Driven Wild by Jaye Peaches

perched on the edge of the stage.
    “Don’t?” said Leah, creeping forward.
    “They think they’re having fun, but really they’re not. They’re making fools of themselves, embarrassing themselves. At the time, they can’t see it, but Denis does. He has to deal with the aftermath sometimes. The broken glasses, the vomit, the fights, and the tears.”
    “That’s not me,” said Leah quickly.
    “No,” agreed Rick. “Not yet. You came close the other night and you know it. You’re better than these places and you know it.”
    “What are you going to do?”
    “Not me, you,” he said. “I want you to take off your scarf and hat, the boots and your knickers. Then you’re going to bend over the edge of this stage.”
    “What! You’re joking!” she exclaimed, trying to contain a half-hearted grin.
    “Nope,” said Rick, his face unmoved.
    It was only then that Leah noticed what was in his hand. The tea towel, the one that Denis had been using, and it hung down by his leg, looking very damp.
    “You’re going to spank me with a wet tea towel?” she said with disbelief.
    “I am. Then afterwards, you can pick a tune from the jukebox and we will dance to it, together.” His other hand slipped into his trouser pocket and took out a shilling. He put the coin on the table in front of him. “Well?”
    Leah scuffed her boots on the lino flooring; she could see the countless stains of spilt drinks, never to be removed even after a frequent mopping. The club was empty; there was no one else to witness their little performance. The butterflies, which had been fluttering in her stomach ever since they had entered the club, now released their wings and took flight all about her body. They reached her little nub, the shameless sex organ and kissed it alive. Erotically she felt charged with enthusiasm, especially for the dance, but before the tempting reward, he would give his punishment, his verdict on her drunken display, a centre stage spanking for an audience of one.
    For the last three days, Leah had been waiting. Occasionally distracted at work, she couldn’t explain to her colleagues the reason for her wandering mind; how could she? How to explain she allowed her chauffeur to spank her; submitted to the humiliation and shame it entailed. The ludicrous idea plagued her and at the same time, she yearned for Rick. The stern expression under his chocolate hair and the way a smile would break out of his stony face, showing his true nature underneath—a man who cared about her deeply.
    Nobody had reached inside her and found her before Rick had appeared on her doorstep. Her father, aloof and constantly busy, had sent her to boarding school at the tender age of eight. She didn’t resent his decision; she probably had more fun at school than being alone in a great mansion with no friends nearby. It had left her with a false sense of independence, that she didn’t need anybody to keep her, to be there for her when things went wrong.
    She had given that responsibility to Rick: an agreement that was unspoken, unwritten, and almost completely undeclared. He had simply slipped on the mantle as if she had handed an invisible cloak to him and now she could not bear the thought of disappointing him. Looking about the club, the cheap décor, the stink of tobacco, and the peeling wallpaper, she couldn’t believe she frequented these places and saw them as sanctuary from her troubles. Her grief. Daddy had left her, but she wasn’t alone, not really.
    Blinking back the tears, she caught Rick’s hazel eyes. Still waiting patiently for her obedience, as he had done since she had refused to get out of bed and he had promised her consequences. This was no heat of the moment punishment; he had thought it through carefully, planning it and making arrangements. He gave her the tiniest smile of encouragement, a little reminder that he would never hurt her and perhaps, and she dearly hoped it were true, he felt something deeper for her,