Working For It

April 10, 2008 – 11:11 am

I am an accomplished equestrian and during the last summer after I left school, I

spent several weeks at a riding stable. The arrangement was fairly simple; I

worked for my bed and board grooming the horses and mucking out as and when

required. Lydia Morgan ran the place with her husband, George. George I liked and

could get along with. Lydia, however was a bitch. A toffee nosed cow I called

her. She overheard me once and replied that she regarded me as a cheap little

tart, so I guess the feeling was pretty much mutual.

One day we were out exercising the horses. Mine was a huge chestnut mare with a

fiery temperament called Nemesis – we fitted like two pieces of a jigsaw. I loved

her. We cantered out into the lane behind the others, her hooves skittering with

excitement on the rough tarmac.

Lydia led us out into the lane for a while before turning into a gate leading

into some fields and woods. Once we were all into the field, she spurred her

mount into a trot before breaking into a gallop. Nemesis needed no spurring and

before long we were the only two well out in front of the others. We entered the

woods and Lydia glanced over her shoulder as I closed on her.

I accept that she will always be the better rider, but at least I always make

sure I look where I’m going. That way I don’t bump into low branches. She hit the

deck with a thud and lay dazed. I reigned in Nemesis and dismounted – by which

time Lydia was coming round. She was unhurt and stood unsteadily. Her hard hat

was askew and her britches were torn and muddy. Then I let myself down – I

laughed. I didn’t just laugh. I doubled over in uncontrollable hysterics while

Lydia stood watching me, her face puce with fury. I knew I had just stepped over

the mark but it wasn’t until that evening that I discovered just how far. I

guessed that I would end up paying a price but I didn’t know what it would be.

When we arrived back at the stables, I stayed for a while, grooming Nemesis and

filling her nosebag. I heard the stable door close as someone entered but didn’t

take too much notice. When I heard the bolt slide home, I turned. Lydia stood

just in front of the door. In the crook of her arm, she cradled a shotgun.

“No one laughs at me, you little hussy,” she said. “I’m sorry,” I replied,

looking at the gun. Guns do funny things to my bowels and this one was busy doing

it. It also had my complete undivided attention. “Not as sorry as you will be,”

she said. “Undress.” “What?” “I said, undress,” her voice hardened.

I hesitated and she lifted the gun fractionally so that it pointed directly at my

abdomen. I decided that perhaps getting undressed was a good idea. Slowly, I

unbuttoned my blouse and slid it to the floor, before undoing my belt and

unbuttoning my jeans. I wriggled and slid them over my hips before stepping out

of them when they landed on the floor. She stood for a moment staring at my slim

body. My skin was pale and I had no tan lines on my hips and bottom. I don’t like

tanning – not sun tanning anyway – an English rose, that’s me. Lydia’s gaze

followed down from my long white neck to my rounded boobs, pausing briefly at the

dark triangle between my legs – all the while her tongue darted over her lips.

“Turn around and lay down on the hay.”

I turned. There was a pile of hay bales in one corner of the stable, so I walked

over to them, feeling her eyes follow the gentle sway of my rounded buttocks as I

moved. Following Lydia’s command, I lay across the bales, my head down in the

shadows and my bottom high up over the top bale – a perfect target. I could hear

Lydia moving about and shortly she came into view. In her hand was a riding crop.

“Now we will see who’s laughing,” she said.

I said nothing as she walked out of sight. Crack! the crop landed on my bottom

with all the force Lydia could muster. “Oooh!” my bottom bucked under the shock

as another blow landed. Crack! Crack! crack! Crack! With each searing blow I

clenched my cheeks and cried out.

“Spread your legs.”

I moved my legs apart so that she could see everything – my crack and my anus.

“Put your hands on your arse cheeks and pull them apart.”

I placed one hand on each cheek, feeling the burning beneath my palms. I then

pulled them apart, stretching the muscles in my anus. Then she landed a stinging

vertical blow along the crack of my arse. Swish, crack! “Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!” My anus

exploded in a ball of pain and I kicked my legs back, letting go of my bottom as

tears flooded my eyes.

“Pull it apart again” Gingerly I placed my hands on my buttocks and pulled them

apart again so that Lydia’s target was restored. Crack! crack! crack! My bottom

was on fire like someone had drawn red hot pokers across it and guttural cries

escaped from deep in my throat. Then suddenly she stopped.

“You may take your hands away now.” I relaxed and started to rise. “Did I say you

could get up?”

I lay down again. Once more she walked into my vision. This time she held a

rawhide bull whip and watched my horrified expression with unconcealed pleasure

as she uncoiled it. “You can’t…” I started.

“Shut up.”

She walked out of my view and lifted the rawhide whip. It sang as it sliced

through the air – a high pitched whistling sound in the warm still night. Then it

landed. CRACK! like a bolt of lightening slicing across the raw exposed flesh of

my bottom. I uttered a primal scream – the pain was excruciating, I couldn’t

believe that anything could hurt so much. The whole of my bottom was burning with

pain. Swish, crack! Swish, crack! Swish, crack With each cut my legs thrashed

about and I bit the hay under my face. Swish, crack! Each blow bit deep into my

bottom and the tops of my thighs – then along the crack, fuelling the fire

already there. I felt as if I were sitting in burning embers.

Then, suddenly, it stopped. Wordlessly Lydia walked into my vision and watched as

I lay there uttering small moans and sobs. In her arm was the shotgun. As I

watched her, she broke the gun open and showed me the empty chambers. I could

hear her laughing as she walked away, leaving me lying there sore and naked.

I smiled to myself as I ran a hand gingerly over her handiwork, flinching as I

touched the weals and moaning with pleasure. So, she thought the last laugh was

on me.