Chase was the only man she had met whom she hadn’t had eating out of her hand within five minutes. He seemed utterly immune to her considerable charms, and his cold, grey stare made her feel like a misbehaving schoolgirl in the principal’s office. Sometimes, Anita would catch herself daydreaming, and his stern face would appear in her mind, those cold, grey eyes alight with hot desire – for her.

Now, it seemed as if he wasn’t all that immune, after all, and Anita felt something in her respond as she imagined him getting hard whilst watching her through the camera.

“You know, you didn’t have to go to all this trouble, Mr. Chase,” she said in a soft murmur, doing her best to put that wonderful, Marilyn Monroe, sex-kitten breathiness into her voice, “with the car, I mean.

“If you wanted a show, I would have come up to your hotel room.”

Anita’s hands slid up to her breasts, her long, scarlet fingernails standing out starkly against the pale skin as she tugged her nipples, letting out a soft sigh. She flexed her leg, pushing against the dash to  tense the muscles of her long, slender thigh – drawing his attention, she hoped, to the smooth lips of her pussy.

“I think I would have liked that,” she continued, looking directly into the camera, “I’d like to see you watching me, while I perform, just for you.”

As she spoke, Anita was surprised to discover that she was actually telling the truth. The thought of performing right in front of him was definitely getting her hot – and wet.

His reply was a soft chuckle. It sounded so terribly, wickedly knowing – making things tighten, low down in her body, before he even spoke.

“What makes you think you’re performing for just me, Anita?”

The words were like a splash of cold water on her face. Her head darted from side to side as she  looked around, horrified to realize that, where there had been nothing but blackness before, she could now see pale faces looming in the darkness around the car – faces that were looking at her, leering at her naked body as she spread herself for his camera. The faces were indistinct, but there seemed to be at least seven or eight men peering into the car.

“What the fuck?” she gasped, shrinking back in her seat and clutching her arms around her, pulling up her legs and curling into a ball to hide as much of herself as she could.

Chase’s voice came, strict and cold, from the speakers, “Who told you to stop, you stupid slut?”

“Fuck you,” she retorted, her fear transmuting to anger, “I don’t know what kind of sick, freak game this is, but I’m not playing.”

“Suit yourself,” came the reply, “as I said before, it’s your choice. Go ahead. Put that pretty dress back on and drive home.”

Anita’s voice was a hoarse whisper, “You bastard. You sick, fucking bastard.”

“Quite possibly,” his calm voice replied, “now, make up your mind.”

Anita’s mind whirled as she huddled in her seat. She was used to men treating her like a princess – vying with each other to cater to her every whim as they fawned over her. The idea of putting on a sex show for this group of sleazy perverts was utterly horrifying, and she was sure that the stirring of arousal she felt as she considered it was nothing but the same kind of sick fascination that made people slow down to look as they drove past a traffic accident. Yes, definitely nothing but that, and perfectly normal, she told herself.

She tried to consider the situation rationally. Chase had enough evidence against her that she could easily end up in jail if he chose to take it to the police. She had been perfectly OK with putting on a sex show for Chase – eager, in fact, she admitted to herself. So, what was the difference? Anita realized she was talking herself into this, and she tingled inside as a perverse thrill went through her.

Her decision was obvious in her resigned tone, and no, there wasn’t an undercurrent of eagerness in her voice, she decided, absolutely not, “You really are an old pervert.”

“That, too, is quite possible,” he replied, “now, spread those pretty legs and put on a good show, slut.”

Absurdly, Anita found that his faint praise for her legs made her feel good. It wasn’t being called a slut by that deep voice as it positively oozed authority and self-confidence – no, definitely not.