tagFetishMrs Lamb

Mrs Lamb

byoggbashan©

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Copyright Oggbashan April 2005

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.


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It started when I was just 18 and although at university I was still living with my parents in a small village. As a teenager I had had the normal urges but in such a small place where everybody knew everyone else it was difficult to get more than a kiss and a cuddle from the local girls. They wanted commitment, eventually marriage, and knew too well how easy it was for them to lose their reputation. They would go a little way but then nothing would make them go further. I couldn't link up with women at the university because I had to catch the last bus to the village at 6 pm. Until I passed my driving test, got a car and could stay as long as I liked... I was frustrated as every normally-sexed man would be.

But I had my fantasies. I could dream of film stars, girl singers and the bra models in my mother's magazines. They helped but I wanted the real thing, not illusions on a screen, songs on the radio or pictures on a page.

However there was Mrs Lamb. She was flesh and blood. She was real. She was close. She was much older than me but seemed my ideal of the mature woman. How naive I was. This "older" woman was all of 25 years old but seemed so unattainable. Her husband had been killed in a farm accident 12 months earlier leaving her to produce a posthumous daughter who was six months old. Mrs Lamb was ideal fantasy material for my fevered imagination. She had natural blonde hair with a soft curl. She was slim but well developed in the right places. At the time she was slightly taller than me, even in her bare feet. I had a real case of puppy love for her.

Mrs Lamb lived about 200 metres away down a farm lane. To get to the village she had to pass our house and I watched her push her pram nearly every day. She dressed simply but elegantly, always wearing a calf-length skirt, whatever the weather. The contrast with the other women of the village was stark. Most of them wore jeans or dungarees and looked ready to muck out a stable at a moment's notice. Even those who wore skirts had sensible stiff tweedy ones totally unlike her flowing hems that emphasised her graceful movements. Her winter skirts glided around her legs but her summer ones floated like gossamer. Even her old "gardening" skirts were clean and well ironed. But her real distinguishing item of dress was her headscarf. Apparently she had started collecting headscarves when she was a girl. She wore a different one every day. Some villagers joked that she had one for every day of the year. For all I know that was true because I never noticed her wear the same one twice. I recognised that her headscarves had an air that other women's didn't but it was much later before I realised that all of them were pure silk.

To help to raise money for the eventual purchase of a car I was always willing to do odd jobs around the village which is how I got to know Mrs Lamb better. She'd ask me to get things for her from the village shop, to help her in her garden - little things like that. She was nice to be near and I adored her. I didn't think that she had noticed until the day her drains blocked. It was an unfortunate day for it to happen. The village cricket team was playing an important match and nearly everyone had gone to support them. There was no one around except me and the only reason I was there was some important course work that I'd been putting off. I wasn't that interested in cricket anyway. I'd just finished the final page when I heard Mrs Lamb' voice in the kitchen.

"Is anyone at home?" she called

"Yes, Mrs Lamb, but only me" I replied jumping from my chair and going towards the stairs. She looked up at me. My heart flipped. Here was my dream woman, in my house, smiling at me.

"Hello Tom. I'm sorry to disturb you but I've got a problem with my drains. Do you..."

I didn't let her finish. I knew about drains. Dad's drain rods were in the shed and had provided me with a useful income.

"Of course, Mrs Lamb" I said "I can sort out your drains. I'll just get the rods and I'll be with you in a couple of minutes."

"Thank you, Tom. I'll be ever so grateful."

Then I realised a snag. I was properly dressed, not in working clothes. If the drains were badly blocked I'd have to change. I didn't want to go to HER house in my mucky jeans and T-shirt so I hoped that the drains wouldn't be a real problem. If they were I'd have to change. I grabbed the work clothes and shoved them in a carrier bag. Collecting the rods, I followed Mrs Lamb's retreating figure down the farm lane. I watched the way her hips moved, her skirt swayed and her headscarf fluttered in the breeze ahead of me. It was no use. I was getting really excited. If I got too excited I'd have a problem concealing my growing erection. I tried to ignore the evidence of my eyes but...

When we reached the house the smell of drains was obvious. There was a large seepage across the farmyard. I'd have to change into my working clothes even if it meant that I wouldn't look my best.

"Mrs Lamb!" I called "Is there somewhere where I can change? I'll have to put some old clothes on."

"Certainly, Tom" she replied "You can change in the scullery." She showed me the small room leading off the kitchen. Apart from the door, there was a small high window with obscure glass. I slipped in, shut the door to the kitchen, and started to change. My erection slowed me down a bit but it didn't take long.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" she asked through the door.

"Afterwards, perhaps" I replied nervously. A cup of tea with her would be fantastic - but not if I was covered in sewage!

As I came out into the kitchen I realised something I should have noticed before. The baby wasn't around. I'd rarely seen her without the baby. I was so startled that I blurted out...

"Where's the baby?"

"She's staying with my in-laws this weekend. They've wanted to have her visit them but I didn't want her to go until she was easier to cope with. They're not old, but frequent feeding and nappy changes might have been a bit too much of a shock. She feeds regularly now and they've been practising with the disposable nappies I use..."

Even my brain took just a few seconds to make the connection. "disposable nappies" and "blocked drains" were an obvious cause and effect. I laughed.

She looked at me as if I'd gone stark staring mad. I spluttered before I could explain.

"That's the answer!" I said. "Disposable nappies mean blocked drains. Despite what the manufacturers say, you can't flush them down the toilet - at least not in the country."

"Oh. Is that so? I've been using them for a couple of months."

My heart sank. A couple of months! That would be a massive blockage.

"I'd better get started then."

I lifted the first manhole near the house. It was full of nappies. I lifted the next. So was that one. I lifted the third. That was too! By the fourth manhole I was nearly at the road but at last it was clear. I'd have to push all the nappies back up the pipe until all were gone. I fetched a wheelbarrow and shovel and started beside the house. When the first manhole was clear I started on the second. Then with the rods I pushed the blockage back to the first, cleared it again and so on. It took hours! I was sweating, mired to the knees in s**t, and going off the idea of babies. Finally I'd finished. I ran water down the pipes until they were absolutely clear. I'd been so busy that I hadn't noticed what Mrs Lamb had been up to. As long as she hadn't been flushing anything down those drains she could have flown around the farmyard on a broomstick and I wouldn't have been aware of it. I washed down the wheelbarrow, the shovel and the rods and slowly walked towards her house. I couldn't enter it now... not in the state I was in. I'd love a cup of tea but I stank. I reeked. My feet squelched in my trainers. My jeans stuck to my legs and even my T-shirt was stained. My heart sank. I may have helped my ideal woman, but she wouldn't want to come near me now!

There she was! She was smiling at me as if I was something beautiful instead of a smelly object a skunk would run a mile from. Despite the impact of her smile I noticed that she had changed something about her appearance. She was wearing three scarves, one round her head as normal, one loosely knotted around her neck, and a large one tied around her waist, over her skirt.

"Come round to the side door, Tom" she said. "There's a shower room just inside the door and you can clean up."

There was. A step inside and there was a fully tiled room, bath, shower and all. She turned away.

"See you in the kitchen in a few minutes. Just drop your clothes on the floor. I'll wash them for you."

Then she was gone.

That shower was bliss. There was soap, shampoo, towels. I made a good job of cleaning myself, soaping all over three times and really rinsing myself free of that clinging odour. Then I panicked. No clothes! I'd left my other clothes in the scullery! Then I saw a man's dressing gown hanging on the door. I grabbed it as if it was a lifeline and wrapped it round me. I tiptoed through the house to the kitchen and there was the promised cup of tea ... scones, cream and cakes, and bread ... a full meal. At first I enjoyed that meal but then her presence began to affect me again and that dressing gown could barely conceal my excitement.

We'd hardly spoken during the meal except when she offered me more to eat but as I finished I saw her looking quizzically at me.

"What am I going to do with you, Tom?" she asked "You've done a real man's work, and done it well. How can I repay you?"

My thoughts must have been transparent. I thought of one way she could repay me ... but to her I was only a boy.

"I see .. " she said slowly. I couldn't believe that she understood my need, my urge and my desire for her.

She paused. "Today you've behaved like a man. It is only fair that I should reward you like a man. But..." She stopped for a while "... since you are so young, and probably impetuous, I'll have to take precautions."

I had lost her train of thought at that point. The only "precautions" I knew about were bought in the barber's shop in hushed tones and never used, given the local girls' unassailable virtue. What "precautions" could she mean?

She stood up. "Come here, Tom." she said. I stood too, wrapping that dressing gown as securely as I could. I walked round the table to her.

"Slide your arms out of the dressing gown sleeves"

I did, trying to preserve my modesty.

"Cross your hands behind your back for me, please, Tom."

I did, wonderingly.

I felt her hands on my wrists and then the soft slither of one of her scarves. She wrapped the scarf around one wrist and tied it. It held my wrist like a caress. Then the scarf slipped over the other wrist and was wound over them both. Finally she tightened the scarf and my wrists were secured. I was scared. The dressing gown would slip off unless I was very careful.

"Come with me, Tom"

She took me by the shoulder and led me upstairs and into her bedroom. There was the bed. I still didn't let myself believe that she was actually going to seduce me. I hoped, how I hoped, but it couldn't be true, could it?

She pushed me to sit on to the bed. The dressing gown finally revealed what I had been trying to hide. She looked down at me.

"I do believe you like me, Tom" she said. I nodded mutely.

"Well, we'll have to do something to reward you for all your work for someone you 'like', won't we."

She turned away and opened a drawer. She pulled out a cascade of her scarves. They made my erection almost too painful. Her scarves were so much a part of her that it seemed as if I was being admitted into her closest secrets. She advanced towards me with scarves trailing from her hands. The sound of them swishing together hypnotised me. She seemed to grow taller and more commanding.

"Lie down, Tom"

I had no doubt that this was an order. I lay down and swung my legs up. She flipped a shimmering blue scarf round my ankles and tied them together so quickly that I barely realised what she had done. Another scarf caressed my knees before grasping them firmly. I didn't know what to expect next and I opened my mouth to protest. That was a mistake. A wadded scarf was pushed deep into my mouth and held in place with another. I was gagged so effectively that little more than a faint mewing sound emerged. Then she sat down beside me on the bed.

"Tom?" she said as if she was talking to me in a perfectly normal conversation. I looked at her, this woman who had taken control of me and made me such a helpless captive.

"I spoke to your parents this afternoon. They are staying away tonight, so I agreed to look after you. I told them what a great help you had been and I said that I would feed you tonight and tomorrow morning. So I will."

I didn't quite follow that. She would feed me? She already had fed me. What relieved me was that my parents were away. Even the village wouldn't gossip if Mrs Lamb was "looking after" their son. I hoped the village never knew what sort of "looking after" I was getting.

Then my eyes nearly popped out. Mrs Lamb pulled away my dressing gown, leaving me stark naked except for her restraining scarves. She slowly undid the buttons on her blouse revealing a bra much more interesting than the bra ads I had studied so furtively. It was translucent, barely hiding a beautifully moulded pair of breasts. The bra was front-fastening. I hadn't realised that not all bras fastened at the back. Her nipples were prominent, surrounded with brown skin stippled with white drops. I'd never dreamt of lactating breasts. Of course I knew about "breast-feeding" and I knew that cows gave milk but these breasts were nothing like a cow's udders. They were beyond even my wildest fantasy.

"Well, Tom? Are you ready for feeding?"

She didn't mean...?

She did!

She unhooked her bra. Her breasts sprang out at my face. She loosened my gag, pulled it down round my neck and as she eased the wadded scarf out of my mouth she pushed a breast in. Even if I'd wanted to, she gave me no chance to protest or yell. A soft silk gag was replaced by a warm, soft, firm, dripping breast.

"Suck!" she murmured into my ear.

I sucked. I felt surrounded and controlled by her. There I was, naked on her bed, tied hand and foot with her silk scarves and gagged with her breast. My head was cradled in her arms and I couldn't see, smell, taste or feel anything but her. Her warm milk dribbled down my throat. I realised that I was being totally possessed by her. That thought triggered my erection into explosive action that nearly knocked me out with its intensity. The result was caught in a carefully positioned scarf.

After what seemed like hours of bliss the breast was replaced by the other and the cradling and cuddling continued. My erection returned as I felt her hands reaching under her skirt.

How she'd managed it I'll never know but her damp panties appeared as if by magic in front of my face. They wiped across my eyes and nose leaving an odour I'd never experienced before but one I'd like to smell again and again. Then they replaced her breast in my mouth, tied in by a scarf. I was gagged speechless again.

She lifted herself off the bed, refastened her bra over those succulent orbs, and re-buttoned her blouse.

"I'll be back shortly, Tom. I'll just make sure you stay where you are."

She looped a scarf through my bound ankles and tied it to the bottom rail of the bed. Then scarves under my armpits linked me to the head rail. Finally she pulled off the scarf she'd worn on her head all this time. She tied it on my head framing my face before knotting it behind my neck. Then she left me struggling feebly.

As I lay there I felt that I hadn't been bound but hugged by her scarves. They felt so sensuous against my bare skin. Although I couldn't move I didn't feel uncomfortable. The last scarf was scented just like her hair and she seemed to be still there, pressed to both sides of my face. I wondered what she would do next as I re-lived all she had done so far. My imagination hadn't dreamt of anything as fantastic as this reality. I was more in love with the real woman than I had ever been of the dream of her.

She was back soon, wearing just two scarves. One was worn as a sarong, the other as a halter holding her breasts. I was entranced but for one thing... the tea was making itself felt and I needed the toilet. It was so unromantic. There I was, on my goddess's bed, tied with her scarves and looking at her wonderful body yet my physical need was ruining the scene. How could I tell her? I was so effectively gagged that I couldn't make a sound. My hands were tied so firmly that I couldn't signal to her. My legs were bound together and I was stretched out on her bed unable to do more than a small wriggle.

She sat down beside me. Her hands stroked my face and then she slowly removed the scarf around my head. Then she loosened the gag and pulled her panties out. I gasped with relief but I was still too embarrassed to voice my need. Luckily for me she sensed that something was wrong.

"What's the problem, Tom? Haven't you enjoyed your reward so far?"

"Yes... but..." I couldn't say it. I blushed.

"Of course" she said. "You need the toilet."

She was so matter of fact about it. She must have read my mind. My relief was obvious to her and I felt that her understanding was another proof of her perfect control of me.

"Right!" she said briskly "We'll get you to the toilet."

She untied the scarves holding me to the bed, removed those binding my ankles and helped me to sit on the edge of the bed. Then she leant into me as she helped me to stand up. Her silk covered breasts pressed against my bare chest rousing me again even though the other need was urgent.

She held my arm as I hobbled knee-fast to the bathroom. Then she held my tool as I relieved myself gratefully. She even shook the last few drops off as if she had been doing this all her life. Then we shuffled back to the bedroom and she sat me back on the bed.

"I think that your urgent needs have been met now, Tom" she said "and we have time to take things more slowly. Lie down again."

I obeyed. She joined me on the bed. Had she forgotten to tie my ankles? It seemed unlikely. She knew exactly what she was doing.

"Now we'll try the normal way when you are ready."

From between her breasts she produced one of the unmentionable "precautions" that we boys endured intense embarrassment to get from the barbers. She tore the packet open.

"This is to protect me from getting pregnant. Have you ever used one?"

I shook my head reluctantly. I knew that I was admitting that I was a virgin but I think she knew.

"It has to be put on when you are erect. The first few times just putting it on is likely to take away the desire unless you know what you are doing. You can practise on a banana or cucumber."

We both laughed at the thought of that sort of practising. It defused my tension and made me feel warm about her again. Her hand reached for my tool and stroked it gently. It rose as if she was a snake-charmer. While I watched her other hand opened the "precaution" and then both hands rolled it down the shaft. It didn't look or feel right. The flaccid teat on the end looked disgusting. Despite myself my tool began to shrink. She startled me by grabbing my chin and kissing me hard. Her tongue insinuated itself between my lips and tickled mine. Her arms clamped round me and I was kissed expertly and lovingly. Then she pulled an arm free to push her hand between her legs. She moved rhythmically beside me then her hand clasped my tool gently. Her hand was warm and wet. With her other arm and shoulder she rolled me on top of her. We were face to face as her legs twined around me. Her hand fed my tool inside her. Then that hand pulled my body up, thrusting me deep. Her legs clamped hard, holding me tight. Her arms held my shoulders and began to rock me rhythmically. My tool became my whole being. I, not it, was squeezed by her vagina. I, not it, was engulfed by her. I may have been on top, but I was not the one in control. I moved to her prompting. Soon, all too soon, I reached a crescendo and shuddered to a climax.

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