By Margo Perry  (margo707 AT rogers DOT com)
Copyright 2004 by Margo Perry, all rights reserved.

Manny Jay checked himself in the mirror that hung on the wall beside his locker. His dark suit, tie and starched white shirt hung well on his slender 6’2’ frame and his spit and polished oxfords would have satisfied the uniform demands of a 5 Star General. Satisfied, he nodded imperceptibly and donned his cap, adjusting it jauntily just a little to the side.

“Lookin’ pretty, Music Man!”

Manny laughed. The other drivers gave him a hard time about his good looks and fastidiousness, but he didn’t mind. It was all in good fun and, two weeks new to the job, it made him feel welcome.

8:00 PM Pick-up: 555 Grand Circle Drive for Ms. Lois Cole …

Full service stretch limo … 4 Hours on the town … no destinations confirmed.

The dispatcher’s voice boomed through the lounge, where drivers slept, watched TV or chatted over coffee and echoed across the garage, where inspectors checked the cars for mechanical readiness and supplies.

“Give her to Manny,” Billy Hill shouted, and his suggestion was followed by a burst of raucous laughter as spontaneous as the uproar that follows your team’s baseball as it sails out of the park.
“Why me?” Manny asked suspiciously.

“Because we’ve all had her and now it’s your turn.” Hillbilly, as the drivers called him, had come up behind Manny and was whispering conspiratorially in his ear. “It’ll be a ride you’ll never forget!”

“I don’t know about that,” Manny said nervously.

What Hillbilly was hinting at bothered him. Manny was a musician who’d taken this job to pay his rent and eat, while he composed and did what he had to do to set up his own band. He wasn’t trying to get laid. All he wanted was to make his money and go home to his guitar.

“Manny to the office. Manny to the office.”

“Go get her, Manny,” Hillbilly snorted.

Manny grabbed his CD case – he never went anywhere without it - and headed across the room.
“You should be ashamed of yourself, Billy,” said P.J., the oldest driver in the fleet and himself a sometime piano player. “You know that boy is doing this gig just for the bread and here you’ve wished him on that cheap man-eater. He’ll be back by midnight with a limp dick and empty pockets. You should be ashamed of yourself!”
“Trial by fire,” Hillbilly laughed. “We all gotta’ get burned sometime.”

“The last time I had her, she sat in the back drinking while I drove around the city for four hours listening to her bitch about men. And she tipped me for the first time,” P.J. recollected, “five cents. I guess giving me nothing wasn’t mean enough. Now you got that boy worrying about being seduced when all he’s gonna’ get is some woman tellin’ him that he’s not worth the air he’s breathin’!”

“Well, at least she’s a looker,” Hillbilly said. “Those tits of hers are worth the ride. I bet she could be something else if she set her mind to it.”

“I get the feelin’ that that husband of hers screwed the juice right out o’ her before he run off,” P. J. said. “Left her with nothin’ but a dry pussy, a shit load of money an’ a lot of hate. Gotta’ feel sorry for ‘er.”
“You feel sorry for her,” Hillbilly said. “I’d just like to screw her till she begs, the fuckin’ cow.”

Manny returned to the lounge, contract in hand.

“Be careful,” Hillbilly warned ominously.

Manny headed for the garage and Car #32 without breaking stride. Hillbilly’s banter had stirred a cauldron of memories. In his last year of High School, when working for Lomm’s Groceries on the Go, he’d delivered an order to May Watts . . .he could still see her, answering her door in her loosely tied dark blue satin housecoat, her heels spiked so high that she could look him straight in the eye. But that didn’t stop him from seeing all of her: taking in her tits that spilled out of her matching bra, noticing her bejeweled belly button that emphasized the tautness of her stomach, the scantiness of her matching panties.
“Don’t just stand there,” she purred. “Come in. Make yourself useful.”

He remembered her not moving, forcing him to brush against her, against them to get inside the door. He followed her into the kitchen where she sat at a table. She leaned forward, arms placed strategically on the table so that her breasts fell over them, so that her cleavage grew longer and tighter, her titty flesh grew in mass the longer he looked. And he couldn’t stop looking. She saw to that.

“Why don’t you put my groceries away. I’ll make you glad you did.”

It was as if her words were connected directly to his cock and Manny had difficulty following her instructions. He could feel a delicious tightening in his balls and his cock was pleading a hard case against the fabric of his pants like a prisoner would against the walls of his cell, both desperate to get out. He didn’t remember putting what where, but he remembered her sitting there, uncrossing her legs and letting them fall open. He remembered worrying about her seeing his erection. He remembered her sighing and telling him that he was a good boy. He remembered her sighing and rubbing her crotch. He remembered her sighing and massaging her breasts, pinching her own nipple through the lace of her bra.
“Hurry,” she said, finally. “Come to me.”

He stood in front of her and she unzipped his jeans. “Oh my,” she said, as she caressed his young, hard cock. “Yummy,” she said as she kissed it, sucked it, licked and fingered it. She stopped just as his knees buckled and he warned that he was about to come. “Don’t move,” she said.

She stood up, took off her panties and bent over the table, presenting her ass and pussy to him. He was so ready. He fucked her until he came. And then she lay and he knelt on her kitchen floor and sucked her pussy until she came. They retired to her bedroom and fondled and kissed and sucked each other, giving and receiving pleasure that grew and intensified until she sat on his cock and rode him again. He lasted longer that time and they came together, panting and howling. He forgot why he was there until the phone rang and it was Lomm’s manager asking if he’d delivered the groceries, asking if he were till there, asking to speak to him. May passed him the phone.

“Bring back the truck and report to the office. You’re fired.”
May Watts laughed, but Manny didn’t. The experience cost him plenty. Without a job, he forfeited his music lessons for a whole month and he decided that if his music was important to him, and it was, he would have to keep centered.

Manny climbed somberly into the limo and drove ten blocks in contemplative silence. The night was clear as if the day’s early showers and subsequent bright sunlight had washed and dried the stars to a brilliant shine. A sliver of a moon invited dreaming and Manny began to play his latest composition in his head. He began to hear drums beating against his melody. Too mundane! He began to improvise with the rhythms and the results began to excite him. He knew because his cock started to tingle and a crooked smile tugged at the corners of his lips. By the time he reached Grand Circle Drive, he was adding a string section to the tune he’d just entitled, Stars Raining Down, and although it was an instrumental, he knew it was about dreams dissolving before they could come true. He was determined not to let that happen to him.
He arrived at his designated address at 7:40 PM and used the car phone to call his customer.

Miss Cole, it’s Manny, your limo driver. I’m downstairs …Yes, I’m early and I’ll be glad to wait …No problem. Sorry.

Manny hung up the phone. She sounded as miserable as she could be and that was fine with him. The last thing he wanted was to have to deal with some horny woman. He returned to his song and started imagining a saxophone, rather than a string section. He wished he was home with his guitar and computer. He couldn’t wait to lay down the new tracks for Stars Raining Down. Hear how they sounded. He pulled his demo copy of the songs he’d already finished from his case and fed it into the CD player. He’d stretch his legs, listen to the flow and figure out where his new tune would fit.

He stepped out of the car and bumped into something just outside the door. Her! He could immediately smell her perfume, a sweet odor with a tangy citrus edge.

“For God’s sake, you scared me to death!”

The woman’s voice was deep and breathy at the same time and didn’t sound scared at all. Annoyed, but not scared.

“Good evening, Ms. Cole. I’m Manny your driver for the evening. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“Fine then, let’s get going.”

Manny opened the limo door, marveling at the image that stood in front of him. The woman reminded him of a movie star, someone out of a time long past. She wore a cape that hung open to reveal a creamy satin blouse unbuttoned low enough to reveal large breasts billowing out of a white lace bra. A single strand of pearls encircled her swan-like neck and then hung alluringly over the long, narrow line of her cleavage. Her black sheath skirt clung to the curves of her hips and ass, only to fold over itself demurely, ready and able to reveal her thighs or surely matching white panties. She looked at Manny and then moved past him to climb into the limo. He noticed the straight seams of her silk stockings and the seductive poise of her stiletto heels. She wore a pillbox hat and her piercing blue eyes gazed insolently at him through a black veil. She pouted her ruby red lips, almost smiling, and Manny melted. Here was a woman who knew her power. And Manny felt it; excitement, fear and a sense of anticipation grabbed hold of him. This woman was ready, but for what? He couldn’t help noticing the sway of her heavy breasts as she stooped into the limo, shrugged off her cape and sat back, surveying her surroundings as she crossed her long shapely legs provocatively.
“I’d like to drive through the city and out to Orchid Park,” she said.

“Can I fix you a cocktail or a glass of wine before we begin?” he asked.
“No, I’ll help myself, thank you. You’re the driver. All you have to do is drive!”
Manny scurried into the front seat, turned off his music and began to cautiously negotiate her curved driveway.

“Leave the music. It’s nice.”

Manny felt pleased and resentful at the same time: pleased because she liked his music and resentful because she was ordering it up like a hamburger at a fast food stand and it was too private, too precious to him for that. He could hear her shuffling around. He watched her in his mirror as she folded her cape and rested it on the seat opposite her. She grabbed a bottle of white wine from the fridge, opened it and plucked a wine glass from the cabinet. She poured herself a glass.

“Would you like the partition closed?” Manny asked, his finger already on the button.
“All I want closed is your mouth. What’s wrong with you men? Always ready to give us what we don’t want. When we want something, we just wait and wait. What’s wrong with men?” she asked again.
Manny had hoped that the question was rhetorical. “I’m sorry Ma’am, but I don’t know what’s wrong with men. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Manny’s eyes met hers in the mirror. She was lifting her veil and her eyes were cobalt glaziers. He wondered what had made her so bitter and angry. Why was a beautiful woman like her renting a limousine to drive around in aimlessly? Didn’t she have any friends? Manny remembered what the other drivers had been insinuating. Would she get drunk and come on to him? Was that her pattern? She was toying with the pearls around her neck and the length of them had fallen into the crevice of her cleavage. Manny could feel his skin getting warm and tingly. Her breasts were so full and they looked so soft. Manny imagined resting his head on them, burrowing into them as if they were his favorite pillows. She was so beautiful. She had downed her first glass of wine like it was water and was pouring a second. The determination with which she drank frightened Manny. His parents were alcoholics and this woman was reminding him of a childhood awash in booze, loud fights and tearful recriminations about things his developing mind couldn’t understand.
“So what do you do beside driving around in a cab and making some woman miserable?”

Her deep voice curled tight around each word like a wild cat waiting to spring.
“There’s no woman to make miserable, Ma’am. I play guitar and write songs. That’s it.”

“Oh you’re one of those dreamers,” she said dismissively, but her voice had softened. “My college sweetheart was a pianist, but that wasn’t good enough for me. I had to go out and find myself a money bags and look where that’s gotten me.”

Manny held his breath. This conversation was getting way too personal. He concentrated on the road.”
“He stayed around for ten years and then dumped me for his secretary. How predictable is that?”
“That’s too bad,” Manny said, his tone flat and noncommittal.

“I suppose you’re dreaming of making your own CD someday. Well at least you’ve got good taste. What’s the name of the one that’s playing? The music is wonderful.”

She was pouring her third glass of wine and Manny didn’t know if he wanted to tell her that the music was his. He was afraid to expose that part of himself to this woman. Not that he really cared about what she thought . . .

“Well?” she said.

What the hell, Manny thought. He had trained himself to listen objectively to his tunes, as though they were another’s compositions, played by musicians he didn’t know. The car was filled with the strains of ‘Basic Bones’, a Latin number that he played on acoustic guitar with Ted, his teacher, on bass and another friend on keyboard. Manny couldn’t help glancing in his mirror, trying to gauge her reactions. She seemed to be staring blankly into the distance and Manny had no idea what she was thinking or feeling.

Manny turned off of the short stretch of highway that had led out of the city and into Orchid Park. He lowered his windows slightly, enjoying the smell of orchids floating in the night’s fresh air; listening to the sound of a fountain’s water flowing along rock. He loved the park: the grass, the velvety green of the trees, the stars and moon peeping through. He brought his guitar and practiced here sometimes. ‘Wishing You’ was playing, a song he’d written about a love he longed for, a woman who didn’t exist. It made him sad, but he liked its haunting resolutions. It wasn’t a bad tune at all. He had almost forgotten he was on a job. Almost.

Manny glanced in the mirror. The woman had taken off her hat and Manny noticed that her hair was copper red, shiny and braided in a single plait that fell over her shoulder and onto her massive breasts. She was staring right into Manny’s eyes, smiling wistfully and her lips were slightly parted. She seemed to have transformed herself into another character, one moved by very different impulses.

“Drive to the edge of the bluffs. The music,” she whispered. “Who is it? I’d like to enjoy the view and just listen.”

Manny drove toward the bluffs; those steep rugged rocks leading relentlessly toward the vast blue lake. It was his favorite spot in the park and he played here often. He loved it because it made him feel so big and so small; so significant and so insignificant at the same time. It was his aim in life to always feel special and ordinary, both at the same time, and when he was here with his music, he knew it. He felt it. He parked the limo.

“It’s my music. I’m collecting material for my first CD and this is what I’ve got so far.”
A small sigh drew Manny’s attention back to the mirror. And he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The woman’s head was flung back slightly and she was licking her lips slowly and wetly. Her legs were spread wide and while one hand held her panties aside, she used the other to stroke and probe her glistening pussy. Manny could still smell her perfume, but it was now mixed with the earthy muskiness of her sexuality.

“What’s your name?”
“Manny.”
She had raised her hips and was wiggling out of her panties. She lifted one leg and then the other, negotiating the bikinis gracefully over her high heels and it was the most erotic, enticing movement Manny had ever seen. And the sound of her breathing, raspy and deep; the sound of her groans, horny and hungry, filled him with wanting. His fear, his anxiety was lost in the onslaught of this woman’s blatant lasciviousness and he was driven by it. Her horniness filled his cock and balls, made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. And he could hardly breathe.

“Manny who?” she asked. “You’re going to be famous some day. Your music says so. You’re wasting your time driving a limo, Manny.”
“Manny Jay.”
“Perfect.”

She had unbuttoned her blouse completely and was lifting her humungous breast out of its cup. She was twisting her erect nipple with one hand while the other was lost beneath the mountain it was supporting.
“I need your help, Manny Jay. Come here.”

This was the one thing he had promised would never happen again, the mixing of work and play. Manny couldn’t help himself. He was out of the front seat of the limo and climbing into the back door that she’d opened for him, in no time flat.

She took Manny’s cap off his head and placed it on hers. It was an act of dominance and her smile, that was almost a sneer, proved it.

“Come,” she said, offering Manny her tit. “It loves being sucked. Not too hard.”

She stroked Manny’s head lovingly. She played with his cock, tracing it with one finger, rubbing it hard, squeezing it until a huge glob of pre-cum oozed helpless out of him wetting his jeans. She played with her pussy and placed a wet finger under Manny’s nose.

“Oh God,” Manny groaned.
“Take off your clothes,” she said.

As Manny struggled out of his clothes, she talked about his music, piece by piece. She was articulate, analytical and obviously schooled in music. All the while, she stroked her pussy or breasts. All the while, she spoke through moans. She took his hat off her head and placed it back on his. It was the only thing he was wearing and it somehow underscored his nakedness.

She opened her legs wide and he entered her without preamble. There was no gentleness in their fucking. Not at first. She goaded him into taking her swiftly, assuredly.

“Show me you mean it. Fuck me like your playing your guitar ever again depends on it.”

And when she mentioned his guitar, it made him crazy. She had no right. He needed her to know who was boss. He pumped her like a madman while, lost in pleasure, she stroked her clit. And they came together, calling on every god they knew.

Manny lay back exhausted only to find himself bathed in a flurry of kisses so gentle that he thought he felt love. She had chameleoned herself into yet another version of woman and Manny had never felt so taken care of, so rich in the aftermath of love. She must have kissed every inch of his body, insisting that he just lie there, just accept. And he did until his small cock grew rubbery with anticipation. She kissed it until if filled her mouth and then she licked it, telling him to rest, until it grew small again.

He would have slept were it not for his responsibilities. He got out of the car and breathed the fresh air while she tidied herself.

“Thank you so much,” he said, as he started the car. “You were wonderful.”

“So were you,” she said. “How would you like to work full time on your music, get your CD produced?”
“It would be a dream come true,” Manny said.

It was 11:15 PM when she woke her lawyer and recited terms for a contract that she wanted on her desk by morning. It was 11:30 PM when she kissed Manny passionately . . . until tomorrow. It was 11:55 PM when he thanked the dispatcher for assigning him the job that changed his life and 11: 56 PM when he quit.
“Way to go, Manny,” P.J. said and his comment was followed by a cheer as spontaneous as the uproar that follows your team’s baseball as it sails out of the park.

Manny hadn’t just hit a home run; he had won the whole game. And all Hillbilly could do was shake his head.