Lillian And Sharon Ch 09 10

"And would you call those friends you never see?

Reminisce old memories?

Would you forgive your enemies?

And would you find that one you're dreaming of?

Swear up and down to God above

That you'd finally fall in love if today was your last day? " - Nickelback

--------------------------------------------------

An hour later, the dark blue Volante purred up to the security checkpoint, Lillian smiling and waving to the guard from the passenger seat. As Sharon rolled down her window, Lillian leaned across to speak to the guard, one hand on the back of Sharon's seat, stroking the girl's hair. His eyes settled on Lillian's magnificent cleavage; she knew EXACTLY what she was doing.

"Hi, Chuck. This is my newest employee. Be nice to her, won't you?" Chuck stepped forward, smiling and eying the pair and the car. The perks and benefits of being on the Moonwheel Team were well known.

"Now, Lillian," he replied in a deep southern accent, "you know that all of your team are treated like royalty in my pits." He looked at Sharon and glanced at her cleavage. "Ma'am, all you have to do is show your badge when you come through here, we check it against a list, and then you move on. Nothing to it."

Sharon shifted a bit uncomfortably as his eyes dipped to her boobs; she wasn't accustomed to showing this much skin to anyone but Lillian. She held up the badge so he could see it. He leaned closer to it, pretending to study it while his eyes kept moving from her badge to her chest and back again. He barely moved his head, trying to see into her shirt, hoping for a shot of nipple or at least areola. Sharon glanced at Lillian, a quick flick of the eyes with a hint of playfulness in them. She suddenly tore her blouse open, twisting in her seat toward the guard, giving him an eyeful of her bare chest; small, perky nipples standing out proudly.

"IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED TO SEE, YOU FUCKING PERVERTED OLD GEEZER?!?!?" she screamed at him. Startled, Chuck almost fell over backwards as he backpedaled rapidly.

"I...I...I...g-go ahead...Ma'am" he waved them through the gate officiously, his face crimson. Sharon quickly closed her shirt, threw the car in gear and burned rubber away from the gate, leaving the poor security man in a cloud of noxious smoke. Lillian's merry, tinkling laughter filled the car as Sharon fishtailed around a group of people who yelled at her to slow down.

"You realize, Beloved, that now I have to send him some flowers?" she chuckled, then spoke again, "Or rather...my ASSISTANT does."

"Sorry, Ms Lillian," Sharon said as Lillian pointed her to the owner's area. "I just have to get used to people looking at the way I dress now. I'm just a little...er..."

"I know, Sharon. You'll get used to it. And remember that I told you how powerful a weapon your body can be?" Lillian patted Sharon's thigh as they pulled into a parking space, then leaned over to peck the girl on the cheek. She opened the door and got out as Sharon did the same, pressing the button on her keychain to lock the doors on the car, the alarm giving a little chirp of acknowledgment.

They made their way over to the Moonwheel area and spotted Daria in a heated argument with a driver from another team. Daria was standing nose-to-nose with the man who had assumed an aggressive posture as well. Kumiko, in a team jacket and bluejeans stood behind Daria, glaring daggers at the man. The crews of both teams stood behind their drivers to provide support; a small crowd of onlookers gathered around them. As she walked toward the group, Lillian pulled out her smart phone and pressed a button, pausing to wait for the other person to answer.

"Hello, Steve, this is Lillian. I suggest you come to your team's pits. Yes, Daria and your man, Art, are at it again. Right, see you in a bit." She punched off, replacing the phone in her pocket. Sharon trailed a few steps behind as Lillian insinuated herself between the hostile pair. She smiled at Daria and looked over her driver's shoulder at the pit area, nodding slightly to indicate that Daria should move away. "Go on, dear. I'll be there in a moment."

Daria gave a final look to Art, raised her fist and extended her middle finger then whirled and stalked off, Kumiko at her side. Unflappable Lillian watched her team disperse and turned to Art, a tight smile on her lips. She nodded acknowledgment to him and followed her team. Sharon grinned sheepishly at him, shrugged, not knowing what else to do, and hurried after her boss/lover.

When they caught up to Daria and Kumiko, Lillian asked, "Now, Daria, what was that about?"

Daria grumbled a reply too low for Sharon to hear over the rumble of engines receiving last-minute adjustments. Lillian snickered.

"Is that all? You got pissed because he hit on Kumiko?"

"Lillian, it wasn't the 'hitting on her' so much as what he called you," Daria fumed, shooting an evil look over Lillian's shoulder. "He called you a dyke-bitch-slut who uses her money and power to corrupt little girls."

Lillian's eyes narrowed, her hand shooting out to grab Sharon's collar as the teen took a step toward Art's crew.

"Oh, he did, did he?" Lillian pulled Sharon to her side, placing her arm around the girl's shoulders to keep her from running off. Daria nodded assent. Lillian leaned forward to grin evilly into Daria's face. "Then, I guess you'll just need to knock his dick in the dirt when you get on the track."

Daria laughed heartily, sliding an arm around Kumiko's waist. Kumiko grinned and uttered a derogatory comment in Japanese. Lillian called out, looking in the direction of Daria's car.

"Tommy! How's she running?" asked Lillian. A squat fireplug of a man in a spotless team jumpsuit separated from the crew working on the car and approached.

"If Daria drives it like it's stolen, that thing'll whoop the ass off a scalded dog, Lil," Tommy said, hiking a thumb over his shoulder. "Had to replace a coupla sticky valves, and we tweaked the carburetor...again." He turned to Daria. "Watch them turns REAL careful. This ain't Charlotte or Kansas City. These turns are a whole lot tighter and steeper. Make sure you..."

He was cut off by Daria's gentle peck on the lips.

"Every time...Uncle Tommy, knock it off." Daria chided. "Where was my very first race?" Tommy shifted and looked down.

"Here," he mumbled.

"And where did I grow up?" she went on.

"Here."

"And who taught me everything I know about this sport?"

"...me..." said weakly. "But your Mama'll tear my head off if something happens to you out there. I work for Lillian, but your Ma's my boss." Daria hugged her uncle.

"Uncle Tommy, my faith is totally with you and your crew. That car has never given me a lick of problems with you guys working on it. The only problems ever caused were due to my desire to cut the balls off of the male racers out there." She tousled his thinning gray hair. "Just make sure it starts when I push the button; I'll do the rest."

A sharp "ka-thock" sounded from the team's area next door. They turned to see a helmet bouncing and rolling across the concrete apron, Art with a look of disgust on his face standing before a tall, slim man wearing jeans and baseball cap. The tall man sighed and held his hands out to his sides in a "what am I supposed to do?" gesture. Art stalked over, snatched his helmet from the ground and waved disparagingly in Daria's direction. Daria took a step toward him, but was restrained by Kumiko's hand. The tall man glanced in their direction and waved cheerfully. Lillian chuckled mirthfully and waved back.

"Daria, love," she said, turning back to her driver, "No dirty tricks out there. Straight racing. Guile and skill win over treachery, right?" Daria began climbing into the car through the window and lowered her fire-retardant mask, her eyes shining.

"You got it, Boss-lady," she replied, settling her helmet and fastening it. Then, she leaned over to present the top of her head to the window. Kumiko kissed the helmet and thumped it with her finger for good luck then stood back to let the rest of the team do their jobs. LAP 13 As Daria, in 7th place, hammered the pedal to perform her crowd-pleasing maneuver, her spotter came on the radio and warned her of a 360 spin out just ahead, the car regaining momentum and picking up speed. If she cut inside now she'd miss it completely, if she swung wide she'd slam right into it. She tapped the brakes and dropped in mere inches behind her main rival, Art, the one she'd had a run-in with earlier. She couldn't resist goosing the pedal a smidgen and lightly nudging the rear of his car; just saying hello.

Once past the spun out car, Daria jerked right and hammered it again, raising her middle finger defiantly as she blew past Art into 6th place then swung directly in front of him. The next turn was approaching rapidly. She began drifting right as if moving into position for the Summer's Suicide Slot. Even one of the announcers commented, "Summers is moving into position to try again for her famous driving tactic." The spectators were on the edges of their seats.

"Is he following?" Daria asked her spotter over the radio. Stock cars didn't have rear view mirrors for safety reasons.

"If he was any closer," came the reply, "he'd be in your trunk."

Of the five times that Art had been behind her when she shot this move, he was always close enough behind her to draft, thus cutting wind-resistance and easing his own maneuver. Though he had never been able to complete it successfully, he tried every single time. She kept fading right into position, knowing Art was mere inches from her rear end. As she hit the critical point where she would normally stomp the accelerator, she maintained speed and jerked the wheel to the left, neatly moving back into the traditional corner-hugging position.

Art's car, devoid of the smooth airflow provided by Daria's car, was slammed by the one-hundred-fifty-plus mile an hour wind on the left front. The sudden rush of air pushed the left front of his car to the right and he laterally cartwheeled into the wall, fiberglass and metal spewing like fireworks. The caution flag immediately went up, providing a short break while the wreckage was cleared.

"Hey, Erica," Daria called her spotter as she began decelerating for a pit stop. "Pitting now. How is he?" Even though she didn't like the guy, she didn't want him dead.

"Well, he's out and walking. Madder'n hell. Threw his helmet across the track. I think the commission's gonna fine him," Erica chuckled. "Uh-oh...Steve's out there...seems to be raising hell with him." Daria could picture in her mind tall, thin Steve, Art's team's owner waving his arms around like a chicken.

As she rolled to a stop, the pit crew was all smiles and chuckles as they went about their business. Kumiko unbuttoned the debris screen and handed her a water bottle, straw protruding. Daria drank greedily, handed back the bottle with a wink, gave the thumbs up to her lover. She received a thumbs up from Kumiko along with a thumbs up from Uncle Tommy, the crew chief, and moved back out onto the track to jockey back into her former 6th position.

In the owner's lounge, Sharon sat beside Lillian, arms entwined, watching the race on closed-circuit television. Sharon had never seen the Summer's Suicide Slot performed before and a tingle of excitement ran through her as Lillian pointed out that it was coming up. When Daria pulled back in line to round the corner and Art hit the wall, Steve, sitting with them, hastily excused himself and made for the door.

"Hey, Lillian," said another male voice. Sharon looked up into the face of a living legend.

"Why, Richard, it's been ages; Fort Worth, I believe." Lillian smiled genuinely at him. She indicated Sharon who had seemed to shrink in on herself. "Richard Petty, this is my assistant, Sharon." Richard stuck out his hand, his trademark Stetson clamped firmly on his head. Red-faced Sharon meekly shook hands, smiling.

"I hope your girl didn't get hurt," he said wryly, chuckling, then went on more seriously, "That girl's got spirit, I'll give her that." He sounded genuinely impressed, despite his remarks of a few years before upon hearing that Danica Patrick had started racing. Lillian smiled her winning smile.

"Oh, she's fine. But, I don't think her prey is in great shape," Lillian smirked, gesturing at the board which listed all of the drivers current standings. Next to Art's name was the label: SUSPENDED. The sportscasters would eat that up. Sharon, meanwhile had turned her attention to her smart phone, the scrolling display showing a transcript of the conversation between the driver and the spotter. Richard bade farewell and moved off to join his own comrades.

FINAL LAP

Daria was in a solid 3rd place. Barring anything unusual happening, she stood to win a decent amount of cash and maybe another sponsor endorsement. She eased her car up behind the 2nd-place car and prepared for the show stopping Suicide Slot. Any racer will testify under oath that Murphy's Law can show up at any time and generally chooses to strike on the last lap.

She eased out and slammed her foot to the floor neatly flying past the 2nd place car as he slowed slightly for the turn. Her focus was on the space directly behind the 1st place car as she slingshotted around the turn. Now that her spot was secured, she eased off the accelerator and prepared to graciously accept her final position. Car number one was getting a little too close for her liking so she tapped the brake.

Her car slowed, but didn't sound or feel right. The instant she took her foot off the brake, the car sped up again, threatening to crash into the leader. The accelerator was stuck.

"FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!" she screamed into her helmet mike.

In the owner's lounge, Sharon looked at the display on her phone and worriedly tapped Lillian's arm, showing her the transcript. Lillian was on her feet and heading for the pits before Sharon could stand to follow.

In the car, Daria watched the leader as he grew closer, judging the time to the finish line as opposed to the time she would smash into his rear end. Since it was the straightaway, she eased to the right and drew almost even with him as they crossed the finish line. She yanked her kill-key, a flat plastic credit card-like object, instantly shutting off the engine, rounded the next turn to drift left and coast to a stop on the grass in the middle of the track. She tore off her helmet and flame-retardant mask, then reached to undo the debris netting and climbed out to await her crew. She passed the brief time waving to the spectators and smiling.

Back in the pits, the rest of the crew was elated at her near-win. Another hundred feet, they all agreed, and she would have edged into first. Uncle Tommy's head was shoved under the hood with one crew member upside down under the dashboard trying to figure out the problem which could have killed their favorite driver. Naturally, the press was screaming at her for interviews, but Lillian waved them all away, announcing a press conference shortly. Sharon was soaking up the action like a sponge, knowing that she would soon be doing the job of "press-monkey." Though Daria had a press-and-merchandising agent, the owner's assistant would notify him of when to call a press conference.

Two hours later, the crowds gone, the various teams packing up for the next race, Sharon and Lillian walked hand in hand through the chill night air toward Sharon's car. The conference had gone well, as had the aftermath: a new sponsor, three endorsement offers and a marriage proposal to Daria from a rabid fan. As Sharon pressed the button to unlock the doors of the Volante, Lillian moved to the opposite side to get in, hands unbuttoning her jacket to reveal her impressive cleavage.

Sharon started the engine and glanced across at her Goddess. Lillian was turned sideways in the seat, leaning against the door with a gleam in her eye. The scene was the exact reverse of several weeks before when Lillian drove the youth to the restaurant. Sharon leaned across and planted a lingering kiss in Lillian's cleavage, licking the exposed flesh.

"Ms Lillian," she borrowed a line from a movie, "are you trying to seduce me?" Lillian's face took on a predatory look.

"You bet your sweet, succulent, gorgeous ass I am." She slipped a hand inside the waistband of her pantsuit and withdrew it, her fingers glistening. She offered her hand to Sharon who eagerly sucked the proffered fingers then backed out of the space and raced home, all the while casting glances at Lillian who was busy pinching her own nipples and working her fingers in and out of her pussy, moaning constantly; the streetlights causing a strobe effect which served to fuel Sharon's ardor for the older woman. As they passed out of the city lights into the darkness, Lillian wriggled out of her pants and thong and switched on the map light, aiming it at her now very nude, very wet crotch.

"Ms. Lillian, these seats are leather," giggled Sharon as she blasted into the lane on the last leg home.

"Oh, dear," replied Lillian, dramatically. "It seems that I've gotten this one absolutely soaking wet. I guess I'll need to be punished." Lillian's scent filled the car as Sharon screeched to a halt, shutting off the ignition and opening the door in the same motion, a look of mock sternness on her face.

"Inside, young lady. MARCH!" Sharon pointed to the house as Lillian seemed to drag her heels, slowly approaching the front door, head hung as if she was really in trouble. Sharon popped her perfect, bare ass with a resounding thwack and she walked a bit faster.

Sharon's mind worked on the role play, her analytical side telling her that this was Lillian's way of teaching her how to take charge. She decided that she would do her best and get it right the first time. Lillian unlocked the door and went inside, Sharon directly behind.

After the press conference, Lillian had given Kumiko the next two nights off to celebrate Daria's second-place finish.

"Close the curtains and lock the doors," commanded Sharon. "When you get through with that, use the shower in the hallway, wash yourself very well, then return and stand in the middle of the living room. I'll be back with the implements of your punishment." She turned before Lillian could answer and strode purposefully toward the bedroom. The girl had no idea what she was doing, but it seemed natural in some small way.

Sharon made her way into the bedroom where she disrobed, tossing her clothes in a heap. She practically jumped into the master shower and washed herself in record time, fighting the desire to play with her throbbing clit each time her hands ran over it. She'd have Lillian take care of that...

The sound of the hairdryer in the room told her that Lillian was here.

"Did I tell you to dry your hair?" Sharon called.

"No..." came the reply in a recalcitrant voice, sounding curiously like Cindy. Sharon resisted the urge to look to make sure it was really Lillian. The dryer shut off and Sharon heard the clatter as it was laid on the counter top.

Wow, Sharon thought. This was kinda fun; she might be able to get used to this. She finished her shower, dried off, and went to the closet. Finding what she was looking for, she put her outfit on, pulled a few "toys" from the chest in the corner, and wandered into the hallway, stopping just short of being visible from the living room.

"You are...errrr...my slave..." She furrowed her brow at the strange-sounding word. She had never called anyone "slave" before. "Who does that make me?"

A giggle sounded from the living room. Lillian cleared her throat and took a deep breath to settle herself.

"You are my Mistress," intoned Lillian levelly.

"Slave, face the front of the house, away from the hallway," she ordered. "For you may never see me enter or leave. Understand?"