Riding Habit

Story from Janus 51.

Riding Habit
by Andrew Grantham

MARK had his head under the bonnet of his car, tinkering with the engine. He checked over his old Fiat religiously – every Sunday. Pausing in his labours, he glanced at his wristwatch. Any moment now. He poked his head around the side of the bonnet and looked up the road. Sure enough there she was, pedalling lazily along, knowing that male heads were turning and obviously enjoying every second of the adulation her face and form merited.

He knew her name was Karen; he had noticed the name on a gold necklet she had worn once before when she had cycled past him. Mark stood alongside his old vehicle, waiting for the vision to approach and then to disappear into the distance. He folded his arms and licked his lips slowly. The girl with the blonde tresses tucked neatly under her riding hat was almost upon him.

It was a warm day and her hacking jacket was folded over the handlebars of her bicycle. A crisp white blouse showed that she had high, well-shaped breasts and a narrow waist.

'Hi,' smiled Mark.

'Hello,' she replied cheerfully, flashing her large white teeth in a gleaming smile. She always returned his greeting, but if he ever tried to engage her in conversation her head would turn away, her pouting lips adding to an air of superiority. Karen was certainly a very classy bird.

The magic moment when she was alongside him came and went. Mark turned on his heel. Automatically, his eyes went to her shapely-jodhpured bottom pressing tightly into the thin leather saddle. The taut-fitting material allowed the cut of her very skimpy knickers to show through.

'Phew!' said Mark to himself. 'What wouldn't I like to do to a bum like that!'

Many more heads turned to watch the magnetically attractive rounded bottom as the pretty teenager cycled to the riding stables, as she did every Sunday afternoon.

Mark exhaled sharply and returned to his car. A few hours later, he again looked at his watch. Nearly time for Karen to be coming back. Two minutes later she came into sight, not riding this time, but pushing her shiny bicycle. She always walked home, pushing her machine.

'Hi,' smiled Mark again.

'Hello,' she said sweetly, her face flushed from her exertions.

Then she was past him and he was watching the inviting sway of her hips as she walked. Her buttocks, thighs and calves filled out the stretched material of her jodhpurs. The central seam emphasised the fullness of each cheek. He could not turn away.

Slowly, still pushing her cycle, she passed from sight.

The following Sunday, Mark was again meddling with his car. This time, it was the turn of the cooling system. Karen came and went to her stables as usual.

Mark decided to give his car a road test when he had completed his job on it. Not far into the nearby countryside, the red warning light came on.

'Damn!' he exclaimed, after an inspection. 'It needs water.'

Grabbing a plastic container from the boot, he set off down the lane. There were no houses in sight but, rounding a corner, he came upon a riding stables – obviously the one graced by Karen's goddess-like presence every week.

There didn't seem to be anyone around. Mark was just on the point of finding a tap himself, when he heard a whistling hiss and a pistol-shot crack followed by what sounded like a yell. He stopped in his tracks and then peered through the cobwebbed window of an outbuilding from where the noise had come.

He wasn't prepared for the sight that met his eyes. His mouth fell open and the container dropped from his hand.

Mark right away knew it was the delectable Karen stretched over the bale of hay, although he had never seen her bare backside before.

He had often dreamed about how it would look – pale and goose-pimply. It wasn't like that at all. Her whole, apple-shaped bottom was suffused an angry sullen red against which darker lines stood out evilly.

Alongside her a young man, dressed in hunting garb, raised a riding crop up to shoulder height. Then, down it came. The lash slashed then cracked explosively, searingly, across the girl's rump.

'Oh! Oh! Oh!' she cried out, her blonde hair tumbling about her pretty features as her body soaked up the pain. Her buttocks bounced and danced frenziedly, riveting Mark's gaze.

Mark pressed his nose against the window. He felt an erotic excitement flaring within him as he watched the anguished writhings of the half-naked girl who had featured in so many of his fantasies. The tingling in his spine spread throughout his body in a shockwave.

Karen's jodhpurs and briefs were crumpled around her black boots. Her firm, milky-white thighs were in sharp contrast to the scarlet bottom with its burning red stripes.

The man with the crop waited just long enough for the blonde's pain spasm to subside. Then he struck her again, the whistling whip making a loud, splatting retort. He could not have hit her harder if he had tried.

'Yeeeoww!' howled Karen. Her hindquarters surged frantically, her legs flailing obscenely. The whole lower part of her body was now in frenzied motion.

Mark's eyes widened in delight, almost unable to believe what he was seeing. Then Karen pressed her thighs together and compressed her buttocks until her bottom was just a thin, tight line.

The unobserved onlooker peered at the young huntsman. He was a good-looking bloke, obviously just the type he expected Karen to go for. It must be his white Porsche parked outside. Mark wished he could change places with him.

Whiiiippp!

The blonde squealed. Mark himself winced as the crop flashed into her battered bottom. He could imagine the sensation of it searing into her skin like a branding iron. Karen twisted her head. Her eyes were closed, her buttocks were bucking and writhing with a life of their own and her breath was coming in short, harsh pants.

Mark knew that although Karen's wealed bum was a quivering mass of hurt, she was obviously enjoying what the young huntsman was doing to her. Enthralled, he continued to watch as her bottom greedily rose up to greet each stroke.

He stayed until it was all over. Karen lay sprawled in a star-shape, lewdly exposing herself, whilst she recovered from what had indubitably been an intensely sexual experience for her.

Mark smiled. Now he knew why the lovely blonde always pushed her bicycle home from the stables!