Queen of Diamonds

[This is a sequel to Mrs. Sykes's Last Brooklyn Exit.]

***

Driving for a car service requires a deft touch for customer service, as I found out when driving part-time for a New York outfit called Lioness Limousine. I had one particular passenger with unusual demands, but I was more than happy to oblige her requests. She was a 38-year-old divorcée named Holly Sykes, and she lived in the Gramercy Park section of Manhattan.

What Holly asked for and got from me one Sunday afternoon in June, 1976, was my participation in her self-directed, quite kinky sex scene. She had me drive her out to Hubert Selby's favorite part of Brooklyn, and then park among some warehouses. Out there she revealed her dominatrix side, and she got me into the back seat and paddled my bare behind with her hairbrush. The pretext was that I had been giving her lascivious looks, which we both understood was merely a part of the game.

When she was done with the over-her-knees action, she had me lick her pussy until she reached orgasm. She had arranged that day to wear a dress with no panties underneath; she had a knack for preparation about these matters. As a finale, I had to masturbate kneeling on the rear floor as she watched.

Actually, I'm not sure I really had to do any of those things, but I enjoyed it all anyway. I was twenty-one-years-old and ending my junior year at the City College of New York. About six months had past since I had broken up with my most recent girlfriend, and I was willing to engage in some sex play with a horny mature lady.

The issue I had with Holly in the following week was that my emotions were getting into the mix. On the way back from our tryst she had sat in the front and she had been quite chatty, a big change from her previous demeanor. Back in the city, we had smooched in the car and then I had asked for a date that evening when I was finished with work. She obliged, and we had a good time talking and having drinks at a bar near her building.

She seemed willing to have a longer-term affair, and in fact she had specified that she needed a "proper fucking" from me. I considered that it might happen that very evening, but she deferred that to some unspecified future day. Then, during the week, she hadn't responded to any of the messages I left on her answering machine. On Friday, the company notified me that she had requested me again for an assignment on that Sunday.

I understood how she might be having second thoughts about me, but I was a bit miffed that she had called the company to book my time again. I was ready enough to drive her around, and I also was willing to have a fling with her. However, I didn't like having the two in a single package. I thought it was clear that we would have a relationship that was beyond my role as an employee. Maybe I had assumed more about our connection than she had.

On that Sunday I dressed in a jacket and tie and went out to Long Island City to get a car. This time I was given an Oldsmobile Delta 88. According to the specs the car was actually a bit smaller than the previous week's Buick Electra, but to me that was hardly noticeable.

When I arrived in Manhattan, the doorman came out of the lobby and my Queen Holly stepped out behind him. For Holly, weekends were not a time for casual dress. On that day she was wearing a jacket and skirt, and high heels. This time her shoes were dark purple instead of the earlier white ones. Yet she must have liked white for late spring weather, because she had a white hat rather than the straw one I had seen before.

She was fairly tall and she moved gracefully and confidently. Something about her reminded me of Barbara Stanwyck, but years later I also made a comparison to Kathleen Turner. Part of it was her dark-blonde hair, which she had pulled back into a tight bun.

As she approached she made no indication that I was the guy who had recently romped around the inside of a car with her. When I opened the rear passenger door for her, I decided to play it straight, "Good afternoon, Mrs. Sykes."

"Good afternoon, Paul."

Maybe she's just putting on an act to fool the doorman. I would have thought Holly - being from the upper-middle or upper class or whatever - would be immune to the opinions of service workers, but that wasn't the case the previous week. She had been worried about him seeing her in the front seat. I wondered if she'd ever brought a guy up to her apartment since her divorce.

When I was seated in the front and had started in the engine, I waited for her to speak up. "Just drive along 21st for the moment." A few moments later she said, "Paul, I'd like you to take me to another secluded spot, but not the one in Brooklyn."

So she must have liked last week's escapade with me. "Ma'am, what was wrong with that place?"

"It wasn't a bad choice, but it was on a public street. I'd like to go to some place more secluded."

I thought about it. "There's a train yard, an abandoned yard actually, up in The Bronx. Do you know where Co-op City is?"

"Yes, I've passed by there." I figured she had while using I-95 or the New Haven rail line; I knew she had roots in Connecticut.

"Anyway, ma'am, it's right next to the Amtrak line. It's Sunday, so we should be able to drive up there pretty quickly."

"That sounds fine. As you must know, I have a bone to pick with you today."

I understood that she was playing a game, and she couldn't have known it, but that phrase had always grated when someone used it on me.

After that, she stayed silent for the rest of the trip. I was struck at how readily she had gone back to her earlier frosty, almost withdrawn demeanor. As for myself, I wasn't in the mood to attempt pretend small-talk. I was still bothered that she hadn't returned my calls or attempted to contact me herself.

I had hoped that this weekend she would have some real errands to run and then she would invite me up to her apartment in the evening. Now I was concerned that she had put me into a compartment, one where she would continue to direct events and satisfy her needs as she saw fit.

When I looked at her in the mirror, she had her chin on one raised hand and she was looking out the window. During our initial conversation, I had looked down and saw that her legs weren't bare this time; she was wearing stockings or pantyhose. I remembered the sexual aspects of our time in the other car - licking her cunt until she had a noisy climax, ejaculating on the car seat as she complimented the amount and distance of my jism shot. I wonder if she is wearing any panties this week? Previously she had kept a pair in her bag to be donned for the ride back.

But I also thought about the genuinely warm way she had treated me after our tryst, including the hour or so we had been together in the bar. You were no longer Mrs. Sykes; you were my Holly, my lover I thought. Why are you treating me so coldly today?

In about forty minutes I turned into a driveway and went down through an open gate. The area beyond had not been a big yard; there was an abandoned building that had probably been a passenger station. Across the tracks, there were some tall apartment buildings, part of Co-op City. It seemed to me that no one over there would be able to see what was happening in the car.

"Is this satisfactory, Mrs. Sykes?"

"It looks a bit open to me."

"True, but no one ever comes in here." In fact, I was just guessing about that. I wondered if Amtrak had its own police department, but I hadn't had time to check. I knew they had only received ownership of the corridor about two months earlier.

I continued, "We'll drive up to the far end and then I'll turn the car around." I didn't add that turning it would make for a quicker getaway if needed.

"All right, that's a good idea; go ahead."

I turned right and went up to a bridge over the Hutchinson River. When I had the car in place, I turned off the engine and cracked the window open. Fortunately, it was an overcast day so we wouldn't have the sun shining on the roof. In any case, we weren't going to be there all afternoon.

I leaned back and waited for her to begin her act. She sighed and seemed exasperated, "I suppose you know why I've brought you up here."

"Yes ma'am, you wanted to pick a bone with me."

"Don't get smart with me, young man!" I was surprised at how sharply she said that. I couldn't help but coldly think, you old bitch. I had to remind myself that she had a knack for acting. In fact, she had told me she had done some theater work in college.

I let her continue, "Now, last week you behaved disgracefully; you exposed yourself to me and attempted to masturbate."

I hadn't just attempted it; I had succeeded. She had been impressed with the size of the load I had shot.

"I'm sorry ma'am, it won't happen again."

"You're damn right it won't happen again. Now I could easily get you fired, but I believe in giving people second chances. Also, I know you need the job." I was impressed by how she had worked issues of class and money into this.

She continued, "Still, there has to be consequences, so I'm going handle this myself and thus punish you quite harshly."

I almost broke out of character and said, not that I couldn't see this coming from a mile off, but I didn't. She had a large bag with her this time instead of her purse. I considered joking, hey, are we going to Orchard Beach after this? She brought out a thin, short leather whip. It was notable for the way it branched in two at the end, something I had never known about before.

"Do you know what this is called?"

I had the general idea but I said, "No ma'am, not exactly."

"It's called a quirt, which is often used by riders on horseback. Being from The Bronx, I don't imagine you know anything about horsemanship."

She really pushed my buttons with that one. Now I was thinking, you're worse than a bitch, you're a nasty cunt. She seemed to be relishing her haughty rich lady role. Okay, give her some slack; she has a gift for satire.

Yet I was also rather concerned about something else. "You said horses?"

"Don't worry too much; I know how to use this. It's going to leave marks on your buttocks, but I won't break the skin. But you'll feel it, you can be sure of that."

That wasn't very reassuring. I had played spanking games with several girls, both as a top and bottom, but this thing that Holly was brandishing looked sinister. I tried half-seriously to negotiate, "How about the hair brush again? That was bad enough."

She replied, "No, this has a special - I'd call it a tang." She ran her hand up the length of it. "Now come back here and take your whipping." When I was back there she directed me as to what to do. "Lower your trousers and also your drawers; you're getting all of this on your bare backside. Hunch yourself over between the front seats, and brace your feet in the footwell. Get your butt up good and high."

There wasn't enough room between the seats to drop my body all the way down, and there wasn't a lot of headroom above. Nevertheless, I got into a position that seemed acceptable to her. She was quite theatrical as she went through her preparatory steps. First she took her jacket off. I looked back and saw that her that white blouse was sleeveless. Then she swished her implement through the air so I could hear the noise it made. Crack that whip; what an appropriate expression.

"Now, you've been a very impertinent young man. I'm going to make sure you never again treat your female customers with such blatant disrespect. Hm, I need to make a few adjustments with this." She pushed my jacket up and out of the way, and then she pulled my pants further down, below my knees.

"It must be humiliating to have to present your bare backside to a customer." Actually, I had a weird sense of anticipation that I usually got in such sessions, a mixture of fear and desire.

She rubbed her whip against me, "You're a little thin back there, but I think you can take it. How old are you, anyway?"

She already knew that but I said, "Twenty-one, ma'am."

"Yes, but you look younger." She had made that exact comment in her bar conversation the previous Sunday. "My, my, you are a dirty boy; I see you have an erection. Just from the touch of my whip?"

That couldn't have been a surprise to her, based on her earlier observations of me. "I'm sorry ma'am, I can't help it."

"Excuses, excuses. Anyway, are you prepared to take it?"

"Yes, ma'am, I am."

She positioned herself sideways on the back seat, and used a backhand motion with her right arm to bring her whip down on my ass. I knew I'd say something, but I surprised myself with "E-gads!" Then with the second blow it was, "Jesus, Mrs. Sykes, that hurts!"

"It's supposed to hurt. Besides, I barely tapped you."

Those were some taps. Her little accessory had a real sting to it.

I put my hands on the front seats to steady myself. She commenced a slow but predictable rhythm with her strokes. I counted them to myself, just to keep track of what was going on. I also said something, if only "Ouch," each time she made contact. That was something else I couldn't control. I bumped my head a couple of times against the car's ceiling, but fortunately General Motors had installed generous padding in this particular model.

After the seventh one she stopped and said, "You are making quite a fuss. The way you're gyrating your hips - the last time you moved like this you were probably nailing some coed slut." Holly has a dominatrix's knack for verbal abuse too. Getting under my skin; another apt expression.

"They were nice girls, Mrs. Sykes."

"I know; young ladies these days drop their panties quite readily." Holly hadn't even been wearing panties the week before.

Two more, and then I was anticipating another that didn't arrive on time. She said, "Caught you by surprise; I saw you clench yourself." Then she quickly rapped me, "Oops, there is it."

The tenth one caught my upper thighs. That inspired an improvisation on my part; I said, "Tuna fish!"

"What does that mean?"

"I thought that was our safe word, Mrs. Sykes." Of course, I had made it up on the spot.

She seemed amused, "Hah, this is not some game," although it certainly was just that. "I admit, I was off target; let me reposition myself."

She moved closer and put her right hand on my back to hold me in place; she transferred her whip to her other hand. I didn't know if she was ambidextrous, but the next two were quite effective.

"I think you need a double baker's dozen." I guessed that meant fourteen, and I was right.

"You know, this is so delicious, I'm giving you three more."

She must have lost count, because it was actually four. After those she said, "You may rub yourself if you wish." I didn't need any further encouragement to grab my own ass.

"Man, I feel like I burning down there"

"I'm sure you are; I gave you a proper whipping. Take your hands away, let me see."

She looked and said, "Yes, I did an excellent job; nice, even marks. You took it quite well for someone so young."

For a second I felt sorry for the horses. What was the name of that movie? They Shoot Horses, Don't They?

Holly used her left hand to caress my bare lower back and the side of my thigh; her touch was affectionate. She took care to avoid the sore places, and my erection immediately sprang up again. "You dirty boy; this was all for naught. I bet you masturbated last week thinking of me."

"Yes ma'am, I did; a couple of times in fact." That was the truth.

"So you imagined getting another spanking and then a blowjob? Probably also banging me in the car."

Excellent guesses. "That's pretty accurate."

"I admit, when I look at a man I've dominated, a man I've punished for his transgressions, I myself feel warm and tingly all over. You don't find that strange, do you?"

"I'm not in a position to make judgments."

She laughed, "You can come back here again."

To avoid sitting on the cushion, I squatted in the footwell. Holly had a rapt, almost wild look on her face. I knew she'd cue me as to what was next, and I didn't have to wait long. "I must confess, I feel aroused, very aroused." She giggled. Like a schoolgirl; what was she like twenty years ago? "My lady parts are all creamy."

"I think I can help you with that."

"Would you? And I can help you too." She lay back on the seat and pulled her skirt up. "It would be very nice if you licked me. I'm sure you know how."

I had demonstrated that the previous week. When she spread her legs I saw that her pantyhose were crotchless, and she had no panties underneath them. I joshed, "Mrs. Sykes, you've ripped your pantyhose."

"Silly, they were made that way." This was a new concept to me. None of my girlfriends had such garments, and I hadn't seen any in the Playboys and Penthouses people had lent me.

"And you're not wearing panties again."

"You know me; panties just get in the way."

I knelt on the floor, next to the driveshaft hump, to get access to her. She started enjoying it with my first kiss on her pussy. After a few moments she said, "This is so sweet. My ex-husband never liked doing this."

My curiosity got to me, and I pulled back, "Really? Why was that?"

"He said he didn't like the taste."

"Well Holly, you seem just yummy to me."

As it got more intense, she put her hands down and ran them through my hair, which I appreciated. Then she put one hand on her clitoris and rubbed it while I licked the sides and interior of her cunt.

"This is heavenly; I love what you are doing for me." She was a woman who waved her legs around a lot during cunnilingus. (Well, most women I had known did the same thing.) As she approached orgasm she starting kicking the ceiling; the toe of one shoe left dents in the padding.

"That's it; make me come, kiss my hot pussy." She held my head in place and moved her pelvis for the final strokes. After yelling something loud and unintelligible, she fell back and relaxed

I stayed there with my face against her thigh. I heard, "Are you still hard?"

"Yes, Holly, I'm still very hard."

She sat up, leaving her white hat behind. "Then it's my turn to help you." She patted the seat, "Get up here, sideways would be best; I'll come over to you." When she was in a kneeling position, she grasped the base of my cock - it was the first truly intimate touch from her. I noted that her purple fingernails seemed to match the color of her high heels.

She moved her mouth towards me, "Do you like my lipstick?"

It was a medium red, not too glossy. "Oh yeah, I like it; it's subtle, I'd say."

"You do know how to flatter a lady. I think you'll like my techniques too."

Indeed I did. She started by licked my glans all around, and then she moved her tongue down the shaft. She mixed in kisses with some gentle sucking on the tip. I put my hands on her head and felt her tight hair bun.

"I've always liked your hairdo. You look so prim and proper."

She stopped and said, "I am prim and proper - except when I'm not!"

As she got back to me I said, "That's it, baby, leave your lipstick on my cock." I soon put one hand down on myself to assist her hand and mouth. She felt my thrusting become rhythmic and she sucked on me more deeply.

Shorty after that I was chanting, "Oh, Holly, Holly, you're going to make me come!" At the last moment see pulled my cock out and pointed it over to her left. Her hand and mine jerked me into a climax as I spurted off the left. A bit of the second and third shots got on her bare upper arm, but she didn't seem to mind. She hadn't swallowed any of it, but it was hard to predict how a woman would react in these situations. She did comment, "You shoot such nice big loads; I really love watching them."