Diplomatic Immunity

It started with a minor traffic accident. Nothing major. Just an idiot in a big SUV who would have been better of riding a Kiddie Kar at the local fair. They came barrelling down the road, changing lanes with great frequency, obviously in a hurry.

Sailing past me, passing in a gap that I thought a bit short for it, I noticed the little blonde driving. She didn't look old enough to have a licence and I dropped back a little, laying odds that she would cut sharply in front of me.

I didn't drop back fast enough and she cut in a lot faster than I expected her to. I felt the grate of the back step of the SUV scrape across the front of my car. She didn't even try to stop, just kept going her own sweet way. OK, she had a big solid car and she may not have felt the scrape. I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Still, I needed to exchange insurance details because I had a nasty feeling that the step may have sliced right across the front of my car. I could easily be up for replacing my bumper bar and other damages, and insurance companies did like to have details of other drivers so they can stick them with the cost.

I leant on my horn and indicated that I wanted her to pull over. She stuck her hand out the window and gave me a one finger salute. Now I'm a nice guy. I was willing to assume that she thought I was trying to pick her up and was rejecting me. I had her number plate so I could put that on my claim form.

She just went on charging through the traffic, putting on a godawful display of driving, making me quite happy to be behind her. I had no intention of following her. After all, I had no idea where she was going. That notion changed when she cut across a lane, causing someone to brake sharply and sound his horn, and drove into a McDonalds. I mean, wow, she was in a hurry to get some breakfast?

I pulled in next to her and checked the front of my car. The bumper bar was neatly sliced from the driver's side to about the middle. A nice clean cut that looked as though someone had run a very sharp knife along it. It was still going to be several hundred dollars to replace it. Not even worth going through my insurance as what with what with the excess I'd have to pay and the change to my insurance rating it would be a losing proposition.

I saw no reason, however, why her insurance shouldn't pay.

She'd been stuffing around inside her vehicle while I was checking out the damage and I nailed her just as she was getting out.

"Excuse me," I said, speaking politely and putting some charm into it. "You may not have noticed but you clipped me back up the road when you pulled over in front of me. Can I have some identification and your insurance details, please?"

"Piss off," came the short and sweet answer and she literally pushed past me and started walking over to the McDonalds.

"Excuse me," I said, speaking a bit more firmly and with no charm. "I require these details. If you don't give them to me I'll be forced to report you to the police for failing to stop after an accident."

She turned and gave me a bored look. I was a nothing who had dared to address her.

"One, I didn't hit you. Two, you can't prove that I did. Three, my father is a diplomat and I'm covered by his diplomatic immunity, so there's nothing you or the police can do. Now piss off."

With that she turned and stalked off, breakfast undoubtedly waiting.

There was nothing I could do but give her nasty looks and wish I had five minutes alone to teach her some manners. Not that I would do anything to her, but it's nice to imagine it at times. Actually there was something I could do. I wandered into the nearest cop shop and explained the problem to the Sergeant. He tapped away on the computer and then broke the bad news. The car was indeed registered as belonging to a certain diplomatic mission. I was officially screwed. He could sympathise but not help.

I made arrangements for a new bumper bar, surprised to find it didn't sting me that badly, and promptly forgot about a certain crappy driver. Until the next weekend, that is. I'd had occasion to go out into the country. While there I'd had to travel down some rather narrow back roads and coming along one of them I came upon this little bridge.

When I say little, I mean narrow, because it was actually rather long. About a hundred metres was my guess. It's one of those bridges where first on gets to drive across, anyone coming the other way having to wait. As far as I was concerned the bridge was clear and so was the road on the far side, not that I could see very far along it. I started across the bridge.

I was about halfway across when this little sports job came tearing around the corner ahead and straight onto the bridge. They didn't stop when they saw I was already on the bridge, just continuing towards me. We pulled up facing each other, me about three quarters of the way across.

The driver of the sports car stuck her head out, demanding that I back up as she was in a hurry. I just laughed and stuck my head out of my own window.

"Well, hi there. If it isn't little Miss Crappy," I called out. "What happened to the SUV? Did you break it?"

"What? I don't have an SUV. And what did you call me? Are you going to back up? I want to get past."

"You had an SUV when you clipped me the other day. Seeing the way you drive I just assumed that you must have broken it. I called you Miss Crappy. It's short for Miss Crappy Driver. No. I'm not backing up. I was on the bridge first and am entitled to finish crossing. You'll have to back up."

"What? A gentleman would back up and let me go first."

"I'm not a gentleman," I called back. "I'm just a compulsive reader. I'll just sit here and read until you're ready to get out of the way."

With that I picked up my eReader, turned it on and started reading.

She beeped impatiently and I ignored her. When I ignored her a second time she got out of the car and came storming over.

"Will you get your car out of the way?" she said through gritted teeth. "I have places I have to go."

I turned and smiled.

"No. I don't mind sitting here, reading. In case you think I might finish the book and get bored, I also have chess on this gadget and a library of around sixteen thousand books. I'm in no hurry. I can sit here all day. So why don't you just back up a little and I'll be gone and you can go your own sweet way. You do know how to back your car don't you?"

"Of course I know how to back a car. Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, I have seen the way you drive, so I did wonder. Off you go."

I made little shooing motions with one hand, turning to continue reading at the same time.

She went raging back to her car, there was a clash of gears and she went shooting backwards. She was right. She could back up. Just not very well. I winced when she reached the end of the bridge and backed off the road into the pass-me area. From the way the car jolted when she stopped I was quite sure she'd backed into something.

With the bridge clear I finished crossing, waving to her as I went. In my rear vision mirror I could see her high-tailing it across the bridge. A petty little revenge but who cares. I was in the right and she knew it.

It was pity she was such a bitch. She was quite an attractive little thing. I promptly dismissed her from my mind and went on about my business.

A couple of hours later I was driving back in the other direction. I reached the bridge and passed over it with no problems and a couple of miles later I saw the little sports car with Miss Crappy standing miserably next to it. I pulled over to see what the problem was.

She glared at me, obviously assuming the whole thing was some fiendish plan of mine. All she knew was that the car had simply stopped. Did any little red lights come on while she was driving along? Well, yes. First one, then another, then a whole bunch, and the car stopped.

I took her keys and turned the car on and looked at all the pretty red lights that went on and stayed on.

"Which light came on first?" I asked. "Can you remember?"

"Yes," she said sullenly, pointing to the oil light.

"Uh-huh. And the next one?"

"I think it was this one," she told me, indicating the temperature.

In other words she'd run out of oil, probably cracking something when she backed off the bridge. She continued to drive and over-heated the engine, and probably kept on driving until something seized up. Now she was stuck.

"Have you called for help?" I asked. If so I'd just stay there until it arrived. If not, I guessed I'd have to give her a lift somewhere.

"No, I haven't called for help," she said with some disgust. "There's no phone signal here. Maybe you can get something."

I checked my phone but no dice. We were in a dead area. I shrugged.

"It doesn't really matter," I said. "Grab your purse and I'll give you a lift to somewhere you can stay until help arrives."

She gave me a nasty little smile, leaving me wondering what that was about, turned and reached into her car. When she turned back she had her purse and a freaking gun pointing at me.

"I've got a better idea," she said. "I'll just borrow your car and you can wait here until help arrives. Give me your keys."

"Just be careful with that," I snapped, fishing in my pocket for my keys.

I tossed the keys to her but they fell short, landing about half way between us. She crouched down, feeling around for them, keeping her eyes on me. Her hands connected with the keys and she grabbed them, stood up and turned towards the car. Silly little girl was much too close to me. She should have made me backup. As soon as that gun wasn't pointing at me I took a single step forward and reached for and caught the back of her neck, my hand closing firmly. My other hand was already clamping around her elbow. She wasn't going to be pointing that thing at me again.

"Just lift your arm high, without dropping the gun," I told her, pushing her elbow up. "If you drop it, it may go bang, and you could wind up shooting yourself. Just relax while I take control of it."

She didn't actually relax, but she couldn't stop me taking the gun. I almost spat in disgust when I had it. A puny little twenty two, with the fucking safety catch still on. Just how dumb could she get?

"This is the sort of thing that can get you into serious trouble," I pointed out, unloading and pocketing the little toy. "The cops hate people playing with these."

"Who cares," she muttered. "Diplomatic immunity, remember."

I remembered all right.

"Well, being a nice bloke, I'll still give you a lift to where you can stay and wait after calling for help. First, however, I'm going to see if your diplomatic immunity covers an angry man spanking your bottom."

To my surprise she promptly took up a martial arts stance.

"Come on," she says. "Let's see you just try."

"What," I asked, "is that supposed to be? The stance of the quivering crane?"

I flicked a hand towards her face and she whipped one arm out to deflect my blow while launching a strong kick. Too bad it didn't go the way she planned. I caught the blocking arm and jerked a little, turning her sidewards. Her kick met nothing but empty space and she would have fallen if I hadn't been there.

Even as I caught her arm and jerked I was falling back a little, settling myself against the low-slung bonnet of the little sports-car. Just the right height for me. The jerk on her arm and her near fall resulted in her tumbling into position across my knee, me holding her there with one arm behind her back.

"You know," I said, "I was just going to deliver a few smack against your skirt, sort of protecting your modesty, but I can see that sort of thing would be an insult to a martial arts expert such as yourself. So. . ."

Miss Crappy was reduced to flailing her legs and trying to bite me. This did not, in any manner, shape or form, stop me from lifting her skirt up and pulling her panties down. I paused for a second then took them right off. One might as well do the job properly.

I brought my hand down quite forcefully on her bottom, appreciating the sound of the spank and appreciating even more the sound of her squeal.

"Tell me, what should I call you? Thinking of you as Miss Crappy Driver seems to be a bit rude, seeing as how we're getting acquainted."

Well, as far as I was concerned, spanking her pretty little bottom was getting acquainted.

"Christine," she wailed. "Stop spanking me. I don't like it."

"I'm Don," I told her cheerfully, my hand continuing to come down firmly. "The whole point of a spanking is that you're not supposed to like it. Unless, of course, it's a friendly spanking, aimed at getting you sexually aroused. Not that you'd know anything about that, a kid like you. Do you even have a license?"

"What do you mean a kid like me? I'm twenty, damn you. I'm just small for my age."

"Really? I must admit your bottom and hips suggest you're telling the truth. Now, if I stop spanking you, are you going to start behaving?"

"Yes, damn you. Just stop. It hurts. I'm sorry. Really I am."

"Yes, it's amazing how fast some people become sorry when a hand is applied to their bottom."

I called a close to the spanking but kept her bent over my knee, hand resting on her bottom.

I casually rubbed her bottom while I told her about the problem I was now facing.

"The spanking was really for your rudeness, your crappy driving and your hitting my car the other day," I said, my hand still idly massaging her bottom. (It's possible that it might have wandered a bit astray from just rubbing her bottom, but that wasn't really bothering me. Mind you, the way Christine was squirming, she might have been a bit bothered.)

"It seems to me that pulling a gun on me, threatening me, trying to steal my car, requires a little more than a simple spanking. Don't you agree?"

"What do you intend doing?" she asked. "And can you stop touching me like that?"

"What, like this?" I asked, gently poking a finger into a sensitive spot.

"Yes. Like that," she gasped. "Don't do it."

"But it's fun," I pointed out. "You squirm so nicely when I do it. You wanted to know what I intend doing? I'm thinking about it."

I continued considering the problem, idly drumming my fingers while I thought. Christine was squirming around again. What was her problem?

"Why do you keep squirming like that?" I asked. "You do know you're disrupting my line of thought?"

"I'm sorry. Ah, could you let me up, please. You keep touching me."

"I know. I find it soothing. It's just your wriggling that's disruptive. Still, you have given me an idea."

I swung Christine back to her feet.

"Playing with guns is nasty," I told her. "I think you need a really good reminder not to do so. Also a reminder to learn how to use one properly. Fancy leaving the safety on when threatening someone. Shameful."

I lifted the front of her skirt, running my knuckles over her mons. They say that if a woman shaves, she likes sex. I think I'd like to check that out where you're concerned."

"What?! You wouldn't!"

"Well, yes, I would. Look at the benefits. It lets me act all masterful, teaching you a lesson. It lets you get the lesson in a reasonably harmless way. It will distract from the way your bottom is smarting. To top it off, you get the cachet of having been ravished in the open air by a handsome young man while out touring around the country. All pluses. What could be better?"

"Not ravishing me."

"That's just your virginal fears. Are you a virgin? I suspect not, so I'm not sure why you're having virginal fears. Take your top off."

"No. Why should I?"

"Because it will be more fun if I can play with your breasts while I'm ravishing you. And just think, you'll be naked. Outside, in the open air, and naked. Why anyone might come along and see you. Isn't that exciting?"

Maybe not, from the look on Christine's face. Still, it seemed like a good idea to me.

"Let me put it this way. Do you want to finish getting undressed of your own free will or would you prefer me to strip you while you wriggle and squeal? I'm easy, either way, although I concede that the second option might be more fun."

Christine looked around but all that was there were trees and a lonely road running between them. She made a sound that sounded like a frustrated growl and started taking off her top. It's always fun to watch a woman undress, and having her do it in the great outdoors seemed to make it just a little more erotic. Christine made short work of her top and bra, then hesitated about undoing her skirt. I reached over and flicked open the button holding it up. She made that growling sound again, managed to catch the skirt before it slipped down, then stepped out of it.

She stood there, glaring at me, naked apart from her shoes. She was also breathing hard and her nipples had already tightened and were pouting at me.

"Come here," I said softly, and she moved closer.

A hand around her, pressing on her back, moved her even closer. Close enough to taste, and seated as I was her breasts were at just the right height. I leaned forward and tasted them, first one and then the other.

Christine gasped when my mouth closed over her breast, but she stayed still. I could feel her watching me, watching my mouth move over her breasts. I eased her back away from me and stood up. Keeping my eyes on her face I undid my trousers, letting my clothes drop, stepping out of them. (OK. Kicking the damn things loose. They got caught up on my shoes. Rather anti-climactic, as Christine started giggling. Wow. Wasn't she scared of what was about to happen.)

Hand on her back I pressed her gently towards the car. She reached out, bending forward, arms supporting her. I stood behind her, rubbing her mound, assessing her readiness. No matter what she might say, her pussy gave her away. My hand was wet just cupping her, and I could feel her pressing lightly against my palm.

She gave a little, "Aah," sound as I pressed my cock against her lips, widening the cleft in her flesh to allow me entry. I slipped smoothly in, her passage hot and wet and inviting, willingly yielding to me, while Christine's voice rose slightly with every bit of territory claimed.

Seeing that this was supposed to be a punishment I didn't worry about giving Christine time to adjust to me being in her. I just pulled out and drove back in hard. Took her completely by surprise, I don't think. She was pushing back to meet me almost before I had time to start the stroke. I had the unnerving feeling that if I stayed still she'd be riding me anyway.

Knowing that I was supposed to be showing my mastery over her body I got going hard and fast. My hands closed upon her breasts and my hips started working overtime. Our rhythm, right from that first stroke, was hard and hot, both of us putting a lot of effort in demonstrating that we were in charge.

Damn. I'd never known anything like it. I was banging her as though she was a big bass drum and my cock was a drumstick, beating out a savage tune. And she lapped it up, her whole body vibrating with her efforts to meet me, with our efforts accompanied by a literal chorus of squeaks and squeals, gasping cries, and demands for more.

Demands for more? She was supposed to at least put up a show of maidenly protesting for me to ignore. Such whole hearted cooperation was a bit startling.

Still, one must accept what can't be changed, and I ploughed manfully onwards, enjoying myself immensely. I banged her hard and repeatedly and she responded to every single twitch of my cock, writhing under me, her bottom bouncing to my command.

Eventually, of course, it all had to end. I was just hoping that I was timing it right when I got down to the business end of the ravishing. Christine certainly sounded as though she was ripe and I knew that I was.