Trouble, Mr Tinley said, holding the lapels of his tartan dressing gown and puffing his chest out like a sergeant major, the handle of the cane in one hand, the shaft of it resting on the other. That’s what you are, Miss Walker. A dirty little bundle of filthy trouble.

Yes, sir.

Is your mother proud of you?

No, sir.

Your father?

I never knew my father, sir.

Then the explanation is simple, he tapped the cane on his palm, you are lacking in discipline.

Yes, sir.

Open your legs.

I shuffled my feet apart.

He stepped right up to me. Eye to eye. His musk was strong, made my skin prickle. He placed the shaft of the cane between my legs and pressed it against my wet cunt. The whispered breath that escaped me brought his smile alive. He licked his lips, gently moved the cane back and forth a little, staring into my eyes as he did so, and I smiled for him, a grateful smile, my lashes fluttering at the pleasure of his delicate touch.

Close your legs tight, he told me.

I did as I was told.

Tighter!

Yes, sir.

He let go of the cane, and I held it there, pressed to my cunt, the handle end pointing towards my lovely teacher. He was still smiling. I loved his happy smile.

Danielle, he said, the look of satisfaction on his face so sweet, Danielle, I need you to appreciate the finer most subtle shades of sexual arousal before you can really appreciate discipline.

I’d felt my juices trickle past the shaft of the cane. I was enthralled by him.

You see, he went on, art is everything and everything is art.

I didn’t really get what he meant, and he knew I didn’t get it from the stupid blank look on my face.

He explained, taking a step back and eyeing my tits poking over my bra cups, that the image I presented was most exceptional. Perfect tits. Perfect pale skin. Offset so wonderfully symmetrically by the pale blue fabric of your bra. You, Danielle, are a work of art.

I see, sir.

Or, he said, stepping forward again and leaning his face so close to my right nipple that sparks flew through my tits to my tummy, if one examines closely every crease, every tiny wrinkle, every different pigment, every downy hair, one can find a much deeper arousal.

I felt my nipple tightening as he told me he was going to slowly, very, very slowly, Danielle, touch the tip of my tongue to the tip of your right nipple. He said that I should close my eyes, and that when contact was made, I would feel it in the hot pit of my clit.

In the hot pit of your clit, Danielle. You understand?

Yes, sir.

Tell me.

I will feel it in the hot pit of my clit, sir.

Good girl. Now, let us try.

My heart was racing at this point. He showed me his tongue, the tip of it, then leaned in again. Over his shoulder, I noticed Dolly the spaniel had curled up in her basket. Big brown eyes were watching us. I remember wondering what other sights Dolly might have witnessed, when Mr Tinley reminded me to close my eyes.

Focus your mind on your right breast, he said, in particular, the nipple and the sensitive areola.

Yes, sir.

Can you feel it, Danielle? Can you feel the soft weight of your breast, how the nipple eagerly awaits my touch?

I could feel it. My tit was aching for him. Yes, sir. Please, sir.

I felt his warm breath first, followed soon after by the simple yet firm press of his tongue, and then he flicked it. Flicked my nipple quickly and a jolt of electricity arced straight to my clit. It made me jump. It made me gasp. And when Mr Tinley yanked that cane away from my cunt – the cane I’d completely forgotten about – the pain was so sharp I thought he’d sliced me open. I remember screeching. I remember leaping. I remember the searing heat as my clit clanged like a struck sword and I dropped to the floor, on my backside, squirming against an orgasm that was so nearly there. Oh fucking God, I said.

Mr Tinley was nodding, smiling his gleaming smile. Perfect, he said. Then he told me Remove your fingers from your cunt immediately. I hadn’t realised they were even up there, but I did as I was told.

I made to get up but he told me to stay on my knees, that he had something to show me, another form of art.

He told me it was special, that I must be sworn to absolute secrecy. The man excited me. I wanted to hug him. Wanted to kiss him. Wanted to tell him how much he thrilled me.

He was standing about six feet away from me, his tartan dressing gown tied tight around him, his hairy legs and bare feet promising nakedness beneath. He slapped the cane in his palm.

Absolute secrecy, Danielle. Our little secret. Is that agreeable?

In for a fucking penny, sir, were the words that came from my mouth.

Mr Tinley laughed, bounced on the balls of his feet.

I want to ask you, he said, do you have… do you have any fetishes, Miss Walker?

Fetishes? I wasn’t sure to be honest. I mean, what is a fetish?

Do you like doing anything peculiar?

Peculiar? What didn’t I like doing that wasn’t fucking peculiar?

Mr Tinley was looking anxious, then it came to me and I told him straight, Sticking vegetables up my bum, sir.

And there was that gleaming smile again.

More, Danielle, tell me more.

I shrugged. Carrots and cucumbers, sir.

I remember the way he shook his head, told me that a cucumber was a fruit not a vegetable, as if it really fucking mattered.

But that’s good, he said, really good. Anything else?

I was at a loss. Again, what didn’t I like that wasn’t peculiar?

But once again the words just came rolling out, I like to piss outside, sir. I love the thrill of it.

Yes! he said, I’d taken you for a pisser. Piss and vegetables. That is excellent, Danielle. I think now I’d like to show you one of my peculiar fetishes, and then perhaps we can learn to share.

I gave him my best smile. Nodded eagerly. Yes, sir. Please, sir.

Very well, he said and took a step closer, feet parted, back straight, and he slowly untied the sash on his dressing gown. He let the sash drop loose, and gripped the two sides of his dressing gown, an expression of sheer delight on his kind face. He told me he was buzzing. That I made him buzz. Buzz like a fucking bee, he said.

He asked if I was buzzing. I realised that I was. My head was buzzing. My tits were buzzing. My cunt was buzzing most of all, and I told him so.

Buzz, buzz, buzz, he said, buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

I slapped the little fucker from my ear. But the buzzing grew louder.

‘We need to get over there and find Drew,’ I told Mr Boots and went to get in the pickup. But Mr Boots stopped me, grabbed my arm, told me that Drew wasn’t the one occupying the other barn.

Another buzz at my ear. I slapped the fucker away, then noticed the mushrooms growing from the seats in the pickup. Luminous green mushrooms all fat and puffing with green dust. The caps of the mushrooms were rippling, as if insects crawled underneath. And in a matter of seconds they were popping through the surface. Bees. Hundreds of them. They lifted off in slow motion, one by one, drifting through the pickup’s windows, legs heavy with pulsating sacs of green poison. I knew it was poison.

I had to run. Tried to run back into the barn but stopped dead at the racket. The me on the horse blanket was screaming. Doctor Mort and Mr Tinley were on their knees, at me with their hands, and the crazy fucking noise… buzz, buzz, buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

The bees got me, right there at the gap in the barn wall. In my ears and in my hair and crawling up my nose. They stung my tits first and the pain was like shots of gold. They stung my belly, thighs, and I screamed with the joy of it. Screamed as some wonderful force pulled me across the barn and slammed me back into the me on the horse blanket.

They had razorblades, Tinley and Mort, and they were swiping at my flesh, each cut a vicious sting that went from heart-stopping agony to joyful bliss in a blink and bees were streaming from the cuts. Mort and Tinley both wore wigs of crawling bees. Doc Mort’s glasses were covered in them. I laughed at the same time as I cried. And they grinned big toothy cartoon grins as they sliced me to beautiful shreds, my blood erupting like sprays of rose petals.

BUZZING! Mr Tinley cried and flung open his tartan dressing gown. He shrugged it to the floor and put his hands on his hips.

What I saw took my breath. He was wearing my pale blue knickers, tight across his bulging crotch, his black wiry pubes sticking over the top.

He walked to me slowly and one of his balls popped out the side. I wanted to bite it, and was in the perfection position to do just that, kneeling before him as he stepped right up to my face.

He told me to touch my nose to him and to smell him. I touched my nose to the firmness of my own blue knickers and breathed him in. Breathed us both in. I told him I wanted his cock. He grabbed a fist of my hair and told me that wasn’t the game. Kiss me there, he said, ever so gently, touch your lips to me.

I did as I was told, kissed my lips to my own cock-filled knickers and I felt Mr Tinley tense up.

Keep kissing little kisses, he said, so I did, tiny little movements of my lips and I felt his cock growing hard. I kept on kissing that cotton until his cock poked out the side. And I couldn’t help myself. Couldn’t help myself at all. I sucked the end into my mouth. Mr Tinley’s leg trembled. He gripped my hair and pushed his cock down my throat.

I’d gagged, coughed up spit, but he kept on fucking my throat, withdrawing at the last moment to come all over my tits. There was a lot of cum.

He told me to take my bra off and to follow him outside. I watched his ass in my knickers as he went through the French doors, fascinated by the man.

He handed me the cane and got down on his back on the rain-soaked patio and told me to cane him. Told me he wanted it hard.

I didn’t really know where to start, suggested he turn over so I could get his ass good, but he said no.

I remember nearly coming at his next words.

Daddy Dick has been naughty, he said, pointing to his semi-hard cock still poking from my knickers, Daddy Dick needs discipline.

So I whacked his dick. Over and over I whacked his dick and he screamed. And I was amazed as the fucker grew hard again.

I wanted to sit on it, asked him if I could. He told me no, not until his booboos had been disciplined too.

Booboos, sir?

You, my darling girl, he said. Admonish Daddy Dick, my sweet booboos.

I’d wondered if he’d gone mad. Fucking booboos? I tapped the tip of the cane on the end of his stiff cock and told him to open his legs wide but he shook his head no.

I looked at him puzzled.

He looked at me pleadingly.

Then the penny dropped. In for a fucking penny.

Daddy Dick has been naughty, I told him in my best little-girl voice, and booboos is going to hurt him. Now, open your fucking legs.

He let out a great breath and his legs slid apart.

Wider!

He slid them wide as they would go, just as Dolly came padding through the French doors. She parked her ass by his head and stared at his Daddy Dick.

I’m going to hit you one last time, Daddy, I said, really fucking hard.

He nodded frantically. Yes, yes.

Daddy Dick won’t know what hit him.

Yes, yes. Good girl.

I positioned myself with my back to him, one foot on the ground either side of his hips. I didn’t give him any warning, other than him seeing the cane rise high above my head. I brought that fucker down with all the strength I had. Down hard on his balls, one of which was still poking from my knickers.

He screamed so loud and I had to jump clear as he rolled away clutching his package.

It took him a while to recover, curled up on the wet lawn, breathing hard. I sat on the damp steps and Dolly sat by my side. I stroked her as we watched and waited for what might happen next. I thought he might be pissed at me, that I wasn’t meant to hit his balls.

It made my clit fizz when eventually he let go of his balls and raised his head and I saw the dark gleam in his eyes and the way his jaw hung open. Here we go, I told Dolly.

He got to his feet, all grubby and wet and my knickers were filthy. He marched straight up the steps past me and swiped up the cane from the floor.

Sweet booboos, he said, there is only one rule, he whacked the cane off his leg, you are allowed to run.

‘RUUUUUUN!’ came the booming voice of Mr Boots.

He was glaring down at me from behind the kneeling figures of Doc Mort and Mr Tinley.

Mr Tinley had done slicing up my belly and was now slicing the razorblade across my thighs.

Doc Mort – his glasses still swarming with bees – held a toxic green mushroom in his fist. It was thick with a closed-cap head and it looked like a dildo. He pushed it against my cunt.

Mr Boots screamed at me again to run, his hands grabbing at me until he pushed Tinley and Mort out of the way and pulled me to my feet. Feet that were instantly splattered with blood from my slashed belly.

I told him it was okay. Told him I was just tripping. A good trip. Mr Boots laughed an incredulous laugh and he kissed me. Told me he always wanted to just kiss me. Then we ran. Tinley scampered after us, swishing the razorblade. So did Doc Mort, brandishing the mushroom dildo.

The pickup truck was a no go. Mushrooms as tall as streetlamps curled out from the windows. Mushrooms had sprouted up all over the wasteland, too, and little black tornadoes of bees were lifting from every single one of them.

I told Mr Boots that I didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to know who was in the other barn. I was worried for Drew, of course. Drew had vanished and so had Colin. I feared the worst and just couldn’t face it.

‘We run and we run now,’ said Mr Boots.

I glanced over my shoulder, just as Tinley and Doc Mort were bursting through the gap. I blinked and they froze mid-stride. In my mind, I told them what to do.

Mr Tinley shoved his pants down, dropped to all-fours, wiggled his bare ass. Doc Mort stuck him with the toxic mushroom. Mr Tinley cried out for his booboos as Doc Mort spanked him.

‘All under control,’ I told Mr Boots.

Mr Boots was staring at my belly. What was left of it. ‘That’s a lot of blood,’ he said.

I put my hand to it and a gush of warm blood spilled out, splashing to the puddle already on the ground.

‘I’m still not going,’ I told him.

But he grabbed my hand tight and wouldn’t let go. Didn’t say another word, just dragged me into the field of luminous shrooms.

I could hear Doc Mort grunting with every smack of hand on flesh.

Could hear Mr Tinley’s joyous moans.

I could hear the bees, too. Millions of them taking to the air.

But above all, I could hear my fear. Smell it, too. Fear sounded like grating teeth and it smelled like freshly laid dog shit. Yet I couldn’t take my stare away from that distant barn.

I dragged my feet. I resisted. Until Mr Boots said he’d do a deal.

‘What deal?’

He took hold of my chin and kissed me. ‘Come with me freely, and swiftly, because your life depends on it, do that, and when we get safely inside… I’ll walk on you.’

My heart bloomed for him. ‘In your boots?’

‘Yes, in my boots.’

‘Naked?’

He rolled his pretty eyes. ‘Of course.’

And so I went swiftly, dancing over the ever-growing mushrooms, dodging bees and enjoying the feeling of my cunt getting wetter by the second, never letting go of Mr Boot’s hand.

Daddy Dick, please let me go. I’d resorted to begging because I was scared. I didn’t really do scared. I mean, I’d been scared once when I had to read aloud in class and I cried when I couldn’t get the words out. And I always get scared when I have my period. Scared of the stinking horrible blood. Scared of going to the shop and getting my words mixed up. But not proper scared. Not like I was right then.

Be still, sweet booboos, this will hurt so much you will come for me.

He’d chased me, slipping and sliding around the wet garden. He caught my ass a good whack a few times. Caught my thighs more. Caught my fucking ribs as well and it fucking hurt. But he’d caught me good when I slipped and went arse over tit, almost landing on Dolly as she bounded about, joining in the fun. He pinned me down with his foot on my stomach and I’d begged him Not yet!

Begged him to put his Doc Martens on first.

He looked at me like he didn’t trust me. I promised him I wouldn’t move a muscle, told him, please do it with your boots on, Daddy.

He stood over me, pointed the cane at me and told me to take it. Told me to stick the handle up myself like a good booboos. So I took it from him, stuck the hooked handle in my cunt and held onto the shaft of the cane with both hands while he disappeared into the house.

I’d asked for this. Really asked for it. I was scared.

He was only gone a minute, and he looked so fucking hot, all grubby in my filthy knickers and his black Doc Martens. He swiped the cane from my cunt. He was panting when he told me to spread my legs wide. They slid open easily on the damp grass. I was shaking now, from the cold, from the fear of what he was going to do.

This will hurt, he reminded me as he stood between my legs. Open your pretty cunt for me, booboos.

Yes, Daddy. Oh, yes.

I held my cunt open, the cool air on my throbbing hot clit a wonder. I was buzzing like fucking crazy.

I watched with a pounding heart as he carefully touched the tip of the cane to my clit and ever so gently gave it a nudge. I moaned for him and he did it again. And again as he lined up the shot, steadying himself, closing one eye like he was lining up for a hole in one. Which in a way he fucking was. I hoped he didn’t hit my shaking fingers. I hoped he got it right.

He gave little pushes and prods with the tip of the cane and those turned into the lightest of taps and my moans were coming hard now.

A sharper tap and I hissed for him.

Another tap and I told Daddy I loved him.

He rested the flat of the cane against my stinging clit, I love my booboos, he said and my leg started trembling as his arm tensed up, his gleaming eyes focused on the target.

I felt the start of the orgasm then. Boiling up from somewhere below, pushing to the surface like seething hot needles. I felt my clit bloom for him.

His arm went back and the world stood still. Apart from Dolly. I saw her run inside just as Daddy’s arm came thrashing down, parting the air like a magic wand.

I heard the crack, thought it was me that had broken.

Until I saw half of the cane spinning through the air.

Then the pain hit me and I screamed forever.

The orgasm was immense and for the first time in my life I did what Cory Clarkson said she knew I was capable of. I squirted like a geyser all over Daddy Dick’s boots. His cock was hard in no time. He pressed the patterned sole of his Doc Marten to my cunt and I came again.

And then he fucked me. Got down on his knees and fucked me until I cried. It was so beautiful. And Mr Tinley cried too, my lovely Daddy Dick.

‘We made it,’ I said as Mr Boots closed the barn doors and bees thudded against them.

‘Just,’ he said and stripped off his overall.

I didn’t need telling to get down. Mr Boots stood on my stomach in just his boots and I took all his weight. He stamped on my tits and made them all filthy. I told him to kick my cunt and opened my legs for him.

‘Baby?’

Someone was tapping my face.

‘Baby?’

I opened my eyes to a luminous glow. I was warm, on the bed in the loft. My wrists were tied to the metal bars at the head of the bed.

‘You okay, babe?’

Drew was playing with my cunt, fingering me softly. I sobbed when I saw him. I thought I’d lost him.

‘You were cutting yourself,’ he said, ‘bad trip. Best to tie you up.’

My stomach was red with blood. A few dozen cuts sang to me.

I found my voice. ‘Good trip,’ I said.

Mr Boots had gone. And there was no sign of Mr Tinley or Doctor Mort. Or any bees or toxic mushrooms. But there was someone missing. ‘Where’s Colin?’

‘Taken care of, babe,’ Drew said, pushing his fingers into me.

That was good. I didn’t really like Colin.

‘What you wanna do next, babe?’

A lovely grin split my face. I told Drew all about the shotgun.