He sits down, and she goes to her knees in front of him. He takes her hands in his own and kisses them. They look into each other's eyes for a few minutes, treasuring this moment of anticipation. Then, without a word, he gently lifts her hands upwards. That is the signal that she must now stand up, and lie across his lap.She lowers herself over his thighs. She nestles in, finding the most comfortable position. She relaxes, relishing the feel of his body under hers. He lays a reassuring hand on her shoulder. With his other hand he gently caresses her upturned bottom.Her weekly spanking is her real life: not her job, nor her family, nor her friends. It is only on Sunday afternoons that she truly comes alive. This where she belongs. She now is where she wants to be, where she needs to be. Over his lap she will receive the one thing from life she most craves. She will find her pain, her release, her intense pleasure, and her escape. This is where she will redeem her meaningless existence. She moved her hand from my lap and began stroking the gearstick suggestively. I pretended not to notice, but out of the corner of my eye, I could see her teasing me. She took off her seatbelt, and bent over to the gearstick, where my hand was. I could feel her warm, hot breath under my hand as she licked and sucked her way up and down the gearstick. My cock grew harder and harder. By now, we were out of town, heading towards the leafy villages, where the hotels were. I saw the signs for a country park. "Pull in here" she said. I asked why. It was a strange request. Why did she want to go into a country park in the middle of the day while it was pissing down so heavily? I pulled into a space as she unzipped my fly. As she took my throbbing cock out, I began to open her shirt, massaging each of her soft warm breasts. She pushed her head down towards my lap and began sucking my cock. I lay there, motionless, unable to speak. My eyes rolled back in my head as she massaged my cock with.
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