Hot Pursuit (12 page)

‘You have a nasty habit of using the f-word,' Donald proclaimed.

Ginger closed her eyes and said nothing.

‘I consider it an irritation because you know I don't like indecorous language.'

A part of her wanted to argue with him and say she didn't fucking care about his dislike for indecorous fucking language. That same part of her wanted to remind him that they were supposed to be pursuing Lucy, and not simply catching glimpses of her, then slowing down with the hope that they would see her again soon. The urge to rebel – to forbid him from chastising her, and maybe even snatch the cane from his hands and hurl it toward the central reservation was almost irresistible. But because Donald was her master, and because she was his number one favourite, Ginger kept a rein on her temper and endured his reprimand.

‘I don't know why I waste my breath talking about it,' he complained wearily. ‘I've told you before that I consider vulgarities unladylike, yet you've never paid any heed to my opinion. It might be more effective if I just show you my displeasure.'

It was all the warning she was given.

Ginger had heard his words while watching the widening twin circles of approaching headlamps. The sound of the descending cane was lost beneath the whirr of a passing engine as it slurped wetly alongside. The stripe bit across her bare buttocks, her back stiffened, and she glared at the Morris's flat windscreen with defiant indignation.

Donald sliced another shot hard across the top of her thighs. It was a vicious blow, biting sensitive flesh and making her want to cry out in fury. The back of her legs felt raw and chafed; the heat from the punishment was a stark contrast against the rain's perpetual chill and she was stung by the first despicable shivers tingling through her pussy.

Ginger glowered silently as she suffered each stinging blow.

Caning was a discipline that she meted out to pets, or a punishment meant for inferiors, and she loathed being on the receiving end of such treatment. Worse than the discomfort, more demeaning than the anguish that burnt against her delicate flesh, was the exciting sparkle that every blow inspired.

It always started as a tickle of heat between her legs.

The moist lips of her sex had been chilled as soon as her thong was removed but the caning quickly changed that. The warmth from each stripe burrowed deep beneath her skin and from there its heat began to spread. The inner muscles of her pussy began to throb with building need. The bead of flesh at the
centre of her sex pulsed with its own deliberate tempo and she knew her body was succumbing to the hateful pleasure of being disciplined like an inferior.

‘. . . bad language will not be tolerated . . .'

A huge lorry churned past, throwing a lengthy backlash of rainwater in its wake. The growl of its engine, and the furious roar of its tyres churning along the wet road, drowned out most of what Donald was saying.

‘. . . don't know how many times I have to remind you of this . . .'

She closed her eyes as tears of rain trickled down her cheeks.

‘. . . and do not want to have to tell you again . . .'

She caught snatches of his words between the echo of crisp slaps from the cane. Donald's complaints came to her like a voice from the faraway end of a long tunnel. She had heard his reprimands a thousand times before, and would undoubtedly hear them a thousand times more. He could have spoken to her in a foreign language, or sung arias from those incomprehensible Wagnerian operas he adored, and she would have responded in exactly the same manner. This time he was claiming her coarse language had earned his displeasure but, in her heart, Ginger knew the real truth: Donald was disciplining her because he was her master. And she was enjoying it because she was his slave.

Ginger scratched her nails against the polished bonnet of the Isis, struggling to hold herself still and wishing she could remain immune to the lure of the chastisement. When he struck hard across her left cheek, stinging her with a pain that burnt like a branding iron, she curled one hand into a fist and pounded the polished steel.

‘Ginger!' he exclaimed.

She glanced up from her reverie, startled by the indignation in his voice, and dared to look over her shoulder. His eyes were hidden in the shade of his umbrella but she could see his frown was thunderous.

‘The bodywork!' Donald said, pointing with his cane. ‘This is a nineteen thirty-four Morris Isis. I can't just employ a panel beater to knock dents out. I need to find a craftsman to work on this machine.'

She mumbled another insincere apology but it was already too late for a retraction. Donald slashed his cane from side to side, emblazoning her buttocks with a criss-cross of furious weals. There was no time to snatch breath between blows, or acclimatise her body to the mounting arousal, because he was attacking her with relentless speed and force.

Ginger's pet blonde gasped in surprise.

An articulated lorry sounded its horn, the tumultuous bellow quaking across all six lanes of the motorway and beyond. The rain fell more heavily, the growl of faraway thunder rolling to them from distant hills. A cavalcade of headlamps and screeching engines tore past. The wailing siren of a police car screamed closer then shot away.

And all Ginger noticed was the furious burning that erupted in her backside.

The cheeks of her buttocks were coated with a latticework of stripes that blazed like liquid fire. The rush of encroaching heat was as powerful as Donald's sternest disciplines and it quickly melted the icy lips of her sex. Within seconds of him beginning to slash the crop hard against her rear he had excited a need that she couldn't resist.

Her pussy muscles tightened in a series of arrhythmic convulsions.

Remembering his warning, poignantly aware of what had exacerbated his anger, she stopped herself
from crying out and resisted the urge to beat her hands against the bonnet for a second time. Holding herself absolutely still, tolerating the punishment and loving every moment, she remained rigid as he took her to unprecedented heights of desire.

The descending arpeggio of his mobile phone played three times, breaking through her thoughts. Donald passed the cane to Ginger's pet blonde and then, without escaping from his umbrella's shelter, he stepped to Ginger's side.

She breathed deeply, trying to put the punishment and arousal out of her thoughts as he asked her to read the message for him. Not bothering to lever herself away from the bonnet, remaining bent over with her backside sticking out, she wiped one hand on the hip of her skirt and took the phone from him. Her fingers were shaking and it took an effort to hold the mobile and operate the controls but she managed the task because, despite the punishment, Donald was her master.

‘What does it say?' he asked eagerly. ‘Who's it from and what does it say?'

Ginger struggled to press the right keys then read the words from the glowing green screen. She already knew it was from Lucy: she had intuited as much when she first heard the phone's familiar ring. As she scrolled through the option menus her sneer returned when she finally found the message.

‘What does it say?' Donald pressed.

‘Run, run as fast as you can
. . .' she began.

He laughed and for an instant she loathed the genuine hilarity in his voice.

‘. . .
see you again in Wales,'
Ginger concluded.

Donald clapped his hands together and then his chill fingers stroked the swell of her buttocks in a seductive caress. Every blow of the wicked striping he
had administered was brought painfully back to life as his fingertips stroked the lines and weals of punished flesh. He roughly kneaded and stroked her wet skin, inspiring fresh heat in the deepening chill and effortlessly reanimating her arousal.

‘I told you there were two reasons for our pulling over.'

He hadn't asked a question, and Ginger knew better than to respond. She remained motionless, enjoying his touch and savouring the deep-rooted thrill that his caresses inspired. His palms were callused and abrasive, unnecessarily cruel against her aching rear, but perversely that only made her pleasure more satisfying.

‘I needed to punish you,' he continued, his hands still roving over her buttocks. ‘And I needed you to satisfy my excitement.'

She considered quelling her response, then realised there would be no point. Donald was easily able to excite her to the point of desperation and she could see no advantage in keeping her reaction secret. When his fingertips stroked the juicy split of her cleft, she sighed with obvious approval. As he slipped two fingers into the silky folds of her wetness she arched her back and considered begging him to take her. The nearness of orgasm was already so close she could almost taste its bittersweet flavour and she yearned for the sensation of having him fill her completely.

Her pet blonde inched closer, struggling to keep the umbrella over their master as he manoeuvred himself between Ginger's spread legs, but Ginger couldn't bring herself to acknowledge the inferior. She was desperate for Donald to take her and knew her body's arousal wouldn't stop aching until he had satisfied her need.

As though he was attuned to her unspoken demands, Donald released the zipper on his trousers.
Moments before his glans brushed her flesh Ginger could feel the furious heat radiating from his shaft. She braced herself for the sensation of having his length inside her and he tormented her for the briefest moment by teasing the swollen split of her sex. Then, as he plunged forward, she was rewarded by a rush of pleasure. His thick shaft thrust into her sex, spreading her muscles wide and scratching sparks of raw bliss from the sensitive walls inside. As he pushed himself deeper, burying himself all the way inside, they both groaned with the same carnal delight.

‘I'd forgotten how much pleasure the chase could be,' Donald murmured.

Ginger wasn't listening. She knew he would easily transport her to the precipice of orgasm and beyond and the prospect of satisfaction was no longer an issue. More important than her own pleasure – more important than her master's climax and far more important than the intermittent scream of passing vehicles – was the mobile phone that remained in her hand. She could still see the message that Lucy had sent and the words were an insult that threatened to spoil the pure joy of her arousal. As Donald began to ride slowly in and out of her pussy, she read and re-read the taunting words.

‘Run, run as fast as you can
. . .
see you again in Wales.'

‘I'll see you again in Wales,' Ginger thought sullenly. ‘And, when I do, you won't escape from me again.' She was suddenly struck by the thought of having Lucy cower beneath her – naked and on her knees – and begging for compassion. The image was so intoxicating that a fresh surge of arousal rippled through her sex muscles.

‘Ginger!' Donald exclaimed. His cry was unadulterated approval.

Lost in the prospect of the retribution she would exact on Lucy, Ginger didn't reply. The fantasy was so perfectly formed in her thoughts that she could almost hear the brunette screaming for mercy. She couldn't decide if it would be better to wield a whip or a crop, or maybe something as simple as the flat of her palm, but she knew she was going to teach Lucy a new meaning to the concept of suffering and she was certain there would be ropes and chains involved.

Another spasm of excitement racked through her sex.

Again, Donald cried out happily.

Her own punishment was forgotten, an unnecessary distraction that was easily put out of her thoughts, as she revelled in the idea of exacting Lucy's discipline. She squeezed her inner muscles around Donald's shaft and was elated when he ploughed more furiously in and out. The squelch of his repeated penetration was louder than the passing slurp of tyres rushing along the motorway and she tensed her buttocks as she tried to hold him tighter. From a distance she could sense that they were both close to their respective climaxes and she gave herself over to the punishing thrill of release. The orgasm came as Donald pushed himself fully into her hole, then pulsed repeatedly.

His thickness throbbed in a complementary tempo to her own breaking orgasm and his eruption was a scalding douche at the neck of her womb. They both groaned, meaningless sounds of gratitude and respect that were lost in the rainfall, before Donald finally pulled away. Ginger remained bent over the bonnet as he returned his spent length to his trousers. She heard him take the umbrella from her pet, then politely thank her for her assistance, before he patted
Ginger affectionately on the rump and returned to the car.

Behind her, shuffling nervously from one foot to the other, she could hear her pet blonde waiting patiently. ‘Mistress?'

Ginger didn't acknowledge her pet as she struggled to regain her composure. The orgasm had been powerful – overwhelming wasn't too strong a word, she conceded – but it had come at the cost of her dignity. She had thought the master sincerely wanted to recapture Lucy, and had believed they had half a chance of getting hold of her, but it seemed like Donald had no real intention of resuming his authority over the runaway favourite.

‘Mistress?' the pet insisted.

Ginger said nothing as the blonde helped her from the bonnet and began to brush her clothes back into a semblance of modesty. She helped her step out of the thong, throwing it further along the hard shoulder before smoothing her dress down and adjusting her cape. She was the perfect attendant, careful not to hurt the punished flesh of Ginger's backside or catch the stinging skin at the tops of her thighs, but Ginger made no attempt to thank her for the help. Her buttocks continued to blaze from the striping she had received – her inner muscles clenched and unclenched spasmodically – and it took a strenuous effort to stand without stumbling.

‘Are you all right, mistress?

‘I'm fine,' Ginger grumbled sullenly. The master's spend was dribbling down her thighs, coarsely reminding her of the way he had used her, and the pleasure she had reluctantly gleaned. Cursing silently, she bit on her lower lip until a thin line of blood appeared beneath her teeth. ‘I'm fine.'