The New Girls Fucks Up

I sit in his car, coat on and ready. I wait in the passenger seat as the time ticks by, and the cars slowly pull away. A few people have noticed me, alone in a car in the parking garage, in the passenger seat, staring forward.
I arrived at 5:12, long enough to put on my coat at 5 sharp, walk to the elevator, wait, stand, and then remember where he parked this morning. I wait.
I wait as the car beside me pulls away and the woman tries to smile, recognizing me from my time in the office but not knowing enough to know that I will not turn and smile back.
I wait as I begin to get tired, minutes ticking on in a slow haul. I wait as it becomes 15 minutes, 30 minutes, an hour, two hours, and then two hours and thirty-four minutes that I have been waiting.
I begin to get bored. I play with the lighter, running my finger over the ridges that make up the circle. I run those fingers over my lips, dry from a day of lipstick and careless biting and nibbling.
Everything I touch in the car makes me think of his hands, stroking and touching them as he needs to. I run my hand over the steering wheel, thinking of how he carelessly and casually maneuvers around curves. I squeeze the top of the gearshift, imagining him revving an engine. While my fingers lay over the leather, his hand is large and consumes it.
I think of his hand cupping my pussy, how his long fingers curl all the way down and his palm presses against me. Even over my jeans it makes me feel possessed by him. I can feel myself getting wet just by the thought of it. And when his fingers enter me, I could be mindless I am so taken.
I begin to squirm in my seat after two hours and thirty-four minutes of being such a good girl. I press my legs together to ease some of the pressure.
I sit in the car and look around, trying my best to not look conspicuous. I want to find anything that will take my mind off of what is slowing becoming a throb between my legs. I am so, so wet, and my clit is achingly swollen.
I am not proud but I simply wait, sit for him in the car, silent and attentive.
And then it happens. I look around. there is no one in the garage, save a few cars. I look again at the time and only a few minutes have ticked by. It will be hours before I find any relief, and even then I will never be sated. I am an aching cunt - desperate and constantly in need of fingers, a tongue, a vibrator, a hairbrush handle, a fist, a swollen, stunning, thick cock.
I have already crossed a divide between good and absolutely fucking useless. I have already come too far. I have checked around to see if there was anyone and when I saw that I was blissfully alone, I let my hand find itself underneath my skirt in the front seat of the car.
But of course this cannot end here. This simply cannot be the end of my relief, and I rub myself. My underwear still sit in his office, so it is immediately skin on skin. Immediately, I feel my fingers rubbing my clit to the point of pain - matching ache for ache the need I have to touch myself, to cum, to find relief.
I am so wet, I have already begun to pool between my legs and drip onto the back of my skirt. Before my hand even came close to my hem, I was already a foregone conclusion.
As soon as they are there, I have been lost entirely. I begin to rub my clit, hard and then soft to lengthen my enjoyment. I rub in circles, dainty circles which roll my clit back and forth. I slide them up and down, one finger on either side of my clit, feeling how much it begs to be touched and loved and kissed.
And then they are inside me. I slide my hand down and push them inside my cunt. My entire hand is slicked with my juices, and as soon as two fingers are all the way inside me, I pull them out and lick my hand clean. Once every drop has been tasted, I slide my hand back down and push those two fingers back inside, shoving them deep into my cunt. I curl them inside me and push my hips forward, watching more. I am greedy.
I spread my legs, feeling more and more reckless. I pull my skirt back and open my legs wide, leaning back a little. My other hand fingers my clit and proceeds to rub slowly, and then furiously, as I meet my own hips thrust for thrust. Each time I bury them deeper I begin to whimper. There seems nothing I won't do to let myself explode right now.
My fingers scrape back and forth over my clit - finger pad to one side and nail as it moves back. I have no problem scraping myself raw right now. I continue to rub as I fuck myself faster. I angle downward and plant one heeled foot onto the dashboard, spreading myself wider for another finger.
My eyes slide shut as I push harder against my cunt. I can want nothing but more and more and more. As I squeeze my eyes shut I scream, cumming against my own hand. I feel buckets of cum pour out of me, onto my hands, fingers, and the seat below me. I am spent. I am exhausted.
I struggle to clean myself up - to calm down, pull my skirt back down, and furtively look around against to see what I most fear. He is walking towards the car. I breathe faster, hating myself for my own debauchery. I pull everything back into place, and try and calm my heart slowly.
He opens the car door and I startle just slightly. He sits down, pulling his briefcase in the back seat. He pauses, and I know he knows. He looks at me very slowly, his blue eyes steeled.
"Were you a good girl for me?"
My bottom lip trembles and I open my mouth to answer.
It is only those brief seconds of the heaviest pause before I begin to cry, and shake my head.
"Give me your hand, baby."
I do and he slowly, patiently licks my fingers. His tongue rolls over the pads, the nail, the knuckle and I stir again, and am all the more angry at myself for it.
"Did you think I would be mean and not let you cum again?"
"No, Sir, I just couldn't help myself."
He sighs, his disappointment is potent. I am nothing short of terrified. I am terrified that he will inflict irreparable damage on my flesh and ego. I fear more that he will simply tell me to get out of the car, and never look back as he finds a more suitable candidate for his tutelage.
He silently steps from the car and my breath catches, holding painfully in my tightened chest. I feel as if I am falling. He walks around the car and opens my door, extending a hand which I take. I step from the car as well and he removes my jacket, placing it on the passenger seat before closing the door.
He guides me to the back of the car and leans me over the trunk. I tremble. I notice droplets of water falling in soft springs onto the trunk and it is only then that I realize that I am crying.
He pulls my skirt up, leaning on the small of my back, his arm pulling my hips against his chest. And then I feel his hand. He is showing ruthless pleasure in his lack of mercy. His hand, fist, full arm crash down over and over and over on my ass. He strikes me ten times solidly, and I am thankful for the car to hold me up.
He pauses and I weep, arms folded underneath my wet face. He steps back and I know it will only get worse before it gets better. I hear fabric barely breaking behind my own gasps and whimpers.
I feel it, breaking over my ass, and curling around my hip in a tight line which burns my flesh. He has taken off his belt. I stiffen after the first one, trying to lock my knees. It hit so firmly, cracked over my flesh so loudly, that it now echoes through the parking garage. Only a few cars remain, and there is no one to come with concern.
"Take off your skirt and blouse."
I nod, removing them slowly, precisely. I stand in only heels and bend, once again, over the back of the car. He comes down again, hard, his belt licking my lower back and making my cry out. He comes down again, right on the crest of my ass, and again even lower.
Every time he strikes me, it feels as if I've been cut, sliced apart. My legs become shakier and my cries before more and more drowned in my tears. I shift my head to the side and see that he is working himself out of breath he is beating me so hard. I have forgotten bruises, and simply wish to be able to stand again.
And yet, every time he strikes me, I feel myself growing more and more into his good girl. I will not forget such a beating.
My legs begin to move from trembling to shaking. Every slap sends me squirming. I have lost count at how many have come down and am only in my own fog.
"Sir..." I choke out quietly. He does not stop. "Please, Sir..." He continues, leaving my skin raised in red welts and cracking in places where it can no longer hold together. "Please, Daddy, no more." I finally say loud enough for him to hear and he stops. He does not freeze, but calmly regains his posture and walks over to his broken, remorseful girl.
He leans over my crippled body, and it is the only thing preventing me from crumpling on the ground. "You're not going to fuck yourself when you know I don't allow it anymore, are you?"
I shake my head and sniffle.
"You're my good girl, aren't you?"
I nod and begin to collapse a bit, my legs finally giving out. He catches me.
He opens the back door and I lay inside, caked in blood and sweat, wet with tears. He covers me with his suit jacket, softly stroking the skin of my ankle with his long fingers. "You're a good girl. You made me proud today."
I touch the lashes as we drive, feeling where I am bleeding, learning where I will bruise, and each spike of pain sends a shiver down my spine.