Driven Wild (13 page)

His hands let go and her head sprung up, gasping for air.

Rick looked down at her, a broad smile on his face. “Nice,” he said.

He watched her clamber back on his lap, place her legs astride him and hover about his upright cock. She clung to the back of the armchair, stared into his magical eyes. He tilted his head forward and found a nipple. Two lines of teeth clamped on to her pink little pebble and held it tight. She felt the sharpness, the sting of near pain and kept quite still. Letting go, he rolled his tongue about the nipple.

The other nipple received the same treatment. Knowing it was coming made her stomach muscles ripple with anticipation; her pussy clenched and she squeezed her eyes shut until she felt the tiny bite.

“Oh, fuck… oh, fuck,” she muttered under her breath.

“No cussing,” he warned, releasing her nipple. “The next time you swear, I will spank you, Miss Leah.” This was a different threat. Not like the previous one, this one she didn’t mind.

“I’ll be good,” she said.

Hands cupped her rounded breasts. Though they were small, Rick had told her he loved them, the perfect snug fit in his hands. He massaged them with the palm of his hands, rotating them round, pressing them into her chest wall. Leah went to swear again and bit down on her lip instead.

Leaning over him, she wanted more. She had to have all of him, feel him deep inside. Astride him, poised ready to strike, she lowered her body on him. She paused as her coated labia spread about his apex. Knelt waiting, she rocked her hips, letting him enter and then withdraw. She arched her back, thrust her breasts towards his face, and let out a low growl.

“What are you doing, Miss Leah?” he said softly, his hands back on the armrests.

“My turn to drive,” she said wickedly and then sat down heavily on him, imprisoning his entire erection in one swoop.

“Oh, fuck!” she screamed.

Chapter Nine

After her second curse, Rick had the excuse he needed to take her over his knee and give her a much-needed spanking. A playful spanking they would both enjoy, the kind they had taken to ever since she had opened up about her desires at the beach. He greatly preferred those types of spankings as they gave him the chance to play with her, touch her intimately, and use his fingers.

Leah treated him to a game of resistance, refusing to lie over his lap.

“I shan’t!” she said petulantly, looming over him, her breasts jiggling right in front of his eyes and her hands on her hips. It didn’t rile him; she had a big cheesy grin on her face.

She initially held back until he grabbed at her, pulling her across as she squawked at him.

“Brute!” she panted, kicking her legs.

“I warned you about cursing,” he responded, pushing her over a knee. However, the moment he had her pinned down under his other leg, she acquiesced, rocking her hips from side to side in anticipation.

“Naughty girl,” he chided, rubbing a finger between her cleft.

“You’ll have to spank me, if you want me to be good,” she teased and he obliged with a few handprints on each milky buttock. She wriggled, squirmed, and giggled too as he landed each slap. Her cheeks—both on her face and on her bottom—flushed pink by the time he finished. Her vocal cords remained active, not with words, but strange little noises of appreciation as he pried her legs further apart and rimmed her pussy with his eager fingers. Unable to resist, he probed her sexy holes between smacks, spreading her shimmering juices about her glowing bottom.

Releasing Leah, he had discovered spanking made her extremely pliable and willing to be taken further. The rug beneath their feet—made from soft sheepskin—formed a natural bed and he carefully manhandled her onto it, positioning her on her knees. With legs spread wide, bottom raised and upper torso nestled in the soft animal hide, she invited him in with her gaping entrance. Somehow, she had nurtured an athletic ability to mould her body, bend and shape it to his needs. Manoeuvring her about, he fucked away, keeping her under him at all times so he could see her rouged bottom and the oozing wetness leaking about his cock. He remained mindful of her vulnerability, ensuring he could judge her willingness to comply with his forceful thrusts, the depth of his penetrations, and the firmness of his grasping hands.

Her orgasms were explosive, uncontrollable, and he felt her copious juices drench about his cock. He watched her claw at the rug on the living room floor, unashamedly debasing herself. He spilt himself deep inside, but didn’t feel completely requited—the need remained, if a little tempered by fatigue. Seeing her drift in a haze of post-coital delight, lounging on the sheepskin, letting the softness caress her skin, he fingered his cock, willing it to come back to life again. Leah, powerless to move her exhausted legs, was carried to bed and there they continued in the same fashion: sex, cuddles, and occasional swats when she was cheeky with her words.

* * *

Waking up, Rick lay on his back in bed, his arms tucked behind his head and a broad grin of satisfaction on his face. The morning light shone through the fabric of the curtains, brightening up the bedroom. Next to him, Leah was curled up into a tight ball, fast asleep.

Satiated by a night of frenzied sex, he sprawled his body across the bed, thinking about breakfast. His stomach rumbled and he had a fancy for a cooked breakfast.

For afters, he had formulated a plan. Something different for their Sunday, something he hoped she would enjoy.

* * *

The first surprise of the day for Leah was the car parked in the driveway: her midget MG.

“I’m not allowed to drive,” she said as they left the house.

“I know, but I can,” he said, opening the passenger door for her.

“I don’t understand,” she said. She hadn’t forgotten how small the car was after the luxury of the Mercedes.

“You’ll see. Patience, Miss Leah,” said Rick.

Formalities were returning; it meant she had to be on her best behaviour. He slotted himself behind the wheel, adjusting the seat to allow his legs to stretch before him. He had opted to wear sunglasses, even though the sun had disappeared behind the clouds. There was no sign of rain.

“Where are we going?”

“Ormskirk. Near Ormskirk,” he clarified.

The town lay further north, inland, so that meant it wasn’t the beach. “You’re not going to tell me.”

Rick grinned. “Nope.”

The landscape opened up into fields and villages. She rarely headed into Lancashire. A few trips to Manchester, London, and one to Paris with her mother. She would love to travel further afield.

She fidgeted, restless in her seat and a little nervous about his secret plan. Rick drove right through Ormskirk and onwards to a small village and then he pulled off the main road onto farm tracks. They passed a few farmhouses, barns, and tractors, unfamiliar territory for Leah. She stared out of the window, peering at the view ahead. Over the tops of the golden cornfields she could see larger buildings, some made of brick, others of metal sheeting, great barrel-shaped structures.

Not a soul could be seen, the land deserted and covered in overgrown grass and untamed nature. A rabbit shot across the road in front of them and above their heads, a sparrow hawk cruised, waiting for some suitable prey.

“What is this place?”

“An aerodrome.”

That was the second surprise of the day.

Rick turned the car off the farm track onto a wide stretch of tarmac, heading in a straight direction for nearly a mile.

“It’s a runway,” announced Leah, recognising the features. “Is this an old RAF base?”

“Actually, it’s naval.”

Rick drove towards one of the largest structures, a dilapidated hangar. Its curved roofing with slanted sides formed a covering and the frontage was blocked off by large sliding full height doors. The steel structure struggled to stay intact after years of neglect and weathering.

Leah laughed. “We’re nowhere near the sea!”

“It was used to store aircraft during the war, while the carriers were in docks at Liverpool.” The car halted in front of the huge hangar doors. There were gaping holes in the corrugated walls, grey and rusting, with massive weeds growing up around the base.

“How did you find this place?”

“Those old seamen at the hostelry. Full of tales. I asked if they knew of any old airfields I could use.”

“Use for what?”

Rick switched off the engine, turned to face Leah, and took her hand. “Don’t be nervous. In two weeks’ time you get your licence back. You’ve not driven for six months, you need a refresher. The runaways aren’t part of the public highway; you can drive here without a licence. When you get back on the road in this car, I want you to drive safely, at the correct speed and be able to control this vehicle.”

“Oh,” she said, opening her mouth in a round shape.

“What did you think I was going to do?” he said, cocking his head to one side.

Leah brushed the hair out of her eyes. “Nothing.”

“Let’s get started. Swap seats.”

For the next hour, they drove up and down, turning the sharp corners of the opposing runaways at various speeds. At the start he criticised her gear choices. Leah glared and huffed, until he reminded her to watch her tongue. Then there were exercises in reversing, emergency stops, and parking.

“I did take my driving test!” said Leah. “I passed first time.”

“Hm. Perhaps the examiner was looking more at your legs than the road,” remarked Rick.

He found, lying by the runaway, discarded fuel cans and spaced them down the middle of the tarmac.

“Slalom. Weave in and out without touching,” he instructed.

“This is easy,” she said confidently.

It wasn’t. He had put them quite close together and she struggled to make the turns. Twice she came close to clipping a barrel. He didn’t berate her or lose his temper. He remained calm and made suggestions in a placid voice, helping her improve her clutch control so she didn’t grind the gears.

Leah enjoyed her little lesson, the thrill of being behind the wheel once again in her own car. At first she resented Rick and the implication she was a bad driver, but then she had noticed how rusty she had become with her driving abilities. Her shifts weren’t exactly smooth and her steering jerked. Listening to his soft voice, firm and clear, she quickly improved.

The voice did other things to her. It summoned up her inner emotions, the sexual ones she suppressed during the day, while at work. Those hidden desires crept to the surface, especially when he patted her leg and told her she had done well. Towards the end of the hour, she became cockier, brasher with her ripostes to his comments. He played along; she thought he liked them, understood why she was doing it.

“Handbrake turn. You should teach me,” she said, gripping the lever.

“No,” he said with a shake of his head.

“Ah, go on. What do I do, do I throw the wheel and brake at the same time, or brake first?” She had no idea; she jiggled the wheel. They were approaching one of the sharp turns at the end of the runaway, faster than usual. She’d lost count of the number of circuits the car had made.

“I said no. There is no need for you to know. You’d better start braking,” he said sternly.

“Just for fun. Let me try.”

“Miss Leah, I will spank you if you continue to argue with me.” Rick removed her hand from the lever and put it back on the wheel.

Leah braked and turned the corner slowly, to make a point. She sighed, a long exaggerated sound of disappointment. “Spoilsport.”

“Drive to the hangar. Park up there,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.

Leah’s excitement grew. Perhaps they were going to swap back or maybe something else. She glanced to her left, trying to catch Rick’s eye, gauge his intentions, but his face had gone stony.

* * *

Rick tried hard not to laugh. It was sometimes necessary to know when to keep a straight face while driving and not react to his passengers, and his natural reserve helped him hide his amusement. Her attempts to rile him hadn’t worked. He understood exactly what she was trying to do. Her brassy comments, little snarky remarks all pointed to one thing. It wasn’t disobedience; she had done everything he had asked, followed his advice and listened. It was only at the end, her more boisterous nature had come out to play.

Watching her pedal up and down with the rapid gear changes, he admired her shapely legs, the skirt tight about her thighs. Her long dark hair, falling over her shoulders, requiring her to sweep it aside from time to time. Dark eyes, peeping out from under her fringe. Her neat little nose, full lips, and narrow neck, all features that held his attention, kept him captivated by her beauty.

The vast hangar, deserted and neglected, came into view. He would take her in, strip her naked, and find something useful, nothing harsh or unpleasant, then bend her over and admire another part of her body—her lush bottom. He would spank it, caress it, and take pleasure in seeing her squirm, shriek a little and then moan when he felt between her legs. He would give her sublime orgasms for her to cherish.

His cock moved. His palm itched. His heart pounded in his chest.

* * *

Leah held his hand. A strong manly grip, encasing her smaller one and holding it to his side. Tentatively she followed him into the hangar through a gap in the door. She expected it to be dank, smelly, and unpleasant—it wasn’t.

A vast space opened up before them. The concrete floor was dusty and littered with little pieces of debris: bits of wood, dried leaves, twigs, and the odd rusted screw. The hangar had a dimness to it, but light too, brought in through the holes in the roofing. Beams of daylight shot down like spotlights. The building had a steel framework supporting the roof, but at the ground level it was open and sufficiently wide to accommodate many aircraft.

Dotted around the edge, the relics of a bygone era, a time when the aerodrome would have bustled with activity: a ladder, a battered metal filing cabinet, empty oil barrels, and in one corner, a pile of dilapidated wooden chairs and trestle tables. Leah was surprised they hadn’t been burnt. The airbase had hardly any neighbours—she supposed few would think to come to the middle of nowhere, on the outskirts of a tiny village, to seek out a forgotten part of history.