Country Life Ch. 02

After the embarrassing episode with Sophie I vaguely planned some sort of response. Sophie was back to her pleasant self and no photos had appeared. I could wait.

Spring and the rugby season finished. We got knocked out of the local 7-a-side tournament in the second round and I made myself available for work at The Manor. Even without the stable work there was lots to do: pruning and transplanting with Sam and Lady M, and there was always the stone-walling around the paddock, though Sam was having a bad time with his health.

It was late June when Sophie came home for the school holidays for a few days before she left with school friends for France. When she returned in July I was away on holiday in the West Country with my folks, so it was August before we met up in the stables.

I had not forgotten my embarrassment from the previous year and was determined on retribution. Nothing nasty of course, just a reminder for her to behave as I expected. That sounds pompous and perhaps it was at the time.

Sophie walked over to the stables one Wednesday morning and asked me to help her saddle up. I asked if her mother was riding today and was told she had already "gone up to town clothes shopping and to have lunch with Dad. Now that I'm 19 they have said I can go next time."

I had a canvas bag of rope and some equipment I had bought and collected. It was hidden under some sacks in the corner of the tack room.

I followed Sophie to where the reins, bits and harness were hung on the wall. As she reached up to untie a harness lead I walked up behind her and grasped her wrists above her head and pulled her backwards towards the centre main support of the tack room. I tied her hands behind her around the vertical 6" x 6" post.

She was furious.

"If you don't untie me THIS minute I am going to scream."

I reached into my bag and brought out a bright red foam ball-gag.

"You know what this is Soph? You shout and I'll use it!" I stated.

She nodded, went quiet and stared at me.

"What are you going to do, you monster? Rape me?"

"No Sophie, I'm just going to repay your indiscretion and my embarrassment of a while ago."

So saying I pulled a straw bale behind her and made her sit down.

As usual she was wearing a white blouse and worn denims, with her white-blond hair pulled back with a pony-tail scrunch. Her sweater was on the hook by the door.

I knelt in front of her and undid the top three buttons of her blouse, exposing her bra: her breasts were small enough they hardly needed support. I pulled the bra down, exposing her nipples and blew on them. They puckered up and she shivered. Just the reaction I was hoping for.

I stepped back and took my cell phone from my pocket.

"Don't you dare take a photograph of me like this," Sophie spluttered, knowing full well there was nothing she could do to prevent it.

"You are a pig and I hate you. I will never forgive you for this Peter Banks" she spat.

And I grinned. My get-out-of-jail card!

I put the phone away.

"You know I will never use this Sophie. Its just insurance, in case The Indians get loose!" I said gently. She seemed to relax a bit.

"You know, you really are very pretty: especially when you smile." I tried to flatter her. It went over like a lead balloon. She scowled.

I ran my finger along her cheek but she moved her head away turned her head sideways. I ran the tip of my finger along her collarbone and towards her breasts. She shuddered and I blew gently on her breasts: they wrinkled up and stuck out like little erasers on the tips of pencils. I ran my fingertips around her breasts without touching the areoles. Her eyes were closed.

I leant forward and let our lips touch very gently: she kept her lips closed but didn't move away. One step forward!

I was very new to this touchy-feely stuff: just what I had read on the internet. It seemed like the slower the better, so I kept my fingertips gently touching the edges of her breasts. She whimpered a little and I leaned forward to kiss the nape of her neck, letting my tongue linger for a moment.

I remembered that she got me to kiss and touch her nipples when I was tied up so I began to approach them with my tongue. Then I let my fingertips graze the nipples, very gently, for several minutes. A large intake of breath: I had hit paydirt!

"Oh yes Pete, keep doing that!" she muttered.

She was breathing quite heavily now.

I alternated between the two nipples which had become raised, hard, like two raisins. I pulled on them with my lips, away from her chest, and I caught them gently with my teeth.

She caught her breath sharply and shuddered, becoming rigid for a few moments. Then she let her breath out, opened her eyes, smiled at me and said

"That was wonderful Petey. You are really good at that."

So that was a success and something to build on. And since she was not insisting on being set free I kissed her on the lips again. This time she opened her mouth and tentatively let her tongue touch my lips. I pulled away, not wanting to rush my progress.

I moved from beside her to in front and let my tongue descend down between her breasts to her navel. My tongue played with her navel for a few moments and she giggled. Enough of that: I moved further down to the top of her jeans.

I looked her in the eyes as I fumbled to undo the top button and pull down the zipper. Her muscles tensed and her mouth opened to an O as I eased her panties down over her hips. So far so good: clearly she trusted me though I am not sure that I would have done!

I let my lips and tongue trace a line from her navel down to where the edge of the fuzz should have been, according to the diagrams.

"Yes, Petey, I shave down there" she whispered.

I was blown away but pretended it was 'usual'. I had no idea what I was doing, save what I had read. I pulled her jeans down to her knees and licked the inside of her thighs, then around the lower elasticated edges of her panties. I looked her in the eyes as I started to pull her panties down. Sophie raised her backside to help.

With her jeans and panties by her knees I had access to her upper thighs. I looked up at her and smiled.

"I won't go farther if you don't want me to" I whispered to Sophie. Not sure about how far I should try.

"Don't you dare stop now! Get on with it," she replied.

So I kissed the inside of her legs and let my tongue reach the crease of her outer lips. Sophie raised her thighs up to meet my tongue.

I licked her outer lips gently and gradually inserted my tongue down into the slit. I ran my tongue up and down the slit without approaching the clitoris. I continued this for several minutes while rapid heavy breathing came from above.

Then again a shudder and all her muscles tensed.

"That was so good Petey. Just a little bit more? Please?"

I figured this was as far I as I could - or should - go. But I bent forward again and licked her clitoris, very gently. She mewled and tried to push herself forward. I licked slowly then quickly at the upper end of the slit, and the small nubbie appeared. Home plate!

I licked this as slowly as I could, then reached forward and took it between my lips, pulling gently on it.

What a reaction! Sophie squealed and twisted her body like she was being attacked. I put my arms around her hips to steady her, with my face planted firmly in her crotch and held her there for what seemed like minutes but was probably only 10 seconds.

I reached around the post and released her hands. In fact the rope had become so loose she could probably have slipped out. We sat together on the straw holding each other for quite a while. I thought for a moment Sophie was asleep but she gradually got up, pulled up her pants and jeans, and stood in front of me.

"I owe you one" she said with a smile on her lips. Was that a threat - or a promise? She picked up her sweater and walked off.

Life continued and we left school for University. Sandy and I both went to the local, Bristol, University while Sophie went to Oxford. Although her college at Cheltenham had tied places at Oxford which she could access, she won a State Scholarship to Lady Margaret Hall. Beauty and brains!

I continued to play rugby, at first for the University First XV but because of my subject, Biochemistry and Cell Biology, I could not afford to miss the lab exercises held during away games. So I ended up playing 2nd XV for home games, then gradually 3rd XV: a bit disappointing but reality had struck. I needed to graduate well. As long as I won scholarships I could continue at college and I argued that the more qualifications along the way, the better the job at the end.

At weekends I kept on working at The Manor. Sam was in ill health and basically living on his pension. Dad mentioned his brother had a drinking problem. Sam had kept a shed, attached to the stables, where he had a camp bed and a propane gas ring and heater, plus a small fridge: the basics for an overnight stay. I started to use this at weekends which saved me a couple of hours of travel. Mrs Bradshaw made me sandwiches at lunchtime and a plate of their evening meal: I was almost like one of the family.

Very occasionally Sophie came down from Oxford, often with 2 or 3 friends. The paddock was home to 4 or 5 horses, some from neighbours, and these were used by Sophie and her friends. After a work-out I would give them a rub down with help from the ladies. Sophie was pleasant but distant. What with my studies and the weekend work the months passed quickly.

It was during the second year of University that one weekend I had gone for breakfast to The Manor kitchen. I took my boots off and was about to sit at the table when Mrs Bradshaw said:

"Peter, would you take this breakfast tray upstairs to Lady Margaret? On the first landing, the first door on the left facing the kitchen garden. Just knock and there is a table outside."

"Of course Mrs B. I shouldn't get lost!"

She smiled and handed me a tray with covers over various plates.

I walked along the kitchen corridor to the foot of the stairs and up the left arch of the stairs. There on the left was the door, partly open.

I put the tray down on the side table and went to tap on the doorframe, momentarily looking inside the bedroom.

Horror!

There was Sophie sat at the end of the bed in her nightdress, legs apart. And - between her legs - was her mother, on her knees, with a mask over her eyes and her hands tied behind her back.

Lady Margaret was bobbing her head up and down; Sophie was gazing at the ceiling.

I stood there, transfixed.

From what I had read on the web, were Sophie and her mother in a dom-sub relationship?

Then Sophie saw me in the doorway. She smiled. I looked away.

I tapped the doorframe and tried to speak evenly:

"Breakfast!"

Then I beat a hasty retreat, downstairs and into the kitchen.

"Sorry Mrs B. I won't be having breakfast: feeling a bit queasy."

That was an understatement! What had I just witnessed? My first thought was to distance myself from this crazy family. But then I would be giving up my rather lucrative job and the extras it brought. I sat in the tack room and decided to say nothing, and to keep going as though I had seen nothing.

And that is just what I did.

Nobody rode that day. I trimmed some of the perennials ready for the winter and cut the front lawn for the last time that year. At lunch I visited the kitchen rather warily and assured Mrs Bradshaw I was OK and ready for her ham and cheese sandwich. She gave me my monthly cheque from Lady M and I left for home at 6 o'clock.

Relief!