Beauty in Distress
Nobody loves a car-clamper.
And I imagine the lady in that big Porsche loves me about as much as a puff-adder with typhoid on a bad day.
But for me, it had been a really bad day - all day - and I'm afraid it left me very much wanting to sting someone.
My clamping territory is small, manageable and highly lucrative, in an upmarket enclave of boutiques, restaurants and a couple of luxury blocks with a private car-park in the courtyard between them. We've posted-up all the warning signs about clamping, but the number of drivers who still think it's free parking... well, let's just say, it helps to keep me in the style to which I'm accustomed.
Anyway, the Porsche swung smoothly into the yard, a little before six, and a very well-kept lady in a mauve silk dress got out, locked up, and marched quickly towards the shops, as though she was late for something.
In half-a-minute flat, I'd lugged out the clamp and the chain, and secured it firmly behind that front wheel. Then I pasted the notice on the windscreen. 'DO NOT ATTEMPT TO MOVE THIS VEHICLE.'
Not legal these days, of course. But I can always spot the ones who don't know their rights.
Only a few minutes later, she was back, carrying a couple of coats from the dry cleaners, in an awkward, slippery plastic bundle, which she was obviously longing to dump in the back of the car.
Now she stopped dead.
"What's all this about?"
"Sorry, Madam. Regulations. You'll have to collect your vehicle from the car-pound."
She let out a heavy sigh.
"Oh well... How much do I owe you?"
"Out of my hands, I'm afraid. The contractors will be here as soon as I can get through to them. Line's busy at the moment."
"But look... I need the car now. Urgently. I'm meeting my husband off the plane..."
"I can't do anything about that. Regulations. Just doing my job."
"But can't you just un-clamp it again?"
"More than my job's worth, Madam..."
"Look, this is serious. I really do need my car now - this minute." And she stamped her pretty foot.
I just shrugged and said nothing. She gave another deep sigh, as I took the opportunity of inspecting her a bit closer. Not quite a beauty, but a very handsome, expensive piece of goods. Distinctly arousing...
"Is there no way round this?"
She was trying hard to hold on to her dignity, and keep the desperate note out of her voice. But she wasn't quite succeeding. I looked her in the eye, then up at her hair for a moment, then back to eye-contact. It always works - an unmistakeable signal.
She responded by looking me up and down - also an unmistakeable signal. She was no fool. She knew this was the moment when a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do - and pretty quickly too, in her present crisis. Now she was deciding whether she could bring herself to do it.
After a moment's meaningful pause, I said quietly:
"Better put those in the boot. Then come with me. Need to talk business."
Business it was - in the full sense of the street-whore having to bare her butt in order to eat. For the pleasure of a man she privately despises.
For the next few minutes, this upper-class lady was having to turn hooker in secret. And it certainly felt like it.
I led her down some iron steps to a tiny cramped office beside the huge, noisy gas-boilers. There was a reasonably thick carpet, and I motioned her to lie down on it, while I unzipped at the front. The arousal had intensified, and I f***ed her head down towards my sharply erect prick.
It was obvious she was wanting to get it over with, so she made a good job of it, playing it with wonderful skill, as though she was in love.
I reached into her panties and put one finger into each of her two sweet holes, one of them loose and moist, the other satisfyingly tight, a little forbidden goldmine.
At the front, she was going great guns, licking, sucking, even biting, to try and bring me off at the earliest moment.
It happened soon enough, and the hooker and her client were just two unknown people again.
As I followed her back up the iron steps, I looked in wonder at her shapely rear that I had been allowed to invade. But now our sordid transaction was over, her body belonged to her husband again. I was nothing to her. Or less than nothing, for I could feel the hate and resentment radiating from her, as I had seldom felt it before.
But that's the favours game, I reflected, as I unlocked the clamp and watched her drive out of my life, where she had never really been.