From my childhood, I remember fondly visiting a ‘Pick Your Own’ Strawberry field with my friends and, in the summer sun, soon filled a basket and myself, with the fruit. It was just as well that they did not weigh me on the way in and the way out, given how many I had eaten at the same time as placing them in the basket.
So it was, with delight, that I arranged to meet a good friend of mine at a local farm to relive my childhood strawberry picking. Of course, knowing that she, like me, has a naughty side and that we would be in the countryside, I knew that I needed to dress accordingly. Raiding my wardrobe, I settled on a pair of very short, tight shorts, a flimsy shirt knotted underneath my boobs, a pair of sandals and nothing else. Satisfied that what I had to show was displayed, as modestly as I wanted, it was time to leave.
During the short car journey my mind kept wandering, imagining all sorts of adventures that we could have in secluded woodland clearings or disused barns, when, before I knew it, I was pulling into the car park. Despite how busy the farm seemed to be, I soon spotted my friend doing what she always seemed born to do, namely flirting outrageously with a group of farmhands. As I approached the group it was clear that I was spot on with my choice of outfit as all eyes focused on my revealing top and shapely legs. Keen to show off to us both, they were only too happy to let us know where the best pickings were to be found in an area a little off the ‘tourist’ field. With a thank you and a quick kiss for each we followed their directions to a small corner of the farm and started to pick through the rows in the field and filling our baskets with rich, red strawberries.
At one point, near a barn at the side of the field, our talking and laughter was interrupted by a commotion coming from inside. Being naturally curious and for that read ‘nosey’ we crept over to take a look. The barn door was slightly ajar and peeking inside we saw one of the farmhands we had met earlier chastising a young girl for something she had done wrong. It was not going all his own way as she was giving as good as she was receiving and even taunting him to punish her, if he could catch her. From our vantage point we could see that the other farmhands were just out of sight at the rear entrance of the barn, which was exactly where she headed laughing.
Soon enough they had grabbed her and laid her over a bale of hay ready for her punishment. After six or seven hard slaps across her bottom and at the point that it looked like his mates would join in, I pushed the door open and demanded to know why she should have all the fun? as I was ready for a peach of a spanking.
Continued in part 2