Why Don’t We Do It In The Road?

Apparently that’s the question Abel’s been asking lately, with a supporting “No one will be watching us”:

There is something about this empty road through the fields at the back of our house that whispers to Abel: “Spank your wife, now.”

The emptiness of the road is really open to chance. Plenty of people drive there and back along the unevenly paved track, and it’s a great quiet spot for joggers, dog walkers and riders. But not, as we have often found, at eight o’clock on a Saturday night.

We were at a drinks party at our friends’ house, and I was flagging. We were lazily gearing up for the walk home, when Abel leaned close to my ear and said: “You’re getting your bottom smacked when we’re in the lane.” The promise gave me a pleasant chill, and sure perked me up enough to go looking for my boots and coat. I would normally feel apprehensive about this, but we’d had a few vanilla days before that, and the evening had been mostly vanilla too, so I quite fancied a reminder that I was, in fact, kinky.

There are no streetlights along the road. When we turned into it from the village green, the first few paces were still lit from behind our backs, but all the rest was darkness. The trees ahead were obscuring the lights from our village ahead, and the town that lies across the fields was curtained with mist…

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