The Chauffeur

The Chauffeur

A new car was delivered to my office while I was away overseas on a work assignment. A Lexus 460L. It cost more than I’d ever spent on a car, about three times more! I wouldn’t have it if I had been the one paying for it. However, there had been a change in management at work and the board decided that we, the three top executives, were each to be given a car and access to a driver.

All of us frequently work long hours and we're always travelling. The board’s reasoning was that we’d be able to make more productive use of the time spent travelling; catching up on phone calls and emails. This was true, of course, and it is in their interest to keep us working, but the gesture nevertheless made be feel better about the company and a bit excited. I do like luxury cars and I was looking forward to driving the new Lexus myself. I prefer being in the driver’s seat, in general, and I particularly like the thrill of fast acceleration. I was looking forward to getting behind the wheel.

On this particular morning I was arriving from London on an overnight flight, after a very busy week. Long hours and late nights. It would not be a good time for the first drive of a brand new car so I’d arranged for the new driver to meet me at the airport. I was planning to doze in the back seat on the way home, which was over an hour from the airport.

I knew I’d be quick through arrivals at the airport, because, as usual, I only had hand baggage. It always made me a little nervous, travelling light like this, because I never travelled alone without my We-Vibe, a great little vibrator with a remote control button. I’ve always been pretty sure that the shape of the vibrator and its classy looking case, packed in with my makeup and toiletries, would not arouse attention – and it never has – but it still gives me a thrill of guilty, nervous anticipation every time my bag goes through the x-ray machine at check-in.

I love my We-Vibe! It’s u-shaped, and has bulbous ends with a tiny vibrator in each end. I can slip one end inside me, where it positions itself nicely on my G-spot, while the ribbed bulb at the other end nestles alongside my clitoris. It’s quite springy, which keeps it in place without my needing to hold it, even when I squirm to position the vibrations in just the right spots. And I’m in control of the remote button. Have I said how much I like being in control? This remote lets me control the vibrations while using my free hands to heighten my response by stimulating my nipples, applying oil, stroking or massaging my other erogenous zones, ‘riding’ a bolster or a pillow, or even multitasking. It can even make supermarket shopping more interesting! Hands-free masturbation, with me in the driver’s seat – very satisfying.

On this trip, I’d ‘worn’ my We-Vibe to a tedious and boring evening function, where I’d had to socialise with a bunch of distasteful businessmen; seriously misogynistic and up themselves. Testing me out by using sporting metaphors about everything and making crass sexist jokes and smirking when I looked uncomfortable. Little did they know that I was ‘up myself’ too, pressing the remote button in my pocket whenever I was caught in a conversation with a self-absorbed wanker. It made it easier to smile, if harder to concentrate.

At the airport, I breezed through customs and immigration and headed for the arrivals hall, scanning the sea of people for someone holding my name on a sheet of paper. It was a new driver so I knew I’d not recognise him but he saw me even before I spotted my own name.

“Can I take your bag, Ma’am?” said a voice beside me. “I’m your new chauffeur.”

I looked him up and down. He was trim, muscular and dapper in his suit, a crisp white shirt, black tie… and a chauffeur’s cap. Nice touch!  What is so sexy about a uniform? Maybe it exudes training, self-confidence and attention to detail, and I find that appealing. But maybe it’s because it signals power and authority. Or perhaps because it hints at compliance and “I do what I’m told – without question”.

“How do you do?” I said, extending my hand to shake his. And then, “No thanks, it’s not heavy.”

I was glad he was here as arranged, because I always have a tinge of worry when I’m being met and therefore depending on someone else. The hassle, if arrangements fall apart, is the last thing I want after a long flight. “How’s my new car?” I asked.

“It’s beautiful, Ma’am. Would you like to drive it back?” I considered this seriously for a moment, despite my earlier decision, but then thought the better of it. “No thanks, I’ll sit in the back and sleep.”

The doors unlocked automatically as we approached the car. Impressed, I bundled my bag into the back seat and climbed in beside it. Soft, beige, leather seats; sensually cool, then warm, on the backs of my knees. The seat felt like it enveloped me.

“You pull down the console in the middle to find the controls,” the chauffeur said. There I found an array of buttons: air conditioning, seat warmer and chiller, radio/CD/DVD player, sun-screens side and back, seat recline, head-rest and lumbar support, and even a back massager in the seat. It was even better than I expected. “Maybe I could get used to taking a back seat!” I though to myself.

I played with the controls as the chauffeur got the car started and paid for parking. I adjusted the seat angle, brought the headrest down and rummaged in my bag for a bottle of water to put in the drink chiller between the seats.

Feeling contented, I closed my eyes and prepared for an hour’s nap on the way home. I was just closing my eyes when a question from the chauffeur intruded: “Would you like to use hands-free?”

I opened my eyes with a start. Was he psychic? Did he know that I was already re-running in my mind the very pleasurable hour I’d spent going to sleep in the plane last night? Upgraded to 1st Class, I’d had a ‘suite’, with a sliding door and privacy. I’d put on my headphones, got out my We-Vibe, lubricated it and slid it in, closed my eyes and played with the remote. I’d had to bite my lip to suppress any moans that might have been heard outside the cubicle as my orgasm built up, tensed and then flooded over me. What did he mean “… use hands free”?

The penny dropped: “Oh… connect my phone? Yes. I’ll do that. Thanks” It took only a moment, and I was connected. So, if work called, there would be no escape. “You can also select music on your phone to play through the car’s speakers, and you can control it from back there” the chauffeur said. Great. I selected my favourite sleep-inducing music, turned on the seat’s massage function, and snuggled back into my leather cocoon.

The car was even quieter than the A380 I had just been on from London. It was only a minute before I started to relax. Arvo Pårt always worked as my sleep music because it brought back memories of long, luxurious, almost tantric sexual explorations with my lover… in my bed, on the floor, in hotel rooms, outdoors. We experimented with blindfolding, cross-dressing, kundilini energy, labial massage, oil (lots of oil), hot candle wax, vibrators, mutual masturbation, photographing and filming, phone sex, and even some bondage.

Unleashing memories of these stimulating occasions is always triggered by this music; even the feelings and sensations of our lovemaking sessions come flooding back whenever I hear it. It is my favourite music to masturbate to, and there’s nothing that induces sleep as well as a good orgasm. Perhaps it was not the cleverest choice of music for the drive back home that morning!

This time Arvo took me back to a time when I’d blindfolded him on the bed, so I could watch him without his being self-conscious about being watched. I was ‘doing the driving’; telling him what I wanted him to do next. I re-lived the sense of arousal I had felt at the time, while he pleasured himself, at my instruction. I watched how he stroked himself and noticed how his body reacted. I could feel my juices flowing and my clitoris swelling as his erection grew and his nipples hardened. I noticed what he did with his hands as he reached the point of no return, and marvelled at the rhythmic twitching that started a couple of seconds before the contractions projected his cum in spurts over his belly. I heard him holding his breath as his neck and cheeks flushed, and then watched him relax, limp and exhausted.

Still keeping myself in control, I’d encouraged him to lie back and listed to the music and he recovered; to let the music completely fill his mind and body. Speaking softly, calmly, insistently, persistently, I brought him into a trance-like state. Then I leaned over him and dripped warm, scented oil onto his nipples, his navel, his cock and his balls. In a quiet, hypnotic voice, I whispered: “The music is warm honey, caressing your body. Sliding over it. Feel the honey through your skin. Smell the scent. Inhale. Let it waft into your brain and merge with the music. Now feel the honey with your fingers. Trail them over your chest, your nipples, your stomach, your cock. Spread the honey in time with the music.”

I’d watched as he did as I said; watched the sensual stroking of his hands over his body, and wondered at his slowly growing erection – so soon after his orgasm. How can something so small and limp become so large and rigid? He was aware only of himself and his sensations, absorbed and immersed, unaware that my eyes were devouring his every movement.

As the music moved to the next track, I continued: “The music is moving within you now, from your brain, down through your body to your cock. Follow it down with your hands.” It was as if his hands were my instrument. I watched his hands sliding from his head, stroking down the sides of his neck, over his breasts, to his hips and thighs, then moving to grasp his oily cock and balls, in one handful.

In the car that morning, in my half-sleep, half-fantasy state, I was not just recalling the occasion; I was re-experiencing my own sexual response. I could feel the same warm sensation flooding between my legs and the feeling of arousal was demanding my attention. Still with my eyes closed, I rummaged in my bag with one hand, found my toiletry bag, located the We-Vibe in its case, popped the case and grasped the vibe and the control. I wriggled a bit in the seat to hitch up my dress, feeling the warm leather sticking to the sweaty backs of my legs.

Glad that I’d had the foresight not to put in my panties, I parted my legs a bit and lifted the front of my skirt to work the We-Vibe between my thighs. I opened my eyes and the first thing I saw was the chauffeur’s face in rear vision mirror. I quickly pulled my dress back down over my knees, many questions racing though my mind. How long had he been watching? What exactly had I been doing? What had he seen? What was he thinking? He had been watching, I was certain of that, as the mirror had been tilted down a bit to give him a better view.

I was mortified. It must have been obvious to the driver what I’d been doing; surely he had been able to see or sense my growing excitement. There was no point in stumbling over attempts to explain it away, so instead I took control. “Keep your eyes on the road, driver, and tilt the mirror back up. You are a driver, not a voyeur. Your job is to drive me safely home. Get on with it!”

His voice seemed a bit strained, in his reply: “Yes of course Ma’am” and “Sorry Ma’am.”

I felt a surge of excitement and anticipation as I thought about what I might do next. I really didn’t want to leave my recollections half finished and unfulfilled. That would be like waking up before the climax of an erotic dream. But could I bring myself to continue? How would the chauffeur react if I did? What did it matter? Might it heighten my arousal or douse it? Even as I explored these rational questions, I’d already decided… it would heighten it!

My pulse was racing and face flushing as I turned the music up louder, closed my eyes again and sank back into the leather seat. The music started to intrude back into my mind and I concentrated on letting the massaging vibrations in her seat relax me. I turned on the We-Vibe, suggestively placing the larger end into my mouth to lubricate it, liberally, with saliva. I pulled my dress back up again and slid the vibe into my panties, wriggling it down and past my clitoris, shuddering a bit as the vibrations hit the right spot. I squirmed in the seat as I worked one end inside me, and nestled the smaller end in my crack. The vibrations against my G-spot and clitoris merged with the buzzing of the seat against my spine. Goosebumps spread across my body and I shuddered again… with pleasure.

As I controlled the vibrator, my mind went back to my memory. I had taken my vibrator out then too, to buzz myself as I directed my lover’s hands over his body. I grew more excited as I watched his one hand cupping his balls and the other grasping the shaft of his cock tightly and slowly sliding up and down. “Slower…” I’d ordered, “slower, and gentler. Let the music conduct your hands. Feel it envelop your erection, and slide along it.”

My clitoris was swelling and twitching, as my build-up kept pace with my memory of that lovemaking session. My muscles and gut tensed as all my energy focussed in one place. I was on the verge. As I directed him “Come now… come now!” in my reminiscence, my sexual tension released itself in the car, with a flood of warmth spreading though my whole body. I exhaled deeply, oblivious to the chauffeur, with a long-drawn-out moan. I turned off the We-Vibe, but left it in, savouring the feeling of my diminishing contractions squeezing on the head of the vibrator. I was exhausted.

The car slowed, and I opened my eyes to see the shop on the corner of her street. I avoided eye contact with the chauffer, but said: “Thank you driver; that was a very smooth trip. I hardly noticed the time passing!” I patted down my dress at the front, and zipped up my bag. As I got out of the car, I asked him to bring my bag in to the house.

“Yes Ma’am.”

He followed me to the front door. As I stood to one side to let him pass with my bag, I couldn’t help but notice the bulge in the front of his pants. “No wonder,” I thought, “after what he’s experienced!” The thought of this was starting to turn me on again.

“Shall I put it here?” he enquired, still standing there with my bag.

"No!" I exclaimed. Surprising myself with my forwardness, I added: "I'll show you where you can put it." I turned and grabbed his tie. “Drop that case, and come with me!” I pulled him behind me up the stairs, into the bedroom. “Now it’s my turn to drive.”

I wriggled out of my dress, bra and panties as he stood watching, looking awkward, not sure what to do. It was clear from the bulge in his pants that he was aroused by this woman stripping in front of him, as brazen as you like. Now naked, I grabbed his chauffeur’s cap and put it on my own head.

“Now… I’ll have your jacket.” I put it on. “And your tie.” I took the tie and tied it, sliding the knot up to my neck and letting the ends drape down between my breasts, just visible beneath his jacket. It seemed that the sight of this was arousing him even more.

If he was in any doubt as to what was to happen next, I dispelled it by whispering into his ear: “I’m going to fuck you in recognition of your discrete service this morning. Resistance is futile.”

Resistance seemed to be the last thing on his mind, as I pushed him back onto the bed, standing up between his legs and looking down on him. “Take off your pants,” I ordered.

He fumbled urgently with his belt, buttons and zip, pulling his trousers and underpants down, together, past his knees to reveal his erection. It was hard and purple and stood up between the gap in tails of his shirt. He was so ready to.

I was still wet from my recent orgasm in the car, and I wanted his cock inside me. I climbed up onto the bed and knelt astride him, my hands on his chest to prop me up and give me control as I lowered myself down ever so slowly onto his cock. He groaned loudly and closed his eyes, his hips pushing upwards in an attempt to push his cock further inside me.

I rose up a little to resist, and then resumed sliding slowly onto his erection, stopping as the head of it slipped in past my first sphincter. I squeezed hard around his cock, using the pelvic floor exercises from my yoga and pilates classes. He groaned again. I stayed still and continued squeezing rhythmically, imagining my vaginal wall muscles milking his cock. Whatever he was feeling, it was clearly pleasurable and arousing, because he moaned, tried to push his hips upwards again, and his face and chest were starting to flush and beads of sweat were glistening on his forehead.

I slid down another inch, stopped, and squeezed again. Then the next inch. I could tell he was about to come, and he exploded just as I slid down to the base of his cock right and pressed my public bone hard against him.

A sat there for a while longer, continuing to milk the cum from his cock, enjoying his little post-orgasmic tremors, which I could feel. Then I climbed off, and once again thanked him for his good service.

“Look after my car,” I said. “I’m coming it to work tomorrow morning early, so I’ll need you here at 7.30 am. See you then?”




Later that day, over dinner, I said to my husband: “What gave you the idea of coming to pick me up dressed as a chauffeur? And where’d you get the uniform?”

“Never mind about that!” he retorted. “What about you? You were really getting off in the back seat. – and it wasn’t just your vibrator. You were wild! I almost came myself, just listening to you and peeking when I could. What were you fantasising about?” 

 “It wasn’t a fantasy, it was a memory,” I replied with a smile.

“We should do that again,” he said. “The chauffeur idea was mine…. Yours’s next.”

“You’re on!”