Portrait of a Disciplinarian (3 page)

There was no mistaking his meaning, as he had taken hold of his cock through his trousers, squeezing it to show off the long, thick bulge it made in the coarse wool. Stephanie felt her face colour. She could not believe that any man would expect a girl to take his penis inside her mouth. The act was so blatantly obscene that it beggared belief.

‘What a horrid suggestion!’ she exclaimed. ‘How could you!’

‘No trouble at all,’ he assured her. ‘I’ll just pop him
inside
, and you can pretend like you’re sucking on a lollipop.’

‘I don’t imagine it would taste like a lollipop,’ Stephanie retorted, thinking of the single yellow drop she’d seen hanging from the tip just minutes before, ‘and besides, I’m not at all sure it would fit.’

‘Oh, he’d fit, ‘he answered, ‘just the same as he’d fit up that little cunt of yours, if I were to push hard enough.’

‘Why, you filthy …’ Stephanie began, the blood rushing to her cheeks.

She stopped, thinking of the caning she would undoubtedly get if her aunts discovered that she had crashed the car. That it hadn’t been her fault would make no difference, it would be up with her dress and off with her union suit, for the application of maybe as many as two dozen strokes of Great-aunt Victoria’s whalebone cane on her naked bottom cheeks. The cane burned like fire and would leave her unable to sit comfortably for a week or more, while if she consented to the drayman’s horrid suggestion it would all be over quite soon, presumably in much the same time as it had taken Freddie Drake to do it all over her bottom, three or four minutes at most, only it would be in her mouth. She bit her lip in consternation and indecision. At school, Myrtle French-Farmiloe had once made her put a slug in her mouth. Could it be any nastier?

‘Wind’s getting up,’ the drayman remarked reflectively. ‘Could be rain.’

‘Nonsense,’ Stephanie retorted, glancing around at the unbroken blue of the Dartmoor sky.

‘You never can tell with the moor,’ the drayman went on. ‘Mist can come up out of the ground as easy as winking –’

‘Oh, do be quiet!’ Stephanie snapped. ‘I’m trying to think about your beastly proposition.’

He paused a moment before speaking again, carefully, as if each word had been chosen only after considerable reflection.

‘Seems to me, seeing as how you want to think about it, that maybe you’re not so very prim and proper as you might be. And seeing as how you can manage to think about it, you might as well do it. Seems so.’

Stephanie threw him an angry glance, unable to dispute what he was saying because he was right. He responded with a dirty grin, as if reading her mind, then spoke again.

‘Done it before, have you?’

‘No, I have not!’ she answered him.

‘How do you know it’s so bad then?’ he asked.

Again Stephanie made a face, not knowing what to say.

‘A lot of girls like it,’ he went on. ‘Very keen, my missus used to be, back when we were courting. Used to rub him between her dumplings and all, she did. Nice, that was. Shame you’re not so generous in your hamper, but I do like small ones …’

Stephanie put her hands to her breasts, conscious of how their shape showed through her wet dress.

‘That’s right,’ he said, ‘give them a little rub. Make you feel better about it.’

‘I am not …’ Stephanie began in outrage, and stopped.

Despite the bright spring sunshine she was starting to feel cold, and badly needed to take off her clothes to let them dry. The drayman obviously wasn’t going to go away. At the thought of taking her clothes off in front of him she began to blush again, and, as she turned away, she spotted her lost shoe, lying at the water’s edge beneath the bridge. She went to fetch it and slipped her foot inside, only to discover that it was full of mud, which squashed up between her toes and around her ankle, soiling her stocking. It seemed that fate was against her.

‘So what’s it to be?’ he demanded. ‘If you’re going to be missish about it, I’d best be getting along.’

‘I am not being missish!’ Stephanie snapped. ‘You’re being a beast!’

He merely shrugged and began to walk towards his dray. Stephanie watched, her mouth working in indecision as she thought of the ignominious arrival at Driscoll’s without her car, the shamefaced interview with Great-aunt Victoria and the others, the exposure of her bottom in the drawing room, the bite of the cane into her tender flesh …

‘Oh, very well!’ she spat. ‘But I’d like you to know that you’re a horrid pig, and no gentleman.’

‘I don’t recall saying I was a gentleman,’ he answered, leering as he turned to her once more. ‘Let’s get the business done, then, and my girls’ll have you out of there in a trifle.’

Across the road was a small quarry, perhaps used in the construction of the bridge, which looked as if it might provide suitable concealment. Feeling thoroughly put upon but nevertheless acutely conscious of the intimacy of what she was about to do, Stephanie took the drayman by the hand and led him across the road, her feet squelching in her muddy shoes. He followed, suddenly pliable now that he’d got his way, and she found herself within a ring of cut granite, open only at one side, and that grown over with gorse and brambles. It was obvious that nobody had worked the place for years. At least nobody would see her disgrace herself.

Several chunks of granite lay among the soft grass on the quarry floor. The drayman went over to the largest of them, unfastened his trousers, pushed them to his ankles and sat down. Beneath, he had coarse woollen longjohns of a greyish-yellow hue, with buttons at the front, two of which he unfastened to allow him to flop out the large dun-coloured penis she had seen before, along with a set of large dun-coloured balls.

‘Off with your clothes then, my love,’ he ordered as he began to stroke himself, ‘and I dare say if you spread them out on the rocks they’ll be dry in a moment.’

Her face set in an angry scowl, Stephanie obeyed, peeling her dress up and off, then starting on the buttons of her union suit. He watched, his eyes feasting on her body as it was revealed, one big dirty hand moving slowly back and forth on his already swollen cock shaft. She spread out her dress to dry, but when she put her fingers to the shoulder straps of her union suit she felt suddenly far more vulnerable, so that it took all her willpower to do as she’d agreed and shrug it down, then off. She stepped free, to stand naked but for her shoes, stockings, hat and gloves.

She’d begun to shiver, not from cold but from being naked in front of him, and, although it made no sense, she knew that if she stripped off completely she would feel more vulnerable still. Besides, his cock was now a rigid pole in his hand, with a fat, purple helmet popping in and out of his leathery foreskin as he played with himself. It obviously needed sucking, but the thought of taking it in her mouth was barely tolerable. She hesitated, unsure whether she should complete her strip, go down on her knees and take the awful thing in her mouth, as she had promised, or run.

‘Turn around,’ he said. ‘Let’s see that little sit-upon.’

Stephanie did as she was told, grateful for the delay, turning slowly round to show him her bare bottom and back. He began to pull faster, rolling his foreskin vigorously back and forth over a helmet now so swollen it looked fit to burst. Wondering if she could make him do it in his hand and so spare herself the supreme indignity, Stephanie repeated the manoeuvre, this time sticking her bottom out a little, the way Freddie was always trying to persuade her to.

‘Oh, you little angel,’ the drayman grunted, now hammering at his cock. ‘Do that again … only more … show that little cunt …’

Her face feeling as if it was about to catch fire, Stephanie obeyed, pulling her back in and pushing her bottom out to let him peek at the rear view of her quim.
Her
cheeks were open wide, showing off the tight little hole between. He grunted, apparently no longer able to speak. His face was the same rich purple as his straining helmet. Stephanie smiled, batted her eyelids and gave a little wiggle of her bottom, but saw that he was beckoning frantically at her.

She said a rude word under her breath, but it was all too easy to imagine him refusing to help if she didn’t go through with it. She stepped close and dropped to her knees in the warm, soft grass in front of him. She caught the scent of his cock, intensely masculine but more like a bull or a boar pig than any of the men she knew, rich and musky and horribly strong, but also compelling. Before she knew it she was leaning forward, her mouth agape, and as he pushed down his cock she took it in her mouth.

Something inside her seemed to give. The tears welled from her eyes and began to trickle down her face even as she sucked earnestly on his erection, doing her best to pleasure him though she didn’t understand why. For the first time in her life she had a man’s penis in her mouth, something she had never even imagined doing, something so rude, so utterly unsuitable that it made her whole body burn with shame. What made it infinitely worse was her desperate need to touch herself between her thighs.

Sobbing and gulping on the drayman’s penis, her body shivering until her tits shook and her bottom cheeks quivered, the tears streaming hot and angry down her face, Stephanie sucked. One hand went to his balls, a gesture she had never intended, the other to his shaft, and she was fondling the bulbous wrinkly sack and tugging on him at the same time, barely conscious of what she was doing, appalled by her own behaviour, but performing with ever-rising enthusiasm, until the drayman at last gave a deep groan and jammed himself deep.

Stephanie’s eyes popped and her cheeks bulged as his enormous, bloated helmet was rammed down her gullet.
She
felt his stuff explode into the back of her throat, which went into violent, uncontrollable contractions. A great gout of come and mucus erupted from her nose, and more from her mouth when she finally managed to pull back. It dribbled down her tits and belly as she knelt panting in the grass, unable to speak. The drayman gave a long, contented sigh.

‘Now who’s a little liar?’ he said happily. ‘If you’ve not done that before, then I’m a monkey’s uncle.’

Stephanie said nothing, partly through sheer outrage, partly because she still felt the awful need to rub her quim, but mainly because she was still coughing up a mixture of come and saliva on to the grass between her knees. He got up, tugged his trousers high and patted her on top of her hat as he walked past. Only then did he put his cock and balls away. Through eyes blurred with tears Stephanie watched him go, then climbed slowly to her feet.

Her thoughts were a muddle, with several strong emotions vying for her attention, but the most compelling was a warm, urgent arousal, which she was determined to ignore. To have stripped off and taken a man’s cock in her mouth until he came was bad enough, but she could at least save some face if she could pretend she’d had no choice; to get excited over it was unthinkable.

To avoid having to admit her true feelings she busied herself with her clothes, kicking her shoes away and peeling off her stockings and gloves to go stark naked but for her hat, which was already dry. She went to sit on a rock but soon began to feel silly, while the granite was uncomfortably rough against her bare bottom. Moving to the entrance of the quarry, she peered cautiously out, to find the road empty and the drayman busy with his horses.

She was quite alone. It would have been so easy to slip a hand between her thighs and play with the sensitive little bump of flesh that formed the very heart
of
her quim until she achieved that exquisite sensation that exceeded every other pleasure she knew. Yet it would be the drayman’s cock she was thinking of when it happened, and somehow that was a worse disgrace than what she had already done. So she watched him work instead, her arms folded across her chest and her mouth set in a tight, determined line.

Finally he managed to haul the two-seater out of the stream and back on to the road. The interior was sodden and muddy, the paint scratched and the front bumper badly dented. Still, she reflected as she pulled on her now merely damp clothes, she might still escape retribution. As long as the mechanics could get the car going again, and she arrived after dark, she could put it in the garage and take it out again first thing in the morning. There was a big garage in Okehampton that would make the necessary repairs, and she would have evaded the cane.

As they drove back to Postbridge with the two-seater hitched to the back of the dray, Stephanie grew increasingly confident. All that really mattered was getting the car going; the rest could wait. She had driven so fast that she wouldn’t be expected for hours anyway. It was all going to work.

The mechanic came out as they reached the garage, rubbing his hands on an oily rag and contemplating the wreck with what Stephanie felt was an insolent lack of surprise.

‘Hairy Hands get you?’ he enquired, grinning.

‘No,’ Stephanie answered, indicating the drayman. ‘This idiot was parked in the middle of the bridge. Do you think you could get me back on the road, please?’

The mechanic paused to suck in air between his front teeth, then shook his head.

‘No chance of that, I’m afraid, Miss,’ he said, pointing to the trail of oily spots running from beneath the car and back along the road. ‘You’ve cracked your sump, you have. Be a week, maybe more, it will.’

‘But I have to get to Bidlake Village,’ Stephanie insisted, ‘near Lydford.’

‘I know Bidlake,’ the drayman told her, pausing from his efforts to load an ancient and badly stained pipe with fresh tobacco. ‘I’ll give you a lift if you don’t mind taking your time, and perhaps …’

Stephanie Truscott wiped the last trace of the drayman’s come from her lower lip. He had taken her as far as the Okehampton Road before insisting on having his cock sucked for the second time, and punishing her for calling him names by deliberately wiping a blob of come on her nose while he held her firmly by the hair. All of which had left her feeling more chagrined than ever, and also more in need of the touch of her hand between her thighs.

The episode had demoted what Freddie had done to her to ninth place among the most embarrassing incidents of her life, or possibly tenth if it counted as two, but she was unsure how it ranked in comparison to the teacake incident, because, while it had been utterly disgusting, or so she kept telling herself, it had been neither painful nor done in front of witnesses. George Hamilton Gordon still held sixth place.