The guy was a classic, like that black ‘66 Lincoln Continental he kept all for himself in one corner of the sprawling used car lot. He was around 50, with dark hair streaked white at the temples, clear grey eyes, a lush, red mouth, and a tall, lean body tanned a deep-brown. I was half his age, but I was hot for car-daddy.
He was one of the reasons I’d taken the job hustling autos around, washing them, cleaning up around the place. Him, and the fact that I was still tuition and textbook-shy of getting into my second year of college. My real father had decided I was old enough to support myself.
From the first day I set foot on the lot, I tried to be the best employee a used car dealership had ever seen. That might not be saying much, given the rep of the joints, but I stepped it up a notch, putting a shine so fine on the cars you could comb your nose hair in the mirror finish. I made sure there wasn’t so much as a pink slip blowing around the big lot, no garbage on display other than the “vintage” K-cars. And I was the fastest guy from garage to lot behind the wheel, 0-100 yards in less than ten seconds, depending on the job the mechanics had done in temporarily patching up the engines for resale.
And I got noticed by Mr Wallace Stern, and rewarded – a pat on my blond head and a pay boost from minimum wage to ten cents above minimum wage. That was after one month on the job. After two months of killing myself, me and my bank account were really still in no better shape; I was no closer to closing the deal with Wallace as I’d been when I started work.
I knew the guy was as queer as the warranties he offered on some of his wrecks, but I just couldn’t get him to take a look under my hood, get his motor racing. Despite the fact I was parading around in form-fitting tanks and shorts, letting the hot summer sun soak into my tight, toned chassis, sheen my lithe limbs with a glistening coat of sweat. I’ve got a cute little bubble-butt and a freckle-sprinkled face to match. But Wallace’s hands were too full running the car lot, apparently, to get them dirty on little young me.
So, at the start of month three on the job, with summer closing fast, along with my chances of second-year college, I opted out of the good kid program. If auto-man didn’t want to give me a ride, I was going to take him for one.
I started moving around with all the pep of an early-model Firefly, leaving streaks behind on the paint jobs after washing, letting garbage fly around the lot like the banners and bunting, grinding gears and trailing rubber whenever I jockeyed cars into sales position. I was already looking for a more permanent job, anyway, one that would take me through the fall, winter, and spring and, hopefully, into summer school the following year.
To give myself a bigger boost in that respect, I boosted some cash out of the showroom till on a couple of occasions. Nothing too much, just enough to allow me to get along with some kids my own age on the weekends. But the third time I tried it, Wallace put the hammer down.
‘What do you think you’re doing, Troy!?’ he demanded, suddenly appearing from around the corner of his office.
I’d thought everyone had gone home; I’d seen Wallace drive off in his Lincoln. But I guess he’d stopped and come back for something, and caught me green-handed.
‘I … I was just, uh, replacing some money I’d taken out for lunch. I know I shouldn’t have, but …’
‘Like hell you were! You were stealing, like you have on two previous occasions. Don’t think we haven’t noticed the shortages in the till.’
He glared at me, his hands on his hips. He was wearing a blue, pinstriped suit, a plum-coloured silk tie, black shoes as glossy as his Lincoln. I was sure I could outrun the older guy. So I took off like a VW Rabbit, accelerating past him and out the side door and along the building, headed for the fence and freedom in the field beyond at the rear of the lot.
But as soon as I hit asphalt, I spotted Wallace’s Continental idling by the garage, and I got a better, more vengeful idea. I skidded to a stop, yanked the front door open, jumped in.
Unfortunately, and surprisingly, Wallace had wheels of his own, besides his sweet ride. He caught up with me and grabbed me by the arm and yanked me back out of the car, suddenly all over me like he’d never been before. ‘I’ll teach you to steal!’ he rasped, swatting my ass with the flat of his hand.
I was jolted up straight by the blow. I’d never expected anything like that … never expected it to thrill me like it did. I was wearing a thin pair of jean shorts, and the man’s blade of a hand impacted my ass hard and heavy, and heated. I surged with sudden warmth, from my tingling cheeks on up and around, my cock leaping in my shorts.
‘You need to be taught some discipline, college boy!’ Wallace hissed in my ear. ‘And here’s your second lesson.’ He smacked my bum again, even harder this time.
I jumped up onto my toes, stung, stunned. My whole body flushed with shimmering heat, my cock swelling right along with the rounded flesh of my swatted bottom. I’d never been spanked before in my life, never before realised it could feel so exciting, erotic. Wallace gripped my left shoulder with his warm left hand, his right hand fanning pure exhilaration into my butt cheeks.
He smacked my ass again and again. Then he loosened his grip, thinking maybe I’d learned my lesson. But I was just getting educated; I was a bad boy, desperately needing the strong, guiding hand of a Stern daddy in the worst way. ‘Fuck you, old man!’ I sneered, making like I was trying to wriggle out of the guy’s grip.
His grip tightened, his straight, white teeth gritting together. He pulled me back, pulled the rear suicide door of the Lincoln open and flung me inside, jumped in after me.
We had a little more privacy inside the running luxury car, and Wallace used it to really lay down the law. He perched on the leather bench seat and dragged me over his knees, whacked my upturned bottom like I was a little kid. I gulped, jerked, the wicked blow feeling so sensational on my rump, shivering me with pain and pleasure. I draped over his legs and soaked up the flaming heat of his hand and body.
He gripped me by the back of the neck with one hand, raised the other right to the roof and whistled it down on my derriere. The cracking sound blasted the interior of the vehicle, easily drowning out the purr of the powerful engine beneath the hood. I shuddered with every strike, my cock pressing hard and throbbing into the man’s legs.
I’d discovered the wanton appeal of spanking quite by accident, and now I deliberately sought more sexual punishment. I twisted my head around and shouted, ‘Fuck you and the car you drove in on, asshole!’
Wallace’s face was already pink with exertion, and now it flared red with anger. He tore my shorts down, popping my trembling butt cheeks out into the open – just like I’d hoped he would. His bare hand smashed my bare ass, shooting me full of raw bliss.
He struck again and again, whaling my rippling mounds, battering them red as his face, hot as his temper. He only stopped when he finally noticed me undulating against his legs, pumping my pumped-up dick against his thighs.
That’s when his head cooled down enough to figure out that maybe I wasn’t quite getting the message he was trying to dish out. But he got my message, loud and clear. While he held his burning hand up in the air, I kept on pumping his legs, my butt and cock burning.
He lowered his hand, dropped it softly down on my bum, gently rubbed my battered cheeks.
‘No!’ I hissed at him. ‘Spank me! Teach me!’
He lifted his hand, smacked it down on my rump. He rained blow after blow onto my ass, shattering my buttocks, my conception of traditional sexuality. The car shook with his savage blows, like me. I was a length of molten steel over his knees, my ass the superheated core, Wallace the unrelenting blacksmith, hammering me into and out of shape.
I bounced on his knees, my cheeks jumping numb. My cock spasmed. I was ready to erupt. Which is exactly when wise Wallace ceased his beating, and got all touchy-feely with my glowing cheeks again. The guy knew when to hard-sell, when to soft.
He caressed my buttocks with his swirling fingertips. I could hardly feel it, yet felt it enormously, the tenderness amplified a hundred-fold after the beautiful brutality. He traced tantalizing joy all over my throbbing ass, then dipped his fingers into my cleavage, spreading my buttocks.
He blew cool air onto my blazing seat cushions, breathed warm air onto my exposed asshole. I shuddered across his legs, my head and body swimming with delight.
A finger slid against my pucker, and I moaned. His finger wiggled into my manhole, and I whimpered. He plunged deeper inside me, gripping my cheeks with his other fingers.
‘Fuck me! Please, fuck me!’ I gasped, unable to control myself. I wanted that mature man’s hard cock punishing my butthole, like his hand had punished my buttocks.
He pulled his digit out of my ass and then helped me get into position – knees on the backseat of the car, hands on the backrest. He crouched in behind me, and I arched my young bum at him, as he unfastened his suit pants and pushed them and his silk shorts down, drew out his stiff prick.
I stared back at his cock. It was as long and lean as the man himself, as smooth. ‘Spank my ass with your cock,’ I said.
He whacked my left cheek with his dick, my right. It was nowhere near as hard as his hitting hand, yet it was so much more intimate, his hood and shaft smacking the bare skin of my butt.
I dug my nails into the leather seat, biting my lip. He struck me with his cock again and again, shooting sparks through my ass wherever he impacted, making my own prick quiver with delight. My buttocks trembled uncontrollably, spanked in the most erotic manner possible.
Wallace at last stopped the wicked onslaught, drew some non-engine lubricant out of a pocket and greased his cock, my crack. His slender, slippery fingers glided in between my cheeks and rubbed, making me tingle from head to toe. Then tense, as he pulled out his fingers and pushed in his cap.
I reached back and gripped my cheeks, spread them. They were burning in my sweating hands, and I fully realised just how hard I’d been impacted by the man’s strong hand. I bit into the backrest, digging my fingernails into my blistered butt flesh and tearing myself open, begging Wallace to stick and stroke me.
His hood squished against my starfish, shot through, bursting into my anus. Followed smoothly and oh-so-sensuously by his long, hard shaft. He filled my ass to the max, cock stretching my chute, surging me with a wonderful warmth. Then he started fucking my bum, thrusting his prick back and forth in my anus.
‘Hit me! Spank me! Fuck me!’ I yelped.
He whacked my rippling cheeks with his free hand, other hand holding tight to my waist, cock pounding into my hole. I was rocked to and fro by the frantic rhythm of his banging, my body ablaze like my bum, brain melted down to a puddled mess of pure pleasure. I grabbed onto my cock and jacked, the spanking and spearing driving me wild.
Wallace hit harder, fucked faster. The crack of his hand on my ass, his thighs against my cheeks, became one, filling the sweating, rocking car and our ears. He rammed me in a frenzy, flailing my butt.
‘Jesus, yes, Troy!’ he cried, jerking in back of me.
I felt his cock spasm, shoot in my anus. Just as my own cock exploded in my fist. Hot sperm flooded my chute, hot sperm flying out of the tip of my prick. I danced around on my knees like I’d been hooked up to the battery of the car, volts of pure ecstasy shocking me over and over.
I collapsed down into his lap afterwards, and he held me tight, whispering soothing words of sweet love in my ear.
‘You’re going to be a good boy from now on, aren’t you?’
I kissed him full on his plush, red lips. I’d be going to college in the fall for sure now, I knew, and would work hard to get good grades. But I’d still need a good spanking every chance I could get.
So, I grinned evilly at Wallace, asked, ‘What’s the fun in that – Daddy?’