pocket and looked at the screen. It was still illuminated from when the message was received, but I had to hold my hand over the screen slightly to cut off some of the heavy glare coming from the sun behind me. When at last I could read the message on the screen, I saw that it had indeed come from my rendezvous. The name attached to the number wasn't his real name, but the code name he'd selected for himself.
The message read:
SECRET
Are you going to be on time?
I typed back as I walked toward the intersection.
LOVER
Is your driver?
I almost put the phone back in my pocket before it buzzed again, and I noted with pleasure that he must have been sitting with his phone, awaiting my response; another piece of attention that had long since vanished from my relationship with my husband. I looked back at the phone and read the message that awaited me there.
SECRET
You tell me ...
I looked up from the screen, realizing that I had nearly walked into the street by accident. It wasn't a big deal though, because the only car in the street was a long black limousine that sat poised at the curb, engine idling, waiting to pick me up.
I grinned at the sight of the vehicle and reached out to open the door. Sitting down in the spacious backseat, I shut the door and felt the vehicle smoothly move away from the curb. It was as if the windows were screen depicting a movie in which we passed through the neighbourhood, rather than actually happening all around me. The driver was too experienced, the limousine too luxurious and intelligently designed for that. The driver himself was simply the back of a head, operating the vehicle, but making no special effort whatsoever to make his presence felt or recognized.
My man, Secret, was a self-confessed billionaire, which he had told me with some hesitation. Of course, by the time this was revealed, we were already back at his country estate, in the centre of his massive bed in his massive room. So it's not as if Secret could have kept that a Secret. I had assumed as much for myself by that point.
I sat back in my seat and enjoyed the ride, feeling as if I were in the middle of a great black bullet soaring through the bright green and white light of the suburban neighbourhood in which I had made my home. Now I would be going to a different home, the home of the man I'd encountered weeks earlier, and who would deliver me, at least for today, away from the boredom and monotony and dispassionate home that I had known for years. Using his flesh and his dick and his tongue, he would transport me into ecstasy.
And I simply could not wait.
The limousine took me out of the suburban neighborhoods and out onto the highway. If you think of the metropolitan area near where I live as a gradient, then on the left is a giant, nasty city, and on the right is farmland stretching up toward the mountains. My little neighbourhood exists in the middle, and that's how he and I first met.
We were both parked at the same gas station. He was having troubles with the machine, and I knew what the problem was. I would later realize that this must have been the first time he'd pumped his own gas in years. I didn't realize yet that I would soon be the one tasked with pumping his gas from now on.
He was driving in an old fashioned nineteen seventy five Cutlass Supreme, that he'd recently won at auction, and was going to drive it to his estate in the country. I wasn't much of a car person, and I'm still not, but I liked the look of this particular car. He asked me if I'd like to go for a ride with him, and I hesitated at first. But even that brief encounter with him had been more excitement than I'd experienced in months.
So he followed me home and I left the car behind, getting into his instead. He explained to me that we were going out toward the mountains, and I experienced a sudden rush of concern. I asked if he would give me the address, so I could look it up on my phone. My logic was that if he didn't
The message read:
SECRET
Are you going to be on time?
I typed back as I walked toward the intersection.
LOVER
Is your driver?
I almost put the phone back in my pocket before it buzzed again, and I noted with pleasure that he must have been sitting with his phone, awaiting my response; another piece of attention that had long since vanished from my relationship with my husband. I looked back at the phone and read the message that awaited me there.
SECRET
You tell me ...
I looked up from the screen, realizing that I had nearly walked into the street by accident. It wasn't a big deal though, because the only car in the street was a long black limousine that sat poised at the curb, engine idling, waiting to pick me up.
I grinned at the sight of the vehicle and reached out to open the door. Sitting down in the spacious backseat, I shut the door and felt the vehicle smoothly move away from the curb. It was as if the windows were screen depicting a movie in which we passed through the neighbourhood, rather than actually happening all around me. The driver was too experienced, the limousine too luxurious and intelligently designed for that. The driver himself was simply the back of a head, operating the vehicle, but making no special effort whatsoever to make his presence felt or recognized.
My man, Secret, was a self-confessed billionaire, which he had told me with some hesitation. Of course, by the time this was revealed, we were already back at his country estate, in the centre of his massive bed in his massive room. So it's not as if Secret could have kept that a Secret. I had assumed as much for myself by that point.
I sat back in my seat and enjoyed the ride, feeling as if I were in the middle of a great black bullet soaring through the bright green and white light of the suburban neighbourhood in which I had made my home. Now I would be going to a different home, the home of the man I'd encountered weeks earlier, and who would deliver me, at least for today, away from the boredom and monotony and dispassionate home that I had known for years. Using his flesh and his dick and his tongue, he would transport me into ecstasy.
And I simply could not wait.
The limousine took me out of the suburban neighborhoods and out onto the highway. If you think of the metropolitan area near where I live as a gradient, then on the left is a giant, nasty city, and on the right is farmland stretching up toward the mountains. My little neighbourhood exists in the middle, and that's how he and I first met.
We were both parked at the same gas station. He was having troubles with the machine, and I knew what the problem was. I would later realize that this must have been the first time he'd pumped his own gas in years. I didn't realize yet that I would soon be the one tasked with pumping his gas from now on.
He was driving in an old fashioned nineteen seventy five Cutlass Supreme, that he'd recently won at auction, and was going to drive it to his estate in the country. I wasn't much of a car person, and I'm still not, but I liked the look of this particular car. He asked me if I'd like to go for a ride with him, and I hesitated at first. But even that brief encounter with him had been more excitement than I'd experienced in months.
So he followed me home and I left the car behind, getting into his instead. He explained to me that we were going out toward the mountains, and I experienced a sudden rush of concern. I asked if he would give me the address, so I could look it up on my phone. My logic was that if he didn't
Similar Books
