“A driver!” said Leah indignantly. “I don’t need a ruddy driver. I’ve just spent a month with Mum in Italy and she let me drive myself.”
“Watch your language! You should be grateful that I take care of you,” her father snapped back. “And I have spoken to your mother,” he added.
“Grateful! This is about you not trusting me. A driver, you mean a spy, to keep an eye on me when I start university.” Leah began to pace about the open space before the fireplace. The ancient stone surroundings seemed to echo her annoyance, projecting her voice far beyond the room.
“You have yet to prove to me, Leah, that you can take care of yourself. All that mischief-making at school.” Her father remained in his seat, unperturbed by her outburst. “I despair of your behaviour sometimes and this is one way to make sure you don’t come to any harm.”
“I don’t need anything from you, Daddy,” said Leah, wringing her hands together, trying a different tactic. “I’m nearly nineteen.”
“Your forthcoming birthday makes no difference. You don’t come of age until you are twenty-one and until then you are dependent on my allowance, and if you don’t accept my stipulations, you will find it greatly reduced.”
Leah’s mouth opened to say something about ‘unfair’ and ‘coercion’ and she thought better of it. Her lips pressed firmly together and she stamped out of the room as noisily as possible.
Her best friend had a completely different reaction to the news.
“You lucky cow,” said Jane, when she met Leah at their favourite pub. “A chauffeur!”
“I don’t need one. I can drive myself,” said Leah petulantly, tossing back another mouthful of wine.
“But just think, you can get drunk as much as you like and there will be somebody to drive you home. Don’t forget about impressing the boys,” added Jane with a wry smile. “The back seat.”
“True, I suppose,” said Leah, seeing a different light on her predicament. “No late night stinking buses or taxis either.”
By the time the evening’s drinking session ended, Leah had been converted to the idea of having a driver. Her imagination began to run wild as she envisaged turning up at the best clubs and bars: the car door would be opened for her and the admiring young men would gawp as her long legs eased out onto the kerb. She even overlaid a few popping light bulbs from flashing cameras to her picture. A new wardrobe would be required to add to the glamorous effect. Daddy’s allowance would stretch; it generally did.
She slipped in her agreement over dinner one evening as her father chewed on his steak and read the newspaper at the same time.
“Good,” he said with a nod and then buried his face in the business section. “He will start on Monday.”
Now Leah had something else to think about over the weekend—a mysterious chauffeur. She wondered what he would look like.
Shiny black shoes. So immaculately polished, even the blue sky above reflected off them. They reminded her of soldier’s boots—black leather buffed into mirrors. Her eyes tracked upwards and next came the drainpipe trousers. Black again. Now she was thinking of an undertaker or perhaps a police constable in uniform. The black jacket came to his hips and there were no pockets, just a line of buttons done up smartly and a thin tie. At least the tie was dark blue and the shirt white, no more black.
Leah had to hold her breath as she moved her eyes up his body, examining him, the vision before her improving with each passing inch. Narrow hips, flat belly, and then the delicious broad shoulders. Nothing brawny and he had a distinctive neck too. She hated the thick bulldog neck found on some beefy men.
Finally, she allowed herself to look at his face. Dark chocolate hair cropped short, darker than her own, and accompanying the hair, hazel eyes surrounded by long eyelashes. Eyes that were almost feminine in nature, as if a hint of mascara had been added to their outline. The handsome masculine cheekbones and square forehead saved him from such an inaccurate description.
She smiled at him. Then remembered she hadn’t intended to be so presumptuous. Having stomped downstairs and found the car waiting—a brand new Mercedes S-class—she had been determined not to be friendly or appreciative of the driver. It hadn’t been her decision and though her friends had given her ideas of how she could put the situation to her advantage, she remained piqued about her father’s request. No, not a request, an order.
The driver’s face didn’t shift in expression, his hands remained clasped behind his back and his feet firmly planted on the driveway. A younger man than she had expected. Her father’s chauffeur, a seemly ancient man with a craggy face, had been Leah’s role model for the position. She hadn’t envisaged a youthful man with handsome features and a tall, lean body.
Her tongue unconsciously ran around her lips, moistening them and she tilted her head slightly. She couldn’t help it; something inside her had begun to buzz and it made her body do things she believed she had no control over. Her throat constricted, narrowing as she swallowed; she felt flushed by a rush of pulsating blood and tiny goose bumps formed on the back of her neck; she shivered as if swathed in invisible coldness, even her scalp prickled spontaneously.
“Miss Andrews,” he said her name in a low voice. She heard more than her name, she perceived a quiet richness almost genteel overtures in his tone. She wondered if he would be a talkative driver or be like her father’s boring chauffeur, who so rarely spoke that as a child Leah had thought he had been a mute.
His hand came forward, and she almost hoped he would touch her. Instead, his long arm shot past her and opened the rear door. Leah peered down at the black leather seats, the silver trim and paintwork—brand new and in pristine condition. No expense spared by her generous father. At times like this, she adored her daddy.
Being chauffeured was not unusual for the heiress. Since childhood, she had been ferried about with her father, always together in the back of the car, sometimes chatting, mostly not. Now she tingled with delight; she had her own car and driver. Perhaps it wasn’t as bad as she had made out to her friends.
He held the door as she shuffled into the rear seat, adjusting her mini skirt as she went, not that she minded him seeing her long legs or her garter. Settling in the cool seat, she waited for him to take up position behind the steering wheel. He didn’t turn towards her as he spoke; rather, he chose to adjust the rear-view mirror so he could catch her in the reflection. His dazzling eyes stared at her.
“Where to, Miss Andrews?”
She could get used to this and she intended to have fun, plenty of fun. Six weeks to the start of her first university term and she was going to enjoy the summer of ‘65 being driven here, there, and everywhere. Liverpool wouldn’t know what had hit it. She didn’t care, he was going to drive her wherever she wanted, and with it came the freedom to be as wild as she desired.
* * *
For the next few weeks, Rick drove her almost daily, shuttling his young charge from home to numerous locations. Mostly nightclubs or wine bars, the tennis club, or the department stores in the city centre. Occasionally when the weather was especially good, he drove her and a couple of girlfriends north to Southport and the seaside.
While he waited for her, he drank coffee out of a metal flask and read books. Sometimes he stretched his legs and walked. He never missed her return, generally because she always arrived back later than she had promised. No, not promised, she never went as far as that, but he had assumed she would be a better timekeeper.
He sometimes frequented the backstreet establishments for food and a fresh drink, and he found the kind of greasy spoon cafés, which served badly presented wholesome food, sufficiently cosy for his needs. Around him were the locals, speaking in the Scouse vernacular, which he just about understood. His life had been spent mainly in the south, or occasionally abroad. Only the need for a job had brought him north to Liverpool.
She hadn’t even asked him for a name. That seriously pissed him off. A rude girl. An adult by age, but in maturity she still had all the habits of a teenage schoolgirl. Her friends weren’t much better.
He tried hard not to judge her. Her father may have paid for the car and a driver, but he didn’t spend much time with his daughter—he was too busy running a business empire. Gripping the steering wheel tightly on one occasion, he had listened to the girl’s stories of nights out with her admirers. He suspected she embellished the tales to impress her friends, but all the same, it troubled him to see how close she came to being completely out of control and wild.
Glancing in the rear-view mirror now and again, he would spy her face. Pretty with pale skin, dark hair, and brown eyes. Celtic colouring with typical northern attributes. Other things he noticed that proved harder to ignore—brash, loud, and happy to say what was on her mind, yet she spoke with a prim English accent, probably acquired through a posh educational establishment.
She had another side to her though. One he saw from time to time, more often when she was alone in the car. A soulful sad expression would drift over her eyes as she stared out of the window. Other times, usually with one of her friends called Jane, she let loose a wicked sense of humour. The girl had observant eyes and ears, a decent brain tucked away out of sight, and he would hide a smile as she joked. Two very contrasting sides of Leah Andrews and he was intrigued by her.
Over the weeks, his intrigue and desire to know more about her grew. He didn’t ask. It wasn’t his place and he stuck religiously to his remit: drive her and keep her safe. Her father, via an agency, paid him and it was to Mr Andrews he had to answer. Once a week, he wrote his report, noting the places visited, the mileage for the fuel, and the hours he worked. The details of his other agreement was left unspoken so the girl didn’t know a thing about it. She probably suspected though. Leah was being watched.
The bubble burst on her ignorance one week before she was due to start at Liverpool University. Rick had maintained a level of tolerance, but she had gone too far and he had finally had enough. Late back from a social event at her tennis club, the kind where nobody played much tennis but enjoyed drinking at the bar afterwards, she had on her arm, as she exited, a young man.
A lanky youth with red hair and a white polo-neck sweatshirt. Bowl-shaped hair, the style Rick’s father deplored, and fake army boots on his feet. Leah laughed excessively loud at his appalling bad jokes. Stumbling into the seats, she shuffled closer to the youth as Rick started the engine up.
“Home, miss? I assume you wish me to drop off your companion on the way?” He tried to make it sound like a suggestion, but it wasn’t what he was thinking.
“Oh, drive around for a bit,” giggled Leah. “We want to natter, don’t we, Clive?”
“Sure, sweetie, natter!” Clive laughed raucously.
“Excuse me, are you drunk, miss?” asked Rick.
“No! Clive here has been making me merry. It was a sobriety evening, raising money for Alcoholics Anonymous. So boring, wasn’t it, Clive?”
“Yeah,” agreed Clive.
The kissing began before Rick had reached the end of the street. In the rear-view mirror, he could see their tongues and their sloppy kissing. He grimaced at the frantic nature of the couple: no sense of passion. It was as the young man’s hand drifted down her front, fingering the buttons of her yellow blouse that Rick’s heartbeat shot up a notch. Kissing he could tolerate; roving hands had to be watched carefully.
Finding it harder to concentrate, he drove somewhat erratically. There was the familiar wildness in her eyes, the lack of thought at her predicament.
Clive released her lips. “Can we pull over some place, lose the driver?” he said brashly.
“Sure,” said Leah. “Find a quiet street, could you?” she called out to Rick.
Rick frowned and gritted his teeth. Crunch time was approaching. Over the past few weeks they had avoided this scenario; now it was coming to a head and she was about to find out exactly what her father expected from Rick.
* * *
Leah’s hair was tangled up in Clive’s fingers and he tugged a little on her scalp. It made her tingle, but not as much as the thought of the chocolate-haired driver, Rick. She knew he was called Rick Wilde—she had asked her father’s chauffeur. She often whispered the name to herself when she got home and tumbled into bed. Saying his name made her lower belly come alive and other parts of her too. The more she spent in his company, the more he seemed able to awaken her desires and fantasies. Yet he remained impervious to her. He hadn’t even told her his name. Why should she have to ask?
Attention seeking had become a preoccupation. He ignored her girlfriends, but he couldn’t ignore a fresh-faced virile youth touching her in the back seat. She uncrossed her legs and let Clive put his hand between them. The redhead sighed into her mouth and pressed his palm onto her sex mound. Leah jumped and glanced towards the mirror.
The other hand, the one nestled in her hair, began to tug harder, drawing her head down and away from his face.
“What?” she muttered uncertainly.
Clive’s roving hand withdrew from her crotch and began to fiddle with his zipper. Looking down, Leah could see an obvious bulge in his pants. He pushed her head further down.
“Pull over, mate!” barked Clive. “Can’t wait much longer.”
The car screeched to a halt in a cul-de-sac, nothing residential, and the surrounding buildings were shuttered. The streetlights flickered and Leah gulped nervously.
“I’m not sure, Clive,” she said, pushing back against his insistent hand.
“You said you would, promised me this evening.”
Leah stared at Clive’s lap, seeing a flash of hard pink flesh and then she heard the driver’s door slam shut. How could the man leave her alone? Perhaps she had misjudged him, perhaps he simply was nothing else but her driver.
She had been foolish, she saw that now and she shouldn’t have encouraged Clive to do something she had doubts about. Fantasies were one thing; reality was turning out to be something else. As she opened her mouth, not to touch him but to speak a protestation, the passenger door behind Clive flung open.
Clive shrieked like a girl as he was manhandled out of the car by the scruff of his polo neck. Leah gaped as a pair of strong hands dragged the younger man out onto the street, slamming him against the side of the Mercedes.
“You pipsqueak!” snarled her driver. “Off with you. You can walk home.”
“What!” shrilled Clive. “Leah, sweetie, get this gorilla off me!”
Leah’s hands trembled. She didn’t want to see them fighting and yet she was deeply relieved the driver had removed Clive from the car; things hadn’t gone according to plan. She hadn’t thought Clive would be so aggressive with his attempts at seducing her. Kissing and cuddling she liked, but she thought he had been joking about the blowjob, telling her he would donate money to the charity if she did it.
“Please, Clive, I think you should go,” she said, peering out of the door. Her chauffeur had him about the neck, not tight, but there was no doubt who had the upper hand.
“Alright, alright,” said Clive, backing down. “I’ll go. Another time,” he said weakly.
Leah wondered if the driver was about to hit Clive. However, his other hand remained to his side, tense but without a clenched fist. Slowly, her driver let him go and watched him back away, then scamper into the darkness.
Leah sighed, leaning back in her seat and shutting her eyes. The leather seat next to her creaked and she opened her eyes, startled. Rick Wilde had climbed into the back seat with her and shut the door.
“Are you OK?” he asked, keeping his distance.
Leah caught his eyes, barely visible given the absence of a nearby streetlight. Rick reached up and switched on the internal overhead light. The little bulb lit up the two seats and not much else. She blinked at him. His face confused her. There was annoyance, probably at her behaviour, but there was concern too.
“I’m fine,” she said in a strained voice. “I didn’t need your help,” she blurted out.
“I could have told him to get lost myself,” she said indignantly.
“Would you?” he asked, his hazel eyes holding her in his gaze.
Leah fidgeted with the edge of her skirt, picking at the hem. “Yes, of course. I can look after myself.”
“I don’t think so,” he said calmly.
“You… what’s it got to do with you?”
“Me, and your father, don’t think so.”
“My dad! I knew it, you’re spying on me.”
“Good job too,” he said. “Now, I think you’ve been very rude to me over the last few weeks. Never asked me my name. Keeping the back of the car like a tip with sweet wrappers and the like. And now, when I save your sorry self from a good-for-nothing, you don’t even say thank you.”
Leah blushed pink, her mouth opened and shut, trying not to take offence at what he was saying to her. “I know your name. It’s Rick. I didn’t think it was appropriate for me to call you that,” she said almost apologetically. Her skin kept bursting with tingling sensations. He had been paying attention to her and she had failed to notice. Now she recollected all the times he held doors open for her, called her ‘miss’ with a wry expression of near amusement, helped her with overladen shopping bags, and kept an umbrella above her head during the frequent showers.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I do appreciate you. I mean, your driving and…” she stumbled. “Thank you.”
“Good,” said Rick. “That is better, isn’t it? Because the next time you are discourteous to me or put your safety at risk, I’m going to put you over my knee, here in the back of the car, and give you a good spanking.”
Leah’s jaw dropped. “Spank me?”
“Yes,” said Rick.
“You wouldn’t dare,” said Leah, aghast.
He raised his eyebrows, arching them high into his forehead.
“It’s a bluff,” said Leah. “You’re just pulling my leg.”
“Shall we put that to the test, here, now?” said Rick, unmoved by her reaction.
“Here!” she repeated, looking out the window into the blackness.
“There is nobody about. Clive wanted somewhere discreet, so I delivered, except it wasn’t what he was expecting.”
“Nobody has spanked me before,” said Leah, her thighs locked tight together, hands gripping the hem of her ridiculously short skirt.
“Not the redoubtable daddy?” asked Rick.
“Certainly not! Daddy has never laid a finger on me,” she scoffed.
“Um. Perhaps that was unwise.”
Leah glared at her driver. “You shouldn’t say such things.”
“Nobody, eh? Not even at the fancy school where they taught you to speak properly?”
“The headmistress used a tawse on the hand,” said Leah.
“Sounds like you are familiar with that punishment,” remarked Rick, almost breaking his stony face with a smile.
“No, yes, I mean, just once,” said Leah, losing her confidence slightly.
“So, you think I’m bluffing,” said Rick, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t do tricks. Lie over my lap and I will prove it to you.”
Leah found his determination and unyielding manner disconcerting. It reminded her a little of her father, the way he would hold his bearing, speak with authority and with the absolute expectancy of obedience, not just from Leah, but all those he employed.
“Why? Seriously, why?” she asked.
“I want to spank you, Leah,” said Rick quietly. “Just so you know I mean it. I want you to stop chasing after the boys and behave yourself. You’re about to start university and you need to be focussed on your studies. Don’t you?”
“Yes,” said Leah. She had no idea what a spanking entailed; some part of her filled with curiosity, another screamed warning messages about the pain that might be involved and untested levels of trust needed by her.
“Then bend over my lap.” Rick shuffled towards the central seat, backing Leah against the door.
Turning to peer out of the window, her breath misted up the glass, adding to the layer of rapidly forming condensation. The air outside had become frigid, while the heat inside the car rose, filled by their warm breaths. She saw nobody out in the darkness and soon the condensation would form a natural shutter, a barrier for them to hide behind. Her chest heaved up and down, contemplating, wondering if it was a game on Rick’s part. A bored chauffeur looking for a little fun on the back seat, except he had been furious with Clive and genuinely concerned for Leah’s well-being. It didn’t appear to be a ruse on his part. The idea of being spanked by her rather handsome driver was blossoming into reality and taking on an alluring fascination.
“Do you want me to spank you, Leah?” he asked softly, his hands resting on his lap, fingers locked together. “On your bottom. Clothes on, of course.”
For a bizarre reason she secretly hoped he might have told her to lift her skirt or even pull down her knickers. However, relief flooded through her as she didn’t have to face the shame of being bare bottomed.
She hadn’t even said yes, but she began to shift her legs, twisting her body to face him. “No, but do it anyway if that’s what you want,” she said sullenly. Then her face dropped when she caught sight of his piercing eyes, covertly vexed eyes. Why was he having such a tumultuous effect on her? She couldn’t fathom an explanation.
“Lie across my lap and I will give you six hard smacks. Three on each cheek.”
She followed his instructions, sliding her body over his legs and finding her feet in one foot well and her head hanging down the other. His hand touched her skirt and she felt blood rush to her head, pounding in her ears. His fingers pulled the skirt down, ensuring her bottom was covered. Rick hadn’t lied about keeping her shielded.
A hand rested on her lower back, the other on her rear. A heavy hand, weighted down and patiently waiting.
“From now on, Leah,” said Rick. “I want you to keep this car clean, treat me with respect, and keep the boys out. No more flirting in the back seat. Understood?”
“Yes,” she squeaked.
The pounding in her head grew and she thought he too could hear it. Knees flexing, bunched together in the narrow foot well, she screwed her eyes tightly shut. Would he spank her, or was he about to toss her off his lap and laugh at her for being gullible and weak?
The slap gave her a jolt. His hand pressed down and even with clothes on, it hurt more than she anticipated. A grunt left her mouth, one of surprise more than pain. Her eyes sprung open—she was being spanked in the back of a car by her driver!
“Alright, Leah?” he asked, his hand on her smarting cheek.
“Yes,” she said breathlessly and added, “Please be gentle with me.” There would be no backing out on her part; Leah’s stubborn streak would not let her appear cowardly and she certainly had no intention of crying. She felt other strange emotions, new ones that circulated about her mind and body: these peculiar sensations, a sense of emotional arousal and bodily stirrings, which she assumed to be sexual, but as a virgin she couldn’t interpret and they were left unresolved.
“I will,” he reassured her. “This is your first time and I hope you will remember this day for years to come. Next one.”
Another whack—very palpable even through her clothing—and her hand clung to the car seat, holding her steady. Underneath her belly ached, uncertain how to decipher her virginal spanking. Instinctively, and without much conscious thought, she clenched her pussy and her eyes widened with alarm. What was happening to her?
The third landed where first had done and it added to lingering discomfort. If this was gentle, what was hard going to be like?
* * *
Rick paused after the third blow. He risked everything spanking Leah. His job, career, and reputation could easily be blown away if she opened her mouth and screamed. It wasn’t completely quiet outside, nearby he could hear traffic. They were still parked in the middle of a city.
Clive had been the trigger. The greedy boy, enticing his naive passenger with his tongue and hands. Then he had seen the expression on Leah’s face. She had not appeared keen. So, when her head had dipped down, Rick had chosen to act. She had been foolish to let Clive suggest they could be left on their own. It was never going to happen with Rick driving them. What if she had left the tennis club on foot and gone to some side street? Would she have ended up forced on to her knees while Clive ensured he got served by her? Rick couldn’t bear to think of the consequences.
The need to spank her and show her he was serious about her safety had happened instinctively. If her father kept his distance, somebody had to look after Leah. Putting aside other emotions, the ones he thought were truly inappropriate, he could not believe her willingness to agree to his offer. There she lay, over his lap with her pert bottom wriggling in some degree of pain and she had not moved, nor told him to stop, which he would have done if she had asked, and there she remained, languishing under his stinging palm.
His hand lifted again; he measured the distance, the impact and hoped it would serve the right purpose. The thud, as his hand landed for the fourth time, echoed about the Mercedes. A strangely satisfactory noise to his ears, one he had not heard for a while. The temptation to peel away her skirt, to peek at the flesh below, flitted through his mind. Her childishness reminded him how young she was; he might be in his mid-twenties, but she was a teenager—a near woman, fully formed physically, under-ripe in other ways.
The fifth and sixth blows made her restless, jerking her bottom up and down, unsure about where to put herself—bent tauter or stretched out. When the spanking was finished, he helped her up and she managed to sit without any difficulty. There were no tears in her eyes. He guessed he hadn’t spanked her that hard enough for her to shed them.
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?