Chevy Spanking
From erotic author Alison Tyler comes this story of spanking in the best place available, namely, the back seat of a ’67 Chevy:
We used the back seat of his car, a huge cherry-red ’67 Chevy. We found alleys. We fucked in Griffith Park. We went all the way in a department store dressing room—I’d needed to buy more clothes: jeans, t-shirts, an actual wardrobe. We had no fear any longer. Who the fuck cared if someone saw us? Exhibitionism has always been one of my weaknesses. Connor was more than ready to play. He wrapped my wrists with his wallet chain and spread me out in the Chevy’s huge rear seat. He always took his time, looking at me, making me feel even more naked by the way he evaluated every part of my body. His hands roaming over my shoulders, my small breasts, down to the basin of my belly. He liked to hook his fingers into my nether lips and spread me wide, blowing a puff of air over my pussy before locking his lips on my clit and sucking. Making me come was no challenge for him. I melted at the way he touched me. Sometimes so rough, I was shaking. Sometimes, so softly, I’d beg him to stop teasing.
“Please—“
He loved to hear me beg.
“Please, what, baby?”
“Oh, god, Connor. You know.”
“Say it—“
Cruel, he was. I’d been rebuked. I’d been put down. I hated spelling out what I wanted. And Connor loved every torturous minute.
“I want to hear you say it.” His fingers tracing lightly over my ribs, making me squirm and pull away laughing. And as soon as I moved away, he’d be on me, biting my bottom lip, holding me in place with his body, still fully clothed. His voice whiskey-soft and dark, “Tell me, Alison. Tell me what you need.”
My eyes down, my hair falling forward, unable to look at him, even though I knew he already knew. Even though I knew he didn’t think I was broken, he didn’t think I was damaged goods. “Spank me, Connor.”
And he’d flip me over his lap and give my ass the lightest little patty-cake spanking. “Like this?”
I’d know better than to laugh, because all hell would break loose if I didn’t take him seriously. I’d know to turn my head to stare up at him over my shoulder, to meet his eyes and say, “No, Connor,” my voice a whisper. “Harder, please. Spank me for real.”
And, Christ, I would feel his cock grow even harder as he’d hold me in place, getting ready for the first part of the evening’s punishment.
Sometimes, he bent me over the hood of his car and striped me with his belt, taking it off my own waist first, his hands so rough, undoing the buckle, sliding the old brown leather free.
Wow, that is very beautiful writing. Very evocative, arrousing of course, but there’s also something very moving about it.
I’m honored, flattered, and blushing crimson that you chose one of my stories to feature on your awesome site!
XXX, Alison
Really erotic writing. I got hard just visualizing the scene. Where were girls like this when I was in my twenties?
I want to thank you for bringing Alison’s work to my attention. Her Sept 12 entry “The Kiss” is even better than what you’ve excerpted here. In fact, it’s worth reading her entire backfile of posts beginning wth her August 11th “Confessions of a California Lolita”. One of her boyfriends, the one who first prevailed upon Alison to send her work out to publishers, told her that her writing had a “breathless” quality. And it does. Like wow!