Punish The Postman

THE POSTMAN'S PUNISHMENT

Now as you know, I'm not shy! I like to look sexy and I don't mind showing it. I do, however, draw the line at men thinking they can do as they like with me, or rather in this case, my property!

The dogs had been fed and walked, Hubby had long since gone to work and the washing was on the line. The sun shone, the wind blew and the day appeared set to be like every other day had been this week, sunny and windy. Summer had finally arrived at the farm was busy with new life, new crops growing and the sounds of nature waking up to enjoy the sunshine.

My washing line today, for those that are interested, consisted of a mix of clothes, jeans, an unhealthy amount of T-Shirts and socks and a number of my sexy bras and little skimpy knickers. I do love sexy, girlie underwear and never buy 'big knickers! Now when it comes to doing the laundry, I'm old school. I was brought up to not mix colours, and to dry on the line outside whenever the weather allows. My line, therefore, is often rather full.

As some of you know, we live quite remotely, not in the 'Outback' of Australia or 'Backwoods' of North America or Texas, kind of way, no, no, but for the U.K, we would be considered, off the beaten track. As we live like this, we have regular visitors each week and these visitors are often friendly welcoming sorts. We have Jimmy the Bin man and his young mate, who's name we have never been told. We see Walter the Shepherd almost daily and we have Davey the Postman. Davey or 'Old Davey', as he is known, he's actually only 60, but to the rest of his mates at the Post Office, he's old, is one such regular caller at the farm.

Davey is a small, slim and likeable character. He's a nice, smiley type of guy, with a good bit of cheery banter whenever I greet him. He's also a little flirty and often comments on the way I look. Not in a rude, crude or creepy way, just in a way that most men wouldn't, or would feel they shouldn't at least. He might be 'nice' but he drives like a maniac mind and you can hear his red van before you see it, as it slides and bounces down the long, rutted track to the farm. We also get ample warning as our dogs hate him. They hate him like the very devil himself and Davey is, to say the least, terrified of them. Now Davey might be 'old' but he has a certain glint in his eye, and you know what I'm like for a sparkle in the eyes. I'm a sucker for it. He's not sexy hot, no, really he isn't, but he's 'nice', does that make him sound a little bland? It's not meant to. Nice can be, well, nice, I guess and Davey is, to my mind, nice. Oh never mind......

So there I was, in the kitchen, separating yet another load of whites, coloureds and bedding. The first load was out on the line, the dogs were locked in the lounge, as it was nearly 11 o'clock and that's generally 'Davey time'. The radio is blasting 80's pop out and I'm in a good place, bopping and singing along to ABBA. A girl needs ABBA in her life, trust me, we just do! As I danced past the washer, in a beautiful 80's world of my own, I popped my hips to one side and banged the washer door shut, 'THUNK'. It's seen better days, haven't we all, and so needs a good banging! Hmm, I'll resist the next line.... you fill it in? Turning on my heels to give my imaginary audience the full routine, my rendering of Mama Mia is cut short by the barking of the dogs. I'm not the best singer, I admit, but I'm an enthusiastic one. They have heard the post van heading their way and are now issuing me with ample warning. Yup, it's Davey; there goes the gravel as he hauls up the van. 'BARP, BARP, BARP' Davey always honks, as he will never, ever get out of the safety of that van until he is sure the dogs are locked away and not able to eat him.

"Busy today?" he inquires, popping is head round the kitchen door, as I, taking a breath, sweep hair from my face, pull my tight T-Shirt down and present myself like a wild Cinderella on a tiled floor surrounded by laundry.

"Just a little," I laugh back as I hold out a hand to take the parcel he is now offering me.

"I'll just pop it on the table," he laughs, "You've got a bit of a handful there."

I must have looked bemused for a second, as my brow furrowed. Was he talking about my rather ample boobs? He cut through my thoughts with a well timed addition, pointing a finger at my outstretched had.

"You've got a bit of a handful," he repeated gesturing again.

"Oh fuck," I gasped, bursting out laughing, finally following his gaze and finger.

There hanging from my right hand was a black, wet-look bra, complete with chrome spikes that had somehow got into the daily laundry.

"Oh fuck, sorry Davey, oh Jeez," I blurted out.

My shock and embarrassment was cut short as he popped the parcel on the table and added.

"For a moment, I thought my luck had changed."

He laughed, with a cheeky wink, before backing out of the kitchen door, closing it with a 'CLUNK'.

I stood in silence, a broad bemused smile on my face, words stuck in my open mouth. 'Cheeky git,' I thought, as still smiling I threw the bra onto the kitchen table and kicked a mighty pile of 'whites' away from the washer door. 'Cheeky little bugger' I thought loudly in my head, still smiling from the comic moment we had just shared.

Cheeky I thought and cheeky it turned out he was. Now I have often, well to be honest, occasionally thought, why does it take Davey so long to set off from the house in his van? I usually wait, poised at the door, ready to let the dogs back out. Sometimes it feels like ages, sometimes it actually is ages and when I pop my head out to make sure he has finally gone, he is often not in his van at all. Today was no exception.

There I stood, hand on the door handle, dogs pacing around the kitchen inpatient to be out in the paddock and his van was still parked up. I peered through a gap in the door, nope; he was not in his van. He must be in the back sorting parcels, I guessed. I guessed wrong. Davey suddenly appeared into view. He appeared alright, but he appeared from the right........the right? What had he been doing there? I popped the door open and shouted out to him over the sound of impatient dogs and his rattling old motor.

"What you up to eh?" There was more than a hint of laughter in my questioning voice, as I didn't really think he was up to no good, but his reaction and stumble gave me more cause for concern than I had bargained for.

He jumped like a startled boy caught looking at top-shelf magazines in the local store. Not only did he jump, but he dropped what he had in his hand and from where I was stood what he dropped looked very much like a pair of my black see-through knickers. Surely not, I mean, why would he have them.....but he had and they were mine!

There on the gravel they lay, and as he looked down at them and then up and into my eyes, a thought hit me. I have lost a number of clothing items over the past few months. I had put it down to the strong, often gusting wind that rattles our farm. Now I was seeing the real culprit and it was red-faced visibly shaking and Davey shaped.

He made his move without looking in my direction. But I have been a mother of three and no one but no one ignores me.

"Don't you dare get in that van Davey?" I shouted with all the anger I could muster, which for my size, is rather a lot. "Don't even think about it, or I'll, I'll let the dogs out!"

Davey froze, like the proverbial rabbit in the headlights, head down, feet shuffling on the loose gravel. I don't know if I was still angry or just plain shocked as I slammed the kitchen door behind me and marched rather animatedly towards this now timid looking man. As I got within five feet of him he made another move and darted for the back doors of the van.

"What the fuck!" I yelled indignantly, "Just what the fuck do you think you are doing," I yelled again, "You're going nowhere, mate."

And with that I cut to the left side of the van and grabbed the keys from the ignition. He was trapped and by the look on his face as he peered round the rear of the van, he knew it.

His mouth opened as if to speak, but no words came out. He stood, his eyes wide, his hand steadying his shaking body on the van side.

"What have you got in there that's so important?" I questioned, now with a hushed menacing tone.

I still don't know why I even suspected he had anything in there to hide, but he had and what he had both shocked and angered me in equal amounts. Grasping the taped up chrome door handle, I winged the rear door open with more than a hint of drama, half expecting to see a pile of parcels and nothing else. I was wrong. Yes there were parcels and post bags, but there was also a small pile of clothes, crumpled up to one side, my clothes. My knickers and bras to be totally accurate and they were stained.

Davey, old, smiley, happy, cheeky little Davey, had been stealing my underwear and from what I could see, wanking on them. They were covered in cum stains, some were crumpled with crusty jizz, they were ruined, not that I wanted them back. I stood speechless, for once; open mouthed but slowly filling up with rage.

'THUNK' I slammed the door shut, the sound loud enough to get the dogs barking again and without thinking twice, I grabbed him. I grabbed him hard by the collar of his blue Post Office issued shirt making him yelp like a puppy.

I was raging, I was angrier than I had been in years and he was going to know how angry I was. Like a child I marched him across the gravel yard, his feet slipping and stumbling, towards the woodshed and kicked the loose door open wide. I have no idea what he thought I was going to do with him and if I'm honest at that moment, I didn't either, but he was going to pay for his actions one way or another. As if being grabbed by an angry woman wasn't enough, he must have thought he was going to die, as I pushed him into the dim, dusty gloom of the shed.

It must have looked like something from a horror film as shafts of sunlight filtered through the gaps in the old planked walls, casting shadows on an ageing selection of forestry saws, axes, ropes and farm tools. He stopped dead just inside the doorway, but I was in no mood for his delaying tactics. A swift knee into the small of his back and he was in. Staggering forward as he half fell, his outstretched hands braced his body against the only solid thing in the shed, the woodwork bench. Turning to look for a means to secure him there, I grasped the first thing I could lay my hands on, an old lead rope from the pony. I'm no knot expert but Hubby has taught me enough about securing loads on trailers to tie a reasonable one and as he struggled and spun before me, still speechless, I made my knots good and painfully tight around his wrists, bur left him enough slack so he could move his arms a little.

"Don't you dare fucking move until I get back!" I hissed in his ear, like a mad woman.

What he must have felt like as I slammed the woodshed door shut, causing years of dust to cloud up in the sunlight, I do not know and at that moment, I did not care. Door locked secure with the rusty padlock, I marched back towards the house. I was angry and he was going to pay the price!

Dogs scattered as I stomped through the house and up to the bedroom. Draws were flung open and in a wild, angry rage I stripped off my jeans, T-Shirt and knickers. My hair looked crazy, which suited my mood, but as I dug deep in the draws for my zipped wet look bodysuit, I didn't care. Thigh high boots were dragged on in front of the long mirror. Spiked belt was tightened around my waist, and matching collar was clicked around my neck. One elbow length glove followed the other and as I stood, schooling whip in one hand, I smiled at my look in the antique mirror.

"Davey, you have no idea what's coming", I sneered, out loud as I balanced myself, one hand on the large chest of drawers in the corner of the room and stepped into my leather strap-on belt. The 10" long, thick black dildo clicked into place and swung menacingly as I checked my look once more in the mirror before heading downstairs.

The dogs fell silent as I past them, my heels clacking on the wooden floor, as if they knew not to get involved. I have to say, that marching across the gravel to the woodshed was a little less dramatic, but no one was there to see me stumble as angrily I fumbled the rusty padlock open before slamming the door shut again behind me.

Davey had clearly been trying to make his escape and my knot tying was clearly not as good as I thought, as he was now stood, back to the workbench frantically looking round for a means of escape. I stood before him, shoulders back, breasts heaving to escape the half unzipped front of the bodysuit, my high heeled feet wide apart. I was magnificent, powerful and dominant and as he looked me in the eye, I felt his submission.

Power is a great thing and retaking power and control even greater. Davey was mine. He stopped fidgeting and looking around. He stood quite still and with head bowed low he spoke.

"I'm so, so sorry." He offered, well begged. "I know it was wrong, very, very wrong of me, but I'll never do it again and I promise I'll replace your knickers."

It was hard not to laugh at that line, but hiding my amusement as best I could; I took a step forward and slapped him hard across the face with the open palm of my hand. When I say hard, I really mean hard. It made my gloved hand tingle and he yelped and raised a hand to defend himself.

"Put, that, hand, down, now!" I spoke slowly and precisely, emphasising each syllable of my command. "Don't you dare move a muscle." I added, "Not one, single, muscle."

He didn't, he froze. As I traced the schooling whip across his red cheek, he flinched, 'WHACK'...This time it was the whip that caught his skin, he cried out in pain and surprise.

"I said, do not, move, a muscle, and I meant it." I repeated, slowly and deliberately. He was pale and for the first time looked frightened.

"Are my instructions not clear enough for you?" I questioned, as I squeezed his face in my hand lifting his chin so that his eyes stared into mine.

"I'm so sorry if that hurt you." I sneered, a wicked smile on my lips and in my voice,

"But pain is what you deserve and your pathetic apology isn't going to work with me, now take off your clothes."

Davey looked baffled and shocked, no; actually, he looked terrified and bewildered. He should have been. He didn't know what was coming next, but I did and it would hurt him far more than it would hurt me!

For an older man his body was not unacceptable, in fact it was quite well toned, as his shirt dropped to the floor. His hands were visibly trembling as first belt, then shoes, socks and eventually trousers were removed and kicked to one side on the dusty floor, by the toe of my boot. His white boxers had slipped down a little at the front, to reveal dark hair and as I traced the schooling whip through it, he once more flinched.

"Kneel," I snapped, staring straight through him. "Kneel down in front of me and open your mouth wide."

Davey dropped like a stone to his knees, looking up at me through worried eyes.

Holding the thick girth of the dildo, I stroked it gently across his still red cheek, before pushing it roughly into his half open mouth. As he gasped and gagged on it, I stared down its length and into his watering eyes.

"Get it nice and wet Davey," I smiled, "Or this is going to really hurt."

He blinked uncontrollably, with bulging eyes, bubbles of saliva popping on his lips and the thick black rubber of the dildo. Once satisfied it was wet enough, not that I cared that much. I dragged him to his feet, and grasping his hands, I retied them, but this time to the vice of the old woodwork bench, before forcibly turning him to face the bench and wall. I stood looking at my prize, before kicking his feet wide apart and stocking the tip of the schooling whip up the inside of his right thigh to flick at where I assumed his balls would be hanging. I was right, it must have stung, as he flinched and wriggled to prevent more. How wrong he was. 'FLICK, FLICK, FLICK' and each one met with the same squirm and yelp. This was so much fun, but too, too easy. It was time to change the game.

I grasped the back of his neck hard, pressing his face into the debris on the work bench, and as he struggled before me, the wide helmet of the dildo pushed firmly against his boxers. He knew what was coming and he only had seconds to let the thought sink in before I ripped the white cotton open and forced the helmet, still wet with spit into his tight ass. The sounds he made were unreal. He gasped, groaned and yelped as I forced it relentlessly inch by inch into his tight wriggling arse. His thighs tensed up and he tried to lift himself onto his tiptoes, but I was having none of it. My left hand stopped pressing his face and reached down, flipped his, quite large cock up and out of the way, before grasping his balls tightly, and pulling down, I squeezed him into submission.

"Stop wriggling you little shit," I laughed at him, "Or I'll pull your balls right off, do you hear me?"

He was half slumped, half pushed up and onto the bench with my back pressed firmly down on his, with my first full thrust.

"Please, please don't, I said...I said I was sorry," He begged loudly.

But I was in no mood for words, actions would cure him of his wrong doing and the actions would be hard and rough. Again I thrust and with each gasp, I squeezed his balls harder and harder. His back was now red from the friction of my zip on his skin. Sweat ran down his neck and as I pumped his ass hard, it made squelching noises in time to his grunts of pain and possibly pleasure.

Pleasure was not something I was expecting, I must admit. Pain yes, shock, yes, but pleasure, no. His balls might have been squeezed in pain, his ass fucked harder, but his cock was getting erect too. The dirty little bastard was getting a hardon. I dropped his balls and let then swing, switching my grip to his ample, well actually, thick cock. My silk gloved hand encircled its girth and in time to his ass fucking, I pumped his length. Now his sounds were different. No painful gasps, no begging for mercy, but grunts of pleasure. Puffs of dust blew across the workbench with each gasped breath and his grimy little face, red with sweat and pressure, stopped trying to move. These only served to make me press in harder, expecting him to beg again, but he did not. He was now pushing back onto me with each thrust. His cock, fully erect and rippled with thick rope like veins was gently oozing precum, which smeared on my gloved fingers and lubed my grip around his fat helmet.

"You dirty little shit." I hissed loudly into his ear as I rammed into him, all the while pumping his thick cock.

"You want to cum, yes?" I questioned. "You want to cum for me now you little shit?" I repeated.

He nodded in the dust and gasped breathlessly, "Yes, yes please."

"Then ask me nicely." I commanded him. "Say Mistress Jo let me cum on your boots, SAY IT!"

And with that, I pulled the dildo in one harsh movement from deep inside him and stepped back, letting his hard cock slap against the rough wood of the bench front. There I stood, dildo swaying, hands on hips, whip still in hand.

"Please" he begged, "Please Mistress Jo, let me cum on your boots."

Loosening his tied hands was not easy as the movement of his body had tightened then, leaving his wrists red and rope burnt, but once free he turned and without instruction knelt before me.

"Suck it as you wank!" I smiled down at him, blowing him a sarcastic kiss whilst gently making the dildo sway before his face.

He didn't question his orders and with mouth wide, he began to suck and lick its shaft and thick wide helmet, his right hand grasping his rather nice cock. It didn't take long before his face contorted and he began to gasp on the dildo, his orgasm was near and I knew it. Did he really think that this would be it? That I would let him spunk on my underwear in his van and let him enjoy an orgasm now. How wrong he was. As his face told of his imminent orgasm, I pulled the dildo from his mouth and ordered him.