Good Boy, Samuel

Note : This story is completely fictional!

‘Good boy, Samuel’

“Excuse me, miss, but my work is nearly finished, so, would you like to join me for a drink or a meal, this evening, as a way of thanking you for all of your help?” Samuel, the computer programmer asked, as I drove him back to his hotel.

“Oh, err, no, I’m busy tonight. It’s a bit short notice,” I stammered.
“I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I understand.” He replied.

“No, seriously,” I continued, “it is short notice. I have a daughter, and my mum looks after her, so I have to make arrangements, for a night out.” 
He looked disappointed.

“Let me phone home.” I quickly, replied.

When I told my mother that I had to go out with a business colleague, that could ‘help my career’, she agreed to ‘baby-sit’, for me. I explained that I would be going straight out from work, and may be a little late.

Samuel had been updating our computer systems, for the last two weeks, and I had been designated to look after him. Partly because that was part of my job, and partly because his hotel, on the other side of town, was near to where I live. 

He was a fascinating character. He was as black as ebony, with very short, tightly bunched hair. Although he was from South Africa, his accent was much softer, and more refined than any other South Africans that I had heard. If you had only heard his voice on the telephone, you may have thought that he was white and public school educated. He spoke in a type of English that you only hear on ‘period dramas’. His manners were impeccable, and he called all of the women ‘miss’, which amused us. He was a peculiar shape; about six feet tall, and athletically built, but not in an aggressive way, in fact, his body seemed to be ‘fluid’. When he walked, he ‘glided’, and he constantly smiled, flashing the whitest teeth that I had ever seen.

Thankfully, that morning, I had chosen to wear a pair of white, linen trousers and a black linen top. In the hotel, we went straight to the bar. I ordered a vodka and tonic, he had a bottle of beer.

We chatted while we drank, mostly about me. I’d had a couple of jobs, lived with a boyfriend, got pregnant, had the baby, dumped him and moved back in with my divorced mum. 

Even in these enlightened times, the sight of a young blonde woman and a black man, can still draw disapproving stares. The ‘tuts’ of a couple of older men, made me sit closer to Samuel, in the bar.

As the evening wore on, as we ate a lovely meal, I asked him why and when he had come to England.
“It is a very interesting story, but,” he stopped, and considered his next words, “it involves some very private things, that you may not believe, and even be embarrassed to hear.”

I was intrigued, and took another gulp of wine. “Try me, I can be very sensitive, and a good listener.” I wasn’t going to miss this for the world.
“If anything I say offends you, please, tell me to stop. I will understand.” He told me as we shared a bottle of red wine.
Samuel began his tale.

“When I was about twelve or thirteen, my father died, and my mother went to work for an English family on a large farm as a housekeeper. She had a small room to live in, while I still lived in the village with my Grandmother. The family had two sons, Simon and Timothy who were both older than I was. During the week they were at boarding school, but came home at weekends. I would visit my mother on a Saturday and Sunday, too. I became, close friends with the boys. As well as playing games with them, their mother made them teach me to read and write.

During the week I would run errands for my Grandmother and Aunts, but mostly I just seemed to play in the yard or the fields.
Then, when I was about 18 years old, something happened that changed my life.

I had not felt well for some days, and I did not know what was wrong. I thought that I was going to die. It was a difficult time, as I had now grown to look like a man. I was as tall as I am now, but still had the ways of a young boy.

I was waking up, in the night with serious pains, and sometimes I thought that I was bleeding to death, but could not see any blood.
My Grandmother knew something was wrong, but I could not tell her, about my fears.

One Sunday morning, my aches and pains visited me when I was visiting my mother. Fearing for my life, she ran to the big house and brought the ‘Missus’ to see me. I was terrified.

The ‘Missus’ sent my mother to out of the room, and began asking me about my symptoms. I tried to explain, but, I did not know what words to use, so, she made me show her.

She pulled the sheets down and gasped. Then she laughed out loud, “What have we here, Samuel?” I shook my head, mortified.

“I don’t think that there is too much wrong with you, apart from the fact that you have become a man!” She laughed again, as she took my (he whispered) erect penis in her hands, squeezed it and rubbed it very quickly, until I got that feeling again, and began to ‘bleed’, or so I thought. It felt different, this time as it shot out of the tip, perhaps two feet in the air!”

My eyes were bulging, as he told his tale. Then, when I realised that he had been having wet dreams, I began to giggle, until I was nearly helpless, with laughter.
“Oh, Samuel!” I grinned, “You must have known what was happening.”

“No, you must remember, I was only a boy from a rural village. I was very ignorant.”
After ordering a second bottle of wine, he continued:

“When I realised that I was not going to die, the ‘Missus’ sat next to me on the bed, still stroking my penis with her soft fingers. “This is a very fine specimen, Samuel” she told me, “It is much bigger than my husbands. It is just a pity that it is on such a young boy.” 

As I had grown taller, in the previous year, I had noticed some other changes, in my body. Obviously, I had begun to ‘sprout hair’, and, yes, I knew that my, (he whispered the word, again) penis had grown longer. It was nearly touching my knees, so I just wore longer pants. (Shrugging his shoulders, as if it was the most natural thing, in the world).

‘Nearly touching my knees’ - I took a large gulp of wine!

Samuel continued, “her stroking was having a strange effect, my penis began to ‘twitch’ and move before my eyes. It became stiff again, very quickly, but this time it did not seem to hurt me. “Good boy, Samuel.” She told me as she changed her position, on the bed, until she was lying next to me, with her face, very close to my (he whispered, again) penis. The ‘Missus’ kept rubbing and stroking my penis, until it was sticking right up in the air, again. All she kept saying was “Good boy, Samuel” as she changed hands.

I sat, sipping my wine, shaking, like a leaf, while he continued.

Both of her hands were now on my penis and, her rubbing became a little bit faster, until she suddenly put the end into her mouth, “No! Missus, No!” I shouted, because I thought that she was going to bite me!”

I had tears in my eyes from the laughter, but was also aware that I was constantly adjusting my position on my chair as I was rubbing my thighs together.
“It’s all right, don’t be afraid! I’m not going to harm you. Just lie back and relax,” she told me, before she moved, again, and knelt across my chest. She was, now, sucking my penis, like a lollipop.

I could not believe what was happening. She could only get the tip and a couple of inches into her mouth, but I am sure was trying to get it all in, as she rubbed it with all of her might. 

As she did this, her dress had shifted up onto her hips, exposing her (again he whispered) pants to me.