0 comments/ 13294 views/ 6 favorites Handyman Ch. 01 By: Horrace_Barrell To really understand this story you have to go all the way back to the day that dad died. It wasn't just that he threw himself under a train, that was just the start of the nightmare. It turned out he'd been the victim of a con man and, while investing in his fool's gold, he had spent all his meager savings and mortgaged the house to the hilt. This meant that, by the time the various vultures had had their share, mum and I were not just bereaved but out on the street without two pennies to rub together. And this wasn't the first time dad had ruined Mum's life. When they were both little more than school-kids he'd sweet talked his way into her knickers and mum, pregnant at fifteen, had left school at sixteen with no qualifications and no skills to speak of. To give dad some credit he had, at least, had the decency to marry her but as he too had little in the way of schooling the best he could manage was a job as a fitter at the local tire depot. Mum took two years out to care for me as a baby but as soon as I was old enough to go to nursery school mum she started working on the checkouts at the local supermarket. When dad was alive this had been useful extra income. After he kicked the bucket it was never going to be enough and she became one of those single parent welfare scroungers that the tabloids like to bang on about. But she never gave up. She knew she could do better and she kept on searching for a way out, a route to a more comfortable life. Her persistence paid off. It was maybe a year later that she found the perfect job working as live-in cook, maid and housekeeper for local boy made good, Clive Hall. As a young man he had bankrolled some computer genius, the resulting web site became the next big thing and he ended up selling up for a significant figure to... well, let's say you'd recognise the name if I told you. With his fortune made he turned his business into a hobby and became a wheeler-dealer setting up deals and watching his money grow. Nowadays you can do all that from a computer terminal so he'd set up shop in this huge Georgian mansion he'd purchased just outside of town. It's nothing like as big as Downton Abbey but it's along the same lines and there's plenty of room for him and Sally, his ex-model second wife, all tit and arse and barely older than his daughter. Naturally they needed staff to run the place and, to cut a long story short, it mum who got the job of live-in maid. I say 'live in' but, actually, we lived not in the big house but in a little cottage in the grounds. It was perfect. Although they didn't pay mum much we had enough to live on and, after what we had been through, it felt like luxury. After all, there was no rent to find and, beyond that, our needs were minimal. Together we settled in and started our new life. And that was five years ago. Time heals most things and, nowadays, mum often has a smile on her face. As for me, I finished school went and off to college where I'm studying engineering. And that just about brings us up to last summer, the real start to our story. I'd come home for the vacation and, after the pressure of exams, I was enjoying my new found freedom. I'd stayed in bed all morning and only just made it up in time for lunch when mum came home wearing that rather old fashioned maid's outfit that the Hall's insist she wear. "For heaven's sake, Andy, why are you still in your dressing gown?" "Aw, mum, I'm on my holidays. I'm entitled to a lie in now and again." "Not in this house you're not. Round here people work for a living and that includes you. Talking of which, Mrs Hall asked if you would go up to the house this afternoon. Apparently Jack has had to cut back on his hours and, unless you've any other plans, then she'd be happy to have you fill in over the summer." "Do I have to?" "Yes, you do. And make sure you have a shower and a shave first. I don't want you going up to the house looking like a complete slob." "OK." Jack was the gardener and handyman and had come with the property. He was as old as Methuselah and it was no surprise that he was having to cut back on his hours. I didn't particularly relish the prospect of mowing the lawns all summer but there wasn't much else around and at least the commute would be short. So it was that, after lunch, I followed mum up to the house and, after a bit of searching around, found Mrs Hall swimming lengths in their indoor pool. I watched as she completed her lap and swum to the side where I was waiting. "Hi Andy. Thanks for coming," she said as she climbed out of the pool. She pulled off her bathing cap and her hair cascaded down. I'll admit I gawped somewhat; I'd forgotten how damn gorgeous she was. After all, you don't snag a husband as rich as Mr Hall without being something pretty special. Although the swimsuit she was wearing was mostly functional rather than poolside lingerie its cut did everything possible to emphasise the curves that had once graced the catwalks of Milan and Paris. She looked me up and down in a way she had that made me feel small and nervous. It wasn't as if she was unfriendly, far from. It was more that she was a woman who knew what she wanted and knew how to get it. I was the son of the paid help and, however subconsciously, she made sure I knew it. "I don't know if your mother told you but we're looking for someone to help out for the summer. Ever since he did his knee in Jack hasn't really been able to cope and he needs a hand. Clive and I wondered if you'd be interested." "What would it entail?" "Keeping the place clean and tidy, mostly. A bit of help around the stables, a bit of gardening. I'm sure there's nothing a smart young man like you can't handle." "When would I start?" "Tomorrow morning. I like to take Flashdance out for a run around the paddock at nine o'clock. I'd like him saddled up and ready for me by then. Do you think you can manage that?" "Err..." "Splendid. I'll see you tomorrow then." And, with that, she turned and disappeared into the main body of the house. I stood there bemused. I didn't remember actually agreeing to take on the job but, somehow, it seemed that I was to have Flashdance, her horse, saddled and ready for nine the next morning. Of course, I could call her back and object but I knew that wasn't really an option. I was employed whether I wanted it or not. The next morning found me, bright and early, down at the stables saddling up Flashdance. The weather threatened to be hot so I had dressed in baggy cargo shorts and a tee shirt. Once the saddle and bridle were fitted I had a look around; I could see that Jack had been letting things slip and the whole stables needed a bit of a tidy so, when Mrs. Hall arrived bang on the stroke of nine, she found me pushing a broom, chasing the dust out of the corners. As ever she looked immaculate. Skin tight johdpurs and a crisp white cotton blouse. She also carried a riding crop which she flicked from side to side. "Have you got my riding boots ready?" "Riding boots?" "Yes, riding boots," she snapped. "I assume by the gormless look on your face that they're still in the tack room and you haven't even begun to clean them." She strode to the tack room where, under one of the benches, there they were and, yes, they still had splashes of mud on them from the previous day. "Did you really think for one second that I would deign to go out riding wearing boots in this condition. I shouldn't have to tell you; you should just know." "I'm sorry, I didn't..." I began. "I have better things to do in my life that spend it listening to your excuses. More important is what you're going to do about these." "I could give them a quick wipe down." "I suppose that will have to do - this time." I grabbed a cloth, took the boots from her and wiped off the worst of the mud. They were a long way from perfect but they were as good as they were going to get without getting out the polish and so forth. I handed back to her but she gave me a look like I was dirt, sat down on a chair and stuck out her right leg. Evidently my duties included fitting them for her. I knelt down on the floor, took off her shoe and, as I reached for the boot, she rested her foot on my lap. And that's when it all got kinky. When I say she rested her foot on my lap I mean right on my lap, on the middle of my lap, right over my prick, my rapidly hardening prick. At first I thought it was just an accident but she gave a little wiggle with her toes and it was clear she knew exactly what she was doing. I knelt there, still half turned, still reaching for her boot, as she moved her foot in slow, sensuous circles over the more than obvious bulge in my shorts. Nothing, nothing I had ever done before had ever felt this good. I glanced up at her and she gave me a knowing smile and, thus encouraged, I put her boot back down, and, with a sigh of pleasure, pushed my hips towards her. "What on earth do you think you're doing?" "But... but I thought..." "But you thought what?" "I thought you were..." I couldn't continue. I was, quite literally, lost for words. Had I really read the situation so wrong? Surely she had been encouraging me, actively stroking me with her foot and now, suddenly, I seemed to be cast as the villain of the piece. "I don't know what I thought." "When I was a girl I used to have a puppy that would get so excited he would try and rub himself off against my leg. Judging by the state of your shorts you seem to just as overexcited. It looks very much as if you have no more self-control than my puppy. Is that the case?" I just hung my head. I didn't know what to do. If I suggested that she had led me on then I would be effectively calling her a liar; if I didn't I was calling myself a pervert. And the strange part of it was that my erection, instead of subsiding, was as hard as ever. "Well? I'm waiting for an answer." "I don't know." "You don't know. How pathetic an answer is that. Too ashamed to admit what a dirty little boy you are is more likely. Now, here's the thing, with my puppy I'd smack him with a rolled up newspaper and send him to his basket. Is that what I should do with you? A quick smacking and sent to your basket? Is that what you need?" Again all I could do was hang my head in shame. "Well, what's it to be? A quick smack or, maybe, I should call in your mother and see what she suggests for a naughty little boy who can't control his urges." "Please, not my mum. She'd be horrified." "And so she should be. Very well, a quick smack it is, then. I think half a dozen with the riding crop should just about do the business. Stand up, drop your pants, and lean over the work bench." I was amazed at how fast things had moved, how suddenly I had been put on the spot. However, the threat of telling my mum was enough. Six strokes of the crop; how hard could that be? I got up from the floor and bent over the workbench. "Didn't I tell you to drop your pants?" "Sorry, Mrs. Hall." I undid my belt and, feeling increasingly nervous, pushed down my shorts. "And your underpants. Come along. I'm late enough for my ride as it is." I did as I was told, aware that my continuing erection was as hard as ever and more than obvious. Fortunately Mrs. Hall seemed oblivious. She got up and stood beside where I was bent over. Then she took the cloth that I had used to wipe her boots and pushed it towards my mouth. "Here, bite on this." I was long past disobeying so I took the filthy rag into my mouth. I was glad I did because, moments later, I felt the riding crop resting against my arse as she took aim and then swish, thwack! and a ribbon of fire erupted across my backside and, if it hadn't been for the cloth, my scream of pain would have been heard half way across the county. In a panic my hands shot round behind me, clutching my arse cheeks to fend off any more strokes. "Not a good start. I do hope you're not going to make this difficult. Move your hands out of the way. Better still, cross your wrists behind your back." I did as I was told and she rummaged about on the work bench, found a length of rope and, moments later, I felt my wrists tied securely together. It was now a simple matter for her to hold me in place with her free hand. "That's better. Now, because of all the fuss you've caused, I don't think that first stroke ought to count. So, six of the best it is." I could, and did, kick out as much as I wanted but I was going nowhere and, stroke by measured stroke, the riding crop laid its six lines of fire across my buttocks. It hurt far beyond what I had been expecting and, by the time she was finished, I was crying like a baby. She let me lie there for a few moments and then she untied my wrists and stepped away. "There, that's all done," she said in a matter-of-fact voice. "Now, stand up, turn around and thank me for punishing you." I was still in a daze but I pushed myself upright. But, as I reached for my shorts to pull them up she pushed my hands away with her riding crop. "Uh, huh. It will help the lesson sink in if you stay like that for a while." I turned around and, rather sheepishly, stood in front of her. And here's the weird bit. Despite the embarrassment of standing there with my shorts around my ankles, despite the humiliation of being treated like some naughty little schoolboy by a woman not that much older than myself and, above all, despite the raging fire from my backside, my prick didn't seem to have got the message and was still rock hard. What's more, now it was no longer covered by my shorts it was poking out from under the hem of my tee shirt like some sort of flag pole. She came up to me, reached down, and wrapped her fingers around it. I nearly exploded on the spot. "Now, say thank you like a good boy." "Thank you, Miss, thank you for punishing me." "Very good. Now, let's see if you can put my riding boots on without getting over excited." Still with my shorts down I got back on my knees and helped her on with her boots. Once they were on she laid the sole of her right boot along my still rigid prick and rubbed it up and down. I was careful not to move a muscle. "There, that's better. With a little training you can learn to control yourself. It's quite simple. Good little boys get treats; bad little boys get punished. Are you a good little boy?" "Yes, yes, Miss." "I thought so. Now, off you go and get Flashdance." Still with my trousers around my ankles I hurried to obey. It was only after she had ridden off and I was gingerly pulling up my shorts that I was able to take stock of what had just happened. I wasn't a total ingénue, I was a big fan of BDSM and had done a fair amount of wanking over dominatrix stories I'd found the web, but this was the first time I'd ever encountered anything like this. I felt steamrollered. One moment I was helping out in the stables and the next I was bent over the work bench having my arse thrashed. But, for all that, and for all the way my arse still stung like crazy, it was still the most exciting thing that had ever happened to me. I was still incredibly horny and part of me wanted to sneak off to the toilets and sort myself out but, somehow, that seemed unworthy, as if, by doing so, I was proving her right, proving that I couldn't control myself. Anyway, the thought of having her come back and catch me at it... I busied myself with my chores. I wanted the stables to be spotless on her return. When she did return it was as if nothing had happened. She was all formal and business-like. We discussed the care and grooming of Flashdance and she took my mobile number so she could text me during the day if she had any specific needs or requests. It was only when she came to change out of her riding boots and back into her house shoes that there was a glint in her eye and there was a wicked smile on her face as she reminded me to make sure they were properly polished for next morning. But then, just as she was leaving, she turned back and asked, "Andy, will your girlfriend be visiting this summer?" "I don't have a girlfriend." "Really? Why not? Don't tell me your gay." "No, I'm not gay. It's just... well, I haven't met the right girl yet." I didn't want to admit that I seemed to get tongue tied and shy around girls and my lack of any love life was more about me than about girls. "Aww... Are you a virgin?" "Please, Mrs. Hall!" "That's a yes, then. We are going to have fun this summer," and, with that, she left. I had a great deal to think about as I went to sort out Flashdance. It looked like working for Mrs. Hall was going to be a lot more than just being the handyman. Part of me was scared of what I was getting into but most of me was thrilled to the core. The next morning I was up bright and early and, yes, I made sure that Mrs. Hall's boots were polished until you could see your face in them. I was so proud of the shine that, when she arrived, I could hardly wait to put them on for her. At first it was as if she hadn't noticed but, as I was fitting the left boot I felt her already booted right foot pressing against my groin. I was careful not to react but just kept easing the tight leather around her ankle and then cradling her calf as I pushed the zipper up at the back. She pressed harder; now there was no doubting what she was doing. This was no accident; she knew this was turning me on. I've no idea what prompted the next bit. All I know is that my head bowed down and, reverently, I lifted her booted left foot and kissed the toe. I wasn't thinking, I was swept away by a combination of the rich smell of leather, the feel of her shapely calf in my hands and, more than anything, the growing pressure of her right foot against my now raging erection. I looked up, fearing that I might have overstepped the mark. "You're a little bold this morning." "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hall, it's just that..." "I prefer 'Miss' when it's just the two of us." "Of course, Miss. I hope you don't mind." "No, not this time. It was sweet of you but don't go taking liberties." "Of course not." And, with that, the moment was over and she got up from her chair, I got up off the floor and, together, we went off to find Flashdance. Again, when she returned from her ride, it was as if nothing had happened. It was as if I were dealing with two different people, Mrs. Hall and 'Miss', and it she could flip between the two without warning. We spent a few moments discussing my tasks for the day and then, as I put Flashdance back in his stall, she disappeared back into the house. I spent the morning riding the mower back and forth across the lawns, shared a quick sandwich with my mum for lunch and then, in the afternoon, set to with the clippers putting some shape back into the hedges. I was busy doing this when my phone gave that 'knock-knock' sound to announce that I'd received a text. I opened it up to read 'poolside now'. I'd got a text from Mrs. Hall or, more likely by the look of things, from Miss. When I got to the pool she was laid full length on one of the sun loungers. Apart from an enormous sun hat she wore a tiny bikini top and, below the waist, a sarong. "Ah, Andy, how are the hedges getting on?" "Fine, Mrs. Hall, I should be finished before the end of the day." "Well they'll have to wait a while. Right now I have some more personal needs that require your attention. Look on the table; do you see the wrist cuffs? Yes? Put them on." I looked at the table and, along with a blindfold, there were, indeed, two cuffs made of dark leather and fitted with a hefty 'D' ring and quick release clips. The buckles were a bit fiddly but it didn't take long before I was wearing them. Mrs. Hall had me turn away from her and put my hands behind my back and then she clipped them together. I suppose I should have been surprised but, after what had happened that morning it seemed almost natural. 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. Handyman Ch. 01 "There, that's better. Now, off you go." "Thank you, Miss," and away I went. To tell the truth I quite enjoyed walking about all but naked except for a tee shirt and a butt plug up my arse attached to a chain around my prick. Previously the chain had been a nuisance, dangling about and getting in the way. Now it hung in a neat loop between my thighs and, as for the plug, it was a constant reminder of the sex I had had that morning. My only concern was one of privacy. It was all very well if Mrs. Hall saw me, she was, after all, the reason for my being dressed in this fashion and Mr. Hall was also in on the act. However, if any visitors arrived, the postman or the neighbours, for example, I didn't want anyone to have to answer awkward questions about half naked men walking about the place. There was also the question of my mother. Mrs. Hall had been very careful to make sure that all our antics happened in the stables or poolside, but I was more than aware that, working away in the house was my mother and the last thing I wanted was to have to explain all this to her. But that was part of the fun. I was having this wonderful hidden sexual playtime and, to the outside world, I was just the handyman.