Old McDonald had a Farm...

Chapter nine.

Day number five, I thought, squinting at myself in the bathroom mirror as I scrapped the last of the stubble from my chin and shook my clogged razor in the basin to clean it. I had a light facial beard in terms of growth, light and fair, but persistent enough to still need a daily scrape to look respectable, and I sometimes wondered what I’d do if I ever went bald, for I’d failed miserably on the two occasions I’d attempted to grow a beard.

I’d noticed that beards seemed pretty du-rigour among many of those who’d gone thin to non-existent on top; quite a few examples of various ages inhabited my office. Fortunately, I possessed a thick, unruly mop that grew far more profusely than did my facial hair, which was just as well for the thinly spread wispy clumps of beard I’d managed to produce would have been no compensation for a full thatch up above.

I patted my face clean with a convenient towel, relieved that despite my impatience, I’d survived another morning razer session without adding to ‘death by a thousand cuts’ syndrome. My skin was somewhat sensitive and seemed to have a death wish whenever I passed a razor across it. The morning ‘hari-kari ritual one ex-girlfriend had called it. Lord knows how I’d have fared in the days of those evil-looking cutthroat razors, and every electric razor I‘d tried was even worse. They seemed to drag each hair out by the root rather than cutting the damn things, and thus far more painful than the daily thousand-cuts routine.

My thought process along such lines had been initiated five minutes earlier as I brushed shaving soap over my face. I’d absently started thinking of skin, then sensitive skin, mine and that had led to thoughts about more sensitive skin, but not my own—as I lathered soap over my face. That image in the mirror had served to trigger other thoughts on the subject of skin—helpless, captive, sensitive skin made all the more sensitive by the frequent application of certain cruel implements designed to deliver varying degrees of pain to such defenceless human flesh.

My hosts had ensured there was no shortage of such implements, and I thought happily to myself as I quickly dried my hands on the same towel and stuffed it back through its wall ring. Even better, there was no shortage of sensitive skin, no, call them hides; I mentally corrected myself to use them upon! That was the terminology utilised by my hosts, was it not? Well, there was one exception, I suppose, thinking of Baby downstairs, probably washing up the breakfast dishes before starting on that long list of chores Bessie had left her/him.

I considered the latter while absently frowning at myself in the mirror and dabbing with a finger at a tiny spot of blood. Shit, no clean casualty sheet today for moi! But back to Baby. No, definitely a her, for Baby’s masculine days were behind her now for good, and she wasn’t that much of an exception, was she? Skin, in her case, rather than animal hide, but no more exempt from those cruel implements than the rest of her family. A little shudder ran through me at that thought as I recalled the previous evening’s activities. Delightfully warm, scented soft skin but no more exempt from a wooden paddle wielded by my hand than that of the other animals that comprised her family!

Bessie had a strict rule: no animals in the house, which had amused me at the time and proved to be a mistake. Her sweet, motherly face instantly assumed what Robbie called her ‘We are not amused, Queen Victoria’ expression, and I received a little lecture on why she did not allow barn or stable animals in her house. a) they were filthy creatures who had no place there, and b) given the unique nature of such animals, she had no intention of ever elevating them above the status and living standards she’d condemned them to. They could forget about ever walking on a nice clean floor, let alone carpets, and they’d never even see a comfortable chair again, let alone sit in one! “No point in wearing my damn whip arm out, getting them two paces forwards mentally only to let them start slipping backwards by mollycoddling them:” she barked at me. “They’re animals now, not human!”

I could see her point, plus we’d discussed the subject over supper more than once, and I found it fascinating. “Far harder to train than any normal animal”, Bessie had told me and shook her head when I took issue on the subject, pointing out that I’d have thought their intelligence would surely have assisted. “No, more the opposite. A damn hindrance! It varies, depending on the animal, but as a general rule, they’ll fight you every inch of the way! Yes, they know what I want them to do, and yes,  they know what I will do to their hides if they don’t do it! Yet still, they get stubborn and play dumb, or did at first. There’s nothing like a damn good whipping to teach them what obedience means and that thinking for themselves is no longer necessary!”!

Her rigid rule regarding barn or stable animals didn’t extend to her reluctant human canine, Bozo. He was a ‘pet’, not a farm animal, so I could see where she was coming from with that ruling, although it was frustrating when I lay in bed thinking of the four succulent pussies standing around unused, a mere dozen or so yards away. Still, they were animals now and needed to learn that twenty-four-seven with no exceptions. Taking one of them over to the house for the night or even a quickie in the bedroom would break their routine, and worse, the silly creatures might start imagining they were still human! It was a pity, but I could see the logic in my host's thinking.

That rule didn’t apply to the feminised Baby, though, and I’d taken advantage of the sissy bitch’s mouth the previous evening for the first time, partly at my host's urgings but equally for another reason. Strange, for I’d never had urgings in that direction before, but now, well…. I hadn’t taken what you might call ‘full advantage’ if I could put it that way because I had another target in mind for my first foray and practical education in that direction. However, feeling as randy as hell plus disinclined to visit the stable,  I took up Bessies's suggestion: why not? In for a penny, in for a pound, as that old saying goes, and so Baby served as a kind of halfway introductory house and a very delightful, not to say satisfying, one at that!

My hosts had decided to retire shortly after supper as they needed to be up early the following morning and had a long drive ahead of them. An old school friend of Bessie’s had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and had recently been admitted to a hospice that specialised in palliative care. My arrival freed both of them to head to the extreme North of England for a visit. ‘Your decision to accept our invitation was something of a Godsend timing-wise,’ Robbie had admitted; otherwise, he’d have had to stay behind and look after the damn livestock, and Bessie hated driving long distances on her own. She didn’t like driving much at all, not even to the village shop.

Their livestock wasn’t going anywhere, and they’d considered securing all seven that bit more and leaving them for a day or two, knowing they wouldn’t get away and missing a few meals wouldn’t hurt them, but you couldn’t allow for the unknown. That was their worst-case scenario. Some inquisitive hillwalker dropping in or an unexpected utility worker turning up unannounced. Even a couple of burglars trying their luck at a very isolated property. It's unlikely, but you could never rule such things out, Robbie had said, and then he’d laughed, adding, “The unlikely does happen, you know, and I can think of a perfect example. You sit around making tentative plans to acquire a two-legged pony, and then a whole herd of the fuckers drops in on you out of the blue!”

I’d hardly have called Five a herd, but yes, it was a damn sight more than the singleton they’d envisaged initially when buying the remote property to carry out their crazy plan. Plus, of course, they could have added Baby and Bozo to the stable had they been so inclined. They hadn’t, though, so I’d resisted the urge to wander over to the stable after dinner to work off some of that excess poundage I was undoubtedly acquiring via Bessie’s excessive hospitality.

She was a fantastic cook; nothing ever very fancy, but always tasty and served in generous portions with second helpings frequently piled on my plate without even asking. Consequently, for the last few evenings, I’d started taking an evening walk after dessert and coffee but not to admire the clear night sky and array of stars, impressive as they were. No, my short walk was merely across the farmyard to avail myself of those helpless female equines within.

I’m not sure that my vigorously pounding a ponygirl counted all that much as exercise, but it must have helped counter Bessie’s excellent sponge pudding or whatever had added to my waistline; at least, I hoped so. I’d made that ‘exercise’ excuse the second evening of my visit, having had the opportunity to ‘sample the goods’ as it were during our earlier outing with the ploughs. That evening, the urge to do more ‘ploughing’ was hard to resist, but it wouldn’t involve mucking about in overgrown dirt fields.

I ditched that lame excuse the following night when it became apparent that a) I wasn’t fooling anyone and b) my hosts didn’t give a damn if I did fuck the livestock. Bessie went so far as to give me a sweet, motherly smile as she reminded me that the ‘animals’ weren’t just there to toil around the farm. It was only natural that they also earned their keep in other ways! The emphasis she put on the word ‘other’ left me in no doubt as to what she meant. Her adding that young Plumb was her personal favourite to bend over the fucking hurdle didn’t by any means contradict that impression.

Mind you, that was something  I’d probably have to see to believe. The matronly and motherly Bessie vigorously shafting the sweet young filly, presumably via a strap-on harness, wasn’t something my mind could readily picture. Then again, prior to that first morning in farmyard and fields, I couldn’t have envisaged her wielding a whip as she had done! 

Contrary to my initial expectation when I’d left London to drive North West I was finding life at Bessie and Robbie’s place decidedly stimulating, and going to bed with a big stiffy wouldn’t have been much fun, not to mention probably keeping me awake half the night unnecessarily. ‘Owning such livestock is a bit like having a kind of natural Viagra’, Robbie had chuckled. ‘Despite my advancing years, I frequently get a hard-on just thinking about them!’

He was undoubtedly correct. As Robbie frequently declared, country air was stimulating after smoggy city living, but it wasn't just the clean Welsh air that was so invigorating. In truth, I barely noticed it, and it certainly played no part in my decision to call the office and arrange to extend my holiday for an additional week. I had enough unused allowance to add a few weeks, but I didn’t think my boss would wear it. Six weeks paid leave was a pretty decent entitlement, but taking all I’d got left at zero prior notice wasn’t the sort of thing to endear you to an employer, even of the jolly decent and generous variety!

I was sleeping exceptionally well, though, so maybe country air and healthy outdoor activity were beneficial to an extent, so when I’d rather abruptly yawned long and loud halfway through a delicious portion of apple pie and custard, Bessie had exclaimed, ‘Goodness! Perhaps you should also have an early night rather than riding one of our ponies. Why don’t you take Baby upstairs with you? No need to exert yourself; just lay back and let her lovely lips do all the work. The little Bitch is exceedingly talented,’ she’d paused and cast an ominous glance at the hovering sissy waiting to clear away. ‘Let me know in the morning if you’re unhappy, and I’ll ensure you won’t have any complaints next time!”

Bessie had spoken softly, helping herself to another slice of apple pie. Still, her words were not lost on Baby, who’d trembled so violently at that implied threat that I could see crockery items on the tray she held bounce about. Nor was I surprised at her reaction. I’d watched the plump and motherly-seeming woman in action with her captive livestock for several days by then. Bessie had never struck me as one to tolerate incompetence or laxity. Now, being able to enforce that attitude physically, she was ruthless if she sensed the slightest hint of slackness in her charges. I’d seen it in all their eyes and how they trembled if she so much as looked at them. They hated and loathed Robbie and probably me as well by now, but Bessie was at another level where hate and terror were combined to such an extent that I couldn’t think of a suitable word to describe it. Indeed, was there even one?

Baby was busy at the ironing board when I descended from the bathroom to enter the kitchen and quickly performed the ritual I’d come to expect as Bessie no doubt painfully drummed into her. The slender youth immediately turned to face me, dropping into a graceful curtsy, the big steam iron still in her right hand, I noted. The obligatory acknowledgement of a superior being or words to that effect, Bessie had told me on my second morning.

“This creature may live in the house”, she’d indicated; the trembling Baby, but she counts for nothing. “Kindly remember that. None of them do, and if this little bitch puts so much as a finger out of line with me….well, she’d better not, that’s all!”

I grunted and casually waved my hand, indicating that she should continue. Given the size of that pile of ironing, she’d need a great deal of time, and that was only one item on the long list Bessie had pinned to the kitchen corkboard.

I found that ritual of ‘greeting one’s superiors’ somewhat ego-boosting, although I did question how long that feeling would last. I thought it might get tedious or even annoying after a while. Did I have to tell her or make a gesture to carry on every time, or was there a set time limit, say five or ten seconds? What happened in Buck House or Windsor Castle, for instance? Did the monarch have to do the same, or did royal protocol mandate ignoring all the bowing and scraping that must go on around them? I bet they get tired of all that obsequious stuff as well, though.

I watched the slim, industrious figure vigorously ironing away as if her life depended on it, and I knew she was conscious that my eyes were upon her. A vastly superior being compared to her lowly captive status, I realised with a touch of amusement that my mind had made the transition one hundred per cent, probably due to the previous evening's activities. I was now automatically thinking of her one hundred per cent in the feminine. That visibly but securely confined little cock was nothing more than a useless appendage that didn’t bother me at all.

 I wondered for a second if that was because of last night or merely growing familiarity with becoming accustomed to the sissy bitch over several days. A week ago, I’d have baulked at the idea of indulging in any form of sexual activity with a member of my own sex. Indeed, even in this more enlightened age and in the strictest privacy, I’d have ticked the box that said ‘strictly homophobic’ without question on any survey. It is strange how circumstances could change an entire outlook in a week, no less than a week.

Last night, I’d taken a slender, pathetic boy in makeup and female attire to my bed, partly at Bessie’s urging and partly out of curiosity, not to mention a growing stiffness in the old crotch department. Well, why not? When in Rome, as the saying goes. I’d once looked that up for no reason I can now recall. From my recollections, it harks back to some Saint in the fifteen hundreds who instructed his flock to observe local fasting regulations when visiting the holy city. Not many people know that I expect…and, well, the early part of the night proved far more entertaining than I might have thought this time last week, and baby’s delightful mouth and tongue were definitely not fasting. I’d always been something of a heavy cummer, and she took every drop!

Baby really was a cute and sexy little bitch. I found the sight of that shrunken, captive, useless frontal appendage of hers added rather than detracted from the situation, especially given how free I was to rise to the occasion! She was soft, warm, and fragrantly scented, and although masculine in one obvious way, she was also decidedly feminine in others. So reluctantly passive, as well as my hands roamed all over her, and knowing she hated every damn second of it only added to my pleasure and anticipation. ‘Work in progress’, Betty had said, but if so, then it was damn impressive how far that work had progressed!

I spanked her, of course; I mean, who could resist that cute bottom of hers as she wriggled so delightfully on my lap until I couldn’t contain myself any longer and ordered her to put those pink-painted lips to work where I would most appreciate her endeavours. She was good too, the best blow job I’d ever had, not that I’ve had that many. I read somewhere that if you took a random sample of women, you’d be lucky to find three out of ten who’d ever done that and maybe only one out of ten who’d enjoyed the experience. I don’t know how true that was, but it matched my experiences I do know that. The fact that paying oral homage to my cock was probably the last thing the little bitch wanted to do added so much extra to my pleasure. The mere verbal threat of my hinting to her Mistress that I’d not been best pleased was like kicking that sexy little tongue into instant reheat or full afterburner is, I believe, the American equivalent term!

I’d no recollection as to when I kicked her off my bed after a series of delightful orgasms, my final one a testament to her ability over my wilting flesh. I must have fallen asleep almost immediately, and my next recollection was yawning loudly while glancing at the big clock on my bedroom wall after Bessie scurried from the room. It was still comparatively early, for I’d told my hosts to give me a wake-up call, even though they were leaving at the crack of dawn, as the saying goes.

 Why crack, I wondered? Bessie had interpreted that request as giving me a quick shake and shouting wakey wakey sleepy head in my ear just before they set off on the journey North. She’d also said something about Baby as she skipped out of the room, giggling like crazy. I had no idea what she’d said, for my brain wasn’t even neutral, let alone drive, but I suspected it was something rude or obscene. She could be a very crude woman at times.

I had intended to have a bite of breakfast with my hosts and see them off just in case there were any last-minute instructions. Well, you know what I mean. They’d had months to adapt to this unique state of affairs, whereas I’d had mere days. Then again, what could possibly go wrong? Hopefully, nothing, for by the time I’d ‘got my act together’ as they say, they’d already hit the road.

“Coffee, girl, instant will do with just a drop of milk, but be quick about it!” I snapped and took my customary seat at the big farmhouse table while the little bitch scurried off with considerable alacrity. Then she always did when given an order to carry out, I’d noted. She’d undoubtedly mastered the trick of moving fast in those skyscraper heels she had to wear, and certainly not by choice, I thought with a grin. Nor the rest of her sexy outfits!

Last night, she’d been sent to my room wearing a pink frilly, transparent babydoll nightie, matching holdup nylons and glossy pink stilettos. She’d even a matching pink ribbon pulling her blonde hair into a short ponytail, and of course, the warpaint on her face was all done in pink. Any homophobic doubts I’d had were put to rest immediately as mister cocky down below took one glance at the sexy little bitch and promptly made my mind up for me!

Bessie had told me that once they decided that this lost family would stay good and lost, she’d also decided that one ‘lucky’ member would be spared the horrors of a stable life and become their resident housemaid. I remember thinking that, at the time, house ‘slave’ would have been a more appropriate job description, but Bessie preferred maid. She referred to Baby as the maid, her sissy, bitch boy maid. She had a whole vocabulary of such terms for him, or rather her, she was prone to use, I’d noted, and all of them equally demeaning to his lost manhood and masculinity.

“My first thought, of course, was one of the women,” she’d admitted over coffee one morning while nibbling on a biscuit, one eye on me and the other, as usual, on the industrious Baby. The bitch had been in blue, lavender blue that morning. The usual low cut, high frilly skirted traditional French maid outfit complete with an apron and cap, sheer black seamed nylons, garter belt and gleaming stilettos. The dress might vary, and occasionally the shoe colour, but the suspenders and stockings were almost always black, at least for his work outfits. How big was his, her wardrobe, I’d wondered.

It was like having a ‘self-dressing’ Barbie doll, I thought and wondered how long and how much time Bessie had devoted to teaching the little bitch to use cosmetics so expertly. How many hours had Baby sat in front of a mirror, putting on and wiping all that stuff off? All the more impressive since Bessie was a woman who rarely went beyond just a touch of lipstick herself!

“I was undecided, I’ll admit,”’ Bessie had continued. “You’ve seen them and even bridled; you’ll have glimpsed enough to know they aren’t a bad-looking bunch. I mean figure and face, even the older ones are decent eye candy, especially stripped down and showing all they’ve got,” she’d laughed aloud and raised her index finger, tapped her belly, substantial bosom and finally her nose. “Top class, you might say, compared to this short, dumpy, not to say ugly model from the reject mould, and don’t you try and deny it, young man”, she’d laughed again, waving that finger threateningly at me.

 I grinned back and said, “No comment, ma’am, but you do have some gorgeous animals out there in the stable”.

Bessie had given me a suspicious look, then laughed again. ‘Yes, well, I’ll admit that was going through my mind alongside the hows if you know what I mean. There they were for the taking if we had the courage and could come up with a suitable way, but then you know that side of the story. A sexy maid's outfit with heels; I could picture one of them put to good use. But young or old, I was part wondering, and then that little cutie popped up on the radar.’ She nodded to the industrious Baby, who was busy polishing some old silver. “I knew straight off, I did. Now there’s a little bitch with oodles of potential. If I was feeling hot about those prospective ponies, girlie there really stirred the old juices, not to mention the imagination. Plus, the bitch came with that entertaining little additional extra to tease and deny!”.

The subject of that discussion hurried back and, with a curtsy, held out a colourful flower-patterned tray with a steaming mug of coffee perched somewhat incongruously on it. Well, it struck me that way, but then the whole scenario was like that. I thought, sipping the hot brown liquid. Baby hovered obsequiously nearby till I waved her away, pointing at the ironing board.

Master of all I surveyed was the term that came to mind even though I wasn’t surveying or looking at much other than Baby and the room I was in. But I was the Master and Master with a capital M. A massive capital M the more I considered it. The duly delegated and appointed Master of this little empire and all those captive subjects contained within it for at least the better part of the next thirty-six hours and maybe longer if they decided to stay a second night or even longer. Robbie had hinted that they might take advantage of my presence now I was here.

“One day and night away, maybe, but still a tad riskier than I’d like’, Robbie had confided dubiously, thinking about leaving the place unattended, but two would be out of the question, no way. However”, he’d winked at me. “Now the cavalry’s arrived to hold the fort; the settlers can take their time on the journey, yes?”

Master, yes, but the role also came with responsibilities. They’d have all been fed and watered; I knew that. Robbie said they’d do that before leaving, saving me one chore until later. Nor did I feel hungry. Bessie had virtually force-fed me a second helping of dessert last night despite my two refusals, and I’d gone to bed feeling bloated and hadn’t worked off anything last night. Maybe I ought to have been a bit more adventurous…I eyed Baby’s gorgeous whip-scarred butt revealed as she bent diligently over the ironing board. But no, that was something I’d never done, and besides,  I kinda had another target in mind for that. I don’t know why, for I’d never had that urge before, but it had been in my mind more or less since my arrival, and the urge was getting stronger.

Instead, I’d settled for Baby’s soft, sensual lips and warm, accommodating mouth. Three times, she’d skilfully brought me off, and boy, was she good before that final semi-successful attempt, which was more of a failure on my part than hers. Slow, slow and very sensuous. The little bitch was a natural cock sucker. I took another sip of coffee and stared at her thoughtfully, wondering about her previous life. She was young, not jailbait young, but…my train of thought switched to a siding I found uncomfortable. Suppose the family had been that bit bigger, suppose…but no supposing, it wasn’t relevant. Still, would Robbie and Bessie have done what they’d done anyway? I thought of Bessie, seemingly sweet but decidedly not so sweet, and I shivered.

I eyed those bobbing whip-scarred buttocks and shivered. Yeah, you never knew, did you! Bessie was an absolute savage with a whip in her hand. I’d seen enough in just a few days, hadn’t I? The animals, Baby included, were scared of Robbie, but Bessie terrified them. The difference wasn’t that great, but enough so that even some insensitive oaf like me, who was generally pretty indifferent to such things, could sense it.

How long had it taken, I wondered and how? Every night or…I shrugged my mind, trying to conjure up the images.

A week ago, it would have been impossible, laughably impossible, but now less so. I could imagine Robbie sitting on the edge of the bed wearing one of the old vests he favoured rather than using a pyjama top, his pot belly bulging out, and maybe wearing those blue and white checked pyjama bottoms. His enormous cock, with its thick red bell end sticking out of an open fly, brought to mind something Bressie had once confided. ‘He might not look much of a catch, but then neither was I, and I got the best of the bargain, coming as he did with a sizeable bonus where a girl most wants one!

Nor did it seem that age had diminished that bonus when we took a break from stable chores for a coffee break and walked in on him vigorously using their ‘dog’ in a manner calculated to have got him arrested had the animal he was pounding been a real hound. Poor Fido hadn’t a chance strapped into his doggie bitch suit, and that’s precisely how his Master was using him! Bessie never batted an eyelid; merely let out a short laugh and headed straight past to switch the kettle on.

Truth to tell, I was a little unsure of the legal situation in the UK, but I was pretty damn sure that Bestiality was not only illegal but punishable by a prison sentence. No doubt a hangover from Victorian prudery. You could rob and beat an old lady half to death and get your hand slapped by the local magistrate for doing so, yet screw a dog or a sheep, and they’d probably lock you up and toss the key away. I thought about the stable and couldn’t prevent an involuntary shiver. If the authorities should ever discover those creatures, they’d probably bring back hanging for the likes of me, Bessie and Robbie and with full public approval!

Anyway, this particular hound was only a dog by his owner’s design and for Bessie’s amusement. In this case, I suspect it was triggered more by my startled reaction rather than what her husband was doing. I assumed she was well used to it by now, especially as she wasn’t averse to doing the same with all their livestock. Her good humour on that occasion stemmed as much from pride in her husband’s virility and manhood as the situation. My old friend Robbie was turning out to be no prude either! Was he on something, I wondered, or was it merely the natural outcome of having so many helpless ‘holes’ at his disposal? Maybe he was right about that Natural Viagra, and I just hoped I’d have that sort of stamina at his age.

I sipped my coffee slowly, savouring the moment my eyes part focused on those bobbing whip, scarred buttocks, wondering how many times Robbie had sampled that tempting treat and when was the first time that thick red bell end had sampled that juicy girly boy-hole. I imagined Robbie sitting on the edge of the bed in his tatty nightwear while Bessie, in one of her decidedly unsexy thick cotton nightdresses, stood to hand, whip or cane ready to provide the sexy bitch with suitable encouragement?

Four and a bit months, sheesh! I watched the iron moving back and forth over the board but was not conscious of it as my mind mulled over the situation: the owner of those lips, mouth and tongue that had so skillfully drained me just a few hours ago. What was going through that pretty head right now, and how did she feel about this…this unexpected turn in her life? What had she been going to do before fate brought them all to this remote building that day?

It was a fascinating situation, an unbelievable situation, and one which I was still struggling to get my head around. Incredible, and yet it was real, and I was now an active part of it, as was that sexy little bitch. I noticed Baby was trembling, actually shaking ever so slightly, and I knew why as a delicious feeling of power, absolute power, surged through me to the point where something else twitched and began to sit up and take an interest.

I taped my groin with a finger. ‘Hey, down boy, not yet, save your strength. I silently told it we’ve a long day ahead of us yet and plenty of time for fun. Let's save our ammunition for later. I took a long drink from my mug. That was assuming the old ammo locker had been replenished, of course. Baby had done a pretty good job of emptying it last night right down to the last drop and taken it all down. Literally to the last drop as her pink tongue had efficiently cleaned up my buddy below, even as he shrank from that fourth such encounter when my little buddy had done his very best to respond!

That wasn’t why the little cutie was shaking, though. Sucking cocks, real or fake and being regularly fucked by the same wasn’t a new experience for her, was it? No, I’d heard my hosts using her and, from the sound of it, using her hard on two nights I’d been staying. The noise had been enough to keep me awake, not to mention giving buddy below a touch of Mrs four fingers and thumb!

The little bitch was a right squealer and did so in such a delightfully feminine manner. Bessie had been spot on in selecting the lad for his present role and then trained him in such a short period to damn near perfection in every attribute. I shuddered at the thought of what that had entailed. I didn’t know and could only imagine that baby could do much better than that. She could doubtlessly recall exactly what Bessie had done, and none of it would have been pleasant. I’d seen the woman in action enough times by now to know that ‘pleasant’ was not on the menu when it came to training and disciplining her captives. You only had to look at their whip-scarred bodies to see that!

Baby was trembling because she knew I was watching her and almost certainly recalling what her Mistress had said to her the previous evening. ‘I shall expect a full report from our guest, Girl, regarding your performance tonight. I won’t be here in the morning, but I’ll ensure it’s the first thing on my agenda when I return. If I hear your performance has been less than excellent in every way during my absence, well…one of us will suffer, and it certainly won’t be me!’

Bessie had spoken quietly in that sweet way of hers, and it had hardly sounded like a threat the way she spoke and yet. The emphasis she’d put on the word ‘suffer’ hadn’t been much, but it was noticeable, making Baby shake and almost drop the tray she was carrying. Bessie had caught my eye and smiled at me, but even as a guest, that sweet, seeming innocent smile sent a shiver down my spine.

The little bitch had been good last night, bloody good, and I felt a tad guilty about the hard spanking, the second one but then, well, why not? Besides, it had certainly got my buddy below rock-hard and eager for another round, hadn’t it? Anyway, she had such a cute, spankable bum, I thought, looking across the room and once again having to admonish myself. Down, boy, we need to save our energy for later!

I contemplated breakfast and decided to give it a miss. I’d had several days of Bessie’s traditional Welsh breakfasts, like the traditional English fry up only about twice as big! Besides,  given my mood, the sooner I was out of the house and away from temptation, the better. The day, or rather my day, had hardly started, and I had other fish to fry. I grinned to myself as I got up. Yeah, very apt. This was a reverse case of being out of the frying pan, not the fire. Did that even make sense? No, I decided, but then I didn't even care!

I walked over to baby, delighting in how her shaking increased as I stood behind her, sensing her indecision. Should she turn and perhaps curtsy again to see what her…..yes, I was, wasn’t I? Her Master. To see what I wanted or to carry on with what I’d told her to do and what was on her frightening Mistress’s list of chores

Power, I thought, watching the trembling youth. Absolute power and control. Oh, if only Sharon from the office could see me now. I frowned immediately at that thought. Sharon, that haughty bitch, the office flirt with her false talons, false eyelashes, boob job, painted face and passion for anything with a designer label. No doubt earning the price of them on her back, or so Helen, the office manager, had said intentionally within Sharon’s hearing range one time.

Not that Sharon had given a damn, nor had Helen for that matter; she was ex-military and scared of nothing and nobody. Sharon had reacted by putting it about that Helen, being of a certain sexual persuasion, had tried to get inside her pants, and she’d refused entry, of course not being a bit like that! No love was lost between those two, and I don’t know about Helen, but my attempt to get ‘into Sharon’s pants’ met with a derisory rebuffal. The haughty bitch made it clear, even if she didn’t say as much, that I lacked the wherewithal personality wise to control and command such as her even if I’d occupied an office several floors higher along with the company Gods as it were! Or, if not exactly divine beings, those that could afford business class travel, expensive restaurants and pay for designer clothing and matching accessories.

*****

I stopped halfway across the yard to admire the sky along with the bleak but striking, rugged local countryside. It was a bright, clear day with hardly a breath of wind and no hint of rain. All was well with the world. God was presumably in his heaven far above, and as for the devil, maybe I’d stand in for him a bit down below. What's that old saying about idle hands? Well, I didn’t expect mine to be idle for long, nor those legs belonging to the creatures in the stable!

The livestock had all been fed and watered as usual, likewise myself, although all I’d managed was a solitary slice of buttered toasts, a last-minute compromise I’d made myself. Fido was locked in his kennel in the adjoining washhouse, his food bowl empty, licked clean, and his big brown ceramic water bowl full. Thus, for now, I was the duly delegated and appointed Master of this little empire and all its captive subjects. Baby was doubtlessly cursing me and frantically redoing that pile of laundry. Before leaving the kitchen, my last act was to knock the pile of fresh ironing to the floor and kick it into the sooty fireplace on a cruel whim. Horrible of me, I know, but then again, why not? Besides, I doubted that she’d complain about it to her Mistress, and besides, I doubted Bessie would have accepted any excuse from the sexy little boy bitch for failing to complete a task she’d been set!!

I hadn’t said a word to her; I didn’t need to, for I was the Master, and she was nothing but a domestic slave and fuck bunny. I simply pointed to it, snapped my fingers, and then pointed to the adjoining laundry room. The poor kid had tears in her eyes as she collected all the soiled items to be rewashed and ironed, and I didn’t feel a single twinge of remorse, I must admit, as I left the kitchen after checking her ankle chain was secure. I was a bastard, wasn’t I?

I recalled Bessie's words from the previous evening as I prepared to head to my room. “Keep a firm eye on Baby; use your common sense. The kitchen knives are all on that magnetic silhouette board, but…well, you’re not stupid, so I don’t need to say more. You know as well as I do just how dangerous these animals can be if you allow them the slightest slack, and that little bitch enjoys far more freedom than the rest. Keep her tethered by her ankle at all times, and never should she and the keys to that chain meet!”.

It was good advice but hardly necessary, although I could understand her giving it. This would be the first time they’d been away together since they’d acquired their unique collection, so her concern was understandable. Losing them would be unthinkable given how unlikely history was to repeat itself in terms of re-stocking the stalls, but the attendant ramifications would be far more serious. How many years was I looking at? I’d wondered, watching Baby at work. I’d only been here five days, but how would that translate in the disapproving eyes of officialdom, a year, two for every day or, more likely, ten to twenty years plus!

I might be given a little more freedom than those animals across the yard, but I would not be any freer. I grinned to myself as I thought about that one. Life in one of his majesty’s penal institutions might not be pleasant, but even within their worst and most repressive, conditions would be more akin to a holiday camp than daily life in my friend's stable.

Standing in the open doorway, I took another couple of deep breaths and then wondered why I’d done that, for it wasn’t the usual sort of thing I did. Typically, I was in too much of a hurry to pause and do something like that as I scurried toward my local underground station for the morning rush-hour commute. But then, I didn’t have the scenery I had here, the rolling hills and rugged terrain under a clear blue sky. The morning was bright and dry and what my mother would have described as ‘crisp’. Cold but not too cold with a certain freshness about it that the London mornings never seemed to have.

Maybe they did have, I conceded, gazing about me, but I was too preoccupied to notice. If I skipped my local station and walked through the park to the one on the far side, maybe I’d appreciate it more. I put the thought aside and glanced down that awful, virtually inaccessible track that led back to civilisation, which was naturally empty of movement. My hosts would be well on their way by now, and there were no signs of life heading in my direction as expected. Nobody ever came out here with the exception of…..I looked towards the stable and smiled a rather self-satisfied and wicked little smile.

The smile grew a touch broader as another thought occurred to me. Suppose somebody did turn up, and I took a fancy to them. What would Bessie and Robbie say to another addition, even two? There was that shotgun over the big fireplace, after all, wasn’t there? But it wasn’t loaded because of Baby, and I had no idea where Robbie kept the bullets or shells. Wasn’t that what you called them for shotguns? Or was it cartridges?

I shook my head and put the thought aside, and anyway, Bessie had said only last night that they’d got their hands full, and sometimes she thought they’d bitten off far more than they could chew! But, she’d laughed. They could hardly turn down such a gift-wrapped opportunity when it unexpectedly showed up, nor could they have separated one or two from the pack. It had to be all or nothing, and they had no regrets about opting for all!

Unlike some, I glanced again towards the old stable building and promptly shivered. Yes, it was a bit on the chilly side, even though I wore a thin sweater. How did the ponies cope in this weather? I wondered. Although we’d had a few damp days with a chill in the air, there had been nothing as cold as this. Maybe there’d even been a frost earlier, but there was no sign of one now in the farmyard or up on the hills. Not that we’d be going up there today, tomorrow, or even the next day if they decided to extend their visit. Bessie had said she’d call and let me know so to keep my phone handy.

I always did but didn’t always pay as much attention to it as I should. I kept it in my left trouser pocket, but the vibrate function, even on high, was hardly of ‘orgasmic’ quality and even my ringtone on full volume always seemed muted, but maybe it was just me not being very phone conscious. The signal would be bad to non-existent if I continued working up there in the fields, which I wasn’t allowed to do anyway. Robbie had been quite emphatic that I was to stay on the farm and not stray. Yes, I was there to look after the ponies, but I was also on ‘guard duty’, as he put it.

I rather gained the impression he was somewhat paranoid about the possibility of receiving unexpected visitors, and with good reason, I conceded. Thus, dealing with such possibilities was my other primary responsibility…’without giving grounds for suspicion. He’d been adamant about that last part. What did he think I’d do, strip naked, paint myself blue and leap out of the bushes armed with an axe while shrieking at the top of my voice to discourage them? Sheesh! A polite hello, can I help you and do you know you are on private property and you’ll need to head back to the public road, would suffice. I’m not an idiot. Well, not all the time!

I glanced along the track again into the distance and then around the farmyard, the tidy and the less tidy parts, and something caught my eye, or rather, a couple of things. After I'd asked her about their initial training, Bessie pointed them out when we harnessed the team to the cart. Those very early days when she was breaking them in singularly and in pairs to perform usefully. Perfect, just what I needed to amuse myself….I mean, exercise the ponies and remain on guard duty as I’d faithfully promised.

A sudden chill gust made me shiver again, and I decided to swap my thin sweater for the chunky one I’d brought, anticipating it might be needed in the frozen wilds. North Wales wasn’t quite the arctic, but the morning was leaning far more towards winter than spring or summer. Besides, I might as well ensure both Baby and Bozo were suitably secure for my peace of mind as much as my hosts.

I again eyed those big concrete blocks with the large rusty U bolts sticking out. What the hell had they been used for in the first place? Had they been here when they bought the farm, the small holding as they insisted on calling it, or were later additions brought in for one specific purpose. I shook my head; it wasn’t important. I turned back to the warm kitchen, wondering if I should select all the ponies or merely one or two. Decisions, decisions which made my little buddy down below twitch with delightful anticipation!