The journey to Cornwall with my “owners”, Bluebelle and Abigail, took four hours, and, as instructed, I kept quiet while hoping that one of them would say something to me that might allow me to speak. But it was almost as if they'd forgotten I was there. Nonetheless, they chatted non-stop with one another, which at least allowed me to gain some knowledge of where we were going and what I'd be doing.
Eavesdropping, and joining the dots, I learnt that the cottage was in a secluded spot, with no nearby neighbours, and the nearest village, with a few shops and a pub, was half-a-mile away. The dwelling had been recently bought by Bluebelle's parents, who had spent no more than two weeks living there before departing on an ocean-going cruise. The cottage and garden had been neglected by the previous owner, and Bluebelle's parents wanted everything spruced up according to their own wishes. On discovering this, Bluebelle had at once volunteered to do the work, explaining how good it would be to spend the summer in sunny Cornwall.
Not surprisingly, her parents had been reluctant to delegate the renovation project to Bluebelle, preferring to hire professionals. However, somehow, she had persuaded them that she was perfectly capable of doing landscape gardening and tasteful redecorating, and they had relented—even agreeing to pay her. Clearly, I was to be the gardener and decorator while she reaped the financial benefits.
oooOOooo
It was still light when we arrived and, as Bluebelle manoeuvred the car onto the drive, I caught my first glimpse of the property that was to be my home for the next few weeks. It was old and wasn't especially large, but, as I had expected, it was in a remote location, and there were no neighbouring dwellings. And I could tell that the garden needed attention, with knee-high grass and weed-strewn flowerbeds.
The two girls stepped out of the Mini, and Abigail swung the passenger seat forward, allowing me to extricate myself from the backseat. “Bring in the luggage, Puppy,” ordered Bluebelle, while she and her friend strolled up to the front door.
A Mini has little space for luggage, so there was not much for me to carry in, and, in a way, I could understand why I was instructed not to bring a case for myself.
Inside, I found the house was sparsely furnished, and I remembered Bluebelle saying that her parents still had furniture in storage. Nevertheless, I was to discover that what was missing in furniture was made up for by the many unpacked boxes that peppered the house.
“Be a pet, and get us both black coffees, Puppy,” instructed Abigail, who was now sitting alongside Bluebelle on a sofa that was the only comfortable seat in the lounge.
I found the kitchen, where there were some basic provisions, including a large jar of instant coffee. I took the drinks through and passed them over. Neither girl said anything, but Bluebelle looked up at me quizzically.
“Er...” I ventured.
“The suitcases, Puppy. Didn't it occur to you they need to go upstairs? Jump to it. Naturally, we're using the bigger bedroom, so find some bed linen and make up the bed. Go on!” she tartly ordered.
“Er...”
“What?”
“Er... just the one bed, Miss?”
“Yes! One bed! Does that offend you, Puppy?”
On the contrary, I'd worked out they were lesbians at our first meeting, and the thought of being enslaved by them was a massive turn-on. “No, Miss,” I replied, maintaining as neutral an expression as was possible while bubbling up inside.
“When you've done that, Puppy, unpack our cases and put everything neatly away,” added Abigail, smiling.
“What?! You want him touching our clothes? Our intimate belongings?” queried Bluebelle, with a shocked expression.
“Yes, why not, Blue? He's our slave, here to work, and with his willy locked up he won't want to get too excited handling our stuff,” remarked Abigail, while softly stroking Bluebelle's arm.
“Hmm... yeah, I see what you mean. You can be so cruel, Abby,” her friend replied, with a smile.
oooOOooo
I lugged the cases upstairs and located the bigger of the two bedrooms. In fact, it was the only room that had a bed, the other one having just a mattress and piles of boxes.
On the landing was an airing cupboard in which I found sheets, a duvet cover and pillowcases. In the big bedroom was a lightweight duvet, and I set about making the bed, my mind pondering what their suitcases would hold.
It wasn't long before I got to find out, and my penis was soon pulsing as I sorted through their belongings. Despite my severe discomfort, I found myself gently fingering their lingerie, and I was intrigued by their different tastes. Abigail favoured very sexy items, made of satin, silk and lace, in a variety of pastel shades. Her panties were in an assortment of styles, from microscopic thongs to full briefs, while her bras were all featherweight and gossamer thin. Moreover, she seemed to have brought far more underwear than needed. Everything was new, some still with labels, so possibly the collection had been funded by the money paid to Bluebelle by her parents.
Bluebelle's lingerie was also brand new but, unlike Abigail, she favoured everyday cotton panties and T-shirt bras—plain and functional, and either black or white. The items were not as sexy as her friend's but still curiously erotic, causing my juices to leak into my own panties.
To me, everything felt so soft and delicate and unmistakably feminine. I started picturing what they would look like if I saw the pair dressed in nothing but their undies yet suspecting that wasn't going to happen.
Carefully, I placed the items into a chest of drawers left empty by Bluebelle's parents, the only piece of furniture in the room, save for the bed. Their daughter's items I placed in one drawer and Abigail's in another, taking care to meticulously fold each pair of panties precisely the same way, grouping them by style and colour where appropriate. Their bras I painstakingly arranged by colour so that the cups slipped compactly into one another, with the straps neatly hidden. I was pleased with the end result and found myself gazing at the collections for several minutes.
Returning to the suitcases, I discovered their bikinis, three sets for each of them, and also still with labels attached. I recalled overhearing them talking about an outdoor pool at the back of the house. Surely, I would be allowed to look at them in their swimwear? My penis gave another jolt, and I became aware of more precum oozing into my own panties.
Next, I turned my attention to their nightwear. Abigail favoured very short nighties with matching panties, while Bluebelle, as down to earth as ever, wore practical cotton pyjamas.
Then there was their outer clothing to unpack and store away. Here, the pair had similar tastes. Other than for a couple of extremely short sundresses with spaghetti straps, their clothing was casual, consisting of miniskirts, skimpy shorts, T-shirts and vest tops, ideal garments for an idle summer vacation. I found room for everything in the chest of drawers.
Finally, I emptied the suitcases of the remaining items—washbags, hairbrushes, hairdryers, make-up bags, feminine hygiene products and various other items that girls find essential, most of which are a mystery to men. There were two things, though, that I recognised—they were rabbit-eared vibrators which caused my penis to give another jolt as I fantasised about them using them.
Then, at the very bottom of Bluebelle's case, I caught sight of a thick, eighteen-inch-long leather tawse, clearly intended to inflict pain. My stomach sank a notch as I imagined what it would be like to be on the receiving end of that stiff leather. I may have a desire to serve women, but I'm not a masochist.
Suddenly, my hypnotic state was awakened by a curt call from downstairs. “Why are you taking so long, Puppy? Get yourself down here—now!” screamed Bluebelle. I hastened downstairs.
oooOOooo
“Is the bedroom sorted?” she asked.
“Yes, Miss,” I replied, “But where do you want me to sleep? Only one room has a bed, Miss.”
The two girls stared at one another. Evidently, this was not something they had foreseen. “Er...”
“There's a spare single mattress leaning against a wall in the other bedroom,” I added. “But the room's full of boxes.”
“He could drag the mattress into our room and sleep at the foot of our bed,” suggested Abigail.
“No way!” shouted Bluebelle. “The bed is our private space, Abby. He'll have to sleep downstairs, on the sofa.”
“What about if we need something during the night?”
“Such as what?”
“I don't know, but there might be some service he needs to provide.” Abigail glanced in my direction, a subtle smile across her lips.
“I can't think what we would need him for,” Bluebelle firmly declared. “I don't need a coffee at three o'clock in the morning.”
“Erm... why don't we compromise, and let him sleep on the landing, on the mattress. We keep our door shut.” She tenderly stroked Bluebelle's arm.
Bluebelle thought for a moment before concluding, with a look of exasperation, “Oh, God! If it'll make you happy, Abby, then we'll try it. But if he misbehaves, then he goes downstairs.”
The smile on Abigail's face told me that it did make her happy. I was going to sleep outside their door! I tried to picture what they might get up to, and what I might hear.
“Are you paying attention?” demanded Bluebelle, snapping me out of my daydream. “You said you could cook, didn't you, Puppy?” she enquired, changing the subject.
“Sort of,” I replied, hesitantly.
“What do you mean by that?!” she asked, furrowing her brow. “You said you could cook! It was in a text message!”
“I can cook simple stuff, Miss,” I explained. “I mainly live on takeaways.”
Bluebelle rolled her eyes. “Heaven help us, Abby. We should have checked this more thoroughly before we took him on. We were hoping for some decent home-cooked meals, Puppy. And can you do laundry? Ironing? Housework? Wallpapering? Painting? Gardening?”
“Hmmm... I might be able to do, well, some of those things. And I'm a quick learn—”
“Didn't your parents teach you to do basic jobs?” interrupted Bluebelle, crossly.
“Er... no, not really, but I can quickly—”
“My mum showed me how to cook and garden, and dad taught me some DIY,” boasted Bluebelle. “I can't believe you've reached your age with no damn practical skills. My God, what have we done, Abby?”
“Hmmm... I'm not very practical either, Blue, I can't—”
“That's different! You didn't volunteer to be a slave. Slaves should have these skills. What did he expect he'd be doing for us all summer? We should have stuck to our guns and found a girl slave who had some fucking abilities. He's going to be bloody useless.”
“We need to give him a chance, Blue, I'm sure he has some skills, and we'll find some uses for him,” smiled Abigail, licking her upper lip, while fixing me with her eyes. “Besides, he was the only one to volunteer. It was him or nothing! And he is so cute... and look at his sweet face.”
What? Why did she keep calling me cute... and now saying I had a sweet face? Evidently, Bluebelle didn't understand either, and she shook her head in despair. “We should have kept the advert posted for longer.”
“But we didn't, so we have to make do with him. I'm sure he can learn to do things and will prove to be very handy,” Abigail remarked, giving me a wink.
“Or be thrashed if he doesn't,” Bluebelle menacingly added, causing my stomach to sink. “Okay, Puppy, in the kitchen find something even you can knock up. Pasta with a jar of sauce, maybe. See what there is.”
“Er... okay, Miss. Do I prepare for three? Me as well?”
“Jesus! Yes!! What did you expect to be eating? A tin of bloody dog food?” She was irritated—patience was not her strong point, but I couldn't deny I was testing what little she had.
Luckily, Bluebelle's parents had left the kitchen well stocked with suitable packets, tins and jars, so I was able to prepare a simple meal that the two girls seemed happy to eat.
oooOOooo
Soon after the meal, the girls retired to bed. I was told to stay downstairs for thirty minutes while they used the bathroom and got into their nightwear. When I went upstairs, through the bedroom door I could hear gentle breathing, and I deduced that the girls, especially Bluebelle, were exhausted from the long drive down. As for me, I quickly joined them in the land of nod, and I don't remember much else until I awoke in the morning, sunlight streaming through the landing window.
“Puppy! Wake-up, you lazy devil!” yelled Bluebelle from the bedroom.
“I'm... I'm awake, Miss,” I replied.
“Then we need to have our breakfast. Toast and cereal will do, but you'll have to walk down into the village and buy cereal, bread, butter, milk and jam. Can you manage that, Puppy? Or is shopping something else beyond your capabilities?”
“Yes, I can do that, Miss!”
“Thank God for that! You'll find money in my purse downstairs. Take what you need.”
“May I have a shower first, Miss?” I asked.
“No! Our needs always come before yours, Puppy. And we want breakfast!”
Their intentions made clear, I found the money I needed, feeling pleased that Bluebelle seemed to trust me enough to search through her handbag. But then I remembered that £300 of the money in her purse had been mine.
I set off in what I hoped was the right direction into the village and was relieved to be proved right. Provisions bought, I made my way back to the cottage.
There was no sign of the girls, so I guessed they were still in bed. I prepared their cereal and toast and made them both black coffees. Putting the items onto a tray, I went upstairs and tapped on their door.
“Come in, Puppy,” replied Abigail. They were lying in bed, cuddled up together. The summer duvet was pulled up, so nothing of their bodies was exposed. I placed the tray on the bedside table.
“Go and get shaved and showered, Puppy,” insisted Bluebelle. “We'll allow you fifteen minutes, and we expect to find the bathroom in a spotless condition when you've finished.” I nodded in agreement. “Then go downstairs, and clean the kitchen from top to bottom. We'll be checking you've done a thorough job.”
oooOOooo
I used the bathroom and then busied myself skivvying in the kitchen, cleaning everything in sight, even things that already looked clean. Having seen the leather tawse, I had no wish to feel the agony it might inflict and, to be honest, I was becoming rather afraid of Bluebelle, who was by far the fiercer of the pair.
It seemed ages before I heard them making their way downstairs. They were both wearing miniskirts and skimpy vest tops that revealed toned midriffs. Protruding shoulder straps told me that beneath they were wearing matching scarlet bikinis.
Bluebelle looked around the kitchen, rubbing fingers over some surfaces and then examining them. She could find no fault but wasn't going to admit to that. “Er... try to do better next time!” she informed me. “You've been warned.”
“Thank you, Miss,” I replied, thankful I'd scraped through what might have been a test.
“If you're a good slave, and you work hard, we will take care of you, but if you're lazy or disobedient, then...” explained Abigail, finishing with a sharp intake of breath and a shake of her head for dramatic effect. Her meaning was clear.
“And I've been thinking, Puppy,” she continued, “slaves shouldn't wear clothes, so when you're in the house and garden, I want you to just wear panties. Is that clear, Puppy?”
“What?” exclaimed Bluebelle, with a bewildered expression. “We've not discussed that?”
“Well, we don't want him wearing clothes, Blue. That's why we said don't bring any.”
“No! That was because there was no room in the car. We were going to buy him something basic when we were down here.”
“We can save money, Blue, if he just wears his panties in the house and garden.”
“But he obviously needs clothes when he goes to the shops, Abby. Use some common sense!”
“But just around the house. Please, Blue... let's just have him wearing panties. He'll look really cute, and it'll be embarrassing for him. If he thought pretending to be a girl was clever, then he can parade around like a girl.” Again, she gently petted Bluebelle's arm, which seemed her way of soothing her friend's grouchiness.
“Hmm... okay, I see what you mean, Abby. He deserves to be humiliated for deceiving us that he was a girl.”
“Cool! So come on, Puppy, strip off,” ordered Abigail, smiling.
I hastily did so, revealing I was wearing a pair of pink cotton panties. “They're so cute,” cooed Abigail. “They suit you, Puppy!”
“Er... thank you, Miss,” I responded, feeling my face flush. Secretly, I was being turned on by the thought of exhibiting myself in front of the girls dressed just in panties.
“I bet you'd look fantastic wearing a bra as well. What do you think, Blue?”
“He's fine as he is... don't get carried away, Abby,” Bluebelle dismissively replied.
I breathed a sigh of relief. Panties were one thing—a bra was another. But then I noticed a sly smile on Abigail's face which rang alarm bells.
