Hot Afternoons

Great story, from the elusive Blushes 78, either by R.T. Mason or someone copying his style.

Looking out of her bedroom window Amanda could see at the end of the garden the two workmen. They were putting in a drain or something. Yes it was a new drain, she remembered her mother saying. It was a warm afternoon, September, the end of summer, and they both had their shirts off. One older, her father’s age perhaps, with a beer belly, but the other one was different: mid-twenties, trim and muscular. He was the one Amanda’s eyes were fixed on: the muscles in that back, those shoulders. A body like that could make a girl feel slightly breathless. When you were seventeen, and it was a hot, sultry afternoon and you were supposed to be working. Writing that essay.

Amanda reluctantly turned away from the window. She had to concentrate her mind on the essay. Her full lips mouthed an expletive. She sat down at her desk, trying to think about the essay. But there were all the other thoughts crowding in her head that she would much rather consider. The man with the half-bare body at the end of the garden — and by extension that unbelievable thing her friend Sarah had told her. And of course Mr Tillot. Mr Tillot who was tutoring Amanda in English, who had set the essay which she had yet to start. Mr Tillot who had said that thing two days ago that had made her quite as breathless as looking at and thinking about the man out there with the rippling muscles.

Mr Tillot had said he would cane her. If Amanda didn’t get on and produce a decent essay. He would give her the cane on her hare bottom. Mr Tillot’s shocking words had caused a hot flush and the feeling of being suddenly weak at the knees. The mind-boggling thought of it: a whippy cane in Mr Tillot’s hand, whipping in onto her bared bottom. Presumably Amanda’s skirt up round her waist and her knickers lowered. As she bent over something; the table perhaps — or her bed. The imagined scene caused Amanda’s knees to feel suddenly as if they might give way. And as well as that there had been that other thing: the hot tingle between her legs. Her pussy.

Hot-faced she had blurted, ‘Don’t be silly, Mr Tillot. You… you… that’s not even a funny joke.’

But Mr Tillot had just put his face close to hers and in a hard gritty voice said, ‘I’m not joking, Amanda. Just you try me and see.’

Amanda picked up her exercise book and fanned herself. It was too hot to work anyway but thinking about Mr Tillot and his silly threats made it ten times worse. She stood up again and walked over to the wall mirror. Did she look all sweaty? Not really. Maybe a little flushed in the face. When he had said it she had wanted to say: I’ll tell my mother what you said. But Amanda had stopped herself from saying such a childish thing. At seventeen and in your last year at school you didn’t threaten to tell your mother, you could look after yourself.

She had told Sarah though. Sarah her best friend. Sarah had said it was because Mr Tillot fancied her. He wanted to get at Amanda’s bare bottom. Caning her was all part of his lustful desire. Sarah had got this book from the library which had stuff like that in it, she had meant to lend it to Amanda but it had to go back.

Amanda didn’t believe it. She was sure it was just something for Mr Tillot to say, to try and scare her into doing the essay. She certainty didn’t think he fancied her. He was a bit weird: not old, not really, he had long hair and a little beard. A bit like a hippie, except he wore a jacket and tie. Probably he wasn’t the type to fancy girls; not even the delectable Amanda Carlew. Amanda laughed at the girl in the mirror. Sarah said Amanda was really something, dishy. The blonde-haired girl with the ripe-lipped mouth laughed back. She was wearing her school uniform because her mother said she had to for Mr Tillot and the uniform blouse and skirt certainly curved out in the right places. Was she too fat: her boobs, her bum? Again the knowledgeable Sarah (who was slimmer) said no, men liked girls with flesh on them.

Amanda went back to her desk. She had to concentrate. Mr Tillot was coming this afternoon. In about half an hour now. And she had nothing written. In half an hour Mr Tillot would be here… with that threat… It had only been a joke, to scare her. But… what would it be like? To be caned. On your bare bottom. Sickening no doubt. Killingly painful and humiliating. But also… a turn-on. Mr Tillot seeing her bare bottom… and probably a bit more besides. And the cane. A man, a strange man, whipping it in on her nude flesh. Mr Tillot…

‘You must tell me all about it. Promise!’ Sarah had said. ‘I told you remember…’

Amanda still didn’t know whether to believe what Sarah had told her. Had she made it up? Those sort of things certainly happened but they were difficult to believe when it was someone you knew, someone who was your best friend. What if Sarah had said she had been raped, would Amanda have believed that? But it hadn’t been rape. It had been the man taking out his thing. Unzipping his jeans and taking it out. His big stiff thing with its big purple-mushroom head, Sarah said. And then telling her to hold it.

Could you believe it? Sarah, seeing the disbelief in Amanda’s eyes, had sworn it was true, every word. He had taken it out and made her hold it. This man who was there fixing their fence. He had made Sarah stroke it. Pump it. He had wanted her to have it in her mouth but Sarah had said no and he hadn’t made her. Because she was prepared to do what he wanted with her hand. Sarah had demonstrated to Amanda a pumping motion with her cupped hand. After quite a short time… the stuff had all shot out.

Amanda got up again. She couldn’t concentrate, there was no way she could. All these thoughts in her head. Sarah must have made it up. She went over to the window again. The two men were still there, but not digging now, they were resting.

Leaning on their things, the pickaxe and shovel. The young one with his back half towards the house, that really swoony back with those muscles. Amanda suddenly pictured him coming to the house, with some query like the man at Sarah’s house. She would let him in and then in the kitchen… he would do what Sarah’s man had done. Unzip those chalk-stained jeans. Show it to her. His big stiff thing. And she would take it in her hand.

Amanda turned away from the window. She glanced at the clock. Oh Christ! Mr Tillot. And she hadn’t written a thing.

----//----

Andrew Tillot arrived at the smart front door of Number 23 Bramble Lane sharp at 3 o’clock. His arrival would be unobserved by the two trench diggers, Ron and Stan, at the rear of the Bramble Lane houses. They were taking another break from their labours and were in fact discussing the young lady whom Mr Tillot had just arrived to instruct. Ron and Stan had been working along behind Numbers 21, 23 and 25 for two days now and so had had the opportunity to see something of the inhabitants. The pretty and shapely young blonde at Number 23 had in particular caught the attention of Ron. Once more he was now wondering to Stan how old she was. She had to be 17 or 18, didn’t she? No more than 18 because they had seen her in her school uniform; but she had to be 17, with that figure. Those tits and that bum. Those sexy looking legs.

‘Why don’t you ask her?’ suggested Stan. ‘Go in and ask for a glass of water, say you’re dying of thirst. Then casually ask how old she is. And to set your mind at rest ask if she’s started doing it yet. Probably has I should imagine. From the look of her. From the look of that lovely bum and tits. Anyway they’ve all started by 17 these days, including these hoity-toity ones in big houses.’

Ron, leaning on his shovel, looked thoughtful.

‘Actually,’ continued Stan, ‘I actually rather fancy her mum. She’s got a real nice arse too. And a woman that age can really love it.’

‘You’ll have to go in and ask her for a drink then,’ observed Ron. ‘In the morning.’ Because they had observed that Amanda’s mother was out in the afternoons.

----//----

Yes it was Mr Tillot, standing on the door step. Right on time. Amanda hesitated, then stood aside to let him in. ‘Oh! Mr Tillot. I… uh… sort of forgot the time.’

‘Oh really Amanda? But not, ha-ha, forgotten your essay I presume?’

Amanda felt slightly sick. She had really intended to produce something. Mr Tillot had been joking but nonetheless… She didn’t answer. She wanted to say she had to go out, she couldn’t have the lesson this afternoon, but of course she couldn’t say that. She felt tongue-tied. Finally she asked Mr Tillot if he would rather they stayed downstairs, in the sitting room. Somehow the close intimacy of her own room seemed more scary. Somehow Amanda could imagine Mr Tillot… actually doing it there. Doing that unbelievable thing.

Mr Tillot gave a little laugh. No, her room would be fine. So Amanda reluctantly led the way upstairs.

In her room she said weakly, ‘I… ah… actually I seem to have misplaced it.’ Mr Tillot had lost no time, homing straight in on the subject as soon as they were there. Her room somehow seemed a lot smaller than before. Tiny, like a tight little prison cell. With no escape.

‘I… I have done it of course.’

‘You’re lying Amanda.’ Mr Tillot’s voice grim. ‘You haven’t done it. OK, so you’ll get what I said. I am going to cane you. Right away. And on your bare bottom. You can take your knickers down and bend over the desk.’

‘Look…’ Amanda felt herself sweating. He couldn’t really mean it, could he? She backed away.

‘Look… If you… you try anything I… I’ll tell my mother.’ There she had said it, like a baby. Maybe she’d start crying next. Oh Christ.

‘You tell her.’ Mr Tillot’s voice was calm but his eyes had an excited look. ‘And I’ll tell her why. I’ve told her already that you’re not working. She said I was to be firm with you. So that’s what I’m doing. Stay right here. I’m going out to get my cane from the car. Don’t you dare move.’

Oh Christ! Oh Jesus! He did mean it! Unless right at the last moment he was going to let her off. But Amanda didn’t think that. What could she do? Nothing. Distractedly she went over to the window. The two workmen were still there. The younger one seemed to be looking in her direction. But Amanda had no inclination now for heady thoughts about his body. Mr Tillot would be back in two minutes with a cane. Oh Christ! She wanted to pee. What if she peed herself, it just came out. When she was bending over the desk. Her bare bum and wetness trickling down her thighs. Oh Christ! Please, he couldn’t really do it.

But Andrew Tillot could. Oh yes! Did he fancy Amanda, as Sarah had surmised? Yes of course. Nicely rounded Amanda, bulging out of her school uniform in all the right places: how could a normal heterosexual male not fancy her? Yes Andrew Tillot fancied getting that ripely rounded bum bare and then he really fancied caning it. And after that if she found the hot sting of the cane too much — she might just beg for mercy. Beg for maybe something else. Anything else except more stinging red-hot stripes. And if she did… well there was no doubt that sexy but lazy Amanda Carlew deserved anything she got. She was bone idle. She needed the cane. She really needed something else as well. A good screwing.

He grabbed her, to the accompaniment of desperate yelps. She was clearly not going to get her knickers off herself so… Getting his hands on Amanda’s firm-fleshed body was a fantastic turn-on. Probably Evelyn Carlew hadn’t meant this when she said ‘be firm’ but Andrew Tillot would worry about that if and when he had to. Amanda was squirming like an eel but he had her skirt up. Silky-smooth teenage thighs! The bare flesh like cream. And above the thighs brief and tight navy blue knickers. Jesus Christ!

‘Keep still Amanda. If you fight it… you’ll just get more. Twice as many… and twice as hard.’

‘No! No… ooo…’

But the tight little knicks were coming down. Yanked down over the ripely rounded curves of Amanda’s bottom-cheeks. His hands on the hot bare flesh of her bottom.

Amanda thought she was going to be sick. With the awfulness of what was happening — but also the excitement. It was really awful but also thrillingly exciting. Mr Tillot taking her knickers down. His male hands on her trembling bare flesh. Her bottom bare… and her pussy bare… Oh God!

‘There. OK. Stand up straight Amanda. Holding your skirt up. Do as I tell you. Or I’ll really cane the daylights out of you.’

Amanda after a moment’s hesitation doing it. Holding her skirt up round her waist. Showing herself to Mr Tillot. Her knickers were down round her knees now. So facing Mr Tillot she was unavoidably showing him her bare pussy. The bushy mound of brown curly hair. It was shocking having to do this… but there was also tingly excitement. Mr Tillot’s hot eyes were firmly fixed on her pussy.

‘Pl… Please… Don’t… cane me…’

‘I am going to cane you, Amanda. But just four strokes if you behave yourself and cooperate. Otherwise… you won’t want to sit down for a week.’

That didn’t leave a lot of choice. Mr Tillot was such a fiend Amanda had no doubt he would carry out his threat. So weakly whimpering she stumbled to the table and bent herself over it. Her fear and excitement were almost overwhelming now. Fear of that dreadful cane but excitement at being here in her room with her bottom and pussy bare in front of Mr Tillot. His hot eyes on her soft flesh.

‘Ahaah… Ooooh…’

Mr Tillot’s hand on her quivering bare bum. ‘Just keep still Amanda. I’m just checking your position…’

The hand caressing. Groping you could say. Over Amanda’s ripe rotundities. And then briefly sliding in underneath. A hair’s-breadth from Amanda’s womanly headquarters. Her throbbing pussy. She felt sick.

THWATT…!!

Oh Sweet Jesus! The cane had sliced in on her poor bare bum. Like a red-hot poker! She heard herself squawk out, a banshee-yell. Her bottom rolling and clenching.

‘Keep it still Amanda. And stop that awful racket.’

THWATTT…!!

A second cut just about on top of the first. ‘No! The pain was impossible!’ Amanda jerked upright, clutching her stricken red-hot bum.

‘Get back down! I haven’t finished! You’ve only had two.’

‘No! No more! I can’t take any more. You… you…’ Amanda was still clutching the throbbing cheeks of her bum.

Andrew Tillot came in behind her. He was feeling hot, light-headed. He had put down the cane and his arms came round Amanda. His hands cupped her tits through her blouse. She gave a shocked gasp.

‘I should give you another dozen or so. And really hard ones.’

‘No! No… ooo..!!’ Amanda still had her hands on her bum and now Mr Tillot was there pressed close in too. And she could feel him. His thing. It was big and hard, pressing against her hands. Mr Tillot’s own hands were still cupping her tits. Squeezing them. What with all this and the continuing hot sting in her bum… it was all too much.

‘You know what you really need, Amanda.’ Mr Tillot’s voice was tight, croaky with excitement in her ear. ‘What you really need… is down here.’

One of his hands left her tits and slid down. To where Amanda’s skirt was now only halfway dragged up. At about the tops of her thighs. Her pussy. That was where Mr Tillot’s hand went. In under the bunched skirt to cup the hot dampness of Amanda’s furry mound.

‘You… need something here. What you need Amanda is a good screwing.’

----//----

Amanda lay on her bed, looking up at the ceiling. Mr Tillot had gone about half an hour now but she didn’t feel like moving. Running over once more in her head the truly momentous events of earlier in the afternoon. Being caned over the table. The really awful pain of it but at the same time that hot excitement of having her bottom bare and thrust out in front of Mr Tillot. Her bottom and also no doubt her pussy, with her legs she knew sliding apart as she struggled with the hot pain. But there had only been the two strokes, and then… the other even more fantastic thing. Could she tell Sarah?

She would tell Sarah about the caning, that the pain had been killing but also yes, it had been a real turn-on. But the other? That Mr Tillot had screwed her. Bending over the table again, this time with her knicks right off. So that Mr Tillot could get properly at her. Her legs apart and his big thing there at her wet and ready pussy. Nosing at it. Finding the entrance. And then thrusting up in. Stretching her but no problem. Filling her. In and out.

Amanda on the bed had her hand there now. Her knickers were still off and her hand was between her slackly open thighs. Her fingers in her pussy. In the parted puffy lips and stroking her firmly aroused clit. Could she tell Sarah about that fantastic thing? That Sarah had been right. Mr Tillot had fancied her. And now… he had done her. Screwed her.

It had been her first time, to have done it properly. There had been that boy on holiday, that last evening lying on a blanket with him in that place in the sand dunes. He had got her knickers off and had his thing right there, sort of in her but not really properly up inside. She had been cooperating but he hadn’t really managed. But Mr Tillot… he had not had any problem. He had known exactly what to do. Where to put it… Amanda gave a shuddery groan. As she came. Her fingers at her clit bringing herself off. As she had come with Mr Tillot. A big gasping orgasm. Mr Tillot had come but not inside her. He had slid it out right at the end when he came. She had felt it spurting out, hot and wet on her thighs. Some of it on her skirt. She had sponged it off afterwards and hopefully it wouldn’t leave a stain for her mother to see.

Amanda groaned again. Turning to look at the clock. Oh Christ. She had better get up, her mother would be home soon. She couldn’t just be lying here. With her mother coming in. ‘What’s the matter Amanda? Did you have a good session with Mr Tillot?’ ‘Oh yes. Marvellous. He screwed me, Mum. He caned me. On my bare bottom. And then he screwed me. Fucked me. With his enormous thing. He had it in me, so far up that…’

What would her mother say? She wouldn’t believe her. She would think Amanda had gone mad or something. Call the doctor: Please came at once Dr Enbury, Amanda has had a very funny turn. And Dr Enbury would take her temperature. And then maybe look between her legs. Examine her. And see somehow that she had just had intercourse. And she would whisper to him: Don’t tell mother, Dr Enbury. If you don’t tell her I’ll let you do it as well.

With another groan Amanda rolled off the bed. It was all like a fantastic dream. But it wasn’t a dream, it had happened. And probably she would tell Sarah. It would be difficult not to, to keep it back. Cripes! When Mr Tillot went she had said in a little-girl voice, ‘Have I still got to do my essay, Mr Tillot?’ And he had said, ‘You know what you’ll get if you don’t, Amanda.’ And then he had given her a sexy kiss. His tongue going in halfway down her throat.

She found her knickers and pulled them on. At the window she saw the workmen still out there. Could they ever guess what had happened in the silent house on this hot and sultry afternoon? Was it something that one with the muscles wanted to do? Maybe she would go out there, in the garden where he could see her. Not just a schoolgirl now but a grown-up woman almost, a girl who had done it. But Amanda forgot that thought as she heard the sound of her mother coming in. Looking frantically round for any tell-tale signs of the afternoon’s unbelievable happenings. Was there a mark on her skirt…?

----//----

He came to the house the next afternoon. Another one of those hot and sultry afternoons. Ron his name was, she found out. The workman with the back, the shoulders. Those muscles. Only now when she went to the back door in answer to the knock he had his shirt on. His shirt and his jeans that were chalky from digging the trench. Did her eyes dart down to the front of his jeans, after her first startled look of recognition? Thinking of his thing. He had an empty Tizer bottle in his hand.

‘Uh… we were wondering… if we could get some water. Please. It’s really hot again.’

Ron was conscious of his nervousness and the words didn’t come out easily. It had been an effort to come and do this but here he was. And here she was. Well, she might not have been in. Not in her uniform today, she had on a blue-and-white flowery dress. Tight-bodiced with a full skirt, it showed off her ripe young body. He could imagine the soft flesh under there — in just brief little knicks and a lightweight bra probably.

Momentarily stunned by his presence Amanda unconsciously ran her tongue over her full lips, then gave a nervous smile. ‘Y… Yes of course. Come in…’

‘OK. Thanks.’ He felt more confident already. Stepping inside. ‘No one else in? What’s your name?’

Yes his name was Ron and the other one was Stan. He told her this in the kitchen, filling the bottle at the tap. Amanda feeling surging excitement now. Here he was in the house. Just the two of them. Yesterday Mr Tillot, screwing her. And now today this Ron. Had he really just come for that water?

‘I… uh… do you want it for a drink? It is awfully hot, isn’t it? Because we’ve got some beer in the fridge. I think.’

‘Beer?’ he laughed. ‘I don’t know about beer. Your mum might come back.’

‘No. No she won’t. She won’t be back for ages.’

Amanda met his eyes. She had told Sarah last night. About Mr Tillot. The whole thing. Sarah wouldn’t believe her, not at first, but then she did. And now… this Ron, with the muscles. Amanda had told Sarah about him, just that there was this bloke, one of the workmen, with super muscles.

She imagined pulling his shirt off and running her hands over the muscles. And then… pulling open his jeans… Taking his thing in her hand.

‘Well thanks, I’ll have one if you’ll have one,’ Ron said.

Amanda shook her head, with a little giggle. ‘I don’t really like it. Just a sip perhaps.’

They took the can of beer into the sitting room. Ron looked round. ‘Nice… Really nice. Can I sit down in these chalky jeans? And are you going to sit on my lap?’

Amanda said a giggly no, but she did. It was fantastic. More exciting than Mr Tillot. Well almost. Squirming herself on his lap. Thinking of his thing under her bottom. His arm came round her.

‘I… I could see you out of the window,’ she breathed. ‘You’ve got really big muscles.’

Ron didn’t answer, just grabbed her tits. Both hands, with the beer now down on the table. Amanda fell like she was going to suffocate. Partly the sultry heat but mostly of course it was Ron’s big hands grasping her tits. And then one hand came down, to go under her dress. Pushing up again between her hot thighs. Amanda’s thighs parted… and Ron’s hand slid right up. To feel her pussy. His finger rubbing her hot and throbbing slit through her thin knickers.

‘Hey, you’re really hot! Really hot for it!’

‘No… ooo… I’m not…’ But she was. Amanda squirming her cunt against his fingers. She did want it. Her cunt felt red hot. ‘Please…’

The other one wanted to do it as well. After Ron told him. Amanda had made Ron promise not to tell anyone, not his mate Stan or anyone, and he said he wouldn’t but of course then he did. He told Stan. He said he didn’t tell anyone else, just Stan who was his mate. But then of course Stan wanted to do it to Amanda as well. Stan who was older and with a fat beer belly. Amanda naturally didn’t want to do it with Stan but… he kind of made her. Persuaded her. Another hot afternoon in the house. Amanda didn’t like doing it and it certainly wasn’t something she wanted to tell Sarah. She told Sarah about Ron, that was fantastic. Ron with his fantastic body, all those muscles. And Mr Tillot was a bit fantastic too, a weird hippie character. But Stan… No not Stan.

Amanda told herself it was just the once with Stan. She certainly wouldn’t let him do it a second time. It was something she would forget. But of course Stan told Ron he had done it. And Ron then wanted her to do it some more with Stan… He wanted Amanda to do it with both of them. Because they were mates.