Handyman Ch. 01

To really understand this story you have to go all the way back to the day that dad died. It wasn't just that he threw himself under a train, that was just the start of the nightmare. It turned out he'd been the victim of a con man and, while investing in his fool's gold, he had spent all his meager savings and mortgaged the house to the hilt. This meant that, by the time the various vultures had had their share, mum and I were not just bereaved but out on the street without two pennies to rub together.

And this wasn't the first time dad had ruined Mum's life. When they were both little more than school-kids he'd sweet talked his way into her knickers and mum, pregnant at fifteen, had left school at sixteen with no qualifications and no skills to speak of. To give dad some credit he had, at least, had the decency to marry her but as he too had little in the way of schooling the best he could manage was a job as a fitter at the local tire depot.

Mum took two years out to care for me as a baby but as soon as I was old enough to go to nursery school mum she started working on the checkouts at the local supermarket. When dad was alive this had been useful extra income. After he kicked the bucket it was never going to be enough and she became one of those single parent welfare scroungers that the tabloids like to bang on about.

But she never gave up. She knew she could do better and she kept on searching for a way out, a route to a more comfortable life.

Her persistence paid off. It was maybe a year later that she found the perfect job working as live-in cook, maid and housekeeper for local boy made good, Clive Hall. As a young man he had bankrolled some computer genius, the resulting web site became the next big thing and he ended up selling up for a significant figure to... well, let's say you'd recognise the name if I told you.

With his fortune made he turned his business into a hobby and became a wheeler-dealer setting up deals and watching his money grow. Nowadays you can do all that from a computer terminal so he'd set up shop in this huge Georgian mansion he'd purchased just outside of town. It's nothing like as big as Downton Abbey but it's along the same lines and there's plenty of room for him and Sally, his ex-model second wife, all tit and arse and barely older than his daughter. Naturally they needed staff to run the place and, to cut a long story short, it mum who got the job of live-in maid.

I say 'live in' but, actually, we lived not in the big house but in a little cottage in the grounds. It was perfect. Although they didn't pay mum much we had enough to live on and, after what we had been through, it felt like luxury. After all, there was no rent to find and, beyond that, our needs were minimal. Together we settled in and started our new life.

And that was five years ago. Time heals most things and, nowadays, mum often has a smile on her face. As for me, I finished school went and off to college where I'm studying engineering.

And that just about brings us up to last summer, the real start to our story. I'd come home for the vacation and, after the pressure of exams, I was enjoying my new found freedom. I'd stayed in bed all morning and only just made it up in time for lunch when mum came home wearing that rather old fashioned maid's outfit that the Hall's insist she wear.

"For heaven's sake, Andy, why are you still in your dressing gown?"

"Aw, mum, I'm on my holidays. I'm entitled to a lie in now and again."

"Not in this house you're not. Round here people work for a living and that includes you. Talking of which, Mrs Hall asked if you would go up to the house this afternoon. Apparently Jack has had to cut back on his hours and, unless you've any other plans, then she'd be happy to have you fill in over the summer."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, you do. And make sure you have a shower and a shave first. I don't want you going up to the house looking like a complete slob."

"OK."

Jack was the gardener and handyman and had come with the property. He was as old as Methuselah and it was no surprise that he was having to cut back on his hours. I didn't particularly relish the prospect of mowing the lawns all summer but there wasn't much else around and at least the commute would be short.

So it was that, after lunch, I followed mum up to the house and, after a bit of searching around, found Mrs Hall swimming lengths in their indoor pool. I watched as she completed her lap and swum to the side where I was waiting.

"Hi Andy. Thanks for coming," she said as she climbed out of the pool. She pulled off her bathing cap and her hair cascaded down. I'll admit I gawped somewhat; I'd forgotten how damn gorgeous she was. After all, you don't snag a husband as rich as Mr Hall without being something pretty special. Although the swimsuit she was wearing was mostly functional rather than poolside lingerie its cut did everything possible to emphasise the curves that had once graced the catwalks of Milan and Paris.

She looked me up and down in a way she had that made me feel small and nervous. It wasn't as if she was unfriendly, far from. It was more that she was a woman who knew what she wanted and knew how to get it. I was the son of the paid help and, however subconsciously, she made sure I knew it.

"I don't know if your mother told you but we're looking for someone to help out for the summer. Ever since he did his knee in Jack hasn't really been able to cope and he needs a hand. Clive and I wondered if you'd be interested."

"What would it entail?"

"Keeping the place clean and tidy, mostly. A bit of help around the stables, a bit of gardening. I'm sure there's nothing a smart young man like you can't handle."

"When would I start?"

"Tomorrow morning. I like to take Flashdance out for a run around the paddock at nine o'clock. I'd like him saddled up and ready for me by then. Do you think you can manage that?"

"Err..."

"Splendid. I'll see you tomorrow then."

And, with that, she turned and disappeared into the main body of the house. I stood there bemused. I didn't remember actually agreeing to take on the job but, somehow, it seemed that I was to have Flashdance, her horse, saddled and ready for nine the next morning. Of course, I could call her back and object but I knew that wasn't really an option. I was employed whether I wanted it or not.

The next morning found me, bright and early, down at the stables saddling up Flashdance. The weather threatened to be hot so I had dressed in baggy cargo shorts and a tee shirt. Once the saddle and bridle were fitted I had a look around; I could see that Jack had been letting things slip and the whole stables needed a bit of a tidy so, when Mrs. Hall arrived bang on the stroke of nine, she found me pushing a broom, chasing the dust out of the corners. As ever she looked immaculate. Skin tight johdpurs and a crisp white cotton blouse. She also carried a riding crop which she flicked from side to side.

"Have you got my riding boots ready?"

"Riding boots?"

"Yes, riding boots," she snapped. "I assume by the gormless look on your face that they're still in the tack room and you haven't even begun to clean them."

She strode to the tack room where, under one of the benches, there they were and, yes, they still had splashes of mud on them from the previous day.

"Did you really think for one second that I would deign to go out riding wearing boots in this condition. I shouldn't have to tell you; you should just know."

"I'm sorry, I didn't..." I began.

"I have better things to do in my life that spend it listening to your excuses. More important is what you're going to do about these."

"I could give them a quick wipe down."

"I suppose that will have to do - this time."

I grabbed a cloth, took the boots from her and wiped off the worst of the mud. They were a long way from perfect but they were as good as they were going to get without getting out the polish and so forth. I handed back to her but she gave me a look like I was dirt, sat down on a chair and stuck out her right leg. Evidently my duties included fitting them for her. I knelt down on the floor, took off her shoe and, as I reached for the boot, she rested her foot on my lap.

And that's when it all got kinky. When I say she rested her foot on my lap I mean right on my lap, on the middle of my lap, right over my prick, my rapidly hardening prick. At first I thought it was just an accident but she gave a little wiggle with her toes and it was clear she knew exactly what she was doing.

I knelt there, still half turned, still reaching for her boot, as she moved her foot in slow, sensuous circles over the more than obvious bulge in my shorts. Nothing, nothing I had ever done before had ever felt this good. I glanced up at her and she gave me a knowing smile and, thus encouraged, I put her boot back down, and, with a sigh of pleasure, pushed my hips towards her.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?"

"But... but I thought..."

"But you thought what?"

"I thought you were..." I couldn't continue. I was, quite literally, lost for words. Had I really read the situation so wrong? Surely she had been encouraging me, actively stroking me with her foot and now, suddenly, I seemed to be cast as the villain of the piece. "I don't know what I thought."

"When I was a girl I used to have a puppy that would get so excited he would try and rub himself off against my leg. Judging by the state of your shorts you seem to just as overexcited. It looks very much as if you have no more self-control than my puppy. Is that the case?"

I just hung my head. I didn't know what to do. If I suggested that she had led me on then I would be effectively calling her a liar; if I didn't I was calling myself a pervert. And the strange part of it was that my erection, instead of subsiding, was as hard as ever.

"Well? I'm waiting for an answer."

"I don't know."

"You don't know. How pathetic an answer is that. Too ashamed to admit what a dirty little boy you are is more likely. Now, here's the thing, with my puppy I'd smack him with a rolled up newspaper and send him to his basket. Is that what I should do with you? A quick smacking and sent to your basket? Is that what you need?"

Again all I could do was hang my head in shame.

"Well, what's it to be? A quick smack or, maybe, I should call in your mother and see what she suggests for a naughty little boy who can't control his urges."

"Please, not my mum. She'd be horrified."

"And so she should be. Very well, a quick smack it is, then. I think half a dozen with the riding crop should just about do the business. Stand up, drop your pants, and lean over the work bench."

I was amazed at how fast things had moved, how suddenly I had been put on the spot. However, the threat of telling my mum was enough. Six strokes of the crop; how hard could that be? I got up from the floor and bent over the workbench.

"Didn't I tell you to drop your pants?"

"Sorry, Mrs. Hall." I undid my belt and, feeling increasingly nervous, pushed down my shorts.

"And your underpants. Come along. I'm late enough for my ride as it is."

I did as I was told, aware that my continuing erection was as hard as ever and more than obvious. Fortunately Mrs. Hall seemed oblivious. She got up and stood beside where I was bent over. Then she took the cloth that I had used to wipe her boots and pushed it towards my mouth.

"Here, bite on this."

I was long past disobeying so I took the filthy rag into my mouth. I was glad I did because, moments later, I felt the riding crop resting against my arse as she took aim and then swish, thwack! and a ribbon of fire erupted across my backside and, if it hadn't been for the cloth, my scream of pain would have been heard half way across the county. In a panic my hands shot round behind me, clutching my arse cheeks to fend off any more strokes.

"Not a good start. I do hope you're not going to make this difficult. Move your hands out of the way. Better still, cross your wrists behind your back."

I did as I was told and she rummaged about on the work bench, found a length of rope and, moments later, I felt my wrists tied securely together. It was now a simple matter for her to hold me in place with her free hand.

"That's better. Now, because of all the fuss you've caused, I don't think that first stroke ought to count. So, six of the best it is."

I could, and did, kick out as much as I wanted but I was going nowhere and, stroke by measured stroke, the riding crop laid its six lines of fire across my buttocks. It hurt far beyond what I had been expecting and, by the time she was finished, I was crying like a baby. She let me lie there for a few moments and then she untied my wrists and stepped away.

"There, that's all done," she said in a matter-of-fact voice. "Now, stand up, turn around and thank me for punishing you."

I was still in a daze but I pushed myself upright. But, as I reached for my shorts to pull them up she pushed my hands away with her riding crop.

"Uh, huh. It will help the lesson sink in if you stay like that for a while."

I turned around and, rather sheepishly, stood in front of her. And here's the weird bit. Despite the embarrassment of standing there with my shorts around my ankles, despite the humiliation of being treated like some naughty little schoolboy by a woman not that much older than myself and, above all, despite the raging fire from my backside, my prick didn't seem to have got the message and was still rock hard. What's more, now it was no longer covered by my shorts it was poking out from under the hem of my tee shirt like some sort of flag pole. She came up to me, reached down, and wrapped her fingers around it. I nearly exploded on the spot.

"Now, say thank you like a good boy."

"Thank you, Miss, thank you for punishing me."

"Very good. Now, let's see if you can put my riding boots on without getting over excited."

Still with my shorts down I got back on my knees and helped her on with her boots. Once they were on she laid the sole of her right boot along my still rigid prick and rubbed it up and down. I was careful not to move a muscle.

"There, that's better. With a little training you can learn to control yourself. It's quite simple. Good little boys get treats; bad little boys get punished. Are you a good little boy?"

"Yes, yes, Miss."

"I thought so. Now, off you go and get Flashdance."

Still with my trousers around my ankles I hurried to obey.

It was only after she had ridden off and I was gingerly pulling up my shorts that I was able to take stock of what had just happened. I wasn't a total ingénue, I was a big fan of BDSM and had done a fair amount of wanking over dominatrix stories I'd found the web, but this was the first time I'd ever encountered anything like this. I felt steamrollered. One moment I was helping out in the stables and the next I was bent over the work bench having my arse thrashed. But, for all that, and for all the way my arse still stung like crazy, it was still the most exciting thing that had ever happened to me. I was still incredibly horny and part of me wanted to sneak off to the toilets and sort myself out but, somehow, that seemed unworthy, as if, by doing so, I was proving her right, proving that I couldn't control myself. Anyway, the thought of having her come back and catch me at it... I busied myself with my chores. I wanted the stables to be spotless on her return.

When she did return it was as if nothing had happened. She was all formal and business-like. We discussed the care and grooming of Flashdance and she took my mobile number so she could text me during the day if she had any specific needs or requests. It was only when she came to change out of her riding boots and back into her house shoes that there was a glint in her eye and there was a wicked smile on her face as she reminded me to make sure they were properly polished for next morning.

But then, just as she was leaving, she turned back and asked, "Andy, will your girlfriend be visiting this summer?"

"I don't have a girlfriend."

"Really? Why not? Don't tell me your gay."

"No, I'm not gay. It's just... well, I haven't met the right girl yet." I didn't want to admit that I seemed to get tongue tied and shy around girls and my lack of any love life was more about me than about girls.

"Aww... Are you a virgin?"

"Please, Mrs. Hall!"

"That's a yes, then. We are going to have fun this summer," and, with that, she left.

I had a great deal to think about as I went to sort out Flashdance. It looked like working for Mrs. Hall was going to be a lot more than just being the handyman. Part of me was scared of what I was getting into but most of me was thrilled to the core.

The next morning I was up bright and early and, yes, I made sure that Mrs. Hall's boots were polished until you could see your face in them. I was so proud of the shine that, when she arrived, I could hardly wait to put them on for her. At first it was as if she hadn't noticed but, as I was fitting the left boot I felt her already booted right foot pressing against my groin. I was careful not to react but just kept easing the tight leather around her ankle and then cradling her calf as I pushed the zipper up at the back. She pressed harder; now there was no doubting what she was doing. This was no accident; she knew this was turning me on.

I've no idea what prompted the next bit. All I know is that my head bowed down and, reverently, I lifted her booted left foot and kissed the toe. I wasn't thinking, I was swept away by a combination of the rich smell of leather, the feel of her shapely calf in my hands and, more than anything, the growing pressure of her right foot against my now raging erection. I looked up, fearing that I might have overstepped the mark.

"You're a little bold this morning."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hall, it's just that..."

"I prefer 'Miss' when it's just the two of us."

"Of course, Miss. I hope you don't mind."

"No, not this time. It was sweet of you but don't go taking liberties."

"Of course not."

And, with that, the moment was over and she got up from her chair, I got up off the floor and, together, we went off to find Flashdance.

Again, when she returned from her ride, it was as if nothing had happened. It was as if I were dealing with two different people, Mrs. Hall and 'Miss', and it she could flip between the two without warning. We spent a few moments discussing my tasks for the day and then, as I put Flashdance back in his stall, she disappeared back into the house.

I spent the morning riding the mower back and forth across the lawns, shared a quick sandwich with my mum for lunch and then, in the afternoon, set to with the clippers putting some shape back into the hedges. I was busy doing this when my phone gave that 'knock-knock' sound to announce that I'd received a text. I opened it up to read 'poolside now'. I'd got a text from Mrs. Hall or, more likely by the look of things, from Miss.

When I got to the pool she was laid full length on one of the sun loungers. Apart from an enormous sun hat she wore a tiny bikini top and, below the waist, a sarong.

"Ah, Andy, how are the hedges getting on?"

"Fine, Mrs. Hall, I should be finished before the end of the day."

"Well they'll have to wait a while. Right now I have some more personal needs that require your attention. Look on the table; do you see the wrist cuffs? Yes? Put them on."

I looked at the table and, along with a blindfold, there were, indeed, two cuffs made of dark leather and fitted with a hefty 'D' ring and quick release clips. The buckles were a bit fiddly but it didn't take long before I was wearing them. Mrs. Hall had me turn away from her and put my hands behind my back and then she clipped them together. I suppose I should have been surprised but, after what had happened that morning it seemed almost natural.