by Jaye Peaches
“Handbrake turn. You should teach me,” she said, gripping the lever.
“No,” he said with a shake of his head.
“Ah, go on. What do I do, do I throw the wheel and brake at the same time, or brake first?” She had no idea; she jiggled the wheel. They were approaching one of the sharp turns at the end of the runaway, faster than usual. She’d lost count of the number of circuits the car had made.
“I said no. There is no need for you to know. You’d better start braking,” he said sternly.
“Just for fun. Let me try.”
“Miss Leah, I will spank you if you continue to argue with me.” Rick removed her hand from the lever and put it back on the wheel.
Leah braked and turned the corner slowly, to make a point. She sighed, a long exaggerated sound of disappointment. “Spoilsport.”
“Drive to the hangar. Park up there,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.
Leah’s excitement grew. Perhaps they were going to swap back or maybe something else. She glanced to her left, trying to catch Rick’s eye, gauge his intentions, but his face had gone stony.
* * *
Rick tried hard not to laugh. It was sometimes necessary to know when to keep a straight face while driving and not react to his passengers, and his natural reserve helped him hide his amusement. Her attempts to rile him hadn’t worked. He understood exactly what she was trying to do. Her brassy comments, little snarky remarks all pointed to one thing. It wasn’t disobedience; she had done everything he had asked, followed his advice and listened. It was only at the end, her more boisterous nature had come out to play.
Watching her pedal up and down with the rapid gear changes, he admired her shapely legs, the skirt tight about her thighs. Her long dark hair, falling over her shoulders, requiring her to sweep it aside from time to time. Dark eyes, peeping out from under her fringe. Her neat little nose, full lips, and narrow neck, all features that held his attention, kept him captivated by her beauty.
The vast hangar, deserted and neglected, came into view. He would take her in, strip her naked, and find something useful, nothing harsh or unpleasant, then bend her over and admire another part of her body—her lush bottom. He would spank it, caress it, and take pleasure in seeing her squirm, shriek a little and then moan when he felt between her legs. He would give her sublime orgasms for her to cherish.
His cock moved. His palm itched. His heart pounded in his chest.
* * *
Leah held his hand. A strong manly grip, encasing her smaller one and holding it to his side. Tentatively she followed him into the hangar through a gap in the door. She expected it to be dank, smelly, and unpleasant—it wasn’t.
A vast space opened up before them. The concrete floor was dusty and littered with little pieces of debris: bits of wood, dried leaves, twigs, and the odd rusted screw. The hangar had a dimness to it, but light too, brought in through the holes in the roofing. Beams of daylight shot down like spotlights. The building had a steel framework supporting the roof, but at the ground level it was open and sufficiently wide to accommodate many aircraft.
Dotted around the edge, the relics of a bygone era, a time when the aerodrome would have bustled with activity: a ladder, a battered metal filing cabinet, empty oil barrels, and in one corner, a pile of dilapidated wooden chairs and trestle tables. Leah was surprised they hadn’t been burnt. The airbase had hardly any neighbours—she supposed few would think to come to the middle of nowhere, on the outskirts of a tiny village, to seek out a forgotten part of history.
Rick halted a few yards into the hangar and turned to face Leah, taking her other hand. Hazel eyes stared at her. Leah snatched a breath before he lowered his mouth down, dropping his lips onto hers. He let go of her hands, sent his own hand roving about her slender frame; seeking out the locks of dark hair, he looped fingers through the strands, tightening, tugging, until her scalp prickled and her pulse quickened.
His other hand lifted up her skirt, found a cheek, and squeezed hard until she gasped into his mouth. A tongue ran along the line of her teeth, parting them, allowing him to dip in and tickle her palate with the tip of his tongue.
Leah though her legs would give out.
“Do you think you deserve a spanking?” he asked, releasing her mouth.
She couldn’t take her eyes off his face. He gave nothing away. She searched hard for a clue to his guarded emotions and then she spotted it: a slight upward tic at the corner of his lips.
“I’ve been good, haven’t I?” she said in reply. “Did as you asked. Drove quite brilliantly, I thought.”
Rick guffawed. A loud, mock version of the exclamation. “I saw a little naughtiness, Miss Leah. A hint of what lies beneath this beautiful, biddable, sensuous exterior.”
“You did?” said Leah, trying hard to sound surprised.
“There is a remedy for such naughtiness.”
“Here? You’re going to apply your remedy here?” She’d half expected it, but all the same, the location unnerved her, made her feel lost in a vast expanse. A lone woman with her dominating boyfriend in the middle of an empty hangar. A man who had her wrapped about his little finger, such was the power he held over her sexual being.
“Stay there,” he said, stepping backwards and away from her. Turning from her, he went to the far side of the hangar and retrieved a folding chair. Knocking it on the floor to remove the dust and shaking off the cobwebs, he brought it back and placed it square in the middle of the building. Easing himself down onto the seat, he checked its sturdiness and then patted his lap.
It felt like millions of tiny fireworks zipping about inside her belly, right down to her core. She sidled up to him, putting on a show of confidence, swinging her hips a little as she went to him. Her shoes echoed about the hangar, a click of the heels and a sparrow shot out of the hole in the roof.
His lap seemed a long way down, but soon her face was close to the dusty floor. She sneezed, then giggled. A reaction of nervous energy and trepidation. Rick said nothing as he lifted up her skirt and she felt her knickers dragged up over her buttock cheeks, the skimpy fabric sunk into her crack.
A hand trailed up her leg from her knee, climbing high until it touched her, slipping under her protective clothing; a finger snuck into her and rimmed her pussy.
Leah nearly fell off his lap. In response, Rick looped a leg over her thigh and pinned her down.
Their breathing grew in volume. His rapid, while Leah tried to calm hers to a steady pace. She jolted. His smack had landed hard and fast.
“Handbrake turn?” he said with a chortle. “Let’s see if you can put a brake on this hand of mine.”
She gripped the chair legs and absorbed each rhythmic slap of his hand. It hurt at first, because she was tense, excited, and slightly fearful. Not of Rick, she trusted him, but of being spied upon. There were no sounds outside, just the distant rustling of summer leaves and the chirping of birds. Occasionally the wind would catch on the metal sheeting, making a noise similar to soft thunder. It failed to drown out her spanking.
The sound of flesh on flesh reverberated about them. Ludicrous situation, thought Leah, across a lap, being spanked, in the middle of a vast tin shed, while surrounded by the flotsam of a war fought before she had even been born. At the same time she doubted her judgement, she revelled in the absurdity: the fun, the erotic scenario, and the unique pleasure it gave her. She truly believed life with Rick would never be dull or lacking in excitement. She relaxed, smiled to herself, and moaned. Leah couldn’t help herself; she was enjoying each smack of his hand, the tinge of pain and the warmth of his body close to hers.
Rick pinched the waistband of her knickers and pulled them down to her thighs. She squawked, wriggled, and tried to peer over her shoulder to catch his face. She saw, from her peculiar angle, a grin of delight at her unveiling. Sinking back down, she let him play with her and it sent her pussy wild. Rick knew all of her buttons, how to fire up her senses, make her juices flow and her clitor
is electrified.
He delved inside her, not just with one finger, but two, then three. Stretching, probing, and she actually heard him licking his fingers, tasting and sucking her juices off his digits. It drove her crazy, desperately wanting to have his cock inside her. It had gone supremely hard beneath her belly. How he managed to hold off using it astounded her.
“Oh, Rick. Dear God, please…” moaned Leah.
“Hush. I’ve still got plans for this arse,” he said. “There’s no rush, is there?”
She couldn’t answer. Her mouth dropped open in shock. His thumbs had spread her cheeks apart, sending a rush of cool air between her cleft.
“No, no,” she muttered, uncertain if she was answering his question or telling him to stop. Rick ignored her protestation.
Now she understood why he had moistened his fingers on her juices. He rimmed her bud with her own natural lubrication and it tickled. Little sparks of electricity shot about her sex. As she precariously balanced on his lap, he pressed a finger against her tight entrance.
“Relax,” he told her.
She listened, breathed deeply, and felt her belly muscles untie their knots. A moment of pain; she flinched and then he was in. His finger hooked inside her, seeking out her elasticity.
“You’re going to come for me, Leah,” he said and she believed him.
She was pinned down by his fingers, one set frigging her clitoris and pussy, the other thrusting in and out of her bottom hole. It took mere seconds to achieve his goal.
Leah screamed and the pigeons roosting on the roof above took off en masse at her commotion.
Rick removed his hands, stroked her bottom and back until her convulsions died down.
“A nice red bottom. Well, more of a pale pink then crimson. I think I stopped too soon, don’t you?” His palm made circles about her bottom, squishing her soft flesh, pushing her pelvis deeper into his lap and erection. The tip stuck up, hitting her stomach, reminding her of his own needs.
“Yes.” The word escaped her lips before her brain had engaged.
“Can you stand up?” he asked gently.
She nodded and he helped her find her feet. Her knickers dropped about her ankles and she stared at them, a wisp of fabric, unsure whether to pull them up or not.
“Take them off,” he said into her ear. “In fact. Take everything off. Keep your shoes and suspenders on. I don’t want you to cut your feet on something.”
She should feel mortified by his request to strip, but the emotion was suppressed. Another raged inside and won out—lust.
Rick went on his hunt, a now familiar activity as he sought out something to spank her tender bottom. As she dropped off her skirt, lifted off her blouse, and undid her dainty bra, Rick plundered about the fringes of the hangar, lifting, moving, and banging. She dreaded to think what he might find abandoned.
Her stockings and suspenders she left on; she still felt totally naked though, her clothes laid neatly on the chair. The cool air in the hangar moved about her, an almost perceivable breeze. She shivered slightly; it wasn’t due to being cold, merely apprehension.
Rick had crouched down in a far corner. Too dark for her to see what he was fiddling with and she was tempted to tiptoe over to watch him. Standing up, he proceeded to drag something over towards one of the spotlights of daylight. Now she could see what he had found: A wheel chock. The mechanism to keep an aircraft from rolling when parked. A wedge of wood attached to a piece of thick rope. It was the rope that Rick held in his hands.
Once in the brighter light, he returned to his task. The rope knotted to a ring in the wooden chock; he picked at the tired knot until it gradually fell apart. Pulling the rope through the ring, he dangled it in front of him. Badly frayed at one end, several inches of rope had uncoiled, exposing tattered ends. His fingers rang through the fibres, feeling them, prying them apart further. Walking towards an outer wall, he lifted his arm and swung it at the metal. It crashed against it and a plume of dust rose up, along with tiny detached rope fibres. He repeated the action several times until the dust disappeared.
“You have got to be kidding!” shouted Leah across the expanse of the hangar.
He swung it back and forth as he strolled back towards her. Leah wrapped her arms about her body protectively, heart thumping in her chest.
“It’s very soft. Surprisingly so. I expect rats have gnawed at it. But they’ve done you a favour. Made it lovely and thin.”
“A favour!” she squeaked.
“Feel it. Go on,” he cajoled.
Her hand crept out, crossing the space between them, until her fingertips touched the rope fibres. She rolled them between her fingers. They didn’t feel rough and weren’t as heavy as she had imagined.
“I’m going to give you a flogging. Something different,” he told her.
Leah’s eyes opened wide and her hand shot back to the comfort of her own body.
“It will hurt too much,” she said, shaking her head.
“Don’t move,” said Rick.
She obeyed. A little voice inside her told her not to, but a bigger one stamped on the little one, telling it to be quiet.
Slowly he walked around her twitching body. As he moved, he trailed the makeshift flogger about her flesh, over her shoulders, down her back, and across her bottom. Round and round he went, and on each circuit, he twirled the rope, caressing her one second, stinging her with a flick of his wrist the next.
Leah flinched at first, then she grew to like the sensation. The rope tickled, grazed gently, and then bit into her with the loose ends.
Rick stopped his rotation. Opening her eyes, Leah watched as he went across and picked up the wooden ladder, left abandoned on the floor. Several feet in length, taller than him, it had a few rungs missing. He shook it, thumped the legs on the concrete, and waited. It stayed intact.
He propped it against the corrugated wall, using the undulations to trap the ladder and hold it in place, and the chock at its feet to stop it slipping. Turning to face Leah, he wagged a finger at her.
She shuffled over to him, legs jellified and leaden combined. The ladder was angled up the wall, slanted and supported; he leant against it, giving it one last test. By the time Leah had reached Rick, she knew what he expected her to do. She rested her body against it. Her hips fit snuggly between the two support struts and a rung just below her. Her breasts filled the gap between two rungs. She wedged her feet on either side of the legs, gripped the rung above her head, and swivelled her head to one side.
His hazel eyes had lit up. She could see the sheer delight in her acquiescence. “If it gets too much, you tell me to stop, okay?”
She nodded and then spoke her affirmation. “I will tell you to stop,” she repeated his words.
She waited for the first strike, but it did not come. The tortuous tickling returned as he draped the rope flogger over her back, down her buttocks, and then back up between her spread legs.
“Oh!” she whimpered loudly. “Don’t stop!”
She found her clitoris, her pubic mound, was resting right against a rung. A perfect height. She pressed her pelvis hard into the wood and at the same time, the rope curled between her slit and then up her cleft. She shook, almost violently, with the desire to come.
Rick laughed. A gentle, jovial sound of a man who was enjoying watching his girl lose herself. It was at that point he switched, altered his swing, and began to flog her upper back.
* * *
He was determined she should find pleasure in his actions. No part of him perceived what he did as discipline or correction. The little spanking over his lap had dwelt with her rogue behaviour. His cock ached tremendously. It took all his will power to keep it at bay and untouched.
To distract, he began to work a rhythm into his flogging. Back and forth, swinging his arm in a figure eight. Eventually, her skin turned pink, tiny flecks of scarlet too. He lowered his arm and aimed for the more durable bottom. She let out a screech. He sensed he was being too hard and
he toned down his actions, removing the force and concentrating on the rhythm.
Leah’s dark eyes glazed over; even in the dim light of the hangar, he could see them glisten, shine with unshed tears. He stopped, whispered a question in her ears, and she responded clearly.
“Don’t stop… keep going. It is bliss… pleasure with pain,” she said softly, stammering her words out.
The minutes ticked by and all that could be heard, other than the wind rattling the rafters, was the swing and thud of his improvised flogger. It coiled about her thighs, cuffed the apex of her cheeks and drew blood under the surface of the skin. The outer layer remained undamaged, simply rouged and heated.
Rick saw her legs shake; she was close, so close to completion. Dropping the flogger, he fumbled with his fly, grasped his shaft in his fist and exposed his eager erection. He wanted to feel her flesh against his own, her warmth and life force. He stripped rapidly, tossing his clothes on the floor, uncaring of their condition.
Twisting her around so her back lay against the rungs, he slid into her pussy. Her mouth parted and emitted a tiny moan, and she once again gripped the ladder above her head. Below she jutted forward her pelvis, allowing access to her wet interior.
The ladder barely survived his onslaught as he thrust hard and deep inside Leah. The wooden struts bowed slightly, creaked and held out. He wrapped his arms about her body, supporting her, and buried his face in her long dark hair. She clenched about him, drawing him in deeper.
Rick growled. It was happening too quickly. Not yet!
* * *
He withdrew. Leah exclaimed in protest; reaching down, she found him, stiff and upright, coated in her nectar and she tried to push it back inside.
