THE STABLE GIRLS

copyright: Lesley Tara, 2009

My name is Molly Connor; I am a 22 year-old redhead and, as you may have guessed, of Irish descent. After graduating from college in the summer, I got a job at a riding stables for a few months, aiming to earn some money in an enjoyable way for my planned ‘gap year’ trip around the world. I grew up on a farm and love horses; I rode my first small pony aged five and have quite a lot of experience. I am five feet ten inches in height, broad-shouldered and full-figured, with a well-curved ass. When I look in the mirror, I see a fit and healthy-looking vigorous young woman, who usually has her striking auburn hair tied back in a pony-tail.

The Honourable Amanda D’Arcourt-Essington is youngest daughter of Lord Hartlebury, and lives at the manor house in the nearby village; the family stable their horses here. She is a spoilt little bitch who has just turned 17, arrogant and haughty, always complaining and making difficulties. Physically she is quite pretty, with a slim figure and long blonde hair which is pinned up when she rides, and the costume of boots and tight jodhpurs shows off her best asset, her pert and shapely butt.

It was a chilly and dreary Thursday in late October, and the stables were deserted – the owner and her chief assistant had gone to an auction in the next county, leaving just myself to deal with the very few customers who were likely to turn up. In fact, only one person did so – the Honourable Bitch, as I mentally called her. She had just passed her driving test – of course, doing so at the first attempt, a few days after her seventeenth birthday, which had only boosted her insufferable sense of superiority, as she arrived in the expensive little car that her indulgent father had presented her with.

She strode into the shelter of the warm barn, where I had just finished stacking some bales of fresh straw and was squatting on my haunches to sort out some bits of tackle and bridle which were getting worn and needed repair. I heard the scrunch of boots behind me, and turned and stood up; when I saw who it was, I put on the politest mask that I could manage, and asked nicely if I could be of assistance.

‘Well, I hope so,’ she snapped waspishly, clearly in a foul mood despite the new car, ‘although you were useless last time! Rainault [this was the typically pretentious name of her horse] needed a much better rub down, and you didn’t clean the bridle straps properly as I told you to – I want much better service this time, or I shall complain in the strongest terms!’

I gave a non-committal grunt, not trusting myself to speak to the little strumpet, and turned away to pick up a piece of harness from the floor. Before I could do so, I gave a startled cry – as I had bent over, the arrogant bitch had lashed me with her riding crop across the rump of my tight jeans!

‘Did you hear what I said, you stupid cunt?!!’ she shrilled, outraged that I had turned my back upon her dismissively.

This was too much to put up with, job or no job! I reacted almost without thinking, and slapped her across the face. She let out an amazed shriek, dropping the riding crop in her shock at any reprisal. Then she hissed and leapt at me, claws extended, her face turned ugly in the rictus of her anger, and for a few seconds we struggled like spitting cats. Of course, it was a typically stupid move on her part – I was taller, heavier, stronger from my physical work, and had some knowledge of judo. The outcome was never in doubt, and in a moment I had her down on the ground, flat on her back. I sat astride her, my weight on her stomach holding her down, and I pinned her in place by gripping her upper arms. She struggled and heaved, with quite interesting results as her body pressed against the crotch of my jeans, but there was no way that her slight frame could get the force or leverage to throw me off. I looked down at her, steaming with anger as all my resentment of her past snotty and insulting behaviour rose to the surface.

‘I’m gonna teach you a lesson, you little bitch!’ I snarled, and I shifted my hands from her shoulders to her breasts, which I must say made nice little handfuls. She yelped in shock as I squeezed them through the thin material of her white cotton shirt, and then again – more loudly, and with a slight note of panic – as I pulled and twisted her nipples. She cried out in protest and writhed beneath me, but somehow with less force than before, and I suddenly realised that her body was responding sexually to my rough treatment of her breasts, and that I was arousing her. I continued to grope her mounds firmly, as she gazed up at me in amazement, her mouth slightly open as she bit on her lower lip. She made no sign or sound of resistance as I undid the top buttons of her riding shirt and slipped one hand inside it, first to massage her breast in its bra cup, and then slipping my fingers inside to pull it free, fondling the smooth warm soft flesh and kneading the swollen nipple between my fingers. She moaned, and arched her back – but in evident pleasure, no longer making any attempt to dislodge her assailant.

I was now thoroughly aroused – she was an attractive piece of girl-flesh, and when I first encountered her I had fantasised about getting into her panties, until I found out what a cow she was. I continued to caress her breasts with one hand, whilst reaching behind me with the other to grasp her crotch. She gave a shudder and moan when she felt me seize her there, my thumb digging into the groove of her pussy slit through the tight material of her jodhpurs. Her reaction was all the encouragement that I needed, for she limply spread her thighs, opening her legs to give me easier access to her sex. I released my grip in order to push my hand down inside the waistband of her jodhpurs, and then into her panties to feel for her cunt. It was no surprise to find it wet with arousal, already partly open, and my assertiveness returned as I curled my index finger around and dug it into her. She groaned, shutting her eyes tight and arching her back, pressing her body against my jeans, and the tremor that shook her was unmistakably one of orgasm. In its wake, she flopped limply, and then looked up at me in complete surrender.

‘You like this, you fucking slut, don’t you?’ I asked softly, still stroking her breasts and slipping my finger in and out of her pussy. She swallowed, and nodded with unprecedented meekness. Well, well, I thought in wonderment: the Honourable Bitch turns out to be a lesbian, and with a hidden taste for submission as well – maybe they do teach something useful at that expensive all-girls school that her daddy sends her to. (Later, she told me that about six months previously she had been seduced and her virginity taken by the school’s Head Girl – who she snobbishly insisted on informing me was the daughter of the Earl of Cortonwood – and since then she had been passed around amongst some of the prefects, one of whom had discovered that she liked it even more when they played a bit rough.)

I decided to push my dominance further. ‘Tell me what you want, bitch – beg for it, you little slut, and maybe I’ll reward you.’

She swallowed again, suddenly looking about thirteen or fourteen rather than her actual seventeen years, and in the process turning me on even more. Tears glistened briefly at the corners of her eyes, but they were tears of surrender to a deep desire rather than of anger or humiliation. Then she began a hesitant, but seemingly sincere, apology for all of her bad behaviour, before continuing with greater urgency:

‘Please, Molly, please – fuck me! Take me and fuck me! Please, do it to me hard and rough, do anything you want!! Oh, God – Molly – I want you to do me – please, oh! Please – FUCKING DO ME!! TAKE ME!!’ She ended up almost yelling, losing it in the raging hormones that were driving her lust.

This was an offer that I couldn’t refuse. By now, I was feeling really horny – I hadn’t had a fuck for nearly a month, since getting picked up by a woman in her early 30s at a well-known gay and lesbian pub in the nearest city on a Saturday night; it had been hugely enjoyable, but by mutual intention was a ‘fuck-buddy’ one-night stand, with no strings attached. So I was more than ready for taking a ride on a sweet schoolgirl, even if she was sweet only in looks and not in nature.

I knew just what was needed, and it was ready to hand: a brush that we used for grooming the horses, it had a handle about 18 inches in length, so that you could reach over the horse’s back; the handle was a smooth wooden rod about three centimetres in diameter, with a slightly rounded end. I knew from personal experience what a good dildo it made, as on a few boring afternoons I had used it to bring myself off. I stood up, walked to the wall where the brush hung from a peg, and returned with it as Amanda gazed with wide-eyed interest and dawning anticipation.

I hauled her up to her feet with my free hand and, gripping her firmly by the arm, I pulled her over to where the bales of fresh straw were piled. I pushed two of them together and threw a clean blanket over them – it would make an excellent fucking platform, at just the right height. I shoved Amanda face-down over the top of this, stripped her jodhpurs down her legs to the top of her boots, and sat astride her back so that she couldn’t move even if she had wanted to. I ran a hand over the flanks of her hips and buttocks, eliciting an anticipatory shiver and moan from the trembling body underneath me. Amanda’s submission stoked my fires even more, and with almost vicious force I yanked to one side the gusset of her sodden panties and rammed in the brush handle, shafting it deep down into her vagina. She gave a wild shriek and her legs thrashed spasmodically for a moment, the toes of her riding boots drumming on the barn floor. I took no notice – for never did she say a word to ask me to stop, in fact all of her imprecations were broken begging to be taken faster, rammed deeper, fucked to pieces. She made a lot of noise, but fortunately no one was around and the horses were in another part of the yard, too far away to be disturbed by her cries. And that was before she started to climax, when her yells degenerated into an incoherent wail – still more so when, sensing that she was on the cusp of coming, I suddenly stopped.

Amanda let out a yowl of frustration, and swung her wide-eyed, tear-streaked face round at me accusingly. A touch of the arrogant aristocratic bitch who had driven up earlier surfaced for a moment:

‘Ooohh, God, no! Why have you stopped?? You fucking bitch! Aaggh – do me, you cunt, DO ME!!!’

‘Naughty girl,’ I replied, though in truth I had expected a reaction like that. She was, of course, in the perfect position for punishment – it was that which had given me this idea! I then proceeded to spank her bottom with my hand, giving her ‘six of the best’, quite hard – it was a good way of working off some of my anger at her past behaviour. It also turned both of us on even more – me as the dominant, and her as my submissive. When her ass was nicely reddened, I stopped spanking and grabbed a buttock cheek in each hand, kneading it unmercifully. This was enough to make the little strumpet orgasm, and I felt the frantic jerking of her pelvis underneath me. Before that climax was even finished, I plunged the makeshift dildo of the brush handle back into her, and this time rapidly pumped her up until she exploded in another climax. She collapsed, exhausted and gasping – but if the hot little minx thought that was it, she had another think coming!

Fucking her in that rough way – and, still more, the haughty arrogant little bitch’s responsiveness to it – had got me really turned on. As I stepped off her back, I noticed the riding crop lying on the ground where it had fallen, and I had a sudden determination that the punishment should fit the crime. I picked it up, and turned to the inviting target of her upthrust posterior. She was still in something of a daze from her crescendo of climaxes, and I’m still not sure whether she had noticed what I was doing – at any rate, when I tugged her panties down to her knees, baring her ass completely, she gave an anticipatory gasp and wiggled her hips invitingly.

Standing close behind her, I delivered eight hard swipes with the riding crop, alternating between each buttock. The impacts were punctuated by my lesson – delivered with a grunt as each swing landed on her peachy, quivering bottom – and her responses:

‘You!’ – whap!! – Amanda yelped in surprise.

‘Will!’ – whap!! – Amanda winced.

‘Never!’ – whap!! – Amanda sucked in her breath.

‘Swear at!’ – whap!! – Amanda trembled.

‘Or hit me!’ – whap!! – Amanda gasped.

‘Again!’ – whap!! – Amanda shrieked.

‘Understand?’ – whap!! – Amanda moaned deeply.

‘Bitch?!’ – whap!! – Amanda shuddered convulsively, and I was sure she had come again.

‘I won’t, Molly, please! – I promise, I’ll be good, really I will!’ sobbed Amanda, gazing up at me with tearful eyes that were also shining with adoration and submissive pleasure, and I noticed that she was furtively rubbing her pussy against the corner of the straw bale.

‘Enough of that, you dirty little slut’, I said, shoving her roughly off the bales to topple onto the floor. I stood up, undoing my work jeans and tugging them down over the top of my boots; my panties followed a second later, and I saw Amanda from her prone position gaze up the length of my legs to my completely shaven pussy, and the tip of her tongue came out and licked along her lips. I discarded my tartan check cotton shirt, exposing my shapely 34D breasts, cupped in a yellow underwired bra. The little minx positively salivated when she saw these, and I looked down on her, for a moment squeezing my own mounds and arousing myself even more.

Then I sat down on the bale of straw, facing her and with my thighs spread wide apart. I pointed with one imperious finger at my cunt, and ordered her:

‘Worship me, you slut!’

And she did, eagerly and energetically. She gripped my thighs, and her mouth fastened onto my pussy like a limpet. Her breathing came in snorts and gasps through her nostrils, which were almost buried into the upper part of my labia as she drove her tongue as deeply into me as she could reach. My treasure was not too hidden, as my clitoris was already swollen in arousal, but she proved to have either the instinct or the experience (and I was beginning to suspect it was both) not to do the obvious and go for my love-bud at once, but to explore my other crevices and take some time, working around, upwards and downwards. I began to give little gasps of pleasure from her attentions, with deeper moans every time she let the rough part of her tongue rasp across my clit. My heart rate rose and my breathing became ragged – until, at last, I clutched the back of her head and rammed it harder into my pelvis, my back arched, pushing against her, and I let loose a flood of incoherent swear words as I came, with a deeper and more satisfying climax than I had had in years.

Amanda withdrew her damp and sticky face, and looked at me with some of her customary cockiness restored.

‘Did I do good?’ she asked with a mock coyness.

I drew her face up to my bra, and said in a slightly shaky tone: ‘Finish the job, bitch!’

Her smile widened – I later discovered that she was a tit-girl even more than a pussy-eater, and that my curves, of which she had once got a good eyeful, looking down from her horse when I had left more buttons open than usual, had been what had attracted her to me.

Gently, almost reverently, she caressed my breasts in the bra for a little while. Then she slipped the straps off my shoulders and peeled the bra cups down, exposing my rather pointy twin peaks. She licked underneath each one – an unusual approach which I found surprisingly erotic, partly for the submissive posture it put her in – and then she circled her tongue around, coming closer and closer to the nipple. When she arrived at her target, she took it delicately into her mouth, then increasing the pressure gradually as she nibbled against it and pulled at it with her lips and her teeth. It was incredibly effective, and as she moved from my right breast to give the same attentions to my left, I reached between my legs to touch my cunt. However, Amanda noticed this and, with a disapproving shake of her head, she pushed my hand away and pressed her own in its place, thrusting two long fingers into my gaping, gushing vagina. She began a steady pumping with her arm, without distracting in any way from her concentration on my tits.

It was a wonderfully effective combination, and I opened my legs wider in response, my head going back as waves of sensuality flowed through me. Far too soon, I built up to the breaking wave of an orgasm, climaxing with a shout as it crashed against the cliffs. I cupped Amanda’s chin in my palm, and lifted her gaze to mine.

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘you done good. And you’ll do it again and again, won’t you, my pretty little pussy-slut?’

She nodded, meekly but clearly happily.

‘Oh, yes, Molly – thank you, thank you! I’d love to – you are so beautiful and so strong!’

We arranged to meet on Saturday afternoon at a pub in the nearby town, after which I would take her back to my small bed-sit flat for an afternoon and evening of sexual satisfaction. By now, Amanda had a sore ass and a tender pussy, and she no longer felt that riding would be a pleasant prospect – in addition, whilst we had been romping in the barn, it had started to rain quite heavily. Amanda said that she had better go, and gave me a kiss on the cheek before stepping out from the shelter of the barn and running across to her car. She lowered herself into the driver’s seat rather carefully – I could see the wince cross her face when her rump touched down, and she wriggled about a bit. Then, with a broad grin and a cheery wave, she departed in a typically showy and noisy shower of gravel. I had a smile on my face as I turned back to resume work in the barn, whistling to myself, and replaying the unexpected events of the afternoon in my memory.

During the following months, I fucked Amanda at least twice a week (and more frequently over the school Christmas and Easter vacations). We only did at the stables on two other occasions, when I knew for certain that no one else would be there; otherwise, she drove her little car into the town and we used my flat. She still came regularly to the stables to ride, of course, and when she was there she treated me in a pleasant and respectful way that was a complete contrast with her previous snotty attitude. The owner noticed the transformation and wondered aloud about it, but of course I couldn’t tell her that it was because I was fucking the little minx’s brains out on a regular basis.

I had learned that Amanda liked to be treated rough – not really hurt or beaten, she wasn’t a masochist in that way, but she liked someone to be in command of her, and she got off on being dominated and taken vigorously. In truth, I enjoyed using her in this way – there was still enough snobbish arrogance in her manner and bitchy whining in her voice to stir my blood, and make me go further and harder than I would with someone else. The only problem with screwing her at my little flat was that she was a noisy bitch when she climaxed, and I was concerned about getting complaints. There was a simple solution which turned out to appeal to Amanda as much as it did to me – on a day visit to London, I went to the Soho sex shops and bought a ball gag and a few other useful things. Now, almost as soon as she arrived I would put the gag on her, which had the effect of arousing both of us and the advantage for me of silencing her grating and affected aristocratic drawl. I also played around with the other things, which included some straps to tie her legs in different vulnerable positions and a couple of pairs of leather wrist-cuffs.

One of the last times that I fucked her stays in my memory as one of the most satisfying. I had given Amanda clear instructions to wear boots, denim jeans, a T-shirt and a plain bra; she could wear hold-up stockings under the jeans if she wanted, but absolutely not tights and no panties at all. I was prepared when she arrived at my flat, and was wearing an ankle-length loose wrap when I let her in. Before she could say more than hallo, I pushed the ball gag into her mouth, strapped it around tightly, and then cuffed her wrists behind her back. I ran my hands roughly over her body as she stood before me, kneading and pinching her breasts – I could feel the bra under her T-shirt, but both gave her little protection – and then groping the crotch of her jeans. She mewled a bit and twisted, but from her round eyes and flared nostrils I could see that she was already getting off on this treatment, and she would be well-lubricated down below. I gripped her shoulders and propelled her backwards into the bedroom, and onto her back on the mattress – the effect of her tied hands lying trapped under her buttocks was, as I had intended, to thrust her pelvis further up into the air.

Next, I untied and flung aside my wrap, and her eyes bugged out even more. The action revealed that I was dressed in black boots, black stockings held up by a traditional suspender belt, a tight black corset that was topped with quarter cups to lift my breasts and push them outwards, and that I already had in place a large black strap-on dildo. I knelt on the end of the bed, gripping her knees and jerking her legs apart, and then I paused for a moment to let the savour of anticipation build up in both of us.

When I was ready, leaving her jeans in place and still fastened at the waist, I slowly unzipped the fly and then pushed two of my fingers through the narrow opening. A quick, quite rough, delve found her sopping wet pussy, and a preliminary shudder ran through her frame when my fingers probed her entry. Satisfied that I knew where my target was, I now braced myself above her and thrust the strap-on through the open zip of her jeans and deep into her vagina. She gave a strangled noise behind the gag and arched her body upwards, meeting my thrust and taking the plastic phallus into her for its whole length. I then started a rapid pumping in and out, hugely aroused by penetrating a woman deep inside whilst she was still covered by all of her normal street clothes, so that none of her tits or pussy was even visible. From her snorting nasal breathing and the saliva drooling from her mouth around the gag, I could tell that Amanda was wildly turned on by the experience of being fucked through the zip hole of her jeans. The heady excitement of it, her musky smell as her cunt juices flowed and the friction from the strap of the dildo which ran between my legs, all combined to take me quickly to an orgasm. As I felt my climax building, I gripped one of her buttocks in each hand, pulling her even more upwards, and then I ground down on her, driving the dildo as deep as I could with a kind of corkscrew motion. We both came almost exactly simultaneously, and for a moment I collapsed on top of her prone form.

However, it was only a momentary pause for breath, and I still felt highly stimulated. I unsnubbed her jeans and pulled them down to the top of her boots, just below the knees. Then I ordered her to roll over onto her stomach, and I undid the wrist-cuffs. My next instruction was for her to kneel on the bed on all fours, and when her hands were back in front of her I cuffed them together again. Now she was ready and vulnerable in a different way, and I didn’t have a second’s thought about shoving the dildo – none too gently – into her cunt from behind, and riding her for a hard shafting doggy-style. By the time I was done, Amanda’s body and her jeans were so soaked with both our sticky cum-juices that she had to take a shower and borrow a skirt of mine to go home in, whilst I put her damp and stained trousers and panties through my washing machine.

I had some regrets when my nine months as a stable girl came to an end (as Amanda wasn’t my only sexual encounter by far – the world of women’s horse-riding is riddled with lesbianism, which of course was one reason why I liked it and had sought a job in it). However, she had been an unexpected bonus and hugely enjoyable – perhaps the best of them all. I found that I would miss rolling on top of her sweet youthful body as I travelled the world – but perhaps the girls of Thailand, Japan, Australia and the USA that I met along the way would make up for it. After all, I’m not travelling all that distance just to look at old buildings!

If you enjoyed this, check out my other stories … you might like them too … (to find them, follow the author link at the top of this story)

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