Stable Boy

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.