The Drive

"Did you forget something?" he asks me in an amused, disbelieving tone.

We sit there, stalled on a back road in the middle of farm country, and I quickly realize that I have. I lean my forehead against the steering wheel as I turn and remove the key from the silent car. How could I have let this happen? It was unlike me to be so absentminded. I am a planner. I had organized the whole weekend away and it had gone perfectly. And now, I have gotten us stuck miles from the nearest town as the sun is steadily approaching the horizon.

"Damn," I whisper. Then, as I glance up at him, "Damn, babe. I'm so sorry. I --"

But his hard, expectant look stops me. I gaze into his eyes, let my hands drop into my lap and I swallow, recomposing myself.

"Yes, Sir. I forgot to refill the gas tank. I apologize."

"Well, an apology certainly won't fix this. What do you think we should do about it, pet?"

"Sir, I can call for --"

"Oh no, no, no," he interrupts me with a smirk. "I know how to call a tow-truck. What should we do about you getting us into this mess and wasting my time?"

My heart falls. I have disappointed him. He'll want to punish me for being a bad girl.

As usual, the look on my face betrays my thoughts and he gently lifts my chin.

"You won't be punished," he assures me, as our eyes meet. "You didn't do this on purpose and you did so well in planning such a wonderful trip for us. Your error did, however, bring on this situation. It will likely take some time for CAA to reach us. During that time, you will ... entertain me." As he speaks those last two words, his face lights up. His smile is wide and he twitches his eyebrows a few times, signaling the type of amusement that most certainly will not be shared.

He exits the car. I sit motionless in the seat, unsure of how to proceed.

I watch as he comes around and opens my door.

"Out," he orders.

As I rise out of the car, he forcefully pushes me down before him. The ground is littered with small pebbles that dig painfully into my knees.

"Are you ready to play, slut?" he asks. The familiar phrase that has signaled the start of dozens of play sessions relaxes me. As I gladly speak my standard response, I can feel the shift in my consciousness. My inner monologue fades and I wait.

He looks around, taking in the remote back road flanked by shallow ditches and acres upon acres of ripening corn. He smiles to himself as he removes his belt. He moves behind me, snapping and swishing it around a few times. I bend over, resting my head on my hands. My short dress lifts of it's own accord, exposing my bare ass.

He drags the leather along my lightly bruised skin. Each time he lifts it, I brace myself for the hit, but it doesn't come. He taps the belt gently over my exposed labia, I gasp between each touch, waiting for the pain to start. Leaning over, he whispers softly in my ear, "Nervous?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good," he drawls. "Arms behind you."

I struggle to keep my balance as I put my wrists together behind me and try to keep my face off the road. He begins to wind his belt around my forearms. My chest is uncomfortably stretched and the restraint keeps my arms straight, sticking out behind me at an awkward angle.

"Stand up."

I manage to get to my feet. My legs are dirty and the hem of my dress is bunched around my waist. I had removed my strappy sandals in favour of sneakers for the drive and their lime green accents clash horribly with my tight red dress. He bends down and undoes the laces. I watch as he ties them together, leaving me restricted to about one foot of motion.

"Hmmm", he muses, looking me over. He gently sweeps my hair from my face. His fingers glide slowly down my neck, then trace my collarbone outwards. When he reaches the straps of my dress, he grips them tightly and pulls them down in one motion. My breasts fall free.

"Much better. Now you look like a proper slut."

I pray to myself that nobody comes along the isolated road, then smile slightly at the irony of that thought. We exchange glances and he smiles back knowingly.

"My toy bag is all nicely packed away. While I make the call, you are going collect three items I can use to make you hurt."

My smile fades.

"But, Sir! What if I fall?"

"I suggest..." he reaches out, giving my nipple a hard tweak "... that you don't."

There is nothing here. Just dirt and grass and corn stalks. Well, that's a start, I think, and waddle my way towards the field. I hear him chuckle to himself; I must look ridiculous. I smile and shake my head as I carefully navigate down one side of the ditch.

Up close, the stalks are much thicker than I had imagined. I turn and grasp one blindly with my hands. As I gently try to bend it, a sharp pain in my shoulders clearly tells me that my bindings will not allow for any such motion.

The sound of his laughter draws my attention. He is leaning on the car, my phone held to his ear. An amused expression plays across his face as he watches me.

Fine. So I can't bring him a stalk. I shuffle back into the ditch and begin stumbling through it, away from the car. There has to be something here. Maybe a stick or an old shoe. Why do I always see old shoes by the side of the road except when I need one?

Then I see something yellow glinting through the tall grass in the waning daylight. I slow my pace.

"Oh, did you find something interesting?" he jeers at me.

Without glancing back, I bend over to identify the object. With my feet bound and my hands behind me, I have to kick at it to untangle it from the grass.

It's a wheel. From a kid's bike, I guess, as the rubber tire is a bright yellow and the spokes are decorated with coloured beads. It doesn't look particularly threatening, but I know better than to dismiss an object's potential for pain based solely on looks. That was a lesson I had learned early on.

I push the wheel partway up the slope with me feet, then turn and squat carefully to grab it with my hands. I manage it on the first shot. I feel rather proud.

I decide to hold onto the wheel as I walk a little farther along the road. I find an old white plastic grocery bag and pick it up in the same manner.

Hands full, I make my way back to him, placing both objects down gently at his feet.

"Oh, fun!" he exclaims. Clearly he has already begun to think of ways in which these simple items can torment me. "We have at least an hour before the tow truck arrives, so I'll give you 60 seconds to find the last item. AND GO!"

I give him a worried, pleading look.

"You'd better be quick!" he warns.

I waddle into the ditch as fast as I can. Shite. How am I supposed to find another object so fast?

"40 seconds!"

My heart is racing. Something. Anything. The corn. I manage to wrench an ear from the stalk. My shoulder throbbing, I head back to him as he begins counting down from 10.

I make it with 2 seconds to spare. I am struggling to catch my breath.

"Good girl!" he says earnestly. "Lets give those arms a break."

He unbinds my arms and legs and rearranges the top of my dress. He kisses me softly and rubs my shoulders affectionately.

"You want to know something, pet?" he asks me. "That bike wheel you brought me -- well I'll be breaking that down into four fun parts!"

I give him a troubled, reproachful look.

"Oh, fuck me!" I exclaim in irritation.

"No, not yet, though I appreciate your eagerness. I'm going to let you rest a bit."

"Thank you, Sir," I say as I reach for the car door.

"Not there."

I turn to look at him.

"Face the car. Take two steps to the right. No. The other right. Good."

SLAM.

My torso is violently pushed down onto the hood of the car and my legs are kicked apart.

"Here is where you will rest. Isn't it cozy?" he whispers into my ear.

"Yes, Sir," I respond automatically.

"Tsk, tsk. Well, that won't do."

His weight lifts off of me and I hear a rustling sound. He walks around until he is opposite me.

"Let me have those hands again, pet."

I extend my arms. He places one wrist above the other and I hold them in that position as he flourishes the white bag before me. He pulls and rips it down the sides, leaving himself with a long thin piece of plastic with handles on each end.

He makes a show out of tying my wrists tightly together and then securing them to the side mirror. I'm on my tiptoes. I press my face into my shoulder, holding back my amused smile. Too apprehensive to let him see how much fun I'm having.

He comes back around and rests a hand on the small of my back as he strokes my exposed pussy.

"You would make a lovely hood ornament, but I think that it is you who requires ornamentation," he growls happily.

His hands leave me. The moment draws out, until I feel something cold and hard pressed against the backs of my knees. I recognize it as the wheel, stripped of its tire.

"You are going to hold this between your legs and you will not let it fall, no matter what. Got it?"

"Yes, Sir."

This is not so bad. I'm rather certain that I can take a beating in this position. I figure he'll use the tube of the tire to hit me. I've experienced similar implements before.

His tugging on my pussy lips interrupts my train of thought.

"I think I'll decorate these first," he says.

Suddenly his closed fist is in front of my face. He opens his fingers slowly to reveal the beads that had adorned the bike wheel. They are cheap plastic with a slit down one side to snap onto the spokes. He pours the pile of yellow, pink and purple onto the car hood, my outstretched arms hold them there.

"Pick a colour," he tells me.

"Purple," I say without hesitation.

"Yellow? Great choice!"

I roll my eyes and smile to myself.

Then a thought hits me and all amusement drains in an instant.

"You're not ... you can't possibly ... you won't ..." I stammer.

"I can't what?" he asks sweetly, stroking my hair gently. "I can't clip these onto you wherever I want and leave them there for as long as I wish?"

"You...you can, but it will hurt. I really don't think --"

"Are you supposed to be thinking?" he interrupts me.

"I ... no. No, I'm not, Sir. You can, Sir."

"I can what?"

"You can..." I swallow hard, "You can decorate my pussy as you like."

"Whose pussy?"

"Yours, Sir. You can decorate your pussy as you like."

"Good girl. Yes, I can and I will. Now brace yourself; this is going to hurt."

As he picks out the 8 yellow beads, I examine the slits. The gap is about two millimeters wide and the edges are sharp. I wonder how much give they have.

"Count them as I put them on," he orders.

I readjust my footing, still clinging to the wheel frame with my knees.

I feel the tug and then the sharp pain as he slides one bead onto my right pussy lip.

"Ouch! One, Sir," I count.

He is working fast. Soon he has positioned four beads on that side. The pain is bothersome, but not unbearable.

"How many can I fit on this one lip?" he muses to himself. He knows how much asymmetry bothers me. This is all part of the torment.

I count to seven through clenched teeth.

"Ah, no more room on this side! I guess I'll have to put the last one on the left."

He pulls on the left side, then pauses.

"On second thought..."

He leans over me and, with a ceremonious flourish, places the last yellow bead atop the pile of pink and purple that sits inches from my nose.

"You fucker," I mutter, his teasing is starting to get to me, and he knows it. I hear him snicker as he walks away.

I don't know how long he leaves me there waiting, but it feels like it will never end. My arms are sore. The plastic bag has stretched enough that I can bend my elbows slightly, which is a welcome relief. My pussy is aching, but numbness is setting in now. I know the real pain will come when the beads are removed.

My feet are hurting the most. On my tiptoes, with my thigh muscles engaged and actively holding that bike rim, I don't know how much longer I can hold on. I recognize the fast-approaching wall. I know how good I will feel once I have pushed through it. I close my eyes and try to focus on him. He is humming cheerfully to himself as he works on whatever he has decided to do next. I am doing what he had desired. I am pleasing him. He is so worth pleasing. I hold on to that thought as the seconds sift passed. I focus on my breathing, working on keeping it even and calm.

His gentle touch surprises me.

"Ready for the fun part?" he asks.

"Yes, Sir," I reply airily. My feet are cramped and my thigh muscles are jerking as they struggle to maintain flexion.

I feel the cool sharpness of a steel blade run up one leg. He reaches over me and, in one swift, careful motion, cuts the plastic bag binding my hands. My heels touch the ground and the muscles in my feet spasm in happy relief. He pulls the tire rim away and I sigh audibly. Leaning against the car, I am finally able to relax as the pain leaves my body. I know he's just getting started.

"I made a few nice toys for us to play with." He is rubbing my ass firmly, warming me up.

"Thank you, Sir."

"What do you think I did with the tire?" His hands start lightly tapping on me now.

"A flogger, maybe?"

"Smart girl. Yes, I made part of it into a flogger, but only after I cut off this long thin strip." He drapes the long section in question over my neck. "Imagine how nice that is going to feel," he sneers. "And what do you think I made with the corn?"

I can only come up with one thing and it embarrasses me just to think about it. I blush and don't answer.

"Eh?" He stops the light spanking and comes to look at my face. "Oh ho! You think I'll use it as a dildo? No, no. I'm much more creative than that. It'll be your special surprise at the end."

The crude flogger is horribly stingy. I wince and gasp as he paints my skin red with his new toy, varying the placement and the rhythm as he goes, but steadily increasing the intensity. After a while, I can't hold it back any longer and I begin calling him names.

"I guess it's time to take off those beads, since I'm 'such a fucking bastard'. Shall I have you count them off?"

"One. Ow. OWWW! Two. AHHH!" I cannot keep myself composed through the pain. He removes the rest, counting them for me. I gasp like a fish out of water as he places his hand against me in firm counter-pressure.

"THAT SUCKED!" I yell at him.

"But I'm having such a wonderful time, thanks to you," he smiles and kisses the back of my neck. "Lie back down."

He resumes his flogging, the change in pain is a welcome distraction, but he increases the intensity quickly and I'm back to my name-calling.

"Fucker!" I exclaim.

He laughs and lifts the makeshift whip from its resting place on my neck. I try to brace myself for the bite of the new toy, but it is his hand that next makes contact with my sensitized flesh. Hard, resonating smacks that leave me almost breathless.

"No! Ow! Goddamn, why do your hands have to be so mean? Fuck! Can't you pick a new spot? Ow!" I can no longer filter my thoughts and they tumble from my mouth in a string of angry badgering.

"It's time to let go now" he stops and whispers quietly into my ear. "Surrender. Give me your pain."

The first strike of the whip makes me cry out, the second one lands close to the first and the pain is overwhelming. I gasp, but his words echo through my mind and I let the pain wash over me, feeling its energy spread throughout my body. The next strike feels much less powerful. I moan through each one.

Time passes. The whip is replaced by the flogger, his hand, and then back to the whip. I sink deeper until I barely feel the pain. I'm in that happy, floaty place. A place where the senses are dulled and my mind is quiet. The only place where I can let go and just be.

"Good girl" I hear, but it's miles away.

Then he is rubbing my ass vigorously.

"Time for the last toy I made. Your special surprise."

He is holding it in front of my face. I force my eyes open to slits, but when I see what it is my eyes widen. I am still deep in the reverie of release, but my conscious mind begins to struggle to regain control.

"No! No no no no no!" I protest, writhing. He holds me firmly in place.

"What does this remind you of?" Now he is dragging it across my ass. I wince, but the cool moisture of it is unexpectedly soothing.

"It's the fucking cork, Sir," I mumble.

"Yes, it does look similar, doesn't it?" he says proudly. "But I carved this from the cob of that fine piece of corn. It is much harder than the cork. I had a devil of a time wedging the wheel spoke into it to make a handle."

He starts tapping it across my cheeks. It hurts. I instinctively pull away.

"Now, now, this is just the warm up. I get one good hit with it, wherever I want and as hard as I want, then we'll be done. Alright?"

"Yes, Sir," I manage to squeak. The constant pain from the light tapping has me on edge. I brace myself for the big hit, forcing my breathing to slow. I can do this. It's almost done. One more. For him.

"Are you ready for it?" he asks, rubbing the edge across me again.

"Yes, Sir." My teeth are clenched. He lifts the toy off of me.

"It's coming soon..."

"Okay," I growl.

"Any second now..."

"Would you just --"

TAP.

Light as a feather, he delicately touches the cob onto my left buttock, and lets the tool fall to the ground.

"All done" he smiles.

I have no words.

I am overcome with a mingled tidal wave of relief, anger and shock. I collapse into his arms in a sudden wreck of tears. He holds me, kisses me and tells me how proud he is of me. He helps me into the back seat and fetches us snacks and drinks from the cooler.

As we snuggle beneath his jacket, waiting, I can't help but think that the drive has turned out better than even I could have planned.