Heard and Not Seen

February 2007

I don’t know why brats seem to think it’s the driver’s – as in, my – fault that car trips take time, but they do. That’s just the way it is. And sometimes they get boring, I know that, it’s not like I can help it. In fact, I’m usually doing a lot to keep them from getting too boring – I’m not the type to plan endless driving, no stopping, let’s-see-how-fast-we-can-cross-the-continent trips. Somehow, that doesn’t stop the whining.

We’re in Cat’s minivan, which she likes just because it makes trips like this easier. It’s got a lot of room, it’s super-comfortable, we’ve got the iPod hooked into a nice stereo system. I’m up front, of course, with Cat, and Kitten is in the seat half-way back – the one remaining, we take one of the two out for extra space, and if we have extra passengers we can use the bench seat in the far back.

“Are we there yet?” Kitten asks for the dozenth time.

“No... ” I tell her with waning patience.

“Well how much longer?”

“About two minutes less than the last time you asked, or five minutes less than the time before that.”

“I want to be there now,” she insists, as if by me knowing this I can make it more likely. Not.

“We’re not there now, you just have to wait,” I remind her as if speaking to someone twenty years younger.

“I’m hot,” she announces, which is certainly true.

“You have your own AC control,” Cat chides her.

“Take some clothes off,” I suggest.

“I can’t, I’d be indeeee-cent,” she protests, which is also true. Reaching up, she adjusts the air, probably just because I’ve got an eye on her. Two miles go by in relative peace. “I’m bored,” she decides next.

“Hot and bored – a bad combination. How about smart? If you’re smart you’ll find something to do before you get yourself in trouble.” Even as I say this I know it’s a useless argument – when we get to the hotel she’s going to be spanked, repeatedly. She’s not real concerned about “making it worse.” I try to think of something to threaten her with, but each evil object that comes to mind I immediately decide to use, heavily, regardless. So I don’t have much luck, though I enjoy the anticipation of absolutely blistering her bottom with a whirlwind from the long-handled spoon.

“I must not be too smart,” she fibs blithely, “Or else I wouldn’t be sitting back here, hot and bored.”

Admittedly, we feel a little bad that she’s kind of out of the conversation back there. “Do you want something to read?” Cat asks solicitously.

“I can’t read in the car, I’ll get sick. I wish I could. If I could read I maybe I wouldn’t be so booored.” Another two miles roll by. A new song comes on.

“Oooo, turn this up – I like this,” she says. Cat reaches over and complies. “Farther,” Kitten asks, unsatisfied. “Farther. Farther.”

“I think that’s far enough,” Cat decides, turning it back down to about 100 decibels. Kitten grumbles quietly – though loud enough to hear, even over the music. Apparently, we’re “no fun” and “too old” anyway.

“Are we there yet?”

“That, young lady, is also far enough. We are not, now behave. Do not make me pull this car over,” I warn in my best imitation of everyone’s dad.

Behind me I can almost feel Kitten’s eyes scanning the desert – and deserted – horizon. Exits lead to tiny short roads out into the wide open flat sand. She knows that I’m very unlikely to get her out of the car and pull her pants down, anyway – not when every square inch of land for miles is visible from the freeway.

I, on the other hand, do have something in mind. Sometime in the next fifteen minutes we ought to be getting to an exit where the road goes around a little hill, at least. Undoubtedly I can figure something out with the partial seclusion that it affords. I look at her in the rear-view mirror and, as if knowing what I’m thinking, she settles down.

Sure enough, as the minutes pass, the exit I’d been thinking of looms into sight. Kitten straightens and I look at her again – she smiles a little and raises her eyebrows expectantly, putting on her “I’m so good – aren’t I good?” face. As we pass the exit, I look to my right to see how it would have worked out, which is sort-of-pretty-much-okay. After a quick glance, Kitten slumps down in her seat again. Ahead of us the desert rolls on shapelessly again, dropping slightly before rising up the next set of mountains, a vast valley all in plain view. I wonder idly if I should have stopped, and if we will on the return trip.

“Are we there yet?” Kitten asks plaintively. She knows that I’m not going to drive all the way to the next exit, turn around, come back to the one we just passed, and all that.

“No, we are not there yet. You know how you can tell? Because when we get there, you’re getting the strap. Since you’re not getting it right now, we must not be there yet,” I explain. Cat lets out a sigh of slight frustration. Funny, because usually she’s being the brat, in just this manner.

“I just asked a question,” Kitten complains. I decline to reply. “Not very fair to spank me just for asking a question.”

“The long strap,” I expand on my earlier statement. “On your bare bottom. Hard. You are, Kitten.”

“Not fair,” she grumbles, but grants us a few minutes’ reprieve.

“I was just asking,” Kitten suddenly offers by way of defense. “I hadn’t asked in a long time. I shouldn’t be spanked just for asking. I really wanted to know.”

We ignore all of this but I think she can sense that if I ever find another place to pull over, she’s getting it right then. Unfortunately, that doesn’t look like it’s going to happen anytime soon. Maybe she figures that now she hasn’t got that much to lose.

“So?” she announces after waiting just long enough to make us hope that she’d given up on the whole thing. “How long? I really want to know.”

In the seat next to me, Cat unfastens her seat belt. I look at her in mild surprise. As she rises, Kitten looks at her with a lot more surprise.

“Wha-wha-what are you doing?” Kitten asks timorously.

“Come on,” Cat orders, reaching down and unfastening Kitten’s seatbelt as well. Grabbing her by the elbow and lifting, she makes it pretty clear that Kitten is expected to get up.

“But... but... ” Kitten sputters, but rises as requested.

Cat curves around the seat with Kitten in one hand and her oversized purse in the other. As she sits on the bench seat I the back she finds that toppling someone over your lap in a moving vehicle is not very difficult. “Now... ” Cat pronounces with satisfaction.

“Wait! No! Someone will see!” Kitten protests – not really very likely, since all the back windows are heavily tinted. She’s wearing a short wrap-around skirt and a spaghetti-strap top, at least one of which is probably coming off. “Like, truckers!”

“You should have thought of that,” Cat suggests calmly.

“You’d better not let any truckers see you, Little Missy,” I warn Kitten ominously from the driver’s seat. In the mirror I see Cat put Kitten’s skirt on her seat.

Even with a bare bottom under her hand, Cat doesn’t begin spanking immediately – in the interest of not annoying my readers, I have greatly edited Kitten’s remarks, of which there were many (many) more. Searching through her bag, Cat produces one of her favorites, the black leather “ruler” strap – short but with a terrific sting plus surprising smack. Having had this before, Kitten knows she doesn’t really like to get it hard.

“No, no, wait... ” Kitten suggests. “I was just... ”

Having raised the strap above Kitten’s bare, unprotected, and well-positioned bottom, Cat gives her a fair chance. “Just what, young lady?”

“Um... YEOW!” Kitten replies as the sound of the swat ricochets through the van like a rifleshot. “Ahhh! OWW! No, wait – YEOW!”

“Just being a brat?” Cat queries.

“GEEZ OH OW EE YEOW,” Kitten explains uselessly.

“Just trying to bug us?” This brings a similar answer. “Just making a nuisance of yourself? We try to take you on a nice trip and this is how you behave?” In less than a minute Cat has her quite well spanked with no signs of letting up. “Do you think we need this kind of aggravation, young lady? How nice is that? Do you call that being good? Is this you, being a good girl?”

“No no no no no no no,” Kitten replies with such sincerity that I’m tempted to pull over and watch the scene I’m hearing.

“No it is not,” Cat continues, as do the heavy spanks, only slightly slower to improve her aim. “Don’t you want to be a good girl?”

“Uh huh yes, yes I do,” Kitten manages between ow’s.

“And you are going to be,” Cat promises her. “You’re going to sit in your seat and behave,” she predicts, “and you can put your skirt back on when we stop in Baker. Understood?”

“Uh huh,” I think Kitten says.

“You’re getting another one of these as soon as we get out of Baker and if we’re not there by four o’clock you’re getting one then, even if we’re on the Strip a block from the hotel.”

Muffled sounds come from Kitten, but they must be the right ones.

“Is that unfair?” Cat asks her, getting Kitten to admit that it’s not. “Is that something to complain about?” The spanking has slowed but both the strap and Kitten are making a lot of noise. “All right then,” Cat says finally. “How old are you, young lady?” After getting an answer, she tells Kitten, “Okay then, this will be the last twenty four. Ready?” I suspect Kitten nods her head. They all sound hard.

Adult conversation makes for a pleasant hour until we get to Baker.



*****


“May I put my skirt on now?” Kitten asks politely as I pull up to the gas pumps. "Please?" she remembers. For the past hour she has been sitting on a hot bottom completely without complain.

“Yes, you’d better; we’re getting out,” Cat tells her, though before she can cover herself I’ve opened the door to get out myself, seeing through the gap between my seat and the van pillar a flash of leg bare from her toes to the hem of her abbreviated top. She jumps and nervously tries to cover herself, adding sandals to complete her ensemble. I slide her door open for her and she alights with a smile and a “thank you,” her nipples standing straight up, tempting me to touch them. It’s not from cold, either – this town is always hotter than the hinges of hell, even famous for its hundred-foot-high thermometer. The girls disappear in the direction of the Ladies Room while I gas up the van, clean the windows, and try to wait patiently.

When they return we try to decide where to get some food. I’m glad to be out of the car for a bit, so I’m not advocating drive-through, leaving either fast food or restaurant.

“I’m not trying to be a brat, really – honest,” Kitten tells us, “but how much farther is it, about?” We’ve got 90 miles – a little more than an hour – to get to Las Vegas, plus a little time to get from the freeway to the hotel, putting us there about 3 o’clock, including eating. I realize that she’s thinking about the spanking Cat’s promised her if we’re not there by four, so I want to let her wonder.

“Not too bad,” Cat tells her.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll get there when we get there,” I suggest.

“Maybe somewhere fast,” she proposes, not wanting to take any chances. Not that she won’t be getting enough spankings when we arrive, I think to myself. “Anxious for your second spanking?” I tease her a bit – Cat’s also promised one when we get out of town.

“No!” she insists. “That one hurrrrt!” Neither Cat nor I have any strong opinion so we opt for fast food, but dine-in.

Once we have our food we pick out a booth like we always do and put Kitten on the inside, with Cat boxing her in and me across from them. I pat the hard vinyl seat and she puts her feet up next to me as Cat drops her inside hand to Kitten’s thigh. As always, I make quick work of my lunch.

“Yes?” I ask Kitten – she’s started to say something and her nipples are standing up again – she sees that I notice.

“I was good,” she professes meekly. “This past hour, I was very, very good.” A true statement – we talked some, intelligently, and she amused herself when we didn’t.

“Yes, you were,” I agree, loud enough for them to hear but not anyone else. “The spanking must have worked. How did you like it?”

“It was hard,” Kitten insists, with understandable emphasis. “And long.”

“Well, you asked for it,” Cat reminds her.

“Repeatedly,” I add.

“But I’ve been good, since,” she points out, and, when we don’t seem to pick up on it, adds, “Maybe the other one could be nice.”

“I don’t know,” I tease. “That one worked so well, I’d be tempted to repeat it about as exactly as I could.” I look at Cat questioningly. And, knowing that Kitten’s concerned about the time, I add, “After all, you’ve got a lot more riding that you need to be good for.”

“I do?” Kitten asks, but as she does her eyes get wide and she glances downward, so I know Cat’s sliding her hand up Kitten’s bare thigh. Her nipples can’t get any harder, but she blushes.

“What are we doing tonight? Are we going to a show?” Kitten asks suddenly – probably thinking of trying to sit without squirming. Sometimes we go to a show; sometimes we go to a late dinner with one or both of my little Kitties wearing a remote-controlled vibrator; sometimes we cruise the casinos and gamble a bit or hit Downtown or have even tried the Olympic Gardens, a classy strip club.

“No, the show’s tomorrow night,” Cat tells her – when she’ll be good and all the sorer. “Was there something you wanted to do?”

“Maybe gamble a bit... ” she speculates, probably so she can stand while doing so.

“Seems to me you bet your ass every time you open your mouth,” I tease.

“Matt... .” Cat chides slightly at my use of that word, while Kitten sticks her tongue out at me. The thought of having her over my knee, legs pinned down while I absolutely completely blister her bottom brings a smile to my face. There’s an odd symmetry in how I’m thinking of that moment now and when the time gets here I’ll be thinking of this moment with her tongue and her nipples sticking out.

“We’ll see,” I say non-committally. “Probably a little.” We need to come up with a game, serious penalties for losing, some kind of star treatment if she actually wins.
Having finished, Kitten is rubbing against Cat, who is eating slowly. “I’ve been good,” she continues to campaign. “Haven’t I been good?”

“You have,” Cat concedes. “Very good.”

“So you’ll be nice?” Kitten begs unabashedly.

“I could... ” Cat drawls. “But... ”

“But?” Kitten asks her anxiously.

“But if there’s any trouble before we get there, you’ll have to have another one.”

“No! There won’t be. I’ll be good, promise. I’ll be so good... ”

“Well, see that you are – I don’t want you fooling me,” Cat warns.

Finished with our food we head back to the minivan, where Cat opens the rear door on her side. Holding it for Kitten, she tells her, “Straight in the back – might as well,” smacking her lightly on the bottom as Kitten climbs in in front of her. “You don’t need your seatbelt.”

“But nice, right?” Kitten pleads one last time, her skirt fluttering over the back of her regular seat just as I climb in myself. She doesn’t get an answer, and the black strap is still lying on the bench seat beside them, but once we get back on the freeway I can hear the pitter-pat hand spanks that they both prefer.

Afterward – apparently hand-spankings take much, much, much longer to accomplish, the flushed pair return to their seats. “I should get to put my skirt on,” Kitten suggests.
Just as Cat shoots her a “Don’t push your luck” glare, I agree. “Don’t want you seen by any truckers,” I point out.

“Ohhh?” Kitten asked, shamelessly greedy. “And what if I am?”

“When we get there,” I answered, “I might just show you.”