Saddle Sore
From Uniform Girls 14
As Jane stubbed out the cigarette carefully on a wooden
post, she tucked the butt-end into her jacket pocket to hide the evidence. It
was only then that she heard the slight rustle of another presence in the stall
as feet disturbed the thick lining of straw.
‘You know the rules about smoking in the stables, Jane,’
came a voice out of the gloom… ‘and the penalty for it.’
Jane peered into the darkness, trying to identify the
owner of the voice.
‘Who the hell’s that?’
The head lad stepped out of the shadows and moved down the
row of stalls towards the girl. ‘And in my opinion, you would benefit
considerably from a sound thrashing.’
‘A thrashing, Mr Greaves?’
Jane’s voice rose nervously as she realised she had been
caught out at last. All those surreptitious gaspers she had snatched behind the
barn, in the barn, in the tack room, in the stables themselves, and she’d never
been caught. In six months as a trainee stable girl, she’d worked hard and
managed to stay out of trouble. Until now.
Greaves had been waiting for an opportunity like this. The
haughty tall youngster had irritated him from the start, thinking herself a cut
above the other girls and lads who also worked at the stables. Now there would
be a chance to bring her down a peg or two and enjoy her discomfort at the same
time.
Jane’s mother had been keen that she should come to Red
Lodge, as they treated their staff well and had a high reputation with the
racing fraternity. Just out of school at 18, Jane was a bright girl who saw Red
Lodge as a stepping stone to greater things. Which might account for her
apparently aloof attitude, an attitude which had already caused Greaves to mark
her down for special attention. The problem, of course, was that Jane’s work
was faultless. Always perfectly turned out — as she was now, in spotless cream
jodhpurs and hacking jacket, the white blouse neatly pressed, the boots
well-polished — she was a source of inspiration to the other girls, and a
source of attraction to the stable lads.
Up to now, none of them had managed to get close to her,
let alone take her out. Only young Derek had dared snatch a kiss, for which he’d
been rewarded with a sharp slap across the face, an encounter he wasn’t about
to forget. The incident had brought down the derision of his friends on him, in
a gently mocking way, and Derek was always looking for ways in which he could
get back at Jane. Telling old Greaves about ‘someone’ smoking in the stables
was a neat way of obtaining revenge.
‘You were smoking, Jane, I saw you,’ Greaves went on, ‘show
me the fag-end would you please?’ Jane’s hand went automatically for her jacket
pocket and she pulled out the remains of the cigarette and held it out.
He took it from her and smiled. ‘Well, well, so you’re not
quite perfect, are you?’ She said nothing, just staring at the evidence in his
hand and wishing she were somewhere else. Anywhere else. But she was here. ‘I’ll
have to report this, of course. Mr Boughton will not be pleased. Smoking he
disapproves of. Smoking in the stables, where the fire hazard is considerable
and you put at risk thousands of pounds worth of racing animals, he looks on
very seriously indeed. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was two visits to the
study for you, my girl.’ Greaves smiled, tapping the ridding crop slowly
against his boot.
Derek, standing just around the corner of the stables,
smiled too. Jane knew about visits to the study. Other girls had told her about
the beatings meted out there to stable lads and girls in equal measure. The
strap and the cane were commonly used at Red Lodge, the owner believing in the
effectiveness of corporal punishment as a deterrent
‘Two visits, Mr Greaves?’ she heard herself ask.
‘Uh-huh. Two doses of six of the best, I wouldn’t be
surprised. Bare arse, of course. To make sure you get the full benefit.’
‘Do you have to report me to Mr Boughton, Mr Greaves. I
mean, it is my first offense, and everything…’ Jane began.
‘No, I don’t have to report you. I might decide to deal
with you myself, right here and now, as Mr Boughton’s away for three days.’
Jane’s jaw dropped as she caught what he had said. The
idea of a beating from this self-important little man was something she found
even less appealing than being punished by Mr Boughton on his return. Outside,
Derek’s grin widened as he realised what old Greaves was up to.
All Jane’s brain could manage was a weak ‘Ooohh’. She
shifted her feet awkwardly as Mr Greaves looked her up and down.
She was a pretty little thing for sure, tall, slim, with
breasts a little heavy and bottom rather plump for her frame, a fact which
could not go unnoticed in her skin-tight jodhpurs. He decided to take a risk
and exceed his authority with this attractive little minx. If old Boughton
found out, there would be hell to pay. But even if there was a risk, it was one
he would enjoy to the full.
‘Been up to the study before, have you Jane?’ he asked,
knowing full well she had never had cause to be called up to the house for
punishment.
‘No, Mr Greaves.’
‘Do you know what happens up there to those who step out
of line, do you?’
The pretty teenager shook her head, not really wanting to
know.
‘Well, they get their backsides bared and warmed up with a
strap…’
Jane blushed.
‘… then they get a dozen with the Masters cane! Ever get
the cane at school, young lady?’
‘… N-no, Mr Greaves, they didn’t use corporal punishment
at my school.’
‘More’s the pity, my girl, because you’re about to get
your first dose of it here. Get off to the tack room and wait for me there… and
put a saddle on the trestle for me, understand?’
Jane nodded and shuffled out of the stall and across the
yard to the tack room on the far side of the stables. This was the moment she’d
been dreading. And to get it off grubby Greaves instead of Mr Boughton, who at
least wasn’t common like the head lad was really quite horrid.
Derek on the other hand couldn’t wait to see Miss Snooty
Boots get her comeuppance and hurried round to the back of the tack room, where
an open window would afford him an unrestricted view of the impending
punishment. He could see Jane placing a saddle on the trestle before looking round
nervously at the approaching footsteps of Mr Greaves. The way the saddle was
pointing Derek realised he would be getting a very full and intimate view of
proceedings, he only wished he’d brought his camera.
Jane noticed with alarm that Mr Greaves had changed his
own crop for a longer one of split and twisted cane with a silver handle, the
wood plaited skilfully to make a particularly whippy crop, the fold of leather
at the end making it seem spectacularly long.
‘You’re not going to use that, Mr Greaves?’ she asked in a
high, nervous croak.
He pretended not to have heard. ‘Get your jacket off,
Jane, and stand by the trestle, this thrashing is long overdue.’
Jane shook her jacket off her shoulders and hung it
carefully on a hook on the wall before crossing to the trestle as she had been
told. The jodhpurs emphasised the slimness of her legs and the swell of hips
and buttocks above them. Greaves eyed up the target area appreciatively, as the
muscles tensed and relaxed.
‘Let’s have those jodhpurs down now Miss!’
The crop whistled through the air in a practice arc,
causing Jane to flinch involuntarily. She fiddled at the waistband for a
moment, and the tight material was shortly being pushed down her thighs to rest
at her knees.
‘Tuck that shirt up, girl,’ he ordered, and Jane rolled
the shirt up high above her waist, revealing the snug-fitting white cotton
knickers she always wore.
There was an awkward pause as the teenager stood there
waiting for the order to bend over the saddle, Greaves toying with the idea of
whipping her bare. Ah well, he thought, in for a penny…
‘Take your knickers down and bend over the trestle,’ he
ordered sternly.
There was not a moment’s hesitation and Jane’s fingers
hooked into the waistband of her knickers and hitched them slowly, oh so
slowly, down the full swell of both cheeks, past the crease between thigh and
buttock, down the smooth curve of her legs to rest with her jodhpurs at her
knees. The girl was now entirely bare from midway down her back to her knees,
the rounded protuberances softly tensing as she moved position to bend over,
the light tan of sunbathing emphasising the target area where the bikini had
preserved the pale cream flesh.
‘How many am I going to get, Mr Greaves?’ Jane asked,
looking over her shoulder.
‘Two more for asking,’ he grunted, Jane bent without
further delay and wiggled over the saddle until she was comfortably lying
across it, her hands spread to grip the legs of the trestle, her legs straight
behind her.
‘How old are you, Jane?’
‘Er, eighteen Mr Greaves.’
‘Hmm eighteen and never been tanned!… I’d say this is long
overdue don’t you think?’
Jane didn’t respond.
Outside the window, Derek made furtive adjustments in his
trousers as he manoeuvred himself into a slightly better position. Jane
certainly had a terrific arse, full and well-fleshed despite her bent position.
‘Yes… long overdue young lady.’
Jane just wished he’d get it over with. The waiting was
agonising, the embarrassment excruciating. She felt a light slap, on her right
cheek as Greaves tapped her with the palm of his hand.
‘You’ll not be smoking in the stables again, will you, my
girl, not after this little lesson?’
‘No, Mr Greaves.’
There was the smallest tinkle as he unfastened the buckle
of his belt, and from her upside-down position Jane could see him pull it
through the loops and double it over. It disappeared from view and a moment
later Jane experienced the blazing impact of leather on bare flesh. The crack
of its arrival surprised even Greaves, who let it fall to his side while he
waited for the red welt to grow on her bottom.
He laid the leather across the cheeks again to measure the
swing brought it up and applied it harder still in a swooshing arc to extract a
gasp of pain from the girl.
‘Owwwoooohhh!’
Four more times the belt rose and fell, the exclamations
from the bent figure rising in pitch with each stroke. There was a long pause,
and Jane could see Mr Greaves feeding the object of her discomfort back through
the loops in his trousers. She shifted position slightly, and took a new grip
on the trestle. The sweat on her forehead trickled into her eyes, and she shook
her head, the droplets spinning off to each side. The short hair at the nape of
her neck was damp with perspiration and clung to the skin. Derek’s eyes bulged
as his breath came faster. Snooty Jane was really getting it in there, and he
was the only one to witness her beating. The others would be furious…
‘Is that it, Mr Greaves, may I get up?’ asked Jane
hesitantly, her buttocks tensing as she shifted slightly on the saddle, her
legs parting as her boots scrabbled momentarily for a grip on the stone floor.
The glimpse of those young secrets between her legs caused Greaves to walk over
and stand beside her, running his hand over the welted flesh and slapping each
cheek lightly.
‘No Jane, there’s six more to come. Plus the two extra for
asking how many you were going to get.’
No response, just a sigh from the girl. Greaves’ hand went
between her thighs and roughly pulled them apart as far as the taut fabric of
knickers and jodhpurs round her knees would allow. He grasped her hips and
hoisted her a little further over the saddle, his hands sliding up and lifting
her blouse higher, higher, to her shoulder blades… until the twin globes
tumbled free with a protesting, ‘Oh, Mr Greaves!’
He walked to the other side of the trestle and Jane looked
up at him, totally exposed now and anxious for the second part of her
punishment to be over. Idly, Greaves stroked the bare breasts with the tip of
the riding crop.
‘Eight more, Jane, ready for them, are you?’
‘Yes, Mr Greaves, just please get it over with.’
He beat the girl’s bare cheeks slowly and hard, the crop
raising rapidly purpling welts across both buttocks, the lines building as Jane’s
yelps and little screams built in pitch and volume. Derek’s view was slightly
obscured by Greaves shoulder, but he could see the damage inflicted on the
teenagers rear-end when Greaves swung the crop up for the next stroke. Greaves
was thrashing the girl harder than she would ever have been punished by Mr
Boughton. If he had walked in now, Boughton would have gone berserk and Greaves
would be out of a job. Interesting thought, that.
When there was a crunch of car tyres on gravel at the side
of the stable block, Derek thought he must be psychic. He clambered down from
his vantage point.
Greaves had paused after the fourth stroke to adjust Jane’s
position to his satisfaction, in any case. Sidling round the block, Derek
caught sight of Mr Boughton walking with two young ladies towards the paddock.
One of them, a pretty little thing, turned and saw Derek.
‘There’s someone there, Mr Boughton,’ she pointed, and
Boughton swung round towards Derek…
‘Ah, Derek. Don’t look so surprised to see me… flew back
early. Is Mr Greaves about this afternoon?’
‘Er, er, well, I’ve…’ Derek mumbled, then as his brain got
into gear… ‘He’s in the tack room, sir.’
‘Ah, thanks Derek, this way, girls… Derek could just hear
the subdued cries of poor Jane as Greaves started whipping her again, and a
sudden roar of rage as Mr Boughton strode into the tack room to see his
head-lad flogging one of his teenage employees without authority.
Less than thirty seconds later, Boughton was escorting
Greaves across the yard to his car, giving him the full benefit of his tongue.
‘And I think after this dreadful incident, Greaves, we won’t
be seeing one another again… you’re fired. I want you out of that cottage by
six o’clock tomorrow morning, understood? And if that girl doesn’t sue for
assault you’re a very lucky man. You swine.’ (This from the man who routinely
thrashed his stable girls and lads).
Derek walked into the tack room to find the two strangers
consoling a sobbing Jane, her jodhpurs still round her knees, her knickers
being eased over her throbbing backside by one of the other girls.
‘Oh Derek, that man is an evil sod,’ Jane gasped. ‘He made
me undress almost. I should have refused, but I was scared. And then he whipped
me, bare backside and all.’
‘I don’t think we’ll be seeing him again, Jane, so don’t
worry. Are you going to be all right?’
‘Providing she sleeps on her tummy she will, the worst of
it should be over in a few days, but it’s going to be a bit uncomfortable… like
when we had that caning at college, eh Debs?’
Derek looked alarmed. ‘Caned?’ he blurted.
‘Yeah, don’t tell me you’ve never had it,’ the other girl
sniggered.
‘We’ll have to put that right, won’t we Debs?’ and they
both roared with laughter, raising a smile even from Jane.
I like the detail of the curry comb/ horsebrush just to one side. Always good to have handy in such a locale
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