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This is an all-new story exclusive to my site - hope you like it!

Roadhouse

This is a fantasy rather more than a story, and one which is special to me. It was my first really involved submission fantasy, and it kept me in orgasms for years, in innumerable subtle variations. Occasionally it still does.

Like many of my fantasies, it doesn't belong in the real world, but one in which spanking and humiliating girls is considered acceptable, when necessary, and amusing in a rather casual way. This does not mean the girls like it.

Let me explain, as this is essential to the fantasy. Imagine a man, a very ordinary man. He is middle-aged, not particularly attractive, not particularly anything really, just ordinary. He might work in a factory, or a shop, maybe he's unemployed, but in this case he can be a park keeper. Each day he does his little round, inspecting his flowerbeds, pinching out the occasional weed, moving sunbathers off the grass, and so on. Like anyone else, he has several pet irritations: pigeons, dogs, kids on bikes, and schoolgirls. Most of these are intractable, but he can do something about the schoolgirls - he can spank them.

They're from a sixth form college nearby, and many cross the park on their way to and from a local station. Some are well behaved - polite, considerate and respectful. They never get touched; there is no injustice in this, no abuse. Others are not so well behaved - cheeky, noisy and disrespectful. They pick flowers, leave litter about, walk on the grass. They are the ones who get spanked.

Oh, and their knickers come down for it, always. This is done to make the spanking more painful, and to humiliate them, but it is also completely normal. When a girl is spanked, she has her knickers pulled down. How else could it be? The man knows, the girls know. They hate it, but they know.

Now this is important. It is not a big deal to spank the girls, except to them. Nobody minds the sight of a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old girl with her red tartan skirt pulled up and her big white panties down around her thighs as she's given a good firm whacking. It's normal. It's a perfectly reasonable thing to do. If she's naughty, she can be spanked, by anybody who feels she will benefit from the discipline. Sure, it's erotic, to see her bare bottom and maybe even glimpses of pussy and her anal region. Men will watch with a mixture of righteous approval and excitement. Younger women are scared, nervous, but they also find it rather funny, as long as they're not getting it themselves. The girl's friends will certainly stay to watch, and giggle at her plight, even if there is a fair chance of being grabbed by other onlookers and given the same treatment themselves. Older women understand the necessity of it, and tend to smile as they watch, thinking back to their own bare bottom punishments, and the good it did them. Just occasionally he will take an unfortunate girl into the bushes when she's red bottomed and contrite after the punishment, to give her a good fucking or make her suck his cock. That's normal too, no big deal.

So that's the world. Our park keeper probably spanks two or three girls a week, and regards it as a chore as much as a perk. The perk is the sex. Girls expect bare bottom spankings if they misbehave, certainly until they're around thirty, and older if it's really necessary. Sure, there are people who argue against the practise. The League of Morality think it's indecent to pull the girls' pants down. They also argue for the use of canes and paddles to make it hurt more. Dignity for Women don't think it should be done at all. Nobody takes any notice of them, they're obvious cranks.

Otherwise, everything is as we know it. I'm me, a little more cautious perhaps, but essentially me. I'm also a goodie-goodie, one of the polite, respectful girls. I've never been given a public spanking, and I'm very superior about it. I do know that the idea turns me on, but that is an embarrassing and well guarded secret.

As I say, there are innumerable variations, according to circumstances - my age at the time, what's been going on in my life, and simply where my imagination happens to take me. Only the beginning stays the same - I'm on my way to the West Country, driving, on my own.

In this case I'm thirty-two, really too old to be spanked, independent, confident, in control of my life. It's summer, and I've taken a cottage for two weeks, two weeks of absolute relaxation. Reading is hot, noisy and smelly, and I'm extremely glad to get onto the open road. There's a brief incident as I go around Basingstoke, when a man in one of the big new Jaguars cuts me up on a roundabout. He's sixty odd, fat, balding, and obviously harmless, so I indulge in a bit of mild road rage when I catch up with him, giving him a most unladylike V-sign through my window.

The A303 is surprisingly clear, and I put my foot down, touching one hundred on the dual carriageway. Mr Baldy is going my way, and tries to proclaim his masculinity by racing me, only he doesn't have the guts to run the speed cameras, and by the time I pass Stonehenge I've lost him.

The next hundred miles is a breeze, except that my petrol gauge is dropping at an alarming rate, so that by the time I get onto the Honiton bypass, I'm seriously wondering if I'm not going to run dry. Fortunately, there is a new roadhouse, providing full services, and I pull in. It's nearly lunchtime, and despite the primitive and cholesterol-rich menu I decide to eat - egg, beans and chips.

I can see the car park from where I'm sitting, and I do feel a touch of apprehension when a familiar black Jaguar pulls in beside my yellow MG and Mr Baldy steps out. Not much: after all, I'm a grown woman. He pauses to look at my car, frowns and comes towards the door. He sees me even before he's opened it, and from the sudden change of expression on his face I know exactly what he's thinking. He's going to try and spank me.

I just panic. It just doesn't happen, not to me. Other girls may get their knickers pulled down in public for punishment - the stupid ones, the clumsy ones, the lazy ones - not me, and certainly not at my age!

'So,' he says, 'it's the brat in the sports car. How fortunate. Now I can teach you a little lesson.'

I've stood up, and I'm looking around, desperate for an escape route. Unfortunately there's no way out. He's blocking the door, his bulk impossible to pass. Everyone else in the diner has caught on, and they're all looking at me. Nobody, but nobody, is on my side. The manager is looking both amused and interested, as well as blocking the rear door. The waitresses are giggling behind their hands, and the customers are mostly looking at me with disapproval, as if I deserve it!

'No,' I say firmly. 'This is not going to happen.'

'Oh, but I think it is,' he answers me.

He is not going to be put off. I back away as he approaches, trying to edge around a table. A waitress goes to the door, to hold it shut, smiling at me knowingly. I change tactic.

'No, please,' I stammer. 'I'm sorry, I really am, just not this, please... I'm sorry, okay?'

'You will be, presently,' he says.

I take another step back, but somebody takes my wrist. I glance down, to find a middle-aged woman looking at me.

'You'd better take it, love,' she says. 'No doubt it's deserved.'

'It is not!' I squeal.

Talking to her is a big mistake. Mr Baldy moves in on me, surprisingly fast for such a fat man. The next instant I am being dragged down as he sits in my vacant chair. I scream like anything, really struggling, out of my mind with fear, and shame, and awful, awful consternation. It's going to happen. After all these years I'm going to get it, in public, bare-bottom, and everyone is against me!

For all my struggles, it is hopeless. He is far, far stronger than me. I'm screaming at the top of my voice, kicking my legs in a furious effort to get my heels to his face, biting and scratching at him, completely losing my dignity in my efforts to get away, and failing completely. I'm pulled down, across his lap. My arms are pulled up into the small of my back and twisted hard, until I'm in serious pain. I'm still screaming, and trying to bite, but they deal with that.

'For goodness sake, shut the little brat up, will you?' a man calls out. 'Some of us are trying to eat.'

'At once, sir,' the manager answers him. 'Sandra!'

At his order the waitress who shut the door on me quite casually reaches up under her short red skirt, fumbles her panties down, and off. Mr Baldy laughs as he sees what is to be done to me, and take me by the hair, forcing my head back.

'No!' I squeal, my last word before the waitress's panties are stuffed into my open mouth.

They're pushed so far in that I'm left gagging, with just a tiny scrap of pink material hanging out from between my lips. I try to spit them out, but she's ready for that, or she's done it before, to other unruly female customers, or maybe had it done to herself. She's wearing a red ribbon in her hair, to match her uniform, and she pulls it loose, using it to tie her panties into my mouth.

I'm helpless, in pain, panting through my nose for breath. Sandra's panties taste of her sex, filling my mouth, and adding to my awareness of what is about to be done to me. I'm still kicking, but the middle-aged woman puts a chair over my legs and sits down on it, incidentally providing herself with a grandstand view.

'Now, now love, it doesn't do to struggle,' she says coolly. 'Do try and take it like a lady.'

It's easy for her to say. She isn't the one bent over some fat old bastard's lap and about to have her bottom exposed for a spanking. I can think of a dozen good answers for her, but all I can manage is a muffled gurgling sound through Sandra's panties. I want to tell them it's unfair too, that I'm in the right, that it is completely unreasonable for me to be spanked. I can't, and they'd just laugh anyway.

So it happens. I get spanked. Mr Baldy has been patient while the others help to subdue me, keeping my wrists well up my back. With me gagged, and fixed in place, he sets to work. First, there is something truly awful, something utterly humiliating - the exposure of my bottom. It is also something I know will happen. It always does.

He is horribly, horribly matter-of-fact about it. My little dress is turned up, onto my back, revealing the slightly over tight, black lace panties I'd chosen that morning. They're high cut, and see-through at the back, enhancing the roundness of my bottom, and hinting at my crease. I like them - they make me feel sexy and confident - but they were never, ever intended to be put on show, not like this.

I'm almost in tears by the time they're showing, but what comes next breaks me completely. Mr Baldy's thumb goes into the back of my fancy knickers, and down they come, as if the exposure of my naked bottom is of absolutely no consequence whatsoever. That's the trouble. It's not. It doesn't matter. I'm just a brat, and I'm about to be a spanked brat. My knickers are down because they need to be, because it's normal to pull a girl's panties down for spanking.

That doesn't stop Mr Baldy taking them down far enough to make absolutely sure that my pussy will show during my punishment. I burst into tears as they are everted around my thighs, snivelling miserably in humiliation, and the next moment it has started.

He's hard, rough, and fast, slapping his hand down on my bouncing bottom with a severity out of all proportion to my supposed crime. It really hurts, and it has me kicking in no time, and making stupid snuffling noises through my gag. I'm vaguely aware that I'm in danger of losing my dignity completely, that I'm making a thoroughly unladylike show of myself, but it hurts too much for me to do anything about it.

That's not what my audience seem to think. Even through the pain of my beating and above the sound of my bottom being slapped I can hear their comments, and not one is sympathetic - "What a brat!" - "Really, at her age you'd think she would have a little more self control." - "And tears too, pathetic!"

All of it comes to me in a haze as my bottom's spanked, but it does make it worse, adding to my burning shame and the hot tears now coursing down my cheeks. The humiliation is appalling, and I know I'm showing from the back, my pussy, and even my bumhole as I buck and wriggle in my wretched, useless efforts to escape the pain. I just know they're all staring up me, the women in amusement or disgust, the men wondering how it would feel to get an erect cock sheathed in my body.

How long it goes on I have no idea. It seems like forever, but the horrible feeling of being bare-bottomed over a dirty old man's lap in public never dies, even in the extreme of my pain. I'm still aware of myself, of my nakedness, that I'm showing far more than I ever would on the beach, and that I have no say in the matter at all. There is also the awful, certain knowledge that my pussy will be juicing up as I'm beaten. Sure enough, before he's through with me, I can smell my own sex. So can everyone else.

'The dirty bitch!' Sandra remarks.

There are murmurs of agreement. The bald man gives a grunt of irritation, and lays in even harder, putting all his force into my punishment. I lose control completely, thrashing and bucking, my bottom pistoning up and down as my cheeks bounce to the slaps, my anus now on blatant show, my panties stretched taut between my legs, my head shaking in desperation. I'm blind with tears, dizzy with pain, my bottom ablaze, truly and thoroughly spanked.

By the time he's finished I'm completely broken. All the fight has gone out of me, and I just feel sorry for myself, utterly miserable, and also contrite. I climb unsteadily to my feet, still bare-bottomed, but really too far gone to care. Once Sandra has untied her ribbon and pulled her now soggy panties out of my mouth I even say sorry to the man who has just spanked me, in between sniffs as I rub at my sore red cheeks.

'I expect you'll think twice before showing any impudence next time,' he answers me. 'Well?'

I nod miserably, still stroking my poor, abused seat. My buttocks feel rough and hot, my skin thick and sensitive. My fingers are shaking as I touch myself. I've always wondered how a spanked girl felt, and now I know.

'Good,' he says, and turns to pick up a menu, as if the awful ordeal he's just put me through means nothing at all.

I have just about enough dignity left to pull up my knickers and smooth down my dress, that is all. Nobody is paying attention any more anyway. Why should they? I'm just a spanked girl, no big deal. I go to the counter to pay, still nearly blind with tears as I rummage in my bag for my credit cards, only they're not there. I have no cash either. The manager looks at me, his expression gradually turning to annoyance. Eventually I give up the search.

'I can't pay!' I announce. 'I've lost my cards!'

He sighs, as if he'd expected it all along. I'm flustered, unable to think straight after my spanking, and can't think of anything sensible to say or do.

'Do you have any cash?' he says patiently.

'No!' I answer. 'Well, a few pence... not enough. I'm sorry. I had my cards this morning, I know I did! Look, it's only three ninety-five, isn't it?'

'Put her in a cubicle for half-an-hour,' Sandra says from behind me.

I turn to stare at her, open mouthed. I know what she means. I know exactly what she means, not that I would ever admit to it. It's supposed to be quite common in the country, for pubs, and roadhouses like this one. There'll be a room at the back, where a waitress or maybe the boss' daughter will go in the evenings, to suck men's cocks for a few pounds a time. Sandra probably does it herself, to get the customers in and make a little undeclared income.

Normally I would be outraged at the suggestion. Normally I would give them both a piece of my mind and storm out, threatening to expose their sordid little sideline if they dare to call the police. Normally I haven't just been given a bare-bottom spanking.

So I go, my head hung, allowing Sandra to lead me by the arm, round behind the counter and into the back. Behind me I hear a murmur - disgust, amusement, interest. They know.

The room is more or less what I expect, a grubby little box. There isn't even a bed, or a mattress, just a chair and a curious device on one wall, like an old fashioned pillory. I turn to Sandra, but she is already lifting the upper part of the device.

'Stick your head in,' she says, 'and your hands.'

I hesitate, realising just how helpless it will leave me. I'd been expecting to be made to suck the manager's cock, or maybe even lick Sandra and her fellows. Not this.

'Stick your head in, you brat,' she repeats, now threatening.

She's bigger than me, and looks a lot stronger. She can call for help too. Reluctantly I put my head through the gap in the wall. Beyond is another room, much like the diner, but smaller, and empty. As the pillory closes on my neck and wrists I realise it's where the men in the know come, to drink and watch the faces of the girls in the pillory, or worse. I'm at the right height to be made to suck cock, and anyone allowed behind me is going to be able to do exactly as they please.

I'm scared, shaking as I wonder if I'm going to get fucked, and who by. Whoever does it, whoever buys me, I won't know. I can't see, and that's the worst of it. I can only wait, helpless.

Behind me, I hear the click of a bolt as Sandra fixes me in place. I hear myself sob, then gasp as she begins to interfere with me. My dress is lifted, high, not just over my bum, but right up, to leave my breasts hanging bare from my chest. Her hands find the waistband of my panties and they're tugged down, right down, and off. She pats my still hot bottom and laughs. Moments later she appears in the room in which my head is trapped, my panties dangling in her hand. They're put over my head, to add a final touch of ridicule to my position, and I'm left, shivering with fright, thinking of cocks, and how wet I am behind.

For a while nothing happens, and I begin to wonder if I'm going to get away with it. There's a clock in the little eating room, and I can watch the time pass... five minutes... ten minutes...

At twelve minutes there's a click behind me. I freeze, my stomach twisting itself into a sudden knot. Somebody is with me. My skin is crawling and my muscles twitching, especially my anus. I'm nearly sick, just imagining the gloating, leering man behind me, and what he can see, what he can do. At any moment I expect to be touched, lips around my nipples, a finger slid up my pussy, even a tongue in my bottom hole.

Again nothing happens, and I begin to wonder if it is just Sandra tormenting me. She seems to have it in for me, although I have no idea why. I'm sure someone is behind me though, even if it is her, and I can't help but think of stiff cocks and how easy it would be to penetrate me.

I'm still waiting in my agony of expectation when the eating room door opens. Three men push in, big, burly types in dirty work clothes, not travellers, but local farm boys. They grin at my head as they see me, but take no real notice. One rings a bell at the counter and a moment later Sandra appears. They give her orders, flirting with her, and one asks who I am.

'Some silly bitch, couldn't pay,' she answers.

At that instant a finger finds my bottom crease. I scream in shock and surprise. One of the men spills his teas. Sandra laughs. They turn to look at me.

I am wide-eyed, and wide-mouthed, and with good reason. Somebody is behind me, and they are touching me with horrible, intrusive intimacy. A finger is up my pussy, probing deep, then a second. There is a thumb between my buttocks, rubbing right on my bumhole, slimy with something, maybe butter. I'm being opened, my anus invaded, the thick thumb joint pushing, to spread my hole and move inside.

All I can do is gasp out my emotions as my rectal chamber is invaded. The thumb is put well up, so that my bumhole is tight around the base. There are still fingers up my pussy, and whoever it is is rubbing the flesh between my two holes, a feeling to make my head swim and set me dancing on my toes.

As my cunt and anus are manipulated, so I'm spanked. The man, because I'm sure I know who it is, begins to smack my cheeks as he molests me, quite hard, until little pained squeaks have been added to the noises I'm making at my front end. Who it is, I'm sure, is Mr Baldy, and the thought is unbearable. My suspicions are confirmed immediately.

'What's up with you, darling?' one of the farm boys asks. 'Got one up the bum?'

His friends laugh. I can only manage a weird gurgling noise in my throat. It is Sandra who adds the final, awful touch to my humiliation.

'Some bloke had to spank her,' she says. 'Turned him on, the dirty old sod, so he paid to go in with her.'

The farm boys nod wisely. I just slump down in the pillory, overwhelmed. The bald man's still at me, making my head jerk to the slaps and drawing the odd squeak from my lips, but that's all. It's just too much, far more than I can take. I think it is, anyway. I'm wrong. I'm wrong because it doesn't matter how much I think I can take. I don't have any say in it.

He stops spanking me, and an odd slapping noise starts. It takes me a moment to realise what it is, and when I do, I nearly faint. He is bringing his cock to erection, and I know where it's going. For a moment he continues to probe me, then the fingers pull out of my body and I know it's time. I can do nothing to stop it, but I try, dancing about and jiggling my bottom, squealing too, and pleading for mercy. My efforts only succeed in making the farm boys laugh, and Mr Baldy just takes me firmly by the hips, holding me tight.

I'm almost having a fit, my stomach clenching, my breath coming in short, hard gasps. The farm boys think it's hilarious, and are all watching as they drink their tea and shovel food into their mouths. I think I'm going to faint, and I want to scream, but as Mr Baldy's cock shaft settles between my open buttocks all I can do is groan. I can't stop him; my anus is soft and open, oozing butter. He pushes down, his fat cock head tracing a slow line between my bottom cheeks, to find my hole, and push.

I let him do it, because it's going to happen anyway, and it's stupid to get hurt as well. Pushing out my bumhole, I take his cock, accepting the head in my buttery ring, then more, bit by bit as he pushes himself into me, forcing my passage in slow, short shoves, deeper and deeper up my rectum. At last his balls meet my empty pussy and I know he's all in.

He buggers me, taking his time, slow and easy in my bumhole, with his thumbs stretching my cheeks apart so that he can see his cock going in and out. I just hang in the pillory, cross-eyed, with drool running out of my open mouth and a long streamer of mucus hanging from my nose. My head is jerking to the pushes, and I can feel every inch of the cock, which seems impossible large, in my rectum.

I'm being buggered, sodomised, by the same man who just gave me my virgin spanking. I'd felt so superior to him, and now he's got his cock up my bottom, using me anally for his amusement. Worse, I'm enjoying it, and I can't help it. If I could get my hands to my pussy I'd be masturbating shamelessly, and begging him to spank my buttocks as he buggers me.

The three men watching me aren't really important, no more than a minor touch to my utter degradation. I barely see Sandra as she comes in, to jerk one thumb casually over her shoulder towards my head.

'He's taking her up the shitter, the dirty bastard,' she says.

One man laughs, the others make appropriate noises of disgust. Sandra takes the tray from their table and bends to push it across the counter, her skirt rising to give a brief glimpse of her knickerless bottom.

'How come you got no knicks on?' one of the men asks, reaching out to tweak her skirt higher, and show off the full globe of her bottom.

'Keep your dirty hands to yourself, Phil Ancott,' she snaps, and slaps at his wrist. 'I've got no knicks because I had to shut this silly bitch up with them. Squealed like a stuck pig, she did. I never heard such a fuss over a spanking.'

'You going in later?' another asks. 'I fancy a blow-job.'

'No I'm not!' Sandra answers indignantly. 'If you want your cock sucked, stick it in Miss Thing's mouth.'

Again she jerks her thumb at me. They laugh as she leaves, then get up, grinning. I don't even try and stop them. I'm rocking to the motion of a cock up my bumhole and my hot, spanked bottom is being fondled. My mouth just comes open as the first of them pulls out his cock, and in it goes.

I get sucking. The others watch, and tug at their cocks. The door opens, and two more men come in. Immediately they're invited to join in. Nobody ask me, I'm just a fuck dolly, to be used as they like. When the first guy comes in my mouth the one called Phil replaces him. Soon after, Mr Baldy spunks up my bottom, to leave my anus pulsing and farting, oozing sperm down over my vacant pussy and up my hole.

My half-hour has finished, but nobody cares. More people are coming in, and every single one wants his bit of fun, or hers. Someone, I think the manager, comes in and fucks me. Phil comes in my mouth, messily, leaving me with sperm on my lips. The next man does it in my face and hair, closing one eye. One of the others comes round behind me and puts his cock up my pussy, only to decide I'm too sloppy, and buggers me instead. Sandra gets dragged in, her skirt is pulled off, and she is made to stick her bare bottom in my face, so that I can lick her anus. I do it, to their delight, while she curses them and calls me a filthy bitch. It doesn't stop her turning around to have her pussy done, and the men cheer and clap as she comes in my face.

At last every single one of them has had their fun. I'm half-conscious, my head hung in exhaustion. My face is covered in sperm, both my eyes closed, my panties sodden. My pussy is full of it, my bumhole too, thick clots oozing out to roll down the insides of my legs and splash on the floor. My breasts have been soiled with it too, groping hands smearing it over both dangling globes, until it's dripping from my nipples. As a final humiliation my expensive panties are pulled back on and my half-finished lunch tipped down the back, adding a foul mixture of egg, baked beans and mushy chips to the already filthy mess of my bottom. That's it, except for one last touch, which is Sandra handing me back my credit cards as she releases me, and explaining that they dropped from my handbag while I was fighting to stop myself being spanked.

Actually, it would be a miracle if I got that far. I've usually come about the time the dirty old man takes my knickers down, or at most when he's about to put his cock up my bottom. It took three orgasms to write this, and I'm nearly as sore as if I'd done it for real. I'm going for a coffee, and a shower, and a lot of cream...