Chapter Four: A Morning Amidst the Blooms

I woke up without a stitch on Saturday morning. With the children away for the weekend once more, my wife decreed that I stay bare-bottomed. She already had me sleeping nude and had been sticking to that rule – along with keeping my pubic hair shaved off for several months now. As I undressed Friday evening and climbed into bed beside her, she started roughly handling my trapped testicles; the cage kept them positioned nicely for her. She noted that all the kids were gone until Sunday night, so when I woke up in the morning, no clothes allowed. She kept going on about how delightful it would be to see me “scampering around the house naked” and how much easier she could spank me without anyone hearing.

This continued for a bit until I said, “Your Highness, you have me very close.”

She stopped, lifted her hand from my balls, and replied, “Good night, Honey.”

“Good night,” I answered. My cock throbbed. Getting better at drifting off after being edged, though it still took a moment.

I rose around 7 – we usually sleep in on weekends – and brewed coffee. I was tackling the dishes; I hadn’t had time for them Friday night because she’d kept me busy as her sex toy – when she wandered into the kitchen wearing a kimono-style satin robe and matching satin pajama bottoms. The robe wasn’t tied shut, so it parted with each step to reveal her bare breasts. My cock twitched, lifting the heavy metal cage slightly.

“Good morning,” she said, and I quickly poured her a cup.

“Thank you,” she replied, taking the mug from me and running her hand over my naked backside. “My, don’t you look cute?” She squeezed my butt cheek and we kissed.

“So do you,” I said. “Er, Your Majesty, that is.” I was accustomed to using that title in the bedroom, but still getting used to it elsewhere when just the two of us were alone.

“Mmmm. Your Queen is going to check her social media and drink some coffee out on the patio. Finish cleaning up the kitchen and then join me.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

She walked out onto the backyard patio. We have several acres surrounded by trees. Occasionally in winter, when the maple leaves fell, you could catch a glimpse of one neighbor’s roof, but now in summer, our yard – especially the garden area – was quite private. I finished loading the dishwasher, refilled my coffee, and headed out to the patio. I stopped quickly, grabbed the pot, and stepped onto the terrace.

“Would Your Highness like a refill?” I asked.

“Yes, that would be nice.”

I walked over to the other side of the outdoor sofa where she was reclining to get her cup. As I refilled it, she began fondling me again. She let go when I set the mug down. I returned to the kitchen to put the coffee pot back on its warmer and came out with my own cup. I placed mine down and was about to sit in one of the chairs when my wife barked, “Inspection Position!”

I snapped into place, facing her spread open. She gave me a brief glance to ensure obedience before returning to her phone. I stayed put, aware of my nudity, feeling a slight breeze over my exposed testicles.

After a minute or so, she looked up and said, “Turn around, face the other way, let me see your butt.”

I turned. Standing with legs apart, looking out at the garden. The weather seemed lovely. Clear blue sky, morning sun glinting off the plants. After another couple of minutes, I heard my wife chuckle lightly.

“Okay, release. I won’t make you wait for your coffee to get cold.”

I sat down and took a sip. It was still warm.

“I imagine that I don’t have any plans of my own today,” I said.

“Mmmmm, no, none at all. But I have plenty for you. I need to do some gardening today and have some ideas to make you useful.”

I looked out over the garden again. “And I’ll be naked out there? The whole time?”

“The whole time,” she said, looking up at the sky. “It’s going to be sunny. You might end up with some interesting tan lines underneath that cage.”

I took another sip of coffee.

We chatted for a while, mostly mundane topics with occasional references to my nudity or her teasing me with her breasts, but largely non-sexual. Then she stood up.

“Well, time for us to get to work. Wait Position.” I rose, spread my legs, and folded my arms behind my back. “You’re already, ahem, ‘dressed’,” she said, giving my rear another squeeze as she picked up my empty mug. “But I need to change into my gardening clothes. You wait here; I’ll be right back.”

She turned and went back inside, leaving me standing spread and exposed on the patio. I waited there. True enough, in Wait Position. I was enjoying this position business. On the surface it might seem utterly boring, standing as still as a statue waiting for her return, not even getting to see or smell her, let alone feel her teasing me. But being commanded by her, used like an object or decoration, was intoxicating. My cage fit comfortably tight.

I’m not sure how long I stayed there. Time is hard to track when you’re in position. A few minutes? Maybe ten. I spent it thinking about what work she might have for me in the garden. Weeding, certainly. And the garlic was likely ready to harvest. Shifting hoses to water the beds.

I’d installed a drip irrigation system for most of it, but it wasn’t connected directly to the main supply; you still had to haul the hoses out there manually.

She stepped back onto the patio. She wore jean shorts that accentuated her rear and an oversized T-shirt that hid her breasts fairly well. She was also carrying something in her hands. As she approached, I realized it was our neoprene velcro cuffs. She moved behind me and started putting them on my wrists. Quickly, my wrists were cuffed together behind my back. Then she added another pair to my ankles but didn’t connect them yet; just put the cuffs on.

Finally, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a chain leash. One end had a loop with a snap hook, the other a buckling leather strap. She placed the strap around my testicles, beneath the cage and in front of the base ring, and buckled it very tight. My balls were now double-trapped: once by the cage, but even more securely by the strap. She gave the leash a tug, and I could see them gathered, rounded, and very vulnerable.

She said nothing, just smiled and began walking into the yard, pulling my leashed testicles behind her. Naturally, I followed; there was no way I wasn’t going wherever that leash pulled. She led me past the hot tub and through the gate into the orchard. Our yard is a mix of orchard and garden, with raised beds containing fruit trees, berry bushes, and regular vegetables spread out. Near the hot tub, the large garden hose – or rather hoses – was coiled up. Three were hooked together to reach nearly 300 feet to the far edge of the garden.

She led me over to the hose, then passed the leash through my legs, and I heard the snap hook click shut.

“There,” she said. “First job today is watering, and you’re going to haul the hose out for me. Come along now.” She began walking toward the far corner. I started to follow and realized she had hooked the leash to the garden hose itself. I felt the tug on my testicles as I began dragging the hose behind me.

At first, it was easy; the hose uncoiled smoothly enough. But as I got farther into the garden, with more of the heavy hose trailing behind me, it grew heavier and harder with every step. Halfway there, I was grunting, finding it difficult to keep moving. The pull on my testicles was hard and painful.

Three quarters of the way out, I had to pause and catch my breath.

“Having trouble?” she asked, turning around and walking back toward me. “Is the hose too heavy for your poor balls?” She reached between my legs and squeezed them.

arden. It seemed so far away. “I don’t know if I can make it. It gets heavier with every step.” “Are you at Yellow Light?” she asked. I nodded. Yellow Light was our warning word. Red Light was the safety word and meant stop, but Yellow was just me letting her know I was reaching a limit, though it remained her call to continue or not. “It must be heavy; you hardly ever use Yellow Light. Mmmmm, okay, take one more step for your Queen.” I swallowed hard and willed my right foot forward. It landed on the ground and, grunting, I pulled myself ahead, dragging the hose another two feet with just my balls. “Very good,” she said, caressing my ass. “Now one more. For me.” I repeated the same thing, the grunt turning into something of a growl at the end. “Can you do one more? Just one more?” I stepped forward, tried to pull my body even with my foot, got halfway there, and had to step back. I shook my head. “It’s too heavy. Too heavy.” She patted my naked ass. “It must be. You don’t like failing. Well, I suppose this is the first time you’ve ever dragged a garden hose by your balls; it will take some time to build up their strength. You made it pretty far! Here, I’ll help you make it the rest of the way.” She picked up the hose behind me and instantly the weight was manageable. “Okay, let’s go, over to the far beds.” I began walking again. I was still dragging the hose, but not all its weight now; she was taking up a lot of it. It still hurt some, but a much nicer, bearable pain. I wasn’t worrying about pulling my balls off anymore. We got to the beds and she unhooked the leash from my cage, ordered me into Wait Position, and went about hand-watering some blueberries we still had in pots. I’d meant to get those into the ground this spring but missed my opportunity. I stood there, as still as a statue, spread and exposed, while she moved from pot to pot. When she finished, my wife smiled at me. “You do make an adorable garden sculpture.” She slapped my ass hard as she walked past me to hook the hose up to the drip system. Once she had that going, she gave me another slap. “Okay, now we’ll do some weeding while the water runs on this bed.” She grabbed the leash and started walking me back towards the garden shed. When we got there, she opened it up and rolled out the garden cart. It was a medium-sized one, with big wheels that rolled easily. That was good for me because once again, the leash went between my legs and was hooked to the handle of the cart. I was going to be a draft animal, pulling the cart with my balls. “Okay, let’s go,” she said, dropping a rake and a hoe into the cart and slapping me again. I followed her back towards the far part of the garden, pulling the cart attached to my balls. It wasn’t too bad; like I said, the cart rolled freely. There were a few bumps here and there – damned gopher holes – that caught and provided a little extra pull, but it was nowhere near as bad as pulling the hose. We got to the garden beds. I had trouble steering the cart with my hands cuffed behind me and only able to pull forward, not back up. So she had to help get it straight between the rows. Then she stepped into one of the beds and began weeding along a row of beans. As she pulled up the weeds, she’d throw them into the cart, and as she moved down the row, I’d slowly pull it along to keep up with her. “Are you enjoying being my garden pony?” she asked, tossing another batch of weeds into the cart. “I am, Your Majesty.” She shook her head and smiled. “I’m glad we can entertain each other. I thought about making you do the weeding while I lounged around, but I think this is more fun.” “For both of us,” I agreed. She reached over with the handle of the hoe and smacked the leash, pulling sharply on my balls. “What did you forget?” “Your Majesty. Fun for both of us, Your Majesty.” She smiled and gave the leash a lighter tap. “That’s right.” When she finished the bed, she pointed at the open lawn ahead of me. “See if you can get the cart turned around by yourself and headed back up the other direction to do the next bed.” Then she busied herself moving the hose to another bed that needed watering. I stepped forward, dragging the cart, and began a big circle. I misjudged it and didn’t have enough space to get straightened out. “Go around again,” she said. “Make a wider circle this time.” I did as instructed and was able to line up the cart with the space between the rows at the cost of a little extra tugging on my balls. “Excellent,” she said, stepping across in front of me to the next bed. She stopped, reached down to grab my cage, and kissed me very deeply. Then she got back to work weeding and throwing the weeds into my cart. We weeded four beds, and the cart was getting pretty full by the time we finished. The weeds weren’t really that heavy, but there were a lot of them and I was probably pulling an extra ten pounds with my balls by the end. “That’s enough for today, Horsey,” she said, slapping my ass hard then going on to grope and caress my cheeks. “Let’s go dump the weeds.” I started pulling the cart to the compost bins a few yards away but she stopped me. “Those are weeds; they can’t go in the compost; they have to go in the weed pile.” I felt my stomach do a somersault. Not only was the weed pile a lot farther away, but it was outside the fenced garden on the other side of the driveway. The garden was well-hidden from view, but the driveway had a clear line of sight to the road. Anyone driving – or walking – by would see me as I crossed it. “Come on,” she said, pointing towards the gate that led out to the driveway. I began towing the cart towards it with a combination of dread and excitement. When I got there, I stopped far enough away for her to open it. My hands were still cuffed behind my back so I couldn’t do it myself. She walked past me towards it, turned, came up to me, and gave me another deep kiss. “I wasn’t really going to make you walk across the driveway like this,” she said, smiling. “But I like that you were ready to do it.” She kissed me again then walked behind me, detached the cart from me, and took it across the driveway to dump the weeds out. When she came back, she said, “That’s enough work for this morning; I think I’m going to get a little sun. Set up the hammock over there,” she pointed at a sunny patch of lawn on the edge of the garden, “and fix me a glass of lemonade. And a bottle of water for yourself. Speaking of water, turn it off and coil the hose back up – you can use your hands this time; you don’t need to pull it by your poor balls.” She released the cuffs and started off towards the house. “Wait for me by the hammock.” I coiled the hose then got the hammock set up and fixed her lemonade. I filled a water bottle with cold water for myself, took a couple of big drinks, then walked back out to the hammock. I set my water bottle down on the grass and was about to assume Wait Position but realized there wasn’t really any place to set her lemonade down. I was just about to fetch a small round outdoor table when I heard the door open and my wife walked out. I stood with my legs spread and simply held her drink in front of me. She was wearing a bikini. Not a super-skimpy one; rather, a high-waisted full coverage type – she was a fifty-year-old mother of three after all – but she looked great in it and the top showed off fantastic cleavage. I was partially hard within the cage at the sight of her. She was carrying her Kindle and a small pillow. She came up to me, set the pillow in the hammock and gave me another kiss while fondling my balls. “They feeling okay?” she asked. “They got a workout this morning.” “Yes, Your Majesty; very okay.” “Well now,” she said as she took the lemonade from my hands. “I’m going to need a table to set my drink on, aren’t I?” “Of course, Your Highness,” I said getting the hint and dropping onto my hands and knees in Table Position next to the hammock. “A little bit to the right,” she said.

ed. “Perfect,” she said. I felt the cold glass and her Kindle both settle onto my bare back, then heard her recline in the hammock. A moment later, the Kindle and drink were lifted off me again, with the drink being placed down once more shortly after. I remained there on hands and knees like a garden table for my wife while she read and soaked up the sun. I could feel it too; it was nearly noon, and the rays were warming my naked back and bare buttocks. It felt pleasant. Even having that cold drink resting on me seemed good. Still, I had to keep very still and not let my mind drift. Occasionally she would take another sip of her lemonade, sometimes fondling my balls afterward. Twice I got close enough to needing a warning. Although I couldn’t really look at my caged cock for fear of spilling the drink, I could feel precum flowing through it. Time seemed to slip away. “We’ve both gotten plenty of sun,” she said abruptly, standing up and removing the drink from my back. “Go fetch the patio umbrella and bring it over here so we can get some shade.” I stood up, a bit stiff after being in Table Position for perhaps half an hour. I could feel that the skin on my back, especially around my ass, was just about to sunburn. I walked quickly to the patio, closed the umbrella, and carried it along with its base over to the hammock. I set it up where it would shade both the hammock and the patch of ground beside it where I had been serving as her table. Once finished, I assumed Wait Position next to her: legs spread, arms folded behind my back. She looked up at the umbrella, evaluated how the shadow was falling, and nodded in approval. “Very good. Now I need my table again, so get back down there, Darling. But have a little water yourself first; I don’t want you dehydrated.” I took a big gulp from my water bottle, got back on all fours, and almost immediately felt the cold glass set down on the small of my back. She laid back down in the hammock to resume her reading. As for me, I could feel precum flowing through my shaft. It wasn’t quite noon yet; I had a long day still ahead.

"I really enjoy this tale and I'm eager to see more of it. Thank you for creating and sharing your work with us.", "datetime": "2024-07-11T20:01:47+00:00", "post_id": 147384, "subject": "Re: Turnabout Chapter 4 - A Morning in the Garden"