Truck stops are good places for attending to all sorts of needs. Besides having gas and restrooms, the food’s usually okay and the portions are generous. I had just picked up my book and was starting to dig into my dinner when I spotted the driver of a car I’d seen several times in the last couple of hours. Now she was watching me, hands on shapely hips, and when she saw that she’d gotten my attention, she closed the gap and stood beside me.

We’d each passed the other twice. The first time, she’d come up from behind me, weaving through the traffic at 85 or 90 miles an hour, and cut me off in an abrupt lane change to avoid running up the tailpipe of an older car. Her passenger, another college-age girl, had made a crude gesture out her window as their car fish-tailed only a few feet from my front bumper. A few minutes later, I’d passed her stopped car, a police cruiser’s lights flashing behind it. Then she’d whizzed by me again, and she’d given me a feral grin and laughed when I shook my head at her reckless disregard for her own and other people’s safety. Then I’d seen her in earnest conversation with a second trooper.

“What’s your problem?” she demanded.

I smiled up at her, and it wasn’t a friendly smile. After a few seconds, she realized I wouldn’t be provoked into responding to her anger, so she shrugged and started to turn away.

“How’d you find me?” I asked quietly.

“It wasn’t hard,” she replied. “When I caught up to you, I followed you here.”

“Why?”

“We needed to make a pit stop anyway, and I was curious. Why were you making faces at me when I passed you?”

“Your driving was dangerous. I hope you got tickets from both cops.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you,” she said too sweetly, “but they let me off, and I didn’t even have to put out for them.” She gestured across the restaurant toward her blonde passenger, waiting by the exit door. “And neither did Janet, when she got stopped this morning.”

“How truly wonderful,” I replied, “but what you really need, young woman, is to have your behind paddled. Speed can kill, and driving recklessly worsens the odds. You’re going to hurt somebody if you keep driving like that, and the more you get away with it the worse driver you’ll be until it’s too late.”

That got a genuine chuckle out of her, and she smiled as she folded her arms under her breasts. “Do you think you’re man enough to try?” she challenged.

“If you mean, am I man enough to overpower you, the question is moot,” I told her. “I only discipline women who willingly submit themselves to it and are mature enough to understand what they’re doing and why.”

Her smile faded and her nostrils flared, and the twinkle in her eyes changed to an icy glare. “Are you saying I’m immature?”

“Based on your driving, and this limited conversation, res ipsa loquitur.”

“So ‘the thing speaks for itself’, huh, asshole?” she said nastily. “I’ll have you know I’m not some dumb bimbo, I’m in the top tenth of my class, and, and...” She sputtered on, clearly trying to think of a suitably scathing response, then stopped and bit her lip.

“I never said I thought you were unintelligent,” I said gently.

“You sure as hell implied it,” she retorted.

“I didn’t imply you were stupid; I said what you were doing was stupid. There’s a difference.”

“I know,” she whispered, and then she gestured toward the empty bench opposite me. “May I please sit down?”

“Yes, since you asked politely,” I said, and as she slid into the booth I waved to her friend and pointed to the place next to her. While Janet was walking across the room I turned back to the pretty brunette seated across from me. “What’s your name?”

“Shelley.”

“Was there something you wanted to say to me, Shelley?”

“Yes, mister, ah...”

“Mister works for me.”

“Oh.” She looked down at her hands on the table, then met my eyes with a level gaze. “Please, mister, I’m sorry. I owe you an apology. I was rude out there on the highway...” I looked at Janet, now seated beside her, and she blushed and bowed her head, “ ... we both were, and then I was rude again, approaching you the way I did a few minutes ago.”

“Then why do you do things like that?”

“I get kind of wild sometimes, and I can be really bratty when the mood strikes. But I’m not a child, I know what I’m doing.” She hesitated, and when I didn’t respond she looked down again and spoke to her hands, or to herself, more than to me. “I guess I’ve been lucky. I know I’m pretty, and I take advantage of that. I’ve never had anyone read me out the way you just did since my dad died, and I know I deserved it.”

“I’m sorry about your father.” She needs his discipline, I thought to myself.

“Me, too,” she said. “I really miss him.”

I nodded, and then she surprised me. “You were right in what you said; if you’re willing to do it, I want you to.”

“Let me make sure I understand you,” I said. “Are you asking me to take you somewhere and paddle your butt?”

She looked up at me again, and her voice was firm and steady. “Yes, that’s right, I’m asking you to punish me for my bad behavior.”

“Why should I?” I asked quietly. “Do you think my doing that would have any real long-term effect on you?”

“I don’t know, and that’s an honest answer,” she replied. “Maybe I’m not as mature as I thought I was. You’ve made me think about the way I’ve been acting, just like my dad used to do, and now that you’ve rubbed my nose in it I’m not very happy with myself. I haven’t been spanked since I started junior high, and maybe suffering that way will help me remember not to behave that way any more.”

I hadn’t really offered, but I had suggested it. We were heading for potentially dangerous waters, and I tried again to dissuade her. “You don’t know anything about me, Shelley. I was a complete stranger to you until today. Why are you willing to trust me?”

Shelley looked straight at me. “Because what you said before made sense, and because you’re asking the right questions.” She tossed her hair back defiantly. “If you meant to harm me, you wouldn’t be trying to talk me out of it.”

It was my turn to shrug. “All right,” I said. “If you want me to do it, I will. Meet me in the lobby of the Oyster Point Days Inn in Newport News at eight o’clock tonight. Don’t be late, and bring Janet with you.”

That startled both girls; Janet started to shake her head, and Shelley asked, “Why do you want Janet there?”

“Because this isn’t a game,” I told them, “and I want a witness to whatever happens, if anything. I don’t want to have to defend myself against an assault or attempted-rape charge. I’ll see you tonight, both of you, if you haven’t thought better of it by then.” I picked up my book and my check and headed for the cashier’s booth by the door.

I was genuinely surprised when the girls walked into the hotel lobby on the dot of eight, dressed alike in shorts, tank tops, and sandals. Shelley was the cheerleader type; she had a compact but well-curved body on a short frame. Janet was built more along model lines, slender and several inches taller. I’d changed into my black shirt and slacks, and when they stopped in front of me I handed my car key to Shelley.

“Go back outside,” I directed, “and bring the large duffel bag and the fishing-rod case from my trunk.”

“Why?” Shelley asked. “What’s in them?”

“Implements of torture,” I replied, and their eyes flew open.

“You’re joking!” Janet gasped out.

“No, I’m not joking,” I told her, and I kept my expression cold and unsmiling as I aimed my next words at Shelley. “I told you back at the restaurant, this isn’t a game. You probably thought I would spank you with my hand, maybe like your father did when you were a child. This is supposed to be punishment, and it’s supposed to hurt you, not me. You asked me to do this, and you can still walk away with no hard feelings.”

Janet jumped in again. “I don’t believe this!” she exclaimed. “You carry whips and chains around in your car? Come on, Shel, this guy’s a real sadist, you don’t want any part of this!”

I kept my face blank, and Shelley neither spoke nor moved during her friend’s outburst. When I responded, I ignored Janet and addressed Shelley directly. “She’s wrong, you know,” I said softly. “I’m not a sadist; I don’t enjoy giving pain for its own sake. There’s a woman I’ll be meeting while I’m in this area who will get down on her knees and beg me to do to her what you asked for, although she’ll be asking for our mutual pleasure and not for punishment. I don’t need to do this for you, but I’m willing if you are.”

I was sure she’d change her mind, but she didn’t. After a few seconds, she turned and said, quietly but with determination, “Come on, Jan, let’s go get the stuff out of his car. I’m ready to take my medicine, and I’ll take the chance that he’s less of a man than I think he is.”

Shelley closed her hand around the key, turned on her heel, and headed for the door, her head high and back straight. Janet watched her go, then followed her outside. I stayed where I was, fists on hips, and watched Janet carry the rod case and Shelley struggle with the weight of the duffel bag as they walked back through the lobby. Then I strolled to the elevator and pressed the call button, and when the door opened I went in and pushed the button for my floor, making no move to help them as they hurried to get aboard. When the door opened again, I walked down the hall to my room, opened the door, and went inside. I’d gone past the dresser and was standing at the far side of the bed, in front of the single easy chair by the window, when the girls came through the doorway.

“Put the stuff down next to the dresser,” I said, “and one of you close and bolt the door.” After they’d done so, I crooked my finger at Janet and then pointed to the chair behind me. “Sit there,” I told her, “and keep quiet. You’re a chaperone, not a referee, understood?”

Janet nodded, her expression grim as she crossed the room and plopped down in her designated seat. Shelley stood facing me at the foot of the bed, arms akimbo and looking more nervous than she had downstairs. I watched her breasts move as her chest rose and fell, her breathing still heavy from exertion. I waited silently, letting her stew in her own thoughts until she began fidgeting.

“Kick off your shoes, face the head of the bed, and drop your shorts,” I ordered quietly. She toed down the back straps and stepped out of her sandals, then pushed them aside in a graceful sweep of one well-curved leg. She turned as instructed, unfastened the front of her shorts, then wriggled them down over her hips. When they reached her knees, she let them fall in a heap, then lifted her feet clear and swung her leg again to slide them away.

She started to turn her head in my direction, but I cut the movement off by saying, “The panties too, Shelley.”

Her body froze, but her mind was still working, and she tried the obvious pretty-girl ploy. “Don’t you want me to take my top off?”

“No,” I said coldly. “I’m sure your entire body is very attractive, but I don’t wish to be distracted. Now take off your panties and kneel on the end of the bed.”

Shelley bit her lip for a moment, then slowly repeated the thumbs-in-waistband motion and stepped out of her sheer white bikini, revealing a flat tummy, a neatly-trimmed dark bush, firm buttocks, and tan lines that showed her preference for very brief swimwear. She knelt on the bed, feet hanging over the end, her body erect and her chest thrust out proudly. I pulled back the covering spread and tossed a plump pillow where I figured her head would rest.

“Put your head down,” I said, and the blood drained from Shelley’s face; the reality of what she’d asked for was finally sinking into her brain. She hesitated for several seconds, and again I was sure she’d call things off, but then she slowly bent forward and reached out both hands to cushion her controlled drop. She rested her left cheek on the pillow, so she was facing her friend; her eyes were open and her lips were set firmly together. “Put your hands under the pillow, and keep them there,” I ordered, and she slid them up.

I walked around the bed and unzipped my duffel bag, and I watched Shelley move her hips from side to side in nervous embarrassment and humiliation at her vulnerable position. She really does have a great body, I thought. I’ve never seen a more spankable butt, and I’m damned glad I didn’t let her take that top off. I reached my left hand into the bag and grabbed my leather-covered paddle, and behind me I heard Janet gasp when she saw it emerge. I put my other forefinger to my lips, admonishing her to remain silent, and I moved to stand behind Shelley and to her right.

“I’m going to give you your punishment in two parts, Shelley. How old are you?”

“I’m 20,” she whispered.

“In that case, I’ll give you 20 to start,” I said. “Then I’ll stop to let you think about those and prepare yourself for the second round. How well you take these first 20 will determine how many will follow. Do you understand?”

“Y-y-yes, mister,” she whispered.

“Are you ready?” I asked her gently.

She nodded without speaking, her hair brushing against the pillowcase. I took the paddle back and swung firmly at about half of my maximum speed and strength. It landed dead-center on her left ass cheek with a loud smacking sound, and her body jerked forward as the message of the impact and its painful effect traveled up her nervous system. I heard two simultaneous sounds, a high-pitched gasp, almost a squeak, from Janet, and a grunted oof from Shelley.

I waited, counting seconds to myself, and when I got to 15 I swung again, this time hitting her on the right side. “Ooowww,” she yelped, and I watched the shape of the paddle appear on her right ass cheek to match the pink imprint already visible on the left side. Again taking time between blows, I landed four more, alternating cheeks, and her moans and groans became louder and more insistent with each swat.

“Use the pillow,” I told her. “Bite down on it, or cry out into it.” She turned her head to put herself face down, and I increased the force of the next strike. The sound of the paddle slapping into her butt was louder than before, and so were her noises despite the pillow’s muffling effect. I was starting my arm back for the eighth stroke when I saw her ass cheeks clench, and I held up my swing. She’s timing me, or trying to, I told myself; I’ll have to vary the pattern so she can’t anticipate the swats. I waited until she couldn’t hold her muscles tight and had to relax, then immediately landed the next blow.

Shelley writhed on the bed, her firm behind wiggling as she whimpered into the pillow. Her ass was already bright pink, and I swatted her four more times in quick succession before she could react. When she rolled onto her left side to get away from the blows, I stopped swinging and asked gruffly, “Had enough, Shelley?”