Bunny in the Woods

Another story about the imaginative Mr Mascoll (see also Flights of Fancy & Mr Mascoll’s Playsuit) from Uniform Girls 16.

She was the niece of Mr Mascoll’s friend Mr Harcourt. Sidney Harcourt had been left in charge of Belinda before she started college but then found he had to go off for a couple of weeks and it wasn’t going to be convenient to take Belinda along. As she was a decidedly toothsome young person and at that very special age — just turned 18 — Mr Mascoll was not at all reluctant to do his friend a favour. She seemed just a little bit shy when he met her, which in Mr Mascoll’s eyes made her even more spicy. ‘Here she is,’ Sidney Harcourt had said, ‘Young Belinda; though generally in the family she’s known as Bunny.’

Belinda had blushed bright red at this — it seemed it was something she didn’t like people to know — and Mr Mascoll seeing the blush had felt quite hot himself. And his mind had right away shot off into all sorts of flights of fancy.

There was that suit of Amanda’s of course, or the various versions of it. The funny playsuit which had been used among other things for some not very serious, though highly stimulating, swimming lessons. No doubt this new lissom young thing would look quite entrancing in it — but Mr Mascoll had done just about all he could with those suits and had become a little bored with them. No, what he wanted was a completely new idea.

He got his basic idea from an old film on TV: a western, US Cavalry versus Indians. There were some tasty-looking young female Indians, got up in those deerskin tunics and showing splendid brown knees. Belinda Harcourt had lovely brown knees too, a young lady keen on sunbathing apparently. And Sidney Harcourt’s place down in Wiltshire, well, it was even more of a jungle than Geoffrey Mascoll’s own garden. A lot bigger as well.

Putting the whole thing together Mr Mascoll came up with the idea of some sort of jungle warfare or hunting, Cavalry against Indians. The Indians would of course be exclusively young female ones and actually, after toying with the thought of dragging Amanda in as well, he decided on just the one Indian. That Belinda Bunny naturally. As for the Cavalry, well, they wouldn’t really be Cavalry, not horses or any of that. Hunters in fact. Mr Mascoll himself and also maybe one or two companions who also fancied a bit of a lark with young female persons.

He got Belinda’s outfit made up right away, by that lady Mr Purley knew. She was very quick about such things and had it all together for him before he set off for Wiltshire. Sidney Harcourt had left an hour earlier so that when Mr Mascoll arrived there was just the delicious Belinda — Bunny. He found her sitting in a deckchair in a fetching pink-and-white bikini taking advantage of the nice sunny afternoon on the smallish patch of lawn that Sidney Harcourt did keep mown. All the rest though was verdant and vigorous nature, with that splendid, somewhat decayed summer-house in the middle of it. The property also backed onto woodland. All in all quite a superlative place for hunters and Indians.

Mr Mascoll’s thoughts as he crossed the lawn were naturally leaping off into all sorts of wild transports. As yet young Belinda had no idea of any of this, no idea of what was neatly folded in that plastic bag in the boot of his car.

‘Hello, young Belinda,’ he greeted. Then, ‘Or, ha ha, should I say Bunny.’

Belinda’s face turned that delightful pink shade, as it had a week earlier when he had first met her. Bright pink cheeks really added a finishing touch to go with the full, red-pink lips and the big, long-lashed, deep-blue eyes, all crowned with a head of ash-blonde curls. There was as well that slim but spicy-looking tanned shape in the brief bikini. Delicious. Belinda blinked and moved her arms vaguely over her exposed body in the areas of pubis and boobs, although those areas were covered. ‘I hate that silly name!’

She had been called it at home for as long as she could remember, someone sometime having said, ‘What a lovely bunny rabbit.’ But Belinda especially hated the nickname since last year when a girl she didn’t like, Susan Kingley, had got hold of it. ‘You know what bunny rabbits do all the time,’ Susan had said with a smirk. And then made a circle of her left-hand finger and thumb into which she thrust her right-hand index finger in a vigorous in-and-out motion. Belinda had punched Susan but it hadn’t stopped her slyly repeating the nasty gesture on subsequent occasions.

As it happened Mr Mascoll was thinking something along the very same lines. In the popular fancy rabbits, like monkeys, did spend an awful lot of their time fucking. The heady thought came that this delicious young person might… well she was certainly of a legal age for the reproductive act and girls nowadays… look at Amanda Fernhurst for instance — though she did need a little persuasion.

Mr Mascoll was suddenly feeling quite hot. His planned games: those delightful Indian maidens, though they might not like to show it on the film, would certainly have got it from the US Cavalry when they caught them. The spoils of war. Oh yes!

‘I think it’s a most charming name,’ Mr Mascoll assured her. ‘Most charming.’

A pause as they both independently pictured the same thing. Female bunnies being enthusiastically humped by male bunnies. In Mr Mascoll’s mind the female bunny looked a lot like Belinda — on all fours bunny-fashion and with the bottom half of her bikini removed. Belinda wasn’t actually picturing that but… she was feeling rather naked…

‘I hate it,’ she repeated, even her pretty ears bright pink now.

Mr Mascoll put up a deckchair that was lying on the grass and sat on it. He smiled benignly at his new charge and then looked around. What a lovely afternoon, and this quite splendid garden. He would put his bags in the house and then she could show him round. There was that magnificent summer-house for one thing.

Belinda said it wasn’t safe, woodworm. Also she thought she had better put some clothes on. But Mr Mascoll very firmly rejected that. ‘Oh no. Definitely not. I wouldn’t dream of it.’ A little pause, his eyes going intently over her, not missing an inch. In fact he would much rather she took something off.

‘Do you ever… ah…? I mean it’s so nice to get a tan all over.’

Flushing even redder Belinda heard herself say ‘Er… uh… sometimes.’ Somehow it just came out. It was true — but she didn’t want to tell Mr Mascoll. He looked ecstatic. ‘Oh my!’ Of course he would have soon found out anyway. Well, he was in charge of her and you had to, well, supervise young ladies at their bath etc. Oh yes. And of course his suit. His Indian suit. When she put that on…

Shortly Belinda was showing Mr Mascoll the grounds. Not very happily because she did feel somehow naked in her bikini. A lot more than usual. Mr Mascoll had a way of making her feel naked; the way he looked for one thing. At her boobs which were quite nice ones and also… down there. And when he looked down there Belinda couldn’t help thinking of rabbits and Susan Kingley’s finger going slyly in and out of her circling finger and thumb. Some girls of Belinda’s acquaintance did do it, she knew.

Not only that, Mr Mascoll also touched. Her bottom mostly. And when they were going up the rickety steps of the summer-house, with Mr Mascoll close behind her, not only that, his hand went in between her legs. Belinda couldn’t help it, she squealed. A high-pitched yelp. For a few seconds his hand was right there. Mr Mascoll just laughed — as if it were an accident or something. Which was most unlikely.

She felt really jumpy after that. So that she was not really concentrating on what he was saying. So that when he said it he had to repeat it.

‘Have you ever played Indians up here, young Bunny?’

Perhaps it was that hated ‘Bunny’ she heard and not the rest. When he repeated it Belinda shook her head. Mr Mascoll put his arm round her waist, making her shiver. ‘But it’s just the place for a game of Indians. This summer-house and the whole garden and those woods. Simply super.’

They were in the top part of the summer-house looking out at the jungle-like grounds below. Belinda was not particularly struck by the idea of Indians and anyway there was no one else to play.

Oh. It seemed just her and Mr Mascoll. She would be an Indian and Mr Mascoll… Mr Mascoll was going to hunt her. He seemed to find this thought tremendously exciting. So exciting that he had to get his hand on her bottom again. Belinda tried to squirm away but Mr Mascoll grabbed her and pulled her close and now really had his hand on her squirmy rear. Mr Mascoll’s excited face very close.

‘I shall be… uh… the hunter and if the Indian girl gets caught… mmm… well she has got to get something. I think first time… mmm… the cane…’

What was he saying? Belinda was most concerned with that hot and persistent hand. It seemed to be trying to…

‘Have you had the cane, Belinda?’

She heard and understood that. He couldn’t mean it. Wildly she shook her head. That was just awful.

‘Oh that’s really super,’ breathed Mr Mascoll. ‘I love a girl when she’s new to it. And then the next time she gets caught…’

Belinda squealed out. The hand had managed to get what it was after. Up between her legs.

A little later — minutes, hours? — and going back down those steps Belinda had to hang on for dear life. Her knees seemed to be made of rubber.

Mr Mascoll wanted to start right away, a quick game before supper. It seemed he had an Indian suit. Belinda didn’t, she didn’t want to play this game at all, certainly not after mention of a cane. But Mr Mascoll was here in charge of her. He could do as he liked. That thought made you feel sort of fainty. Mr Mascoll got the suit out of his bag. ‘Let’s have that swimsuit off,’ he told her briskly.

Not there in Uncle Sidney’s lounge, in front of Mr Mascoll! No! He finally agreed to Belinda going up to her bedroom to change. ‘But there’s no need to be shy, not with me. Oh dear no.’ And after where his hand had already been…

The Indian suit mentioned was in fact just a skirt. Two separate pieces, front and back. They were loosely attached on the waist cord, like a curtain, not fixed. With these two separate pieces the skirt was naturally open up the sides right to her waist. Cripes! Obviously you had knickers underneath but even so Mr Mascoll would be able to see them. No doubt that was why it was made that way. Belinda put on a demure pair of white knickers.

And what about the top? Belinda put a white tee-shirt on — though with the vague feeling Mr Mascoll was going to object. There were also flat leather shoes, a headband with feathers and a few long-toothed neckchains. She looked in the mirror and made a face. What Belinda didn’t like was the brief split skirt. Could she perhaps pin the sides together? But she guessed he wouldn’t think much of that. She made another face and then, heart going bump, bump, bump, went downstairs.

Mr Mascoll’s eyes opened wide. His outfit looked terrific, except that… that tee-shirt… and he also saw the knickers… Obviously Belinda hadn’t played Indians before — or not the sort of game that was in Geoffrey Mascoll’s mind. But no doubt she hadn’t meant to get it wrong. Smiling he told her.

Belinda’s face blankly uncomprehending at first. No knickers… and no tee-shirt… nothing except skirt and neckchains. That wasn’t possible. They hardly covered anything, not really. No.

‘Aaaekkk!’

Mr Mascoll had grabbed her. Well, there was no point hanging about, he wanted to get on with his game and Belinda’s blank shaking of her head would get them nowhere. Action was needed.

Belinda found herself on her back on the sofa. Mr Mascoll was simply dragging her knickers off. Her hands weakly trying to hang on to them. He couldn’t do this. But he could it seemed. ‘That’s better!’

The crumpled nylon knickers went in his pocket, for safe-keeping, whilst Belinda frantically held her skirt down over her you-know-what. Mr Mascoll was already at work on the top though. Yanking the tee-shirt off over her head. More squeals. Her bra. Hands round the back to the catch. Belinda’s own hands shooting up to her suddenly bared boobs. Mr Mascoll breathing hard but grinning.

‘There we are.’

Oh God. Her boobs, not big but nice ones, with the pert pink nipples after all this business sticking right out.

‘Look, please…’ she gasped, her hands over them.

‘You really look splendid,’ Mr Mascoll smiled. ‘A delight. But Indian girls didn’t sit all hunched up with their hands over their pretty tits. Oh dear me no. Now we just need a bit of paint for the finishing touch and then we’re ready.’

Mr Mascoll had some grease-paint in little pots and put coloured stripes and spots on Belinda’s cheeks and forehead. And then… well, why not? He made her take her hands away and carefully applied a little blusher to the already blushing pink protuberances. Oh God! That was just about the last straw; Belinda thinking she was going to die or something.

Mr Mascoll pulling her to her feet. They were going to begin the game. She could have five minutes start and then… Feeling sick Belinda saw that Mr Mascoll now had got a cane from somewhere; a wicked-looking curvy cane.

‘Look, no. You can’t. I’m not having…’ Then a yelp as the cane came in across her leg. Not really hard but stinging like a wasp.

‘Come on, young Bunny. Five minutes. Or I’ll have that skirt up right now and give that pretty bum a warming.’

Wailing, Belinda went off at a ragged trot, out into the garden. Whatever had got into Uncle Sidney to leave her with this awful man and his awful games? That cane! And he had her virtually nude. With her nipples, jiggling firmly as she ran, painted. Belinda felt like crying. She would run out and down the road to the Cuthbertsons and tell Mrs Cuthbertson. Or the vicar the other way. But a moment’s thought told her that she couldn’t. Not like this, with her tits bare and no knickers and her face and nipples painted. Oh God.

He would be coming soon. With the cane. Oh Jesus. She looked desperately round. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere that he wouldn’t find her. There were various sheds and things but he’d find her there and he’d find her if she hid in the shrubs and anyway they had crawly things in them. There was the wood but no, she couldn’t go out there. Two days ago in the wood there had been a man. She didn’t know him but he had spoken to her and even though she had a tee-shirt on his eyes had been on her tits. Now, like this in this suit… Belinda thought of Susan Kingley’s nasty finger. That could be a lot worse than Mr Mascoll and his cane. Or could it? Oh Jesus. Could anything be worse than that cane?

There was nowhere to go. She had been sort of stumbling around going in different directions and back again. Five minutes was probably up. There was nowhere. But she had to… In desperation Belinda found herself heading for the summer-house. It was stupid, he was bound to look there first of all. But she was going breathlessly up the steps which at any moment were going to collapse with woodworm rot. It was utterly stupid but it was done now, there was no time to go back down again. Oh Christ. She crouched down, looking out over the ledge. She could see the house. Very shortly she could see Mr Mascoll.

Looking around. Hesitating. And then, yes, heading towards her. Towards the summer-house. Oh God she was going to be sick. He had the cane with him.

She ran back down the stairs and was trying to scramble up a bank to run away when he caught her legs. He pulled her back down the bank. Belinda crying tears of frustration at her stupidity. She could at least have made an attempt rather than the stupid old summer-house where he was bound to come first. Mr Mascoll laughing jovially… and grabbing pretty rouge-nippled tits. Belinda tried to fend the hands off. Mr Mascoll just laughed.

‘Don’t be silly. You’re an Indian girl who’s been caught in the woods by a white hunter. Indian girls who get caught in the woods know what to expect, they know they have to pay the penalty. Oh yes…’

Mr Mascoll pulled her along. She gave a yelp as one hand left her tits and went down and up under the short skirt. Grabbing the bare furry mound. ‘Oh yes, Indian girls know what to expect when they go out in the woods. That’s probably why they didn’t wear any knickers. So they won’t get them ripped off.’

Mr Mascoll found a large tree stump and seated himself on it, dragging Belinda down across his knees. She was struggling and squirming and making gasping yelps but it didn’t help. In fact her struggles made it worse, opening her legs and allowing his hand to reach further. Mr Mascoll was laughing like it was a big joke as his hands started splatting down across her bare bottom cheeks. First the left cheek, then the right and so on. Belinda couldn’t believe it.

‘No!’

Was Mr Mascoll some kind of nut? Or a proper Dirty Old Man? Maybe both. And what was he going to do? There was the cane, but the way he had been going at her…

‘No!’ she yelped as his hands were still descending across her rapidly burning cheeks.

Mr Mascoll grinning, hot-faced. ‘Would you rather have something else then? I can tell you what those Indian girls got. Actually I expect they really liked it, I mean not so painful as the cane. Would you rather not have the cane? Belinda Bunny-rabbit.’

Susan Kingley’s finger going in and out like a piston. That was what Mr Mascoll meant. What that other man in the woods was thinking when he looked at her like that. Some girls did it all right. Monica Alworthy did it. She said it was really great, and also good for you. For your hormones. Belinda didn’t know anything about hormones and probably Monica didn’t either. Probably whoever it was had just said that so that Monica would…

‘I don’t want the cane and I don’t want anything else.’ Belinda brushed at her cheeks where there were now tears again. Brimming out and rolling down her cheeks and smudging those grease-paint lines that Mr Mascoll had painted on.

She felt really dreadful.

Mr Mascoll shook his head. He was not the man to be deterred by tears. He had seen tears in his young girl acquaintances before; Amanda Fernhurst could produce them for one. A man learnt not to be distracted from his essential pleasure by a young female’s tears. He told her not to be silly. She had agreed to play the game (not exactly true) and therefore she had to abide by the rules. There had to be a penalty when the Indian girl was caught otherwise there was no fun in the game. And if Belinda didn’t want something else then the penalty was the cane. Anyway it was supposed to be the cane for the first time caught. The second time it was normally something else. Mr Mascoll had of course made these rules up himself. At the moment he did rather feel like caning Belinda.

‘Come on, Bunny, up you get. I want you standing on this tree stump and then bend over and hold onto your knees.’

The Indian skirt was ideal for caning because with the two parts being quite separate you could just pull the back right up. Over Belinda’s back. A lovely 18-year-old bottom, slimmish but beginning to ripen. A pair of delicious cheeks, trembling slightly in anticipation of what was to come. Mr Mascoll gave a light pat with his stick, bringing forth a groan from further over where Belinda’s head was. He told her not to move, he wanted her bottom nice and still and kept in position. She had to take her punishment bravely like those Indian girls would.

Another groan. Muffled yelps of protest…

‘Yeeooohhhh!!’

The stricken cheeks rolling in shocked reaction. The thighs and knees bucking and jerking. The double tramlines across the pink-tanned flesh coming up immediately.

‘Noooo!!! Yeeooouuuhhh!’

‘Don’t be silly, you’ve only had one. Indian girls are supposed to be brave, Belinda.’ Mr Mascoll aimed again.

‘Teeooo… No!… Noooo!!!’

He watched the writhing cheeks and the thighs with keen pleasure. She really was making a fuss. But then if it was the first time it probably did hurt more. Good for her though. All 18-year-old girls should get this and it was most unfortunate that they didn’t. Geoffrey Mascoll would have liked to lead a nationwide campaign and himself personally cane 18-year-old female bottoms all day and every day. Well, all right, breaks now and then… for that other pleasure perhaps. A man did need a break. But caning…

He aimed again.

‘Yeeooouuuhhh!’

And again. And again…

‘That wasn’t too bad, was it?’

A purely rhetorical query for there wasn’t much doubt that Belinda had found it too bad. Shattering. Shivering and shaking now, after six, and making glugging sobbing sounds. He pulled the pretty young miss and led her into the house. Did she want to go to the bathroom? Wash her face or something (the grease-paint on her cheeks was somewhat tear-stained by now)? And then they would have some tea. He had brought some rather super cream cakes with him. And then…

‘And then perhaps we’ll have another game, eh? I mean we’ve got loads of time before bed.’

What could she do? Lock herself in the bathroom, or in her room? But she couldn’t do that, Mr Mascoll was here in charge of her, she had to do what he wanted. Looking in the bathroom mirror Belinda started crying again. Her face was an absolute mess, all red and with tears and coloured paint all mixed up. And her bottom… It felt like she’d sat on the stove or something. Six he said he’d given her. But after the spanking as well, it could have been sixty the way her bottom was feeling.

She didn’t want any cakes or any tea. ‘Look I’m not… you can’t… not any more. I want… I want to go to bed.’ Sitting on her still hot bottom on the sofa with Mr Mascoll and still in that awful Indian suit with her tits bare and sticking out at him. But since that dreadful caning Belinda’s bare tits weren’t the number one priority. The number one priority was…

‘Please. Please! I’m not…’

Mr Mascoll calmly sipping his tea. ‘We’ll need to do your paint again. An Indian girl always has her face painted.’ He grinned at her. ‘The second time if she’s caught it’s usually not the cane. Is it? Remember the rules. First the cane and then…’

Then what? He hadn’t said. He couldn’t really mean… what rabbits did… and of course people as well. Monica Alworthy. Another girl June Silway had rabbits and Belinda had seen them once. Doing it. The buck rabbit on top of the doe. June had giggled. Belinda had felt sort of funny watching, especially of course with that stupid name. Bunny.

‘I don’t want… any more games…’

But Mr Mascoll was putting the grease-paint on her face again. Stripes and spots across her forehead and cheeks. Then some pink on her lips. And after that her nipples. ‘Keep your hands down and keep still. You don’t want it all smudged.’ Finger and thumb squeezing and rolling the nipple to make it stick up and then a finger with the pink blusher. One nipple and then the other. All at once Belinda needed to go to the bathroom, although she hadn’t had any tea. ‘Well don’t be long. Come on: I feel like getting going. The joys of the chase. Five minutes start again shall we say?’

Out in the garden again. Looking desperately round, like a frightened rabbit. Where to go? There was nowhere really, wherever she went he would find her. And then haul her back to the house, triumphant. And then…

The cane had been dreadful but anything else… Maybe she could ask for the cane again? The lesser of two evils? But Mr Mascoll would only laugh and say it wasn’t in the rules. The rules said… Belinda saw those two rabbits again. And Monica. Monica said she did it up in her bedroom when her mother was out.

Belinda ran breathlessly off. Mr Mascoll would take her up to her room. That little bed…