Room 2D

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...

From New Blushes 2.16 Wandering down the lane Diane Jordan was dreamily thinking about horses. Not any particular horse, just that it would be so nice to have one. The family had moved two days ago to this village in the heart of the country and so it was a possibility, but she didn’t think her parents could afford it, and anyway you needed a field or paddock and their cottage didn’t have that. Still it was nice to imagine it and that was what she was doing as she strolled down the lane on this lovely autumn afternoon. Having a pony, or maybe even finding someone else who had one and who wouldn’t mind her helping with it. Grooming and feeding. And riding a bit. Not that she had any experience really but she could learn… And then, coming to a gap in the hedge and a gate, she saw it: the most beautiful young chestnut gelding. The sight almost took her breath away. Seeing it framed in the autumn yellows and golds of the hedge was a...

From Blushes 12 It seemed that she’d come every day since the holidays began.  Walking down across the meadow in the afternoon sun or dodging the potholes in the lane on her bike after tea, leaning on the gate of the paddock and watching Tregowan Evergreen being led out for exercise and cantered and galloped around the field. She brought sugar or a carrot or an apple and the horse had got to know her, wanting to walk across to the gate for the titbit when exercise was over. He’d got to know her as well, had got used to seeing her bicycle propped against the fence and her sun-bleached hair catching the light. Her long legs and her tight little bum in faded jeans or snug shorts.  She’d been coming for a week, a week of polite ‘Hello’s’ and ‘How’s Evergreen’ before she’d asked — not really asked, knowing the answer would be ‘No’, more like just said it, let it pop out, as if she’d simply had to say it or burst. ‘I’d love to ride him, Mr Walters — I’d just love to!’ she said it wi...