Stable Boy

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.