Poor lad.It was everything a fledgling race car driver could want stuffed into 40 acres ... not hectares ... acres. Before the dreaded French Measurem...nt. In that 40 acres was almost 3.67 miles of hell.The son ... poor lad ... didn’t care ... clockwise was as good as anti clockwise. On camber curves became off camber in the other direction. When he retired from the hectic and settled down ... he opened a school... ‘to keep his hand in’ or so he said ... and to satisfy his darling wife ... poor. ‘Dad, why the heck would anyone bother to pay to store this stuff?’ ‘I don’t know Caleb. People can be funny sometimes. But keep looking. Maybe there is a hidden gem in here somewhere.’ There really wasn’t anything salvageable yet, and they were more than half way through the storage unit. His dad noticed that Caleb looked a little worn out. ‘Caleb, are you getting hungry?’ ‘Yeah, I could eat,’ his son responded. ‘Let’s bring this load to the dump, and head home for lunch. We can finish up. I half motioned to her, offering a subtle salute with my wineglass. My heart jumped in my chest, as she moved in the direction of my seat. The wine swirled across my tongue, rewarding me with a peppery finish while my mind anticipated what could be a spicy beginning.Her eyes never left mine, as she walked through the semi-crowded bar. She was tall, and the loose, flowing skirt she wore hid what had to be very nice legs. The snap of stiletto heels on the hardwood floor added punctuation to the. For the first time he speaks, “Let’s see what this baby can do”. The whip strikes my arse, hard, I scream, surely he has drawn blood but before I know it another hit almost in the same spot, I start to pull off but the whip is relentless, several on my butt and a few wrap around and hit my cunt like before. I am doing my best to get some speed going, I must not stumble, I must not stumble. I am now running, breathing heavy but running, I feel the sulky push me if I relax a bit, my legs muscles.