BDSM Erotica
"Little Red Roadster," a sex story by Peter Rosier
The pretty girl sashayed over to the auto dealership window and ran a greedy tongue over her lips as she saw the little red convertible still standing in the middle of the showroom floor.
The dealership doors swished open automatically as she twitched her short-skirted butt from the hot street into the air conditioned cool. Going straight to the open-topped red roadster, her fingers lightly caressed its paintwork, her senses overloading with the scent of warm leather.
“A beauty,” said a voice behind her.
She turned and saw a smart looking salesman. About in his early thirties, she thought, probably works out and yet looks sensitive, too. Oh, and she just loved that aftershave he wore.
“Great performance and good looks,” continued the salesman whose name badge said he was Michael. “It’s the only one of this model we have in stock. They’re so popular the factory just can’t keep up.”
"Well,” said the girl, “I’ve liked the looks of it for a while now. And seeing that I just won the lottery…….”
She let the unfinished sentence hang in the air between them.
“OK, maybe you’d like a test drive?” said Michael, opening the passenger side door. “Or maybe you’d rather check out the engine first?”
“I’ll take your word for it that it has an engine,” said the girl and, by the time he had returned with the keys, she was snuggled down in the seat. Her fingers stroked the leather covered gear shift up and down its length. Her skirt had slipped up her thighs.
“Let’s give her a good run,” said Michael and his strong skilled hands coaxed the car from the showroom and out down the highway leading from town into the nearby foothills by the sea.
As the road grew steeper and narrower, the salesman drove faster. The air rushed past the girl’s face so quickly it took her breath away. The force of the car swinging from left to right with its tires screaming as they gripped the blacktop road made her heart lurch and a familiar emotion began to build inside her.
She felt hotter and wetter between her legs. She pressed her hands down into her lap in an attempt to stifle the feeling, but it was no use. The throbbing emotion began to burn up into her belly and from there she felt her breasts tingle and her nipples harden. She pushed her hands deeper into her lap wishing she were alone so she could slip them under her skirt and pleasure herself freely.
Even so, she felt her climax building. Faster and faster went the car and hotter and stronger grew her feelings until her lust overflowed. She closed her eyes and lay back in the seat as waves of pleasure seasoned with a little bit of delicious guilt rolled over her.
Still panting, she opened her eyes suddenly aware that somehow, shamefully obvious to Michael if he had looked, her skirt was up nearly around her waist. Her scanty French knickers were on view and, even though designed to conceal her vital area, were so wet that they had become virtually transparent. In fact, all moisture seemed to have drained from her mouth, now so dry she could hardly swallow, to between her thighs which were wet and wanton.
She became aware that Michael was saying something.
“How will you pay?”
“Uh, what, what was that?”
“I said, how will you pay? I guess you like the car, you certainly seem to; so what with your lottery win, I suppose you’ll want to order right away. We can do you a good finance deal if you don’t want to touch your prize money just yet.”
She sat up and stuttered the reply as it came into her head, unedited.
“I can’t afford this car!”
“But you said you won the lottery!”
“Sure, a small prize, a hundred dollars. I never said it was enough to afford this!”
She was thrown forward against her seat belt as Michael brought the car to a sudden halt in a lookout reaching to the cliff edge which dropped away to the sea far below.
“Honey, you are something else,” his voice was low, but compelling. “I have just spent the best part of a morning on you because you gave me the impression; yes, you did,” when she was about to interrupt, “the impression you could pay for a car like this.”
She sank lower in her seat under the weight of his disapproval.
“If you ever needed any physical correction in your life, you need it now.”
And he swung out of his side of the car and was pulling open her door before she fully realised what was happening.
“Out now, Miss.” And out she slid, too overwhelmed to protest.
His strong arms grasped her. With a firm pressure he pushed her down over the gleaming hood of the car, so close she could see every detail of her face reflected in the perfect paint finish.
With one hand between her shoulder blades he held her easily whilst the other roughly pulled up her short skirt. After a moment to admire her pert pink cheeks nestling tantalisingly in their almost transparent covering, his hard masculine hand began to beat a tattoo on her hind quarters. She felt each spank smart on her barely protected buttocks as he first concentrated on the left and only moved to the right as her cheek was totally beaten and glowing.
As the discomfort grew to a real stinging humiliation, she found herself crying and sobbing, involuntarily windmilling her legs as she tried futilely to run away.
For a blessed moment she thought he had stopped but, when she felt him grasp the elastic top of her French knickers, she realised he was far from done. With a tug and the unmistakable sound of tearing fabric, her scanty protection fell to the ground and the cool air now caressing her burning little butt served only to increase the sensation there.
And his hard, firm hand began again to spank and humiliate her tormented rear. This time, though, having covered her poor cheeks again in quick time, he moved further down and delivered at least a half dozen resounding slaps on each of the so far unspanked tops of her thighs. The thinner skin there made each slap as least twice as painful as on her cheeks and she cried again in shame and humiliation.
Apparently finished (at least she hoped so!), he let go of her and stood back. Shakily she rose to her feet, grimacing at her stiff and burning rear end yet also once again aroused. So strange, she thought, to be turned on by a spanking but oh so stimulating to have a dominant male in her life, albeit briefly.
Grasping her again, but this time more gently, he turned her towards him and she nuzzled her face deep in his chest feeling the warmth of his body and luxuriating in his masculine aroma of aftershave and exertion.
He dried her eyes and she clung to him, feeling depths of emotion welling up inside her that she had rarely felt for anyone before. As the seabirds cried and wheeled overhead and the surf pounded the rocks hundreds of feet below, so again that familiar feeling of love and lust began to build in her loins and belly and grow rapidly towards a full scale eruption.
She seized his hand, the one that had punished her so severely, and gently pressed his fingers between her parted legs. His lips nuzzled her ear and, as he registered the wet desire on her other lips, he laughed softly and slowly turned her away from him.
She found herself once again face down over the hood but this time his hands were gentle as they raised her skirt to around her waist and parted her thighs. She felt the warm wet divide of her sex opened by his hard masculinity. As he began to thrust so the desire between her legs joined with the pain in her butt to bring together a strange communion of punishment joined with loving forgiveness and just plain lust.
When they had finished, she bent, not without difficulty, to retrieve her ruined panties from the ground and slid into the car seat, unable to stifle a gasp as the now sun-heated leather burnt her bare and raw ass.
They didn’t speak on the way back to the showroom.
Once they arrived, he came round to her side of the car and opened the door for her in a gesture she found both wonderfully old fashioned and chivalrous.
“Michael,” she said, “about that hundred dollars lottery win….”
He stared at her, one eyebrow quizzically raised.
“I can’t afford to buy this car with it but there’s one thing I can do. Will you let me take you out to dinner tonight? Just don’t order a raw rump steak!”
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Copyright April 2008, Peter Rosier
Published with permission from author on OystersandChocolate.com. Copying or reprinting this work in part or in whole without permission is illegal.