Hi there! First, an introduction.
My name is Peter, Peter Banks, and I live with my family in a village in south Gloucestershire near Bristol in the west country of England. The rural life: in many ways idyllic. A real cross-section of village life with the vicar, the policeman, postman, a pub and all the local characters; and quite a few children.
We were all at the local village school, where my Mum taught ages 6-10: sixteen children in one room. We knew each other well. In the last year 3 of us were to take the 11+ test so this was our last year together.
After school we 9 year-olds often played Cowboys and Indians or Cops and Robbers in among the tall ferns in the copse behind the school. Sandra, my twin sister, Jeff and his younger sister Mandy, and sometimes Sophie. Usually Jeff and I were the cowboys and the girls were the Indians. We tied them up with scarves and soft cotton rope -- bits of old clothes-line - and pretended to rescue them. Just the five of us: Sophie's younger brother Mark was away at boarding school -- 'prep school' -- ready for public school in 3 years.
The ferns were taller than us in the copse and we used to build 'nests', 'forts' or 'dens' between the trees, depending on the game we were playing. You could hide easily. The girls used to moan and scream when we caught them, but they always wanted to play the next time. Mandy put up with it, rolling her eyes, until we released them all after the 'ransom' had been paid. My sister Sandra just complained about "how was it that it was always the girls who got caught?" But Sophie would groan and twist about often looking at me with a strange expression, her eyes glazed.
Those were good times. Carefree times.
Our lives changed the following year after the 11+ exam. Jeff and Mandy went on to the local technical school. Sandra and I went to Bristol girls' and boys' grammar schools and a year later Sophie went to Cheltenham to the Ladies College.
What a change from junior school! Latin, ancient Greek, modern languages, sciences, music, drama, and of course rugby: all new to me -- and all the others in my class of 32. I struggled with some subjects, did better in others. Being taller and stronger than average, I did well at rugby. Cricket and I did not fit well together. I was known as 'Banksy', not to be confused with the other, better known, Bristolian.
The summers were glorious: six weeks of freedom and many of us helped out harvesting around the village. You had to be up early if you wanted a ride with the men, or we went on our bikes when we missed the trucks. Often we were tired by 3 o'clock and would make a fort of the straw bales from combining, or sit on the hay wagon going to the rick.
As it happened my Dad, an electrician, decided at that time to buy a small garage closer to the motorway and Bristol. So we moved to live at the garage towards where Sophie lived at The Manor. Dad's older brother Sam worked at The Manor as a gardener: this was small community. Uncle Sam was a bit slow but he was very good at the jobs he knew and I learned a lot from him
For several summers I helped Uncle Sam up at the Manor, my first real job, and Sam paid me. I didn't realize it at the time but Lady Margaret, Sophie's mother, had arranged it through Sam. She had seen me mending the stone wall with Sam on the edge of the grounds while she was out riding. The Manor grounds ran alongside the local B-class road for about a quarter mile or so and many sections of the wall had collapsed or just fallen over. These were Cotswold dry-stone walls made of sandstone slabs but made without mortar, a bit of an art-form
The Manor had four stables and three horses, where Sophie and her mother often rode in the mornings. Those years raced by and those days Sophie rarely spoke to me: it was as if our junior school times never existed. We were both in our last year of school before University. I was turning 19.
I mentioned this at home one dinnertime. Dad said he wasn't surprised because the school Sophie went to was very exclusive and she had probably been taught to behave that way.
When I was doing the washing-up I heard Mum and Dad talking about the odd situation at The Manor, with Lord Humphrey living at his club in London and just visiting The Manor at most one weekend a month. Just 18-year-old Sophie and her 36- year-old mother Lady Margaret, with Mrs Bradshaw from the village cooking and Mrs Bradshaw's niece helping out. I think someone else did some cleaning.
Apparently Lord Humphrey was a 40-year-old Lt Colonel in The Grenadiers when he met the 18-year-old Margaret. He swept her off her feet, and they married within weeks. Sophie was born the same year and her brother a year later. Lord Humphrey was known as a 'town' person and Lady Margaret preferred to live in the country.
Later that summer Lady Margaret introduced herself to me. I still remember her subtle perfume: Chanel I think. She asked if I would be willing to help out with the horses as well as the gardening at weekends. I was smitten with her looks and understated glamour.
I told her I knew nothing of horses but Lady Margaret said that she and Sophie would be around to help me at the beginning and that it was just cleaning the stables and saddling and wiping down the horses after exercise. Apparently while there was no shortage of money to run the estate at that time, the ostler was underused with Sophie away at school and he had found a more lucrative position elsewhere. He was not interested in gardening. I got a raise.
That was my routine for a while; Sophie seemed strangely shy but we chatted about the stable and horses. The phone would ring about 9.30 to tell me the ladies would be coming to ride and I would saddle up the hunter and the mare. The ladies would check the leatherwork and be gone for an hour. On their return I would remove the saddles wipe the horses with a sponge, then a towel, feed them and let them out to pasture. It was all rather idyllic.
During the winter I played rugby every Saturday morning for the school first fifteen. We had a good team and a good season. I was 6'2", 186 lb, and I could play second row or back row. Lady M. -- she asked me to call her this after I refused to call her Margaret -- asked if I had any time to help at The Manor at weekends. I didn't really want to because I could often get a second game of rugby (for the school Old Boys 3rd team) on the Saturday afternoon if the school game was at home in the morning. But I agreed to fit in when I could around the fixture list.
That was when it happened - one Sunday morning. I saw Sophie walking over from the house so I got her saddle, blanket and reins ready. She walked up to the bench ready to put the saddle on the mare.
"Hold on Sophie, I can do that for you," I said.
"No, I can manage -- and that is Miss Sophie to you!" she replied.
I said nothing and left her to saddle the horse.
"What on earth has got into her?" I wondered. Wrong side of the bed, or an argument with her mother no doubt.
I got on with my work: always plenty to do.
Almost an hour later Sophie galloped across the paddock and headed in to the tack room, walking the mare. Both were hot and well exercised.
She held out the reins and I took them without any comment. I really didn't know what to say! It was a good job. It paid well and the hours were flexible.
Half an hour later I had rubbed down the horse and was cleaning and oiling the tack when Sophie reappeared. She had changed her blouse and put her white-blonde hair back into a pony tail; she glowed with health.
"Sorry about being rude earlier Peter," she smiled. Wow, she was pretty when she smiled!
I smiled back. "No problem."
"Can I have those reins a moment?" she asked, and I gave her the one end.
She reached out and took my hands and placed them palm to palm. I wondered what she was doing. She looked me in the eyes, smiled and wrapped the reins around my wrists several times, then flicked the end metal spring clasp between them twice, effectively binding my hands together.
She then clipped the clasp onto a ring attached to a longer piece of rope lying on a bale behind me. This longer rope ran through a block on the rafter, which was used to move bales around.
Sophie looked at me with strangely narrowed eyes while she pulled on the longer rope through the block in the rafter and my arms were pulled above my head.
"Hey Sophie, what are you doing?"
"Oh, nothing; just payback time," she smiled and she pulled on the rope till I was on tiptoes. I was effectively immobilized.
She wrapped the rope around a cleat on the wall.
Then she pulled a bale of straw behind me and I was allowed to sit, arms till in the air.
"Do you remember playing Cowboys and Indians, Peter?"
"You used to tie us girls together and I used to get a thrill from that: it made me quite weak at the knees but I always promised myself that I would get my own back, one day. Well, it has been many years but that day has come."
So saying Sophie took another leather rein, wrapped it around my knees and pulled it back under the straw bale. I couldn't get up even if I tried.
She smiled and looked up at me with hooded eyes. Then she climbed on my knees with her legs bent on either side of mine. She leaned forward and kissed me gently on the lips. I had no idea what to do: this was all unknown territory for me. I closed my eyes.
I leaned forward to kiss her back but she bent backwards to prevent me.
Then she took my head in her hands and leaned forward to lick my neck. Strange! I could feel her tongue on my skin ...
"You taste really good Peter. I will have to do this again. But before that you have to do something for me."
Sophie reached up to her neck and undid the top three buttons of her blouse.
"Don't worry Petey, there's no one her but you and me" she whispered.
She undid the rest of the blouse and reached inside her lacy bra to release her little breasts. They were not large, probably a 32B, if that.
"I want you to kiss them and nibble gently Petey. If you hurt me I will do something nasty to your cock" she warned.
I had never heard such language from her before.
"Yes" she continued, "I learned a lot about men and the male body in biology at the college and from talking to my friends there."
She stood on her knees and leaned forward, presenting her breasts to my mouth and I obliged, with great care licking and kissing her nipples.
"More, Petey, and suck them" she muttered breathlessly.
Again I obliged, and Sophie shuddered, her knees tense against my thighs.
Then I realized she had undone the button on my jeans and pulled down the zipper, sliding her fingers under my briefs.
I tried to move but she had me pinned to the straw bale.
She pulled by pants down, exposing the crown of my cock and the top two inches.
I was as hard as iron -- and embarrassed. She reached down and kissed the crown with its dew-drop of precum.
"Mmmm, very nice. You have a lovely cock Petey" she said.
Sophie slid back off my knees and stood up, reaching in her pocket for her cell phone.
My god: she was going to take a picture of me in this exposure!
"Just in case you get any ideas Petey. This will be on my hard drive in a few minutes."
Then she released the rope from the wall cleat and walked off.
What was that all about? I hadn't misused or abused her those years ago, at least not to my memory. What to do?
So, in typical fashion, I did nothing
I fastened my jeans, finished the work and cycled home. What if she sent the picture to the family? Or my school mates? Or the rugby team? I was distraught.
Life returned to a sort of 'normal.' I continued to work up at The Manor at weekends, though fortunately I didn't see Sophie for several weeks when she was up at the Ladies College. Lady M. rode most weekends and she was quite friendly, helping cool down and wash the hunter and cleaning up the stable with me.
We talked about all sorts of subjects and she became quite animated from time to time. I think she was lonely and I enjoyed our conversations. She was clearly well-read and familiar with A-level material.
That was it until mid-term when Lady M. commented that Sophie would be home for a weekend.
And I had a plan!
But Sophie always rode with her mother, both at midterm and Christmas break.
Cool story, really interesting start
Great Story. A bit prodictable
ngl fucking ace.
Fuck me thats hot
God damn, this is the best story I've read in a long time.
best story i've read in a while
FUCK, this was so fucking good FUCK, your stories are so well written
Would love to read more of these, maybe start a series?
amazing short x