Tamara's Apprenticeship - Day 03

It had come as a bit of a surprise to Tamara that Miss Millie maintained a landing strip. Her bush was trimmed into neat, parallel borders at either side. Tamara browsed her way carefully down Miss Millie's strip, then she leaned in, heart racing, to rub her own short bristles against it. She so badly wanted to do this right, for Miss Millie's pleasure. Tamara's hands were trembling. Her movements became gradually more vigorous, rubbing firmly up and down as her excitement mounted.

Tamara wondered why was it so important to sweep clear this particular long patch of dirt beside the house? She wondered, too, why Miss Millie had called it her 'landing strip'. Perhaps it had been another of the woman's wry jokes. Or was she even aware of the obscure and somewhat tortuous double-entendre the phrase presented?

The first task of the morning had come as a slight disappointment. But Tamara was excited anyway. Miss Millie had said that today she would begin in earnest her apprenticeship, and learn something about Miss Millie's work.

Tamara still couldn't work out quite what her mysterious older employer was all about. Did Miss Millie like her? Was she even into girls? Tamara often caught herself grasping for clues, with the slightly shameful, adolescent obsessiveness that comes with having an intense crush. So many little things had seemed like sure signs. There was the note Miss Millie had left her the previous day. And the occasional casual remarks Miss Millie had made about Tamara's appearance. She had said 'delightful', hadn't she? And then they had sunbathed together in their underwear. Had that been a flirtatious thing? Or was the fact that Miss Millie felt comfortable with their both being naked instead a sign that she thought of Tamara in a completely non-sexual way?

And now Tamara was to become Miss Millie's apprentice. That was surely a good thing. At the very least, it probably meant that they would spend more time together, and that Miss Millie might talk more openly about herself. But would it also entail a more formal, less friendly teacher-student relationship?

I'm so sorry, mistress. *Sob*. Please, punish your errant apprentice. Spank some discipline into my delightful backside!

Inner-Tam, seriously?

Tamara shook her head and blinked herself out of her daydream. She leaned on the broomstick she was carrying, drew a deep breath, and set to sweeping. She was going to clear this little strip of land until it sparkled. And she was going to earn herself another 'marvelous', a 'sterling work', or maybe a 'dear girl'.

The strip was narrow, only about the breadth of a small car. But it was long. It led all the way from the front door to the iron fence at the edge of the garden, some fifty meters away. It was flanked on either side by the tangle and brambles of the overgrown garden.

When she had started, the path of the strip had been only just discernible, beneath an irregular clumping of long grass overlaid with stray vines. Tamara had spent most of the morning fighting back the bushes. At first she had used a pair of pruning clippers, but after seeing that she had barely cleared a tenth of the undergrowth in the first hour, she had switched to an old machete she found in the shed. And now she was sweeping away the vegetable debris bit by bit, and nearly done.

As usual, Tamara had had to seek out her own equipment. Miss Millie seemed to value initiative. The broom had been an unexpectedly good find. Tamara had found it leaned against the hat stand just inside the front door of the house. She had been a little skeptical at first. It looked rather old, one of those that was just a bunch of bristles tied onto the end of a long cylinder of wood. But when she had failed to find anything else suitable, she had given it a go, and it had done a surprisingly good job.

With each sweep, the broom glided across the breadth of the strip as if blown by a convenient gust of wind. Tamara found she had to apply only minimal force to drive away the hacked-off plant matter. It seemed as if the broom's shape, the angle of its bristles or something else about it, was designed to make sweeping as easy and as comfortable as possible. Perhaps it was just that Miss Millie, or her previous apprentices, had used it so often for precisely this task that the twist and warp of the wood had come to match the movements perfectly.

In one triumphant arc, Tamara swept away the last heap. She stood up straight, dabbed at her brow with the back of her hand, and looked out along a pristine expanse of bare dirt. Then something odd happened.

When she accidentally let go for a moment of the broom she was holding, it stayed standing up. It wasn't as if it just stayed that way for a moment, balanced, and then slowly teetered and fell. It just stood there. Then she looked down at the ground. On closer examination, perhaps it wasn't really standing so much as... hovering. Though the tips of the longest bristles were just touching the ground, there was clearly no way that they could be bearing its weight.

Curious. Tamara gave the broom a gentle prod with the tip of one finger. It gave, with a tiny wobble, but then swayed back into place, like one of those weighted child's toys that right themselves when tipped. She looked around, she wasn't sure why, perhaps to check whether someone was watching her, playing an elaborate prank. Maybe somehow it was even that mischievous cat, Malkin. But he was nowhere in sight. Nor was Miss Millie, presumably still out on whatever morning errand had drawn her away today.

That was odd. Odder, even, than discovering that Miss Millie kept a human being as a milking cow. That had been weird, but it had at least been explicable, and in keeping with what Tamara thought she knew about such basic concepts as inanimate objects, and up and down.

Tamara gave the broom a second prod, a fair bit firmer than the first. More of a slap, really. She wanted to test the limits of the broom's strange equilibrium. In part, she was hoping that the broom would finally fall to the floor and that she would be able to dismiss the slightly unsettling phenomenon as a one-in-a-million chance of balance, gloss some vague sciencey bullshit over it involving a disturbance in the Earth's magnetic field or something. But though the broom teetered again, it sprang back. And this time it sprang back at Tamara. The tip of the stick tapped her on the chest logo of today's superhero t-shirt, right in the boob.

Tamara laughed, a nervous giggle of disbelief. She rubbed her breast where the broom had struck her. It hadn't been a painful blow. More sort of playful, somehow.

"Are you...? What's this?" Tamara felt instantly very foolish for addressing the broom. She looked around again. Fortunately, she was still alone. The broom's last movement had seemed so deliberate, even like an attempt at communication, like gently bopping someone on the nose.

After a brief pause, the broom floated towards her, the tips of its bristles dragging a faint pattern of squiggly lines through the dirt. It stopped, right in front of her, just lightly pressed against the front of her body.

"You, er..." Tamara began, laughing at herself, "I should hold you?"

That seemed somehow to be what the broom's gesture indicated. As if in response, the broom tilted slightly forwards, straightened up, then tilted again, in another gesture that this time looked very much like a slow nod. It was surprisingly expressive, given the limited dimensions of movement available to the object.

Hesitantly, Tamara put her hands on the shaft of the broom and gripped it. "Like this?"

The broom wiggled from side to side, in what was pretty clearly a shake of the head. It nuzzled itself a little more intimately against Tamara's body.

Something occurred to Tamara, something whimsical. Conceding for a moment the utterly ridiculous premise, what might a broomstick want to do? What did people do with them sometimes, other than sweeping? She put one arm around the middle of the stick, sort of hugging it, and she put the other hand near the top. "You want to... dance?"

The broomstick 'nodded' vigorously. Then without waiting for a response, it jerked swiftly to one side, pulling Tamara along with it.

Tamara yelped in giddy surprise as she swung in a wide arc, clutching tight to the broomstick. Then the broom lurched again, and her feet briefly left the ground as she was twirled in another half circle across the space of the landing strip.

The broom led her in a dance of sweeping half-circles, yanking and twirling her around as she hung on tight. The rhythm might have been a polka, or a waltz. Tamara's musical diet consisted mainly of K-pop, so she wasn't so sure. Fortunately, the broom took the lead, and she didn't have to do much more than skip along in order to follow.

Skip along, and occasionally jump. The broom didn't seem to be constrained to stay with its bristles on the ground. For most of the dance, it did, and it even seemed to be scraping aside the last few stray blades of grass as it went. But every few twirls, it would make a joyous leap into the air, swinging Tamara along with it. When Tamara glanced down, she saw that they were both hovering a small distance above the ground.

There was something oddly joyful, giddy, about the broom's movements. Tamara got the distinct impression that it was having a lot of fun. And, she realized, so was she. She let rip a hysterical giggle as the broom lifted her again, higher than before. She was dancing with Miss Millie's broom. Miss Millie's inexplicably animate broom. Which could only mean that Miss Millie was some sort of magician. Or a mad scientist, or maybe an alien. All of which possibilities only served to make her more alluring.

Pondering the broom's air of innocent excitement, it occurred to Tamara to try to speak to it again. It had seemed to understand and respond the first couple of times. "Um..." she began, "You don't get to do this so often, right?"

The broom slowed down in mid-swirl. It sank slowly to the ground and Tamara set her feet down, then tentatively stepped away. The broom stood in front of her, its bristles settled in the dirt. It inclined itself, as it had done before when it had 'nodded', but this time more slowly. Despite its rigidity, it seemed to wilt a little. The movement struck Tamara as melancholic. She could almost hear a single mournful violin chord play in her head as she watched.

Tamara smiled a smile of wistful sympathy. Then she startled as the broom moved swiftly forward. It inclined itself again, and pressed the very tip of its shaft to Tamara's surprised lips.

"Oh, I see. A kiss," Tamara mumbled. She gave a murmuring laugh as the tip of the broom traced itself delicately across her mouth.

The broom pressed a little more insistently. Tamara surprised herself when a long-dormant instinct surfaced and suddenly compelled her to open her mouth for a gentle, lusty moan. Then with a sudden vigor, the broom lifted and slid itself past her teeth and into her mouth, wriggling in until it nudged the back of her throat.

"Ghlugh, ghlak, hey!" Tamara gurgled, then shouted, as she took a firm hold of the broomstick with both hands and pulled it out of her mouth, "What was that?"

The broomstick wrestled itself free of her grip and swung aside. Tamara flinched and turned her head, but when she looked, she saw the broom slowly floating forwards towards her. She eyed it warily. It made no more sudden movements, and instead came to rest with its tip poking against her chest, just between her breasts. Then the tip slowly traced its way down her body. With a tweak, it nudged its way over the button of her jeans and then slid hesitantly between her legs and began stroking back and forth with a gentle pressure.

Oh. Right. Of course. Am I going to do this? I'm going to do this.

The broomstick pulled back, floating horizontally in the air.

Tamara grinned to herself as she unbuttoned her jeans and slid them down over her hips, along with her underwear, "Dancing isn't the only thing you don't get to do that often, eh?"

The broomstick waggled itself furiously in the air.

"Well I guess it's your lucky day then," Tamara wagged one finger at it and spoke sternly, "But be nice, okay?"

The broomstick nodded, sagely.

Tamara stepped out of her clothes as they fell to the ground. She glanced around her. There was still nobody in sight. Not even that pervert cat Malkin. After checking that the coast was clear, her gaze fell on a sturdy birch tree at the fringe of the landing strip. If she was actually seriously going to let a magical broomstick fuck her then she would probably need something to lean against.

Tamara bent forward, put her hands to the trunk of the tree and waved her bare behind at the broomstick. "And a bit of foreplay would be good, too," she called out over her shoulder.

Tamara waited a moment, her skin prickling with anticipation. She wondered what foreplay options the broomstick had. It couldn't kiss her, it couldn't really fondle her breasts, or do much with any part of her except prod and poke. It couldn't even do dirty talk. Or only by answering yes-or-no questions.

Are you going to make me moan? yes

Are you going to fuck me like the horny little bitch I am? yes

Are you going to let me go before I come? no

She felt the broomstick touch her again. A gentle prod, right against her opening. The tip of the stick stroked her a few times, tenderly. It felt curiously as if it were sounding her out, testing her state of arousal. She could feel that she was already a little turned on, despite the strangeness of the situation. It was perhaps the thought of once again getting naked in Miss Millie's garden that excited her.

Tamara felt a brief, slick glide against her slit as a little of her own wetness seeped out onto the tip of the broom handle and was spread around as it stroked her. The stroking stopped, and for a moment the broomstick rested pressed against her. Tamara felt herself gently throbbing as she waited. She looked over her shoulder and watched the broom float forward in the air at the same time as she felt it parting the folds of her opening and slide slowly into her.

There was a brief tweak of friction, then the broom pulled back an inch and drove in again, this time more smoothly. It was a curious feeling, though definitely not unpleasant, being penetrated by what was essentially a knobbly wooden dildo.

Then the broomstick suddenly yanked itself out, sending a sharp thrill of pleasure up Tamara's spine as she felt herself emptied. Then it came at her again, but instead of entering her, it slid between her legs. As it moved forward, Tamara's folds parted around the shaft and slid along it. Her clit was exposed and brushed along the hard knobbly wood as the broom floated forward. The stimulation was a little too intense, almost painful, but not quite. The tip of the broom snuck in under the hem of her superhero t-shirt, then pressed on upwards until it poked out beside her head.

"Oh hello," Tamara laughed.

The broomstick hovered, holding itself pressed up against her body. It waited there for a moment, seemingly for dramatic effect, then suddenly yanked away from her, ripping her t-shirt off with a loud screech of tearing fabric.

Tamara watched the ragged remnants of yet another favorite superhero t-shirt fall to the ground. She sighed, "Ripping my clothes off, huh? Eager. Just take it easy."

The broomstick slowly retreated, looking perhaps a little chastened. It slid itself down along the front of Tamara's body as it went. As it passed between her hanging breasts, it shook itself rapidly from side to side, slapping against them and setting them aswing.

Tamara laughed, "You like to motorboat, huh?"

Then something occurred to her, "Do you, um... do you sometimes do that to Miss Millie, too?"

The broomstick paused. It nodded slowly, then disappeared back between her legs.

Oh wow. I'm sharing Miss Millie's magical dildo. I wonder how she likes it. Slow and leisurely? Rough? Just a quick one bent over the kitchen sink? Or a dusk-til-dawn multi-orgasmic brooming?

A shiver of excitement swept up from between Tamara's legs and out through her body. When the tip of the broomstick nudged her open and slid in, she felt herself envelop it in one deliciously smooth movement. The broomstick started slow, but as if in response to her sudden swell of arousal, it quickly ramped up the pace of its thrusting until her body was shaking and bouncing, wracked with a rhythmic, jolting pleasure.

"Yeah," Tamara grunted. She held her arms firmly outstretched against the tree to steady herself as the plowing from behind grew more insistent, "That's it. Harder!"

She felt her climax begin to tremble up from inside as a slow wave of heat. She stood firm, the muscles of her legs stiffening and clenching as she tensed and pushed herself over the edge, "Unh, yeh! Yeahhh! Mmmiss... Mmmillieee!"

Tamara stood there, head hanging, arms against the tree, and a magical broomstick sticking out straight from between her legs. She drew a deep sigh and basked for a moment in the afterglow of an intense hot climax.

"Whew!" she breathed, "Thanks. Was that, er, good for you too?"

The broomstick made no response, but then it slid delicately out. As the tip exited, it lingered, pressed up against Tamara's wet folds. Then it made its way upwards, just stroking her sensitive skin, and dragging a little of her wetness with it. It came to rest between her buttcheeks, nuzzled against her hole.

Then suddenly it rammed forward.

"Hey" Tamara cried, standing up straight and twisting away just in time to save her back door from an uninvited violation, "No!"

The broomstick writhed and flew at her, making another stab at her butt.

"Stop that! I'm sorry, but no anal, okay? I'm not into that."

As the broomstick made a third lunge, still seemingly aiming right between her cheeks, Tamara leaped aside and squirmed round to take hold of it by the shaft.

"Hah! Got you!" she scowled, "Now, stop this."

The broomstick seemed to wilt in contrition, but as soon as Tamara loosened her grip it tried to swing aside and dive between her legs. She flailed and grabbed, and managed to regain a firm hold, but it swung her in the air as it had done while they were dancing. She struggled and pulled, tried to drag the broomstick aside, but it was strong. Then as they swirled past the birch tree, she managed for a moment to set her feet on the ground. She swung her arms around with as much strength as she could muster, and smacked the broom against the trunk of the tree.

Crack!

Tamara looked down at the splintered end of one half of the broomstick, rolling lifelessly along the ground. The other half, which she still held in her hand, went suddenly limp, inanimate.

Oh shit. I've broken Miss Millie's broomstick. Killed it, even.

Tamara's heart quickened with a slow dread. How was she going to explain this? She hadn't had any choice, had she? She had been acting in self-defense.

But then before she could formulate any further thoughts on the matter, another odd thing happened.

The snapped-off upper half of the broomstick that she was holding started to grow. She looked out across the landing strip to where the other half was rolling, and saw that it too was growing. Each half of the broken stick was lengthening from its snapped-off end. As each piece reached the full length of the original broom, their splintered ends began to round off, turning smooth as if suddenly sanded down. The one that she held in her hand also began to sprout a little bundle of short bristles. These, too, lengthened, and they grew in number, until she was again holding what looked like an exact replica of the original broom.