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My Little Runaway

By: CaitlyCate



It was all that I had left of her. One photograph. The rest of her suddenly left one day, and I was alone. She took everything with her when she disappeared. Like a whirlwind, she swept up all the memories and her things and carried them with her out my apartment, out of the city, and seemingly, out of this world.

I guess she forgot about the photograph. If she had remembered it, she would have taken that too. I kept it in a desk drawer in my home office. When bad days happened and my creativity evaporated into the smoggy city air, I took it out and grabbed a towel. I was always careful and never let it worsen from pristine condition. It was my favorite photo of her. She was stunning. She was a goddess in that shot. My friend took the Polaroid. He specialized in erotic photography. He set the stage for my girl to be the star in that perfect black and white.

She got all dolled up that day. She wore heavy, charcoal liner that accentuated her deep, blue eyes. Unfortunately, the photo wasn't in color to capture those sapphire irises. Nor did it show the sinfully scarlet lipstick that stained her perfect lips. But I could tell how light her hair was. Her naturally blonde hair fell over her shoulder in huge, glamorous waves. Her jet black "naughty attire" -- as she called it -- contrasted against her pale, unflawed flesh. A tight and very expensive corset encased her voluptuous breasts and tiny waist. Garters divided her lovely, petite ass; the black stripes connected daring lingerie to racy stockings.

It was a huge change, yet she looked comfortable in the smutty garments. She ditched the long, cotton dresses and the simple braid she wore everyday for all nineteen years of her life. She loved feeling the air against her skin and the wind whipping her hair around. It was the taste of freedom she was looking for.

I had to whisper that word to her often. "Freedom," I said when she hesitated. "Freedom," I said when she was too scared to try. "Freedom," I said when I saw Satan reeling her in. The fun started when the devil finally claimed her soul. It was the same word I whispered to her when she ready to pose for that photo. She breathed deeply, nodded, smiled as the devil seduced her, and then laid her body over my lap.

The angle of the picture was slightly high. All anyone could see of me was my downward tilted head and my right open palm set about twelve inches above her ass, ready to strike for the second time. Her head was cocked back; her eyes were trying to look behind her at my threatening hand. There wasn't fear or pain in those eyes. They were innocent, pensive, and curious. She was dealing with the overwhelming feeling of sexual pleasure settling in instead of wincing from pain. And what the photo also didn't show was the fresh, pink handprint I marked her with seconds before.

The rest of the story of that photo remained branded in my mind like how the photo was branded on that Polaroid paper; both would stay forever. But as time slipped by, it seemed to be a vivid fantasy. The photo was the only proof that she existed. It was the only thing that made that summer real.

One month after that night, she was gone. It was a miserable two months after. I mourned her loss by downing every bottle in my liquor cabinet and getting so drunk that I was crying her name over and over. It took a while for the sharp pain in my chest to subside. Ever since I came home that night to find her missing, I felt my body flare up in physical agony. She packed up the plain clothes she came in and took the trashy apparel with her. All the makeup, pearls, and mementos were gone. It was as if she wanted me to forget her.

The photo was my savior. Without it, we were nothing. I thought she would stay and stay with me forever. That's what I assumed the night I took her. She seemed so happy. We seemed to be connected. I never knew a woman so willing to be spanked as I was willing to spank her.

The temperature was gradually dropping to the lonely, frosty winters I've endured before. I spent most of my time looking out my window, trying to find motivation as I watched New York turn from summer to fall. My typewriter had seen more action that summer than any other, even with her around. She wasn't that much of a distraction. She was my muse, my creative energy. After she left, my writing suffered to the point where typing a coherent sentence was a struggle.

I thumped my head against my desk. There was no hope for my career, not with her still in my head. I chucked my pencil across the room and swiped my notebooks off the desk in a small tantrum. I was losing money. I was close to not being able to pay my rent. I needed her beside me. I pulled open my drawer and grasped the photo in both my hands. My frustration made me tremble and almost made me crumple the picture. I let it fall from my hands before I could damage it. One last desperate option flashed in my mind. I knew what I had to do.

With a nod, I tidied up the mess I made. I was going to find her and bring her back to where she belonged.

In less than an hour, I had my bags packed. I gathered my maps and notebooks. I searched my memory for any clues that would lead me to her. Her sexy lips muted the words that came from them. I could barely hear her when she spoke. I could only concentrate on her lips, breasts, and ass. Finding her was going to be a hell of an adventure. I had very few leads.

On the way to the garage to my crappy, barely used car, I made a mental list of tips that would help me. Once inside my vehicle, I opened one notebook.

Instinct told me to start heading west. I grimaced at my shitty car. I didn't know how many miles it had left in it. I had no money to buy a new one and no way to trade it in. The radio buttons were sticky, the heater barely worked, the a/c was just as useless as the heater, and the grimy driver side window was almost stuck in place. My hand hurt like hell trying to roll it down. It didn't have any of the bells and whistles they have now. My piece of shit from the early eighties was severely made fun of. I told all of my wealthier friends to fuck themselves. It was only 1995. Give me some time to catch up with technology.

And how I wished technology was at a place where I could easily search for her. I wish there was some console where I could type in her name and the car would whisk me away to her, only by punching in a few words.

I pulled the cap off my pen and started to write.

"Brittany..." I wrote at the top and underlined it. Then I crossed it out. That was her nickname, the one we chose together, the name of her alter ego.

"Angela..." I wrote just below it.

Angela what? I strained to remember her last name. She only told me it once when we met. I thought it was something Irish...

Or German...

Or French?

I skipped the last name and wrote down her physical details.

"Light blonde hair. Blue eyes. C cup boobs." I tapped my pen on the paper. "Gorgeous smile."

Next, I wrote a heading titled: Family. She spoke little of them, but those details I remembered somewhat clearly. She grew up in a strict, religious family. Amish? Mennonite? I couldn't recall. I knew her father sent her to the real world for a summer to experience the sin around her. She told me he was confident she would fly back to their pious nest after the summer had ended. How could he have been so right? She was never happier -- she told me that.

Pennsylvania was my first try. Maybe I would find her somewhere in the Amish country. I threw the notebook aside and started the car. I peeked at a map and headed west. I hoped luck would be with me and that she was really that close all along.

After a few hours, I turned south as recollections started to come back to me. At Philadelphia, a memory sprang to my mind of a conversation we had that made me turn away from Pennsylvania.

We watched the sunset on the roof of my building until the sun had gone completely. She shivered as the cool breeze picked up piercing through the summer heat. I put my arm around her and held her close.

"The lights are quite pretty here, but-"

Partially drunk, I unintentionally interrupted her. "Are you even allowed to use lights at your home? Do you shun all technology?"

She turned to me, lips pursed. "I never said I was Amish or anything like that! My father is just deeply devoted to his faith." She added a strange afterthought. "No one dresses like us from where we're from."

The hint was an enormous clue to me. She wasn't in a religious community; that erased a few small possibilities. The bad news was that she could be anywhere.

I got a hotel room in Philly for the night. But as I lay in the dark, my mind wouldn't relax. I needed my rest before I could continue my search, yet my mind kept pushing me to get going. Jerking off released some of my pent up frustration. With her photo in my hand, I gave it everything I got. The release subdued my physical energy enough for me to sleep.

~

Most of my dreams were jumbled and random, but a few clear ones provided some more hints. One memory of her stuck out through the mess of dreams that night.

Brittany stood at my window, palms pressed on the sill, taking in the sights of the city. "It's a beautiful day today," she said in a sing-song voice, talking to herself.

I peeked up from my typewriter. "It's fucking hot as hell."

She shook her head, rolling her eyes. "You don't know what hot is."

I laughed in a wicked, mocking way. "You don't know what hot is, my dear. If you keep interrupting my work, your little ass will be quite heated."

She strolled over and leaned over my desk. Her big, wavy hair fell over her shoulders. Her cleavage met me at eye-level. "I don't believe you."

That little taunt earned her time over my lap.

I brought myself back from the past. That day was one of the best with her. She was feisty. I loved it when she playfully prodded me into pinning her down and letting her have it. I could have played that game all day long with her.

I sighed and looked at the map. Ohio was my next destination. I just had to keep moving until the clues became clearer.

While driving, her words played in my mind. She specified living someplace hot, hotter than a summer in New York. Was it humid or was it dry heat? Like a desert? Or like Florida?

Before I got too far on the road, I steered south to Miami.

~

I spent the next couple days hopping from one state to the next, aiming for Atlanta. My car started to rattle in Tennessee. I held my breath, hoping to make it to a big city before the damn thing broke down. I skirted around South Carolina. I knew for sure she wasn't there. I told her I grew up just outside of Charleston and she became animated with questions about the coast...

...the EAST coast.

I wanted to bang my head on the steering wheel for forgetting such a significant detail. I headed for Atlanta just to stop and rest. I was almost there anyway. I felt some kind of relief that I eliminated a huge chunk of the USA. But that meant going west. My lovely automobile rumbled violently just as I pulled into a hotel. I ignored its protest.

While eating a convenience store dinner, I studied a map. My mind punished me with jeers: why didn't I listen better? Was her ass that tantalizing that I couldn't focus? Was I that confident and stupid believing she would stay with me forever?

I went to bed, pissed and more upset that I couldn't focus.

~

My car thought it was hilarious to scare me the next morning by refusing to start. At the second turn of the key, it roared with laughter. The prank made me want to kick it to death. I decided not to worry about breaking down. If it happened, it happened. I would deal with it then.

New Mexico was my next destination. If I had no luck there, then I would move on to Arizona. And if not there, then California. My gut feeling told me California was a waste of time. I remembered how enamored she was with glamour. She went on and on about movie stars and their apartments in New York and beach homes in Los Angeles.

To make her happy, I bought her a fur coat and a string of pearls to give her a taste of sophistication. My fury burned thinking about her disposing of those elegant and costly items. All of that money down the drain. If I found her, the brat was going to get it good for destroying those things.

"Not California," I said in confirmation. She had never been to Hollywood. She admitted that she never came close but said that she always wanted to go. I remembered the grin on her face when we talked about Hollywood.

"And I want to live in a big beach house!" she said and hooked her arm into mine as we strolled through Central Park. "I would give anything to see mansions right on the sand." I smiled at her childlike dreams and held her closer. "I would just want to see beach sand," she said with a frown. "And the beach."

California was huge, but I took that as a sign that she didn't live in the Golden State. Who lived in California and never saw a beach? Since the chance was small, I didn't pursue it.

What was left? Nevada?

The stinking motel I stayed in was pricy for its low quality. Being in the middle of nowhere, they could rob desperate and weary people looking for a place to stay. My cash was running low. So was my patience. My annoyance with her made everything else gloomy. I hated Texas, but I couldn't come up with a reason why. I just did. My car didn't take to Texas either. It sputtered the whole way through yet purred in New Mexico. I took turns cussing at it then gently encouraging it.

My anger kept rising. I needed her more than anything. I hated the hide-and-go-seek game she was playing with me. My memories were the only tools I had to whittle down the US to where she would be. But they stopped coming to me. I gave into my darkening mood and spent a little cash on booze. My drunken state embarrassed me as I spent the night hugging the bottle and crying.

My attitude continued to worsen the next day. A lost family asked me for directions to the Grand Canyon. I gave them the finger. Later, I regretted retorting with a comeback, something about their blindness in seeing my New York license plate.

I needed a release. I needed to spank her for all the grief she had caused me. Suffering from mental anguish, I stayed on the road, hoping a clue would appear.

~

I made it to the California border.

All my hope to find her had been in vain. The country was too vast to find one person. Memories of her had faded into the abyss. I stared at the photo and shook my head in despair. I didn't know where to go from there. The California desert didn't entice me to explore the state further. The palm trees, beaches, and California sun only a few hours away couldn't revive my spiraling mood. I decided to drown my sorrows in gambling, booze, and a kinky woman or two. I headed to the most depressing and exciting place on the planet -- Las Vegas.

But the action along the strip couldn't raise my spirits either. I cruised along, eyeing the grand hotels and the bustle of tourists in the afternoon. I started to search for a place to stay. After parking in a lot, I walked the streets. The only reason why I kept my head up was to stare at the massive hotels and peek into their doors. The lights of the slot machines caught my eyes. The sounds of the jingling of jackpots could be heard from the street. Cigarette smoke wafted from the doors. It was an overload of the senses, yet all couldn't tempt me into joining in on the fun. The sin didn't look that welcoming at the moment.

I asked natives and tourists for the cheapest hotels. I ended up far from the strip in a crappy motel. Once I threw my bags in, I decided to head back just as the sun was setting. I pocketed forty bucks, five nickels, and seven quarters all for gambling with an additional thirty for drinks. The two hundred in my other pocket was for a woman, if I happened to find one. I was hoping that woman would allow me to play rough so my fetish would be sated.

The volcano spectacle in front of The Mirage pulled me into its casino. I took my time at the slots and spent a few minutes at the blackjack tables. I went through three drinks. And in three hours, I lost every penny. I exited the loud, smoky room and inhaled the air outside. The neon lights surrounded me. It was damn beautiful. I walked along the strip, slowly sobering. When my legs had enough exercise, I headed back to my car. I tried the key ten times. My car responded with silence.

"No..." I broke down in sobs and gripped the steering wheel. I banged my head into it. All of my anger came out in uncontrollable tears. I never felt that helpless in my life. My brain was too tired to create a plan. Crying was the most favorable option at that moment.

I jerked in surprise at the knock on my window. A woman with long, black flowing hair peered through with a concerned look on her face. I blinked away some tears and rolled the window down.

"Hey there, hun. You ok?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine." My eyes couldn't help looking her up and down. Hundreds of sequins sewn onto her skimpy dress sparkled even though the lights in the garage were dim. They had me mesmerized until I came to my senses, realizing her profession.

"I'm sorry. I'm not interested tonight."

She cocked her head. "I'm an exotic dancer, not a hooker."

I turned my attention to the dashboard in front of me. "I apologize. I'm not having a good night."

"Apology accepted." She leaned over and rested her arms on the door. "What's the matter with your car?"

"It's a piece of shit."

She giggled as she looked it over from front to back. "I can see that." I barely smiled and rubbed my forehead. "Would you like a ride somewhere?"

I usually turned down aid, politely, unless it was forced upon me. I started to shake my head.

"Ah c'mon. You sound like you need some company tonight -- not THAT kind of company -- just someone to talk to." Her offer sounded good. "Tomorrow morning, I'll help you get your car to this mechanic I know who can fix anything. But for tonight, you need a place to rest."

"I've got a room already," I said, gradually giving in.

"Then, we'll go there." She opened the door and extended her hand. I took it.

~

"So, what brought you here?" The exotic dancer sipped at a water bottle and sat on the bed next to me.

"A woman," I said and got up. I pulled back the heavy drapes covering the room's window.

"You came all this way from New York for a prostitute?" she asked with a mocking smile.

I shook my head. "Not just any woman. And I never said she was here in Vegas."

"Where is she then?"

I sat back down and stared at the lights outside. "I don't know. I somehow ended up here after giving up. She's gotta be close. I just don't know where exactly."

Lydia folded her hands on her lap. "Tell me what she's like."

I did. I told her the story minus the spanking part. I didn't need the kind soul next to me to judge me and call me a pervert. She listened, rarely interrupting. After my story, I returned my sight to the window. I studied what I could see. The strip, gloriously lit up, was a beacon in the empty desert around it. I saw the airport and wondered how much it would be to fly home. I thought about ditching the car. If someone could get it running, they could steal it without consequences.

The plane landed in front of a lit up pyramid set at the beginning of the strip. "What's that?" I pointed. "The pyramid."

"The Luxor. Just opened up a couple years ago, I think." Her eyes didn't hold the same amount of awe that mine did. It was massive, tall, and drawing me in. 

"Is there a way to get to the top?"

"Um..." she squinted, trying to recall. "I don't know if they let just anyone at the top. I could be wrong."

"I gotta do that. What a view that would be."


My Little Runaway



She laughed. "They're building an even taller one. It's like a skyscraper. I guess they're going to let anyone to the top. The name is Stratos...something weird like that. You'll have to come back when it opens."

I stepped up to the window, still entranced with the pyramid. I broke away and observed the street below me. My eyes snapped back to the pyramid when I saw a woman on her knees, servicing a man in the alley.

"Is this city that crazy?" I asked.

It was as if Brittany said those words through me. I remember her asking me that every time she saw something wild in the streets of New York. She didn't seem offended. She just shook her head as if she was used to being surrounded by sin although she disapproved of it.

Lydia joined me. "Believe it or not, these people are the normal ones," she said, referring to the participants in the blowjob in the alley. "There are some here trying evangelize everyone and save the world. I don't know why they keep coming. They're brave and stupid 'cause they keep getting shut out."

A glimmer of a memory flickered in my mind. But it was fleeting, and I couldn't keep up with it.

She kept speaking as I followed the trail of the disappearing recollection. "Like there's this one guy -- sort of a local legend. Preaching Pete. Talk about being on a mission for salvation! He's somewhat nice and reasonable on some days. Others, he's uptight and all fire and brimstone." She smirked. "One of his goals is to get to the top of the pyramid and shout the word to the people."

I turned back to her as the memory I was grasping for became clear.

I remember many sirens had passed by my window. Something exciting was happening a few blocks away. My little fan, turned up to the highest setting, tried to cool Brittany and me. We were both naked and over the sheets. She stroked my chest as she laid her head in the crook of my arm. Neither of us could sleep. My massive boner was preventing me from rest. She suddenly stopped running her nails over my abs and pulled away.

"What's wrong, kiddo?"

She tucked her arm in and cuddled next to me. "Homesick."

"What are you missing?"

It took her a while to answer. "I miss my family."

I closed my eyes. I didn't want to hear those words. I was afraid at that moment that I was going to lose her. "Tell me about them," I said without thought. I just wanted to keep her sweet voice talking.

Her drowsiness was kicking in. Her speech was hesitant. "I wonder if Papa made it to the top of the pyramid."

"What pyramid?" I said and laughed. Her cryptic speech always entertained me.

"The one that's all lit up. We can see it from our porch. He stares at it all the time."

I held her tighter. "Silly girl. Talking nonsense again. Did I whip you a little too hard earlier?"

Her response was to kiss the side of my torso and breathe deeply as she fell asleep.

I understood what she was trying to tell me all along. She was going to go back. Nothing was going to stop her. But the hints she dropped, the sometimes obvious clues that I ignored, should have alarmed me to her intentions. She wanted me to find her. She needed me to search for her.

Lydia was studying me with a strange look on her face. I sat next to her. "Do you know where the preacher lives?"

"On the outskirts but not exactly where..." She saw the look on my face. "Oh! You found her!" Her eyes lit up and smiled encouragingly at me. I stood and pressed my palm to the window. She was somewhere out there and not far away at all. Lydia stood next to me. "Tomorrow I will help you find her. I don't have to be at work until evening." I nodded, submitting to logic. There was nothing I could really do until the sun rose.

~

When I woke up, Lydia was already up. Phone to her ear, she smiled at me and twirled her finger around the cord. I used the bathroom and came out as she put the phone down.

"I made a few calls. I might have an idea where she is." She waved at me to come closer. On the desk was a map of Las Vegas. "There's a huge property, a ranch, where the preacher and his family live. It's just right out of town. No one knows exactly what they do there. But I guess it's huge and hard to miss."

My heart started thudding in my chest. My mind became foggy. I didn't know what to say to her if I found her. My nerves made my mouth dry. I filled a cup with water and chugged it down. Lydia watched me fidget then gave me a warm smile.

"You better hurry up and get decent."

I trembled and sighed. My fear haunted me. What if she denied who I was? What if she ignored me? How would I explain who I was to her father?

My anger of her running away grew stronger. The furs and pearls she stole were my leverage against her. She wasn't expecting me and the fury I brought with me. She had to pay. I had to make sure of that.

I couldn't sit still as we circled Vegas, searching for the ranch. Every once in a while, I checked the strip to make sure the pyramid was still in view.

"Could this be it?" Lydia pointed off the road. I snapped back from the pyramid to the ranch. She pulled up to the front gate. I got out and shielded my eyes from the morning sun. I saw cattle and horses in the distance and a modest house not that far away. I saw a woman, in a plain dress, and carrying a basket walk into the front door. My heart pounded wildly. I had no idea if it was her, but I knew I was in the right place. No one dressed like that in Vegas.

I turned to Lydia, smiling, and leaned in through the window. "Thank you for all of your help."

"No problem." I turned my head back to the ranch. "Want me to wait for you?"

I shook my head. "Naw, it's ok. I'll just walk back to the city. It's not that far."

"I hope everything works out for you."

I reached my hand in and shook hers. "Thanks again."

With a smile, she put her car into drive. "Good luck."

I waved as she drove off and turned to the gate. It was open a quarter of the way. I took that as an invitation to go up to the house. As I walked along the dusty driveway, the desert sun made my already perspiring body worse. I felt dizzy from its heat and from my nervousness. I realized that I would have to explain myself to her father. He suddenly became the most intimidating man on this world.

As I approached the house, I wiped my palms on my pants and took a deep breath. I was hoping she would be the one to answer the door. I was hoping that she was at least there. I rang the bell and hung my head. Twenty seconds later, the door opened halfway. It wasn't the girl of my dreams staring back at me. It was a man in his sixties eyeing me dubiously. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, I'm looking for Angela."

His eyes narrowed and looked me up and down. "What business do you have with Angela?"

As I was about to answer, something caught his eye behind him. He looked back briefly then back to me. The door closed a little more. His body blocked my view into their home.

"I, um, met her in New York." His eyes squinted more, but he waited patiently for me to continue. I exhaled, straightened my back, and looked him in the eye. "I believe she has some things of mine."

His hand tightened on the door. "Like what?"

"Furs, pearls, some risqué attire."

He shook his head. "My daughter wouldn't be touching those things."

I stood taller. "Well, when she left to come back here, suddenly all of those items went missing from my apartment. They were quite expensive. I remember, the day before, she mentioned that she needed money to get back home." Her father turned back again. "I know she stole them. I have no idea what she did with them, but those were several paychecks worth of valuables." His eyes met mine; they were full of disbelief and shock. "I want them back."

The door opened a little more as he turned to the entryway. "There has to be a mistake. My daughter isn't a thief. She knows better than to do something like that."

I looked past him to the interior of the house. My little runaway stood rigid and frightened. When her eyes settled on me, they were full of anger, shock, and fear. I couldn't believe she was the same woman. Her faded, pink dress covered all and her lovely, shiny hair was in a dull braid. She couldn't have been the naughty girl I once knew.

"Did you steal these...items...from this man?" her father asked with wide, terrified eyes. Hers were wider. "Answer me, Angela."

She could have lied and denied who I was and probably would have gotten away with it. Her father was having trouble comprehending that his angelic daughter would do such a thing. But she swallowed hard. "I did, Papa." I swore his eyes popped out of his head.

My anger hadn't subsided at her confession. "Where are they?" I asked evenly.

The fear paralyzed her to speechlessness. "Angela..." her father warned her.

"I," she said in a small voice, "I threw them in the river."

Her father exhaled sharply and ran his hand over his balding head. His lips tightened as he looked at her. He turned back to me. "I am very sorry for my daughter's actions. Please, tell me how much the items were worth, and I will work on paying you back."

"That won't be necessary," I said, glaring at her.

"I believe all debts and sins need to be paid."

She trembled as I spoke. "I want her to pay." Before he had a chance to speak, I cut him off. "Sir, I would like permission to punish your daughter." He raised an eyebrow. I checked on Angela. Her pale skin was whiter than ever. Her father looked back to me. I could see his mind was considering my proposition.

"What do you have in mind?" he asked and folded his arms in front of his chest.

I had to lie. It was my only chance. "I grew up in a very conservative household such as yours. Although I may not seem to be the type, I find myself constantly going back to my family's ways. Now, when I was a child, everyone including my mother, ended up over my father's knee if we broke the rules. That is how we dealt with sins and debts." Angela looked ready to faint. "I don't know what happens in your home, but the debt would be settled if you allow me the opportunity to give her the spanking I believe she deserves."

Her face was flushed. She took a step back. I kept my face as serious as possible. "Please, Papa, don't let him." He turned back to me, head cocked, still contemplating. It was my only chance. I didn't have a Plan B. He nodded, slowly, searching my soul. It seemed that he approved of and trusted me.

"You may use the shed. You have fifteen minutes."

"Papa!" she protested. He turned to her with a glare and let me in. I smirked as I grabbed her arm. "Papa, don't! Please!" With a firm grip, I dragged her out the door. She glanced back at him as if he betrayed her.

I found the shed in the distance and headed for it. "You really got yourself into this one...Brittany," I said, still grinning with sarcasm.

"How did you find me?" she asked, her voice full of disdain.

"You should know. You left me the clues." She exhaled in a short huff and tried to keep her head up. "Why did you leave?"

"Why do you think?" she snapped.

"I thought you were happy with me."

"I was," she said, trembling.

My anger only increased. "Then why did you leave?"

"I had to go back to my family." I shook my head, not satisfied with her answer and kept towing her along. "You seriously aren't going to spank me, are you?"

"What do you think?" I mocked her. "You suddenly just left. I need to get my fix. You need it too no matter how hard you try to repress it." My grip made her yelp. "And I'm pissed that you threw away those gifts."

"Please don't," she whined.

"Stop faking it. I know you're fucking wet," I said and threw her in the shed. I closed the door partly to keep in some light. I saw an old, gone-to-hell couch inside amongst gardening supplies and wood.

Tears in her eyes, she turned to me. "Please don't."

"What are you afraid of?" I asked and held her wrists. She stomped her foot and tried to break away from my grasp. "What?" I asked louder.

"I'm afraid of falling in love with you again!" Her tears fell quickly down her blushing cheeks.

My eyes closed. "Brittany -- Angela -- you broke my heart. It wasn't fair. You have to pay for that."

She violently trembled. "I can't do this."

"Why?"

"Because I'll like it."

"And why is that a problem?"

"I'll want to be back with you."

"So?"

"I can't go back to the sin."

"That's not the real truth. What is it really?"

She managed to break away and wrap her arms around her. "It was fun. But I'm humiliated at the thought that I love being spanked by you." She ducked her head. "It's not natural."

I cupped her face in my hand. "The only one who knows is me. And I don't care. I love it. I love doing it with you."

"And the sex we had..." She moaned, recalling every sinful thing we did together.

"It was meant to be. We were meant to be. And I'm not leaving without you."

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not going. And nothing you can do or say can convince me."

I leaned in and snarled into her ear. "Wanna bet?" I equaled her glare and caught her wrist. She tried to tug away as I led her to the couch.

"Nooo ..." she whined knowing her fate was sealed and that I was much stronger. Pinning her down wouldn't be a problem. I sat, and in the same motion, threw her over my lap. Her arm twisted behind her to block me, just as she did the first she was bent over my knees. I held her wrist to her back in a strong embrace. "Don't you dare!"

Her tantrum was wearing on my nerves. I flipped her skirt over her back. Her legs started to kick when she realized I was going to strip away any protection from my open palm. She grunted and squealed, kicked and squirmed, and I hadn't started. I bunched up the slip and yanked her panties down with one hand to her knees. Her perfect, petite ass was exposed and waiting to be colored to a rosy hue. My cock was hardening as it wiggled back and forth.

"Stop struggling, love. It will only make it hurt more."

She jerked violently. "You better not fucking put your hands on me!"

"Whoa! There's the bad girl I remember!" I could see her transform before me. Her internal devil was strongly tempting her to submit. I knew she wanted it. And I knew once I got started, she wouldn't be able to resist. I stuck my hand in between her legs and swiped her slick clit. Her body tensed, and she moaned. I laughed. She was wetter than she had ever been. "I know you better than anyone. Don't think you can fool me."

I lifted my arm, then lifted it higher. It wasn't a sensual spanking. It was punishment. I had to make it hurt. I had to let her know how pissed I was.

I dropped my arm and smacked the left side with a loud crack. She jerked under the first slap and then calmed her body. I heard a soft, drawn out moan. Her breathing then came in quick huffs. I knew her cunt was leaking. My handprint burned brightly on her ass. Before, I would have rubbed it a little to help with the pain. But my anger was still brewing within me. I was determined to make her cry in pain and remorse.

Two seconds later, I brought my raised hand down on the right side. She squeaked and her breathing had not changed. My girl was in heat and welcomed both slaps. I struck her again. After each couple seconds, I landed another spank to her blushing behind. I took my time, gradually building up to a second between each slap. The severity of the spanking slowly increased.

At ten strikes, she started to tremble as her rage returned. "Stop. I don't want to do this." I knew what she was frustrated about. The slow and steadiness teased her.

"I know you like it hard and fast, but I'm not spanking you to make you happy. You're being punished. And I'm going to take my time. I've got ten minutes." I struck her harder than I ever had before. My palm stung. Her yelp was almost a scream. "Don't worry. I'll be going hard and fast soon. And you won't be sitting for quite some time after."

She made an exasperated 'tuh.' It was a challenge. I ignored her rudeness and started in on her again. I smacked her, hard, one for every two seconds. She grunted and shifted. It was already the hardest she had to endure. And her pleasure seemed to dissipate as the whipping got harder. I felt her body jolt. I could feel that she was ready to take off running.

My grip on her arm was tight. I squeezed it as a warning not to try anything. I kept spanking her hard and steadily. I wasn't ready to bring true fury upon her ass.

"OW!" Her cries got louder. I could tell by her voice she was in pain, yet it wasn't close to tears. Solidly continuing, I finished warming her up with three very hard smacks. Her hand gripped my leg. She screamed a little. She trembled and gulped. Her hand let go.

"Are you ready?" I asked.

"For what?" she snapped. Obviously, she felt no guilt. She pressed her palm to the ground, about to push herself up.

"For me to start."

"What?" she squeaked in shock. While she was busy trying to find a way off my lap, I laughed sadistically. "I hate you! I will not just lie here and take it!"

I laughed harder. "No you don't and you will." I leaned over her. "Just submit, Brittany." She sniffled, about to cry in anger. "Angela..." I growled in her ear just as deep and unnerving as the devil himself.

"Go to he-OW!" she screamed as I furiously brought my arm up and down across her marked ass. "No! Stop!"

I drowned out her cries with the quick popping noises of the smacks. My lips tightened. My eyes narrowed on the cherry-colored blotch. I put my full concentration and effort into overlooking my tingling palm.

"I hate you!" she yelled and reminded me at least ten times during the spanking. I responded with strong slaps that promised bruises. No tears had dropped. Her stubbornness was stronger than I had ever imagined. Little petulant screams that perfectly mimicked spoiled four-year-old girls came spewing from her mouth. It fueled me to keep going. Her immaturity and high-pitched wails made me wince. Her heated ass should have produced tears. I underestimated her will. The ugly side of her was unattractive.

My sweet yet provocative young woman was replaced by a squirming, childish, brat who began cussing at me. Her true nature came through with each 'fuck you' she hurled at me. The monster I had pinned over my knee was getting louder. I felt myself losing. I promised tears, yet I was closer to producing them because of the pain in my hand. I focused more intensely.

Smack! "I fucking hate you!" Smack! "Go to hell!" Smack! "You're an asshole!"

I gritted my teeth and blocked out the pain of my numbing hand. I was never going to let her win.

A sharp pain scraped my shin. The brat scratched my leg. Her nails clung onto the wound, close to drawing blood. I yelped and she laughed the most sinister snicker I had ever heard from a woman. I took my beaten hand and yanked on her braid. I brought her hair back, exposing her neck. She shrieked in fear then in pain at the sharp tug. She went silent.

"Want me to take my belt off and spank you with that too?" I screamed loud enough to possibly reach the house. She trembled. It was the signal that meant I won. I felt her submit to my threat. She knew she had nowhere to go. She knew it would only get worse. She knew that I was pissed and wouldn't hold back. Her head shook violently. "That's what I thought." The authority I had over her felt amazing. The playful spankings meant nothing now. The roughness was what I have craved but was too afraid to try with her. It caused a painful erection. I shoved her head down.

My palm was killing me. I shook the pain out and started again. I smacked her again and again as fast as possible. Her yelps reduced to dry sobs. She quivered, trying to cry. I was hearing only smack, smack, smack and very little of her.

"Cry, Brittany," I whispered. "Do it."




My Little Runaway



Her body shuddered violently as the tears expelled from her eyes. Giving in to her weeping, she lay still and limp over me. She took it with no more pleas or insults. Her shame and the pain had finally broken her.

My time with her was almost up. I made the most of it by landing the hardest spanks I could to her scalded flesh. I had to catch my breath as I kept my hand cupped to her hot ass. My cock wouldn't soften. But I had no time to take her as much I as I wanted to. I let both of my arms drop. She sobbed and stayed bent over. My anger had vanished. My hand started to rub her spine, avoiding her ass. She didn't deserve for me to rub away the pain. But she did deserve my forgiveness.

I panicked thinking that was the end and I would never see her again. I knew that I couldn't take her with me. I sighed. I had to let go. My chest tightened. I felt alone again.

I swiped her clit just for the hell of it. Her cunt was saturated. She had come multiple times and moaned as I made contact. I smiled half-heartedly. "Up," I commanded her. Shaking, she stood and hid her face in her hands. I tugged her skirt back in place and wrapped my arms around her. "Come with me," I begged one last time.

Her fists grabbed my shirt and tightened in frustration. "I can't."

I held her despite my heart ripping apart. I couldn't let her win. I refused to. It couldn't be the end. "I have to take you back to your father now." She nodded and pulled up her panties. After she fixed her skirt, I gripped her arm and led her back to the house. Head down and arms wrapped around herself, she opened the door. I followed her into the living room where her father sat reading a book. He rose and showed no emotion.

"The debt has been paid, Sir," I said with a straight spine. He nodded, yet I didn't leave. "I have another request." I looked at Angela. Her red, glossy eyes looked longingly at me. I turned my gaze back on her father. "May I please marry your daughter?" 

His natural reaction was to cross his arms. His suspicious eyes looked me up and down again. I stared back, not intimidated. His hand went to his chin. Both of us looked to Angela. Her eyes were no longer wet with pain but with hope and disbelief. A subtle smile crossed her lips. 

Her father didn't seem ecstatic about my proposal. "Will you be taking her back to New York?" he asked.

"No," I said and kept my eyes on her. "I'm moving here. Her family is important to her. I respect that."

The truth seemed to win him over a little. "Angela?" he asked.

Her smile widened. "I would like that, Papa."

"I can take care of her. I think I've proven that," I said.

His eyebrows twitched. "Perhaps, but I'm not ready to hand her off to a stranger." He studied me more intently. "You have a year to impress me. Don't make me think any less of you."

"Thank you, Sir," I said with as much humility as I could muster. Angela raced toward me and threw her arms around my neck. I watched the scowl on her father's face as he walked out of the room. "You thought you could get rid of me?" I asked softly. She shook her head, smiling sweetly. "And I'm gonna stay here with you for the rest of our lives as husband and wife." I lowered my voice more. "And I'm gonna vow to put my beautiful woman over my knee when she needs or wants it. I promise to spank her raw until she gets off." Her lips parted and her eyes closed. A small moan of desire escaped her lips. "Promise me you will never runaway again."

I was everything she needed. She confirmed that with a whispered, "I promise." I believed her. The pain in my chest finally disappeared. It was meant to be. We were meant to be.