Bouquet of Bamboo

by Sarah Steel

  ‘But the game…’

  ‘The hawthorn, Sneesby, and then report back to me. You may find some unofficial games being played there, I suspect.’

  Greg played like a windmill on a March day at the crease. He left the match with a handy twenty-four notched up, hitting four massive sixes that drew loud applause even from the Stumpies.

  Behind the hawthorn he tossed down his bat and gloves eagerly. Kneeling, he kissed Susie harshly, dominantly taming her tongue with his own. Brushing aside her hands from his trousers he pushed her gently but firmly down onto the soft turf.

  ‘Four sixes,’ he grunted, knuckling her pussy. ‘I’ve done well at the crease, girl, so I think I’ll have a go at this one.’

  Her print frock rode up her slender thighs and he gazed down at her soft pubic bush. Seeing the wet sheen on his knuckles and the glint at her juicing slit, he quickly undid and pushed down his trousers. He was astride her, and inside her, before she could catch her breath, his chest crushing her cushioning bosom as his thick length filled her. Gripping her buttocks he lunged into her, his fingertips meeting at her deep cleft and splaying the captive cheeks painfully apart. Her stretched anus became a sweet, maddening torment, another hot hole needing to be filled. She sucked hungrily on his neck, and then bit it as his throbbing shaft sent ripples of pleasure up into her belly. In minutes they came together, both almost blinded by the stinging perspiration of their brutal exertion.

  ‘Hell, my bloody shoulder,’ Greg muttered.

  ‘Susie kiss it better,’ she whispered, mounting him carefully and angling her seething pussy at the shoulder he was ruefully rubbing. Pressing her wetness into his tough flesh, she climaxed again wiping her labial lips against his cotton shirt.

  Monday morning was very wet. It rained steadily, filling the rutted lanes with brimming puddles. The tea tent on the village green, silent since Sunday at sunset, sagged.

  Virginia Emsley sipped her cup of coffee, her eye fixed expectantly on the back door. The kitchen was perfumed with chicory from her beverage, which she took very strong, and with the smell of pungent sulphur fumes from the partly burnt fuel.

  The garden gate creaked. She placed her cup down on the saucer, and its rattle betrayed her suppressed excitement. The back door opened. Alice entered the kitchen backwards, turning and bumping the door closed again with her bottom. Her wet Wellingtons squeaked on the flagstone floor.

  ‘Well?’ Virginia demanded.

  ‘I took those empty soda siphons back to The Cock on the pretext—’

  ‘Never mind all that,’ her lover snapped impatiently. ‘Did you manage to get at the laundry basket?’

  Alice nodded. ‘No washing today in all that.’ She nodded through the kitchen window at the pouring rain, and then unzipping her glistening waxed raincoat, she shook free several sets of cricket whites.

  ‘Are you sure you got the middle-order’s kit?’

  ‘Oh yes, quite sure. Name tags sewn in. It was easy, just as you said it would be.’

  ‘Terry’s and Peter’s?’

  ‘And Greg’s.’

  The president of the WI snatched the trousers up from the flagstone floor, and peeling them open under her nose, inspected them intimately.

  ‘Salt, they say, shifts grass stains,’ Alice remarked pleasantly.

  ‘I’m not looking for grass stains.’

  Alice blushed pinkly.

  ‘And you are quite certain you saw that little slut of a barmaid behind the hawthorn yesterday?’

  ‘Oh yes. Fast asleep she was. Quite exhausted. Perhaps a touch of the sun, too.’

  ‘Touch of someone’s son,’ Virginia growled. ‘Hmm… nothing suggestive on these. Throw me those shirts, Sneesby. I’m damn sure I’m on the right track.’

  Bending, Alice gathered up the three white shirts.

  ‘I knew it!’ Virginia declared shrilly. ‘There, smell that… and that.’

  Alice obediently dipped her nose into the stained shirts, and wrinkled it in apparent distaste.

  ‘Semen!’ Virginia cried.

  Alice shuddered, but her nose remained plunged in the stained cotton, sniffing deeply.

  ‘Better get those back to the laundry basket in The Cock before they’re missed.’ Virginia spoke over her shoulder from the sink where she was rinsing her fingers. ‘Looks as though it’s going to clear up.’

  Alice clutched the semen-stained shirts tightly to her bosom, and while Virginia checked the sky through the window as she dried her hands, Alice risked a darting lick of the soiled cotton.

  ‘Sneesby!’ Virginia caught the surreptitious act reflected in the kitchen window. ‘By God, my girl, it’s the dog lead for your arse tonight.’

  Sunbeams danced in a spindling shaft lancing the windows of the village hall. Rows of empty wooden chairs waited patiently for the buttocks of the impending WI committee. When they were filled, a little after four o’clock, Virginia Emsley called for order.

  ‘I have convened this extraordinary meeting to discuss events at the match on Sunday,’ she announced.

  The wooden chairs creaked in quiet disappointment as their occupants groaned inwardly. None of those assembled wanted an inquest into a match lost and best forgotten. The visitors had taken the County Cup back to Selston with them, and that, unfortunately, was that.

  ‘I have asked the barmaid at The Cock to be present,’ Virginia continued. ‘I believe she may be able to shed some useful light on our downfall.’

  Something in her tone caused the WI members to stiffen. Their chairs squeaked sharply as the entire committee leaned forward with sudden interest.

  ‘Ah, right on cue. Come in girl. Close the door, Sneesby, and the curtains too, please.’

  Susie stepped into the sunlit village hall, grimacing at the stern black upright piano and at the pale faces of the committee.

  Alice closed, and locked, the door.

  Susie turned, uncertain and a little afraid.

  ‘We pride ourselves on matters of privacy,’ the president of the WI informed her evenly.

  The sunbeams ceased their silent dancing as Alice Sneesby suddenly closed the heavy plum curtains.

  Susie froze. Yellow naked light bulbs glowed overhead, illuminating the dour faces of the silent committee, nine impassive masks of disapproval. ‘What do you want me for?’ she asked in a small voice.

  ‘Just wanted to thank you, my girl, for encouraging our boys at the crease on Sunday.’ Virginia kept her brisk tone pleasant.

  Susie, wary as a perch amongst pike, fiddled with her fingers over her pubic mound. ‘Always happy to cheer on the Cocks.’ She attempted to smile.

  ‘Langley Parva thanks you for your efforts, I’m sure. So kind of you to encourage the men and reward their efforts.’

  Susie was silent. The click of the door being locked still echoed loudly in her brain.

  ‘Oh come girl, we’re not all jam and Jerusalem, you know.’

  Susie flushed.

  ‘No, we’re jolly good sports, aren’t we girls?’

  The committee, a little bewildered, nodded in assent.

  ‘We are not here to condemn you. The middle-order hit big sixes for you, didn’t they?’

  Susie giggled, and relaxing a little, she dropped her hands down to her thighs.

  ‘What was it, my dear, a kiss, perhaps? A kiss for every six?’

  The lovely barmaid half assented with a shy nod.

  ‘Or a little more than a kiss, maybe?’

  She suddenly wondered why the curtains were drawn. It unsettled her…

  ‘Speak up, girl. No secrets here. All girls together.’

  She bit her lip. The buttocks filling the polished wooden chairs belonged, she knew, to indignant aunts, sisters and jealous girlfriends of the middle order batsmen. Village life was like that. A girl went with one man and i
mmediately made several females her enemy.

  ‘We could hardly be cross with you for encouraging our boys to score, now could we?’ Virginia ploughed on doggedly, sweet reason dripping from her every word.

  Susie remained silent.

  ‘Speak out, slut,’ Virginia lost her temper abruptly. ‘We’re waiting.’

  Susie blushed furiously, and the air inside the village hall crackled with tension. Then the silence was shattered by the scraping of a wooden chair against the floor as the president of the WI rose majestically, and strode over to a highly polished wooden table.

  ‘Come here, girl,’ Virginia commanded, tapping her straightened forefinger dominantly down onto the wood.

  Susie shrank back, but willing hands – those of Alice Sneesby and the village schoolmistress – seized and propelled her forward. Frogmarched to the edge of the table, she was forced facedown across it. Alice and the lissom schoolmistress then skirted the table, took up positions at the far corners, and grabbing the barmaid’s wrists, pinned them down against the smooth wood.

  The soft tread of the president’s approaching brogues filled Susie with mounting dread. She writhed and twisted in an attempt to glance over her shoulder, but the hands pinioning her wrists gripped her even harder. She was helpless, face down and bottom up before the silent committee.

  A shocked gasp, mixed with a murmur of delight, rose from those watching as Virginia pushed Susie’s skirt up over her thighs and buttocks, arranging its pleats across her back. Her panties bared, she shivered and tightened her buttocks defensively, squeezing her thighs together to conceal her pubic plum.

  ‘Don’t be so shy, slut. If the men can see it all, then so can we, hmm?’

  Susie hated the skimming fingertips lightly tracing the generous curves of her cheeks through her tight panties.

  ‘Ah, scarlet, the colour of sin.’ Virginia Emsley took a deep breath, savouring her moment of victory by dominantly fondling the proffered bottom. Then, just as slowly, she plucked the elastic waistband of the red silk panties away from the barmaid’s soft warm skin. Susie’s cleft, a thin, shadowy crease between her pert bottom cheeks, was gradually revealed. She jerked her hips in a vain attempt to retain her undergarment, but Virginia simply laughed and yanked them down with a flourish, her cruel eyes narrowing hungrily as they took in the uncovered flesh.

  ‘No, please don’t!’ Susie wailed, grinding her belly into the table. Pinned down ruthlessly at each wrist, she abruptly sensed the horror of her absolute helplessness. Naked and bent over submissively she was in her dominant tormentor’s thrall.

  Virginia delayed the moment of punishment, nudging the exposed cheeks and dimpling their tender mounds, perfect twin peaches poised for impending pain.

  Leaving the red panties in a tight restricting band of stretched silk just above the barmaid’s knees, the president of the WI slipped a shiny red cricket ball from one of her pockets, and holding it aloft between her fingertips, showed it to the assembly. ‘As your president, I propose to punish the slut.’

  The committee growled with appreciative, impatient, approval.

  ‘I propose to punish the slut until her bare bottom is as red as this cricket ball.’

  Susie groaned, and her warm breath clouded the polished wood.

  The committee grunted their unanimous pleasure at the prospect of severe punishment.

  ‘It is,’ Virginia went on, placing the red ball on the table, ‘my painful duty. But,’ she added in a whisper, gently scraping her thumbnail down the length of Susie’s cleft, ‘it will also be a pleasure.’

  The ball trembled upon the dark sphere of its own reflection a few inches from Susie’s eyes. It gleamed like an overly polished apple offered up at the harvest festival.

  Taking her stance against the barmaid’s left thigh, the president of the WI placed her left hand, palm down, on the buttock she proposed to punish. Controlling the quivering cheek to her complete satisfaction, she delivered three ringing spanks with the firm palm of her right hand.

  Gasping aloud, Susie kicked her foot up and trod the empty air. Four more crisp spanks, vicious caresses of firm flesh upon soft curves, exploded across her quivering cheek. The punisher’s left hand remained firmly in place throughout, squashing the punished buttock down into total surrender before smacking it again.

  Susie squealed and squirmed, her rapidly reddening cheek dancing and jiggling beside the creamy unpunished orb beside it.

  Massaging the girl’s ravaged flesh slowly and firmly with the hand that had just tormented it, Virginia spoke in a soft but vehement tone as her audience watched, spellbound. ‘The slut pleasured the batsmen with her hands and then allowed them the use of her trollop’s flesh. Her behaviour was an offence to all the members of this WI and all the womenfolk of Langley Parva.’ Snatching up the red cricket ball, she pressed the polished sphere in against Susie’s spanked cheek. ‘Capital! An almost perfect match.’ The cold leather dimpled the hot curve, tearing a gasp, which melted into a moan, from the barmaid’s dry lips.

  The committee, many taking their strumming fingers from their pussies, clapped with loud approval.

  Susie, weeping silently, stiffened against the table. Then a fresh ignominy caused her eyes to widen and her face to blaze as red as her bottom when she suddenly sensed something soft touching the knuckles of one of her clenched hands. She managed to look up, and could not believe it when she saw Alice Sneesby using the fist she was imprisoning to knuckle her fanny. Susie bucked rebelliously, crying aloud as she tried to retrieve her hand from Sneesby’s pussy.

  Virginia spanked her again. ‘Be still and silent, slut. I’ve your other cheek to punish yet.’ She smacked the barmaid’s soft white buttock five times in quick succession.

  Blinking through her tears, her face pressed down to kiss its own reflection in the highly polished wood, Susie repeatedly suffered the scalding impact of a vicious hand against her upturned rump while the committee sat in spellbound silence. Across the table Alice gripped the captive wrist fiercely, and furtively raked the barmaid’s clenched hand up and down across her moist labia.

  A final flurry of seven severe blows left Susie sobbing loudly, and at last the cricket ball was drawn up to kiss the blazing cheek.

  Virginia sighed with profound satisfaction. ‘A perfect match,’ she judged, setting the red ball back on the table. Then she knelt down, rubbing the radiant palms of her hands together. Her face a mere few inches from the bare bottom she had just spanked, she gazed at it almost tenderly. Then she turned her face upwards and delivered a terse lecture on the merits of modesty and maidenhood to the whimpering barmaid while the committee nodded approvingly.

  Finally the president of the WI fell silent and chairs began creaking uneasily, but unperturbed by the signals of growing impatience in the village hall, Virginia continued to gaze steadily at the spanked bottom. She licked her lips twice, and swallowed hard. Her eyes became narrow slits of fierce fascination. Susie’s buttocks dimpled as she squeezed them self-consciously, and Virginia’s hand rose to rest lightly across the upper curves of the proffered cheeks. She tenderly thumbed the bottom she had just beaten, and then, shuffling closer on her knees against her victim’s thigh, she pinched a finger and thumb full of punished flesh and twisted. Susie yelped.

  ‘Silence,’ Virginia commanded.

  The barmaid began sobbing quietly again, and as their president stood up, steadying herself briefly against the table, the committee stirred and sat up expectantly. Enthralled, they gazed at the scene in unblinking silence.

  ‘You may think my punishment of the slut a trifle harsh,’ Virginia began. ‘She did, after all, in her own sordid way, try to secure honour and victory for Langley Parva.’

  Susie’s mind seized on the words, and she dared to hope full penance had been paid and that her pain and humiliation were over. But as her tormentor continued speaking, her hope vanished.<
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  ‘But the truth is that this barmaid, I am reluctant to say, with her own hands brought dishonour and defeat to the village.’ Launching into a scathing tirade, Virginia Emsley explained how Susie’s debauchery had unwittingly exhausted the batsmen, sending them spent and useless in to bowl and field. The outraged aunts, furious sisters and speechless girlfriends of the middle-order batsmen gave full verbal vent to their fury. Baying for vengeance, they rose in unison and pressed forward, encircling Susie’s bare buttocks.

  Virginia Emsley held up her hand. ‘Be seated,’ she ordered sternly. ‘This is a formal committee meeting of the Langley Parva WI Ladies. Pray be seated.’

  They obeyed her, muttering angrily.

  ‘Yes, dishonour, for which she has been chastised, but defeat, as well. In rewarding the batsmen, she ruined them. Greg missed four chances behind the wicket. The slut handed Selston the County Cup,’ Virginia concluded, and then added in a feral whisper, ‘which is why she has still to suffer our wrath.’

  As the full magnitude of the barmaid’s crimes – and their consequences – dawned upon the outraged committee members, their president knelt once more, and producing them from her pocket, unfurled her dog leads. The first was carefully threaded around, and then between, Susie’s ankles, drawing and binding them tightly together. Her flesh whitened where the stern leather bit deep. The second dog lead was secured around her trembling thighs a couple of inches below the spanked buttocks, and the crimsoned cheeks bulged invitingly above the restricting band of hide.

  ‘Miss Inchtipp,’ Virginia said, calling over her shoulder to the verger’s sister. ‘Did you remember?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Miss Inchtipp replied. ‘I plucked them from my raspberry bushes.’

  ‘One apiece, if you will.’

  Excitedly, the verger’s sister distributed yellow whippy canes to the eagerly outstretched hands of the committee. Virginia, accepting and closely examining her bamboo rod, placed it on the table. Susie, glimpsing the eighteen inches of cruel wood through tear-spangled eyelashes, jerked and wriggled violently. The cane rattled eerily as it was jolted and rolled towards her, coming to rest teasingly against her lips.