The Road Trip Revisited

----

This is a near-complete re-writing of one of my first stories: the road tip. It's part experiment to see how my writing has improved, part effort to make the story more palatable and less controversion, without lessening the cruel and firey treatment the two parties give one another.

Still, though, this story does not, necessarily, represent a healthy BDSM relationship. Safewords are important and if your partner crosses a line or breaks a limit, you should talk to them about this immediately. Always practice safe and consensual play, leave the crazy stuff for the stories. Stories which, I hope, you will enjoy very much.

----

The clock said it had been a long drive, almost an hour and a half since they left home, and it was getting dark. It didn't feel it though. Nearly 100 miles of twisting country roads, tight corners, blind crests and the occasional avian obstacle had flown by, one corner leading to the next like a river flowing through a valley. The engine note still filled the evening air as their destination approached. The adrenaline still pumping from the last daring overtake, and corner taken too fast. But the fun was only just beginning.

Glancing from the road to his gorgeous, and slightly frightened, passenger he asked "Having fun?" with a laugh.

"Yeah," She answered, "you nearly killed us both a few times... but it was fun."

"Oh, did my driving scare you?" he mocked.

"Yes!"

"Oh... Well if you think that's scary, just wait for what I've got in store for you."

"Wait, what? What do you mean?" she questioned. Her mind raced, her heart pumped. What was he planning, what sick scene had he dreamed up this time? She had admitted to him once that she'd fantasized about this: him taking her away somewhere, beating her, and dragging her home, but she didn't think he'd have the balls to actually go through with it... She was scared, but what a rush it was.

Ignoring the question, he pulled the car into a small, empty car park overlooking the beach below. The engine note waned and was replaced by the sound of tyres on gravel as the car pulled to a halt.

He reached over, and gently held his passenger's face, locked eyes with her and said,

"This is where the fun begins."

Then gave her a short, sharp slap across the cheek. Before she could even react to what had happened he was ordering her to get out of the car and shutting off the engine.

"Out!" he ordered again, seeing she was still in her seat as he opened his door.

Still a little unsure about what was going on, she sheepishly opened her door and stepped out into the chilly autumn air as he walked around the car towards her. The sea breeze immediately hit her, freezing her down to the bone through her jeans and thin t-shirt.

"It's cooolllddd," she protested, hugging herself tight, already missing the warmth of the car. "And what the fuck are we doing here? Oh, and why the fuck did you slap me, cunt?"

No sooner had she finished her sentence than his hand was raised, and she got another hard hit across her face, leaving a bright red mark on her otherwise pasty cheeks. His hit sent a bolt of lightning down her spine, making her whimper with excitement. There was no doubt in her mind any more, he had brought her here to live out her dream. Adrenaline pumped hard as the brat swelled inside of her, her fists clenched, her teeth bared. Fight or flight had kicked in, and she had chosen fight.

"Don't you fucking DARE talk to me like that, brat," he scolded her. His words were like a hammer, beating her down. His deep, booming voice beat the fight or of her immediately.

"But..." she protested, weakly.

"No. No buts. You do as you're told. You need to learn some manners. You've been spoiled recently. Nice restaurants, cute getaways, expensive days out. But no more. You get nothing until you learn your manners."

"I... Okay..." was her only reply. She wanted to be bratty, to really earn a beating, but sometimes he was so hard to defy

"Okay SIR," he corrected her. "You refer to me as sir, and only sir. When I offer you something you say 'Yes please, sir' when you get it you say 'Thank you, sir', you treat me with respect. Do you fucking understand that?"

"You don't deserve respect, boy." She spat back. There she was, the brat was back. Brat's little outburst her another slap though, before he grabbed her hair and forced her to look him in the eye. His eyes burned with angry, lustful fire. It was a look she knew well, and it excited her like nothing else.

"You're gonna regret that," he told her, seeing the fear grow in her eyes as she felt the bright red mark on her cheeks, "you're gonna be so fucking sore. You're going to be crying. You're going to be red, and black and blue. You're going to be scared, and you're going to have to sit on your bruises all of the way home. So you'll have plenty of time to think about your behaviour."

"W-what, no, I... You don't scare me!"

"I fucking should. You should be scared!" he shouted, inches from her face. His words reverberated in her chest, each one making her more afraid, sending more sparks through her body. Then he pushed her against the car, twisting her arm up behind her back and pinning her there with it. The cold metal squished her breasts, making her grunt and groan. Holding her in place, he pulled a small swiss army knife from his pocket and held it next to her face as he flicked out the blade. Swish, ting. The blade flew open. The steel glistened in the light of the setting sun, the orange rays making the knife look alight with fire, a fire like the one burning inside her now.

She panicked. "What, no, what the fuck is that for? You can't cut me, no, please!"

"Scared yet?" he mocked.

"Yes!" came the reply. "Yes, I'm fucking scared!" She couldn't hide it any longer. He'd never threatened her with a life knife before, nobody had. The fear it made her feel was like nothing else. Each rapid beat of her heart pumping more and more adrenaline to every muscle.

"Good," he told her, as he held the blade against her skin and began to cut her t-shirt down the side, the fabric tearing and separating as she struggled, the blade nicking the skin and bringing out small spots of blood when she twisted too far. The sting of the cuts shot through every other feeling, like a laser beam in the night, aimed straight at her brain.

"No, please," she begged, but he ignored her and continued to cut away at the fabric until her top was split, hanging only by the sleeve of her uncomfortably twisted arm. "Sir! Please! Is that what you want? To be called sir?!" She begged, "please... stop... stop."

"Good." He growled "You've learned to call me sir, that's a good start. Let's make sure you don't forget it," and he released her arm. "Strip," he instructed her, and she slowly removed the tatters of her top. "And the rest," he continued.

"What? No.. no way!"

"STRIP!" he shouted.

"Fuck off, it's cold, and we're in public!" she protested, spinning around to face him with a stomp of her foot.

"Nobody will see. We haven't seen another car in half an hour." He reassured her, taking a step closer.

"No way," she maintained.

He grabbed her by the throat, squeezing it hard.

Immediately she fell under his spell. She wanted this, she wanted him. She craved it. No, this was fucked up. This was crazy. She was crazy, he was crazy... Her mind and body fought, she loved the rush, she craved it, she was turned on by it, yet felt filthy and guilty because of it.

As she hesitated for a moment in blissful shock, his other hand reached around her back. Realising what she was doing. she struggled and clawed at him, as she felt the strap of her bra undo, and he pulled it off her, before stepping away to admire her. The cold air hit her sensitive breasts, and she shivered, covering them with her hands, to protect her modesty and keep herself warm.

"There's a good slut," he growled, ignoring the stinging marks that her nails digging into his skin had left, as he looked her up and down.

"I'm not ..." She protested, before thinking better of it, "yes sir." She recalled away from him, covering her dignity with her arms, feeling the cold air biting at her skin. Despite the cold, though her body was alight, burning. Her master's gaze burned her, she could feel his eyes inspecting every inch of her exposed skin. The way he looked at her, it was something else. It drove her crazy. But as she squirmed in his view her fingers rubbed over the cuts from the knife, and she felt something warm and wet on her fingertips. Looking in down in horror she saw it was blood. Her eyes grew wide with fear and anger, her mouth opened ready to scream some expletive or insult, but she never got the chance.

"Turn around," he ordered, "Against the car."

The feeling of her blood had scared her, brat was gone now, and she felt totally subdued. She shuffled over slowly, standing next to the vehicle.

"AGAINST the car." He reiterated, pushing her against the metal, before pulling her arms from her chest and holding them above her head, making her squeal as she felt the cold surface against her sensitive skin. If there was any doubt at all in her mind about what they were here for, it was long gone now.

"Don't fucking move," he told her as he opened the car's boot, and zipped open a bag from which he pulled a pair of handcuffs and a crop.

She craned her neck to see what he was doing, not daring to move but desperate to see.

"Arms behind your back, slut," he ordered as he marched towards her. Grabbing her arms tight, he cuffed her, making sure she felt the metal dig into her wrists. As she wriggled and tugged at them she could feel the metal rub and cut her skin, she knew she was going nowhere. Once she was helpless he reached around her front and started undoing her jeans.

"Get off, cunt!" She screamed at him, struggling to get away, earning her a strong slap across the bare skin of her back with an open palm, making her squeal and grunt.

"Please..." She begged.

"Please what?"

"That hurts." She whimpered.

"Oh, this hurts?" He asked as he slapped her again in the same spot, getting another loud squeal out of her.

"Yes, fuck, it hurts."

"Fucking good," he growled, slapping her again and again, up and down her back, as she struggled and squealed and moaned from the pain. "Had enough?"

"No.. no, I can take it. I'm strong, I can take it. You won't break me," she said defiantly, knowing that he could never resist a challenge, and she intended to make herself absolutely irresistible. An evil smile crept onto his lips as he grabbed the crop, and she flinched when she saw him holding it before he had even begun to swing.

"Scared, kitten?" he taunted, as he waved the instrument in his hand.

"Y-yes..." she admitted.

"Good," he grunted, as he swung once, hard. The crop made stinging contact with her skin, leaving an immediate bright red line across her pale back, and she screamed, struggled, and tried to pull away from him. But he didn't relent, he swung again and again, each harder than the last, covering her in marks and leaving her shaking and whimpering. He spun her around, to be facing him, her body bending backwards uncomfortably to follow the shape of the car she was against. Every inch of her back burned when the cool metal and glass touched it. He saw the tears running down her cheeks, taking makeup with them, and he grinned.

"Having fun you little whore?" He asked in a snarling voice, bending down to be at her eye level.

"No... It hurts, it hurts so bad." That first part was a lie... She loved it, it was making her crazy. She was wet and aching to be touched. But she couldn't let him know that. But holy shit did it hurt.

"Oh does it?" He asked, his voice full of mock sympathy. Wrapping his hand around her throat, the sympathy disappeared from his voice, replaced with venom. "Does it fucking hurt?"

"Yes." She whimpered, holding back more tears.

"You fucking love it though don't you, slut?"

"Yes..." she admitted without thinking, growing more panicked about his hands' ever tighter grip on her throat. "...Yes sir," she corrected herself.

"Do you want more?" he asked. "Do you want me to hurt you more, slut?"

"No, no more, please" she begged, struggling for air between words. The fear was genuine. He'd never beaten her this bad before, every inch of her body was in pain.

"Try. Again." He growled, squeezing tighter around her neck, and watching her eyes grow wide.

"No, sir... No, I don't want more," she struggled.

"LIAR" he shouted, dropping the crop to give her a hard slap across the face with his free hand "One. Last. Chance," he told her, as he grabbed her erect nipple in his hand.

"Oww, no, not there," she protested, as he gave it a gentle tug and watched her get angry from it. He tugged harder, staring into her eyes, awaiting her answer.

"Yes... okay... yes...I love it... please sir... more..." She admitted, each word using up precious air from her burning lungs. Her body was exhausted, her mind was terrified, but there was something inside of her, some part of her, that could never get enough. She hated that part.

Releasing his hands from her body, he asked her one simple question, in a kind and caring voice. And from that, she knew things were about to take a turn.

"Do you remember your safeword?"

"Yes," she nodded weakly, "red means stop."

"Good, then we'll continue."

Instantly his grip tightened again around her neck. She could feel his fingers pressing hard into the arteries, cutting off the blood flow. Her head was swimming with fear and excitement and lust, spinning from the ever more scarce oxygen supply. He kept her there like that until her eyes grew wide, until she was going dizzy and she couldn't focus, until her heart was beating as hard as it could just to keep her conscious. He finally released her when she got to the very edge of passing out and was going weak. Then he gave her a hard slap across the face, bringing her back to her senses, before spinning her back around and pushing her face once more into the metal of the car roof. As her whole body pulsed in time with her desperate heartbeat, his hands wandered down her body, exploring her perfect curves, running his fingers over each painful mark, making her flinch and moan and pant. They continued down to her bum, and grabbed it, before they followed her hips to the front, and he began to undo her jeans again.

"No... c'mon...please," she pleaded, exhausted from her beating, too tired to fight.

Ignoring her protests, he undid the button, and slid the zipper down, making sure to keep a tight grip on her with his strong arms. She tried to kick at him, but lost her footing and wobbled, only being held in place by his steady grip, as he slid the denim down her legs, to her knees, exposing her shaky thighs and round little butt. She whimpered softly as his hands ran over the exposed skin, and whimpered louder when he dug her nails in and dragged them through the skin of her legs, leaving deep red lines in the pristine pale skin. Her breathing grew faster and sharper as he cupped her bum in his hand, lent over her, and bent down to put his mouth right next to her ear. Nibbling it and tugging on her lobe with his teeth he whispered,

"Ready?"

She gave an excited and needy whimper, that sounded something "yes" and as she did he drew his hand back, and spanked her, hard. His hand immediately left a glowing handprint on her cheek, and she squealed from the pain before whimpering excitedly. Again he spanked her, on the other cheek, and she gave the same reaction. Every touch of his made her emotions more intense. Fear. Excitement. Pain. Lust. The rush of adrenaline and the buzz of endorphins. Her whole body felt like a thunderstorm.

"Please, no more." She begged, through tears and sharp breaths

"Had enough?" he asked.

"Yes!"

"Too bad," he grunted, and pulled down her underwear, baring everything, and he took the crop in his hand.

"No, please sir, you don't need to do this," she pleaded, "you don't need to crop me, I'll be good, I'll remember my manners. I promise."

"No, I don't need to do it," he agreed, "but I want to. I want to make you hurt, I want to make you cry. I want to bruise you and mark you and give you a beating you won't forget. I want you to be in agony the whole drive home, I want you to see the marks I've left on you for days. I. Want. You. Broken."

All she could do was whimper, as he teased her with the tip of the crop, dragging the leather tab up and down her thighs, over her bum, between her legs, before he drew it back and smacked it into her, where the thigh meets her bum, sending shakes through her whole body and making her squeal and struggle in the cuffs. Once she'd stopped shaking he drew back again and left another mark further down her thigh. Then another. Then another, until her whole thigh was red and sore and burning and she could hardly stand on it. Then he took aim at her other leg, starting from the knee he whacked her hard, and worked his way up and up, to her bum, each contact making her squeal and cry. Until there were tears running down her face, until her throat was raw from squealing, and she couldn't bear the pain anymore.

"Pleassseeee," she begged, desperately, "I can't I can't take it anymore." Pain and fear were winning the war between emotions now. Still she was horny and turned on, still the thrill excited her, but they couldn't compete. As much as she craved the pain, his beatings were too much.

"If you can't take it," he asked her, "then what the fuck are you good for? If you can't take a beating you're no fucking good as a sub, and if you're no good as a sub then what fucking use do you have?"

She tried to reply, but she couldn't think of the words, her brain was too full of pain to think straight, instead, she just sobbed uncontrollably and let tears pour out of her onto the car. But he didn't stop, he didn't even hesitate.

"Oh look at you, crying like the pathetic bitch you are" he mocked, as he drew the crop back. "You look so fucking good when you cry, when your makeup runs down your face and your pretty eyes go red. I love it. Cry your fucking eyes out. It fuels me." Again he hit her, across her bum, leaving a red mark across both cheeks and making her squeal louder than any before as her legs shook uncontrollably from the pain. Then again. Then again. repeatedly, mercilessly he struck her, until she collapsed fully onto the gravel, trying in vain to support her weight using anything she could, but everything was gone. She was broken, totally. She had nothing left to give, no more fight, no more energy. All she could do was lay crumpled at her master's feet, crying helplessly into the gravel, hiding herself away from everything. Tears poured from her face. Blood dripped from the cuts in her side. The cold wind chilled the wetness between her legs.

"Done?" he asked.

"Yes... fuck..." Was all she could manage.

"I'm not" he grunted, swinging the crop down at her. Standing over her he swung again and again, hitting her arms, her torso, her legs, her bum, anything he could reach as she writhed around desperately on the hard gravel floor. Curling up into a ball at his feet, she cried loudly. Her whole skin seemed to pump in time with her heart, bruises and welts were forming all over her body, her eyes were sore from crying and her throat was raw from squealing. The cuffs had cut deep into her wrists, and they burned.

He dragged her up, holding her by her shoulders, leaned in close and grunted, "It's 'Yes Sir' by the way. You never fucking learn," into her face, before dropping her again.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry, sir," she pleaded, tears pouring down her cheeks into the dirt. "I can't... I can't take any more."