Sultry

Poolside Bimbo

Kasey Hill

Ava Van Rose

Bimbocaine: Addicted by Dynamoob

Bimbocaine by Dynamoob

Bimbo Family Part II by Avaro

This is a sequel to an earlier piece by Avaro, set about five years later. Here's the original: http://bimbostories.blogspot.com/2014/11/bimbo-family-by-avaro.html?zx=3b12539fcd39254d

Naughty Girl

Perfect Girl

Blue Tank

Cheerleader

Alluring

Pink Haired Doll

Cansu Tuzak

TWO FOR THE ROAD PART 2 OF 2 by Downing Street

Constable Max Rhodes’s black boots left prints in the gravel as she approached the long car. She paused to put her uniform hat on. She adjusted it carefully. She already had her citation book in one hand.

The lights from her cruiser reflected off the glossy black finish of the luxury automobile. It wasn’t often that she got to pull over a stretch limousine. She walked the considerable distance to the front of the car. The driver’s window was already rolling down.

“Good afternoon,” she said evenly, touching the brim of her hat. “May I see your licence and vehicle registration please.”

“Is there a problem, officer?” the driver replied, predictably.

“Licence and registration please, ma’am,” Max said. Her professional decorum covered her surprise.

The driver’s behaviour might be predictable but her appearance was not. She was young, maybe early twenties, and almost dazzlingly beautiful: an artistic maze of bright blonde curls cascading over her shoulders; full, kissable lips; a soft, perfectly clear complexion; and eyes so deep blue as to be almost azure.

The driver smiled: a warm flash of white teeth limned by red lips. “Of course,” she said patiently. “I hope this won’t take long. My employer is in a bit of hurry.”

Max received another surprise. As she leaned over to retrieve the papers from a compartment under the dashboard, the chauffeur revealed a fetching display of bright-coloured underthings. She was dressed in a purple leather fantasy of a chauffeur’s uniform. Apparently its designer was so intent on molding the sleek garment to the driver’s hour-glass figure and showing off the half-moon perfection of her breasts, he forgot completely about covering her legs.

After searching long enough for Max to realize that the woman actually wore matching stockings and garters as part of her uniform, she withdrew the papers. She handed them to Max with another smile.

Max studied the papers more intently than necessary. Even the blonde’s picture on her driver’s licence looked sensational.

“I’ll be right back,” she said. She turned toward her cruiser to check the licence.

The rear door opened. “Katriana, why have we stopped?” said a male voice.

“Passenger, please remain in the car,” Max said sternly. “I am pursuing a speeding violation. This concerns the driver of the vehicle.”

But the man in the back was still getting out. Max felt herself tense. A passenger who did not obey instructions was always a risk. She was a solitary officer.

“If we were speeding, I am responsible,” the man said, climbing out. Polished shoes glistened on the roadside gravel. “Katriana was acting under my instructions.”

“Nevertheless I must ask you to remain in the vehicle,” Max responded.

She gave him her best tough-cop glare, while looking him over. He looked familiar. The man was tall, and handsome in a rugged kind of way. There were deep scars on his chin and one cheek. His complexion was dark, perhaps mixed race. He wore a fine pin-stripe suit that spoke volumes about style and wealth.

Dark, wrap-around sunglasses obscured his eyes. Max didn’t like that. The windows of the limousine were tinted.

The man smiled. “Katriana,” he said affably, “were you speeding?”

Now the chauffeur was getting out too. She opened the door and gracefully swung her long legs around. She was wearing suede platform boots that matched the purple uniform.

“I’m afraid so, sir,” the luscious chauffeur replied, standing up. “You did say to get to the city in all haste.”

“I’m sorry,” she added. She sounded genuinely contrite.

Max took a step backward to keep both of them in view. This was getting weird. Did this woman dress like that every day?

She decided to take charge. “Both of you return to your vehicle and remain there while I run a check on your licence.” Again she turned toward her cruiser.

The man didn’t move. “Constable, is this delay really necessary? I am already late for a rather important board meeting.”

“Then perhaps we can save some time by not arguing. It will take only a moment to write a citation.”

He looked frustrated by her attitude. Max had no sympathy. Why did speeders always think that their affairs alone justified being a hazard on the road?

The man looked at her for a long time without speaking. It was impossible to know where his eyes were looking behind those opaque glasses. Max was acutely aware that her youth and looks were not what some people expected of a cop. She worked hard to make sure that people knew she meant business when she was in uniform. At the academy they called it “officer presence”. It didn’t seem to be working on this fellow.

At length the man said, “Constable, I am certain we can work this out amiably. Why don’t you step into my car for a moment?”

Did the man take her for a complete fool? She opened her mouth to repeat her order.

He took off his sunglasses.

Max stopped in her tracks. His eyes were unlike anything she had ever seen. The irises were immense and multicoloured, dominating everything. Max found herself staring in spite of herself. For a moment the outside world seemed to disappear, so strongly did the unexpected sight hold her attention. She was peripherally aware of a long, happy sigh from Katriana the chauffeur, who was looking on with rapt attention.

“I don’t want to discuss this standing by the side of the road,” the man said evenly. “There is plenty of room in my car. Please come in an sit down.”

“Come in and sit down,” Max repeated. She found herself moving toward the door. This wasn’t at all standard procedure. There was plenty of room in the car.

She stopped after a half step. “No. There is no need to enter your vehicle. I clocked your speed at—”

Those eyes swung her way again. “Step into the car. Please. It’s very comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” Max said uncertainly. His eyes seemed to have no whites at all. The pupils were tiny points of midnight black.

The man held the door for her. “Come in and sit for a moment. There’s plenty of room.”

Max was still trying to tear her gaze away from those fabulous eyes. They seemed to be every colour at once, like a pinwheel painted by a madman.

“Let’s get back on the road,” Max heard the man say over her head. “I’ll work things out with the officer.”

“Yesssss sssssssir,” came Katriana’s sleepy voice in reply. Max imagined her walking back to the driver’s seat in her slick leather micro-dress and narrow platform boots. Unaccountably the image struck her as deliciously erotic.

Max climbed into the limousine. She set her hat on the seat beside her. The inside of the car was posh with wood and leather. There was a wide seat along the back and another along one side. An open briefcase lay on the table in the middle, with papers and documents scattered around it.

On the front seat, which faced backward, another woman was sitting.

Max stopped again. “Oh. I didn’t realize—”

The man climbed in beside Max. “Mia, my executive assistant” he said briefly. He pulled the door shut behind him. “We were going over some business matters.”

“Good afternoon, officer,” Mia said formally.

Mia did not look like she was concerned with business matters. She was a svelte, leggy brunette with smoky brown eyes and lips like a red bow on a birthday gift. She was wearing a figure-loving minidress decorated in vertical stripes the colours of the rainbow. There were more rainbows on her frilly little gloves, and her frilly ankle socks, worn over sheer white nylons. The girlish socks contrasted with the pure white, platform sandals on her feet.

Max was becoming alarmed. This situation was not right. “Sir,” she began. “Your personal affairs are your own. However, we have a matter of a speeding violation to attend to. I will write the citation now so as not to waste any more of your time.” She still had her book in one hand.

The man smiled indulgently. “Please relax,” he said in that calm, centred voice. He met her eyes with his.

Max found herself looking into his eyes again. There was so much colour there, they seemed almost three-dimensional. She felt some of the tension fade from her muscles.

“Relax,” Max repeated. That was a sensible idea. This situation was peculiar. She needed to stay calm.

“That’s better,” he said. He slipped his glasses back on. “I’m sure we can discuss things amiably.” He pushed a button on the cherrywood panel along one door. “OK, Katriana,” he said.

The chauffeur’s husky voice wafted back from a hidden speaker somewhere. “Of course, sssssir,” she said. She sounded like she was getting a sensuous backrub from someone she liked a lot.

The stretch limo pulled away and accelerated smoothly. They waited for a dark green sedan to go by. Max watched through the rear window as her cruiser dwindled away behind them. The warning lights were still spinning. No cruiser meant no radio. An alarm flashed somewhere in her mind.

The man beside her poked at the papers and things on the table. “Never take over a bank,” he said off-handedly. “Endless paperwork. Mia, clear all this up for now, won’t you.”

“Of course,” Mia replied. She began efficiently stashing the papers and files back in his briefcase. Her heavy enamel choker and earrings repeated the rainbow pattern of her clothes.

“Sir,” Max interrupted. “Stop this car at once. I am only here to issue a speeding citation. I must return to my vehicle.” She wondered vaguely why she wasn’t more upset.

The man regarded her with a patient grin. “Constable you are downright intense. There is nothing to be concerned about. Take it easy. Have a drink.”

“I’m on duty,” Max snapped.

“Of course you are. That’s why we won’t tell anybody. Go ahead. One little shot won’t hurt anything.”

“Look,” Max replied with growing irritation. “This has gone far enough. Stop this vehicle immediately and—”

The man took off his glasses again.

Looking into his eyes was like contemplating infinity, in technicolour. Max gazed into them, spellbound. Her voice trailed off. For a moment her jaw kept working, though no sounds came out.

“I think you need a drink,” he repeated.

“Need . . . a . . . drink.” She nodded her head slowly. It was obvious.

He replaced his glasses. “Mia, pour something for the officer. No ice.”

“Pour. Something.” Mia’s voice sounded like she had been caught fantasizing about undressing her favourite movie star. After a long moment she stirred herself. She pressed a button on the table in the middle of the car. A panel underneath slid back neatly, revealing rows of bottles with exotic labels.

Mia mixed something from two different bottles, threw in a dash from a third and stirred it all with a yellow plastic straw. She handed the result to Max. The underthings she flashed were shiny white. Max had been wondering about that.

“Thank you,” Max said. The drink was grape purple and smelled exciting. No ice. It occurred to her that the limo must have a built-in ice machine.

“Drink up,” said her host.

Max tipped the glass and tasted the liquid. It was spicy and strong. She drank it all down at once. It felt like a layer of liquid warmth sliding down into her stomach.

“That’s better,” the man said approvingly. “That will help take the edge off. Mia, make her another one please.” He smiled, bending the scars on his cheek.

“Wait a moment,” Max declared. “You—you’re Milford Cline!” She let Mia take her empty glass.

He smiled behind his dark glasses. “Well deduced, Detective Constable.”

Max knew all about Milford Cline. The papers had followed his story from the beginning. Disfigured in an industrial accident, he received a handsome settlement when he sued his employers for negligence. The suit brought to light the fact that the experiments in which Cline was involved were dangerous, clandestine, and probably illegal. The details were never revealed. Several directors resigned. Milford Cline became a rich man.

As time went by he became even richer. Several months after his name faded from the newscasts, Cline’s surgically reconstructed face re-appeared, this time as an entrepreneur. He parlayed his accident settlement into a string of clever and successful investments.

Cline’s style was to find a small business that was doing well and convince the owners to let him become a partner. He handled financing adroitly, though he was a chemist by training. Persuading sceptical investors to pour money into his companies seemed to come naturally to him. As time passed and his resources expanded, Cline’s investments, more often take-overs lately, found larger and larger targets. Everywhere he turned, the money always seemed to follow.

The press loved him. He was a success story. He had turned tragedy into dramatic success. He had style. He favoured hip night-clubs and expensive hotels, always appearing in public in well-cut, tasteful suits. He wore his wrap-around glasses all the time, even in the office or at night. They became his trademark, along with the way he took to signing himself “MC” in large, flowing letters.

And Max was sitting beside him in his stretch limousine, hurtling down the highway toward who knows where. What an unusual day this was turning out to be.

“Now you know who I am, Officer,” Cline rumbled. “And what do people call you?”

“My name is Constable Rhodes.”

“No, no, I mean when you’re off duty. When you are out of that dreadfully unflattering uniform and allowed to be yourself.”

“Oh. Maxine. Everybody calls me Max.”

“Delighted to meet you, Constable Maxine,” Cline said. His voice was constantly tinged with humour. “I suppose people are always telling you you’re too pretty to be a cop.”

In fact people always were telling her that. But she was hardly about to share intimate details with a stranger. “Perhaps we had better return to the matter at hand. Your speed—oh, thank you.” She took the drink that Mia handed to her.

Cline laughed gently. “My word, Constable Maxine, you do take your work seriously. Can’t we chat for a moment? It wouldn’t hurt to let your hair down once in a while.”

Max was already working on her fresh drink. It tasted no less potent than the first one. Something told her she should be concerned about drinking on duty. The drink was delicious.

“I am a police officer on duty,” Max explained, as she felt the drink warm her. “I cannot—”

His glasses were in his hand. His eyes filled the room with swirls of endless, unimaginable colour. They seemed to be spinning, around and around and around like a whirlpool seen through a prism.

“Why don’t you try it. Let your hair down. Here, I’ll hold your glass.”

Without looking away from those unfathomable eyes, Max reached up and pulled out the pins that held her hair in place for duty. Her chestnut brown hair tumbled free. She shook her head, loosening the braid to fall over her shoulders. She caught a glimpse of Mia, staring into Cline’s impossible eyes with an expression of bliss on her face. In her rainbow-hued micro-dress and fancy white platforms she was the image of carefree sexiness.

Cline put his glasses back on. “Much better,” he decided. He handed her half-full glass to Mia, who looked dazed. For a moment she stared at it, smiling. When she came to herself she filled it up again.

“I, I don’t usually do—on duty,” Max said uncertainly.

“Yes, I don’t imagine you do. You look like you are in uniform all the time. You need to be gentler with yourself, pretty Constable Maxine. Look, how can you even be comfortable when you’re wearing all that hardware?” He gestured toward the utility belt around Max’s waist.

Max began to protest. “No, I, I—my handcuffs . . .” The image of Cline’s eyes was still swirling about in her brain.

“That’s all right,” the man said kindly, “you finish your drink. Let Mia get rid of all that stuff.”

I must put a stop to this, Max decided inwardly. Instead she took a deep draft of the drink in her hand. Mia slipped gracefully off her seat, only flashing her gorgeous panties for a moment, and sat down beside Max. Efficiently, she began to unbuckle the belt of cop tools Max wore around her waist. Her pretty gloves didn’t seem to impede her at all. Max wanted to stop her, of course. She had to finish this yummy drink first.

“Wait, I, I don’t think—” she sputtered, when the glass was empty. The drinks were starting to hit her hard. She felt warm and woozy.

“Lean forward a bit dear. That’s right. There we go.” Mia lifted Max’s belt off and away. Holding it between two fingers like a dead rat, she deposited it into a compartment beneath the seat.

Max watched dully. That was her tool belt. Handcuffs. Taser. Not supposed to take that off. She searched around inside her mind, trying to find outrage. She couldn’t seem to grip it in the fog of boozy contentment. What was going on here?

On her left side, Cline said: “There, isn’t that a little better? All that unnecessary weight. I want you to be comfortable while you are my guest, pretty Constable Maxine. Mia, help the lady with her boots, won’t you?”

“My pleasure,” Mia replied, with enthusiasm. “These are all wrong for you, honey.” With surprising grace she slipped off the seat and onto the carpeted floor beside Max. She began to unlace Max’s uniform boots with colourful gloved hands.

Max had had enough. “No!” she shouted, as panic finally bubbled to the surface. She pulled her feet away. “Get off me! This has gone far enough. Stop this car at once and . . . and . . . ohhhhhhhhhh.”

Cline had taken off his glasses again. Once again Max found herself locked into those brilliant, unfathomable eyes. The irises were spirals of fantastic colours. They led her gaze inward and downward to the points of infinite blackness that were his pupils.

“Please don’t be upset,” he said calmly. “There is nothing at all to worry about.”

Max’s alarm of a moment earlier drained away like water from an unplugged bathtub. “Nothing . . . to worry,” she repeated passively, as the feeling of warm contentment descended once more.

“We want you to be as comfortable as possible while you are our guest,” Cline explained in the same reasonable voice. “Have another drink. Let Mia give you a little foot massage. It will help you relax.”

“. . . relaaaaax,” Max repeated blankly. She let herself sink more deeply into the comfortable seat.

“That’s better,” Cline encouraged, slipping his glasses back on. “Mia, another round for the cute constable, if you would.”

“. . . round?” Mia murmured. Her eyelashes fluttered. From her place on the floor she reached up sluggishly to mix more liqueurs in a glass. She handed it up to Max, who took it without protest. Max found herself admiring the other woman’s utterly impractical sandals. They did great things for her legs.

Cline said: “Tell me, Constable Maxine, how long has your fetching form graced the police force?”

Max sipped her drink. “little over six years,” she said. She watched as Mia efficiently unlaced her left boot and began to slide it off. She lifted her leg to make it easier for her.

“Six years? A major boost for morale, I’m certain. Have you been on traffic duty all that time?”

“Mostly. Sometimes beat patrol. Or station work.” She lifted her right leg. “Junior offishers get a lot o’ routine paper work.” She hiccuped.

Cline chuckled slyly. “I think the male officers just wanted to keep you around the station, where they could admire.”

Max giggled at the compliment. The conversation had wandered a long way from a speeding ticket. She wasn’t concerned. She was very relaxed, not to say tipsy. She felt cool air on her toes. Mia had efficiently removed her socks. Now she was gently kneading her feet between her gloved fingers. It felt wonderful.

“Mmmmmm, niiiiice,” Max murmured. She let her head loll back against the car seat. She closed her eyes. Somehow she could still see the image of Cline’s amazing eyes in her inner vision. They danced and spun before her like pinwheels, celebrating her worry-free happiness.

The feel of something warm and wet on her toes prompted Max to open her eyes for a moment. A bottle of perfumed lotion lay open on the floor beside Mia. She was carefully working the exotic onguent into the skin of Max’s feet.

“You need to take better care of your feet, sweetie,” Mia told her seriously. “Those workboots are awful. And you on your feet all the time.” The wedge heels on her sandals were more than six inches high.

Max murmured her agreement. She took a long draft of her drink. She closed her eyes again.

She heard Cline’s voice. “That would be a start. I think you need to take better care of Constable Maxi all around. Here, Mia, loosen things up here, won’t you?”

Max had to open her eyes to see what he was referring to. She found herself quite close to Mia’s flawless face. She was on her knees, sitting up tall to deftly loosen Max’s uniform tie.

“Wha?” she murmured. “No, wait, you can’t—I mean—uhm—”

She was having a great deal of difficulty mounting a meaningful protest. Getting angry meant losing the snugly fuzziness she was sinking into like a child sinking into her favourite pink blanket. This close to the other woman, Maxi found herself drinking in Mia’s cover girl beauty: the red, lipsticked lips, the high cheeks, the liquid blue eyes, all surrounded by carefully disordered chestnut hair.

Mia’s hands were deft and quick in her pretty gloves. Maxi’s uniform tie clip disappeared, and her tie came loose. She could only defend herself with one hand, lest she spill her delicious drink. There seemed to be nowhere to make contact, nowhere to touch Mia that wouldn’t be a sexual gesture. Every inch of her was erogenous. Maxi’s hand flailed about loosely.

Mia slid back up on the seat beside her. She was undoing buttons now. “No, please, I—” Maxi murmured, still unable to stop her.

Mia leaned close as Maxi’s black, functional bra came into view. “Baby you are something special,” she whispered affectionately.

Something like panic welled up inside the young police officer. The spinning eyes inside her mind wouldn’t let her feel it. They filtered out everything except mild discomfort and a touch of confusion. Mia was very close. Maxi’s blouse was half undone.

“Please . . .” she whispered.

Then Mia was kissing her. Or perhaps Maxi was kissing Mia. It was very hard to tell. All Maxi knew for sure was that it felt soft and warm and luxurious. Mia kissed her light and slow, her red lips pursed and roaming.

Maxi closed her eyes again. She felt the sensation of the lovely kiss somehow translated into charming, rainbow colours, the colours of Mia’s sexy dress and her Sunday-church gloves and her silly little socks. The colours were all spinning and twirling, huge and sky-bright in her mind, like a gayly decorated Ferris wheel limned against the evening sky, or a pair of impossibly deep, haunting eyes. The colours and the sweet touch of Mia’s lips (and now her tongue a little too) almost made Maxi forget that she had never in her life kissed another woman on the lips.

“Uh . . .” Maxi said when Mia’s mouth separated from hers. She was slumped back in her seat. Her uniform shirt was unbuttoned to the waist. She wasn’t sure when that happened.

For a moment she sat there blankly. The car hit a bump. It jostled her drink. Maxi emptied the glass down her throat so that wouldn’t happen again. She couldn’t think of any other way to respond to the situation.

Cline took her empty glass and set it on the table. “So,” he said conversationally, “Constable Maxi-cop is a woman after all. I am relieved to hear it.”

Maxi jumped a little. She had almost forgotten that Cline was there. Mia had her arm around Maxi’s neck in a very friendly way.

“Lis’en,” Maxi said, struggling to find decorum, “this has gotta shtop. Stop. I can’t be here. I must not . . . I . . . I . . .” Her jaw slowed and stopped as Cline regarded her patiently over his glasses. Those eyes!

“Please, Ms. Maxi-marvellous, you don’t want to leave just yet. You’re having far too much fun.”

Diving into those world-engulfing eyes, Maxi felt a long smile spread across her face. She was having a great time. She was drunk. Life was good. “Don’ wanna leave,” she breathed, staring at him.

“Course you don’t. I rather think you want to enjoy yourself some more. Kick up your heels. Fool around. Play with yourself.”

“Fool ‘round. Play . . .?” Maxi mumbled. She was still staring into his eyes. They transported her to a place where any emotion beyond serene happiness seemed barely possible.

“Go ahead,” her host continued. “You must be very horny. Slip a hand down and get yourself off.”

Maxi’s right hand was already moving. “Verrrry horrrrny,” she droned. Her gaze never left his eyes.

“Horrrrny” drawled another voice, that Maxi eventually realized was Mia’s. She was leaning on Maxi’s shoulder, pressing her lush body close against hers. She was staring into Cline’s eyes with the same blissful rapture that Maxi was feeling. Her hand disappeared under the hem of her gaudy rag of a dress just as Maxi’s hand slipped into her pants.

It took a moment, and some fidgeting, to negotiate past the restrictions of her uniform trousers and cotton underwear. When her fingers found the spring that was gushing into her underthings, they dove in and went skinny-dipping.

Maxi’s back stiffened. She groaned in delight. She was so horny. She needed to get off. Cline had put his glasses back on. It hardly mattered. The colours of his irises were acid-etched on the surface of Maxi’s mind. They seemed to pulse and bend in rhythm with her hand. She shuddered in delight.

Police Constable Maxine Rhodes was half-undressed and inebriated, masturbating in the backseat of a total stranger’s automobile while a candy-wrapped movie starlet panted in her ear. She had never felt better. She turned toward Mia. Perhaps she intended to say something. The moment she opened her mouth, Mia’s lips were there. The pair fell into a long, aroused kiss. Maxi’s eager fingers never stopped. Mia used her free hand to stroke Maxi’s face lovingly.

Cline watched the women neck without comment. Eventually he said, “Mia, I think our guest is having a little trouble. Why don’t you loosen her trousers for her, there’s a good girl.”

Mia broke the kiss, sighing. “Here baby, let me help you,” she whispered. She began to unbuckle Maxi’s uniform trousers. Maxi grunted when the zipper came down, freeing her hand for deeper strokes. “Sooooo horny,” she whined. She lay her head back against the car seat.

Mia was still doing things down below. “Lift your hips for a moment, K sweetie?” she whispered. Maxi did so, hardly paying attention. She felt her trousers sliding down her legs as a distant event of marginal interest. Her panties were going with them. It didn’t matter. She needed to cum.

Mia folded Maxi’s trousers neatly and set them in a corner. From a drawer somewhere she withdrew a pair of simple gold slides. She slipped them on Maxi’s feet. “There,” she said with satisfaction, “isn’t that better than those ugly old boots? You have such pretty feet, angel.”

Maxi looked down on her redressed feet as if from a long way away. The slides had high heels. They were bedroom shoes. They looked sexy. They felt sexy. Her hand was still busy. She was panting now, close to orgasm.

Cline was watching with prurient interest. Maxi noticed. It excited her more. “Why don’t you finish the job,” he said to his gorgeous assistant.

Maxi turned to look at him through lidded eyes. “Wha. . .? Finish . . .?” She bent forward limply in response to Mia’s touch. The other woman unfastened her full-cup brassiere with a few deft movements of her gloved fingers. A few seconds later Maxi’s breasts were free. The nipples were red and stiff with excitement.

“Not you at all,” Mia said. She tossed the functional garment away dismissively. “Angel, you need to get some new pretties for those lovely titties!” Deliberately, like she was tasting fine wine, she bent her head and sucked one nipple between her lips.

It was too much. Maxi’s world exploded. She cried out in delight as the best orgasm in years swept through her. Her back arched. Her pussy bucked and gushed around her fingers. Mia placed one hand over Maxi’s, forcing her to keep stroking, prolonging the pleasure-ride even when the intensity was almost unbearable. She continued to suck and nibble artfully. The orgasm was a great warm wind, lifting Maxi bodily into the heavens and then returning her slowly, ever so slowly, back to the earth. She collapsed, gasping, into Mia’s arms.

Milford Cline chuckled softly. “Feeling a little better now, I hope, Constable Maximum Hottie?” he inquired gently. Maxi looked back at him, breathing deeply. She felt boneless and floating.

A bell chimed somewhere. “Sir,” came the chauffeur’s woodwind voice, “we’re arriving at the city. Do you want to proceed directly to the bank?”

Cline pushed a button on the armrest. “No, I don’t think so, Katriana. Call the Board and tell them I will be delayed. We have some business to complete with Constable Comely here. Why don’t you drive over to McGrath Park. Take the Downing Street entrance.”

“Yes sir!”

Cline released the button. He smiled down at Maxi. The limousine lurched, braking suddenly. Maxi glanced out the window to see a black-haired young woman in tight red shorts dash across the road, stopping traffic. “Jaywalking,” she said absently. “Should give her a reprimand.” She shook her head, confused. Her police training began to resurface, slowly, like bubbles moving upward through molasses.

She was in the back of a stranger’s car, naked. This wasn’t right. She fought through the wondrous, pacifying colours in her mind. “. . . have to stop,” she mumbled. “Not, not supposed to be . . .”

“We will be stopped in a few moments,” Cline offered. He took off his glasses. “You would love to have me fuck you now, wouldn’t you.”

Instantly Maxi’s resolution dissolved in a sea of shining, pinwheeling colours. “Fuck me!” she cried, intense with renewed sexual need.

“And me!” begged Mia, reflexively tightening her grip around the naked police officer. Both women stared raptly into his eyes.

“Now now, Mia,” Cline chided his assistant, “Constable Maxine is our guest. It’s only polite that she go first. You’ll enjoy watching, I’m sure.”

“Yessss . . . . watching,” Mia sighed.

“Please fuck me,” said Maxi. She was already slipping into his arms as he slid his dark glasses back on.

The wide bench seat of the luxury automobile seemed to have been designed with sex in mind. The plush leather felt cool and supportive beneath Maxi’s back. Mia had efficiently helped Cline remove his suit and shoes. Now she had retreated to the far seat, watching the proceedings avidly. Her gloved hands were already slipping under her microdress, above and below. Her choker glistened in the afternoon light.

Beneath the expensive suit Cline’s body was toned and strong. He kissed Maxi warmly, holding her in his arms. She responded hungrily. Still kissing, she let him slide her down onto the seat until she was lying supine, legs spread receptively, with Cline on top. There was no need for foreplay. Maxi fumbled with his boxers until she freed his manhood, then guided him urgently into her wet, impatient pussy.

The fucking was exquisite. Cline set at once into a steady, lively rhythm, building Maxi’s pleasure slowly and surely. He used his tongue and one hand to adore her hard-nippled breasts. The gentle bounce and sway of the stretch limousine as it slowed and turned made little surprises in the way their bodies connected. The hand play a few minutes earlier, delightful as it had been, paled in comparison with what Cline’s shaft was doing.

Maxi let one long leg slip onto the carpeted floor. She could see the gold slide she was still wearing. Bedroom shoes. She gasped in delight as her lover pistoned into her. She turned her head and discovered she could see right up Mia’s dress. The girl’s white stockings ended in ruffled garters. Her panties were as shiny as her shoes. Her fingers were busy. She blew Maxi a hot kiss.

Maxi hardly noticed that the car had slowed until she heard the chauffeur’s voice again. “We’ve arrived at McGrath Park, sir”.

“Park somewhere private,” Cline ordered, between strokes. “Then . . . huh. . . come back here . . . huh! . . . and help out Mia.”

“Oh, yes Sir!”

A few moments later the car stopped completely. The hum of the engine died. The door behind Maxi’s head opened. She could see the delicious blonde chauffeur in the reflection off Cline’s dark glasses. In her foreshortened purple uniform and gaudy platform boots she was a walking sex fantasy. She pulled the door shut and slid onto the seat beside Mia. “Oh, I was hoping he’d do her,” she told Mia. “She is such a cutie. I am soooo turned on.” She slid one arm around her panting companion and locked her in a powerful kiss. Mia made no objection when the blonde removed Mia’s hand, the one that was stroking beneath her minidress, and replaced it with her own.

Maxi groaned and wrapped her arms around Cline’s back, pulling him closer. “Oh, fuck me darling, fuck me deeper and harder and oh god yes I want you!” The vigour of their coupling was making the big car rock. On the facing seat, Mia and Katriana had become a moaning medley of curvaceous female bodies, kissing and licking and stroking amid swaths of half-removed clothing. The air in the car was steamy with sex, like a tropical forest just before the rain begins.

Maxi closed her eyes. Colours spiralled endlessly in her mind. The colours were turning, faster and faster, brighter and brighter, attuned to her rising heat and the pulses of insistent pleasure streaming up from her cunt. As her peak approached the colours began to flow together into a perfect whole with only a single black dot at the very centre. She screamed happily and surrendered to the orgasm washing over her like the tide.

She had at least a couple more before he finished.

Some time later, Maxi picked herself up off the floor, where she had landed during her last orgasm. She hauled herself limply onto the seat. Cline was sitting up, semi-dressed, sipping a glass of sherry that Mia had poured for him. The girls were carefully adjusting their pretty clothes. They looked tired and contented.

“You know,” Milford Cline said thoughtfully, “I think I have an idea. It’s getting to the point where I could use a little security. Someone to keep the media at bay, and take care of safety problems. Security clearances for employees, that sort of thing. Seems to me you would be excellently suited to that position, my sweet constable. What do you think?”

Sprawled on the leather seat, slaked and satisfied and wearing nothing but one gold slipper, Maxi was having a hard time thinking at all. She looked around lazily. Work for Milford Cline? Why not? Wait—wasn’t she already a cop? She noticed her police cap lying on the seat, thoroughly crushed in the course of their activities. Yes, she had a job already. She was—a police officer, right?

“Uhm,” she said out loud. “I’m not sure . . .”

“I think we could start you off at, oh, maybe double your police salary,” Cline offered. “Plus some rather generous fringe benefits.”

“Wait. I, I’m not sure. There’s something . . . funny. I doubt—”

Cline took off his glasses and all her doubts disappeared.

Five minutes later, Maxi stepped out of the enormous limousine, following Katriana. The former police officer was wearing nothing but the blue shirt from her uniform and her new gold slippers. She blinked in the late afternoon sunlight. The car was parked at the edge of a grassy lot, beneath a line of giant oak trees. There was only one other car nearby.

“Now don’t you worry,” the leggy chauffeur said. “We’re about the same size and I always carry a few extra outfits, for emergencies.” She led Maxi around the back of the car. Maxi stumbled drunkenly in the grass, unfamiliar with high heels. Katriana seemed to have no trouble at all with her platform boots, though her heels were even higher. Maxi checked out her legs with frank admiration.

A sound caught her attention. In front of the other car, a pretty woman in fancy white boots was being screwed in the open air by a man in the remnants of a dark blue suit. She was leaning over the bonnet, legs spread wide, while the man plunged her pussy from behind. As a police officer, Maxi would have intervened at once. Now she found her heat rising as she watched.

Katriana laughed. “Don’t worry about them, honey. I doubt they’ll even notice we’re here.” She opened up the rear hatch of the limousine. Inside lay enough bags of clothing to stock a small boutique. Katriana pulled out a few things, considering. When she settled on something, she helped Maxi dress in the open air.

When Maxi climbed back into the car again a few minutes later she was transformed. Katriana’s trove included a couple of outfits that resembled a porn fantasy of a policewoman’s uniform. The one Maxi wore was deep blue latex, with fancy brass buttons and a completely unnecessary black belt, hung with gold handcuffs. The dress slicked over her curves like a coat of paint. The hemline stopped near the top of her thighs, revealing the full length of her blue fishnet stockings. The soft black ankleboots had blocky platform heels.

Maxi climbed unsteadily into the car and took a seat. She felt cool leather against her bare ass. She wasn’t going to chase down any suspects in this uniform. She felt magnificently sexy.

Milford Cline smiled his approval. “I think we can be on our way now, Katriana,” he said to the blonde chauffeur. “Unless my new head of security has any problem with that.”

He peered at Maxi, momentarily lowering his glasses. Maxi caught her breath. Colours exploded everywhere.

“No . . . problem,” she replied, dreamily, “no problem . . . at . . . all.”

The limousine pulled out of the lot and smoothly merged with traffic flowing into the city.

TWO FOR THE ROAD PART 1 OF 2 by Downing Street

She had waited no more than ten minutes when a car stopped. Tires crunched on gravel as a dark green sedan swung over onto the shoulder. Carmen picked up her rucksack and trotted up to the passenger side door. An electric motor purred as the window slid down.

She leaned her head in and smiled at the driver. “Hi. Can you give me a lift?”

The man behind the wheel was young, and dressed in a suit. “Where are you headed?” he asked, smiling in return.

“Into the city.”

“You’re in luck. That’s where I’m going. Hop in.”

He flicked a switch to unlock the door. Carmen hoisted her heavy rucksack and slid into the passenger seat. The window was already sliding upward as she closed the door.

“What’s in the city?” the man said, swinging adroitly back onto the road. He had to wait a moment for a long black limousine to go by.

“Boyfriend.”

Carmen liked to get that out in the open right away. It saved her from fending off passes for the whole trip. It was several hours’ drive into the city.

A long-distance relationship was difficult enough without the added inconvenience that Carmen didn’t own a car. The nearest train station was in the next town. Carmen’s friends kept telling her it was dangerous to hitchhike, especially for an attractive young woman. They had heard all the urban legends about hitchhikers being robbed and ravished and ruined. In reality, the worst thing Carmen had to put up with was constantly being asked out on dates. She seldom had to wait long for rides.

“Nice car,” Carmen said, taking in the luxurious surroundings. She always said that, as a way of making the drivers feel better about picking her up. This time she meant it. The car was big, comfortably appointed, and smelled new. Her seat was as deep and comfortable as a stuffed chair.

He grinned. “Thanks. Just got it this week. So far the bank owns more of it than I do. I’m Lane, by the way.”

“Carmen.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Carmen. Hey, you might be more comfortable if you put your pack in the back seat.”

“Oh, good idea. Thanks.” Carmen unsnapped her seatbelt and twisted around awkwardly. She swung the rucksack over the console and set it on the floor behind the seats. The backseat was already cluttered with boxes of computer parts and CDs. She thought she caught a glimpse of Lane checking out her backside as she stretched over the seat. By the time she got settled in her chair the man’s eyes were back on the road again.

Carmen was accustomed to men looking her over. She wasn’t concerned. This fellow was clearly harmless. Carmen was dressed in “student chic” for hitchhiking: low-rider jeans and a sweatshirt over trendy athletic shoes. She wore her black hair in a ponytail.

“What’s all that behind the seat?” she asked, refastening her seatbelt.

“That’s my business, as it were. I’ve come up with a new product that I think will be a hit. I’m on my way to a trade show to see if I can find some distributors.”

“Oh, I see.” That explained the suit. “So you’re a businessman?”

“Please. I prefer entrepreneur. It sounds more elegant.”

Carmen smiled at that. “What is your product, exactly?”

He looked at her coyly. “Relaxation tapes.”

She raised a plucked eyebrow. “Relaxation tapes? You mean like mood music? Or those tapes that sound like the ocean or a forest or something?”

“Well, something like that.”

She stretched out in the comfortable seat. It smelled of fine leather. “Pardon me for saying so, but there are lots of those on the market. One of my girlfriends has some. Don’t you think you’ll have trouble selling in a crowded market?”

He smiled again, looking at the road. “To tell you the truth, I don’t think I’ll have any trouble. Once people try my music they’ll snap it right up.”

“You seem very confident.”

“I am. Because my tapes really work. They’re not just birds singing in a forest or soothing waves rumbling against the beach. My music is specifically calibrated to promote relaxation and reduce stress. I have clinical research trials to prove it.”

Now he sounded like he was repeating a practised spiel. “OK, OK, I’ll take your word for it.”

He shot her a glance. “You don’t believe me? Why don’t you put one on now.”

“What, in the car?”

“Why not? We’ve got some time to kill, and you’ve nothing better to do. Road noise won’t affect the music.”

In fact, the luxury car was very quiet. Carmen could barely hear the engine. “All right, why not. Do you have a demo cut or something?”

“I just happen to have one right here,” Lane replied. He opened the utility box mounted between the seats and pulled out a standard CD. “Give this a listen.”

The car had a built-in CD player, of course. He slipped the disk into the slot. Lights on the front panel lit up. At once a complex, gently swelling music filled the car. It was deep and beautiful, and seemed to be coming from everywhere at once.

“Wow, great sound system!” Carmen cried in genuine appreciation.

Lane grinned. “Thank you. Custom job. Designed it myself. What do you think of the music?”

“It’s . . . interesting. What’s that hum? Are you getting feedback or something?”

“That’s part of the music. I told you, this soundscape is special. Every part contributes to the whole. Now give it a chance. Relax for a moment. Lean back in your seat and watch the road. Don’t think about anything.”

Carmen did as instructed. She sank into the soft seat. She listened to the music. She watched the centre line flash by as they cruised down the highway.

It was pleasant, she had to admit. The music was complicated, sort of symphonic but at the same time incorporating unexpected tones that sounded like a synthesizer. It rose and fell in long, gliding crescendos that matched her breathing. She leaned back against the headrest. She closed her eyes for a moment. She could feel the gentle vibration of the engine through her seat, as soothing as a massage. She felt the music swirl and pulse around her.

The car sped on down the highway.

Carmen opened her eyes. She blinked twice. “Where . . . where are we?”

Lane grinned at her. “About half an hour closer to the city than when you began your little nap.”

She blinked again. “I fell asleep? I’m sorry, I . . . must be more tired than . . . that music.” For the first time she realized that the music was gone.

“No need to apologize. If you fell asleep you probably needed the rest. How do you feel?”

Carmen interlaced her fingers and stretched her arms over her head. “I feel awesome! Like I just woke up from a long night’s sleep. This car is so comfortable!”

“It’s not the car. It’s the music.”

She chuckled. “Lane, I hate to burst your bubble, but a few minutes of mood music is not enough to put me to sleep. I’ve been up late this week.”

“If you say so. But I think the music helped.”

At least he believes in his product, Carmen decided. She looked him over. Lane was sitting loose in the seat, steering with one hand. He was watching the road, but Carmen noticed the way he admired her chest while she was stretching. Yes, there really are boobs under there, she thought smugly. And they’re gorgeous. She was seized with an idea.

“Do you find it a little warm in here?” Carmen said.

“I can turn up the A/C if you like.” He reached for the air-conditioning controls.

Carmen said: “No, no that’s all right. Let me get this off.” She was already lifting her heavy sweatshirt up her chest. She pulled it over her head and shrugged it off. She tossed it over the seat into the back. She fluffed out her ponytail. “There. That’s better.”

Beneath the sweatshirt she was wearing a fashionably tight, red tank-top that advertised her pert figure as diligently as the sweatshirt disguised it. The top had spaghetti straps on the shoulders that contrasted with the lacy white straps of her bra. The word “Princess” was stitched across the bust in flowing white script.

Now he really was looking. For a moment Carmen indulged herself and merely basked in his admiration. Eventually she said, “Hey, eyes on the road.” Her eyes were twinkling, though.

“Of course,” Lane replied. “I was merely admiring some of the local scenery.”

She turned sideways in the seat, facing him. “Oh? Did you see something impressive?” She dragged a finger across her bare midriff. For a moment she wished that she had worn her other pants, the really tight ones.

Lane was looking again. “It is very . . . picturesque countryside about. I like the landscape of hills and valleys.”

Carmen giggled. “I’ll bet you do.” She had never really noticed before, but Lane was cute. Well dressed too. He had a little dimple in his chin. “I bet you wouldn’t mind taking a stroll in the hills either, would you. Maybe climb a couple of peaks?” She pulled up an errant shoulder strap.

“I was thinking,” Lane replied, “of stopping to get the lay of the land.”

Carmen turned back in her seat, still smiling. It was sexy fun flirting with Lane, but she wasn’t about to let it get out of hand. “I think you should drive on,” she said with mock primness.

“Ah, I hate it when they close the countryside,” Lane said amiably. He glanced curiously at a police cruiser sitting by the side of the road. Its warning lights were spinning, but the car was empty.

“You never really told me what you thought of my music.”

She considered it. “It was . . . well, to be honest it was a bit strange. Nice though. I, uhm, don’t honestly remember that much before I . . . drifted off.”

“You drifted off because you were tired and the music helped you relax. I told you these CDs are genuinely effective.”

“Yes, and I told you, I’ve been keeping late nights. I sit down in your comfortable car and I take a little nap. I don’t think your music had much to do with it.”

“Still not convinced? Why don’t we try another one. Maybe you’ll like it better.” He was already reaching into the tape box.

“Well, all right, why not,” Carmen conceded. “We still have a way to go.” She was curious to hear more of that strange music.

Lane pulled out another CD and deftly switched it with the one in the player, steering with one hand. “Now remember, the music is not for listening,” he explained, as the new melody poured out from the speakers, “it’s for immersing yourself in. Let yourself sink into it like a hot bath. Clear your mind and let your thoughts run free.”

The music was different this time. It had the same complex, ethereal melody as before, but with a gentle, insistent beat pulsing in the background. Again Carmen was impressed with the vividness of it. Phrases and tones as complicated and interlaced as a symphony soared from the multi-speaker sound system, dancing and swirling about her like a swarm of butterflies that had learned choreography. Some of the sounds resembled familiar instruments, perhaps woodwinds or violins, while other were foreign and unplaceable.

The background hiss was there again. Even that blended with the rest of the music. After a few minutes Carmen hardly noticed the individual notes at all; the diversity of sounds blended seamlessly into a rich, melodic whole. Well, it is relaxing, she conceded, leaning back in the deep leather seat.

Somehow it seemed like everything around her was synchronized with the music. The flash of the centre line on the highway, the rise and fall of the gentle hills drifting by the moving car, even the muffled vibration of the engine had somehow become part of the river of sweet music flowing all around her. Carmen settled a little deeper into her chair. The vibration of the seat from the engine and little bumps in the road was both relaxing and impishly arousing. It made her crotch tingle inside her trendy jeans.

Carmen yawned hugely. Surprising, she reflected, that she could be drowsy again so soon after a nap. She should stay awake. It would be embarrassing to miss the music a second time. Her eyelids drooped.

The music flowed and curled and drifted around her like a slow, friendly river. It carried her away down an endless valley of sleepy comfort. The last thing Carmen noticed before she closed her eyes was handsome Lane admiring her bust again. She wondered happily if he could tell that her nipples were stiff.

She drifted away down the river of music.

A bump in the road brought her awake. She looked around. The car had slowed down. Lane was turning in to a parking lot. The small restaurant looked welcoming. There were a few other cars in the lot.

“Sorry to disturb you,” Lane said politely. “but I could use a bite to eat. Not to mention a piss break.”

Carmen looked around her, shaking off grogginess. “Where . . .?” she managed.

“We’re about a half hour out of the city. You dozed off again. How do you feel now?”

“Marvellous!” She was grinning broadly. She couldn’t help it. She felt like she was high.

Lane was grinning too. “Of course. I told you my music was effective.”

“Mmmmmm, you are soooo right,” Carmen replied. She stretched luxuriously, arching her back to make her boobs stand out. She felt a surge of affection. Lane had turned out to be a great guy. It was too bad she was all covered up. She wanted to show off.

“Come on. Let’s have a snack,” Lane said. They climbed out of the car into the warm sunshine of early afternoon. Carmen opened the back door and retrieved her backpack. She absolutely had to do something about these jeans. She was in the mood for something more feminine.

They entered the little diner and headed for the washrooms. Carmen used the facilities, but when she was finished she stood and pulled off her jeans completely. She rummaged around in her backpack until she found something more appropriate for a woman. When she was dressed again she stuffed her old clothes into the pack.

Carmen stepped up to the mirror over the sink. She pulled the band out of her ponytail. Midnight black hair tumbled free around her shoulders. She applied a little lipstick and some mascara to highlight her lashes. She berated herself for not bringing more cosmetics. Still, the image in the mirror looked pretty good. When she was sure that all was set, the black-haired beauty picked up her backpack and walked out of the washroom.

Lane was sitting at a table by the window, devouring an order of fish and chips. He looked up as Carmen approached. His eyes widened.

Carmen had ditched her jeans in favour of a pair of tight red shorts. The little garment skimmed south of her navel but stopped well up on tanned and toned thighs. They matched her sexy tank-top. She wore nothing else but her immaculate white sport shoes.

Carmen paused by the door for a moment, pretending to look around for Lane. She gave him—and a couple of staring farmers—plenty of opportunity to memorize her delicious curves as she ambled over to where he was sitting. Her breasts bounced freely.

Lane was still staring. “You’ve changed,” he observed, gaping.

Carmen sat down across from him. She set down the backpack. “For the better, don’t you think?” she teased. She studied him from behind lowered lashes.

“Definitely.”

Carmen fluffed out her hair deliberately. “I simply had to get out of those jeans. I’m much too hot in long pants.”

“I’d say you still look hot,” Lane pronounced. His eyes were at the level of her chest. Carmen’s bra was in her pack.

She leaned on her elbows. “Maybe I need to be hosed down,” she suggested.

“I know where you could find a stiff hosepipe.”

Carmen giggled. She snatched a chip off Lane’s plate. She slipped it between her lips lengthwise, tilting her head back to slowly suck it in. “I need something to eat.”

Lane waved over the server, a middle-aged woman who evidently ran the diner along with her husband. She scowled in disapproval at Carmen, but she brought her a salad and half-pint soon enough. Carmen made little “mmmmm!” sounds, and licked her lips after every bite. She could almost feel the sexual attraction between her and Lane. The man was hot!

She paused for a moment to wink at the farmer at the next table, who was staring at her legs. She was turned on. Her nipples were tenting the stretchy fabric of her tank. She loved putting herself on display like this. If it weren’t for her boyfriend . . .

On the way back to the car Carmen made sure to walk ahead of Lane so he could check out her ass. She put a little extra bounce in her step. She reached back absently to tug down the cuff on her rump-defining short-shorts.

They climbed back into the luxury automobile and hit the road again. Carmen relaxed in her seat, legs extended, seatbelt undone. The deep tan on her legs contrasted with her snow white shoes. The day was getting warmer. Lane turned up the air-conditioning. He was wearing a lot more clothing than Carmen, but she didn’t mind. The cool air kept her nipples pointy and prominent.

Lane said: “We’ve about forty-five minutes into the city. Want to hear one more CD?”

“Absolutely!” Carmen exclaimed. “That music is so cool!” Actually, she didn’t remember the music very clearly; she kept falling asleep.

Lane grinned. “Well, it grows on you.” He reached into the console box for another CD.

“Here, let me,” Carmen decided, brushing him away. “Which one is best?”

Lane hesitated. “Uhm, try the one labelled “Introduction 3”

She flipped through the CD cases, already smiling in anticipation. “You spelled it wrong,” she declared, laughing. “This says Induction 3.”

“Well, whatever.”

Carmen removed the old CD from the player and put it back with the others. She slid the new CD into the slot. There was something vaguely erotic about watching it disappear into the warm darkness. She noticed her hand: liquid red fingernail polish would look good with this outfit.

At once music began to pour out from the multiple hidden speakers around the car. The sound system was so good, the music seemed to have no particular source, but rather to exist everywhere at once. Carmen imagined this was what a symphony would sound like if she were seated in the middle of the orchestra. The sensation was palpable; she could almost feel the music raining down on her from all directions, like flower petals from some fantastic bower of roses.

This CD was different again. It had the same multi-layered, melodic harmonies as the others and the same complicated synthesis of notes and sounds. But the background beat in this cut was insistent and powerful. It throbbed like the heartbeat of some giant beast. Carmen found herself twitching her hips in synchrony, a few millimetres each way, back and forth, back and forth. The hiss was there again, but she hardly noticed.

She leaned back in her seat, enjoying the delightful music. She decided Lane was right after all: his music truly was relaxing. Since leaving the restaurant, he had been dividing his attention between the road and his passenger’s barely covered curves. If the road was winning, Carmen decided, she wasn’t doing her job.

She felt her eyelids droop. She wasn’t concerned about falling asleep again, not after napping twice earlier. Half-way through that thought she was distracted by an enormous yawn. She slumped back against the soft leather of her seat. She cast a glance sideways. Lane was admiring her tits. She tugged down the bottom of her tanktop to display them a little better. Maybe he’ll molest me while I’m sleeping, she thought dreamily, as slumber overtook her.

She floated along the road, wrapped in a warm blanket of mind-melting music.

The car decelerated. Carmen stirred. She looked around sluggishly. She blinked, yawning. The vista of the countryside outside the car window had been replaced by houses and sidewalks. They were in the outskirts of the city.

“Welcome back, sleepyhead,” Lane said conversationally. “Feeling rested?”

Carmen turned to look at him, moving in slow motion. “Floating,” she murmured. She ran a long strand of hair through her fingers. “I’m . . . floating.”

Lane chuckled. Carmen was slumped limply in her seat, gaze unfocused, her face flushed. “So what do you think of my CDs now?”

“Mmmmmmmm . . . they’re . . . awesome. Absolute . . . best. Never . . . felt . . . soooooo relaxed.” Her voice was slow and thick.

In truth Carmen was feeling more than merely relaxed. She was exquisitely aroused. The feel of her pebble-hard nipples against her tight tank-top was divine distraction. She could feel moisture seeping into her panties. She was tingling all over. She looked over at Lane, casually handsome in his dark business suit, and her heat soared. She loved men, and he was every inch a man.

Lane said: “I don’t want to boast, but I did tell you these pieces were effective. You look like you’ve had a good rest.”

“I . . . feel . . . sensaaaational!” Carmen purred. She stretched, long and lazy like a well-fed cat. She ran both hands boldly down her chest, revelling in the feel of her aroused breasts against her hands. She hoped Lane could see the desire in her eyes when she looked at him.

Lane’s grin was a little smug. “Well,” he said, apparently unsurprised by his passenger’s condition, “I’m happy to have the endorsement of my product. I’ll be heading to the convention now. Where would you like me to drop you off?”

Carmen didn’t answer for a moment. She slid gracefully off her leather chair and onto the low console between her seat and Lane’s. She let one long leg slide down against his. “I was hoping . . .” she cooed, slipping an arm around his neck, “that you would . . . take me . . . all the way.” Lest her meaning be lost, she began planting kisses on Lane’s neck, just above his shirt collar.

She turned sideways, swinging her other leg across his lap. Her spandex shorts stretched tight across the perfect half-moons of her ass. They were in traffic now, and people in other cars were beginning to stare. Carmen didn’t care. Lane was the sexiest man she had ever laid eyes on. There was no way she was leaving this car without letting him know it.

He struggled gamely to steer the big car. “Uh, Carmen, honey, uhm, I’m trying to drive,” he explained gently.

“Then stop driving,” she murmured. “Stop somewhere. Anywhere.” She licked his ear with her tongue. She was almost in his lap now, insinuating her lush body between Lane and the steering wheel. Her hips undulated on their own accord. She had never felt so turned on.

Lane muttered something in protest. “OK now, wait, hold on a . . . let me steer . . . don’t usually respond so fast . . . new speaker system . . .” Carmen wasn’t paying a lot of attention. Just rubbing herself against him had her on the brink of cumming.

“Stop for a moment, darling. Please,” she begged, still kissing and caressing. She was paying no attention to the streets and traffic they were moving through. Yet something outside caught her eye. A new idea flashed in her head.

“Oh! Lane, darling, stop here. Stop the car. Right here! Please!” Her voice held new urgency.

“What? What is it?” Lane demanded. He pulled over to the side and stopped. A car honked, then swerved around them.

Carmen disengaged herself from Lane, trembling. She was already facing backward. She reached into the back seat, opened a side pocket on her rucksack and extracted a charge card.

She pulled herself back into the front seat. “I’ll be right back, I promise,” she exclaimed. “Please wait for me!” To give him incentive she took his face in both her hands and kissed him on the lips. The kiss was informed with all the lust and need she felt thrumming inside her. “I’ll be right back!” she gasped, before scrambling out of the car.

Carmen dashed into the street, weaving between the passing cars. Being a gorgeous babe in a tank top and short-shorts helped; cars slowed for her as she darted across the pavement. She waved thanks to the blonde driver of a black stretch limo. She reached the far side of the street and dashed into the store she had seen from the car.

She kept her promise to be right back. She emerged from the shop less than five minutes later. She crossed the street more sedately this time. The wobbly high heels on her new boots were not made for running. She hadn’t even bothered to bring back her sport shoes.

The new boots were perfect. They were ash-white and knee-high, with sexy pointy toes to match the stiletto heels. An elaborate pattern of stitching ran up the front of each boot. They cost about as much as half the shoes in her closet, but Carmen wasn’t thinking about that now.

The boots were exactly what she needed to finish off her sexy new look. The extravagant heels shaped her legs and transformed her walk into a slow, feline prowl. The off-white of the stretch boots contrasted with the deep tan of her bare legs and the dark fabric of her shorts.

She jaywalked back across the street again, quite literally stopping traffic. Nobody honked. Somebody whistled. Carmen revelled in it. She watched Lane watching her as she approached the car. The approval on his face increased her mind-numbing heat even further. She climbed into the passenger seat and tossed her chargecard in the back.

“Thanks for waiting, Lane. Will you take me where I want to go now?”

Lane ogled the braless, boot-clad, black-haired beauty sitting across from him. Carmen was sitting with one leg curled under her, half-facing him. “I’ll take you anywhere you want,” Lane said.

“McGrath Park. It’s a few blocks up the road. Turn off on Downing Street. Hurry.”

“A park? But why—”

“Lane! Please!”

He put the car in gear and eased back into traffic. Carmen watched him longingly, ignoring the road. She fought the urge to rub her crotch with her hand.

They arrived at the park. Trees and tended grass momentarily replaced houses and shops. Lane turned into the parking lot. “Over there,” Carmen urged, “beneath those trees.”

Lane parked the car beneath a row of towering oaks. There were no other cars nearby but a elongated luxury limousine with tinted windows. Carmen was climbing out before he even turned off the engine.

He followed her around the front of the car. She was leaning against the bonnet, hands behind her, legs spread slightly. Before Lane could speak she threw her arms around him and pulled him in tight for a hungry, needful kiss. She felt Lane’s manhood pressing against her crotch. Automatically she began flexing her hips, humping against it. She was so horny she could barely think.

“I didn’t want to leave you,” she gasped, when their lips separated a little, “w-without thanking you properly.”

“But, mmmmmmmm, what, hmph, what about . . . your boyfriend?” Lane managed, between kisses.

She shrugged dismissively. “He doesn’t have to know everything.”

She kissed him again, but this time her hands moved down to find his belt buckle. She fumbled for a few moments, but then his belt opened. A moment later his zipper yielded also. She made a happy sound in her throat as her hands dove into his distended shorts to find what she was looking for.

This all would have gone faster except that Lane was trying to take down her shorts at the same time. He got his hands inside, against her hips, and shucked the tight garment and wet underwear down in one go. Carmen wiggled her hips until her clothing fell around her ankles, then hurriedly stepped out of them. A moment later she was back in his arms, her muff exposed to the cool air and Lane’s hardness.

“Lean back against the car,” he urged.

She did so, panting with need and heat. She pulled Lane by his tie until he was nestled between her long, wide-spread legs. He yanked off his suit jacket and tossed it on the grass. “Hurry!” Carmen cried.

She needed both hands to steady herself against the car. She could only watch as Lane aimed his spear at her snatch and moved forward. Her triangle was dark and wet and neatly trimmed. He made contact with her pussylips and wiggled forward, pushing in. Carmen moaned. “Hurry,” she whispered.

Lane was hurrying. He pushed in deep, and deeper, and deeper still, until he was buried inside her, pinning her by the hips against his car. Immediately he pulled back, then thrust in again, faster. He fell into a rhythm, pistoning in and out of the receptive warmth of her pussy. “Oh god yes fuck me,” Carmen blurted.

Lane was hardly about to stop. He pitched into her energetically, thrusting forward with his hips. He propped his hands against the bonnet for balance, flattening her tits against his chest, breathing in her ear.

Carmen’s wet cunt made soft slurping sounds as the two lovers screwed in the open air. Her long black hair flew about wildly. Her bare ass slipped and slithered against the metal of the car, lubricated by her perspiration and cream. It was not the most comfortable position for sex, but at the moment she was too steamed up to care. The heavenly pleasure of getting drilled with Lane’s cock was the centre of her attention.

Carmen made a guttural sound as a spasm of pleasure rocked her body. The orgasm was so unexpected all she could do was gasp as her body went rigid. “Cu-cu-cummmming!” she shouted.

So vigorous was Carmen’s climax that Lane lost his rhythm for a moment. He got it back swiftly, while Carmen was still riding the pleasure-wave, and the second orgasm came just minutes later. Lane was thrusting faster now, grunting with each penetration, eyes screwed shut in concentration. Carmen humped up to meet him. Her high-heeled boots scrabbled on the grass, trying to find purchase. She was surfing on the threshold of orgasm constantly now. When Lane stiffened, shuddered, and began to fire his load into her she wrapped her arms and legs around him and rode out the biggest climax of all.

Some time later Carmen was admiring her dishevelled reflection in the polished finish of Lane’s big car as she leaned over the bonnet, long legs spread wide, while Lane fucked her leisurely from behind. Her tank top had joined her shorts on the grass. Now she was wearing nothing at all but a blissful smile and her sexy new boots. Her full breasts bounced perkily with every thrust. The nipples skimmed against the car, sending shivers of excitement up her spine. She had lost count of her orgasms.

When the first frantic coupling ended, Carmen had simply collapsed, sliding down the front bumper to land in a contented heap on the grass. She sat there for a moment, recovering, until her pulse came down a little. She looked up at Lane. He was leaning on the car with one hand, breathing deeply, looking slaked. His suit pants were down around his ankles. He smiled down on her. “You sure know how to take a girl for a ride,” Carmen said fondly.

“Wow,” was Lane’s summation. He blew out his breath. “Are you ready to go now?”

“In a while,” Carmen cooed, rising up on her knees. “What’s your hurry?” She leaned forward and licked a drop of cum off the end of Lane’s cock. He twitched gratifyingly. She licked him again, slower this time, then planted a kiss right on the end of his wang.

“Carmen, what are you—Wow,” Lane exclaimed, looking down. “This, this is fantastic. I never expected this kind of response so soon. You must be—aaaah—must be very responsive to the second harmonics or—oh god do that again.”

Carmen wasn’t sure what he was on about. It didn’t matter much. Not when she had a nice warm cock in her mouth, stiffening slowly in response to her attention. Getting Lane hard again so he could throw her another bone was all Carmen cared about at the moment.

She was entirely successful. Now she was standing again, long hair swinging loosely, as Lane made her pussy sing. He had his hands on her hips for traction. He pulled her back against him as he thrust his own pelvis forward. From time to time he paused to playfully slap her bare ass. A couple of shapely young women climbed out of the limousine nearby, one of them barely dressed, but Carmen hardly noticed.

“Carmen, baby, I, huh, just had, huh huh, a great idea,” Lane said, between grunts.

“Idea? Wha?” She brushed damp hair off her face.

“Why don’t you, oh sweet, why don’t you come with me. To the convention.”

Carmen had already come with him once. “Convention? W-why?”

“You could be, oh fuck you are tight, you could be my uhm, assistant. You could show off—I mean, show off my product. You could give it away. Free, huh, huh, samples. To distributors. Help me build sales. They’re mostly men.”

It was hard to concentrate on what Lane was saying while she was being fucked. But the idea of strutting around in a convention hall full of men sounded appealing. Very appealing. She could wear something skimpy and tight. She could sweet-talk the men into trying Lane’s wonderful music. She could encourage them to give the CDs to their wives, their secretaries. If the man was unsure, maybe she could lead him into the room behind the booth, and help him make up his mind . . . Carmen moaned out loud. Her hand slipped on the smooth metal of the car.

“I can’t afford to pay you much at first,” Lane continued, still pumping. “But, of course you could listen to the CDs whenever you wanted. What do you say? Will you come with me?”

“YES! YES! I’m cumming!” Carmen screamed. She dropped her head and rocked and rolled through another blissful orgasm. Behind her she heard a sound and felt Lane fire into her again.

The booted beauty collapsed against the luxury car, twitching and sighing contentedly. It was all perfect. She would be Lane’s sexy assistant. She would help him build his business. She would listen to the marvellous tapes whenever she wanted, over and over again. Her boyfriend could wait until later. Or whatever.

“Well now,” said Lane, catching his breath behind her. “That was the best. Did the earth move for you?”

Carmen sighed happily. “No, darling,” she answered. “But I definitely heard music.”