by C. P. Vanner
‘At lunchtime, Mrs Cross says lesson one is over. She allows me to get dressed. She gives me a white T-shirt and shorts and white tennis shoes, no underwear or socks. The T-shirt is very tight, as are the shorts, but after my near-nakedness of the morning they feel like a suit of armour. Mrs Cross says I must work in the garden in the afternoon under the supervision of the gardener, Ned Gudgeon. I fantasise about the gardener being young and good-looking but when I meet him I find he is the man who was looking at me in the morning, the man who saw me nearly naked. He is about fifty, filthy dirty and unshaven. He wears a slouch hat, old clothes and a leather apron. I could not tell you the colour of any one garment; they were all the same muddy brown.
‘I like gardening normally but I don’t enjoy the afternoon. Every chore seems to involve not only Gudgeon’s supervision but also his assistance. When I rake the mown grass he stands behind me and holds my hands, holding the rake. He presses himself up against me and I can smell him. Even through the leather apron I can feel the pig is aroused. He makes me climb the apple trees to remove rotten fruit, and he stands beneath me. As I lift one leg or another to climb, I know that my shorts hide nothing. If he puts up a hand to help me it is always indecently placed. When I pick the raspberries, he reaches for my breasts, saying, “Here be a fine one, nice and ripe”, and chuckling at his own pathetic joke. I feel like braining him with a spade. Perhaps I shall.
‘When I finally go in, there are muddy paw prints on my shorts between my legs and on my buttocks, and on my T-shirt over my breasts. I feel as filthy as he looks. “I can see Gudgeon appreciated your assistance”, Mrs Cross says.
‘I cannot wait to strip off my clothes. When I am in the bath, Mrs Cross comes in again. She babies me. She makes me stand up in the water while she washes me all over. I cannot help feeling aroused. Again I lie over her lap as she pats me dry and puts more oil on my poor bottom and between my legs. I can feel I am already wet there - not from bath water or oil - from my own juices. She leads me to her bed, puts me in it and then undresses in front of me. We lie together for a long time, with me nuzzling her breasts and her hand stroking my bottom. Gradually I feel her pushing my head down her body, to her belly and then to her sex. She opens her legs for me, and puts her thighs on my shoulders. “The forbidden fruit”, she says. “Enjoy it. Eat it nice and slowly”.
‘Later we have a cold supper in bed together. For pudding there is a raspberry mousse. We eat it not from plates, but she licks it off my bottom; she says it has soothing qualities and will help the bruises. I lick it from that part of her anatomy that most resembles it in colour. I think I love Mrs Cross.’
‘You can’t make up your mind, can you?’ Richard said.
Natasha shook her head. ‘She’s a very unusual woman.’
‘She was unusually severe with me,’ Beth replied ruefully, as Natasha took another sip of her drink and resumed reading.
‘Thursday, August 5.
‘The last full day, I return to London tomorrow morning. Mrs Cross says she is going out for the day, and I must spend my time with Gudgeon in the garden. I plead with her but she is adamant. At least I get clean clothes; I washed them last evening and they dried overnight. At ten o’clock she leads me out to the garden to find Gudgeon. He is weeding the onion patch. Yellow saliva, from his pipe, is running down his chin. To my horror, Mrs Cross tells him to cut himself a willow switch because he “will need it”. He chuckles, takes out a knife and goes off.
‘As soon as Mrs Cross has gone, I hide among the rhododendron bushes. I crouch down on all fours under a low branch. For minutes on end I can hear the old fool stumbling around looking for me, calling, “Come out, Come out, wherever you are”, as if it is some child’s game. Then just as I think he’s forgotten about me and given up, there is a loud swish and the willow switch lands with a crack across my bottom. “Gotcher”, the horrible old man cries, laughing so much it looks as if the one remaining tooth in his head will fall out.
‘He tells me he is draining the swimming pool and that I must clean it out. He has other tasks but he will come back every thirty minutes or so to see how I am getting on.
‘It is lovely to be alone in the sunshine in the garden. I wish the pool was full, but it is not. It still has about two feet of water in it, the drain being plugged with leaves and other debris. I get in and clean the sides as best I can. When I look up I can see Gudgeon watching me. He tells me I am going to have to get really wet to free the drain and clean the rest. I wait for him to go, but he doesn’t. He just stands there, watching me and directing with his stick.
‘It takes me ages to free the drain and by the time I am finished I am soaking wet. I notice with horror that my white clothes are virtually transparent, and my nipples are clearly visible through the cloth. I try to stand with my back to him as I wipe up the debris, but I am sure when I bend over he can see the shadowy valley of my bottom. To my relief he tells me that he is going off to have his lunch. The sky has clouded over and I am quite cold but I wait five minutes before getting out of the pool. There is no sign of Gudgeon. I make a dash for the house but find the back door is locked and the windows are closed. There is no other choice but the tool shed.
‘Inside it is beautifully warm and cosy and smells of dried earth. It holds the heat of the sun and I wish I had found it earlier. When the door opens, though, Gudgeon is standing there and I realise its disadvantage; there is nowhere for me to run. The disgusting pig says we can have lunch together; he has his bread and cheese for himself and that he will find me something to eat. I can guess what he means and tell him to get lost. He waves the stick in the air and tells me there is an alternative; we could go down to the local together and have lunch there. I would have to go as I am, in wet, skimpy clothes, but he was sure the men in the pub would not mind. Which is it to be? I tell him that I am not going anywhere and he pretends to be kind and thoughtful. I should give him my wet clothes otherwise I’ll catch a cold. When I refuse, he cuts the air with the stick. What am I to do? I turn my back on him, pull up my T-shirt and push my shorts down over my hips. When I am naked I reach for an old sack to cover myself and then face him. His eyes are glued to my body and he seems amused. When I look down, I see the sack is crawling with lice. I scream and throw it away. Now I am naked in front of him, my last defence has gone.
‘He sees my nakedness as an open invitation and begins to take off his leather apron. It strikes me I have two choices, bad and worse. Either I can do what he wants, bad, or I can refuse and then no doubt he will thrash me and presumably take me by force anyway, worse. He must have read my decision in my eyes because he asks, as if he is asking if I want sugar in my tea, where I would like it. I don’t need telling what “it” is. He says he would prefer my arse. I think he actually thinks he is being helpful and polite. That’s one wish he is not going to get. Nor am I going to fuck him. I say nothing but give my answer by kneeling down in front of him, my knees pressing uncomfortably into bits of gravel on the floor. I start to fumble with his trousers, undoing the string tied around his waist and wrestling with old fly buttons.
‘I finally get “it” free, probably the first time in months it has seen daylight. He is hung like a stallion. It is half erect and waves around in front of my nose like the trunk of an elephant smelling the air for water. I begin to massage it with my hands. He’s not having that. He twists my hair painfully, forcing my head closer. I take the tip in my mouth. It soon becomes as hard as a rake under the attention of my tongue. After a minute or two of sucking, I hear him say, “Tits”. I do not understand what he means so I ignore him. He speaks again. “Use yer boobies”. I am glad to get my mouth and my hands off him. I mould my breasts around his shaft and continue to rock up and down. Then he presses my head down on it again, so not only is my jaw aching but my neck as well. It takes an age. The seed inside him must have dried up so that only the husks remain. A gardener without seed; that’s an irony. I would hav
e been amused if I wasn’t the one doing the digging, so to speak. I wish Helen would come home. She would be horrified, finding a young girl naked and on her knees, with her mouth open and the gardener’s cock rammed down her throat. She might have saved me, but Helen is out for the day; there is no last minute saviour. There is nothing for it but to go through with it to the end.
‘Eventually my hard work begins to pay off; those doors inside him that have been closed for years begin to swing open. I can hear him panting and feel his cock getting even larger and harder. I can hardly breathe.
As I feel his muscles tense, a sign that his ejaculation is on the way, I turn my head away and masturbate him furiously with my hands. He snarls in anger and roughly shoves my head back down again, holding me as he wants me, pushing himself deeper into my throat. I think I am going to suffocate. Just as I can take no more, he comes. The first spasm hits the back of my throat. He lets go of me so I whip my head to one side, swallowing and gasping for breath. His second ejaculation hits me in the eye and runs down my cheek. Some of it is in my hair. I have never been so humiliated in my life.
‘As he gets dressed without so much as a thank you, I sit naked on the filthy floor, my tears mixing with his come on my cheeks.’
Natasha stopped reading. ‘Detailed enough for you, Richard?’ she asked indignantly.
‘Yes,’ he replied calmly. ‘Very graphic. Well written, too. It is good to know that you were so charitable to a common labourer. What do you think, Beth?’
Beth looked at Natasha. ‘You didn’t say whether you enjoyed it.’
‘In retrospect, I suppose I must have done. I was horny that evening. At the time it was the dirt I hated. He and the place were both so filthy. Let me go on.’
‘Having got what he wanted, Gudgeon slinks off. With Mrs Cross away, he isn’t going to hang around unnecessarily and at least I don’t have to do any more work. Naked as a jaybird, I stand in the empty swimming pool and run water from a hose over myself, washing away the touch and the taste of him. I wash my clothes as well. With my clothes wet and the sun again out and hot, I sunbathe in the nude on the lawn outside the back door. It’s lovely, the most lovely two or three hours of the weekend. I lie on my back in the sun, thinking of everything that has happened, and then I fall asleep.’
Richard Cross interjected again. ‘I feel you may have missed out something there, Natasha, before you fell asleep.’
Natasha blushed. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said defensively.
‘Remember, I want all the details.’
‘I’ve given them to you.’
‘Have you? Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then why are you blushing? Before you answer, don’t forget I warned you I would know everything.’
Natasha was indignant. ‘I have told you everything. And I am not blushing.’
Richard spoke quietly. ‘You have not told me everything. Don’t lie to me.’
‘I am not lying.’
Richard was persistent. ‘Look me in the eye and tell me the truth. Did you touch yourself while you were sunbathing?’
Natasha shifted uneasily. ‘I might have done. I don’t remember. It’s not important.’
‘I’ll be the judge of what is important. Did you touch yourself?’
‘Yes.’ Natasha bowed her head shamefully.
‘Did you masturbate?’
‘Yes... yes I did.’
‘Did you come?’
Natasha was almost in tears. ‘Yes... yes, I came. Are you happy now?’
‘No, I am not happy,’ Richard replied levelly. ‘You lied to me and you left out important details. We’ll deal with that later. Now continue.’
Snivelling a little and wiping her eyes with a small hand, Natasha took another sip of her drink before starting to read again.
‘I awake with a start and a sore bottom. Helen has found me fast asleep on my stomach and has slapped me hard. She’s not angry; she’s smiling. She tells me I deserve a good spanking for not working hard but she’ll let me off because it is my last evening. I get the impression she’s quite fond of me. She won’t let me get dressed, apart from putting on a robe until we get inside. She lights a fire in the sitting room and makes supper while I have a shower. After supper she makes me lie stark naked on the rug in front of the fire and tell her about the afternoon. I tell her about the incident in the tool shed. She shudders and giggles, but all the time as I am talking she is kissing my breasts and touching me, touching my sex. I can feel I am getting wet; she knows just what to do. When I have finished talking, she delves into her bag and produces a vibrator. “It is bigger and better than Ned Gudgeon”, she says, “and is certainly cleaner”.
‘She runs it over my breasts and nipples, making them tingle, and then makes me turn over on my tummy. She pulls the cheeks of my bottom apart and puts the vibrator on my bottom hole. She reminds me that this is where Ned Gudgeon wanted to put his penis. It is a strange feeling, the vibration on my anus, tantalising but at the same time slightly upsetting. Still on my tummy I lift my bottom into the air. She slides the thing into my vagina, which is more than ready. She plays it over my clitoris, which is absolute heaven, and pushes it in and out. She is such an expert I am putty in her hands. Within seconds, it seems, I am screaming for her to stop, I can take no more; my orgasm is so intense.
‘I kiss her with gratitude, worming my tongue into her mouth. She tells me to do the same with her nether lips. As I am lapping at her beautiful clitoris, she reaches into her bag again and gets another dildo, this one with straps. She asks me if I have ever fancied being a man. I say that occasionally I have been curious, such as when I see Beth with no clothes on. She is so beautiful. “Well”, Helen says, “ you can practice on me”. She helps me to strap on the dildo and we both play with it as if it was real. I stroke it with my hands as Helen takes it in her mouth. Then she lies on her back with her legs apart and pulls me down on top of her. I imagine I am Richard as I fuck her. I fuck her and fuck her, until she screams and orgasms. I wish I could come inside her.’
There was silence as Natasha stopped reading.
‘Is that it?’ Richard asked.
‘That’s all I had time to write today once I returned,’ Natasha replied. ‘There’s not much more to tell. I left early this morning and came straight home. May I thank you, Richard, for an interesting few days.’
‘It wasn’t supposed to be interesting,’ Richard said grimly. ‘It was supposed to be educative. Show me your bottom.’
‘Pardon?’ Natasha could not hide her surprise.
‘Show me your bottom.’
‘Now?’
‘No, tomorrow,’ he sarcastically replied. ‘Of course I mean now.’
Facing him, her chin up again in defiance, Natasha reached for her belt buckle. She undid it and unzipped her slacks. As she pushed them down, she turned with her back towards him. When they were around her knees she hooked her thumbs in her panties and tugged them down too, pushing her bottom towards Richard as she did so, and then using both hands to hold up the hem of her sweater.
‘It looks unmarked to me,’ Richard said after a long moment of contemplation. ‘Perhaps you would be good enough to take a closer look, Beth.’
Beth got up from the sofa and knelt by her friend, to inspect the soft, rounded flesh. ‘Hardly a mark,’ she said quietly when she had resumed her seat.
‘I’m disappointed in Helen,’ Richard said pensively. ‘I can see I am going to have to do the job for her. And there’s also the question of Natasha’s lie and the details she missed out.’ Natasha was pulling up her trousers. ‘No,’ Richard said, ‘take them completely off, and your knickers too. I haven’t finished with you yet.’
With one hand on the arm of the sofa for support, Natasha humbly obeyed.
‘Sit down next to Beth,’ Richard ordered, ‘and keep you
r legs open as we talk. I want you to tell me about your time in the remand home when you were young. Touch yourself between your legs as you are talking.’
Natasha leaned back, pushing her hips forward on the couch, her legs parted. ‘It wasn’t a remand home, it was a hostel,’ she said, sliding one hand between her legs. ‘Richard, do I really have to do this?’
‘Yes.’ He was adamant.
Natasha told again about her time as a teenager, about the warden of the home who liked to spank her, and eventually cane her for imaginary offences. As she spoke she began to pant and writhe on the sofa. Many times she lost track of what she was saying and had to go back and correct herself, constantly having to start incomplete sentences over again.
‘Beth, Natasha seems to be having some difficulty,’ Richard said, watching and listening intently with his chin on his steepled fingertips. ‘Perhaps you would help her?’ and without a word, Beth slid seductively to her knees in front of her friend. She pushed Natasha’s hand out of the way and buried her head between the girl’s thighs as fingers instinctively entwined in her blonde hair.
‘Tell me again about the caning,’ Richard went on, watching the beautifully conflicting look of bliss and shame on the dark girl’s face, and the alluring sight of her breasts slowly rising and falling as she relaxed under the artful and audible ministrations of her friend.
As she tried to explain, her eyes closed dreamily and her cheeks rosy, she became more and more aroused until finally her last words crescendoed into a panted squeal, intermingling perfectly with Beth’s wet lapping. Her head lolled back and she clamped her thighs against either side of Beth’s head, giving herself over entirely to the orgasm that contorted her body.