They rode in silence.
Macy was wearing oversized shades even though it was night. The tiny red constellation of the dashboard gave her porcelain skin the look of being lit from inside. Her head was half turned to the window while her fingers drummed the armrest, only her reflection staring back.
The hidden gravel road twisted upward until it finally ended on a broad clearing. He pulled the car to a stop just past the center, keeping a spacious distance from the tree line. He shut off the engine but kept the lights on. She kept her silence a little longer, slowly removing the shades, folding them neatly and placing them on the console.
"What is this place?" she asked. Dim curiosity.
"Just a place. What's the difference?"
She paused. He lowered all the windows and the car filled with the tepid night air.
"Just wondering," she said. "It seems nice here. Quiet." Her posture was straight as she scanned the edges of the headlight beams, imagining beyond the glow.
"It is. Go take a look around. Get used to it. We could be here a while." His voice was placid as a choir of cellos but the tone was redolent with suggestion.
The delicate muscles in her face seemed to wrestle an involuntary grin. She opened the door and floated out of her seat.
The tight, pink sheath she was wearing corkscrewed around her body as she turned. She was almost too lean and waif-like – legs too sinewy and slender, ass too small and taut, breasts too perky to be real and a coy, bratty look that never seemed to leave her face.
They were both inappropriately dressed for the party they'd been to. In jeans and a tight black T shirt, he looked like an employee, there to carry out the patio furniture, except for a gleaming black pair of Italian designer shoes. And Macy, in white spikes and a strapless sheath that fit more like spray paint than fabric, looked more like a bored pole dancer on break.
Everyone else was in black ties or gowns.
She swung the door shut and walked around the car through manicured grass. When she came to the front, she stood facing the tree line and craned her neck to look up at the thumbnail moon pasted onto the sky. He suddenly flipped on the high beams and she turned. There was the slimmest hint of a smirk on her face as she placed a hand on her hip and cocked it to the side.
"Jesus," he whispered. "What the fuck are we doing here?"
She stared into the harsh glare as if she were looking him straight in the eye and touched the insides of her bare thighs, just beneath the miserly hemline of her dress. Her breasts bunched together like fruit poised to fall off a tree limb. Her hips began a lazy rock as her palms slid down and then back up her thighs.
She blew him a kiss, threw her head back and laughed.
"Fuck," he muttered. His right hand moved onto the crotch of his faded jeans.
He could almost hear music to go with the way she was moving, with the way her hips rolled and her hands teased the scant hem of her dress. Something Brazilian. Something serpentine and full of raw suggestion. He squeezed the buzzing coil of flesh inside his jeans.
As she moved, he thought of how she'd drifted through the crowded party with a smirk of jaded disinterest on her lips as so many heads turned to notice her. For a few seconds, moving as she was in the harsh glow of the high beams, he saw her swaying and grinding on that broad verandah in the midst of the party, commanding the derision and lust of the self-important frauds surrounding them.
He felt worse than the worst of them. The party was supposed to have been an elegant night for her, but it had really been a well-timed chance to show her off. But then, she'd wanted to be shown, paraded past disapproving eyes, as proud to be his as he was to have her.
He sighed and watched her arms lift above her head, raising her scant dress. Her body slithered like an echo skirting between light and darkness. Macy didn't know it yet, but the end was coming down on them like a train derailing.
She began to turn, and her dress began to lift above the curl of her impudent ass cheeks as she rolled her hips and her hands caressed disembodied shapes in the air.
His cock prickled with flooding warmth as he got out of the car. When she heard the door close, she turned back and faced the light, squinting again in the general direction of his broad silhouette. She wasn't moving now, but waiting, expecting something unknown.
"Lean over the car," he instructed. Calm. Words measured. He worked at not hating the sound of his own voice, or feeling embarrassed by cartoon sound of his words.
She walked toward the car, taking short, careful strides on those pumps in the grass. It almost hurt to watch her walk in those shoes, but the way they brought the sinuous muscles of her calves and thighs into play was almost enough to make him forget his own name. She planted her feet at a wide stance and bent forward, until her breasts pillowed against the warm metal of the hood. Her sinuous thighs trembled slightly as the dress hem lifted and her ass turned up and spread like a pair of wet gourds.
He moved close behind her and pushed the dress up over her hips. Then he touched the inside of her thigh. Her slender muscle was taut to the touch, sinews stretched tight as violin strings.
"Comfortable?" he asked.
"Yes...sir," she replied softly. It was almost a purr. Her cheek was pressed against the hood, and a faint smile graced her lightly glossed lips.
"Don't call me 'sir'," he told her. His tone was somber, almost paternal with suffering patience.
"Then what should I...?"
"I have a name," he reminded her, touching the inside of her tautly stretched thigh. "If you can't remember how to use it I can always leave you here to think about it."
"That won't be necessary..." she answered softly. Her eyes were closed and there was a faint smile on her lips. "...Sir."
His palm slid up to the shaven mound gnashed against the car hood. Her lips felt thick and humid under the pads of his fingers. He stroked the length of her slit with firm care, letting a fingertip glide upward along her cleft to slowly pass across the tightly puckered bud of her ass. Then his hand swiftly cocked backward and swung back firmly across her right cheek.
"What did I just tell you?"
"Not to call you sir. That you have a name. That I need to remember." It was nearly a purr, her voice cloudy with opium smoke.
He brought his fingers back to her simmering pussy and massaged her flushed lips until they were slick with her own nectar.
"You'll feel stiff before long," he pointed out, "but think of how you become a living celebration of human form. A shining example. Can you do that?"
"I...I think so."
He leaned over her body, forming himself onto the right angle she made and spoke softly, his lips lightly brushing her silken cheek. "There's no room left for doubt," he advised. "If you have any misgivings, you'd better tell me now."
The warmth of her bare ass against his jeans seemed to spread through his body. She was slow to reply. He knew she was considering his capabilities as much as her own. Despite being considerably younger, she seemed to know them better than he did. He placed his wet fingers against her lips and smeared them with the honey from her core.
