Stable Boy

Dedication

This story might never have happened if it weren't for the help and encouragement of Miss Worthing's biggest fan. At each stage of the process I was never let off the hook, I was cajoled, encouraged, bullied, pushed and pulled until this story became the best it could be. Many of the plot twists were suggestions and, in a very real sense, this story is a co-write.

As such it is gratefully dedicate to a very good friend with my profound thanks.

LJ 15/07/2009

Jim lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. It was mid June and he’d been home from university for over a week and, apart from IMing his friends online or playing games on his computer he had hardly done anything, let alone stirred from his bedroom. His mum was getting increasingly crabby about him ‘getting under her feet’ and, above all, he was broke. When she called up the stairs asking him to go to the village store he nearly refused but, there was something in her tone which got him out of bed and off down the road.

The village store was a combination of a post office and convenience store with groceries at the front and a small counter at the rear. He wandered in and went to the cooler cabinet to pick up a litre of milk but, when he got to the counter, he found he was behind Mrs Higgins who, having cashed her pension was now doing a little shopping and was taking her time, discussing all the village gossip whilst she unloaded her basket, item by item. Jim knew better than to make a fuss so he waited patiently in line and, as he did so, his eyes strayed to the notice board. There, prominently displayed, was a card which read:-

Help Required

Stable Girl/Boy needed during summer holiday period

Pay on application

Phone Miss Worthing on 01345 752123 or apply in person at New Farm stables

The more Jim stared at the notice board the more he fancied the job. He really needed to do something and the only other work for summer casuals was processing chickens in the local factory, a much less than appealing prospect. He’d much rather be out and about than stuck inside and, although the stables tended to be full of spoilt little rich girls, it would get him out of the house, stop his mum from nagging, and, above all, put a bit of money in his pocket. The only question was who’s this ‘Miss Worthing? He thought he knew everyone in the village but he’d never come across her. Surely New Farm was owned by the Thompsons?

At last Mrs Higgins had finished so Jim paid for the milk and returned home.

“Mum!” he called out as he entered the house. “Don’t the Thompsons run New Farm?”

“Didn’t you hear? Jack Thompson got taken ill last April. He’s retired now. Some newcomer has taken over, a Miss Worthing, I’m sure I mentioned it. She can be a bit of a dragon from what I hear but the girls all seem to like her and there’s no doubting she’s put some life back in the old place. Why do you ask?”

“There was a notice in the post office; she needs someone to work in the stables. I thought I might apply.” Jim replied.

“A job at Miss Worthing’s stables? Well, you had better buck your ideas up. A job like that will be snapped up in no time. I’d go down this afternoon if I were you. Now come and have your lunch.”

That afternoon Jim sauntered down the lanes heading for New Farm. It was a beautiful day, the birds were singing in the trees, and the Dorset countryside was looking its picture postcard best. He reached the farm, turned up the drive and, carefully shutting the gate behind him, walked up the house. There was no answer at the door so he wandered across the farmyard to the stables towards where he could hear noises. He opened the door only to be hit full in the face by a spray of muddy water ricocheting from the floor as someone used a high-pressure hose.

“You idiot; bursting in like that! Why don’t you knock before you enter?” A woman’s voice called out as the sound of the pressure washer died down. “Here, dry yourself off with this.”

Jim felt a rough towel being pushed into his hands and, as he wiped the water from his face he could finally see whom he was dealing with. The woman in front of him, presumably Miss Worthing, was tall and slim and was dressed in a white blouse, jodhpurs, and riding boots. She was definitely older than Jim but quite a bit younger than his mum, Jim guessed at somewhere in her thirties, and definitely good looking in a smart, stylish way but, more than all that, there was something about her, something about the air of self confidence, the way she hadn’t even thought about apologising for soaking him, that marked her out as a woman not to be trifled with. Instead of feeling annoyed at the soaking he felt like a naughty schoolchild in front of the headmistress.

“Well, can I help you?”  She said sharply; her voice, whilst not unfriendly, was not exactly welcoming either.

“Err… I came about the job; I saw the card in the post office.” Jim stuttered.

“Did you indeed?” Miss Worthing seemed bemused. “Do you think you’re up to it?”

“Yes, yes, I am. I’ve lived in the village all my life and often helped out Mr Thompson when he owned this farm.” Jim replied.

“Helped out the Thompsons, eh? I think you’ll find I run things a bit differently; a bit more business-like. The job’s still open; I was rather expecting one of the girls to apply but it would seem that they see themselves as above mere menial work. Do you see yourself as above menial work?”

“No, of course not. Just let me know what you want doing and I’m up for it; anything at all.”

“Anything at all.” Miss Worthing echoed as she looked Jim up and down as if inspecting him. “Well, I have to admit that you weren’t exactly what I was looking for but I think you might just do. It might even be fun to have a lad like you around the place. Right then, here are the rules. The girls, or rather their parents, pay a small fortune to have their ponies kept in stables that are always in tip-top condition, and that’s what they’re going to get. Your job will be to ensure that the stables are clean and swept at all times and all the tack is to be equally clean and polished. As regards the girls, they are my clients and you are staff and you are not, repeat not, ever to forget that. You will make sure that everything at the stables goes just the way they want it. You will treat them with respect at all times, and, as far as possible, avoid talking to them; you won’t have time for idle chatter. When you do have to talk to them you will refer to them as ‘Miss’ and, whilst we’re on the subject, you will refer to me as Miss Worthing. You start work at six in the morning and you stay until you’re finished. For that you get five pounds an hour. Do you think you can handle that?”

“Err… Yes, yes, Miss Worthing” Jim replied, somewhat taken aback.

“Well, you had best come and have a look at the stables then; see the changes I’ve made since Mr Thompson’s time. Follow me.”

Miss Worthing turned and led the way back into the stable complex. There were indeed many changes since the Thompsons had run them. The whole place was scrupulously clean and well maintained and many of the stalls were occupied. The main body of the stables was a brick floored aisle with stalls along either side. There was a sort of cross-roads in the centre and, on the right was a barn which had been converted into an arena with seating around the edges to allow for show jumping competitions. On the left was a spacious tack room and, next to it a staffroom. Everywhere Jim looked there was an air of prosperity about the place that had been lacking previously and it was obvious that Miss Worthing was a competent businesswoman. Whilst she explained the daily routine Jim was shown where he would be working; the tack room with it's rows of saddles and bridles and how it was all laid out, where the cleaning stuff was and how to use the high pressure washing system. He was also shown the staff room with turned out to have an an attached bathroom and, to his surprise a bunk bed. Jim wondered how busy he would have to be to consider staying overnight when his home was so close by. All the time Miss Worthing maintained her brisk professionalism but Jim couldn’t escape the feeling that there was something which amused her.

“So, do you think you can handle being bossed around by a bunch of teenage girls?” Miss Worthing asked as they finished the tour and re-emerged into the sunlight.

“Bossed around?” Jim queried.

“Oh yes. Some of the girls can be quite, err… demanding and they’re used to having their own way. For that matter you’ll find I won’t stand for any slacking. When I give an order I expect it to be obeyed promptly and willingly otherwise… Let’s just say that you’d do best to obey.” Miss Worthing gave Jim a long penetrating look, a look that seemed to bore inside him. “Mind you, some boys quite like to be bossed around by the girls, quite like to be ‘taken in hand’, as it were; are you one of those?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Jim replied but he couldn’t help but blush. The blunt, open nature of the question had taken him by surprise; he’d never before thought about being ‘taken in hand’, as Miss Worthing put it, but now that he did his reaction was confused and complicated.

“Well, we’ll see, won’t we?” Miss Worthing said with a light laugh. “I’ll be taking Morning Dew out first thing tomorrow for a gallop. Make sure she’s ready for me and, while you’re at it, my boots could do with a polish. Have everything done by seven.”

“Certainly, Miss Worthing. I won’t let you down.”

“You’d better not. Now off you go, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Without further ado Miss Worthing turned and went back to the stables. Jim stood for a moment in thought before returning home.

****

It was another fine day when Jim set off for work the next morning. As it was less than a mile he walked across the fields taking the short cut to New Farm. When he arrived there was no one to be found so he went over to the stables and let himself in. He identified Morning Dew from the labels over the stalls and sorted out a suitable bridle and fetched Miss Worthing’s saddle. He gave the horse a quick brush down and fitted the kit before returning to the boot rack where he found Miss Worthing’s riding boots. There wasn’t much wrong with them that he could see but if Miss Worthing wanted them to be spruced up then who was he to contradict. He found the polish and brushes and set to work. There was something about the rich smell of the leather that got to him and he took a certain amount of pride in buffing them to a deep shine, finishing off with a soft cloth. Indeed, he was so involved in what he was doing that he didn’t notice the stable door opening and it was quite some time before he realised she was standing over him, watching him work.

“Err… your boots, Miss Worthing” Jim said holding them out for her but Miss Worthing didn’t take them; rather she sat down on a chair opposite.

“Put them on for me.” She commanded.

Jim knelt down in front of her and slipped off her shoes, putting them carefully in the boot rack. Then his slid Miss Worthing’s calves into the firm leather of the riding boots and buckled them up, first the left and then the right. As he fastened the buckles Miss Worthing moved so that the sole of her right boot was between Jim’s open knees, barely millimetres from his groin. A thrill like he had never known before coursed through him; he had an overwhelming desire to move so that he was rubbing against the boot and the very thought of it made his penis swell, growing erect. Surely Miss Worthing would notice! Jim leant forward as if taking extra care over the buckles but that just made it worse and, for a brief moment, he felt her foot touch, the heavy leather pressing through his jeans against the ever hardening bulge in his underpants. With the buckles finally fastened he knelt up again and, in a desperate attempt to hide his arousal, crossed his hands on his lap trying to cover his groin.

“Thank you. No, don’t get up; I quite like you down there.” Miss Worthing said as she stood up out of the chair. “You quite enjoyed polishing my boots, didn’t you.”

“Yes, Miss Worthing.” Jim replied, fighting to get his voice under control.

“Good, I like that in a stable lad, you’ll find that quite a lot of the girls do as well. You can do my shoes whilst I’m out. Make sure they’re ready for when I return.” Miss Worthing turned and went into the main body of the stables. Still on his knees Jim watched as she took Morning Dew from her stall and led her out into the yard.

For a moment or two Jim was too amazed to move. In his mind he could still feel the touch of Miss Worthing’s foot against his groin. Had she known how excited he had become? She could hardly have missed the bulge in his jeans. Had the touch of her foot been accidental or had she been playing with him? What had she meant when she said that she ‘preferred him down there’? What was she implying when she said that she liked a stable lad that liked to polish boots? What was she implying when she had said the quite a lot of the girls did as well? It could all have been so innocent, the touch could have been accidental and Miss Worthing might simply have meant that she, and the girls, liked to be spared the tedious task of cleaning the mud off their riding boots. Maybe he was reading far too much into far too little. Pushing these thoughts to one side he got up off the floor, reached for Miss Worthing’s shoes and settled down to give them a good shine as well.

Jim was busy sweeping out the stalls when Miss Worthing returned from her ride but he rushed over and, taking the reins, led Morning Due back to her stall. He quickly removed the bridle and saddle and was taking them back to the racks when Miss Worthing stopped him.

“I expect the stalls to be completely swept out by now.” She said curtly.

“I’m sorry, Miss Worthing, I’ve been busy polishing your shoes.” Jim replied.

“That’s no excuse. If you don’t do better than this we’ll have to consider ways of …” Miss Worthing let the pause hang. “giving you some incentive.”

“Yes, Miss Worthing, of course, Miss Worthing.”

“Now come along, I need to get out of these boots; I’ve a lot to do this morning.”

Jim quickly put the tack down and went back to Miss Worthing who was already sat waiting for him. Again she positioned her foot in such a way that, when he reached forward, he would effectively be rubbing himself against her but Jim had no alternative if he were to reach the buckles, but this time, as soon as he lent forward and felt the touch of her foot, he felt her push harder and wiggle her toes from side to side. This was almost too much to bear; even constrained by the tight denim of his jeans, his penis leapt into erection filling him with desire. This time it was obvious that the position of her boot was no accident and she knew exactly what she was doing. Emboldened by this and the growing need within him he pushed back, rubbing his groin against the sole of her boot.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” Miss Worthing exclaimed.

“I… I… I’m sorry, Miss Worthing, I don’t know what I was doing; I wasn’t thinking.” Jim replied blushing furiously.

“So it would seem.” Miss Worthing’s voice dripped with derision. “You’re not off to a very good start. First I come back from my ride to find you’ve been slacking and now, and I can still hardly believe it, now you’re rutting against my boot like some sort of oversexed puppy. What on earth made you believe that would be acceptable behaviour?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Worthing, I thought…” Jim stopped as her realised where this was going. Could he really say that he thought Miss Worthing had led him on? Wouldn’t that be adding insult to injury?

“I’m really sorry, Miss Worthing.” He continued lamely. “It won’t happen again.”

“Too right it won’t.” Miss Worthing replied testily. “There are plenty of others who’d like this job; give me one good reason why I shouldn’t chuck you out, right here, right now.”

“Please, Miss Worthing, please let me have a second chance. Please, I really won’t let you down again.” Jim dreaded what his mum would say if he got sacked on his first morning. Would he be reduced to spending the summer gutting chickens?

There was a long pause.

“Against my better judgement I’m going to let you stay.” She said eventually. However, if there’s any, and I mean any, further behaviour of this sort then not only will I sack you, but I’ll make sure the entire village knows just why I sacked you. Is that completely understood?”

“Yes, Miss Worthing, thank you, Miss Worthing” Jim said, relieved that the episode appeared to be over.

“Then you had better get back to removing my boots and let’s see if you can do it without getting over excited this time.”

His hands shaking slightly which caused him to fumble with the buckles, Jim returned to the boots. His stomach was churning with a maelstrom of emotions. He’d been sure that Miss Worthing was rubbing her foot against him deliberately but now it seemed as if she had him down as some sort of pervert. Worse still was the threat of letting this out around the village; gossip spread like wild fire and he knew how quickly something like this would circulate. The shame of being caught out by Miss Worthing was nothing to what he knew he would suffer if the whole village knew. That would certainly give Mrs. Higgins something to discuss at the post office counter.

Once her boots were removed Celia Worthing stood up and looked down at the young lad kneeling before her. She smiled to herself; it had almost been too easy; he had fallen for it hook, line and sinker and, to judge by his erection, it would be a piece of cake to keep him in line. He was like an eager little puppy, a puppy who was just begging to serve “Miss Worthing”, a puppy who had so much to learn.

****

Jim, his balls aching slightly, worked through the day, hardly daring to stop for lunch lest he were deemed to be slacking again. He let the horses out into the paddock for a couple of hours while he power-washed the brick flooring, cleaned and polished the brass work and then settled down to the tack. Most of it was laid out on hooks hung from the wall. Various saddles were all properly marked with the owners name and there was a cupboard full of cleaning materials. However, next to it was another cupboard, this one firmly locked.  He rattled the door a couple of times but whatever it held would remain a secret. He was still polishing away when he heard the engine of a powerful sports car pulling up outside. He glanced at his watch; it was four-o-clock and he remembered from when Mr Thompson ran the stables how the girls would appear after school wanting to exercise their ponies. He returned to the man body of the stables just in time to meet…

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Jim Broad. Do I gather that you’re the new stable boy around here?”

Jim’s heart sank. He might have guessed that Amanda Fforbes would have a horse stabled here. She’d been in the year below him at school and, although they had been in very different social groups, her reputation as a first class bitch had gone before her. Now here she was, striding up the stables as if she owned the place.

“Hello, Amanda… err... Miss Fforbes” Jim replied. “Yes, I’ve started working for Miss Worthing.”

“Miss Fforbes, yes, so much more respectful than ‘Amanda’.” Amanda walked around Jim, looking him up and down. “I do think it’s important that you show me the proper respect, don’t you?”

“Of course, Miss Fforbes.” Jim replied. “May I fetch your horse for you? Which one is it?”

“Dark Pleasure.” Amanda replied. “Black gelding, fourth stall along.”

Jim went to fetch the various tack and took it along to the stall. He was not surprised to find that Dark Pleasure was a magnificent horse; as ever it was nothing but the best for Amanda Fforbes. He was busy fitting the saddle when he heard the stable door open.

“Ah, Amanda, I thought I heard your car. Are you alone or are your friends with you?” Miss Worthing’s voice carried clear across the stables.

“Hello, Miss Worthing.” Amanda replied. “The others will be along in a minute or so. I see you’ve got a new stable boy.”

“Ah, yes, Jim. He started this morning. I know that you suggested Kathy for the job but I think you’ll find Jim a suitable alternative. Do you know him?”

“He was at the same school as me so I know of him but we didn’t really meet. He’s not really my sort.” Amanda replied.

“I think you’ll find he’s more your sort than you expect.” Miss Worthing replied, laughing. “Let me tell you about…”

The rest of the conversation was lost to Jim as Amanda and Miss Worthing wandered off down the stables. He had hardly finished fixing Dark Pleasure’s bridle before he heard the stable door open once again and the animated conversation of three girls coming down the central walkway. He could easily guess that two of the newcomers were Karen Dickinson and Sandra Brennan who had been cohorts of Amanda back in school but he had no idea who the third one was. He came out of the stall just as Amanda returned.

“Hey, guys!” Amanda called out. “Look who Miss Worthing has taken on as stable boy.”

“Hello, Miss Dickinson, Miss Brennan.” Jim said to Karen and Sandra. The third girl was, he noticed, standing shyly a little behind the others and was carrying all the bags.

“But I thought…” Karen started.

“Yeah, I know.” Amanda returned. “So did I but Miss Worthing explained. It will be better this way and Jim has been told to do anything we ask him, isn’t that right, Jim?”

“Yes, Miss Fforbes.” Jim replied.

“But what about Kathy?” Sandra asked.

“Oh, we’ll find plenty of ways to have fun with Kathy, don’t you worry. Now come along, let’s get saddled up and out riding.” Amanda replied.

Jim had to scuttle about to get the three other horses ready as quickly as possible. Whilst he did so the four girls stood in a huddle, giggling and occasionally looking his way. Dealing with Miss Worthing made Jim nervous but this was worse, he had no illusions about any schemes that Amanda might cook up and he was wondering about the look on Amanda’s face as she had told her friends that he had been told to do anything they asked. He had no doubt that some outrageous demands were coming his way.

Whilst the girls were out Jim took the opportunity to check on their horses’ stalls to ensure all was in place for their return. As he took the sweepings out to the manure heap he glanced across the fields to where he could see the girls cantering around a course that had been marked out. Even at this distance it was easy to pick out Amanda on her distinctive black gelding and, as ever, she was out in front, leading the pack. He looked over to the stable yard, there in the middle was a brand new Lotus Elise, evidently Amanda’s; having a multimillionaire as a father meant she got all the good things in life.

The girls returned to the stables and Jim put the four sweating horses back in their stalls; there was going to be quite a bit of rubbing down to do and he knew only too well who was going to do it. However, as he was putting the tack away Amanda was watching him with a curious glint in her eye, flicking her riding crop against her boot; wherever he went she seemed to be in the way, making his job as difficult as possible. He’d just staggered into the tack room with an armful of gear when he turned to find that she and her friends were blocking the door.

“Please, Miss Fforbes, may I get on with my job?” He asked in exasperation.

“Don’t be in such a hurry, Jim.” Amanda purred. “I want to have a little fun. Miss Worthing tells me you like cleaning our riding boots. Is that true? Do you like cleaning boots?”

“Yes, Miss Fforbes.” Jim replied thinking that this would be the easiest answer.

“It looks like I’ve got some mud on my boots. You’d best clean it off for me.” Still Amanda’s voice was sweet and light.

“Certainly, Miss Fforbes.” Jim turned to the bench to get a cloth and then knelt down in front of Amanda but, before he could start she lifted her foot off the ground and roughly wiped it against his thigh.

“That’s it, now you’re my doormat. Don’t you want to be my doormat?” Amanda’s voice now had an edge of steel.

“Please, Miss Fforbes…” Jim started but he felt trapped. He knew that Miss Worthing was less than pleased with him and, if Amanda went to her to complain, then he’d be out on his ear and he’d soon be known as the village pervert. He had no doubt that Amanda would back up Miss Worthing’s story and add her own embellishments. On the other hand, if he complied, he was just making things worse.

“Well…” Amanda patience was obviously wearing thin. Jim had to decide, and decide now.

“Yes, Miss Fforbes.” Jim replied at last, taking the easier option. “I want to be your doormat.”

“Of course you do. Now lie down properly, there’s a good boy.” Amanda ordered, her voice dripping with condescension.

Jim lay face down on the floor but Amanda kicked him and told him to roll over. Then she returned to wiping her boots on his body, concentrating on the groin area. Jim tried to cover himself with his hands, to protect himself but as soon as he did…

“Lie still!” Amanda commanded. “Kathy, hold his arms down. Come along ladies, I can’t be the only one with muddy boots.”

Kathy took knelt down next to Jim's head, took his arms by the wrists, and knelt on them, pinning them to the floor. Meanwhile the others gathered round and Jim’s chest and groin were pummelled by the hard leather of three pairs of riding boots. Jim closed his eyes; one foot, he could hazard a guess who’s, went straight to the apex of his groin and, to his horror, Jim felt his penis swelling in response. Amanda must have seen this as well, her foot was making circular motions and Jim felt as if he would burst his jeans.

“Well, well, well. It looks like our little stable boy really does want to be our doormat.” Amanda smirked as she removed her foot. “Guess who’s got a stiffy. Shall we have a closer look? Karen, would you do the honours?”

Jim, with his arms still pinned, just lay there, his face burning with embarrassment. He kept his eyes closed, too ashamed to meet the eyes of his tormentors, as he felt Karen’s fingers at his belt, at his flies, tugging first his jeans and then his boxers down to around mid thigh. Nimble fingers grasped him, gently easing his foreskin back and forth over his glans.

“You like that, don’t you?” Amanda said.

“I… I… Yes, Miss Fforbes.” Jim replied.

“And do you need to come now? Do you think Miss Dickinson should finish you off?” Amanda asked.

“I… err… that’s for you to decide, Miss Fforbes.” Jim was beginning to realise what Amanda wanted, what he needed to do to survive.

“So it is.” Amanda laughed. “And maybe, if you’re a good little doormat, we’ll let you. For starters you can get on your hands and knees and kiss our boots asking nicely. Karen, Kathy, let him up and we’ll see how he does.”

Karen and Kathy stood up allowing Jim to roll over, get on his knees and, with his jeans still around his thighs, crawl over to in front of Amanda. He bent forward, noisily kissing the tips of her boots.

“Please, Miss Fforbes, please, I beg you to be allowed to come.” Jim pleaded, bighting back the bile.

“What are you?” Amanda demanded harshly.

“Err… err… your doormat?” Jim hazarded.

“Yes, our doormat. So, why doesn’t my doormat try begging again and this time see if you can get it right?”

“Please, Miss Fforbes, your doormat begs you that he is allowed to come?” Jim tried.

“That’s better. Now Miss Brennan.”

Jim moved so he was in front of Sandra Brennan’s boots, knelt and kissed before repeating the plea. Then it was Karen’s turn.

“Do you think my hands should touch your disgusting prick again, doormat?” Karen snarled once Jim had pleaded.

“No, of course not, Miss Dickinson” Jim replied.

“God, you’re pathetic. Go on, it’s Kathy’s turn now.”

As Jim approached Kathy she seemed nervous, hesitant, and even backed off a little. Her whole demeanour contrasted strongly with the others. Still, Jim had no choice but to go through with the pantomime. However, as he didn’t know her surname he had to address her simply as ‘Miss Kathy’ and hope for the best.

“Well, ladies, was that grovelling enough? Shall we let our doormat have his pleasure?” Amanda asked.

“As long as I don’t have to touch him again.” Karen replied.

“Yeah, it’s OK by me.” Sandra added.

“Well, doormat, it looks like, just this once, we’re going to take pity on you and allow you to come. Enjoy it; it may be the last time we allow it for quite a while.” Amanda said. “Right here will do, lie on the floor and tug yourself off.”

Horrified Jim realised what he’d got himself into. There was no way out, he had seen how ruthless and determined Amanda was, indeed they all were, and had no doubts that, if he were to try to back out now, she would stir up all sorts of trouble. Moreover, the very thought of what she was telling him to do, the thought of playing with himself in front of them, was terrifying. However, terrifying or not, his penis was sending out a very different message. Ever since Amanda had massaged it with her foot it had lost none of the stiffness; indeed, kissing the boots and pleading had, if anything, added to his ardour. Knowing he had no other choice he lay down, rolled onto his back, and reached for his penis.

Again he was a confused mix of emotions. His shame and embarrassment knew no bounds; was he really jerking off in front of four sneering girls? On the other hand he was discovering a whole new range of thrills, thrills he would never have guessed at before. He could still feel in his mind the touch of her boots against him, the taste of leather as he had kissed them, and, although his mind rebelled at the thought, his libido was more than willing to be their doormat. His burning cheeks, the laughter of the girls, the occasional prod of their boots were fuelling his erection, not cooling it down. Faster and faster his fist pumped away; how he wished he could stop, how he wished he didn’t feel like this, how he wished…

With a mighty groan he came, his jism pumping out in great gobs, splattering his tee shirt.

“Pathetic.” Amanda commented. “Come on girls; let’s go back to my place.”

Without a backward glance they left. Jim cleaned himself up as best he could, pulled up his jeans and went to rub down the horses. It was nearly eight by the time he had finished and he wearily trudged his way home. He barely had the energy to eat his evening meal before pleading exhaustion and taking himself off to bed. He went up to his room and was getting undressed when his phone bleeped indicating that he had a new message. He didn’t recognise the number but when he opened it he saw it was a photo, a photo of him lying on the ground with his jeans around his knees and his fist wrapped around his penis; it must have been taken almost as he came. The quality wasn’t that good but it was clear enough that he, and more importantly what he was doing, was instantly recognisable.

A moment of two later the phone bleeped again. This time it was a text message:-

U R my doormat now.

A

Jim slumped back on the bed. It looked like it was going to be a long summer.