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.

It was five-o-clock in the morning when Jim’s alarm roused him out of a deep sleep and forty five minutes later he was heading down the lanes to New Farm. He hadn’t got quite the same spring in his step this morning; there was a strong sense of apprehension, a feeling that he’d got into something that he wasn’t going to be able to control. He just knew that Amanda and her playmates were going to make life difficult for him but, much more complex than that, was how he felt about Miss Worthing. There was something about her, something he couldn’t pin down, that was simultaneously fascinating and frightening. He couldn’t shake the memory of her boot resting in his groin, rubbing against his penis, and how he had responded. But it wasn’t just the physical pressure, it had far more to do with power, a power Miss Worthing seemed to have over him, a power that he found strangely disturbing.

When he got to the farm he went straight to the stables to work on Morning Dew, ensuring that she was saddled up to be ready for Miss Worthing’s seven-o-clock ride. Having done that he fetched out the shoe brushes and polished her boots. Working flat out he was ready and waiting when she appeared.

“Good morning, Miss Worthing. If you’d care to take a seat I’ve got your boots all freshly polished for you.” He said as she approached. Taking  the proffered chair Miss Worthing sat back as Jim fetched her boots and knelt down before her. Even before he started he could feel his penis stir in his boxers. Maybe, maybe if he just concentrated on the job… but the warm smell of the leather, the inevitable proximity of her foot and the memories of yesterday were too strong and his efforts were self defeating, the more he wished he hadn’t got an erection the stronger it became. He bowed his head to hide his blushes and, with trembling fingers, fastened the buckles around the top of the boots.

Once he had finished he had no option but to carry on as if nothing were amiss so he stood up to go and fetch Morning Dew; however, as soon as he had got to his feet Miss Worthing held out her riding crop at waist level preventing him from leaving.

“Is this going to be a problem?” She enquired, using the tip of the riding crop to trace the outline of his swollen penis through his jeans.

“A problem, Miss Worthing?” Jim replied nervously.

“Yes, a problem.” Miss Worthing returned. “It would seem that you can’t perform even the most basic duties without getting over excited.” Once again the tip of the crop stroked against the bulge in his jeans. “We have girls as young as six or seven stabling their ponies here; do you think it appropriate that they see you in this state.”

“No, no, of course not, Miss Worthing.” Jim stuttered. “I’m sorry, Miss Worthing, I just can’t help myself. It just seems to… whenever I…”

“I just can’t help myself.” Miss Worthing mocked. “You’ve no self control; you’re pathetic, absolutely pathetic. However, if you don’t know what to do about this…” She flicked the crop across his groin causing him to flinch. “It looks like I'll have to sort it out for you. I know just the thing to keep you controlled. I can’t do anything now, not until it’s subsided a bit but when I get back from my ride we’ll see what we can do. Now, go and fetch Morning Dew.”

Jim hurried off to the stalls and fetched the horse glad that he had got her all sorted out in plenty of time. He led her outside to where Miss Worthing was waiting and handed over the reins. Miss Worthing didn’t say a word but just mounted and rode off into the paddock. Jim watched for a minute before going back inside to get on with sweeping out the stalls.

When Miss Worthing returned she led Morning Dew back into the stables and handed the reins to Jim. She glanced down at his groin.

“It seems that you have calmed down. Put Morning Dew back in her stall and then come to the tack room. We’d better get you under control before you get all excited again.”

Jim did as he was told and, when he got to the tack room, he found that Miss Worthing had opened the locked cupboard and was looking inside for something. However the door obscured his view of the contents and, before he could get a better look, Miss Worthing had found what she was after and closed the door, locking it again.

“Right then, this will do nicely.” She said turning to Jim. “OK, drop your pants.”

“But… But… But…” Jim started to protest.

“I said drop them!” Miss Worthing snapped back. “This is for your benefit, to sort out your embarrassing little problem so I suggest you stop snivelling and get on with it.”

For a moment their eyes locked but Jim was never going to be a match for Miss Worthing and, a moment later, he dropped his head and started to undo his belt.

“Come on, come on.” Miss Worthing urged. “Don’t be pathetic; it’s not as if you’ve got anything I haven’t seen before.”

Resigned to his fate, and feeling like some sort of naughty schoolboy, Jim pushed down his jeans and boxers until they were just above his knees. Miss Worthing opened her hand to reveal what she had fetched from the cupboard, a curious tubing affair made of two parts of clear plastic which, when fitted together would fit around his penis holding it downward. A further part, which fitted around the base of his scrotum, ensured that it held the penis at a downward angle and could not be removed. It took Miss Worthing only moments to fit it.

“Seeing as how self control doesn’t seem to be your forte I think it best if I control exactly when you can and can’t take this off.” She produced a small padlock and Jim heard the click as it closed, locking the device on him. The padlock key was already on a fine chain and Miss Worthing slipped it around her neck so that the key disappeared beneath the cleavage of her blouse. “There, that’s better. I believe you’ll find it quite comfortable, unless you get excited of course, and you should have no problems going to the toilet. Now, what do you say?”

Jim was speechless. The whole thing had happened too fast, and, as if in some sort of bad dream, he now found himself with his trousers around his knees and his penis clamped in this infernal device. As to what he was supposed to say, he hadn’t a clue. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times but nothing came out.

“What do you say?” Miss Worthing asked again. “Aren’t you glad that I’ve sorted out your problem? Aren’t you glad that I’ve helped you? Haven’t you got the grace to see that some sort of gratitude is in order?”

“Thank you, Miss Worthing, thank you.” Jim replied as the penny dropped and he finally realised what was expected.

“That’s better. Now, let’s see how well it works. You had best take off my boots; that seems to have got you overexcited in the past. No, leave your trousers down; I won't be able to see otherwise.” Miss Worthing sat down and stretched out her legs in front of her. Jim, still dazed, knelt before her and started on the buckles. This time there was far less subtlety, Miss Worthing’s boots were right between Jim’s knees right from the start and Miss Worthing made a point of rubbing them against his caged penis. Jim blushed furiously at the indignity of what was being forced on him, but, despite his burning embarrassment, he could stop his reaction.

Immediately he found out just how effective the contraption was. As soon as his penis began to swell the constraint, both in terms of size and in terms of angle, became increasingly uncomfortable. He struggled to undo the buckles but, with Miss Worthing’s boots still rubbing against his constrained penis concentration was nigh on impossible and his fingers kept slipping. At last he had it done and he slipped off the boots and replaced them with her shoes. With this done Miss Worthing stood up and ordered him to his feet. She reached down and grasped the cage, tugging at the plastic, ensuring it couldn’t be removed.

“Yes, that’s quite satisfactory. Now, let’s see what it’s like when you pull your jeans up.” She let go of him and stood back a bit. Jim pulled up his boxers and jeans, easing them over the plastic mound. 

“Hmm, yes, that will do quite nicely.” Miss Worthing continued. “Now, we’ve wasted enough time sorting out your pathetic personal problems, it’s time you got back to your tasks; I want the stables spotless by lunchtime, this afternoon you can work on the yard. Off you go.”

Thus dismissed Jim went back to Mountain Dew’s stall to remove her saddle and bridle. As the intensity of his arousal slowly dropped so did the discomfort from his groin but, one thing was for certain, he was never going to forget it was there. Even when flaccid he could feel it restraining him and he was wishing his jeans weren’t so tight. In the quiet of one of the stalls he opened his fly and slipped his hand inside to see if he could rearrange things but, however he tried, it wasn’t any better. Maybe he’d wear cargo pants tomorrow.

Thinking back, what he couldn’t fully understand was how easily Miss Worthing had got him to wear it. It was as if he were powerless in front of her, that the sheer force of her personality had let no room for negotiation; once she had decided that he was going to wear the contraption that was what was going to happen. There was something about her, something about her manner, that made him feel juvenile, an errant schoolboy, for whom disobedience was not an option.

This feeling of being belittled, of worthlessness was underpinned by her constant air of cool detachment.  Through both the fitting and the testing of the penis cage she had acted as if it had been a tedious chore, something that needed to be done to ensure the smooth running of the stables, as if the sexual tumult that had wracked his body were somehow beneath her. This feeling of being outclassed, of being unworthy reinforced his obedience, who was he to disobey?

He couldn’t help but contrast this with Amanda and her cohorts. Their pleasure in his discomfort was plain to see; they enjoyed making him dance to their tune. Furthermore, for him,  whereas with Miss Worthing he obeyed out of respect with Amanda the motivator was fear, fear that she would, from pure spite, get him onto trouble; fear that the photo on her phone would, if he didn’t comply, end up on the phone of every girl in the school, or worse still, his mother.

At three thirty Jim was busy sweeping the yard when he heard a car pulling in. He turned to see a BMW X5 reversing into the parking area and, as soon as it had stopped it disgorged its cargo of ten year old girls. From the driver’s door appeared a tall elegant woman, evidently the mother of one of the girls, who, ignoring her progeny as they raced towards the horses, set off towards the house. Jim leant his broom against the wall and went into the stables.

It took a moment of two to get the girls sorted out on their various ponies. Unlike their older sisters they wanted to be fully involved and Jim had to use all his tact and patience as they tried, with mixed success to saddle their own ponies. After that they were off into the paddock where some rudimentary jumps had been set up and they took it in turns practising circuits.

They had barely left and Jim was still tidying up the chaos they had left behind when Miss Worthing and the mother came into the stable complex. For a while they chatted and Jim couldn’t help but notice them looking in his direction from time to time. Then Miss Worthing headed for the paddock to supervise the girls and the mother came over to Jim.

“So, you’re Celia’s new stable boy.” She said.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Jim replied.

“Yes, Ma’am.” The woman echoed. “Very respectful. Celia said that you knew your place. Do you know you place?”

“My place, Ma’am?” Jim queried. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Let’s make it simple then. I think a lad who ‘knows his place’ would be on his knees kissing the toes of my shoes. Is that your place, on your knees in front of me?” The woman said without a trace of humour.

Jim felt confused, embarrassed and completely taken aback at the outrageous suggestion; did this woman really expect him to get on his knees and kiss the toes of her shoes? He looked at her, trying to discern some glimmer of hope that she had not been serious but there was none. First Miss Worthing, then Amanda and now… Moreover, he just knew that any reluctance on his part would go straight back to Miss Worthing and he’d be in even more trouble. Feeling that he was the victim of some monstrous female conspiracy against him he got down before her and pressed his lips to the pointed toes of her stilettos.

“Good boy; you do know your place after all. Do you like it down there? Is that where you belong?” The woman’s tone was light, mocking.

“I… I don’t know, Ma’am.” Jim replied.

“Oh, I think you do know. I think it’s just that you’re ashamed to admit it. Now, let’s try again. Is that where you belong? I that your rightful place?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Jim reluctantly replied, once again knowing that disagreeing would only make things worse.

“That’s better. It’s so much easier when you admit what you are, a grovelling worm who gets his kicks from kissing the feet of his betters. I think I might ask Celia if I can borrow you, have you come round for an afternoon, There are so many interesting games we could play. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Jim knew that agreement was his only option.

“What a good little boy you are. I’m off now. No don’t get up. I’m sure I’ll see more of you later, much, much more. Bye.” The woman turned and walked out of the stables. Jim ventured a peek as she went, watching her lithe form sashay out of the door.

As he got to his feet the woman’s words ran through his mind. ‘It’s so much easier when you admit what you are, a grovelling worm who gets his kicks from kissing the feet of his betters.’ Was that him? Was that what he was? He’d only knelt before the woman because he had to but his emotions as he had done so had been mixed. Shame and confusion, surely, as he’d been forced to debase himself like that but it hadn’t all been bad; there was part of him that hadn’t objected and he couldn’t escape the fact that his penis had swollen inside its cage. Whether he liked it or not he couldn’t escape the hard fact that it had turned him on.

He had barely picked up his broom again when he heard the unmistakable sound of Amanda’s Elise entering the farmyard. He went to the stables so as to anticipate her requirement to get Dark Pleasure saddled and, knowing that where Amanda was, her friends were surely bound to follow, to get ready the other horses as well. He fetched the saddle and was entering the main body of the stables just as Amanda came in from parking her car. She walked up to Jim whilst all the time looking about her.

It was as if yesterday had never happened. Amanda was all sweetness and, whilst she obviously insisted on being waited upon, she treated Jim as if he were a normal stable employee and not something she'd found stuck to the bottom of her shoe. The others, when they arrived took their cue from Amanda and were similarly polite. Somehow this did nothing to calm Jim's nerves and he was all fingers and thumbs as he fastened the tack. He was taking Highlife out of her stall when he tripped and, falling backwards, collided with Miss Brennan, knocking her to the ground. Jim was all apologies but she rejected his out held hand and stood up unaided.

“Why don't you look where you're going, you moron.” She snarled.

“I'm so sorry, Miss Brennan” Jim stuttered. “Let me brush your jacket off.”

“Don't you dare touch me!” Sandra snapped back at him. “We'll discuss this later.” And, without another word, she mounted and rode off.

“Oh, dear, doormat.” Amanda laughed. “It looks like you've upset Sandra. Clumsy doormats will have to be punished; you do understand that, don't you?”

Still laughing she mounted up and rode off into the paddock.

For the next couple of hours Jim was kept busy. Whilst the horses were out he was expected to clear out their stalls and freshen their bedding and he had hardly finished that when the younger girls had completed their lessons and were bringing their ponies back to the stables. Once again all Jim's tact and diplomacy was required as each of the youngsters demanded his attention simultaneously. The mother had returned and stood with Miss Worthing whilst watching the chaos around her with an amused smile on her face. At last they were done and packed in the car. As they drove off Miss Worthing gave them a friendly wave before turning back into the stables and going over to where Jim was still putting the tack away.

“It would seem that Mrs Johnson wants to borrow you tomorrow afternoon. You're to go over to her house from midday until three in the afternoon. Understood?”

“Mrs Johnson?” Jim enquired. “Was that her with the BMW?”

“Yes, Mrs Johnson, the mother of Kirsty who, along with her little friends, pays a small fortune for show jumping lessons. One of my more influential clients who is not to be upset in any way.” Miss Worthing continued. “Do I make myself quite clear?”

“Of course, Miss Worthing. I won't let you down, Miss Worthing.” Jim replied, wondering just what was going to be involved.

It wasn’t long after that before Amanda and her friends returned from their ride. Whilst Jim was taking the saddles from the horses and returning them to the tack room Kathy was sent to check that the stables were, indeed, empty and that all the others had left. The others stood in the centre of the main block chatting. Once Jim put all the tack away he retuned to start brushing down the horses when…

“doormat! Come here, we have some unfinished business to attend to.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Fforbes” Jim said as he hurried over. “Unfinished business?”

“Have you forgotten how you brutally pushed Miss Brennan to the ground? Did you think you were going to get away with that?” Amanda flicked her riding crop against her thigh. “First of all I think you ought to apologise.”

”I’m sorry I was…” Jim started.

“Do it properly, on your knees.” Amanda snarled.

There was something about the tone of Amanda’s voice that left Jim no room for protest. He knelt down and bowed his head in front of Sandra.

“I’m sorry, Miss Brennan, I’m sorry I was so clumsy.”

“That’s more like it. Now, you can show how sorry you are by kissing her boots.” Amanda continued before turning to Sandra. “What do you think, Miss Brennan, what would be appropriate? Do you think the crop might teach him some manners?”

“Yeah, that’ll do, let’s string the bastard up.” Sandra replied. “Kathy, fetch the cuffs.”

Whilst Kathy went off to the tack room the others took Jim, still on his hands and knees, to one end of the stables where a block and tackle hung ready to lift heavy objects up to the hayloft. When Kathy returned she was carrying two leather cuffs held together by a short length of chain. Jim, scared at how far this was going, started to protest.

“Shut it, doormat!” Amanda snapped. “If you don’t start to do as you’re told without question I’m going to enjoy making your life hell, far, far more hell than this could ever be. The photo on my phone, that would be just the start. What do you think my father would do to the boy who tried to rape his daughter?”

“Rape…” Jim gasped.

“Oh, help! Rape! Rape!”  Amanda said in a mocking tone. “And who do you think they’ll believe; a sweet and innocent schoolgirl like me or a known pervert like you?

Jim was beginning to realise just how stitched up he was. He had no illusions as to whether Amanda would carry out her threats and what this would mean for him. He couldn’t remember exactly what Amanda’s father did but he knew that he was powerful and influential and, above all, doted on his daughter. Reluctantly he held out his arms.

“That’s better, now you’re getting it.” Amanda said.

Whilst he was still on his knees the cuffs were fitted around his wrists and attached to the hook on the end of the block and tackle. Sandra then started to pull on the rope forcing Jim to his feet until he hung, stretched to the limit with his feet just touching the ground. Sandra then tied of the end of the rope around a cleat holding it fast.

“Kathy, take his pants down.” Sandra ordered.

Kathy went to unfasten his belt but, finding it a struggle, knelt down in front of him. Once she had got his jeans unfastened she pulled them down until they hung at his ankles. His boxers followed immediately afterwards and, with his arms pulled above his head, his tee shirt was raised exposing everything below the waist.

“What the fuck!” Exclaimed Sandra. “He’s got his dick in a cage; look!”

“Well, well, well.” Said Amanda. “Who put this on you?”

“Miss Worthing.” Jim replied.

“And why did she do that?” Amanda went on.

Jim felt as if her were in some sort of nightmare. Miss Worthing had made her reasons for making him wear the cage sound so simple, so straightforward but now, now that he was going to have to explain them to the girls he couldn’t find the words; any explanation made him look like some sort of pervert and he didn’t dare lie, he would be found out far too easily.

“Come on.” Prompted Amanda. “We haven’t got all night. You’re only making things worse for yourself.”

“She put it on to help me learn self control. I keep getting erections and she didn’t want me scaring the youngsters.” Jim said, his eyes screwed shut with embarrassment.

“You keep getting erections; hey, we found that out last night.” Amanda said to general laughter. “Well, it makes no difference to us, you’re still getting your punishment.”

Sandra stood before him tracing the tip of her crop around his caged penis. Jim didn’t dare look her in the face but hung his head. However his deep sense of shame, and his fear, couldn’t prevent his reaction; his penis began to swell, filling the cage as it did so.

“There you go.” Sandra said. “The slightest touch and he’s getting a stiffy. Looks like he enjoys being tied up. No wonder Miss Worthing put the cage on him.”

“Now, doormat.” She continued. “You’re getting twelve strokes and you’re to count and say thank you after each one. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Miss Brennan.” Jim answered. “Count and say thank you.”

Sandra went round behind him, there was a swish and…

“AAARGHHH! Jesus! Fuck! Please! Stop!” Jim screamed as the ribbon of fire seared across his buttocks. From the other end of the stables came the whinnying of some of the horses.

“Careful, Sandra.” Amanda said. “He’s scaring the horses. We’d better put a gag on him if he’s going to scream like that.  Kathy, go and get a bridle from the cupboard; you know the sort we need.”

Kathy ran off towards the tack room returning moments later with a network of leather straps and steel attachments. She handed it to Sandra who sorted out the tangle and started to fit it over Jim’s head. He could immediately see why Amanda had called it a bridle; although it was shaped for a human head it shared many of the aspects of a horses bridle, including a bit which went in his mouth. However, Jim couldn’t remember the equine version having a rubber ball fitted to the bit, a rubber ball which filled his mouth and effectively gagged him.

Once again Sandra disappeared behind him. There was a pause and Jim looked up. Amanda, Karen, and Kathy were watching intently. Once again he heard a swish behind him and…

The next several minutes disappeared into a blur for Jim. Again and again the crop lashed across his buttocks and his upper thighs. There was no way he could have counted, let alone said ‘thank you’, all his breath was taken with screaming, pleading, imploring all of which was, of course, lost as the gag muffled his cries. Even when she stopped the burning agony from his backside just went on and on; tears streamed down his face, his nose filled with snot making breathing hard.

As he finally calmed down Amanda came and stood in front of him.

“Here’s the thing, doormat, if you’re good, very, very good, we’ll let you have little treats but if you’re bad, if you upset us in any way, you suffer. Now, are you going to be a good little doormat from now on?.” Jim nodded his assent. “And do you promise to do everything we tell you to?” Again Jim nodded. “Good, now down on the floor like the doormat you are.”

Amanda looked over at Kathy who went and released the rope letting Jim collapse in a heap. Then Amanda, closely followed by the others, wiped her boots across his battered backside before, laughing together, they left.

For a moment or two Jim just lay there, still overwhelmed by what had happened. His buttocks had subsided to a dull roar of pain but it wasn’t that which disturbed him so. He was caught, well and truly caught and he could see no way out. He could, of course, go to Miss Worthing and tell her he no longer wanted to work at the stables but he knew Amanda well enough to know that, now that she’d got her hooks into him, he wouldn’t be able to wriggle out that easily. The threat of being accused of rape was terrifying; even if he could avoid any legal problems he would be branded as a pervert for life in the small village community. He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and then up to kneeling. The wrist cuffs were buckled rather than locked and, with a certain amount of twisting and turning he could get them off. After that the bridle was relatively easy and he had nearly finished when he heard a sound behind him.

“Not finished yet?” Miss Worthing said as she approached.

“I’ve been…” Jim started.

“I can see what you’ve been…” Miss Worthing cut across him. “I gather the girls have been playing with you. Those look like crop marks on your backside.”

“Yes, Miss Worthing, Miss Brennan punished me.” Jim explained.

“I’m sure you deserved it, more than that I don’t want to know. Now finish off and get home. It’s getting late. Oh, and I’ll take those.” Miss Worthing held out her hand for the cuffs and bridle. “Come on, and for God’s sake pull your jeans up.”

“What about…” Jim indicated his groin.

“That stays. What, you were hoping to have a little play with yourself when you got home? Well, think again. We’ll review it tomorrow, after you get back from visiting Mrs Johnson.” And without another word she turned and left.

Jim pulled up his pants and went back to work; he had four horses to rub down before he’d finished.

Jim woke early after a restless night. His bruised and battered backside had made it hard to sleep on his back whilst his caged penis made it hard to sleep on his front, but, for all that these disturbed him they were nothing compared with his need for release. Time and time again, as he’d lain in bed on the edge of sleep, his hand had strayed to the cage at his groin but, however much as he tried, relief was impossible; indeed, his attempts had just made it worse.

He looked at the alarm clock, it was gone five-o-clock and his job wouldn’t wait. He got out of bed, showered and shaved before grabbing a couple of slices of toast and a cup of coffee. His breakfast completed he set of down the road to New Farm. Still the weather remained hot and dry; if this went on much longer there would be another hosepipe ban; idly he wondered how that would affect the stables.

When he arrived he let himself into the main block and set about his morning routine. First he had a good look around, making sure there were no unpleasant surprises, something that he might have missed that Miss Worthing’s eagle eye was bound to spot, then he made sure that Morning Dew was ready for riding before settling down in the tack room to put a deeper shine on Miss Worthing’s riding boots. At five minutes to seven Miss Worthing appeared at the door.

“Good morning.” She said briskly. “I gather the girls have named you ‘doormat’; is that what you are to them? As to what you’ll end up being for me; that’s another matter. So, how’s that embarrassing personal problem of yours today? Giving you any trouble?”

“Good morning, Miss Worthing”, Jim replied. “It’s… err… fine thank you.”

“Well, drop your pants, let me have a look. You’d best stand on that box there, save me having to bend over.” For a moment Jim just stood transfixed before Miss Worthing continued. “Oh, for Pete’s sake, get on with it. I haven’t got time to be doing with your pathetic embarrassment.

Under Miss Worthing’s withering gaze Jim stood up and went over to the box she had indicated; a large wooden affair which was used for storing assorted cleaning materials. He climbed up onto it and pushed his trousers and underpants down to his knees.

“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? In fact I think it best if, from now on, you were to be waiting like this every morning, ready for inspection. Now lift up your tee shirt and we’ll see how you’re doing.” As Jim lifted the hem of his tee shirt Miss Worthing grasped the cage around Jim’s penis and twisted it this way and that. “Hmm, that seems to be fine. There’s a little bit of chafing but nothing untoward. I’ll get you some cream if it gets any worse. OK, you can get down now.”

As Jim pulled up his pants and stepped down from the box Miss Worthing sat down and stretched out her legs waiting for him to assist her with her boots. Jim knelt down before her and removed her shoes.

“Don’t forget that you’re to go to Mrs Johnson’s house.” Miss Worthing said conversationally. “She’s expecting you at noon; I hardly need tell you that being late is not an option. Do you know where she lives?”

“She owns one of the big houses down on Cedar Avenue, doesn’t she?” Jim replied.

“That’s right, number seven. It shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes on foot. Make sure the stables and yard are in a fit state before you leave.”

Miss Worthing stood up and strode out of the tack room; Jim followed behind, rushing to Morning Dew’s stall to fetch her out. He led the mare out into the yards and passed the reins to Miss Worthing who mounted and, with a final disdainful look at Jim, turned and rode off into the paddock.

Jim had plenty to do all morning and noon was almost upon him before he realised. He tidied away the stables and set off for Cedar Avenue. Its reputation as the most desirable street in a desirable village had earned it the local nickname of Millionaire’s Row and the houses certainly matched this. Number seven was one of the bigger ones and it sat back from the road, the gardens hidden by high beech hedges. Jim made his way up to the front door and rang the bell. There was a pause before it was opened by a young woman with long blonde hair.

“Ah, you are Jim.” She said in a strong Swedish accent. “Madam is expecting you; follow please.”

Jim followed the woman, presumably an au pair, through the house and into the back garden where, on the patio next to a swimming pool, Mrs Johnson lay on a sun lounger wearing a wide brimmed straw hat and a thigh length light cotton wrap.

“Ah, there you are.” She said, looking up. “Thank you, Helga, you may leave us.”

Both Jim and Mrs Johnson watched as Helga walked back into the house, her slim hips swaying provocatively in her tight jeans.

“Pretty little tart, isn’t she.” Mrs Johnson continued. “Of course my husband’s screwing her; silly fool thinks I don’t know, thinks I can’t see the way he moons at her over the dinner table. Still, that’s middle aged men for you, always after the younger woman. How about you? Do you think Helga’s attractive or do you prefer someone a bit  more… sophisticated?”

“She’s very pretty…” Jim replied. “But you’re more beautiful.”

“Oh, you sweet boy, what a liar you are!” Mrs Johnson laughed. “Now come along, I thought we agreed that your place was knelt at my feet, not standing around like I don’t know what.”

Jim remembered only too well their conversation from the previous day and Miss Worthing exhortations to do whatever it took to keep Mrs Johnson satisfied. He got down on his knees and, leaning forward, kissed the tips of Mrs Johnson’s toes.

“That’s better, you are a fast learner. Now then, Celia gave me this key.” Mrs Johnson picked up a small key on a chain that lay on the table beside her. “She said I might need it. Now why would that be, I wonder?”

“It… It…” Jim squirmed with embarrassment. “It fits my restraint.”

“Oh, what restraint?” Mrs Johnson feigned innocence.

“On my… On my… My thingy.” Jim stuttered.

“Your thingy!” Mrs Johnson laughed out loud. “What? Does Celia keep you under lock and key? Oh do show.”

Jim was no fool; he’d known where this was heading as soon as he’d seen the key. He knelt up and, for the second time that day, pushed his trousers and boxers down to his knees.

“How dinky.” Mrs Johnson said. “Now, come here so that I can have a proper look.”

Still on his knees Jim shuffled around to the side of the sun lounger. Mrs Johnson rolled onto her side, reached down and curled her superbly manicured fingers around his testicles. Jim’s penis, which had already been starting to swell, strained against the restraints.

“Oh, you poor thing.” Mrs Johnson mocked. “Is it hurting you? Would you like me to take it off?”

“Yes, please, Mrs Johnson.” Jim replied.

“Well, for a start you will address me as ‘Madam’.” Mrs Johnson snapped back, suddenly stern. “Is that quite clear?”

“Yes, Madam, of course, Madam.” Jim replied promptly.

“That’s better. Why don’t you try asking me nicely if I’ll release you for a while; let’s see if you can manage that?”

“Please, Madam.” Jim started, his mind reeling. The tension between his legs was intense and, if playing along with this bizarre game would get him freed then so be it.  “I humbly beg…” Jim tried.

“Stop right there!” Mrs Johnson cut across him. “It looks like you have a lot to learn. Whilst you are on your knees you will never refer to yourself as ‘I’; refer to yourself in the third person. Now, what are you?”

“Your… err… servant, Madam?” Jim essayed.

“Not quite, try again.”

“Your slave, Madam.” Jim tried again.

“My slave, yes, that’s what you are. Now, let’s try again.” Mrs Johnson prompted.

“Your slave begs… humbly begs… begs to be freed. Please, Madam, please be kind to your slave.” Once he’d started the words seemed to just come.

“And why should I?” Mrs Johnson asked. “What do I get in return?”

“Anything, anything you ask.” Jim responded fervently.

“Anything? But you’d do that anyway, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, Madam, your slave would.” Jim hung his head.

“Hmm…” Mrs Johnson appeared to ponder. “I’m going to try a little obedience test, see just how good you are. I am going to unlock you but here’s the condition. You are not, repeat not, to come unless I expressly say so; is that quite clear.”

“Yes, Madam, of course, Madam.” Jim replied. That seemed easy enough.

“Well then and let me get at it. Stand up straight with your hands behind your back.” Mrs Johnson ordered.

Jim stood up and Mrs Johnson reached for the key, turned back towards him and undid the lock allowing the cage to separate into the two component halves. She put the cage and the lock, on the table beside her. With a sigh of relief Jim felt his penis spring into life, jutting forward in the first erection he had been allowed for over twenty-four hours. Mrs Johnson took it in her fingertips and gently massaged it with sensual rippling movements. All his repressed sexual frustration surged into Jim’s penis making it rock hard, standing proud before him.

“Does my little slave like that?” Mrs Johnson teased. “Does he like his Mistress playing with him?”

“Yes, Madam. Thank you, Madam.” Jim replied between clenched teeth. Suddenly the admonishment that he was not to come was a lot more difficult to comply with than he had realised. Heaven knows what Mrs Johnson had in store for him if he failed.

“And does my slave still think he can manage to control himself; shall I stop before there’s a little ‘accident’?” Mrs Johnson’s fingers were working harder, smoother.

“Please, madam, your slave doesn’t know, Madam.” Jim replied and, indeed, he simply didn’t know. On the one hand he had seldom, if ever, felt anything as wonderful as Mrs Johnson’s skilful fingers along the length of his shaft; on the other hand it was taking all his self-control to stop himself from coming; his testicles felt as if they were on the point of exploding.

“Well, I do know. That’s quite enough for now.” Mrs Johnson dropped Jim’s penis as if it were diseased. “I told you we were going to do some obedience training. You’re going to be my puppy dog. Do you understand?”

“Puppy…” Jim started.

“Yes, My puppy and, for starters, puppies don’t talk!” Mrs Johnson snapped back. “Good puppies may bark once for yes and twice for no; Oh, and puppies don’t wear clothes either. Understood?”

Jim was once again taken aback but the sudden blast of fury unnerved him so he started to undress. He even tried a little bark as he took off his tee shirt and stepped out of his trousers which were already puddle around his ankles. His shoes, socks and boxers took a little longer but he was soon naked and on all fours.

“That’s better, that’s a good little puppy.” The sweetness had returned to Mrs Johnson’s voice.  “Now go and fetch Helga, go on, off you go.”

Again, for a moment, Jim hesitated. This was all going far faster than he was comfortable with. It was one thing playing these games, if that is what they were, with those complicit in them but with Helga, the au pair, that was different; it was as if Mrs Johnson had ordered him to go out in public. He glanced up and, for a moment, their eyes met, his a pleading supplication, hers a steely determination, but it was never in any real doubt who was going to prevail.

“Run along now.” Mrs Johnson said quite gently. “And don’t forget, puppies don’t talk.”

Still on his hands and knees Jim went back into the house. He followed the sound of vacuuming and found Helga in the lounge doing the housework. He crawled to the centre of the room and knelt before her, wondering how he was going to explain this.

“Mrs Johnson, she playing games again?” Helga asked; the exasperation clear in her voice. “You need me to come with you?”

Jim barked once and, with a sigh, Helga turned off the vacuum cleaner and followed him back into the garden.

“Ah, Helga.” Mrs Johnson said as they returned to the garden. “Be a sweetie and fetch the blue holdall from my bedroom cupboard. You know the one I mean.”

With a slightly sour look on her face Helga turned and went back into the house. Jim went back to kneel down next to Mrs Johnson who reached out and tussled his hair, scratching him behind his ear acting exactly as if she were petting a dog. A few minutes later Helga returned carrying a sports holdall which she unceremoniously dumped beside Mrs Johnson’s sun lounger.

“Thank you, my dear.” Mrs Johnson said, the tension between the two women quite obvious. “And now I think it’s lunch time. It’s such a nice day I’ll eat out here next to the pool. You know what to bring.”

As Helga left to fetch the meal Mrs Johnson delved inside the bag and pulled out a selection of four collars ranging from a lightweight one in pink leather with rhinestone decorations to one in heavy black leather which was maybe five or six centimetres wide. Choosing a medium weight one made of brown leather she put the others back in the bag before pulling him close in order that she might fit the collar round his neck. As she leant towards him the cleavage of her wrap gaped open and Jim could clearly see that, as far as her top was concerned, she was wearing nothing underneath. When the collar was fastened Mrs Johnson leant back and pulled the wrap closed.

“Uh-huh.” She smiled. “That’s not for puppies, not unless they’re very, very good.”

She reached into the bag again, this time retrieving a rubber bone. With a command of ‘Fetch’ she tossed it into the garden. Again and again over the next quarter of an hour Jim raced around the garden chasing the bone wherever Mrs Johnson flung it. Mostly she aimed for the centre of the lawn but from time to time, either in fun or from poor aim, it would end up in the flowerbeds and the combination of rushing around and rooting in the back of the beds soon had Jim sweating freely and covered in dirt. Jim’s enthusiasm for the game was driven by a strange mixture of emotions. Primarily there was fear; fear because, as he had so recently become aware, displeasing these women who had suddenly taken over his life would only result in more pain and humiliation. But that fear was balanced by pleasure, he was actually enjoying the game; playing at being a puppy may not be very dignified but it was far, far better to be out in the sun than stuck inside the stables on a sunny day like this.

But there was also a far deeper urge that drove him. The simple glimpse down Mrs Johnson’s cleavage had re-awoken his desire. Mrs Johnson, like Miss Worthing had a style, a sophistication, a grace that left mere girls like Amanda in the shade. There was something magnificent about these women that spoke to something deep inside him, that made him want to bow down and worship, that found deep satisfaction in pleasing them and when, with the bone once again retrieved, he dropped it in her lap it was only natural to play the puppy, to sit up and beg, beg that he might be found worthy.

“Good heavens; look at the state of you!” Mrs Johnson exclaimed. “Here, this will cool you off. Don’t go using your paws.”

Mrs Johnson tossed the bone into the centre of the swimming pool where it sank to the bottom. Jim dived in after it and was glad of the swim. It took a few dives before he was able to retrieve it; the admonishment not to use his ‘paws’ had sunk home, and, by the time he clambered out he was clean and refreshed.

“That’s better.” Mrs Johnson said as he approached. “No, don’t drip on me. Stay there!”

Jim knelt down a foot or so away from Mrs Johnson who reached down into the bag and brought out a riding crop. Idly she reached down with the tip and played it around his semi flaccid penis.

“Hmm, you like being my puppy, don’t you?” Mrs Johnson teased as Jim’s penis reacted to the treatment.

“Woof.” Jim responded.

“Are you a good little puppy?”

“Woof.”

“And does my good little puppy deserve a treat?” Mrs Johnson moved on the sun lounger which made her wrap part a little, just enough to give suggestive glimpses of the body beneath.

Jim couldn’t respond. Firstly he didn’t know what the ‘correct’ answer was; secondly the fleeting glimpses of Mrs Johnson’s body beneath the wrap had combined with the crop rubbing against his penis making his mouth go dry. Overcome by passion all he could do was kneel wordlessly, staring at her cleavage.

“Well?” Asked Mrs Johnson chucking Jim under his chin, an action which only made things worse but, at that moment, he was saved by the sound of a trolley rattling across the paving stones of the patio.

“Ah, Helga. Lunch. Thank you. Today’s your afternoon off, isn’t it? Make sure you’re back before I return with the girls. You may go now.” Mrs Johnson said once Helga had pushed the trolley up next to the sun lounger. As Helga left Mrs Johnson took a plate of cold meats and salad and put it on the table beside her. Then she fetched a tall glass and a jug and poured herself a long cool drink.

“Oh, is my puppy thirsty?” She asked as Jim stared at the glass. “Let me see what I can find.”

She put the glass down and reached to the bottom layer of the trolley. This time she fetched out a dog’s drinking bowl and a large jug. Filling the bowl she put it down on the ground in front of Jim.

“There you go. Now drink it all up; there’s a good puppy.”

Jim was glad of the drink but it was awkward sipping directly from the bowl. He’d drunk about half when he knelt back up and looked up at Mrs Johnson.

“There you go.” Mrs Johnson said picking some food off her plate and putting it in his mouth. “Now finish up your water. I want that bowl completely empty.”

As the meal progressed Mrs Johnson continued to feed Jim scraps from her plate but, more alarmingly, she also refilled the bowl once he had drained it. A third bowl full followed the second and, by the time the meal was over his bladder was full to bursting. It didn’t take a genius to work out that this was Mrs Johnson’s plan all along but Jim simply didn’t now how to respond, what was expected of him.

“Now then, where were we?” Mrs Johnson asked as she put her plate and glass back on the trolley and wiped her lips with a napkin. “Oh, yes. I was asking if my puppy thought he deserved a treat. Well?”

Jim, who’d quite forgotten that the question had been left hanging, hesitated for a second before barking twice thinking it better to play it safe.

“Good puppy.” Mrs Johnson responded. “I’m the one who decides whether you deserve a treat or not. Now, because I’m in a good mood I’m going to be generous. Here you go, you may kiss my breasts.”

Mrs Johnson rolled towards him and, pulling her wrap to one side, cupped her left breast in her hand, offering it to Jim. Whilst she was no teenager she was also no stranger to the gym and her body was lithe and well toned. Jim stared for a moment before leaning forward and, as softly as he could, kissing the tip of her nipple.

“Come along, you can do better than that.” Mrs Johnson chided. “Show your Mistress how much you love her, show her how much you worship her.”

Jim was almost a complete novice. He’d never been very good with girls and was, unlike most of his contemporaries, still a virgin. However the word ‘worship’ struck a chord inside him and, as sensually as he could, he took her nipple between his lips and kissed. It didn’t take long before Mrs Johnson’s reaction became obvious. Not only did her nipple swell between his lips but her breathing became shallower and she sighed deeply, moving so that he had better access. From time to time she would tell him to go harder, or softer, or to use his teeth, but gently. After a while she bared her other breast and had Jim kiss that one as well. Suddenly she pulled away.

“Good puppy, very good, puppy, but I need your tongue, now!”

Jim could only stare at her; had he not just been using his tongue, flicking it across the nub of her nipple? What did she mean?

“Wow! You are the little innocent, aren’t you?” Mrs Johnson exclaimed, sensing his bewilderment. “It looks like I’m going to show you how you really satisfy your Mistress.”

Mrs Johnson undid the belt of her wrap and opened it up. Underneath she was wearing the briefest of bikini bottoms and it was no time at all before she had shrugged them off. Then, taking Jim by the collar, she gave him a swift lesson in female anatomy and, without a trace of shyness or modesty, parted her labia with her free hand, showing him exactly how and where he was expected to use his tongue.

“Learn well, little puppy dog.” Mrs Johnson finished off. “This is a puppy’s true role in life. Get this right and I might just reward you.”

Jim’s previous experience had been limited to the minimal amount of sex education at school and what he had gleamed from the porn he had downloaded. Now, here before him, was the long slender form of Mrs Johnson laid out on the sun lounger and he was spellbound. As if in a dream he shuffled round to the foot of the lounger and lent forward between her thighs until his head was above her pubic mound. He lowered his head, reaching out with his tongue, easing her labia apart as he had just been shown. Once he had started it just seemed natural and in no time he had found the hard little nub of her clitoris and was massaging it gently with the tip of his tongue.

Above all what struck him was how right this was, to be knelt before a woman as magnificent as Mrs Johnson worshipping at her centre. From the encouraging noises she was making, from the groans and the sighs, and from the tensing muscles in her thighs he could tell that he was giving pleasure and that was what he wanted, his own pleasure subordinate to hers. He felt privileged that a woman this wonderful would let him worship, that she even notice his existence. His fervent wish was that he should be worthy, that his efforts should meet with her approval.

Jim could tell that Mrs Johnson was approaching her climax, she had no need for discretion in the privacy of her own garden and she wasn’t holding back, telling, nay, urging Jim on, telling him to go harder, to move just a little, yes, just there, just like that… But it was the physical signs that really told. Mrs Johnson’s juices were flowing freely and, as each wave of pleasure passed through her her whole body tensed, her muscles tensing, her body arching, pushing, striving towards that peak where…

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, OH MY GOD!!! YESSSSSS!!!” Jim struggled to stay with her as her climax broke. Mrs Johnson’s body arched, lifting her buttocks clear of the lounger; Jim’s mouth was flooded as her juices flowed until, with a huge sigh of “Oh, Yes!!!” Mrs Johnson collapsed back and kicked Jim away.

Whilst Mrs Johnson got her breath back Jim lay on the ground wondering what was going to happen next. Now that he was no longer distracted he was once again aware of just how full his bladder was. If he didn’t do something soon he was going to wet himself. Mrs Johnson stirred on the sun lounger and sat up.

“Not bad, little puppy, not bad.” She sighed deeply. “Now come here next to your Mistress.”

Jim got up on his knees and made his way back to the side of the sun lounger. However, to stop himself from urinating he had to keep his thighs clamped together which made him waddle.

“Does my little puppy need to go ‘walkies’?” Mrs Johnson asked. Jim barked once in response.

Mrs Johnson reached into the bag and fetched out a leash. She clipped it on to Jim’s collar and stood up. Her wrap was still undone and hung loosely around her, framing her feminine charms. Jim stared, mesmerised.

“Does my puppy like what he sees?” Mrs Johnson struck a pose. “I do believe he does. Come along now.”

With a tug on the leash Mrs Johnson led Jim across the patio, onto the lawn, and across to a large oak tree stood at the back of the garden.

“Come along now. I haven’t got all day.” Mrs Johnson said as she waited for the penny to drop. Suddenly Jim realised what was expected. Clumsily he cocked his leg and, splashing wildly, emptied his bladder against the base of the tree. The sheer relief was bliss, even if it was bizarre way to be achieving it. He’d long gone beyond any sense of shame or decorum; if this is what Madam wanted then this is what he would do. Inevitably he ended up kneeling in an ever increasing muddy puddle of his own pee. When the flow stopped at last he looked up at Mrs Johnson awaiting instruction.

“What a mucky puppy! Look at you, covered in filth. Come with me.” Another sharp tug on the leash and Mrs Johnson led Jim back across the garden to the rear of the house where a coiled hosepipe stood ready for watering the plants. She unreeled a metre or two and turned on the tap. The blast of water that resulted was icy cold compared to the pool and Jim shivered as she soaked him down.

“Right, that’s enough for the day.” Mrs Johnson said as she shut off the water. “Stand up and follow me.”

Mrs Johnson returned to the sun lounger with a damp Jim training behind her. She sat back down and reached for the penis cage. With a sinking heart Jim realised what was next. The icy blast from the hose had shrunk his penis and now it was going back in its cage.

“But… But… But…” Jim stammered in despair.

“Oh, do be quiet.” Mrs Johnson scolded. “What? Did you think I was going to let you come? Oh, you poor boy, you’ll have to do much better than that. Why don’t you come back tomorrow and try again.”

With a click the padlock closed.

“There, that will keep you all safe. You never know, tomorrow might be your lucky day. Now, run along.”

With a wave of her hand Mrs Johnson dismissed him and, still damp from the hose, he put on his clothes and left.

As Jim headed back up the road towards New Farm he mused over what had happened. Sure, Mrs Johnson had played a game of cat and mouse with him and his swollen balls and damp clothing were a testament to the off hand way she had dismissed him but, and it was a huge ‘but’, somehow he didn’t mind. He thought over how magnificent she had looked, laid out on the sun lounger, or when she had stood up, towering over him with her wrap wide open. He remembered her fingers playing along the length of his penis, his penis which stirred in its cage at the memory. He remembered the taste of her as he had worshipped. She implied that she wanted to do the same again tomorrow and he wondered if maybe, just maybe, she’d take pity on him and let him come but whether she did or not he’d go and he’d go willingly,

By the time he got back to the farm it was nearly three-o-clock and some of the younger girls would be arriving soon. He bustled round, making sure that the place was as perfect as he could make it and he was just dropping the last load on the manure heap when he heard a car arriving. Sure enough it was Mrs Johnson and her daughter who, along with her friends, rushed to the stables to see to their ponies. Jim quickly washed of his hands and went to help.

As he bustled around the stables, fetching tack, tightening straps and generally making sure that the girl’s ponies were properly saddled before they headed for the paddock, Mrs Johnson stood to one side, watching, with a bemused smile on her face. Finally he had the four girls sorted but, as soon as he let them out into the yard, another car pulled in, disgorging another set of pre-teens. As he went back into the stable block Mrs Johnson called him over.

“Looks like my puppy has his hands full, there doesn’t seem to be any time for us to play. Maybe I’ll see you later.” She said quietly before walking off to her car.

For the next couple of hours Jim hardly stopped. By the time the younger girls had finished their elder sisters were arriving. Jim spent the entire time sorting out tack and, even when Amanda and her friends arrived, it was all strictly business. No sooner had he got one set out of the door than another returned back. It was well gone six before it settled down and most of the girls had left but when Jim tried to return some bridles to the tack room he found Karen guarding the door.

“The tack room’s out of bounds; wait here.” She said curtly.

As Jim stood waiting she looked him up and down which made Jim far more uncomfortable than Mrs Johnson had ever done.

“You’re pathetic.” She said at last. “You were pathetic at school and you’re still pathetic.”

Jim didn’t know how to answer, or even if an answer was required, but he was saved by the door opening and Amanda appeared leading…

“Here’s a new pony for you.” She said. “Find a stall for her and make sure she’s put away securely.”

Jim’s jaw dropped. Standing behind Amanda was Kathy, evidently the ‘new pony’. She was stark naked except for a criss-cross structure of straps which did nothing to cover either her breasts or her groin. Her arms were fastened behind her back which, combined with the strapping, acted to thrust out her breasts and make them more prominent. She stood several inches taller than usual and when Jim looked down he could see why. Her feet were encased in some sort of boot which ended with a horseshoe type arrangement. The tight strapping around the leather encasing her calves must be holding her foot inside almost on tiptoe. Her head was encased in the same sort of bridle that he had been forced to wear yesterday. Jim caught her eye but the stare that returned was full of venom.

“Well, don’t just stand gawking. Take Tubby to her stall.” Amanda continued

She passed Jim a set of reins and he led Kathy, or should that be ‘Tubby’ down the main aisle of the stable block looking for a stall. Tubby was an apt, if cruel pony name for Kathy. Whilst she wasn’t obese in any real sense she had failed to achieve the stick thin profile that all the girls seemed to strive for. Once he had found an empty stall her led her inside and tied the reins off to a suitable hook. It was only when he did so that he saw the final indignity. Protruding from a plastic strip at the base of her spine was a tail which looked really authentic. What Jim couldn’t tell was how it was held in place.

“Good, now it’s your turn.” Amanda said sweetly.

“My turn, Miss Fforbes?” Jim queried.

“How dare you answer me back!” Amanda snapped. “Get in the tack room and strip – now!”

Jim hurried back down the stables to the tack room. So, earlier he had been a puppy, now he was going to be a pony, but he was far more scared of what Amanda had in store for him than he ever was with Mrs Johnson. When he got to the tack room he found that the previously locked cupboard was now wide open but he had no time to look properly. Amanda was close behind him and he knew that he needed to strip smartly or he would be in even more trouble. Trying to balance the need for haste with a reasonable amount of tidiness he removed his clothes and put them on a chair all the time under the watchful eyes of the three girls.

“Turn and face the wall.” Amanda ordered once he was naked.

Jim did as he was told and, almost immediately his arms were tugged behind his back. He couldn’t see exactly what was happening but he felt his arms being encased to above the elbows and then drawn together. Whatever it was they were putting on him it was being drawn tighter and tighter until it was beginning to feel like his arms would be dislocated. At last they were satisfied and he was turned around. Next on was the bridle. Unlike the one he had worn the previous day this had a plain metal bit but it was still big enough to fill his mouth and, if not exactly gag him, severely restrict his ability to speak. Again the straps were fixed uncomfortably tight.

The harness was a somewhat simpler affair than the one worn by Tubby. Fundamentally it was a wide belt with shoulder straps. It took a bit of wiggling to get the straps under his restrained arms but it was soon fitted.

Finding a pair of boots that fitted was more of a struggle. There were four or five pairs at the bottom of the cupboard but Jim seemed to fall between two sizes. Eventually the smaller size was chosen and, although it was uncomfortably tight, Jim was glad of all the support that this gave as he tried to find his balance on the tips of his toes.

Then he was led to the table; his bound hands were tugged backwards and upwards bending him over so that his body lay along the top. There was some muttering coming from the area around the cupboard; there seemed to be some debate as to which tail to use and it would seem that the lubricant, so recently used to fit Tubby’s tail, had been mislaid. Fortunately, just as they decided to do without, it was found and Jim felt his feet being pushed apart and then the cool gel being squeezed between the cheeks of his buttocks.

Jim had already guessed where the tail was going but it was still a shock when he felt the tip of the butt plug being pushed against his sphincter. He tried hard to relax but the girls were impatient and he was being forced open, wider and wider, until even the bridle couldn’t stifle his cry of pain. However that didn’t stop them and he felt the plug being twisted this way and that to force it past the resistance until, suddenly it reached some sort of neck and the width dropped holding it fully inside, locked by his clenched sphincter. Once the plug was in place he could feel how it held an extension reaching up between his butt cheeks holding the tail which fell down behind him, coming to just short of his knees.

With the tail in place he was pulled back upright and a long leather rein attached to the left hand side of his bridle.

“There, not bad.” Sandra commented. “We’ve never had a stallion before.”

“Stallion!” Sneered Amanda. “Gelding, more like. Even if his pathetic little weenie wasn’t locked away there’s precious little he could do with it.”

“Come along, pony, walk on.” Amanda said in the same tone that she would use talking to a real horse and, tottering on the tips of his boots, Jim had no option but to follow. As they went towards the show jumping arena Karen was sent to fetch Tubby. Amanda led Jim over to one side of the arena and tied off his rein.

“Ah, Tubby!” Amanda called out as Karen and Tubby entered. “Come here and show this novice how it’s done.”

She went to the side of the arena and where a small sulky stood and picked up off the seat a buggy whip of the sort used by carriage drivers to control their horses. She then went back and, taking Tubby’s rein from Karen, let it out so that there was about nine feet of slack. Tubby then paraded around Amanda, keeping the rein reasonably taught and using a selection of different steps as called out by Amanda. Any mistakes, any missteps, were promptly pointed out by Amanda who reinforced the message using the tip of the whip.

This was evidently not the first time Tubby had performed these tricks and, although she was never going to be graceful, she showed a certain aptitude. More than that, whilst she was going through her paces, her eyes took on a faraway look and her face became flushed. When she had finished Amanda dropped the whip before gently pulling on the reins until she was standing face to face. Then she turned Tubby around and wrapped her arms about her so that her left hand was fondling a breast whilst her right hand was deep in her groin.

“Do you see, doormat, do you see how a well trained pony behaves.” Amanda’s fingers worked in circles and Tubby, obviously aroused opened her thighs a bit and leant back. “A good little pony like Tubby gets all sorts of treats, doesn’t she?”

Tubby whinnied gently through her bit as her hips pushed forward against the motion of Amanda’s fingers.

“Yes, Tubby’s a good little pony; she’ll do everything we ask, everything, just to please her owners. Now, what about you, doormat? Do you think you could do as well? Let's see, shall we? Karen, could you look after Tubby?”

Amanda handed Tubby’s reins to Karen who led her to the side of the arena. Then Amanda went over to where Jim was tethered and, untying his rein, led him back to the centre where she used the whip to guide Jim until the rein was tight.

“Now then, doormat, we’ll start with the basics. Walk on!” Amanda reinforced this with a tap of the whip on Jim’s backside.

Walking in the boots had been hard, even without the tug of the reins, but trying to keep his steps neat, regular, formal, was next to impossible. Amanda was showing increasing impatience with his mistakes and using the whip harder and harder against him. More and more she ordered him on, criticising his missteps, accenting her words with the tip of the whip. It was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened and he tripped over himself and, without his hands to help protect him, he crashed to the ground.

“Useless, you can’t even do the most basic steps. Now, get back on your feet.” Amanda snarled. “It looks like you need a little more motivation. Let’s say twelve strokes with the riding crop but, for each complete circuit I’ll reduce the tally by one. Twelve faultless circuits and you’re completely off the hook. OK?”

This time there was far less subtlety, right from the start Amanda kept the pace as fast as Jim could take; again and again the whip struck against him. Jim stumbled round, desperately tottering on the tips of the bizarre boots. He was vaguely aware of Amanda counting, he heard ‘one’ then ‘two’ and even ‘three’ before once again he crashed to the ground.

“Three! Three! Is that all you can manage?” Amanda prodded him with the toe of her boot. “Get on your knees, butt in the air.”

As Jim rolled over, struggling to his knees, Amanda strode over and replaced the whip on the sulky, returning with a riding crop.

“Come along ladies, nine strokes each.” Amanda announced as she set to. In no time the others had joined her and, for the second evening in succession, Jim’s posterior was subjected to a torrent of blows. Whether or not he received the full twenty seven , or whether it was more or less Jim never knew but they stopped at last and, with a final dismissive kick from a boot, the girls left leaving the sobbing Jim face down in the straw and sawdust of the arena floor.

Gradually Jim returned to the here and now to realise that he wasn’t alone. Someone was clumsily tugging at the bindings that held his arms and, gradually, he was getting freed. He craned his neck to see Kathy, or rather her back, as she knelt down next to him and struggled to reach his bonds with her arms fastened behind her back.  Suddenly  the lacing gave way freeing his arms and, with fingers still slightly numb from the constraints, he reached for the straps of his bridle. Still on his front, he didn’t dare risk resting on his battered backside; he unfastened the boots and freed his feet. That just left the tail but he wanted to remove that gently and it was about time he saw to his rescuer. He struggled to his feet and turned to Kathy.

Jim was expecting a certain amount of sympathy; Kathy wasn’t the cruel Mistress that her friends were and there was a common bond in their shared roles as ponies. However as he undid the straps of her bridle her eyes blazed with a furious hatred.

“You… You… You…” She stuttered as the bit was removed from her mouth. “You’ve ruined everything.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Kathy.” Jim replied, taken aback by the severity of the outburst.

“You had to barge in.” Kathy continued as she turned around, gesturing with her bound wrists that Jim should free them. “That summer job was mine; I’m Amanda’s, I’m her pony but suddenly there you are and it’s all doormat this and doormat that. I hate you; I really, really hate you.”

As soon as her wrists were freed she strode towards the door, the boots and tail giving a very equine feel to her gait.

“I’m going to get dressed.” She snarled as she reached the door. “Don’t you dare come anywhere near the tack room until I’ve gone.”

Jim stared in amazement as the arena door slammed behind her.

For maybe ten minutes Jim stood feeling naked and foolish in the centre of the arena. He didn’t dare go anywhere for fear of upsetting Kathy any further. At last he heard the distant slam of the stable doors. Picking up the bits and pieces that lay at his feet he returned to the tack room. There was still plenty to do before he was finished.

*****

The next morning Jim was slightly late to work. It had been well gone eight when he had arrived home the previous night and he had hardly slept at all. He had very mixed feelings as he approached New Farm; would he suffer at the hands of Amanda and her friends or would he put through his paces by Mrs Johnson? His backside was still a mass of bruises and sitting was distinctly uncomfortable but worse than that, far worse, was the growing ache in his testes. It wasn’t just that it was days since he had had any relief; it was that those days had been filled with sexual tension.

He bustled around the stables as fast as possible making sure it was all as ready as it could be before giving Miss Worthing’s boots a quick polish. Then, with seven-o-clock fast approaching he remembered Miss Worthing’s instructions from yesterday, that when she arrived he should be ready for inspection so he climbed on the box, pushed down his trousers and boxer shorts and waited.

“Ah, good, all ready and waiting. Now come along, stand up straight, no slouching and lift up your tee shirt.” Miss Worthing swept into the room and over to Jim. “Let’s see how you’re doing.”

Miss Worthing took Jim’s caged penis and twisted it this way and that, thoroughly inspecting the nooks and crannies.

“Hmm. There’s still some redness here. You’ll get some sort of fungal infection is we’re not careful. I think it best if we let the air circulate; it’s far too hot and sweaty inside your boxers. You’d best work naked below the waist this morning.” Miss Worthing said matter-of-factly. Jim just stared at her.

“What?” Miss Worthing continued. “We’re not expecting any visitors this morning and I’ll let you have your trousers back before the girls arrive. Stop dithering and get them off; this is your health we’re talking about.”

Jim did as he was told and, when Miss Worthing held out her hand, he passed his trousers and boxers to her. She went to the ponygirl tack cupboard which was still unlocked from last night and, putting them inside, she locked the door and put the key in her pocket.

“Why are you still here?” She asked as she turned back to Jim. “I’ve wasted enough time on you this morning; go and fetch Morning Dew at once.”

As Jim worked through the morning it was strangely liberating to be without his trousers and boxers. There was something, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, which made it feel right somehow. More disturbing was the way his libido reacted; the more he thought about it the more his penis strained against its cage. How could Miss Worthing be so matter-of-fact about it all; did she understand just what it was she was doing to him; how deeply her ministrations disturbed him?

When Miss Worthing had returned from her morning ride she had hardly noticed him; simply handing him the reins and striding off back to the house. It was as if she found it perfectly normal to have half naked men, or was that boys, working under her command.

It was just short of midday when Jim heard a car pulling into the yard. In a state of panic he rushed to the tack room. There was plenty of work to be getting on with in there and, hopefully, he could stay undiscovered. For maybe twenty minutes he sat there polishing leather work before he heard footsteps coming up the main aisle of the stables. He found an old piece of sacking and put it over his lap hoping to retain his modesty. The footsteps got nearer; the door to the tack room opened and…

“Ah, puppy, there you are.” Mrs Johnson said as she entered, a collar and leash in her hand. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Now, come along, we’re waiting.”

Jim just stared for a moment before dropping to all fours and kissing the toes of Mrs Johnson’s high heeled shoes.

“Good puppy. Well done.” Mrs Johnson said. “Now I don’t think puppy needs his tee shirt. Let’s get that off before we put your collar on.”

Jim shrugged off his tee shirt and knelt up as Mrs Johnson fastened the collar around his neck. Then, with a slight tug, she led him off, down the aisle of the stables, across the yard and around to the back of the farm house where there was a private walled garden. As they entered Jim saw two sun loungers with a table in-between them. Miss Worthing was lying on one of the loungers and on the table was the remains of lunch.

“There, Celia, I told you he was a good little puppy. Look how willingly he comes.” Mrs Johnson turned to Jim. “Now then, puppy, show Miss Worthing how much you like to worship.”

Mrs Johnson dropped the leash and Jim scampered across the lawn to kneel down at the foot of the sun lounger. Miss Worthing was wearing a light cotton dress but her feet were bare. Gently, tenderly, Jim kissed the tips of her toes.

“Bless! Isn’t he a sweetie?” Mrs Johnson continued. “And he just loves playing puppydog games, don’t you, puppy?”

Jim barked once for yes.

“I’ll grant you he’s a natural, just give him a pair of boots to polish and he’s practically coming on the spot but he’s such a child. I mean, what is he? Eighteen? Nineteen? He’s practically still in nappies.” Miss Worthing replied. “Nah, leave him to the girls; they can play with him.”

“By the looks of his backside they already have. That amount of bruising on his backside looks like Amanda’s gentle touch.” Mrs Johnson said sourly. “Anyway, don’t be too quick to judge; wait until you’ve tried his tongue.”

“His tongue!” Miss Worthing laughed derisively. “What can an infant like him know about using his tongue?”

“I tell you, he’s a natural. I bet his prick ain’t so bad either.” Mrs Johnson replied.

“His prick! Don’t tell me you tried that as well! Anyway boys his age have no staying power. As soon as you get started it’s squirt, squirt, ‘Sorry, Mistress, I couldn’t help it’ and it’s all over. Give me a real man any day, one with a bit of self control.”

“OK, I'll admit, I didn’t try his prick but I bet he’s got far more self control than you're suggesting.” Mrs Johnson retorted.

“You bet? Really? Name your terms.” Miss Worthing seemed amused. It was clear that this was not the first wager of this kind between the two women.

“OK, you have five minutes to make him come – any way you want. If, as you claim, it’s squirt, squirt, ‘Sorry, Mistress’, then I’ll go sub to you all day tomorrow from dropping the girls at school until it’s time to pick them up again. If, as I contend, he’s got more self control than that then you go sub to me for the same period. Agreed?” Mrs Johnson said.

“Any way I want. Easy, peasy, lemon, squeezy!” Miss Worthing laughed. “Just let me at him.”

Jim’s mind was whirling. As to whether he could control himself or not he hardly knew; it wasn’t going to be easy, what with all the pent up frustration inside him. As to whether he wanted to control himself was another matter. He would far rather serve these two women than have anything to do with Amanda and her friends and, if he were to have any chance of this then self control seemed to be important. On the other hand, if he did control himself then he was, effectively, condemning Miss Worthing to a day’s submission to Mrs Johnson and he was sure that Miss Worthing would take this out on him. In the end pride made the decision. Miss Worthing had dismissed him so derisively and he wanted, nay needed, to show that he was more than some mere infant.

Miss Worthing took the chained key from around her neck and beckoned Jim to come and stand next to her. She unlocked the cage and, immediately, Jim’s penis sprung to attention, stiff and proud and free at last.

“I’ll grant you he’s quite nicely built; I don’t like them too large and he’s good and plump but, I mean, look at him. I haven’t even started and he’s as stiff as a board. He’ll never make one minute, let alone five.” Miss Worthing said.

Mrs Johnson had taken off her watch and was staring at it intently. Then, with a ‘ready, five, four three, two, one go!’ she counted Miss Worthing in. Reached out and holding Jim’s penis with the tips of her fingers she gently rubbed his foreskin back and forth over his glans. Jim gritted his teeth and stared into the distance. This was going to be hard, very hard, but, somehow, Miss Worthing dismissive stance was helping, was spurring him on. Whereas Mrs Johnson, yesterday, doing the same thing, had been deeply erotic, there was something mechanical about this which made it easier to fight.

By the one minute mark, as announced by Mrs Johnson, Jim was trying to remember the complete periodic table of elements, anything to keep him distracted. After that he moved on to home grounds of the Premiership football clubs. By two minutes Miss Worthing started to get desperate and her previously subtle movements changed to a hard pumping with her fist wrapped around his shaft. Ironically this made it easier as Jim found this less erotic than the previous more sensual movements. Even so he’d moved on from the Premiership to the Championship and was trying to remember whether Preston played at Deepdale or not. With one minute to go Miss Worthing’s desire to win overtook her dominant ways and she rolled over on the sun longer and took the tip of Jim’s penis in her mouth. Here Jim was saved by his own submissive nature. Whilst the physical sensations were nothing short of wonderful it felt wrong, very wrong, for a magnificent woman like Miss Worthing to be performing such a degrading act on someone as unworthy as him. Even so he was right on the edge when, with a whoop of ‘I win! I win! I win!’ Mrs Johnson announced that he had, indeed, survived the five minutes.

“Pleugh!” Miss Worthing spat out Jim’s penis. “Got, I never thought the runt had it in him.”

“Told you so. Told you so.” Mrs Johnson chanted with childlike glee. “I knew he could do it. What a good little puppy. Here, we’ll never get him back in his penis cage in this state. Why don’t I show you how it’s done?”

“Whatever.” Miss Worthing replied.

“Here puppy, come to Mistress.” Mrs Johnson said and Jim turned so that he was facing Mrs Johnson’s sun lounger. “Now, does puppy want to come for Mistress?”

Jim barked once.

“Good, puppy, good, good, puppy.” Mrs Johnson continued as she took a serviette from the lunch tray and, taking his penis in her other hand, started the same sensual milking motions she had used yesterday. “Good, puppy, come for Mistress.”

With a shudder that ran through his entire being Jim finally succumbed, pumping great globules of sperm into the waiting serviette.

“There, that's better, now, off you go.” Mrs Johnson said as his penis returned to flaccid. “You’ve been such a good little puppy I think you can go without this for the afternoon. Run away now, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Unable to believe his luck Jim left, racing back to the stables. Naked or not, a few hours without the cage was bliss, sheer bliss. He had no doubt that he would pay for it one way or another before the day was through. After all Miss Worthing would have to return his clothes before the junior girls arrived at three-o-clock but, until then, he was in heaven.

As Jim worked away in the stables dressed only in his socks and trainers he felt alive, liberated. The warm weather had continued and the temperature had reached the low eighties so it was much cooler working like this and the joy, the freedom of not having his penis constrained was pure bliss. What derailed this contented train of thought was the sudden realisation that, under the dual guidance of Miss Worthing and Mrs Johnson he had come to accept this nakedness as normal. Less than a week ago, if you had told him that he would be comfortable working buck naked under the watchful eyes of such women he would have called you mad.

His freedom, however, was short lived. It was just gone two thirty when he heard Mrs Johnson’s car pulling out of the yard and soon afterwards Miss Worthing, who had changed back into her normal outfit of jodhpurs and white blouse, entered the stables, striding down the aisle with a face like thunder. She caught up with Jim at the far end of the stables where he was polishing the brasswork.

“I hope you’re satisfied with yourself.” She said. “Thanks to you I’m going to spend tomorrow subbing to Michelle Johnson. I don’t know what you’re looking so smug about, just because you’re her little pet puppy dog.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Worthing.” Jim replied. “I didn’t mean…”

“You didn’t mean…” Miss Worthing mocked. “I know what you meant. I saw you scampering around after her with your tongue hanging out. You seem to be forgetting that you work for me, young man; that I’m your employer, I’m the boss; I’m the one who gives orders around here. You’re mine, not hers and I’m the one that decides what games you play. Is that quite understood?”

“Yes, Miss Worthing. Of course, Miss Worthing.” Jim replied, crestfallen. He had, after all, just been following orders when he’d first become Mrs Johnson’s ‘puppy’.

Well, make sure you don’t forget it. Now the girls will be arriving soon so it’s about time we got you dressed again. Come along.” Miss Worthing led Jim to the tack room where she unlocked the cupboard and got out his boxers and cargo pants. However, before he was allowed to put them on there was the inevitable return of the penis cage. Miss Worthing was none too gentle as she refitted it.

As Miss Worthing stood over him, watching him getting dressed, Jim thought through all she had just said. Could it be that she was jealous? From the start Miss Worthing’s cool detachment had been part of the conundrum. He’d never known what it was that guided her treatment of him. With Mrs Johnson it couldn’t be clearer; here was a woman who got her kicks from treating him as her puppy dog. For Mrs Johnson the sex was out in the open and, on the very first session, he’d had his face between her thighs. Now, and only now, was it becoming clear that Miss Worthing was not quite so cool and detached as she had seemed; whilst she was far more subtle it seemed she was driven by the same desires. Mrs Johnson, with her up-front manner, had forced the issue and it was now crystal clear that they were no strangers to playing sexual games, games that they enjoyed together, games that might soon involve Jim as well.

Once Jim was dressed again it was but a short time before the evening rush. Soon after three Mrs Johnson re-appeared with Kirsty and her friends and, from then on, Jim was far too busy to think about anything but getting the horses, and their riders, out into the paddocks or returning them to their stalls and settling them back in. Mercifully Amanda and her friends seemed to have taken the day off and Jim had no distractions and was even able to finish quite early. He was just doing his last minute checks, making sure all was in order before leaving for the night when he saw Miss Worthing approaching down the main aisle.

“No girls tonight.” She said almost conversationally as she approached.

“No, Miss Worthing.” Jim replied.

“That gives your poor backside a night off at least.” She laughed. “Amanda has no idea of subtlety, does she?”

“I wouldn’t know, Miss Worthing.” Jim replied wary of the direction this conversation was going.

“Oh, you know all right; I saw the marks earlier and I’ve seen enough beaten backsides to be able to spot the marks of a riding crop. But maybe you’re the sort that like having his backside leathered. Maybe you’re the sort that gets off on pain. After all Amanda showed me quite a pretty little picture of you tugging away at yourself. Is that what turns you on, having your arse whipped?”

“No, Miss Worthing. It’s not like that at all.” Jim replied.

“Is it not? What is it like? What about Michelle Johnson? Do I gather you get off on being her little puppy dog? You certainly seem to.” Miss Worthing went on.

“Yes, Miss Worthing.” Jim muttered.

“What was that? Speak up.” An edge of steel had entered her voice.

“Yes, Miss Worthing, I like being her puppy.” Jim said, louder this time.

“Do you indeed. Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know.” Jim replied.

“You don’t know.” Miss Worthing echoed. “And what about me? We both know you like kissing my boots; the evidence for that is quite clear. Is it the boots or who’s wearing them that counts?”

Despite Miss Worthing light, conversational tone, Jim felt that they had arrived at the crux of the question.

“It’s… It’s a bit of both. I mean, I don’t know exactly what it is, I’ve never felt like this before but there’s something about it that… that… that feels right. I like kissing boots but it wouldn’t be the same with anyone else.”

“It wouldn’t be the same with anyone else.” Again Miss Worthing echoed Jim’s last words as if mulling them over. “What about Mrs Johnson? Don’t you get off on kissing her boots, or her feet, at least?”

“That’s different, Miss. With Mrs Johnson it’s fun; it’s a game we play. With you it’s serious.”

There was a long pause. Miss Worthing just stood, her hand on her hip looking intently at Jim who felt like a bug under a microscope.

“Good answer.” She said at last. “Good answer. Don’t forget to lock up before you leave. Goodnight. See you tomorrow.”

She turned on her heel and strode off down the stables leaving the speechless Jim standing there, wondering what had just happened.

******

The next morning Jim was in a much better mood. He’d had a decent night’s sleep and had awoken feeling alive and refreshed. More importantly, whilst he was still quite rightly scared of Amanda and her cruelty, he was far more prepared to deal with whatever Miss Worthing and Mrs Johnson might have in store for him. It was becoming clear that there was a certain ‘fit’ between him and the two women, that he was, as Mrs Johnson had declared, a ‘natural’ and, whilst he was apprehensive about what they would put him through he was learning about needs deep within him, needs that could only be met by serving women like them.

Once at the stables he had got the morning routine off pat. He had a quick look round to make sure all was OK before making sure Morning Dew was ready and waiting and giving Miss Worthing’s boots a quick polish. Then, as seven–o-clock approached he climbed up on the chest, dropped his trousers and boxer shorts and stood, waiting for inspection. Miss Worthing seemed distracted when she arrived and she gave his caged penis only the shortest of checks.

“As you know, thanks to you, I’ll be busy for most of the day so I’ll be leaving you in charge. Get the horses out in the paddock; it’s another fine day and they can have a good run-around. Then sweep round and get everything ready for this afternoon. Understood.”

“Of course, Miss Worthing. I’m sorry my behaviour yesterday is causing this inconvenience.” Jim replied.

“We’ll discuss the ‘inconvenience’ you caused later. Now come along, time’s getting on.” Miss Worthing sat down so that Jim could put on her boots and then they went off to fetch Morning Dew.

It said a certain amount for Miss Worthing’s flustered state that, when she returned from her ride she sorted out Morning Dew herself instead of handing her over to Jim. She even helped out, taking some of the horses out to the paddocks before disappearing off to the house.

Jim was up in the hayloft when, shortly after nine-o-clock he heard Mrs Johnson’s BMW X5 pulling into the yard. He glanced out of the window and saw her park up and go directly to the house. A few minutes later he heard the doors to the stables open and two sets of footsteps coming down the aisle. Feeling that discretion was the better part of valour he stayed in the hayloft but, as he was directly above the tack room, he could clearly hear the conversation going on below him.

“Let’s see, what shall we take?” Mrs Johnson was in high spirits, evidently looking forward to her day. “There’s so much to choose from. Shall we go ponygirl today?”

“Whatever.” Miss Worthing said, resignedly. “It’s your call, and you know it but can we hurry up please, you know we agreed to keep the lad out of this.”

“I’m not sure that ‘agreed’ is the right word.” Mrs Johnson replied. “You asked and I haven’t said ‘no’ yet. Anyway, why should my little puppy dog be deprived of all the fun?”

“Please, Michelle, I’m… I just don’t want him to see me like this.” There was an air of desperation in Miss Worthing’s voice.

“In which case I suggest you ask a little nicer.” Mrs Johnson said, an edge of steel in her voice.

“Please, Mistress, please have pity on your slave and grant her humble request that your puppy is not to see her like this.” Miss Worthing said.

“That’s better. Now, which of these boots are yours? These ones? And is this your tail?” Mrs Johnson was evidently picking bits and pieces out of the cupboard. Jim was bemused to find that certain of the items were Miss Worthing’s; it would appear that this was far from the first time she had been a ponygirl.

“Right, all sorted? Then we’d better start getting you changed.” Mrs Johnson said firmly.

“What, here! What if the lad comes? What if he sees me?” There was more than a touch of panic in Miss Worthing’s voice.

“Then you had best hurry up and get done before he comes back from wherever he’s gone.”

“Michelle… Mistress, please…” Miss Worthing’s panic was obvious now.

“Stop snivelling and get on with it.” Mrs Johnson snapped. “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of what happens to disobedient little ponies? I’ve some scores to settle since the last time, when I had to go sub to you, so, if I were you, I wouldn’t be giving me too many excuses to use the crop; is that understood?”

“Yes, Mistress. Certainly, Mistress.” Miss Worthing said meekly.

Jim could hear the rustle of clothing and the jingling of the various metallic bits of ponygirl tack as Miss Worthing got changed below him. He decided that it was time to be elsewhere and, as quietly as he could he made his way towards the hatch leading back down to the stables. Maybe he could sneak out into the barn without being detected. However, he’d hardly gone one step before a loose floorboard creaked loudly under his foot.

“Was that someone up in the hayloft? Either you’ve got some damn big rats or we’ve got an eavesdropper.” Mrs Johnson said cheerfully. “Shall I go and find out.”

Jim froze, caught like a rabbit in headlights. His heart raced, where could he run to? He heard the tack room door open, footsteps across the floor of the stables, the creak of the hayloft ladder, and Mrs Johnson’s head appeared through the hatch.

“Ah, I might have guessed as much. What a naughty little puppy; listening in on his betters when he should have been working. I think you had better come with me.” Mrs Johnson said but her voice showed more amusement than anger.

Jim followed her down, out of the hayloft and across the stables to the tack room. He’d got some idea of what to expect; after all, he’d seen Kathy in ponygirl gear and even worn it himself but as he followed Mrs Johnson into the room his jaw dropped. Kathy had had a certain sweet naivety but, at the end of the day, she had been a mere girl; now, stood before him in all her glory, was a magnificent woman. The pony boots emphasised her height and complimented her long, well toned legs. Her harness consisted of a wide belt with straps that separated her breasts which, accentuated by the way her hands were fastened behind her back, stood firm and proud. Around her neck was a wide leather collar forcing her to hold her head high and proud but despite the bridle, or possibly because of it, the head it encased was captured but never tamed. Jim felt as if he had never seen anything, anyone so beautiful, so superb. Overcome he fell to his knees.

“Look what I found in the hayloft; one horny little peeping tom. It looks like your plan of not being seen by the lad has gone out of the window.” Mrs Johnson laughed. “Does your Mistress all tied up make you hot, little puppy, does it make you horny?”

But neither Jim, nor Miss Worthing paid Mrs Johnson any attention. Jim just knelt in worship whilst Miss Worthing glared back at him, mortified that she should be exposed like this.

“Puppy… puppy…”

“Yes, Mrs Johnson?” Jim realised that she had been talking to him and he’d been too transfixed to notice.

“Snap out of it and concentrate. You had best get used to exactly who's in charge around here. Get off your knees and let’s get you sorted out. For a start you’re a little… overdressed.”

“Of course, Mrs Johnson. I'm sorry, Mrs Johnson.” Jim replied. He stood up and started undressing, folding his clothes and putting them on a chair.

“There, that’s better. Now, let’s take that nasty cage off you.” Mrs Johnson already had the key handy and she reached down and unlocked it. Immediately Jim’s penis sprung forward.

“Oh, look, what an eager puppy you are!” Mrs Johnson exclaimed. “Rock hard and ready for action. Now, hands behind your back, come along.”

Jim did as he was told whilst Mrs Johnson fetched a pair of cuffs which she used to lock his wrists together. Then she told him to kneel whilst she put on his collar and leash. He was firmly back in puppy mode again. However, she didn’t stop there.

“Here, puppy, look, I’ve got a bone just for you.” Mrs Johnson held out a rubber bone similar to the one she had used to play with him in her garden. But this one had straps attached to both ends and, once it was in his mouth these were fastened behind his head, gagging him.

“There, that’s all sorted. Now, I think we’ll be far more comfortable back at my house, much less risk of being interrupted. We can have such fun, playing in the garden. Come along.”

Taking Jim’s leash in one hand, and the reins attached to Miss Worthing’s bridle in the other she led the way back down the aisle of the stables and out into the yard. Miss Worthing's thighs were strapped together in a hobble which limited her gait and meant that they had to take their time. She took them to her X5 and opened the tailgate. Miss Worthing was the first to go in followed by Jim. It was quite cramped and they were squashed together. Jim tried to move to a more comfortable position but, in doing so, fell heavily on Miss Worthing with his head landing on her breasts which earned him a scornful stare. He was all too aware that it was his fault that Miss Worthing was being put through these indignities and he wondered what reprisals were coming his way.

It wasn’t more than five minutes later than they were pulling up outside Mrs Johnson’s house and she jumped out and went round to open up the tailgate.

“Here we are, now we can get down to business. Isn’t this fun. Come along.”  Mrs Johnson said brightly as she helped them out of the car and led them around the side of the house. As they made their way into the back garden Jim was again struck by the difference between Kathy and Miss Worthing as pony-girls. Kathy had had a certain amount of aptitude but grace had eluded her. Miss Worthing, on the other hand, even with the hobble, moved her whole body in a fluid, natural way that was both elegant and stylish. Maybe it was the added height from the boots, maybe is was the tail which cascaded down behind her, maybe it was the way her backside swayed as she walked but Jim felt he had never seen anything so beautiful or, for that matter, so erotic.

When they got to the garden Jim noticed that the blue holdall was already in place next to  the sun loungers beside the pool; Mrs Johnson had obviously been well prepared. He was taken to the edge of the patio where he was told to kneel and wait. Then Mrs Johnson took Miss Worthing to the centre of the lawn, removed the hobble and letting out the reins. Calling out one command after another she put Miss Worthing through her paces, both figuratively and literally, much as Amanda had done with Kathy but, once again, the contrast was stark. It would seem that neither woman was a stranger to this and whilst Mrs Johnson was calling out steps and manoeuvres with names based in real equine dressage Miss Worthing was responding with practised grace and style. However it was not good enough for Mrs Johnson who was constantly finding fault and keeping score.

“That will do.” She said at last. “I make it twenty seven faults, so that’s twenty seven strokes with the crop but that can wait; all this pony work has made me thirsty. I think it’s time for a drink and, as it’s Helga's day off, you’re going to fetch it for me. But, just to make it interesting, I think it should be a group effort, both of you going to get it so, first, a little re-arranging.”

‘A little re-arranging’ turned out to be quite major. Firstly the boots were removed from Miss Worthing’s feet. Then Jim was brought to stand face to face with her so that they were nearly touching. Then the hobble was re-applied but this time it held Miss Worthing’s left thigh to Jim’s right. Another one fitted to the other side locked them together thigh-to-thigh, stomach-to-stomach, groin-to-groin. Then their wrists were freed only to be re-fastened to each other as if in some strange parody of dancing partners, definitely cheek to cheek. A final strap, placed just under the armpits and running right around them, held them so that every part of their bodies, from their knees to their shoulders, were locked together in a tight embrace.

“There, isn’t that sweet. Now you have five minutes to fetch me a lemonade and lime. For every minute over it will be one more blow with the crop so I suggest you get moving.

Jim tried, he really tried, to be as helpful as he could but they were never going to be anything but clumsy. It didn’t help that they were both gagged which meant that they couldn’t communicate. Eventually Miss Worthing, by sheer force of personality, led them in their strange dance into the house and through to the kitchen. Finding the lemonade and lime cordial was the least of their problems. Even something as simple as unscrewing the cap off a bottle took plenty of co-ordination and it was taking them some time to get themselves sorted. It certainly didn’t help that Jim had had an erection ever since they had been locked together and the more they moved, the more he felt himself being rubbed against his goddess and the harder he became. 

“Twelve minutes! Oh dear, that’s seven more penalties, your poor little botties are going to be so sore by the time we’ve finished.” Mrs Johnson took a long cool pull at her drink. “What’s more, you forgot to garnish it with a slice of lime. You’re not doing very well. Now how about the two of you amusing me by dancing together whilst I enjoy my drink. Fetch the iPod and docking station from the kitchen.”

By now Miss Worthing and Jim had got reasonably co-ordinated so it didn’t take quite as much effort to go back to the kitchen to fetch the iPod. They took it back and placed it on the table next to Mrs Johnson who selected a suitably smoochy number. Miss Worthing and Jim made their way to the lawn where Jim had the sense to let Miss Worthing lead. He knew nothing about dancing beyond the little he’d seen on Saturday night television. Even if he had it was going to be hard to be graceful locked together in this tight embrace. The extent to which they failed was highlighted by Mrs Johnson’s hoots of laughter and catcalls.

“Priceless, simply priceless.” Mrs Johnson laughed, getting up off her sun lounger and making her way across the lawn towards them. “However I think it’s time I smacked a bottie. Ladies first, I think.”

She led them across the back of the lawn to where a large beech tree grew. There was a tree house built maybe fifteen feet up off the ground but, more relevantly, a block and tackle hung down beside it.

“So good of George to put this in when he had the tree house built.” J said. “‘Just the thing to amuse the girls’, he said. I’m not sure we’re quite the girls he had in mind.”

She had Miss Worthing and Jim hold their arms above their heads and she refastened the various wrist cuffs so that Jim was freed and Miss Worthing hung from the rope. She undid the hobbles and chest strap, releasing Jim, before adjusting the rope so that Miss Worthing was fully stretched. Then she fetched a telescopic spreader from the holdall and, once it was fitted to her ankles, adjusted it so that her feet were maybe a metre apart.

“There we go. Just one thing left to do. We don’t want anyone getting sunburnt on a lovely day like today. Puppy, there’s some sunscreen in the bag. Fetch it here. Yes, that’s the one… No, I don’t want it, you’re going to do it.”

Jim stood behind Miss Worthing and started with her shoulders, that was easy, and safe enough, but as he started on her arms he had to move in close to reach up high enough and he was acutely aware of his erection rubbing against Miss Worthing’s buttocks. Mrs Johnson seemed to pick up on this, pointing out bit’s he’d ‘missed’, forcing him to reach higher and higher, pressing himself more and more against her. Then, unable to put it off any further, he had to do her front, and, more relevantly, her breasts. Jim was torn in two; he desperately wanted to avoid embarrassing Miss Worthing as far as possible which implied a matter of fact approach. On the other hand, here was a rare chance to worship, to show with his hands how much he revered her body. In the end the decision made itself. He simply couldn’t touch her breasts without worshipping and, as he softly, sensuously massaged the cream into her flesh, he was rewarded by the swelling of her nipples. Whether she liked it or not Miss Worthing was being turned on by his ministrations.

A brisk word from Mrs Johnson told him that he’d spent enough time on her breasts and it was time to get on with the rest of her body. Opting to leave the best to last he dropped to his knees and massaged the cream into her calves, her knees, her thighs, her…

“That’s right, puppy, don’t forget all the nooks and crannies.” Mrs Johnson urged as Jim eased the cream between her upper thighs and through the neatly trimmed hair on her pubic mound. Was he imagining it or was Miss Worthing actively pushing back. Jim moved his hands to either side, massaging her hips, his thumbs stretching the skin of her lower belly, easing her lips apart.

“Is that what you want, puppy, to worship your Mistress?” Mrs Johnson asked. Jim just looked at her, imploring with his eyes. “Oh, well, if you must.”

Mrs Johnson unfastened the bone gag and Jim leant forward and kissed the top of Miss Worthing’s labia. Keeping in mind all he had learnt the other day he gently pushed out his tongue and, with the greatest delicacy searched between the hidden folds. To his slight surprise the taste of Miss Worthing’s arousal was already strong and her clitoris swollen and protruding. He slid his hands around to her buttocks and pulled her towards him as he settled his tongue into a regular flick, flick, flick across the centre of her pleasure. Even through the muffling of the bit he could hear Miss Worthing respond, her breathing was shallow and rapid and she made little gasps, almost mewing like a cat. Jim could feel waves of tension flow through her and, as far as he was able, he matched the intensity with growing pressure from his tongue. He could feel that she was getting close, getting near, that she was almost there, almost…

“And that’s quite enough for now.” With a tug on his leash Mrs Johnson pulled Jim back leaving them both high and dry. “I was going to use the crop but judging by how excited you've both become I think it’s time the two of you really got it together.”

Jim was sent for a bench from beside the picnic table and, under Mrs Johnson's instructions, the two of them carefully placed it between Miss Worthing’s outstretched legs. Then Mrs Johnson had Jim lie down on the bench where she used restraints from the holdall to fasten him in place. Jim could guess where this was going and, when she placed a condom over his penis, there was no doubt at all. She unfastened the rope and, holding it with one hand, took Jim’s penis in the other and lowered away. At first Miss Worthing resisted but an admonishment from Mrs Johnson made her change her mind and Jim felt the tip of his penis pushing against flesh. Rubbing it back and forth Mrs Johnson manoeuvred the tip between Miss Worthing’s labia until, with one smooth movement, he was inside. Mrs Johnson then tied off the rope, adjusting it so that, at full stretch, Miss Worthing was just resting on Jim's groin.

“Now then, puppy.” Mrs Johnson said. “Let’s see just how good you are. Let’s see if you really do have enough self-control to satisfy a real woman. I strongly suggest you treat this as an occasion when the lady definitely comes first, it will go hard on you if you don’t.”

Jim, like most young men, had long fantasised about losing his virginity but he had never imagined it would be like this, chained to a bench as his goddess, similarly constrained, was lowered onto him. But Jim was hardly listening; his whole world was centred around the amazing sensations coming from his groin, the way that Miss Worthing’s flesh encased him, held him, gripped him; this was so much better then anything he could have imagined. With her arms fastened above her head she seemed to tower over him, her magnificent breasts jutting out firm and proud, her whole body still slick from the sunscreen. This was heaven indeed!

Mrs Johnson went back to the hold all and returned with a many tailed flogger. Gently, almost casually, she laid into Miss Worthing with alternate strokes to her breasts and back.  Jim could tell that the strokes stung rather than hurt but they were hard enough to make her squirm which, in turn, made her rock back and forth on his penis. Jim lay, transfixed, watching as Miss Worthing’s passions rose. She and Mrs Johnson had found a rhythm, slow and steady and although her breasts were red from the flogger, the faraway look in her eyes, the erect state of her nipples, and, above all, the flexing of her pubic muscles, all spoke of her intense arousal. With each stroke to her back Miss Worthing would rock forward and, each time, she would pull on the ropes holding her wrists, lifting herself an inch or so upwards. When the counter stroke came to her breasts she would slam down, impaling herself, pushing Jim’s penis deep, deep inside her. Jim struggled to control himself, struggled not to come but her was losing the race, he could feel the sperm boiling in his testes, he couldn’t stop, he had to…

Suddenly Miss Worthing’s whole body seemed to spasm as, totally ignoring their previous rhythm she once, twice, three times jerked forward only to ram herself back again and as her vaginal muscles clamped hard around him Jim lost all control and pushed back feeling the sperm erupt from inside him. For a beat or so they were a frozen tableau until Mrs Johnson released the rope holding Miss Worthing’s wrists causing her to collapse forward onto Jim.

“There, wasn’t that fun.” Mrs Johnson said once they had got their breath back. She bustled round releasing Miss Worthing’s ankles from the spreader, and untying Jim from the bench. “Now then, you’ve had your pleasure, it’s time I had mine. Puppy, go and get me another lemonade and lime; Celia, you’re going to say thank you.”

Jim went into the kitchen to sort out another drink. Remembering that they had been taken to task for forgetting the lime he looked around until he found some in the fruit bowl and this, along with the time taken to cut a slice, meant that he was delayed. By the time he returned Mrs Johnson was full length on the sun lounger with her dress up around her waist and Miss Worthing’s head, now minus its bridle, deep between her thighs.

Jim tried to hand the drink to Mrs Johnson but she just waved him away, she was far too involved with what was going on between her thighs to be bothered with something as mundane as a soft drink. Jim just watched as her hands gripped the armrests of the sun lounger, her head went back, and, with little gasps of ‘Oh yes, yes, like that’, ‘God but you’re good at this’ and ‘Jeeeesus’ she revelled in her pleasure. The cries grew with the increasing tension and wasn’t long before Mrs Johnson climaxed, her shout of joy ringing around the garden. Miss Worthing didn’t stop but stayed with the writhing body of her friend pushing her higher, further. She barely had time to recover from one orgasm before the next was upon her. Twice more Mrs Johnson climaxed, twice more she lost control, surrendering to the waves of ecstasy that washed through her until, with a gasped ‘enough, enough, I can’t take any more’ Mrs Johnson reached down and pulled Miss Worthing onto the lounger with her and the two women locked in a long, passionate embrace.

Jim could only look on and wonder. Mrs Johnson had called him ‘good’ and ‘a natural’ but he could see that, compared to Miss Worthing he was a complete beginner. Indeed, apart from someone to get the drinks he was totally superfluous to requirements. Eventually the two women broke apart and just lay there, slightly squashed on the narrow confines of the lounger. Mrs Johnson looked up and noticed Jim standing there.

“Thank you.” She said taking the glass from him. She took a long drink before handing the rest to Miss Worthing.

“God, you’re good at that.” Mrs Johnson said turning back to Miss Worthing. “You really are the best ever.”

“Thank you, Mistress.” Miss Worthing replied with mock formality. “Does that let me off my beating?”

“I guess it does, for the moment anyway. I’m far too relaxed to do anything other than just lie here. Maybe next time.”

“Maybe next time I’ll be in charge.” Miss Worthing laughed.

“Mmm, I’ll look forward to it. Now, what about some lunch? Puppy, you’ll find everything in the fridge, off you go. Celia, would you like a shower first? I’ve left a spare towel and track suit on my bed for you. You know where everything is.”

Whilst Jim went to the kitchen to sort out lunch Miss Worthing went upstairs to shower. Mrs Johnson had arranged for everything to be ready. There were sandwiches, cold meats, prawns, tubs of coleslaw and potato salad and it wasn’t hard to find plates and cutlery. He was just putting the finishing touches to the table when Miss Worthing re-appeared, her hair wet from the shower, wearing a pink tracksuit and holding the tail in her hand. She slumped down on a second sun lounger. What was noticeable was that, although Miss Worthing had come out of role and was now dressed the same courtesies had not been extended to Jim; he was still naked except for his collar and it was evident that he was expected to serve the lunch, not eat it.

“I ought to be getting back.” Miss Worthing said at last, wiping her lips on a serviette. “The day’s getting on and the girls will be arriving soon.”

“Of course. Puppy, put this lot in the dishwasher whilst whilst we tidy up out here.” Mrs Johnson ordered and, ten minutes later, everything was ready and they headed for the car. Jim was, once again, bundled up in the back whilst Miss Worthing took the passenger seat. A short drive later and they were back at New Farm. As soon as the tailgate of the X5 was opened Jim scuttled to the stables, anxious to hide his nudity. When he got to the tack room there was a fair degree of chaos. His clothes, her clothes and various bits of ponygirl tack lay around and, not quite sure what would be required of him next he started to tidy up. Moments later Miss Worthing appeared at the door.

“Are these my clothes?” She said indicating the tidy pile Jim had made. “Thank you.”

There was a pause, a gap that needed to be filled. They just stood, looking at each other. Eventually Miss Worthing spoke. “What happened today… Don't start getting ideas... It doesn’t change anything, is that understood?”

“Of course, Miss Worthing. I'd never dream of...” Jim tailed off. He wasn't quite sure what he never dreamed of, nor whether he wanted to confess as much in front of her.

“Good, good.” Miss Worthing seemed pensive, as if there were something more she wanted to say.

“Come along, let’s get that restraint back on your prick and get you dressed.” She continued at last. “Time’s getting on and you’ve plenty to do before the girls arrive.”

Suddenly it was as if the morning had never happened and the icy cool Miss Worthing had returned. Without a flicker of emotion she fastened the cage around his penis and, whilst Jim got dressed she stayed to discuss some details about the stables, about a delivery of feed expected tomorrow; the old order had re-asserted itself.

Jim had plenty to do before the afternoon rush, he had, after all, been way from the stables all day and this meant that he was still dashing around trying to get things ready when the first girls arrived. After that it was the usual mayhem as he sorted out the right bridles, trying to keep the little madams happy and get everyone out and into the various paddocks as quickly as possible. Mrs Johnson arrived with Kirsty and her friends but Jim was far too busy to do anything more than acknowledge her presence as her car pulled into the yard. She didn’t even get out of the car but just gave him a smile and a wave before driving off as soon as the girls had alighted.

He was still rushed off his feet when he heard the roar of Amanda’s sports car and the screech of tyres as she parked up. Moments later she and her friends came into the stables passing a bottle around and singing the old Alice Cooper hit ‘School’s Out’. They had come straight from school and hadn’t bothered to change so they were still in their  uniforms which consisted of  a white blouse and a navy blue pleated skirt. Amanda, unsurprisingly, had her skirt as short as she could possibly get away with and the others weren’t much longer. As they approached Jim recognised the Smirnoff label on the bottle and realised with horror that they were roaring drunk.

“’ello, doormat!” Amanda came up to Jim and wrapped herself around him in a grotesque parody of an embrace before reaching down, grabbing his caged penis through his jeans and twisting. Jim’s knees buckled and he let out a strangled gasp of pain. “Wassup” Amanda slurred. “Can’t doormat take it?” She twisted again and then gave a push and Jim fell to the ground.

“Come on, let’s  'ave some fun, get ‘im in ‘ere.” Amanda pushed open the door of the nearest stall and, kicking and prodding with her feet, pushed Jim along the floor and up against the far wall. The other three crowded in behind and Sandra closed the door. Amanda stood over him, her foot resting on his chest.

“We’re in the mood to party ‘cos there’s NO MORE SCHOOL!” Amanda’s shout echoed around the stable block causing several of the ponies to whinny.

“Shh!” Karen urged in a drunken whisper. “She’ll hear us.”

“Fuck shh.” Amanda sneered. “Who cares what that bitch thinks? She's not important; she's just staff.” She took another long pull from the bottle. “I fancy a ride and I don’t mean on a horse. Gettem off, doormat.”

“Miss Fforbes!” Jim was horrified. “Please, there are still plenty of youngsters around; you must be careful. What if they saw us? We’d both get into trouble.”

“Trouble! Hah! What do I care?” Amanda said. “I can handle it; I can handle anything, anything at all. Now get your kit off or you’ll find out what trouble means.”

Prompted by more kicks and shoves from the girls Jim reluctantly pulled his tee shirt over his head and undid the button on his jeans before pushing them down to his ankles.

“Oh fuck. I forgot that Miss Horsey keeps him locked up.” Amanda poked at Jim’s caged penis with the toe of her shoe. “Where’s the key, doormat?”

“Miss Worthing... She keeps it.” Jim stuttered in reply.

“I bet your dick is pretty useless anyway; looks like we’ll just have to sit on your face. Who’s going first?” Amanda looked around the other three but they didn’t quite share her bravado. Drunk as they were they weren’t keen to be the first, not here in the stables with so many people around. As ever Amanda picked on the weakest. “Kathy, go on, you slag. It’s about time that cunt of yours saw some action, even if it is only doormat’s tongue.”

“Please, Amanda.” Kathy replied, backing away, obviously horrified.”You know I don't like boys.”

“It’s Miss Amanda to you, and don’t you forget it!” Amanda snapped and, quick as a flash she stepped forward and slapped Kathy across the face. “You do as I say; now, get on with it.”

Kathy looked gutted and there were tears in her eyes but, after a moment’s hesitation whilst she realised just how serious Amanda was she came and stood with her feet either side of Jim’s head. As she started to squat down Amanda held her back.

“Knickers off first, you stupid cunt.” Amanda ordered. Kathy gave Amanda a pleading look but, getting no response, lifted up her skirt and started to push her panties down. She stepped out of first one leg and then the other and, as soon as they were free Amanda snatched them away. “Oooh, how sweet. My little pony; it looks like you're still letting mumsy buy your undies.” The others laughed as Amanda waved the panties around. Then, suddenly, she was serious again. “I'll keep these; now, get on with it.”

Sniffing away the tears Kathy once again positioned herself over Jim and squatted down until she was sitting on his chest. Lifting up the front of her skirt she shuffled forward until her crotch was over Jim’s mouth. He reached out his tongue and started to lick. Compared with his recent experiences this was a whole different ball game. Both Mrs Johnson and Miss Worthing had been highly aroused and they had both smelled and tasted of that delicious female scent but Kathy was as dry as a bone and Jim was having trouble finding his way through her thick pubic bush, let alone easing her lips apart and finding his way inside.

“Wassup, fatty?” Amanda slurred. “You don’t seem to be enjoying it very much; is doormat as useless with his tongue as he is with everything else? Here, have another hit of vodka.”

Jim could feel the shudder run through Kathy as she swigged from the bottle but no amount of alcohol, nor any urging from Amanda was going to make this any easier; there was nothing erotic about the situation for her; she was too scared to become aroused and there was nothing Jim could do about it. However, Kathy started to writhe about and moan and, with a start, Jim realised she was faking it. He even stopped licking just to see what would happen and was rewarded with an ‘Oh yes, just like that!’ from Kathy. Taking the hint he just lay there whilst she squirmed about on his chest, the flare of her skirt hiding their deception from the others. Even so it was less than comfortable for Jim to have Kathy’s full weight bearing down on him, grinding him into the brick flooring. Urged on by the others Kathy was upping the tempo and Jim felt that they were sure to see through her rather pathetic over acting but in their drunken state they all fell for it hook, line and sinker and were cheering drunkardly when, suddenly...

“What on earth is going on here?” Miss Worthing had been walking through the stables and had come over to investigate. She pushed open the door to the stall and walked in. “What on earth do you lot think you’re doing?”

“Just having some fun; celebrating the end of school.” Amanda replied, totally unconcerned whilst Kathy stood up as quickly as she could and Jim reached down, pulling his trousers up.

“Fun! You’ve got no idea, have you? There are girls as young as eight or nine around. If one of them, or worse still, their parents, were to walk in on you then you’ll be in far more trouble than even your father could get you out of. That’s just the sort of bad publicity my stables do not need; get caught and you ruin the ‘fun’ for everyone.” Miss Worthing said, her anger still evident. “You’ve got to learn there’s a time and place and this is not one of them. Now get dressed and tidy up before someone comes.” Then she noticed the bottle. “You’re drunk, aren’t you, all of you, completely pissed. I might have guessed as much. Go home; I’m not having you near any of my horses whilst you’re in this state. I’ll call a you taxi; go home and sleep it off.”

“And who’s going to make me?” Amanda said looking Miss Worthing straight in the eye.

“I am.” Miss Worthing’s reply came straight back. “I know you think you’re the boss around here but you’re not. These are my stables and I say what does and doesn’t happen and, talking about what is mine, I’ll thank you to keep your hands off my staff from now on. He’s got quite enough to do around here without you distracting him all the time.”

There was a long, long pause. At the other end of the stable a horse whinnied which only seemed to accentuate the silence. Amanda had a defiant look on her face, she was far too used to getting her own way to back down immediately but she had never really come up against someone like Miss Worthing before and, gradually, Amanda’s confidence sapped as, unlike her parents, Miss Worthing failed to give way.

“Come on, girls, it’s boring round here, anyway.” Amanda said eventually. “And you” she turned to Miss Worthing “you've not heard the last of this.” With a flounce she pushed past and headed for the main door, the others trailing along in her wake. Miss Worthing watched as Jim picked himself up off the floor and put his tee shirt on. They both heard the roar of Amanda’s sports car followed by the squealing of tyres and an awful metallic crash but, by the time they got to the yard all that was left was a small pile of broken glass and a patch of red paint on the gatepost, both testimony to Amanda's drunken inability to negotiate the gateway. Jim could imagine the scrape down the side of the car and how much it was going to cost to put right. In the peaceful summer afternoon the roar of the sports car being over revved could be heard as it made its erratic way through the lanes.

“Sweep that up. I’ll talk to you later.” Miss Worthing said pointing to the glass, and, without another word she went off into the paddocks.

Later on, when all the girls had gone, Jim was tidying up, catching up with all the chores he hadn’t had time to do that morning. The day had been warm from the start and, as he worked away, the sweat streamed down him. The final task was restacking the hay bales in the barn and, with the heat and the dust he just had to strip off his tee shirt. He was about half way through when he became aware of Miss Worthing leaning against the door jamb, watching him.

“I’m sorry, Miss Worthing.” Jim said, startled. “I didn’t see you there. Is there something I can do for you?”

“No, I’m fine, carry on, please don’t let me stop you.” Miss Worthing said but, as Jim returned to work, she stayed leaning against the door, still watching his every move.

“You’re quite fit, aren’t you?” She said at last. “I’ll bet you’re girlfriend loves all those muscles.”

“Girlfriend? I haven’t got a girlfriend.” Jim replied as he lifted another bale to the top of the stack.

“No girlfriend? Why ever not?” Miss Worthing said in mock amazement. “A good looking lad like you, surely you have to fight them off.”

“I just… I just haven’t met the right one.” Jim returned. He wasn’t going to admit that his crippling shyness around girls was a major contributing factor.

“Well, you’re certainly a hit around here. Neither Mrs Johnson nor Amanda and her crew seem to be able to keep their hands off you.” Miss Worthing laughed. “I’m assuming that little fiasco in the stables was Amanda’s idea; I can’t see Kathy volunteering and I would certainly hope you have more sense.

“But that’s different.” Jim countered. “Aman… Err... Miss Fforbes and her friends aren’t interested in me; they just want a victim to play with. Someone who can't fight back.” He looked away in embarrassment.

“And Mrs Johnson?” Miss Worthing queried.

“She’s just playing with me as well.” Jim replied. “She’s not mean or vicious like the girls and it can be fun playing with her but she doesn’t want me, she's not interested in Jim Broad, anyone will do as long as they're willing, it's all just a game to her, a bit of fun, a nothing. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“And are you 'willing'?” Miss Worthing queried.

“I was ordered to do whatever she asked; I didn't have that much choice in the matter.” Jim gently reminded Miss Worthing. The look on her face told him that he was close to overstepping the mark so he turned back to the bales. With a final shove he picked up the last one and pushed it into place before leaning on his pitchfork, panting slightly.

Miss Worthing looked him over as if weighing something up. “Is that you finished for the night?”She said eventually.

“Yes, that’s everything, unless, of course, you have something else for me to do.”

“No, not at all. Look, you’re all dusty. Why don’t you take a shower before you go home? Use the one in the stable block, the one off the staff room.” Miss Worthing suggested brightly.

Jim picked up his tee shirt from the bale where he’d put it and thought it over. The dust and sweat had combined to make him all grimy and a shower would be just the job to freshen him up. Although he used the washroom attached to the staffroom when he needed to use the toilet he hadn’t thought of using the shower, or indeed, the staffroom itself. He’d been kept far too busy and the tack room had become his de-facto office.

“Thank you, Miss Worthing” He said. “I’d like that.”

“Get yourself over there then. I’ll fetch a towel for you.”

Jim went to the washroom and ran the shower, adjusting the water until it was warm rather than hot. Then he stripped off and stepped into the cubical. As the water cascaded over him he was in heaven, feeling refreshed as the cares of the day washed away along with the dust and the dirt. There was soap and hair shampoo so he was completely clean by the time he had finished and, slightly reluctantly, he stepped out.

“Is that better?” Miss Worthing said as she held out a white fluffy towel. Jim jumped back in embarrassment and doubled up, trying to cover his groin with his hands.

“Don’t be such a silly.” Miss Worthing chided. “After all, there’s nothing I haven’t seen before, or have you forgotten? Now stand up straight and dry yourself off.”

Reluctantly Jim straightened up and took the couple of steps over to where Miss Worthing stood so that he could take the towel. How could he explain the difference between their earlier games in Mrs Johnson’s garden and this? Indeed, what was the difference? Why did he feel so shy? What was it about this situation that made it so much more awkward for him than earlier that day?

Outwardly Miss Worthing gave every sign of being completely relaxed standing there talking whilst Jim towelled himself off, totally naked; however there was an air about her, the way she watched him and everything he did, that unsettled him. He finished himself off and, folding the towel, placed it on a chair.

“Now, let’s have a look at that cage of yours.” Miss Worthing said. She sat down and motioned Jim to come and stand in front of him. “Yes, there seems to be quite a bit of soreness, quite a bit of red skin. It’s a good job I brought some cream; that will sort things out. It would be a shame if you couldn’t wear it any more.” She smiled up at him.

She produced a tube of cream from her pocket and, after squeezing a generous amount onto the tips of her fingers, proceeded to rub it gently into around the base of his penis and testicles, the places where the cage had rubbed and chafed. Although she was totally matter of fact about it the simple fact that her fingers were handling his penis was a tremendous turn on and Jim couldn’t help but get hard, well, as hard as he could get with his penis so constrained. Miss Worthing pretended not to notice.

“There, that’s better, isn’t it?” Miss Worthing said as she finished. She picked up the towel, wiped her hands on it and headed for the door. “See you in the morning. Don’t be late.”

Jim stared after her, mesmerised. What had just happened? Something? Nothing? Still wondering he got dressed, locked up and left for the night.

*******

The next day the weather continued fine and the news broadcasts were full of stories of heat waves and hosepipe bans. Jim had quite a spring in his step as he made his way through the lanes to the stables. What had started as a simple way to spend the summer holidays was turning out to be so much more. For someone as naive and sexually inexperienced as he had been the last few days had been quite an eye opener and he wondered what he had in store for him today.

Just thinking about it made his penis swell and he reached into his pants to readjust it as it reached the constraints of the cage. He was very ambivalent about the cage. Every night as he lay in bed, and oft between times as well, he knew the frustration of wishing he could play with himself and not being able to. On the other hand the cage was part and parcel of his relationship with Miss Worthing, a relationship that he was finding increasingly rewarding.

He strolled up the driveway and let himself into the stable block. Morning Dew was waiting patiently as he got her saddled up and he even had time to tidy round a bit before putting a quick coat of polish on Miss Worthing’s boots and preparing himself for the morning inspection.

When she arrived, spot on seven-o-clock as usual, Miss Worthing seemed to share Jim’s good mood. She smiled as she greeted Jim and, taking his caged penis with the tips of her fingers, gently moved it from side to side, inspecting the places where the soreness had been.

“Ah, that’s so much better; the redness has almost completely gone. However I think we’ll keep using the cream for a day or two. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, Miss Worthing.” Jim replied. “Thank you, Miss Worthing.” Whatever his actual thoughts Jim was so distracted by the play of her fingers on his scrotum that he would have agreed to anything at that point.

“Good, good.” She purred. “Now, let’s get on. I've wasted more than enough time already.”

She sat down and extended her foot expectantly. Jim jumped down from the box and, without waiting to pull up his trousers, knelt down before her and eased off her shoes ready to put on her boots. It struck him how quickly this had become normal, how natural it was to be kneeling in front of this woman with his trousers and boxers around his ankles. As ever the sole of her boot ‘accidentally’ brushed against him and he felt the surge of blood as his penis strained against its constraint.

However this flirting, if that’s what it was, didn’t last long and Miss Worthing was up and off on her morning ride. Jim pulled up his trousers and reached for the broom. If the stables weren’t spotless before she returned he knew there would be trouble. He was still sweeping when she returned. She led Morning Dew up to him and handed over the reins.

“The garden needs weeding.” She said. “Get the horses out in the paddock and finish off here then come on up to the house and I’ll show you what needs doing.”

That morning everything seemed to go slow or go wrong and it was well gone eleven before Jim had finished off and got everything ship-shape. Slightly nervous about the delay he made his way to the house and around the back to the walled garden. There was no one there so he knocked on the back door of the house. After a moment or two Miss Worthing appeared wearing a loose cotton wrap dress that, at mid thigh length, made the most of her long, shapely legs. Jim couldn’t help but stare.

“You took your time.” Miss Worthing scolded Jim.

“I’m sorry, Miss Worthing.” He replied. “It’s just that…”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses. Now fetch that sun lounger and place it under the apple tree.” Miss Worthing pointed at the sun lounger and Jim moved it, under her direction, until it was place in the dappled shade from the tree. Then he was ordered to fetch a table from inside the house and to bring everything that he found on it. This took two trips as, apart from the table itself, there was a long drink, a copy of the Paris edition of Vogue, some nail varnish, some nail varnish remover and a package of cotton wool pads. He brought it all through and laid it out ready for Miss Worthing who was already laid full length upon the lounger.

“My toenail varnish needs renewing. Do you think you can manage that?” Miss Worthing asked.

“Of course, Miss Worthing.” Jim replied.

“Well, get on with it.” Miss Worthing picked up her magazine and, lifting up one knee to rest it upon, started to read. Jim sorted out the nail varnish remover and the pads and, going to the foot of the lounger and kneeling down before it, he set to work. Somehow working on her bare feet, as opposed to her riding boots, was completely different and, if possible, even more enticing. There was a delicacy about them, a femininity, that spoke to something deep with Jim and, as he held her foot in his hand he felt as if he were holding something precious. Brushing this fanciful notion to one side he set to work, gently rubbing away the old varnish, cleaning up the nails and preparing them for the new coat. Then, taking extraordinary care, he opened the bottle of varnish and, with the little brush attached to the cap, smoothed on the fresh coat. Miss Worthing had chosen a burgundy red and Jim thought that the colour set off her feet perfectly.

Then it was time for the other foot. Jim coughed discretely and Miss Worthing looked up from her magazine, saw what was happening and swapped over. Again he cleaned off the old polish and again he applied the new, until, completely finished, he held her foot in his hand wondering what came next. Almost without thinking he bent forward and kissed the tips of her toes.

“Careful, you’ll smudge them.” Miss Worthing said.

“I’m sorry. Miss Worthing.” Jim replied. Gently he put her foot down on the sun lounger.

“I didn’t say you shouldn’t kiss; that was very… thoughtful of you. It’s just that you should wait for the varnish to dry. Try this one.” Miss Worthing swapped over again, holding out her other foot a few inches above the lounger. Jim took it in his hands and bent over to kiss it.

“Good, very good. I like it that you show some... respect. Now don’t slobber.” Miss Worthing returned to her magazine.

Keeping her command not to slobber in mind Jim kissed at first just the tips of her toes but, growing bolder, he roamed ever further. As he was kissing the underside of her big toe he felt it flex and, taking that as his cue, slipped it inside his mouth sucking gently. He could tell that, although the magazine was still between them and he couldn’t see her face, she was no longer reading, her attention was fully upon what he was doing. Eventually she put the magazine down and reached for her drink.

“You like doing that, don’t you?” She asked between sips.

“It’s an honour, Miss Worthing.” Jim replied.

“An honour?” Miss Worthing queried.

“Yes, Miss; thank you for letting me kiss them.” Jim hadn’t been thinking when he’d replied, the words had just come out but, now, knelt at her feet, it did feel right, it was indeed an honour.

“How sweet.” Miss Worthing smiled down at him. “As a reward you may go into the kitchen and find the skin cream that's on the counter. Bring it back out and I’ll allow you to give my feet a massage. Oh, and lose the tee shirt.”

Jim hurried to obey. He found the cream and rushed back out with it. He knelt back down again and, after quickly whipping off his tee shirt, squeezed some cream onto the palm of his hand. As he worked it in he was careful to be as gentle as possible but Miss Worthing admonished him, reminding him that it was supposed to be a massage so he changed tack and, working her foot between his hands he sensuously squeezed and pampered and was delighted when she purred with pleasure as a result. She took her free foot and rested it on his chest, idly rubbing her big toe back and forth across his nipple. Jim could feel the growing tension, there was an electricity between them as both enjoyed the sensuous pleasures from the ministrations of the other one.

In the end it was Miss Worthing who broke the tension.

“That’s enough.” She said sitting up and pulling her feet away. “I can’t lie here all day; nor can you. Off you go; I’m sure there’s plenty of work waiting for you.”

“But the weeding?” Jim queried.

“Another time.” Miss Worthing replied. “Now be off with you.”

As Jim scrambled to his feet and put on his tee shirt Miss Worthing lay back on the lounger and watched him, a bemused smile playing across her lips.

As Jim made his way back to the stable block he was, once again, left wondering what had just happened. No one could have missed the sexual tension that there had been between them, in his mind he could still feel Miss Worthing’s big toe rubbing against his nipple and his penis, crushed in its cage, was letting him know just how aroused he’d been. But more than that, it wasn’t just the way he felt about it, he could have sworn Miss Worthing was getting turned on too. Why then, why had she stopped; why had she left him like this, a coiled ball of frustration with no way of getting release.

Back at the house, Celia Worthing chuckled to herself as she pottered around the kitchen, putting some lunch together. She’d seen the look on Jim’s face as he had massaged her feet; how he had looked up at her with those big puppy dog eyes, the look of worship, the look of adoration and, even more, the look of disappointment when she had sent him away. Sure he was young but still it amused her to play with him like this and to see the pained expression on his face when she had dismissed him. Poor little thing, perhaps she should have let him have some more – no, keep ‘em wanting, that was her motto.

But it wasn’t quite as simple as that she admitted to herself as she tossed together some mixed leaves for her salad. Jim wasn’t the only one who’d been left wanting. The memory of this dripping wet boy emerging from the shower the previous evening crossed her mind. He might be young, he might be inexperienced but there was something about him that got to her. And it wasn’t just the physical side; he was a nice lad and good to have around. That he was a little over eager had been demonstrated by his keenness to play as Michelle Johnson’s puppy but, if that could be kept under control he certainly had the skills to satisfy and those he didn’t have, well, he could be taught. ‘Yes, indeed.’ She thought to herself. ‘I’m going to have some fun with him this summer and after that… who knows.’

By three-o-clock Jim was far too busy to be bothered by anything other than getting ready for the afternoon. He’d swept, he’d polished and he was quietly proud of the way the stables looked. The first to arrive was, as ever, Mrs Johnson dropping off Kirsty and her friends. As Jim helped with the saddling he thought to himself that Kirsty must be the keenest equestrienne the place had. Mrs Johnson stood to one side and watched but beyond acknowledging Jim’s polite ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Johnson.’ it was far too busy for either of them to do anything more and, once her offspring was mounted and heading for the paddock, she got back in her car and drove off.

At four-o-clock some of the older girls started to arrive. Jim was relieved to see that Amanda and her friends weren’t amongst them. Kathy turned up a little later but she pointedly ignored Jim and insisted on managing Truffles by herself. But, even without Amanda’s interruptions, Jim was kept busy enough with all the other riders that, before he knew it, it was seven-thirty and he was starting to pack up for the night.

“Is that it? Are we all done for the day?” Miss Worthing asked as she came up to Jim who was checking that all the stall doors were properly closed.

“Nearly finished, Miss Worthing.” Jim replied.

“Good. I’m quite pleased with how you’ve settled in here. It’s all going to change from tomorrow, of course. Today was the last day of the school term and from now on we will have clients here from dawn to dusk.” Miss Worthing laughed. “Well, they would be if they could but they’re limited to between nine in the morning and six at night. Even so you’ll find that we don’t have the days to ourselves the way we have had this week.”

“Of course, Miss Worthing.” Jim agreed.

“But that just means we’ll have to make the most of what time we do have, doesn’t it? Now then, we need to re-apply the cream, make sure that soreness stays under control. Come along; get along to your box in the tack room.” Miss Worthing took the riding crop she was carrying and, playfully flicking at Jim’s rear end, drove him to the tack room where he climbed on the box and, without having to be told, dropped his trousers and boxers. Miss Worthing took the tube of cream from her pocket and, squeezing some onto the tips of her fingers, started to massage it in around the base of his genitals.

“You like me doing this, don’t you?” Miss Worthing looked up and gave Jim a smile.

“Oh, yes. Yes, please, Miss Worthing.” Jim replied hoarsely. Given the state of his penis as it swelled within its cage he could hardly deny it.

“And am I a cruel bitch for keeping you all caged up?” Miss Worthing enquired sweetly.

“Oh no!” Jim surprised himself with his vehemence.

“You seem very certain.” Miss Worthing gave Jim’s testes a little squeeze.

“It’s just….” Jim stopped. How could he explain how he felt when he didn’t even know himself? Yes, of course it was ‘cruel’ of Miss Worthing to tease him like this, of course the discomfort of his poor penis squeezed into its cage was only just bearable but, and this was the crux of the matter, the only thing that would have hurt more than the teasing was if she were to stop. There was something about the loss of control, about offering himself up to this magnificent woman that spoke to a need deep within him. He didn’t understand it, there was no way he could explain it, but he’d never felt any compulsion like this before.

“Please, Miss…” He tried again. “Please, I…” The steady play of her fingers, stroking, caressing his genitals was not helping. There was a feeling that he was on the brink of exploding, that, caged or not, he would lose control and come.

“Let’s see if this makes it any easier.” Miss Worthing said. She gave him another little squeeze, took a step or two back, and pointed at the floor in front of her. Jim, feeling like he was in some sort of dream, got down off the box and knelt down.

“Now then, let’s try again, lets see if we can get this sorted out.” Miss Worthing said. “Is that your place, down there on your knees?”

“Yes, Miss.” Jim agreed.

“And to make sure we completely understand each other, your place is on your knees in front of me; is that so?”

“Yes, Miss.” Jim’s heart was racing.

“And not at anyone else’s feet. You wouldn’t, for example, have any little hankering to be someone else’s puppy dog?” Miss Worthing asked.

“No, Miss. Not unless you told me to be so.” Jim replied.

“No, Miss, indeed. You’re mine, and mine alone, aren’t you?” There was an edge of steel in Miss Worthing’s voice.

“Yes, Miss.” Jim confirmed.

“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Now we’ve got that sorted, now you know where your place is, make sure you don’t ever forget it.” Miss Worthing turned towards the door. “Goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And, laving the hapless Jim still kneeling on the floor, she turned and left. Jim was once again left wondering what was happening. What was this hold she had over him, why was it he was so quick to bow before her. He felt doubly frustrated; his penis threatened to burst its cage and every fibre craved relief but more, much more than that, why, oh why did Miss Worthing leave him hanging like this. He wanted so much to show her that he could be, would be, everything and anything she wanted; if only she’d give him the chance.

When Jim got home that night he was, as ever, too late to share his evening meal with the rest of his family but his mother had plated his up and a few seconds in the microwave was all that it required. He was sitting at the kitchen table wolfing it down when the front doorbell went.

“Hello Miss Worthing.” Jim heard his mother say once she had answered it. “Jim’s in the kitchen, I’ll fetch him for you.”

“Please don't trouble yourself.” Miss Worthing replied. “I’m just dropping off this for him. I won’t stop; I’ve left my engine running. Goodnight.”

“OK, then. Goodnight.” His mother returned and, moments later she appeared in the kitchen carrying a parcel wrapped in brown paper.

“Miss Worthing dropped this off for you.” She said.

“Thanks mum.” Jim replied. He could tell his mum was curious and he had it half open when a glimpse of pink lace gave him second thoughts. Maybe it would be better opened in private. “It’s just some stuff for tomorrow.” He bluffed.

As soon as he had finished his supper he put the plates in the dishwasher and went upstairs to his room.  He tore the brown paper off the parcel to reveal a bundle of pink satin and lace. As he separated it out he saw that it was a collection of panties, each and every one decidedly feminine. Although they were clean they were not new and Jim guessed that Miss Worthing had sorted out some of her older pairs. They certainly had her sense of style and class. A piece of paper fell out of the bundle and he picked it up and read it.

No more boxers.

CW

Blessing the presence of mind that had kept him from opening the package at the kitchen table and wondering just how he was going to keep this from his mum he put them away, hiding them at the bottom of his desk draw. However, before he went to sleep, he got them out again and laid them out on the bed. One pair in particular called to him and he slipped them on. The fit was a bit awkward over the bulge of his caged penis but they were definitely wearable. He looked at himself in his mirror; somehow he looked a curious mixture of vulnerable and ridiculous. He had half a mind to wear them to bed but he needed them fresh in the morning so he slipped them off and hid them away again.

The next morning Jim got up, grabbed a quick bite of breakfast, and headed down the lanes to New Farm. It was an odd feeling, knowing that he was wearing delicate feminine panties and no one else would know – with the notable exception of Miss Worthing, of course. This was his first Saturday at the stables and he knew enough to know that it was going to be busy.

However, busy or not, Miss Worthing was still there to inspect him at seven-o-clock sharp. She smiled to herself as, glancing down at his feet, she saw the pink panties puddled around his ankles; not that she’d really expected otherwise. However it was a busy day and she had to get on. She had had a good look at the skin at the base of his penis and commented on how well the cream was working before she told Jim to pull up his panties so that she could see how they looked on him.

“There, they fit perfectly.” She smiled at him. “What do you say?”

“Thank you, Miss Worthing.”

“Yes, very sweet; I left you seven pairs so you don’t have any excuse for not having a clean pair on every day. Make sure I never find you wearing anything else.”

“Of course, Miss Worthing. Just one thing…” He added nervously.

“Yes?”

“It’s about getting them washed…” Jim really didn’t want to raise this but it had been worrying him. “I can’t exactly put them in the washing basket at home…”

“Don’t be a silly; they’ll need hand washing anyway so it would be best if you were to do them here; use the sink in the utility room. Maybe, if you were to wash mine then you could do yours afterwards…” Miss Worthing said pensively, as if this had just occurred to her. “Once they were dry you could iron them as well.”

“Thank you, Miss Worthing.” Jim said with relief. “I knew you would think of something.”

Miss Worthing could barely suppress a chuckle over how easily Jim had been recruited to wash and iron her underwear. She sat down and held out her foot, ready for Jim to put on her boots. Indeed, she was still chuckling inside as she mounted Morning Dew and rode off into the paddock.

It was barely nine-o-clock when the first girls arrived. Whereas the midweek crowd just wanted to ride at weekends the girls wanted to be involved in the full range of stable duties; Jim guessed it would remain so for the whole of the summer holidays and made a mental note to ensure that the tack room was always suitably tidy.  It’s one of life’s oddities that a teenage girl who wouldn’t dream of tidying her bedroom will quite happily spend all day mucking out her pony’s stall and Jim’s time was taken up with keeping track of what was where, who had what, and which girl was the last one to borrow the polish. What was noticeable was that of Amanda’s friends only Kathy made an appearance so Jim was left to look after their horses.

At four-o-clock Mrs Johnson came to pick up Kirsty but, before doing so, sought out Jim, finding him in the tack room untangling a bundle of reins and strapping which had been dumped there.

“Hello, puppy.” She called out.

“Hello…” Jim quickly glanced around, making sure none of the girls were within earshot “…Madam.”

“Hmm… Celia keeping you busy, I see. Too busy to come and have another play session, perhaps?”

“Please, Mrs Johnson, you’ll have to ask Miss Worthing about that.” Jim replied cautiously.

“Will I? Has she decided to keep you all to herself?” As ever Mrs Johnson seemed to treat the whole thing as a huge joke.

“I really couldn’t say.” Jim replied and, at that moment, Kirsty appeared killing the conversation dead.

At six-o-clock, somewhat exhausted, Jim went into the tack room to take five minutes to himself. He felt like he’d hardly stopped all day. His packed lunch had been eaten in quick bites between sorting out the endless minor problems that the busy stables kept throwing at him.

“What’s this slacking?” Jim hadn’t heard Miss Worthing enter the stables and now, here she was standing at the tack room door.

“I’m sorry Miss Worthing.” Jim stuttered, leaping out of the chair.

“And I’m bored with traipsing all the way over here every evening to check up on you. I’ll still check up on you from time to time but in future I want you to report to the house when you finish for the night.” Miss Worthing continued. “Come around to the back door and knock before entering. Oh, and I’m not having you tracking mud all over my kitchen. My house is not the place for work clothes so, once inside, you will wear nothing except your panties. You can put the rest of your clothes in the log box next to the back door. Understood?”

“Yes, Miss Worthing.” Jim remembered seeing a large wooden affair used for storing logs which had a hinged lid on the top. The thought of entering Miss Worthing's house was scary enough, let alone doing wearing nothing but the panties but, scary or not, he once again felt the familiar discomfort as his penis swelled against its cage.

“Good, now it's inspection time.” Using her crop Miss Worthing prodded at Jim's backside and, herding him before her walked him around the stables. Mostly Jim's hard work paid off but, from time to time, Miss Worthing would find something not up to her exacting standards. When they had finished they returned to the tack room.

“Well, I suppose that wasn't too bad.” Miss Worthing conceded. “But if there's any more slacking I'll be forced to...” she flicked the crop across Jim's backside “…take steps. Goodnight; sleep tight.”

Jim watched as she walked away, his mind spinning and his left buttock smarting slightly from where the crop had landed. The image of him naked except for the panties, kneeling in front to Miss Worthing as she prepared to ‘take steps’ swam before him and his feelings about it were very ambivalent. It was very scary, there was no doubt about it; he was getting deeper and deeper into something over which he had no control. On the other hand… his constricted penis reminded him of just how much there was an ‘other hand’.

Sunday was very much a repeat of Saturday. Jim woke early and, choosing the next pair of clean panties, dressed and went in to work. Miss Worthing’s inspection was as thorough as usual and she declared that there was no more need for the cream, for a while at least. By nine the stable yard was in chaos as various parents dropped off their offspring and the clamour of young female voices filled the stable block. For the third day in a row there was no sign of Amanda and Jim was beginning to wonder if she’d given up or maybe gone off on her summer holidays. It gave him the excuse to saddle up Dark Pleasure and take him out for a gallop. Whatever his personal feelings about the owner there was no doubt that this was one of the finest horses in the stables and he enjoyed the freedom as he raced around the paddock, letting off steam for him as well as the horse.

At six-o-clock he was shooing out the stragglers and hurrying to finish off his chores. His agitation, his desire to see what was in store for him meant that he was struggling to keep his cool as one of the girls took ages searching around for a missing glove. Finally, exasperated beyond belief, he found it for her and finally managed to lock up for the night. Then he crossed the stable yard and went round to the back of the house. Shaking slightly he took off his tee shirt and, lifting the lid of the log box, placed it inside. His trainers and socks followed and then, his nerves now like taut wires, he pushed down his trousers, rolled them up and put them too inside the box. He closed the lid and knocked on the door. Suddenly he couldn’t remember whether he was to wait or go straight in. He reached out his hand for the door knob but, wracked with indecisiveness didn’t turn it. Then he saw a shadow through the frosted glass; Miss Worthing had arrived. In a moment on inspiration he dropped to his knees just as the door opened.

“Very pretty, very pretty indeed.” Miss Worthing smiled down at him. “Now come along in.” Turning her back on him she walked away and Jim followed until they were in the lounge. Miss Worthing sat down on a chaise longue and told Jim to come and stand next to her.

“Stand up straight.” She urged. “Don’t slouch. That’s right, chin up, hands behind your back, feet slightly apart. There, that’s your waiting position. Now, fetch me a drink. Make me a gin and tonic. You’ll find everything in the kitchen”

Jim went into the kitchen and, as fast as he could, searched around until he found a glass, the drinks cabinet and the ice dispenser on the American fridge. He even remembered that Mrs Johnson had demanded a slice of lime in hers and, sure enough, there were limes ready and waiting in a basket on the worktops. He put the drink together and took it back to the lounge. Miss Worthing took it from him and took a sip.

“Hmm… Maybe a little less gin next time.” She commented. She reached out with her free hand and started to stroke his hips and upper thighs almost as is she was stroking a dog or a cat. Idly she drew the tips of her nails across his flesh sending electric sparks through Jim’s body causing him to shiver.

“Stand still. I can’t be doing with fidgets.” She said as her hand strayed towards his inner thigh. Softly, sensuously, she ran her fingers up and down between his legs each time never quite reaching his groin. Jim struggled to retain control as a groan of pleasure threatened to escape his lips.

“You seem very tense.” Miss Worthing said. “Perhaps I should stop.”

“Please, please don’t stop, Miss Worthing.” Jim begged.

“But you’re getting all excited.” Miss Worthing replied as if to a small child. “Too much excitement without any relief can be bad for a young lad like yourself. Now, when did you last get relief?”

“Thursday, Miss Worthing.” Jim replied. “Thursday, when we were at Mrs Johnson’s house.”

“So, lets see, that’s Thursday, Friday, Saturday and now Sunday.” Miss Worthing emphasised the count by stroking the underside of his testes through the lacy material of his panties. “Four days without relief, I’m not sure that that’s good for you. Maybe, for health reasons, I should let you come; what do you think?”

“I think it’s up to you, Miss Worthing.” However much Jim needed to come he already knew how this game was played.

“It is indeed. But if you’re going to be allowed to come then first you’ve got to earn it. Now get on your knees and wait there.” Miss Worthing swallowed down the end of her G&T and put the empty glass on a table. Then she stood up and went towards the door. “Don’t move a muscle.” She said as she left, closing the door behind her.

Jim wasn’t the only one in a state of sexual arousal. Miss Worthing hurried upstairs, Jim’s firm young body had got to her and she wasn’t sure whether it was that or the rather stiff G&T he had mixed for her but her whole body seemed to be glowing and there was an itch that demanded scratching. She went to her room and quickly took of her shoes, her jodhpurs and her blouse. For what she had in mind her underwear would have to go as well so she took them off and put them on her bed with the rest; she’d tidy up later. Quickly she checked herself in the mirror; not too bad, not for her age anyway and seeing as how the lad seemed to view her through rose tinted glasses she would have to do. She fetched a thigh length silk wrap from the hook on the back of her en-suite door and put it on and, grabbing a pair of handcuffs which lived in her bedside drawer, returned downstairs.

Jim looked up as the door opened and his jaw dropped. He felt as if he’d never seen Miss Worthing looking so wonderful, so perfect, so worthy of worship. He knew he shouldn’t stare but he really couldn’t help himself; the way her long shapely legs disappeared into the dark burgundy material of the wrap was sending signals straight to his libido, signals that couldn’t be ignored. She walked round behind him, reached down and, before he knew it, Jim found that his wrists were locked. Then she went back to the chaise longue and lay back, letting her wrap fall open.

“Now then, you know what to do. Let’s see if you’re good enough.” Miss Worthing said with a purr. Jim shuffled forward the few inches until he could reach and bent forward, kissing her pubic mound. Although he was still a relative beginner Mrs Johnson’s instructions from the other day were still clear in his head and he fervently desired to do his best for his Goddess, whether it earned him relief of not. As he gently pushed her outer lips apart; opening her up, he felt that this was the way he always wished to worship; to be here, on his knees, giving pleasure and asking for none in return.

He was slightly surprised by just how aroused Miss Worthing already was. He was no expert but her taste and aroma spoke of her readiness and her clitoris was already swollen and protruding, demanding the attention of his tongue. He’d been taught not to rush but, as he held himself back Miss Worthing admonished him, telling him not to tease so he cut to the chase and flicked his tongue back and forth feeling her respond, feeling the growing power of the emotions within her. He felt as if he had hardly started when her hands gripped the back of his head pulling him into her, urging him on. Crushed against her as he was he was having problems breathing but he neither dared nor wanted to stop. He could feel her reaching her climax, a climax that was his gift to her and the last thing he wanted to do was to break the rhythm.

In the end it wasn’t one climax but three. Three times he felt the spasms rocking their way through her body; three times he pushed to the edge and beyond; three times he felt the explosion within her until finally, exhausted and totally sated, she pushed him away.

“Stand up.” Miss Worthing said at last. “Stand here, no turn your back.” Jim felt the cuffs being removed. “Now go and fetch a roll of kitchen paper, hurry now, before I change my mind.”

When Jim returned Miss Worthing was sitting up again and she had closed her wrap.

“Now come here, stand in front of me.” Miss Worthing took the key chain off from around her neck and reached inside his panties to unlock the cage from around his penis. As soon as the cage had been removed Jim’s penis had sprung forward, its stiffness testimony to the pent up frustration with him. The hipster cut of the panties had been designed for a more feminine anatomy and Jim’s penis projected well above the waistband standing maybe an inch or so clear.

“Now, lie on the floor, face up.” She ordered. He did as he was told and lay down next to the chaise longue. Miss Worthing took her foot and rested it on his groin so that his penis rested in the ridge between her toes and the ball of her foot.

“Who do you belong to?” She asked as her foot worked in circular motions.

“To you, Miss Worthing.” Jim replied as he stared up at her. He was having trouble concentrating. The feel of her naked foot coupled with the lace of the panties was deeply troubling. “Only to you.”

“And do you deserve this? Have you earned this reward?” She continued.

“No, Miss Worthing.” Jim replied. “I’m just dirt, I’m filth, fit to be crushed beneath your foot, praying to be worthy of worshipping…”

He got no further. This time he couldn’t control the massive groan as his groin exploded and great gobbets of semen erupted from him, covering his chest from his stomach to his neck, some even splashing on his chin. Miss Worthing removed her foot from his penis but kept it resting on his thigh.

“There, that’s better. I hope you brought enough paper to wipe up with.” Miss Worthing said cheerfully. Jim tore a few pieces off the roll and, after carefully wiping the sole of Miss Worthing’s foot started to dab at his chest but it took several sheets before he was done. He was still dabbing away when Miss Worthing reached down and, pulling down the front of his panties, reattached the cage to his now quiescent penis.

“That’s you all sorted out for tonight. Make sure you take all this paper away with you and dispose of it properly. Off you go, you’re late enough as it is. Goodnight.”

Jim was amazed at how brusquely he’d been dismissed but that was it and he had to go. He stood up, his chest still a bit sticky from his come and, picking up all the used kitchen roll headed for the door.

“Thank you, Miss Worthing. Thank you so much.” He said, giving a little bow as he left.

“See you tomorrow.” Miss Worthing replied from the chaise longue.

Jim had barely left the house before Miss Worthing got up and went to the kitchen to fix herself another drink. She hardly dared admit to herself, let alone to the lad, the state she had got herself into. As he got dressed again outside the backdoor she could see his outline through the frosted glass; part of her wanted just to open it, pull him back inside and jump his bones. Sure he’d sated her immediate desire but there was plenty more where that came from but it could wait, there was always tomorrow.

And then, on Monday, it rained. It would seem that the weather was trying to make up for the previous spell of sunshine and, with the wind blowing briskly from the South-west, great banks of black clouds scudded overhead, each one bringing with it it’s own downpour. Jim threw on a coat before setting off but, even so, he was drenched by the time he got to New Farm and he stripped off his tee shirt and hung it over the back of a chair to let it dry as he got the stables ready.

The rain, and the mud it produced, made everything harder so he was running late and still stripped to the waist when Miss Worthing appeared at seven-o-clock.

“Come on, slowcoach.” She chided and, using the tip of her riding crop, she playfully chased him to the tack room where he climbed on his box and dropped his trousers and panties.

“Just because there’s a drop or rain it doesn’t give you an excuse to dawdle, or to go around half dressed. Maybe you should keep some dry clothes here for days like this.” Miss Worthing continued as she inspected his genitals. “You’ll do yourself no favours going around in wet jeans; you’ll find an old tracksuit of mine in the staffroom. You had best wear that whilst these dry out. Now, is Morning Dew saddled and ready?”

“Not quite finished, Miss Worthing.” Jim answered as he got down from the box and reached for her riding boots.

“Then that’s another black mark against you. I haven’t got time to wait around. I’ll put my boots on this morning; you go and get Morning Dew saddled. No, don’t pull your jeans back up, take them off; I told you not to wear them until they’re dry. Off you go.”

Wearing only his shoes, socks and panties, Jim went to sort out Morning Dew. He felt a bit exposed but the stables weren’t really open for another hour. Once he’d finished he led the horse out into the main body of the stables where Miss Worthing was waiting.

“We’ll discuss your laziness later.” She said as she mounted up and rode of into the rain.

Jim went to the staffroom where, at the back of a locker, he found the old tracksuit Miss Worthing had referred to. It was carnation pink, the colour he associated with Barbie, and, when he tried it on it was half a size too small but at least it was warm and dry. He glanced at himself in the mirror. The tracksuit was Addidas and well made but there was no getting round that fact that the colour alone marked it out as feminine and, that coupled with the size misfit, made him look more than a bit of a berk.

When Miss Worthing returned from her ride she was wet through and covered in mud, as was Morning Dew. She dismounted and took off her jacket. Hard as Jim tried he couldn’t help but stare at where the rain had caused her wet blouse to stick to her chest leaving precious little to the imagination.

“Oooh, don’t you look pretty in pink.” She joshed as Jim came up and took the reins. “That really is your colour, it even matches your panties. Let’s hope for your sake that the rain keeps the girls away.” She went to the tack room and picked up his jeans and tee shirt and was still laughing as she walked away, leaving Jim in charge of the muddy horse. Brushing him down was time consuming but he knew better than to skimp this task and, after that, there was plenty of work sweeping round so he was hard at it when, around mid morning, he heard the sound of a car pulling in to the yard. He glanced out of a window to see Amanda, along with her friends, getting out of a Fiat Punto, evidently her sports car was still in the shop for repairs to the bodywork. The four girls made a dash through the rain and entered the stables.

“Oh, doormat!” Amanda exclaimed as they came up to him. “Is that a new tracksuit; the colour suits you perfectly!” The others laughed along. “Now, it’s raining and we’re bored so I’ve decided that you’re going to have to be our entertainment.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Fforbes.” Jim replied. “I didn’t know you were coming or I’d have got your horses ready.”

“Are you deaf as well as stupid?” Amanda sneered. “I said that you were going to be the entertainment. It’s far too wet to ride in this weather, well that sort of horse, anyway. No, we’re going to have a little gymkhana, you against tubby here. See which one of you makes the best pony.”

“Please, Miss Fforbes,” Jim pleaded. “You remember what happened last time. We must be discrete.”

“Don’t you dare answer me back like that.” Quick as a flash Amanda stepped forward and slapped Jim across the cheek. “Anyway, no one else will come out on a day like today and, once we’ve got the two of you kitted up we’ll go to the barn and lock the door. We’ll be as safe as houses.”

Jim had no answer to that, or at least, not one that would satisfy Amanda so, reluctantly he allowed himself to be led to the tack room. Amanda evidently had a key to the cupboard as she went straight over and opened it.

“Now then, who’s first?” She asked, looking at Jim and Kathy. Neither replied as neither was keen to play, but again, neither had the nerve to stand up to Amanda so they both knew they were going to have to do it in the end. “Come along, tubby.” Amanda said eventually, cutting across the ‘umm’s and ‘ahh’s from Jim and Kathy. “Ladies first.”

Jim was told to get out of the way and stand in the corner as Kathy stripped off and the others sorted out the tack from the cupboard.  Kathy kept darting glances at Jim and he could tell that she was distinctly unhappy with what was going on and wished he wasn’t there. He wondered how desperate she must be to take this abuse from Amanda, what it was about her that kept her coming back for more. Once Kathy was naked Amanda came up behind her and, holding her by the shoulders, turned her to face Jim.

“Well, doormat; does the sight of tubby naked turn you on?” She gave Kathy a shake making her breasts bounce around. “Or maybe you can’t take all this blubber.” Jim watched as Kathy winced at the insults, her eyes filling with tears.  With Amanda still holding Kathy facing Jim the others fitted the harness, criss-crossing the straps around her body. Amanda made several comments about how the straps were tighter than last time and how Kathy must be putting on weight.

“If you carry on like this,” she joked “We’ll have to call you lardarse. You’re getting far to fat just to be called ‘tubby’.”

The harness was followed by a pair of wrist cuffs, a bridle and the ‘pony’ boots. Then she was taken to the work bench where she was bent over, ready to be fitted with her tail.

“God, look at all that blubber.” Amanda continued her taunting. “Go on, spread ‘em wide, tubby, or we won’t find your arsehole in amongst all that fat.”

Sandra pushed Kathy’s legs further apart with her foot as Amanda came up behind her and, after applying a squirt of lubricant, pushed the plug of the tail firmly into Kathy’s anus. Then they stood her back up and, as a final touch, a pair of bells was attached to her nipples. Although she would never be another Miss Worthing she actually looked quite pretty in full pony gear and Jim couldn’t help staring, a fact that Kathy noticed and she retuned a defiant ‘what are you staring at’ look.

“Now then, doormat, it’s your turn.” Amanda turned her attentions to Jim. “Come along, don’t keep us waiting. Get your kit off.”

Kathy was pushed to one side and Jim was brought into the centre of the room where he started to undress. There was no problem with the tracksuit top but, as Jim pushed down the bottom half his panties came into view causing the three girls to hoot with laughter.

“Well, well, well.” Amanda said once she had recovered a bit. “What gorgeous undies. I do believe they’re Janet Reger; what taste you have! It seems that pink really is your colour; what are you, some sort of homo or something?”

“It’s…” Jim started.

“Just shut up and get ‘em off.” Amanda cut across him. “Ponies don’t wear panties and I’m not interested in what disgusting perversion makes you want to.”

Jim, stinging with the injustice of being called ‘perverted’ by Amanda took off the panties and stood in the middle of the room while they fitted with his harness. As with Kathy, this was followed by Jim’s wrists being cuffed and locked together behind him. Then it was time for the bridle, its metal bit forcing his mouth open and holding his tongue down. As they bent down to fit his boots Jim glanced over at Kathy, looking for sympathy now that he was naked too but all he got in return was a look that wished him dead. They may be thrown together but there was no common bond between them, not from Kathy, at any rate. Once the boots were fitted he was shoved to the bench and bent over, just as they had done with Kathy.

Knowing it was coming didn’t make it any easier when Amanda, with the minimum of lubrication, pushed the tail plug into Jim’s anus, twisting it back and forth to overcome any resistance. He’d tried to keep under control but the searing pain forced a scream out of him.

“What’s up, doormat?” Amanda asked, giving the plug an extra twist. “I thought you homos liked taking it up the arse.”

With the tail in place they stood him back up and fitted him with nipple bells just like the ones on Kathy. Jim winced as the metal clips grasped his nipples. Then, after grabbing a few bits and pieces from the cupboard, they attached reins to the two 'ponies' and headed for the barn. As soon as they got there Karen locked the door and Amanda led the two ‘ponies’ to one side of the central arena, tied off their reins and stood before them with her hands on her hips.

“Like I said, we’re going to have a little gymkhana, a few easy tests to find out who’s the best pony and, just to give you an incentive…” Amanda went over to the bag of bits they had brought with them and produced a strap-on. “The winner gets to arse fuck the looser with this.”

Jim stared in horror. The plug holding the tail was bad enough but at least it wasn’t moving. And even if it went the other way, if he were by some mad chance to win, then the thought of having to use this thing on Kathy was not his idea of a turn on. Kathy gave him another one of her looks; this one seemed to say that, as far as she was concerned, whilst the outcome was a foregone conclusion in her favour, she still didn’t relish the reward either.

Meanwhile Karen and Sandra had been arranging a set of jumps around the arena. They had been scrounging parts from the store used for show jumping and modifying them accordingly. The wall was, for instance, only two ‘bricks’ high and the other fences were similarly low. Over to one side there was a table set up for judging and, exactly as if this were the real thing, Karen and Sandra went over and sat down whilst Amanda, forever the ringmaster, went to the buggy and fetched out the long carriage whip.

First up we’ll have tubby, she can show doormat how it’s done. She went over to where Kathy and Jim were tied up and released Kathy, prodding her to the start of the course with the end of the whip. Once she was there Sandra rang a bell and Kathy started off around the course. There was no way she was going to be graceful, she simply didn’t have it in her, but she had had some practice and could make her way around without too many problems. She wasn’t helped by Amanda constantly flicking the end of the whip against her buttocks or by the jeers and cat-calls from Sandra and Karen who were taking every opportunity to make disparaging remarks about her weight. Three times she was forced to go round and, when she finally got to the end she was panting and sweating freely. Amanda went over and fetched her back to where her reins still lay ready to tie her up again.

“Did my little pony like her go over the jumps?” Amanda’s tone was as if speaking to a small child. She reached down and roughly grabbed Kathy between her thighs. “Oooh, yes, I think my little pony is having fun. If she’s good, if she’s really, really good, I might let her go down on me later.”

Jim saw the look of gratitude in Kathy’s eyes; she really was appreciative for even this slight attention and Jim could appreciate how Amanda’s interest in him was making her feel left out and ignored. Amanda started to rub Kathy who quickly responded, pushing her hips back and forth against the pressure of Amanda’s hand.

“That’s quite enough of that.” Amanda said, removing her hand. “Now, let’s see how our little gelding gets on.”  She released Jim and shepherded him to the centre of the arena but, before she let him go she stood close to him, her mouth close to his ear. “Make this good, doormat.” She snarled in a whisper. “Make it very good or you’ll suffer, really suffer.”

Karen and Sandra rang the bell and he was off. Even walking in the ill fitting boots was uncomfortable and trying to run was agony as each step forced his toes into the constricting bottom of the boot. Meanwhile the nipple bells were swinging about wildly causing the clips to tug painfully at his nipples. He’d never really mastered walking in the boots and he struggled to keep his balance, tottering even as he approached the first fence. He tried, he really tried to make it, but as soon as he lifted his first foot over he knew he was going to fall and, twisting to one side to minimise the damage he crashed to the ground.

“Come on, get up!” Amanda called out reinforcing her words with the whip. Jim forced himself to his knees and then back on to his feet and stumbled off again. The next obstacle was the wall and, mercifully he managed to step over it but he still lost his balance and fell sideways into the next fence leaving it a tangle of fallen poles. Even then he was given no peace; with the jeers from the girls ringing in his ears and the whip lashing about his body he struggled on back to his feet. Then, as he crashed into the next fence Amanda finally relented.

“Pathetic! Completely pathetic!” She called out. “Four fences and he only makes one of them. Couldn’t even make one round. Tubby’s the winner. Now for the prize giving Come on girls; let’s have him over the table and get tubby all kitted out; this should be fun to watch. Sandra and Karen got up and the two of them pulled Jim to his feet and dragged him to the judging table where he was bent over and they held him down as the tail was brutally tugged from his backside. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Amanda fitting the strap-on on to Kathy who looked less than pleased at the prospect. But, as she brought Kathy over, Amanda suddenly stopped.

“You, and that butt of yours, are all mine, aren’t you, doormat. All mine and mine alone.” She said.

Jim could only nod in agreement. He knew that Miss Worthing would have something to say on the matter but he wasn’t in a position to debate.

“But you’ve got no markings, nothing to show my ownership. Well, I’m going to make sure you, and anyone who sees it, knows that your butt is my property, now and forever. Sandy, get the barbecue out. The old gas one that’s under the bleachers. I’m just off to the car for a moment.”

Amanda rushed off leaving Kathy standing helpless as Sandra scrabbled about under the bleachers returning with a coating of dust and an old barbecue. When Amanda came back she was carrying an object the general size and shape of a riding crop in her hand.

“Look what I got Johnny Andrews to make for me. The poor little thing will do anything for a shag; not that he’s ever getting one.” Amanda showed her friends what she was holding and Jim, looking back over his shoulder, could see that it was an ‘A’ in a circle made out of metal and fastened on the end of a pole. As Amanda went over to the barbecue and fired it up he realised with a shudder exactly what it was. He was to be branded; this was what she had meant about being marked as hers forever and ever. In a panic he started to stand up but Sandra had rejoined Karen in holding him dowm and a firm hand pushed him back onto the table again.

There was an air of anticipation as the only sound was the hissing of the gas as the coals, and the branding iron, heated up. Jim was seriously scared; he knew well enough that Amanda had no mercy but this was far beyond anything that they had done before; if she had her way he would be, quite literally, scarred for life. He watched in horror as Amanda lifted the now glowing iron from the barbecue and headed towards him.

“Watch out for his hooves.” Amanda warned as she approached. “Hold him steady; he’s liable to kick a bit.”

“Stop right there!” Miss Worthing’s voice came from the other side of the barn and, as ever, it had an edge that had to be obeyed. “I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, Amanda Fforbes, but it stops right here and right now. What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m branding my slave, what does it look like.” Amanda replied, totally unrepentant.

“Your slave? I don’t think so. He’s not your slave, he’s my staff and I’ve already told you to keep your hands off him. Now let him go, immediately!” Miss Worthing said angrily.

“You seem to be forgetting who I am, who my father is. I’m not going to be ordered around by some… stable keeper.” Amanda spat the words with contempt. “If you know what’s good for you, what’s good for your business…” Again the contempt was clear. “You’ll remember exactly who pays your rent and leave me to do what I want, whenever I want. I pay, I say. Do I make myself quite clear?”

“No, dear, I think you’ll find it doesn't quite work like that.” Miss Worthing said calmly, almost thoughtfully. It was as if Amanda had just fired off her biggest guns and Miss Worthing wasn’t affected in the least. “These are my stables and I make the rules, certainly not a spoilt little brat like you. And, Mandy dear, before you go running to hide behind that over indulgent father of yours, I have a certain something you might want to consider.”  Miss Worthing had fetched her top of the range mobile phone from her pocket and was busy selecting things from menus. “I know you’re a big fan of using blackmail to get your own way; you’re oh-so fond of your little collection of embarrassing video clips. Well, trust me, you’re only a novice and certainly not the only one who can play that game. Do you remember a certain party you were at? The one down in Datchet, Lord Billoby’s place I seem to recall.”

“What about it. That was a private party.” Amanda replied still defiant.

“Well, I’ve got this little gem, a memento of your time there; perhaps you might want to keep this ‘private’ as well.” Miss Worthing said, an air of menace creeping in to her voice. She handed over the phone to Amanda. “Just press that button there; the one marked ‘play’.”

The screen was small and the lighting less than perfect but Amanda could still make out where the video clip was taken and she could guess what it was going to be about.

"Where did you get this?" She demanded as the panic rose in her voice. "You weren't there. Who gave you this?"

"Oh, I have my sources." Miss Worthing smiled sweetly. "I wonder what daddy would say were he to see his little girl snorting cocaine as she enjoys taking it up the arse.” Coming from Miss Worthing the course language just emphasised her anger, despite the sweetness of her tone. “Such a pretty image, I'm sure he'll want to share it with all his friends, or maybe I should do that for him.”

Amanda stared in horror. Just as Miss Worthing had foretold the unsteady camera work panned around, first showing an arse being well and truly shafted. Then it panned along the body until it wasn't just any arse, it was her, stark naked and bent over a coffee table while snorting lines of coke. On the screen she saw herself look up at the camera. She raised herself up, rubbed her breasts in the coke and waggled them at the camera. The sound through the speakers was clear enough that she even made out her stupid brag of 'Have some coke, darling, lick it off my tits. Then watch while I'll fuck everyone here, cunt or arse, whatever they want.' It had just been a bit of fun, she's been so drunk at the time, not to mention the coke she’d snorted, and when Lord Billoby’s son, Nigel, had persuaded her to play his games in front of the camera it had seemed so grown up, so daring, and she’d been so keen to impress him, so keen to become part of the ‘set’ that she would have done just about anything but now, here in the video clip, she saw her self for what she was, a desperate little girl looking like a cheap whore. This was not a video she dare have anyone else see, let alone her father. She thought briefly about appealing to Nigel for help but she was the only person identifiable in the clip and she was wise enough to know how little help she would get if she brought this sort of trouble to his door; she would never get invited back. Suddenly she felt very lonely, very exposed.

"If you dare show that to anyone, anyone at all..." Amanda bluffed desperately.

"Well, I won't, will I?" Miss Worthing replied. "Not, of course, unless you give me reason to. Otherwise who knows where it might end up? It might even get as far as the press; think of the field day they would have. No, I’ll keep this safe for you, keep it tucked away, something we can share between us, a bond on your further good behaviour, and whilst on the subject, if any of the video clips you keep were to come out… well, once things get rolling then everything comes out, doesn’t it? I do hope I make myself quite clear? Now I think it's time you and your friends went home, don't you? Oh, and I'll take that." Miss W grabbed for the phone. There was a brief scuffle. "Don't be stupid that's not the only copy. The master is safely tucked away where only I can get at it. Give the phone back, there's a good girl."

As Miss Worthing wrenched back the phone Amanda gave a snarl of rage. “This isn’t over, not by a long chalk.”

“Oh, I think it is. Trust me, I know you’re not used to losing but you’ve lost this one. Go away and don’t come back until you’ve grown up a little and, whilst you’re at it, take your friends with you.”

Amanda was still muttering as she, accompanied by Karen and Sandra, slouched away. Miss Worthing watched her retreating back; it had only been a few days ago that she had got a phone call from an old friend, Tess Billoby, who had talked about ‘this jumped up little tart’ who was ‘hanging around Nigel, dropping her knickers at every opportunity’. When it had turned out that the ‘little tart’ was Amanda they had had a good laugh together about her pretensions, about how she was such a wannabe but, however hard she tried, she would never be ‘one of us’. Tess had told her about the video clip, mostly as an example of what a tart Amanda was but, once she realised that her friend might have a use for it, she had sent it over with her blessings. ‘Use it however you want’ had been her exact words and, serendipitously, the timing had been perfect. Now that Amanda was effectively dealt with Miss Worthing went over an untied Kathy, who had been watching the whole thing, wide eyed.

“There you go.” Miss Worthing said as she released the wrist cuffs from behind her. Kathy immediately reached for the buckles holding on her bridle “You had best go and get changed. Don’t worry, there’s still no one around. Oh and Kathy…”

“Yes, Miss Worthing.” Kathy replied as she removed her bridle.

“I know you think that Amanda is your friend. She’s not, really, she’s not. She doesn’t like you; she’s just using you. You can do so much better, a pretty girl like you. Find someone who cares about you, who wants you for what you are; not someone who wants you just so they can boost their own ego. In fact…” Miss Worthing mused to herself. “Why don’t you come to tea on Wednesday? There’s someone I’d like you to meet. I’m sure you’d get on together.”

“Thank you, Miss Worthing. Tea… Wednesday… I'm not sure... I might be busy…” Kathy said a little uncertainly. Then she turned and left as quickly as possible to get herself changed.

“Well now.” Miss Worthing said, pickling up the branding iron from the ground where Amanda had dropped it. She took it over an put it down next to the barbeque which she switched off. Then she went over to Jim who, having regained his feet, was still standing next to the table. “What are we going to do with you? You’d best stand up straight for a start.”

Still wobbling from the shock Jim turned to face Miss Worthing. He’d expected to be freed but she seemed to have other ideas. He looked at her in supplication as she came over and put her hand on his shoulder.

“I know, you’ve probably had enough pony play for one day what with the shock of thinking you were going to be branded and all but let's give Kathy a bit of space, leave her to get changed in private. We’ll give her ten minutes or so on her own; after all, at the end of the day, she’s just as much a victim of Amanda as you are.” Miss Worthing took a step back and looked him up and down. “Come along, don’t be shy, seeing as how you’ve still got all the tack on we might as well pass the time with you showing me what Amanda has taught you; why don't you walk back and forth a bit, let me see your basic gait.”

Jim hadn’t thought of Kathy as a victim of Amanda, she had always seemed to be there willingly but the more he thought about it, the more he remembered how reluctantly Kathy had done many of the things Amanda had ordered her to do, the more he realised that Miss Worthing was right and, maybe, giving her a little space was the right thing to do. Reluctantly he tottered off, wondering slightly what Miss Worthing had meant by his ‘basic gait’.

“You poor thing!” Miss Worthing laughed. “You haven’t got a clue, have you? The silly girl didn’t teach you anything. Huh, all she wanted was to have you as a victim, she knows nothing about pony play, nothing at all. Now then...” She came up to Jim and, standing in front of him, put her hands on his shoulders, steadying him.

“It’s all about posture.” She continued. “First things first, just stand still. Come along, feet slightly apart, shoulders back, head up. You’re a pony on display, be proud of what you are.”

Then Miss Worthing showed Jim what she called the basic gait. “Lift your knees as you walk.” She explained. “Make every step definite.” She walked beside him, steadying him and keeping the rhythm by patting him on the backside. Whereas being a pony-boy for Amanda had been a put down, a way for her to humiliate him, Miss Worthing was encouraging him to stand straight, to be proud, to walk tall and Jim was even beginning to enjoy himself when Miss Worthing called him to a halt.

“Well, that’s enough for today.” She said, standing back and putting her head to one side. “You’ve not done too badly for a beginner. With the right training…” She let the thought trail off. “Well, Kathy must have finished by now and neither of us can afford to mess around all morning. Come along, let’s get you changed and back to work.”

Patting him on the cheeks of his buttocks she chivvied him to the tack room. Kathy had indeed gone and her pony kit was neatly put away. Miss Worthing unfastened Jim’s wrists and then knelt down before him and started in on the straps fastening the pony boots around his calves. As she eased them off she could see how badly they fitted, how crushed his toes had been, forced into the constricting toe.

“We’ll have to get you a pair of boots that fit. No wonder you were struggling.” She mused as she stood up and gave Jim a hand in unfastened the straps of his harness. “And a tail that matches your hair colour.” She saw Jim’s look at the mention of the tail. “What’s up? Don’t you like wearing a  tail? It can be a bit sore at first and I guess Amanda was more than a trifle brutal but, don’t worry, you’ll soon get used to it, probably even enjoy it.” She gave him a smile. “Now, all these distractions have put us behind on the day. I want this…” She gestured at the pony gear scattered around the tack room. “and the stuff in the barn tidied up immediately. And don’t forget to report to the house before you go; we’ve still got the matter of your slackness this morning to discuss.”

“Yes, Miss Worthing. Of course, Miss Worthing.” Jim replied. He was struck again by the way that he was standing stark naked, except for the cage around his penis, and discussing pony play and being disciplined as if they were normal, everyday occurrences. In a few short days this amazing woman had completely changed his concept of ‘normal’ and ‘acceptable’ and he knew his life would never be the same again. As he reached for his panties Miss Worthing gave him a little conspiratorial smile. “Thank you, Miss Worthing.” He added.

By mid afternoon the rain had eased off and the sky was fast clearing, promising a return to the warm dry weather. Miss Worthing was cleaning round in her bedroom when she glanced out her window and saw Jim working in the yard, sweeping round and tidying. Then the black shape of Michelle Johnson’s X5 pulled in and Kirsty, surely the most enthusiastic of all her customers jumped out and rushed off to the stable block. She was glad to see that Jim, as efficient as ever, had put down his broom and headed after her, putting her customers first and foremost. However, Kirsty wasn’t the only one to get out of the car. She looked back to see Michelle getting out and heading across the yard towards the house. She went downstairs and opened the door for her.

“Well, well, well! A pink tracksuit!” Mrs Johnson laughed as she followed her friend through to the kitchen. “You’ve got the poor boy wrapped right around your little finger. I asked him the other day when he and I were next going to play and he told me that I’d have to ask you. What’s up? Are you keeping this one for yourself?”

“He’s…” Miss Worthing wasn’t quite sure how to explain it to her friend, or even to herself for that matter.

“He’s really got to you, that what he’s done.” Mrs Johnson was still laughing. “The great Celia Worthing smitten by a mere slip of a boy.”

“I’m not smitten!” Miss Worthing was adamant.

“Well, maybe not exactly smitten but there’s something about this one that’s slipped under your defences; you can’t fool me, I know he’s far more to you than just a nice butt.”

“Well, maybe…” Miss Worthing conceded. She went over and put the kettle on. “Now, let me tell you the latest. I’ve had a run in with Amanda Fforbes…”

The two women sat together over the kitchen table as Miss Worthing told Mrs Johnson all about the showdown and how she’d put a stop to Amanda playing with Jim.

“That proves it.” Mrs Johnson said triumphantly. “You couldn’t give a damn whether she hurt him or not when he started here. In fact you practically gave her carte blanche. Now you’re all huffy because she wanted to brand him. This one is special, admit it.”

“I just couldn’t stand that little tramp throwing her weight around any longer. I’m not sure I know why I trusted her in the first place. She’s got no limits, no sense of proportion. When it first came out that she liked a bit of D/s play I thought it would be fun to have a youngster around the place, maybe add some fresh blood to the pony club but she hasn’t got a clue. I mean, she only put Jim in pony gear because it humiliated him; she’s got no idea about real pony play and, as for branding, that’s right out of order, that’s completely outside the bounds of what I’ll allow.”

“I have to admit I never took to her, stuck up little cow. Just because her dad’s made a bob or two she thinks she owns the world, I don’t think she’d ever have fitted in to the club, talking of which, when’s the next Meet?” Mrs Johnson asked. “And, more to the point, given your current interests, who are you going to drive, him or me?”

“I’m not sure I’ve made up my mind.” Miss Worthing replied. “He does look pretty in pony tack and, like I said, it would be nice to have some fresh blood in the club.”

“Fresh blood in the club!” Mrs Johnson echoed. “Why don’t you just admit it? You fancy him like crazy and just want to shag the arse off him.”

“Michelle! Honestly!” Miss Worthing was amused as much as shocked. “Do I detect a little bit of jealousy? Don’t worry; I’m not going to just dump you just because he’s come along. I know how much a little show-off like you likes parading around, flashing her charms to all and sundry. Hey, you’re part and parcel of the club; it wouldn’t be the same without you.” Miss Worthing paused for a moment, thinking. “Come to think of it there’s nothing in the rules which says I can’t have two ponies, is there? Why don’t I drive the two of you, a matched pair?”

“Seeing as how it’s your club and you wrote the rules you can do jut about anything you like; drive a coach and four if you can get the volunteers.” Mrs Johnson pointed out. “OK, I’m game for it but what about afterwards…”

“Afterwards we’ll see.” Miss Worthing said firmly. “Anyway, enough chat, I should be out there, overseeing your offspring as she goes round the jumps. That’s what you pay me for.”

Still laughing together the two women got up from the table and went out into the yard where they separated, Miss Worthing heading for the paddock, Mrs Johnson back to her car.

As Jim chivvied the last of the girls out of the stables at six-o-clock the day had settled into a perfect English evening. The rain had washed all the dust away and everything was bright and fresh. He closed the gate to the yard and made his way up to the house. When he opened the wood box to get undressed he noticed that his jeans and tee shirt were already in there, neatly folded and bone dry. Once he was down to his panties he knocked on the back door and made his way in. There was no one about so, rather than wandering around the house, he waited in the kitchen. On a sudden impulse he dropped to his knees and that’s how Miss Worthing found him when she appeared a few moments later. She was wearing a full-length satin dressing gown in a rich burgundy with matching slippers and to Jim’s eyes she was perfection personified.

“Ah, I thought I heard something. If it isn’t my stable boy, the one who forgot to have Morning Dew ready on time this morning. Do you think I should have to put up with such behaviour?”

“No, Miss Worthing. I’m sorry, Miss Worthing.” Jim hung his head; on his knees in front of this magnificent woman a confused tempest of emotions swirled within him. Part of him knew this was stupid. He’d not done anything wrong, not in any serious way, and that kneeling here in front of her wearing only pink lacy panties and a cage around his penis was pathetic and demeaning. However, this was countered by a far stronger need, a need that came from deep within him, a need that had to be here, that had to surrender, to offer himself. Part of it, most of it, was sexual and was driven direct from his groin but there was more to it than that, there was an emotional side of almost spiritual intensity that wanted to bow down and worship.

“And what do you think? Does my stable boy deserve to be punished?” Miss Worthing asked.

There was a pause as both sides realised that this marked a whole new step in their relationship. Both knew that by admitting that he ‘deserved’ to be punished he’d really be admitting that he ‘wanted’ to be punished. More and more the implicit was becoming explicit.

“Yes, Mistress.” Jim replied softly. “Your stable boy deserves to be punished.” There, he’d said it.

“You do indeed.” Miss Worthing let out the breath she didn’t know she had been holding and was suddenly brisk, business like. “Follow me.”

She led Jim, still shuffling along on his knees to the lounge. There he was ordered to stand up and lean over, placing his hands flat on the surface of a leather pouffe. Miss Worthing went over to the sideboard and fetched a paddle that was laying there returning to nudge his feet apart before she was satisfied with his position. She put one hand on the small of his back and with the other she reached between his thighs and used her slender fingers to manipulate his testicles through the lacy material of his panties.

“Do you like being my stable boy?” She asked.

“Yes, Mistress.” Jim croaked.

“You’ve got to be good if you want to be my stable boy, haven’t you?” She continued. “And, if you’re not good, if you don’t meet my standards, you’ve got to be punished so that you can learn, learn to be better. You want to be better, don’t you?”

“Yes. Yes please, Mistress.”

“Of course you do. You want to be the best little stable boy you can be, just to please your Mistress.” Miss Worthing’s tone was condescending, as if she were talking to a dim child. “Now how about saying ‘thank you’ for all the trouble I’m taking over you.”

“Thank you, Mistress.” And Jim meant it, really meant it.

All the time this was going on Jim’s mouth was dry and the combined pressures from his groin were a mixture of agony and ecstasy. His penis wanted to explode and the tips of Miss Worthing’s fingers were sending shivers of pure pleasure coursing though him but the cage kept him cramped and constrained; the thrill of her touch was balanced by the agony of knowing that there was no certainty of any release to his mounting frustration. However, he would still far, far prefer the unreleased thrill to no thrill at all and he gave a sigh of disappointment when she let go.

THWAPP!! Jim couldn’t suppress a squeak as the first stroke landed. This wasn’t the agony that he had suffered under Amanda, not the line of fire he’d come to associate with the riding crop but his buttocks still smarted and he’d hardly had time to draw breath before – THWAPP!! – the next stroke landed. This was no harder but he still hadn’t fully recovered from the first stroke and the two combined to really sting. His hands clawed at the edges of the pouffe and he struggled to keep control; - THWAPP!! - the steady beat of the paddle was raising a furnace within his buttocks, each blow stoking it higher and he was having to fight back the tears; he really, really didn’t want to break down in front of Miss Worthing, he wanted so much to show that he could take it, that he could be what she wanted but, try as he might, he couldn’t stop himself as tears welled into his eyes and he shook like a leaf. He’d fully lost count when she finally stopped and he was left, his buttocks two balls of fire. Jim was awash in a sea of emotions; for all that his buttocks stung like crazy his erection crushed in its cage was, if anything, stronger than ever.

He felt the soft touch of the tips of Miss Worthing’s fingers trailing over the lacy material covering his battered flesh.

“Just stay like that for a moment. Let the lesson sink in. You have learnt your lesson, haven’t you?” She said.

“Yes, Mistress.” Jim sniffed back the tears. Every fibre of his being wanted to reach back and rub his buttocks, ease away the pain but he knew he would never get away with that so he gripped the edges of the pouffe and tried to stay as still as possible.

For maybe a minute or so Miss Worthing left Jim bent over, giving him time to recover. She sat back on her chaise longue and watched Jim’s thigh muscles work as he absorbed the pain. His cute little butt looked so sweet in his pretty pink panties and there was something about having a man bent over in front of her, his well tanned buttocks testament to his devotion.  She let the paddle fall to the floor beside her.

“Well, what do you say?” She said at last.

“Thank you, Mistress.” He said ardently.

“Well, say thank you properly. You know what to do”

Jim turned his head to see Miss Worthing, her gown open to the waist showing that she was wearing some sort of matching chemise underneath. She had kicked off her slippers and her long legs lay along the length of the chaise so he knelt down beside her and fervently kissed the tips of her toes. He glanced up at Miss Worthing and the look on her face told him that she was impatient for more so he quickly moved to kissing her calves, her knees, her thighs, her…

“No, not that! Lie down on the hearth rug, I want your body, now!” She suddenly demanded. Jim looked behind him; there was a sheepskin rug laid out in front of the fireplace so he scuttled over and laid full length upon it; his sensitive buttocks feeling every strand of the soft wool. Miss Worthing followed him over taking the key from around her neck as she came. She yanked down the front of his panties, stretching the waistband to tuck it under his testicles. Then she reached for the padlock holding the cage around his penis and undid it as quickly as she could, tossing both the cage and the padlock onto the sofa when she had finished. Taking Jim’s penis in her hands she knelt over him, straddling him, the burgundy satin of her gown now fully open as it cascaded around her. She shifted forward slightly and Jim’s groin disappeared beneath the hem of her chemise. He felt the tip of his penis slide back and forth against well lubricated flesh a couple of times before, in a simple, smooth movement; she slid it into her and settled herself on his hips. She leant forward and rested her hands on his shoulders, staring down at him.

“Don’t you dare move.” Her voice was husky, insistent. “And if you dare come before I’m ready…”

Slowly, sensuously, she moved her hips back and forth, easing him back and forth within her. Jim knew he’d never felt anything this wonderful, this powerful; this was so much better than the time in Mrs Johnson’s garden and he was fighting to control himself, to hold back the growing pressure in his testicles. Her hands gripped his shoulders ever tighter but it wasn’t just them that had him pinned to the floor; her intense stare, her eyes boring down on him, was a far stronger bond.

Miss Worthing was moving more and more powerfully, grinding her hips into him with circular movements; Jim could feel her inner muscles working against his penis; thrilling him to the core. The sheer intensity of Miss Worthing’s passion was overwhelming him and the fact that he was being used, that he had no control, no say in the proceedings, was all part of the intensity. He could feel her gripping harder; her eyes misted over.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” Her voice was almost a growl.

“Yes, yes, Mistress.” Jim gasped.

“All mi…” She never got to finish the sentence. Jim could feel her muscles going into spasm. Her actions lost their smoothness and became urgent, and uncontrolled until, with a shout of joy, she pounded herself onto him again and again before they climaxed together and she collapsed forward, her head lying next to Jim, exhausted and sated. For several moments they just lay there.

“Umm… Not bad, not bad at all.” She purred once she had got her breath back. She even snuggled into him, enjoying the feel of flesh on flesh. “Such a good little stable boy.”

“Thank you, Mistress.” Jim replied, a little unnerved by this gentler side to Miss Worthing.

“Yes, well…” Miss Worthing knelt back up and eased herself off Jim’s rapidly softening penis. “That’s quite enough of that. I need a shower and so do you. You’ll find one in the downstairs bathroom. Second door on the left down the hall.” She stood up and, gathering her gown around her, went off upstairs. Jim stood up groggily and went off to find the shower.

It felt strange not to be wearing the cage; after a week it had become normal to feel it there and, as he soaped himself down, he enjoyed the sensation of soaping his genitals whilst unfettered. Curiously a large part of him missed the cage; it had become so much part of his everyday life that it didn’t feel right now that he was not wearing it. Nervous that he would keep Miss Worthing waiting he didn’t take long before getting out and finding a towel. Once he was clean and dry he reached for his panties but they were a sodden mess and he didn’t feel it appropriate to put them back on so, carrying them in his hand, he returned to the lounge and knelt down on the hearth rug to wait.

It was quite twenty minutes later when, fully refreshed and resplendent in a clean dressing gown, Miss Worthing reappeared.

“Right then.” Her tone was matter of fact, as if nothing had happened between them. “It’s getting late. Let’s get your cage back on and get you home.” She looked down and saw that he wasn’t wearing the panties. “No panties? Let me see.” Jim held out his hand with the soiled panties lying on his palm. “Yes, well, they’re for the wash; so is my dressing gown. You can do that tomorrow, after you’ve done your morning duties. Now stand up; it’s time to get you dressed.”

Dressed, of course, meant caged and Miss Worthing was as straightforward as always as she fastened the padlock.

“There you go.” She said with a smile. “All done and dusted. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And, with a peck to the cheek she dismissed him.

*******

The next morning Jim’s sunny mood reflected the weather and there was a spring in his step as he made his way through the lanes to New Farm. He felt fresh and alive although he had hardly slept a wink last night; he’d been far to busy replaying the amazing scene as Miss Worthing had knelt over him; nothing, nothing on earth could ever compare with that moment. The thought that in an hour or so he would be seeing her again spurred him on.

Whilst Jim was busy opening up the stables and starting on his morning schedule Miss Worthing was drinking a cup of coffee in her kitchen. Her daily ride out on Morning Dew was part of her routine, part of what woke her up, but the added twist of having Jim to play with was certainly brightening up her days. She remembered how good he had felt having him inside her the previous evening and smiled at the knowledge that the lad was so besotted that he was hers for the asking. She glanced at the clock, ten to seven; it would do the little dear good to be a bit early for a change. She put down her coffee cup and headed for the door.

Jim was still finishing off Morning Dew’s tack when Miss Worthing entered the stables and there was no way he could pretend otherwise.

“Shouldn’t you be ready, waiting for inspection?” Miss Worthing asked as she came up to him.

“I’m sorry, Miss Worthing.” Jim replied. “You’re a bit early this…”

“Do I look like I’m the least bit interested in your pathetic excuses?” Miss Worthing cut across him. “Get to the tack room, now!”

“I’m sorry, Miss Worthing.” Jim said as he hurried off to go and stand on his box. He dropped his trousers and panties and stood there waiting.

“Wasn’t it only yesterday I had to punish you for being late? It doesn’t look like you’ve learnt your lesson, does it.” Miss Worthing said as she inspected the cage. She gave it an extra twist on the word ‘lesson’.

“I’m sorry, Miss Worthing.” Jim repeated.

“Can you say anything apart from ‘I’m sorry’” She asked. “Being sorry isn’t good enough, not if you want to be my stable boy, is it?”

“No, Miss Worthing.” Jim replied, crestfallen. “I’m sor…” He just stopped himself in time.

Miss Worthing looked up at his puppy dog eyes and nearly relented. However, his penis, swollen within its cage showed that she still had his full attention and he was going to have to learn that part of the fun was her right to be far from reasonable.

“Well, this all looks OK.” She said, turning back to the cage around his penis. “Now get down and fetch my boots. I haven’t got time to hang around all morning.”

Jim got down off his box and reached for Miss Worthing’s riding boots. This morning, as he fitted them, Miss Worthing made no pretence about what she was doing as she rubbed his penis with the sole of her foot. Jim knelt up, opening his knees, offering himself to her. Miss Worthing waited until Jim’s breathing became shallow and rapid before withdrawing her foot and standing up

“That’s quite enough of that.” She said briskly. “You’ve got a busy day ahead of you so you’d best get a move on.” And, leaving Jim floundering, she went off and took Morning Dew out into the paddock.

Jim bustled round making sure that everything was as ship shape as possible. Miss Worthing’s changeable attitude had thrown him, he couldn’t tell when she was playing and when she was serious. He was nearly finished when Miss Worthing returned. She led Morning Dew up to him and handed over the reins.

“You’ve got quite a bit of washing to do; I hope you remembered to bring your dirty panties in.” She said and Jim nodded in reply. “Report to the house as soon as you’ve brushed Morning Dew down; I want it all finished before I head off for the afternoon. The ironing will have to wait until you’ve finished for the day. Oh, while I remember, what size shoes do you wear?”

“Size seven.” Jim replied.

“Good. Make sure you’re at the house by…” Miss Worthing thought for a moment. “… nine thirty.”

As Miss Worthing returned to the house Jim led Morning Dew to her stall and brushed her down. Then the first of the girls arrived and he was rushed off his feet tending to their needs. However he still managed to be ready for nine-thirty and, with a few minutes to spare he was at the back door next to the wood-box. He was a little nervous getting undressed with all the girls around but the back garden was private so, as quick as he could, he stripped off, knocked on the back door and went in.

“Ah, there you are.” Miss Worthing glanced up at the clock on the kitchen wall. “And it would seem that you’ve finally learnt to be punctual. Now put this on.” She reached behind the broom cupboard door and fetched out an apron in white cotton with a decorative frill around the edge. “You’re to wear this whenever you’re doing housework; furthermore, whenever you’re wearing it, you will be required to curtsey. It will help you remember your place. Try it on and show me.”

Jim put on the apron, tying it off with a bow in the middle of his back. Then he turned to Miss Worthing and gave a little bob; his rather poor effort at a curtsey. Miss Worthing laughed and showed him how, making him do it several times before she was satisfied. Then she led him through to the utility room which was jut off the kitchen. A laundry basket lay on the floor full of fine female underwear.

“You’ll find washing powder under the sink.” She said. “Use warm water only, these are delicate and costly and should be treated as such. Once they’re done you can hang them on the line in the back garden to dry. The ironing will have to wait until after work; you’d best let your mother know you’ll be late for supper; in fact, I’ll feed you. OK?”

“Yes, Miss Worthing” Jim replied rather taken aback by the barrage of instructions.

“Get on with it then.” And with that Miss Worthing turned and left.

Jim ran the hot tap for a while and then filled the sink before adding the washing powder and stirring up a good lather. There was something sensuous about handling the delicate, lacy undies, something that emphasised that, much as Miss Worthing was normally dressed in riding gear underneath was a very desirable woman, one who wore sexy underwear, one for whom only the best would do. The dressing gowns and chemises took rather more work but it wasn’t long before he had finished and he could move on to his own panties. Then he took the whole lot out and hung them on the line to dry.

Once finished he cleared up the utility room, put away his apron and got dressed before returning to the stables. He found Miss Worthing helping one of the younger girls sort out her pony’s bridle and was struck by the difference. The harsh and demanding Mistress that he saw was showing a very different, caring side as she patiently helped the youngster sort out the tangled knot of leather strapping.

“Ah, there you are. All finished?” She said, looking up. “Perhaps you could help Miss Tomkins with her bridle; I need to be getting on. I’ll be away from the stables for the rest of the day, you’re in charge.”

“Yes, Miss Worthing” Jim took the tangled bridle from Miss Worthing and settled down to sort out the mess. From then on he was busy but as he crossed the yard he saw Miss Worthing leaving in her vintage Lotus Élan looking as gorgeous as ever.

It was nigh on six and he had all but finished for the day when he heard the unmistakable sound of the Élan's  exhaust heralding her return. He hurried away the last of the girls and shortly after six he was stripped down to his panties and knocking at the back door.

Miss Worthing led Jim through to the utility room and showed him where the ironing board was kept, how to set the iron to the coolest setting, and where to find hangers for those items which could be hung up. Then, reminding him to wear his apron, she left him to it.

At first Jim was all fingers and thumbs. He’s never used an iron before and he seemed to be ironing in more creases than he was removing but, gradually, he got used to it and as the pile of perfect panties grew there was an inner satisfaction, not just in a job well done, but also in that, by caring for her intimate garments he was, in a way caring for her. His penis stirred in its cage at the thought; who’d have believed he could get aroused by doing the ironing. All the while Miss Worthing was cooking in the kitchen where she could keep an eye on him and, when he hung up the final dressing gown, she came over and checked his work.

“Not too bad.” She said. “But there’s a crease here… and here.” She pointed at one of the dressing gowns. “I expect better than that from my staff but I’m in a good mood so I’ll let you off for today.”

“Thank you, Miss Worthing.” Jim said with relief.

“Now come and eat. After supper I’ve got a treat for you.” She led Jim into the kitchen where she had made meal of poached salmon, new potatoes and peas. She had laid two places at the kitchen table and she sat down at one and motioned Jim to sit at the other. He gave a quick bob of a curtsey and took his place. Miss Worthing saw his nervousness.

“Don’t worry.” She said, laughing. “Life’s too short to be formal all the time. I can still  relax and enjoy a meal with my staff; I’m sure you apron will help you remember who’s boss around here. Now, dig in.”

“Yes, Miss Worthing.” Jim replied and started in on the food.

Once they had finished and Jim had done the washing up he took off the apron and Miss Worthing took him through to the lounge. Jim’s heart raced wondering what sort of games they were going to play. She sat down on the sofa next to a cardboard box and Jim stood in front of her.

“I’ve been to my pony outfitters this afternoon. You’re in luck, there’s normally a two week delivery time but they happened to have a pair of boots in your size. Shall we try them on?”

“Yes, Miss Worthing.” Jim knew an order when he heard on. Miss Worthing opened the box and fetched out the pair of boots and, leaning forward, helped Jim put them on. With a sense of relief he found that most of the discomfort from the other pair was because they had been the wrong size. These ones came nearly to his knee and as Miss Worthing tightened the lacing he felt his ankle and calves being embraced by the leather so that the boot almost became part of him and, although it was strange to be forced onto tip-toe, his whole weight wasn’t squeezing his toes into the boot and, once they were both on they were really quite comfortable.

“Try them out.” Miss Worthing urged. “March up and down for a bit.”

Jim went up and down the length of the lounge remembering the gait Miss Worthing had taught him and lifting his knees. Miss Worthing studied him from the sofa.

“Good. They look fine. Now let’s try the tail.” She looked at Jim whose face dropped. “Come on, don’t be like that; you’ve been good so far, don’t let the side down now; slip off your panties and bend over the table.”

Jim did as he was told as Miss Worthing fetched a new tail from the box which had held the boots. She spent some time with some lubricant before coming up behind Jim and putting her hand on the small of his back.

“It’s best if you just relax.” She explained as she gently but firmly pushed the pointed end of the plug against his sphincter. Although it was far from comfortable it wasn’t anything like as bad as when Amanda had forced it into him and the more she eased it in the more the pain became mixed with pleasure. When it was fully in his sphincter locked around the plug which held a stiff rubber fitment which ran between his buttock cheeks so that the ‘tail’ part appeared to come from the base of his spine.

“OK, stand up straight and show me your gait again.” Miss Worthing ordered.

This time the plug in his bottom made Jim tread more carefully, taking more care over his steps and he could see how it improved his gait. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of himself in the mirror and he didn’t look anything like as ridiculous as he felt. This in turn spurred him on to stand straighter, walk taller.

“Very good. Very good for a beginner.” Miss Worthing praised him which made him glow inside. “But that’s enough for tonight and more than enough wear on my carpet. From now on we’ll be practicing regularly in the barn. You’ll be staying late every night; I want you perfect for the sixteenth. Understood.”

“Yes, Miss Worthing.” Jim replied wondering what was so special about the sixteenth.

“OK, let’s get you out of those things and then you can go.”

“But… but…” started Jim before stopping himself realising that suggesting that he was expecting sex would be a bad move.

“But nothing.” Miss Worthing said firmly as she bent him over the table and removed the tail. She then helped him off with the boots and led him to the back door. Jim’s crestfallen face made her smile inside.

“Training is over for tonight.” She said as she gave him a peck on the cheek. “But there will be plenty more before we’ve finished and who knows, maybe tomorrow, if you’re a good little pony…” She left the suggestion hanging.

“Good night, stable boy.” She closed the door behind him.

The next day the weather was a shade cooler but Jim was still in his shirtsleeves as he made his way to work. There was a spring in his step as he went through the morning routine and he was bubbling with anticipation. It seemed that every day was bringing new experiences, most of them positive, and he wondered what was in store for him today. In what seemed like no time he’d got Morning Dew ready and he was standing on his box, trousers and panties around his ankles when Miss Worthing came into the stables bang on the dot of seven-o-clock.

“Good morning.” She said brightly as she went up to Jim and took his caged penis in her hands. “How are we this morning? Any chafing?”

“No… No, Miss Worthing.” Jim replied. “It’s fine.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Miss Worthing said, looking him straight in the eye. “Just fine. Now come along, let’s get my boots on.”

Miss Worthing sat down as Jim got down from his box and knelt before her. This time Miss Worthing was quite blatant about the way she was rubbing his penis with the sole of her boot and seemed to be taking fun from trying to put him off. Jim struggled to concentrate; he wanted so much just to revel in the wonderful sensations but he knew that, if he were to stop, then so would she. Much as he tried he couldn’t spin it out for long and, shortly, the boots were on and Miss Worthing was standing in front of him.

“We’re going to have so much fun.” She said. “Now, no slacking today; I want you up at the house for eleven-o-clock. I’ve got some little jobs for you.”

She turned and went off for her morning ride.

For the rest of the morning Jim was kept pretty busy; the weather might be cooler but that didn’t stop the girls from coming in to take their ponies out for a ride. There was the usual chaos as pieces of tack went missing only to turn up moments later but, by mid morning he had it mostly under control and was well in command of his daily schedule. At five to eleven he made sure there was nothing needing his immediate attention and went over to the house. Grateful for the privacy of the back garden he got undressed and, knocking on the back door, went inside.

“Ah, there you are.” Miss Worthing said as she came through from the study. She went to the broom cupboard and fetched out the apron, handing it to Jim to put on. “Mrs Brown is off for her annual fortnight in the Costa Brava and I’m without a cleaning lady for the interim.” She explained. “You’ll find the Dyson and the furniture polish in there; I want all the rooms, upstairs and down, vacuumed and dusted. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Miss Worthing.” Jim replied. Miss Worthing gave him a long stare and he suddenly remembered, he was wearing the apron and she was due a curtsey.

“That’s better.” She said as he bobbed clumsily. “Now get on with it; I’ll keep an aye on the stables.”

Miss Worthing went off out into the yard and Jim was left with the intricacies of the Dyson. He’d never done any housework before, his mum kept the house clean at home and his student digs were… student digs, but it didn’t take too long to sort out what went where and he was off pushing the vacuum cleaner over the deep pile carpet. That was the easy part; as to what was involved in dusting he really didn’t have a clue so he ended up vaguely flicking the cloth around trying hard not to break anything. This, of course, gave him an opportunity to have a good look around. He’d already seen the lounge and when he got to the study and dining room they were similarly furnished. There was a lot of oak furniture, much of it, he guessed, valuable antiques. In trepidation he squirted some polish at the dining table and was pleased when, with a few wipes of the duster, it came up with an improved sheen.

And then he got to upstairs and, in particular, Her bedroom. He hesitated at the door before going in; it felt almost intrusive to be going in without her there. The bed was made and the room was mostly tidy so he vacuumed the floor and ran the duster over the dressing table. Then he went in to the en-suite and wiped around, leaving it as perfect as he could. He wanted, he wished he could do so much more; there was a delightful intimacy about cleaning this, her inner sanctum.

“Aren’t you done yet?” Miss Worthing voice came from downstairs.

“Just finishing up, Miss Worthing.” Jim wrapped up the lead for the Dyson and hurried downstairs, this time remembering to give her a curtsey as he went by. He’d just put the Dyson away when Miss Worthing called him into the lounge.

“And what’s this?” She ran her finger along the mantelpiece and held it up. Jim could see the grey smudge of dust.

“I’m sorry, Miss Worthing.” Jim started.

“I don’t care if you’re sorry or not. I set you a task and you blatantly haven’t done it, have you?” Miss Worthing was in full school ma’am mode.

“No, Miss Worthing.” Jim was crestfallen.

“And why not?” Miss Worthing asked sternly.

“I didn’t know I had to.” Jim admitted.

“It looks like this is another thing I’m going to have to teach you.” Miss Worthing said with a sigh. “Well, we’ll get to that later. You’d best get back to the stables. Come along now, off you go.”

Jim gave Miss Worthing a final curtsey and, leaving his apron in the broom cupboard went outside to get dressed again. As he made his way back to the stable block he could tell that he was going to be kept busy; there were girls and their horses coming and going everywhere and he hadn’t even got to the tack room before he was in demand to sort out a dispute over the ownership of a bridle.

He was still hard at it when, shortly after lunch, Kathy arrived but she ignored Jim and went into Truffles stall preferring equine to human company. She was still there when Miss Worthing came into the stables.

“Hello Kathy.” Jim heard her say as she leant over the door to Truffles stall. “Don’t forget you’re invited to tea this afternoon.”

“I’m not sure I…” Kathy started, reticent as ever.

“Nonsense.” Jim knew Miss Worthing in this mood; she was unstoppable. “Of course you can. Come up to the house at three-o-clock, or will I have to come and fetch you?”

“OK.” Kathy agreed reluctantly. “I’ll be there.”

“Of course you will.” Miss Worthing said before leaving to check on the rest of the stables.

Shortly before three Jim was out in the yard working when he heard a car pulling in. He turned to see a Mazda MX-5 manoeuvring across the yard. The top was down revealing the driver to be a woman, smart, well dressed and, Jim guessed, around her mid twenties. She parked up and got out, giving Jim a warm smile before heading for the house. Miss Worthing had obviously been keeping an eye out for her because she was waiting ready at the door well before the woman got there.

Ten minutes later Miss Worthing, accompanied by this woman, came over to the stable block and headed straight for Truffles stall.

“Kathy, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Jim heard Miss Worthing say. “This is Zara, Zara Thornton.”

“Hello Kathy.” Zara said. “What a lovely horse, is he yours?”

Jim couldn’t hear Kathy’s response but he knew that, by praising Truffles, Miss Thornton had got off to a good start and, when five minutes later, he saw the three of them heading off for the house Kathy and Miss Thornton seemed deep in conversation.

Shortly after this Amanda, Sandra and Karen arrived. Amanda was still driving the Punto; evidently repairs to her car were taking some time. They slouched over to the stables and, after giving their respective horses the once over, hung around smoking. Jim tried to respectively point out that smoking in the stables was not only against the rules but also very dangerous but their response was to ignore him. However, he noticed he wasn’t subjected to the torrent of derision he would have suffered previously. They were still hanging around when Kathy reappeared.

“Hey, tubby!” Amanda shouted out. “Where have you been? Get your fat arse over here.”

“I… I can’t. I’m busy.” As ever, Kathy was nervous when confronted by Amanda.

“Busy? Too busy to spend time with your friends; what on earth can you be up to?” Amanda said derisively.

“She’s coming riding with me.” Miss Thornton had arrived and came to Kathy’s defence. “You must be Mandy; Miss Worthing has told me all about you. For a start you can put those cigarettes out.”

Amanda was about to protest but there was something about Miss Thornton that made her think twice and, with all the bravado she could muster she stubbed out her cigarette and slouched off, taking her friends with her.

“What a thoroughly nasty girl.” Miss Thornton commented. “Now then, Miss Worthing has said I can take Morning Dew out.” She turned to Jim. “Would you be so kind as to get him ready for me?”

Jim went off to saddle up Morning Dew whilst Miss Thornton and Kathy sorted out Truffles. When Jim returned with Morning Dew they were still talking animatedly and Jim realised that he had never seen Kathy look so happy, so excited as she showed off her beloved pony.

“Come along then; you can show me your favourite rides.” Miss Thornton mounted up and the two of them rode off into the paddock.

It was nigh on six-o-clock when they returned and Jim was doing his final rounds. However both Kathy and Miss Thornton helped put the horses back in their stalls and were so involved in each other that they didn’t impact on his routine.

“Thank you, Miss Thornton. I’ve had a lovely afternoon.” Jim heard Kathy say as they emerged from their respective horses stalls. Whether it was the ride or the company she was flushed and excited.

“So have I.” Miss Thornton replied. “And you must call me Zara; after all we are friends, aren’t we?”

“Yes… Zara. Thank you, Zara.” Kathy said.

“And don’t forget, you’re coming over for supper tomorrow. You do know where I live don’t you.”

“Yes; thanks for the invite; I’m really looking forward to it.”

“Excellent. Now, can I give you a lift home?”

“Yes, please, Zara.”

Miss Thornton put her arm around Kathy’s shoulder and led her off to her car. As they drove off Jim went to the front gate to close it behind them and when he headed back to the yard he saw Miss Worthing coming from the house.

“Was that Miss Thornton giving Kathy a lift home?” She asked.

“Yes, Miss Worthing.” Jim replied.

“Good. It’s so nice when a plan comes together. Now then, is everything locked up for the night?”

“Not quite, just my last minute checks.”

“Then you had best hurry up; it’s time we had a quick discussion about your inability to perform the most basic of cleaning tasks. You have five minutes to be in my kitchen properly attired for housework.” Without another word Miss Worthing turned and went back to the house.

Jim finished off around the stables and headed for the house. As he undressed he wondered what he was in for; should he be scared or thrilled, or possibly, both. Whichever, his penis stirred in its cage at the prospect and he was distinctively uncomfortable as he made his way into the kitchen and knelt down.

It wasn’t long before Miss Worthing arrived but she took no notice of him and, apparently, went about her normal life as if he did not exist. She had changed out of her jodhpurs and blouse and was wearing a dark blue kimono like garment that came to around her knees; on her feet were a matching pair of high heeled court shoes. She made herself a cup of coffee and went over to the stove where a saucepan was bubbling away giving the kitchen a delicious aroma of tomato and basil. She took some mussels out of the fridge and spent some time preparing them, all the while completely ignoring Jim as he knelt on the floor. In some ways this was worse than a beating. There was an urgency coming from his loins and he wanted, craved, whatever it was that Miss Worthing had in store for him. How much crueller was this disregard; every fibre of his being called out to be allowed to worship, to serve; to be so ignored was the worst of all.

It was maybe half an hour before Miss Worthing fetched some things from the broom cupboard and came and stood before him, dangling the apron from her fingertips.

“Put this on and follow me.” She turned and went into the lounge.

“Now, take these.” She handed him a can of spray polish and a duster. “Spray the polish on, wipe off with the duster. I would have thought even a simpleton like you could manage that. Where there are ornaments you remove them, polish and replace. OK?”

“Yes, Miss Worthing”

“Well get on with it then.” She went over and sat in an armchair, picking up a copy of Horse and Hound to read. She sat back and crossed her legs, swinging her foot idly as she read. Was it coincidence that the satin material of her dress fell either side of her legs exposing ever more of her thighs? Jim tried hard to concentrate but it was nigh on impossible; he couldn’t stop trying to steal glances out of the corner of his eye. Eventually he got to the last bit and Miss Worthing stood up, put down her magazine and came over and stood right behind him.

“Now, was that so hard?” She asked. She put her hands on his hips and slid them gently under his apron.

“No, Miss Worthing.” Jim replied.

“And how about this? Is this getting hard?” Her hands slid under the waistband of his panties and the tips of her fingers played with his caged penis.

“Yes, Miss Worthing.” Jim replied hoarsely.

“But you haven’t earned relief, not today, anyway, have you?” Miss Worthing said, almost in sorrow.

“Please, Miss Worthing…” Jim started but he didn’t know how to finish. He could feel the warmth of her body, the silky feel of her dress against his back and her fingers were sweet agony as his ever swelling penis strained against the confines of its cage. Did he want her to stop; no, never, but could he stand much more; he seriously doubted it.

“Well?” Miss Worthing asked, her voice a purr.

“Please, Miss Worthing…” He tried again but it was no good. He knew he needed but he didn’t know what he needed. “I don’t know.” He confessed eventually.

“But I do know.” She said softly. “That’s why I’m in charge and you’re not. Now come along and have some supper.”

She led Jim back to the kitchen and suddenly they were back to normal again, well, as normal as it could be with Jim still dressed in only his panties and apron. Whilst Jim set two places at the table Miss Worthing boiled up some water and got some fresh penne from the fridge. In no time they were sitting down to two bowls of penne marinara and Miss Worthing was discussing plans to rearrange which horses were in which stalls. Jim found it hard to switch so quickly as he was still distinctly uncomfortable from the unrelieved tension from his groin.

“Now then.” She said as Jim cleared away the plates and stacked the dishwasher. “It’s time we got down to some serious training work. Come along.”

It was still light and Jim was a little concerned as he followed Miss Worthing across the stable yard wearing only his panties. However he had no choice in the matter and he was soon standing in the tack room watching as Miss Worthing opened the pony tack cupboard.

“Let’s see…” She said as she took out a series of harnesses. “This one…” She held the harness up against him. “Yes, let’s try this one.”

She turned to Jim and started to fit the complex strapping around him. It started with a stout collar from which straps led downwards attaching to other straps running around him at chest and waist height. Then he was fitted with wrist cuffs which had quick release clasps attached so that they could be fastened and unfastened at will. These were then attached to ‘D’ rings either side of his waist.

“Stand up straight.” Miss Worthing ordered. “I’ve told you, it’s all about posture. You can’t look you’re best unless you stand tall and proud.”

“Yes, Miss Worthing” Jim replied.

“And no talking in pony gear.” Miss Worthing snapped straight back at him. “It really is the basics for you.”

Whether he was allowed to talk or not became a moot point as the next piece of tack was the bridle. Miss Worthing chose one with a standard bit so Jim wasn’t exactly gagged but the metal fitment went into his mouth and he would not have been able to talk intelligibly even were it permitted.

Miss Worthing then helped him out of his panties before starting on his pony boots. Again, as the leather straps embraced his calves they gave him a sense of security and, once they were fitted, he did indeed stand tall and proud, just as requested. Then she reached for the tail and Jim’s heart sank.

“Come along, you’re going to have to get used to this.” Miss Worthing said firmly. “Now bend over the bench and spread your legs. Jim did as he was told and moments later he felt the well lubricated tip of the butt plug pushing against his sphincter. Oddly it did seem easier than the last time and, whilst it was still uncomfortable there was something about it that was just the opposite and, almost against his will, he found himself pushing back against it, urging it deeper inside him.

“There, I knew you’d come to like it. They all do in the end.” Miss Worthing said lightly. “Now stand up and let’s have a look at you.”

“Not bad, not bad at all.” She said as she walked round him. “Let’s see what you’re like with the cage off.”

She took the keychain off from around her neck and released Jim’s penis from its cage which she put in her pocket. Immediately his penis sprung to attention and Miss Worthing wrapped her fingers around it and gently stroked it up and down.

“There, that’s better. At least one part of you knows how to stand tall and proud. Keep him nice and stiff for me.” She let go of him and attached a rein to his bridle. “Now come along into the barn.” Grabbing a few bits and pieces from the cupboard she led him through the stable block to the barn. All the time she was correcting his gait, telling him to keep his head up and to look straight ahead. Jim did his best but she’d reinforce her points with a quick flick of her riding crop against his buttocks and, even before they got to the arena, his backside was quite sore.

At first Miss Worthing simply had him march up and down whilst she explained the difference between the ‘walk’, the ‘trot’ and the ‘canter’. There didn’t seem to be much to distinguish them as far as Jim was concerned but Miss Worthing, and her riding crop, differed and he was out of breath and sweating freely before she was anywhere near satisfied. His concentration wasn’t helped by the way his stiffened penis bounced around in front of him. Finally she called him back to stand beside her.

However, it didn’t stop there. Miss Worthing went under the bleachers and pulled out the sulky and Jim was positioned between the shafts, his wrist cuffs attached to suitably placed ‘D’ rings. Again she admonished him for not standing to attention. “How many times do I have to tell you; I want you and this” she stroked his penis again “standing tall and straight. I want you to make me proud of you. You’re a pony on display not some sort of slob.” She went to get in the sulky but stopped herself. “Good heavens this thing is dusty.” She said as she looked it over. “There’s no way I’m can use this in its present state. I want it spotless before tomorrow. Understood?” Jim nodded. “OK, I want four laps of the arena, as quick as you can.”

Even without a passenger the sulky was awkward at first and, although he was getting used to the pony boots, he still wasn’t adept in them so he was slow and clumsy around the course. Miss Worthing had produced a stopwatch and was keeping track of the times.

“Come on!” She urged. “You’ve got to do better than that. Keep your head up! Eyes front! Keep those knees up! Faster! Faster! One more lap…OK, that will do.”

She came over to where Jim was stood, panting hard, trying to get his breath back.

“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” She said putting a hand on his shoulder. “Your lap times are pretty pathetic but we can work on those. Now, let’s get you out of this tack and sorted out.”

She unfastened him from the sulky and led him back to the tack room. There she removed his boots and harness but noticeably neither his bridle, nor his tail. Still leading him by the reins she took him through to the bathroom. There she tied off his rein to the towel rail and fetched a bucket of water and a sponge.

“What?” She said, noticing the quizzical look in his eyes. “Did you think I wouldn’t wash down my pony after his exercise?”

She filled the bucket with lukewarm water and added some shower gel. She then dipped the sponge in and started to wash him down, starting at the shoulders and working downwards. Although she was being totally matter of fact about it all Jim couldn’t help but find it incredibly erotic and when she started on his groin the feel of the sponge around his unfettered genitals was heavenly and he was as hard as he’d been all evening. However it was all to brief a spell before she moved on and was washing his legs.

That completed she fetched a towel and rubbed him down. Again the impersonal treatment was somehow far more erotic than had he not been her ‘pony’. Indeed, out of role the idea of her washing him was unthinkable; he should be serving her, not the other way around but, like this, she was looking after her possession and it reinforced her ownership. Finished at last she took him back to the tack room where she told him to bend over the bench whilst she removed his tail. Then, finally, she unfastened his bridle and he stood before her, stark naked.

“That wasn’t too bad, I suppose.” She said, looking him over. “You’re still a bit sloppy but we’ll work on that. Now, we’d best get this thing back in its cage.”

Jim’s face fell as any last hopes of getting any relief were dashed. He’d rather got his expectations up after all the work in the barn.

“What?” Miss Worthing asked quizzically. “Did you expect that, after your complete failure to do any dusting, your rather pathetic attempts as a pony were going to earn you anything?”

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

“Then I should sue your face for slander.” Miss Worthing laughed. “Now come along.”

She retrieved the cage from her pocket and, as Jim was still semi erect, she had to squeeze him into it. He couldn’t suppress a wince as the padlock clicked tight crushing him inside.

“Never mind, who knows, maybe tomorrow.” She said and, to Jim’s amazement, kissed him lightly on the lips. “Now put your panties back on. This place needs tidying, the bathroom needs cleaning and the sulky needs sorting so that I can ride in it tomorrow. When you’re tidying away the pony tack don’t forget the clean the plug off your tail and dry it thoroughly before you put it away; it costs money and I don’t want it ruined. When you’ve done that you can go.”

Jim looked around him. He had at least an hour’s work ahead of him and it was already getting late. “Can I get dressed first?” He asked.

“Just your panties for now, the rest when you’ve finished. Goodnight, stable boy.” Miss Worthing said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With a sigh Jim watched her go.