She bent forward to peer in the open window. ”Ooohh…kinky, baby. You two looking for a date?” Her accent had a southern twang suggesting she were from Kentucky.
“Tara?” I asked almost in a whimper.
Her eyes caught mine and recognition filled them.
Alfred looked from her to me and back again.
Her mouth opened, but no sound came until she had blinked twice. ”Cross, is that you?” Her accent now, with relief, was British.
“All I remember is going into Prince Stefan’s room to see the slaughter, and you not there. Then it all went dark.” Tara sipped from her coffee. “I woke up and some man was telling me to get dressed and out to my spot. It all felt wrong, but I did it.”
I sat beside her and rubbed her back at the shoulder blades. “How long were you out there before we found you?”
“Four years!!!???” My eyes shot across the small diner table to Alfred. “I only arrived here an hour ago.”
“The pimp kept calling me Sandy.”
Alfred leaned forward over his coffee and answered, “The person in control of her sex work is called a pimp. Usually who the money goes to.”
I nodded. I did not entirely understand, but found it as though he were a slaver…something I truly detested, but was common enough in the social circles of the prince when I was working for him.
With joints squeaking from overuse…and the fact the diner owner was too cheap to fix robots…waitress stepped up with three plates and distributed bacon and eggs to each. Then a quick return from the front counter with a warm up of coffee.
I waited until the metal beast moved away from the table, unaware there were listening devices everywhere, he continued, “Where is this pimp?”
“We must end this arrangement, my love.”
She blinked at me.
Not once had I called anyone, “my love” before. It had slipped out naturally and even I felt surprised.
“I’m not sure we can end it.”
Alfred agreed as he cut his egg, “It certainly won’t be easy.”
“Why? We have money, do we not?”
“You’re going to buy her?” Alfred asked with a chuckle.
My brow creased as I tried to understand. “You would prefer I mash this pimp into a pulp?”
Tara touched my arm. “I’m not sure he will sell.”
“Is he not a business man?”
Breakfast was finished in near silence.
We walked back out to the loading plank of the diner. Alfred put us into a carriage and gave our driver instructions on where to take us. “I will catch up with you shortly,” he said and closed us in.
Tara lay her head on my shoulder as we pulled away.
My anxiousness again grew, not understanding how this horseless carriage was floating above the ground.
“I am so glad you are here,” she whispered.
“We could run away. Somewhere that pimp won’t find us,” I said feeling the compulsion to protect her.
She laughed and her hands moved on me.
I jumped when she found the zipper in my pantaloons and tugged down.
The driver of the cab, obviously sensing what was going on, adjusted his mirror so he could watch.
“What are you doing,” I asked…perhaps it was the most stupid question I had ever asked…but I asked nonetheless.
“I’m hungry,” she growled in my ear.
“Honey,” her accent had returned to Sandy’s southern twang, “I may not like my pimp, but I love the sex.” With a quick tug, her hand pulled my erection out. She moved her hair so the cab driver had a perfect view.
At first I wanted to stop her…but then I decided to endure…and likely enjoy.
Her lips touched my penis with a shock sending waves through me. Her warm mouth devouring my erection as the cab rocked and the driver watched. Her pace was perfect, bringing me quickly to near ecstacy…then stopping to let me down some before continuing again.
I am not certain when her leather shorts were taken off, but it was not long before there was a thigh high boot on either side of me and she lowered herself onto my erection. It was not long until I was moaning and she was screaming.
Our bodies were still clothed, her in her corset, I in my shirt…but sweat was exchanged as we danced and kissed until, finally, our orgasms came together.
She got off me and slipped back into her shorts.
Only then did we realize the cab had stopped and the driver was no longer using his mirror.
“Can we continue?” I asked.
“We’re here,” he answered with a bright smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t have the heart to tell you.”
Tara laughed. “What’s the fare?”
“Oh, no charge. This one’s on me.”
We quietly slipped from the car. I handed the driver a ten-dollar credit as a tip. “Thank you.”
“No, really, thank you, sir.” The driver pulled away and did not mention that he was about to turn the scene he had just watched…and recorded on the car’s interior cam…into a published erotic short story that would go viral and finally allow him to retire this life of servitude he had been living working for Blue & Gray Cabs.
The sign over the platform read “Sheraton”.
“I usually get taken to those pay-by-the-hour places on Black Street Forty. This is…”
“Let us go in before the rain starts again.”
“Cross, it is going to look strange going in with me on your arm. They’ll know I’m a hooker.”
Looking her up and down, I knew what she meant but only three words escaped my mouth, “I don’t care.” I wrapped my suit jacket over her shoulders and took her inside.