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Subject: {ASSM} Story: Megthorpe Holiday
Date: Fri, 31 Mar 2000 07:10:09 -0500
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MEGTHORPE HOLIDAY

(mFff solo voy oral spank bd nc)

This is my first posting to ASSM. I've enjoyed so many stories over the last
few years that I felt I just had to give something back. So here it is. I'd
welcome any feedback either by mail - chas_tanet@mailcity.com - or on ASSD.

Some readers may find the few Northern English dialect words and phrases a bit
strange, but I think you'll work them out from the context.

The story contains graphic descriptions of sexual activities, some non-
consensual. If the place you live in and/or the age you are prohibits you from
reading this kind of thing, please don't. Try moving somewhere nicer, or wait
till you grow up.

Any resemblance in this story to actual persons, places or events is purely
coincidental. Corollary: I do not have a cousin Helen and I cannot give you
her phone number.

The right of Chas Tanet to be identified as the author of this work has been
asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act,
1988. It may not be used for any commercial purpose whatsoever without the
author's express permission.

Copyright 2000 Chas Tanet.


#  #  #  #  #  #  #  


   MEGTHORPE HOLIDAY 
     by Chas Tanet


1. Friday August 7

  My Mam always called me "a mucky little sod", but she hadn't had the benefit
of a university education; I prefer the phrase "sexually prurient". She often
criticised me for "wiping my nose on the bed sheets". In my defence, Kleenex
tissues were unknown in our house, and the toilet paper was of a peculiar
shining translucency more suitable for tracing architectural drawings than
soaking up seminal fluid. But I digress.

   I turned fifteen in the summer of 1969 when Mam had to go into hospital to
have her tubes tied. Teenage boys were not privy to gynaecological details in
the sixties. We lived in a small market town and the nearest general hospital
was in Megthorpe, a seaside resort sixteen miles away. They kept people in
hospital much longer in those days, and Mam was faced with the problem of what
to do with me for a week. My Dad had died three years before - he had
committed suicide the civilised way: forty Players Navy Cut untipped a day -
and we had no relatives in town. The obvious solution was for me to stay with
Mam's sister Mary who lived in Megthorpe. That way, I would be both taken care
of and able to visit. I sensed a slight reluctance on Mam's part. I think
there was little love lost between the sisters. I'd only seen Aunt Mary on a
few big family occasions like weddings, the last time about three years
before. Mary was a few years younger than Mam, in her thirties, and had been
the good-looking one, popular with the boys. She'd paid for this by marrying
and giving birth to a daughter, Helen, when she was only eighteen. Time and a
feckless husband, long departed, had left her living in a large but ruinous
terraced house in semi-respectable poverty. I could barely recall my cousin
Helen - just a vague memory of a stuck up, disdainful brat about a year older
than myself.

   I remember the ride to Megthorpe quite clearly. The bus had once been the
property of the Royal Air Force and had been bought on the cheap at the end of
the war. Neither the rudimentary repaint nor the engine had worn well in the
subsequent twenty-odd years, and we barely made it up the shallow gradients of
the low coastal hills. "Appleton's Luxury Coaches" was the mendacious legend
on the side. Outside the bus it was full summer. Huge fields like prairies
stretched as far as you could see, full of ripening barley and wheat, hazy in
the heat. But I was hardly aware of the view: I was reading. Mam was somewhat
suspicious of my voracious book habit - she rightly suspected that I preferred
smut. That day it was 'Thunderball'. I remember the chapter that ends with
James Bond in the beach hut unfastening the girl's bikini top, and furiously
reading on in search of more dirty bits. I had, of course, a rampant erection,
but buses always did that to me, even without the aid of Ian Fleming's suave
seducer. 

   We got off at Megthorpe bus station which was crowded with trippers from
the steel towns of Yorkshire, and walked up away from the sea for about ten
minutes to Aunt Mary's house. It is not easy walking when you are holding your
suitcase in front of you. My prick was banging about painfully inside my baggy
grey trousers, but eventually subsided into a half turgid state. The house
was, as predicted by Mam, a shambles. Tall weeds grew either side of the short
front path; the windows were grimy; the front door peeling and cracked. This
was in sharp contrast to the woman who answered Mam's knock. Mary might have
been poor, but she had kept herself in good condition. Her clothes looked
cheap, but they were worn with a certain style, and the body beneath was
sufficiently young and shapely to hold my undivided attention. Mary shared the
same dark complexion and brown hair as Mam, but there the resemblance ended.
Where Mam was short and a bit dumpy, Mary was about my height, five feet
eight, and had a slim, athletic figure. The problem inside my trousers grew
again. The sisters kissed briefly and went inside. Almost as an afterthought,
Mam called me in. I went through the dusty hallway to the kitchen. Like most
houses at the time the front room, or parlour, was used only for very
important visitors. We didn't qualify, being family.

   Aunt Mary put the kettle on while Mam settled onto a kitchen chair. I stood
just inside the door, clutching the case.
  'Put that down and sit yourself, David,' said Mam, rummaging in the biscuit
tin for a chocolate digestive, and failing to find one. The women chatted
about distant cousins and uncles in whom I'd no interest. So, with the
selfishness of youth, I sat in the corner with my cup of tea - strong enough
to remove tonsils - and carried on reading my book. I'd just finished when
Mary glanced at her watch.
  'What time are you due at the hospital, love?' she asked.
  'Five o'clock,' Mam replied.
  'Then we'd better get our skates on. You'll be all right here, David, love,
won't you? I'll only be half an hour, but I'd better see your Mam settled in.
I'll cook us tea when I'm back. All right?'
  'Yeah, fine.' I stood up and looked at Mam, who was gathering her
belongings. 'Err... I'll see you soon, Mam.' She gave me the smallest of hugs
and told me to behave myself. We didn't kiss.

   Off they went, Mam padding out of the house in her sensible flat shoes,
Mary's scuffed high heels clattering on the tiles, and I was alone in my
temporary home: me, David Oster, secret agent, licensed to kill. First thing,
know your territory. I set about a quick but comprehensive reconnaissance.
Front parlour - overstuffed chairs, welsh dresser with chipped willow pattern
plates and souvenirs of day trips. Back room - two threadbare armchairs and a
sofa, facing an old black and white television. The kitchen I had already
seen. Behind that a utility room or scullery, with a twin tub washing machine
and a clothes horse. Out the back a long, very overgrown garden with a couple
of spindly apple trees and a shed that looked about to fall under its own
weight. In my 007 persona, I crept silently up the stairs. Bathroom and toilet
first on the left. At the back of the house a small room with a single bed,
freshly made up. There was a chest of drawers and a narrow wardrobe. I guessed
this was to be mine. The next room was bigger, and from the decor and smell
just had to be my cousin Helen's room. There were pictures of male pop stars
taped to most flat vertical surfaces, and the windowsill held a collection of
furry animals.

  'What are you doing?' I turned round and saw a girl of sixteen or so,
looking at me with piercing blue eyes. She wore a summer dress of faded blue
and white stripes, obviously not this year's purchase, as it clung rather too
tightly to her curves.
  'Err...' I answered.
  'You'll be David, I suppose,' she said with an expression that I suspected
was a sneer.
  'Yeah. Mam and your, er... Mam are down the hospital.'
  'So you thought you'd go snooping round my room.'
  'I didn't know it was yours. I was only looking round the house. I haven't
touched anything. Really.' The secret agent's suave mask was beginning to
slip. Helen sensed she was gaining the advantage and she smiled. It wasn't a
particularly nice smile.
  'I don't think Mam'll be very happy when I tell her you've been snooping
through my things. She'll think you're a... a pervert or something.'
  'But I haven't! I've only just come in!'
  'I don't know that, do I?' Helen continued. She strode over to the dressing
table, opened the top drawer and pulled out a flimsy white garment. I
recognised it as a bra. 'I mean, you could have been rifling through my
underwear and stuff.' I stood speechless, trapped by a potent emotional mix of
embarrassment and lust as she waved the bra at me. Eventually, she replaced it
in the drawer and favoured me with another of her strange smiles.

  'Well, it doesn't look like you've disturbed anything,' she conceded.
  'I didn't, honest.'
  'But you'd like to have, wouldn't you? You'd like to look through my
clothes, I can tell.' I decided not to try to reply to this.
  'Please don't tell Aunt Mary.'
  'No, you wouldn't want me to do that. She can be very... stern.'
  'Stern?' I squeaked.
  'You'll find out,' she said, darkly. 'Now, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to
get changed and have a bath.'
  'Oh, I'll go then.'
  'I think that would be best.' As I closed the door, I heard laughter.

   In the kitchen I sat staring into space, trying to calm myself and slow my
racing heart. Unfortunately, I couldn't help but hear the sound of Helen
splashing in the bath upstairs, and images of my cousin, naked and soapy,
filled my brain. I slipped a hand into my trouser pocket and abandoned myself
to my thoughts. I was almost at the critical point when I heard the front door
open and close, and the sound of Aunt Mary's heels. I sprang to my feet, ran
to the sink and made a desperate attempt to pretend I was washing up the
teacups. I glanced back over my shoulder.

  'Hello, Aunt Mary,' I said, my voice shaking.
  'Are you all right, love? You look a bit flushed.' She put her handbag on
the table.
  'No, I'm fine, really. Just thought I'd wash up.'
  'That's very considerate of you, David. But leave them for now. I'll do them
when I make the tea.' She was standing very close behind me, and laid a hand
lightly on my right shoulder. I felt her breasts brush the back of my shirt.
My whole body was trembling with pent-up excitement.
  'Are you sure you're all right?' She put her other hand on my left shoulder.
'You're trembling, love.' I felt her fingers touch my forehead. 'I reckon
you've got a bit of a temperature.'
  'No, I'm fine, really. It's just the heat, you know, and the bus journey,
and...'
  'Why don't you take your stuff up to your room - it's the one at the back -
and have a lie down till teatime?'
  'I'll do that. Thanks, Aunt Mary,' I said, grateful for the escape route
presented to me. 

   I grabbed my suitcase and went upstairs. Halfway up, I saw the bathroom
door open and caught a glimpse of Helen in a pink towelling robe crossing the
landing and going into her bedroom. Perhaps unused to strangers in the house,
she had left her door half an inch ajar. I could not resist. What fifteen-
year-old could? I leant against the wall and applied my eye to the gap. I had
a reasonable view of the end of the bed and part of the room near the window.
Helen entered my field of vision, still in her robe, towelling her hair, and
sat at the stool in front of the dressing table. She continued to dry her
hair, leaning forward to inspect her face in the mirror. As she did so, the
front of her robe gaped open revealing an amount of cleavage. My hand was in
my pocket, but I hardly dared stroke myself. She brushed her short dark brown
hair for a while, each movement causing the robe to open further and her
breasts to sway. Was that the edge of a nipple fleetingly revealed? She put
down the brush, stood and went out of sight towards the wardrobe.

   Suddenly the door was pulled wide open, and Helen stood facing me, the robe
fastened tightly, her arms crossed in front of her. I took a step back,
holding my hands protectively in front of my groin.
  'Well?' she asked. Her expression was not friendly. I found myself lost for
words. She looked me up and down, her gaze resting significantly on my
nervously clasped hands. She lowered her voice and said, 'Come in here. Now.'
I inched forwards into the room. She was standing by the window, arms still
crossed, waiting for me to say something.
  'I wasn't spying, honest.' It didn't sound convincing, even to me. 'I was
just on the landing, taking my suitcase to my...'
  'Rubbish!' she interrupted. 'I get out of the bath and find my little cousin
peering through the door. I could see you in the mirror, you know. I let you
watch for a while, just to make sure.'
  'But I wasn't! Really!'
  'You're not getting any better at lying. First you creep about my bedroom
when I'm not here, then you try to watch me getting dressed. Mam's going to be
very angry when I tell her.'
  'Oh. Please don't. I've only just got here and I don't want to start off on
the wrong foot. I promise I won't do it again. Promise.' 
   She looked at me pensively for a few seconds and said, 'This once, David.
Just this once I'll let you off. But any more of this and I'll tell Mam
everything, and then you'll be sorry.'
  'Oh, thank you, Helen. Thank you. I promise I won't...'
  'I've heard enough promises. Now bugger off to your room. Go on!' I buggered
off.

   I unpacked my few clothes and lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling and
pondering my situation. On the negative side, I was stuck in this ramshackle
house miles from all my mates with only an aunt and a hostile cousin for
company. On the positive side, I was in the company of two attractive females,
and had seen some partial nudity and a selection of underwear - more erotic
stimulation in an hour than I would normally get in a month. The throbbing of
my erection grew more urgent, and I was pleased I had at last the opportunity
to do something about it. I unfastened my trousers and pulled them and my
underpants a little way down. I rucked up my shirt to avoid any splashes and
gratefully gave myself up to the pleasure of a long slow toss. I closed my
eyes and let increasingly graphic pictures of my aunt and my cousin drift
through my imagination. I delayed as long as I possibly could, bringing myself
within a whisker of coming time after time. At last I relaxed and let copious
quantities of semen spurt onto my stomach in a protracted and intense climax.
Letting out a last gasp, I opened my eyes. So carried away had I been in my
enjoyment that I had not heard the door open. Helen was standing there, a huge
grin on her face. I quickly turned away from her, grabbed my handkerchief,
performed a lightning mopping up and pulled up my trousers.

  'That was quite impressive,' she giggled. I was going to protest at the
invasion of my privacy, but as I'd already invaded hers on two occasions, I
felt my argument would be based on dodgy ground. 'It looked like you'd been
saving that up for some time,' she said, and laughed quietly.
  'What would you know about it?' I asked, sitting up miserably on the edge of
the bed.
  'More than you'd think,' she replied. 'Anyway, Mam says tea's ready. You'd
better have a wash, though. You smell all spunky.' Exit Cousin Helen,
smirking.

   We had fried liver and bacon with chips, followed by golden syrup sponge
with evaporated milk. Aunt Mary was good at idle chat, and asked me about
school and my hobbies and so on. Helen didn't say much, but gave me some
amused looks when I poured the milk on my pudding. It emerged that Helen had a
holiday job during the day as a waitress in one of Megthorpe's many fish and
chip cafes.
  'Where are you off to tonight, love?' Mary asked her daughter.
  'Some of us are going round Sue's to listen to records and stuff.'
  'David's got no friends round here. Couldn't you take him along?'
  'What? You've got to be kidding.' Helen put on the expression that only an
outraged sixteen-year-old can manage.
  'Don't be so cheeky, young lady,' her mother reprimanded, her voice suddenly
stern.
  'Sorry, Mam. But, I mean, he's only fifteen and my friends are all going
into the sixth form next year.'
  'Well, when you see them tonight, you can ask them if they wouldn't mind you
bringing David the next time. All right?'
  'Well, I'll ask,' said Helen, grudgingly.
  'It really doesn't matter,' I said, mortified at the mere thought of meeting
Helen's friends. 'I'm quite happy reading and watching telly.'
  'A lad your age should get out a bit,' said Aunt Mary, as if reciting a
missing Commandment. 'Now, Helen, what time have we agreed you'd be home by?'
  'Eleven?' she asked.
  'Half past ten. And not a minute later. You've got to be up for work
tomorrow, in case you've forgotten, and Saturday's one of your busiest days.
Half past ten. Understood?'
  'Yes, Mam.'
  'You'll be wanting to get ready, I expect, though why you have to dress
yourself up when you're only going to see your schoolfriends, I don't know.
David, Maybe you'd help with the washing up.'

   I spent a very uneventful evening reading some Asimov short stories and
watching a comedy on the TV. I went to bed about ten. I had not been asleep
long when I heard voices raised downstairs. I checked my watch: it was just
after eleven. I crept out of bed in my pyjamas and onto the landing.
  'I suppose you think you're being clever and "grown up", do you?' I heard
Mary ask.
  'All the others can stay up past eleven. Why can't I?' Helen was defiant,
but her voice trembled slightly.
  'I don't give a damn what the others do. We'd agreed ten thirty and you swan
in at this time, reeking of drink as well!'
  'I haven't been drinking, Mam,' she protested.
  'Liar. I can smell it on your breath.'
  'It was only a glass of cider.'
  'And you're only sixteen, though you seem to forget that. Now, young lady,
I'm going to teach you a lesson. Come on through here.'
  'No, Mam. Please don't.'
  'Get in here, and hurry up about it!' Mary commanded.
  'Oh, Mam!' wailed Helen, her voice breaking into a sob. I heard a door
close.  I tiptoed down the stairs. Muffled voices came from the front parlour.
Even with my ear pressed to the door, I could tell only that Mary was angry,
and Helen tearful. But after two or three minutes came a different noise: a
loud slap. It was followed a few seconds later by another, then slap after
slap. After about a dozen, there was a pause, and I could hear Helen sobbing
loudly. The slaps resumed - another twelve, and a pause.
  'Please, Mam, no!' I clearly heard Helen's pleading.
  'Shut up!' was her mother's reply, followed swiftly by a further round of
slaps.

  I dearly wished the door had a keyhole. Helen was getting spanked, and I
wanted to see. Was Mary using her hand, a hairbrush, a ruler? Did Helen have
her knickers down? Was she over her mother's knee, or bent over one of the
overstuffed armchairs? Needless to say, my speculations were accompanied by
vivid mental pictures which caused an instant erection. A fourth round of
slaps was received by Helen, whose sobs became piercing wails. There was a
longer pause, and I concluded the punishment was over. I quickly crept back to
my room and, peering around the door, saw Helen hurriedly run up the stairs
and into her room. I heard the squeak of springs as she threw herself onto her
bed, and the sound of her crying slowly subsided. I returned to my room and
had a slow, extremely gratifying wank. The idea of corporal punishment had
excited me as long as I could remember. The first erotic dream I can recall
involved the leader of my Cub Scout pack - a woman, I hasten to add - tied
naked to a tree while I applied a long leather whip. The actuality had always
been embarrassing and painful. Mam never hit me, which was unusual for the
time and place, but certain teachers and headmasters had shown less reticence.
I suppose I had been caned eight or nine times by the age of fifteen, and the
experience nasty, brutish and short. But in my imagination it was totally
different, and the thought of Mary and Helen inflamed me.


2. Saturday August 8

   By the time I came down to breakfast, Helen had left for work. It was
lucky, I thought, that she was a waitress. It did not involve much sitting
down.
  'I hope I didn't wake you up last night, David.' Mary, sitting opposite me
at the table, passed me a cup of tea.
  'Sorry?'
  'Helen got in late and we had a bit of a set-to.'
  'Oh, I thought I heard something, but I was spark out, really.'
  'Sugar?'
  'Yes, please.'
  'Only I had to give her a spanking, and that old leather slipper makes heck
of a noise on a bare bum.'
  'Ah... err... no, I was asleep,' I said, almost spilling my tea, and feeling
myself blush. I could not meet Mary's gaze.
  'Oh, I've embarrassed you, love,' said Mary, briefly squeezing my hand.
'You're not used to our little ways, are you. Your cousin can be a bit wilful
now and then. She's that age, you see. I've tried keeping her in, or giving
chores to do, but a good, sound spanking always does the trick. And the next
day it's all over and forgotten - well apart from a sore backside, of course.'
  'Mm... I see,' I muttered.
  'You don't seem the wilful type, David, I'm pleased to see.' Did I detect a
hint of a smile, a slight turning up at the corners of the mouth? 'Because I'd
hate to have to give you a spanking. I wouldn't like that at all.' It was a
smile, and she let me sit there, unable to speak or even to move, for a long
minute before getting up and going over to the cooker.
  'I could do with some more toast. Would you like some?'
  'Yes, please, Aunt Mary.'

   After yet another one over the wrist, short and sweet this time, I went for
a bracing walk along Megthorpe's promenade. Of course, I was really only
looking at girls, but the exercise was a useful by-product. The teenage
daughters of the northern working class were badly dressed, had poor makeup,
bad hair and loud, rough voices. But they were female, which was sufficient
for me. I had to avoid their male counterparts, however; the gangs of tough
looking lads with beer inside them, shouting and catcalling the girls with
enviable ease, acting as if they owned the place. So I strolled along,
avoiding eye contact with anyone under the age of thirty while surreptitiously
filling my eyes with what beauty I could find. They were never alone, always
promenading in twos and threes, giggling at the ribald suggestions of the
boys, whispering to one another, pretending to be shocked. I found it hard to
believe that they would ever fall for the crudely phrased blandishments, but
the discarded condoms I saw underneath the pier proved me wrong. The Megthorpe
pier is very short, and the sea usually along way away; high tides cleared the
debris beneath at infrequent intervals. There was no chance for me, a bookish
introvert, of making any real contact with the girls. To look would have to be
enough, and I was fairly happy with that.

   At the far end of the prom was a large funfair, and I spent a few bob on
the rifle range, one of the few amusements you can indulge in by yourself with
any satisfaction. I won a plaster squirrel, which I thought would look nice on
Aunt Mary's welsh dresser. I put it in my pocket, but by the time I got back
to the house, it was badly chipped and I had to chuck it in the rubbish bin.
Aunt Mary had told me she would be in town shopping most of the day, so I
bought myself a couple of hot dogs, dripping with greasy fried onions and
tomato sauce. They were delicious. In the afternoon I walked to the open air
swimming pool at the other end of the prom. You got a good view of the pool
from the benches in the park. The sight of girls and young women splashing
about in their swimming costumes was exciting, but even more so was that few
used the changing rooms, preferring to wrap a large towel around themselves
and struggle in and out of their clothes while chatting to friends or family.
This gave the opportunity for brief glimpses of parts of their bodies which
usually remained covered. I caught quick flashes of several breasts of
different sizes and pubic bushes of varied hues. I sat there for nearly two
hours, totally entranced, with a raging stiffy the whole time. A newspaper
strategically placed on my lap allowed the occasional massage of my throbbing
chum. I decided to obtain some binoculars or a telescope. Before going back, I
visited the public toilets and plip-plopped a sizeable load into the pan. It
made walking easier.

   At tea - pork chops, mashed potato and gravy followed by ice cream - it
transpired that I was to be home alone that evening. Helen was going round to
Sue's once more. She told her mother that her friends were not keen on my
being there, but I doubt that she had bothered asking. Aunt Mary was going
down the Flamingo Club and would not be back until about one o'clock. She
impressed on her daughter that the ten thirty curfew still held, and made me
promise to tell her if it was broken. I did not feel too happy assuming this
role, but agreed nonetheless. On my part, I was perfectly happy to stay in and
read. I'd picked up a cheap secondhand copy of 'Diamonds Are Forever' that
afternoon. I don't remember what my aunt and cousin were wearing when they
left the house about eight - I've a dreadful eye for fashion - but I do recall
thinking that they both looked dressed to kill.

   The National Anthem woke me up in my armchair. It was five past twelve, and
the BBC was closing down for the night. I switched off the TV and watched the
picture swindle to a small, persistent white dot. I heard steps in the hallway
and Helen put her head through the door. Her hair was mussed and her lipstick
smudged. Her eyes were hazy and not well focussed.

  'Hiya, David. Still up then?' The "still" came out as "shtill".
  'Yeah. You're late, though.'
  'But you're not going to tell Mam, are you? You wouldn't do that, eh,
David?' She pursed her lips and blew a kiss, giggling.
  'I promised. I'll have to tell her,' I said. Helen came all the way into the
room. She leant against the sideboard for support.
  'And what exactly are you going to say?'
  'Only the truth. That you came in after midnight, drunk.'
  'I am not drunk, just a little... tipsy. And I'm not really very late.'
  'That's for Aunt Mary to decide, not me.' Helen stared at me, obviously
angry.
  'All right, you little bastard. What do you want?'
  'What do you mean?' I asked, all innocent.
  'Why should you care when I come home? You must want something. You know
I'll be in serious trouble.'
  'Maybe that's it,' I said. 'Maybe I just want you to get into trouble. It
was fun listening last night.' Unsurprisingly, she became even angrier.
  'Why, you little fucker!'
  'Language, Helen! Your mother wouldn't like it!"
  'Fuck that! And fuck my mother and fuck you!' She made a sudden lurch
towards the door.
  'Hold on, though,' I said. 'I didn't say I wasn't open to negotiation.'
Helen stopped in her tracks, visibly composed herself and gave me a small,
unconvincing smile.
  'So you do want something after all,' she said. 'You nasty little...'
  'Now, now. That attitude won't get us anywhere. I'd appreciate an apology.'
  'Apology! Why the fuck should I..?' She calmed herself down again. 'Sorry.
I'm sorry.' Her expression did not match her words.
  'Thank you, Helen. Now let's just start with a few simple questions. What
are you wearing?'
  'You can see what I'm frigging wearing! It's a frigging dress, isn't it?'
  'What about underneath, though?' 
  'My underwear. What else?' She narrowed her eyes; she was getting an inkling
of my thought processes.
  'Specifically, Helen. What underwear?' She took a couple of deep breaths
before replying.
  'A bra. A pair of knickers. Suspender belt. Stockings.' her lips were
tightly pressed together.
  'That sounds nice, Helen. I'd very much like to see you wearing those. Why
don't you take off your dress?'
  'I'll be buggered if I will!' she shouted.
  'Your choice. I just can't decide whether to wait up for Aunt Mary or to
tell her in the morning.'

   She chewed her thumbnail for at least three minutes before deciding what to
do. In the end, she reached behind her, unzipped her dress, shrugged it from
her shoulders and let it fall to the ground. She stood quite unashamed, arms
by her side, staring at me.
  'There! Seen enough now?'
  'Not yet. Just stand there so I can fully appreciate it.' I looked her
slowly up and down. It was a very pleasant sight. Her breasts were not large,
but nicely proportioned. Her waist was nicely shaped and her hips noticeable
without being too wide. Her skin showed a pale tan. I had, by now, an
erection. 'Turn round, would you?' She complied, and I feasted my eyes on her
excellent rear end. I noticed that the skin at the top of her thighs was still
a bright red from her beating the night before. I took out my erection and
started to stroke it slowly. 'You can turn back now,' I said. The look on her
face was one of surprise, rather than outright horror. I guessed it was not
the first time she'd seen a similar organ.
  'You little pervert!'
  'Not at all, Helen. You ought to be flattered that I find you so...
attractive.' I couldn't help chuckling out loud. 'But I'd like you to show me
the answer to another question: your hair's brown - are your pubes the same
colour?'
  'Right! That's it! No more!' She grabbed her dress and held it to bosom.
'You can tell Mam what you fucking well like!' She began backing out of the
door.
  'I will, I certainly will. What was it last night? About four dozen on the
bum? I reckon Aunt Mary will be even more "stern" this time.' She hesitated a
while, then stepped forward, dropped her dress, pulled down her knickers and
stepped out of them. 'Could you step a bit closer, please. I've never seen one
this close before.' Her bush was, in fact, several shades darker than the hair
on her head, almost black. But what surprised me was the sheer bushiness of
it, and the large area across which it spread. It was a magnificent sight, and
my tumescence grew stronger.

  'And now a final request, I promise. And then I can forget all about saying
anything to your mother.'
  'Yes. What is it?' she hissed. I sat back in the armchair, gazing at the
dark triangle only feet away, gently massaging the old man.
  'Just kneel down and finish me off. That's all.'
  'What? You must be fucking kidding!' She took a step back.
  'It won't be the first time you've done it, I'm sure. It won't take long,
and just think of the alternative. I don't know what Aunt Mary considers
proper punishment for what you've done, but I bet it won't be very nice.'
  She lifted her eyes to the heavens, shook her head and muttered, 'Oh, fuck
it!' before lowering herself in front of me and wrapping the fingers of her
right hand around my shaft. It felt good. She moved her hand up and down in a
brisk rhythm, letting the skin slide over the firm gristle beneath. I would
rather she had gone more slowly, but did not want to push my luck. So I
relaxed and let events take their course, which took about a minute. I knew
she would try to let go as soon as the first spurt came, so I quickly wrapped
my hand over hers and made her continue until the last gasp. I had my
handkerchief ready to catch the drips. I let her go and she sprang to her
feet, holding her glistening hand out in front of her as if it had been dipped
in acid.
  'You bastard! I'll get you for this some day, I will.'
  'No need to be like that, Helen. May I just say that from my point of view,
this has been a very enjoyable experience, and one I'd like to repeat any time
you're free.'
  'You can go fuck yourself,' she said, gathering her clothes and giving me
one last glance of pure hatred. I smiled at her and wiped my penis dry.
  'And a fond goodnight to you, too, Helen.'

   I turned off the lights and went to bed. Helen's light was still on. I
imagined she was cursing me. I lay in bed, a contented smile on my face,
letting the events of the day replay on my closed eyelids. It was a small
orgasm that barely dampened my pyjama trousers, but it sent me straight to
sleep.


3. Sunday August 9

   It was the busiest day of the week in Megthorpe. British Railways laid on
special excursion trains from Rotherham, Sheffield and Doncaster, bringing
thousands of pasty-faced workers and their families to frolic by the seaside.
So when I got up for breakfast about nine o'clock, I was not surprised that
Helen had already left.
  'You took your bloody time getting up,' said Mary. 'I hope you don't expect
me to hang around waiting to cook you breakfast at your convenience.' She was
not in a good mood. She looked pale and frequently stopped to hold a hand to
her head. She was drinking copious quantities of tea. In retrospect, I assume
a heavy night at the Flamingo Club was the cause of her bad humour.
  'I'm sorry, I didn't realise. You really didn't need to cook anything.'
  'Always have a proper fried breakfast on a Sunday,' she said, cracking two
eggs into a frying pan of hot, smoking lard. The huge, steaming, greasy pile
arrived in front of me: eggs, bacon, sausages, tomatoes, mushrooms, fried
bread. I set to heartily.
  'So what time did Helen get in last night?' Mary asked.
  'Um...' I gazed at the tablecloth.
  'Come on, you'd better tell me.'
  'I don't want to get her into trouble,' I said.
  'So she was late, then. What time was it?'
  'Oh, a bit after twelve, I think. But she probably just got held up or
something. Or got lost on the way home.'
  'Had she been drinking?'
  'I really don't know,' I replied. 'I mean, she was a bit unsteady on her
feet and she was slurring a bit, but she was probably just tired.'
  'Right,' Aunt Mary said, with a note of finality in her voice. 'That's it
for that young lady.' I had noticed that Helen's name always changed to "young
lady" whenever trouble brewed. 'I'm going to give her a thrashing she won't
forget in a hurry.' This was spoken out loud, but not addressed specifically
to me.
  'Oh dear, I really didn't want to cause trouble for her. She's been very
nice to me since I arrived,' I said. 'Well, apart from last night.'
  'What happened?' asked Mary.
  'It's just that she asked me if I was going to tell you she was late, and I
said that I'd promised to tell you, and she said she'd "get me" if I told you,
and I said that I had to, and she said... well some nasty things, but I
wouldn't want to repeat them. I think she was upset about something.'
  'What makes you say that?'
  'Well, she looked a bit... dishevelled. Her lipstick was all smeared, and
her dress was unzipped at the back. Maybe she'd had a fight or something with
one of her friends.'
  'Or something,' said Mary, rising from the table and whacking the empty
plates onto the draining board so hard I thought she'd break them. 'Well,
thank you, David, for being so honest. Now it's not you that's got her into
trouble, it's Helen herself. And I'll make sure there's no comeback from her,
make no mistake about that. She's due home about five. I think it would be a
good idea if you weren't around, lad. Can you occupy yourself till, say, half
past six?'
  'Oh, I think so.' I said. 'By the way, do you have a pair of binoculars in
the house?'


  It had been an altogether satisfactory day. I had found a privet hedge above
the swimming pool and had spent a most informative time gazing in close-up at
Yorkshire's finest using an old telescope Aunt Mary had found for me in the
garden shed. When I got back, I found her sitting at the kitchen table,
looking grim.

  'Do you know what I've just been doing, David?' she asked.
  'Not really, Aunt Mary.'
  'I've just given your cousin a spanking, and a severe one at that.'
  'Ah,' I said.
  'For being late home and being drunk.'
  'Yes.'
  'But you know the most interesting part, my lad? When she got in from work,
she came and admitted it to me. Didn't have to wheedle it out of her or say
that you'd told me.'
  'Really?' I said, beginning to sense that things were not going to plan.
  'That's right. Came straight out with it. Said she was sorry, and that it
wouldn't happen again. She knew she'd broken her promise from Friday night,
and she expected to be punished. Which I did. Then she told me what you'd
done?' A note of anger had crept into my aunt's voice.
  'Er... what did she say?'
  'I think you probably know. I went to see your Mam this afternoon, before I
heard what Helen had to say. Her operation's due tomorrow, you know. I was
telling her how well you'd settled in, and what a good lad you'd been. I feel
a bloody fool now. I honestly thought you were as nice as you seemed. I
thought I could judge a person better than that.'
  'I don't know what she's been saying, Aunt Mary, but, honest, I didn't do
anything.'
  'Making her take her clothes off, and making her... touch you.'
  'Can't you see? She said she'd "get me" if I told on her. That's what she's
doing.' I considered I had a strong case.
  'But she didn't know you'd said anything. I didn't mention it. Besides, she
is my daughter, and I know her. She might do stupid things from time to time
and tell a few fibs, but she doesn't lie to me about important matters. No, my
lad, your no more than a dirty little sod who's taken advantage of a young
girl who had too much drink in her. In my book, that's an absolutely... foul
way to behave.'
  'Honest, Aunt Mary, I didn't do anything like that!' I protested, meeting
her gaze, trying to lay on the sincerity with a trowel.
  'I know who I believe, lad, and it's not you. What I'm really dreading is
how your Mam's going to take this. She probably suspects you're a sneaking,
cheating little bastard, but she's going to be vexed to hear what you've done.
And I've Helen to consider. She doesn't want you in this house any longer and,
quite frankly, I can see her point. Thinking of you creeping around cooking up
your dirty little schemes.'
  'Oh, please don't tell Mam. Please, Aunt Mary.' There seemed no mileage in
denying the charges any longer. I started crying. It wasn't deliberate, but
once it had begun I saw no point in holding back the tears. I could not be in
any worse shit than I already was, and it might elicit a tiny amount of
sympathy.
  'Oh it's all right blubbing now,' said Aunt Mary. 'But you didn't consider
how Helen would feel this morning, knowing what you'd made her do last night.
Her feelings didn't even enter your head. There's a word for people like you,
my lad, people who don't think that other people have feelings, people who
ride roughshod over others: psychopath, that's the word.'
  'Oh, I'm sorry, Aunt Mary. I really am. I just got... carried away. I didn't
think Helen really minded. It was a sort of game, really.' Mary looked at me
long and hard.
  'Shut up. Not another word. There's not a single reason you could possibly
come up with to excuse what you did. The only question is what to do with you.
You're Mam's going to be so upset.' She sat back in her chair and gazed
pensively at the ceiling. I kept quiet as instructed.

  'I don't want to burden your Mam with this,' she said after a few minutes.
'She's got enough worries with the hospital and everything. But I can't just
say: "Tut, tut, naughty boy, but you're sorry so we'll forget all about it".
I've got Helen to consider.' She pondered a while longer. 'Right. Come with
me, my lad.' She rose and went out of the door. I followed her upstairs to me
room.
  'First, you can put all your clothes and books in your suitcase. Come on!
Step to it!'
  'You're not sending me away, are you, Aunt Mary?'
  'Just do what I say' lad, if you know what's good for you.' I did as I was
told and managed to squeeze my possessions into the cheap cardboard case. She
picked it up and put it outside the door. She went to the bed and tore off the
blanket and sheets and put them with the pillow out on the landing. She rolled
up the rug on the floor and put it with the other things, leaving bare
floorboards. 'Wait here a minute.' She went downstairs and reappeared with a
galvanised bucket which she placed in the corner. There was a roll of toilet
paper inside. She went away again and came back with a plastic bowl half full
of water, a bar of coarse green laundry soap and a threadbare towel, putting
them on top of the chest of drawers.
  'Now take off your clothes,' she said.
  'What?'
  'Your clothes. Off. Now.' I turned around, took off my shoes and socks, my
shirt and my trousers. I passed them into her outstretched hand. 'And the
underpants,' she said. I complied. 'Now turn and look at me, my lad.' I did
so, keeping my hands clasped in front of me.
  'There'll be no tea or supper for you tonight,' she said. 'It's warm enough
and you'll not freeze. I'm going to talk to Helen in the morning and decide
how you're going to be punished. It's up to her. If she insists, I'll tell
your Mam, and you'll be out of here - though God knows where to - tomorrow.
But if you're lucky, she'll agree on a different course. Understood?'
  'Yes, Aunt Mary,' I said, staring at the floor.
  'But first I'm going to give you something to be getting on with. Lie down
on the bed. Come on!' I lay on my side on the blue and white striped ticking,
facing the wall. 'No, on your front,' said Aunt Mary. I folded my arms under
my head. 'Look at me,' she said. I turned my head. She was kneeling by the
bed, an old leather slipper in her hand. She rested it on my left buttock.
  'Oh,' I said.
  'I'm going to spank you now, my lad, and it's going to hurt. A lot. I'm
going to stop after every twelve to let you think a bit about what you've
done, how you've hurt my daughter. Understood?'
  'Yes, Aunt Mary,' I said. 'H... how many?'
  'As many as I think you need. I'll tell you when I've finished. Now I don't
want any wailing or pleading, right? It won't do you any good. Now, brace
yourself, lad.'


4. Monday August 10 - Morning

   I was obviously not going to get any breakfast. I woke early and wished I
hadn't. My backside hurt; not the sharp, intense stinging that I had felt the
night before, but a deep, throbbing, aching burning. When I was twelve I broke
my arm falling from a tree. This was worse. I examined myself in the mirror on
the inside of the wardrobe door. The skin on both buttocks was a uniform dull
red. If I held my palm two inches away, I could feel the heat.

   I suspect that Mary might have once been a whizz at tennis. Every smooth,
efficient blow had reminded me of an ace service. Even from a kneeling
position, she had managed to make that slipper whistle through the air and
land smack on target every time. She had stamina, too. The last dozen had been
delivered with the same unvarying accuracy and power as the first.

   After the first six dozen slaps, Mary had informed me that I had received
the same punishment that Helen had just had for her lateness and drunkenness.
It had been hard to take; I'd had to summon all my reserves of stoicism. She
had then given me a further two dozen, and I'm afraid I indulged in some
wailing and pleading, for which transgression I earned yet another two.

   There had been one small alleviating factor. After the first few strokes, I
noticed that the stinging warmth in my backside was spreading down and round,
that I was getting an erection. This had stayed with me through the whole
protracted punishment, growing stiffer and more sensitive. It had helped take
my mind from the pain, but I had not dared concentrate too much on it, for
fear of an embarrassing accident on the mattress. As soon as Mary had gone,
locking the door behind her, I had struggled to my feet, staggered over to the
bucket and deposited my seed therein.

   Now, moping about the room, my arse burning, this was still a potent memory
and I found myself erect once more. As if on cue, the key turned in the lock
and the door opened and Mary threw me a pair of pyjamas.
   'Put those on and come down to the front parlour,' she said, leaving the
door ajar. I tried dipping my prick in the bowl of water, but it did not
improve matters. My erection swayed around inside my pyjamas as I walked
downstairs. I was getting used to clasping my hands in front of me by now. It
would become my normal pose, I thought, if this went on.

   My aunt was sitting in an armchair. My cousin stood behind, resting her
hands on the back of the chair. I imagined that, like me, she was too sore to
sit. I was not even invited to take a seat, but stood in the middle of the
frayed carpet.
  'We've been talking,' said Mary, 'and you'll be glad to know that Helen's
decided you can stay.'
  'Oh, thank you, Helen. And thank you, Aunt Mary.'
  'Don't be such a creep, David,' said Helen.
  'And stop wringing your hands together,' said Mary. 'Stand up straight and
put your arms by your sides.' With some reluctance, I did so. I knew that I
was doing a fair impression of a tent in my trousers, and saw my relatives
exchange an amused glance. 'But there are some conditions.
  'You've got to solemnly promise you'll never try to repeat what you did on
Saturday, in any form.
  'You must never, ever try to spy on Helen, or go into her room, or attempt
any sort of unwelcome contact with her. Are you with me so far?'
  'Yes, Aunt Mary. I promise.'
  'Good. Now, the last condition. For the rest of the day, you're to do
anything that Helen wants you to do. She can make you do anything, anything at
all. She's promised not to cause you any real harm. Haven't you, Helen?'
  'Yes. Nothing... permanent,' said Helen.
  'But that's not fair!' I said. 'You're doing to me what I did to Helen!
You'll tell Mam on me if I don't do what you want. It's not fair!' Mary and
Helen exchanged a smile.
  'No, I think it is justice, David. Rough justice, maybe. Fair returns, I'd
say,' said Mary.
  'What do you want me to do?' I asked.
  'I'm not sure yet. I've got a few ideas,' said Helen, smiling. 
  'That's not the point,' said Mary. 'You've got to agree to it first. Well?'
  'OK,' I said, after only a few seconds thought. 'I'll do it.' I did not have
much choice, and I was sure it would prove interesting, to say the least.
  'Good,' said Mary. 'Now I'm not that interested in what goes on. I'm only
concerned that Helen's happy at the end of the day that you've paid for what
you put her through. I'm going out shortly. I'm seeing your Mam this afternoon
and check she's all right. You can visit tomorrow when the anaesthetic's worn
off. And I'm going straight round Pam and Mike's for tea and a game of whist.
I'll be back at midnight or thereabouts, and I expect a satisfactory report
from Helen. He's all yours now, pet.'
  'Thanks, Mam,' said Helen. Mary stood and walked out of the room. Helen
looked me up and down for a while.
  'What should I do, then?' I asked, bored of being examined.
  'You can start by showing me some respect,' said Helen. 'Don't speak until
you're spoken to, and when you do speak, call me "Miss". Got it?'
  'Yes... Miss,' I replied. I was actually beginning to enjoy this; it was a
bit like being in a play, but one where you made up the script as you went
along.
  'And you can take those pyjama trousers off,' she said.
  'But...' I sputtered. She raised an eyebrow. 'Yes, Miss.' I dropped my
trousers and stood there in just my winceyette pyjama jacket, my erection
poking ludicrously up from under the hem. 
  'Turn round. Now lift your jacket up. My, you did get a spanking last night!
It must really hurt.'
  'Yes, Miss. May I ask a question?'
  'Go ahead.'
  'Will I get anything to eat or drink? I haven't had anything since
yesterday. And I really want to go to the toilet.'
  'You'll have to wait,' she said. 'We're going for a walk in the garden.'

   On the way out, she picked up a pair of kitchen scissors and a length of
string. I had never been in the garden before, and it looked little visited.
The grass was scrubby with great patches of bare compacted earth; most of it
was in the shade of overgrown shrubs and trees. She stopped by a hazel bush
which consisted of dozens of long, almost leafless twigs growing straight up
from a gnarled, ivy-clad base. She handed me the scissors.

  'Cut me seven twigs from near the bottom,' she said.
  'What?'
  'Just do as I say,' she said. The wood was green and difficult to cut, but I
eventually had the required number of twigs. 'Trim the thin ends off so
they're all about this long.' She held her hands about two and a half feet
apart. 'Now bundle the thick ends together and hold them out.' She deftly
bound the string around the bundle to form a crude but effective handle. She
took it from my grasp and swung it through the air. It whistled. I remember
thinking that you couldn't call it a birch, really; you'd have to call it a
hazel. She led the way indoors, back to the front parlour.
  'Well the fresh air seems to have helped,' she said, looking down at my
prick which, though still swollen, was now pointing at the floor. A drop of
clear fluid dripped stickily from the tip. I wiped it off with the hem of my
jacket.
  'No!' she said. 'You mustn't touch yourself down there unless I give you
permission. Got it?'
  'Yes, Miss.'
  'Now we've got ourselves a nice little birch, we'd better just try it out.
Bend over and touch your toes.'
  'Please, Helen. No.'
  'Oh, dear,' she said. 'You've got a very short memory, haven't you. Already
breaking the rules.'
  'Sorry, Miss,' I said, bending over as instructed. I felt her rest the birch
on my reddened backside. I sensed it lift, then heard the whistle of its
descent. I cried out loud when it landed straight across the middle of my
buttocks. I straightened up and clasped my hands to my rear.
  'Did I tell you to get up?' asked Helen. 'Bend down, right now.' I did so.
'We're only testing it,' she said. 'I'm only going to give you six strokes.'

   Oh, that was OK then, I thought to myself, only six. And I thought it was
going to hurt. Silly me. Luckily she did not have her mother's strength or
technique, but she managed well enough.
  'Oh, that seems to have worked,' she said, running her fingers lightly over
the target area. 'Mam's used one on me before, and I thought it would fit the
bill. It hasn't cut you at all, you'll be glad to know.' Glad? I was in agony.
'You can stand up now. Oh, I see the little problem's come back. I think we'll
ignore that for the time being.' She put the birch down on the welsh dresser.
'I'll give you a break now. You can get yourself something from the kitchen
and use the toilet if you want. Back here in...' she glanced at her watch,
'fifteen minutes. At eleven'

   After a hasty cheese sandwich and a crap, I ran a few inches of cold water
into the bath and cooled my aching arse for as long as I could before
returning to the parlour.
  'You're late,' said Helen.
  'No I'm not.'
  'Miss,' she reminded me.
  'Sorry. I'm not late, Miss.'
  'By my watch, you are. At least thirty seconds. Which earns you another
three strokes.' She picked up the birch. 
  'Yes, Miss, I said, resignedly, bending over to touch my toes.
  'You really must learn to do what I tell you, David,' she said, as she
whipped me vigorously. She was getting better at this, I thought.

  'I've got to go out for a while,' she said. 'Now, what are we going to do
with you while I'm away?' She thought for a moment. 'Come with me'. She led me
out into the hallway, the tiles cold on my bare feet, despite the August
warmth. She motioned me to stand under the stairwell, next to the understairs
cupboard. 'Hold your hands up above your head. That's it. Really stretch.
Good.' She seemed to be measuring me up. 'Wait here.'

   She returned with a length of hemp washing line, which she used to bind my
wrists together. She told me she had been a Girl Guide, and knew about knots.
I could not help but wonder what sort of Guide troop gave badges in bondage.
She then took the free end up the stairs and tugged until I was back in the
hands up position.
  'Tip toes, David,' she said, and fastened the rope to the newel post on the
upstairs landing. I was half suspended in the middle of the hall, unable to
move an inch. I could just rest my back against the cupboard door. I heard her
walking about her bedroom, and she came downstairs wearing a white cotton
summer frock and sandals. In spite of my circumstances, I thought she looked
very pretty.
  'I'm off now,' she said. 'At least you'll have no problem with the rule
about touching yourself. I'm not sure how long I'll be. Sue does love to
chat.' Her laughter followed her through the front door.
  
   My arms ached after five minutes. My back and legs were killing me after
ten. I tugged and tugged at the rope, but it would not budge. I was desperate;
I knew I could stand this torture no longer. Then I had an idea. I managed to
turn round to face the cupboard door. It did not have a proper lock, just a
spring-loaded catch. I bashed it with my knee. On the third try, the door
opened an inch or two. I got my toe in the crack and eased my body
sufficiently aside to open the door. No stepladder. Well, you can't expect
miracles. But there was a wooden box full of old shoes. It took about five
painful minutes to slide it out of the cupboard and turn it on its side. I
stepped up on it and stood for a long time, shaking with relief and waiting
for my muscles to stop screaming. Now that the tension was off the rope, it
was not too difficult to untie my wrists. The Girl Guide book of knots was not
up to serious restraint, it seemed. I put the shoes back in the box, and the
box in the cupboard. I thought about untying the rope, but left it dangling. I
did not want Helen to be any more displeased than she had to be. For the same
reason, I also did not bother to get dressed. I was in the kitchen drinking a
cup of tea when I she returned shortly after midday. She stood in the doorway,
looking at me accusingly.
  
  'How did you do that?' she asked.
  'Trade secret, Miss,' I replied.
  'You shouldn't have done that, David.'
  'But you never told me not to try and escape... Miss,' I said. She thought
about that for a moment, and she smiled.
  'You're right. I didn't. But I'm still cross with you. Come into the
parlour. I think another whipping's in order.'
  'How many, Miss?'
  'Only six,' she said. 'It really was quite clever of you, wasn't it?'
  'I think so, Miss.'

   The birch, of course, revived my wilted erection, which now ached almost as
much as my backside. Helen flicked it a couple of times with her finger. It
hurt.
  'I'm getting tired of seeing that ugly thing bobbing about like that,' she
said.
  'So am I, Miss.'
  'What shall we do about it?' she mused.
  'You could let me go upstairs for a minute, Miss.'
  'No, I don't think that would be right. Let's think...'
  'You could let me wear my underpants, Miss.'
  'You must be joking,' she said. 'But you have given me an idea. Come along.'
I followed her upstairs, where she made me wait outside her bedroom. 'You can
put these on.' She handed me a pair of her panties. They were very small and
made of black nylon lace. 
  'I've never much liked these,' she commented. I squeezed into them, and
became instantly aware of the different anatomy of male and female. They were
exceedingly tight, and the only way I could contain my erection within them
was to lay it sideways, where it bulged horribly against the semi-transparent
material.
  'Just a little adjustment,' she said. She stood behind me, and pulled the
panties upwards, gathering and lodging the material firmly into my crack,
leaving my buttocks effectively bare, and my bollocks one each side of the
bunched up fabric. She then took hold either side and pulled the waistband
high on each hip. The panties now had a grip like a firm handshake. I had
expected a girl's underwear to be soft and silky, but these were rough and
scratchy. No wonder she did not like them.
  'That's better,' she said. 'Much less objectionable. And we'd better do
something about that disgusting jacket. Take it off.' In return for my rather
crusty pyjama jacket, she gave me a short-sleeved blouse of almost transparent
white nylon. It had a lacy collar and was short, not even reaching my navel.
It was hard to fasten, a result of both its tightness and the fact that it
buttoned on the wrong side. Helen stood back and admired her work.
  'Oh, you do look a picture, David. In fact...' She came back with a Kodak
Instamatic. She fitted a flash cube and told me to stand at the other end of
the landing. She took four shots of me in various embarrassing positions.
'Those will bring back memories some day,' she said, chuckling to herself.
  'I could do with some dinner,' she said. 'But first a visit to the parlour.'
  'Another six, Miss?' I asked.
  'Oh, let's start with six and see how far we get, eh?'

   My dinnertime was spent bent over the back of an armchair, having received
eight hard strokes, and waiting for a promised further four.


5. Monday August 10 - Afternoon

  'I've got a little surprise planned for this afternoon,' said Helen,
happily, as she put the birch down on the dresser.
  'Oh, good,' I said.
  'I don't like sarcasm, David. That'll be another two strokes next time.'
  'Sorry, Miss.'
  'My friend Sue's coming round in ten minutes. You'll like Sue.'
  'I doubt it,' I muttered under my breath.
  'Pardon?'
  'I said: "I'm sure I will"... Miss.'
  'Yes, you will. She's got a great sense of humour. Real fun.'

  'Ooh, he's quite pretty, isn't he,' said the fair haired girl. 'Have you had
him tied up long?' Sue, or "Miss" as I had been told to address her, was a
good-looking sixteen year old who wore a pink flower patterned blouse and the
tightest denim jeans I had ever seen.
  'No, only just before you arrived. He can't stand like that for long,
apparently,' said Helen.
  'And you were right. He's not "small" down there, is he.' She pressed the
tip of her index finger briefly against the tip of my erection, still tightly
constrained by the lace panties. She examined her finger and wiped the smear
of clear liquid on the leg of her jeans. She put an arm round Helen's shoulder
and looked at me. 'What shall we do with him?'
  'Let's go through to the kitchen and decide,' said Helen. 'He'll come to no
harm there. No escaping this time, eh?'
  'No, Miss.' She had not hauled the rope so tight, and I could at least stand
flat on my feet. I heard the sound of them talking and giggling, but couldn't
make out individual words. After about fifteen minutes they came out arm in
arm. Sue went into to the parlour; Helen untied me and we followed, to find
the former giving the birch a trial swing.
  'Sue thought she'd like to give this a try,' said Helen. 'She's never done
it before. Go on, bend over the chair. I reckon six'll do, Suze. Oh, plus two
extra; he was right sarkie with me earlier on.'
  'Where should I aim for?' asked Sue. 'His bum looks like it's already had a
proper going over.'
  'Oh, he'll be all right. Try for a bit lower down, just at the top of his
legs. It's not quite as red there.' It was disconcerting being talked about as
if I was an inanimate object or some kind of pet.
  'Right you are.' She swung the birch back over her head and brought it
swishing down onto my poor, wounded arse. 
  'May I ask a question, Miss?' I asked when I was able to speak.
  'Yes, of course,' said Sue.
  'Do you play much tennis?'

   They had me take off the panties before they tied me face up on my bed,
which was a blessed release, though my prick and balls ached abominably. 
Between the two of them they managed some very good knots on my ankles and
wrists, securing me firmly with the washing line to the four corners of the
old iron bedstead.

  'We've got a little bet on, David,' said Helen.
  'I said that what with you being so... excited all day, you'd be on a hair
trigger,' said Sue.
  'She means that you'd shoot really quickly,' explained Helen.
  'I think it'll take less than two minutes, but Helen says that's not
possible. So I'm going to try, and if you don't shoot in two minutes, you get
three strokes of the birch. Good, eh?.'
  'Wonderful,' I muttered.
   Sue knelt by the bed and wrapped her cool fingers round my erection. She
was good, there's no doubt about it, but after being erect so long, my prick
was strangely numb. It was only when she picked up some moisture on her thumb
and forefinger and applied it to the glans that I began really to feel
anything. She worked me faster and faster and I was almost on the brink when
Helen said: 'Time's up! I win!' and Sue abruptly let go.
  'No, please don't stop!' I yelled. Sue got to her feet, wiping her hand on
her jeans and gave Helen a hug.
  'Congrats, Helen. Only just made it, though.'
  'Yeah, he looks pretty keen on finishing.'
  'Wonder how far it would have gone - the spunk, I mean. There must be a lot
of pressure built up in there,' said Sue.
  'It would depend on the angle, of course,' said Helen. 'No more than a
couple of feet, I wouldn't have thought.'
  'But he's gagging for it. Over his head, I reckon.'
  'You're on. Same bet: three strokes,' said Helen. So to my relief, Sue knelt
down again.
  'Just a suggestion, Miss, but if you take your time, you'll find it'll go
further,' I said. 'Forty-five degrees, and stroke it very gently at the end so
as not to shake it in a different direction.'
  'Obviously had a lot of practice,' my cousin commented. I lay back and
luxuriated in Sue's nimble grip. I felt the tension rise gradually deep within
me until I was trembling and my entire body was a stiff as a board, my hips
rising from the bed. The first small drops flew overhead to spatter against
the wallpaper. The next spurts fell on my face and hair, then on the taut
sheer nylon covering my chest and belly. I looked down to see viscous semen
pumping more slowly out and rolling down over Sue's fingers into my matted
pubic hair.
  'I win,' said Sue, taking the handkerchief proffered by my cousin.
  'Looks to me like you enjoyed that,' said Helen. 'Getting... excited
yourself?' she asked, giggling.
  'Maybe,' said Sue, rising to her feet and hugging my cousin again, sharing
her laughter. She whispered something in Helen's ear.
  'It is not!' Helen cried. Sue whispered again, her mouth pressed to Helen's
ear. 'No it isn't!' said Helen. Sue took Helen's hand and led her from the
room. I heard them go next door into my cousin's bedroom, then all was
silence. I had no idea how long passed, but it must have been at least half an
hour - long enough for the semen to harden and crust on my face. I heard each
in turn cross the landing to the bathroom, heard water run and the toilet
flush. A little while later they reappeared, looking flushed and pleased with
themselves. I noticed Sue's blouse was no longer tucked into her jeans.
  'Sorry to keep you, David,' said Sue, laughter in her voice.
  'Yeah, sorry,' said Helen.
  'But we thought you needed some time to recover, and I can see you have!'
Actually, my erection had barely subsided since I had come, probably because
of the previous hours of almost constant tumescence and my imaginings of what
was going on next door. 'It's got to be your turn this time, Helen. Bet it
takes more than five minutes.'
  'Never! I haven't had your amount of practice, but I can do it.'
  'So it's three strokes if you win, then,' said Sue.
  'Yep. Same bet. Just hold on a sec, though.' Helen went to the bathroom and
came back with a clear glass bottle with a long slim neck. 'Moisturising
cream,' she said.
  'Oh, you're cheating!' said Sue. But Helen knelt down and poured liberal
amounts of white lotion over my prick and her right hand.
  'Start the clock,' said Helen.

   It took three minutes and ten seconds, unfortunately. They untied me and
sent me off to the bathroom to clean up. I was told to put the panties back on
before we went to the parlour. They were less tight now there was less to fit
inside.
  'How many's he due this time?' asked Sue. Helen thought for a moment.
  'Eight, I think. The two bets I won, which is six, and two for being
sarcastic. Is that right, David?'
  'Yes, Miss.'
  'But wouldn't you agree that I'm perfectly entitled to give you as many
strokes as I like?' asked Helen.
  'Yes, Miss, you are.'
  'So there we are, Sue. How many do you want to give him?' She handed Sue the
birch again. 
  'His bum's not so red now,' said Sue. 'How about ten?'
  'Might as well make it a round dozen,' said Helen. My heart sank. Sue had
been the Megthorpe under 16's tennis champion in 1968.

   I don't suppose my arse hurt any more than it had at any previous time in
the last twenty-four hours, but it certainly hurt no less. I started to
straighten up.
  'Hold on,' said Helen. 'I didn't tell you to stand up, did I?'
  'No, Miss.'
  'See, Sue, I've still got this.' I glanced over my shoulder. Helen was
holding the bottle of moisturiser. She walked over to me and pulled the back
of the panties down over my reddened buttocks.
  'Oh, you're not going to...' said Sue.
  'Why not?' said Helen. 'Why do you think they make the bottles this shape?
You must have noticed.' They both giggled. Helen unscrewed the smooth, rounded
stopper, dolloped some cream into her hand, and put the stopper back on. She
smeared the neck of the bottle liberally. I felt her press the tip, cold and
hard, against my anal sphincter. She pushed. It hurt. She pushed harder. It
hurt more.
  'Ow!' I said.
  'You'll have to relax, David. Loosen up.' I tried to relax, the muscles
expanded and the bottle slowly made its way inside. I had never felt anything
like it in my life. My erection, already uncomfortably doubled over inside the
tight panties, became even harder. There seemed to be a spot a few inches
inside my rear passage that connected directly with the nerves at the root of
my prick. I gasped with surprise and pleasure. Helen gradually inserted the
three or so inches of bottle neck, then pulled up the panties, stretching the
fabric taut over the base of the bottle, holding it firmly in place. They both
laughed out loud.
  'We're off for a while,' said Sue. 'I'm sure you'll be quite comfortable.'
When they had gone upstairs I took the opportunity to stand up to rearrange my
aching prick and stretch my arms and legs, but I dared not do anything with
the bottle, for fear I might not get it back in quickly enough should they
return. Besides, it was a great feeling, and I leant against the dresser,
stroking myself, awaiting their return. I inspected the birch which they had
used on me to such effect. It was surprisingly light. The thin ends of the
twigs were getting frayed, the pale green wood exposed by the peeling bark.
Little wonder, I thought, given that I had received nearly fifty strokes with
it.

   They were gone a long time. As soon as I heard their footsteps on the
stairs, I resumed my position bent over the chair.
  'You can stand up now, David,' said Helen.
  'Thank you, Miss.' I turned to face them.
   Sue was wearing only a pair of yellow panties cut low, bikini style, and
her pink blouse, completely open down the front. Helen wore her bathrobe,
similarly unfastened, giving me a pleasant view of her splendid bush. Helen
had an arm around her friend's shoulders.
  'Sue's got to go home soon for her tea,' said Helen.
  'I just wanted to say goodbye properly. To say thank you for an...
entertaining afternoon,' said Sue. 'Pull down your panties.' I did so, and the
bottle slid rapidly out of my arse. I put it on the dresser, and noticed that
the stopper was streaked with brown. Sue knelt in front of me so that her head
was inches from my erection, which she held gently in both hands. 'I've not
done this often,' she said. 'You'll have to tell me if I'm getting it wrong.'
   She started by sliding her tongue repeatedly up the shaft, as if licking a
melting ice cream. She let the tip of her tongue run lightly over my scrotum,
while holding my shaft firmly in her hand. Her tongue then moved up to the
taut ridge of skin under the glans, flicking delicately. I leant back against
the dresser and sighed as she took the almost purple head into her soft, warm
mouth. She moved her head slowly up and down, all the time flicking her tongue
to and fro. It didn't take long.
  'I'm coming,' I said, and she drew her head away. She gripped me with her
right hand, pumping vigorously, while slipping her left hand between my legs
and pushing a finger deep inside where the bottle had been. I know that it has
since become a cliche, but I really did have a mental image of a Saturn V as I
came like a rocket. She pointed me away so that the drops of semen, thinner
now, arced through the air and sprayed onto the carpet to her side. The rest
trickled down over her hands.

  'Oh, thank you, Miss,' I gasped. 'Thank you.'
  'You're welcome, David,' said Sue.
  'Where did you learn that trick, then?' asked Helen.
  'Kevin,' Sue replied.
  'You didn't! Not with your brother!'
  'No, you daft sod. He told me about it when we got pissed last week. Said I
should try it if I wanted to earn Brownie points with my boyfriends. Any road
up, I'd better get cleaned up and off home. See you later.'
  'Later?' I asked.
  'Sue's coming back after tea,' said Helen. 'I'll see you out, love.'

   I wiped myself as well as I could with the scratchy material of the
panties, and collapsed into an armchair. So far that day I had been
masturbated twice, and received my first oral sex. This was hardly a record in
terms of the number of orgasms in a day but, what with the whippings and the
tying up, I was tired and very sore all over.

  'Having a rest, are we?' asked Helen. I was too weary to get up, but not to
weary to admire the glimpses of her slim, young body that her robe afforded.
  'Yes, Miss.'
  'That's OK,' she said, with an apparently genuine smile. 'It's quarter to
six, and we've been at this since morning.'
  'Am I doing all right, Miss?'
  'Pretty well,' said Helen. 'Keep this up and I'll be able to give Mam a
glowing report. Why don't we take an hour off. I'm knackered myself. Have a
bath and something to eat and we'll meet here at seven.'
  'Thank you.'
  'Pardon?'
  'Thank you, Miss.'
  'That's better. Now take that bottle and those panties away and give them a
good wash. And scrub that spunk off the rug. And take that blouse off, it's a
right mess. And David?'
  'Yes, Miss?'
  'Don't think you're going to have an easy time of it this evening. I'm going
to get my full penn'orth.'


6. Monday August 10 - Evening

   Helen knocked on the door while I was having my bath. I let her in. She
knelt and soaped me all over, raising my prick once more to the vertical. She
stopped then, and left. It was a gentle, kindly act, given and received in
silence.

   I wasn't sure what to wear, so pulled back on the panties. They were still
wet, and even more uncomfortable than before. I did not bother with the blouse
and, since my clothes were elsewhere, went bare chested to the parlour. Helen
and Sue were sitting side by side on the settee, talking.
  'Stand in the corner till we're ready,' said my cousin. They resumed their
conversation as if I was not there.
  'So the birch is out then?' asked Helen.
  'It's getting worn out and I don't think it hurts him as much as it did when
it was new, said Sue.
  'We could make another,' said Helen.
  'I'm fed up with it anyway,'said Sue.
  'A cane. There's some bamboo canes in the garden.'
  'No, they wouldn't be much use. My Dad used one on Kevin once, and he was
still picking out the splinters a week later.' They laughed together at this.
  'Well, what else is there?' asked Helen.
  'Let's think. Mam always used to spank me with the back of her hairbrush,
but that wouldn't be much good,' said Sue. 'I've seen films where people get
whipped, but that always looks really brutal - all blood and stuff.'
  'Surely that's only because the whip's really long and heavy. If it was
shorter and lighter it might be all right, said Helen.
  'It would be useless, like using a shoelace,' said Sue.
  'But what if you had lots of thin... you know... thongs?' said Helen.
  'Like a cat-of-nine-tails in the pirate films?' asked Sue.
  'Yeah, but much lighter, said Helen. 'That sounds good. And we wouldn't just
be limited to using it on his bum.'
  'Great! What could we use?' asked Sue. 'I doubt if you've got any leather.'
They both considered the matter for a while.
  'Hang on' said Helen, disappearing briefly upstairs and coming back with a
strange, shiny electric blue garment. 'Mam got me this cape last year cheap
off the market. Thought it was very "Carnaby Street". I wouldn't be seen dead
in it!' She gave it to her friend.
  'It's PVC, isn't it? Nasty colour. The back's some sort of fabric.'
  'David,' said Helen.'
  'Yes, Miss.'
  'Fetch the scissors from the kitchen.' I got them and Helen gave me the
cape. I was told to cut a strip of PVC from the centre, about a quarter of an
inch wide and three feet long. I passed it to Helen, who swished it through
the air a few times and slapped the end against her palm. 'I think this could
work.'
  'How many strips will we need?' asked Sue.
  'Dunno. Keep cutting, David.'
  'Yes, Miss.' It was quite pleasant work, really, sitting on the arm of the
chair, cutting a whip for my own back. As each strip was finished, I passed it
to the girls who added it the growing bundle.
  'I think that's enough,' said Sue. 'There's... eleven strands.'
  'Oh that's good: it's an odd number. I only know how to plait odd numbers,'
said Helen. In a couple of minutes she had woven the ends of the thongs
together into a cute little handle. 'Time for a test. You don't mind if I go
first, do you, Sue?'
  'No, go ahead. It was your idea, really,' said Sue. Helen stood up, swinging
the whip from side to side. I now know that what they had inadvertently
created was a martinette: the standard implement of French domestic
discipline. Generations have grown up knowing its particular properties: it
stings, but does not cut; it hurts, but does not bruise; it can be applied to
almost any part of the body; it is easy to handle and needs only moderate
force and skill.
  'David, take off your panties and stand over there behind the chair, then
lean forward and hold onto the back with your hands,' said Helen.
  'Like this, Miss?'
  'Very good. Now let's see what this little beauty can do.' I her take a step
forwards as she delivered the blow, but the whip did make any noise until it
hit just below my shoulders with a sharp crack. It hurt: a high, stinging,
intense pain quite unlike that of the birch.
  'Ow!' I said. Helen ran her hand over the target site.
  'It's going a nice shade of pink,' said Helen.
  'And it looked like it hurt,' said Sue. 'You could try it on the tops of his
legs.'
  'Yes, let's see,' said Helen, stepping back and lashing me across the
thighs, about six inches below my backside. 'Great! Look, it's sort of wrapped
itself round the far side.' Indeed it had. The tips of the thongs, the fastest
moving parts, had wrapped round and landed with excruciating effect on the
side of my right thigh.
  'Hey,' said Sue. 'What if you stood back a bit and tried that higher up. You
could make it land in his bum crack.' It took Helen three attempts to perfect
this tricky shot. I yelped and sprang to my feet, furiously rubbing the tender
skin where scrotum meets groove.
  'That was a good one,' said Sue.
  'Did I tell you to get up?' asked Helen.
  'No, Miss.'
  'I think I'll try that again. I've got the hang of it now.'

  They had a lovely time with the martinette, seeing what effect it would have
on my legs, back, buttocks and even my calves. Sue, as I had expected, became
an even better practitioner than my cousin. All in all, I guess I received
about fifteen lashes, several of which made me shout out loud.
  'And now, David,' said Sue, grinning impishly, 'Why don't you turn round and
lean back. You can put your hands behind you on the chair arms. Yes, that's
it. Oh, look, Helen. New territory!' I would say that the whip hurt least on
the front of my thighs and on my chest, though the lash that hit my left
nipple caused some anguish. It hurt more on my belly, and the further down
they worked the martinette, the more it hurt.
  'Do you think we should whip him... there?' asked Sue? 'I reckon it might be
too much for him.'
  'I'll give it a go, not too hard,' said Helen. She raised her arm, brought
it down, and the thongs curled themselves around the base of my shaft. It was
some time before I stopped hopping round the room, clutching my prick and
whimpering.
  'Thought it might be too much,' said Sue. 'And we don't want to spoil our
games later, do we.'
  'Well, we had to find out,' said Helen, laying the bright blue whip over the
back of the chair. 'You sort yourself out, David. We'll be back in... half an
hour, Sue?'
  'Better make it three quarters.'

   They hadn't damaged my prick; it was more the surprise than the actual
pain. Once you reach a certain level of discomfort, it's hard to feel any
worse, and I hurt all over. I could no longer lie down on my front for relief,
so I mooched about the house, leaning on items of furniture from time to time.
I was probably supposed to stay in the parlour, so I crept about quietly. I
had a piss in the kitchen sink, then made my way stealthily upstairs. I
pressed my ear to the door but could hear only muffled noises, punctuated
occasionally by a quiet cry of "Yes!" or "Ah! God!" and eventually the
protracted, rising grunts and gasps of one of the girls, Sue I thought,
reaching a noisy climax. The reaction of my prick confirmed it had suffered no
real harm. I went back down, not wanting to be discovered.

  'Don't you think we look nice, David?' asked Sue. 'Helen's Mam's got some
nice things.'
  'Yes, Miss. Very nice.' They had come into the parlour at ten past seven
like a vision from one of my wilder fantasies. 

   Helen, slim and dark-haired, wore a black suspender belt with sheer black
stockings and a semi-transparent black push-up bra, all of which set off and
emphasised her wonderful black bush. For the first time, I could properly see
her nipples through the bra's fabric; they were wide and dark.

   Sue, more rounded, blonde, wore a white silk camisole top that left her
midriff bare, a white suspender belt and pale stockings. The fine silk of her
top showed off her small, pert breasts with their pointed nipples. Her bush
was totally different to Helen's, being composed of a small area of fine fair
hairs. I could clearly see where the mound divided between her legs. The hair
there was slicked against her pale glistening skin.

   They both wore shoes with two inch heels: Helen's black, Sue's white.

  'We're here to teach you a few lessons, David,' said Helen, running her
fingers down over her belly and into the lush triangle.
  'With respect, Miss, I think I've already had all the lessons I can take
today,' I said, looking over at the birch and the whip.
  'And your first lesson,' said Sue, ignoring me, 'is: "Elementary Pussy
Eating".'
  'Well, that's different, then,' I said.

   Their method of instruction was simple: one would demonstrate on the other
the technique in question, and I would copy it until I got it right. I passed
the end of term test, and graduated to "Intermediate Clit Licking". This was a
tough course, and my jaw and tongue were stiff and aching when it ended about
half past eight. For overall grades on the two subjects, Sue gave me an A- but
Helen, the sterner teacher, would only give a B+. I had brought both to
apparently ecstatic orgasm numerous times, but marking is always subjective,
especially in the arts. By way of variety, we then had a class in "Advanced
Combinations" which started with soixante-neuf and went through some
permutations only possible with three enthusiastic and flexible researchers. I
participated in the teaching on this one, and gave them both A's for effort
and quality of work. I felt justified in my grading: after what I'd been
through that day, anyone who could give me two more climaxes deserved top
marks. I recall that Sue once again finished me off with her hands whereas
Helen, to my surprise, let me come in her mouth and swallowed it. There wasn't
too much coming out by then, I guess, it being the sixth of the day.

   It was quarter past nine and we must have looked quite a sight lying around
the parlour in various states of undress, different secretions drying to a
sheen on various body parts. Helen stirred herself first and went and fetched
a quart bottle of cider and three glasses. I have just realised that any
future American readers of this little piece may assume that I am referring to
apple juice. I am not: English cider is an alcoholic beverage, often stronger
than beer. We slurped and relaxed.
  'So, David, which bit of the lesson did you like best?' asked Sue.
  'When you were both... you know, sucking me,' I said.
  'I suppose that would get you going,' said Helen, 'A boy's dream, having two
girls paying attention to your cock at the same time.'
  'Almost infallible, I should think,' I said. Helen looked at Sue, Sue looked
at Helen, and both slid to their knees in front of my armchair.
  'Let's see if it'll work again, then,' said Sue, lifting my prick and
guiding it into Helen's descending mouth. It worked, and the finish was a
piece of perfect co-operation between the two: Sue standing behind with her
left thumb up my arse, right thumb and forefinger frigging the base of my
shaft while Helen knelt in front, sucking now watery ejaculate between her
warm, mobile lips.
   After such selfless ministrations, I felt I ought to reciprocate and spent
until gone half past ten reprising and revising my earlier lessons, to an
enthusiastic reception. For the first time in my life, I was learning of the
almost infinite capacity of some human females to receive pleasure. I envied,
and still do, their ability to drift from climax to climax, needing little or
no time between to recuperate. When we at last lay back in an exhausted heap,
I asked each how many times she had come. Sue guessed about five or six times;
Helen guessed at eight. Neither was sure.

   Sue had to go home, so she went and had a quick bath. We waved her goodbye
from the doorstep. Helen kindly retrieved my clothes and bedding from her
mother's room and let me have the bath next. So I was all tucked up tight in
my own little bed wearing a clean pair of pyjamas when I heard Aunt Mary
return. She and Helen went into the kitchen and I heard the sound of distant
voices. I must have dozed off because the next thing I remember is opening my
eyes and seeing, in the dim light from the landing, my aunt standing over me.
  'Hello, Aunt Mary,' I said, rubbing my eyes.
  'Hello, David. It looks like Helen's satisfied with your punishment. She's
happy for the matter to end there, so long as you don't do anything like that
ever again.'
  'Thank you,' I said.
  'I expect she gave you a right whipping,' said Mary, smiling.
  'Yes, she did.'
  'Come on, let's have a look,' she said, pulling back the bedclothes. 'Turn
over on your front. That's it. And unfasten your trousers. There.' I raised my
hips and let her pull them down to my knees. She was silent for a time.
  'Oh, she did give you the full works, didn't she. I reckon there's every
colour in the rainbow on your backside, lad. And your legs, too. Does it still
hurt a lot?'
  'Not so much now. I had a bath. That helped.' I could have added that the
sexual advances of her daughter and her friend had done much to take my mind
off the pain - but I thought it better not to mention this.
  'I've got something that'll help,' she said, and went to the bathroom.
'Strange, I thought that was nearly a full bottle. I bet Helen's been using it
again. That girl!' Mary knelt, spread some of the moisturiser on her palm and
slowly, gently rubbed it into my backside and thighs. It was very enjoyable;
she had a delicate touch. My prick, sore and much used, still managed its
predictable response.
  'Mm,' I said, starting to drift off to sleep.
  'I'll say goodnight, then,' she said, rising to her feet. 'Your Mam asked
after you today. I said you'd been a good boy. We'll go see her together
tomorrow. Good night, love.'


THE END



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