Following on from last year’s femdom story series ‘The Referendum’, here is a new six part series called ‘The Farm Slave’ written by the same submissive author of mine.
Mellory Jones paused briefly, her favourite crimson lipstick in her hand as she regarded herself carefully in the bathroom mirror in the midst of applying her morning make up. Fair skinned and auburn haired she had always felt the need to be prudent in her exposure to the summer sun. Apart from this small and relatively insignificant drawback she seemed to have won the jackpot in the gene pool lottery. At thirty eight years old her figure was not noticeably different from how it had been at half that age. In fact plenty of gym time had served to firm it up, and with a slim long legged body she was quite used to turning male heads. Not that it was something that she consciously assured to, or even really appreciated. Admiring male glances inevitably drew a somewhat haughty response from her and their compliments were more likely to provoke a stinging riposte than an appreciative comment. She had come to regard men merely as entertaining, if somewhat unruly animals and had learned to treat their comments, negative or positive, accordingly.
For the past sixteen years she had lived and worked in London. She had, over those years gained promotion within the hierarchy of the upmarket recruitment agency where she worked. The agency specialised in scientific recruitment and her job was to research into the background of applicants, searching for potential skeletons in cupboards. It was a job that paid a decent salary and provided her with a nice car. She had been lucky too in buying a flat within walking distance of the office at a time before spiralling prices had put such properties well beyond the reach of her younger colleagues. The area where she lived had over the years undergone much gentrification and was rapidly becoming the domain of the wealthy and the trendy. This too was not something that filled her with any great pleasure, she was, despite her air of sophistication, a simple country girl.
The morning that the letter arrived Mellory was already running rather late. She hurried through a simple breakfast of toast and fresh pineapple before grabbing her car keys and plucking the letter from the mat on her way out. She placed it on the hall table and forgot about it as she went about her day’s work. That evening when she arrived home it once again caught her eye. Picking it up she noticed the postmark. It was Llandrindod Wells. Her mind wandered back to her childhood and the long summer holidays that had been spent on Uncle Emlyn’s rather unkempt and wild hill farm where he kept sheep and grew a few crops on the small amount of land level enough to bear cultivation. Memories of those magical days of her youth spent in the Welsh hills brought on a wave of nostalgia for a place she had not returned to in more than two decades.
She slit open the envelope with a table knife and took out the single sheet of white paper. Unfolding it she saw the heading. It was Cooper, Pritchard and partners solicitors. The letter informed her that she was the sole beneficiary of the estate of the late Emlyn Jones of Llandegley Farm. It went on to invite her to make an appointment to discuss the details of her inheritance. She had almost forgot Uncle Emlyn, and now she felt remorseful at neither having not visited him over many years, or even attending the funeral that had taken place while she had been away attending a work conference in Stockholm. She had amassed a fair amount of holiday due to her, so in work the next day she made the appointment and booked the whole of the following week off.
The drive down was gratifyingly uneventful. It was a bright early autumn morning and traffic on the M40 was light making for an easy drive. Mellory was a skilled and accomplished driver, taking pleasure in her control of the neat little white Audi coupe as left the motorway and took to the more winding single carriageway roads. Now she saw the light September haze hanging over the distant hills of Worcestershire ahead of her. She crossed over the border and soon arrived in the small Welsh town. Everything was bathed in the pleasant late afternoon autumnal sun and she soon found the solicitors office. It was situated in a large detached red brick Edwardian house in the main street. She parked in the courtyard at the rear and made her way round to reception.
A friendly middle aged albeit somewhat housewifey lady greeted her and she was invited to take a seat in the waiting room. Within a few minutes Maurice Pritchard, the senior partner, bustled in through the door and invited her into his office. He was a big, jovial bearded man whose brisk movement belied his substantial bulk. His office reflected an untidyness that was clearly also evident in his person. Mounds of files were piled somewhat haphazardly on his large leather topped wooden desk, many more spilled from a wooden cabinet that filled one wall. He opened the one that he carried in his hand. “Llandegley Farm” he began. “Fifty six acres with a detached house and a separate cottage, A decent little inheritance if you don’t mind me making the observation, I suppose you will be putting it up for sale?”
“Why do you say that?” The question that she put so flatly in response to his statement clearly took him by surprise, not being the one that he had expected. He had in fact already discussed the potential sale of the property at the bar of the Red Lion with Dylan Williams the somewhat raffish estate agent who did most of his business there, often in a state of semi inebriation, the ubiquitous single malt chinking happily in the glass that was permanently ready for a refill. Williams had assured Pritchard that he had a ready cash buyer for Llandegley Farm on terms that he implied would be distinctly favourable to them both
There was a brief intake of breath from across the desk as Pritchard gave some hasty thought to the direction of his next move as he took in the potential thwarting of their little conspiracy. Eventually he spoke. “In a word, sheep.” The solicitor scrutinised her. “Around these parts that’s all they think about. Unless you are brought up to that way of life it’s not something that you can just decide to get involved with, I am quite confident that we could easily find you a buyer, maybe one of the adjacent farms might be interested.”
Mellory thought about it for a moment. “But Uncle Emlyn had a man who looked after the farm for him didn’t he?”
Pritchard let out a little chuckle that turned into a wheeze that reminded her of an old fashioned steam kettle coming to the boil. “Hugh Llewelyn. Well yes I suppose that he is a capable enough shepherd and of course he’s strong as an ox, but he’s certainly not up to running the whole operation. No, not nearly enough up here.” He tapped his temple dismissively. She considered this. For the first time she was picking up on the possibility that the solicitor might not be acting entirely in her best interest. She decided to pursue the idea. “Maybe all he needs is someone to chivvy him along, to organise things a bit better for him. I do know that Uncle Emlyn was a bit lackadaisical in that respect. I will speak to Hugh myself and let you know on that. I may decide to give it a go.”
The solicitor shrugged. He now seemed rather put out by the fact that his client was not supinely accepting his recommendation. His attitude seemed to change as he became rather less friendly, the implication being “On your own head be it.”
Mellory returned to her room at The Angel Hotel. It was on the edge of town, comfortable and quiet being at the rear of the building well away from the road. She took a quick shower and lay down briefly on the bed. It had been a long, tiring day and within a few minutes she had fallen asleep. When she awoke it was rapidly moving towards dusk, the last rays of the sun now disappearing to the west. She picked up her mobile phone and began scrolling through. She came to the name of Rhiannon Phillips and pressed the call button. She heard the ring tone at the other end and a soft, lilting and mellifluous Welsh accented female voice answered. Her friend was pleasantly surprised to hear from her, even more so when Mellory revealed that she was in town.
Unlike Mellory, who had herself grown up in the English Midlands, her friend Rhiannon was a local girl whose family had resided in the Welsh hills for many generations.The two had met when they had both gone pony trekking as teenagers in the summer holidays and for those long weeks the two girls had become firm friends, and for that period, inseparable. In the two decades that had passed since then they had maintained regular contact, something that had been made far easier since the advent of mobile phones.
She recognised Rhiannon immediately as she walked into the hotel bar. Like herself her friend had worn very well over the years. Tall and willowy with a luxuriant, thick mane of chestnut hair all male heads turned at the sight of her as she made her way across the floor in a pair of black leather trousers that clung to every curve and looked as if they had been sprayed on, such was the tightness of their fit. “You are looking good.” Commented Mellory. She felt her appearance to be slightly dowdy by comparison with her friend, secretly wishing that she had been a tad more adventurous than wearing her navy blue trouser suit, white blouse and business heels.
“Thanks Mellory, you are looking good too.” They kissed briefly in the continental manner, a style that was still unusual in the backwater that was Llandrindod Wells. Over a bottle of Prosecco they discussed all the things that had gone on in their lives over the past twenty years. Rhiannon spoke of her marriage to a wealthy, older man that had recently ended, expressing her pleasure at being free again. Eventually she asked what had brought Mellory back and her friend revealed the information about her inheritance.
“I really don’t know what to do. The solicitor is advising me to sell but I’m reluctant in a way, it seems like a once in a lifetime opportunity, something that certainly won’t come my way again.”
When Mellory mentioned Hugh Llewelyn her friend smiled.
“He was in my class at school. A strange sort of boy, I think he had a bit of a crush on me in the fifth form. Of course it was never likely to come to anything. He wasn’t bad looking but he was so easily manipulated. My school friends used to laugh saying that he would do anything I asked of him. I have to admit that I am a bit ashamed to say that I took advantage of that a bit, I used it to make him do things for me. Then I would humiliate him in front of his friends, I suppose it was quite cruel really but you are at that age aren’t you? I have to say that it gave me a bit of a thrill to do it, do you think that I’m a bitch?
Mellory laughed as she emptied the remnants of the Prosecco into their glasses. “Well it’s a little bit naughty I suppose but no, not a bitch. How did he react to being treated like that?”
Rhiannon thought for a while. “Do you know Mellory, that’s the really strange thing about it. It was almost as if treating him like that encouraged him even more, as if it made me more attractive rather than less, quite a few men seem to almost enjoy being treated badly by a woman. Maybe next time I will deliberately choose one like that, it could be rather fun being a femme fatale don’t you think?”
The question hung unanswered in the air for a bit while Mellory considered whether it was rhetorical or not. Eventually she said “Yes, I think that it might be rather fun, and you may just have given me the answer to the question that I have been turning over in my head since meeting my solicitor this afternoon.”
The next morning Mellory drove the four miles from the town out to Llandegly Farm. The house stood exactly as she remembered it. The building itself was a fairly substantial whitewashed property under the ubiquitous grey slate roof. She parked her car in the drive and walked around the back of the house. It was substantially overgrown with foliage, having been neglected for several months since the death of her uncle. The structure however appeared very sound. In the distance she could see the much smaller cottage that was occupied by Hugh Llewellyn who had been retained to keep things ticking over the last few months while the legalities of the estate were sorted. Mellory had already decided that before she broached the subject of him staying on as an employee of the farm she would try to bring Rhiannon into the plan. Hugh’s erstwhile infatuation with her friend might turn out to be a huge asset in implementing what she had in mind.
The two women met in the restaurant of the Angel Hotel for lunch. It was the only decent place in the town to dine, exuding an air that passed for sophistication in this rural backwater. Mellory had to admit to herself that she rather liked the simplicity and slower pace of life compared to London. In her mind she imagined living at Llandegley Farm, perhaps even getting a horse for rides across the rolling Welsh hills. The more that she thought about it the more the idyllic country life appealed to her. Over their wild salmon fillets she floated the idea to Rhiannon.
“You see the only really substantial expense is Hugh’s wage. It’s only eighteen thousand a year because he gets the cottage as part of the deal, but I thought that if he was confronted with the possibility of losing his job then he might be prepared to accept a cut in his pay that would help make the farm a more viable economic proposition.”
Rhiannon considered this as she sipped her chilled Chablis. “Mel, if he’s anything like he was at school, and I doubt that he has changed very much, then I think he could be persuaded to accept virtually any terms you put to him short of out and out slavery.”
The two women’s eyes met and they studied one another as the as yet unanswered question hung in the air. Eventually Mellory spoke “You don’t think that…?” The merest hint of a smile played on Rhiannon’s lips. “I really don’t know, but I think that under the circumstances it’s an avenue that we need to explore…I do so enjoy being a bitch.”
Hugh Llewelyn watched from his window as the smart little white Audi coupe wound it’s way up the lane towards the cottage. Carefully the driver avoided the potholes that he had meant to fill in for some time but, maybe because they made very little difference to his elderly Toyota pick up, he just hadn’t got round to doing it. He did a quick double take as Rhiannon Phillips emerged from the passenger side. Rhiannon Phillips, the subject of a thousand fantasies since they were in class together at school. Once he had harboured ideas that they might be a couple but those teenage whims had long disappeared and Hugh had just got on with life on the farm. He had caught glimpses of her from time to time in the town of course, that was inevitable in such a small place. He didn’t recognise the driver however, a woman of similar age to Rhiannon but with lighter auburn hair neatly trimmed into a bob style. They walked side by side up to the front door of his cottage.
It would be entirely fair to characterise Hugh Llewelyn as a creature of habit. Since leaving Llandrindod Wells High School in the summer of 1997 he had only had one job. He worked for Emlyn Jones at Llandegley Farm. Hugh had never been academic. Although far from stupid as Mellory’s solicitor had suggested his strength lay in his practical abilities. In this respect he was ideally suited to the everyday certainties of farm work. He was more than capable of performing the basic necessities required to ensure the smooth running of the farm. In addition to looking after the sheep he supervised the cultivation and harvest of the almost two acres of asparagus that occupied the single piece of flat land that ran along the top edge adjacent to the woodland that formed the eastern boundary of Jone’s farm. Every May the valuable crop was picked by Hugh with the help of a couple of casual workers, packed into boxes before being sold to restaurants across Wales. This accounted for almost half the farm’s annual income.
In return for this work on the first of each month fifteen hundred pounds was paid into Hugh’s
bank account. His living costs were negligible. Over the years he had amassed quite a large sum in his savings account. Once a month on a Saturday Hugh drove the Toyota Hilux pick up into Swansea. He always stayed over at neat semi detached house of Gwen Bowen. They had met in a Swansea pub some ten years earlier after Hugh had been to the football match. A dark haired woman, well preserved and in her mid fifties Gwen had some mediterranean ancestry accentuated by a permanent tan kept topped up in winter by regular trips to the salon. Given to low cut blouses that displayed her ample breasts and short skirts and high heels that similarly showed her good legs she made her living in the way that many women who lived in that part of the city did. It was a regular arrangement that suited them both, Hugh getting good sex on both Saturday night and Sunday morning before driving back to the farm replete with a full breakfast albeit a hundred pounds poorer. Hugh’s life was one of certainties until that fateful day in June when Emlyn Jones had suffered a massive heart attack at the age of seventy nine.
“Hello Hugh, are you going to invite us in?” Rhiannon made the question a rhetorical one by stepping into the cottage while he was still considering his reply. This was the way it had always been between them and, once again, Hugh acquiesced. She explained the situation to Hugh briefly. “You see Hugh, we have a proposition to put to you. We know that this must be an unsettling time for you and we would like to give you back some certainty in your life, allow you to move on with some degree of security.” Hugh nodded as if he understood.
Rhiannon continued. “You will of course need to sign a new contract.” Hugh looked bewildered. Eventually he said “I don’t think that I ever had one.”
“Well we will prepare one for you. You will need to demonstrate your appreciation of Mellory because she is putting herself out on a limb for you here, she could easily just sell up and that would leave you in a very difficult position. We expect you to show you are grateful by accepting our terms unequivocally.”
Hugh didn’t reply. Clearly he was quite stunned by the attractive and powerful Rhiannon. Mellory watched, fascinated. Then Rhiannon said something that seemed quite outrageous. “I think that you should get down on your knees and show your commitment by kissing her boots.” He looked quite shocked but obediently dropped down before Mellory. She was wearing knee length black leather stiletto heeled boots worn inside tight black jeans. Now she moved her legs apart and stood over him, her hands on her hips. “Do it Hugh.” Rhiannon said. “And when you have kissed them say “Thank you Mistress.”
Hugh grovelled at her feet before placing his lips on the polished black leather toes of her boots. Mellory felt a surge of power as she watched Hugh worship her boots. “Now the other one.” He transferred his attention to her left boot. As they left Rhiannon informed him that they would be in touch as soon as the contract had been drawn up. As they walked back to her car Mellory said simply ” I quite enjoyed that!”
Copyright D L Media – October 2019