Shades of Gray M/F, by NYIrishRed
Seems we've run into each other before. Well ... not literally. Not yet. He lived in one of the large, stately homes along my route ... a home surrounded by tall, electrified fences and ferocious looking dogs.
The first time we crossed paths, he was sitting in his Jaguar, polished and shined to perfection. The car, not him. His automated gates were done swinging open, and he was about to pull his baby onto the road. The gleaming silver jaguar leaping out from his hood had just nosed its way onto the street when I came barreling past, late for work as usual. There was a slight screeching of tires ... mine ... and in the second I took to slow down I managed to catch a glimpse of angry blue eyes and twitching grey mustache.
Our next encounter was a bit longer. I'd been coming home from work, late for some trivial appointment, and came upon that blasted Jaguar as I rounded the bend (at considerably higher than the posted speed limit, of course). The oncoming traffic was enough to preclude my passing, so I vented my frustrations by riding his perfectly polished bumper and flashing my brights. When the opportunity for passing presented itself, I took a moment to cruise alongside him and stare him down. This man, this grey-haired chap, this rather distinguished looking gent, this rather attractive ... er ... well, he had the audacity to glare and shake his finger at me in admonition! I obliged him by giving him a finger in return. Not the same one he shook at me. When an oncoming car suggested I return to my assigned lane, I sped off, allowing him to eat my dust.
Our last encounter of the automotive kind ended rather abruptly. Once again, I sped along the backroads in my usual haste, still clearing the morning cobwebs out of my brain as I went. Wouldn't you know... that stupid Jaguar was in the stupid road driving less than the stupid speed limit in order to turn into his stupid house! Looking back, I blamed everything but my own stupidity for what transpired on that early morning.
Had it been any other care driven by any other man, I would have slowed down in order to give ample time and space for that turn to take place, but something about this guy boiled my blood. Maybe it was his fancy car, or his highfalutin' house, or his imperious manner, but logic failed me in every other encounter... and evaded me this time also. I gunned my engine and steered my car to the left in a cockamamie attempt to cut off his turn and show him who really owned this here road. Whatever gods exist were sitting with me that morning, because in my hotheadedness I failed to check for oncoming traffic, and in the next moment I found myself coming to a rather abrupt halt in a nearby run-off ditch.
After a moment of stunned immobility, I took a mental inventory of body parts. They were all there, and in working order... the only injury being a thump on the left side of my head caused by a close encounter with the window when my car veered to the right. As I sat rubbing the contusion, my thoughts were interrupted by a loud bang on the car roof. The sound reverberated in my pounding head, so it was with no small amount of annoyance that I glanced out through the vee of my left arm as I continued to rub my poor noggin.
He stood there, peering in with a look of concern that gradually turned to one of censure when it became apparent I was okay. I reached down to open the door, and he removed his hands from the car roof...stepping back and allowing me to set my shaky feet on terra firma. I don't remember much of our ...er.....discussion, but I do know it revolved around his anger and my obstinacy. I know I wasn't thinking quite straight, and in all likelihood said one or two things I probably didn't really mean. I think the breaking point came when I insulted his car. Or him. I'm not sure which. What I do remember is the silence that followed, and the feral gleam in his eye that caused a trickle of fear to douse the fire in my belly.
He exhaled loudly, then reached over and grasped my upper arm firmly. I found myself being escorted none too gently across the road, through the iron gates and up the path with single-minded relentlessness. Had I not been a grown woman, the word "frog-marched" would have come to mind. I recall asking where we were going. What he thought he was doing. I demanded he let go of my arm, trying with no success to pry that steely grip apart. Some part of my mind took note of his strength and how incongruous it seemed in light of the greyness of his head. That same part of my mind proceeded to kick the rest of my brain in its nether regions for underestimating this man.
We passed through the front door and down the hall, where he flung ... yes, flung! ... me into the center of a room that looked like it belonged in an African hunting lodge. It was warm and a bit dark, decorated in leathers and mahoganys. In short, it was damned masculine. I stood rooted to the spot as he tossed his keys and tweed jacket onto the nearest table ... never taking those cursed eyes off me. He strode towards me, grasped my wrist, placed his expensively shod foot upon the coffee table and propelled me across the upraised knee.
The first explosion of pain across my bottom left no doubt that my own fashionable herringboned trousers would provide little protection from this man's wrath. His palm landed with a force that had me shrieking and hollering ... helpless to do anything else but kick and squirm in a futile attempt to avoid the blows. Again and again that palm was raised, until tears of anger and frustration flowed down my cheeks.
Finally, it was over, and I was returned to my original upright position. I rubbed furiously at the seat of my trousers, and with my sudden freedom came a brashness that made me unwisely shoot daggers at my nemesis. This doubtless convinced him that I was not quite as remorseful as he would like, and he advanced on me with a vengeance. I must have been too frozen with shock to react, for in a New York minute I found myself bereft of my slacks, panties and dignity and thrust over the back of the sofa.
As I lay there, with my hands pinned to my back and my nose tickled by the fringe on the nearest pillow, I heard the clink and whoosh of a belt taking its leave of the owner's pants loops. Christ, I thought for a second... I'm surprised this guy didn't wear jodhpurs! It suddenly occurred to me what was about to come to pass, and I struggled to escape. It did me no good at all, as he tightened his grip on my wrists and increased the pressure on my back. I was trapped, and about to meet with more abuse visited on my already smarting... and now completely exposed ... bottom.
This was to be different. The first spanking was meted out in silence. Well, his silence, anyhow. Now, he lectured. And lectured. And as he lectured, I felt the full force of the leather. So he lectured and scolded, and I howled and screamed. Only the odd word or phrase made its way through the pain and into my brain. Speed... dangerous... ridiculous... consideration of others... immediate change. I think my contribution consisted of one word. Okay!.... Okaaay!....okay!... ooookaaayyy!
When my shouting was reduced to incoherent sobbing, it must have signaled that I'd had enough. He ceased and informed me.... Madam, he called me ... that I would be reporting to him for some remedial driving lessons for an unspecified period of time. He stated that I was to consider this lesson number one, and with that he released my wrists ... placed his hand on the upper region of my fiery bottom ... pulled my cheeks taut and delivered five more resounding licks right across my very sit spot. My world narrowed and became focused on that inches wide area of upper thigh and lower buttock, and my frantic reaction must have convinced him it was a lesson well learned, indeed.
After, he placed me face down on the couch and allowed me to sob out my discomfort and humiliation. I slept, but was awoken many times and asked my name...address.... etc. in order to check for the possibility of concussion. Each time I vaguely remembered a gentle hand placed soothingly on my head, or stroking my cheek. Some time after midnight I started awake, to find him sitting across from me ... watching. I moved quickly, and the motion brought my sore, aching bottom into contact with the abrasive ... at least to well-beaten flesh ... material of the sofa. He was at my side in an instant, and with a litheness that suggested his choice of car was rather appropriate. He petted me and soothed me, calling me by name, and finally I dozed off again ... remaining so until first light.
The next morning was a blur. I found that, in the previous twenty-four hours, my car was removed from the ditch and in one piece ... which is more than I could say for myself. My employer was informed of the accident and I was given the remainder of the week off, and my insurance company was assured that no damage occurred. Ha! They obviously didn't do a damage inspection of MY body. I was led to my car, called "my dear" several times, and reminded that I was to report on Saturday morning for my next "lesson." I slid behind the wheel of my car, wincing and shifting uncomfortably, and I headed down the drive ... at a sedate pace ... thinking that I may have been mistaken about who owned this here road.