The Transporter

I hated doing airport pick-ups. It usually meant that I would have to transport a rich snob from the airport to the Ritz or some other exorbitantly priced hotel in Toronto, for a flat fee of one hundred Canadian dollars. Don't get me wrong, I haven't anything against wealthy people, I intend to be one myself one day. It just seems to be that those, who use my services, tend to be rude and obnoxious. My car is a two year-old Stretch Caddy, metallic white, red leather seats, with just about every luxury known to man inside, including an icebox, wet-bar and wireless Internet. I keep it in pristine condition and it's the envy of every other limo service in Toronto.

Firstly I need to explain why I was doing the Airport pick-up. I am an actress, undiscovered, of course, except for a few supporting roles in off the main street productions that sink into oblivion either after the first curtain, or close thereafter. My agent tells me, "It's only a matter of time", but its all I ever hear from her, after five years and hundreds of auditions, I have yet to be cast in anything that has enough success to get me "noticed"

Yes, I have screen credits, I was beach bunny #3(red bikini) in "Beach party", I was the French maid who is murdered in the opening scene of "House of Desire", and the woman police officer who gets shot in the shootout scene of "Downtown Heist"

My parents who divorced each other when I was eleven, support my choice of career, but the support has always been in the way of moral support rather than financial.

For the last five years I have lived undiscovered and one step away from an eviction notice in a crummy basement apartment with a budgie called Velvet and a fish called Wanda. This all changed when my father died and left me everything he owned in the world: His house and his business.

The house is pretty neat; it's in a nice sub-division just North of Toronto. It's a little rural, with big lots and wide streets, the neighbors are nice and polite and seem to be almost invisible during the week and only appear on weekends to mow lawns in the summer or shovel snow in the winter. His business was a one man-, now woman-, limousine service complete with license and airport privileges.

So now between auditions and supporting roles in plays that seem destined for greatness but somehow fail, I drive rich, ungrateful slobs from the airport to their snooty hotels or high-rise apartments, often also, I drive them North to luxury resorts on lakes in summer or winter ski resorts, but they are for the most part, jerks and rude. From experience, I have learned since I inherited the business, not to see my passengers as human. I see myself as a courier, and my passengers as cargo. I have become the ultimate transporter.

I had been awake for over twenty-four hours. The opening night of the play I was in, had ended up being the final curtain, as well. Yet another steppingstone in my illustrious career of appearing in box-office flops. The call came in on my cellphone as I made my way home in the early hours of the morning. At first I had politely declined, I needed to get some sleep I complained. It was an emergency the company had said, a very influential man was flying in from Vegas in a private jet, and wanted to be driven to his estate in Muskoka. I complained that I had an airport pick-up set for three pm that afternoon, and that there would be little time to do both. The fee they offered, over ten times my regular rate made the decision for me. I headed home for a cool shower. I scrubbed my face of make up and changed into my chauffeur's uniform, a white linen shirt, freshly laundered, crisp, and clean. No bra. I pulled a narrow red satin tie under the starched collar, and flipped the shiny red tie into a perfect Windsor knot, and pulled a pair of comfortable linen pink bikini panties. I chose a simple pair of black tailored slax, cinching them around my slim waist with a designer belt. I slid into a pair of warm woolly socks and tied the laces of my comfortable black leather cross-trainers. I donned a matching double breasted coat and chose a similar outfit for the afternoon pick up, zippered it into a plastic suite hanger, downed a mouthful of coffee, three "stay awakes" and headed for the airport.

I rolled onto the limo stand of Pearson International at about four am. The airport was all but deserted. I waited at the VIP lounge until my client cleared customs and came through the glass doors. By four thirty we were heading up country on HW400. The drive North went without a hitch, I delivered my cargo to his private estate on lake Muskoka without incident, mainly because he slept through the entire four-hour trip.

The drive back was without incident. I stopped off at a truck stop for brunch, its one I use when I go North of the city, The food is good, the relaxed atmosphere makes its easy to ignore the trucker's comments or their pick-up lines. I was too tired to make eyes at the waitress, who is absolutely gorgeous, a tall, willowy brunette, with a set of boobs I longed to touch and suck, I was tired but careful not to stare too much. I use this truck stop often because of her, and I think she knows it.

When I neared the airport, I phoned my service asking for the instructions again. Meet Mister Edward Cousins from Atlanta Georgia, American Airlines Flight 215 from Atlanta at Gate 37 Pearson at 3:15 PM Friday precisely, and transport him and his luggage to the Toronto Hilton for my usual flat fee. I turned the radio on to keep me awake, and in touch with the afternoon's traffic conditions.

The three pm news had just begun as I swung into the limo bay at Pearson, some elite escort agency had just been raided and the owner busted for prostitution, drug possession and racketeering. The mayor was thrilled as was the police chief. I slid into the backseat with my zippered clothes hanger. The mirrored glass would give me enough privacy; I pulled out my carefully pressed dark blue chauffeur's jacket and tailored slax, clean blouse and panties. I slithered out of my soiled clothing, bundling them carelessly into a ball. I sprayed some fresh deoderant on and dabbed some "Navy" onto my wrists and behind my ears, before slipping into my clean clothes. I adjusted my tie in the smoked glass divider, then ran a brush through my curly blonde hair. I refuse to wear the peaked cap, as it always musses up my hair. I looked at myself critically in the mirror; no, I looked the same, green eyes, I used some foundation on the dark rings under my eyes, I am tall for a woman at 5'10" with nice sized 34B cup breasts, trim tummy and long powerful legs from working out on a Bowflex in my home gym.

I grabbed a soda from the wet bar and popped three more "stay awakes". I pulled the blackboard from the trunk when I dropped in my soiled laundry, and printed "Mr. E. Cousins Atlanta" in big chalked letters and headed for gate 37. As I neared the gate I read the arrival/departure signs, yes, AA flight 215 from Atlanta was on time and passengers would arrive through gate 37, as would passengers from Japan Air Line's JAL flight 315 from Tokyo. I chuckled, "Well, at least there was little or no chance of a screw-up with me collecting the wrong Mr. Cousins".

An airport voice announced that flights AA 215 an JAL 315 had landed and that passengers would be exiting at gate 37, I looked at my watch, 3:08, well at least this bozo wasn't going to keep me waiting.

Luggage began to travel around on the rattling rotunda and the passengers began emerging through the glass doors. I stood to one side and held up my chalked sign.

People thronged through the doors but no one approached me, except for some punk kid telling me he'd like to take me for a ride, I withered him with a "Get fucked" stare, not even bothering to answer the little prick. At 3:45 the glass doors to the gate eventually shut. I looked around but it was evidently a no-show.

The only person still hanging about the concourse was a young Japanese girl, with a small suitcase and ponytail, dressed in a black business suite, with a white linen open necked blouse and a set of pearls around her slim neck, her ears were pierced with the same pearls. She had and a look of bewilderment and worry. I walked up to her, pointing at my sign and asked, "Are you with or on behalf of Mister Cousins?"

She looked at me blankly and shrugged, "Sorry I don't understand." She said meekly in heavily accented English. I guessed she was about 18, but I was never one to guess ages well. We stood and waited for another few minutes before I pulled my cellphone out and called up my messenger service. Uh huh..... Cousins was a no show, "So credit my account with the fee from his credit card," I snapped, and clicked off the phone.

The oriental girl looked so lost and small I tried one more time, "You need a ride? I'm heading back through the city, I can drop you off if you like."

She smiled, "My new boss did not fetch, me. I'm Sashiko," she said handing me a card, "Randy Johnson" Quixotic Escorts 3347 Bay Street Toronto, "Can you take me to him, there?" She asked.

"I'm Amie," I answered, "Sure I can take you there." I said as I shook her outstretched hand.

It wasn't far out of my way, so I nodded and we headed for the car park. Out of habit I opened the back door for her, and then slid behind the wheel, dropping the glass division down from its normally "up" position when I carry cargo.

Sashiko climbed into the limo and moved forward to the seat closest to the front, and smiled nervously as I started the car and moved out of the parking lot. She looked out the tinted windows opening the vista sunroof as we crawled along the freeway in bumper-to-bumper, peak hour traffic.

I took the scenic route for my passenger, passed the foreshore and famous CN Tower before stopping opposite 3347 Bay Street. The shop front read Quixotic Escorts, with silhouettes of scantily clad ladies etched tastefully on the large storefront glass windows, three blue and white police cruisers were parked directly in front large oaken double doors and women were being led out the oak doors in handcuffs.

Sashiko looked horrified, I remembered the newsflash I had heard on the radio and tried to explain that her new boss had been arrested for being a drug pusher and pimp.

The look of bewilderment and sadness on her face made me want to take her in my arms and hold her, as I said she looked so young and fragile, but if she worked as an escort she was obviously older than 18, I later I discovered later she was 23. I asked if she had any friends or relatives in Toronto that I could drop her off at. She just shook her head. I was just so tired; I put the car out of "park" and headed for my house. Sashi just sat in the back totally blank.

I parked in my drive way and opened the door for Sashi, "Well come in and lets see what we can do for you." I said

We entered the house; I pointed out the bathroom to her and headed into the kitchen and began to make us a snack.

I heard the toilet flush, the door open and sensed Sashi behind me. I asked if there was anyone she could call, she shook her head.

"Ok," I said, "now how can I help, what can I do?"

Sashi looked at me, "No one can help me," she answered, "Nothing can be done, I must go back to Tokyo, but I don't have a ticket or any money, I was to start a new job at Quixotic escorts as a secretary." My new boss, Mister Johnson, said I could live at his house to begin with, until I had enough money to find an apartment."

She looked like a little orphan, just short of five foot with long glossy dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, and it accented the pearls set in her ears and luminous, expressive wide spaced, almond shaped brown eyes. There were freckles on her cute nose, altogether she looked so incredibly innocent and hurt, I wanted to reach out and reassure her. She was dressed in a white linen shirt and black business suite and black high-heeled pumps, she still clutched her suitcase in her hand looked more like a school kid pretending to be an adult.

"I guess you can stay here till we figure out what to do." I said, if you have a work permit perhaps you can find another secretarial job, hopefully not in the sex industry."

I offered Sashi a sandwich that I had made and then poured some orange juice, we sat and munched, on the sofa. I clicked on the TV. The news, and clips of the Escort agency, flashed on, as the news-anchor was telling us, what the villain the owner was. Evidently he'd been under surveillance for some time by the vice squad. It was believed that he had connections to the drug trade and links to organized crime.

Sashi burst into tears; I reached over and put my arm over her shoulder to comfort her, her whole slight body wracking as she sobbed. I drew her closer and patted her back lightly, rocking and soothing the crying woman. Sashi snuggled into my arms, her tears slowly trailed down her cheeks, wetting my crisp white linen shirt. As her sobs became less violent, She cried like this for what seemed an hour, finally, her breathing became deeper and I realized that she had cried herself to sleep. I was afraid to disturb her, I lay back resting her head on my shoulder and shut my own eyes, and after being awake for almost thirty-six hours fell asleep, myself, holding her tight against me.

I awoke with a start, trying to figure where I was; I heard Sashi talking, but not what she was saying. She came into view. Her hair was loose now, and hung half way down her back, she had removed her skirt and was wearing a long white shirt that hung midthigh, which I discovered later was the same blouse she had worn when we met.

"Your message company wants you to collect a passenger from the Airport, I said, no, that you were sleeping and could not go, they said ok, and that you can sleep." She said.

I chuckled, "I bet they were pleased." I answered still a little groggy; I looked at my watch, "Shit! Its eleven a.m., I've missed an appointment with my agent"

Sashi answered, "Your appointment with your agent, I have rescheduled for tomorrow morning at ten, a.m., I have made notes for you, in your book." She said holding up my day planner," speaking in a delightful accent and in a businesslike tone, although slightly grammatically incorrect, she made perfect sense.

I looked at her impressed. "Thank you Sashi, that's great, now shall we make some breakfast?" I asked.

She nodded, "I made some toast and coffee," she said, " you, do not have much in your pantry." She handed me a mug of black coffee, and a saucer with two pieces of unbuttered toast.

I looked at the breakfast she had made for me and half chuckled. I did not laugh at the food but her earnest expression. I think she must have thought I was laughing at her because she burst into tears, sobbing just like she had the previous night.

She collapsed onto the chesterfield as the sobs wracked her slim little body. I reached out and wrapped my arms around her. I ran my fingers through her dark glossy hair; I began to caress her warm lithe body, trying to pacify her. The warmth she radiated began to have an effect on me, I sensed first, my pussy moistening then I felt my nipples hardening as my hands became less pacifying and more demanding. My fingers ran through her lustrous hair, along the nape of her neck and along her shoulders. I gently kissed the soft skin of her neck, with gentle loving kisses. She began to lick at my chest, snuffling, and shaking still, her fingers had opened my shirt buttons and she began nuzzling between my breasts. I was afraid to move and more afraid and sexually excited not to. I arched. Sashi instinctively moved the soiled shirt to one side and as her tearstained face settled onto my warm skin, her mouth found my throbbing excited nipple and suckled as it slipped into her mouth.

I began to unbutton her blouse with my free hand, her sobs had stopped, her suckling and probing mouth had settled on my breast, I knew I had to have her, I pulled at her blouse, pulling the blouse down over her shoulders, finding no bra, just the cutest, prettiest breasts I've ever had the pleasure of handling, they were topped with very large chocolate colored nipples. Her hands had slid into my open shirt; her clever nimble fingers were caressing my electrically charged skin.

I ached for more, and tugged my shirt off, Sashi's hands had slid from my chest and were undoing the button to my slax, I relaxed and let her undo my pants, I slithered my panties down with my pants, Sashi's hand found the warmth between my thighs, I spread myself wide for her. Her strong little fingers found my totally drenched pussy, and began to knead my lips and her wonderful, wet and warm mouth suckled my erect aching nipples first one then the other, her tongue dragged itself off my breasts, as I sat splayed for her, she slid her tongue down slowly, deliciously slowly over my belly, then towards where her hands were kneading my swollen aching pussy lips.

She looked up at me sloe eyed, "May Sashi taste?" she asked, licking her lips lewdly. I couldn't answer, all I could do is nod my head and open my legs as wide as I could. My orgasm began before Sashi had slid into a kneel between my widespread knees, the touch of her lips on my pubes and skin, the wet warmth of her tongue inside my folds and the electrical tickle building up at the base of my spine erupted through my belly and through my veins in the most devastating delicious orgasm I had ever experienced. My hands tangled themselves into Sashi's hair as I frantically tried to force her face into my pussy, her tongue slid up and down, her nose settled onto the tip of my clit and she ground her face into me as the second wave of orgasms totally knocked the air from my lungs, I began to spasm out of control and for the first time in my life my cum began to spurt copiously.I felt my whole body moving in rythmn with my beating heart.

It seemed an eternity before I could breathe properly. I lay back on my sofa, my shirt and pants in a bundle on the floor with the most precious girl between my widespred wet thighs licking the last of my juices that leaked after the final spurt. My hands were still tangled in her hair. Not thinking clearly I dragged her face from between my thighs by her hair and pulled her face to mine and kissed her, oblivious to the pain that must have caused. Our lips met, I tasted my cum on her lips, we kissed for what seemed hours.

Needless to say, Sashi never returned to Tokyo, and I no longer need a Message service.