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 through 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, something 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 prepared 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 couldn't 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 their 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 fit the saddles. After that they rode 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?"
