Total Woman Vignettes 04

Prologue

Francine was satisfied that she had discovered the key to getting appealing sales pitches from Jeffery. Francine reached between them and levered Jeffery's cock out. He was tuned up and ready to go. Placing the tip, she sprang lightly, tapping his erection into her vagina. Jeffery quaffed her exposed nipples. Francine set a moderate, steady pace, enjoying the smoothness of the ride. Jeffery's motor was definitely running. He felt the rim of his knob brush her G-spot nerve bundle with every stroke of his piston and she purred like a finely tuned engine. Sometimes her scalp brushed the ceiling and she bowed in, pulling Jeffery's head tighter to her bosom, trying to avoid knocking her head on the roof.

They raced towards the checkered flag, acting like coldhearted rivals, ignoring the risk of overheated equipment. Barreling over the finish line, Jeffery roared and jetted his essence into Francine's cylinder. She swooned and clutched Jeffery's head to her chest, burying his face in her soft headrests. As they idled down, Francine pecked kisses over the top of Jeffery's head, finger stroking his cheeks and ears as he lazily kissed and sucked her nipples.

"Jeffery, I want to sell cars for you. I think I can honestly say that this car excites me and that I can portray that to potential customers. Will you give me a chance to prove myself as an able saleswoman; more than just a showgirl?"

Jeffery should run that by his wife, Nadia, but it sure sounded good to him. Although he had found a new advantage of the car, namely 'babe magnet', sales work was best left to professionals like Francine. Now that he had taken the car for a different kind of test run, he was anxious to return to his beloved factory and improve the passenger compartment with added features, like vibrating seats and more head room.

Short, concise and to the point, Jeffery replied "You're hired."

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Present Day

'Francine, Executive VP Marketing, Total Woman Industries'

Francine watched the guard at the gate closely examine her identification badge. He was new; any of the other employees at the test track facility would have instantly recognized her. Her limited edition Dust Devil roadster, reserved for the senior executives at TWI, should have been a give-a-way clue. But this guard was new; it was a lucrative job and he didn't want to screw up.

Francine was actually pleased that the security was tight and effective. The new proto-type model TWI sportster was due to be tested and prying eyes were not welcome. The guard swiped her badge, calling up her security access file with the identification photo. The file picture loaded and his eyes popped. It wasn't the title that got his attention but the picture: a headshot with generous cleavage overloading the lower frame. He peered back at the woman seated in the top-down convertible. Even wearing her sunglasses and scarf, the picture definitely matched the vision before him. He stepped up to her driver side and handed back her badge.

"I apologize for the delay, Ms. Francine." The guard punched the gate release button and the barrier slid silently open. Francine leaned towards the uniformed guard to read his badge. Her tits swayed in her cotton tank-top as she bent, nipples pebbling under the fabric. The guard stood mesmerized.

"Not at all... Stevens? Is that your name?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I intend to inform your superiors about this..."

Stevens tried to explain.

"Please, ma'am, I'm new and I didn't recognize you and..."

"Well, Stevens, I'm still going to inform your supervisors ...". Francine paused for dramatic effect, watching the guard blush, start to sweat. Francine decided to end the torture and move on.

"I'm going to inform your supervisors about the great job you're doing! I don't care if the Pope himself shows up riding in the Pope-mobile; no badge, no entry. Keep up the good work, Stevens!"

Francine drove through the open gate with the smirk still on her face. In her rearview mirror, she watched the guard remove his hat, rub a hand over his sweating close trimmed scalp and wheeze a sigh of relief. It was a pet peeve of hers that she tried hard to instill in every one of her many subordinates. Find any positive thing, any small thing, about a vendor, an employee or a customer and complement them. People will forget criticism as fast as you're out of sight but a complement is a memory that lasts forever. She had earned her present position using her charm, goodwill and perseverance. And, of course, the ultimate killer combination: her spectacular brains and beauty.

The TWI Test Track Facility was cited in a remote corner of the American Great Plains, an old Air Force base that had succumbed to budget cuts. The Track Headquarters was situated in the old Air Control Tower. Prairie summers were dry and hot; winters were harsh and cold. They emulated the working conditions of the TWI automobile product line and provided an extreme climatic test environment.

The test track incorporated the old runways as part of the roadway. The adjacent areas were grassed with some scattered hillock terrain. The new and old pavements held standard highway sloped curves. Other manufacturers boosted their egos by dominating each other with muscle cars and race track trophies. TWI boosted its bank accounts with profits from selling economical and dependable street and neighborhood friendly cars. Thus, the facility had no need for racy high banked corners. Weather and longevity was the real competition to beat.

Francine parked in a reserved corporate visitor spot. Ascending the old control tower, she stepped from the elevator into the glass enclosed control room. From here, the horizon stretched forever. Closer in, cars, drivers and mechanics moved about the bays and pits, preparing cars for endurance and fuel economy assessments. Several different TWI models circled the test roads, drivers switching duties each hour. The computer screens in the Control Room displayed wirelessly transmitted performance data from each test car.

Harding, the Chief Engineer, saw that Francine had finally arrived and warmly shook her hand in welcome. They were old and true friends. The tension inherent in car development had found them clawing through passionate workplace clashes, filled with dire mutterings and shouts of distress, pitting engineering and manufacturing practicalities against price and marketplace realities.

In the end, they always found common ground that enhanced the cars value and the company profits. The work was exhilarating but involved long and lonely hours. Harding and Francine found other common ground later during the nights. There were no clashes then, their passionate exhilarations converted to dear mutterings and shouts of delight.

Harding gave Francine the nickel tour, pointing out the cars on-track, boasting of their proven capabilities and explaining the problems yet to be solved. The newest sportster model waited prepped at the trackside pit. That was the car Francine had come here especially to see.

"How's our new 'baby'?"

"Ready to go but there's a problem. And I need your help to solve it."

Francine laughed. "A technical problem? That's your department. You're the best damn engineer in the industry; I doubt I can be much help."

Harding looked askance and twisted out a "Well..." He looked back at Francine's face where she wore that expression of 'okay, let's have it.' Harding continued.

"It's not a technical problem; more of a personnel problem. The test drivers have all been vying for first shot at driving her. We have whittled the field down to three and they want me to select the one that goes first. All three are fully qualified, bright, physically fit, trustworthy, the real deal. But I have to stay here and work with them day in and day out. I'm going to have two disappointed drivers that will blame me for an arbitrary decision."

Francine waited for it.

"But you, Francine, are a neutral third party; a tie-breaker, so to speak."

"But I don't know how to differentiate their driving skills."

"It's a moot point. They're all fully qualified test drivers. It's a three way tie. Test them on how they handle something besides fast cars." Harding broke out into a broad grin.

"Francine, you have a beautiful mind, perfectly matched with a beautiful body. And they're all virile young men. Get your creative juices... or any other juices... flowing. Have some fun."

Francine mulled it over. She was here to see the first test drive of the sportster. Until the test driver impasse was settled, she was wasting her time.

"Okay... where are these bozos?"

Harding hugged Francine, relieved to pass on the bothersome decision.

"You can use my office one floor down. I'll send the first one after a few moments. I'll line the others up an hour or so apart. Good luck and whatever criteria you use... may the best man win."

Harding chuckled as he escorted Francine to the elevator.

"It's always good to see you, Francine. We had our good times, didn't we?" Harding pecked her on the forehead and she smoothed a tender hand over his cheek.

"Yes, we did, Harding, very good times."

Harding turned to the window overlooking the sportster prep area and picked up the pit phone.

"Yeah, send Slick to my office immediately. He has another round of interviews on the sportster matter. Tell him to cleanup and look presentable."

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There was a knock on the door. Francine sat behind Harding's power desk and called "Come in!"

The door swung open. A tall young man wearing red leather overalls crusted with car product decals stepped across the threshold. He was trim in waist and hips but broad shouldered. His sunglasses were perched atop his head, submerged in blond wavy hair. He peered around before addressing Francine.

"Hello, ma'am, I was looking for Harding."

Francine let the comment lay; waiting... waiting... then Slick opened his mouth to speak. She cut him off with a steady voice.

"No, Slick, you are looking for me. I'm Francine, Executive VP for TWI Marketing. I have worked four years battling engineering, manufacturing and finance to get a sports car worthy of the TWI label. It's finally here and I'll be God-Damn if I'll have just anyone driving it first on the track... Have a seat!"

A stunned Slick crept to the only other chair in the office, the 'hot seat' directly in front of the big desk. It was purposely lower than the desk chair, which only evened the height difference between the seated Francine and Slick.

Francine opened a folder on the desk.

"Slick, is it?"

Slick nodded.

"I see here you have a clean test record, no crashes. What is this one incident?" Francine was bluffing; Slick's record was impeccable.

"I can explain that, ma'am. Another car was following me too close. My engine suddenly cut out and he had to swerve to avoid me. I didn't even know that was recorded in the file.

"We brought my car in and I spent all night under the hood. I couldn't find anything wrong. But I polished up the engine anyway. The carburetor looked like it was gleamed with my tongue. The sparkplugs were snug and tight. The filters could have just come from a laundry; they were that clean and fresh. The car hasn't whimpered or shuddered like that ever again."

"So you're pretty good at keeping things clean and lubricated?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"What if I had a precious apparatus that needed to be cleaned and lubricated? Would you use your tongue to do the job if it meant a chance to test drive my new car?"

Slick didn't hesitate. "Yes, ma'am!"

Francine slyly elbowed a pen off the side of her desk. She stooped forward to reach for it, giving Slick her best down-tanktop display. She didn't need to look up; she knew he was peering intensely at her hanging boobs. She nudged a hop, pretending to reach for the pen, really just jostling her tits to the benefit of Slick.

"Slick, help me out. My pen rolled under the desk. I can't reach it."

Ever helpful Slick scrambled forward on hands and knees. He peeked under, then reached under, the desk. Finding the pen, he rose up and proudly held it out to Francine. But she wasn't trying to take it. Then Slick noticed she had changed her position behind the desk. Her desk chair was swiveled sideways. Her knees were spread and she was leaning back, peering down across her chest mounds at him. The hem of her skirt was bunched high on her thighs.

"Slick, do you recall just now I asked you 'What if I had a precious apparatus that needed to be cleaned and lubricated? Would you use your tongue to do the job if it meant a chance to test drive my new car?' Remember that?"

Francine was slowly nodding her head, hoping for a reflexive head nod from Slick. She got it.

"And you told me you spent all night under the hood of your favorite car, gleaming the carburetor, assuring the sparkplugs were snug and tight, and the filters clean and fresh like a laundry day?"

Francine continued slowly nodding her head, getting more reflexive head nod from Slick. "Yes,ma'am."

Francine lifted her skirt hem. "Well, Slick, you don't have all night this time, less than an hour. I want you under my hood, cleaning, gleaming and lubing my precious apparatus with your tongue. Get my clit snug and tight. If you make me whimper and shuddered like never before or ever again, you will get a shot at driving my new car. And don't be bothered about laundry; I'm not wearing any. But I think you will still find me clean and fresh."

Francine didn't wait for his reply. Still holding her skirt hem, she laid back into the chair's headrest and closed her eyes. She waited. Sensing no movement from the stunned driver, Francine, with eyes closed, spoke calmly to the ceiling from her relaxed position.

"Do you want to drive my car, Slick? Better get to it, less than an hour...and the clock's ticking..."

She heard him shift, his sunglasses clattered on her desk. She felt his head slide beneath her skirt. She released it and laid her hands on the armrests.

Slick moved in closer, peering at the shaved flesh-toned outer flaps. He used two fingers to spread them and found the pink folds they normally concealed. Her odor was nutty and fruity. He had a girlfriend once that used flavored douche. Slick figured the nutty was Francine's natural musk and the fruity was her douche. Francine was indeed clean and fresh without the hampering laundry.

Slick prodded the inner folds with one finger and drew his digit along the valley of her vulva. It was moist, not wet.

Francine's widened stance was still too narrow to get his face close enough. His cheeks were trapped between her toned, smooth thighs. Slick gently pushed against her knees and Francine aided his request with more leg spread. Slick pushed forward, extended his tongue and tipped Francine's clitoris. He tried to move down but his chin bumped the chair seat. More adjustments were necessary. Slick levered Francine's thighs onto his shoulders. That tipped her hips up and Slick now had adequate access to all of Francine's 'precious apparatus'. It was time to gleam her engine.

Slick spread the outer lips with one hand and puckered up. He planted a kiss at the top of the exposed dewy inner lips. He drew his underside tongue down the valley. Francine gave a small shudder. Slick reversed up the vale as Francine shuddered again. She may have been making noises also but his thigh covered ears couldn't hear a sound. But he could taste her and smell her moisture filling his nose.

Slick tested his tongue's maneuvering range, steering it far down the length of her cunt lips. The underside of his tongue rubbed the rosy scallops as it slithered until his chin bumped the seat again. Holding steady, Slick hyper-extended his tongue, probing downward past the folds until he felt a different texture, recognizing that the tip had ramped out of red flesh onto white flesh. He tickled her flesh boundary and got another shudder from Francine. He had found three sensitive spots...so far. He retreated to the center.

Slick rolled his tongue and probed the hole, reconnoitering his range of depth. He fluttered the tip against the tube sides. He decided to explore her upper regions. Slick ran his tongue high up the gulley, feeling the tip push against her stiff but pliable urethra protrusion, her 'sparkplug'. He pursed his lips and suckled gently, getting the little spout snug and tight amidst its circumference of softness. Francine gave a shudder. That was four places he needed to remember.

Slick's chin and nose were getting coated with Francine's extruded moisture. Slick liked her taste; the nutty-fruity dessert flavor.

Slick had completed his walk around inspection. He was now familiar with the handling characteristics of Francine's 'precious apparatus'. Slick was ready to put pedal to metal and speed things along.

Slick gave her thoroughfare long licks, tilting his head a bit to cover one side, then the other, then the center lane. Francine shuddered. At the top he would pause to kiss and suck her plug. At the bottom, he flickered at the base of the pink folds. Francine's thighs clamped his ears but he heard her muffled whimpers nonetheless. That was a good sign; he was getting her to shudder and whimper but probably only green zone rpms. He needed red line performance to pass her test.

Slick revved up, increasing his speed and intensity. His tongue was a flurry of motion: twisting, swerving, lapping, rolling, and skidding across her labia. Slick could definitely hear loud whimpers. Shudders became vibrations, her thighs drumming his temples and earlobes.

All of sudden, Francine's thighs clamped hard against Slick's head. Slick dashed his mouth upward and captured her plug with his lips and sucked for all he was worth. The little nub extended into his mouth and he gently caught it in his teeth, concentrating on just holding, not too hard.

Francine shrieked. Thankfully, because of Harding's business need for confidentiality from eaves-droppers, his office was sound-proof. Slick felt her hands grasp his head through the skirt, holding him still as her butt sprang up and down in the seat, continuous shudders, just like she wanted. Eventually, Francine's hip jogs coasted to a halt. Slick felt her thighs loosen their death grip and her hands pressed him away from her cunt. He emerged from 'under her hood' and sat back on his heels.

Francine raised her head and blew Slick a pucker kiss. Slick rose and stood respectfully in front of her desk. Francine arranged herself in a business pose in the leather office chair. She handed him his sunglasses. Slick used his leather overall sleeve to wipe Francine's dew off his cheeks, chin, forehead...she was everywhere. He noted the decals that were now dew ridden. Would he be able to explain the stains to those sponsors? They wouldn't believe it.

"Well, Slick, that was about 30 minutes. Not bad for a first lap. I'd say that keeps you in the running for first drive."

Slick's face burst into a broad smile. "Beg pardon, ma'am, I wasn't keeping count, but I know it was more than one lap." He mischievously swirled his tongue across his lips. Francine put a furtive hand to her face to hide her smile.

"You're dismissed. On your way out, please see if my next appointment has arrived and send him in."

Slick departed and closed the door. Francine settled deeper into her chair. Any delay right now was a welcome opportunity to catch her breath and clean up a bit. She found tissues and reached between her thighs to sop up the moisture spread around her groin.

There was knock on the door. Francine sat upright and leaned forward in power pose, forearms resting on the desk. "Enter" she called out.