The Biker...Punishment

He'd texted her last night, asked her to meet him. It sent a shiver through her just to read the words. Just to imagine what if...but she made some excuse; conjured up an Italian class. She couldn't let him become too much of her life. She had to protect herself. It would be madness to let him get right under her skin. Not him. He was too dangerous.

The next day he asks her to wear jeans and flat shoes. The text comes seconds before the school run and she makes her daughter late running back upstairs to change into her Levis and a pair of Gladiator sandals.

He's in the car park as usual, although this time on a bright yellow two stroke Suzuki 125 dirt bike. She grimaces. It looks like a kids' bike. She can tell he's annoyed at her disappointment and she turns her face away to stop him seeing the blood rush to her cheeks.

They walk in silence to the woods. No tea. No talk. What am I doing here, she wonders to herself as she remembers the pile of housework at home, the emails that need answering, the accounts that need sorting.

"So, where's the Ducati?" she finally asks.
Nothing.
"You know, I don't even know your name...." she tries again.

He doesn't reply, but instead leads her through a mass of brambles until they hit an ancient Oak. A tyre is hanging from one of its branches, swaying gently in what breeze manages to get through the undergrowth around them.

"Bend over it," he growls. She knows better than to say anything else by now, but instead threads her body through the tyre and looks down at her toes in the sandals beneath.

"No collar for you today, I want you to feel this as you are."

She gasps as he roughly pushes his hands under her belly and tugs at her zip, before pulling her jeans and knickers down her thighs. He doesn't even touch her arse before he smacks, one sharp smack following the one before, first on one cheek and then the other.

Every time she she feels his hand swing back she stiffens, the tyre swinging madly by now as she writhes beneath him.

"Keep still," he orders. "Keep your feet on the floor. Every time that tyre moves I will add three more with this." He waves a stiff twig in front of her face. She knows instinctively it will hurt so much more than his hand.

And it does. Without the electricity of the flesh to flesh contact, the thwacks from the twig are real, tangible pain that leaves a stinging sensation so fierce it draws tears down her cheeks as she tries desperately to keep the tyre still.

Eventually, she feels herself go limp and he stops, only to come around to the front of the tyre. There, he picks her head up by her hair, twirling a twist of it into his hands. As he pulls it he squats and kisses her. And that honey touch of his lips makes up for every particle of pain she has had to endure. The invasive grope of his tongue makes her stomach lurch and her hands reach out for him, but he steps back.

"Now then, Italian student, what is "my owner" in Italian...?"
She thinks desperately for a moment.
"Mio Padrone?" she half-asks.
"How the fuck should I know...but I like that...it sounds right. From now on, you are only to address me as Mio Padrone...you understand?"

She nods.
"Pardon?"
"Yes, Mio Padrone, I understand."
"Good, now where were we..?" He lifts her, positions himself on the tyre and draws her onto his lap where they sit, her legs wrapped around him, her head on her shoulder. They drift gently, no sound to disturb them except the creak of the rope above as it holds their weight.

Eventually, she rouses herself out of her dreamy state and they make their way back to his bike. She looks at it: small and smelly, with no real room for a passenger. She's disappointed that she isn't going to be getting a ride today. She has been looking forward to it all week. He is looking at her with what looks like a glint of amusement in his eye. The sadist.

"Come on," he says and he almost bounces his way over the bike. They walk it out of the car park and into the forest until they come to a wide dirt track.

"Sit," he says. She makes herself comfortable on a log, as comfortable as she can possibly be given her sore backside. He kickstarts the bike and careers off into a show of his skill; standing on the footpegs and leading the off-roader through a series of manouevres that make her smile. He looks like a kid with a secret; young and vulnerable. It's a side she never imagined she would see.

He squeals up in front of her.
"So?" he says, removing his helmet.
"So?" she replies. She's a little bored now; she's had enough with his showing off.
"So....are you gonna get on it or not...I'm going to teach you how to ride!"

She jumps up, very aware that this time it's her that's grinning like a kid.