Another story sent for editing and amendments. A naughty teen is punished for summer

My name is Megan Carson and when I was 18 I visited my uncle’s farm – no, I was made to visit. I was in trouble a lot back then and my parents thought something like that would settle me down. Boys, boy and more boys then older men including the college principal, a lovely old chap of 69 who bought me some nice undies, some minor shoplifting and stealing from Mum’s purse got me grounded, allowance halved, my tablet confiscated, my cell phone monitored like I was a little kid and my college girly week holiday in London cancelled. Only what it really did was teach me how to surrender to my animal lust. Hah! My uncle Cliff was a stern man. He believed in hard work. I knew this and dreaded it. And hard work is exactly what I found. Aunt Dolores picked me up at Exeter station. It was only for the summer, but for a girl my age, your friends were your world and I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to them such was the rush ... Aunt Dolores hardly said a word, her steely eyes fixed on the road. The trip felt like it would go on for days but in reality we weren’t on the road more than half an hour into deepest darkest Devon.

I was almost asleep when we pulled down the gravel lane with grass growing along the centre. I perked up when we began passing numerous pens and pastures. Beautiful horses ran alongside the fence by the road, as if trying to race us. I doubted Dolores’ Volkswagen Beetle could do more than thirty five, down this bumpy rough road.

We finally came to the old Georgian stone farmhouse. But we didn’t stop. She pulled around it and then I saw where I would be staying. It was a small stone wooden roofed shed, something that reminded me briefly of the gingerbread house from Hansel and Gretel. It was tiny, but I didn’t care. It was my own. “Get settled in.” Aunt Dolores stated. “Supper’s at six sharp. I expect you to be there early to help set the table. Uncle Cliff will go over a few things then with you. He’s out fixing barbed wire, but it will be a pleasant surprise for him when he comes in.” I noticed the tone of sarcasm in her voice. “Yes Aunt Dolores” I replied meekly, trying to make peace with whatever demons I had stirred in the old lady. I hadn’t seen her for about six years, but could remember her tight swept back iron grey hair in a bun, her slim, wiry build and horrid wrinkly pop socks. She left me to unpack and get used to where things were. I took a brief walk before supper, but I had been warned against straying too far. I made my way back to my little hut after familiarizing myself somewhat with my new surroundings.

I showered in luke warm water, was that going to be the norm? and dressed in a pale blue gingham dress, thinking country style, for dinner and went to help in the kitchen. Rex the farm dog greeted me and I petted him. Aunt Dolores was extremely peculiar, harshly criticising me if I was merely an inch off from where the silverware needed to be. Scolded yet again when I didn’t set the rather large supper dishes where they were to be placed. We could not eat until Uncle Cliff arrived so I attempted idle chatter. We had not spoken much at all. But Aunt Dolores was not the talkative type. Uncle arrived but there was an awkward silence. He simply came in washed his hands and sat at the head of the table, knife and fork upright in his big gnarled fists. He smelled horribly of animal excrement. I couldn’t eat anything. “Better eat, Megan,” Uncle started. “Got a big day ahead of you, tomorrow.” “Now Cliff. Leave her be.” Dolores shocked me by chastising him so severely and then suddenly saying. “Megan dear if you’d like, after we finish you are welcome to take your dinner with you to your room and eat later.” I simply nodded.

“Breakfast will be at six. After, we begin your chores. Consider this as you mill about with your duties, child.” Uncle Cliff told me, his fork sprang to life as he talked as if he was conducting an orchestra. “We will pay you and you will stay busy here, and I’m sure we must come across as a bit stern and you are probably right, but I also want you to know family comes first. If you need anything or something is bothering you, let us know. Your stay here is meant to be punishment, but I disagree. It may seem like it now, but I hope you come to appreciate what we do here and come to enjoy your time here.” We finished supper and I found myself alone washing dishes. UhHuh! So this is life on the farm, I mused. I took my food back to my little hut, ate, then fell asleep.

I awoke to the sounds of cockerels crowing. It was still dark out and I cursed myself for coming to such a god forsaken primitive hole. I got dressed and stumbled half asleep over the rough muddy ground to the old farmhouse and helped prepare breakfast. It went by far too quick. My uncle, who looked a bit askance and disapproving of my skimpy work gear, told me to follow him when we were finished. Before we hopped in the Toyata pickup, I admired the sun light filtering over the horizon and when looking towards the pickup I saw him leching after my admittedly tight toned arse and long bare legs. We drove down a lane and Uncle Cliff showed me where he would be working on the fences. “In case you need me.” he said.

Next he showed me the feed house. All the time I was showing him acres of leg. One by one he showed what feed and how much for each pen. Next came the pig shed. Each animal had their individual pens inside the building and the sows were separated from the boar. The boar he explained had a nasty reputation and had a tendency towards breaking free of his sty, especially if the sows were in heat. He didn’t explain that and I daren’t ask. If I were to catch one out, I was to get Uncle. He stressed that I was not to attempt getting one back in the pen by myself. After feeding I was to clean the stys out.

Next he showed me the chicken coop, and then to the numerous pastures. In each place I had many different chores. When he finished he simply left me be, but not before more lingering glances at my townie young fit body, much like many men did. I had taken notes, which he scoffed at, figuring the worst. At one point he asked to see what I’d put down, sidling close and peering down my cleavage. The list didn’t look that bad, and I knew the view didn’t.

It would be the time on each task that would likely be the problem. I probably looked ridiculous in my pink ultra short, torn denim shorts, black plunge neck sweat shirt and knee high black rubber boots. I knew my Gossard platform brassiere, did wonders for my already substantial tits. I fed the animals, changed water, and then returned back to the pig pens and began cleaning with water hose and shovel. It was very nasty. Before I knew it the day was nearly gone and I was hurting. Every muscle hurt all over. Supper came before long and I was shown a bit more respect and told to just sit at the table rather than help prepare dinner. Uncle’s eyes bore into me.