Simon

[Simonssister]

Chapter XI:  Preparations  (Part 2)

I took a bus to the riding school.  I came in the main entrance past the building where I was going to be working.  I tried the door but it was locked.  I carried on up to reception, where Sue was waiting for me.
“Simon, hi.  You’re very punctual,” she said, looking at her watch.  “We might as well go straight down to the salon.  Let me get the key from my office. 
We walked back down the path together.  The building now had a new roof, and the bricks looked as though they had been cleaned and repointed.  There was a new solid oak door.
“You’ll see we’ve replaced the old windows with one long high window fitting.  If you stood on a box or something you could peep in, but I don’t suppose anyone would go to those lengths.  In any case, there are blinds on the inside which you can close if you want to.  Some clients might like absolute privacy, so you can even lock the door if you like.  I’ll give you a key when we get back to reception.
She opened the door.  I was amazed by the transformation.  There was no ceiling, so the roof space was clear, with wooden beams running from side to side at roughly metre intervals.  Sue switched on the lights, which were downlights positioned on these beams.  The walls were all painted white, apart from the left wall, which hung with a darkish patterned wallpaper, so the effect was dazzling. 
“You can have it very bright if you like, but all the lights are dimmable.  Now, do you like the floor?”
The floor was lovely polished wood blocks.  Along the left-hand wall was a carved wooden couch, upholstered in red velvet, and between it and the door a shelf with a coffee-machine and cups, and under the shelf a water dispenser.  On the right, under the high windows, was a row of wooden cupboards with little brass handles.  And at the far end of the room was the customers’ chair, made of steel and padded red leather, positioned in between two low shelf units which looked as though they could also be used as little tables.
“This chair was a bit of an investment, Simon.  It’s a high-tech hairdresser’s chair, actually.  If you look here – she pointed to the right arm rest – you’ll see there’s a control panel.  Your client can adjust the height of the chair, the position of the foot rest, she can recline or be upright, she can adjust the head rest.  You may need to help, though it’s very self-explanatory.  I guess you should make sure your customer is comfortable and correctly positioned as soon as they sit down.  It’s primarily designed for the customer’s benefit, but also to make sure that her boots are in the right position for you to work on.”
“So where will I be, exactly?”
“See these steel rails in front of the chair?  This will be your work station.  We’re having a very comfortable kneeling-platform fitted here.  You’ll be able to adjust the position forward or back by hand.  It will slide and lock.  It’s going to be properly padded and covered with red leather, like the chair.  These cupboards to your right and left can be used to house your cleaning equipment, or as tables for your customer’s coffee, and in the cupboard to your right there’s a sink and brushes – see? – in case you need to wash any of the boots.  But we’re not going to encourage clients to come in here with muddy boots.  This is a strictly a finishing service."
"What's that cupbaord on the wall to the left of the chair?"
"Oh, that's, er, just for the client to store her belongings."
I tried the door.  "It seems to be locked."
"Well, er, yes, at the moment.  The customer will be given the key before the session in case she needs it."
"Okay, I see.  There's also another room behind the chair?"
"That's going to be a little toilet and shower-room for you, to save you the trek up to reception.  It's not quite finished yet.  So what do you think of the place?”
“It’s amazing!  Much more sophisticated than I expected.  And I like the design so much.  Oh, and I see you have a full-length mirror on the back of the door.  That’s a good idea.”
“Indispensable.  They’re all going to want to see how they look after you’ve done your work.”
“And what are these hooks above the couch and on the opposite wall?”
“Well they’ll be for pictures, but we haven’t got round to thinking about that yet.”
“What, like horses and things or just views and stuff?”
“Well, maybe horses, yes, and riders even, but I sort of had in mind that we could eventually have a few of you in your various outfits.”
“My various outfits?” I repeated.
“Yes, you know, we’re planning to change your outfits every so often – maybe every week even – to give some variety.  Also clients may aqsk you to wear certain things.  It’s going to be all part of the marketing strategy.  Your aunt says she has a whole collection of clothes that have never even seen the light of day.  And I have a few ideas myself.”
“Oh.  But Sue, I sort of thought I would have some input into that
”
“Of course we’ll take your ideas into account, Simon, but ultimately the committee will decide what you wear here.  Some clients will have very specific wishes or requirements, and we’re going to do our best to satisfy them.”
“Of course, Sue.  I quite understand.  But there’ll be limits, won’t there?”
“Well, not really, darling.  If you look at your contract you’ll see it says that you will wear whatever the committee, “in its absolute discretion”, prescribes.   So if Mrs Smith wants you dressed as a baby and suc-king a dummy, or Mrs Brown wants you stark naked, I’m afraid that’s what they’re going to get.”
“I don’t remember seeing that.”
“Read your contract, Simon.  Always a good idea.  Anyway, to get back to the pictures, I think initially we’ll have some photos of our girls, or customers, up there.  There are some very pretty girls around the school, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.  We can update them as we build up an album of your costumes.”
“I’m going to be photographed?”
“Regularly.  Get used to it.  And while I’m on the subject, I’d better show you these.”
She led me back to the chair.  “See these light fittings up on the wall?”
“Yes.”
“Well they’re not light fittings!  They’re tiny HD video cameras pointing at the client and at you.  It’s partly for our and your protection, in case you get accused of negligence or rudeness or anything.  All your sessions will be recorded.”
“I see.  Are those the same, under the window?”
“Well spotted.  Yes, they are pointed at the couch.”
“Is that for people waiting to be attended to?”
“That’s right.  Or sometimes just family or friends, come to watch.  Maybe deciding if they’re going to books a session.”
“Oh, I see.  I didn't realise I might have an audience as well as a client.”
“Well there'll often be someone apart from the client in here whilst you're working - daughter, mother, friend, or just the next customer.  Really I don't know any better than you how things will transpire.  I guess we just have to wait and see.”

As we walked back up to reception I was beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea after all.  But I did need the money.  “Sue, when do you think it might be ready?”
“Definitely two weeks from today.  That’s when we’re planning the launch.  In fact, the platform is being installed this week, and we’ll hang a few pictures too.  The only reason you can’t start next weekend is the gymkhana.”
“Gymkhana?”
“Yes, you know, it’s like a less formal show.  Lots of fun competitions, races, jumping, and stuff.  The kids get to participate as well as the grown-ups.  And we have stalls selling things and all sorts of games.  It's a family day out and it's nice because all the staff get to relax a bit and mess around.  We have two every year, one at the beginning of the holidays and one towards the end.  All the takings go to charity.  This year it’s the donkey sanctuary down the road.  My friend Violet runs it.  She takes in horses and goats and other animals too.  As a matter of fact, I was going to ask you if you’d be prepared to help us out.”
“Doing what?”
“What you do best.  Running a boot-shine.  If it’s dry you could be outdoors.  We’d find you a site and rope it off for you.  If it were raining then you’d have to be in one of the marquees.  That wouldn’t be much fun, and the boots would all be muddy, too!”
“Er, I’m not sure
”
“I was hoping you’d say yes.  It would be the perfect way to launch your salon.  We'd charge a nominal amount - probably a pound for jodhpur boots and two for riding boots.  You could hand out leaflets for the salon and even take bookings.  It would get you off to a flying start, I’m sure.”
“Do you think so?”
“Of course.  There’ll be a lot of people there.  You’d have to wear your Boot Boy outfit, of course.  I don’t mind which version.  Just so long as people get the message.”
Frankly, I didn’t fancy it.  Private sessions were one thing.  But I’d already had experience of public exposure at the show and I wasn’t sure I liked it.  I was about to make an excuse when we arrived at reception.  A middle-aged woman with greying hair and a rather kind face was waiting for us.  Sue greeted her ecstatically.
“Violet!  I was just talking to Simon about you!  Simon, this is Violet Willoughby, who runs the donkey sanctuary.  Violet, Simon.”
“The famous Simon!  Hello, Simon, lovely to meet you!”
“I was just asking Simon if he’d like to set up his Boot Boy stall at the gymkhana.”
“Oh, really?  Oh, it would be so great if you did.  I’m sure you’d rake in the cash.  You’d be doing a great service for my poor little animals!”
“Oh, well, I’m not sure
”
“Of course, I quite understand if you can’t.  You must be so busy with school work.”
“Oh, no, not really, Mrs, er, Violet.  If you think it would help
”
“Oh, Simon, you’re so kind!  You must come over and visit us soon.  Would you do that?”
“I’d love to.  Thank you.”
I got the key and put it on my keychain.  I got comprehensively kissed goodbye and made my way back down the path.  I gave my building a parting glance.  It was quite posh all right.  As I sat on the bus going home, I wondered exactly what I had let myself in for.  Well, it was done now, though I felt I'd been rather bamboozled into it.  Never mind.  It would be a good way of promoting the salon, it’s true.  And the thought of all those athletic horsey women in riding boots
.  No, I said to myself, I’d better not think of them.  There were going to be plenty of them around if things worked out.  But that contract.  I resolved to find it as soon as I got home and see what I had actually signed up for.

[Simonssister]

Chapter XII:  Empathy (Part 1)

Mum was shocked to read this entry.  I wasn’t.  I’ve known Sandra too long to be surprised by what she gets up to!

Saturday 9th July  (continued).   Auntie had my supper ready when I got in.  As a member of the “committee” (or the politburo as I prefer to think of them), she already knew I’d been recruited for the gymkhana next Saturday. 
“What were you thinking of wearing, Simon?”  The inevitable question.
“Look aunt, I know I’m required to put on my Boot Boy costume, but I’d really like something a bit plain and low key this time.  Is that possible?”
“Well, Sue said she forgot to give you your Holly End T-shirt this afternoon.  That’s red with a green design.”
“I know.  I’ve seen them.  Why can’t I just have red everythings, then?  Pants, gloves, cap, socks, trainers.  Can we do that?”
“Of course, Simon.  This is only a practice run, anyway.  You may find yourself in something more exotic from the following week.”
“I know, aunt.  I’ve been warned.  Okay, that’s settled then.”
“Yes.  And Sue is going to try and get a few leaflets printed for you by Saturday, so you can publicise the salon.”
“Oh, yes.  She mentioned those.  Great.” 
It was a relief about my uniform.  To allay any lingering suspicions, I asked Bea if she could find the stuff right away.  To her credit, she came up with the lot.  The pants and gloves had the usual frilling, but they were a uniform cherry red.  The baseball cap has “Boot Boy” in green across the front, matching the Holly End T-shirts.  She must have covered virtually every possibility when she knew I would be working there.  There was a pair of plain red ankle socks, and I already had a pair of nice chunky red trainers.  Perfect, so long as it didn’t rain.  I took the lot upstairs and stowed them away in my drawer.  Then I looked out my copy of the contract and checked the small print.  Sue had been telling the truth.  Paragraph five read:
“During working hours (including breaks and lunchtime) the aforenamed employee agrees to dress in any way the committee in its absolute discretion prescribes, deems suitable, or is required by the customer.  Failure to conform to this rule may result in the withholding of wages or tips, publication of recorded material relating to the employee, or corporal punishment whether inflicted with the compliance of the employee or under duress, in any form the committee in its absolute discretion may consider appropriate.” 
She’d been telling the truth, but not the whole truth, apparently.  I read on.  Paragraph six went a step further.
“The aforenamed employee may be required by the committee in its absolute discretion at any time to consent to any restraint, submissive behaviour, humiliating or otherwise, application of bodily aids or equipment, or anything else that it is thought appropriate to impose upon him.  Similar penalties as those detailed in paragraph five above or any other penalties not herein specified may apply in the event of any contravention of or resistance or non-compliance to this regulation.  The same penalties may be applied in the event of any attempt by the employee to tamper with the fittings of the salon, in particular the anchor points on the kneeling platform and any chains, bars, straps, locks or other restraints attached thereto, or with the contents of the clients’ private locker.”
The ‘clients’ private locker’?  That must be the side cupboard I noticed by the chair.  Why would I want to interfere with a customer’s personal stuff?  It didn’t make sense.
Paragraph seven spelt it out even more clearly.
“The aforenamed employee agrees unconditionally to comply without question to the customer’s instructions, whether reasonable or not, whether forewarned or not.  Customers’ requirements will be agreed with the committee prior to the session, and the substance of those requirements is not the concern of the employee.”
So there it was.  That was what I had so blithely signed up to.  Well, that was at least two weeks away.  I couldn’t worry about it now. 

I lay in bed thinking everything over.  The freshers’ show was still a worry.  Queen Alexandra had instituted a sixth form starting this year, and me and most of my friends had signed up for it.  We liked the place on the whole, and we thought the standard of teaching would be better than in any of the local colleges.  That was before I knew I was potentially going to be humiliated in front of all the new kids.  I’d be famous but not in the way I might have hoped.  There wasn’t much I could do to mitigate the closing act, but if I wanted to avoid being called ‘Simon the little waitress’ for the rest of my time there it might be an idea to change my costume.  I decided to go and see Mrs Travers to see if she had an alternative.

I called her the next morning.
“Oh, of course, Simon.  Do come round.  Everyone’s out this morning so come over now if you can make it.  I’ve returned some but there are still a couple here you could try on.”
I took the bus over that morning.  In the event, there were only three things to choose from.  A pink leotard – no thanks.  A stripy ginger catsuit with ears.  I don’t think so.  And one quite pretty pink and black dress, with a stretchy bodice and a lovely crisp, wavy skirt.  I tried it on.  It fitted perfectly, and felt so nice.  Why do I feel so comfortable in really girly things?  Anyway, Mrs Travers very kindly went to town, finding me shoes and socks and matching panties and doing my hair up in the most amazing way with pink gauze and stuff from her box of accessories.  She has a little studio upstairs where she photographs models for her company, and she even took a picture of me and printed it out so I could show “my friends”!  I’ll clip it into my diary afterwards.  I prefer this dress.  It’s not so juvenile as the waitress one.  She packed it all up for me in tissue in a little polka dot box so I can take it to show Miss Benson next week.  But before that there was another person I wanted to show, so I kept my hair just as it was and called Sandra.
“Sandra, hi.”
“Simon, how are you?  I was going to call you today.  I’m sorry, I’ve been so busy with college work, and I got a part-time job in that new clothes shop in the High Street last week.”
“I’m fine.  I’m at Debbie’s house.  Her mum has found me a new dress for the school show in September.  I wondered if you’d like to see it.”
“I’d love to, of course.  The reason I was going to call you was to see if you wanted to go out for a meal this evening.  My first free evening for a week.”
“Yes, please!  I’d love to.”
“Why don’t you wear your new dress?”
“Do you think I could?”
“I think you should!  Why not?  We talked about this before, didn’t we?”
“I know.  It just feels a big thing, the first time I’ll have worn a dress in public.”
“You’re going to be wearing one on stage soon, in front of hundreds of people!  Please do!  You’ll be with me, anyway.  And I bet no-one even realises you’re not a girl.”
“Mrs Travers has done my hair too.  It looks amazing!”
“Well I want to see that as well, so keep it as it is.  I’ll pick you up from home at six, so I can have a good look at you before we get to the restaurant.  I’ll think of a nice place to go.  Deal?”
“Deal!  See you later, then!”

[Simonssister]

Chapter XII:  Empathy (Part 2)


I was so excited!  I felt like a young girl on her first date!  Sandra had tutored me a little in making-up, and I spent an hour carefully applying modest quantities of powder, eye shadow, mascara and pink lip gloss.  I had a few pairs of earrings by now, and a found some sparkly ones to wear, and dabbed a little scent behind my ears too.  Looking in the mirror, I noticed that, now and then, it was possible to get a glimpse of my little pink panties.  So I put on my latex underbriefs to keep myself as flat as possible.  Sandra arrived at six, and she was obviously delighted at my appearance.
“Simone, darling!  You look stunning!  I love it!”  She turned me round a couple of times, fluffing my skirt.  “This is the one.  You’ll stop the show.”
Bea was beaming all over her face.  “I never thought I’d see the day, Sandra, but here it is!  She’s a beautiful young woman.”
We got into the car.  Sandra was wearing her usual outfit, with her newly-acquired leather shorts.  I found that I had quite lost any nervousness I had about going out in public.  No-one could possibly guess I was anything but a real girl, could they?  Admittedly the dress may have still looked a little juvenile, but I had a young face, but the main thing was, Sandra herself was obviously more than happy with how I looked.
“Where are we going, San?”
“Do you know Empathy?  Pretentious name, but nice simple food and subdued lighting.”
“Okay, nice.”
We parked in the far corner of the car park and made our way to the entrance.  A waitress conducted us to our table, next to the window.  She paid me a lot of attention, though she did treat me like a kid, which was a bit annoying.
“Darling, that’s such a sweet dress!  And your hair is beautiful!  Have you been to a party?”
“Thank you.  Not today.”
“She just loves pretty dresses,” said Sandra.  “There doesn’t need to be a special occasion.”
“Oh, she looks so sweet!  Is she your sister?”
“My niece.  I have a sister the same age, though.”
“Why don’t you sit against the window, darling, and your aunt can sit here at the side.  Would you like something to drink, girls?”
“Oh, yes.  I’ll have a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and, Simone?   What would you like?”
For the sake of simplicity I decided to continue the charade.  “Can I have some cherry pop, please?”
“Of course.  Back in a minute!”
My skirt was not ideal for sitting in, at least in the confines of a restaurant table.  When I sat on the back of the skirt, the front tended to stick up.  But I spread my napkin over it to keep it down and protect it from spills.  Sandra put her hand on my thigh and patted me reassuringly under the table.  “Are you okay, Sim?”  I nodded happily.  We each ordered salmon, and I had surreptitious sips from Sandra’s wine.  A woman on the other side of the restaurant looked over disapprovingly, and spoke to her friend, who followed her gaze.
“Take no notice, Sim,” said Sandra, patting me again.  She left her hand there and ate with her fork in her other hand.  As she ate, her fingers crept up to my panties, and began to explore.  I stopped eating for a moment and looked at her wide-eyed.  She smiled at me, but didn’t stop.  She traced a path over the slippery satin till she arrived at the little bulge in the middle of my panties.  Then she began, very gently, to massage it.  In a matter of seconds I was growing and stiffening.  She continued eating with an expression of total innocence, but within a minute or two her stroking had brought me to full erection.  I was breathing deeply, and could feel my cheeks reddening, but I didn’t move.  Now she slipped her fingers under the satin, and began to work on me through the fine rubber of my underbriefs, squeezing the shaft and fingering the tip simultaneously.  I felt faint, and took another sip of wine.  Even when the waitress came over to ask if we were enjoying of meal she didn’t stop, just said “Oh, yes, thank you.  It’s lovely – so moist!”
By this time, I was a stage past being moist.  My pants were slippery with juice.  She was now squeezing the head rhythmically between thumb and finger, sending waves of pleasure through me.  I was lapsing into a sexual trance, when I was awakened by a tapping on the window.  Someone was gesturing to Sandra.  For a moment I thought we had been discovered, but Sandra waved back and beckoned whoever it was inside.  She sat there holding me as a blonde girl in a little black sequin dress and black knee boots came through the door and approached. 
“Sandra!  What are you doing here?”  She noticed me.  “And who’s this?”
“Hi, Danielle!  This is Simone, my niece.  We thought we’d celebrate her getting a new party dress.  Simone, meet Danielle.  She’s my manager at the shop.”
“Hi, Danielle,” I gasped.
“Hi, Simone.  What a pretty dress that is!  Well worth a celebration.”
“So where are you off to?”
“Off to meet the boyfriend.  No hurry.  You can rely on him being late every time!”
“Have a seat, Danielle, and a glass of wine.  Come on, just a quick one!”
No, please don’t, I thought, but Danielle didn’t take much persuasion.  She sat down opposite me, called the waitress, and soon she and Sandra were chatting away happily.  But – to my horror – Sandra’s fingers resumed their gentle kneading.  The arrival of Danielle had resulted in my erection subsiding a little, but soon Sandra had me at full stretch again.  I couldn’t move, but I clamped my legs together.  I vaguely registered that my empty plate had been removed and that she had ordered eclairs and cream.  I took a bite of mine in an attempt to appear unconcerned.  I nearly choked on it.  Sandra had now put her hand inside my underbriefs, and deftly extracted my slippery member.  I sat up very straight in my seat.  Without once interrupting her conversation, she wrapped her fingers firmly around it and began sliding the lubricated foreskin back and forth with relentless regularity.  She turned to me for a moment. 
“Simone, darling, you’re not eating your Ă©clair.”
“Are you all right, darling?” enquired Danielle.  And to Sandra, “She looks a bit flushed, dear.  It is quite warm in here, ain’t it?”
“Yes, it is.  And she has had a bit of a cold this week.”
“Well, I’m going to have to make a move, I think,” said Danielle, reluctantly, making as if to get up.
“Oh, before you go,” said Sandra hurriedly, putting her hand on Danielle’s arm, “just run through that inventory again quickly, would you?  Is it the evening dresses go to the Wenstock branch?”
“No, dear, listen.  The evening dresses
.”
But I heard no more.  Sandra’s hand was moving faster, and squeezing gently.  Another two or three strokes, and 
. Oh!  Oh! YES!  I was overtaken by a huge climax, which jolted me in my seat, nearly knocking over my drink.  As I began to spasm uncontrollably, Sandra thrust my foreskin right back, simultaneously rocking my engorged boyhood from side to side under the table, directing the powerful spurts at her friend's legs as coolly as if she were using a garden hose!  I pretended to be convulsed with a paroxysm of coughing.  In the heat of the moment it was all I could think of to account for my discomposure.
“Oh, the poor dear!” said Danielle.  “She should really go home to bed, I’m thinking.”
“Yes.  I don’t think she’s even going to finish that Ă©clair, are you darling?”
I gasped some inarticulate response.  Danielle had got up and was kissing Sandra goodbye.  She patted my cheek affectionately.  When she was half way to the door, Sandra suddenly called after her.
“Danielle!  Don’t forget we’re getting together on Friday!”
Danielle turned briefly to acknowledge Sandra’s words, and in the low restaurant lights I saw with dismay blobs and strings of  my own slimy juices glistening all down her leather boots!  After a minute or so, Sandra returned my now flaccid member to its proper place, and, wiping her sticky hands on her napkin, finished eating her eclairs.  I was still recovering.
“What a bad girl!  All over my friend’s nice clean boots!  She’s going to need a boot boy now!”
“Sandra.  That was too much.  She’s bound to notice.”
“Well she’s not going to suspect my sweet little niece of anything, is she?”

We made our way back to the car.  Sandra was so bad!  I could hardly believe it.
“Get in the back seat, Sim.”
“Why?”
“Go on!”
She got in beside me.  She looked into my eyes.  “I’m not a nice girl, you know.” Was all she said.  Then she kissed me on the lips, supporting my head in one hand, and with the other skilfully pulling my panties down to my knees.  The car park was dark, and her windows were coated.  We were quite private.  She took me in her hand again, and soon had me aroused.  I tried to reciprocate, but there was no penetrating those tight leather pants.  I was groaning with pleasure when she dipped her head down and took me in her mouth, the tip of her tongue exploring my most sensitive place.  As I came for the second time in an hour, I wound my hands in her hair and cried out with ecstasy.  Shortly she came up, licking her lips.
“You taste wonderful.  I would have liked some of that on my eclairs.”
“Sandra
”
“Yes?”
“Can we do it properly, sometime?”
“Wasn’t that proper?”
“Well, yes, I suppose
”
“Listen, Sim.  First, I’m not much into vanilla.  My sex organs are mostly in my head.  I don’t much care for all those boring men I meet at college and work.  But I like you, better than anyone I’ve ever known, and all I want is to focus on you, so please don’t have any expectations of a ‘normal’ sex life.  I don’t care what gender you are, or want to be, or end up being.  Please just take me as I am.  Do you like me?
“I love you.”
“I hope you always do.  Now shall we go home?  To my place, I mean.”
“Yes please.”
And so we did.

[Simonssister]

Chapter XIII:  Gymkhana (Part 1)

We laughed at poor Simon’s misfortunes at his first gymkhana!  I want to emphasize I had nothing whatever to do with any of it.  I suspect Phoebe may have had a hand in it somehow.  I’ve taken the liberty of leaving out a lot of the stuff about Sandra, and replacing it with a little row of dots!  Now read on.

Sunday evening.  I spent the evening in Sandra’s room.  Mrs Travers discreetly left us alone, though Chloe kept finding excuses to interrupt.  When she first saw my dress she stared and said, “Simone, you are so pretty!” which made me feel stupidly gratified.  We were still up after everyone had gone to bed, so I called up my aunt and stayed with Sandra.  (


.)  She drove me back early the next morning.  For the rest of the week I was in a state of euphoria mixed with sexual arousal. Friday night was busy.  After school I showed my new dress to Miss Benson.  She loved it.  She’s going to amend the lyrics slightly accordingly.  After that I saw Miss Morel and we discussed choreography.  She worked out basic steps and gestures for the first number.  She said we’ll look at the second one next week, and then start practising.  I left school at five thirty and went straight to Garden Road, to have supper and sort out Stella’s boots.  No special treatment today, as tomorrow is just the gymkhana.  My aunt had brought my stuff over in my rucksack.  I went to bed early, so I’d be fresh for a long day tomorrow.

Saturday 16th July.  Stella drove us to Holly End at eight this morning.  We parked in the staff car park, which was separate from the public one at the main entrance.  Arrangements for the gymkhana were slightly different from those for the show.  The field entrance, which was beyond the show field, became the main entrance.  The competitors would use the show field itself and the jumps field.  There was no seating – Stella said most people sat on the grass and ate picnics or just wandered around.  All the stalls were down at the bottom of the show field near the loose boxes, or even in the paddock area.  We found Sue, busily handing out instructions. 
“Simon!  Just the person I want.  Stella, could you help Josie with the marquee? Thanks.  Okay, follow me young man, and I’ll show you your pitch.”
Sue led me into the paddock, where there were already a couple of traders setting up.  In the middle was a big display from the local tack shop.  At the near end were two ladies selling farm produce, eggs and cheese and milk and preserves and things, from a covered stall.  Sue took me along to the far end, where there was a second break in the rails.  The first thing I saw was a big hand-painted notice in red letters pinned to an A board, “BOOT BOY SIMON – BOOT SHINE WHILE-U-WAIT”, and underneath the prices, long boots ÂŁ4, jodhpur boots ÂŁ2.  On the tarmac path just inside the rails was an old leather armchair, and in front of it a big padded vinyl mat, surrounded by polishes, creams, bottles, brushes and cloths, all neatly arranged in wooden boxes.  Next to the armchair was a row of three wooden benches, presumably for the queue Sue hoped would form.  There was also a little cabinet full of leaflets, and on top a dispenser crammed with more.  A dark-haired girl in white jods, long boots, and a Holly End T shirt, whom I vaguely recognised from the groom competition, was standing around looking bored.  She had a belt with a big zip-up purse on the front, and a riding whip stuck down one boot.
“Simon, meet Laura, if you haven’t already.  She going to be collecting the money and handing out the leaflets.”  I smiled at Laura. “Hi.  I’m Simon. Nice to meet you.”
“Yeah, I know,” she said in a surly voice, “I clocked you at the show, like everyone else.”
“Okay, guys, I’m going to leave you to get on with it.  I’ve still got a lot to do.  But I’ll catch up with you later,” said Sue.  “The gymkhana opens at nine-thirty.  Simon, you can change over there in box number three.  You’ll find your Holly End T-shirt in the cupboard, oh, and a little something extra, too.”  And she hurried away.
Laura suddenly became more interested.  “Change?  Are you gonna put on that outfit thing like you was wearin’ the other day?”
“Er, not quite.”
“What yer wearin’ then?”
“Just practical stuff.  Nothing special.”
“Yer wearin’ yer little rubber panties again?” she queried with an insolent grin on her face.
“Maybe,” I replied, trying to be casual.  “They’re not “panties” though.  They’re for boys.”
“I ain’t never seen no boys wearin' nothin’ like them before!”
“They’re part of my boot boy outfit.  You have to wear them if you’re doing boot cleaning, otherwise you’d get polish and stuff all over your trousers.”
She laughed.  “You gonna get all ‘ot and bovvered again like last time?  ‘Ope so!”
“No!  I didn’t, anyway!  Please just do your job.  I’m going to change.”
“’Urry back, Simon.”
I felt angry.  Why had Sue given me such an annoying assistant?  I strode into the loose box.  It was empty except for a small table and a cupboard.  I undressed and pulled on my red pants.  Bea had obviously lubricated them as they slid on easily.  I would have preferred talc.  I pulled on my red socks and my nice robust trainers.  I opened the cupboard.  There was my Holly End T shirt.  As I picked it up something fell out onto the table.  It was a plastic bag with a note attached.  I read the note:
“Simon, here is your T-shirt which I forgot to give you the other day.  I would like you also to put on this collar and lead.  It’s a little gimmick the committee dreamed up to promote the salon.  Also, give the envelope to Laura when you return.  Thank you and good luck!  Sue.”
“What?” I said out loud.  “Seriously!”  But clearly I didn’t have much choice, so I finished dressing, shirt, gloves and cap, and then tore open the plastic bag.  There was the lead all right, and a red leather collar about four centimetres wide with silver studs, a silver ring and buckle at the back, and a ring at the front from which dangled a disc engraved with the words “SIMON.  If found, return to Holly End Stables.”  Very funny.  The lead was narrow, and must have been a full metre long, also of red leather.  And there was the envelope for Laura.  Well, there was no way I was putting this on in front of her!  I rolled it all up, picked up the envelope, and headed out back to the paddock.  The women on the farm stall and the tack stall stared at me rudely as I passed.  There was Laura, now deep in conversation with Beth, smartly attired in breeches, long boots, white shirt with Pony Club tie, and a check jacket.  When they saw me approaching they both started laughing and Beth pretended to collapse on the ground with mirth.  Ha bloody ha.
“Oh my gawd!” cried Laura, “Better than ever!”
“That’s it.  I’m going to ask my mum to buy me a boot shine,” said Beth, still sitting on the grass.  You’re priceless, Simon!  Laura, will you take a photo for me?”
“You bet!”
“Laura, that’s enough!” I said, trying to sound like a boss, “You’re just here to assist me, remember!  And, oh, yes, Sue left this for you.”  I handed her the envelope.
She tore it open and read the note inside.  As she did so, a big grin spread over her face.  She handed it to Beth.  “Read this out loud, Beth!”
Beth produced a pair of round reading glasses from the breast pocket of her hacking jacket, and, clearing her throat, started to read.  As she did so, her tone became more and more surprised and gleeful.
“Dear Laura, I have issued Simon with a collar and lead.  Please make sure he puts the collar on at once.  You will find a padlock and key in the leaflet cabinet which you can use to secure it.  It would be a nice touch if you could hold the lead whilst he works as if he’s your little slave boy.  I’m putting you in charge of both him and the stall for the day.  If he makes any objection, remind him of his contractual obligations.  If he makes any trouble, you are empowered to use your whip – gently but firmly.  In the event of disobedience, you can summon me, but I hope that won’t be necessary.  Sue Dawson.”
They both looked at me with evil delight.
“Oh, so I’m just ‘ere to assist you, am I? grinned Laura, “It don’t look like it, mister!  Come ‘ere and get yer collar on!”
What could I do?  Beth had already found the padlock and together they buckled and locked it around my neck.  The lead clipped neatly onto the ring.  “Now, doggie, down on all fours, please!”
The collar and lead had an immediate disempowering influence.  I felt totally impotent and servile.  When the girls took turns to walk me around my pitch on my lead like a little dog I complied with meek submissiveness.  I was aware that the people on the other stalls were watching and recording the spectacle, but I felt pathetically helpless.  Beth took a seat in the armchair.  Laura led me over to the kneeling mat, shortening the lead until my face was a few inches from Beth’s shiny rubber boots.
“Kiss Beth’s boots, doggy.”
“Laura, please
”
“Kiss Beth’s boots!”
I actually did as I was told, whilst Beth recorded the moment on her phone.  I don’t know what else might have occurred if at that moment the announcement that the gymkhana was officially open had not come over the loudspeakers.  Beth jumped up.
“I have to go!  I’m supposed to be helping out with the races!”  As she ran off, Laura lengthened the lead and took up her perch on the end of the nearest bench.
“You stay right there, boy, an’ wait for yer customers.”

[Simonssister]

Chapter XIII:  Gymkhana (Part 2)

I knelt up and waited.  Laura picked up one of the leaflets and started reading.
“’Ave you seen these?”
“No, not yet.”
“You gonna to be our permanent boot boy then?  Really?  They’ll eat yer alive!”  She opened it.  “What the 
 Wait till yer see this!”  And she tossed one down in front of me.  It was a glossy sheet folded once, entitled “Holly End’s NEW Boot Salon”.   It continued:
“Whatever sort of boots you prefer, rubber, leather, long or short, you can be assured of professional attention and a perfect finish at our new Boot Salon, under the management of our resident Boot Boy, Simon Saunders.  Simon has been cleaning and polishing riding boots for several years now, and his work is admired throughout the School.  Let Simon give your boots the care they need and that you deserve.  Treat yourself to total boot titivation and the skilful, rubber-gloved hands of our little “genius of the boot world”.  His sweet and colourful latex pants and imaginative costumes will thrill and enchant you!  Have a special interest or request?  Simon can be dressed to order from a range of cute outfits – or, for something more personal, place a special order with the committee.  Just see Sue Dawson or one of her assistants to discuss.”
And so on.  On the back was a price list.  I opened the leaflet.  Inside, to my horror, were two pictures.  On the left, a view of the interior of the salon.  On the right, me!  It was one of those taken at the show, when I was leading Bobby.  I looked professional, I suppose, leading a big horse round the ring, but it had been taken just after I had been released by the grooms, and it left nothing to the imagination. 
“Why did Sue have to use that photo?” I wailed.
“Don’t yer know?  You’ll be bleedin’ mobbed by some of those women,” declared Laura, “mobbed and gawd knows what else.  You gonna be Holly End’s  little cash cow, I’m finkin’!”
By now the first visitors were arriving.  Within ten minutes I had a queue of eight women, and was busily polishing away at my first customer’s boots.  Laura sat by my side giving my lead little tugs of encouragement.  She was quite clever though.
“If any of yer want photos it’ll cost yer a pahnd a go.  Videos will be two pahnd.  Yes, Madam?  Put my whip on his bum?  No probs, there yer go!  Anyone else want a special pose?”
And so it went on all the morning.  The money poured in, not just the flat payment but loads of tips as well.
“All proceeds to the donkey sankchewery!” cried Laura.  “Get yer boot shine here, girls!  Don’t forget to take a leaflet!”
I worked harder than I’d ever worked.  Sue came round at about eleven  thirty and insisted I take half an hours break.  Laura gave her a fistful of notes to take away.  “I ain’t got room for any more, miss.  I think the tack stall’s getting a bit jealous.”
“I see what you mean.  They don’t look too pleased, do they?  Well they’re not collecting for charity, anyway.  They just pay us a flat rate to be here.  Well done, you two!  I’ll see you get some sort of reward for this.”
We went off to get something to eat and drink and go to the loo.  Despite all the teasing I was feeling quite chuffed at being such a nice little earner for Mrs Willoughby.  By the time we got back the queue had grown again, and people were standing beyond the benches.  It was no longer just riding boots I was being asked to service.  Women with fashion boots were now in the queue as well.
“Am I supposed to do them as well, Laura?” I asked
“Don’t matter.  S’all dosh, innit?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
We resumed where we’d left off.  It must have been about twelve thirty, and I was feeling ready for lunch.  I was also thirsty again.  I saw Beth and the awful Denise hanging about nearby.  They were messing about with a bag of balloons and carrying cans of drink.  They saw me looking at them.
“Want a drink, Sim?” called Denise.
“Wouldn’t mind!”
“Okay!” 
I finished one customer.  The next was a mother and her little daughter.  The daughter had obviously been competing because her boots were very dusty.  She sat herself in the chair waiting for my attention.  The girls came over to where I was kneeling.
“Mummy, he’s not doing it!”
“I’m just going to get a drink.  I won’t be a minute.”
“Why isn’t he cleaning my boots, mummy?” she persisted, swinging her legs and kicking me in the chest.
“I don’t know darling.  Excuse me, young man!  My daughter’s been waiting here for twenty minutes!  Can you attend to her please?”
This was the type of customer I hated most - spoiled brats with doting mothers.
Laura addressed the mother.  “’E needs a drink, darlin’.  Keep yer ‘air on!”  Laura went up in my estimation after that.  But the woman was no so easily put off.
“Excuse me, young lady, but we are your customers, you know.  Your first duty is to us!”
“Well I’m sorry, yer ladyship.  After ‘e’s ‘ad a swig, e’ll grovel as much as yer like!”
Denise handed me a can of lemonade.  I could see from the condensation it was ice cold.
“Thanks, girls.”
I stood up and prepared to take a drink.  Beth was standing right in front of me.  I opened the can, put it to my lips, and tilted my head back to drink.  As I did so I felt the front of my pants being jerked open, and something dropped with a soft plop inside!
“Damn!  What the heck?” 
The fizzy lemonade went straight up my nose and left me coughing and spluttering and dripping it all down my T-shirt.  Beth and Denise screamed with delight.  I was almost speechless.
“You little 
”  I was about to say “bitches” when I remembered the little girl, and just manged to stop myself in time. 
“Boy!  Are you going to clean her boots or are you going to play games with your friends?”
“I’m sorry.” I stammered.  I had no choice but to get back to work.  I could hardly start groping around in my pants in full view of everyone. I dropped to my knees and began brushing her daughter’s boots.  The girls hung around, and squatted down one on either side of me.  Laura kept me on a tight lead.  Perhaps she thought I was in danger of losing it in front of the customers.
“You idiots!” I hissed at the girls. “That was a water balloon, wasn’t it?  Was it untied?”  I could feel something seeping into my pants even as I knelt there.
“It was untied, but it wasn’t water, Simon!” whispered Denise, “How boring would that be?  It was a special recipe, just for you.  If you’d really like to know what it is, we’ll tell you.  Do you want to know?”
“Yes, I want to know!”
“You want to know what’s in your little rubber panties?”
“Yes!  Tell me!”
“Well say it then,” chimed in Beth, “Say ‘Please tell me what’s in my little red rubber panty-poos!’”
“Come on, say it!” persisted Denise.  “Say it just like Beth told you to and then we’ll tell you!”
I can’t say how much I hated them at that moment.  It was just as well I was fully occupied with the daughter’s boots. 
“Please tell me what you’ve put into my rubber pants!”
“Little rubber panty-poos,” from Beth.
“Little rubber panty-poos then,” I repeated dutifully.
“Okay, we’ll tell you,” said Denise.  “You know how much you like sticky things?  Like when you got yourself all messy with maple syrup?”
“Yeah, Stella told us all about it!” chimed in Beth.
“And you know how slimy you like to get?” continued Denise.
“Like at the show!” cried Beth, as if I might have forgotten.
“Well,” said Denise slowly, “well, we found something very sticky
”
“Yeah!  Condensed milk!”
“
and we found something very slimy
”
“Egg white!”
“
 and then we mixed them together, and we used a plastic bottle to fill up a party balloon
.”
“And now it’s all inside your pants!” screamed Beth.  And they both jumped up and ran off whooping with triumph.
I must have turned bright red, partly with chagrin but also with fury.  I kept my thighs clamped together to try to contain the gloop which I could feel was still leaking slowly into my pants.  I dealt with the brat and moved on to the next customer, a middle-aged woman wearing ancient leather riding boots.  She was engaged in conversation with the next in line.  I glanced quickly across at her, and my heart gave a little skip.  A very beautiful young blonde woman in her early twenties, in full pristine riding habit, holding her hard hat in her lap.  The older woman was telling her, “I was just wandering by when I noticed this stall.  What a good idea!  And this young man is so polite and efficient.”   The equestrienne replied,
“Polite, efficient, and rather cute, don’t you think?  I was riding here at the show a few weeks ago, and I noticed him then.  I wasn’t going to bother to come to the gymkhana, but then my friend rang me to tell me about this.  I immediately got dressed and drove over.”
“What, just for the boot shine?”
“Oh, yes.  I just love the idea of having a little slave grovelling at my feet, don’t you?”
“Well, I must admit I hadn’t thought of it quite like that, but I suppose it is quite flattering.”
“Oh, darling, it’s positively erotic.  Have you seen this?”  She waved one of the leaflets she had been reading.  “He’s going to be running a boot salon here!  I’m going up to book a session right after this.  I can’t wait to have the little sweetie all to myself for an hour or so!” 
Well, looks as though Sue’s idea is paying off, I thought.  That’s one good thing, anyway.  I finished up the leather boots, and knelt back to allow my glamorous admirer to sit down.  She lowered her shapely backside onto the leather seat, and sat there smiling at me with her legs crossed.  Laura could see that this was not a customer I might be tempted to escape from.  She had dropped the lead and was chatting with a friend in the queue.

[Simonssister]

Chaper XIII:  Gymkhana (Part 3)

“I’m ready when you are, darling,” she smiled, pouting slightly and looking me up and down.
In truth, her boots were already spotless.  But I wasn’t going to miss out on this. 
“If you wouldn’t mind putting your feet side by side on the mat, miss?  Thank you.”
Her boots were rubber, but the highest quality.  She leant forward slightly so she could watch me working, adjusting her black kid gloves.  I felt my boyhood stirring and beginning to grow.  I decided to use a liquid cream, and squirted a little on her left boot.
“Ooh, that was a very little spurt, my boy.  Will there be any more?”  she asked, opening her eyes wide with mock innocence.
“Oh yes, miss, quite a bit, I hope,” I replied, feeling myself rapidly hardening.  In the kneeling position, with my pants full of slippery gloop, my unrestrained erection was soon horribly conspicuous.  As I polished, she leant forward a little more, looking straight at it, and whispered, “I love your little hot pants.  They must be so comfortable, even when
” she paused, “even when you’re
working.  I hope you’ll wear them for me when I come to the salon.”
“Oh, yes, of course, miss,” I gulped.  She smiled again, and sat back in the chair, squirming her buttocks slightly into the seat as if getting comfortable.  Things had gone a little further than I would have liked.  I continued polishing with greater urgency, thinking this was not the place to be getting myself into such a lather, and hoping I could get things back under control before I was required to attend to some of the less wanton customers further down the queue.  I had finished polishing in the cream, and it only remained for me to give her boots a final dust over with a clean, soft cloth, when to my dismay I noticed globs of sticky whitish fluid beginning to ooze out from both legs of my pants.  Without thinking, I dropped the cloth and pressed my hand over my crotch in an attempt to conceal the emissions.  The result was disastrous!  All I succeeded in doing was forcing more of the sticky mess out onto my thighs.  In panic, I tried to wipe it off with my other hand.  In no time my gloves were smothered with sticky white fluid.  The blonde, reclining elegantly in the armchair, was ignorant of my plight.
“Please hurry and finish up, boy.  I’ve got things to do, places to go.”
I grabbed the finishing cloth and attempted to complete the job.  That was a mistake.  The cloth, which had been on my lap, was in no better state than my gloves.  All I succeeded in doing was wiping the sticky mess all over those gorgeous gleaming boots!  In blind panic I attempted to scoop it off with my hands, merely succeeding smearing more and more of the disgusting concoction onto them!  I think I let out a wail of horror, for she suddenly sat up and looked down at herself.  I was trying vainly to wipe my gloves on my T-shirt, and getting myself in a bigger mess as well.  She sat there, open-mouthed, for a moment.  I heard someone in the queue exclaim, “That’s gross!  Look at the state of him!”   Then with a scream of rage she jumped to her feet.
“Why, you
you
little bitch!  Look at my boots!”
She looked about her for an instant, then snatched a riding whip from a girl in the queue. I didn’t wait to see what her intentions were.  I’m not generally a coward, but I struggled to my feet and ran for it, the lead trailing behind me, scattering little sticky white blobs as I went.
I ran all the way back to reception, never looking back.  Mary was behind the desk. 
“What the 
Simon!  What’s happened?”
“It was Denise and Beth!”  I blurted, “They put stuff in my pants!”  I wanted to cry.
“You’d better go and get cleaned up,” she said.  “You know where the shower-room is.  I’ve got clean T shirts here.” 
I made for the shower-room, still dripping goo.  I stripped off all my clothes except my pants and my collar and got into the shower.  Then I took my pants off too and washed myself and them.  My T shirt was wrecked.  I rinsed my socks and wiped off my shoes and dried everything as best as I could.  I powdered my pants, got dressed again, all except my T shirt, and headed back to reception.  Mary gave me a new T shirt and listened sympathetically to my complaints.  Inwardly I swore to get even with those little pranksters at the first opportunity. 
“Are you going back?” asked Mary.
“I have to.  It’s only lunchtime.  I hope I’m not in too much trouble.”
But my fears were well-founded, for at that moment in walked my customer, accompanied by Sue.
“That’s him!”  She pointed an accusing finger at me.  She must have returned the whip, thank goodness.  Her boots were smothered with gloop.
“I-I’m so, so sorry!”
“You’re supposed to be cleaning boots, not 
 doing this!” said Sue, angrily.
“I know.  I know.  I couldn’t help it.  Someone played a practical joke on me, and things sort of 
escalated.”
“Well it seems to me you played a joke on Miss Faversham here.  Not a very nice joke.  I’m not even going to ask what this stuff is.”
“It’s a mixture
.”
“No, Simon.  I don’t want to know.  First, Miss Faversham is going to sit in the office, while you take her boots outside and wash them.  Then you’re going to report back here.”
“Yes, miss.”
Miss Faversham sat down and took off her boots.  She held them out for me to take.  She still looked very angry.  I went outside and washed them under the tap.  When I returned Sue ushered me in and locked the reception door.  Miss Faversham silently put her clean boots back on.
“You know you have to be punished.”
“Yes, Sue.”
“Whipping or spanking?”
“W-what?”
“Whipping?  Or spanking?  Decide quickly or it’ll be both!”
“Er, spanking?”
“Right.  Sadie, would you like to sit on the couch?”
Miss Faversham took a seat in the middle.
“Simon, across Miss Faversham’s knee, please.”
I was in a state of shock.  I complied without protest, lying along the couch with my tummy on her legs.  I prayed she wouldn’t take down my pants.
“Pants on of off?  It’s up to you, Sadie.”
“He can keep them on.  They’re very thin.  It would be too dangerous to take them off while he’s in this position!”  Sue and Mary laughed.  But she was right.  The mere contact with Miss Faversham’s thighs was already making me swell again.  In a moment she would feel it pressing into her legs.
“Take it away!”
Miss Faversham had an extremely hard hand and a faultless technique.  I got twelve massive spanks, spaced out over about five minutes.  After the third or fourth each one forced a cry of pain from my lips. When I was finally allowed to climb off, my bottom on fire, I’m ashamed to say there were tears in my eyes.  But I was also hugely aroused.  Miss Faversham stared at my bulging pants.
“He’s incorrigible!” she remarked, disbelievingly.
“As some sort of apology, I’ve allotted Miss Faversham a session with you on your first day, free of charge.  I hope you make a better job of it than you did today.”
“I will, miss.  I’m sorry, Miss Faversham.”
“Well, no more apologies, Simon.”  She smiled.  “We’re even now.  I look forward to you serving me.”
Sue unlocked the door.  “Off you go.  Back to work.  Put your lead back on, please. Fortunately, this unpleasant incident doesn’t seem to have affected your popularity.  I understand from Laura that the queue’s longer than ever!”
I trotted back to the paddock.  Laura was waiting, and immediately grabbed my lead.
“Don’t you ever go runnin’ off again like that, Simon Saunders!  It reflec’s bad on me, you know!”
“Sorry, Laura.  I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Look at yer thing!”  I was still aroused from the spanking, as evidenced by the elongated mound lying across my right thigh.  “Keep yer eyes off the totty and focus on the footwear from now on!”
“Okay.”  I started attending to the next customer.  Laura looked back down the long queue.
“Oh, hold on.  Here’s someone that’ll sort you out!”
I followed her gaze.  Beth had joined the end of the queue.  She waved. “I told you I'd ask my mum, didn’t I?”
“Oh, no,” I said, out loud.

Half an hour or so later she arrived in the armchair, and sat there grinning, waiting for me to start.   She leant forward and checked my pants.
“What a bad boy you are, Simon.  Always so hot and sticky!  Now, get to work please.”
“You got me in trouble, and now you want me to clean your boots?”
“Ironic, isn’t it?  Get on with it, or I’ll put in a complaint.”
With a sigh, I reached for my brush.  At the same time, Beth pulled the armchair forward a few inches.  Then, without warning, she placed her right boot in my lap, trapping the shaft of my swollen member between my left thigh and the instep!  I gasped with surprise.
“Well, get started.  And don’t cover me with your mess, like you did that poor lady!”
She was pressing down quite hard now, making the head bulge out at the side of her foot.  I thought the best tactic would be to get on and get finished as soon as possible.  She kept me pinned down like that while I brushed the dust off her boots.   But when I applied the rubber cream and started polishing, she began moving her foot, gently at first, and then more firmly, sliding it back and forth, squeezing and rolling my poor trapped sausage as if she were rolling out a cylinder of pastry!  Laura squatted down beside me, blocking the view to any curious eyes, and watched with interest.
“You gonna teach ‘im a lesson, Beth?”
“Yeah.  He snitched on us to Mary, you know.”
“Beth, please, don’t do that!  Please stop!”
“Just do your job and stop whining, Boot Boy.”
“But I can’t concentrate when you’re doing that!”
“Try!  You need to learn some self-discipline, that’s obvious.” 
She kept on steadily squeezing and rolling, rolling and squeezing.  She clearly knew exactly what she was doing.  Her technique was flawless.  Within a minute or two I was lubricating copiously, my engorged member slipping about freely in my pants, sending little thrills of pleasure through my body.  I groaned helplessly.
“Don’t stop, Beth,” murmured Laura, “You’ve got ‘im goin’ now!”
Faint plopping noises could be heard from inside my pants, keeping time with the rhythm of Beth’s riding boot.
“It’s so juicy now,” whispered Beth, “so hard and slippery!”.
“Yeah, I can ‘ear it squelching!” said Laura, looking from Beth’s foot to my face and back again, and holding on tight to my lead.  “I think he’s nearly there!” 
She was right.  I was rapidly approaching the point of no return.  I vainly tried to restrain the steady kneading of Beth’s boot, but she had strong legs and I was weakened by my aroused state.  I knew I couldn’t hold out much longer.  “Please
Beth
no
” 
In reply she merely increased the tempo slightly, bringing me immediately to the most intense orgasm.  I grabbed her boots with both hands to steady myself.  I couldn’t stifle a little cry of ecstasy.
“E’s coming!” cried Laura triumphantly.
“Good boy!” murmured Beth.  “Go for it!” 
Even as I came Beth didn’t relent, but continued massaging my pulsing sausage.  I spurted into my pants again and again, whimpering with ecstasy, the spasms so intense they were almost painful.  Eventually, my pants flooded with my hot milk, I collapsed forward, my face resting against the cool smooth rubber of her boots, unable to move.
“Wow, Beth!  That was somefink!” said Laura, admiringly.  “Just wiv yer foot!”
“Yeah.  He’s such a little boot slut, isn’t he?
“’Specially if they’re rubber!”
“I’m glad he’s staying, Laura.  He’s such a cute little sissy.  We’ll have some fun with him, wait and see!”
I was quite exhausted, but of course I couldn’t stop work, and after a few minutes recovering, I had to pick myself up and carry on.  Beth went hurrying off to boast about her exploits to her friends.  It wasn’t until after five that Stella came to collect me, and Laura consented to unlock my collar.
“How was your day, Simon?”
“Oh, uneventful.  Profitable, though.”
“Really?  That’s not what I heard.  Ready to go home?”
“You bet, sis!”

[Simonssister]

Chapter XIV:  Boot Salon

Oh my god!  Mum and I just curled up reading that last entry!  I think my dear little brother may be in for some further ordeals at the hands of the Holly End girls.  I do hope so, anyway.  He had a few days to recover from the gymkhana before the grand opening of his boot salon.  As Sue had everything under maximum surveillance, and we all got to watch the recording, I could describe his first day to you myself.  But I think his account will be funnier.

Saturday 23rd July.  My first day at the Boot Salon!  I really didn’t know what to expect.  Sue had asked me to get there early so she could show me the finished article before I started.   I met her at reception.  She looked very businesslike – unusually she was wearing breeches and boots, and a leather jacket over a cream turtle-neck.  She took me straight down to the building – my building.  She unlocked the door and showed me inside.  The first things that struck me were the big pictures on the left wall, over the couch.  Three girls in full riding gear, with very shiny boots, of course, all smiling proudly -smirking would be a better word.  I realised they were girls from the school, namely Phoebe, Beth, and another one I didn’t recognise.  They were the last people I wanted to see in my private space when I was working.
“Sue, does it have to be them?  Specially Beth!”
“Well, the pictures will be rotated regularly.  The frames are all standard poster sizes and we can fir in whatever images we want.  Soon there’ll be some of you there, I hope.”
I grimaced.
“Oh. Simon, I thought you would like them.  I thought Phoebe and Beth are your friends.  The other girl is Clara, whom you haven’t met yet, but she volunteered because she has a brand new pair of boots.”
“Yeah, well, just so long as they don’t come here wanting boot shines, I guess it’s okay.”
“Oh, but I’m sure they will, dear.  They’ll be offered concessionary rates, of course, and all our girls are constantly fussing about their boots.”
“What?  I’m not doing it, Sue!  Especially Beth!  They’re just out to embarrass me.  I absolutely refuse!”
Sue looked at me, startled.  Then her expression hardened.  She took me by the shoulders and sat me down firmly on the couch.  She glared at me.  I shrank back a little.
“You’re not doing it?  Not doing it?  You don’t seem to understand your position, my lad.  So let me enlighten you.”  She stood over me, hands on hips.  “First, you’re under contract.  A very specific contract, which you signed, under which you do what you’re told, without question, and with a good grace.  You know the penalties for non-compliance.  Ultimately, total public humiliation.  But if you so much as question my orders, or for that matter the orders of any member of the committee, there may be preliminary penalties as well.”  She smiled grimly.  “How would you like to find yourself across my knee in the middle of the riding hall, dressed in a pretty party frock with the skirt pulled up and your knickers round your ankles, with all the girls sitting comfortably around watching, while I administered the soundest spanking you’ve ever had?  Eh?  Does that appeal to you?”
“No, Miss,” I whimpered, my eyes filling with tears, “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean what I said.  I'll obey instructions, I really will!  Please 
.”
“Good, Simon, that's better,” she said, breaking into a warm smile, “I’m so glad to hear it, and so glad we understand each other.”  She patted my head and helped me to my feet.  “Now, dry your tears and come along and look at the other new features we’ve installed.”
I was already looking around.  On the left side, under the long window, the new wooden cupboards had been polished till they gleamed.  But I now saw that behind the door there was a shiny silver pole running from floor to ceiling, bolted firmly to both.  I stared at it, uncomprehending.
“That’s where you’ll do your pole-dancing,” Sue grinned.
“What?”
“No, it’s all right, Simon.  Just joking.  Don’t be afraid.  Here, come and stand against it.”  She manoeuvred me until my back was against the steel shaft and stood back slightly, checking something.  “Perfect!”
“What’s perfect, Sue?”  I wheeled round to see what she was looking at, and only then noticed rings welded to the back on the pole, three rings, one at neck level, one opposite my wrists, and one down by my ankles.  I looked at her questioningly, alarmed.
“Yes, that’s right, Simon.  In case you need restraining.  So I suggest you behave yourself with your clients and hope they don’t find the need to tether you up.”
I was speechless.  Sue continued blithely.
“Now the cupboards and drawers here contain a wide range of costumes.  They will be kept unlocked during the day so that clients can select or change what you’re wearing at will.  You will always, of course, change in the back room.  No dressing or undressing in front of them.”
“Thank goodness for that, at least.”
“This end cupboard is for special personalised costumes or accessories requested or bought by an individual client.  It will be kept locked and the key will only be given to the client in question at the beginning of a session.”
“What’s the cupboard next to the chair for, Miss?” I asked.  I had been curious about that one since I’d first noticed it.  It was to the right of the sitter, and I would have to pass it every time I used the bathroom.  Sue had had a pot plant placed at the farther end of the couch, and now this cupboard was half hidden behind it, making it even more intriguing.
“Ah.  I’m afraid you’ll have to wait and see, darling.”  (I was always suspicious when she called me “darling”.)  “That is clients’ use only.”  But I had my suspicions.
“Is it anything to do with the pole?  Or, with that!”
I was pointing to the kneeling mat from which I was to conduct my business.  Well, it wasn’t really a mat.  Now it was fully installed I could appreciate its sophistication.  It was a steel platform about sixty or seventy centimetres long and forty wide, upholstered in red leather.  It had little wheeled runners so it could slide back and forth on it rails to attain the ideal position, when it could be locked in place.  But it also had little rings welded to the four corners and to the middles of the four sides.  In a flash I understood their function.
“What are those rings for?  Is that so’s they can fasten me in place?  Is it?”
Sue hesitated for a moment, obviously slightly embarrassed.
“Well, now
 Simon, you know, that might be an option..”
“I knew it!  I’m to be a sort of little slave to all these women!  They’ll be able to do anything they like to me!”
“Well, within reason
”
“And who’s going to stop them?”
“Oh, don’t fuss so, you silly boy!  There’ll be someone watching on the closed circuit the whole time, so
”
“Yeah, watching and having fun at my expense!”
“Well so what?  So what?  Get used to it, Simon!  You belong to us, now!  You’re going to be well paid.  You were quick enough to sign up when you thought of the money!  So, my little greedy one, now we call the tune.  And believe me, you’re going to dance to it!”
There was no answer to that.  I stood there, frowning impotently.  Sue resumed in a calmer tone of voice.
“Your first client is due in less than an hour.  She wants you in these.”  She pulled open a drawer and pulled out a heap of clothes and tossed them onto the couch.  Holly End T-shirt.  Red towelling headband.  Red latex pants, red frills.  Red socks.  Red trainers.
“It’s Mrs More-Burley and her daughter Elizabeth.  You know, the one with the red boots.  That’s why 
” She indicated the heap of clothes.  “So you’d better get ready.  Make sure to tuck your shirt in neatly and check yourself in the mirror.  You need to look smart.”
I grunted assent.
“And after that Miss Faversham.  I don’t know what she’s got planned.  She’s bringing a friend, apparently.  And she’s also booked you for a party on Wednesday.”
“What?  A party?”
“Yes, a hen party.  Some friend of hers – a thirtieth, I think.  You’re booked for the entire day.  Again I don’t have any details.”
“Oh, thanks for telling me!”
“Look Simon, if this rudeness continues that spanking will be coming sooner rather than later.  I’m serious.  This is what you signed up for.  So suc-k it up!”
“Sorry.  I’ll get ready.”
“Good boy.  I’ll send them down when they arrive.  Please be nice.”
“Course.”
Sur departed.  I locked the door behind her, and with a sigh picked up my first outfit and went to change.  Elizabeth More-Burley!  A right little brat.  She had got herself a pair of red rubber riding boots from somewhere.  Red!  Anyway, she was constantly showing them off, and making everyone want to vomit.  “Oh, have you seen my new red boots?  No?  You know they’re the only ones in the whole country?  My mummy got them from America, you know.  They were very expensive.  They have to be specially cleaned, of course.”  Which was bullshit.  And now I was going to have to grovel and polish them like a total idiot.  And every second would be watched and recorded in the office.  I had no doubt the likes of Beth and the others would be offered a viewing.  I could just imagine them wetting themselves laughing. I would have to do my best to maintain my dignity.  Not easy.  Crap!  What had I let myself in for?