Most of my stories start with the seed of an idea that eventually grows and evolves into a first draft but now and then I have a scene playing in my mind that is obviously set towards the end of the story, where two women are making out or just kissing. I usually backtrack to the beginning and try to find out how and where these two women met. For this story however I just threw it all out there and then did the back story. I hope you enjoy Platinum Service.
Shaima.
The silk, college tie slipped free of the knot and I felt pressure against the back of my neck as Renate pulled the ends towards her. I felt my breasts hitting her breasts a moment later. The tie was taut, she'd deliberately pulled the ends down so that the only way to escape was to jerk my head to one side.
Stop!
How did I get into this? I was not only straight, the woman undoing my tie was actually the client I'd driven home an hour ago.
I'm a chauffeur for a company offering bespoke services to wealthy clients. I get to meet lots of wealthy people but that comes with the sure knowledge that I'm just the driver. Some of the guys do try to put one over on me, especially if they're drunk or stoned but there are rules we have to follow if we want to keep our jobs. Never ever get involved with a client and if one tries to get too close I've got a number on my speed dial. I just have to call the number and tell them what happened and the powers that be will deal with it. To be honest I've never used the number because I can take care of myself for the most part. Keep them smiling but let them know that smiling at a man doesn't mean you want to fuck him, it just means you're being friendly.
My boss is Masha, a Russian expatriate who moved to Britain. I heard one of the drivers say she'd been married once but Masha has never confirmed nor denied it and to be honest it doesn't matter because the woman is quite gay. I kind of suspected it at the job interview when she got me to stand up and do a little turn for her. Unusual, but I didn't resist or complain because she hired me on the spot and has never put a foot wrong as far as I'm concerned. Because I've only been with the company a year or so, I'm still at Silver Service status. There are several achievement levels you can aim for, starting with Bronze and working all the way up to Platinum and Platinum Black, which is the ultimate level. Rising to another level gets you more money.
Her chauffeurs are all women and she gets away with that because the company is called Lady Drivers and the company logo is the outline of a woman. She was criticised in one of the major dailies not long after I started and I did follow the Twitter war between Masha and the online trolls. It was both entertaining and more than a little encouraging, she can slap a man down without missing a beat and what enrages the right wing trolls is the fact she pays above the living wage and her attitude towards tips is quite casual. If someone tips you she doesn't want to know how much but she did recommend that I keep a record of tips just in case HMRC decided to audit me.
I was beginning to think about audits that night however as Renate removed my tie because there was money involved in that act, serious money.
Renate was a wealthy woman working for a European bank with branches in Britain. I picked her up from the bank and took her to a property outside of Oxford, quite a journey but I'm paid by the hour and anything more than an hour one way gets me an automatic time and a half rate. Oxford is just over 59 miles from London so I'd be on time and a half on the return journey.
Renate seemed pleasant enough although a little reserved, I heard her talking on the phone to someone in German but my German is your basic high school standard, but then she made another call and switched to French. This was about ten miles out of Oxford and when she finished that call she lit another cigarette. It was her third cigarette since we'd left London and she apologised for stinking out the limousine.
"It is a filthy habit, my ex was always telling me to give it up," she wound the window down a little more and continued, "you want a cigarette?"
"Um, no, I don't smoke."
"Good, that is good, it is hell for your complexion," she smirked.
Little more was said until we reached her destination, which was just outside of Oxford at a large house that looked expensive. When I opened the back door she was sifting through her purse and offered me up a wry smile.
"I am sorry, I only have Euro," she extracted two fifties and held them out, "the tip?"
It's not unknown to get a tip that size but it is unusual because I hadn't treated her any differently to other clients. The bill for the limousine is charged separately and so I merely smiled and took the money. Renate exited the car and looked up at the house.
"Do you have to take a break before going back?"
The question took me by surprise because most clients don't ask those kinds of questions.
"I take a break every two hours," I replied.
"Even so," she nodded at the house, "it is a big house and it is not mine. There are bedrooms if you need to lie down for half an hour, I can make coffee."
"Um, no that is fine, but thank you."
"Thank you," she extended her hand and I slipped my hand into hers, "drive safe."
She held my hand for a split second longer than usual and I felt a slight pull towards her. Renate was an attractive woman although she didn't have that classic hourglass shape. She was a few inches taller than me and had broader shoulders and hips. She looked to be in her forties but it's impossible to tell with European women, they usually look fantastic at an age when British women are falling apart at the seams. She wore a white ruffled blouse buttoned to the top. Over the top of the blouse she wore a green tartan, pinafore dress with a zipper that extended all the way down the front, the hem stopped a few inches above her knees. The dress was finished off with three attached belts at about waist height. The black overcoat looked to be velvet or some other similar material with satin lapels and cuff ends, a pair of knee high boots completed her outfit.
"Thanks for the tip."
"It was worth it," she released my hand and flicked a lock of shoulder length, black hair over her shoulder, "although it is not my money."
I didn't know what to say to that but it sounded normal enough. For all I knew she had an expense account. I farewelled her and got back behind the wheel. I stayed there another five minutes while I updated the app on my phone that basically tells the people back at the depot that I'll be available for any pick-ups along the way home. By the time I left the lights in the house were on but I didn't see her at any windows as I bumped my way down a winding little road to the main road.
It was only when I turned onto the main road that I heard a distinctive clatter in the back and when I pulled over to investigate the source of the noise I found a silver zippo lighter between the back seat and the sill. When it fell off the seat it must have hit the metal sill. The lighter had been engraved, R69, it was obviously a gift from someone.
I had two options then. I could continue on back to base and simply hand it into lost property or I could turn around and go back to the house. If I'd been closer to London I would definitely have taken the first option but I was a mere fifteen minutes from the house and I was now on time and a half and so I turned around and drove back to the big house.
Renate had lost the overcoat when she answered the door and seemed surprised to see me.
"Something is wrong?"
"Um," I held up the lighter, "I think it's yours."
"Oh," she reached out and took it from me, "merci," she looked past me, "it is such a little thing, why did you not keep it?"
"Because that's dishonest and I'm," I swallowed.
"Not dishonest?" Renate regarded me for a few moments.
"Come inside," she stepped back and jerked her head, "honesty is rare in my world, it should be rewarded."
I stepped inside and followed her into a lounge room that had a bar against the far wall, directly opposite the bar was a very modern looking sofa that stood in marked contrast to the Victorian furniture and paintings. Renate led me to the bar and took the handbag off it and took out a brown paper bag.
"Look you don't have to," I protested, "you gave me a generous tip already."
"I insist," she smiled, "this is not my money, strictly speaking."
She opened the bag and took out a bundle of hundred pound notes.
"I won it at the casino, so it is nothing to me," she peeled off a note and slid it across the bar.
I stared at the pile of money, I had never seen so much money in my life and my first instinct was to refuse it but Renate had an authority about her that almost dictated my next move.
"Thank you," I took the money, "it's really too much."
"I will decide what is too much," she glanced at the bottles behind the bar, "would you like a drink?"
"Um, no, I have to get back to London. They'll have another booking for me but thank you."
"Someone has booked you?"
