The Farmer

She had strong working woman's hands. This was one thing he immediately noticed about her when they met. It didn't really occur to him why this was appealing, but he felt it nevertheless. Watching her through the kitchen window, he found himself wondering again.

They had both been in similar relationships before, she as the dominant, he as the submissive. They even discussed this very openly when they began seeing each other. Yet there was something different about this one now. On occasion, he would wonder what that something was, and wonder if she felt the same thing. When she looked up and caught his glance from the window, she smiled a broad, almost uncontrollable smile. Yes, he thought, she knows.

On seeing her make eye contact, coming back towards the house, he instinctively began washing dishes faster. She hadn't given him a time limit, but he was nearly done. In between his work, he continued to watch her as she slowly approached the home. She wore the usual plaid shirt tied above the waist and blue jean shorts that she always wore when she'd work outside. As she wiped sweat off her forehead with her arm and pulled off the gloves she'd had on, he took a moment away from the dishes to fix her a cold glass of water.

When she had first raised the idea of moving into the farmhouse with her, the apprehension he felt nearly scared him too much to tell her. It had seemed like a tremendous responsibility, if not a burden, to be there in her place, looking after her things, without working outside the home. His mind told him he would let her down, that he would bend under the pressure. After they had talked, though, he was set more at ease. He trusted her and knew that she always took his needs and feelings into account. Alongside this, her firm demeanor reminded him that he had guardrails where they were needed.

One of these was clasped around his neck. When she had presented it to him, he was struck by how simple it was. For whatever reason, he'd imagined she would choose a large, showy, and unwieldy collar for him. He never had liked having things around his neck. Even name tags and shirt collars felt suffocating. However, this was different. It was a collar like you'd give to a pet - light and simple, but somehow solid and durable. Something in his mind had clicked when she put it on for the first time. He was naked, on all fours on the floor, and she sat gently on his back, looped it around his neck and pulled. Tight.

Every now and then, he'd think of another of those guardrails during the day, especially when he'd swallow and smile at feeling the collar press just enough against his throat. This other one frightened him more, but he knew why it was there and couldn't deny that it was exciting at the same time it was frightening. Besides, it kept him from falling and running off the road perhaps better than anything else. Walking around in the house, it was hard to ignore the fact that beneath his bare feet was a basement filled with chains, canes, cages, and many other instruments.

She opened the door, grabbed a cloth from the counter, and dried off her face and neck. Then she picked up the glass of water and took a long drink. Once she had a second to cool down, she stood and watched him at the sink. Her thoughts frequently centered on his thoughts when she saw him working in the house, or watching her quietly. What was on his mind?

It was a matter of trust to know that at any minute she could ask what he was thinking and be given an honest answer. It also brought a sense of power. But she believed more in power achieved through action than through words. There was more than one way to get into someone's mind, and she had been working hard to teach and train him. Often times she preferred to use subtle reinforcement, but other times she would take him down to the basement and apply discipline of a more forceful variety. Looking at him now, one thing stuck in her mind as he quietly finished washing the dishes, wearing nothing but her collar.

Gently, she put a hand on each cheek as she came up behind him, before sliding them around to his hips. She pressed her waist against his backside and leaned her head over his shoulder next to his ear. He could feel the heat radiating off of her and the sweat against his face. He relaxed back into her, yet kept washing. "Good boy," she said. Her lips kissed the place where his jaw and neck met just below his ear.

This wasn't easy for him, she knew. It required unlearning some things, which is often difficult. She had been pleased to hear he had experience with submission when they began dating, but the more they'd gotten to know each other, the more she discovered things she wanted to push on. They had both been raised a certain way, and while that mutual understanding was important to her, she had been around long enough to know those same things can sometimes stand in the way of trust, sacrifice, and obedience. And she was very concerned that this relationship start off on the right foot.

"Are you finished?" she asked as he put the last dish into the dishwasher and turned the dial.

"Yes, Ma'am," he responded.

She held onto his waist with one hand and reached down between his legs with the other. Her fingers wrapped around his balls as she cupped them in her hand. She squeezed a little firmly and impersonally. Every time she would do this, he knew precisely what it meant. It wasn't done to tease or done for his pleasure. It was done with the same detached focus she would use when tending to the other animals on the farm, he had noticed.

"It's almost 2," she informed him while applying pressure again. "And these seem pretty full. Let's get you back to the bedroom."

In spite of her remark, he knelt down on his knees there in the kitchen. He knew how this worked by now. Even though it remained somewhat awkward and humiliating. It pleased her... and something about it appealed to him, too. So he looked up longingly at her as she brought over the leash and hooked it on the collar. Down on all fours he went, crawling after her as she led him to the bedroom.

More than a few times, she had told him just how much she loves and values the honesty and transparency between them. But in the interest of being honest, she was also open about the fact that she would not tell him everything or explain everything to him. Some of what she did would seem only to be a quirky and fun little thing, whereas others would tease, confuse, and fuck with him. From some of these would come both the pleasure of seeing him obey out of trust instead of understanding, as well as the benefit of placing ideas upon his mind and training his behavior with minimal resistance.

He didn't know why she liked leading him around on a leash so much, or why exactly she had insisted that he not work outside the home. In particular, it was a mystery to him why she preferred to do most of the outdoors work herself and practically confined him to housework. She had once said that working the farm gave her fulfillment she would rather not lose, but he suspected it was more than this. Regardless, he had some sense of what it meant for her to see him trust in her without understanding everything, and sometimes, he reckoned, taking that leap of faith for someone else can teach you important new things.

In the bedroom, she led him to the end of the bed, bent him over and attached the leash to one of the bedposts. Pressing down on his back with one hand, she instructed him to fix his posture. His legs should be straight against the bed and he needed to bend at the waist.

"Spread your legs, boy," she said. He spread them apart and she reached over his balls, under his penis, and grasped it. He could never tell if her touching it like this was meant to be a tease or if it was purely a practical matter. Maybe it was both. All the same, she pulled him out from resting on top of the bed and dangled him down in front of it. Then she pulled him back an inch or two by his legs, leaving gravity to do its work.

With this done, she stood up, hands on her hips, and looked down on him. She felt like a proud hunter, basking in what she had caught. It wasn't only to make him feel vulnerable that she kept him naked in the house much of the time. She loved his body and delighted in seeing it twitch, bend, stretch, tremble, and yield to her. Her touch had been ridiculed before by boys and men who said she was too cold, too rough, not feminine enough. It had stung at the time. But seeing this naked man displayed on her bed, eager to feel her touch, made something deep inside her well up with hunger, joy, and pride.

For now, though, she kept this to herself. This moment called for something else.

Out from under the bed she pulled a large bowl and a box. The bowl she positioned on the floor directly between his legs. She put the box on the bed and opened it up. Inside was lubricant and plugs and dildos of various shapes and sizes.

During this part, he always felt like an object. No, not an object exactly - an animal. This activity was one she had instituted as soon as he moved in. It was kept on a strict schedule, three times a day. And unlike other activities, when it was time for this one she kept touch and emotion to a minimum. It was impersonal, like doing business, and was there to serve a very specific purpose and no other.

At first, he thought he hated it. It felt dehumanizing. It caused his self-doubts and insecurities to bubble up to the surface. It made him feel two inches tall and made her seem like she was ten stories high. But that was when he realized the purpose behind it and came to see it in a new light.

She squirted lube on her finger and pushed it into his asshole, spreading it around. While doing this, she steadied him with her left hand, placed carefully on his left cheek. Little about it felt erotic for him. It was simply a way of saying 'stay.' Even so, she could see him stiffening.

He stiffened again for her as she casually curled her right hand around his dangling penis and slid a black plug into his ass. She held tight and gave him just enough room to expand slightly, but no more. The plug went all the way in as he sighed deeply, and she released her grip. As she pushed the button on the plug, making it vibrate, his penis hardened until the tip of it pointed towards the top of the bed.

Penis, he thought. She had a thing about what they were to call that thing between his legs.

While she had been up front about her intentions and expectations before he moved in, seeing and feeling them come alive was startling. One of those expectations was that his body should be almost entirely hairless. He had to wax, shave, trim, and use lotion until his skin was smooth as a baby's bottom. The first day he moved in, she sat him in a chair and shaved his head with an electric razor. His eyebrows were all the hair she allowed to grow on him. By contrast, she maintained a long, beautiful head of brown hair, and kept her pubic and armpit hair neat yet very present. Even her arms and legs sported a light amount of hair more than his.

It was never explained to him why she liked his body this way, but every time they would be naked together, he would an intense level of exposure with her. He felt the air on his skin, like empty space anxiously waiting for something to make contact. He felt the slightest touch. And to him her body looked and felt mature, strong, and primal. Then she would use that word that she loved to use for him - "boy" - and it would all make a kind of sense.

Her preference for subtle reinforcement extended to her view of language. Actions might be more valuable in the long run, but words can hold special power also. He figured it was all interrelated, somehow, and one of those words she was strict about was penis. "Cock" and "dick" were too adult and vulgar, she had said. They make a bigger deal out of it than it deserves. "Member" was too non-descript. Member of what? The esteemed phalluses club? "Manhood" was a definite no. Too suggestive and too masculine.

Penis was perfect, she had said. It's clinical, proper, and age appropriate. He also knew it was infantile. "It fits your size better," she told him once.

The word bounced around in his head as he felt her stand behind him and heard the distinctive sound of lube being squirted into her hand. He had never asked what she honestly thought of him down there. In the beginning, when those insecurities and self-doubts had bubbled up for the first time, he had wanted to. But she was always two steps ahead of him.

"You can ask me anything," she told him sincerely back then. "I take it seriously that you feel loved, cared for, and appreciated with me. But I will never answer that question for you. When you feel those worries and find yourself asking, you'll need to find comfort from me some other way, or find another, better question to ask."

In time, he realized it didn't matter what she believed. What mattered was what she made him believe. Sometimes all it took was her touch. Sometimes her voice. Sometimes a look. Sometimes a look at her. Or even a question she refused to answer. It all made him feel small, and when he listened and took her advice, he understood why she'd said what she said. And of all things, he found himself liking the thought of being small to her.

He felt her hand, wet with lube, grab his penis and pull it down pointing towards the floor. This caused him to moan suddenly. She moved her body closer to him and steadied his ass with her other hand again. Then she began stroking him, up and down, up and down. Her hand felt strong, firm, and like it knew exactly what it was doing.

"You didn't give up a lot of milk this morning, did you?" she asked rhetorically. "So you're going to have to get out of your head right now and concentrate on being a good boy. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he said in stammer.

"You know milking is good for you. A boy your age gets cranky and distracted without it. You get excited and horny in the afternoon, don't you?"

"Y-yes, M-Ma'am."

At the sight of his legs starting to shake, she quickly smacked his ass with her left hand. He felt his asshole clench around the plug inside him. Staying composed and in control of his muscle movements was so hard like this. He felt on display and objectified, and desperately wanted to feel her in his ass.

"You aren't staying out of your head, are you?"

"I'm sorry, Ma'am," he uttered in one rapid breath.

"Relax," she said, putting her body against his ass. "Let go."

His shoulders dropped and a relieved sigh came out. A smile crossed her face and she leaned into him, gripping his hip with her left hand and pulling him to her. She kept stroking him as he gasped, moaned, and shook. How she'd love to just pop that plug out and shove her cock down his hole right now, she thought. He would welcome it so eagerly, the little slut.

She enjoyed every bit of this activity with him, every time they did it. It got her worked up more than she ever let on. The sense of power and control over him that it gave her made her want to tear into him. Ravage him like the animal he is. But she never forgot why she liked milking her boy or why it was important this way. So she kept her composure as he increasingly lost his, until finally something gave way. With her left hand, she calmly turned the plug off vibrating.

It was never a secret to her when he was close. His body tensed up, his breathing became louder, and he would involuntarily twitch as the last remnants of self-control were taken from him. After the first time, she had learned to keep an eye on him and a firm grasp over his body during these moments. It made sure he didn't stray too far or make a mess, but it also seemed to help him release all that had built up.

And she was pleased to see he had listened and been a good boy this time. She felt it move through his penis and looked down to watch it gush out of him. Slowly, she ran her hand down his shaft as if squeezing out what was inside. He moaned a deep moan and felt the sensation in his penis change. Once he came, it was like every nerve inside him lit up with sensitivity. In an instant, he'd go from rock hard durable pleasure to her touch feeling like tickling.

This was another part she loved. His knees always seemed to want to buckle when this happened, so she had started to wrap her left arm around his left thigh to prevent it. It's possible this only turned him on more, because once she began doing it she had noticed that he stayed a little harder for her longer.

"That's it," she said softer. "Good boy."

His breathing grew quieter. He would fidget and twitch much more involuntarily now, but in smaller movements as she continued milking. Her hands were big, strong. Holding him in place. Draining him to the point where he couldn't endure anymore.

Gradually, he got softer and softer for her. She would switch between fingers for some of the time. Though she always made sure he felt himself getting smaller in her hand. For a little while, she would hold him there, dangling helplessly it seemed. Then she'd shake the last drops from him before checking his balls again. What was firm and big before was little and delicate now.

Silently, she let go of him and slowly removed the plug from his ass. There was barely a movement or a noise from him, but his knees began to bend. Wiping the lube off her hand and moving the box of toys to the nightstand, she sat down on the side of the bed. For a moment, she watched his body slump down the end of the bed.

"Crawl up to me," she commanded.

As he did so in a foggy daze, she took his head gently in her hands. There was no kissing it, stroking it, or scratching the back of his neck. Without hesitation, she just guided his head tenderly but forcefully into her lap. Then she laid her left hand on the side of it, like she was balancing the weight of something to keep it closed. This gesture always had the same effect on him. It made his mind go blank, and more than once he had found himself on the verge of drifting off quietly in her lap.

Serene, she would think to herself during this part of their act. That was the word that best described it. The quiet of the room wasn't what most made it feel this way. It was his head in her lap. Her posture on the bed, sitting there upright and fully clothed. But it was his posture as well. He wouldn't dare to get lube on her bed, and he hated the sticky feeling when his lubed up penis would press against fabric. Knowing this, she decided not to clean him off after he was milked one day. When she called him onto the bed and took his head into her lap, he instinctually laid on his knees, his ass sticking up in the air.

How this could be comfortable for him, she had no idea. Yet the sight of it was pleasant. He knelt for her, in what seemed to be a receptive rather than a passive pose, and every time it happened it looked natural and effortless to her eyes.

This one time, though, she couldn't resist allowing herself just a little more. So she broke the silence in a confident voice that struck his ears as if it came from within his own head. "Whose are you, boy?"

"I'm yours, Ma'am," he answered in a hush.