Drun Driver

I was at a nightclub with some friends and I'd been having a good time. It was rather late and some of the girls were making going home noises while some others wanted to stay later. It didn't worry me what they decided on as I had my own car and could come or go as I chose. I love owning a car.

I wandered off and got another drink, flirting mildly with a couple of nice boys at the bar. After that I headed back to where I'd left my friends. They weren't there. I put my mind to work out this interesting problem. They were here. Now they weren't. Got it. They'd gone somewhere else. That left me with another problem. Where did they go? A bit of careful thought and I worked out the answer. They'd been talking about going home so that's probably where they were. If I wanted to catch up with them I'd have to go home. See, things are easy if you stop to think about them.

I trotted off to where I left my car. I own this little Jetta. It's a beautiful little car. Some people say it's a bit old but I point out that we're both the same age and being nearly twenty is not old, even for my beautiful car. I felt a little sleepy now that I was outside. It was a good thing I was going home. I hopped in my car and started off.

Driving along and I was really starting to feel tired. I decided to drive a little faster so I'd be home and in bed all the sooner. There was a red light up ahead so I slowed down, muttering something about silly lights. Looking around I could see there was no traffic on the crossroad so why did they need a green light. It was just a waste of my time. No cameras here, I remembered, and no-one around. I snuck through the red light, pleased at my cleverness.

Next thing I knew there was this man in front of my car. He was looking startled and jumping to one side and I braked quickly and swerved in the other direction. There was a small bump as I bounced over the gutter but I stopped just short of the traffic light. I know I stopped short as I jumped out of my sweet little car to check.

That's when that stupid pedestrian came up to me, giving me a nasty look. I wasn't going to let him get away with that.

"What do you mean by standing in the middle of the road like that?" I demanded. "You nearly caused an accident. Look how close I came to hitting the traffic lights. You could have hurt my poor car."

"And my bleeding all over it would have been a pity," he sympathised. "All that blood would have been hard to wash off."

I nodded, feeling mollified that he knew he had done the wrong thing.

"I don't know what came over me," he continued. "Fancy crossing the road on a green light when you're in the area."

I was a little confused at that.

"Ah, you're supposed to cross at the green light," I pointed out. "It's the red one you stop at."

"The red one," he said. "You mean like the red one you drove through."

I nodded. See. All you need to do is explain things so people understand.

"So why did you drive through the red light?" he asked me.

"I'm going home," I told him. "No cars, no cameras, and no cops. Why bother waiting?"

"Um, pedestrians?" he suggested.

I looked around.

"Uh-uh," I said triumphantly. "There aren't any around."

"What do you call me?" he asked, sounding irritated.

"You're the man who was standing in the road. You shouldn't do that."

"And you shouldn't drive while intoxicated," he snapped at me.

I was shocked. Me? Intoxicated? How dare he?

"I am not intoxicated," I said speaking slowly and distinctly. "See. I can even say that word and I couldn't if I was, so obviously I'm not."

For some reason he did a face-palm and muttered something under his breath. Something rude I was sure. I was tired of talking to him. I decided to sit in my car and have a little nap. I have a Jetta, you know. It's a very nice car.

I opened the nearest door and hopped in. Maybe I should drive home first. The trouble was the steering wheel wasn't there. I looked around and saw it had been moved to the other side of the car. Now that was strange. That's when the man got in my car, my precious little Jetta, and sat behind the wheel.

"I'd better drive you home," he said, sounding rather grumpy. "Hopefully your parents will be home and your father will strangle you. Where do you live?"

He was going to drive me home. That was nice of him, even if I didn't need him to. I could take a nap while he drove. I closed my eyes.

"Your address," he said loudly. "Where do you live?"

I opened my eyes and smiled at him. "At home, of course," I told him and closed my eyes again.

For some reason he started swearing and seemed to be looking for something. If it was my purse he was out of luck. I kept it under the passenger's seat where it wouldn't be noticed by thieves. I slept.

I woke up in the morning feeling like a lion refreshed. Or a lioness, in my case. I sat up and stretched happily, ready to bounce out of bed. Speaking of bouncing I noticed my breasts were doing that. I guess I'd been too tired last night to put on pyjamas. Not that I could remember much after reaching the night club.

I threw back the covers and bounced out of bed, the nice thick carpet warm and comforting under my feet. And wrong. So wrong. The little unit I rented had wooden floors with a few rugs. Not thick carpet. Now my eyes were wide open and I was looking around in shock. This wasn't my room. I was standing in a strange room, completely naked, and I didn't know where my clothes were. What the hell had happened?

Had I been drugged and raped I wondered with some horror. I'd heard of things like that but I'd never dreamt that I'd be a victim. I considered my body, trying to see if there were any pains or if anything felt different. Not that I could tell. No bruises or love bites and I'm sure I'd have felt something down below if someone had been getting busy during the night. I felt a little easier but still dreadfully uneasy.

That's the point at which the bedroom door opened and a man walked in. I automatically turned to face him, remembered that I was naked and I was showing him everything, screamed, and jumped back in the bed, pulling the covers up under my chin.

He, the rotten swine, looked amused.

He was at least six foot tall, a good six inches or more taller than me. He was solidly built but it looked like beef, not fat. Blond hair and blue eyes and not unhandsome if you liked the tall, fair, virile type, who have beautiful smiles, even if I suspected that it had a nasty edge to it.

I was about to start demanding what the hell was going on but he held up a hand.

"Do you want to rant and rave a bit first or will you be happy to shut up and listen while I explain?"

"I do not rant and rave," I said through gritted teeth. "I will be quite happy to hear your explanation for these outrageous circumstances."

"OK," he said. "Knowing how female minds work I'll relieve you of one worry right from the start. I did not rape you last night. I did not have consensual sex with you, either. I can assure you that I didn't have any sex with you in any manner shape or form. Neither did anyone else in this household."

I hated to admit it but that was a relief. That niggling doubt had been there even though I was sure nothing had happened. I seized on one other thing he said."

"You said anyone else," I pointed out. "If there's another woman around I'd prefer to speak to her."

"I'm sure you would but there isn't. I only said anyone else in case you were suspicious minded and thought I was covering for someone else. We are all alone, just you and me."

"You were going to explain," I said pointedly.

"Right, I was. OK, I was walking home last night when a car came barrelling through a red light. It was a little Jetta, actually. I jumped out of the way, the Jetta swerved and finished up on the sidewalk. Undamaged I'm sure you'll be happy to hear."

"A young lady got out of the car and remonstrated with me for daring to cross the road on a green light. I pointed out to the young lady that she was just a trifle intoxicated. She begged to differ. Then she hopped into the Jetta and fell asleep in the middle of the conversation."

I was blushing fiercely by this stage.

"Now my choices were to leave you there to be a victim of any low-life who happened past, call the cops and have them drag you off to the drunk-tank, together with fines and loss of your license, or be a good Samaritan and drive you home. I tried to get your address but all you could say was that you lived at home. I didn't know where your purse was. I though perhaps you left it wherever you'd been drinking but you still had your keys."

"I hide it under the passenger seat," I mumbled. "It's hard to spot and thieves can't snatch it."

"In that case it's still there. I decided the sensible thing to do was to drive you to my place and put you up for the night. My original intention was to let you sleep on the couch. That intention went by the way when I got you out of the car. As soon as you hit the fresh air you threw up most comprehensively. Not being an idiot I made sure I wasn't where you were throwing up. Being inanimate, your clothes didn't have that choice and suffered accordingly."

I was going to curl up and die from embarrassment, I just knew it.

"By the time you finished emptying your stomach your clothes were a putrid mess. I had no intention of having you walk through my place dripping that muck everywhere. I ignore what protests you were able to make and stripped off your outer clothes and took you inside in your undies. Once I had you in the bathroom I finished stripping you and cleaned you up. Once I was sure that you were clean and weren't going to pull a repeat performance I tucked you into my bed. It seemed to me that it would be safer if you were with me overnight, as I didn't want you choking to death if you did throw up again. You were out like a light and stayed that way until just now."

"My clothes?" I managed to ask.

"Cleaned up quite nicely. I ran them through the washer and drier and they are now in the en suite, waiting for you to have a shower and get dressed. Then you can hop in your Precious and drive home."

Surely I hadn't told him that I called my little Jetta My Precious? Seeing he knew I must have. Embarrassment heaped on embarrassment.

"I'm sorry for the trouble I caused you," I mumbled, "and thank you very much for your help. If you'll excuse me I'll get dressed and get out of your hair."

"Fair enough," he said. "There is one other little matter. That's the issue of what sort of penalty you get."

"What?" I said, blinking. Penalty? He was kidding, I hoped.

"Penalty. You know, a punishment for misdeeds."

"What?" I said again, indignantly this time.

"Driving while intoxicated," he said, ticking off one finger. "Running a red line. Causing a traffic accident causing actual bodily harm. Failing to report the accident to the police. Failing to report the injury to the police. Failing to provide assistance to the injured party. That's me, by the way. Ah, what else? Oh, yes. Failing to provide name and address when requested and failure to supply insurance details. They're just the items that were breaking a law. I'm sure the police would have found a few more."

"What injury?" I demanded, worried that I'd actually hurt the poor man.

"I ricked my ankle jumping for safety," he said holding out one foot and pointing to it. "Excruciating, it was. I'm surprised I'm even able to walk on it."

He was lying, the rotten monster.

"I see. And just what do you think the penalty should be?"

As if I couldn't guess. I was not going to bed with him no matter what he said.

"That's a good question. If I was your father I'd be confiscating your car for a month and grounding you for the same length of time."

"You're not my father," I pointed out, "even if you are that old."

(That might have been a bit catty as I doubt that he was more than thirty.)

"Nasty," he said cheerfully. "What would you suggest?"

Me? I had no idea. I didn't want a penalty at all. I just gaped at him. How could he suggest that I'd have any idea? I shrugged helplessly.

"I guess the only option open to me is to put you over my knee and paddle your bottom and try to beat some common sense into you."

Spank me? He had to be kidding. What made him think I'd agree to anything like that? Then I took another look at him. What made me think I could stop him spanking me?

"You wouldn't," I gasped. "I thought you'd try to have sex with me."

"You're not thinking clearly," he told me. "We're talking about a penalty, not a reward."

I gave him a furious look. Talk about having tickets on himself.

"So," he said. "Any other suggestions? If not we might as well get on with paddling your little tush."

I had no idea of what to say and I just sat there staring at him, sort of like a rabbit caught in a set of headlights. He calmly ambled over to the bed, whipped the covers off, and sat down on the bed next to me. I, naturally enough, squealed and tried to cover myself, not having my clothes on.

"Don't be silly," he said with a laugh. For one thing you displayed it all this morning when I first entered the room. For another thing I also saw everything when I hosed you off last night. In detail seeing I was washing you at the time."

Apparently I could get more embarrassed. My face was now so hot it was ready to burst into flame.

I tried to roll up into a ball but he just picked me up and dumped me onto his lap. I was still in a ball, all curled up, but I was facing down, which meant my back and bottom was facing up.

"You'll find it a lot easier to handle if you just relax," he told me, his hand rubbing lightly across my bottom. "It's not as though you're protecting or hiding anything."

I groaned and relaxed, finishing up lying across his lap, face down, bum up, waiting. Waiting very nervously, I might add.

"You're too tense," he told me. "Stop panicking. It won't be that bad."

No, it would probably be worse. His hand was still lightly rubbing across my bottom. What the hell he was trying to achieve I didn't know. If he was supposed to be calming me down I can assure you that having a hand fondling your bottom is not the way to go about it.

The odd thing was that while I was still feeling nervous I seemed to be nervous in a different way. I was also relaxing a little. I mean, it was just going to be a spanking. How bad could that be?

His hand suddenly left my bottom and returned with a sharp spank. That stung and I squealed in protest. He, damn him, was stroking my bottom again. It went on like that for a bit longer, a lot of stroking and an occasional hard spank.

The change when it came was rather gradual. It suddenly registered that he wasn't rubbing my bottom so much as rubbing other places that he had no right to. (Not that he had any right to rub my bottom, now that I think about it.) I was about to protest about where he was touching me when his hand lifted and a spank landed, and you're right, it didn't land on my bottom. His hand very neatly covered my, um, more private parts. And his hand stayed there, rubbing me.

"You said a spanking," I protested. "Just a spanking."

"Well, yes. That's what I'm doing," he retorted, proving it by delivering another firm spank. I was prepared to swear that his hand covered my entire mound at the same time. Just how big were his hands?

"That's not a spank and that's not my bottom," I wailed, incensed at his behaviour.

"I beg to differ on whether it's a spank or not and what difference does it make where I spank you? It's all the same, surely?"

I spluttered a little, trying to come up with an explanation as to why it was not the same. Not that I should have needed to as he damn well knew the difference without me telling him. Before I could come up with anything coherent I received another spank on the same spot.

"Alright!" I yelled. "That's it. Enough!"

"Ah, you think you've been spanked enough do you?" he asked cheerfully, leaving his hand resting where it was.

"Yes," I snapped. "Let me up."

"First things first," he tells me. "What have you learnt from this little episode?"

Not to trust a thing you say was my first thought but I didn't think that was the answer he wanted.

"Not to take my car if I'm going to be drinking," I grumbled. "Um, please shift your hand."

The reason I mentioned his hand was because it was still stroking me on my mound. Ha, who was I kidding? He was massaging me there and I could feel every little movement deep inside me.

"What, this hand?" he asked. "Certainly. No problems."

So again we were in disagreement. I meant his other hand, for a start. I certainly didn't mean he should move the hand that was resting on my back so that it was now cupping and rubbing my breast.

"Not that hand," I protested. "Wait. Yes, that hand, too. Move them."

"I am moving them," he pointed out and I nearly screamed.

"You know what I mean," I wailed and he laughed and the room spun around me and just like that I was standing on my own two feet, feeling very funny. My face was flushed, my breasts suddenly felt very full, and I could feel the heat that was bubbling through my loins. On top of that I was still naked and he was enjoying the scenery.

"You've been very tolerant putting up with my wicked ways," he said. "I suppose I should let you go and get dressed. You know, I was resigned to the fact that I'd probably wind up with a kicking, screaming, spoilt brat on my hands, but you've been a pleasant surprise. To the extent that I really think I should reward you."

With those surprising words he slipped his hand between my legs and started rubbing me very intimately. Then the memory of him implying that having sex with him would be a reward, not a punishment.

"Oh no," I said emphatically. "No, no, no, no, no, and again no."

"Is that a refusal?" came the mirthful query.

"Yes, it certainly is," I stated. I wasn't leaving any loop holes on this one.

"OK," he said. "Then that only leaves one little question."

At the same time he was saying that my eyes were opening wide as his fingers slipped between my lips and started rubbing inside me. I had to stifle a little scream while I waited for his stupid question.

"Why are you still standing here letting me do this?" he asked, his fingers finding and touching sensitive areas.

I had no fucking idea. He was right. All I had to do was take a step back and I would have been out of his reach. Instead I was standing there like a stuffed doll, letting him do what he wanted. I searched for a witty comeback but all I could come up with was something along the lines of, "Ah, erg, ugg," which even I was willing to admit didn't mean much.

I didn't get a chance to back away. I was going to as soon as he mentioned it but it was too late. He pulled me towards him, twisting me around as I came, and I found myself flat on my back on the bed. Before I could do anything about scrambling off the bed his hand was back between my legs, massaging me, and his mouth was all over my breasts.

I explained to him that he didn't want to do this. I told him that I didn't want to do this. All he did was change which breast he was sampling, his fingers still very busy elsewhere.

"You can't do this," I finished up yelling and I finally got a reaction.

"It's hard work, I admit," he said, "but I think I can manage despite your mad struggling."

"What mad struggling?" I demanded indignantly. Really! I hadn't done any more than try to push him of in a genteel and ladylike fashion.

This made him lift his head and give me a look. The expression on his face was enough to make me realise what I was doing, or wasn't doing in this case. Effectively I was providing zero resistance apart from blathering on and feebly pushing at his shoulders. No wonder he was still coming on strong.