Page 17 of Hurts So Good

“I’m not thirsty.”

I watched him drink the cup in one big swallow. A few drops ran down his chin and swiftly evaporated.

“Fuck you,” I muttered, my mouth dry, panties wet.

“I don’t fuck silly girls.”

Wild with hormones, I pinched his thigh through his jeans, as hard as I could. Strange foreplay but it worked for me.

“Do that again and I’m going to whip your ass, Joely.”

I paused. It was that look-into-the-abyss-and-decide-whether-to-jump moment. I could have pulled back. I didn’t.

Slyly, I reached out and slowly, deliberately, pinched him on the other thigh. Not a smart thing to do to an ex-Marine.

Art threw open the car door. I watched his tall, spare frame cross the baking tarmac of the rest area and disappear behind a line of eucalyptus trees. Damn him. I didn’t know whether to stay and sulk or go see what he was up to.

I’m going to whip your ass, Joely.

Art’s words were like a searing brand on my overheated brain. Whip my ass. Something about the idea excited me. I felt angry and nervy but incredibly turned on. A lone trucker watched me as I climbed out of the car and walked slowly across the rest area. I knew the guy was admiring my ass, tight and round in skimpy white shorts. I thought about fucking him, screwing a nameless stranger just for the hell of it. Where was Art?

Intense heat beat down on my bare head. Suddenly, I felt like a little girl, left alone and looking for Daddy.

“What kept you?”

There was a picnic area behind the row of dusty trees, with a long table and bench seats. Art leaned against the table. I realized, with a shock that made my heart jump, that he had taken his belt off and held it, looped, in one hand. “Bend over the table and pull down your shorts.”

I stared at him. Was it a joke? His brown eyes gazed levelly back at me without a hint of humor. Shit.

“But we can’t. Not here…”

My voice trailed away to nothing and butterflies danced in my stomach. I thought of my naked ass, shorts around my ankles, Art’s heavy black belt cracking down on my unprotected cheeks. Slowly, dragging my feet, I approached the picnic table.

“Drop ‘em.”

My fingers trembled as I undid the button and pulled down the zip. In a few moments the tight shorts were a crumpled heap about my ankles, swiftly followed by my panties.

“Bend right over. Your body flat against the table.”

It felt like a dream. I thought about the truck driver and wondered if he was watching, imagined him jerking off as Art whipped my ass.

“You really need this.”

I spread my thighs and felt a drop of pussy juice dribble down my sweat-sticky flesh. My cunt was slick. I wanted to be whipped and whipped hard. My breasts were crushed beneath me as I assumed the position. I felt the cool surface of the leather belt against my asscheeks.

Art placed his free hand on the small of my back, and I shivered uncontrollably.

“You going to talk to me like that again?”

I shook my head.

“What did you say, Joely?”

I swallowed hard. My voice was raw with sex.

“No, Art.”

Cool leather left my skin, and there was a taut pause and then a loud crack. I jumped as if I’d been shot and cried out in shock. It damn well hurt.

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