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.

"Yes, that. Both," gasped Alison, squirming under his touch, appalled to find herself pushing her bottom and pussy towards him.

"But if I stop this, I'm likely to do something else," came a gentle hint. "Are you sure you don't want me to continue playing?"

Not giving her a chance to answer, the playing continued, with spanks bouncing off her bottom followed by more torment as fingers slipped between her lips, finding and exploring her moist, hot passage.

"Just stop, please," she groaned, wondering why she felt let down when his hand finally dropped away.

His hand didn't stay away she found. It came back, spreading her lips, holding them apart so something could move between them and slide into her. Alison froze in shock, knowing that Mr. Stafford was taking her in earnest, his erection already deep inside her and sinking deeper.

"What are you doing?" she squealed. "You can't do that."

"Actually, I think you'll find I can and have," came the reply, hands settling on her hips and holding her steady while Mr. Stafford drove fully in.

Alison was aghast. She was being ravished in the open in the middle of the day. If someone came in or looked over the fence they would see her, bent over and taking a cock while she wriggled against it.

And she was wriggling against it, Alison found, her hips enthusiastically driving themselves up and down, eagerly accepting this invader. The pair of them came together with enthusiasm, while Alison's scattered thoughts tried to come together.

"You're raping me," she gasped. "I can't believe you're raping me in the middle of the yard like this."

"Please. I'm insulted," came the laughing reply. "This isn't rape. It's consensual."

Alison fumed. Not rape? Who did he think he was kidding? She hadn't asked for this, and now he was bouncing her up and down at the end of his cock and saying she'd agreed?

She idly though of trying to pull away from him, but gave it up as a hopeless task. She was practically locked onto him and she didn't have the will power to stop. Her bottom continued to bounce against him.

"I didn't say you could do this," she managed to gasp. "You just jumped me."

"Maybe," came the reply, "but you didn't tell me I couldn't and you haven't asked me to stop. Do you want me to?"

Alison opened her mouth to give a resounding yes, but only managed to squeal as she felt Mr. Stafford give an extra hard thrust, jolting her entire being. Groaning, she subsided, letting him do what he would.

Alison moved with the rhythm that Mr. Stafford was drumming into her, squealing and squeaking as he drove her slowly towards a climax. She gasped as she felt his hands pushing up her top and freeing her breasts from her bra. She squealed as his hands closed over her breasts, squeezing them, then gave a strangle scream as she felt her climax rushing upon her.

Mr. Stafford slammed into his victim, releasing his pent up energy into her, laughing as he heard her trying to strangle her scream as she orgasmed. Finally slowing down, he held her, feeling her faint shudders beneath him.

Alison was shocked. Yes, Mr. Stafford was carefully freeing her hair, but she was certain he shouldn't be doing that while his cock was still inside her. Not that she dared complain. Finally free, she had to make a choice. Which way to go?

It was an easy choice to make, actually. There was no way she was crawling back into her yard, effectively naked. What if her parents saw her? Sighing she backed into Mr. Stafford's yard and stood up.

He was standing back, admiring her, she saw, and she glared at him as she hastily adjusted her clothes. It was odd, she thought. She'd always considered him to be an old man, but he was only about forty, and apparently quite fit. Her mind prompted her about the way he'd been bouncing her off his cock. OK, very fit she decided.

She opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind, but he beat her to it.

"Don't go busting up my bushes," he told her. "Next time I probably won't be so gentle."

Fuming, Alison turned and stalked out of the yard, spurning her little tunnel. Unfortunately, a little voice was goading her as she went.

"If that was gentle, what would next time be like?"

Not that there'd be a next time of course, but she just couldn't help wondering.

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