The Car – A Daray Tale

It’s been weeks fraught with much tension between Dar and I. Work has picked up once again, I spend long hours in the office and return home so exhausted that Diablo’s final evening walk seems an effort. I force myself, he needs his relief and I need the cold, crisp air. The polite greetings of my fellow dog walking neighbors remind me that there is life outside the office and away from Dar.

I have barely seen him since the incident at my mother’s house. Forgiving him, though I’m not sure forgiving is the right word, it was more a coming to terms with confronting my childhood fears and fantasies, hasn’t been easy. It was the way he left me, tied to the bed, exhausted, hyper-emotional and nearly helpless, that seems to have triggered a resentment of sorts. A resentment I am having a hard time leaving behind. Our schedules don’t help. Sometimes I wish he’d leave his job and do something less demanding. It’s not that he can’t afford to. He could never work another day in his life and he’d still be able to live more comfortably than most. But Dar has a goal in mind, one he won’t abandon, not even for me, and that level of fiscal security means it will be years, if ever, before he’ll consider indulging in his artistic aspirations.

Christmas is fast approaching and with it will be the usual familial obligations. Dar’s parents and sister live out of state and I am not sure if he intends to travel to see them or if we’ll spend the time here with my mom and Maggie’s family. I have a feeling there will be some dissension over our holiday arrangements. So, Dar’s call to me on Friday morning comes as a complete surprise.

“I’ve booked us into a B&B for tonight, Tess. It’s not too far away, less than three hours from the city, in Woodstock. We can try and get in some skiing or if the conditions aren’t great, we can always do some Christmas shopping. I miss seeing you, bitch,” he says.

I’m taken slightly aback. I want very much to do just that but there is still much to do and I’ll have to kill myself to be able to leave the office on time. And then there’s Diablo. But I know whatever it takes for me to be able to do this, to spend time with this man I love, even though all the emotional bullshit remains fresh in my mind, I will do.

“When do we have to leave, Dar? And what about Diablo? And, I love you and I miss you too. So damn much.”

“Can you get out of your office and pack what you’ll need by five. We’ll go out to dinner after we check in. You can bring Diablo, this place allows small, ahem, well-behaved dogs.”

I can almost see his sardonic smile. And it warms my heart knowing that he must have gone to extra effort to accommodate my beloved little pet. Of course I can get out of work early. I’ll do whatever it takes to accomplish that. How quickly Dar is able to change my moods and my feelings toward him. I am lost in him. We both know it.

“I’ll call you when I’m outside you’re building. And Tess, it’s one night, try to contain yourself to one suitcase. We’ll rent skis if we need them; the weather report is utterly useless.”

I hang up smiling and with a new energy that allows me to storm through my day. I make my way home, changing into something casual and comfortable for the drive up yet nice enough for dinner out. I settle on a short grey tweed skirt, cranberry cashmere turtleneck, grey cable knit tights and black suede boots with a kitten heel that reach just over my knees. My overnight bag is packed and I have Diablo’s travel case, Dar is not thrilled with him prancing all over his leather seats. I either hold him on my lap or he’s relegated to his case.

I shiver against the damp chill in the air as I wait for Dar to pull up. I pull up the collar of my shearling coat and tighten my scarf. Bending, I lift Diablo and snuggle him against my chest. I was too excited to wait upstairs for Dar’s call and I figured I’d give Diablo a quick walk before confining him to the car. It feels and smells like snow. This is both wonderful and a bit frightening to me. I love the enchantment of a winter’s landscape, the way the pristine gleam of fresh snow transforms my often grimy city into a magical place. Like a child, I can be found outdoors, head tilted back, mouth open wide to catch snowflakes on my tongue or simply staring entranced at the dancing spirals of snowflakes as they whirl, blown by the whim of the wind, in the hushed glow of a streetlamp. But I have an intense aversion to driving in the snow. I have driven, grave and white knuckled, through many a snowstorm. A few of Maggie’s friends had gone upstate to college and we’d gotten caught too many times in unpredicted storms. As inseparable as we were, I never let her go alone. If I couldn’t convince her not to go, I went along albeit with gritted teeth.

Dar pulls up and honks the horn, lost as I am between the excitement and my vague worries, I didn’t even notice him. Dar gets out, kisses me lightly, grabs my suitcase and places it in the trunk. I take off my coat, place it and Diablo’s case on the back seat and settle into the heated leather seat beside him.

“How was your day, Tess,” he asks. And I tell him about all the insanity going on at work and how just as I was leaving, Andrew told me that Chase Webber wants me to work on his latest campaign.

“I don’t care for him, Tess,” he says, “if there is anything else you need to tell me, sooner would be better than later.”

“Dar, I can’t believe you think for a moment I’d consider him as a lover,” I say with a laugh.

“I’m serious, Tess. You may not have that in mind, but I know men and I’ve seen how he looks at you and now he has weaseled himself back into your life.”

“He’s a client, Dar, no more and no less. Should I have told Andrew to turn away his business? I’m sure that would go over really well.”

“I detect a tone. I suggest you watch your attitude, bitch.”

“Can we change the subject, please? I’m sorry if it sounded harsher than I meant. It’s business, I have to work with him. That’s all.”

“Fine, Tess. Enough of that for now. Let’s concentrate on having a pleasant drive, a quiet dinner at an amazing restaurant and on what you’ll be doing to thank me for all that after.” He emphasizes his words by stretching out right arm, grabbing my neck and pulling me towards him. He squeezes the back of my neck so tightly I let out a little yelp and Diablo, asleep in my lap, wakes with a yap.

“What will you do to show your gratitude, bitch,” he asks, taking his dark eyes off the road for a long moment to stare into mine with a look that makes me squirm in my seat.

“I am your bitch, Dar. I’ll do anything for you, whatever you ask. You know that.”

“Anything,” he queries with that cool, unwavering tone that always gives me pause.

He moves his hand from my neck to my thighs, pushing them apart and squeezing the tender flesh so hard that I know his fingers will leave their imprint in purples, reds and blues. It’s hard to answer him; I’m wriggling as I try to make sure Diablo doesn’t get in his way and struggling just to breathe into the pain rather than to move away from him.

“Anything,” he asks again, squeezing harder.

“Yes, anything,” I finally say.

“My good girl,” he says, pulling me to him and bestowing me with a soft kiss. “Now put that dog in his case and touch yourself for me, I want you writhing and panting, like the horny little slut you are, as we drive.”

I obey him. With Diablo secure in his case, I lift up my rear and pull my tights and panties down and part my thighs as far as possible. He tells me he wants to see my tits too and I hesitate a moment as I think about the passing trucks and SUV’s that can see directly into the car when we pass. But I do it, I push my sweater up and lift my breasts out of my bra, feeling so exposed and so excited. I’m soaked when my fingers make their way to my cunt.

“How wet are you, slut?”

“I’m so damn wet for you, Dar. So warm and slippery and soaked. You’ve really made me your slut.”

“My slut or a slut?”

“Dar….” I say, slightly wounded even though I know it’s just another of his mind fucks. But it doesn’t matter that I know it, part of me still starts at those words and he knows it and uses it against me. “I’m yours. All yours.” As I answer him my fingers continue to alternate between stroking my clit and fucking myself. Wet, sucking sounds fill the interior of the car. I’m so close to coming, so close, when I look to my right and see that we are about to pass a truck. I know all the driver has to do is look down and he’ll be treated to the sight of me: thighs splayed wide, breasts spilling from my bra, hips rolling up as my fingers sink deeper inside my dripping cunt. I think I should be horrified, or at least ashamed, but I find I’m not, the thought arouses me and Dar notices.

Pulling along the truck and slowing to keep pace, he speaks in that deep smooth tone, a voice as rich and smooth as chocolate mousse minus the sweetness. “Come for me, bitch, and for our audience.” I moan in response, louder as his hand finds my leg and his fingers dig into my soft skin again, and then slide along the curve of my thigh finding the heat of my cunt and slipping inside as my own fingers stroke my clit harder. I come hard, absorbed in the sensation of my muscles gripping and squeezing his fingers, my eyes closed, my head thrown back, my mouth open wide, breathing jagged only allowing low guttural sounds, not words, to escape. Opening my eyes, I glance to my right and catch the young truck driver’s smile, before Dar speeds up leaving him behind.

“Good girl,” he says, his fingers still ensconced in the warmth of my sex. I reach for his erection, so evident under his soft grey flannel trousers. I squeeze his cock hard and am satisfied as he shifts in his seat. Remembering the feel of him buried deep inside me, makes me shiver. “Not now, Tess,” he says, “not now.” I sulk a bit, pulling away, straightening my clothes. He pulls me back to him, touches his rough cheek indicating where I am to bestow a kiss. I do. My lips linger there, soft velvety lips rubbing against the stubble on his face. I’d rub my lips raw on his face if he’d let me, but he wants to concentrate on driving now and after rescuing my pet from his case, I settle back into my seat, stroking Diablo and fiddling with the radio.

We arrive at our destination. I see it’s a quaint little B&B which has, in addition to rooms in the main house, a small converted barn serving as a separate guest room. Dar has booked that room for us. The owner, a woman in her early sixties, tells Dar of a wonderful French restaurant only about fifteen miles away. She calls ahead and reserves a table for us. Petting and cooing to Diablo, she says she’d be happy to look after him if we’d like. As we head for the door, she shouts a warning, “Snow’s coming. You’d best be careful driving back. They’re predicting quite the storm within the new few hours.. But you know how it is with these weather people….” She ends with an exaggerated shrug of her shoulders. Dar thanks her and says we’ll certainly be careful.

The room is immense with a high ceiling from which an old wooden kayak is suspended. A fire already burns in the grate; red flames lick their fiery tongues at the logs which snap and sputter sending embers flying onto the stone hearth. But the highlight of the room is a king-size wrought iron framed bed that sits squarely in the center of the room. It has a coverlet the color of a glass of deep, rich claret and is loaded with pillows in fabrics that demand to be touched. Pillows of suede, chenille, fleece, fur and silk abound. After Dar puts our luggage out of the way, in a closet, he looks at me, smiles his brilliant smile and in three long strides has me in his arms and tosses me onto the bed in the middle of that riot of rich color and tactile sensations. He’s on top of me, his cock straining against his trousers, pushing into my pelvis, as he grabs my arms and holds them above my head in one of his strong hands. There’s softness, a smile, in his brown eyes as his finger sensuously traces a path from my temple, along my cheekbone, down my nose and finally lingers at my lips. Unconsciously, I part them and his finger glides over my teeth and the inside of my lip. It’s so unexpectedly gentle and erotic, as he continues to stare at me without a word, only the sound of our respiration and the fire crackling, that I want to cry when he suddenly stops and with a final kiss, pulls me up, and says, “Later, now, I’m starved and we have reservations.”

I try my best to hide my disappointment and I’m hungry as well, though I would gladly have ceded food tonight. Outside the snow has begun to fall in earnest and I try to relax. The muscles in my thighs won’t stop tightening each time the car loses traction. When we get to the restaurant, I ask Dar to order some wine.

“I’m not drinking tonight,” he replies, “the weather…”

“Do you mind if I have a glass or two?”

“Of course not, love, whatever you like.”

Dinner is wonderful, the staff attentive without being obtrusive and the food exquisitely prepared and plated. Dar strokes my hand and tells me about his week from hell and how he is going to forget all that once we are back at the hotel and he has me tied to that bed. After three glasses of wine, I am more than eager to have that happen. Though I forgo dessert, Dar, wanting to be even more alert for the drive back, orders an espresso.

Outside, a blanket of thick white enshrouds the world. The temperature must be just right for the flakes are large and fluffy and perfect. They land on the sleeve of my warm coat and I turn my arm to see as many as I can. I’m amazed at being able to see the fragile individuality of each flake. Dar hustles me inside the car as he brushes off the layer of snow that softens all sound. The roads haven’t been plowed and I feel myself gripping the armrest tightly. I try to relax by breathing deeply and taking in the bucolic beauty that surrounds us made even more spectacular by the shimmering crystalline snow. Evergreens sag under the weight of the accumulated snowfall; only random traces of fir green are now visible. Deciduous trees, leaves long left behind after a final burst of autumnal glory, groan as their branches struggle to endure the burden of the storm. Dar is an excellent driver, like everything else he does he is precise and unerring, adjusting naturally to the conditions. As we round a bend, the car fishtails and I can’t help myself, I gasp and my knuckles grow white as I squeeze the armrest even harder.

Dar takes his eyes off the road for a moment and fixes them on me, “This making you nervous, pet?” His voice is not kind, he sounds as he always does when he finds a weakness he is about to exploit.. His words seem lustful, steeped in adrenaline and testosterone. I’m frightened and this time I don’t try to hide it.

“I hate driving in the snow, Dar. Please just pay attention to driving.”

“Giving me orders now, are you, Tess? Mm, don’t yet know how well that works after all this time?”

“Not an order, I’m scared and I’m asking you to please let it go. Just this once. Please.”

As if in reply, he speeds up slightly, but in these conditions it’s all that’s needed to send that car into a skid; a skid that he easily corrects for. He delights in each little gasp it elicits from me. I find my anger rising. The crimson heat of my cheeks, the way my lip begins to quiver, the insane thumping of my heart against my chest and the knot in my stomach, all manifestations of fear and a slowly rising fury.

Dar pulls me to him, fingers pressing into back of my neck, trying to force my head to his lap. I resist and pull away, huddling against the door, as far from him as I can get. Has he lost his mind, I wonder. He wants me to suck his cock while he drives in a damn near blizzard.

“What’s wrong, pet? Not going to suck my cock like a good girl?”

“No, Dar. There is no way I am going to do that now. No way.”

His voices lowers, a chill in his tone, “You’re refusing me?”

“Yes, I am. I am not going to assist you in getting us both killed. One of us has to be sane.”

“Are you sure you want to deny me, bitch? Are you very, very sure?”

Truthfully I am not that sure. But I know that it is madness, would be madness to do as he asks. I cannot and will not do something so dangerous. I won’t.

“In this case, I am sure.”

“Do you think I’d really have let you do that, Tess? Do you think I’d have risked our lives for a bit of head? I thought you trusted me more than that. I’m disappointed and you know when I am disappointed, there are always consequences.”

“Is this what that was? Some kind of fucked up test of my devotion?”

“Call it what you will, bitch. There are few things I demand from you but one of them is your trust.”

“Please, Dar, just get us back. As always, feel free to exact your price on my flesh – once we get back.”

“Oh, I will, Tess, I will. And in a way you might not have expected. You see I’ve brought new toys.”

And that’s all he says for the rest of the drive filled with tension and apprehension. We manage to arrive safely and I refuse to take his arm but storm through the snow nearly falling on my ass. I go to the main house to get my pet and Dar heads back to our room. I make polite conversation with our hostess when I collect Diablo, who is exhausted from playing with her dogs, two yappy little Chihuahuas, before heading back to our room.

Dar has the fire blazing once again. He’s removing his shirt when I enter. I watch as the muscles in his back ripple when he tosses another log on the fire, and despite my anger, I feel myself getting aroused. He turns and advances towards me. My heart beats wildly, but I struggle to keep my face impassive. I’m still so angry that he would even think to test my trust in him and in such a ridiculous way. He stands in front of me, seeming to suck up all the air in the room, maybe that’s why I have such difficulty finding my breath. His hands touch my shoulders sliding my coat to the floor. He roughly grabs my breasts making me gasp and struggle against him. My struggle is shortened by a slap to my face, a slap so hard that I instinctively reach up and lay my palm on the heated impression of his.

“This is nothing, Tess, nothing. You thought you were afraid of a little snow. I own you, bitch and tonight I want your fear, your gasps, and your tears, but mostly, Tess, I want your trust. Do you understand?”

I nod at him, unable to find my words, although I don’t understand, not really. Then he walks away from me, turning around before reaching the closet, “Undress, bitch, you don’t want your pretty clothes stained.” I swallow hard, hoping to dislodge the lump in my throat, wondering how I will fare this evening and contenting myself with the fact that whatever pain he has in mind for me will shift at some point, as it always does, into some transcendent pleasure. At the closet, he pulls out his suitcase and puts it on bed. Opening it, he removes a case I’ve never seen, it’s small and black and looks like a tackle box. I’m about to push down my panties when the box snaps open and I see the distinctive red canister. I freeze in place as the knowledge of what he meant filters into my brain. I understand now.

I continue to watch as he removes individually wrapped supplies from the case and finally slips on a pair of black latex gloves.
“Come,” he whispers. When I don’t respond, he says it again, equally softly, “Come, Tess, come.”

Somehow I regain my mobility, willing my legs to move makes me forget to take off my panties. I sit on the bed next to him. I’m silent. I look down, unable to meet his stare, though knowing I will have to in a moment. I’m correct; he gently places his gloved hand under my chin, lifts my face to his and kisses my lips. Then he looks back at the items he has set up on the bedside table and rips open a small square package. The scent of disinfectant fills my head. I squeeze my eyes shut at the chill as he swabs the skin on my chest and breasts. I shake my head at him, no. He merely nods back at me, yes. Then he’s opening the thin package that contains the needle.

I tremble a bit, and he places his arm on mine to steady me.

“I love you, Tess. Now give me what I want. Trust me,” he says as he places the tip of the dreaded needle on the swell of skin just above my areola.

Even before the needle penetrates my flesh, my eyes fill with tears that flow down my cheeks in crooked shining streams. Despite my tears, I nod. It’s not enough for him, it never is. He wants my explicit complicity, given with not only my body but with my words.

“I love you too, Dar.” It’s still not enough, not what he wants to hear. I know him, he can wait, he will wait with the needle poised, ready to slide beneath my skin and exit an inch further.

“You mean everything to me, Dar. Of course, I trust you,” I say.

He kisses me again, his lips lingering on mine before his tongue invades my mouth. His familiar taste comforts and arouses me, my cunt floods with juices even though or maybe because I know what is coming when he pulls his mouth away from mine.

“Watch me,” he says, “watch my face.” And he slides the first needle into my breast.

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~ by tesstorn on December 5, 2007.