Scratched

She was using a chisel. Quite a sharp chisel, I'd say, considering the ease with which she was doing her etching.

"If you'll pardon the curiosity," I said, making her jump, "but what is the precise reason you consider Cavendish to be a moronic bastard? I know my reasons, but what is yours?"

She spun around from where she'd been etching her love letters into the side on a very nice BMW sedan, looking horrified at being caught.

She stuttered and stammered for a moment or two and then finally got her tongue under control.

"I don't know anyone called Cavendish," she snapped. "If you mean the owner of this car his name is Pennington and he's an utter bastard because it just comes naturally to him."

"Ah, Giles Pennington, the lothario of the café bars. Disgruntled lover are you?"

"As if?" she snapped, sounding genuinely indignant. "I wouldn't touch him with a barge pole. Not unless I could swing it really hard. He's my sister's supposed boyfriend. She told him she was pregnant and he said goodbye."

"You don't look pregnant," I told her, receiving a wrathful glare.

"I said my sister and I meant my sister. Not me or anyone else but my sister. Currently sitting at home bawling her eyes out because of that man."

She almost spat when she said the word man.

"Mm," I said, nodding judiciously. "I'm inclined to believe you. Presumably his lover would know Pennington's car and you don't."

"What?"

For a moment she looked horrified and spun around to check the car.

"It's a black BMW," she snapped. "I saw him drive it in here. I don't see any other BMWs in the garage and I know he hasn't left."

"Actually, it's a deep red BMW, even though it looks black in this poor lighting. If you want to see a real black BMW you should have gone down to the next level. You'll find it tucked in the far corner where there's no passing traffic to scratch it."

"Aaah," was all she said while she digested this.

"So this car belongs to a guy named Cavendish?"

I nodded my head gravely while she digested her error.

"I assume that you're going to tell him."

"No need. I already know. Several thousand dollars worth of damage there. BMWs are a little pricey, and repainting them is not cheap."

"Oh."

"Now I'm not saying I'm angry because you're a hot-headed little idiot with a streak of petty vandalism but it would give me great pleasure right now to beat you, strangle you, eviscerate you, and throw your entrails to the dogs. The only reason I'm not doing it is the lack of whip, garrotte, knife, and dogs."

She just looked at me, stunned.

"I have had that car for one day. One," I repeated. "And now this. I assume you don't expect me to be pleased?"

She just kept looking at me, saying nothing.

"Would it be safe to say that you don't have a few thousand dollars to pay for repairs?"

A frantic shaking of her head.

"And you don't want a police record?"

Now she was pale and I thought for a moment she might faint.

"Then I suggest you turn around and run away very quickly, because if you keep standing there I'm going to do something I'll regret very, very, much."

"Go," I roared, when she didn't immediately take off.

That was enough to spur her into action, running for dear life.

Oh, but I was ropable. If she'd been male she'd have been flat on her back with a (hopefully) broken jaw. As it was there was nothing I could do apart from hand her over to the cops and I didn't choose to do that. She had enough problems.

It occurred to me that there was something I could do. I could go back upstairs and fire Giles Pennington. I'd been seriously considering that for a while. This was enough to tip the balance. I hope my little vandal smiles when she finds out.

It was a week before I met my new little friend once again and, quite frankly, she could have picked a better day to get reacquainted. I'd just paid off the insurance excess bill while I was out picking up my car and I was just a little disgruntled over it. Not really in the mood to be taken to task in the garage. I'd just parked and gotten out of the car and she was there, bailing me up.

"You. Cavendish," she snapped.

"That's my name," I agreed. "Please don't wear it out. You'll find it goes well with the word goodbye, as in goodbye Mr Cavendish."

"Where's Pennington?"

"How would I know? Why would I want to know? Still trying to find the right BMW to vandalise? How many have you hit so far?"

"I apologised for that," she said, blushing.

"Um, no, you didn't," I told her. "You just ran away when I waved the forces of the law in your general direction."

"Oh," she said, promptly ignoring the suggestion she should apologise. "You told Giles I was looking for him and he's hiding out. I haven't seen him here since last week. Where is he?"

"I have no idea. He resigned his position last week to seek better prospects elsewhere. He didn't tell me where he was going and I didn't ask."

"He quit? Why would he do that? He always said he was going to make a mint working for that company."

At the company's expense, I suspected, which was a huge factor in my deciding he'd be better employed elsewhere.

"I believe he had a difference of opinion with the boss and resigned on a matter of principle," I explained.

She looked suspicious.

"He hasn't got any principles," she scoffed. "Why would that make him resign?"

"His boss does have principles and that was enough. If you're looking for his car I suggest that you try his home address. He'll probably be home so try to be sneaky with your etchings."

"You're not going to let that go, are you? It was an honest mistake."

"So was letting you off scot free if you're still looking for cars to vandalise."

"I'm not. I want to talk to him about providing my sister with some child support. She doesn't want to talk to him herself and you can't blame her."

"Possible not, but I can blame you for being an idiot. Giles would not take kindly to you sticking your nose into his business. Do the sensible thing and get your sister a lawyer who will take him to the cleaners. Come up to my office and I'll give you the name and number of a lawyer I know who would love this sort of case. She'll even have his testicles bronzed and awarded to your sister as part of the settlement."

"Divorced, are you?" she asked snarkily.

"Never married," I said cheerfully. "My sister was and she used this lawyer. I have the lawyer's details upstairs. My wife has her ex's testicles hanging above her fireplace. You and this lawyer should get along just fine."

I headed off towards the lifts and the silly girl followed me. Reaching my offices I unlocked and waltzed on through with her close behind. I was the first one there and I didn't really expect anyone else to arrive for another hour.

"That," I said, pointing, "is Giles' old office. As you can see his name is still on the door but the office has been stripped of all his accoutrements. It's patiently waiting for its next occupant."

Entering my office I pointed her towards a seat and switched on the computer.

"When this thing finishes booting up I'll check the email for the lawyers name and number. Until then, why don't we discuss a suitable penalty for your woeful act of vandalism on my new car? An act for which you still haven't apologised."

"I did. Downstairs just now."

"No. All you did downstairs was claim that you apologised earlier. Now in regards to penalties, I assume you still can't afford the repaint costs. A shade under five thousand. Four panels they had to redo, right down to the primer. When you etch you certainly make a good job of it."

"Ah, from the look on your face the money is out of the question. Pity. It would have made things so much simpler. Maybe you should pick on a cheaper car next time. Now at the time I believe I mentioned beating, strangling, eviscerating, and feeding entrails to the dogs. I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that I've decided that the eviscerating and the feeding of the entrails is just too messy, especially in a nice office like this.

The strangulation is too permanent and leaves me with the awkward detail of having to hide a dead body, although I suppose I could always stuff it under Giles' old desk and hope they blame him when it's discovered.

All things considered I'm down to the beating and not having a whip I will have to downgrade that even more. I thought a simple spanking might suffice. Hmm?"

"You want to spank me?"

For some reason she sounded highly surprised, managing to convey the impression that she thought I'd lost my mind.

"I didn't say I wanted to," I pointed out. "I was just putting it out there as an appropriate punishment. If you feel that you know a better type of punishment, please elucidate. Ah, that means explain."

"I know what elucidate means," she said through gritted teeth. "I'm not an idiot. What on earth makes you think I'd sit still for a spanking?"

"For a start, you don't sit when you're being spanked. Even then I would expect that someone like you would weep and wail and kick your feet up and down and feel terribly hard done by."

"What do you mean someone like me?"

"Someone who feels free to vandalise cars, fail to apologise, and feel themselves free to walk away with no remorse and no punishment."

"Alright, already," she yelled. "I'm sorry. I apologise. I shouldn't have scratched your car."

She saw my ironic smile and sighed.

"OK. I shouldn't have scratched any car. It was childish but I was just so furious. I don't want to be spanked."

"But you concede that you deserve it?"

"Maybe," she said, glaring at me.

I saw the email was up and clicked on the lawyer folder, quickly noting the name and number. I passed the details over to her.

"Here's the lawyer's details. I suggest you have your sister see her, not you. Feel free to go along for moral support but expect the lawyer to kick you out of the office when they get down to specifics. Lawyers don't like witnesses. It spoils the lawyer/client relationship rules."

"Thank you," she said, tucking the slip of paper into her purse. "I take it I can go now?"

"You're not a prisoner," I pointed out. "You've been free to leave at any time. If you haven't got the balls to accept the spanking you admit you've earned then by all means, run along."

She sat there and glared at me, making no effort to leave. Interesting.

"May I inquire as to your name?"

"Vivian."

"Well then, Vivian," I said, pushing my chair back from the desk, "why don't you come around here and we can get this under way. Soonest started, soonest finished, and you can go away feeling content that you are once again on the side of the righteous."

"This is so unfair," she flared at me, and then shut up, blushing. I guess she had just remembered what I'd said about her weeping and wailing and feeling terribly hard done by.

She came slowly around the desk looking incredibly nervous but determined. I think she'd decided it was a matter of honour. She'd screwed up and she felt it only right that she receive some punishment. Being spanked would probably let her feel somewhat relieved. Justice had prevailed.

I wondered how far I could push her before she realised that I had no intention of spanking her. It would be interesting finding out.

Once she was standing next to me I placed my hand in the small of her back and pressed lightly, more suggestive than forceful, and she moved closer and bent over my knee. A little adjustment and she was lying across my lap, bottom up.

There was a muffled noise when I flicked her dress up out of the way and then a louder noise when I slipped her panties down. If I hadn't commented on her weeping and wailing I was quite sure I'd have been getting an earful at this stage.

My hand was resting lightly on her bottom, really just my fingertips touching her. I let it drift around, getting a feel for her. She squirmed slightly but didn't resist, putting up with it. Hand drifting along, seeking interesting things to touch. Her legs were parted perhaps a little more than they should have been and my hand just naturally moved in that direction.

When my touch feathered its way across her pudenda I could feel her stiffen. The touch was so light that she probably thought she'd imagined it. Coming back the other way it wasn't quite so light, my fingernails lightly scratching along her lips. That she certainly felt.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded. "You said a spanking."

"I'm getting there," I protested, "I just see no reason to rush this sort of thing. A little gentle touching will make it easier for you to adjust."

I'll admit my reasoning made no sense whatsoever but as long as it served to calm her down it didn't matter. My hand kept wandering, up over her bottom, down again, between her legs, stroking her pudenda, back up, back down, watching her reaction.

It didn't take long before her pussy was responding, nor had I expected it to be. I mean, if you're lying across a man's lap with a bare bottom, being touched intimately, it's only natural to react to it. Her mound was starting to flush and swell slightly. Her lips parted and her inner lips came peeping through, wanting in on the action. I was happy to oblige. I'm not sure how happy she was to receive the added attention.

"This is not a spanking," she managed to say before her voice changed into a soft scream. My fault, I guess. I seem to have poked her just a little too close to her clitoris and she'd just naturally reacted.

"Possibly not, but I think it will do as a substitute. Of course, if you're going to insist. . ." My voice trailed off as I dropped a series of quick sharp smacks onto her mound, my hand neatly covering it. They wouldn't really have hurt but they certainly made her pussy pay attention.

She gave another little scream when I did that and didn't seem to mind quite so much when I went back to massaging, even if my fingers were slipping into places they shouldn't. She was twisting about a little under my touch but not really trying to stop me. She was also breathing somewhat harder.

I'd expected her to lose her temper and get up off my knee by this stage, possibly offering violence to my person as she did so. Seeing that she hadn't I saw no reason to step up the pace a little. She was getting very restless, very tense, and I suspected that she might climax very soon.

I called that right. One touch near her clitoris too many and she went up like a rocket, nearly breaking my fingers in her passage when her passage had a spasm. She shuddered and shook, screaming softly, while I waited her out.

As she was coming down from her climax I was urging her to her feet, turning her to face the desk and bending her over it. My trousers had dropped, almost of their own accord, and I was ready for her. The big question was whether she was ready for me.

I nudged her feet further apart and then my hand closed over her mound, fingers separating and spreading her lips. My cock pressed against her and I leaned gently forward, not taking her immediately but definitely letting her know my intentions.

I paused there, giving her a chance to object, but she just seemed to be muttering, "Oh my god," softly. Deciding that this wasn't the same as no I started pressing a little harder, starting to make my way down a passage that was hot and wet and tight and certainly ready for my attentions.

That got a reaction. There was a frantic little cry of, "Wait!" and so I did. I was just a little deeper but deep enough for her to know precisely what she was getting.

I waited but she didn't seem to have anything else to say. What the hell was I supposed to do now? How long does 'wait' last?

I leaned closer (without pushing deeper) and spoke softly.

"Still waiting," I murmured and I suspect she could hear the laughter in my voice.

"You, you rotten. . , you, you tricked me," she gasped.

"Maybe," I agreed amiably. "Do I keep on waiting?"

"No!" she said rather explosively which left me in a quandary. Did she mean no more waiting or no sex?

"That means what, exactly?" I asked.

"It means you're a rotten swine," she gasped, but made her intentions clearer by pushing back against me, letting my pole drive deep.

Now that the way seemed clear I just pressed firmly forward, sinking deep into her, thrusting hard enough there was a distinct slap of flesh on flesh as I grounded myself in her.

Holding still for a moment my hands intruded inside her dress, rubbing across her stomach and finding her bra. That I pushed up, letting her breasts hang free, right into my waiting hands. Holding them, rubbing them, I started to move, pulling back and returning quite smartly.

She groaned as I drove back in but it was a sound of relief. She also pushed back against me, making sure I returned fully. From that point it was on. I pressed her hard, hands working her breasts at the same time, and she responded in like fashion. We established a decent rhythm almost from the word go, each of us seeming to understand what the other wanted.

Maybe I was being a little selfish but, there again, maybe I had reason. I barely knew Vivian and the first meeting I'd wanted to kill her over her idiocy. My poor car. Today's meeting had been mainly hostility from her and anyway, she'd already had her climax. Anything else would be a straight bonus for her. I concentrated on my own needs and wants, leaving her to keep up if she could.

We banged together very nicely but after a while I was starting to wonder if she had to keep up with me or if I had to provide some extra effort to keep up with her. She certainly knew how to use her body and was demonstrating this in fine style. I picked up the pace a little, afraid that if I didn't she'd start complaining about my lack of performance.

I gave my all and then a little bit more until I was ready and past ready. Then I really let rip, nearly bouncing her off her feet I was coming in so hard and fast. It wasn't long and my gonads surrendered, yielding their all, and I was vaguely pleased to notice that that was enough to send Vivian over the edge, gifting her with a second climax.

After we'd tidied our clothing I sat back on my chair. She leaned back against the desk, regarding me.

"Strangest spanking I've ever had," she said finally. "If I should find I'm pregnant I'll leave you a message. Scratched on the side of your car."

With that she stood up, smirked at me, and waltzed out of my office, leaving me wondering if I'd ever see her again and under what circumstances.