This Week's Erotica, Erotic Book- 'Driving Daisy Crazy' Chapter 2

in #nsfw3 years ago

NOTE- Not my book, but growing up I used to see these naughty image books on my uncle's used book door shelves and couldn't wait for him to drink himself silly so I could read them. Many had incestuous and or under aged themes. I apologize in advance if the author who would have wrote this in the 50's 0r 60's suggest those themes.

Driving Daisy Crazy
By Unknown

All characters in this book are fictional and any resemblance to persons living
or dead is purely coincidental

ab111 - Driving Daisy Crazy.jpg

A tale of intrigue and bondage as Daisy finds out to obey and learn to enjoy the ropes, Enjoy!

Chapter Two

Daisy looks around the bus terminal.

She looks very much like a Daisy.

Tall, blue-eyed, with short, blonde hair that is neither straight nor curly, floral blouse tucked into bluejeans whose soft, faded blue denim accentuate. her broad, flaring hips, the twin roundnesses of her buttocks.

A big farm girl, Daisy.

And she has left home.

Not run away, but simply left, her high school education completed, the farm a dusty expanse of whithered crops capped, near the highway, by a dilapidated cluster of barn, silo and house.

There was no argument, was in fact no discussion. Except for a sighing, grudging, "Well, maybe it'd be fer the best aft'all," from her father.

Who had no time or interest in her future, it being, by definition, than any version of his, of the farm's.

He had nothing for her.

There was nothing for her, back there. Talk of subsidies, talk of loans, slim possibilities, the suggestion, the shadow of hope, rather than hope itself.

Try it.

Come east.

Come to the city of possibilities, however nebulous, of hope, however slim and without foundation.

And now, looking around, she sees that the city has drawn her to it like a vacuum.

She has been attracted, moved by a nothingness, an emptiness even greater than that she left behind, she sees.

Because there is no clue here, no indicator.

There is no sign from heaven.

And to seek within her heart is to know only more emptiness.

Inspiration does not strike.

She has gone from hopelessness to hopelessness. Those with hopes and dreams, valid ones, do not take the bus.

They fly.

And she too could have flown.

She had enough money for that, at least.

But she didn't.

Why?

Because to fly is to collapse time, to shorten distance.

And, if all one has is a nebulous, shaky illusion, then flying is also to kill that, to nip it in the bud.

The policeman sees her.

And knows exactly what he is looking at.

And knows better than to direct her to Covenant i-louse or to some other shelter.

Because, unless he somehow arranges to transport her there by squad car, there is just no way she will make it.

He could, of course, give her subway directions. But before she could get there, even by subway, they would come.

The vultures, preying on flesh such as hers.

The people with the better ideas.

And she would listen to them, to their bullshit.

And would believe, despite common sense, despite caution, because she wants to.

Away.

A place to stay.

Money in her pocket.

And it would just be temporary, just until she can find "something better".

Something better.

That's the name of the dream, something better.

So he chooses not to see her.

She is loitering, but he will give her that much of a break.

And of course, if the guys in the patent leather shoes and the flashy vests and those hats with buckle bands come up to her, he will intervene.

But, other than that, she is on her own.

Not his choice, but a simple fact of life.

When you land here the way she has, you are, in every sense of the term, on your own.

She stands there with her cardboard suitcase, not knowing which way to turn and not moving.

And he knows what that is all about too.

Turn around.

Go back the way you came.

Chickening out, they'd call it here in the big city.

But she has nothing to prove to anyone here, only something to prove to herself.

So that there is that to be resolved as well. So many problems would be solved if she would simply go to the window and get herself a return ticket.

Where to stay, for example.

What to do, for example.

"Ah there, my little chickadee!"

She cannot believe this black man in those outlandish shoes is speaking to her.

He was, but he isn't.

Becauseó

"Don't tell me, let me guess!"

This from the cop.

"W. C. Fields, right?"

"Uh, yeah, bro', thass right."

"Well, W. C., you're gonna hafta go look for Mae West someplace else."

"Yeah, buó"

"Or you could consider the alternative.

"And I gotta tell ya, I never laugh at the same joke twice."

The black man puts up his hands in front of his chest and backs away a half dozen paces, then scurries from the terminal.

The policeman looks at Daisy, clears his throat to speak, changes his mind, and walks on.

He does not want to see what becomes of her, because it can't be anything good.

"Excuse me, young lady."

Horn-rimmed glasses, a business suit, shorter than her, average build, colorless, balding.

She looks at him, curious.

There is nothing in him to inspire fear or wonder.

"You seem to be lost."

"No, this is the end of the trip all right," she replies.

He smiles.

But there is no warmth in the pale eyes behind the horn-rimmed spectacles.

"Let me rephrase that, then.

"You seem to be at a loss. Like you don't know what to do next."

She stonewalls him, admitting nothing, denying nothing.

"I have a suggestion," he says.

"That is, if you're qualified.

"Have you ever tended a garden?"

Now that, that she can relate to, can respond to.

"I was raised on a farm!"

"Who would have guessed?

"My employer has a garden.

"Or should I say, space for a garden.

"But he has nobody to tend it.

"He offers room, board, money to one who is able to do so.

"Does that sound like something that would be of interest to you?"

"Well, uh, I really haven't given it muó"

"Problem here, miss?"

The policeman has returned, disgusted that he was not allowed to get far enough away from her to avoid picking up on the next approach.

Like flies on shit around here today, they are, he thinks.

Funny, though, how this guy doesn't look the type.

Probably an individual kink instead of the usual pimp, trying his luck.

This oughtta send him scurrying, though.

But it does not.

Insteadó

"My good man, I happen to be Cranston, personal secretary to Randy Buck."

From his inside pocket, Cranston produces a card.

The policeman scrutinizes it.

Buck Enterprises, the guy's name, titleóhe's the genuine article, or so it would seem.

"I was passing through here on business of my employer when I noticed this young lady in need of assistance.

"Assistance, I might add, unless I am mistaken, which I doubt, that she was not about to get from you.

"Or am I wrong?"

The policeman glares at him, saying nothing.

"I thought as much.

"What is at issue here... officer?"

"Thought somebody was tryna pick ëer up, is all," he mumbles.

"Which, in fact, I am. I don't deny it."

"Look. You know damn well what I mean! "You know, unless you're new on the job, in which case I can explain it to ya."

"Please don't bother.

"Although I must say, that hardly speaks well of my appearance."

And he manages a wintry smile.

"Tell you what, officer.

"Just to show that there're no hard feelings, please, take my card.

"That way, when you discover the young lady is wanted is wanted for murder in twenty states, you'll know exactly where to find her."

Daisy takes a deep breath, surprised, not understanding.

"But Ió" she begins.

But Cranston holds up a hand, silencing her.

"Until then, the young lady has many veggies to plant. That is," turning toward her, "unless you've something better to do."

"Me? No, I, uh... no."

"Excellent! Shall we go, then?

"Anything further, officer?"

"Guess not."

Cranston picks up Daisy's suitcase.

"Shall we go, then?

"The limo is just outside."

The policeman watches them leave and sees that there is indeed a limo parked in the alleyway which bisects the terminal, long and silver, its windows one-way glass.

And something clicks in his mind.

Not because of Daisy or the unremarkable Cranston, but because of the chauffeur, his skin parchment white, completely bald, wearing dark glasses.

He remembers, a year ago.

And that chauffeur resembles those robed creeps, like monks except they weren't, driving a van belonging to something called the Brotherhood of the Body.

He watches the limo pull away.

And, pulling out his wallet, instead of placing Cranston's card in with his collection, looks through the cards already there.

He finds the one he is looking for.

And goes to the terminal's small police station.

And dials the number on the card.

"Marvel Industries, Security. How may I assist you?"

"Uh, yeah, this here's Patrolman Ryan, Port Authority Bus Terminal.

"Bout a year ago, one a yer people axed me ta keep an eye out fer any of them Brotherhood of the Body types.

"An you're not gonna believe this, butó"

"Try me."

"I think I just seen the guy used ta drive their van.

"On'y now, ësteada that robe they all wore, he's got a chauffeur's uniform an he drives for Randy Buck.

"He just picked up...

*****

"The Estate," Cynthia says.

"There, his office, the stadiumóboth stadiumsó "

"I'd say forget the stadiums," Vanessa interjects.

"Scratch the stadiums," Cynthia resumes, as though it is her idea, which, since Vanessa had it on her time, technically it is.

"The Estate and his office.

"That oughtta just about do it, unlessó"

Beep, beep, beep!

Vanessa looks at her lapel beeper, then shuts it off.

Cynthia looks annoyed.

"Ask ëem if it can wait, will you? I really want to get this surveillance rolling soonest."

"Sorry, Cynthia, won't take a moment."

Cynthia shoves her phone at Vanessa, who punches in security's extension.

"Vanessa here... What? Lemme have that again... No shióI mean, no kidding! Listen, get this Ryan back to the phone and pipe it into the baroness's office... No, we'll wait for it right here. And uh, thanks."

She hangs up.

"Speak of the devil!" she says, grinning.

"Cop over the Port Authority is on duty, swatting the flies off the runaways, when who shows up but Creep Cranston and Supercreep Eric and they spirit away some cornflower in the Buckmobile!"

"Then the ceremony last night worked," Cynthia grins.

And the three of them laugh.

They have conjured up their favorite demon, forcing him to reveal himself.

And the bond between reality and the unreal grows stronger.

Suddenly serious, Cynthia continues, "Problem is, they could have taken her anywhere, including parts completely unknown to us."

"We wait for the call," Vanessa says.

"Do you think he's got some new place for his fun and games or what?" Cynthia asks.

"We wait for the call," Vanessa replies.

"Geez, if he's gone ahead and gotten himself a new location, we could be totally helpless!"

"Weó"

"I know, I know. We wait for the call." And the three of them just sit there in total silence.

And, it seems to Cynthia, sit and sit.

Untiló

Part of one ring and Cynthia grabs the phone.

Only to blush and place it in Vanessa's waiting, outstretched hand.

"Yeah... Oh yes, Officer Ryan.

"Thanks ever so much for remembering to call!

"Can you tell meójust a moment, please.

"Do you mind if I put you on speaker and tape?

"This could be very important to us... Thanks ever so much!

"With me, Officer Ryan are Cynthia Marveló"

"The Baroness?"

"Right. The Baroness.

"She and her vice president of marketing are sitting right here and they may have some questions also.

"For openers, can you just give us an account of the whole incident, from the beginning."

He does.

When he has finished, Vanessa says, "I see.

"The impression here, Officer Ryan, is that this, uh, position Cranston offered the girl is to be part of the household staff. That the way you see it?"

"Pretty much, yeah.

"A garden for vegetables, like you'd pick for the table, as I see it.

"If the guy was tellin' the truth.

"Hey, listen, you don't think I was wrong ta let this Cranston take ëer away, do ya?"

"Certainly not!

"Mr. Buck is an excellent executive who heads up a most impressive conglomerate and the young lady was fortunate to have things turn out so well for her so fast."

"Officer Ryan?" Cynthia interjects.

"This is Cynthia Marvel.

"The only problem might be that chauffeur. I will speak to Mr. Buck about him, since he might not be aware of the man's past.

"Additionally, I'd like to add my personal thanks to you for being so sharp-eyed.

"If you ever decide to go private, please contact me. I can always use good security people."

"Thanks, Baroness! I'll keep it in mind."

"You do that. ëBye now."

And she breaks the connection.

"The Estate," she says.

"What a relief!"

"Aerial recon would be best," Vanessa says. Morning and afternoon.

"Sweet young thing misses three in a row, we go to Phase Two."

"Which is?"

"Which is whatever we have to do to find out what's going on with the young lady.

"I don't wanna develop any options just yet, because that'll automatically rule out any others and I think, at this point, we gotta stay loose."

"Nancy?"

"I'm with Vanessa.

"We over-react, we move too soon or too hard, and we recover a cigar box of ashes.

"Believe me, I know"

"Just as we know that your replacement of sorts is there now.

"Nobody here is kidding herself that Randy needs somebody to tend veggies, are they?"

She looks around.

"Good! Good that we all agree that what we have just gotten word on is Buck's next victim.

"Nice that he's scaled down at least, isn't it?"

"Not if you happen to be the one he's scaled down to, it isn't," Vanessa observes.

"Hey, I couldn't agree more," Cynthia concedes.

"Even one more victim is one too many."

Then, almost as though to herself, "He's gotta be stopped, one way or another.

"I've got to stop himóone way or another."

"Well we haven't yet," Nancy observes. Cynthia glares at her.

"No, no, that's all right, Nancy.

"I'm the one who should apologize for not stepping on that snake's head when I had the chance."

"Which was when?" Vanessa asks. Cynthia thinks that one over.

"Never, really, I guess."

"Damn straight, never.

"And we're not gonna get anywhere if you keep beating yourself over the head for the fact that that piece of garbage is still walkin' around suckin' air.

"Don't worry; when the time comesóthe right time, that isóyou won't miss; I won't miss."

"I'm sure of it," Cynthia says.

And she sits there in silence, as though meditating.

Suddenly, briskly, "Well then! There we have it! Surveillance to commence when?"

"Today, I should think," Vanessa replies.

"Got a good chopper man, asks no questions, just looks for whatever the client says and reports promptly and in detail."

"Okay, you get on that.

"Vanessa, it's business as usual for you and me until something goes sour, right?"

"Even when it does is fine with me, Cynthia. I'm a devout coward, in case you haven't noticed."

"Nonsense! Look how much fun we've had!"

"Is that before, during, or after the torture sessions?"

"Details, details!

"My goodness, where would we be without a sense of adventure!"

"You can have my share, kiddo."

"Getting too old for this stuff, are we?"

"I think I was born too old for this stuff."

"Unfortunately, my dear, it's a little too late for such afterthoughts."

"What afterthought? I always thought that!"

"Nevertheless, you are as prime a target for Mr. Buck's nefarious attentions as I.

"Sad but true, I'm afraid."

"Why is it, Cynthia, that I keep getting the impression that you are not all that unhappy that this crap with Buck is heating up again?"

Cynthia grins.

"The man you love to hate, I guess.

"I simply love fucking him up."

"Yeah, right.

"The only problem with the way things have gone so far is that it's always our necks and skins on the line, while Buck's defeats are kind of like a rich man's losing at cards.

"Sure, his feathers are a little ruffled but, basically, he's none the worse for wear, while we come within millimeters or milliseconds of getting our asses blown away.

"I swear, Cynthia, sometimes I think Buck hasn't lost at all, that he's just playing some kind of deadly game of cat and mouse with us."

"Which, on balance, is better than not getting to play at all, Isn't it?"

Nancy just looks at her.

And the suspicion mounts that she is a mere mortal, trapped between two struggling super-maniacs.

When whales fight, the shrimp get killed, as the old Chinese saying goes.

And right now, she is feeling very shrimpy indeed.

"Tell you what, Nance," Cynthia says, "suppose you move in with me again, for a while?"

"Really, Cynthia I don't thinkó"

"Just, just until this blows over, okay?"

Useless to argue, and she knows it.

"Okay. I'll just go home after work and get a few thingsó"

"Everything you need, I have.

"Toothbrush to togs, since we're both the same size.

"And your costume is already over at my place."

"Naturally, since the only time I need it is when I'm with you."

"Bitter, bitter!

"Cheer up, kiddo!

"You coulda got stuck in one of those miserable nine to five situations."

"Right. And lived to a ripe old age."

"And had to worry about wrinkles. Don't forget that."

"Right now, I'd settle for being able to look back and remember getting them."

"Is my brave little soldier quaking before the battle?"

"No, but maybe I should start."

Thinking, So. There's to be a battle, then.

Them versus Buck's creeps.

That's always the way.

The only time they had even come close was at the masked ball.

Where Buck's great weight was able to tolerate a dose of poison designed for someone much lighter (Cynthia) and he received immediate medical attention.

Even so, he knew nothing of prolonged and well founded terror, of the pain and bruises and lacerations, the torture that they have endured.

Encounter after encounter, each one culminating in a more narrow escape than the last.

And the Baroness looking forward to the next one.

And calling in her troops, gathering them at the ready.

Which is why Nancy cannot go home tonight. So that she will be instantly ready to accompany Cynthia into what can only be viewed as battle.

Geez, she thinks, you'd think Cynthia would go in with better troop strength this time!

But no, here they are, the two of them, or three, if they are lucky and Vanessa is in position to be with them at the critical point, and the how and when of that Nancy cannot envision right now.

Except that it is getting close.

Because Cynthia intends to stir the hornet's nest again.

Sooner or later, that girl is going to have to be rescued.

And Nancy does not have to be a genius to figure out by whom.

ThinkPINK LINKS 6:3:20.png

NOTE- Wrote this years ago and just thought I'd share here. Sometimes when you write down your fantasies they lose their strength and or lust but this story kept growing in my mind so I penned it. Not into incest at all but have always been into bawdy, lewd tales for some reason. Not much of a voyeur but love to hear girl's and sometimes guy's (too many lies) first times and naughty adventures. As a director I love talking to the new models about their life and sexuality. Always amazed how they learned about sex and what turns them on. Enjoy!