn’t.  She had never safeworded based on being asked to do something – she’d safeworded once or twice because of a problem, but even that was profoundly rare.  I had tried to learn her limits like a powerful car, and push her just to the edge of her ability.  I knew she was very reluctant to safeword with me.  All the special ones had been.  That made it much harder.

I pointed to the back seat impassively.  “Kneel down and present your ass.”  She did what I told her to, neatly as she'd been taught, kneeling, her skin light on the dark leather.  I sat down in the passenger seat.  Looking at her in the rearview, her body was a chiaroscuro, her ass and back glowing curves of flesh, her neck, hair and breasts dark secrets.

 I’d brought the Arts Section of the local paper and a paperback I was reading, Artaud’s “The Theatre and it’s Double.”  I’d been carrying it for two years in case I had a slow moment to read, and still hadn’t managed to get through it, because I pulled it out when I wanted to show how cool I was when I wasn’t at all.  The words swam on the page and I ran through the possibilities again.  Anything I’d overlooked, anything else I needed to think of.  Artaud called for a "an element of cruelty at the root of every spectacle."  He didn't mean violent cruelty, but the mental cruelty that shows a truth.  That was the heart of sexual humiliation.  A cruelty that strips bare the mind, and when we aren't afraid to admit it, the heart.

Others had been a button with her for a long time, but it was also something over which she was explosively unstable..  She’d been jealous of the other special ones in my life at first, even after she stopped caring about the short term interests.  “If I did not keep my obligations…and my feelings…for them, how could you trust me to keep them toward you.”  I’d said that, but it had been longer before she believed it. 

A previous lover had rushed her into a ménage, and she resented him for it, as well as his clumsy attempts to play with her as a dominant.   She could not be dominated by a boy, not well and not for long.   He had been young, and selfish, and predictably felt her agreement meant she would be happy to let him be the center of attention, and share him with another girl.  He had mistaken her acceptance of some humiliation with a desire to be his doormat, and had flitted to the next interest, dragging her along.  It had left her burned and still bitter.

 Picking up my paper I made a phone call.  They’d known I’d be sitting there of course.  It was only two other men, both already partners of hers, but she’d think it was three, and I’d let her.  I’d asked them to come in about five minutes apart, but they walked in at the same time.  I am by nature very exacting and precise, but when you recruit your submissive’s lovers to gang-fuck her, you cannot expect quite the level of precision that exists in your own scenes.  This is where improvisation matters.

 Her fantasy put her at the center of attention, I knew that.  To be humiliated was not to be shoved aside in favor of another.  But this fantasy was one I had been reluctant to touch.  At first it would have been impractical, and later, I still worried about intrusion into her life.  I was her dominant, not her boyfriend.  It took some time before the natural course of things made it possible to do the thing which I knew she wanted.  It could have been any fantasy, but for her it was to be bought and possessed by many men, cheaply and with disregard for her emotions.  She wanted to be used like a back alley whore. 

 I was cool.  Underneath, somewhere, my pulse was racing and I could feel blood in my temples, but the curtain was up now and this was showtime, and I swung into my role strong and hard.

 I spoke to them formally as if they were people I did not already know.  She needed to think they weren’t.  “Gentlemen, you know what we discussed.”  What we discussed was keeping this among ourselves.  They both already knew about me.  There was a good chance that at some point she’d guess who they were and I was prepared to tell her tomorrow.  She’d had about six partners in the past year, and I only knew three of them.  My goal had been to remove her from the headspace where it would occur to her to think that she probably knew whose cock was inside her body.  I’d struck up a casual conversation about three weeks ago about which of her recent lovers she was still willing to sleep with, and drawn my conclusions from there.

V"So gentlemen, please just fuck her and come in her.  She's a fucked up whore, but her cunt's okay as long as you don't have to deal with her.  Don't get worried if she comes, and I guarantee you she's wet, because she's pretty much crazy, but she's the best piece of ass I could get out here to fuck you guys on short notice."  I was happy with my voice.  It sounded cruel and casual.  I had good vocal command, but now of all times I could not betray nerves.

 I was pretty sure she would come from what was going to happen, but I worried about how she would be after delay.  She’d been kneeling on the leather seat for a while, knowing better than to look behind her, probably for about four minutes by then.  They must have seemed like hours to her.  For some reason with that part of my brain that always worries about pacing, I was thinking that kneeling on the back seat of an old sports car, with me sitting in front of her and ignoring her, wating for god knew who to fuck her, she would be bored.  In my gut I knew that her mind was running with a thousand possibilities, dying of curiousity, and anticipation. 

 I'd instructed them not to speak and they nodded.  They'd known I'd talk a little to get her worked up.

 The first kid worried me.  He was not the ideal choice, but there would never be an ideal choice for this fantasy.  He would not obsess on her, and she liked him.  He’d been tested recently and was as clean as you could hope for.  But he was clumsy and young.  He played his part well, and got high credit for me.  This was the difficult part.  I was playing the director.  Not only was she in my control, but I was directing two other men, making sure that neither of them spoiled the experience for her.   I had her trust and faith, but I had no real control over them.  I had to hope I’d planned well, said the right things.  Starting the game I’d stopped feeling it so strongly but the tension was just below the waterline.

 I didn't want to talk during his performance, because I was honestly afraid I might freak him soft.  He was young, but I couldn't make her turn around and suck him hard without blindfolding her, and I didn't want her drifting away under a blindfold.

 At his age, the very fact of a woman kneeling with her bare ass and exposed cunt towards him was an instant aphrodisiac.  He was hard already.  He slipped his cock into her without reservation.  Looking back to the side I could not see his chest or head, but I could see his hips pressed dark against her ass, throwing her body into shadow.

 She always managed to surprise me.  She began coming as soon as he drove his cock into her.  I knew the noises she made when she came, had encouraged her to be vocal.  I could see the strain in her back, see her ass bucking and wished I could see her face.  I wasn’t thinking much about myself, but realized I was rock hard with a heavy warm heat spreading through my gut.  It didn’t displace the knot of tension but it floated it on a wave of excitement.

 The second man had been standing behind him.  The first kid pulled out and eased his condom off.  I hadn’t told him where to put it, but there was a toilet back inside the house.  He was supposed to go in and not come back out, though I’d told him he could watch through the door if he wanted.

 The second man…I couldn’t call him a boy really, though he was younger than me…was a little bigger, and had much better control, lasted longer.  He was allowed to use her without a condom.   I knew he already had.  I could hear the noise as his hips slapped her ass, his slight grunts, and see his hands on her ass and back.  

 She could usually feel it when a man came in her, and I’d put him second for a little extra shock.  I knew him pretty well, and so did she, though I hoped right now her mind wasn’t somewhere that she’d guess whose cock was inside her cunt.  He was complicit in my little game, though he never would have had the balls without my prompting.  He was an agressive fuck though, and he got her hips up and began really slamming her, so that the car rocked.

 "If you need a better grip on her, just grab her by the hair," I said, breaking the silence.  I saw him gather her hair in a strong hand and wrench her head up pulling her by her hair and ass against his shaft.  It raised her face into the light, and I could see her eyes clenched tightly shut, brow furrowed, mouth open panting with each thrust, her lips wet.  After a moment, he seized on her shoulder and let her head drop.

 She didn’t come from him, though he lasted a while.  I began to worry.  If I were one on one with her, or were fucking her myself, I could put my hand on her shoulders, her neck, watch her muscles, her color, tell whether she was reacting or not.  In the rearview mirror, I couldn’t tell that much.  I felt cool and realized that the air circulating through the garage was blowing on sweat.  I was hot in a suit and tie, but not that hot.  Eventually he gave a groan and I heard her gasp and a slight strangled noise which I guessed was when she realized he was pumping come into her.  He withdrew and, beautifully, pushed her away from him to walk back into the house.

 “How was it,” I asked.  “The second one?  I could tell with the first.”  I said it offhandedly, as if it was no great concern.

 She tried to match my offhanded tone, but I could detect the tremor in her voice.  She was kneeling on a leather seat, and I could see a faint glistening trail seeping down her leg.  She'd come once so hard that she shook.  She was out of breath and sweaty.  “I got very close sir." She tried to sound steady but her voice trembled slightly.   "Then I felt him come.” 

"Usually that gets you right off..."

"I felt his come, sir...it...kind of freaked me out."  She was still panting a little and I could hear her voice breaking.

"That I let him spray his cum into your cunt?" I asked.

"Oh...fuck...yes sir...it was hot...but...it scared me.  I would have come right after that but...he was done..." 

“You’ll get another chance.  So this should be a good night for your ego.  You derive most of your sense of identity from men coming in you....You can slouch against the seat back if you like until the next guy comes along.  He left me a message to say that he’d be here, but that your ass wasn’t worth any big rush.”  I said it cold, cruel, hard.  I heard her breath hiss.  She was still excited and I wanted to keep her that way.  I began to dance, pushing her.  This was me fucking her now, with my mind.  The other two would drive their cocks into her, and use her, but they couldn’t possess her.  The way I was fucking her right now was intimate because it got down into the core of who she was.  I worked systematically, like I was pumping her with my cock, hurting her a little and backing off. 

 Her mind was racing now, she was fully in the throes of passion, but I needed to keep that going, because when she crashed, she would crash hard.  Right now the voice inside her head would be starting to ask her what the fuck she was doing here having unprotected anonymous sex.  What the fuck she was doing trusting me.  I needed to keep the pitch of her sexual excitement a roar that drowned out that voice.  I hoped the second guy would hurry the fuck up.  I could only keep her on the hook so long.  He’d sworn he could get it up twice in short order. 

There was cum dripping out of her cunt onto the seat cushion now, and I called her attention to that, asked her how it felt to have the cum of some guy she didn’t know and hadn’t ever seen running down the inside of her thigh. 

I heard a toilet flush inside, and the other man came back.  I was in full form now.  Somewhere I was probably more nervous than ever, I noticed my hand a little unsteady on the book, but this was the sensation after you dive from the plane and wait to pull the rip cord.  We were past the point of no return. 

 "You're the rough one," I said, as if this was somebody new.  "I didn't want you to get her first, because I was afraid you might mess her up too badly for the others.  She's damaged goods, but I don't care much what you do with her."

 I leaned out and talked to him quietly for just a minute so that she could hear me talking but not what I was saying.  I thought it was safe for him to talk now, as long as he tried to throw his voice off a little.  She wouldn't easily recognize his voice at this point.  He had enough theatre to thow the pitch off a little by deepening it without doing anything fancy. 

 He wasn't fully hard yet, but I could see him working his cock along her slit to get that way.

 "If you want to slap her around a little go ahead.  You won't make things any worse."

 He replied loudly, “you’re sure…it’s your property.”

 “Sure it’s fine to hurt her, she’s more or less disposable.”

 He slapped her ass a couple of times, not as hard as I might have, but not playfully.  He had some guts and was getting into it.

 When she came from fucking it was usually psychological more than physical.  I could make her come by tilting her hips and driving the tip of my cock against the spot behind her clit, but I didn’t think that he quite had that level of technique down. 

I knew she had to be plenty rattled, and and she was still holding back a little at first.  I'd done what I could to keep her worked up and receptive, but I was more confident that I wouldn't freak him out if I talked a little. 

 "She's a complete slut, as long as you put a cock inside her she'll let you do pretty much anything else you want."  I turned my head and spoke more softly in her direction  "Oh, by the way he's going to come in you too.  Just so it doesn't surprise you this time."

 I sat in the front pretending to read the paper, rustling it for effect.  I could see them through the rearview, but out of respect for my friend I wasn’t watching an awful lot.   Neither of them were shy but he hadn’t particularly put in to be leered at either.  I made do with listening. I could hear her panting and knew that she was trying too hard, working for it.  She wouldn’t come until she let go or got pushed again hard.

 We’d talked about the scene a good bit beforehand.  I turned around folded my paper and said “she’ll come if you pull those nipple clamps off her.”

 "You sure man.  That's gonna hurt her like a motherfuck."

 "I don't give a fuck if you hurt her.  She's a cheap pain slut and it will get her off.   She drips when you bitch slap her."

 If it hadn’t come from both of us it wouldn’t have pushed her over, but I was taking a chance that coming to her that way it would.  I heard her gasp and he reached forward and removed the nipple clamps just then. 

She screamed and kept screaming, and I could see her furiously slamming her ass against his cock.  For all her spasming he hadn’t come yet.  She bucked hysterically her legs and arms shuddering, collapsing forward and was clearly done.  I clenched my teeth and ached a little.  I was in the moment now, her orgasms always did that for me. 

He gave a few more strokes and withdrew and looked a little concerned and I turned the page casually. Her pitch of physical excitement was past.  But I was betting I could still fuck with her mind.  “Finish up in her ass, she loves that.” 

She didn’t in fact particularly.  But I knew he was safe, and she’d gathered by then that her ass was inviolate.  She was good at taking a cock in her ass, but it was something she’d had to train to, and I guessed that he’d be a little less expert than me, if no rougher than I was when I got going.  After he got the plug out he seemed to enjoy the fact that it was hurting her a little and got going faster, holding her by her hips and driving her ass onto his hips, and it was over in a couple of minutes.  She didn’t come from anal, but I knew it made her feel cheap and used.

I got out and stood up and we talked for a moment.  With the hardtop of the car in the way she couldn’t hear anything we were talking about directly, but she knew it was about her. 

There was something I needed to do.  It wasn’t something I trusted him to do or even to tell him about, it was something between me and her.  But she needed to think it was him.  I waited till he turned to zip up and reached out as if I were checking her, masking her ass from his line of sight.  If he glanced, he’d just see me touching her.  I slipped something into her cunt, then stepped a bit further away to say “thanks” so it would seem as if he’d done it.  I felt the slick of her wet and his cum on my fingers and it almost broke my resolve. 

 She slumped again without being told to, but I’d let her earlier.  She kept her ass up, reasonably assuming I'd fuck her then.   “Sir."  She was keeping her shit together, but I could hear tears and hysteria welling under her voice.   She was breathy and talking way too fast.  "If Sir wishes to use me,"  I heard her draw air and her voice started to break.  She was trying so hard. "I think that Sir should know that there is something foreign in my pussy.” She would want me to fuck her now.  I knew she’d be more or less okay if I did, because that would take the edge off the scene, ease her down, blur it in her memory.  That wasn’t what this was about. 

“Foreign?” I said. 

 “An object sir.  I don't know what.”  She got that out in one gasp, not too ragged.

“Well squeeze it out and see,” I said.

I hadn’t pushed it in very far.  I’d thought she might actually be able to guess what it was, but there was no suggestion of that.  It dropped flat into her hand.

“A quarter sir….”  She was genuinely a little confused, her voice was nearly toneless.

I gave a groan.  “I told them it was thirty cents for two.  You’re sure there isn’t a nickel up there some where?”

She tried to hand it to me.  I folded her fingertips around it.  Her hands were starting to spasm a little bit and I could tell she was on the edge of breaking down.  I wanted her so badly it hurt.  When I am in the groove, I am good.  I pushed her over the edge without a tremor in my voice.

“No that’s yours, you earned it. Now  lick the seat clean so we can get out of here.”

I watched her bent over, body shaking, arms barely able to hold her up and bend down to start cleaning the old dark leather with her tongue.

I heard the sound as a “thwap, thwap” against the seat.  She tensed then, thinking I intended to take her.  She would have allowed it.   I'd fucked her when she was crying before, or made her fuck herself.  She wouldn’t have safeworded, not from that.  But I could feel the tension ebb out of her body as I wrapped my arms around her.  She fell backwards into my arms and I eased down into the clean seat, still wet with her saliva, and let her fall onto my lap.  Her coat was in the front seat, and I dragged it over and covered her with it.  She fell into me and her flesh on my skin was molten

She was sobbing now.  I encircled her with my arms and let her head fall against my chest. 

“Oh shit…”

I stroked her hair, and she repeated that about ten times…sobbing.  “Oh shit….oh shit…oh shit...”  It wasn’t sorrow it was an emotional release, one I’d guided her through after scenes before.  It intimidated other partners, because it seemed like she was coming apart, but I knew to stroke her hair and let her work through it.  Within a few moments it passed and she looked up at me, rules forgotten. 

“Am I….”

“Safe?  Yes, my little girl.”  Before she was a woman.  Now she was my little girl, and would be till she rose to her feet again. 

“I…it’s okay?”

“It’s over.  You have to decide.  If you want to know I will tell you everything.  Who fucked you, and what they know about us.  But I will tell you tomorrow.  For now it is enough that it happened.”  I was whispering words to her.  I could feel my heart turning over on its axis in my chest, and wondered if she could hear it racing through the layers of my suit.  I didn’t really know where we stood right now. 

“No.” She shook her head.  “I’ve wanted that for so long.  Please don’t ever tell me.”

There wasn’t a sharp wave like an orgasm.  But the tension rolled out of me, and only the erotic float stayed behind.  I wasn’t even hard, only semi-hard, I’d lost my erection when she was sobbing.  But I was in an erotic place, filled with the power of what I had done, and made her feel.  Nobody else could have reached me sexually just then.  I’d violated her, but that also meant I’d touched her in a way nobody else ever had.  For just one moment there was an intimacy so sharp and painful it was like a knife. 

“I don’t wanna to know.”  She had a smile on her face now, and a look of contentment.  I could see fatigue beginning to swallow her as well.  She’d be okay to stand up, but she was basking in this time and place, and I let her.  It was her due.  The time during which my strength meant more to her than my command, and she laid in my arms, letting me stroke her hair and console her.  At this time, I could let her see how I felt for her.  Tomorrow she would be on her guard again, wary, testing me as I tested her. 

This was the first I had known if I had chosen wisely.  It was not as if even a failure would obviate my responsibility to comfort her, to take care of her.  But if I had pressed her too hard.  She would run cold.   I would lose her trust.  No matter what words were said, trust was never given absolutely but earned a little at a time.  Even though I knew she had reacted well, had come, that isn’t everything with a woman.

“I was a complete whore, wasn’t I?”  her face had a certain dreamy look to it.  Her eyes were half closed.

“Yes.” I said, simply.  I rode this little bit of intimacy.

“I….”  I reached down and placed a finger against her lips, stopped her.  What she wanted to say was too hard for her, and I would not let her rip it out of herself now.  She needed rest. 

“I know,” I said. 

That was enough for her.  “Master?”  she asked.  “Will you fuck me?” 

I nodded “Soon, but not here.  You are too tired.”  I’d thought about fucking her, but in this state it would not do much for her and not much for me.  She’d gotten all the fucking she could handle for the night, and I had sense enough to know that if she did not.  The crash had come, and that was enough for me.  Getting my cock inside her body could not touch what had happened a couple minutes ago.  

She nodded dully.  She was tired.  Hysterically exhausted.  I saw her eyes droop, heavy.  “yeah” there was a long pause, then a slight smile  “…sir…”

“Let’s get you into clothes,” I said.  I helped her stand and took out a simple dress I’d taken from her closet on the way out this morning, after I left the card on her pillow.  I’d reclaim what she’d left in the locker at the station in the morning.  It was enough for her to get home, and she slipped it on gratefully, let me wrap the coat back around her.

I had called a taxi the third time she was being fucked, and now it blew its horn, having found the alley if not our building.  She faltered on her feet.  She was small, and while I am not muscle bound, I am very powerful.  I cradled her easily and carried her out  like a child.  I smiled at the driver apologetically and explained she’d had a little too much, got in and let her lay her head on my lap.  She wouldn’t care about anything for another hour.  The ride back to her apartment would be sixty, and I’d budgeted for that.

She was not really asleep but in a state somewhere between catatonia and peace.  I stroked her hair as we moved through the night and she curled her hand around my fingers.  I felt something hard in her palm against the back of my hand and realized it was the quarter, which she’d never put down.