Authors: Jaye Peaches
Her eyes peered up from under her lashes; they were as long as his own. “I will try to be good,” she said quietly.
He took her hand and squeezed. “Thank you. That’s all I ask. Not for my sake. But yours. And your father too.”
He returned to the driver’s seat and took her home. For the rest of the short journey, she seemed preoccupied, lips pressed together and eyes darting about. A little lingering shock at the evening’s proceedings, surmised Rick. Not a bad evening, he decided. The question was, what happened next. What happened if she forgot to behave? Would he do it again and would he spank her harder?
Chapter Two
Over the next few weeks of the dwindling summer, Leah tried hard to be courteous to Rick. She said please when giving her destination, thank you when they arrived. She kept the litter out of the car and since the evening with Clive, had not invited men into the vehicle. Little was said about that night, only for Leah to whisper another quiet thank you to Rick a few days later when she realised her driver had said nothing to her father about her errant behaviour. Her father would have been furious if he had known about the young man.
The spanking had a residual effect on her conduct. Rick had shown no delight in doing it, at least as far as Leah could tell and he appeared pleased with her response. It gave her a strange sense of satisfaction, something she couldn’t pin down with logical reasoning.
He smiled at her more, complimented her on her clothes when she went out to a formal event. Following her enrolment at Liverpool University as an English undergraduate, he helped her with her books when in a hurry and ensured he parked a little distance away from the university buildings; Leah had become more self-conscious about her status and the presence of a personal driver. She was determined to make new friends based on face value and not ones who simply wanted a wealthy friend to hang out with at the weekends.
All began well, that first term. Fresher week, at the end of September, came and went, the first lectures given and she had met her tutors. There had been issues; the biggest being an argument with her father about accommodation. He had wanted her to stay living at home, while she was adamant that she should have the freedom to be on her own.
Her mother, in one of their weekly long distance calls, had been sympathetic but unwilling to enter the fray and present Leah’s case for independence. Two weeks into the first term and Leah had still to convince her father.
Been driven by Rick to a morning lecture, she let slip a quiet sob of frustration. His observant ears meant he turned his eyes to the mirror: her unshed tears would be visible to him. Dabbing them away with a handkerchief, she hoped he hadn’t noticed, but he had.
“Problem, Miss Leah?” It was what he called her since the spanking, more familiar but still formal.
“No.” She shook her head, lying.
“Don’t bottle things up. Not good for you,” he said, unperturbed by her fib.
“I wish I lived with my mum, that’s all,” said Leah with a shrug.
“Where is she?” he asked, curious.
“Italy. By the lakes. I saw her during the early part of the summer.” She smiled at the memories of hot days spent swimming in Lake Como.
“I take it your parents aren’t together any longer.”
“She left him when I was six. Just me, no brothers or sisters. Not a great marriage, even I could see that at six.”
“Why? Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. My mum left my dad when I was young too,” said Rick, pulling up at a junction, waiting for the lights to change.
“Oh, really. Sorry too, then,” said Leah, perking up at his confession. “She came from aristocratic roots. Unfortunately, inheritance taxes and death duties have ruined my mother’s family. Along with the demise of the Empire, all the overseas income went too. Left with this grand house and no way to maintain it, they, my grandparents, married Mum off to Dad. He had new money from his industrial empire—clothing, textiles, and now plastics and manmade fibres.”
“So that house, the one you live in, is your mother’s inheritance?”
“Yes. As part of the divorce settlement, Dad gets to stay in the house as long as he lives. Then it reverts to Mum again. She would sell it, to pay off debts if she could.”
“So money drove them apart?” asked Rick, the car picking up speed again.
“No. She ran off with Gregor. An Italian nobleman and he does have both houses and money. It must be in the blood, she can’t resist. Dad threw her out and insisted I was to be brought up here in Liverpool. Mum didn’t put up much fight. Holidays she can cope with, full-time motherhood was never her thing.”
“Sorry, that must be tough, but I can empathise.”
“How so?” Curiosity shifted from the front seat to the back.
“My mother lives in Malta. I rarely see her.”
“Divorced too then,” nodded Leah sympathetically.
“No, as it happens,” said Rick. “Catholic and very devout. That is how they came to be married in the first place. My father is an officer in the army. He had been stationed in Malta during the war and helped relieve the Nazi siege. A whirlwind romance with my mother. She is beautiful and he needed to escape the demands of war. I was the product. Her family insisted on marriage and my dad brought her back to the UK at the end of the war. We lived on army bases, moving about.”
“Not something appealing, I suppose,” guessed Leah.
“No,” agreed Rick. “She missed the sea, the hot weather, her family. Miserable. My dad could not tempt her out of her sadness. So he sent her back to Malta. I think it was meant to be temporary, but she never came back.”
“My turn to express sympathies. We’re very alike. Did you go to boarding school too then?” she sniggered.
“Yes,” he laughed. “When my dad was stationed abroad. I was sent to an army school. I loved it. All routine and regimens, it suited me, kept me on the straight and narrow. I joined the army cadets.”
“But not the army?”
“No,” said Rick, showing a disgruntled face in the mirror. “Asthmatic.”
“Oh, that is why you ban smoking in the car.” Leah had seen him point at the little ‘no smoking’ sign every time somebody attempted to light up a cigarette. Leah didn’t smoke. She thought of her own school days. “I went to boarding school. Hated it. Not very good at toeing the line and I felt abandoned by my parents.”
“My dad loves me a lot, but he is busy working for the MOD in London.”
“We’re both kind of neglected.”
“Your father is very protective of you; you know that, don’t you?”
Leah sighed. “I just wish he would show it. I want to live on my own. I’ve been with people all my life, but never by choice.”
“Tell him that. Why not suggest a trial period? I will continue to pick you up and ferry you around. That way he will know I am keeping an eye on you.”
Leah took away his suggestion and worked on implementing it. She flattered her father, kissed his cheek at breakfast, and told him how much she would miss him, but she needed to start to look after herself. Cook, clean, and study, and not be kept like a bird in a cage. Her father listened to her polite tone and succumbed to Leah’s fluttering lashes. A small flat was found and Leah moved out.
* * *
Leah was late again. It was the third time that week. Rick scowled, sitting in the driver’s seat waiting, his patience wearing thin. The good start to the term had ended quickly, and old habits had returned, including late nights out at clubs and parties. Now, she missed the early lectures, too tired and lazy to get out of bed and no housekeeper or maid to wake her from her stupor. Rick had come to realise how spoilt Leah had been at her father’s mansion.
Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, he looked at his wristwatch. Ten o’clock on a Friday morning and she was about to miss yet another tutorial. Her personal tutor had warned her that she was likely to fail the end-of-term examinations in December. They were supposed to test her ability to succeed at the degree course. If she failed, they would recommend she drop out.
Only in the last few days had she shown any signs of attempting to study properly. She was drunk each night, unable to write her assignments, the days slipped away, and the tutors were beginning to give up hope.
She had wailed about it in the back of the car to Rick, but seemed unprepared to step up and put things right. Why it was so hard to have some kind of discipline in life was beyond him. He had his own friends and those evenings he spent with them, when not required to drive her about, he had fun, but never was late for work the next morning.
One last glance at his watch and Rick made a decision. Locking the car behind him, he stormed up the stairs to her first-floor flat and knocked loudly on the front door.
It wasn’t until the third round of knocking that Leah opened the door to him. Dressed in a flimsy blue nightie, which came to above her knees, bleary-eyed and a mug of coffee in her hand, she peered at him with a surprised expression.
“What… Why are you here?” she asked, stepping back.
Rick entered the sitting area of her flat and looked about. The place was a tip. Glasses lying unwashed on the coffee table, textbooks piled on the floor, and screwed-up pieces of paper strewn about the bright orange sofa.
“What a mess!” he said, ignoring her question. “You’re late. Again.”
“So, I slept through my alarm. It’s only Chaucer, again,” she said brusquely. “I’ll manage.”
“Will you?” he snapped. “Didn’t you tell me yesterday that you’ve a test in that subject in two weeks? Do you think you’ll pass? What about that essay? Wasn’t it supposed to be in today?”
He knew her timetable well and her assignments. She rattled them off in the car, barely hiding her panic when deadlines approached. Leah stared at the mountain of discarded scribbles.
“I’ll get it done tonight.”
“I don’t understand you, Leah. Your dad has given you this opportunity to prove yourself and you’re frittering it away.”
“Please don’t tell him,” blurted out Leah. She walked towards the kitchenette at the back of the flat, put her mug down on the work surface, and turned to face Rick. “I’ve not been good, have I?” she said, biting on her lower lip.
“No, you haven’t,” he said, joining her, his eyes watching her fingers fiddle with straps on her nightie. The nervous twitches were back, just like they had been in the back of the car weeks ago. “You’ve been inconsiderate, kept me waiting in the car. I’m always here on time, why can’t you show me the same respect? Do you remember what happened last time you forgot how to be well behaved?”
“You spanked me,” she said softly and her dark eyes opened up wide.
The sun came out from behind a cloud as she spoke, as if to put the spotlight on her form. Blazing in from the nearby window, the November light had the last bastion of warmth before the winter arrived. The rays shone through the thin fabric, highlighting her slender outline and he couldn’t fail to notice her pert nipples sticking out from underneath, nor could he ignore the fact she was not wearing underwear—the blurred tuft of dark hair stood out at the apex of her thighs. Rick’s loins twitched and he battled to keep his manhood under control and out of sight.
“Do you think I should spank you again?”
“If you think so,” she said, dropping her eyes down.
“I do,” he said simply. “And harder this time.” He crossed to the other side of the kitchen, opened the utensil drawer, and picked out a wooden spoon.
“A spoon!” she gasped. “That will hurt.”
“A little more than last time, but then if you want to get up in time in the mornings, it has to be something you’re going to remember.” He slapped it down on his palm and felt it smart. He would have to judge the spanking carefully; scaring her was out of the question.
Leah turned her back to him and put both hands on the worktop surface. She bent over slightly, pushing her bottom up higher, but keeping it covered by the shimmering nightie. It made no difference to Rick; the globes of her bottom showed clearly, each one a perfectly modelled lobe. She carried no excess, neither was it a skinny behind. The temptation was strong—to stand behind her, press his aching cock between those cheeks and rock hard, in and out until she came. He had to shake himself out of his daydreaming. She was not his to take.
Rick took up position to one side of Leah. Out of her mouth came tiny pants of trepidation and he waited for her to catch her breath.
“Just a few with my hand first,” he told her, putting the spoon down. “Ready?”
“Yes,” she said, squeezing her eyes tightly shut.
* * *
His hand landed with a smack. Leah’s feet lurched forward and she toppled down on to the worktop. There she remained; it was easier than holding her body up. Arms scrunched up under belly, legs slightly parted, and bottom raised, she waited for the next one.
She watched the second descend out of the corner of her eye. The way he swung his arm a measured distance back and landed it with accuracy right onto the part of her that sat on the wooden seats in the lecture hall. She was sure he was doing that on purpose. She cursed under her breath. It stung immediately and he hadn’t even picked up the spoon.
Another two and he stopped. A few brisk rubs on each cheek and then he added another four. She could feel the temperature of her flesh rise, radiating out.
“Time for this now,” he said, picking up the wooden spoon. “A dozen. Do you think that will get you out of bed in time?”
“Oh, yes,” she exclaimed. “Do you have to do so many?”
“If you decided, it wouldn’t be the same, would it?”
She shook her head. “Please don’t tell my daddy,” she whispered.
“Your father won’t be told because you are going to be good from now on, aren’t you, Miss Leah?”
Rick tapped the spoon a few times on her right buttock. Leah found she was instinctively holding her breath, her eyes screwed up and her teeth clenched in anticipation. Her body went rigid and consequently, the first landing of the spoon stung. The impression it left in her flesh may have been small in size, but its impact ricocheted throughout her cheek. Her gritted teeth held back the gasp, so it came out more like a sharply inhaled hiss. Then, before she could register the pain properly, her left cheek was targeted. Each attempt at relaxing and removing the tension was thwarted by the swift smarting. The spoon definitely hurt more than his firm hand.