Time to do something about those arms!
"Will you let me have your bra?" he asked, "or must I tear that too?"
Nothing but gurgles, but it was quite easy to get it off anyway. The contents felt pretty good, he made a point of making sure of that as he completed the operation of removing them. Some sort of hook was torn off, but he paid no heed to that. He preferred her without a bra anyway. Although her breasts made a good handful they were very firm and not over large.
And he fancied the tips had hardened under his touch. Surprising but true.
He had to tear the bra into two in the end, anyway. How else could he secure her two wrists to the bottom of his seat, so as to leave her bottom up over his lap? That was the obvious position for her punishment, after all.
She wore no stockings and he didn't make her take her jersey or her skirt off. There was no need with nothing under them. It was easy to turn the little skirt up and put a hand up under her jersey to steady her by taking hold of a breast. As for those flimsy little shoes, they had kicked off in her struggles long since.
He enjoyed those struggles. Useless, of course, but a right turn on. And there was no hurry, he had her at his mercy alright now. He rolled a joint and gloated over the bottom that twitched and jerked and trembled and quivered under his roving fingers.
And positively jumped whenever he unexpectedly nipped a sensitive place! All his nips were unexpected, for he had too much experience to get into a routine. And most of the places were sensitive. He could get his hand underneath quite easily and it felt specially good there.
She was getting damp. That surprised him too.
He took his belt off slowly. It was broad and brown and leather, studded on one side, suitable, that was the word, an old ally, a warrior of many victories, a curer of many reluctances.
It had certainly beaten the shit out of many a tougher bottom than this one, which looked very vulnerable, sensitive…
He didn't have much room to swing, but he would manage with so perfect a target.
Oh yes, he would manage.
It would be a real pleasure, thank you very much.
Spankable! That was the word for this one! Spankable!
He let a horny hand come down on her as an experiment, and she jumped real well.
But it was nothing compared with the first sweep of the belt. He turned up her short skirt, revealing a plump little bottom that cringed away from his exploring hands as they probed between her reluctant cheeks.
Then he began to beat her.
He did it methodically and with enthusiasm, watching her bum turn redder and redder, relishing the way she jerked about and whinnied through the gag.
When he had finished tears were streaming down her face, but when he released her she just dried her eyes, rubbed her bottom ruefully, and asked for a joint.
This time, when he reached out for her, she offered herself up to him.
"Oh well," she giggled, "one good ride, deserves another."
Jack smiled and motioned for her to move to the bunk behind the seats, watching the tight stretch of the skirt across her arse as she bent forward to gain access to the back of the cab.
It seemed that the beating had produced an unexpected result, for the heavy scent of her arousal filled the rig.
Jack dipped several fingers into the soft wet slot now opening up for him, allowing his thumb to press firmly against her anus until a little more pressure eased it inside, forcing a tiny whimper and an urgent appeal to be filled by his prick.
An appeal which he was not slow in fulfilling!
Chapter 2
Pete Warburton was almost grateful for the shrill ring of the telephone that forced him up off the sofa and away from the television set.
"Susan!" he answered, concerned. "What's the problem?"
At the other end his young wife frowned before allowing a brief giggle to escape her lips. Pete was a worrier. Wherever she went, whatever she did, he couldn't stop himself fussing like a mother hen. It was understandable considering the age difference. Not one of their friends had said the relationship would last. Hers told her he would spend his nights in front of the television, while his said she would want to spread her wings and eventually she'd need someone her own age. What they didn't know was how much they felt for each other.
"Are you still with your sister? Has something happened?"
She interrupted before his mind ran away with him.
"There's nothing the matter. The car's broken down, that's all."
"That's all! Christ, I knew I should have driven you. Why didn't you take my car. Christ, I knew I…"
"Pete, it's no sweat. I've got the phone, I've told you, just come and get me. We'll pick the car up in the morning."
"Right, be there in two minutes!" It was only Susan's shout that prevented him putting the phone down and dashing out before she had told him where she was.
As the temperature dropped in the car Susan pulled up the collar of her coat. When that wasn't enough she leant over the seats to reach for the blanket on the rear parcel shelf. Wrapping herself up warm she noticed the pin size glow of headlights away in the distance and felt relieved that quite soon she would no longer be alone. Her relief was short-lived as the lights grew brighter to reveal a large lorry that thundered past in the opposite direction.
Peter would obviously be a while yet. Being the careful sort, he was probably taking it slowly, making sure he didn't miss her. Her comforting thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the ten wheel truck that ground to a halt behind her vehicle. Help at last. With a bit of luck she might not have to leave the car here after all. She didn't like the idea of that anyway, you never know who could come along.
About fifteen minutes later Peters' car appeared out of the gloom within sight of the broken down Fiat.
It was empty!
He called out her name and when there was no reply he dashed for his phone and rang the police.
The official response was best described as calculated concern. Two police cars appeared within moments of each other and the officers began a detailed investigation of the crime scene, although in their view a crime had not necessarily been committed. Peter had no such doubts and as he sat in the back of a patrol car, he desperately tried to persuade them likewise.
"You don't know Susan," he sobbed. "She wouldn't just up and go with someone. She knew I was on my way, just half hour, three quarters at the most."
The young policeman thought hard for comforting words, his face illuminated by the headlights of the large ten wheeled rig across the road, which had slowed down to see what was going on. One of the other officers turned to the driver and motioned for him to be on his way.
"Morbid bastards," he growled before stabbing his thumb southwards. "On your way."
The driver flashed a sarcastic smile then moved his rig through the gears and pushed on towards Carlisle and the M6. In the darkness behind, Susan Warburton moved the only part of her body she was able to, her eyes. They bulged wide and white, glistening with fear. The rest of her body remained perfectly still, restrained by several haulage straps around her shoulders, arms and legs. A chromium spanner fixed by shortened bunjee ropes held down her tongue like the bit in the mouth of a thoroughbred.
As Peter spoke, the constable in the car read Susan's description straight into the radio, 'short bobbed hair, blonde. Height about five feet six, slim, style of clothes unknown. Age…' His voice stumbled as he repeated Peter's words. 'Twenty three.' At the confusion obvious on his face Peter repeated himself.
"Twenty three, you heard right. And before you ask, I'm fifty two. Not that that should concern you."
The policeman finished his message and resumed his questioning, only this time the atmosphere felt different. The constable shifted in his seat and refused to make eye contact.