Tom was ready. She would be there in a few minutes. Gipsy was coming to pick him up! Why she had been hanging around the bar in Wellington was beyond him. Why she approached him? He didn’t know or care. She was smoking hot!
Tall, blond, big breast implants, collagen lips, the whole package. She looked like an a-list Vivid Entertainment pornstar; the perfect combination of beautiful and tacky all wrapped up in fake hair color, fake boobs and fake lips. If someone wanted to catch men, she would be the perfect bait.
There was a knock at the door just as he was checking his shoes one last time. Yep, tied. Bolting to the door, Tom stopped himself. He had to make her want him, she had to wait on him. If he showed her too much attention, she would take control of the situation and then he would have to meet her friends, go to posh restaurants and then she would move in and life would suck.
Taking a deep breath, Tom opened the door. His heart thumped hard in his chest, beating erratically and nearly seizing. His legs went weak and his hands started shaking.
“Ready?” she cooed, her bronzed cleavage gleaming up at him invitingly.
What? He looked up from Gipsy’s chest and quickly gathered himself.
“Yeah, how ’bout Texas Roadhouse?” Tom offered. How ’bout you just bend over and …
“Oh no,” she giggled childishly, “I don’t want some guy serving you.”
Gipsy lowered her head and raised her left eyebrow, “I want to serve you.”
THANK YOU BABY JESUS! Tom had to remain calm. He couldn’t give her the upper hand.
“Uh, sure,” Tom responded, trying to find his voice. All that wanted to come out was a squeal. “Well, come in then …”
Giggling again, her red lips smiled widely, “No, no. I’ve got it all set up.”
She stepped to the side and motioned to the black Corvette sitting in the street, “Do you want to drive?”
Did he!? Yes! No! She was going to drive him there. But he was going to drive that ZR-1 soon enough and then that blond.
“Naw,” Tom responded as nonchalantly as possible. “You can drive me.”
Smiling flirtatiously, she grabbed him by the collar and lead Tom to the car. He could hear the doors unlock as they approached. Opening the passenger door, the trashy woman bowed just enough that if Tom looked close enough he might … just … see …
“My Lord,” she said to him and smiled knowingly. She knew he was looking down her spaghetti strapped top.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, Gipsy started the car with a push of a button, “Are you ready?” she smiled.
Tom couldn’t help but notice that she had pulled up her already tiny skirt so she could work the clutch pedal. If he looked closely enough … maybe he … could just … see …
“Oh yeah!” he responded eagerly.
The sports-car roared through the streets and roads. The insane power of the car jostled Tom around like a rag-doll. Jumping onto the interstate, Gipsy downshifted, spinning the wide tires down the merge lane. Tom’s head hit the headrest as the nearly seven-hundred-horsepower engine came to life.
Her skirt had slid up just a little more.
The car shot through the streets of Wichita with gut-wrenching speed. Gipsy certainly wasn’t concerned about being pulled over. She was in a hurry and that made Tom even happier. Before he knew it, they were roaring into the little town of Eastborough, a tiny little independent town of extremely rich people situated in the middle of Wichita.
“They’ll pull you over here,” Tom commented, “This place is a speed trap.”
Caressing the shifter knob, Gipsy cooed, “They won’t pull me over. This is our town tonight baby.”
Tom wanted to respond, but there was a lump in his throat. He couldn’t swallow, couldn’t speak. On the Internet, they would say the only thing he could do was “squee”.
The car rumbled to a stop in the driveway of a mansion and Tom started to scramble out, but Gipsy put her hand on his leg, “I said I wanted to serve you,” she said, “Hang on.”
Getting out, she adjusted her skirt and walked to his door. For someone wearing six-inch stiletto heels, she moved like a cat in sneakers. Slinking to his side, she opened the door and bowed again.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this baby?” she giggled.
“Oh hell yeah,” Tom said, unable to contain his excitement.
Following her swaying hips to the door, Tom marveled at his luck. Rich, trashy; she was the perfect woman. He was going to marry this girl.
She guided him through the halls of the mansion and stopped by a pair of large, closed doors. Inside, Tom could hear the giggles of several women and his excitement grew.
Opening the doors, he saw five other women gathered around a large table. The women’s faces were wrapped in medical gauze, obscuring their visages and the gauze moved up into tall pointed hats. Totally nude from the head down, the woman stood reverently as he entered.
On the table were five settings complete with delicate porcelain plates, pure silver utensils and crystalline goblets. But in the center of the table was a huge bloody stain surrounded by four leather straps that were likewise covered in blood stains.
“Uh …” Tom started to say.
Grabbing him by the back of the neck, Gipsy wrenched him into the air. Slamming him onto the table, the woman held Tom down with the strength of fifteen men. The other women quickly strapped him down and he could feel the blood on the table seeping through his clothes.
Gipsy leaned over closely, the peppermint in her breath brushing against his nose, “Remember how I said I wanted to serve you?”
“Y … yeah,” Tom stammered. He wasn’t going to score was he?
“I’m serving you to my sisters,” Gipsy hissed. “You’re our Tom-Tom tartare.”