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 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.