The Misadventures of Miss Cherri Bottom – Episode Four

By Anthony Vallance from Februs 19

Ah, what a difference it made being out in the fresh air. Cherri stepped from her car and breathed in deeply. Yuck! She spluttered and coughed briefly as she tried to expel the horsey smell from her lungs. It was so strong. Had anyone seen her? She hoped not, it wouldn’t do to let everyone know that she was a city girl at heart.

She looked around nervously but there were so many people at the country fair that no one seemed to have noticed her. The ground under her feet was squelchily muddy, and the air was thick with the smell of manure and the sound of horses and people. Attending the annual country fair was Mr Smedley’s idea of course. He was keen that his youngest reporter should experience country life in the raw. Besides, the office had been getting so boring that she had instantly jumped at the chance to get out for a bit.

The fair was certainly busier than Cherri had expected. The car park itself was home to an endless stream of Land Rovers, Range Rovers, Jeeps, four wheelers and the kind of all-weather all-terrain vehicle that dwarfed her tiny Fiat. But here it was, country life. She just hoped that she was dressed right for the occasion. No short skirts this time. After all her other mishaps she was taking no chances and was wearing a pair of shiny black riding boots, cream coloured riding breeches, a tight white top and a tight jacket that was neatly cinched at the waist.

She threaded her way through the car park and into the crowd. It was all a bit bewildering at first. There was some kind of auction going on at the far end of the fair. She could see the horses being led into an enclosure surrounded by serious looking men in cloth caps, big wellies and the sort of faces that could crack mirrors. The auctioneer spoke at ten to the dozen and it seemed to Cherri that he spoke in a language that had little relation to English. But it was all so exciting.

She watched the auction for a while, preferring to remain at a safe distance just in case she coughed and bought a horse by mistake. She soon got used to the horsey smell and after a while she could even discern the smell of food wafting in from the distance. Food. Good old country cooking, just like mother used to make. Except that Cherri’s mother used to cook straight from the can, but that was by the by.

Wandering off in search of food she was soon lost in a maze of market stalls. There were so many people that it was easy to get disorientated. She gave up on the food and decided to let herself wander and drink in the sights. Some of the stalls were piled high with homemade jams and preserves, or else dozens of varieties of honey, or cheese, or cake… And then there were the arts and craft stalls. There were just so many things to see and do.

It took a while but somehow Cherri found herself at the furthest edge of the market. The stalls gave way at last to open air. After all the noise and the bustle it was a bit of a relief, though she couldn’t help but feel a little dizzy from the noise. She decided to walk around the market rather than attempt a return journey through it. She glanced down at her boots and was disappointed to see that the pristine shine had been scuffed away and in places thick clumps of mud were stuck to the heels and soles.

Soon she saw the first of the marquees. The smell of food was all pervading and her tummy was making the most unladylike noises she could imagine. She stopped at the first marquee and peered in. It seemed that the entire interior was given over to racks and racks of riding tackle, boots, hats, waxed jackets and the like. At least it looked like the sort of place that would have something to help her get the mud off her boots.

‘Hello? Hello?’ she called, venturing into the tent. There were no voices in response, but the smell of leather and the relative warmth were so inviting that she decided to have a good look around.

She gazed at the clothes with great interest. There were simply so many kinds of boots, from heavy walking shoes to thick black waders that looked as though they could swallow her whole. And there was so many different bits of riding tackle that it was hard to know how the poor horses put up with it all.

And then there were the whips, canes and riding crops. A whole rack of them mounted high at the very back of the marquee. Cherri was fascinated by the riding crops. They were such a fashion accessory, they looked simply divine. She studied them in detail: some long and slender and tipped with curls of soft leather, some shorter and harder, some black and some made of brightly coloured braid. Would she look good with one to hand? Surely it was the finishing touch to her outfit?

She leaned up on tiptoes to reach the one she admired the most. It was wedged in tightly on the rack and she tugged at it sharply to free it. It started to give and then it was stuck fast. It looked so good that she simply had to have it. She tugged once more and then the rack teetered dangerously. She stepped back quickly just as the whole rack gave way. It made the most awful noise and she covered her ears as it crashed heavily to the muddy ground.

‘Oi! What ‘ave I told you before?’

Cherri turned towards the source of the angry voice. It’s owner, a short, thick set man with a ruddy complexion and anger in his eyes came striding towards her.

‘I’m terribly sorry,’ Cherri started to say but the man was not listening.

‘I told you before,’ he repeated, ‘leave it alone. ‘Ow many times do you have to be told?’

‘But I’ve never… ‘ Cherri started to explain but there was no getting through to him.

‘I told you last time what I’d do to you, girl, didn’t I?’

Cherri had never set eyes on him before but he seemed convinced that he knew her alright. ‘But I was trying to get a look at the riding crop,’ she managed to say.

‘You were, were you? Well I ain’t about to forget what I told you,’ he threatened.

‘But…’

‘There ain’t no buts anymore,’ he insisted. ‘And there ain’t no time like the present, either,’

The man grabbed Cherri’s arm and pulled her across to the other side of the marquee. There was some mistake of course. It had to be the clothes, Cherri realised. She’d done too good a job in dressing up like a real country gal.

‘Please,’ She said, trying to disengage herself but the man was holding fast.

 ’How many times?’ he muttered again and again.

It was pointless, he’d obviously worked himself up into such a state that he was no longer listening. She allowed herself to be pulled over into a corner Where the man finally released her arm. He was still muttering when he grabbed a small stool and plonked it down in front of himself.

‘D’you know ‘ow many ‘ours I put into setting up? Do you, girl?’

‘No’ Cherri admitted as he sat himself down on the stool.

‘Too many,’ he replied. ‘Now, you’re about to get what I promised you last time.’

He reached up and grabbed Cherri by the wrists. He pulled her down sharply and soon she was on her knees in front of him. Up close he didn’t look the ogre and she could tell that beneath the apparent anger there was something else going on.

‘Across my knee, girl,’ he snapped.

‘Oh,’ Cherri said as she was pulled deftly over his lap. She was pushed right across so that her bottom was placed directly over his lap and she was staring at the muddy grass only inches from her face.

‘You’ll not make this mistake again,’ he warned.

‘But…!’

The first smack sounded across the marquee and brought a gasp of surprise to Cherri’s lips. Her breeches were taut over her bottom and she could sense that the tight-fitting material was moulded to her curves. She turned to look at him and saw his hand raised high again. She tensed as she watched his hand sweep down majestically to land harshly on her tight round backside once more.

‘This’ll teach you,’ he muttered.

Again and again his hand came down, smacking her harder and harder through her breeches so that the stinging sensation grew stronger and stronger. She kicked and struggled but she knew it was pointless. She wriggled on his lap and she soon felt his body respond as he punished her soundly.

At last he stopped, though her bottom was smarting still from the rain of smacks that he had dealt out so swiftly.

‘Next time you’ll get worse,’ he promised.

‘It stings …’ Cherri complained, reaching round to stroke her punished bottom.

‘Does it now,’ he said, grinning. ‘S’pose I ought to take a look.’

‘But…’

But it was too late. He had reached under her jacket and with expert fingers tugged her breeches down. In seconds they were pulled down as far as her knees and her bottom was pertly displayed across his lap. Luckily she’d put on a pair of briefs that morning, the skimpiest G-string she could find so that it didn’t spoil the line of the breeches.

‘I can’ t see nothing,’ the man complained, running his rough hands across her bottom. His fingers were cool against her reddened skin and she couldn’t help but lift her bottom higher as he stroked her.

‘Oh … ‘ she whispered as he tugged down at her briefs to reveal the moistness between her thighs. He continued to stroke her, his fingers brushing against places that they shouldn’t have until she moaned softly.

‘Jack! Jack!’

Cherri and the man turned at the same time as a younger man strode into the marquee. Cherri’s face brightened until she knew that her face was redder than her bottom. The younger man looked at her and Jack and smiled.

‘What’ve you got there, Jack?’ he asked, looking directly at Cherri’s chastised bottom.

‘It’s that Wilkins girl,’ Jack explained. ‘Caught her trying to nick one of the crops.’

The younger man laughed. ‘I don’t know what you’ve got there, Jack, he said, ‘but that ain’t a Wilkins girl.’

Jack peered at Cherri’s bottom, his fingers straying between her thighs, and then he looked at her reddened face. She managed to half smile as realisation dawned.

‘Well miss,’ Jack said, ‘I think I owes you an apology.’

Cherri tried to push herself from Jack’s lap but he held her fast. ‘It’s okay,’ she said, ‘I knew there was some kind of mistake.’

The younger man laughed. ‘Looks like our Jack’s given you a good seeing to.’ he said.

Cherri’s face reddened even more. Her bottom was completely bare and the finger marks of her spanking were so red against her creamy skin.

‘Wait one minute though,’ Jack said suddenly, ‘If you ain’t the Wilkins girl, what were you doing nicking one of my crops?’

‘That’s right,’ the younger man said, joining in. ‘What were you doing here?’

II was just interested in buying one of the riding crops,’ Cherri explained.

Jack decided to let her up at last. Cherri stood up and reached down to pull her panties up.

‘Not so fast,’ the younger man said.

‘What is it, Bill?’ Jack said, his eyes fixing on Cherri’ s backside once more.

‘Seems to me the lady’s earned the right to have whatever crop she wants,’ Bill explained.

Cherri watched him walk over to the collapsed rack and then prise out one of the shorter crops, one made of glossy black leather and tipped with a strip of softer hide. ‘This one?’ he called across to Cherri.

She reached down and pulled her panties up quickly before nodding her reply.

‘Here,’ the younger man said, ‘let me try it out for you.’

Cherri watched him swish the crop through the air so that it whistled keenly. He certainly knew how to handle it, and she was sure that he’d made a good choice for her. ‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘that’s the one I’d like.’

‘Alright then miss,’ Bill said, ‘if you’d just like to go across the stool.’

Cherri smiled. She had obviously misheard. ‘Pardon?’

Both men smiled. ‘You’re not from these parts, are you, miss,’ Bill said.

There was no use in pretending. Cherri knew she looked the part, but really, she was a city girl through and through. ‘That’s right,’ she admitted.

‘Ah, that explains it,’ Bill said. ‘It’s an old country tradition of ours,’ he added. ‘So, if you’ll just go across the stool.’

A quaint old country tradition, Cherri was all for learning about such things. She pulled her breeches up and then carefully got down on her knees and faced the stool. ‘Like this?’ she asked, bending over it.

‘I think he means like this,’ Jack said, pulling her forward a bit so that her tummy was right over the seat of the stool and her bottom was poking up high. It wasn’t the steadiest position in the world and thankfully Jack took her arms and wrapped them around his waist so that she could hold onto him for support.

‘That’s better,’ Bill agreed.

‘Oh…’ Cherri whispered as Bill tugged down her breeches and then pulled her panties down to her knees.

‘Oh…’ she whispered when Jack started to unzip his trousers.

Her bottom was fully exposed and the slight breeze that wafted through the tent touched the stinging that remained of her spanking.

‘This is the way we test a new riding crop,’ Bill explained.

Cherri held onto to Jack tightly as the crop whistled through the air and then landed across her pert buttocks. The pain was so intense that she yelped loudly as the redness was striped deep across her skin. The second stroke came down quickly, marking her flesh as the heat oozed through her.

‘You are a noisy girl,’ Jack complained, ‘one more like that and I’ll have to show you how to be quiet.’

The third stroke came down a second later and she felt her bottom glowing hotly. She yelped of course, it hurt so much even though it seemed to add a tingle between her thighs.

‘Here,’ Jack said, ‘close your lips around this…’

‘Oh…’ Cherri said, as Jack opened his trousers and pushed himself towards her lips.

The crop came down again and this time her yelp of pain was muffled. She felt so strange, the pain on her bottom was somehow making her hot and wet. Such a quaint country tradition, she thought.

The crop came down once more, striping her bottom with another red lattice of pleasure and pain, and then she heard the rustle of clothes. She couldn’t turn round to look, of course, her mouth was too busy, but somehow she sensed that Bill was not content simply to punish her and be done.