A girl yearns for past times. By a new writer to us.
By Kane Strokes
It was mid week, and already Liz was feeling stressed, and stressed was the number one thing Liz didn’t want; she had turned that corner. No longer was she prepared to allow work to cause her stress or any other health issues. She picked up her time sheet, here we are, midday Wednesday, and already she had worked enough hours to take her to Thursday evening. I’m taking some time off now, she decided.
Liz locked her computer, left the office and walked out of the museum, telling Stuart on her way out she’d be gone for at least two hours. Stepping outside the museum, Liz took a deep breath of what she hoped would be fresh air, to be disappointed that the air was a mixture of fumes from passing vehicles. As she walked around the city streets she came across a newly opened motor museum. Although a busman’s holiday, Liz decided to go in, maybe introduce herself to the curator, but to start with, get an idea of the museum from their exhibits.
The museum was quiet. As she wandered around the vintage cars and bikes, she moved to the next display; a Morgan, in British Racing green, the car shown, the quality of the exhibit shouted ‘lovingly looked after’ at her. Ropes prevented her from being able to get as close as she would have liked, as well as a plethora of ‘Do Not Touch’ and ‘Keep Off’ signs.
Liz strained her neck to see more.
A deep male voice came from behind her: “You’re a Morgan fan?”Liz looked around to see a man slightly older than her, greying slightly, with blue piercing eyes.
“A fan in as much as I’d have loved to have ridden, or maybe drove one of these. Otherwise, I know nothing of its specification.”
“I think in 50’s dress, you’d look the part sat in either seat.”
Liz was slightly taken aback by his reply. She wasn’t used to men, even a handsome man like this one, flirting, flattering her in a museum. Lost for a quick reply, Liz played it safe and introduced herself, explaining who she was and where she worked.
“Thank you, Liz. My name is Bruce. As you’re ‘in the trade’ I can let you look a little closer.”
Bruce undid one of the boundary ropes and let Liz through. She looked at the seats and the dashboard, spartan by today’s standards.
“Here, sit in.” Bruce opened the driver’s door for her.
“No, I think I’d prefer to be driven.”
Bruce smiled, naturally white teeth, a charming smile.
“As you wish.”
He closed the driver’s door, walked round and opened the passenger door for her. Liz sat in, and tried hard to imagine the wind blowing through her hair. She thought of the era, the full skirts and petticoats, most fitting for this car.
“Well?” Asked Bruce.
“Sorry, I was miles away then, dreaming of the wind blowing through my hair.”
They heard voices elsewhere in the museum.
“Perhaps you better get out now, or I’ll have everybody wanting to sit in it.”
Liz reluctantly got out, Bruce put back the rope.
“It needn’t be a dream you know,” Bruce told Liz.
“What do you mean?”
“I have a Morgan. I’m a member of the local enthusiasts club. We have a weekend meet in ten days time. Would you like to accompany me?”
Liz stuttered that she have to think about it.
“What’s there to think about? I’m offering you the chance to fulfil your dream.”
“Alright, yes, I’d love to,” said Liz boldly, wondering who had just spoken those words coming from her mouth.
“Good, if we exchange phone numbers, we can keep in touch, and get things arranged. There is one proviso; 50s dress is required, skirts, dresses, petticoats, everything, right down to your underwear, no tights.”
“They don’t do knicker inspections like they did at school, do they?” Asked Liz with a twinkle in her eye.
“Not officially, but I might,” replied Bruce with a wink.
“So where do I get the right fashion?”
Bruce pulled a card from his wallet. “This is a theatrical costume agent. You can hire and buy from there.”
Bruce passed the card to Liz. She looked at the card and saw the address was less than ten minutes walk away. She left the motor museum and made for the outfitters. The theatrical costume agents had exactly what Liz wanted, well informed on the fashions of the era, right down to the knickers she should be wearing. Liz declined to buy the knickers, the assistant reminded her it was the rock and roll era, and underwear was exposed regularly when dancing.
“I don’t dance, especially rock and roll.”
“You can never be too certain what happens on these occasions.”
Liz agreed, and bought the knickers. Next stop, a more modern lingerie shop where she purchased a delicate suspender belt and stockings.
Over the next week, Bruce phoned several times with times and other details about the meeting, but never failed to flirt a little asking if Liz had found something suitable and would he get a private viewing. By now, Liz’s teenage daughter, Sarah, had discovered her mother’s plans for the now forthcoming weekend. She researched the 50s fashions and make up to ensure her mum looked genuine for the era.
Early on the Saturday morning, Bruce called for Liz. She was ready all but for her handbag, which she couldn’t find.
“Here it is, mum,” said Sarah, snapping the hand bag shut.
Liz would have asked what she was up to, but Bruce was waiting, and there was a fair drive to the event. Once in the car and away, Liz opened her handbag. Inside was a packet of condoms, and a note from Sarah.
Just in case, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.
It was followed by a large winking smiley face. Liz smiled, thinking about the cheeky young minx who will get chased with a slipper later.
The event was being staged in the grounds of a large stately home. All mod cons were available to drivers and their ladies. The first part of the event was formal; the cars inspected, the drivers and their passengers too marked for presentation on their adherence to 50s fashions. Following that, the public got to talk to drivers and passengers about the cars. The drivers could show off their knowledge of the history and specification of the car, the ladies talked about more important things. At two-thirty there was a parade around the main arena, and then around more of the stately house grounds, and then on to the open road, to be back by 4pm.
The drivers paraded the car and passengers around the main arena, followed by a high speed sprint on a long straight piece of road, before more sedate driving around the grounds, then leaving the stately home by a back entrance, the cars were on the open road.
Liz sat back and let the wind blow through her hair. Bruce skilfully handled the vintage car, allowing them both to enjoy the drive out into the nearby countryside.
“Look,” said Liz. “A cornfield; can we stop? I’ve always imagined myself in one of these cars sat idly in a cornfield.”
Bruce slowed to look at the field. “If I stop here, others will stop to enquire if I’ve broken down. You won’t get any peace.”
“Can we go into the field, hide behind the hedge?”
Bruce drove on to find the gate, stopped, got out of the car, opened the gate and inspected the track around the outside of the field; no mud, and no big potholes, he drove the car in, Liz closed the gate.
Liz’s clothes, the car, and the ageless sight of a field of barley at the height of summer. The barley no longer green, but not yet golden, the gentle summer breeze creating waves of varying hues across the field, Liz was transported to back to the 1950’s, a time when men were men, and women were spanked.
‘I wonder,’ she thought.
Liz started fiddling with her hair. Bruce told her they couldn’t stay long, they had to be back by 4pm, but Liz idled the time. When she was sure that Bruce could see, but not looking at her directly, she pulled up her dress and readjusted her stockings. Of course, Bruce saw, just as Liz had intended.
“Very nice,” remarked Bruce.
“You shouldn’t be looking,” replied Liz somewhat primly.
“Then why do that so openly and blatantly?”
“A gentleman wouldn’t look or pass comment.”
“Well a lady wouldn’t have adjusted her underwear so blatantly. In fact, a lady who behaved like that would have been spanked and switched.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” replied Liz in a tone that was almost inviting Bruce to spank her.
Before Liz had finished, Bruce had spun her around and bent her over the bonnet of the car. Liz made a token resistance; her skirt was pulled up and nearly covered her head. Several hard smacks landed on her still knicker clad bottom. The smacks stopped, and she felt two large male thumbs in the waist band of her knickers, the waistband slid down over her hips, over the fullness of her bottom, past the crease where her thighs and bottom meet, to her knees. The rest of the garment followed.
Despite the summer warmth, Liz felt a cool breeze wafting around her now nude bottom. The first of a volley of hard smacks landed, the sting radiating out. Subconsciously she thrust her bottom out to meet his hard hand. Several more smacks and Liz was gasping. She knew she was wriggling, but couldn’t decide whether it was from pain or pleasure.
“You stay there, young lady. I haven’t finished with you yet.”
Liz obeyed, as Bruce went over to the hedge, and with a pocket knife, cut a switch. He returned and applied the first stroke to Liz’s bottom, followed quickly by a second, both landing on her sit spot. Liz gasped and wriggled, invitingly for more. Bruce duly obliged with another two strokes.
Bruce walked around to face Liz. “Are you going to behave? Or do I take you to tears? I will, but I don’t want to spoil your make up and have everybody see you return with a tear stained face.”
“Two more, I can take them.”
Liz’s stinging bottom, the heat had spread to other regions, and Liz was enjoying the feelings, the evidence was also there for Bruce to see. Liz got her next two strokes. She stood up and turned to face Bruce. She took his face in her hands, put her lips against his. They enjoyed a long passionate kiss. As Liz pulled him close, she felt his excitement.
During the drive back to the stately home, Liz pulled barley darts from her hair. Her sore bottom felt every bump through the hard suspension of the sports car. As the public part of the event drew to a close, the drivers and their passengers entered a marquee for a meal. Liz tried not to wriggle too much during the meal as she sat on the hard wooden chair.
After the meal, the entertainment; a revival 50s band to rock the night away with rock and roll songs. Bruce asked Liz to dance.
“I don’t dance, especially rock and roll.”
But Bruce was persuasive, and a good teacher. Liz was a good pupil, quick to learn. By the fifth song, her skirt was flying high above her waist, her underwear flashing for all to see. Liz was pleased she bought those large 50s knickers; at least no one could see her red and welted bottom.
They danced the night away together. As the band struck the last song of the evening, a slow smoochy number, Liz clung to Bruce.
“Time now to drive you home. Thank you for a most memorable day.”
“Thank you for inviting me,” replied Liz. “On the drive home, would it be too far out of your way if we went back to the field of barley?”
“I can do that if you wish. Why?”
Liz smiled at Bruce. “We have some unfinished business.”
Liz winced as Bruce squeezed and then slapped her bottom. With the closeness of their dancing, Liz felt Bruce getting excited about her idea.
© Kane Strokes 2016