Home for the long break after spending most of the year away at college, Alison was enjoying the break. She'd spent a few days reacquainting herself with the neighbourhood, finding it encouraging that nothing had changed. This afternoon she had been pottering around in the back yard, doing the odd bit of gardening and just relaxing.
Doing a little judicious pruning of a bush, Alison noticed something red hidden beneath the shrubbery. Reaching in she groped around, found something smooth, grasped it and extracted – a frisbee. She laughed.
A smooth flick of the wrist sent her old frisbee flying in a graceful curve. She hadn't lost the knack, she thought, running to catch it. Amused, she practised a few more time, getting in a little fun and exercise. One last flick, a run and a jump, and the frisbee lifted slightly on a gust of wind, slipping past her reaching hand and gliding over the hedge and into the Stafford's place.
Alison muttered a gentle curse. She had always had rather a strained relationship with Mr. Stafford, who did not like children trespassing in his yard, retrieving balls and various other items that seemed to wander over the hedge on a regular basis. Not that she was exactly a child, any more.
Alison sighed. She was not going to traipse around to his front door and politely ask if she could go and get her frisbee. She'd rather lose it. Eyeing the hedge, her thoughts turned towards her old tunnel. Was that still there, she wondered.
Walking over to the hedge, Alison bent down and checked the growth around the old tunnel. While the tunnel was decidedly smaller Alison thought she could scramble through if she broke off a few branches. She could be through, grab the frisbee and be back, and Old Stafford would never know.
Deed followed thought. A few careful breaks to get rid of some unwanted branches and Alison was able to scramble quickly through, on hands and knees. Darting over to where her frisbee lay, she flicked it back across the hedge and started her return journey.
Unfortunately, she only started it. She'd barely started scrambling into the little tunnel when she was brought up short by a tug on her hair. Reaching up, Alison found her hair was snagged by a twig, which she promptly tried to break. It was, she quickly discovered, very awkward trying to break fat little twigs when they're green and supple, stuck in your hair, and you can only use one hand to get at them.
Relieved to find the twig finally yield, Alison was then dismayed to find her wriggling around had managed to get her hair even further entangled. Muttering to herself, she set to work to try and get free.
That was the stage she was at when she felt someone nudge her foot.
"Well, well," said a laughing voice. "If it isn't little Alison, back from school and up to her old tricks. Haven't learnt much while you've been away, have you? How old are you now? Sixteen? Seventeen?"
Alison groaned and fumed at the same time. Mr. Stafford, out of nowhere, precisely when she didn't want him. And he knew how old she was. She'd even received an eighteenth birthday card from him.
"I'm eighteen, and you know it," she grumbled. She sighed. "Can you get my hair loose, please? It's all tangled."
"All in good time," came the laughing response. A hand gave her a gentle slap on the bottom. "Do you remember what I said the last time I found you vandalising my hedge like this."
A sudden mental flashback showed her running away laughing while Mr. Stafford had been yelling after her, threatening to blister her bottom if he ever caught her screwing around with his hedges again.
"Um, not really," she prevaricated. "Please, my hair?"
"Your hair can wait its turn. I think we'll both agree that I owe you this."
Alison cringed, waiting for a hand to slap her bottom, then gasped as she felt Mr. Stafford's hands reached for her waist. They closed upon her tights and started rolling them down, collecting her panties along the way.
"What are you doing?" she squealed, as she felt her bottom being bared, exposing her rump and privates to the sky.
"Just clearing the playing area," came the jovial response, firmly pushing panties and tights down to her knees.
"In case you've forgotten, I promised to spank you if you stuffed around with my hedge," she was reminded. "I assure you, this is going to hurt you a lot more than it does me."
A hand came down with a firm spank on her bottom, raising a yelp from Alison, which turned into a gasp as the hand then slid slowly over her bottom and rubbed between her legs. Her eyes widened with indignation.
Before she could protest the hand withdrew, then returned with another firm spank and again it went exploring.
Things progressed from there, each spank being followed by some interested exploring of her body, with Alison's protests being completely ignored. What was worse, in Alison's opinion, was that she found the mix of spanking followed the exploring to be exciting, arousing her. It had to stop.
"You have to stop. Please. Enough," she gasped out.
"Stop which?" came a goading answer. "This," as a hand spanked hard against her bottom, "or this," as the hand then slid down between her legs, this time easing her lips apart as it went and slipping between them.
