"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.
