The timing was perfect. She saw his car pull up as she stepped out of her office building, and was inside and slamming the passenger door before the light changed. They pulled away just as it started to rain, intermittent droplets from an overcast sky that promised a bigger downpour to follow.

"How was your day, baby?" he asked as he merged into traffic.

"Fine," she said, not really meaning it. She leaned across the center console and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"You don't sound fine," he replied, quietly.

"I'm sorry, baby. I didn't want to bother you with my whining."

"I asked," he said. "You're important to me, and if something's bothering you, I want to know what it is."

She sighed. "It's not any one thing. I just had two new contracts come in that I have to get finished by tomorrow, and the quarterly numbers are due at the end of the week, and Kathy's on vacation so I have to cover hers as well...ugh. I could go on the whole way home. My brain is just so full, when all I want to do is pay attention to you and not worry about any of it." She reached a hand over and stroked his shoulder, wanting to do more but not wanting to distract him as he merged onto the highway. "I don't think I'm gonna be very good company tonight," she said forlornly.

"Sure you will," he said. "You don't want to spend the night stressing about work, do you? You can't do anything about it until tomorrow anyway, right?"

"No. But you know how I get when things pile up like this. I can't just let go of them that easily."

"You can, though." The rain picked up, and he turned the windshield wipers on. "Sit back and relax, baby."

Suppressing another sigh, she did, easing the seat back a little bit and letting her eyes almost close as he drove.

After a few moments, he said, "Look at the windshield wipers."

Bemused, she did, but saw nothing unusual. "What?"

"Just watch them for a minute. Left...right...left...right...back...and forth." He matched his words to the rhythm of the wiper blades, and his voice began to drop into the slow, smooth cadence that he used sometimes when he...

"Back...and forth...back...and forth...back...and forth. Such a soothing rhythm. Back...and forth. Taking all those raindrops and wiping them away, leaving everything clean and clear. Back...and forth. You can just relax and breathe and watch them. Back...and forth."

She was watching them, but not really seeing them. It was kind of relaxing, or maybe that was just his voice. He had a wonderful voice; he was so good at relaxing her when she needed it.

"And as they go back...and forth...you can feel them wiping away all those thoughts, just like the raindrops. Back...and forth...and all those thoughts and worries go away. They'll be back tomorrow, when you need them, but for now they're just...wiped...away. Back...and forth. No...thoughts. Wiped...clean. Back...and forth. No...thoughts."

He went on like that for a little while back...and forth; she wasn't really sure how long, and she wasn't really even listening any more. Just the sound of his words made her feel good, slow and steady and in rhythm with the back...and forth windshield wipers, and it was so relaxing and good that she didn't even miss all those things that she was supposed to be thinking about. She knew they were there in her brain somewhere, but back...and forth they were gone, she knew there was something important there that she should know, or do, or think, but back...and forth that was gone too, she didn't even know that she didn't know what she didn't know, and then back...and forth she was just empty and relaxed and calm and waiting. Then his voice stopped, and that was okay too, because the wipers were still going, and she didn't need to do anything but watch them and breathe, so she did that.

"All gone?" he asked.

"Yes." She breathed the word; she didn't know if she said it or if it was just in her head, but as soon as she started thinking about whether she should say it again, the wipers went back...and forth and it was gone again, whatever it was.

"All empty?"

"Yes."

"Good," he said, and it was good. She knew that as soon as he said it, because what he said was so. She didn't need to think to know that; it just was. She smiled, because it was good to be empty and waiting for him to fill her up again.

"What's your name?"

She didn't answer right away. What was her name? That was something she knew, something that was natural and easy for her, but she was so empty right now, and all of the things like names and words and thoughts were buried down deep in a big marshmallow pile and it was so hard to pull them out and whenever she thought she had found the answer the wipers went back...and forth and it was gone again. What was she trying to find? There was a question. He had asked her a question and she needed to answer it.

"Your name is fucktoy," he said.

"My name is fucktoy," she said, and smiled, because now she knew the answer. It was something he told her, and so it was true, and it stayed in her head even when the wipers went back...and forth and wiped away the tiny little baby thought that fucktoy wasn't really her name before she even thought it.

"You like that name." It wasn't a question.

"I like that name," she said back. Fucktoy. It was a good name. It meant her. She liked it. That was another thing he had told her, another little true thing to fill up the empty her.

"What does a fucktoy do?"

She should know this. It was important. She thought she had answered that question before, but back...and forth what was the answer? She didn't know. She didn't know anything except that she was fucktoy and she liked that name. She looked over at him for help.

"A fucktoy does what she's told," he told her.

Yes. Of course. It was so obvious when he said it, so true. "A fucktoy does what she's told." She repeated it so he would know she knew.

"And what are you?" he asked her.

She knew this, it was one of the True Things. "Fucktoy," she said.

"And what does a fucktoy do?"

She knew this too. "What she's told."

"So what do you do?"

This was hard. She knew the two things separately, but it was so hard to put them together in her marshmallow mind. But he was waiting, so she tried really hard. "I do...what she's...what I'm told."

"Good girl," he said, and her mind filled with the pleasure of knowing she was a good girl for him. She smiled wider, and might have giggled a little. Somewhere, a little part of her was embarrassed, but back...and forth then it was gone.

"Take off your panties, fucktoy."

She slid her hands up under her skirt and pulled her panties down right away, because she was a fucktoy and a fucktoy does what she's told. She didn't need to think to do it, so she didn't. She took them off and then held them in one hand, unsure what to do next until he told her to put them in the cupholder, which she did.

"Your pussy is wet," he told her, and of course it was. He was right about that; he was right about everything.

"Show me," he said, so she pulled up her skirt and did. The car was stopped somewhere; there was a road and some buildings she kind of recognized through the rain, but back...and forth it didn't matter. He reached over and put his hand between her legs, and it felt so good. He slid a finger inside and it went right in, because her pussy was so very wet because he had told her it was. He slid it in and out a few times, and when he brought it out and held it up to her face, it was all sticky.

"Clean it off," he said, so she started looking around for a napkin or something until he laughed a mean little laugh and said, "With your mouth, fucktoy." Oh...that made sense. She did what she was told. "You like the taste of your pussy," he said, and she did, cleaning every drop from him.

She wondered if he would put his finger inside her again, but instead he said, "Come suck my cock, fucktoy." She knelt on the seat and leaned over the middle console with her ass in the air. Somewhere in the marshmallow, something was yelling that people outside could see, but back...and forth it was gone, so she opened his pants - it took her a minute to figure out how to work the zipper - and took out his cock and started sucking it.

"God, baby, that feels good," he said. There wasn't a question or a command in that, so she just kept sucking. This was something she knew how to do - not in her brain but deeper, muscle memory, lips and tongue gliding over him, taking him deep, feeling him stretch at the back of her throat and working past the gag reflex because he hadn't told her to stop.

"You love sucking my cock." It was true, of course, the instant he said it. The texture, the taste, the scent of him, warm velvet softness of skin over hard muscle, just perfect. She did love it. She wanted to do it forever, matching the rhythm of the windshield wipers in her ears. Up...and down. In...and out. Over...and over. The things she knew, those few simple, clear, true things, marched through her mind over and over. My name is fucktoy. I like that name. A fucktoy does what she's told. I do what I'm told. My pussy is wet. I love sucking his cock. My name is fucktoy. I like that name.

"It makes your cunt feel so good when you suck my cock." Yes it did. She was warm and wet and tingling, the memory of his fingers and the taste of her on them, and the taste of him now, all made her feel so good and wet and wanting to push deeper and suck harder. His hand was in her hair now, pulling and pushing her head up and down him, and she loved it so much that she moaned around him as he did it.

"You're going to cum just from my cock in your mouth, little fucktoy." And that was true too; how smart he was, to know that even before she did! She moaned harder as he fucked her mouth, loving that he was using her as the fucktoy she was (she liked that name), blissfully content and happy and horny as she did the only thing she was ever meant to do: what she was told.

The rain outside had turned torrential, drumming on the roof and windows, but none of that mattered any more; none of it even registered to her. His other hand was in her hair now, pushing her down harder and faster on him, gagging her every time he pulled her down, and she loved it so much because he told her to. "Cum now," he said, and she did, and everything stopped except the heat pulsing in her cunt and the thrusting in her throat as she moaned and gagged and sucked and came.

He fucked her mouth the whole time she came and for a little bit after, and she loved every stroke and second and inch of it. Then he pulled her head up, and she made a little sad mewling noise because she loved sucking his cock so much.

"You need my cock in your cunt, fucktoy," he said, and she did. She needed him like she needed air. She was as wet inside as the rain-drenched world outside the car; she was as empty between her legs as she had been between her ears, and she needed him to fill her up again...

*     *     *

She was sore when her alarm went off the next morning, sore in her throat and her pussy and her ass and her strained, aching muscles. She remembered all of it, the wipers and the car and then, later, the counter and the stairs and the sofa and the floor and the bed, doing as she was told mindlessly, obediently, over and over, loving to do it because he told her to love it. She remembered laughing and dancing for him as he beat her ass over and over, so mindlessly eager to please him, unable to do anything but obey every degrading, shameful order he gave her, wanting him to tell her what to feel so she knew what she was supposed to feel.

God, she wanted him to do it again.

Just like she had every time before.