Listening to
Dangerous Woman,
by Ariana Grande, I waited for my guest in the sumptuous luxury of the Phantom, the automobile's stereo so next level that a center seat in a concert hall could be no better. Being allowed to drive such a magnificent piece of machinery was one of the perks of the job, and it beat the hell out of my three-year-old Accord. Another perk was the tips. The pay was good, forty-five an hour, but my guests would be considered a miser if they tipped me less than five bills... and the men and women who hired me would be insulted by the term.
I moonlighted for Premier Transportation, a limousine service operating in the greater Los Angeles metroplex. While Premier had several stretched Lincolns, Cadillacs, and Hummers for parties, plus a fleet of Lincoln and Cadillac sedans and SUVs for regular hire work, I worked with their Exclusive cars only. The Exclusive cars included two long wheelbase, Mercedes Benz S-Classes as their standard offering. The Mercs rented for a thousand dollars for the day, but if the client chose, they could upgrade to the Bentley Mulsanne or Bentayga for another five hundred... or if they truly wanted the finest available, the client could hire what was I was driving this evening, the Rolls-Royce Phantom, for a cool twenty-five hundred.
No matter which option the customer chose, when they opted for an Exclusive car, they got me... or one of the other four drivers that had been thoroughly trained and vetted. Not only were the clients paying for better driving skills, in case the unfortunate happened, but more importantly, they were paying for our code of conduct and discretion. The client was assured that with an Exclusive car, what happened in the car stayed in the car. I'd never had to use my defensive driving skills, but on more than one occasion I'd delivered my guest to a location where he or she indulged in less than entirely legal activities... such as gambling, escorts, drugs, or perhaps other, even less savory, indulgences. No one other than my guest, and those he or she interacted with, knew I'd done so, and never would.
I watched the man standing at the door, waiting for a signal that my guest was ready for her car. Because of the expense, an Exclusive car was far less popular than Premier's regular offerings, which allowed me to work as an independent contractor on nights and weekends to supplement my income. By day I worked for Warner Bros. in their accounting department. My job, along with dozens more just like me, was to make sure films made as little money as possible... at least on paper. I typically worked for Premier one to three evenings or weekends a month, and while working a late weeknight, as I was doing tonight, made the next day a little rough, for one to two thousand dollars for the typical five- to six-hours of work, I could miss a little sleep.
I saw the man stiffen slightly before he looked at me, pointed, and waved his hand. I'd had the car idling for the past half-hour, making sure the interior was a comfortable seventy-five degrees, so I crept forward, the big 63/4-litre turbocharged V12 under the hood ticking over without sound or vibration. Switching off the stereo, I rolled to a stop beside the man. Leaving the car idling, I stepped out and stood beside the coach opening rear door and waited for my guest to arrive. As I waited, I checked to make sure my shoes were shining and my uniform, a black tailored suit and crisp white shirt, was hanging properly. Because I was a woman, I didn't wear a cap as the men did, and I substituted a black bow tie for the men's traditional tie.
My guest this evening was Allure, the latest pop diva taking the world by storm. This evening she'd performed a concert in Pasadena at the Rose Bowl on her
Deep
tour. I'd picked her up at the Van Nuys airport about six, delivered her to the Rose Bowl, and now I was going to return her to her private jet. I was no expert on aircraft, but I was pretty sure I'd boarded something similar when I'd flown home to Des Moines last Christmas. It was just before midnight, and so long as I didn't run into any traffic problems, I should be home, and in my bed, by one, two at the latest. Not a bad night, actually.
As the man turned toward the exit door, I opened the rear door of the brilliant white Rolls and held it wide in welcome. Allure appeared with a large, muscular man in an expensive looking dark blue or black suit following her out as they rushed toward the car. Except for the fact they were smiling, and she was pulling him along by his hand, I'd have assumed the man was some type of security. Allure entered the car first, raised the rear center armrest to stow it in the seatback, and then pulled the man in behind her with a laugh. As I closed the door, they threw themselves at each other and began kissing lustily.
One
never
slammed the door of a Rolls-Royce. I pushed the door closed enough to allow the car to take over and pull the door the last inch until it silently latched. Ignoring the smirking doorman, I settled behind the wheel. Allure and the guy were stripping each other, Allure pushing the man's coat off his broad shoulders as he tugged her body-hugging red dress down to reveal her breasts.
"To the airport, ma'am?" I asked in my professional voice, using the rearview mirror to glance at my guests in the backseat.
"No... drive us around downtown," she replied, punching on the spotlights in the back of the car before tugging at the man's tie.
"Yes ma'am."
I oozed away from the exit, and by the time I'd worked my way out of the parking lot and turned right onto Rosemont, the man's coat, tie, and shirt were off, Allure's dress was wadded around her hips, her panties were around her knees, and the man's massive cock was sticking out of his pants.
"God
damn
, white boy!" she growled as she gripped the base of his cock. "You weren't shitting me. That's a big fucking cock!"
As I smoothly accelerated away from the parking lot, they fell sideway onto the seat, the man twisting and squirming until he was fully beneath her. As she swallowed his cock, he began to eat her pussy while jerking off her heels and working her panties the rest of the way off her legs.
I'd guess Allure to be a little younger than me, perhaps in her late twenties to early thirties. She was stunningly sexy, and obviously worked hard to promote her lustful, hard fucking image. She was of average height for a woman, with coal black hair displaying maroon highlights worn straight to past her shoulders, large, firm breasts that almost certainly had help from medical science, a flat stomach with a hint of muscle definition, and well-toned arms, legs, and ass. Beyond her obvious sexiness, she also had the vocal range that most singers could only aspire to.
She used her angelic voice, wickedly suggestive body, and sexually charged performances to bring life to her music. All her songs were about sex, had a hard driving beat, and were full of double entendres, innuendo, and her breathy gasps and moans. 'Fuck songs' or 'music to fuck by,' she called them in interviews. Her concerts were infamous for their overt sexuality, and she was the darling of the tabloids for her salacious style of dress and sexual exploits. Less than a year ago, she'd been arrested in Germany for picking out a concert goer during her performance and riding his cock live on stage as her band backed them with the driving, erotic beat from the title song of her debut album,
Hard