Grand Mistress Gillian’s fire-red hair glowed in the warm daylight, contrasting with Her fair skin and dark sunglasses. At the sight of Her, Vanessa’s heart missed a beat, her skin went white and cold, like in shock. “No. Oh, please, NOOO!” These words pumping in her skull, letting her vision blur. But then, surmounting her mind’s first reaction, she realised the meaning of the scene! Euphoria, close to hysteria washed away any pain that her car-rocking had created: “Yeah, join us, BITCH!
I hope they’ll perform the Rodney-King-show on Your arse!” The first police man shouted at Her in his mother tongue, most likely telling Her to drive away. Now the Grand Mistress had arrived at the two men and one woman behind the van, Her body language signalled pure domination. She was in a sinfully tight anthracite woman’s business suit, but Her gloved hands indicated that She was wearing one of Her latex body cat suits underneath. Grand Mistress Gillian talked to the wildly gesticulating police man, obviously in the country’s language. At first he was shouting and yelling, pointing with one hand into the Viano while letting the other rest on his pistol. His colleague unsurely observed the whole scene, his weapon ready, too, not knowing if he had to call reinforcement.
Police man One talked much less loudly now, and though Vanessa couldn’t hear him or see his face, she realised that things went south. Finally he pensively went to the second police man and talked to him. visibly Number Two became even more bewildered. During this Grand Mistress Gillian had relaxed Her posture and leaned against the police car’s front, half sitting on the bonnet. Vanessa could see Her in the corner of her left eye, could see Her smile She was giving Her slavegirl. A smile, cold and cruel and knowing. Then the unthinkable happened.
The police men came to a conclusion. Trying to avoid any eye contact with his new Grand Mistress, Number Two hurried to the patrol car’s front-passenger seat. The first one walked back to Grand Mistress Gillian, talked to Her for a few moments..and then submissively took Her gloved fingers for a kiss on the hand! Vanessa felt loosing her grip on sanity. It can’t be!
IT JUST CAN’T BE! WE ARE HERE! Doesn’t anybody see what’s going on in this word gone crazy?! “HLLP! HLLPPPP!” she managed to form around the mouth-dildo, but the police men, just some metres away, opened the driver’s door and got into the car.
His face was pale and his eyes searched a point in the infinity. The Grand Mistress rose from the bonnet and didn’t even cast another look at the two, just kept fixing Her tall, blonde, rebellious slave. The engine started, and the car with both police men left. Vanessa saw in her vision’s periphery the sadistic woman approaching, and fresh urine found its way into her oesophagus. Even without the catheter inside she couldn’t had held back the flow. Grand Mistress Gillian watched the bound beauty from behind the bars, noticing the yellow stream running through the clear plastic tube on her back. “You have a loose tongue, fuck-mouth!
” That’s what She said, and nothing more! She throw the tailgate into its lock, leaving Vanessa alone with her body suffering in pain and her mind tortured by desperation. The Grand Mistress talked to Her younger assistant, let Her describe what had happened. She told Her to better observe the speed limit for the rest of the journey and gave Her some other renewed instructions. Then the Grand Mistress got in Her Jaguar, restarted the engine and kick-down’d the accelerator. With a supercharged whirr the dark XKR shot past the horror van, which speeded up some moments later, too. Inside the British coup?
Grand Mistress Gillian was glad having chosen a business suit to wear over Her fetish outfit. ‘Serious appearance is a key element in an official talk.’ Of course She hadn’t expected to be plagued with the police. Actually She had put on the office dress so the latex of Her cat suit wouldn’t get in contact with the leather seat. Else both materials would stick to each other, and that would be unerotically uncomfortable on a long drive. When the slavegirls had been loaded and the van had left Her Temple of Torture, the Grand Mistress had taken a short shower. Then She had dressed in fresh clothes before heading back to the exhibition centre by Her Black Jag, whose V8 had been still warm from the ride earlier that day.
Strictly speaking, the Jaguar wasn’t completely black: Bonnet, roof, wings and doors carried an extravagant airbrush, all anthracite and gun-metal silver, ghostly standing out against the metallic black base. Only with the light in the right angle surreal torture scenes, like visions of H. R. Giger, appeared in the paint. For the normal viewer this was a fantasy artwork of fascinating morbidity. But for those in the know it was an unmistakable signal of forbidden pleasures. Grand Mistress Gillian LOVED this car, a 2005 model year XKR R-Performance Coup?
the last one that looked good. It was tongue-bathed by slavegirls after every spin, including the 20″-BBS alloy rims, the tires along with the tread, and the insides of all four tailpipes. Although addicted to be in control of everything, the Grand Mistress even liked the automatic gear box because She couldn’t operate a clutch in such extreme high heels. Still 60 kilometres to go. Time for a little sprint. She flashed up the main beam and under the supercharger’s howl the Jag heaved itself past the 200 km/h mark. She loved this car!
The sun stood low in the west as the black van entered the outskirts of the old industrial area. Ignoring the detour signs on both sides, Inferior Mistress Zo?ollowed the road’s original direction through single ruins pulled down long ago and unused buildings with hollow window openings. Eventually the van stopped; barriers and beacons on both lanes signalled road works. One of those little excavators stood by the side of the road between heaps of sand and gravel. Construction workers were running busily through the scene. One of them, carrying a clipboard, appeared at the driver’s window.
He greeted, tapping nonchalantly on his yellow helmet. “Sorry, ma’am, you’ve to turn around. We’ve a pipe burst here,” he rasped with a grin, knowing about the van. “Oh, is that really necessary? I’ve loaded perishables.” The Inferior Mistress pretended to be distressed and noticed that the “workers” had slowed down again. “Do you have many unannounced visitors here?
” She asked. “Not a single one since I’m on duty. This place is godforsaken. You’ve papers for me?” She handed over some documents. Yellow-helmet checked them, then made a note on his clipboard. “All right.
By the way, your boss came through twenty minutes ago.” He gave back the papers. “Have fun!” He again tapped on his helmet. “I will.” The alleged construction worker whistled, and some of his colleagues cleared the road from the barriers. The outskirts had been formed by buildings standing mostly alone or in loose formations, but the area’s centre turned out to be a labyrinth with vast amounts of storehouses and shops.