Infernal Gray Ch. 03

Sara felt like she'd waited all her life for this moment. It wasn't true, of course. Infernals hadn't even existed until a year ago. Heck, she hadn't even discovered Jacqueline Carey until she was 20, and that was the first time the word 'slave' had been something erotic, rather than a word from a dark period of American history.

Until the infernals, it was a fantasy, never a real possibility. But once Ruritanian slavery became a thing, it had been an idée fixe. And now it was happening. Sara was sitting in the back seat of a little sedan, and her owner-to-be was driving, and his wife was in the passenger seat. Around her in the thick and slow traffic of rush hour, ordinary people were driving to work, knowing they were free now, and would be free when they clocked out of their job. Dependent on their employer for health insurance and rent money, and all of that, but not enslaved, exactly.

Whereas she, Sara, was bare necked now, and would be collared on the way back.

It was an impossible step to take without wondering whether she would regret it for the rest of her life. She didn't have to do this. She had a good job as a nurse. She was free and making her way in the world the same as all the other people were. Even now she could back out. But soon, there would be a moment of no return.

That moment of no return was what she wanted. To be enslaved, but to be free from having to choose. She didn't know that she could explain it to most people, but there was something about being committed that drew her. She supposed it wasn't that different from the things that drew people to get married, have children, or join the Navy. An irrevocable decision - or at least, decisions that could only be revoked at great cost.

Red light. The door wasn't locked. She could run, if she wanted to. "Sir?"

"Sara?" Gray asked. He was in his demon form, a bit too large for the driver's seat, and he had on a suit that he had bought for the occasion, the blue serge looking strange against his bright red skin.

"Could you enable the child-safety locks, please?"

Betty Harding turned to look at Sara, with kind eyes beneath honey-blonde hair. "Having second thoughts, honey? We don't have to do this."

"Not real second thoughts. Just jitters. Did you have them when you got married?"

"Yes," said Gray and Betty at the same time, and they laughed.

There was a small thump as the locks clicked into place.

Sara leaned back, and felt like a small burden had been lifted from her.

"This is a bit like a marriage, isn't it?" Betty mused aloud. "Not so egalitarian, but... hmm."

Sara knew she wasn't going to back out, not really. It was Betty that concerned her. If Betty got cold feet about her husband taking a slave, what would Gray do?

Gray drove past the Ruritanian Embassy, a chunky five story building that had been a department store once. There were picketers out front, and Sara managed to read a few of the signs.

"Save our Daughters."

"Demons go home."

"The only good Red is a dead Red."

He scanned the streets for a parking spot, and finally found one with a three-hour limit, over a block away. They would have to walk past the picketers, there wasn't any real way around it.

Sara remembered her slave training. A slave had to be brave. You never knew what would happen, or what your master would decide, and you had to face that every day plans could change and his or her whim. She didn't think the picketers would hurt her. Hell, she didn't think they could, with Gray there to protect her.

"I hadn't thought about the picketers," Betty said.

"They're out in force today. We could pick another day," Gray said.

"Please no," Sara said.

Betty giggled.

"What's funny?" Gray asked.

"Just - I don't know, after this she can't say no, can she? And she just said it," Betty said. "Never mind me, I'm nervous. But I'm in this. Let's do it."

"Alright," Gray said. "I hate to ask you to walk behind me, but in this situation it might be best."

"Maybe it would be better to have one of us on each arm?" Betty said. "It would make it clear that we were with you."

"I might need my hands free," Gray said. "I hope not."

Sara stayed quiet. They needed to work these things out without her interference. In the end, they did it Gray's way, which made Sara happy. Not because she didn't want to be on his arm, but because it was Gray's way.

They left the car, and walked toward the protestors. Their attention immediately pivoted to Gray, but of course they took in the two women with him as well. Betty, in her thirties, dressed in a rather loud magenta suit that clashed a little with Gray's skin color. Sara, in a little black cocktail dress that showed off her long legs, and wearing four-inch heels as she trotted along behind the big red demon. She was conscious of not wearing anything else underneath. In her fantasy, she would be marched to this event naked. Legally, she could be topless in the District of Columbia, but Gray had said no.

One of the protestors had the idea of standing in front of Gray's path on the sidewalk, so that he'd have to detour out of the way. Another moved left, to talk to Betty.

"You don't have to do this," he told her. "There are other options. Choose freedom."

Betty just shrugged at him.

Sara was grateful that she'd ended up on the other side. The stone walls of the close-set city buildings were to her left, and Betty was to her right. They'd have to go all the way around to get to her.

"I'm going to keep walking," Gray said to the man in front of him. "And if you don't get out of my way, that's fine by me." He took another step, and the man scampered, carrying his Demons go Home sign with him.

That left a single line of protestors to get through, and Betty nudged Sara in behind Gray.

"Don't do it," one of the protestors said, and Sara wasn't even sure who he was talking to. And then they were through, and Gray was opening the door like a gentleman. Maybe that's how the tradition started, was the man staying outside to ward off potential assaulters and hecklers. Either way, it was kind of nice.

She hadn't the least doubt that Gray could take care of himself.

Two guards stood just inside. They were human, but they were also big guys, and they were armed. They stood at attention and didn't really react to them coming through, but they explained why even the most boisterous of protestors wouldn't be tempted to enter.

A dark-skinned woman sat behind a front desk. She wore a blue steel collar, and a white blouse, but the blouse was buttoned at the neck and unbuttoned elsewhere, and pulled to the side to display her large, very round and very firm breasts. So perfectly round and so firm looking, in fact, that Sara was almost certain they had been surgically enhanced.

"Good morning, Sir. What can this receptionist do for you today?"

They had an appointment, Sara knew. And there weren't very many demons, maybe a dozen in the metropolitan area, two dozen if you counted Baltimore. So the woman probably knew, or could guess, who Gray was. She, like Sara soon would be, was a slave. Did she have a Master, or had she enslaved herself to Ruritania itself, as some women had? And whose decision had it been to give her those boobs - her own, or her master's? It was a reminder of the power a master had, of how deep a surrender Sara intended, even though Sara thought Gray liked her breasts fine.

"We're here for the enslavement of Sara Summers to Grayson Harding," Gray said.

"Ah, yes. And which one of you lovely ladies is Sara Summers?" asked the woman.

Sara looked up at the woman's eyes. Had the woman noticed her staring? Probably, Sara always noticed when men did that to her. "Me," she said. "This girl is Sara, for now."

"Ah, lovely. May I ask, Sir, did you park in the lot?"

"The lot?"

"Yes, there's a lot underground, you get to it from the street behind us. It lets you avoid the unenlightened outside. This receptionist will give you instructions, but first she would like to take Sara to her mandatory interview, if that would be okay? Then if you wish, you can move your car."

The mandatory interview. Sara sighed. She'd filled out all the forms, and she understood why they needed to do the interview, but she wished they didn't. Gray gestured for her to follow the woman. As the woman got up, Sara could see that the receptionist's knee length skirt had a large oval cut out that displayed her bare ass.

The woman took her to a small room. Another slave, another desk, and a comfy chair across from it. This woman had cherry red hair, and she was topless save for her blue steel collar.

"Sara Summers?" the woman asked, standing up at her entrance, and revealing that she was entirely naked.

"Yes."

"I'm Cumslut39." The woman put out her hand for Sara to shake. "Glad to meet you."

"I'm Sara," Sara said as she took the other woman's hand, even though she'd said it already. "For now."

"Ah. Do you know what your master will call you?"

Sara shook her head. "I asked him to keep it a secret. If I - well, he's kind of a softy. If he told me and I looked disappointed, he'd probably choose something different."

Cumslut39 nodded. "I understand," she said. "Well, let's get this started." She gestured a comfy red leather chair.

Sara sat down in it. Cumslut39 seemed to have a little more difficulty sitting down, as if she wanted to get the angle just right, and then, she slowly lowered herself into her chair with a little, "ahhh," sound. It took her a moment to compose herself, and then she smiled at Sara. "Can you show me some ID?"

Sara fished out her driver's license, and her US passport, and Cumslut39 looked at them carefully before pushing them back across the desk. "You'll forgive me if I don't do a lot of getting up and sitting down, I trust."

Sara giggled. "It seems like you have a special chair."

"Special is a good word for it. Still, it seems to amuse my Masters." The slave pushed a button to start a very obvious tape recorder. "So, Sara Summers, are you here to enslave yourself?"

"Yes."

"Are you here of your own free will?"

"I am."

"Are you under no coercion whatsoever?"

"I am."

"Do you understand that if you feel you are being coerced that we at the Ruritanian Embassy will help you exit the building secretly, and provide legal assistance to help you get restraining orders against anyone who might be coercing you?"

Sara blinked. "No, I wasn't aware of that."

Cumslut39 smiled. "Do you wish to avail yourself of that option?"

Sara shuddered. Sure, it was good they did that sort of thing, but the idea that she might throw away all she wanted just like that, with a single, "Yes," unnerved her. "No!"

Cumslut39 smiled. "You understand that your Master may use you in any way he wishes, at any time, and that he may modify you for his pleasure, as long as such modification is not considered damage under Ruritanian law?"

"Yes," Sara said. Boob jobs yes, amputations no.

"You understand all that Ruritanian, ahhhhunhhh, slavery entails?" There was a vibrating sound that came on for a few seconds, and then went away, as Cumslut39 talked.

"Yes." After a month of training and studying, she knew it all backward and forward. But she wasn't bored by answering the questions, even if she was impatient. Every answer got her closer to what she wanted.

"Including the wearing of a collar that tracks you, records your voice and as well as video and audio of anyone around you, and may be used to administer an electric shock at your Master's whim?"

"Yes." Gray was gentle, he wouldn't do that much. Right? Not that she'd have any say in it. Maybe he wouldn't be that gentle after all, once the collar was on. It was a risk she'd decided to take. And honestly, she worried that Gray was a little too gentle. She'd experienced some floggings and spankings in training, but they were quick and sharp, done to help her learn. She hadn't actually experienced the shock collar, but a few of the girls being trained were already slaves, and they assured her it was quite horrible.

They also told her it made them feel even more owned, just to have it around their neck and know that their Master or Mistress could push the button.

So it went on, question after question, answer after answer, occasionally punctuated by Cumslut39's chair vibrating and her looking distracted. And then there were papers to sign. A name change, with the name blank. An application for second class Ruritanian citizenship, with Gray as her sponsor. The slavery papers themselves, all legal under Ruritanian law, if not in America. A number of legal documents giving Gray power of attorney that were valid in the States. Once she signed the slavery papers, she didn't bother to read the fine print on the others. She was going to be Gray's, and she wasn't going to hold back on anything.

Finally, Cumslut39 stood up again. "I'll escort you to the ceremony room, where your Infernal Master awaits. And Sara, congratulations. I'm very happy for you. I love being owned, and I expect you will, too."

Sara smiled. "Thank you, Cumslut39." Would Gray pick out a name like that for her? She hoped not, and yet she knew that, like the shocks from the collar, it would make her feel even more owned to know that he made a choice for her that she would never make for herself.

Perhaps she should have asked him what name he had in mind.

She noticed a glistening of wetness on Cumslut39's thigh and glanced toward her chair as they passed it. It was a rather large and realistic dildo that was built into the chair, but no larger than Gray's, and it surprised Sara not at all that it was bright red, or that it was shining with Cumslut39's juices. "Do you ever have orgasms while conducting interviews?" Sara asked.

Cumslut39 shook her head. "The collar reads vital signs, and the dildo has some sensors in it, too. Altogether, it gives a pretty good readout of my state of arousal. If I'm close, it doesn't turn on. If I start to become less aroused, it vibrates. Basically, I'm being edged all day long."

"That's um, horrible. And wonderful."

Cumslut39 grinned at her. "It's amazing how well horrible and wonderful go together, isn't it?"

"Yes," Sara said.

Cumslut39 opened the door for Sara, and she walked into a room with white marble floors and high vaulted ceilings, light streaming in from high-set windows. The red and black flag of Ruritania hung on one wall, and there were photographs of demons breaking up the burgundy wallpaper on the other walls. Gray stood in the center, his face lighting up with a smile as she entered. Betty was beside him, fidgeting. With them was a tall female demon, who smiled at Sara as she entered. She was wearing a floral sun dress that might have looked innocent on a woman without red skin, a tail, and horns. In spite of the incongruity she looked vaguely familiar. There were three slaves, too, naked and collared. One was a man with a chastity cage on and a video camera in his hand. The two female slaves knelt on either side of the female demon. One of them held a blue steel Ruritanian slave collar, open and unlatched. The other held a phone in her hands. Gray's phone, she realized.

"Hello, Sara," said the demoness.

"Hi."

"I'm Anathema, and I'm here to enslave you, a human woman, to this infernal man here. I understand that you consent to this?"

Sara nodded. "Yes. Please."

"Good girl," Anathema said. "This isn't a wedding, there's not a lot of pomp and circumstance. Just pain, surrender, and degradation. We don't tell you too much about what to expect so that it's a little scarier and more intense." She grinned. She looked to Gray. "Do you want me to call you Gray, or Ur? Either is fine."

"Gray. Ur was just... well, I didn't give it a lot of thought."

Anathema chuckled. "Yes. Well, you can always change it. Gray, would you like to rip the little slut's clothes off?"

My nice little dress, thought Sara. But Gray grabbed it, and ripped, baring her to everyone. One moment, she was dressed like Gray and Betty and Anathema, and the next she was naked, like the three slaves whose names she didn't know. How long had Gray known about this part? It didn't matter. He was choosing to do it. The one thing she knew about the ceremony was that if Gray objected to any bit of ritual, it wouldn't happen. Once the papers were all signed, it was a done deal.

Which meant her clothes were his to rip. Every piece of clothing she had, if he so choose.

She knew if he chose to thrust his hand between the thighs of his property, he would find his new slave wet.

Anathema reached down, and the slave with the collar handed it to her. She showed it to Sara. "What does this say?"

She read the engraved lettering. "It says, Property of Grayson Harding."

"Is that you?"

"Yes."

"Kneel, then, before your Master, you little cunt."

She knelt. You little cunt. She remembered it was the hardest word for her at slave school, the day they had to say, "this cunt," every time they referred to themselves. They had gotten past, "I," days before, had cycled through "this girl," "this whore," and "this bitch." But "this cunt" was hard.

She wanted to do hard things for Gray. Like kneel on a hard marble floor. She knew she would kneel on it even if it was concrete, or covered with rice or gravel, but she was thankful it was none of those. Nice, smooth, hard marble.

She expected Anathema to hand Gray the collar, to put it on her, but the demoness handed it to Sara instead. She took it in her hands, feeling the coldness of the steel. It was thick, almost unbreakable. Hinged, so that it could go on. Not titanium, in case of a medical emergency. It could, technically, be removed with the right kind of saw. It was a pity, but it was practical. A master's property needed to be protected. She read the words again, feeling them deep within her. She would be proud to wear it. She saw the little dot of a camera on the front, that would let him see whatever she was seeing, if he cared to look. A microphone, that would carry the words she said and the sounds she heard to him, if he chose to listen. The collar took away privacy and replaced it with ownership.

There was writing on the inside, too.

"Model Fucktoy Harding," it said.

"Is this my new name?" she asked. It wasn't Cumslut39. In a way, she was almost disappointed, but that didn't last. Model. An object to be drawn and painted. And Fucktoy, her other use. Together, a model fucktoy, the kind of fucktoys that other fucktoys might aspire to? She had a little flutter of fear that she wouldn't live up to that, if it was even an intentional juxtaposition. Of course it was intentional. Gray didn't miss things like that. And she would have to be what he expected.

"Put it on for me, Model," Gray said. "Give yourself to me, if you truly want this."

"Yes, Master," she said. "And thank you for naming me." She put the collar around her neck, and snapped it shut. Something clicked, like a lock, so close to her ear it sounded louder than it was.

Her heart felt like it was going to burst. "This model wishes to serve."

Anathema took Gray's phone and handed it to him. "It has all the software on it now," she said to Gray. "Anything she does, you can know about. They have some really good AI in there, too, that will help you see the most important few minutes of her day. It's remarkably good at detecting naughtiness that needs to be punished, isn't it, ChastityBoy?"

"Yes, Mistress," said the photographer.

"Nice," Gray said, putting the phone into his coat pocket, and smiling down at his new slave.

Model beamed up at him. She noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that Betty was smiling softly.

"I really do think you should shock her once," Anathema said.

Gray shrugged. "She can imagine what it would feel like," Gray said. "And that will keep her in line. Not to mention which, she wants to be a good girl, don't you, Model?"

"Yes, Master," was the only possible response.

"With most things their imagination is worse than the reality," Anathema said. "But not the collar, not really. We've done studies. Trust the experts."

"I'm trusting my gut," Gray said.

The slaves at training had said that nothing made them feel more owned. Model felt pretty owned at the moment, but it wasn't the sort of thing she wanted a little of. She wanted to be filled with that feeling, all the time.

"Master, may this model speak?"

"You just did," Gray said. "Go ahead, Sara."

"Model," Anathema said.

Gray laughed. "I was sure she'd screw up before I did. Model. Speak."

"This model would love to have you shock her." The other thing the slaves had said was that it was excruciating, so painful that you couldn't even think. And here she was, asking for it.

Anathema chuckled. "Pain slut, huh?"

"Oh my god," Betty said, and turned away.

Gray pulled out the phone.

"As often as I wish?" he asked, with a grin.

Oh god, what have I done? But there was only one answer. "As often as you wish."

Gray played with his phone for a moment, and she could tell by the light reflecting off his face that he'd opened some app. His big red finger stood poised over it, and he slowly brought it toward the screen.

Here it comes. I am so stupid sometimes. No. He told me never to call myself stupid, or worthless. I'm just an idiot. God, he'd ban that too, if he knew.

His finger hit the screen. Model shuddered.

There was some kind of delay, apparently.

No, it was malfunctioning.

"Look, honey," Gray said to Betty. "I sold another painting."

Anathema burst out laughing.

Gray turned to phone around and showed Model. It was a painting of her, sucking Gray's cock and looking up at him adoringly. Did she really look like that? She hoped she did, with that exact wide-eyed worshipful expression on her face.

"As often as I want means not now, Model. Now I want something else. Unzip me. With your teeth."

"Yes, Master."

He was going commando. And he was hard. And she fit him into her mouth and looked up to him and tried for just the expression she had in the painting. It wasn't hard to feel she got it, because it was how she felt. He was merciful. And he wasn't going to be told what to do by her, another demon, or by experts. He, and he alone was in control. The phone was still in his hand, and he could press the button at any time.

Betty moved to her husband's side. "She looks so happy, Gray. I'm glad you collared her."

"Me, too."

Model's mouth was too full to talk. She saw Betty's hand reach down to play with Gray's balls. "I'm getting turned on by all of this," Betty said. "I don't know if I want to be her, or just watch her serve."

"Cumslut39 is free, if you want to have a slave interview," Anathema said.

"Cumslut39?"

Anathema laughed. "One of our slaves. She does the interviews."

"Ah. Nice, um, name."

God, it would be so hot if Gray enslaved Betty. Model didn't object to sharing her special day. Not with Betty. Actually, she didn't get to object any more at all. It was kinda nice. She just had to focus on giving the best blowjob she could, and everything else was up to Gray. He could share her with Anathema, if he wanted. Push the button. Take her home in the trunk. Whatever he wanted.

She just wanted to please, and as his cock swelled in her mouth, she knew she was doing that. He was going to cum, and she was going to be the cause. God, he owned her orgasms now. Everything.

He reached down and put his hand around her throat. He certainly could cut off her air for a moment if he wanted, but it was just a gentle touch, a reminder of his authority. A moment later, a spurt of hot cum hit the back of her throat, and she swallowed, the motion making her feel the pressure of his fingers.

And then pleasure shuddered through her and overtook her. I didn't ask for permission. My mouth was full. No excuses. God he'll push the button to punish me. Oh no I didn't swallow fast enough. It feels so good. He doesn't even have to touch my clit to make me cum. Yes, Master.

Somehow she had ended on the floor, curled up, half lying and half kneeling, with cum on her face and her breasts.

"She's beautiful," Betty said.

Gray whipped out a sketch pad, and Model knew that she was not to move until he was done. She knew, too, that the photographer was filming it all.

That was fine. She was Model. She could be as still as if she was tied in position, for as long as it took. She did not move as the door opened, and Cumslut39 walked into the room toward them, carrying a folder and naked like all the slaves in the room. She stopped to stand near Gray at a gesture from Anathema.

Gray put away the sketchpad, and Anathema nodded.

"Sir?" Cumslut39 said. "Here are your papers. We've filed the name change as you requested with the American authorities, but of course it's immediate in Ruritania, so here's her passport and her second-class citizen identification. They are all your property, of course."

"Ah," Gray said. "Thank you."

Of course her identification was his property. And her new Ruritanian passport showed that she was his property.

"Congratulations Gray," Anathema said. "And to you too, Model. Of course ChastityBoy will continue to film as long as you like. Do you wish to use her other holes here?"

Gray shook his head. "Not here."

In private, then, at home. Well, that was fine with Model.

"In the parking garage," he said. "Could he come and film that, too?"

"Of course. The embassy is for all practical purposes part of Ruritania, so you can have your slave be naked and do as you like on the grounds, or in the lot."

"Excellent," Gray said. "See, she used to wash her car not far from us, and she would wear these tight shorts, and wiggle her ass for all to see. So I've thought about bending her over a car and fucking her for a very long time."

Oh my god, he was lusting after me even then?

"If you ever decide to move to Ruritania, Sir, you could have her wash your car naked every day," said Cumslut 39.

"But that would be awkward, as Ruritania doesn't recognize marriage," Anathema remarked, glancing at Betty.

Gray stretched out his hand to Model. "Up," he said.

"Should this model wash first, Master?" she asked.

"No," he said.

So she walked, in front of him this time, naked and cum-covered, down the halls of the embassy, with him following, Betty behind him, and ChastityBoy in the rear. They passed various people, some naked and collared, some not, and then took the elevator down. A car drove into the lot, but she didn't look to see who was in it. She hoped Gray enjoyed displaying her this way, and she had spotted his car. She walked over to it, quickening her steps. She had an idea she thought he'd approve of, and she wanted him to have a good view.

She bent over the car, and pretended she had a towel in her hand. She shook her ass at him, aware that her pussy lips were probably pouting from between her legs, visible to whoever it was who had just driven up. But the presence of other people was not a reason to not put on a show for her Master.

She wanted him to fuck her, but was aware that he might stop to draw her. Which would length her exposure to whoever might drop in, of course. But she was Model first, Fucktoy second. It wasn't about what she wanted, it was about what he wanted. Her breasts brushed against the cold metal of the car, but that didn't deter her. When she'd washed the car before, it had usually been summer, and outdoors, and the body of the car got very hot.

And then, suddenly, he thrust inside her. He didn't have any trouble doing so despite his girth, because she was very wet. She was getting cum all over the hood.

A woman's voice chuckled. Betty? No. Someone else, watching her get railed over the hood of a car. It didn't matter, because she was serving. Fucktoy was literally her middle name.

"May this model cum, please, Master?"

"Cum for me," Gray told her.

And she did, her pussy pulsing around his thick cock, her body feeling limp. Mop-like. He could wash the car with her, if he wanted to.

And then he unloaded inside her. It was the best feeling.

This model is a slave, and she serves her master well.

"She got cum on the hood," Betty remarked.

"Well, she'll just have to wash the car when we get home," Gray said. "In a tight pair of shorts. While I draw her."

"That was fucking hot," said another voice, and Model realized it was Anathema. "I figured I'd come down to watch."

Gray laughed. "Can't say I blame you. Okay, girls, in the car."

"Girls?" Betty asked, arching a brow, but she got in, anyway. Model climbed into the backseat, naked. She didn't know how she was going to get in the house without the neighbors calling the cops, but that was Gray's decision, not hers.

Gray got in the car and started driving them home.

"It feels weird, you two being Ruritanian citizens, and me not," Betty said.

"Well," said Gray, "there's only one way to solve that."

Model remained silent in the back, but she knew the one way. Betty could not get citizenship as a wife. Or as a free human. But she could as a slave.

"Yes," said Betty, sounding slightly irritated. "That woman at the desk told me. I don't know, Gray. I don't know. But I'm glad you have Sara. Model. Not just because she'll give my poor holes a rest." She looked back at Model, and smiled. "Welcome to the family, honey. And Anathema was right. Him fucking you over the car was, indeed, fucking hot."

Model smiled. "Thank you, Betty."

As it turned out, Betty got clothes for her from the house, so she could put them on in the backseat before getting out. Well, short shorts and a skimpy white bikini top that was little more than two triangles and some string. She also brought a bucket, and some soap. Model filled up the bucket and got to work on the car, starting with the hood and the cum, and then working on the grime. Gray sat on the porch, drawing her. The white bikini got more and more transparent the wetter it got, but technically, she was wearing clothes, no matter what view the neighbors and Gray were getting. They couldn't pretend it was just about getting the car clean. Not given that she was still wearing four-inch heels.

His Model, she thought as she gave her bum an extra wiggle. It was the best day of her life.