Clarissa

by J. Manx

Genres: Erotic & Steamy Romance

Synopsis

An erotic short story with femdom themes from Xcite Books.

A relationship develops between a taxi driver and an air hostess who he regularly drives to the airport. During the trips, the taxi driver divulges details of his broken marriage and the air hostess, although initially offering sympathy, gradually comes to dominate the taxi driver, both emotionally and sexually. Eventually, the taxi driver submits himself totally and takes up residence in the house of the air hostess, where, along with her husband he settles into domestic bliss.

Release date: February 7, 2010

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 82

Sample

Chapter One

I’M A TAXI DRIVER. It can be an interesting job but it can also be very boring. I have very few interesting passengers. Most are fairly mediocre and so it’s a real treat when I come across people who are a little different, a little special.

Clarissa is special. She’s got that ‘something’.

Clarissa is an air hostess. She only works the long haul flights so she’s gone for several days at a time. I used to pick her up and drive her to and from Heathrow. Things have changed a little now, but I still ferry her about, although she never pays, not any more.

The first time I met her was early one morning, just after I’d started my shift. I was given a Heathrow run and I assumed the pick up was for a tourist or holidaymaker so it was a pleasant surprise when the car door opened and a uniformed woman slipped into the passenger seat. She was very attractive. My immediate impression was of a slightly haughty woman, a woman in control, an intelligent, ambitious, successful woman, who knew her own mind.

‘Morning,’ she said and smiled.

Yes, the make up; perfectly applied lipstick, outlining lips that were full but not bloated; she had followed the line of the lip rather than going over it and attempting to make the lips look fuller. The make up on her eyes was a little heavy but it was effective and highlighted an intelligent and piercing pair of eyes. The overall look was one of restrained sexuality. She leaned toward me as she secured her seat belt and I caught a waft of fresh, feminine scent that caused my heart to beat a little faster. I looked at the top of her head. Her hair was tied up tightly, which gave her a slightly severe look. It was in immaculate condition, sleek and shiny and looked so soft that I wanted to reach out and touch it. She straightened up and I quickly averted my eyes and looked out of the windscreen.

‘OK, Heathrow please.’ She smiled and I smiled back. She checked her mobile and giggled at a message before putting it back in her bag. Not a great deal was said on the journey but I remember every word.

‘Been cabbing long?’

‘About two years. What about you? I take it you’re an air hostess from the uniform?’

‘That’s right.’

‘I’m surprised I haven’t picked you up before.’

‘I’ve only recently moved into the area.’

‘Do you enjoy it?’

‘Oh yes, I love it, I get to meet all sorts of interesting people and see all sorts of interesting places. What about you? Do you enjoy cabbing?’

‘Oh yes,’ I lied, ‘pretty much for the same reasons.’

‘Good,’ she said, ‘then we have something in common.’

That was pretty much the conversation for the whole of the journey. But it did me. It set a relaxed atmosphere. When I dropped her off, just before she got out of the car, she said, ‘My name’s Clarissa, I hope we meet again, I enjoyed the journey.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, ‘my name’s George, I hope we do meet again.’ From that day I couldn’t get her out of my mind.

Three days later I got a booking from Heathrow that was passed to me as the designated driver had gone sick. Looking back, I think it was fate. The pick up was for a Ms Clarissa Norton. Clarissa.

I got there about an hour early. I didn’t want to be late. About ten minutes after the appointed pick up time, she appeared. She was pulling one of those hostess dolly trolleys behind her. The way she was walking she could have been a model dragging a mink coat along the catwalk. I got out of the car to meet her. She spotted me and smiled a confident, sexy smile that made me feel I was important.

‘Hello, George, what a pleasant surprise.’ She’d remembered my name!

Clarissa got in the car while I put her trolley in the boot.

‘I was so pleased that they gave me this trip,’ I blurted out, as I settled back in my seat beside her, ‘I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again.’

‘That’s good to hear, George.’ She smiled, not a happy, pleased smile but an amused smile. ‘I will have to make this journey regularly, George, would you like to give me a ride regularly?’

I wasn’t sure whether the innuendo was intended or not, I got the feeling she was teasing, I wasn’t sure how to respond.

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I’d like that.’

‘Then that’s settled then, you shall be my driver, I’ll let your firm know that I won’t require any other driver.’

I felt a small thrill run through me. She liked me.

I got ribbed at work. Clarissa had already used several other drivers for her journeys and they were all a little envious. I picked up Clarissa twice during the next week, taking her to and from the airport for trips to America. On each journey I found myself talking at length about myself, something I never did with passengers, but somehow Clarissa drew me out of myself. Whenever I tried to steer the conversation towards her she gave me short answers. If I persisted she became a little curt. I soon understood. I let her guide the conversation. I wanted to confide in her, to share with her. I didn’t realise she was making a calculated assessment of me. I didn’t care.

‘So, what were you before you became a taxi driver, George?’

‘I was a teacher.’

‘A teacher? That’s a rather noble profession, what made you give that up?’

‘I got to the point where I couldn’t stand it, it wasn’t what I expected and the kids weren’t interested in learning and they got too difficult to deal with.’

I continued wittering on, God knows why. I’d never mentioned this to anyone else. Looking back I think I was angling for her attention, some sympathy, some affection from her. ‘Eventually,’ I continued, ‘I had a nervous breakdown.’

‘Oh, George,’ she said, ‘you poor thing!’ She covered my hand, which was resting on the gearstick, with her own. It felt cool and soft and I felt my cock begin to stir. I wanted more sympathy and I blabbered on.

‘It wasn’t just the kids or the job, it was one of those times in your life when everything seems to conspire against you. At the same time I found out my wife was having an affair.’

Clarissa’s hand tightened on mine. ‘Oh, George, h. . .