


Show-Me Darkly


CHAPTER ONE:


Sharon

I radioed the tower at the Columbia airport in BFE Missouri at 6:45 A.M. on a Sunday morning still wondering what in the hell I was doing.  It wasn't raining, but everything was cold and wet.  The airport wasn't much more than a couple strips of tarmac in the middle of some fog-covered cow pasture two-hundred miles from anywhere even remotely important.

I was familiar with Missouri, having gotten my undergrad from Stephens almost a decade ago.  But I went off to Boston for my MBA and hadn't been back.  

There wasn't anything to come back to.  I hated Missouri and all its hicks with their little hick-dot towns like Ashland and Holt's Summit and New Bloomfield.  

The funniest ones were the mispronounced places like Chamois which one of  my pledge sisters had called “Shamoiz” with a little bit of a blunt “anti-drawl.”  Most of the people in Missouri sounded just like every one else- like people on television, but some had it bad- especially, it seemed to me, the people from Versailles.  

They pronounced their own crummy corner of the shit-heap as “Vir Sales,” and somehow managed to stress both the syllables as if they were especially important- almost in the same way that both the words in “Happy Birthday” are stressed- with enthusiasm.  I've been to Versailles, (and to Versailles) and believe me, there's nothing there to be enthusiastic about.  

It almost made me sad that my life had come to this.  

Here I was, the six million dollar woman and I was slumming it with some poor red-necks that had not only never been to Versailles, but  had probably never even heard of it.

I liked Columbia just fine.  It was okay for a small town.  In fact, it was pretty nice, but the rest of the state could suck a dirt box.

With St. Louis and K.C. being so far away, I wondered how I could possibly be meeting anyone of real importance here- in a city that not even the owners cared enough about to give a real name to... I mean, “Jeff City?”  Honestly? 

And as miserable as the Columbia airport was, the one in “Northern” Jeff City was even worse.  It was more like a washed-out creek-bed full of cow shit and discarded beer bottles than it was a runway.   How a city with a population of about seventeen could have a “Northern” part was beyond me.  I'd only been to Jeff once, but from what I remembered, I'd be better off just dropping my new Cessna on the front steps of the Capitol building and saying fuck it.

Or better yet, I could just ignore the tower and fly back to Chicago.  Believe me, I was thinking about doing just that when I got the text-. “Land your fucking plane and get your ass on the bike.”
Something about this Johnny character got under my skin.  We had BDSM places all around Chicago and New York but I had to be careful.  More careful than most- and that seemed to be his specialty.  

Way out here in the cultural armpit of Backwater BFE I could come and go and no one would notice me.  I liked that.  But there was more to it.  Maybe I liked the idea of slumming it, I don't know.  All I do know is that when he said jump, I wanted to jump.  That was hot.  He made me do things, send him things... pictures- over my phone...  They were worth more than he could possibly have known.  Why was I letting my guard down?  He could ruin me with just one upload of those shots.  When I thought of that I couldn't help squirming out of my two-thousand-dollar faille back skirt and fucking myself on whatever was close by- even if it was my fiance.

The tower got back to me.  It'd be fifteen minutes before I could land.  That wasn't going to work.  I wanted to get down there NOW!  I acknowledged the tower and set my course.

Then I fumbled with the phone.  “Fifteen minutes.  Sorry.”

I stared at the little box in my hand wondering what he would say.   My heart began racing and my left leg began to shake like it always does when I'm too nervous.  And then the text came.
“Land that fucking plane right now and get on this fucking bike or go back to Chicago.  I'm leaving in ten minutes.”

I knew better than to argue with him so I told the tower I had an emergency and that I would be landing immediately, whether it was on the tarmac or on the cows.  They chose the tarmac and within five minutes I was on the ground.  But there was no way I could get everything done in time.  How could I stall him?  I followed the directions of the tower and by the time I stopped I only had two minutes left.  He must have been watching me.   My phone vibrated.

I read his text.

“Good job.  I am going to reward you by waiting.  Take care of your shit and then get here asap.  DO NOT BRING YOUR SHOES.  DO NOT BRING YOUR PURSE.  DO NOT BRING YOUR LUGGAGE. You must learn that my time is more important than yours.  Txt wn u r on ur way.” 

I slipped off my black calf-leather Hortense sandals and sat them in the seat next to me.  What the hell was I doing?  This guy could kill me and no one would know.  I opened my Gucci top handle and took my id and my credit cards out of my brand new Zippy Wallet.  I hated the wallet at first, mostly for spite- Tommy was terrible at picking things out.  How he could fuck up a Vuitton store, I had no idea.  But this time, he did good and I finally had to admit it.  The Suhali leather Zippy Wallet was my favorite and I loved to say it to myself.  What a silly name.  Still.  It was fun.  Not as fun as firing douche-bag C.E.O.s after a forced merger, but fun.  I wondered if my Zippy Wallet counted as a purse.  I decided not to chance it and with a tinge of sadness dropped it back into my bag.  Then I pulled out my aviators, which I never used for flying, and put them on.  I checked myself in my compact and closed it.  I looked good.  Damn good.  I reached back into my purse and slowly pulled out the roll of twenties he told me to bring.

I finished with the landing crew and made my way toward the parking lot.  I texted him to let him know.  

He responded.

“Go into the bathroom and take off your panties and your bra.  Throw them away.  Let me know when this is done.”

I was already nervous meeting this total stranger, but now he had me doing things that no one had dared ask me to do before.  But he didn't ask.  That's why I did it.  In my normal life I had to be powerful.  I ate people for a living and everyone was scared of me.  But not Johnny.  Johnny wasn't scared of anything.

I found the ladies room and went in.  No one was around.  The ugly brown tile was cold on my stocking feet so I stood on my tiptoes as I took off my jacket and carefully draped it over the stall's hook.  I made sure not to let it fall for fear some red neck's chew would stain my precious Scottish Wool double breasted Louis V.  Then I'd have to kill somebody.  I just bought myself the damn thing as a present for taking over Riedell Corp without a glitch.  That was work.  

I unhooked my bra and fished my arms through it, careful not to stretch my blouse.  I dropped it through the bottom of my polo neck top as I put my arms back through the long sleeves and looked in the mirror.  My nipples poked through the black cashmere and silk and I could already feel the wetness between my legs.  I slipped off my seventy dollar panties and dropped them into the trash.  It almost made me come to see them fall away and to feel my nakedness.  I put on my jacket and texted him that I was ready.

He texted back, “Show me.”

I pulled my undies out of the trash and took a picture.

“NO.  Show me.”

My pulse raced as I lifted my skirt and took a picture of my bare lips.  I texted it to him.

He texted back.

“NO.  Show me.”
I didn't know what the fuck he wanted.  I pulled my top up over my bare breasts, took a picture of myself in the mirror and sent it.

“NO.  Show me.  The skirt too.”

I pulled my skirt up over my hips and lowered my head.  I took the picture and sent it, trembling.

“Stop fucking around”

What did he mean?  I looked into the mirror this time, feeling wetter than I had in months.  This was so dangerous.  Evidence?  Was I crazy?

I took the picture and sent it.  Everything, right there.  This was seriously against my own rules, but I was caught up.

“Fuck yourself.”

My heart raced.  I knew I was fucking up. I couldn't have this kind of evidence out there.  This would ruin me.  Fuck it, I thought.  Fuck it.  I'm doing it.  As I slid my fingers inside myself my whole body started to shake.  I was suddenly free.  I was glad I was here.  I took a picture in the mirror and sent it.  Then I closed my eyes and imaged someone walking in on me.  Maybe he would walk in on me.  I came hard just as he sent me another text.  

I caught my breath and read it.

“Find me.  I am going to give you a sandwich.  Stand there and eat it.  I want to look at you.  Whatever happens, whatever I do to you... DON'T SAY ANYTHING.  If you fuck up I will leave your ass here.” 

Don't say anything?  Did that mean that I couldn't use my safety word?  Would he really leave me?  How many six-foot blonde MBA's with their own billion-dollar companies did he have that he could afford to just ride off into the sunset and leave one behind?  Maybe I would say something.  This guy couldn't be for real, could he?  I wanted to know.  If he was just going to be another fuck up, I didn't want to waste my time.

I walked out into the parking lot in my stocking feet and there he was on his bike.  I walked up to him and waited, but he didn't say anything.  He was much smaller than he had said on his site.  In fact, he was just plain scrawny.  This wasn't going to work for me.  I tried to stare through his thick visor but I could only see my own reflection.  I looked timid but I was beginning to get pissed off.  This scrawny shit was the one barking orders at me!  I felt humiliated.  Half of me wanted to kick his ass and the other wanted to just turn around and head home.  But I couldn't get my body to do either one.  I just stood there like an idiot waiting for him to say something, but he didn't.  In frustration, I almost asked him for the sandwich because he was making me nervous.   For over a minute he just looked at me through that smokey visor and didn't say anything.  I couldn't believe I was still standing there waiting when my phone started vibrating.  I looked at it.  He didn't say I couldn't look at it.

It was him.  He was texting me.

“Over here, jackass.  Left.”

As soon as I began to turn my head, the scrawny guy on the bike started it and took off without a word.  There, on the far side of the lot was another bike.  This time the guy wasn't wearing a helmet.  My phone vibrated again.

“Hurry the fuck up.”

I ran over to the bike and stopped.  This was the Johnny I was expecting.  Fully six five and massive shoulders.  His face was rugged, like a cage fighter, and his head was shaved except for a small patch at the top that gave him a half military/ half punk look.  He stared at me.

“Well,” he finally started, “Aren't you going to say anything?”

I wondered what I should say.  He had told me not to say anything.  This was a test.  I kept my mouth shut.

Finally he spoke again.  “I said- Aren't you going to fucking say anything?”

I kept quiet and felt myself getting tight.  I looked into his eyes and very slowly began to shake my head no.

He smiled and handed me the sandwich.  I unwrapped it from the plastic and looked at it.  What was in it, I wondered.  This guy could be some sort of sicko.

“Just eat the fucking sandwich and stop wasting my time.”

I took a bite out of it.  It was good.  No.  It was amazing.  Some sort of smoked roast beef and a slightly spicy horseradish maybe?  I didn't know.  I didn't care.  Eating that sandwich made me want to fuck.

He watched me eat every bite.  His face was emotionless but I had the sense that he was angry with me.  I didn't know why.  When I was done he finally spoke again.

“Now go throw that wrapper in the trash.”

He pointed to a dumpster by the front of the airport.

“And lose that ugly skirt too.  I hate it.  Leave your top on.”

I ran toward the trash can and threw the wrapper in and looked around.  It was after seven in the morning but there was no one around.  I slipped out of my wool tweed skirt and threw it into the trash.  Asshole! I loved my new outfit and now I had a Scottish wool Vuitton jacket and no mini.  Fuck it, I'll get a new one sent.  Note to self: tell Danielle to order a replacement skirt from Raphielle.  I cussed Johnny under my breath but I loved it.  I loved the power he had over me.  I began to run back to him.  My phone vibrated.

“Walk.”

I read it and slowed down.  This was exciting, my bare ass and everything else exposed for the world.  When I got to the bike he handed me a pink helmet.  Inside was a pair of cuffs.  I wondered what he meant for me to do with the cuffs, but I put the helmet on my head.  That part was easy.  He told me to get on and when I did, I felt the cool leather against my naked lips.  It was the strangest sensation ever.  I wrapped my arms around him and it suddenly became obvious what the cuffs were for.  I cuffed myself.  Now he owned me.  I found a place for my feet as we took off on his bike, much faster than I was expecting.  I loved it.

It was twenty minutes to Jeff from the airport but he made it in a little over seven.  We passed two big rigs and both of them wasted no time laying on the horn as my bare ass paused outside their windshield.  The telephone posts where going by like a picket fence.  I was terrified that we would die or get pulled over.  Which would be worse?  I cranked my neck to see his speedometer and then wished I hadn't.  It stopped at 120 mph and the little orange bar  was buried an inch past it.  

I closed my eyes, squeezed him tight and prayed that I wouldn't die.  I found myself grinding against the wet leather, fucking his seat and pressing myself into his back.  The bike vibrated my whole body and made it sing like crystal.  I bit down on my lip and came harder than I'd ever come in my life.  I made my lip bleed.  I kept my eyes closed and rode it out.  The bike fucked me all the way to the river.

I opened my eyes when I felt us slowing down and leaning in hard to the right.  We made it to the Missouri River Bridge.  I was still alive.  He slowed down to a crawl (which was probably still about ninety) and took Highway 50 East into Jeff.  As he came around the last curves of the off ramp and entered the highway he had finally dropped down the the speed limit.  I saw a Cole County Sheriff and a JCPD within the first six blocks.  I tried to pull my jacket down to cover my bare ass but was helpless with my hands cuffed in front of my captor.   Luckily no one noticed that I was half naked.  We turned at the last light near a Double Tree hotel and turned again onto a side street where an A-shaped Baptist church was beginning to fill up.

Great!  I was naked outside a church!  I was going to hell for sure.  Who was this guy?  When we pulled to the top of the hill and stopped at the stop sign I was even more disconcerted.  We were at a high school!  Oh my god, I was going to burn for this.   But I liked it.

We turned right and went up a hill and then onto a private alley behind his house.  There was a yellow sign that said “no outlet” and I doubted that.  I'd already found two outlets and I'd only been back in Missouri for half an hour. 

He pulled the bike into his garage and the door lowered behind us.  It was dark.  I felt him unlock my cuffs and push me to get off the bike.  I did.  My legs were weak from the ride and they began to tremble with anticipation.

I heard him take off his helmet and sit it down, then his jacket which he seemed to toss aside.  Then he stepped toward me in the darkness and pulled my visor up.  I still couldn't see anything.  He grabbed the front of my helmet, by the chin part, and jerked me forward with sharp control.  I thought he was going to kiss me but he spun me around and pushed me over the bike.  I heard a metallic flick and then he cut my shirt and jacket away.  Oh God!  My jacket!   I heard the knife skitter across the concrete floor.  He grabbed me by the neck and pulled me up straight.  With one hand choking my neck, he took the other and pushed my head to the side and buried his teeth into my neck and shoulder.  It was incredible.  Then he unstrapped my helmet, took it off and tossed it aside.  I heard it hit a couch or something and then fall to the floor.  His hand was so tight around my  neck I felt that I might pass out, but just before I thought I would have to tap, he released his grip slightly, making my head swim.

He forced me over the bike.  My rock hard nipples slid back and fourth across the leather, still slick with my juices.  He held my head down and thrust himself against me.  He was hard.

“I could rape you right now,” he growled into my ear.  “I could fuck you any way I want and no one could stop me.”

He tightened his grip on my throat so that I gasped for air and he shook me hard.

“I could even fucking kill you and no one would know.” 

This last part he said softly and intensely into my jugular.  I wanted him to fuck me and I told him so.  His hand reached around my thigh and his ring and middle finger slid into me.  My back arched and my ass came up as I went on my tip toes.  He'd instantly found my spot.  Tommy had been with me for a year and still hadn't found it.  Johnny Buckles found it in less than a second.  He worked it, but just as it was getting good he stopped and quickly pulled his hand away.  Then he slapped my ass harder than I'd ever been slapped.  I screamed and he did it again.  Even harder.  Then he tightened his grip on my throat again and rammed his fingers inside me.  He worked the spot, slowly at first, then faster and faster until I was bucking like a whore.  

Then he bit into my neck and I started squirting.  I felt like I was pissing myself and panicked, but he tightened his grip on my throat and then loosened it and released his bite on my shoulder for long enough to tell me it was okay.  Then he bit down hard again and choked the hell out of me, his other hand ramming up and down hard against my g-spot and clit.  I came again, even harder, and sprayed his bike in bursts.  I heard it sizzle against the hot muffler and smelled the strangeness of it.  He kept pumping me with his hand until I was dry and then he spun me around and slapped me hard across the face, pulled me in close to him and gently kissed my lips.

He stopped with a single kiss and just held me while I trembled in his arms.  He just held me... and gently rocked me... and then pulled back and kissed me softly on the forehead and then the mouth and ran his fingernails down my sweaty back.  I had never wanted to fuck a man so bad in all my life, but I was too exhausted to even move.

And then, without a word, he stepped back, flipped on the harsh light and laughed at me.  He called me a perv and handed me a diet Dr. Pepper from a small fridge and led me by the back of the head out of his garage- butt-ass naked and fucked silly- right out into the bright daylight of his front yard.  There was a black neighbor lady getting into her van across the street and she didn't even seem to notice us.  Though I'm sure she did.

He led me down the broken sidewalk that led through the center of his unmowed lawn and we went into his house.
