Portrait of a Disciplinarian Read Online Free Page B

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