Wonders of the U.S. Highways
Chapter 2: Disciplinary Action

Copyright© 2016 to Elder Road Books

Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 2: Disciplinary Action - It was the summer of 2013. I'd had an epiphany. I'm an author. I could do this from anywhere! So why was I doing it from a basement in Seattle? By July, I was in an F150 and a travel trailer with no destination but the road in front of me. This memoir is based on the true story of my travel down U.S. Highways since then and my life before. Only the names, places, and events have been changed to protect the innocent and keep several wonderful women and a couple skanks from tracking me down!

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   mt/ft   Ma/ft   Consensual   Romantic   Heterosexual   Fiction   True Story   Anal Sex   Masturbation   Oral Sex   Petting   Safe Sex   Nudism   Slow  

19 September 2013

The place was billed as a resort in the Mojave Desert, but the rooms were little more than a hotel room with a half-kitchen and living area. It was nice, though, to get out of the trailer for a week and have unlimited hot water for showers, a big bed, a swimming pool, and a hot tub. The scenery at the pool wasn’t bad either. The place was billed as a spa, so there weren’t that many little kids and those that were there confined their activity to the waterslide and kiddie side of the pool. It was a big pool that wound its way around a fake rock island. The entrance to the waterslide was on top, but beneath it, in a grotto complete with a waterfall, was a spa. The jets were locked in the ‘on’ position.

I’d put the trailer in storage for the week. I own some timeshares—one of the world’s great rip-offs—and tried to use up the weeks by taking a break from the trailer periodically. It also gave me the opportunity to haul my printer out of the cubbyhole where I stored it and print out various business things, like royalty statements and first drafts of stories that I wanted to work on with a pencil. I still do that at times.

I’d made it my habit to get to the pool soon after it opened at eight in the morning and to come back in the evening between five and ten when it was ‘adults only.’ I was catching up on some work, some writing, and my personal finances—which were in pretty ragged shape. I didn’t like how money was running through my fingers. That’s probably why I wasn’t paying all that much attention as I opened the stairwell door and headed down for my evening dip in the pool.

I get a room on an upper floor—third in this case—and convince myself that I’m exercising when I use the stairs instead of the elevator. The truth is, the stairs are faster. I hate waiting for elevators as much as I hate waiting for an Internet connection on the resort’s antiquated WiFi. So I didn’t even see her before I was sitting on my butt in the middle of the staircase with a blonde bikini model towering over me. The impact had jarred loose the towel she’d had wrapped around her waist and her still-wet suit outlined a luscious cleft between her legs and the distinct shape of her nipples up top.

“Oh my god! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Are you all right? Oh, please be all right.” She knelt on the step beside me and wrapped an arm around me, pressing those golden globes against my arm. I shook my head to clear it and shifted my weight to test my tailbone. The shift rubbed her breasts against my arm delightfully. She, on the other hand, thought my headshake was an answer to her question. “Don’t move. I’ll call an ambulance.” She started to get up, but I caught her arm and pulled her back down beside me.

“I’m okay,” I said. “Just a little shook up and impressed by your ... um ... charms.”

A pink glow began in her cheeks and spread down over her breasts in a wave, but she didn’t move them away from where they were once again pressed against my arm. She was quiet a moment before she spoke softly.

“May I help you up, sir?”

There is absolutely nothing in this world that makes me feel like an old fart as much as having a beautiful young woman call me “sir.” Still, she wasn’t exactly running away from me.

“My name’s Aroslav,” I said. “What’s yours?”

“Angie, sir. Um, Mr. Aroslav.”

“Well, Angie, on future trips, maybe you could lift your pretty eyes up the stairs. If you really want to land on top of me, I can think of several ways you could that would be more pleasant.”

“I’m so sorry, sir. Is there anything I can do for you to make it better?” I’m pretty sure she didn’t have in mind what instantly sprang to my mind—and was influencing the springing of other parts as well. “Can I go get your wife or help you to her?”

“I’m alone here,” I said. “No one needs to be notified that I’ve been bowled over by a beautiful young woman. I suppose you need to get back to your boyfriend.” I was making the same assumption she was. Few people come to these resort hotels alone.

“I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m here with my mother. I’m trying to plot out my next three months or the rest of my life or something. Listen to me babble. Please let me help you, Mr. Aroslav, sir. Then you can tell me what kind of punishment I should have for being so careless.”

Lights, bells, and sirens went off in my head. She bowed her head as I stood up, her blush continuing all the way to her waist. This was a woman who needed to make up for her mistakes. There was just one obstacle preventing me from taking matters in hand, so to speak.

“Angie, how old are you?”

“Twenty-two, sir.” She didn’t hesitate or attempt to lie. She kept her head down, refusing to look me in the eye. Her hair had come loose from a knot on top and the strands were so light that they blew in the slightest breeze as a stairway door opened two floors below us.

“Angie, you are to meet me in the grotto spa in twenty minutes.” She looked up at me, her eyes wide. “This is a one-time offer, Angie. Do not attempt to speak to me again if you are not there in twenty minutes.” I bent to retrieve her towel and handed it to her. Her breathing had quickened. She took the towel but made no attempt to cover herself as she stood staring at me. I thought, in fact, that she straightened up a bit and pushed her pretty breasts out more. Well, maybe you can’t just push those points out the way they popped. It could have been an automatic reaction to the breeze, I suppose.

“Yes, sir,” she whispered. Then looking up at the last flight to the third floor door, she ran up and through the door. Somehow I didn’t feel so old when she called me sir anymore. I nodded to an overweight couple as they puffed up to the second floor landing and I went ahead to the pool.


I don’t know what got into me. Under normal circumstances I would have chatted her up, flirted, invited her for a drink, and been summarily dismissed. This time I’d simply given her twenty minutes to hide in her room and then by my own declaration she would never need to speak to me or acknowledge my existence again.

I’m not much of a dom. I can be just as pussy-whipped as the next guy and have always been attracted to strong, independent women. The kind who eventually get bored with me. Don’t ever believe a woman when she says she’ll never get tired of you being sappy and romantic. It’s not true.

Still, the idea of having a twenty-two-year-old blonde bikini model submissively attending to my every whim put some lead in my pencil. I had to really think through how I would handle this situation. I wasn’t even sure I could maintain a position of dominance for very long. I mean, playing a game for a night was one thing, but actually taking on a sub was serious business. First of all, I’m not rich. I can’t just take on a dependent. So if I’m not providing money, a home, security, a new wardrobe, an education, a house with five bedrooms in a good suburb, health insurance, and 2.3 children, what is the attraction for a woman to subjugate her beautiful body to me? And not just her body. From everything I’d read, submissiveness like Angie was showing was a psychological need. It surrendered the key thing that my life was built on: making decisions. My best hope was that she realized what a mistake it was and didn’t show up.

I went over my impressions of her in my mind, kicking myself that I hadn’t spent more time just looking at her.

I guessed she was about 5’ 2” or near that. It was hard to tell when we were on a stairway, but I was sure she was significantly shorter than me. There was no question that she was beautiful. She had a narrow waist enhanced by a fairly flat stomach with just a hint of softness in the middle. Personally, I don’t have washboard abs, but I was pretty proud of the fact that I was one of the fitter men at the pool and didn’t have the pronounced beer gut that so many had. I made a note to myself to start working out a little more. I’d like to be in pretty damned good shape by the time I get to Florida next spring.

Of course, thinking about her stomach gave me cause to let my memories drift a little lower. Her pale blue bikini tied just below her hipbones and the tiny scrap of fabric that was tightly stretched between her legs, accented the Delta of Venus. Her labia were puffy enough to give a distinctive shape to the nearly transparent fabric that showed none of the roughness that pubic hair would cause. Her legs looked smooth and, while lightly tanned by the desert sun, looked healthy and not overcooked.

The breasts she’d so innocently—innocently??—pressed into my arms were not huge and were what sparked my fears that she was a teenager. They were soft, though, and her nipples bumped out the fabric nicely. Her face had a clear complexion with lush lips framing nearly perfect white teeth. What struck me most, though, was the electric blue of her eyes—so deep and intense. With her feathery blonde hair floating around her head, she looked like an angel.

At least in my memory.


A Long Time Ago: Spank

My little cousin liked to play at ‘discipline’. Of course, we didn’t call it that. We called it being naughty and getting spanked. Playfully, of course. I never tried to hurt her. But when the families got together—our mothers were sisters—the kids would all scatter and Emmy and I would often get left to our own devices. She was a year younger than me and I figured I was too old to babysit her. The older kids, on the other hand, felt the same way about me.

So Emmy and I ended up being thrown together. I would tell her to do things, hoping to get her to go back to the house and play with dolls while I became a pirate sailing my imaginary ship across the sea. She would obey my commands. Climb to the second limb in the willow tree. Swing higher than my head and jump into the sand pit. Spin around the monkey bar on one leg. I didn’t think she knew that everything I told her to do showed me her panties. Ha!

Girls all wore skirts in those days—at least Emmy did. Climbing, swinging, and other gymnastics would show her panties to me and ever since playing doctor with the neighbor girl, I’d been fascinated by what was up there.

There was a locker room joke about the little girl who came home from school with her pockets jingling with change. ‘Where did you get all that money?’ her mother asked. ‘The boys paid me to swing high on the swing, ‘ the little girl said proudly. ‘Honey, don’t you know the boys were just trying to see your underwear?’ mother asked exasperatedly. ‘Yeah, but I fooled them. I took them off.’

Emmy had me fooled.

Eventually, she would refuse to do something or she’d sneak up behind me and push me or she’d stick her tongue out at me. What could I do but chase her down and punish her? I’d manage to drag her—not putting up much resistance—to a tree stump and pull her over my knee so I could spank her. We played the game a lot that summer.

It started out that I’d just spank her a couple swats and then she’d jump up and run away or stick out her tongue again so I’d chase her. The next time, when she accused me of just trying to see her panties, I pulled her over my lap and flipped her skirt up so I spanked the little pink panties in question. It took a little time, but before long she would simply lie on my lap and I’d not only flip up her skirt, but I’d pull down her panties so I could spank her bare bottom.

The spanks kept getting softer, the less clothing that was between my hand and her skin. But I’d give her a lot more of the gentle slaps once she was bare. Maybe my hand stayed on those innocent globes a little longer each time, too.

I guess Emmy told one of her older sisters what we were doing, because one day as she was bending over my knee she said, “You can pull my skirt up, but you aren’t supposed to pull my panties down. Okay?” Well, of course it was okay. For the first couple swats. Eventually, her panties ended up around her ankles and my hand ended up on her bare bottom. The difference now was that we knew, explicitly, that we weren’t supposed to do that.

After that summer, when we went back to our own schools, we never played the spanking game again. We were more grown up and it wasn’t proper behavior. It was my first experience in being a dom and administering punishment. I wasn’t very good at it. But my first wet dream was filled with images of that bare butt beneath my hand.


Back to Angie

I swam several lengths of the pool, paying absolutely no attention to the time. What difference would it make? I knew she wasn’t coming back. I left the pool in the full darkness and made my way into the grotto to soak in the hot water and let the jets beat my back muscles into submission.

“Hello, sir,” she whispered beside me before I’d set my foot in the hot water. “Let me take your hand as you come into the water.”

“Do you think that I am old and decrepit?” I asked harshly.

“Oh no, sir! I just wanted to ... to help you if I could. May I?”

I looked at her. She’d changed to a different bikini, this one white. In the dim light of the grotto it was still easy to make out the exact shape and size of her nipples and areolae. She was waist deep in the water and I stepped down to join her.

“Sit with me, Angie. I want to know more about you.”

We settled into the tub and I found a jet that pounded against my lower back. It hadn’t felt so good in years. Angie slid right up beside me, our legs touching beneath the turbulent water.

“There’s not much to know about me, si... , I mean Mr. Aroslav. I’m twenty-two, a graduate of UCLA with a teaching degree and no job.”

“How did you end up here at the spa?” I noticed that she couldn’t bring herself to use just my name. Respectful or frightened?

“It was my mother’s idea. I’ve been talking about going on a road trip for a while and she suggested we come out here and talk about it. That means I dream and she convinces me not to.”

“We are such stuff as dreams are made on,” I quoted.

“And our little life is rounded with a sleep,” she concluded. I was impressed. A Shakespeare student?

“What did you say your degree was?”

“Secondary education, technically. It’s a teaching degree. I want to teach high school English someday.”

“I’m afraid that would be quite a challenge. I can’t imagine a high school boy who could sit through your class without getting a hard-on. And you’re so young, they might try some inappropriate things.”

“Sadly, that’s pretty much what was said in my interviews—though they neglected to use the word hard-on.” She giggled a little. Then looked at me seriously.

“Do you think I’m that pretty?”

“Absolutely. You must know that.”

“Well ... um ... not exactly. I mean, I know I’m pretty, and I’m not insecure. But I can’t identify with it. It still surprises me when someone says I’m pretty. I was always a little overweight in high school and most of college. I decided that I needed to lose the weight and shape up or I’d always regret it. The problem is that I still think of myself like I did when I was fat. And I need to lose more weight. I have this tummy.”

She stood on the bench, placing all her delicious bits right at eye-level and patted her tummy. Yes, there was a little roundness to the soft flesh, but I wanted to place my lips on it and begin kissing all over her body. My hand reached of its own volition and I placed it on her soft tummy. She caught her breath, but did not move away. I pulled her back into the water and she floated over onto my lap. I kept my left hand on her stomach as my right guided her.

“What’s the difference between men and women?” I asked.

“You mean the obvious, sir? Women have breasts and a vagina and men have a penis and testicles.”

“Okay. Beyond the difference in our sex organs.”

“Oh. Men are hairy ... sort of.” She placed a hand on my chest among the sparse hairs. Genetically I just didn’t come from hairy stock and what little I had on my chest I’d gladly transplant to my head. She moved her hand from my chest to my beard. “Soft,” she whispered. “I mean ... women are softer than men.”

“Yes. Women are usually softer than men, usually not as hairy, usually have a higher voice. There are exceptions on both sides. But those characteristics that make you distinct as a woman—why would you want to get rid of them?” She looked into my eyes as if trying to gauge whether I was serious. I caught the glimmer of a tear there.

“I just don’t want to be fat any longer.”

“I won’t say you are just fine, because that discounts how you feel about yourself, but think seriously about what that means before you get caught in a cycle of unending dieting and self-criticism. You are no longer the fat girl. How much thinner do you really want to be, and why? I could show you the most beautiful statues of women in the world and none of them have a flatter stomach than yours.” For the first time since I’d pulled her back into the water, she began to relax. She leaned against me.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Would you really show me beautiful statues?”

“Wherever we found them. Now tell me more. Tell me about what these dreams of yours are.”


A Long Time Ago: Follow the Dream

I know something of dreams. I’ve had a few.

And I know what it is like to put them off. As much as I despised the idea of working in technical theater instead of being a playwright, it was true that I needed to earn a living. After my master’s degree, two years during which I designed and built twenty-four shows in twenty-four months in addition to writing a thesis and teaching, I was nearly burnt out. Paula’s and my relationship didn’t survive the struggle. It would be easy to blame my shelving of dreams on her, but it wouldn’t have made a difference. I had to earn a living. I was beginning to hate theater. I struggled on through my PhD and wrote a couple plays that got some attention, but the stress was killing me, and all relationships that I potentially had.

So I decided to go into something low-stress. Like publishing.

It evolved slowly as I completed my PhD. I would become a great novelist. I wrote volumes. But I discovered that I could make money by writing and publishing technical materials. My first contract was to develop a massive real estate sales instruction course. Then brochures, newsletters, trade journals. I made a lot of money writing.

But I only toyed with my novels and eventually stopped writing them.

I worked for years in high tech, mostly developing documentation and training materials for publishing technology, when what I wanted to do was write novels and have people read them. I wanted to touch people with words. I wanted to make the world a better place in a way that writing error messages for computers wasn’t achieving.

I had dreams that I’d delayed for years until the day I got pushed out of my nest and went off to see the world. Or at least this little corner of it. I wasn’t actually in the business of fulfilling other people’s dreams. I was just beginning to fulfill my own.


Back to Angie

“Well, I thought that since I didn’t get a teaching job this fall, that it would be a good opportunity for me to go see the country for a while,” Angie said. “Lots of people I know have taken a year off to travel sometime during or after college. I just want to take a few months. I’ve been accepted on a program to begin my Master’s degree in January.”

“How did you plan to accomplish seeing the country?”

“You sound like my mother. I was just going to get in my car and go. She’s all about ‘Where are you going to stay? Who will travel with you? How are you going to support yourself?’ All the stuff I should have thought about. I mean, I have some money that I can use, but not enough to stay in a resort like this every week. And she keeps telling me that it’s too dangerous for a girl to travel alone and my car isn’t dependable and on and on.”

“All valid points,” I said. My head was filling with ideas and I had to keep myself in check before I said something more. She squirmed on my lap a little. At first I thought she was uncomfortable and wanted to get away, but I moved my hand from her stomach and she kept wiggling until she could feel my cock pressed against her butt. Then she sighed.

“Are you going to punish me for running into you earlier?” she whispered in my ear. Hmm. There was no one else in the grotto. Apparently the old folks at the resort had already had their Ensure and gone to bed. Maybe the younger couples had managed to go to bed, too. There was no nightclub at this resort and it was a good twenty-minute drive or taxi ride to get to one.

“I’m reluctant to punish you severely for what was an obvious and unfortunate accident,” I said as I let my right hand move down her body to cup her ass cheeks. She caught her breath but didn’t move away from my implied “severe” punishment. I moved to the right, freeing the jet that I’d been leaning against. “No. However, a little discomfort might certainly be in order to remind you to look before you dash upstairs.” The shining in her eyes was no longer tears of frustration, but a sense of excitement exuded from her.

I pulled Angie off my lap and faced her toward the waterfall outside the hot tub. I moved her intentionally so the powerful jet hit her.

“Kneel on the bench,” I said. She immediately obeyed and I tapped the inside of her knees with my hand under water. She spread them apart. She moaned. I moved my right hand up to cup her ass again, my left having never left her stomach. In this position, the jets were hitting directly against her mound. I squeezed her ass and her hips rocked forward slightly. Another moan escaped her lips.

“Sir. Mr. Aroslav. What if someone... ?” Her breathing was getting shallower and more rapid.

“Then they will see a naughty girl getting what she deserves,” I said. She was biting her lips and her eyes were closed as the water beat unmercifully against her sex. My hands on her tummy and her butt kept her in place and encouraged the rhythmic rocking of her hips as she moved closer and closer toward a climax, humping the water jet. When I heard a whine in her throat and felt her stomach muscles begin to clench, I pulled her away from the jets and back to my lap.

“Mmm. No. Please. So close.”

“This is punishment, not a reward, Angie. I will consider rewarding you after you decide if you are coming with me.”

“With you?” She turned to face me, pushing a knee into my cock. Quickly realizing what she’d done she straightened up and placed her knees on either side of my legs facing me. I knew she could feel my cock pressed against the tender places that had just been stimulated. “Where do you want to take me?”

“I travel, Angie. When we all check out of here on Sunday, I will collect my trailer and start wandering generally east and south from here so I can enjoy warm weather during winter. Sometimes it is lonely out there and having an obedient young companion and assistant would please me. You want to see the country. Your mother doesn’t want you to travel alone. I agree. It could be just what you need. In many ways.”

“You would take me with you?” she asked.

“If we reach an agreement,” I said. I involuntarily twitched against her. She jerked back a bit so we were no longer touching.

“Sex?”

“No.” She was startled. It had appeared that she’d been ready to fuck me all afternoon, but was suddenly afraid of it if it were an obligation. She was surprised when I said no. “There are some rules that must be obeyed, but sex is not one of them. In fact, I haven’t decided if I even want to have sex with you,” I lied. I would have to swing the other direction not to want sex with this pert little nymph.

“What rules?”

“Well, for one, I consider my trailer, like my hotel room, to be a fabric free zone.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means no clothes. I lived entirely too much of my life in uncomfortable underwear, suits, ties, starched shirts, and tight belts. When I enter the trailer after a day of traveling, or when I stay in it on days that I’m working, I get rid of my clothes. Not only would you be expected to respect my nudity, but to join in it.”

“You mean I’d have to travel with you naked?”

“No. It would be way too dangerous on many levels to have a naked twenty-two-year-old in the truck when I’m driving. Nudity is confined to time in the trailer, or in a hotel room. Or if we happen to be in a location where nudity is acceptable.”

“Oh. I see. What else?”

“There is only one bed.” She blinked a couple of times while she put together all the implications.

“But we wouldn’t have sex?”

“Correct. That doesn’t mean we wouldn’t be touching each other. I love to cuddle and if something came up, you’d just have to learn to deal with it. Or rather to not deal with it. In fact, you would be forbidden to try to deal with it without my permission.”

“Right. So you’ll have a hard cock pressed against my ass, but you won’t fuck me with it and I can’t give you relief without your permission. That is so weird.”

“There is nothing normal about the relationship I’m proposing. You’d be expected to pull your share in keeping the trailer tidy, making meals, and cleaning up.”

“Well, that’s fair.”

“I have to buy gas, campsites, and food whether you are with me or not. You do not need to contribute to that unless you want a better grade of food than I supply or more than I can afford to feed you. Of course, your personal expenses, including your healthcare, shopping, admission to events, and meals in restaurants or snacks are your own responsibility. I tend to eat simply, but get good nourishment. If you are not an omnivore, please tell me now.”

“I eat pretty much anything, but I try not to eat too much so I don’t gain my weight back. And I know how to cook. I wouldn’t mind helping with that.”

“Good. One cooks, the other cleans up,” I said. “No drugs.”

“Yessir. I ... well, I tried some once, but I realized that it could damage my career opportunities. I ... broke up with my boyfriend over it.”

“Good girl.” I reached up and stroked her silky hair as I said that and she leaned into my hand, a brilliant smile lighting her face.

“Does that mean I get a reward?” she asked.

“This is your reward, my sweet.” I caressed her cheek and neck and she shivered, even in the hot water.

“Thank you, sir.”

We sat there for a few minutes and she slipped off my lap to cuddle under my arm. I still wasn’t sure if there was any point in all this. I couldn’t imagine any young woman would willingly put up with the requirements this old fart had spelled out for her. But she hadn’t slapped me and run away. And I had a feeling her pussy was still tingling. That gave me one last idea.

“Well, it’s time for me to get back to my room. Perhaps you’d help this poor man who was nearly run over this evening to get up the stairs.”

“Yessir. It would be my pleasure.” We stepped out of the water and I reached for my towel. Angie snatched it out of my hand and proceeded to dry me. She was circumspect, drying up my legs to my crotch, but not overtly touching anything of interest. She held my t-shirt and slipped it over my head. I did not offer to dry her and she tucked her towel around her and took my arm as we headed back to the stairs.

When we reached my door I inserted my keycard and stepped inside. Angie started to follow me, but I turned her back.

“Not tonight, young lady. You have until the end of the week to decide if you want to take me up on my offer. There will be details to be worked out, but I don’t care to waste mental cycles on them unless you decide you want to travel as my companion. You should know that within the rules I have stated, I expect to be obeyed. My first order to you is this. You are not to come—let me be clear and say orgasm—until you have brought me your decision. Do you understand?”

Her mouth dropped open. I’m pretty sure she planned to jill herself off as soon as she was alone. I reached over to close her mouth and she started to speak.

“Not tonight,” I said. “Go consider everything I’ve said and even talk it over with your mother. But no answers tonight. Think about it.” I stroked her cheek one last time, honestly believing I wouldn’t see her again. Then I closed the door.

If she talked it over with her mother, they would be gone tomorrow, I was pretty sure.


I had prepared myself to never see Angie again. She was a nice young girl who would come to her senses about the time she reached her orgasm, strumming her little clit as fast as the water jets had vibrated it. It was an image I would savor the next time I stroked myself.

Nonetheless, I was disappointed that I didn’t see her at all the next day. I had visions of her fleeing with her mother back to the safety of wherever home was—LA, I presumed. I spent more time by the pool that day than usual for me, wanting to be in plain sight when she sought me out. I could feel my skin beginning to heat and rushed into my room for a long cool shower.

 
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