In the stable

Story from Swish Vol.4 No.4.

In the stable

One minute Samantha was riding around the meadow – and the next she was being taken into the stable for something she had never had before. It was as quick as that – but that's life!

"Never keeps her back straight," Roger growled "and I've told her to time and time again. Spent a fortune so far on her riding lessons. I don't know what to do with her – totally undisciplined!"

His companion, Charles, said nothing for a moment. The girls, Samantha and Veronica, were riding side by side around the meadow – the horses going in slow easy strides. Watching their bottoms bouncing up and down on the saddles always made him appreciate the tightness of riding britches. Whenever they came to the small jump fences that were set up, and the girls separated to leap them, their bottoms would rise higher, giving an even more delectable view. A tingling in his loins made him clear his throat.

"You really want to know what to do, Roger?" he asked, "Come – I'll show you. Never fails to work." Turning on his heel and knocking his pipe out against the flat of his hand, he led his wondering and new business associate across the grass to the stable. It had been cleaned up recently and the walls whitewashed. At the further end, from the double doors – as Roger saw – was a single bale of straw positioned in a wide space between the stalls where the two horses were usually kept. Over the straw was a broad length of fine leather.

"Works? what works?" Roger asked rather stupidly. For a moment Charles did not reply but stepped ahead of him and to the side of the bale. Inclining his head speculatively for a moment he selected one of three implements that hung on the wooden wall of the nearest stall. There was a schooling whip, a crop, and a broad, thick leather strap without a buckle. He watched as Charles snicked this off its hook.

"This is the one I recommend, Roger," Charles said. "The crop and the schooling whip are primarily for display – as gentle warnings, shall we say. You could use them fairly lightly, of course, if she's allowed to keep her britches on – but never across the bare bottom. This," he went on proffering the strap, "is the real chap for it. It's supple and well-used. Veronica has taken it quite a few times now since she left university. I call it the Monitor – it monitors obedience, you see."

Smiling amiably he let the heavy strap fall on to Roger's palm. "I keep a couple in the house, too," he said, "often come in handy. The best method of quelling rebellions, doncherknow." Roger, he saw, was gaping. "B...but I say, look here, I couldn't possibly" he stuttered, but Charles seemed already to have turned to another thought. "And the leather apron over the bale – that stops the straw tickling 'em. One definitely doesn't want that sort of distraction. And of course it's the right material to use. Has the right scent. Knew a chap once who used sacking – really quite awful and common. Sacking also tickles their tummies – and other places, too, if you know what I mean. Not too hard first go. A good sixer square across her bottom. Britches and knicks down, of course. No nonsense, eh?"

"Ch...Charles, you're joking, surely?" Roger asked, though he couldn't help passing the thick strap curiously through his hands. It was supple all right, and very obviously used. "Joking? Not at all, dear chappie," Charles replied blandly. "Totally undisciplined and you don't know what to do with her? Well – here's your answer. Stables a good distance from the house. Sound doesn't carry that far. Discretion's the word, eh? She'll blubber and kick – kick out like a high strung filly, I'm sure but the first good sixer should quell her. After that, you keep it up – or rather she does," Charles added with a chuckle.

"Well – I say!" Roger gasped. He had heard of it – or rather distant rumours of it in the county – but the thought of personally applying what he had once heard called "Hot medicine" had never occurred to him before. The leather was warm to his touch already, and curled and coiled with oily ease in his hands. "Not too much of it – in terms of length, I mean," Charles was saying. "About twenty inches is enough. It keeps the slaps of the leather crisp and firm – and you can get it where you want. Too much of it and you lose control. Cook's had a taster of it – and the maids. Brenda, too even when she's got uppish. Gives her a bit of a thrill on the quiet, up in the bedroom same as it does 'em all when they get used to it. Like to be treated like reluctant mares, eh?"

"Wh....wh.....what?" Roger choked. At the beginning he hadn't believed this conversation. Now it was getting through to him even as the slightly sensuous feel of the strap was. He was used to straps and harness with horses, but never before with one for this purpose. "No hesitations, Roger, or you'll be saying the same thing next month. I'll get Veronica to lead her in, what?" he heard Charles say and then the big wooden doors opened and half closed again.

Brenda of all people, Roger thought! Lovely, voluptuous and mature, and with a bottom he had several times cast eyes on. Brenda with her sweet but sometimes slightly uppish ways. He tried to imagine her baring and yielding her plump, fleshy bottom to Charles in their bedroom – for the strap, that is. The vision was quite dizzying. And then Veronica....... But even as he held the strap and stared at the doors through which Charles had passed, it was Veronica who entered, bringing with her a very surprised looking Samantha whose wrist she held tightly.

"Veronica, don't! What on earth are you doing?" Samantha screeched and then stopped and gaped, her feet dragging on the straw-floor as she saw they weren't alone. Simultaneously, with a thud that made her jump, the double doors to the stable shut tight and the securing plank very audibly fell across them, throwing the interior of the stable into gloom.

"NO-OOOOH!" Samantha shrieked immediately. At first her eyes hadn't focussed on the strap that was being held so menacingly, but now that they did she made to run blindly and found herself being chased. The stable was over twenty-five feet by eighteen and Samantha's slim body squirmed and twisted, as she sought to evade the outstretched hands that reached for her with ever-growing excitement now. Dammit, it wasn't going to be as bad as she was trying to make out, Roger thought, and she was kicking up a hell of a din.

When at last he succeeded in grabbing her he managed to get an arm around the top of her body, under her armpits. Howling, Samantha felt herself being dragged to the waiting bale, her heels scraping. "V....V....Veronica... stop him!" she howled, but it was Veronica who stepped quickly around to the other side of the bale. Seizing Samantha's flailing arms and running her hands swiftly down them, she gripped the girl's wrists and drew her over the leather apron. Her arms thus stretched out before her, Samantha could only kick wildly.

"Her britches – quickly!" Veronica hissed, "and then her panties. Get them right down!" Some what in a daze, but flushed already, Roger avoided the wild jerkings of Samantha's legs and, pressing his knee against the back of one of her thighs to still it, began some quick unbuttoning to even more outraged shrieks from Samantha. "NO! You can't LET him!" she yelled, her head twisting wildly, while Veronica leaned back slightly, so that her friend was stretched between them. It had to happen to Samantha sometime, she thought – nearly twenty now and never been stropped.

Not quite believing that he was doing it, Roger had the britches down Samantha's slender legs by now, draped over her riding boots. Beneath, barely covering her luscious tight bottom, were a pair of lavender panties of the finest nylon through which her pert cheeks gleamed. Even through the gauzy material the deep divide looked delicious, and even more so when with a sharp intake of breath and the most horrified screech from Samantha, he unveiled her nether cheeks completely.

"D....d.......DARE! You DARE!" Samantha sobbed. Her face was twisted sideways on the leather and she could barely raise it to see Veronica who was pulling on her arms. "You'll get a dozen, Samantha, you WILL – if you don't stay still!" Veronica threatened. Wow, she really looked delicious – such lovely gleaming globes. Riding did the best things for one's bottom, Veronica often thought, and now Samantha at last was going to get the bonus benfit of it, if only she knew.

But right then Samantha didn't. She only knew that what was happening was utterly impossible. She had never even been spanked before! "Quick! don't WAIT!" Veronica gasped as Roger seemed to overdo the dazed contemplation for a moment. Then, as in a dream himself, he raised the strap and brought it with a loud SLAP-CRAAAAAAACK full across that wondrous, glossy globe.

"OH-OOOOOH!" Samantha yelped. "NO! Oh NO!" but that first searing sound did wonders for Roger, if only she had known. He had used just twenty inches of the leather, as Charles had told him to, and both the noise and the effect was electric. Only the fact that Veronica was holding her so tightly prevented Samantha from wriggling back on to the floor as the caressing flames coursed through her, making the breath jolt from her body.

"ST.....ST......ST.....STOP!" she yammered, "oh Veronica, stop him – he can't. He mustn't!"

"YEE-AAAARGH!" Her throaty cry wavered and rose as another splatting stroke whistled across her delicious derriere, making its cheeks tighten in a way that brought an equally deep tingling to Roger's prick. It was incredible that he could be doing this, but Veronica was holding her and he had begun now, so what the hell. All the times she had disobeyed him or refused to listen to him and now..........CRA......AAAACK!

"WHA-HAAAAR!" came another shriek while Veronica licked lips at the spectacle. Samantha's pale fawn blouse had ridden up in her squirmings and twistings and the lower halves of her tits were showing, the creamy gourds rubbing on the leather. Veronica knew exactly the sensations that this would give Samantha, much as she might at first resist them. In another few seconds the rucked-up material would expose her nipples to Roger's gaze, and the urging contact of the smooth leather would excite them, bringing them to sharp points that would make the heat in her botty feel even more swirly.

"GA-AAAH!" Samantha choked and sobbed now, her bared knees bent into the front of the bale, imprisoned as her calves and ankles were in the looped-down britches and her dropped panties. Conscious of the smooth rubbing of the leather beneath her, which had grown warmer both to her bared tummy and the cluster of blonde curls around her mound, the searing fire of the strap seemed to take on a new dimension. It stung, smarted and made her bottom leap and her hips jive. And Veronica was watching both the pale flashing of Samantha's nubile nudity and the now threatening erection that was making such a huge bulge in Roger's slacks.

Every squirming jerk that Samantha made under his strokes revealed more of her intimate sweetness to him, the lips of her slit moistly pursed together when her bottom lifted in reflex to a stinging stroke. What he was doing to her under the strap was to make her offer and submit, he realised. And he had lost count in the excitement – in the revelations of her naked wrigglings – but it didn't matter. No way had he really hurt her and yet he had stung her into submission at least, for her outraged shrieks had given way now to mewing and whimpering sobs and her bottom was rotating rather than throwing itself about madly as the thick leather coursed and slapped now beneath her adorable, fiery-red bottom.

Then, as it seemed, Roger's eyes met Veronica's for the first time, and she nodded. Loosing Samantha's wrists which flopped loosely on the leather apron, Veronica stepped swiftly around the bale. Samantha would not get up for a long moment now. Veronica knew the signs, and, just as she had predicted to herself, those sweet pinky-brown nipples were both visible and erect, their pointed cones tingling in the aftermath of deep-surging heat that would gradually replaced the fiery stings.

"She's O.K." Veronica whispered huskily so that Samantha could not hear – though racked as she was by bubbling sobs no outside sounds really reached her. "You ought to kiss her now – kiss and forgive we call it – like this." Aware of his erection, Roger groaned as Veronica's arm looped around his neck, drawing his mouth down to hers. Moving her body sensuously so that her tits bulbed into his shirtfront and her tummy could feel the throbbing of his rod, Veronica parted her lips slightly and brought them under his. It was the first strapping she had really seen – apart from a few furtive peeps through the door in the house and glimpses of herself in a mirror – and her body was as alive with excitement as was Roger's cock. It jerked even more now as her moist tongue insinuated itself like a warm snake into his mouth and for one of the most thrilling moment in his life, her hand slipped as if by accident between their bodies. Feeling quickly but lightly down the outline of the stem of his cock, Veronica twirled her tongue luringly and then – as if shyly – hid her face in his shoulder.

Roger gulped. Over her shoulder he could see the urgent little movements of Samantha's naked bottom. Her legs had slipped wider apart and the peeping of her lovenest made his heart thump all the more madly. Aroused beyond thought, he drew Veronica in more tightly to him and palmed her bottom with his hand through the ribbed cord of her britches. A small humming sound came from Veronica's throat. She felt the tip of his forefinger run up the line of her britches where they covered her groove too tightly for any real exploration. To take the strap now would be fantastic, she thought blearily, and tightened her arm invitingly around his neck just as a clatter came at the doors and the holding plank was removed.

Leaping back from Roger's embrace, Veronica just managed to get a squirming Samantha's panties up before the doors opened. And scarcely more than thirty seconds later, scooped up in Charles arms, a dazed Samantha was being carried back across the grass to the house, her britches drawn up only to her thighs. Too dazed and astonished to resist, and burningly under the spell of what she was feeling in and around her bottom and pussy, Samantha hung limp, her eyes closed.

She could hear no other voices at least – not around the meadow or in the house, but she was showing almost everything in the front through the moist vee of her knickers and, taken swiftly up the broad stairs of the mansion, she began to sob. Charles lifted her higher, cradling her slender nubile form to him. Brenda was out and Veronica had been told to stable the horses. Nudging open the door of the main bedroom he deposited a dazed Samantha on the big double bed face down, his big palm across her thinly-veiled bottom.

"I.....didn't" Samantha sobbed into a large white pillow once again. She gave a short, sharp cry as his strong hands swiftly bared her bottom once more, wreathing the thin band of her panties around the tops of her thighs. "Still now," Charles said quietly and bent and kissed the nape of her neck, sweeping her long hair aside. "Lie quiet for a moment." Samantha smothered a rising "OOOOOOOH!" as his fingers quested intimately down between her thighs and then gave her hot bottom a quick, warning smack.

"There now – there," Charles murmured gently. "It was only your first. There'll be more to come. Kiss and forgive now." Despite her slenderness, her limp body rolled heavilly as she endeavoured to resist his turning her over on to her back. Gurgling with disbelief at everything that was happening, Samantha made a desperate little movement to reach down for her panties, but felt her hand smacked away. "No Samantha," Charles said firmly, "do you want another smack?" Samantha's lips quivered, her eyes misted with tears. She felt his hand caress her thigh and soothe the warm, silky inner surface, making her quiver. "N.....n.....no" she quavered.

"Always kiss and forgive," Charles husked throatily. Her mouth was a perfect peach, the upper lip rolling wetly back under the pressure of his mouth. "B..........b..........b", Samantha bubbled as a fingertip explored the pursed lips of her slit and circled upwards to find the rosebud of her clit. She bucked, jerking her bottom, clinging of a sudden to his neck as tiny rockets seemed to rise and explode in her tummy. "WHOOOOOOOOO!" Samantha quivered. Her legs spread, straightened and then went limp, her arms sliding down from the tight clutch with which she had seized him.

"We'll see if you can stay the week," Charles breathed. Samantha's eyelashes fluttered, but her eyes remained closed. She wanted to hide in the darkness forever with this beautiful, mad, stinging hot feeling. Her lips remained unmoving, her hands fluttering feebly on the bedspread as Charles unfastened the buttons of her blouse and unveiled the creamy orbs of her tits whose nipples pointedly up so wickedly. Ready for a ride, he thought – but not yet. Better let her swim in her feelings for the moment. Another strapping and she could be mounted. Delicately he touched the puffy lips of her slit and felt her quiver. Tomorrow a new world would open up for Samantha. If Roger had got the message that is – and he felt sure he had.....

Competing for the crop

Story from Phoenix 50.

Competing for the crop

Joanne could hardly believe what was happening. The way it had been described to the nineteen year old stable girl, she had pictured nothing like this.

Sybil Baxter, the racehorse trainer for whom the pretty, shapely, dark-haired girl had recently started work, had described it as "a bit of fun".

Draping an arm around the shoulder of the new girl, the blonde, attractive, yet formidable leading lady trainer, had explained what was so unusual about the Colonel Richard Hudson Memorial Steeplechase.

"The late Colonel had been a keen supporter of National Hunt racing, and also the owner of the Carchester racecourse. He had been one for the ladies and, as well as horse racing, he had loved to smack the bottoms of young girls".

Joanne laughed, imagining a be-whiskered, whiskey drinking, old soldier, smacking the upthrust buttocks of a servant girl; but what did Sybil Baxter's revelation have to do with the big race on Saturday?

"He was absolutely delighted when, in recent years, many more girls came into racing. The old boy was particularly fond of stable girls".

Joanne pulled a face, but it was still a pretty one, nevertheless. The Colonel had now passed on, so her bottom couldn't pass through his hands, so to speak.

The two females leaned on a white-painted rail as the trainer continued. "The Authorities have put up a nice trophy and good prize money as a proper memorial to the late Colonel's enthusiasm for racing".

Joanne nodded her obvious approval.

"However", continued Sybil Baxter, "Unofficially, we trainers and owners decided to honour the memory of the old boy in a manner more befitting his other passion".

Joanne's big blue eyes widened, sensing that the bottoms of young stable girls somehow fitted into this tribute.

She was right.

The young girl subconsciously rubbed the palms of her hands over the nicely padded seat of her fawn coloured riding breeches, as she listened to her employer.

"There is always a very good prize for the best turned out horse in the parade ring, so we thought that the person looking after the worst turned out horse should get something as well – a smacked bottom as a fitting memorial to one of racing's great benefactors".

Sybil laughed, her big breasts bobbing up and down. However, Joanne, the proud possessor of decent boobs herself, did not laugh.

"What happens if it's a stable lad who... er... loses?" the young girl wanted to know.

Sybil Baxter started to walk away from the rail, and she smiled at Joanne.

"It's carefully arranged that only stable girls parade horses prior to that particular race".

Joanne somehow knew that her employer was telling her all this for a good reason. Sure enough, Sybil mentioned that one of her particular charges, a chestnut gelding called Half Time, had been entered in the Memorial Chase at Carchester.

"Anyway, it's all a bit of fun really", breezed the blonde woman, sticking her hands in the pockets of her Berber jacket, and setting off for the boxes in the yard. As she walked away, she turned her head and said to Joanne, "I suppose you're game".

It wasn't a question. Joanne knew that she could back out if she wanted to. No employer could possibly insist on any of their staff taking port in such a ritual if they didn't want to. A refusal, however, would not do much for an employee's popularity or promotion prospects.

Sybil Baxter ran a very successful yard. The working conditions were better than in most and, as she sent out a lot of winners, there was always a fair amount of prize money to be divided up amongst the hard-working staff.

Joanne certainly didn't wish to upset her own apple cart. Besides, there was only one girl who could lose, so the odds were pretty good. Furthermore, the popular, pretty-faced new arrival had already won one prize of £20 for turning out a horse at Hexham only the previous day. Little chance, therefore, that she would actually lose.

Anyway, hadn't Sybil said that it was all a bit of fun, really? Joanne liked a bit of fun.

The day of the Colonel Richard Hudson Memorial Steeplechase drew nearer and nearer, until there was only a week to go.

Joanne talked about the event with a good-looking stable lad called Tony. He had a conditional jump jockey's license and he occasionally rode one of the yard's no-hopers in a selling hurdle.

"So you've got your arse on offer at Carchester next Saturday, have you?" he grinned, leaning against the doorway of Half Time's box.

"Guess so", grinned Joanne, dropping a hose into a bucket. "It's big enough, isn't it!"

"I personally think it's a very nice arse, Jo", he smiled, "I was riding out behind you this morning. Those breeches of yours are really tight across the beam, and the way that arse of yours was lifting and offering itself to me as you rode along, got me all hot and bothered".

"Really?" remarked Joanne. She picked up the hose, turned on the tap, and a surprised Tony received a jet of cold water in his crotch. "That should cool you down a bit!" she laughed.

She roared as he danced around, and she followed him with the hosepipe. She could get away with that with Tony. The pair of them had a good, though unconsummated, relationship.

The day of the Carchester races quickly came. Joanne sat up front in the big horse transporter with the Travelling Head Lad who was driving, and with Tony sitting alongside her. As they turned into the main gates, she could not help but wonder how many of the racegoers were aware of the 'bit of fun' involving the stable girls and the big race of the day – the Memorial Chase.

She led Half Time into his stall, confident that she was not going to lose out in the secret competition. Joanne was intrigued by it all, however, and she wanted to watch the event when it took place.

Joanne gave Half Time's coat a final brushing, and checked that all the leather was clean and polished, before saddling him up and leading him out into the parade ring.

As she led her charge round, muttering to him when he nuzzled her neck, she was aware of an unusual fluttering in her tummy. Her view of the other horses was obscured by Half Time, the only other runner visible to her being the one immediately in front.

Joanne recognised the girl leading it as Amanda Raymond. Tall and blonde-haired, she was very attractive. In fact, she worked for a neighbouring stable, and she had chatted to Joanne several times in the village pub.

Joanne looked at Amanda's jean-clad bottom, watching the cheeks rise and fall in the stretched denim, with each stride she took. She had never really noticed anyone's bottom until now. Remembering Tony's remark about her own rear, she smiled, wondering why he wasn't impressed the same with her tits. Joanne knew she had really nice tits.

Amanda's grey horse had its tail plaited, but Joanne didn't think the leggy, blonde-haired girl had made a particularly good job of it.

The loudspeaker crackled to life once again, announcing that the £50 prize for the best turned out horse had been won by Joanne Bradley, who looked after number six, Half Time.

Joanne gave her charge an affectionate pat on the nose. She'd won fifty quid which would go towards a car. More importantly though, it wouldn't be her bottom providing the 'bit of fun' later on.

"Well done Joanne", Amanda congratulated her, as the leading reins were slipped from the bridles, and the horses, with their jockeys aboard, cantered down to post.

"Thank you," beamed Joanne, "That's a weight off my mind – and a weight off my arse as well!"

"We'll find out in a minute who..." began the blonde.

However, she was immediately interrupted by a man calling her over to him. He was handsome, aged around mid-thirties, and was dressed comfortably in a tweed suit. He wore the almost obligatory brown trilby hat. Joanne was to find out later that this was Richard Hudson Jnr, the son of the late Colonel.

He whispered into Amanda's ear, and then walked away.

The blonde remained there, a look of distress on her face, and she burst into tears on the spot.

Joanne now knew who the unlucky girl was going to be!

Half Time ran a poor fourth, but the horse that the dark-haired Tony looked after, romped home by five lengths.

"More prize money to shore", he grinned, as the pair locked the horse box prior to making their way to a large marquee just outside the racecourse, on land owned by the Hudson family.

It was time for the 'bit of fun'.

Joanne could hardly believe her eyes when she got there. The place was packed with people of both sexes and all ages, standing on boxes, tables, and anything else they could find to use as a vantage point.

Suddenly, there was a lot of cheering, especially from the males, in the big tent.

"She's starting to strip off", grinned Tony, grabbing hold of Joanne's hand. "Quickly! Let's get to the front!"

By pushing, shoving, and even crawling, the two of them got to the front of the crowded marquee.

Joanne gasped as she crouched down on the grass, and took in the scene being enacted in front of her.

A small makeshift stage had been erected, and upon it stood Richard Hudson Jnr and Amanda Raymond.

Hudson, now minus trilby, jacket, and tie, stood with hands on hips, accepting items of clothing being removed by the unfortunate stable girl.

Already, he was holding Amanda's black boots, socks, and jeans. There were more cheers as she tugged her white top upwards and showed, first of all, her black-pantie-covered crotch, her flat tummy, and then her black, not very well-filled, bra.

"She hasn't got much tit to swing", complained a middle-aged man alongside Joanne.

"Never mind, dear", consoled his female companion, "Her swinging bottom will more than make up for it when Richard gets to work".

Joanne watched, dry-mourned, as the man on the stage added the white top to his collection.

Then, head bowed, Amanda unclipped the back of her bra, and passed the thin black straps down her arms.

Polite applause broke out as the audience beheld the sight of the bare-breasted stable girl. Her boobs were apple-sized, dainty almost, but were very firm. She made to conceal them with her arms, but Richard Hudson wagged a finger at her.

"The girl last year had tits like melons", sighed Tony, clearly upset that poor Amanda did not compare with her predecessor in the breastworks department.

Joanne wriggled her hand out of his. She really felt for poor Amanda. This whole thing was carrying a bit of fun too far!

"Off! Off! Off!" came the shout from a hundred or so voices. The most vociferous of the callers seemed to be the well-dressed daughters of owners and trainers and the like. It was for all the world like a guillotine scene during the French Revolution.

Amanda hesitated, biting her lip. Then, closing her eyes, she pushed her black briefs down her long slim legs.

There was more applause as she straightened up, embarrassingly revealing her thatch of golden pubic curls.

"I always wondered if she was a natural blonde", roared a coarse male voice.

Joanne recognised it as belonging to the red-faced trainer Amanda herself worked for.

"The girl last year had ginger hair", reminisced Tony, taking hold of Joanne's hand once again.

"Remind me to dye my pubes if I'm ever up there!" scowled Joanne.

Amanda handed her panties to Richard, who held them aloft to the baying crowd. Joanne was horrified when the handsome landowner hurled them into the audience. She was even more horrified when Tony caught them, and gleefully stuffed them info a pocket.

"All good fun", he grinned at his colleague.

He received an icy glare in return.

Richard Hudson put the girl's clothing down onto the wooden flooring. When he straightened up, he was holding a flexible, plaited, riding whip.

A gasp went up from the crowd. Amanda started in horror at the implement. So too, did Joanne. She had expected the 'Memorial' to the late Colonel to take the form of a gentle smacking over the knee. This was awful.

A hush fell on the big marquee as Richard Hudson indicated to Amanda that she was to turn around. As she did so, the silence turned into a murmur and, as the blonde girl revealed her enticing bottom for the first time, there were loud shouts and a round of applause.

"Not a bad arse at all", murmured Tony, his brown eyes shining as he craned his neck further forward to ogle Amanda's ripely-rounded, marble-white, buttocks.

Joanne thought back to the parade ring, remembering how she herself had admired the blonde girl's bottom. She had always thought her own was too big.

Richard Hudson ran a hand through his thick fair hair. Joanne stared at him. He was certainly a good looking bloke, and he seemed so nice. How could he do what he was doing?

He placed his left hand onto Amanda's shoulder, and pressed her down to touch her toes. The action rounded out her bottom nicely, and more murmurs of appreciation ran through the audience.

Joanne noticed how Amanda's long lean thighs were pressed tightly together. Would she be able to preserve what little modesty she had left?

"You might as well show it off now, Amanda!", roared out her boss. "We're going to see it sooner or later!"

The remark caused a great deal of laughter. Joanne opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it.

There was total silence now as Amanda, legs taut, braced herself for her ordeal. Tony gripped Joanne's hand tightly. She herself found that she was completely unable to turn her head away from the awful scene. The blonde girl's superbly sculpted buttocks were like a magnet to her eyes.

Richard Hudson gripped the riding crop and raised it to shoulder height. Then, it came arcing down to land horizontally across the full width of Amanda's seat.

The flesh rippled with the force of the blow. The bent-over girl squealed and tottered. The rapt audience, with one female exception, voiced their approval.

"How many does she get?" croaked Joanne.

"Only six", replied the good looking stable lad, licking his lips. "A pity it's not more".

Already, a line the width of the implement had sprung up across Amanda's derriere. It bisected her crease and gave her behind the appearance of a hot cross bun.

Joanne wondered what it would look like when it was all over.

Richard steadied himself for the next stroke, and delivered it crisply to the straining rump.

THWACK!

The sound of the crop striking the unprotected nubile flesh was immediately followed by a loud shriek.

Amanda's seat waggled from side to side in its acute discomfort. When it eventually came to rest, with another stripe one inch below the first one, her narrow thighs had parted, and hundreds of pairs of eyes gazed upon Amanda's intimate cleft.

''Looks just like the girlfriend", remarked a wag.

Tony gripped Joanne's damp hand. "We might see it twinkling before the six are up", he said excitedly.

"How nice", sniffed the dark-haired girl.

The sarcasm was not noticed by the stable lad. "A couple of years ago", he told his pretty companion, "The girl up there actually came before it was all over!" Tony had obviously relished the poor girl's dreadful humiliation.

Joanne sighed and shook her head. She suddenly realised that she herself was very wet down there. What a good job it wasn't her up on that platform.

Richard raised his arm once more. Joanne took her eyes off her friend's twitching bottom and looked closely at the late Colonel's son. No doubt the father would have been proud of his offspring carrying on the family tradition in this spectacular way. He reminded her of a hero in a romantic story. He had such lovely dark eyes.

Richard had a strong right arm, too. Amanda yelped like a puppy as the crop sliced its painful mark on the undercurve of her rump.

She still maintained her bent-over pose, but her bare feet stamped a tattoo on the rough boards of the mini-stage.

"This is no time for dancing, my dear", laughed the stricken girl's boss.

Richard arched the crop between his hands as he waited for Amanda to brace herself for the fourth swipe. He bent down to peer at the blonde girl's sit-upon. He obviously had a close up view of her most intimate parts.

"I'll bet he's having a good sniff down there", sniggered Tony.

He had Joanne's hand in a vice-like grip.

Joanne preferred to believe that Richard Hudson was inspecting the target area for any signs of damage, so that he would not call her any uncalled-for distress.

The fourth and fifth lashes were delivered swiftly, one after the other. Amanda's posterior went info motion after the first of the double blows had landed, and Richard's crop then hit the moving target with a loud CRACK!

Amanda let out a howl, but no one heard it as the audience erupted with cheers and applause for the landowner's skill with the pain-giving implement.

The blonde girl jerked upright, clasping her scorching rear. She turned round and round in her anguish, further delighting the crowd with her dancing breasts.

"Good fun, isn't it?" breathed Tony, letting go of Joanne's hand and clutching her trim waist instead.

Joanne disagreed with him, although there was something about the affair she found arousing. She couldn't quite figure out exactly what, however.

Up on the stage, Richard Hudson gently persuaded Amanda to remove her hands from her rear. When she did so, Joanne bit her lip as she surveyed her friend's bum. Ridges the width of a little finger corrugated the twin humps.

The man responsible dabbed gently at Amanda's eyes with a big white handkerchief, and then he pressed down her shoulders so that she was posing submissively for the final stroke.

Joanne's nails dug into the palms of her hands as she watched the crop descend for the final time.

It landed on the join between her thighs and bumcheeks, sending her to her knees and lewdly exposing herself more than ever as she sobbed her heart out.

Immediately after Amanda sank to the floor, one of the first to congratulate Richard was Sybil Baxter. She shook him warmly by the hand.

Quite a few owners, trainers, and their wives, made close up inspections of Amanda's wealed backside, before reluctantly leaving the marquee. Joanne thought that it was awful. How could people be like that? She wanted to help her friend in some way, but Tony assured her that she would be "well taken care of".

For the trip back to the yard, he suggested they both ride in the horse box. Joanne knew the reason why, but she wanted to get screwed as much as the stable lad wanted to screw her.

Reluctantly, she had to agree that the whole thing had been a turn on. The gusset of her panties was sticking to her.

The racehorse transporter had an empty stall, and plenty of straw to lie on. By the time the big vehicle had pulled out onto the main road, Tony was already out of his trousers.

Joanne eyed his manhood in awe of its pleasure-giving qualities, before allowing it into the dark-haired warmth of her loins. She cupped her hands around his flanks, and surges of pleasure rippled through her body as they made love in the moving vehicle.

That had all been twelve months ago. During that time, Amanda had come to work for Sybil Baxter, and had immediately moved in with Joanne. The two girls had become inseparable.

As the Memorial Chase fixture neared once more, they discussed the after race event quite often, as two of their particular charges had been entered, and would definitely run.

The day of the race came and, as the horses were paraded around the ring, Joanne heard the loudspeaker announce that the £50 prize for the best turned out horse had been won by Amanda.

Tony, as a conditional jockey, had got the ride on Joanne's horse. As he mounted the animal he said to her, "We'll have a different arse on show afterwards. I wonder whose it will be?"

The dark-haired girl shrugged, and led horse and rider away. When she had slipped the leading rein, she found that Richard Hudson was at her elbow. He pulled her to one side and whispered in her ear. "Bad luck, old girl. Your turn out wasn't up to scratch, I'm afraid. Six o'clock in the marquee. Okay?"

Joanne ran off in search of her friend Amanda.

Tony, who had fallen at the second last, was shocked when she told him the news. "I don't believe it", he gasped, "You normally do a wonderful grooming job".

Joanne shrugged her shoulders once more, and remained silent.

As six o'clock approached, she made her way to the marquee as instructed. On the way, elbows were dug into ribs, and knowing winks exchanged, as greedy eyes focussed upon her tight khaki breeches, which snugly contoured her buttocks, thighs, and hips.

"Don't be frightened", Richard assured her as she sat on the stage, waiting for six o'clock to strike. "It will hurt, but it's all a bit of fun, really".

Joanne looked into his dark smouldering eyes, sniffled, and nodded.

At the first stroke of six, a cheer went up. Joanne rose, with weak knees, and stood on the stage in front of what she was sure was a bigger audience than the previous year.

She stood on one leg at a time, letting Richard pull off her black shining boots. Then, he dragged off her white socks.

"You're on your own now, Joanne", he smiled at her.

There was a hubbub of conversation as she began on the buttons of her white blouse. She had earlier removed her bra, so that, when the last button was unfastened, and the sides of the garment pulled apart, her breasts were revealed for all to see.

Joanne's full, rising-tipped breasts were fully appreciated by her audience. She saw Tony, who had pushed his way once more to the front – this time with Amanda – clapping enthusiastically. The blonde girl, last year's 'loser', grinned as the blouse came off completely.

Her boobs swung and swayed majestically as Joanne began to fumble with the buttons on her drum-tight breeches. There were five on each side. It wasn't long before she was showing off her well-moulded legs, leaving her standing there in just her red, polka-dotted briefs.

"Off! Off! Off!" came the chants.

Joanne ran her tongue across her lips, as she she hooked her thumbs in the elaslicated top of the briefs. She recalled her remark of the previous year, about dyeing her black pubic hairs a ginger red. When she'd said that, she'd never dreamed she would actually be in this position.

Her eyes sought Tony as she skinned down the polka-dotted triangle.

The stable lad's mouth dropped open in amazement. The rest of the spectators gasped, and then wildly cheered and clapped.

"Most unexpected, my dear", smiled the handsome Richard Hudson alongside her. "Very nice too, just like the rest of you".

It was nice hearing that coming from his lips.

Joanne had not dyed her pubes – she had shaved away her jet black pubic triangle, and her love mound was completely stubble free! The excited crowd just loved her hairless zone.

Tony blew her a kiss, and Amanda gave her a thumbs-up sign.

She felt Richard's hand, warm on her shoulder, and taking a deep breath, she turned around.

Having always thought of her bottom as being too much on the big side to be appreciated, she was delighted to hear the shouts and cries, as her nether cheeks were put on view.

Two large, white, and quivering globes overhung her full, heavy thighs. It was her strong hips which swept out beneath a narrow waistline, which gave the illusion of her bottom being over-large.

Those members of the audience who had attended the event over the years, thought the girl's bottom was just perfect for the purpose.

Again, Richard's hand touched her shoulders. Joanne, legs braced, lowered her body from the waist, and her fingers touched her toes. She hardly heard the noise from the hundred or so people behind her, as she waited for Richard to begin.

Her bare, helpless bum trembled chubbily.

Suddenly, she was aware of everything being quiet. Then there was a 'whoosh!', followed by the sound of bare flesh being struck.

Joanne felt the crop streak across her bottom, and her breath left her in a rush.

The first stroke was agonising. Her behind jiggled and contorted, rose and fell.

Richard waited for her to recover before swinging in once more.

Joanne cried aloud, gyrating her buttocks as they reacted against the smarting pain.

So pre-occupied was she in coping with the after effects of the scything whip, that she was oblivious to the fact that her thighs were wide open for the benefit of the spectators.

Again, white fire blasted through her ample bottom. She had never imagined that the bite of the riding crop could hurt so much.

Still, she had only herself to blame for the temporary discomfort. Joanne had helped Amanda to turn out her horse, and had thus neglected her own. The blonde girl's winnings had been gratefully handed over to her friend. She was still saving for a car.

Joanne gasped and her body wriggled more and more violently, as each quickly succeeding stroke added its cumulative contribution to those which had landed before.

The money wasn't the main reason why the pretty girl with the hairless mons had set herself up. Amanda had confided in her that the girl who got her backside seen to at the hands of Richard Hudson, got to spend the night with him!

Joanne really fancied Richard. What better way to preserve the memory of his randy, yet kindly, late father?