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It is the third day Scarecrow is naked and fighting to keep her composure in the cornfield.

She holds her breath, dares not move. “Be still,” she tells herself. “Be still.”

This time, a hornet, or bee, or horsefly or whatever buzzes her sun-freckled shoulders, zips between her legs up and around, lands on her breast, walks its way to her nipple.

And sits there.

The black and yellow stripes of a yellow jacket. It tickles with its movements.

She tries to wish it away. Instead, it rotates itself, arches its abdomen, its stinger poised. “Vespula,” she remembers from college. “Pierces the skin to inject its poisonous venom.”

She squeezes her eyes shut and a prickly wave of anticipation flows through her from head to toe. She tries to calm herself with thought.

“Histamine. Part of the venom that causes the swelling and pain. Venom that can be injected in multiple stings, the stinger itself barbed for easy penetration and withdrawal. And then? A swollen nipple, heavy and reddened and painful.”

Not calming!

This, just her third day. Not even noon. Not even Summer yet with the hottest sun. The yellow jacket sits on her nipple, turns itself a little tickle of its legs.

“Please go!” she tells herself, “oh, please, please, please.”

One year, no—three hundred sixty-two days more. She glances again fearfully at the yellow jacket and thinks, “please don’t.”

Three hundred sixty-two days of routine just starting. Mule, the dusky-haired girl, has come each morning with food and drink and to spray Scarecrow with insect repellent and sunscreen. And come again at night to wash her down with the cut-off hose from the nearby well, feed her and spray her again. Insect repellent that does not seem to work.

She feels another tickle at her breast.

“Oh, Sting me and get it over with!” she says to the yellow jacket, not even sure if she has said it aloud.

She holds her breath as the hornet seems ready to do something. Then, just like that, flies off.

She breathes, relaxes. The sun is hot on her shoulders sun-burned despite the sunscreen. “Onward and forward,” she tells herself again. She settles her toes in the dirt and steels herself for the long hours ahead.

Time, she finds, is both slow and fast. Slow if she thinks on where she is and keeping still and avoiding the barn Mule has told her about. Fast, if she lets her mind wander.

She thinks on her father and the day they all knew something was wrong. When he collapsed in the backyard. Even then, he played it down: “It’s nothing,” he said, “just a little dizzy. Just the weather.” Always so strong—a türbanlı porno rugby player when he was in college—and now so weak, so thin.

It makes her sad to think on it. All the sacrifices he’s made for his girls: the college debts, the second mortgage, the loans. “But now it’s my turn to sacrifice,” she tells herself. “I cannot quit. I will not.”

The noon bell rings at the house. Scarecrow’s legs, back and shoulders stiff and aching, she moves off to the fence where the ice chest waits with her meal. The meal is a dish of thin oatmeal, cold and lumpy, covered with a plastic lid. Mule has explained this to her: “Food is a reward. Behave and she’ll feed you better.”

Scarecrow sits on the ice chest, hot against her bare ass, and drinks the oatmeal because the tall woman has not given her a spoon. Snaps the lid back on the dish and sets it to the side. No point in getting up before she needs to. She stretches out her bare legs, lightly reddened from the sun, stretches her calves. The muscle tone is still there but she wishes she could exercise. “I have to change my thinking”, she says aloud. “Think on happy things.”

She leans back against the fence and the sun falls full on her chest and naked breasts and she closes her eyes and for some reason, thinks on the last time she slept with Daniel. How he played with her breasts, the way he squeezed her nipples, rolling and tugging, his mouth on her, kissing down to her belly button, down between her legs, and how it made her blush to have him sucking and kissing and him seeing her—

At the house, the bell rings the end of break time.

She puts the dish back into the ice chest and half-smiles to think that now her legs feel weak for an entirely different reason. But she dares not touch herself despite how good it would feel to have the release of tension, the pleasure. Returns to take up her position in the field.

“You can get used to anything,” she says aloud as much to hear a voice as to comfort herself. Tries not to think about sex, about Daniel, about how good it would feel.

At some point in the afternoon, she sees two riders on horseback coming up the tractor road from the direction of the tall woman’s cottage. Scarecrow attends to her posture, moves ever so slightly not to slouch, to stand straight and tall. To have her breasts show to their best advantage, as the tall woman has told her.

As the riders near, Scarecrow sees it is the tall woman on a beautiful bay and Mule following a half-length behind on a pony. There is nothing to do but await their arrival. Or, perhaps, they are just going past and will not stop. blowjob porno She does not know which she wishes. “Is this it, now?” she wonders, “is she coming to take me to the barn?”

A wave of cold prickles flows through her. “It cannot be that this is that. This can’t be that now,” she tells herself.

The tall woman brings the bay onto the field some distance away where there is a space in the fence. She and Mule take their time but soon enough the big horse is so close to Scarecrow she fears it might accidentally step on her feet. It’s tail swishes, it smells and snorts, and the tall woman, in her equestrienne gear looks down.

“I’m not happy,” she says.

Scarecrow stands straight and tall and trembles to think what this means. She has not been asked to speak. Mule, a length away on her pony, looks on dispassionately.

“Your sister called your phone this morning,” says the tall woman.

Scarecrow dares not speak but senses something must be wrong. Her sister would not have called if—

“I told you no calls.”

Scarecrow can’t help herself, “It’s just, I’d promised to call her when-” she says without thinking. Instantly recognizes her error. Mule gives a harsh laugh. The tall woman looks on, stone-faced.

Scarecrow takes a breath. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I shouldn’t have… but—”

“Shut up,” says the tall woman. “Never apologize. You make a mistake you accept the punishment.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Mule. Give Scarecrow the phone.”

Mule rides over and, with a smug expression, hands Scarecrow the mobile.

“Tell her you are on the road the next month. You will call when you can. And she is not to call you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” says Scarecrow. She looks at the phone unsure whether or not now is okay to do what she’s been bidden.

“Only what I told you and nothing more. Call now.”

Scarecrow calls her sister. As the phone rings, she hopes Nellie picks up. Then, thinks maybe voicemail is better to just say what needs to be said.

Voicemail. Her sister’s lovely voice that sends a pang of longing through her. Scarecrow leaves the message. Hands the phone back to Mule.

“Good,” says the tall woman. “Turn around, bend over, grab your ankles. You spoke out of line before.”

Scarecrow shudders, gestures in an awkward attempt to make herself move. Stops as she realizes she has not acknowledged the command, says, “yes, ma’am” as her mind races, “Is this it, now? Oh my god.”

The tall woman takes the bay a length away and Mule dismounts holding the damned bamboo switch.

Scarecrow hardly dares turn her back on esmer porno the dusky-haired devil. But she must, she must. She bends and grabs her ankles. Her hair sweeps the soil in front of her.

“Oh how humiliating! To be naked out here like this! In front of them!”

She looks between her legs to see the upside-down view of Mule approaching. Scarecrow’s breath comes quick and she fights to hold still, control herself.

“This is nothing,” she tells herself. “This is nothing.”

“Ten strokes,” says the tall woman. “Add one each time she cries out. She counts them.”

Scarecrow gulps, looks forward and readies herself. Her beautiful backside, the firm cheeks, the strong legs from soccer, the skin lightly sun-burned, her pretty back and arms and breasts present the most alluring target.

Mule just behind her now. Scarecrow braces herself. She’s never been -hurt—like this before. Doesn’t know what to expect. Doesn’t know.

The first smack is like fire.

“One,” says Scarecrow, wincing.

Mule does not hold back. Puts her weight behind each awful stroke.

“Two.”

Scarecrow finds she can take it. It stings, yes, but she can take it and not cry out.

By the third stroke, she knows to anticipate the pain by the whine of the bamboo as Mule swings it. Then the smack of stick on skin and the burn and Scarecrow imagines what her backside must look like, the skin torn and red.

By the seventh, she feels tears in her eyes but fights to hold herself together. Fights the little spasm in her legs. Fights to show she is strong.

The tenth cannot come soon enough.

She cries out, “ten” to give vent to the pain. Resists the urge to stand, reach back and rub her sore bottom. Holds her position. Somehow.

“Good,” says the tall woman. “Now back to work.”

Scarecrow puts on a brave face and takes up her position in the field. She holds herself together as the tall woman and Mule ride off. Holds herself together into the evening and then the night when the lights come on in the house.

Mule does not come again. Scarecrow has not earned her dinner.

She limps over to the fence and slowly tries to kneel. “No, that won’t work.” Tries, with one hand on the fence, to lower herself to the ground without causing too much hurt. Manages it. Lies on her side and draws her knees up as best she can. There is a chorus of crickets. The crescent moon already over the tree line.

It strikes her suddenly that the tall woman can make her hurt any time she wants now. Can do… almost anything! “And I? What can I do but do it?”

And then she loses her self-control. It starts with a sob, a cough and shudder that wracks her pretty, naked self. The first tears dribble across her cheek and into her mouth. She lets them come, lets herself cry.

At first does not hear the man’s hoarse voice from the direction of the tractor road saying, “Hey, who’s there?”

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