Stable Boy

Jim woke early after a restless night. His bruised and battered backside had made it hard to sleep on his back whilst his caged penis made it hard to sleep on his front, but, for all that these disturbed him they were nothing compared with his need for release. Time and time again, as he'd lain in bed on the edge of sleep, his hand had strayed to the cage at his groin but, however much as he tried, relief was impossible; indeed, his attempts had just made it worse.

He looked at the alarm clock, it was gone five o'clock and his job wouldn't wait. He got out of bed, showered and shaved before grabbing a couple of slices of toast and a cup of coffee. His breakfast completed he set of down the road to New Farm. Still the weather remained hot and dry; if this went on much longer there would be another hosepipe ban; idly he wondered how that would affect the stables.

When he arrived he let himself into the main block and set about his morning routine. First he had a good look around, making sure there were no unpleasant surprises, something that he might have missed that Miss Worthing's eagle eye was bound to spot. Then he made sure that Morning Dew was ready for riding before finally settling down in the tack room to put a deeper shine on Miss Worthing's riding boots. At five minutes to seven Miss Worthing appeared at the door.

"Good morning," she said briskly. "I gather the girls have named you 'doormat'; is that what you are to them? As to what you'll end up being for me; that's another matter. So, how's that embarrassing personal problem of yours today? Giving you any trouble?"

"Good morning, Miss Worthing," Jim replied. "It's... err... fine thank you."

"Well, drop your pants, let me have a look. You'd best stand on that box there, save me having to bend over." For a moment Jim just stood transfixed before Miss Worthing continued. "Oh, for Pete's sake, get on with it. I haven't got time to be doing with your pathetic embarrassment.

Under Miss Worthing's withering gaze Jim stood up and went over to the box she had indicated; a large wooden affair which was used for storing assorted cleaning materials. He climbed up onto it and pushed his trousers and underpants down to his knees.

"There, that wasn't so hard, was it? In fact I think it best if, from now on, you were to be waiting like this every morning, ready for inspection. Now lift up your tee shirt and we'll see how you're doing." As Jim lifted the hem of his tee shirt Miss Worthing grasped the cage around Jim's penis and twisted it this way and that. "Hmm, that seems to be fine. There's a little bit of chafing but nothing untoward. I'll get you some cream if it gets any worse. OK, you can get down now."

As Jim pulled up his pants and stepped down from the box Miss Worthing sat down and stretched out her legs waiting for him to assist her with her boots. Jim knelt down before her and removed her shoes.

"Don't forget that you're to go to Mrs Johnson's house," Miss Worthing said conversationally. "She's expecting you at noon; I hardly need tell you that being late is not an option. Do you know where she lives?"

"She owns one of the big houses down on Cedar Avenue, doesn't she?" Jim replied.

"That's right, number seven. It shouldn't take more than twenty minutes on foot. Make sure the stables and yard are in a fit state before you leave."

Miss Worthing stood up and strode out of the tack room; Jim followed behind, rushing to Morning Dew's stall to fetch her out. He led the mare out into the yards and passed the reins to Miss Worthing who mounted and, with a final disdainful look at Jim, turned and rode off into the paddock.

Jim had plenty to do all morning and noon was almost upon him before he realised. He tidied away the stables and set off for Cedar Avenue. Its reputation as the most desirable street in a desirable village had earned it the local nickname of Millionaire's Row and the houses certainly matched this. Number seven was one of the bigger ones and it sat back from the road, the gardens hidden by high beech hedges. Jim made his way up to the front door and rang the bell. There was a pause before it was opened by a young woman with long blonde hair.

"Ah, you are Jim," she said in a strong Swedish accent. "Madam is expecting you; follow please."

Jim followed the woman, presumably an au pair, through the house and into the back garden where, on the patio next to a swimming pool, Mrs Johnson lay on a sun lounger wearing a wide brimmed straw hat and a thigh length light cotton wrap.

"Ah, there you are." She said, looking up. "Thank you, Helga, you may leave us."

Both Jim and Mrs Johnson watched as Helga walked back into the house, her slim hips swaying provocatively in her tight jeans.

"Pretty little tart, isn't she," Mrs Johnson continued. "Of course my husband's screwing her; silly fool thinks I don't know, thinks I can't see the way he moons at her over the dinner table. Still, that's middle aged men for you, always after the younger woman. How about you? Do you think Helga's attractive or do you prefer someone a bit more... sophisticated?"

"She's very pretty...," Jim replied, "but you're more beautiful."

"Oh, you sweet boy, what a liar you are!" Mrs Johnson laughed. "Now come along, I thought we agreed that your place was knelt at my feet, not standing around like I don't know what."

Jim remembered only too well their conversation from the previous day and Miss Worthing exhortations to do whatever it took to keep Mrs Johnson satisfied. He got down on his knees and, leaning forward, kissed the tips of Mrs Johnson's toes.

"That's better, you are a fast learner. Now then, Celia gave me this key." Mrs Johnson picked up a small key on a chain that lay on the table beside her. "She said I might need it. Now why would that be, I wonder?"

"It... It..." Jim squirmed with embarrassment. "It fits my restraint."

"Oh, what restraint?" Mrs Johnson feigned innocence.

"On my... On my... My thingy," Jim stuttered.

"Your thingy!" Mrs Johnson laughed out loud. "What? Does Celia keep you under lock and key? Oh do show."

Jim was no fool; he'd known where this was heading as soon as he'd seen the key. He knelt up and, for the second time that day, pushed his trousers and boxers down to his knees.

"How dinky," Mrs Johnson said, "now, come here so that I can have a proper look."

Still on his knees Jim shuffled around to the side of the sun lounger. Mrs Johnson rolled onto her side, reached down and curled her superbly manicured fingers around his testicles. Jim's penis, which had already been starting to swell, strained against the restraints.

"Oh, you poor thing," Mrs Johnson mocked. "Is it hurting you? Would you like me to take it off?"

"Yes, please, Mrs Johnson," Jim replied.

"Well, for a start you will address me as 'Madam'," Mrs Johnson snapped back, suddenly stern. "Is that quite clear?"

"Yes, Madam, of course, Madam," Jim replied promptly.

"That's better. Why don't you try asking me nicely if I'll release you for a while; let's see if you can manage that?"

"Please, Madam," Jim started, his mind reeling. The tension between his legs was intense and, if playing along with this bizarre game would get him freed then so be it. "I humbly beg..." Jim tried.

"Stop right there!" Mrs Johnson cut across him. "It looks like you have a lot to learn. Whilst you are on your knees you will never refer to yourself as 'I'; refer to yourself in the third person. Now, what are you?"

"Your... err... servant, Madam?" Jim essayed.

"Not quite, try again."

"Your slave, Madam," Jim tried again.

"My slave, yes, that's what you are. Now, let's try again," Mrs Johnson prompted.

"Your slave begs... humbly begs... begs to be freed. Please, Madam, please be kind to your slave." Once he'd started the words seemed to just come.

"And why should I?" Mrs Johnson asked. "What do I get in return?"

"Anything, anything you ask," Jim responded fervently.

"Anything? But you'd do that anyway, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, Madam, your slave would." Jim hung his head.

"Hmm..." Mrs Johnson appeared to ponder. "I'm going to try a little obedience test, see just how good you are. I am going to unlock you but here's the condition. You are not, repeat not, to come unless I expressly say so; is that quite clear."

"Yes, Madam, of course, Madam," Jim replied. That seemed easy enough.

"Well then, stand up and let me get at it. Stand up straight with your hands behind your back," Mrs Johnson ordered.

Jim stood up and Mrs Johnson reached for the key, turned back towards him and undid the lock allowing the cage to separate into the two component halves. She put the cage and the lock on the table beside her. With a sigh of relief Jim felt his penis spring into life, jutting forward in the first erection he had been allowed for over twenty-four hours. Mrs Johnson took it in her fingertips and gently massaged it with sensual rippling movements. All his repressed sexual frustration surged into Jim's penis making it rock hard, standing proud before him.

"Does my little slave like that?" Mrs Johnson teased. "Does he like his Mistress playing with him?"

"Yes, Madam. Thank you, Madam," Jim replied between clenched teeth. Suddenly the admonishment that he was not to come was a lot more difficult to comply with than he had realised. Heaven knows what Mrs Johnson had in store for him if he failed.

"And does my slave still think he can manage to control himself; shall I stop before there's a little 'accident'?" Mrs Johnson's fingers were working harder, smoother.

"Please, madam, your slave doesn't know, Madam," Jim replied and, indeed, he simply didn't know. On the one hand he had seldom, if ever, felt anything as wonderful as Mrs Johnson's skilful fingers along the length of his shaft; on the other hand it was taking all his self-control to stop himself from coming; his testicles felt as if they were on the point of exploding.

"Well, I do know. That's quite enough for now." Mrs Johnson dropped Jim's penis as if it were diseased. "I told you we were going to do some obedience training. You're going to be my puppy dog. Do you understand?"

"Puppy..." Jim started.

"Yes, My puppy and, for starters, puppies don't talk!" Mrs Johnson snapped back. "Good puppies may bark once for yes and twice for no; Oh, and puppies don't wear clothes either. Understood?"

Jim was once again taken aback but the sudden blast of fury unnerved him so he started to undress. He even tried a little bark as he took off his tee shirt and stepped out of his trousers which were already puddle around his ankles. His shoes, socks and boxers took a little longer but he was soon naked and on all fours.

"That's better, that's a good little puppy." The sweetness had returned to Mrs Johnson's voice. "Now go and fetch Helga, go on, off you go."

Again, for a moment, Jim hesitated. This was all going far faster than he was comfortable with. It was one thing playing these games, if that is what they were, with those complicit in them but with Helga, the au pair, that was different; it was as if Mrs Johnson had ordered him to go out in public. He glanced up and, for a moment, their eyes met, his a pleading supplication, hers a steely determination, but it was never in any real doubt who was going to prevail.

"Run along now," Mrs Johnson said quite gently, "and don't forget, puppies don't talk."

Still on his hands and knees Jim went back into the house. He followed the sound of vacuuming and found Helga in the lounge doing the housework. He crawled to the centre of the room and knelt before her, wondering how he was going to explain this.

"Mrs Johnson, she playing games again?" Helga asked; the exasperation clear in her voice. "You need me to come with you?"

Jim barked once and, with a sigh, Helga turned off the vacuum cleaner and followed him back into the garden.

"Ah, Helga." Mrs Johnson said as they returned to the garden. "Be a sweetie and fetch the blue holdall from my bedroom cupboard. You know the one I mean."

With a slightly sour look on her face Helga turned and went back into the house. Jim went back to kneel down next to Mrs Johnson who reached out and tussled his hair, scratching him behind his ear acting exactly as if she were petting a dog. A few minutes later Helga returned carrying a sports holdall which she unceremoniously dumped beside Mrs Johnson's sun lounger.

"Thank you, my dear," Mrs Johnson said, the tension between the two women quite obvious, "and now I think it's lunch time. It's such a nice day I'll eat out here next to the pool. You know what to bring."

As Helga left to fetch the meal Mrs Johnson delved inside the bag and pulled out a selection of four collars ranging from a lightweight one in pink leather with rhinestone decorations to one in heavy black leather which was maybe five or six centimetres wide. Choosing a medium weight one made of brown leather she put the others back in the bag before pulling him close in order that she might fit the collar round his neck. As she leant towards him the cleavage of her wrap gaped open and Jim could clearly see that, as far as her top was concerned, she was wearing nothing underneath. When the collar was fastened Mrs Johnson leant back and pulled the wrap closed.

"Uh-huh," she smiled, "that's not for puppies, not unless they're very, very good."

She reached into the bag again, this time retrieving a rubber bone. With a command of 'Fetch' she tossed it into the garden. Again and again over the next quarter of an hour Jim raced around the garden chasing the bone wherever Mrs Johnson flung it. Mostly she aimed for the centre of the lawn but from time to time, either in fun or from poor aim, it would end up in the flowerbeds and the combination of rushing around and rooting in the back of the beds soon had Jim sweating freely and covered in dirt. Jim's enthusiasm for the game was driven by a strange mixture of emotions. Primarily there was fear; fear because, as he had so recently become aware, displeasing these women who had suddenly taken over his life would only result in more pain and humiliation. But that fear was balanced by pleasure, he was actually enjoying the game; playing at being a puppy may not be very dignified but it was far, far better to be out in the sun than stuck inside the stables on a sunny day like this.

But there was also a far deeper urge that drove him. The simple glimpse down Mrs Johnson's cleavage had re-awoken his desire. Mrs Johnson, like Miss Worthing had a style, a sophistication, a grace that left mere girls like Amanda in the shade. There was something magnificent about these women that spoke to something deep inside him, that made him want to bow down and worship, that found deep satisfaction in pleasing them and when, with the bone once again retrieved, he dropped it in her lap it was only natural to play the puppy, to sit up and beg, beg that he might be found worthy.

"Good heavens; look at the state of you!" Mrs Johnson exclaimed. "Here, this will cool you off. Don't go using your paws."

Mrs Johnson tossed the bone into the centre of the swimming pool where it sank to the bottom. Jim dived in after it and was glad of the swim. It took a few dives before he was able to retrieve it; the admonishment not to use his 'paws' had sunk home, and, by the time he clambered out he was clean and refreshed.

"That's better," Mrs Johnson said as he approached. "No, don't drip on me. Stay there!"

Jim knelt down a foot or so away from Mrs Johnson who reached down into the bag and brought out a riding crop. Idly she reached down with the tip and played it around his semi flaccid penis.

"Hmm, you like being my puppy, don't you?" Mrs Johnson teased as Jim's penis reacted to the treatment.

"Woof," Jim responded.

"Are you a good little puppy?"

"Woof."

"And does my good little puppy deserve a treat?" Mrs Johnson moved on the sun lounger which made her wrap part a little, just enough to give suggestive glimpses of the body beneath.

Jim couldn't respond. Firstly he didn't know what the 'correct' answer was; secondly the fleeting glimpses of Mrs Johnson's body beneath the wrap had combined with the crop rubbing against his penis making his mouth go dry. Overcome by passion all he could do was kneel wordlessly, staring at her cleavage.

"Well?" Asked Mrs Johnson chucking Jim under his chin, an action which only made things worse but, at that moment, he was saved by the sound of a trolley rattling across the paving stones of the patio.

"Ah, Helga. Lunch. Thank you. Today's your afternoon off, isn't it? Make sure you're back before I return with the girls. You may go now." Mrs Johnson said once Helga had pushed the trolley up next to the sun lounger. As Helga left Mrs Johnson took a plate of cold meats and salad and put it on the table beside her. Then she fetched a tall glass and a jug and poured herself a long cool drink.

"Oh, is my puppy thirsty?" she asked as Jim stared at the glass. "Let me see what I can find."

She put the glass down and reached to the bottom layer of the trolley. This time she fetched out a dog's drinking bowl and a large jug. Filling the bowl she put it down on the ground in front of Jim.

"There you go. Now drink it all up; there's a good puppy."

Jim was glad of the drink but it was awkward sipping directly from the bowl. He'd drunk about half when he knelt back up and looked up at Mrs Johnson.

"There you go," Mrs Johnson said picking some food off her plate and putting it in his mouth. "Now finish up your water. I want that bowl completely empty."

As the meal progressed Mrs Johnson continued to feed Jim scraps from her plate but, more alarmingly, she also refilled the bowl once he had drained it. A third bowl full followed the second and, by the time the meal was over his bladder was full to bursting. It didn't take a genius to work out that this was Mrs Johnson's plan all along but Jim simply didn't now how to respond, what was expected of him.

"Now then, where were we?" Mrs Johnson asked as she put her plate and glass back on the trolley and wiped her lips with a napkin. "Oh, yes. I was asking if my puppy thought he deserved a treat. Well?"

Jim, who'd quite forgotten that the question had been left hanging, hesitated for a second before barking twice thinking it better to play it safe.

"Good puppy," Mrs Johnson responded. "I'm the one who decides whether you deserve a treat or not. Now, because I'm in a good mood I'm going to be generous. Here you go, you may kiss my breasts."

Mrs Johnson rolled towards him and, pulling her wrap to one side, cupped her left breast in her hand, offering it to Jim. Whilst she was no teenager she was also no stranger to the gym and her body was lithe and well toned. Jim stared for a moment before leaning forward and, as softly as he could, kissing the tip of her nipple.

"Come along, you can do better than that." Mrs Johnson chided. "Show your Mistress how much you love her, show her how much you worship her."

Jim was almost a complete novice. He'd never been very good with girls and was, unlike most of his contemporaries, still a virgin. However the word 'worship' struck a chord inside him and, as sensually as he could, he took her nipple between his lips and kissed. It didn't take long before Mrs Johnson's reaction became obvious. Not only did her nipple swell between his lips but her breathing became shallower and she sighed deeply, moving so that he had better access. From time to time she would tell him to go harder, or softer, or to use his teeth, but gently. After a while she bared her other breast and had Jim kiss that one as well. Suddenly she pulled away.

"Good puppy, very good, puppy, but I need your tongue, now!"

Jim could only stare at her; had he not just been using his tongue, flicking it across the nub of her nipple? What did she mean?