Handyman Ch. 01

Then she had me go and kneel at the foot of the lounger. When I was in position she sat up and took the blindfold and fitted it over my eyes. It was quite thick and padded and, once she had got it arranged, I could see nothing. Then there was some rustling as she rearranged herself on the lounger.

"OK, now lean forward. That's it... a little more... good boy... now kiss what's in front of you."

I leant forward a little bit more and my lips brushed against short, neatly trimmed but wiry hair.

"Do you know what you're kissing? Yes? Good boy. You know how you wanted to kiss my boot, to worship it. Now I'm going to teach you something much better. I'm going to teach you how to really pleasure a lady. Move a little lower... that's it... do you feel my lips? Use your tongue, gently now, don't slobber, open me up, see what you can find inside. That's it, that's good, that's very good, very good indeed. Taste my juices. That's the taste of real woman. Savour it, love it, tease it out of me. Take your time, never rush this part, nice and easy, get me ready, show me how much you adore me. Now, up near the top, feel that little nubbin... yes... that's the one, that is the true object of your worship. Tip of the tongue, now, show how much you adore it, worship it, cherish it, love it. Caress it... yes... like that... find the rhythm... worship me... worship me..."

While I knew, in theory, what I was doing the practice was very different. However, it was her exhortation to worship that struck a chord with me. By running my tongue back and forth across 'that little nubbin' I could tell that I was bringing her real pleasure and the very real and very obvious physical signs of this pleasure were reward enough. Sure, this was turning me on too but, for the moment, this was all about her pleasure and it was a privilege to be the source of it.

"Harder... go on... harder... just a little more... don't stop now... don't you dare stop... don't you dare... oh, yes, yes, like that, oh yes! Yes! Yes! Yesssssss!!"

I felt her whole body go rigid and my mouth was flooded with her juices and, for maybe half a dozen heartbeats we held it until her climax subsided and she collapsed back. Her hands pushed me away and I collapsed to the floor beside her. The room was silent except her deep breathing as she recovered her poise.

"Hello honey, I thought I heard you out here. Ah, I see you're training up the boy. How's he coming along?" The voice of Mr. Hall cut through the silence.

"The boy, yes, he's not bad for a beginner. A bit more practice and he could be very good indeed. He certainly has the right attitude. But why are you here? I thought you were out all afternoon."

"I was meant to be but bloody Conglomerated pulled out of the meeting and the whole shebang is postponed until next week."

"So you're back home with no boring work to get in the way. Whatever shall we do to pass the time?"

"I'm sure we'll think of something. Boy, we've finished with your services for the moment. I'm sure you have chores elsewhere you need to be getting on with."

I struggled to my feet and, as I did so, Mr. Hall came around behind me and unfastened my wrists. I pulled off the blindfold but when I turned to put it on the table I was dismissed with a curt "off you go, quickly now," and, knowing when I wasn't wanted, I took it, along with the cuffs, as I escaped back to trimming the hedges.

I was amazed and somewhat shocked at Mr. Hall's attitude. After all, he'd all but caught us in flagrante delecto but he had seemed, if anything, amused rather than angry or upset. He had talked of Mrs. Hall 'training me up' as if I were some new pet or something. Maybe that was the way he saw me. After all, calling me 'the boy' had let me know exactly how much respect he paid me.

That evening, just as I was packing up for the night, I got another text from Mrs. Hall telling me to meet her down in the stables. I finished putting away the lawnmower and hurried on over.

"Ah, Andy, there you are. Where are the cuffs and blindfold?"

"In the tack room cupboard."

"Excellent. Off we go then."

I followed her to the tack room where the cuffs and blindfold were carefully stashed away out of site. I dug them out and handed them over. She took the blindfold off me but told me to return the cuffs to the cupboard.

"I've got a little present for you but you have to do exactly what I say. Can you do that?"

"Of course, Miss."

"Very well. The first thing you're going to do is to strip completely and then stand on that chair. Understood?"

I was more than slightly apprehensive but, given recent events, I was pretty sure that, whatever she had in store for me, it would be one heck of a turn-on, especially if the first action was to strip naked. I took off my clothes and climbed up onto the chair.

"OK, now put this on," she handed me the blindfold, "and clasp your hands behind your back."

As I stood there feeling very naked and very vulnerable. However, that didn't stop my prick from responding, especially when I felt her fingers playing around the base. She appeared to be fitting something, something that came in a variety of sizes as, at first, it was too tight and, then, on a second try, too loose. A third try was, in true Goldilocks fashion, just right. There was still some fiddling around and then the click of a lock closing and I could feel whatever it was fastened firmly around my prick and balls. But there was more to it than that, there was something attached, something that hung against my inner thighs. Mrs. Hall gave whatever it was a few judicious tugs and, yes, it was clear that this was not coming off in a hurry.

"OK, I want you to count to one hundred nice and slowly and during that time you're not to move and not to take off the blindfold. Understood?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Goodnight then."

I heard her footsteps disappearing off into the distance. I'll admit I only counted up to fifty or so before I took off the blindfold and looked down. There around the base of my prick and balls was some sort of stainless steel ring. I got down from the chair and went over to the workbench where there was a small mirror and I could look properly. The ring was in two parts, hinged at the top and padlocked together at the bottom. Hanging from the padlock was a length of chain at the end of which was a dog tag. Engraved on the dog tag were the words 'Property of the Halls'. I had been well and truly tagged.

I found my shorts but, disturbingly, no underpants. It was clear she had taken them and I was going to have to go commando. What is more, without underpants, there was nowhere to stash the chain away and, when I put my shorts on, the chain hung down one leg of my shorts and the name tag was only just concealed. I tried walking back and forth. It was odd feeling the chain bouncing against my leg, tugging at my prick and balls. I certainly wasn't going to forget it was there and, although I could wear shorts in public, just, I was going to have to be careful. Still, there was something about having it there that felt just fine.

As I walked the hundred yards or so over to the cottage where mum and I lived I was deep in thought. Mrs. Hall seemed to be taking a heck of a lot for granted. I seemed to have gone from handyman to some sort of sex slave in the blink of an eye. The question, of course, was what was I going to do about it. One option was to flat out refuse. The padlock holding the ring around my prick was small and flimsy, more symbolic than practical, and two minutes with a pair of wire cutters would set myself free. Similarly I could resign my job as handyman; there were other jobs around, after all, the local chicken processing plant was always on the look out for new faces.

But in reality neither was an option. Mrs. Hall might have been playing with me but, whether by luck or good judgement, she knew exactly what buttons to press. Stopping now would be like getting tickets to all the biggest and best rides at Blackpool Pleasure Beach and then being too scared to actually go on them. The reality was that I was looking forward to finding out all the exciting things she wanted to do to me with the full anticipation that my prick, at least, would enjoy every second.

The next morning I was back down at the stables bright and early and, once again, I ensured the best possible shine on Mrs. Hall's riding boots. Sure enough, bang on the dot of nine o'clock she arrived looking as delectable as ever.

"Good morning. How are you doing? All sitting comfortably? Any chafing? Any soreness?" She waved her riding crop in the direction of my groin just to make sure I understood what she was talking about.

"Everything's fine, Mr. Hall."

"Drop your shorts and let me see."

Gleefully anticipating more high jinks I did as I was told but, as my shorts puddled around my ankles she waved her riding crop at my briefs.

"And what are these?"

"My... my underpants."

"And who gave you permission to wear underpants. I certainly don't remember doing so."

"I'm sorry, Miss, I didn't know..."

"Well you damn well ought to have known. Why on earth did you think I took your last pair from you? Did you think I was some sort of weird underwear sniffer?"

"No, no, of course not. I'm sorry, Miss, really I am."

"And why are you still wearing them?"

"I'm sorr...," but I saw the look on her face and, as quick as I could, I took off my briefs and handed them to her."

"I don't want them. I didn't want your last pair. I only took them to make a point, a point you seem to be too dim to have taken. Now, let's have a look."

She sat down on the chair and motioned me to go and stand next to her.

"This ring," she commented as she tested it for fit and snugness, "is part, and only part, of a male chastity device. There are some who enjoy using them; I am not one of those. Quite frankly, if your self control is so poor that you can't be trusted unless your prick is caged up then you're no use to me at all. This," she took my prick in her fingers, "is my property and you are not to play with it without my express permission; is that completely clear?"

"Yes, Miss."

"And I know what you're thinking. If your prick isn't caged up then what's to stop you knocking off a quick little wank when you're in bed at night and I'm not watching? How will I know? Well, I'll know by the guilty look on that face of yours. I can read you like a book and any attempt to go behind my back is doomed to failure - just like the wank you had last night. And again this morning."

I blushed bright beetroot. She could indeed read me like a book.

"So, we're not doing so well this morning. Improperly dressed and unauthorised use of my property. I think it would be most remiss of me not to set some sort of punishment. Don't you agree?"

"Yes, Miss."

"I think half a dozen with the riding crop will do for starters. You know what to do."

I did indeed. I went to the workbench and leant forward over it. Remembering what had happened last time I also crossed my wrists behind my back. She fetched the wrist cuffs from the cupboard and, in no time, they were around my wrists holding them in place. Also, for good measure, she put the blindfold over my eyes.

And I thought that would be it but, to my surprise I also felt a strap, a collar, being fitted around my neck. She fastened the buckle and then I felt myself being tugged forward and the collar was fastened to an anchor point in front of my face. If I let my head drop I could feel the chain rubbing against my chin.

"Six strokes of the crop, wasn't it?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Do I need to bother with a gag? I certainly hope not."

"I'll try my best, Miss."

And try I did. Not that it made much difference. A riding crop is meant to be felt through a horse's thick hide and my relatively tender buttocks were no match at all. I kicked, I screamed, I cried but six hard strokes in six neat parallel lines were laid across my backside.

And then she seemed to ignore me. I could hear rustling sounds from behind me as, presumably, she put on her riding boots and then the sounds of her going to Flashdance's stall and taking him out into the paddock.

Although the position I was in was far from comfortable is was by no means unbearable. Anyway, there was nothing I could do about it. I could only await her return and whatever came with it.

After what seemed like forever I heard the sounds of her putting Flashdance back in his stall and then her footsteps as she came back through the stables to the tack room.

"A splendid morning for a ride, don't you think and there's nothing like having a powerful animal between my thighs to put me in the mood for... now, what has it put me in the mood for? Oh, how pretty your arse looks! It seems a shame to have it on display like that and not take advantage."

She came and stood behind me. I felt her put her hands on my hips and rub herself against the battered flesh of my buttocks.

"Poor little backside, just crying out to be fucked. Have you ever been pegged? No, of course not, a sweet little virgin like you. Still, there's a first time for everything."

I heard a certain amount of movement in the room behind me before she returned and I felt something cool and slippery being applied to my arse crack followed by something hard being pushed against my sphincter.

"Just try and relax and, you never know, you might even enjoy it. After all, this isn't the biggest strap-on I own."

Relax! How could I relax! However that didn't stop the well lubricated phallus being pushed until it broke through the ring of my sphincter and slid inside me.

As ever, the things Mrs. Hall did to me had me deeply conflicted. I suppose, strictly speaking, I was being raped except, well, hadn't I effectively given consent the moment I had bent over the work bench. Moreover, much as being anally violated with a strap on phallus was a long way down my sexual wish list there was something about the fact that it was Mr. Hall, something about the power she had over me, that was a massive turn on. It was like that old song my mum used to listen to that went 'if it feels this good being used...'

Mrs. Hall must have used plenty of lubricant because, although the phallus felt enormous inside me, and I felt stretched beyond belief, it slipped deep inside me with no problem at all. Then, with long, slow deliberate strokes, she started to fuck my arse. With each stroke she would drive it into me and then grind her hips against my backside as if trying to go as deep as possible. I didn't, then, know how it all worked but it was obvious she was getting off on it as her purrs of delight clearly showed.

"Hello? Sally? Are you in here?" Mr. Hall's voice called out.

"In here, honey. In the tack room." Mrs. Hall stopped what she was doing but, noticeably, didn't withdraw.

"Ah, there you are. I thought I saw you coming back from your ride. I just wanted to let you know I've got to go up to town for the day. I'm catching the eleven twenty train."

"If you hang on a few minutes I'll give you a lift to the station."

"We've got more than a few minutes, why don't I give you a sandwich?"

"Oh, yes please."

I was still wondering exactly what Mr. Hall had meant by sandwich when I felt Mrs. Hall move behind me as if adjusting her stance and then she started pushing against me or, rather, as I found out, she started being pushed against me.

"Is that what you like?"

"Oh, yes, please, darling."

"So tell me, tell me what you like."

"I like your big fat prick pushed right up my tight arsehole. Yes, like that, please, darling, harder, harder. I need to feel all of you. I love your prick, your big hard prick, I love to feel it inside me, inside my cunt, inside my mouth but, most of all, inside my arse. I want you so much, so much, fuck me, fuck me, fuck meeee..."

Every time Mr. Hall forced himself into her she was pushed deeper into me. Now I knew exactly what a sandwich was and, if Mrs. Hall was the filling in this one, I was the slice of bread on the bottom. As the force of Mr. Hall's thrusts increased she made it quite clear how much she was loving it. Her exhortations to be fucked harder became more and more incoherent, Mr. Hall's thrusts became harder and harder until, with a shout that filled the stables, Mrs. Hall came and she collapsed on top of me.

There was a long pause while we all got our breath back before they dismounted. I was all but ignored as they kissed and cuddled and Mrs. Hall told her husband in exact and graphic detail how much she loved being fucked up the arse.

"If I'm going to get you to the station on time I need to go and get cleared up," Mrs. Hall said after a while. "Do me a favour and untie the boy. Love you!"

And with that she was off.

Mr. Hall unfastened the collar that held me down and unclipped the wrist cuffs and, feeling rather sheepish I stood up and took off the blindfold.

"Clean this mess up and I don't know what else you have planned for today but the Merc could do with a wash and polish. OK?"

"Of course, Mr. Hall."

Without a further word he followed Mrs. Hall out of the stables.

I looked about the tack room. Apart from the collar and my blindfold there was the strap-on harness that Mrs. Hall had worn and a tube of lubricant all lying on the workbench. What's more, the force of all our fucking had shaken quite a bit loose and Mr. Hall hadn't been exaggerating when he called it a mess. I unfastened the cuffs from my wrists and looked around for my shorts. With a wry smile I realised they were no longer in the tack room. It would appear that, like my underpants, they were not to be allowed, at least for a while.

However, before I could sort out the tack room there was still the matter of Flashdance who was still wearing his tack after Mrs. Hall's ride. By any reckoning that had to come first and it was while I was sorting him out that I found out what had happened to my shorts.

Any horse creates a certain amount of manure and it is part and parcel of stable management to deal with it. The policy for the Halls was to keep a cycle of compost heaps and, when the manure had rotted down enough, it was used on the garden. While tidying up the manure I couldn't find the pitchfork so I went out into the back to look for it and, there in the freshest, most recent, compost heap, I found it and, held between the tines were my shorts pushed deep into the fresh horse muck. I hoicked them out, rinsed them off under the tap and left them out to dry.

I was able to plan a day's work that kept me inside and out of sight so working naked below the waist wasn't a problem from that perspective. However, without my shorts to restrain it, the chain between my thighs swung wildly whenever I moved and, when it came to washing Mr. Hall's precious Merc, I had distinct problems because, as I got to polishing, the chain was at risk of risk of scratching the paintwork. Eventually I was forced to seek out Mrs. Hall and ask for help. I sent her a quick text asking to see her and she ordered me, as ever to meet her beside the pool.

"Please, Miss, I'm sorry for bothering you but..."

"What is it?"

I explained the problem and she seemed quite amused. "Quite right, we can't have you scratching Clive's favourite toy, can we? Now, wait here, I have just the answer."

She returned a minute or so later holding a butt plug, one of those ones that look a bit like a Christmas tree, made out of stainless steel and maybe four or five inches high.

"Bend over and put you palms flat on the seat of that chair. That's the way. Now spread your legs and...," for the second time that day I felt her push something into my backside. This was shorter but thicker than the strap-on and it took quite a squeeze to get it in. Once my sphincter was past the widest bit it closed around the waist of the plug holding it in place. Unlike most plugs this one had a 'D' ring on the base so that Mrs. Hall could take the chain back up between my legs and fasten the name tag to it.