Stable Boy

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 two 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 pleaded.

"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 only eighteen, 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.