As the lights of the inner city become the lights of the suburbs and the big black car hums through the dark towards home, Cherri considers the back of Dave's head. He's been good to her, Dave. Out of all of them, he is the only one who has never asked for anything. He just does his job and looks out for her. Whenever she is back in the car, with Dave at the wheel, she feels secure.
He has to work all hours of the day and night, hanging around outside whichever club or venue they have her at, making sure the car is at the kerb when she walks out the door and the door is open so she doesn't have to stand and wait while the paps line up an up-the-skirt shot. Those were always good publicity but she cringed whenever lifting her knee triggered a storm of flash bulbs. But then the door would be closed and Dave would whisk her away.
Now don't think that Cherri doesn't know what side her bread is buttered on. She knows that rolling in and out of clubs with her tits and arse hanging out of tiny outfits is just the PR side of her day job. She knows that you can't be famous without the red tops and the red tops are only interested in one thing. She knows that success has nothing to do with what you know, everything to do with who you know and quite a bit to do with who you blow. She is proud of how far she has got and isn't ashamed that she has sucked her fair share, but she can't help but feel the wrong guys are getting the blow-jobs.
Dave isn't getting any blow-jobs. She'd felt his eyes on her. He'd helped her in and out of the car plenty of times when she got messy, and although his eyes had roamed, his hands never had. He had never had more than a peck on the cheek as thanks.
Back at the club she'd been introduced to a writer's agent. He had a stable of pop writers and if they happened to come up with something decent he had got to choose which artist it was offered to. She needed to be friends with that kind of person so when he'd taken her to a private room and sat back on the sofa she'd known what to do. And with that dick-head's dick in her head and his hands down her top, she'd thought about Dave and she'd made a decision.
"Dave, pull over."
He stops quickly, as she expected because that usually means she is going to be sick. He hurries to the nearside door and opens it wide so she can vomit into the gutter but stops dead when he sees her.
It doesn't take long to strip when you're wearing next to nothing. Just three garments had come off and she is stark naked. It is dark in the back of the car but he can see her spray-tanned, surgically enhanced breasts and her big, dark nipples pointing precisely forward. He can see her flat belly moving in and out as she breathes. With her knees together and to the side her pussy is hidden but he can see her knickers on the floor with her skirt and top.
Cherri is in control here and she knows it so she takes a few seconds before leaning across the back seat and out of the door where the street lights illuminate her body for him. Once there she kisses him full on the mouth and drags him by the tie back into the car. Dave, at least, has the presence of mind to close the door behind him.
Now Dave finds himself sitting within inches of her in the darkness. The blackout windows affording them complete privacy. Cherri, still in control takes his left hand, lifts it towards her and helps him to wrap his fingers around her right breast. It's firm and cool. His palm is sweaty.
"You've been good to me. Think of this as a bonus."
And now she's kissing him again and this time their tongues combine while he kneads her tit and his other hand finds her arse. Cherri swings up onto her left knee and, with her right foot on the floor turns to face him, dropping a hand to the front of his trousers. Dave's cock is straining at his underwear and his hand is shaking as he slides it around her arse, between her legs from behind and finds the soft cleft of her cunt. As his fingers trace her labia, she moans into his mouth and releases his cock from its hiding place.
