Conversation

"So, Arthur, tell me... if it was someone else over there being trained,would you feel differently about it?"

"I don't know." "Well, think about it. What would you think if I was the one being trained and you and she were over here observing, like that other couple? Is it something you and Janice would talk about, and perhaps gain something from?"

"I think if it was someone else, someone I didn't know, that Janice and I would at least be talking about it. I mean, it is interesting to see the way you live. And she has expressed an interest in doing some things differently in the past. I just wasn't aware how differently she meant."

"She mentioned something about your job. Is that a bone of contention between you? She seems to feel that you are allowing them to treat you poorly, and somehow that has translated into her feelings about how you two relate to one another."

"They beat me up pretty regularly over there, and I know Janice thinks I'm letting them put me down because I don't have the self-confidence to do anything about it, but the reality of the situation is that we're just about to merge with a much larger company, and I want to keep my job - even if it does mean playing politics for a while."

Janice is bringing me my coffee (with lots of cream, thank you) and overhears a portion of our conversation. She looks as though she'd like to say something, but glances back at you and thinks better of that idea. She lingers just a moment, listening to her husband talk about the circumstances of the merger and the probability that many of his coworkers will be laid off, and his attempts not to be among them.

"Janice," you call, and she immediately returns to your side. You smile at me, and I continue to try to draw Arthur out about his reaction to the training, or at least what his reaction would be if it was me with the coffee pot and his wife asking him about his life.

Janice heads off to talk about coffee, and I happen to glance over at Arthur. He is putting on his coat, and I request and receive permission to go over and see what is going on with him.

"Are you cold?" "No, I'm going home. Janice has obviously found something here that she feels I am lacking."

I look back at you, and you are otherwise occupied, so it seems I will have to try to convince Arthur to stay by myself, at least for the moment.

"Please stay, Arthur. We don't know what he has in mind, and she may find herself in a position with which she is uncomfortable..." "Why the hell should I stay here and watch my wife behave that way with a total stranger?"

"Do you love her? Can you accept that she's showing you something she, at a minimum, wants in your lives?"

"I don't know. It is almost impossible for me to watch her responding that way to him." "Believe me, I understand. I'm having some trouble with it myself, and I've been through this sort of thing before. Although I must admit that he's never gone quite this far in my presence before. She must be very special."

"She is." "Then sit with me and we'll figure out what's happening together."

When her tears have stopped, you kiss her on the forehead and suggest that she ask the waitress to show her how to make more coffee.

"Slut is going to need it because she's going to have a long drive ahead of her when we leave here in the morning."

Janice gazes into your eyes and says, "We?"

"That remains to be decided, but either way she will be faced with a long drive."

By now our audience has grown slightly. The cook has finished for the night and left muttering something about the full moon and crazy folks coming out at night. The waitress has finished her closing routine and turned off the main sign - the diner is closed. But rather than inviting us to leave, the waitress takes a seat in the booth with the two strangers. They all seem to be enjoying the show, now that it is plain that it is all voluntary, and Janice has actually requested this training.

From where I am sitting, I can see the marks you've left. You reach out and, with one finger, gently trace the first mark. I can see what you're doing, but I'm also watching Janice's face. She flinches at your first touch, but then begins to relax as you trace the remaining marks. Arthur is watching as well, and I am not sure what is going through his mind when he sees his wife reacting that way to your touch.

I close my eyes for what seems like just a moment, and when I open them again you are kneeling on the floor beside Janice, cupping and soothing her sore ass with your hand. Your other arm is around her, and her head is on your shoulder where she is learning another lesson, perhaps the most important one. She is leaning on you while she releases her pain through tears, and learning that she can count on your strength when things become too difficult; that she can turn to you when she is feeling confused or has too many choices and can't decide. She is learning to trust that you will always be there for her, and that you always have her best interests at heart, even when she doesn't understand your reasoning. She nestles her head into your shoulder and relaxes as you comfort her... she may not get it all right away, but she's beginning to be yours.

I take my time in the bathroom, knowing that we're likely to be here for quite a while. When I return to the booth, Janice is still in the position, but she is obviously having trouble maintaining it. (It is very difficult to do for an extended period. And it hurts.)

"Does he make you do this?" Janice asks. I shake my head no and sit down in my place. "Then why is he making me?"

I look at you and you nod, so I reply. "He doesn't make me do anything. I do these things because they give him pleasure, not because he forces me."

You smile, because you know it is the truth - there isn't anything you would ask of me that I would refuse you. But then you look over at Janice, and your expression changes.

"Who told you that you were allowed to speak while in the position?" you inquire. "Now you'll have to learn another lesson. You ask permission before speaking to someone other than me."

You stand up and take off your belt. Oh, this is going to hurt. I hope you go easy on her, because she didn't know.

"Turn around. No, still on your knees. That's right. Now, elbows on the floor, ass in the air."

You flip her skirt up over her back, exposing her naked behind and cunt. I can't watch. I hate the belt.

One, two, three, four... You must really want her to learn quickly. You've only been that harsh with me one time, and that was after I had done something awful.

Janice is still kneeling on the floor, but when I look over at her I can see the tears forming in her eyes. I don't think she'll be talking to me for a while.

She totters back over to us (it is clear that she is unused to high heels) and I see that I was correct about the length of her skirt - it doesn't cover the tops of the stockings, and barely covers her genitals. And it appears she has the same problem I have with some of my skirts. It is riding up as she walks.

She reaches our table and asks if you would like more coffee. After she pours the coffee for you, and you have her sit next to you in the chair, I request and get your permission to excuse myself.

As I head for the ladies room, I hear you talking to Janice about her next assignment and I turn to see her kneel on the floor beside you, hands behind her head.

You tell me to go to the other side of the booth and turn your attention to Janice. "This is patience. How long will you wait, Slut?"

"Forever."

"One day you will understand what she means by that, but for now it is enough that you waited that long without complaint. You've done well for a first-timer. I think I can work with you."

Janice beams, and you smile back at her.

"The couple sitting at the table in the back look as though they could use some more coffee. Why don't you go and help them with that?"

Janice goes to get the coffee, and, this time, takes a tray so she can carry cream and sugar with her. She reaches the table, offers coffee and, when the strangers tell her how they like their coffee, she pours for them. I watch your face, and see that you are very pleased that she remembered.

You hold the bottom leg of each pin, keeping them from dragging on my nipples, easing the pain. I meet your eyes and see the familiar gleam there. I hold my breath, knowing what is coming.

You yank the clothespins off my nipples and I double over in pain. You lift my chin and meet my eyes, searching for something in them - I'm not certain what. But you evidently find it, because you put your arms around me and draw me close to you.

Janice has finished putting on the shoes, and is trying to balance on the heels. She attempts to get your attention, and you respond by telling her, "Patience. It was the hardest thing for Slut to learn, but you'll have your first lesson in it right now."

You lift my right leg and pull me onto your lap. You lift my right breast to your lips and softly kiss it, making me feel so much better. You take the nipple between your lips, gently grazing it with your teeth, sucking just a tiny bit as you pull me close. You suck harder, increasing the pressure on the nipple with both the suction and your teeth.

And once again my body, or my love, give me away. I can't help it - I moan, and you pull away, asking "Shall I stop now?" "No, God, don't stop."

Again you pull me close, and I wrap my arms around your shoulders and pull you even closer as the pressure of your teeth and the suction increase. I am grinding myself into your lap, the roughness of your jeans against my bare skin making me even more anxious for release.

Just as I think I am going to get there, you stop. "We'll finish this later, Slut."

"Janice, I believe you had something to say. But first you can remove the clothespins."

She hastily pulls off the pins, and yowls with pain. She doesn't look as though she is ready to talk any more.

Janice balances herself on the very edge of the chair, careful not to bump any of the clothespins, and begins putting on the stockings. When she is almost finished putting them on, you call me to come over to you.

I approach you, stopping a little less than a foot away and you command,"Top off." I unbutton and remove the sheer black blouse I've been wearing. "Bra open." It is the one that opens in the front so almost immediately you can see that my nipples are hard.

You very gently lift my left breast, lean over and kiss my nipple, and then SNAP the clothespin onto it. You then move to my right breast, cupping it gently, kissing me and then placing the clothespin on the nipple.

The contrast between gentleness of your hands, the tenderness of your kisses and the abrupt pain caused by the clothespins makes me gasp.

"Hey!" Janice calls out, "Why are you doing that?"

You look at me, smile and give a slight nod, so I answer for you, "Because it pleases him."

Janice just stares at me. You ask her what size shoe she wears and when she replies that she wears a 7, you look at me and say, "Slut, give her your shoes to wear."

I bend over to remove my shoes, and the clothespins sway as I move. When I am bent over taking off the shoes, the clothespins are hanging down and swinging freely. It feels as though they are going to pinch the nipples right off my breasts. Every movement hurts more than the last.

Finally the shoes are off and I straighten up. I can see the smile in your eyes as you watch my face and then you reach out and stop the motion of the clothespins.
"Thank heavens," I think. But only for a moment.

Janice stands still, allowing you to place the first pin. "Ouch!"

"And that is just the first one. The others will be much more painful." "But why?"

"Because you need to learn a lesson and you need to remember it long after I'm gone." "But, but I thought..."

"You thought what? That I would take you away with me? And what would I do with Slut? Leave her behind? Expect her to just accept that her time with me would be usurped by a complete stranger? No, you will be remaining here - but you will know what true submission is through both my interactions with you and my relationship with Slut."

I glance at Arthur and at the new couple that came in. They all seem fascinated at your ability to make Janice obey so quickly. Arthur is leaning forward, and seems to be torn between stepping in to help his wife and wanting to learn how to do exactly what you're doing. The waitress has gone behind the counter, and is pretending we don't exist, but her new customers are looking at you with great interest.

You direct Janice to spread her legs, which she does. You then call to me, "Slut, I want you to lie under her and place these other pins. You know where they go."

"Of course. Shall I make them more or less painful?" "Less for now - we can always change them later."

You hand me three additional clothespins, and I get down on the floor and slide beneath Janice. You have placed the first pin on one of her outer labia. I place the others, one on the other outer lip, two on the inner lips, placing them close to her body so that while they pinch, they do not drag on the edges of her lips, making it almost too painful to move.

I get up from the floor, and you hand Janice the package of stockings and point her toward a chair. "Now, sit down and put those on." "It will hurt too much," she exclaims.

"Slut has done it." She is now being compared with me, and while this makes me a bit uncomfortable, nothing you are saying is untrue, so I really cannot protest. Not that I would anyway, at least not in public.

I approach you and you reach for the clothespins and the package containing the stockings. I hand them over, and avert my eyes. Wherever she winds up wearing them, she is going to regret refusing to eat the dinner she ordered.

"So, you want to learn, do you?" you ask as you reach under her skirt with one of the clothespins in your hand. "I can teach you, all right, but the first thing you are going to have to learn is that to have a good Master, you need to be truly submissive. You have to give yourself fully to him, and trust that even when he finds the need to correct you, he always has your best interests at heart." "And do you have my best interests at heart?"

"But of course. And it is in your best interests not to squirm away while I'm trying to correct you."

Janice marches over to you and exclaims, "He wants me to eat that nasty cold dinner, instead of ordering me a new one!" You laugh, and ask her if she really wants a Master, or if she wants to continue to try to be the one in charge.

"Yes, but I want one like you. I want to learn everything, and you can teach me." "Oh, I'll teach you all right. You may not like the lesson, but you will surely learn."

"Slut, do you have a pair of new stockings in that bag of yours? And what about the clothespins?" "Yes, Sir, I have both with me." "Go on out there and get, oh, about half a dozen of the pins and the stockings."

"Yes, Sir," I reply as I attempt to stand to get by you. "Oh, I think you can manage to fit under the table to get out, Slut." I slide under the table and crawl out into the space between our booth and the table next to it. I stand and after you have given me the keys to the truck, I leave the diner and retrieve the requested items.

As I walk back into the diner, I hear you asking the waitress for a pair of scissors. I'm surprised, but not half as surprised as Janice. She's beginning to look a little pale, poor thing.

You receive the scissors and tell Janice to come closer. You hold her skirt with one hand and tell her she will never wear another long skirt. As you finish speaking, you begin cutting, turning what was a long skirt into a mini skirt that is shorter than mine. In fact, she may not be able to cover the tops of the stockings with that skirt.

Then you reach underneath the skirt and I hear the snip of the scissors. Once, twice, and there they come as you tell her what you have previously told me, "No more panties unless you are specifically told to wear them."

When another couple walks in and sits down, we must look like strangers lingering over our coffee. But that is soon to change.

As we hold hands, sip our coffee and watch, Arthur's face begins to get red, and he raises his voice just a little. You look at me and shrug - it takes time to make these things work.

Just then we hear Janice stomping back toward us with Arthur after her. He calls her to come back to him and she replies, "I don't want someone like you, someone who doesn't even know what he's doing. I want what SHE has, a real Master, one who doesn't even have to think about it to make things happen."

I start to snicker and clap my hand across my mouth - too late. You give me that look, and I apologise and explain. "She makes it sound like you don't work at this. I know how much work it is for you to take care of yourself and of me as well. She's just being silly."

I'm jealous of the attention she is getting, but I know better than to let you see it just now. You continue to spank her, but your eyes are on Arthur. I'm not sure what it is you are waiting to see in him, but at about spank number seven I begin to understand.

You once again raise your hand, and (even through the panties) I can see that Janice is enjoying this way too much for my liking. But as you begin to swing, Arthur steps into action and gets his hand between your hand and her ass. (It has to have hurt, but he doesn't say a single word.)

You look at him, expectantly, and he just nods. You reach for my hand while he raises his and completes spank numbers eight through ten. Janice seems to be pretty far gone at this point, and quite pliable. She looks around at you and sees that you have both my hands in yours.

"What the hell?" she asks. Arthur responds before you even get the chance with "Well, Janice, you certainly needed that spanking, and I can tell you will be needing another very soon. Now get back to our table and eat your dinner before I really put my foot down."

" But he, I, there is supposed to be more training. I'm not ready to go back to the table. I want to spend time with him and I want him to look at me the way he looks at her."

"I said get back to the table," Arthur demands as he swats her on the ass one more time. "I saw the way you were reacting to him, woman, and I'm not having any more of this nonsense from you. Get back there where you belong."

One more swat and she's on her way, taking the waitress along with her. Arthur seats himself in the chair his wife has just vacated and asks, "Was that all right? I wasn't too hard on her, was I?"

You smile, still holding my hands, and let him know that he has done quite well for his first lesson, and that the way things will progress from here on out will depend on how he handles things when he gets back to his table. "Oh, and send the waitress over when you get a chance. We are going to need some more coffee if we want to make it to our destination tonight."

"Get a chair," you command, and Janice turns to the table behind her and brings a chair to your side. "Over it."

Janice understands what is about to happen, and lies across the chair. You lift her skirt and begin.

Arthur walks up on the other sode of his wife and demands that you take your hands off her. "But I'm not doing anything she doesn't want," you explain. "I think for the first punishment I should be lenient - only ten spanks. This time." You raise your hand to slap her ass again when Arthur (finally) reaches out and grasps your wrist. The two of you communicate wordlessly and he drops his hand to his side. You bring your hand down and Janice wriggles and squirms. I am beginning to wonder if this is a punishment at all.

Arthur asks Janice exactly what it is she thinks she is doing. "Finding someone who can make me feel the way you used to," is her swift reply. "You used to be a man - now you act like a whipped puppy. Stand up to those people at work, for God's sake. And in the mean time, let me get started with my training."

Arthur just stands there, staring at his wife as though she's suddenly grown an extra head. Janice approaches you and reiterates her desire to have a master like you.

"You've earned a chance to learn a bit from me. Your first assignment will be to get coffee for my slut and myself, and then to kneel by the table awaiting our pleasure."

Janice turns and goes to get the coffee, and you reach out your hand to me. "Come up here and sit with me while we wait, slut." I stand and slide into my side of the booth and follow your gaze as you watch Janice approach us with two cups and a large pot of coffee. She places the cups and the pot in front of us on the table, and kneels by your side.

"Well, Janice, I know you did try, but it would have been nice if you had actually done as I asked." Janice doesn't get it, so you ask me to explain it to her as I pour.

"Janice, he requested coffee. Not that you bring him a pot and imply that he should pour his own." "Very good, slut. You know your Master well."

I hear Janice move toward the waitress, and I do my best to get all the pie off your lap before she arrives at her destination. I'm tasting nothing but cloth now, yet you have not told me the punishment is finished, so on I go, attempting to find the last little bit that you must have seen - the piece I missed.

I can hear them, whispering over in the corner. The place is deserted except for Janice, Arthur, the waitress, you and me. New footsteps approach that I assume must belong to Arthur. He speaks to you, questioning what you are doing with his wife. You respond by asking me to repeat what Janice had said.

"She said that she would like to have a Master like mine," I report. Arthur laughs, "Not in this lifetime would my wife say something like that." He adds that he believes this is some sort of stunt and that the cameraman will appear at any second.

Janice returns and says that the waitress, while willing to accept that the accident was her fault, is not about to get down on her knees to clean your lap. You smile at her, and let her know that the test wasn't so much getting the waitress to clean your lap as it was about obeying your command to try.

Time for the annual sing-along:

Happy Birthday to me,
Happy Birthday to me,
Happy Birthday dear Ellie,
Happy Birthday to me.

That is all.

I continue to clean your lap, focusing on the larger pieces of crust, then attempting to get the filling off your pants with my tongue. By this time I am almost certain we are alone with the waitress. I hear her shoes (soft soles) approaching us, and then her footsteps are joined by those of a woman in high heels.

"Janice," calls a man from the other side of the diner, "What are you doing?" "Hush Arthur, I'm finding out what all the commotion was about."

Janice approached our booth, stopping a few inches from my feet. "You, under the table, what ARE you doing?" she demanded.

"My slut is fulfilling the requirements of her punishment," you calmly respond. "She understands that she will be punished when another woman makes mistakes."

"So what exactly is your relationship with this woman?" Janice asks. "I am her Master, and she is my slave, Slut. We are both happy with this relationship, in case that is your next question."

"And she is being punished because someone else messed up?" "Yes. I have no control over the waitress, so my slut is performing the punishment she would otherwise have received."

"Wow," Janice says softly, "I wish I had a Master like you."

I, under the table and almost finished with my punishment growl softly (but not softly enough) "My Master." You grasp my hair just a little tighter and raise my face until I meet your eyes. I can see the disappointment there, as well as a little excitement - you want me to accept this, but you are also pleased that I care enough to feel threatened. I lower my eyes, and you go back to stroking my hair as you respond to Janice, "Prove to me that you are worth my attention. Convince this waitress to take her own punishment and release my slut from completing it for her."

I redouble my efforts to clean your lap, as I am afraid she might just succeed, and I don't want to give up my punishment or my access to your lap to anyone.

I try to concentrate on the task at hand, although feeling you touch me is very distracting, and I can hear some sort of commotion going on around us.

Several sets of footsteps go past, one doesn't quite manage to miss my feet and kicks my ankle, swearing at my being in her way. Another woman tells her companion (and everyone else within earshot) that I am a disgusting whore who deserves nothing better. Her companion tries to silence her, as she sees the tears start to roll down my face, but knowing I'm in pain just eggs her on, and she mutters about trollops and tramps the rest of the way out of the diner.

Others leave as well, most in silence, although every once in a while I hear a whispered agreement with the nasty woman. The occasional man who comments is quickly cut off by his date or his wife before he can really get anything less condemming out of his mouth.

Through all this you calmly eat your pie, and continue to stroke me, reassuring me that I am none of the things I've been called, that you value me and wouldn't trade me for all those "proper" ladies, that I am loved for exactly the woman I am. You can and do tell me all these things with a single touch. You wipe away my tears and pull my face closer to you, reminding me that my work is not yet finished.

We hold hands while the waitress pours our coffee and brings me the strawberry ice cream. She has added some whipped cream and a cherry and I can see the smile in your eyes when she places it in front of me.

"Would you like this?" I ask, referring to the cherry. "Thank you, I'd enjoy that." I feed you the cherry, taking a small risk and allowing my fingers to brush against your lips.

I eat the ice cream, watching your eyes as I do so. There are several couples in the diner with us, and a pair of ladies who appear to disapprove of just about everything I do. As I finish the ice cream you call the waitress over to our booth. "Is everything all right?" "Yes, but I have decided that I'll have something after all. I think a slice of that banana cream pie is in order."

She goes to get your pie, and I smile. Banana cream - one of your favorites. The waitress returns with a huge slice and as she prepares to place it on the table in front of you she slips or stumbles, and the pie slides off the plate and onto your lap.

"Oh, let me get you something to clean that up," she volunteers. You look at her, and then at me, and you say "No. I don't own you, so my slut will do the cleanup. She will take the punishment for you. Won't you, Slut?"

"Of course."

You gesture for me to get up from my seat across from you in the booth, and take my hand to draw me to your side. "On your knees, slut. You know how to clean this up."

I drop to my knees and bend my head to clean the pie from your lap. I do appreciate that it isn't a flavor I dislike, as I will be lapping it up from your pants for some time.

You instruct the waitress to bring you another slice, and use one hand to stroke my hair, letting me know that you appreciate my obedience.

I open my mouth to protest, but bite my tongue. I have no idea what you'd come up with for a punishment for that. My ass is on fire, and with each step taking us closer to the door of the diner, I can feel my face beginning to burn as well. I glance up toward the windows, and notice that while most of the women are staring at their menus or plates, the men are peering out the window. The one woman who is pointedly looking at us is the lone waitress. And she isn't smiling.

We approach the door, your arm around my waist. As you drop your arm from around me to open the door, you let it brush against me, reminding me to be on my best behavior. You reach for my hand, and we enter the diner. The waitress approaches us, ignoring you and coming directly to me. She puts an arm around my shoulders and (as my face turns the color of merlot) whispers in my ear, "Honey, are you all right or should I call somebody?"

By this point I'm grasping your hand so hard I think I can feel the bones being crushed, but I tell her that everything is all right, and that we would like the table in the corner if that's okay with her.

She escorts us to the table, and as I am gingerly lowering myself into the chair she asks, "What the hell did you do to deserve that?" "I was dreaming, and I thought Master's pinch to wake me up was a mosquito. So I slapped his hand. Hard."

She raises one eyebrow and asks if we need menus or if we already know what we want. You smile up at her and ask her to bring us both coffee, and to bring me a dish of strawberry ice cream. After she leaves, I ask why you ordered the dessert for me, and you reply, "Because you said all the right things, little one. You knew just what I needed to hear, and just what would make her understand that you really are okay. So a small reward seemed in order."

"Thank you." You reach across the table and once again take my hand as we wait for our coffee. "Now will you tell me where we are?" "No. You'll figure it our soon enough."

"That was for thinking I was a mosquito. And the next one is for slapping my hand." Again I open my mouth to protest - this is just too public, and all those people are sure to see what you're doing when you interrupt me with another swat. This isn't one of those friendly spankings that ends up with me moaning and begging you to fuck me. No, this one is going to make it uncomfortable for me to sit down for the remainder of the drive. Again your hand makes contact with me, each swat covering a different portion of my ass, so it will all be red and sore when you are finished. I won't be able to find a comfortable spot to perch on once you are done.

You keep swatting, and each time I make a sound you spank harder. I swear they can hear you inside the diner. I hang my head and just hope you don't intend to make me go in there when you are finished.

Finally you speak again, "One more and we'll go get that coffee." I wait for what I expect will be the worst spank I've ever received when I feel your hand gently rub my hot red ass, comforting me before you lower my skirt and turn me around to face you.

"Let's go and have that coffee now. I see that there is an open table right there in the corner."

I sit up a little straighter, with your arm still firmly around me, and try to catch sight of something that will give me a clue as to our whereabouts. There is an exit coming up, but all the sign says is the exit number, which tells me nothing because I don't even know which direction we're traveling in.

You signal that you're taking the exit, and slow down to leave the highway. I can see bright lights through the trees, so I am assuming you have seen a sign or something that indicated there would be coffee near this exit. We reach the stop sign at the end of the exit ramp, and I see it on the right - an old-fashioned diner, the sort that looks like an aluminum boxcar, with the windows all around. You pull into the parking lot and stop the engine. I sit up, preparing to get out of the truck when you tell me not to move.

I'm already in trouble, so I freeze where I sit, waiting until you give me the word that it is okay to get out.

You haven't parked in one of the convenient spaces facing the side of the diner. We are in the first space parallel to the windows, which strikes me as odd, but I imagine you have your reasons. You get out of the truck and come around to my side, standing between my door and the windows of the diner.

You open the door and unfasten my seat belt. You motion for me to get down from the seat, and as I do you move away from the door, exposing me to the diners.

"Turn around and put your hands on the seat," you command. Not here, I think. Please not here. Not in front of all these people. "No, wait. I think it will be more effective if I have you put your hands on the hood."

You lead me away from the door and close it, loudly. I place my hands on the hood of the truck, and close my eyes, waiting for whatever is about to happen. I feel you lifting my skirt, and turn my head, saying "Hey - " but I am stopped in mid-protest by the feeling of your hand connecting with my ass.

I close my eyes again, and your breathing and the motion of the truck quickly send me off into a deep sleep - the kind of sleep I used to get, way back when.

I'm dreaming, or at least I think I'm dreaming, and there's a nasty mosquito that keeps biting me. I swat at it, and miss. It bites me again and this time I get it. Stupid mosquito.

"OUCH" That wasn't a dream. And it wasn't a love tap either. My eyes fly open and I lift my head to see you glaring at me. I reach behind myself to rub the very sore spot on my behind, and you grab my hand and squeeze just a little.

"Whatever possessed you to hit me?" you growl. "But I was asleep. I thought it was that nasty mosquito I was dreaming about."

"That mosquito was me trying to wake you up for the past half hour."

Oh boy. I think I'm in real trouble now. "Are you too tired to keep driving?" I ask. "Not yet, but it is time for some coffee and for you to take over for a while so I can relax my shoulder a bit."

"How long have I been sleeping?" "Oh, about four hours or so." "Why didn't you wake me up as soon as your shoulder started to hurt?"

"Oh, and now you're questioning me?" Oops. I just keep digging myseof in deeper tonight. I may never be able to climb out of the hole I've just gotten myself into.

"No, Sir, I just don't want you to be in pain." "Oh, I won't be alone in that for long," you reply. "You're going to pay for that mosquito remark."

"But first, we need coffee."

I put my head on your chest and close my eyes, breathing in your scent and enjoying the feeling of being close to you once again. You begin driving, leaving the top level of the parking garage and heading down toward the exit. Your fingers are making a design on my hip, one that I can't quite make out, but that feels wonderful.

You slow down on the turns and I slide just a bit closer with each one. And your arm tightens around me, keeping me from sliding back when the truck pulls out of the curve. I can't remember the last time I felt this close to you, and I never want it to end.

The truck comes to a stop, and you reach across me to get something from the dashboard. Oh, yes. The exit. I think I might just have to pretend to be an ostrich and keep my eyes closed, hoping that my not seeing the attendant means the attendant can't see me. Of course I know better, but at least this way I won't have to acknowledge that he or she knows more about me than most people I've dated.

The attendant gives you your change and says (with great amusement in her voice), "You have a good evening sir. And you too ma'am."

I just want to crawl into a hole and pull the hole in after me, but you poke me and I manage to squeek out a "Thank you" before we pull away.

"You'd better get some sleep," you say as we get onto the freeway. "It is going to be a long drive." I want to object, to say that I don't need sleep, that I want to keep you company, but I know what you're really saying is that the drive will be long enough that in a few hours it will be my turn behind the wheel, and I had better be alert, because you'll need your rest by then.

"Yes, sir," I reply as I nestle my cheek against your chest and once again close my eyes. "Wake me up when it is my turn to drive."