Car Show Slut Ch. 16

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, 15 years since I uploaded the last chapter of this series (how time flies!), here is Chapter 16 of Car Show Slut. It's been written for some time (some years, in fact!) but for one reason or another I just never got around to uploading it. A recent chat with another lit.com author got me thinking that I should put it up and at least finish the series, so here we go. That people are still reading this series and still sending me comments after all this time, I have to say is just so gratifying Reader feedback -- the good, the bad and even the ugly -- are all deeply appreciated, and I apologise for not having replied to some. So thank you all. I hope you all enjoy this next instalment of Anne's adventures. There is one chapter to go after this.

This chapter is dedicated to the memory of DocCIS, whose input and advice was a big help to me when writing Ch.16. Sir, may you rest in peace.

"Italian cuisine, my sweet little slut?" Bill asked as he escorted me into the Italian restaurant. Sweet little slut. Why did those words, like a trigger, a switch, send such a sudden exquisite shiver down my spine? Damn it, was I actually enjoying this? No. But was I? I couldn't answer it, couldn't face it, couldn't face the possibility that yes, maybe this was exciting me. Yet I knew. There was a perverse pleasure in this, it was true: my humiliation, my capitulation. Oh God, but this was a desperate situation I'd managed to get myself into! We are supposed to be business associates but within just one day of us meeting he has managed to manipulate me into becoming his slut slave. This is not how it should be! This was just so damned degrading!

The waiter escorted us to our table.

"A drink, my dear?" Bill asked. "How about a nice bottle of red?" I nodded as Bill summoned the waiter. I looked across the table at Bill. He was watching me, his faced contorted into a kind of insolent grin as he studied me up and down, as if a hunter might examine a deer he'd shot in the woods. There was something unsettling in the way he was looking at me, and I found myself turning away. There was something unpleasant in his countenance, a powerful presence, sure, but one which seemed something close to evil. I didn't like him.

I could feel my anxiety surging through my body; my heart was beating fast, thumping in my chest. I didn't like this man at all, not at all. I needed to get away from him for a moment -- and yet, I knew, there was no escape from this in reality. I felt like maybe I was having a panic attack! I just needed a moment alone, some quiet space to collect myself.

"I've just got to go to the bathroom," I said, getting up from my chair.

"Of course, my dear," he said. His tone was ever so slightly sarcastic, mocking. "Oh, while you're there," he added flippantly, "I think you should remove your panties."

I nodded and walked away.

Walking into the restroom, passing other patrons in the restaurant, for a moment it felt like a normal dinner 'date'; well, not so much a date, not that at all, but a normal night out at a restaurant. But this was no normal night out. I was his bought and paid for whore for the night. That was the reality.

In the washroom I looked into the mirror. The image of myself that formed in my mind was sad and pathetic. I could barely bring myself to look at my reflection. Oh Anne, what have you done? He's an asshole, but you engineered this situation, how ever unwittingly, but that was the fact -- I had done the things that had caused all this. And, and - was it true? Was I enjoying this somehow? I was scared. Scared of what was going to happen, what he might make me do, scared that I wasn't even sure I could trust him, scared even that maybe I was enjoying it. Because somehow under the layers of my consciousness, there was an excitement, a sense of sheer thrill. It was palpable, visceral; it couldn't be denied. It was as though I was detached from myself, my identity, and that I seemed to be taking some kind of depraved satisfaction in the sorry spectacle of my professional destruction. Am I a successful career woman, or merely just a cheap slut? Here I was, hopelessly compromised, forced to submit my body as part of a commercial transaction. Some business woman I've turned out to be... If I had any moral or ethical scruples, I should walk out of here and resign from my job out of principle. I felt trapped -- trapped by the business 'arrangement' I had made and, even worse, trapped by my own depraved desires. Oh Anne, you are just pathetic; you are weak; you have betrayed yourself!

I felt so desolate. Tears welled in my eyes. I forced myself to hold them back. Tears were only going to make it worse.

Then my cell rang. I grabbed it from my bag. It was Mr Sheldon. For a moment I thought I would not answer it, so emotionally destroyed was I feeling, but I knew I should. In fact, I should have called him earlier, as I had agreed I would, to let him know how the meeting had gone. I would have do so but in the sheer turmoil of my predicament, I had actually clean forgotten to call my boss.

"Hi Anne, how did it go?" he asked. How did it go indeed, I thought. But I would have to tell him something.

"Um, I think it went OK, but they haven't made a decision yet."

"OK, well, that's got to be better than a firm rejection. I guess we'll just have to wait and see how they respond."

"Yes, I'm actually having dinner with Bill right now, so hopefully we'll be able to go over the proposal again over a meal."

"Yes. Er, Anne, there's something I should tell you about Bill."

"Yes?"

"Well, I was going to mention it before, but I really only had it confirmed to me yesterday -- and really it's actually not all that relevant. But the thing is, you should be on your guard a little if you're out for dinner with him, because my people in New York tell me he's got a bit of a reputation with the ladies."

"Has he?" I said, although I hardly needed Mr Sheldon to tell me that. I had already discovered it first hand...

"Yes. And I must confess, his 'reputation' is one of the reasons I sent you to this meeting rather than going myself. I mean, I thought that if he has a weakness in that area, having to deal with someone as vivacious as yourself might make the difference when it came to the negotiations -- and I know that you're an intelligent woman who can look after yourself. I hope you don't mind -- I really should have confided in you earlier. And I don't want you to think that this is all about the company using your feminine charms to win over a client. It's not that, it's not that at all -- you're one of my best, and I know that getting this contract was always going to be difficult, and outside of myself you were always first choice for this account. And, I mean, frankly I wasn't confident at all that I'd be able to pull it off myself. I thought you alone in the firm was the best equipped for this assignment, and that's why you're there. So please don't take what I've just said the wrong way."

"No, I don't mind," I said, although I wished he'd told me this before. Not that any such prior knowledge would have prevented what had happened last night, which was what caused all this.

"No, I should have at least given you the courtesy, given your seniority in the firm, and also especially so in light of what I found out yesterday."

What do you mean?" I said. I was puzzled.

"Well, my spies tell me that it's a lot more than a simple case of a man with a 'reputation'. I am reliably informed that he's facing sexual harassment charges back home relating to dealings with several of his female employees. So just be aware of that. I mean, I know you can look after yourself, and that's"

I cut him off.

"He's facing sexual harassment charges?" I said, my interest suddenly piqued by this news.

"Yes. I am told that the case comes up next month. I'm also told that it's not looking all that promising for him, although no doubt he's got the best lawyers money can buy. But as I said, just be aware of the nature of the man, and I apologize for not properly briefing you beforehand. That was very remiss of me, very remiss indeed."

"That's OK, Mr Sheldon, don't worry about it. But I'd better be getting back to him. Don't want to keep him waiting."

"Oh yes, of course. And Anne -- good luck!"

He rang off.

I could hardly believe what Mr Sheldon had just told me -- although it wouldn't have been out of character for Bill, that was for sure! Sexual harassment charges indeed! I felt my spirits begin to soar, as if all of a sudden I had emerged out of some kind of coma, or a flat tire suddenly pumped up with air! Yes! Yes -- this was my way out of this! My ticket to freedom AND a deal for the company at the same time! I could blackmail the asshole -- if he was on the verge of going down in court, I now had the power to tip him right over the edge! I felt almost as though I was going to scream out in joy. Yes!

I stuffed my phone into my bag. Gotta get back to my seat. But, a plan. I needed a plan, a plan to catch him out. The voice recorder on my phone -- that's it! Get him talking about our situation, and secretly record the conversation on the phone. Get the incriminating evidence on tape! Oh Anne, this is -- this is just perfect! I turned to go back into the restaurant, but then I remembered -- my panties. He wanted me to take them off. I thought about it and concluded I had to take them off, just to keep up the pretence, let him think he was running the show -- so I could nail him!

I slipped my panties down my legs and stepped out of them. I put them in my bag and walked back into the restaurant. I was feeling light, like a heavy weight had been lifted off my shoulders. As I walked back to our table I felt the breeze of the air conditioning on my naked ass. It felt good. I felt fantastic!

"So, I trust you've removed the offending item of clothing?" he said with a smirk.

"Yes," I said, trying to remain composed -- I felt so free and easy now that I thought for a moment I would laugh at his comment.

"Show me," he said. "Lift your dress and show me."

"What, right here in public?"

"Yes," he grinned up at me.

I looked at him for a moment before I responded. But I knew I would have to do as he asked; I had to play along for a while until I could get the 'evidence' in order to bring him down. It didn't worry me. The tables were about to be turned here, and I was now feeling pretty relaxed about the situation. But I also had to admit that I felt a devilish thrill shiver up my spine. God, I was going to have to expose myself right here in the middle of a crowded restaurant... Someone is sure to see me.

"OK," I said.

God, this was turning me on. And now, now that I had found a way out of this, this entrapment, I felt such a sense of freedom -- the idea of being 'forced' to expose myself was almost liberating, thrilling. Because I wasn't really his captive any more -- he just thought I was. It was contradictory, I knew as I contemplated the twisted logic of actually feeling free to now enjoy what I had been dreading not 10 minutes earlier, but I didn't actually have a lot of time to psychoanalyse myself right at that moment -- because Bill was waiting for me to lift my dress and expose my pussy in the middle of a crowded restaurant...

Standing before him, I looked him in the eye and clutched hold of the material of the hem of my dress. I began to raise it slowly, watching the captivated expression on his face as I began to expose myself. I watched as his gaze descended down my body, till it fixed on my hips. I had his full attention; the lust palpable. I took a deep breath. With one swift movement, I lifted the dress, pulling it right up above my hips, and held it there, completely exposing myself. I felt a powerful surge, a charge run through my body as I watched Bill's expression: face red, mouth slightly open, staring straight at my exposed pussy.

"Is that to your satisfaction, sir?" I asked, almost laughing at myself as the words seemed to involuntarily tumble from my lips.

"Yes," he said. His voice was croaky. "Good."

As I smoothed my dress back down I heard a commotion over the other side of the room, a clash of glass and steel. I looked across and it was the waiter. He was staring at me, eyes wide and mouth open as if in sheer disbelief as he bent down to pick up his tray that he had dropped onto the floor. There was smashed glasses and empty plates all over the floor, and now the manager was there remonstrating with him, accompanied by much shouting and flailing of arms from both men in that typical comic Italian fashion. Watching the chaos reminded me of that scene in the old Peter Sellers movie, 'The Party', in which a waiter gets drunk and creates havoc in the kitchen. It was very funny...

I sat down, careful to organize the recorder in my phone as I did so. I was ready. But I still needed to play the role, so that I could get him to open up, to talk. I lifted my wine glass and made a gesture to toast our glasses. The tip of his glass met mine and he smiled in approval.

"So, did you enjoy that little show?" I said. I had to get him talking.

"Yes, very much so," he said. "I think the waiter did too."

"Yes," I laughed, trying to make it as a girly a laugh as possible. "I think he did!"

"And you Anne, did you enjoy it, exposing yourself like that?"

I paused before replying. The fact was that I actually did enjoy it. But not in the way that he thought. As far as he was concerned, I was nothing but a silly, weak little slut who had totally submitted to him both sexually and commercially. As far as he was concerned, he had achieved total dominance over me, and as I watched the smug expression on his face, I felt such a sense of excitement that, in fact, the one in control here was not the 'big strong male', but rather the 'silly girl'. Me. I had the power here. I felt suddenly emboldened, sexually empowered, sexually powerful. I thought of that scene in the Basic Instinct movie in which Sharon Stone turns the tables on her interrogators through the sheer power of her sexuality. I felt that deeply; that was the dynamic that was occurring here now, and it was filling my being with confidence, with sexual energy, with power. Recalling Bill's words, I was about to exploit my position of power in a business deal -- how ever unorthodox this particular business deal was, just as he said it. And right now -- he didn't even know what was coming! I would just have to pretend to be the silly girl a while longer. I was really enjoying this!

"Yes," I said, breathlessly, conscious of the warmth of my breath passing across my tongue as the word pushed its way slowly through my lips. "Yes. That was very exciting."

Of course, I had to admit, that that was true -- the exhibitionist in me just loves it; that much I had discovered about myself over the past few months. But he didn't know that. I was getting a perverse pleasure in trying to lead him into thinking that he had not only dominated me, but had turned me into a silly slut as well. I watched the expression on his face become more concentrated. His forehead was sweating.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you my little whore?" he smirked. Such an air of hubris about him. It was disgusting, but funny at the same time. He had no idea what was coming!

"Well, I guess I am," I giggled, in my best girly voice.

"So Bill," I smiled sweetly, "is this how you normally negotiate with female business counterparts: blackmail them into providing sexual favours?"

"Oh Anne, I do wish you wouldn't use that word 'blackmail'."

"Well, how ever you like to express it: blackmail, persuasion, and I know you can be quite a persuasive man," I giggled, hoping to get him to expand.

"Well, I'd like to think I am," he chortled with that disgusting self-satisfied grin of his.

"Yes," I continued, trying to draw him out further, trying to make him feel flattered, "but I'm curious; does this kind of thing happen a lot?"

"Oh, sometimes. If I'm negotiating with a female, and she's an attractive female -- because I do have my standards, Anne -- the idea of possessing her body as part of the deal is definitely appealing to me, absolutely. And yes, it can make the difference. It just depends on the individual. Like most things in business, it's really just a question of supply and demand. You can always tell when a woman's up for it, and women, especially women in high-pressure positions such as yours, well, they have needs too. I actually think such business relationships, if you'd like to call them that, can be beneficial for all parties, don't you?"

"Well, I guess, as long as everyone gets what they want," I said, trying to keep him talking. "But you were demanding me to do something, to provide sexual favors, that I didn't want to do, in order for me to clinch the deal."

"Well, yes, but as I said before, I was only exploiting my position of strength in the negotiation. You really need to understand that business is tough, Anne, it's not always fair. As I said, as long as the offer on the table itself is good, if a woman is prepared to suck my cock to seal the deal, well, why not? All the better, in fact. It's the result that counts, the end rather than the means, for both parties. And that's why you've agreed to be my personal whore for the evening -- to ensure you come away with a result. Correct?"

I nodded in agreement. But there it was: I had it all on tape! So much for a woman being prepared to suck his cock to seal a deal -- the only one 'going down' here was him. If the sexual harassment charges against him weren't enough to convict him, then my statement and this recording would have to be. I had him now.

I thought about blowing the lid on the pretence right there and then. But there was no rush. Our meals would be here soon, and what's more I was enjoying myself; it was so much fun to watch his macho posturing, knowing that at any time I liked I could bring his world crushing down. I had all the power here now in this 'business relationship'.

What's more, I was feeling horny. I was enjoying playing the bimbo role, literally pretending to be something I was not. Exposing myself had been a powerful rush. Yes, I was wet. I was excited. Excited by the position I now found myself in, excited by the fact that I had exposed myself in public. I was dressed, really, if not like a slut, in a very sexy and revealing outfit, and men in the restaurant were stealing glances at me because of the way I was dressed. And I was enjoying it. I was enjoying it very much. God I was enjoying it.

"Are you horny, Anne?" he asked. I had to credit his powers of observation, because he could detect the fire burning in my loins simply by looking into my eyes. I returned his gaze, trying to look as smouldering as I could.

"Yes," I breathed. "Yes, I am horny."

"What's making you horny, my dear?"

"Oh, I don't know. The guys keep walking past and looking at me. They look at me as though, you know, they want me."

"I'm not surprised," he said. "You're the sexist little babe here. I bet every man in the place would want to fuck you, if only they could get away from their wives."

"Do you think so?" I asked. As much as I hated him, that he was telling me that the men here would want me made my pussy throb deeply. I found that a little unsettling, but, oh, who cares -- what's wrong with being turned on by such an idea, even if it emanated from the brain of this asshole?

"Absolutely. Who wouldn't? You know, the other night when I was fucking you, I just kept thinking to myself, damn, I can't believe this cute young thing is really a whore -- she's just too classy, too intelligent. But those piercings of yours, and the way you did that little strip tease beforehand; wow, that was solid gold slut action!"