CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Blackberry that Chloe gave her buzzes in her lap. "He'll be here soon," she says out loud to herself. It is her first appointment. Her first REAL appointment. The "he" she is referring to is the police commissioner. He has a hero complex, a fetish for women who need rescuing. He's older, not bad looking but below average height. He wants to be the knight in shining armor that rescues the damsel in distress. Her car is parked on a back country road; there is nothing but cornfields on either side. It's pitch black. The beams of her headlights cut into the darkness. She cuts off the engine and pulls the lever that pops the hood. The driver door swings open. The gravel from the road crunches underneath her heel as she steps out. The pale glow of the moonlight reflects off her skin. The humidity leaves a light layer of perspiration on her body. It dampens her shorts where they end; just above the creases of her ass cheeks. The knot tied firmly on the small of her back pulls her wife beater tightly against her breasts. The heat soaks them just enough to see the shadow of their silhouette in the darkness.
She leans over the hood, helplessly searching for a reason for her car to be stalled in the dead of night. The flashing red and blue lights of a patrol car circle, doing their spiraling dance through the clear night air. How very fortunate for him to arrive in her most desperate time of need, when she is alone and vulnerable. Her hero approaches.
"Evening ma'am. Having a little car trouble," he asks out of concern.
"Why yes, officer. I have no idea what the problem might be," she replies.
"Do you mind if I take a look under your hood there, lil' lady?"
"I don't mind at all," she says, sounding as helpless as possible.
He shines his flashlight. The beam blinds her. She can't see his face all she can make out is his stocky frame. His patrolman's hat makes him a few inches taller than he actually is. She stands there in front of him, perfectly framed by her car. Her nipples flash at him like her high beams would if her car wasn't stalled.
"Forgive me, but I have to ask, are you carrying any weapons on you?"
"Yes. Well, just one weapon. It's pretty deadly," she says sultrily.
This question that he has asked routinely so many times most assuredly has never lead to such a risqué encounter such as the one he currently finds himself in the midst of. "Put your hands on the car ma'am, and spread your legs," he instructs.
She puts her hands across the top of her car as instructed. Her slender back is arched deeply. So deep in fact, that her ass lifts ever so slightly in the air, making her tiny shorts sink into her crevice, causing the contours of her crotch to be even more pronounced, and exposes just enough of her plump cheeks to make him forget proper procedure. He slides his hands slowly across her arms and over her shoulders. Goosebumps lift from the softness of his touch. His hands are an amalgamation: tender and strong all at the same time. He reaches his arms around her torso and feels around her breasts, as if anything could be concealed there. Her tits are firm, like a girl twenty years her junior. His palms glide slowly across pebble shaped nipples. All the blood rushes to his member, making it grow faster and bigger than Jack's bean stalk. He presses himself against her, the car hood now bearing both their weight.
"My, what a big pistol you have." She feels his thickness pressed against her plump ass. Her vagina pulses with anticipation of being parted by his massive staff.
"You know what they say; big things come in small packages. Where are you hiding it?"
"It's in the one place you haven't checked."
"Put your hands above your head and interlock your fingers."
"Are you arresting me, officer?"
He gives no dignifying response, pause or second thought before he slides is hands down her waistband and into her soft cunt. "There it is," he says, as he caresses his fingers in her wetness.
"I told you, I'm armed and dangerous," she says as she widens her stance to allow his fingers to gain better access.
With one hand he secures her hands on the back of her head, while the other hand explores every possible nook, cranny and hiding place of her pussy. He burrows his fingers deeper into her hole still seeking to find the weapon it conceals. His rough fingers pressing against her vaginal walls make her squirm. He presses his fingers hard on her clit and rocks them back and forth. "Is this it? Is this your weapon?"
"Sex is a weapon and you've got your finger on the trigger. Don't be afraid to pull it."
His fingers are short and thick. Two of them fill her up quite nicely, but when he slipped the third in, that was the tipping point. "At least read me my rights before you throw me in the back of your car and fuck me senseless," she says in between pants. In one sweeping motion, he whips her hands from off her head and behind her back.
"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you ... I think we can just skip the rest." He lifts her hunched body off the frame of her car and leads her to his squad car. "You're under arrest."
She tries to resist, but between his tight grip and her overstretched pussy, her resistance is only minimal. She walks with a wider gap than normal thanks to the half fisting he'd given her. "Listen. Please! You can't arrest me."
"Watch me."
"Wait. Wait," she says, only putting up half of a fight.
"Watch your head," he says as he's about to put her in the back seat.
"Maybe we can work something else out instead."
He turns her around and sits her on the seat in front of him. The bright floodlights no longer impair her vision now that they've moved off to the side. It wasn't until then that she sees him for the first time. This wasn't just some ordinary cop. No. This was the Police Commissioner, Bradford Sanders who has her accosted like some Jane off the street. He recognizes her too, but he doesn't break form.
"You've been a bad girl, haven't you?"
"Yes, I have. I've been a bad, bad, BAD girl. Will you punish me? Please punish me."
He takes his handcuffs from his belt and squeezes one on her right wrist. He locks the other end of the cuffs to the metal bars covering the window. She is now fully stretched along the back of the squad car; the cheap pleather of the seat is sticking to her and burning her back. He unfastens his pants and lets them drop to about the middle of his thigh. His dick is rather impressive for such a small man. He put the condom on the tip of his penis and rolls it back slowly to accentuate the length of his shaft. It's a good ten inches. Jennifer really hadn't prepared for such a massive undertaking as this. No matter. She prepares herself for the pending police brutality via The District's top cop. And what punishment it was. He slid all of himself into her at once.
"Jesus Christ you've got a big dick! Easy!"
He wasn't here to take it easy on her. That's the last thing he wants to do. He wants to take all the anger he's save up, all the stress of his day and use her pussy as a means to vent those frustrations. He slams the second stroke into her. She pulls down and the handcuff digs into her wrist. His extra long strokes carve out an uncharted path directly to her uterus. His dick touches parts of her pussy she never knew existed. She twists and turns but the cramped quarters don't allow for any extra movement. With her free hand she grips his collar and pulls him down into her. Maybe closer proximity will soften the blows. His deep curve is reshaping her. New crests and valleys are being cut out with each thrust of his mighty loins. She throws her leg over his hip and digs her heel into his half exposed ass. She mimics his downward throws, forcing him to go deeper into. She's never been so completely filled up before. It hurts so good. His heavy breaths are hot on her neck. She can tell he is getting close.
"No. No! You cannot cum until I do. I forbid it!" she screams wildly.
"I don't know if I can help it. You're pussy is so good," he says with his face contorted from the constant constriction on his dick.
He slams into her faster and harder. She's not there yet. She reaches wildly with her left hand for the only thing that would motivate him to keep his passion from bursting. She grabs his gun from his holster and presses it against the side of his head. "You better fuck me 'til I cum or I swear to God," he says with an insatiable rage. There is a mix of fear and anger in his eyes. The barrel of his gun pressed firmly against his temple only heightens his arousal, making his already stiff cock harden even more inside her. "You like that? You like fucking me like your life depends on it?" He doesn't respond with words. He thrusts his hips sharply, burrowing his dick deep into her rib cage.
"Ah. Ah. Yes," she gasps.
"Yes," growls between clinched teeth.
"Fuck me harder."
She moves the gun from the side of his head and into his mouth. He wraps one hand around her neck, squeezing it so tightly that she goes from pale to flush with red in an instant. The other hand he uses to press himself up into a plank position so that he now hovers over her. His triceps ripple as he holds all his weight over her. He slams himself down into her, digging deeper, searching for her buried treasure. The whole rear of the squad car lifts and falls with every reentry into her. Every squeak of the shocks brings her closer to her climax.
Jennifer no longer has control of her body. It seizes and constricts with every punitive blow of his giant dick. She wraps both legs around him and pulls him forcefully into her. The totality of his shaft is buried now inside of her. He's balls deep into her. She can feel his swollen sack against her ass. She pulls the gun from out of his mouth. Her body spasms and she cums, only making the faintest sound as her pussy tightens around his massive cock. The constriction around his dick makes him explode into the condom. She can feel him erupt inside of her and this makes her cum a second time. Her body tightens without warning, involuntarily making her squeeze the trigger. A shot fires out the door and into the corn field. The crackle from the gun echoing through the once endless silence scared the shit completely out of both of them.
He jumps up and bangs his head on the roof of the car. "What the fuck!"
"Shit! Sorry! I'm so sorry."
"Okay. I think I'll just let you off with a warning," he says as he uncuffs her.
Her pussy has been so thoroughly demolished that she can barely make the very short walk back to her car. She sits and turns the key and the car revs right up. "Well would you look at that. It started right up." He slams the hood down, walks to the window, places an envelope in the corner of her dash and tips his hat.
"Drive safely."
She watches in her rear view as the blue and red make one final spin and his tail lights shrink off into the distance, until they completely disappear into the darkness. "Fuck, his dick was big." She knows that she has to go about this in a different way. She can't be on back roads in the middle of nowhere. And she shouldn't be driving herself. Tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow she will dictate the terms of the meeting. Although this was fun, she knows not that she shouldn't have allowed The Commissioner to be in a position of power. This was a lessoned learned. This is unfortunate for Leonardo Catullo. Tomorrow, Mr. Catullo will suffer greatly. She throws her car into gear and pulls off, kicking up gravel underneath her spinning tires.
****
The Maybach is parked in the underground garage and Victor questions whether he has the address correct because the warehouse and surrounding buildings looked to be abandoned. The very large man standing at the back door opens it for him. Victor approaches the man at the bar, tall, shirtless, with a dark tan and slicked black hair.
"Please sit wherever you like. Can I offer you a drink," he asks.
"No. I'm fine. Thank you."
"Very well, then. She will be with you shortly."
Moments later Jennifer arrives and sits across from him at the table. Victor waits patiently for Jennifer to say something. She struggles to find the right words to say. Any offering of an explanation would suffice at this point. He doesn't push her. He knows what she has to ask is important enough to pause and find the correct way to ask. He sits there in his patient way, arms lying on the table, hands folded, and waiting for her to find the words. The place is quiet and empty, save for the man at the bar. He doesn't look at them, but faces forward and tips his tequila. He's far enough away for their conversation to remain private, but close enough for his presence to be felt. The sound of his ice cracking against his glass echoes through the vast space, bouncing off the walls and ceiling.
Victor isn't quite sure what to make of the place. It's a club, he has figured that much out, but with the assortment of whips and various bondage devices hanging from the walls and on display, he's gathered that it is much more than that. "What is this place?"
Jennifer ignores the question. She is not ready for him to know that yet. That will come. What better way to break the ice then to give a complement? "You look as dashing as ever. Thank you for meeting me here so late."
He really did look very dashing. He was always well put together. His taste in clothing is impeccable. His suits were almost always wool and his shoes were always brown. They were kept polished to perfection. The pinstripes of his suit were thin, very subtle. They looked like chalk lines overlaying the dark blue of his jacket. For a man in his fifties, Victor is exceptionally well put together. There is a hint of strength in his arms and shoulders. His paisley ascot rests perfectly in place around his slender neck. She never really paid much attention to how handsome he was until now. Staring at him now she realizes how statuesque his build is.
His features look like they were carved out of stone. His dark hair is cropped close, with only a hint of gray at the edges, just near his temples. For a man with such strong features, he has the softest eyes a person could have. Crow's feet form just at the corners when he smiles. You can look deep into the darkness of his eyes, into his soul and know that there is kindness in him. The type of that makes you feel safe, secure and protected is rare to her, but she see it all in him. She remembers peering into those eyes as a little girl. It was those same eyes that she peered into as she was lifted out of the smoke and ash that fateful night so many years ago. Looking across from him, she remembered.
"I asked you to come because I wanted to retain you as my driver, exclusively."
"Apart from your father, ma'am?"
"Yes. He can know nothing about it."
She takes her time explaining to Victor the delicate nature of her request. She knows that he is loyal to her father, but she hopes that she is just as worthy of his loyalty. She has grown to respect and love him, and doesn't want to compromise him in any way. "The thing is, my new enterprise ... there are things that will be seen and heard that will need to remain under the strictest confidence. I need someone I can trust. You are one of the only people I can say that about. I trust you. I always have since I was a little girl. I remember now what you did for me."
Jennifer looks down at the camel colored driving gloves that have become Victor's signature. She tries to pull the gloves off of his hands, but he draws his hands back as a reflex. She looks at him with a sad stare and asks permission with her eyes. He allows her to remove his gloves. The layers of scar tissue on the back of his hands are thick webs of flesh that have been melted away. She places his hands in her own and kisses them softly.
"I could never repay you."
"There is nothing to repay."
"I can't recall most memories from that day, but I remember being so scared, watching everything burn around me. The flames paralyzed me. I watched my doll house catch fire. I watched the dolls melt and drip from the flames and thought that was how I was going to die. I was going to melt into a puddle like my dolls. Just when I was about to accept my fate and surrender myself to the flames, someone pulled me out. I remembered how they reached down and looked at me. They made me believe that everything was going to be okay. Right there, in the middle of chaos, they made me feel safer than I have ever felt in my entire life. You saved me, Victor. You pulled me out. I remember the heat and the smoke and the smell. I didn't know what the smell was then, but now I know."
She rubs his hands. She remembers all too well the smell of his burning flesh. He got to her in just enough time to cover her before the ceiling fell down around her. He shielded her with his body and covered his head with his hands as the beams crumbled. Chunks of burning debris scorched his hands, melting flesh dripped off his bones. She remembers him screaming in pain, but never compromising her safety. When it was clear, he pulled her and dragged her out of her father's library, barley making it out as the walls fell in on them.
"You never judged me or even asked me why I did what I did. I just had to. I need you to not judge me now. This is something I have to do also."
"I could never judge you. I understand why you did what you did. I was young also. I didn't know what I could have done. I just know I didn't want you to die. Not in that place. I didn't want your spirit to remain there in that house. The house haunted you. You couldn't die there or it would have haunted you for the rest of eternity. That is why you did it."
"Did what," she asks with a puzzled look on her face. She withdraws her hand from his. "What are you talking about? I didn't do anything."
The trauma was too much. Her mind won't let her remember everything. She doesn't remember the lighter fluid or the matches. She doesn't remember the chaos, running through the maze as everyone scrambled to get out, hiding in the center of the labyrinth, curled up, and seeing the inferno and black smoke tower toward the heavens, the crackle of wood splintering in the flames bringing of the collapse of the estate or what happened to her grandfather. No. Those memories are again locked away, hidden in some chamber in some dark corner of her mind. He resolves that this is probably for the best.
"Nothing," he replies. He wipes her tears that have begun to fall and kisses her on her hand. "I will gladly be at your service."
"Good. We have a busy week. I know you have questions and there are things that I need to explain."
"I don't have any questions. I will be available to do whatever it is you need me to do."
"I need you to be my Alfred."
"Alfred?"
"I can't be Batman without an Alfred, now can I?"
"I suppose not."
"I need to tell my father that I'm stealing you from him."
"Why don't you let me worry about that?"
"I think it should come from me."
"No. He will ask too many questions. I can handle it. Trust me."
"Okay, then. It's settled. Pick me up here tomorrow night at 11:00 pm."
He looks over at the man sitting at the bar, who she neglected to introduce him to. "Should I see you home tonight?"
"No, I'm fine." She watches as Victor walks out the back and into the garage.
"Do you know what you are doing," asks The Man from Portugal.
"No. We both need to have a little faith, I suppose."
"I have faith in you. Him - I don't know."