“Down! Take them down,” he instructed, and she wriggled the knickers down to her knees.
His hand landed first. A few palm slaps to each buttock cheek in rapid succession. They were to prepare her, to let the skin warm and allow the nerve endings to begin to process what was to come next. She envisaged the worse caning or whipping she had ever had. All those little sticks were like thin canes. It was going to hurt like crazy. Her eyes screwed up tight, the muscles in her face contorted, and her legs wobbled underneath her.
There was a swooshing sound, a whistling through the air that even the singing birds could not drown out. Then there was a dreadful thud as the birch made contact, followed by numerous stings as each component of his makeshift implement made contact. The ends were particularly wicked and bit into her raw flesh. Casey gasped loudly. It was different—not a caning, nor a whipping. The birch had its own painful attributes, its own uniqueness. A hand was required to reposition her as she jumped up in response. Rob made no comment on her failure to hold position. It was the first strike, and another eleven were to follow. She would have to dig down deep to find her powers of endurance in order to tolerate his birching.
The second came, and it was harder. Rob was not going to hold back nor make it easy for Casey. There was not the accuracy of a cane or crop. The gnarled sticks, with their crooked shapes and variety of thickness, did not lend themselves to landing in one neat location. A few stray branches struck the crease between her thigh and buttock. With the next blow, the wider reaches of the birch rod caught her upper thighs. At each swishing sound, Casey would move. She hoped swinging her hips into the car’s radiator would give her a little relief from the driving force of the birch. Instead, she was trapped between the metal and the birch’s harsh descent.
There was a tiny breeze about them. It made the leaves rustle, the lighter branches move about at the edge of the copse, and the longer blades of grass at her feet sway. Unfortunately, the wind’s coolness did nothing to help the increasing fire that was burning in her bottom. Tucked away on the verge of a barely used lane, she had nobody to cry out to but the wild inhabitants of the rural setting. As Casey braced herself, palms pressed down on the hood, she could see Rob reflected in the windshield before her with a raised arm and the birch in his hand. She quickly shut her eyes again, the sight of his stern features with the cruel implement swinging down towards her only reinforcing the sense of need in her. She wanted to be spanked hard.
There was nothing to do but succumb. She sunk readily into her own place of disappointment and regret. None of this would have been necessary if she had not been so self-absorbed, rude, and thoughtless. An old-fashioned spanking for a spoilt young woman seemed appropriate.
A branch snapped as it hit her flamed cheeks, accompanied by a bleak howl of pain exploding out of Casey’s mouth. There were two more strikes to go, and Casey looked over her shoulder. Unperturbed, Rob simply removed the broken stick and nudged her back down. She let out a sob. By now, the pain was almost too much. She had not found a way to process the novelty of it. A dozen was too few and applied too severely. A lighter, longer use of the birch might have given her the chance to take it well, maybe even the opportunity to enjoy it in a perverse way. However, that was not Rob’s intention, and she could do nothing but weep until he finished.
Rob tossed the birch aside while Casey remained crushed to the bonnet of the car, clutching the rising crisscrossed welts on her buttocks.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “I forgot being polite is a reflection of both of us.”
“I think you owe that apology to your parents.”
“I will ring them when we get home.”
“Good.”
“I apologise for making you uncomfortable and cross with me,” said Casey, lifting herself upright. “I was selfish and inconsiderate to everyone.”
“Yes.”
“I am upset though,” said Casey carefully.
“Why?”
“Because you’ve never talk much about your past, and it’s caused me to think things about you that are incorrect.”
There was a lengthy pause between the two. Without facing each other, they could not see each other’s faces or the collecting of thoughts behind shuttered eyes.
Rob sighed. “Yes. You’re right. I have not been fair. I have asked much about you and given little back. Tonight after dinner, I will tell you my story.”
It broke the barrier that had grown between them. In an instance the air cleared, and they were moving together, intertwined and wrapped in an embrace. Without shame, they addressed their need for emotional release on the warm bonnet of the Mini.
Casey had never had sex in the open, nor had she ever envisaged having sex on a car. Held against him by his enveloping strong arms and a peppering of kisses, her fingers fumbled in their attempts to release his swollen cock. The pants fell away easily, and Rob eased her up onto the bonnet. A hand reached under her top and pulled down a cup of her brassiere. Rob tweaked her nipple as if he had found a button on a dashboard.
Casey perched on the bonnet with legs splayed, inviting him in, while Rob flicked a nipple with a wry smile.
“You look so sexy,” he commented.
“I feel a little ludicrous,” she confessed.
“It seems to be how you are spending the day,” he said, twisting her nipple in one direction.
“Ouch,” she squawked. “I’ve paid, haven’t I? For being foolish?”
“Have you?” he queried. His head dipped down, and his mouth replaced his teasing fingers. Casey groaned and found lying back on the Mini was reasonably comfortable. While he sucked, she began to overcome her inhibitions. In the middle of nowhere, on the edge of a small copse, she did not care that they could be seen by an unexpected passer-by.
The foreplay did not last long. Rob’s urgency to be deep withi
n her took precedence, and he told her to turn over. Bent over the edge of the car once again was an easier position for her to maintain. He could also see the red welts before his eyes as his finger traced along one mark. Casey did not wince but merely looked over her shoulder to see Rob’s face. There was no obvious expression. His features were an odd mixture of excitement and sternness, as if he did not know whether to admire what he had done to her or feel irked.
With her clothing in disarray, Casey’s slender waist had been unveiled. Her hips were suitably wide and curvaceous—something of which she was proud. The lobes of her buttocks were the kind that an anatomist would like to draw, and she had often wondered about posing naked for an art class to earn extra money. Below, her thighs showed sufficient musculature to give her a refined shape—the envy of her girlfriends. Her skin was quite smooth and pale in colouration. She had never lain under a tropical sun on an exotic sandy beach before. She fancied Rob taking her to one. The vision of him lying on a sunbed next to her was far too appealing to ignore. The tiny scrap of a bikini, the kind her mother would deplore, would be all that she would be allowed to wear.