Life Back Home Ch. 02

Author's introduction: Having been sacked from her post at an exclusive fee-paying school, Rhiannon has returned home to her Welsh village, in part because Monica, Rhiannon's lover, Mistress and landlady has kicked her out and taken up with a new, younger lover. Rhiannon's mother was also seriously ill in hospital. Following the untimely death of her mother, from whom she was estranged because of her lesbian activities, Rhiannon is now running her late mother's village shop. She is unhappy, frustrated and very lonely, despite being back home amongst familiar faces. Now read on. This chapter follows immediately on from the end of chapter one...

Rhiannon heard the front door close. She continued to sit in the kitchen and think about what she'd just heard. Olwen Simpson was going to be the head teacher in the village school, and would be back in the village soon, looking for a suitable place to live. She'd also offered Rhiannon a job there. Kate whatever-her-name-was was not only pregnant, she was moving to Canada. And, let's face it, Rhiannon told herself, I'm a teacher not a shop keeper.

She was aware that considerable heat and not a little dampness was emanating from her panties. Thinking back over her recent chat with the mysterious pipe smoking woman who had just come into her life, Rhiannon realised that she was really sexually frustrated. She hadn't been fucked for too long. Even when she was still with Monica, sex had been rationed, she recalled. No doubt because Monica was probably fucking and getting her cunt eaten by that bitch Stephie. Rhiannon stroked herself through her panties.

"Fuck it!" she thought to herself. "I need to cum. And then I need to get myself in order. I wonder if anyone local would be interested in buying this house and the shop?"

She went upstairs to her bedroom. A few minutes later, with her nipples tightly clamped, Rhiannon was writhing on her bed as her vibrating dildo wrung a lovely orgasm out of her. She rode out her orgasm, giving the chain holding her nipple clamps the occasional tug. Luxuriating in the sensations of throbbing nipples and an extremely wet cunt, she sat up in bed and tried to get her thoughts in order.

Like the good, organised teacher she was, Rhiannon made a list for herself. Then she went back downstairs, wearing only her summer pyjamas. She made herself some supper and ate it at the kitchen table. Her mind was made up. She was going to turn her life around.

Lighting herself an after supper cigar, Rhiannon grinned to herself. If mam was still around now, she'd be scandalized by the sight of her daughter smoking. Rhiannon slid her hand into her pyjama bottoms and fingered herself. Smoking and wanking! What a slut she was!

"I do hope Mrs. Simpson will come good on her promise," Rhiannon thought as her fingers worked their magic, and she felt her clit begin to stir. "I wonder if I should try a pipe myself? It doesn't do any harm to give a prospective boss a good impression."

Rhiannon spent a restless night, tossing and turning in her bed, unable to sleep for any length of time. Her mind was in turmoil. Should she try and contact Mrs. Simpson and hint that she'd be willing to accept her offer of a job? Eventually she fell into a restless sleep, her mind still not made up.

Despite her lack of sleep, Rhiannon was up bright and early next morning, the shop door open all ready to receive the morning delivery of newspapers. Gilbert, the man who had shouted at her on her first day as a shopkeeper, had mellowed somewhat, thanks no doubt to the mug of tea that Rhiannon always had waiting for him.

"Morning, sleepy head," he greeted her as he breezed into the shop. "Bloody hell, girl, I know it's almost August, and we've been promised a heatwave, but it's not yet six o'clock in the morning! Aren't you bloody freezing in those pyjamas you're almost wearing?"

Rhiannon grinned at the little old man.

"Once I've put the papers out, I'm back off to bed for an hour," she said cheekily. "The pity is I've no-one there to warm me up!"

Gilbert blushed.

"No need for smutty talk, Rhiannon," he said, picking his mug of tea up and swallowing the contents in a couple of gulps. He must have an asbestos throat, Rhiannon thought to herself. That tea was boiling!

"Ta very much," Gilbert said, handing the mug back to Rhiannon. "I'll see you in the morning. Ta-ra."

Rhiannon stood in the cold shop and shivered. How she needed warming up! A good spanking followed by some enforced cunt worship before being bent over and strap-on fucked from behind would go down really well right now, she thought. Fat chance of that, though!

Rhiannon shut and locked the front door and went back into the kitchen. The range was still in, just, and she riddled the ashes and put some kindling in. When it had caught, she shovelled a couple of loads of coal on and sat at the kitchen table.

Her hand strayed down between her legs. She rubbed her slit over her pyjama bottoms and shivered. Fingering herself was really nice, but what she needed was a good deep fuck. She pulled her hand away and mentally shook herself. This was no good!

"Get a fucking grip, Rhiannon," she scolded herself. "Either shit or get off the pot!"

She stood up and went over to the worktop. Switching on the kettle, she began to list things to do. By the time the kettle had boiled, and she'd made herself some toast, Rhiannon had a plan. She was going to stick to it until it succeeded or failed, she decided.

The shop opened at half past eight, as usual. There was a steady trickle of customers, buying newspapers on their way to work, or crisps and sweets on their way to school. At half past nine, the exodus out of the village to workplaces in the nearby town had finished, and school had started. The shop was empty, and Rhiannon had time to put her plan into action. She picked up the phone and dialled the number she had looked up earlier.

The phone was answered after barely two rings.

"Good morning. Brynffynnon school. How may I help you?" Whoever had answered the call was speaking Welsh. Rhiannon answered in the same tongue.

"Good morning," she began. "I'm ringing about the vacancy for a teacher next term. Could I speak to..."

"How do you know about that?" the woman on the other end of the phone interrupted. "The post hasn't been advertised yet."

"I was informed of the vacancy by Mrs. Simpson," Rhiannon replied confidently. "She mentioned that a member of staff was moving to Canada."

"Well, I can neither confirm or deny that," the woman said, her voice betraying the fact that she was less sure of her position now that Rhiannon had mentioned the name of the new Head teacher.

"Let me put you through to Ms. Daniels She's the Head Teacher until the end of term. Please hold the line."

Rhiannon listened to some dreadful electronic version of 'Bugeilio'r Gwenith Gwyn', one of her favourite Welsh love songs. It was appalling, she decided, but then she heard a different voice in her ear.

"Good morning," she heard. "I understand that you are making enquiries about the vacancy here next term?"

"That's correct," Rhiannon replied. "I've recently moved back to the area, and I happened to speak to Mrs. Simpson yesterday. I understand that she's to be the new Head Teacher?"

"My, you are well informed," chuckled the voice down the phone. "Well, you are correct. I'm Ms. Daniels, the current Head, and I'm taking early retirement. My wife and I are going travelling. We hope to do some painting in the Aegean."

"You're a lesbian?" Rhiannon blurted out before she could stop herself. "Snap! So am I. But I'm not fortunate enough to have a wife!"

"I hardly think this is a suitable topic of conversation," Ms. Daniels replied snappily. "I shall contact Mrs. Simpson and inform her of your interest in the post. Good morning."

And with that, Rhiannon heard the dialling tone in her ear. Slowly, she put the phone down. What the hell had she just said and done? What if Mrs. Simpson had already found a teacher to fill the vacancy? Rhiannon shuddered as she recalled her outburst with Ms. Daniels.

She was still replaying the conversation with the outgoing head teacher in her mind a few hours later. Her thoughts were interrupted when the phone rang. Rhiannon picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" she said, hoping against hope that it was Monica, ringing to tell her that she'd made a terrible mistake, and that having realised how much she missed Rhiannon, she'd kicked Stephie out and was now ringing to beg her ex to return.

It wasn't Monica.

"Hello, Rhiannon," answered the caller. "You really have upset Judy Daniels, you know. Not all lesbians are as outgoing as you. It seems that whilst Ms. Daniels doesn't make a secret of her sexuality, she doesn't bellow it from the rooftops either!""

Rhiannon recognised the voice straightaway.

"Mrs. Simpson?" she replied, trying and failing to keep the anxiety out of her voice. "I did phone the school to ask for an application form. But Ms. Daniels put the phone down on me before I got round to asking."

"Yes, well that's what happens when a stranger rings you and calls you a lesbian," replied Olive Simpson dryly. She chuckled.

"I think I'm going to have to teach you some manners, young lady," she continued. I'll be back in the village on Saturday. There's a place called Hafod just outside the village. Do you know it?"

Rhiannon confirmed that she did indeed know of the large farmhouse of that name.

"We've bought it," Olwen Simpson continued, once she was satisfied that Rhiannon knew where to come.

"I noticed it was for sale as I was driving past after meeting you. I rang the estate agent, and was told that someone was there taking photographs for their advertising website. I knocked the door and was shown around. I made an offer there and then, and much to my delight, it has been accepted. We're moving in next weekend. I'll expect you at eleven o'clock sharp on Saturday, the twenty first of this month. Don't be late. And bring me another tin of that lovely tobacco you gave me yesterday. I'll pay you this time!"

"B...b...but," stammered Rhiannon. It was no use. Olwen Simpson had put the phone down.

On the appointed morning, Rhiannon locked the shop up and drove to Hafod farm, on the outskirts of the village. There was still a For Sale sign attached to the gate across the driveway. The gate was closed, and Rhiannon got out of the car to open it, so that she could drive up to the house.

Whilst she was out of her car, a van drew up behind her and a man got out.

"Sorry, love," he said, "you're too late. The place has been sold. I'm here to take that For Sale sign down."

"Oh, I'm not interested in buying the place," smiled Rhiannon. "I'm visiting the new owner."

Then an idea came into her mind.

"I have a property for sale as well," she said. "Can you tell me how I go about getting one of those signs put up?"

"Give that number a ring," replied the man, nodding at the sign. "They're pretty good. I seem to be spending all my time putting these signs up only to be told to return and take them down again."

Rhiannon took out her mobile and snapped a picture of the sign.

"Thanks," she said, returning to her car. "I'll get onto them this afternoon. Maybe I'll see you again when you come to put my sign up?"

"That's not the only thing I'd like to put up for you, darling," thought the young man, rubbing his cock as Rhiannon drove away up the drive. He had no idea that he had no chance of fucking the dedicated lesbian he had just been talking to.

Rhiannon parked the car in front of a small barn that looked as if it had been converted into a second dwelling place. She was confused. Where was Olive Simpson living? The farmhouse itself, or this smaller granny flat type building. She got out of the car, having checked her make up in the mirror first. She looked from one property to the other, uncertain where to go.

The front door of the large farmhouse opened, and Rhiannon turned to see who was there. It was a tall, well built man, dressed smart-but-casual. He smiled at Rhiannon.

"You're prompt," he said politely. "You must be Rhiannon. Olwen is expecting you. Please come in. I'm Richard, by the way. I'm Olwen's husband."

Automatically, Rhiannon offered her hand to Richard.

"Good morning," she managed, reeling from the shock that Olwen Simpson was married. So much for her assumption that the woman who had been in her shop, and to whom she had spoken on the phone yesterday batted for the same team as she did. Olwen Simpson was clearly no lesbian.

Olwen Simpson was, however, clearly expecting Rhiannon. She was sitting on a two seater sofa, in a beautifully light, airy conservatory that had been built onto the back of the old, stone farmhouse.

The door through which Richard led Rhiannon had been cut into the back wall of the farmhouse, and the rest of the conservatory consisted of single plate glass panels, constructed so that the view over the back garden and the fields beyond was uninterrupted. Rhiannon stopped as she entered the extension and gawped, her mouth open in admiration of what she was seeing.

"Yes, most people have that reaction when they see the view for the first time," smiled Olwen, getting to her feet. "I know Richard and I did. It's what convinced us to buy this place. Good morning, Rhiannon. Welcome to our new home."

She extended her hand to Rhiannon, who took it automatically. As they shook hands, Rhiannon was conscious of the slightest pressure exerted by Olwen, and she also felt the older woman's little finger rubbing up against the palm of the hand that Olwen was still holding.

"You're prompt," Olwen continued, releasing Rhiannon's hand. "That's good. I expect three things from my pets. Punctuality, Politeness and Complete Obedience. We'll see about the other two as this interview proceeds. Did you bring my pipe tobacco, as I instructed?"

Olwen sat back down on the comfortable looking sofa and looked up at Rhiannon.

"P... pe... pet?" stammered Rhiannon. "What the hell are you talking about? I thought that I was here to discuss the vacancy in the village school?"

"Wrong answer!" snapped Olwen. "Your employment as a member of my teaching staff is assured and not relevant to this conversation. I asked you about my tobacco."

"Yes, I brought you a couple of tins," replied Rhiannon, digging into the canvas shopping bag she habitually used to carry necessities when she was out and about. As she handed them over to Olwen, she managed to say, "What did you mean when you called me your pet?"

Olwen ignored the question. She opened one of the tins that Rhiannon had brought and inhaled the aroma.

"Mmmm," she murmured appreciatively. "Beautiful. It's about time for my first pipe of the day, I think."

She picked up what looked to Rhiannon nothing like the beautifully carved pipe that Olwen had smoked in the kitchen a few weeks ago. This one had a long, slender stem and a dainty, highly polished bowl.

There was silence as Olwen expertly packed tobacco into her pipe and slipped the stem between her lips. She fired up a lighter that she'd picked up from the low table in front of her and set fire to the tobacco.

Rhiannon watched as Olwen got her pipe going. When she was satisfied that her tobacco was burning evenly, she tamped it down gently and sat back, with a wicked smile on her face.

"Well, well!" she breathed a mouthful of aromatic smoke out of the side of her mouth, "It seems that Richard isn't the only one present with a smoking fetish. Your nipples look delightful, my dear. That blouse you're wearing does look so much more attractive displaying pokies!"

Rhiannon blushed.

"I masturbated after you'd been in the shop the other day," she blurted out, not knowing or caring how embarrassing this confession was.

"I love smoking my cigars, but I never realised how erotic the sight of a beautiful woman with a pipe between her lips could be. Monica hated me smoking, but since I left her, I've taken it up again with a vengeance. I'm well over her!"

"I very much doubt that," smiled Olwen, exhaling two streams of creamy smoke from her nostrils. "What's that quote? 'Methinks the lady doth protest too much'. You're desperate to be loved and wanted. I can tell. Why on earth do you think I've moved heaven and earth to get you a job in my school?"

Rhiannon gasped.

"What do you mean?" she asked. "How...? I mean... I've not even been interviewed yet."

"You will be," chuckled Olwen. "It's merely protocol. When you get to know me, you'll realise that I always get what I want. Isn't that right, Richard?"

Rhiannon looked at Olwen's husband, who smiled and nodded enthusiastically.

"Very much so, my dear," he said.

"And tell my soon-to-be pet what I always want," she continued.

Richard blushed.

"Olwen loves cock, lots of it, and the bigger the better," he began, in a matter-of-fact voice. "She also likes cunt, eating it and being eaten. I obviously haven't got a cunt, and my cock is nothing to write home about either. So Olwen looks elsewhere for her pleasure, although I am allowed to worship her cunt regularly. I particularly like it when she sits on my face after she's been fucked."

Rhiannon giggled nervously.

"You two are amazing," she said sincerely. "I've only just met you both and here you are telling me all your most intimate secrets!"

"And secret they must stay. You must realise that?" said Olwen sternly. "I meant what I said. I intend to make you my pet. You will report here regularly. You will worship my cunt, and if you're a good girl, I'll strap on and fuck you. According to the pink hotline, you enjoy a good spanking too, I'm told?"

"Who the hell told you that?" spluttered Rhiannon, blushing furiously. "And what the hell is the pink hotline when it's at home?"

"The pink hotline exists in the lifestyle that Richard and I, and thousands of others who love the alternative and fetish lifestyle live," Olwen explained. "We have many LGBTQ+ members as well as swingers, fetishists and kinksters. We keep in touch to alert members of potential situations that might be of interest."

Rhiannon sank down into a convenient arm chair, her mouth wide open in astonishment.

"Go on," she urged. "How did you find out about me and my desire to serve a Mistress?"

"Once I knew where you'd been living, I made a few enquiries," Olwen replied. She winked at Rhiannon.

"Oh, my dear, how remiss of me. Please. Smoke if you like. It'll really tease Richard to have two women smoking in front of him. Did you bring your cigars?"

"I did," confessed Rhiannon, "but..."

"But what?" snapped Olwen.

"But I'd love to share that pipe with you," confessed Rhiannon. "I intend to learn how to smoke a pipe. You look so hot smoking yours. And I can see where your lipstick has stained the stem. I'm wondering how your lips taste."

Olwen smiled, drew heavily on her pipe and blew a couple of smoke rings at Rhiannon.

"Well you're not going to find out from over there, are you?" she teased. "Come and sit on my lap, and we'll get to know one another a bit better. I think I might need your help a little bit later on."

Rhiannon slipped easily into her preferred role of an obedient submissive. She got up from her chair and made herself comfortable on Olwen's lap. She wriggled a bit when she felt Olwen's tits resting against her. She looked up into Olwen's eyes.

"Your pet would love to taste your smokey lips," she said softly, and Olwen dipped her head and they kissed.

Rhiannon's mouth opened as Olwen kissed her and she accepted the older woman's tongue. It was hot, slippery and smokey and Rhiannon sucked on it gently. Her head swam as Olwen began to tongue fuck her mouth.

She sighed as she felt Olwen begin to maul her tits, her engorged nipples eagerly accepting the stimulation that Olwen's fingers were giving them.