Simon

[Simonssister]

Chapter XXVI:  A Bitch and a Boss

10 August.  This morning brought an email from Mrs Westfeather.  It read as follows.

“Dear Simon,
I have received your letter begging me for a reprieve.  Not wishing to crush your hopes without consulting the object of your rudeness, I showed it to my daughter.  I regret she remains adamant that you must wear your “pretty yellow outfit” as she calls it, as she likes it so much.  So there is no room for compromise here.  Such a pity that you will have to parade about in front of Geraldine and all her little friends looking like some weird rubber doll, being filmed and photographed and stared at all day long until you are totally humiliated – and that by the time term starts you will be famous throughout the first form, and attract the attention of all those horrid, spiteful little kids you so dislike!  But what can I do?
I must admit, however, your offer of becoming my little slave boy, cleaning my house, waiting on me and my friends, naked except for your little latex panties, is quite appealing.  I haven’t heard yet what punishment Sue is planning for you, but if you would prefer to substitute your suggested function for it, I would express myself quite satisfied and ask Sue if she would agree.  Do let me know without delay if this idea meets with your approval, and if so, I am having some friends round on Friday who would love to be pampered by you.
Yours very sincerely,
Trudy Westfeather
PS.  Remind Sue to pack your collar and cuffs with their padlocks for the 3td, would you?  Thank you so much.”

“That bitch!” I cried, when I’d finished it.  “She’s loving every minute of it!  Well, wait and see, you old cow.  You might find there’s no costume forthcoming.  Whatever else Sue finds can’t be as bad as that.”  I wrote back, “Thanks for nothing.  Forgive me if I don’t avail myself of your kind offer.”

11 August.  I had a call from Sue this morning.
“Simon.  Good morning.  How are you?”
“I’m well, thank you, Miss.”
“Simon.  Congratulations on St. Catherine’s.  It’s great news.  I know you and Billy are going to be happy there.”
“Oh, thanks.”
“But back to more mundane matters.  Mrs Westfeather sent me copies of your emails.  I’m sorry you thought fit to reject her offer.  It was your suggestion in the first place, after all.”
“Yes, but I offered it in return for not having to wear that costume.  Not as an extra.”
“So you’re saying you’d prefer my punishment to serving her?”
“Frankly yes.  Whatever it is.  I don’t like her, and I couldn’t bring myself to grovel to her in that way.”
“Well your first email was quite grovelling.”
“Yes, but that was about the costume.  Now she’s rejected my pleas she can go and get …”
“Simon!  Simon, don’t say anything you’ll regret even more.  Now calm down.”
“Sorry.”
“I’ve decided to punish you at Holly End this Sunday.  All your bookings for that day are cancelled.  Tell Billy he won’t be required.”
“What are you going to do?  Will it be painful?”
“No, not painful.  Probably quite relaxing.  Even fun.  Don’t worry.  Come in just as usual.”
“Okay…  Can’t you say?”
“Sorry.  You’ll find out soon enough.  Bye bye for now.”
“Bye, Miss.”
What is she planning, I wonder?  Ah, well, at least it’ll be over on Sunday.  Better than slaving away for that...that…for weeks.  And Monday we’re off to camp.  Hooray!

[Simonssister]

Chapter XXVII:  My Little Pony (Part 1)

We all knew what was planned for Simon.  We had a Committee meeting the previous weekend, and two subjects came up – Simon’s punishment was one, advertising for the late summer gymkhana on the 28th was the other.  Someone suggested we should put Simon on the posters as one of the attractions, along with the food market, the raffle, and so on.  Something about, “Get a boot-shine before you compete”, that sort of thing.  That led to the question of what outfit he should appear in on the poster.  Sue said, “I suppose a Holly End T-shirt and matching pants?  Maybe thigh socks?  Unless anyone can think of anything better?”  She looked around the table.  “I can think of something better,” said a sly voice.  It was Rebecca Strickland.  “And you can kill two birds with one stone.  A great attraction and the perfect punishment all in one.  And I and my friend Tamsin can arrange it for you.”
“Tell us.” Said Sue.  And she did.  It was evil, but brilliant.  Read on.

Sunday 14 August.  Perhaps the worst day of my life.  So far.  I always have to qualify that statement with “so far” because these days I never know what’s around the next corner.  I hope things will be better when Billy and I get to St. Catherine’s.

Saturday passed off uneventfully.  Actually, the customers were quite nice, and I got a lot of tips.  So I came to work on Sunday a bit apprehensive about what was planned for me, but basically happy, thinking about the dosh I’d made and the prospect of Scout camp the next day.  All I had to do was to get through today and things would look up.  I went straight up to reception.  Sue was waiting for me.  I thought I caught a glimpse of Tamsin Stratford dodging into one of the back rooms, but I couldn’t imagine what she would be doing there, so I dismissed it as paranoia on my part.  Events were to prove the opposite, however.
Sue asked me to come to the dressing room. 
“We have a new costume for you today.  Something a bit special.  I hope you like it.  I have a feeling you will.”
She opened a drawer and took out a silk bag, from which she produced a dark brown pile of rubber.  She shook it out and held it up.  A brown latex catsuit!
“It’s your size, Simon.  I’m hoping it will fit okay.  Want to try it on?”
Now, I had never been completely encased in rubber before.  The thought made me shiver a little.  I experienced a strange buzz of anxiety in my stomach as I touched the smooth fabric.  Butterflies, in fact, though I had never had such a feeling before.  I felt frightened, but excited.
“Okay, Sue.  What’s the idea?”
“We thought we should experiment a little.  I’m interested to see how you’ll react.  Go on, try it on.  Call me when you’re dressed.”  She went out and closed the door.
Okay, I thought, why not.  I examined the suit.  It felt heavy – the latex was clearly quite heavy-duty stuff.  It had feet, and a high neck.  There was a front zip from the waist to the collar, and the collar had loops and a matching leather strap.  There was a short zip at the crotch so I could have a pee if I needed to.  There was also a very small hole in the butt – probably, I thought, to allow ventilation.  Anyway, I gingerly stepped into it.  Whether it was incredibly smooth, or had been lightly lubricated, I don’t know, but it slid on easily.  I pulled it up to my waist.  It fitted to perfection.  I took the plunge.  I slipped in my arms, pulled it onto my shoulders, and zipped it up to the collar.  I found myself actually trembling with excitement!  I took deep breaths until I felt a bit calmer.  The suit was warm and comfortable.  I looked in the mirror.  It fitted well all right, but I wasn’t wild about the colour.  Brown!  I liked bright colours, like red or blue or green.  Never mind.  I called Sue.
“Ready. Miss!”
She came straight in.  When she saw me she beamed with pleasure.
“It’s beautiful!  You look smashing, Simon.”
She fussed around pulling at the latex here and there until she was satisfied it was properly fitted.
“Now, it has a hood to go with it as well.”
“Really?”
“Yes.  You’ll be totally encased. All but your face.”
She got the hood from a drawer.  It was made of a slightly lighter weight latex, thank goodness.  With some difficulty, mainly due to my unruly hair, she finally got it in place.  Again, I looked in the mirror.  The only parts of me now visible were my hands and my face, encircled by the hood.  The hood restricted my hearing, so that Sue had to repeat her next instructions in a louder voice
“Come here, Simon.  COME HERE!  I need to fix the hood properly.”  She pulled the strap out of the collar loops, and I saw that the loops fitted through slots in the base of the hood.  Sue pulled them all through, then fed the strap through and buckled it at the back of my neck.
“There.  Now you can’t escape!”
“Who says I want to?” I laughed.  I was beginning to feel euphoric, and even a little aroused.  Being completely covered in latex felt like a sort of dream fantasy.  I walked round the room, getting used to the feeling, and wallowing in the sensuality of my new outfit.  As my body warmed, my nostrils filled with the intoxicating scent of rubber.  I felt dizzy, and had to sit down.  Sue stood watching me, rubbing her hands with satisfaction.
“How does that feel, Simon?”
“Pretty amazing, actually.  Is this my punishment?”
“Part of it.  We still have a couple of refinements to apply.  Back in a mo.”
She was back in a few seconds, carrying what looked like leather tubes.
“Put your arm out.  Come on!”
I did as she bid.  She took one of the tubes.  It was nearly as long as my arm, made of stiff brown leather, split along its length and fitted with a row of little buckles.  She opened it slightly so that she could slide it on, and holding it firmly closed, she buckled it up, wrist buckle last.  My arm was held straight.  I couldn’t bend it at all.
“What’s the idea, Sue?”
“Support.  You’ll see.  Now the other one.”
She repeated the process on my other arm.  I stood there all trussed up, wondering what this was all about.  I was soon to find out.
“Okay girls, you can come in now!” Sue called.  And who should walk through the door but Miss Strickland, Tamsin, Sadie and Clarissa!  And all of them in riding gear!  My heart sank.  I stared at them, uncomprehending.  Tamsin carried a sports bag.  “Hello, Simon!” they chorused.
“Surprise!” cried Tamsin.  “A nice surprise for our little boy.  All your friends are here to help you have a nice day!”
Miss Strickland took charge.  “Right.  Down to work.  Simon, we’re going to add a few aids to your costume.  Please don’t resist.  You know it would be useless, and would only result in further unnecessary punishment.  Okay?”
“I don’t have a choice, do I?”.
“No,” said Tamsin, “you don’t.  So just co-operate and we’ll go easy on you.”
First, they turned me round and made me get down on all fours.  Then a leather harness was attached to my waist and thighs; a waistband, thigh-bands around the tops of my thighs, connected with side-straps.  Wide cuffs were buckled around my ankles, and these were attached with steel links to the backs of the thigh straps, so that my legs were doubled back and my weight was all on my knees.  Then I was laid on my side, and Tamsin produced from her bag a set of four polished wooden hooves.  When I saw those, I knew what my punishment would be.
“You’re ponifying me!  Like you did to Carmelita!”
“Clever boy!” said Miss Strickland. 
“Yes,” said Sue, “You’re going to be the Holly End Gymkhana pin-up pony, you lucky thing!”
“No!  It’s not fair!”  I moaned, at which they all burst out laughing.
“Wait and see, Simon,” said Sadie, “you’re going to have such fun, believe me!”
I didn’t believe her, but I decided to shut up and deny them the pleasure of witnessing my distress.
The hooves were thickly padded.  The back ones were fitted with padded cups that enclosed my knees, and secured with straps around the thigh and calf.  For my front ‘feet’ my hands were first strapped into soft padded leather pouches, and these were then placed inside the hooves and again secured with straps.  All the equipment was cleverly designed and, I have to say, beautifully crafted.  When they were satisfied that everything was properly attached, they made me walk around the room a few times.
“He can move, can’t he?” remarked Clarissa.
“Yes.  Maybe a little too freely at the moment,” said Tamsin.  And she produced two short chains which she attached, one between my wrists and the other between my knees, so I could only take tiny steps. 
“We need him to stay still for a bit.  Now, head harness….”
Tamsin and Rebecca knelt down either side of me to fit the head harness.  It was made of dark tan leather.  One strap encircled my head just above my eyes.  It was fitted with two horse-like leather ears, which stuck up straight on either side. 
“His ears are pricked.  He must be quite happy,” commented Sue. 
“Hm, that’s not all that’s pricked, I’m thinking,” said Tamsin, running her hand along under my belly and laughing.  From the back of this brow-strap, another one ran down and buckled onto the back of my neck collar.  At the level of my mouth, straps were attached to this back strap, and they in turn were secured to the upper strap with broad leather bands at either side of my face.  The ends of these lower straps dangled at the sides of my mouth.  I didn’t doubt they were intended to attach to a bit.  I was right. Tamsin showed it to me.  It was a thick black rubber sausage-shaped thing, with a bulge at each end pierced by big steel rings.
“We won’t put this on yet, Simon.  But you can see how it works.  Those side-straps buckle around the rings, and we can make them as slack or as tight as we wish.  So I advise you not to misbehave.”
“And we also have these,” added Miss Strickland, showing me a pair of leather blinkers.  “These simply snap onto the side-pieces and prevent you getting distracted.  We’ll keep these in reserve just in case you’re tempted to ogle any of the grooms.”
“The grooms?  Please don’t let them see me like this!”
“Oh, it’s unavoidable, I’m afraid.” said Sue. “We have to take you outside for the photos.  Horses and ponies need to be seen in their natural setting.”
“Yeah?  Well my natural setting is indoors, Miss.”
“Not today, Simon.  Simon the Pony is going to graze in the fields today.”
“So, girls, what do you think?” asked Tamsin, standing up.
“Brilliant!” exclaimed Clarissa.
“Perfect!” from Sue. “Okay then, shall we make our way to Reception?”
Rebecca Strickland gave be a tap on my flank with her whip.  “Come on pony, this way.”
I was still tethered about the hooves with those chains, so I progressed slowly along the corridor, the women chattering away around me.  I was disgusted to see more people waiting expectantly as we approached.  Stella!  Oh, no.  Jane and Phoebe and Beth and the others.  And who was that?  Oh god, that woman from the local paper who tried to interview me at the show, ready with her camera.
“Your sister’s here, Simon.  She’ll be making her usual excellent video.  But we need some really professional shots for the gymkhana posters, so we invited along Marion Davies from the ‘Herald’.  She’s also kindly agreed to write a short article about Holly End and about your boot salon.”
“Oh, great, Sue.  How thoughtful of you!”
“Now, now.  No sarcasm, please. You know better than that.  And try to pretend you’re not getting a kick out of that rubber suit!”

[Simonssister]

Chapter XXVII:  My Little Pony (Part 2)


I finally made it to Reception, and everyone clustered round, touching and patting and stroking me like I was a real horse.  Beth knelt down by my head, patted me on the cheek, and offered me a Polo.  I actually took it, which of course delighted everyone.
“Beth,” said Rebecca, “as you’re obviously so good with ponies, would you mind putting on his bit?”  She handed her the rubber sausage.
“Of course!” said Beth, pushing it confidently into my mouth, forcing my jaws apart, and skilfully buckling the cheek straps to the rings.  She adjusted them carefully.  “There.  Not too loose, not too tight.  Just right, I think.”
They may have been just right, but I immediately started dribbling onto the carpet.  I couldn’t help it.
“Better take him out now,” said Sue, and I was encouraged out of the door on to the pathway.
“Shall we finish off, Sue?” asked Tamsin.  “Then if you wanted, Marion could get to work.”
“Yes, thanks, Tamsin.  Go ahead.”
I really believe that they now regarded me as an animal.  They had stopped using my name, and the little crowd that were witnessing my humiliation had stopped giggling and were just chatting amongst themselves about the gymkhana and other horsey things.  Laura was there, and Denise, and a couple of others I didn’t recognise.
“Where’s his saddle?” Tamsin called.  “Oh, thank you, Clarissa.  I hope these girths aren’t too short.  Keep still, boy, while I do this.”
I felt a little saddle thrown onto my back, and then straps being tightened under my tummy.  I tried to look round.
“Rebecca?  Could you put his blinkers on, please?  He keeps craning round.”
Rebecca came over and snapped the blinkers into place.  Now I could only see ahead.  I dribbled profusely and shook my head with frustration.
“I’ve got his tail here, when you’re ready,” I heard Sue whisper.  Tail?  They hadn’t forgotten anything, had they.  I guessed that would be attached to my waist harness.
“Okay.  Just fixing the saddle.  There, all firm and snug.” 
I felt things dangling from it.  Were they …?
“Just need to adjust the stirrups.  There, that’s looks about right.  Do you think so, Rebecca?”
“Yes, that should be perfect.  Where’s that tail?”
Now they were behind me.  Someone grabbed my feet and pulled them apart, as if to get access to my bottom.  Then, to my great horror, I felt something probing my behind.  Instinctively, I lurched forward.  I tried to escape but I only got as far as the grass next to the path.  I was grabbed by several pairs of hands.
“Hold him!” I heard Sue shout.  “Hold him right there.  I’ve got an idea.”
They held me until she returned.  She appeared in my field of vision, carrying some tent pegs and a mallet.
“Now don’t be a naughty pony!  Behave or it will be even worse for you.”
She placed the end of s steel peg through one of the links of my wrist chain and hammered it into the turf.  The next minute she was doing the same behind me.  I was now quite helpless.  I couldn’t move an inch.  The probing started again.  Now I understood the function of the little hole in the butt of the suit.  A nozzle was inserted into my anus, and something cold and slimy was pumped into me.  Beth’s face appeared in front of me.  “Lubricating gel!” she whispered.  “Would you like to see your tail?  Tamsin!  Show him his tail!”
“Here, Beth, you show him.”  Something heavy hit the ground next to my head.  Beth picked it up and put it in front of my face.  I moaned inarticulately and shook my head vigorously.  But she just smiled.  She was holding what looked like a real horse’s tail, but the hairs were embedded in a steel ring, and attached to the ring was a large black rubber butt plug.  Beth smiled evilly.
“Tamsin?  Can I put it in?” she asked.
“Why not?  You’re the pony expert!”
“Ooh, thank you!”
She jumped up and disappeared from view.  I tensed myself, pressing my cheeks together as hard as I could.  But resistance was pointless.  Hands held me open, and the large plug slipped into me as if it had been made for me, filling me up.
“That’s it, Beth.  Push it right in so only the tail is showing on the outside.”  I felt the rubber snap back against my bum.  “Perfect!”
I groaned in despair.
“There. He’s all ready.  Marion?”
“Could we put him in the field so I can get the other horses in the background?” Marion asked. 
“Of course,” said Sue.  “Let’s take off those chains now, shall we?  Then he can walk down to the gate by himself.”
My chains were removed.  I found that, wearing the big hooves, I was quite stable, and could walk easily.  But I could feel my tail swishing from side to side as the plug oscillated in my bum, causing much mirth amongst those following.  It was also giving me a slight erection, but fortunately the latex suit was heavy enough to disguise the fact.  I would have hated them to think I was enjoying this ordeal!
At the gate, Beth slipped a rope through my bit ring and led me to a level piece of ground, facing the far side of the field.  My audience was behind me, so I couldn’t see anything of what was going on.
“How’s this?”
“Fine, thanks,” said Marion’s voice, and I heard her camera clicking away.  “Beth, maybe you could stand by his head?  Great.  Perfect!  Thanks.  Now by himself?  Lovely.  Such a pretty pony!”
Well, I thought, this wasn’t so bad.  They’d have some pretty embarrassing photos, of course, but with these blinkers on no-one would be able to see my face anyway.  Surely this session couldn’t last that long?  Perhaps I’d be freed by lunchtime.  I could go over to Billy’s this afternoon and help him pack for tomorrow.  The bus was picking us up at 8.30 tomorrow.  We should be in the New Forest well before lunch.
“Okay, I’m done,” I heard Marion say, “I’ve got all I need of those.”  Great! I thought, sounds like we’re finished.  But then, muffled by my hood, I heard lots of ecstatic “hellos” and “how are yous” and “so nice to see yous!”.  More people were arriving.  But who, for goodness sake?
I soon found out.  I could hear distant ejaculations of surprise and delight, and an unpleasant laugh I thought I recognised.  After a minute of two of murmured conversation, a pair of riding boots appeared in front of me.  And then another pair.  Little riding boots.  With silver spurs.  One pair of black rubber, the other of bright red rubber!  I looked up, and my heart missed a beat.  Geraldine Westfeather and Elizabeth More-Burley!
“Mrs Westfeather is here, Simon,” called Sue, “and Mrs More-Burley.”  Did you know their daughters were friends?  They can’t wait to have a ride on you!”
“He’s so pretty!” Elizabeth cried, “and just like a real pony!”
“Hello, Simon!” said Geraldine, “This is the best punishment, isn’t it?  Mrs Dawson is so clever!  Lizzie, can I have first go?”
“Sure, Gerry!  It’s cos of you we’re going to get to ride him, anyway.”
“Thanks, Lizzie!  I’ll just ride him round the field, then it’s your turn!  Beth?  I’m ready!” 
“Okay, girls.  Just let me fit the reins.”  Beth clipped the reins directly to the bit rings, and dropped them on my back.  “There.  If they’re too long you can knot them.  The strirrups should be about right for you.”
Geraldine put her foot in one stirrup and threw her leg over my back.  Once mounted, she checked the tack to make sure everything was in order, just like she had been trained by the Holly End instructors.  She wasn’t heavy, but it was annoying feeling her fidgeting about getting comfortable.  I snorted with frustration and anger.
“Gerry, he snorted, just like a real pony!” screamed Elizabeth. 
Shit, I thought, I did.  I’m acting like a real pony now.
“Sue, can I take him round the field, just once, before we do the photos?” pleaded Geraldine.  “I promise I won’t tire him out.”
“Of course, dear.  Stella will video you.  Remember your posture!  Nice and upright.  That’s it.  Your legs and feet are perfect.  Off you go, then.”
She shook the reins at me.  I dug in my hooves.  I wasn’t having this.
“He won’t go!” she whined.
“Well, you know what to do.  Use your spurs, and a couple of taps with your whip down his flank.”
Those little spurs may look blunt and harmless, but try having them jabbed in your bum!  I lurched forward.  She used her reins to guide me down the field, to the cheers of the little crowd gathered at the top.  She kept me going by kicking me in the ribs when I slowed, and talking to me just like I was her pony.  “Go on, horsey, giddyup!  You’re a nice little horsey!  I’m going to ride you every day.  I’ll keep you in a nice warm stable, and give you lots of oats to eat, and nice straw to sleep on!”    I could move surprisingly easily, and we were soon back where we had started from.  I could see them all ahead of me, smiling and laughing and snapping away, as we returned.  I was beginning to understand what it was like to be a riding school pony.  Your rider is horse-mad, but all you want to do is go through the motions and get back to your stable, your friends, and your supper.  Geraldine rode me back to where Elizabeth was waiting, and jerked on the bit to bring me to a stop.
“That was such fun, mummy!” she called.  Mrs Westfeather came over and patted my cheek, smiling a triumphant smile. 
“It looked fun, darling.  What a sweet little pony he is.  Shall I ask Sue if you can ride him regularly?”
“Oh yes, please, mummy!  And Lizzie, too!”
“Can I have a turn now, pleeeease?”  asked Elizabeth.
“In a moment, dear,” said Sue, “but can we have some more snaps first, please?  Marion needs to leave quite soon.  Beth, can you take off his blinkers so we can see his face, and then maybe we could have one session with Geraldine and another with Lizzie.”

And so it was.  I was photographed fully accoutred and mounted, from every conceivable angle, first under Geraldine, and then Elizabeth, proudly showing off her red boots.  When she had finished, Marion left, promising to send Sue all the pictures as soon as they were uploaded.  She would use one for her article and Sue could use whichever ones she pleased for the gymkhana posters and to give to the mothers.  For the next two or three hours I was ridden around the fields by the girls, taking it in turns, whilst the ladies sat on the grass watching and enjoying a picnic.  Twice I was allowed to join them, my bit temporarily removed to allow me to have a bun or a sandwich and some juice, which was fed to me by Beth or Geraldine.  Once Beth decided to chase me with her whip to see how fast I could run, much to the hilarity of the onlookers, but I fell over and got my face muddy and had to be wiped clean.  Everyone remarked how good I looked in my latex suit, how I seemed to be a natural pony.  Rebecca and Tamsin were congratulated on their talent for ‘ponification’.  Sue mused on the possibility of turning Billy into a grey.
“That would be nice!” remarked Sadie.  “If we made him a grey mare, maybe the bay here could service her!”
“It would be fun to try, anyway!” added Tamsin, thoughtfully.

At half-past two, Mrs More-Burley said they would have to leave soon.  Geraldine asked if she could have one more ride.  I looked at Sue, pleadingly, but of course she said, “Oh, go ahead, Geraldine.  Take him down to the showground if you like!”  And she did!  All the way there and all the way back.  She spent most of the time talking about her party, and how she couldn’t wait to show me to all her friends.  “And the photos from today, as well!” 
By the time we got back I was knackered, but also dying for a pee.  Geraldine was reluctant to get off my back.  The champagne was flowing now at the picnic, and everyone seemed to have forgotten about me.  As far as they were concerned, I was really just a pony who wouldn’t need any attention till the evening!  I glared at Beth as hard as I could to get her to notice me.  Eventually she strolled over.
“What is it, ponyboy?”
I gasped and gurgled.
“One moment.”  She unbuckled one side of my bit.
“I need to pee!  Urgently!”
“Oh!  I see.  Hold on a minute.”  She went and whispered in Sue’s ear.  Sue spoke to Rebecca.  Rebecca laughed.  She got up and came over.
“Miss Strickland.  Come here.  Please!”  She bent down.  “I really need to pee!”  I whispered, as quietly as I could, not wanting Geraldine to hear.
“Okay.  I know.  Let’s fix your bit first.”  And she buckled it back into my mouth.
“Do I have to get off now,” asked Geraldine, sadly, still clinging hopefully to the reins.
“No, darling.  You’re fine where you are.  Your pony needs a pee, that’s all.”  And with that, she reached under my tummy and deftly unzipped me!  “Go ahead, pony. Do your pee.”
Everyone stared in disbelief.  Stella grabbed her video camera.  I couldn’t have held it in any longer, anyway, so I just let go and allowed myself the luxurious relief of a long, satisfying leak.
“My pony’s doing a wee-wee!” screamed Geraldine delightedly, bouncing up and down in the saddle.  “Can I see?”
“Definitely not, darling,” said her mother.  “Just sit there quietly and wait for him to finish.”
“Ooh!” she complained, “Not fair!”
It was a long one, but when I was finally finished, Rebecca reached down, shook the last drips off my dangling member, gave it a little squeeze, pushed it carefully back into my suit, and zipped me up, all without turning a hair!  I felt confused.  How was it I could suffer such indignities without getting deeply angry or ashamed?  Why did I feel bound to obey these women?  True, they had enough stuff on me to destroy me. But even if they hadn’t, I believe I would have been powerless to resist their demands and abuses.  Was this the essence of sissyhood?   

Mrs Westfeather and Geraldine had to leave, then.  Geraldine was actually very sweet, patting me and then calling back “Goodbye, horsey” all the way down the path.  But I was exhausted. 
“Sue?  I’m so tired.  Could I possibly...?”
“Of course.  You’ve worked very hard today.  Go into the restroom and have a nap.”
She didn’t offer to release me, and I was too tired to care.  I clip-clopped off inside, climbed onto the bed, and fell fast asleep till she woke me at six that evening.  She helped me out of my pony suit, I changed back into a person, and Stella drove me home.  All my stuff for camp was packed, and she promised to drive me over to Billy’s in good time to catch the bus.  Tomorrow, I thought, the New Forest!  Trees, fields, and…oh, no…horses!

[krystalasbaby2017]

one nice form of humiliation i wonder what is instore at the bday party when he gets back.  Loving your story it is very good, Thank you.

[Simonssister]

Chapter XXVIII:  The Trouble with Horses (Part 1)

Monday 15 August.  I slept like a log after my exertions on Sunday.  As I lay in bed I was aching all over.  But once I got up I felt okay.  Sue had said yesterday, the more I assumed my pony persona the easier it would become, and that before the next session she intended to give me a few days’ training to prepare my pony muscles!  Personally, I was hoping there wouldn’t be another session.  I’m sure they’ll think up some new indignity to subject me to.

Stella drove me over to Billy’s, and we made our way to the Scout hut.  There were sixteen of us in our Explorer troop, eleven boys and five girls.  We have an adult leader, Sandy, who’s very cool.  She’s only in her late twenties and she doesn’t really seem much different to us.  She lets the older kids keep an eye on the younger ones, and in general she lets us do our own thing, and occasionally comes with us to the pub.  I like her a lot.
The coach arrived on time, and we were soon on our way.  Billy and I grabbed the back seat and fended off the rest of them.  It was going to be a longish journey, probably four or five hours we reckoned, so after we had talked about our plans for the week, we played games on our phones.  By eleven we were both hungry.  Stella had made me sandwiches, so I delved into my lunch box to see what I had.  There was a strange little package with a ribbon around it in there with the food.  I pulled it out.  There was a label: “To Simon and Billy, from the Committee”.  Crap!  Couldn’t they leave us alone just for a few days? 
“Look at this Billy.  It was in with my lunch.”
“What is it?”
“Bad news, obviously!  Let’s see.”
I ripped off the outer layer.  There was a little envelope.  I opened it.  This is what it said.

“Dear Simon and Billy,
We hope you enjoy yourselves in the New Forest.  We know that, as Explorer Scouts, you pride yourselves on your courage, initiative, imagination, and problem-solving skills.  So we are setting you a little task which you must complete while you are away in order to demonstrate to the Committee your dedication to the Scouts, and to Holly End.  In the package you will find a little present - two pairs of traditional Scout shorts, one marked ‘S’ and one ‘B’.  You must have your photo taken wearing these with the rest of your uniforms in a busy public place, holding hands and each giving the peace sign – and smiling, of course.  You must look smart and tidy, with your shirts neatly tucked in and your neckerchiefs straight.  You must of course put on your Scout belts and belt-purses.  This photograph must be sent to Sue Dawson’s phone by Tuesday evening latest.  Failure to complete this task will result in unpleasant consequences.  Success will be rewarded.  Good Luck!
The Committee”

“Oh, shit!” I said, “I can tell by the feel of this what they’re going to be like.  Let’s not open them now.”
That package rather put a downer on our excitement.  We sat silent for much of the journey.  But when we finally arrived at the Forest, and saw the open spaces and the animals, we forgot about it for a while.  We turned up the track to the Scout Activity Centre just after one, and disembarked.  This place had a big field for tents as well as log cabins for accommodation.  Billy and I chose to pitch a tent.  It was good weather, it was more fun, and we wouldn’t have to share with anyone else.  But first we had a good lunch in the canteen.  Then I had a word with Sandy.
“Sandy, are we scheduled to visit any towns in the next few days?”
“I thought we’d go to Barley village tomorrow.  It’s only a little place, but there’s loads of gift shops there in case you’d like to buy presents.”
“Okay, thanks.  I remember that place from last year.  You can walk off the main street right into the trees, can’t you?”
“That’s right.  Any particular reason you ask?”
“No, just curious.”

Later, in the privacy of our tent, we opened the package.  Just as I thought – two little pairs of Scout shorts in beige latex, complete with turn-ups. 
“They look very small,” said Billy, anxiously, “do you think they’ll fit us?”
“Don’t worry, they’ll fit – though they look more like swimming trunks.  They know our sizes down to the last millimetre.”
“And the pockets are fake,” he added, in a tone of annoyance.
“Billy, that’s a technicality!  We don’t want pockets.  We just need to get this done as quickly as possible.  It’s got to be tomorrow, at Barley.  This is how I see it.  We sneak off from the others at some point – maybe when they’re in the café – change into the shorts, get the picture taken, and quickly change back.”
“But where are we going to change?  And who’s going to take the photo?” queried Billy.
“Okay.  Do you remember that track that leads off the main street into the trees?  We change in the trees, come down to the main street, and ask the first person we see to take the photo.  It’s always busy there in the summer.  Then we shoot back up and change back.  No problem!”
“If you say so, Sim.”
“That’s our only chance.  We’ve got to go for it.  I don’t like the sound of “unpleasant consequences”.”

So it was decided.  The next day we carefully packed our new shorts in our rucksacks.  We wore our uniforms, with blue trousers as usual.  The coach took us to Barley.  On the way in we passed a riding stable. 
“They’re everywhere here,” remarked Billy.
“Yes.  It must be a great place to ride.  You can go for miles without setting foot on a road.”
We spent an hour or so wandering around the shops before Sandy suggested we go and get tea.  We pretended to still be looking for stuff, and said we’d meet them there in twenty minutes or so.
“Good thinking, Sim!  That way they’ll stay there until we come.”
Once the rest had headed off for the teashop, we made our way quickly back up the street, crossed over, and went through a wooden gate up the track between the shops.  We climbed up the bank to where there was a big oak tree and began to change.  We took off our belts and purses, and pulled off our trousers and pants, stowing them away in our rucksacks.  We pulled on the shorts, tucking our shirts in as neatly as we could.  We had to pull in our tummies to fasten the waist press-studs and zip them up.  At least the rubber wasn’t too thin and revealing.  We quickly threaded through our belts, not forgetting the little leather Scout belt-purses.  We decided to leave our rucksacks there next to the tree as we knew we’d be back in a couple of minutes.  Before we left, we checked each other and made sure we both looked neat and tidy.
“You look very smart, Sim, but totally ridiculous as well!” laughed Billy.
“And you look like a prize idiot,” I returned.
We scurried down the path, back through the gate, and into the street.  We looked about.  Unsurprisingly, we immediately attracted the attention of the passers-by.  People were stopping and pointing at us.  We had to move quickly.  A woman was coming towards us from the direction of the central road junction.  I hurried up to her.
“Excuse me, I wonder if you’d mind taking our photo?”
She smiled, looking us up and down.  “No, of course not.  Give me your phone.”
“Thank you so much!  Take a couple just in case, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, boys.  I always like to support Scouts.”
We positioned ourselves between her and the junction and posed as we had been instructed.  A small crowd was already collecting, and I could hear laughs and expressions of surprise.
“Could you move back a little bit, boys, so I can get you all in?  That’s it!”
We turned on our idiot smiles.
“Whoops!  I think I pressed the wrong thing.  I can’t see you now.”
I had to go back and show her what to do.  She may not have been great at using a phone camera, but from the many shutter clicks around us clearly a lot of other people were.
“Oh, that’s not a very good one.  Hold still.  Just a minute.  Now there’s someone in the way!”
It must have taken her a good five minutes to get one decent picture, and then she wanted one on her own phone for herself.  In the meantime, we were surrounded by knots of nosey adults and giggling kids, and became the butt of silly jokes, ironic catcalls, and wolf whistles.  It was definitely time to leave.  But just as we were about to disappear up the forest track, there was an unforeseen incident.  A line of horses and their riders had been  moving quietly across the junction and walking away from us towards another entrance into the Forest, when one of the horses suddenly took fright.  I think he’d been alarmed by a motorbike starting up.  It was only a pony, but without warning it bolted off to the left at full gallop, straight towards us, its rider clinging to its neck.  The crowd scattered, screaming.  We didn’t have time to think.  We reacted instinctively.  I was already running to intercept as it approached, and Billy was doing the same along the other side of the road.  I managed to run alongside the frightened animal for a few yards, and grab the reins.  Of course I fell, and it felt as if my arms were going to be pulled out, but I hung on.  I was dragged along for about twenty yards, but eventually my weight brought the horse to a stop.  The rider, a little girl of seven or eight, was thrown out of the saddle – straight into Billy’s arms!  There had been a number of pursuers, who now arrived at the scene, out of breath but, having witnessed our prompt action, full of gratitude and admiration.  In an instant we were transformed from objects of ridicule into heroes.  Soon we were surrounded by people congratulating us, including what appeared to be everyone from the riding school.  The attention was only marginally less unwelcome that that we had already experienced.  All we wanted was to get back into our proper uniforms.
“Well done, boys!  That was fantastic!  So brave!” cried a woman who came running up and embraced us in turn, “I’m Wendy Pemberton. I own the riding school.  You must come back and have a drink with us.  And Tina’s mother will want to thank you, too!”
“Yes, but, er, we have to get our rucksacks first,” I stammered, trying to extract myself from the throng.  At that moment Sandy arrived with the rest of the troop.  She pushed her way through to us.
“Boys!  There you are!  Is this right what I hear, that you just stopped a bolting….”
Her voice trailed off as she noticed our shorts. “Goodness!  Where did you ….”
“Never mind, Sandy.  Could you please get our rucksacks?  There just up that track next to the big oak tree?  Could you bring them to us?  As quickly as possible?”
We were already being ushered away towards the school, surrounded by a phalanx of booted grooms.  There was no gainsaying them.  I felt painfully self-conscious in their midst in my tiny rubber shorts.  I could feel the stares and hear the whispers.  As I walked, my shorts they made that characteristic rustling, crinkling sound, in case anyone was in doubt about the nature of the material.  And by now they were slightly slippery inside with sweat, and as I walked, my boyhood was sliding up and down a little in a regular rhythm, and beginning to become aroused.  Billy was walking next to me, and looked as though he was having similar problems.  He had his thumb hooked through his belt, his hand over his tummy.  But it was not hiding anything.
“If only these things had pockets,” he said in an undertone, “it wouldn’t be so bad.  But as it is, they show everything we’ve got, and there’s no way of disguising it.  I hope Sandy gets back with our bags soon!”
It was a relief when we finally arrived at the school.  Wendy showed us into the office.  She sat at her desk, and as there were no other chairs we stood, rather awkwardly, facing her,
“I’m just going to check where Tina’s mum is.  We rang her just after the incident and she should be on her way.  Just a second.”  She dialled a number.
“Marcy, darling!  Yes, she’s fine.  Two Boy Scouts stopped her horse and caught her as she fell off!  Yes!  Bloody brilliant, I know.  Yes, she’s here now.  None the worse.  So are the boys, if you’d like to thank them.  Yes, I’m sure you would.  Okay, see you in ten minutes then.  Bye!”  She stood up, and came round the desk.  “Where did you learn to deal with horses like that?  I mean, so fearlessly?  I’m impressed.”
“Well, Miss, actually we work at a stable – Holly End riding school in Leicestershire, where we come from.  So we’re used to horses.”  (I was one the other day, I might have added.)
“Oh, that explains it!  Holly End stables.  Well, well.”
“And we’re just here at camp, near Lyndhurst.”
“And we were visiting Barley,” said Billy.  “We just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”
“Thank goodness you were!”  She paused.  “Do you mind me asking?  About your uniforms…  I’ve never seen Boy Scout shorts quite like that before.  What are they made of?”  She stared at them unashamedly, and looked as though she was about to reach out and feel them.  I coloured up, and coyly clasped my hands in front of me.
“Oh, no, well, they were a present from the head of the riding school, and I know she was hoping we would like them, so we, sort of, just thought we would wear them today….”
“Yes,” added Billy, “but I think our Scout leader will be here any second - with our usual trousers, I hope.  By the way, we’re not called ‘Boy’ Scouts anymore – just ‘Scouts’.”
“Oh, of course.  Sorry! I stand corrected,” said Wendy.  “But they really are very nice shorts…”
I took a step back.  She looked out of the window.  “Ah, yes, your friends are here now.  I’ll go ask your leader to come in.” 
She disappeared for a moment and came back with Sandy.  “You should be proud of these two,” she was saying, “they averted what could have been a terrible accident.”
“Simon and Billy.  I’ve heard all about it!  Well done, boys!  You behaved like true Scouts!”
“Did you bring our bags?”
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t find them.”
“What?”
“Nowhere to be seen, I’m afraid.”  And then to Wendy, “they left their rucksacks just up the path, but now they’re gone.”
“Oh, really?  How unfortunate.  You know, nothing ever gets stolen here.  Someone has found them and handed them in to the village lost property, I’m sure.”
“Where’s that?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s in the post office.  But I’m afraid they close on a Tuesday afternoon, so you won’t be able to check until tomorrow.”
“Do we have to wear these shorts until then,” groaned Billy, in his distress unconsciously taking hold of his boyhood.
Sandy was about to say something, probably to ask why we were wearing tiny latex shorts instead of our trousers, but at that moment in burst a tall, blonde woman, rather out of breath, gripping the hand of the little girl Billy had caught.
“Oh, boys, this is Tina’s mum, Marcia.  Marcy, meet Simon – and Billy.  These are the wonderful boys who saved the day.”
“God bless you, boys,” she breathed, hugging each of us in turn.  “You’re a pair of angels.  Tina wants to say something, too”
“Thank you,” she whined.  She still looked a little shocked.
“Their names are Simon and Billy, darling,” said Marcia, gently.
“Thank you, Simon.  Thank you, Billy.”
“And this is their Scout leader,” added Wendy, “sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Sandy.  Nice to meet you, Marcia.  I’m glad the boys were on the spot at the right time.”
“Thank you, thank you.  Look, I have to get Tina home, but I also want to thank you two properly.  Do you think it would be possible for the boys to come with me so I can give them dinner tonight?  I’d bring them back by eleven.  They’d be quite safe.”
“Well, I’m not sure….”
“Please.  It’s the least I can do.”
“Boys?  Would you like to go?”
“Yes.  Thank you!” we chorused.  Anything to delay having to explain ourselves to the rest of the troop, who were already suspicious of us after our “Two Little Maids” performance.
“I can see no reason why not.  It’s very kind of you to offer to bring them back.  But what are we going to do about their bags at the post office?”
“Oh, are their bags there?  What, in lost property?”  We nodded.  “In that case, why don’t they stay overnight, and I’ll run them back first thing tomorrow, and we can call in and pick up their bags on the way?”
“Well, that’s extremely kind of you, Marcia…”
“No probs.  Come on boys.  Come on Tina.”

[Simonssister]

Chapter XXVIII:  The Trouble with Horses (Part 2)

So it was we found ourselves in the back of Marcia’s car, being driven to an unknown destination.  Today had been quite an adventure, and it was still only mid-afternoon.
Marcia chatted away about her daughter, the school, the village, and the Forest. She was a very easy woman to be with, as well as being rather pretty.  We listened, throwing in the odd comment.  Her car was a little mini, and the vibration of the engine was transmitting itself into my bottom, and in my semi-tumescent state that was not exactly what I needed.  I fidgeted and tried to think of serious things, but it was impossible.  Sue knew exactly what she was doing when she set us that task.  Those little shorts she had provided us with were clearly designed to cause maximum embarrassment.  The legs gripped my thighs, and the crotch left no room for anything vital, so that everything I had was pushed conspicuously into the front.  The centre seam and fly, being made of double thickness latex, bit into my soft parts, and my poor boyhood was forced to lie on one side or the other.  It made me permanently self-conscious, and my continual attempts to rearrange it and make it less obvious by pushing it this way or that only served to excite it the more.  I wasn’t looking forward to getting out of the car.  I stole a glance at Billy, whose hands were folded demurely in his lap, I guessed he was having similar problems.
“Have you sent the photo?” he asked.
“No.  In all the excitement I’d forgotten about that.  I’ll do it now.” 
I sent it, and Sue acknowledged it almost straight away.  Thank goodness that was over, at least!
We had driven out of Barley and down the main road to quite a big town.  Marcia’s house was in a suburban street. She drove up onto the driveway and we all piled out.  She opened the front door and ushered us in.  She sat us in the drawing-room while she went and made tea, and for the next hour we sat around chatting.  At five another mother and her daughter came to collect Tina, who was going for a sleepover, and of course we had to be introduced and the whole story told over again.  The other mother – I think her name was “Shirl” or something, regarded us approvingly throughout, but I noticed she gave Marcia a broad wink as she left.

After she had gone, Marcia came back and resumed the conversation.
“So, now that we’re alone, I can ask you a bit more about what was happening today.  I hear there was quite a crowd in the high street.”
“Quite a crowd?  Yeah, I suppose.” I replied, noncommittally.
“So what was the attraction?”
We looked at each other.
“Come on boys.  I’ve heard something about you posing for photographs.  What was it all about?  It was a stunt for charity, wasn’t it?”
“No, it wasn’t that…. “
“You just wanted a selfie.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“To show off your uniforms.”
“Maybe?  Why, is there something wrong with that?”
“Not at all!  I wasn’t being sarcastic.  You both look very smart!”
I wondered if I should tell her the whole story.  I wished afterwards I had.  But at the time I thought it would sound silly.  So I just said, “We work at a riding stable in Leicestershire.  Our employer’s a bit of a tyrant.  She gave us these special shorts as a present, and demanded we take a selfie to prove we were wearing them.  That’s all.”
“I see.  Do you like wearing them?  Did you want to wear them?”
“No, not particularly.  But she gets upset if we don’t do what we’re told.”
“Really?  That seems a bit odd.  Are you telling me the whole story?”
“Pretty much.”
“Well, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll give her a ring.”
“What, about our shorts?”
“No. just to tell her what heroes you were today.  I think she should know.  Perhaps she’d appreciate you a bit more.  Do you object?”
I looked at Billy.  He shrugged.
“I guess not.  Go ahead.  Her name’s Sue Dawson.  Here, her number’s on my phone.”
I handed Marcia my phone.
“Thanks.  I’ll be back in a minute.  Then I’ll cook us a nice dinner.  Simon, could you open the wine?  There’s a bottle in the fridge.  Pour yourself some drinks." 
So we helped ourselves. 
“This is all right, Billy.”
“Yeah, this wine’s really nice.  And she’s nice, too.”
“She is.  Nice-looking.  Tall and sexy.” I laughed.
“Do you think she’s noticed how horny we are?”
“I bet she has.  I bet we could make her…you know.”
“You are so bad, Sim!” Billy giggled.
By the time she returned, we’d drunk two thirds of the bottle
“You were on the phone a long time,” I remarked.  “Were you talking to Sue all that time?”
“Some of it.  She told me some very interesting things,” she said, looking at us with a rather strange expression on her face.  “Anyway, I told her you may have saved my daughter from serious injury today.  She seemed quite humbled, actually.”
“Really?  Thanks, Marcia.  I’m sorry, we’ve drunk quite a bit of your wine.”
“No, please, don’t apologise.  Finish that one up and I’ll open another.  Now what would you like to eat?”

By the time dinner was ready, Billy and I were quite tipsy.  The food helped a bit, but we had more wine with dinner, so that by the time we resumed our armchairs we were both giggling like a couple of little girls.  I no longer cared if Marcia noticed my erection.  She could hardly have failed to, in any case.  Thinking she was occupied with Billy, I touched it gingerly.  It was hard and very hot.
“Is that giving you a problem, Simon?”
I quickly withdrew my hand.
“Sorry?”
“It must be so difficult for you two, stuck in those tight little rubber pants all day.  I mean, you look fantastically cute, but I’m not surprised you’re both in the state you are.”
I blushed, unsure how to reply.
“Don’t you think it was rather cruel of Sue to ask you to wear them?”
“Yes!” said Billy at once.  “She is cruel.  I mean, not cruel, exactly, but she likes having fun at our expense.  She knew everyone would be laughing at us, dressed like this.  And the rubber’s so soft and stretchy, that after a while it makes you all hot and bothered, and you can’t cool down!  And when we get back to the troop, I bet they’re all going to be taking the piss out of us again!”
“It wouldn’t have been so bad if our rucksacks hadn’t disappeared,” I said.  “But now we’ve been wearing these most of the day, and they start to get slippery inside, which makes it even worse!”
We were saying things to Marcia we would never have dared to had we been stone cold sober.  I wanted to see how far she’d go.
“Oh, I can see!  You poor things!  I could hardly blame you if you felt the need to….you know, relieve your frustrations.”
Our eyes widened.  Was that an invitation?
“I think Sue is very bad to do this to you.”
“She is!”
“You could express your disapproval, and make yourselves feel better at the same time.”
“What do you mean, Marcia?”
“I don’t know,” said Marcia.  “Show her what you think of her stupid little Scout shorts.”
“But how could we do that?” I asked, egging her on.
“Well, I can think of one way, but I don’t suppose you’d be up for it…. I mean, I know you wouldn’t want to upset your employer, even though she bosses you a bit too much.”
“Yeah, she does.  Today was the last straw!  She doesn’t even leave us alone when we’re on holiday!” exclaimed Billy.
“No, it’s too bad.  You should make her sit up and take notice.” 
“Yeah!”
“Well I know what I’d do, if I were in your shoes.”
“What would you do, Marcia?” I asked, innocently.
“Well, if I were a boy, of course.  I’d show her what I thought of her present.  I’d say, “this is all these are good for!” – and I’d jerk off in them!”
“Actually…do it…in our shorts?”
“Absolutely.  And send her a picture of you doing it!”
“That’s so rude!” said Billy.  “What a great idea!  What do you reckon, Sim?”
I’d been sort of hoping Marcia might help us release our pent-up feelings herself, but this would be the next best thing.
“Sure, I’m game.  Teach her a lesson!  I have to do something soon, or I’m going to explode anyway!”
“But how…how would we do it?” asked Billy, getting up rather unsteadily.
“It was just an idea.  Are you’re absolutely sure, boys….”
“Yes!” we chorused.
“It’s not our fault we’re so horny, after all,” I said.
“Well, if you insist…”
“Why shouldn’t we?  Show her what we think of her stupid shorts!” said Billy.
“Yeah,” I added, “we’re fed up of being humiliated by her.  It’s payback time!”
“It’s not against Scout rules?”
“Probably.  But we’re not going to tell on ourselves,” I grinned.
“Then can I make a suggestion?”
“Go ahead.”
“You should do it just like she asked you to pose the photo!  Hold hands, masturbate with your free hands, and when you come, make the peace sign!”
“Great idea, Marcia,” I laughed, throw her silly idea back in her face!”   
“Yeah!  Imagine how annoyed she’ll be!  Let’s do it, Sim!”
“Marcia, would you take photos of us to send to her?” I asked.
“Sure.  I mean, would you like me to film you?”
“Would you?  Yeah, that would be the best!”
“I mean, I don’t want to get you into trouble….”
“We don’t care about that,” said Billy, “I’m not afraid of her.  I just want to show her what I think of her fake Scout shorts.  Do you know they don’t even have proper pockets?”
“It’s true, Marcia.  There’s nowhere to put your stuff, or your hands.”
“Really?” said Marcia.  “That’s not right, is it?  Scouts need pockets.”
“Exactly!  But she couldn’t be bothered.  I’m going to point that out while I’m doing it.” 
“So am I,” said Billy, “and I’m going to describe what I’m doing as well!”
“She definitely won’t like that very much!” laughed Marcia. 
“So how do you think we should do it?” I asked.
“Well, let’s see.  Perhaps if you stand here by the window, in the light.  No-one can see through those nets.”   She positioned us side by side, stood back and regarded us critically.  “Hmm.  Like two peas in a pod.  Right down to your little red socks and walking boots.  Let’s make sure you look smart, at least at the beginning.”  She straightened our purple and red neckerchiefs,  adjusted our woggles, and smoothed our hair.  “There, that’s perfect.  Stand up nice and straight, and try not to move about too much while you’re doing it.  Shall I use your phone, Simon?”
“Help yourself.”
She retreated a few yards, turned a dining chair around so its back was towards us, and straddled it, resting the phone on the back.  “That’s about perfect.  Hold hands.  That’s right.”
Billy’s free hand moved towards the bulge in his shorts.
“Billy!  Hold on a moment.  Put your hand by your side, please.  Don’t do anything till I’ve started filming.”
“Sorry. Marcia.”
“Remember to pace yourselves.  Take your time.  Imagine Sue getting more and more indignant the longer she’s forced to witness your insulting behaviour!  Let her know what you think of those stupid shorts, and of her.  Let it all out!”
“Yeah!”
“Do you think you can both come at the same time?”
“We can try!”
“Okay. Stand quite close together.  That’s it.  Hold hands.  Ready?”
“Yes, Marcia.  Ready.”
“Okay.  One, two, three…go!”
I had to use my left hand, but when it came to masturbating I was definitely ambidextrous.  What a relief!  I gently kneaded my engorged sausage, standing proud and upright in my pants, until it was vibrating with pleasure, and I could feel it oozing steadily.  After a while I started pushing it around under the taut rubber to demonstrate how slippery it was. Waves of pleasure rippled through me.  I was in a sort of euphoric daze, the regular movement of my fingers producing a satisfying plopping sound inside my pants.
“Oh!  Sue - this is what I…ah...think of your…ooh…stupid shorts.  In a minute I’m going to…oh, no…I’m going to come in them so much….
 “And so am I!” (gasp), interjected Billy, “They don’t even have proper…ah...pockets!”
“That’s right!  So we’re going to masturbate till we…oh, gosh…till we fill them with spunk!”
“We’re going to mess them up really badly!” added Billy between moans, “really badly!”  I glanced sideways at him.  He was pinching and rolling the tip of his boyhood between thumb and finger.  A dribble of clear fluid was escaping from one leg of his shorts.  His cheeks were very red, and he was squirming slightly in an effort to stay in  place.  I held his hand more tightly.  I could feel my face burning, too. But the relief of being able to pleasure myself freely at last overcame all my inhibitions.
“Yes, we are!  And when we’re finished, and they’re all really nice and messy…oh, goodness…we’re going to fold them up neatly and give them back to you, all sticky with sperm.  And then…then we’re going to go into the dress shop and masturbate all over your new dresses!”
“No!” said Billy, “No, we won’t do that!  No, we’ll…we’ll…”
I could sense he was trying to think of something really disgusting that didn’t involve damaging pretty dresses.
“We’ll….we’ll…come in your cappuccino!” he blurted, with sudden inspiration.
“So rude!” mouthed Marcia, grinning.   
Between us we kept up some sort of running commentary.
“My sausage is all big and hard and slimy….”
“Mine too.  At least these shorts are good for something!”
“I’m practising for my masturbation badge!”
“I want to come so much….so much!
“Me too!  But Simon is going t come first!”
“No, I’m not!  But I will make the most spunk!”
“You won’t!  Cos when I come I’m gonna think of Marcia!”
Marcia raised her eyebrows in surprise.  “I’m flattered, Billy!” she laughed.
“Which of us is best at masturbating, Marcia? I asked.
“Oh, you’re both experts, I can see!”

Whenever Marcia thought we were approaching a climax, she would signal us to calm down a little.  This way, she kept us going for about ten minutes.  The video was in fact eleven minutes long.  It’s all a bit hazy now, but I remember Billy crying, “Simon!  I’m coming!  Ahh!” and squeezing my hand hard.  That triggered my own orgasm, and I shouted “Peace sign!” to remind him, before my vision seemed to explode in a shower of stars.
We stood there, hand in hand, trying to smile and stay in position, our bodies jolted by spasm after spasm.  I thought I might faint.  Somehow a big spurt of sperm shot out of the top of my pants, landed on the front of my shirt, and trickled down.  The rest filled my shorts and streamed down one leg.  Not wanting to waste it, I scooped it up with my hand and smeared it over my belly.  I heard Marcia murmuring encouragingly, “Good boys.  Well done.  Just a few more seconds…”  But I couldn’t stand up any longer.  With a sigh I sank to my knees.  Billy followed suit.  Little rivulets of sperm had run done both his legs, over his socks and boots, and were forming a little pool on the carpet. We hung onto each other for a moment, then collapsed in a sticky, exhausted heap.  Marcia stopped filming, put down the phone and stood up.
“Incredible, guys!  What an exhibition of pure boy power!  You must be totally drained.  Just lie there and recover.  No, Simon, don’t worry about the carpet.  Just rest.  I’ll be back in a bit.”

[Simonssister]

Chapter XXVIII:  The Trouble with Horses (part 3)

I don’t remember any more until Marcia was helping us upstairs to the shower.  She stripped off our clothes, and when we were showered, she towelled us dry.  Then she tucked us into a lovely big soft double bed, and we slept till morning.  When we awoke, we found our clothes neatly folded by the bedside.  Our shirts and neckerchiefs and socks had been washed an ironed, our shorts washed and powdered, ready to put on. There were toothbrushes and towels, just like a hotel.  And when we went downstairs, toast and tea and coffee and fruit and eggs.  Marcia kissed us good morning, and ruffled our hair. 
“How are the boys this morning?  You seem a little more relaxed than yesterday.”
“Thank you, Marcia.  Yes.  Thank you for washing our clothes.”
“It was the least I could do, after the effort you put into that performance.”
We both blushed at the recollection.
“It was a great idea of yours, Simon.  And beautifully executed.”
“My idea?  Was it?  We were a little bit tipsy, I think,” I said.  “I don’t remember too well…”
“Fortunately, it’s all on video,” she said.  “It’s on your phone, Simon, and I’ve also sent it to Billy.”
“You didn’t send it to Sue?”
“Of course I did.  Straight from your phone.  That was the point, wasn’t it?”
“Oh, no!  What were we thinking?  It seemed like a good idea last night, but she’s going to go berserk when she sees that!”
“No, she won’t”
“She will, Marcia!  You don’t know her!  She’ll be furious.  We’re not allowed to masturbate without permission.”
“On the contrary,” Marcia said, “She texted me back last night, and I can tell you she’s delighted with our little film.  Yesterday afternoon I had a long conversation with her about you and Billy.  She told me all about your bad behaviour at Holly End – how you bully the girls and play tricks on them, and are rude to the customers.  She asked me if I’d help give you some of your own medicine, ply you with drink and then get you to make complete fools of yourselves, so she would have some sort of leverage to help keep you in check.  I think it worked rather well, don’t you?  Perhaps now you’ll be less willing to get up to mischief.”
“What?  Are you serious?  Is that what she said?”
“Yes.  And more.  Complaining about having to wear a uniform.  Swearing at little girls.  It’s not acceptable, Simon.”
Billy and I stared at each other open-mouthed, for a moment quite unable to reply.
“Why, that…that…bitch!”  I exclaimed.  Marcia looked quite taken aback.
“Marcia,” said Billy, “that’s all total lies.  Neither of us have ever done anything like that.  She’s totally fooled you, just to get another humiliating video of us – in fact, probably the worse one ever.  Let me explain.”
And between us we told her everything that had gone on at Holly End.  The regime, the contracts, the Committee, the humiliations we had been subject to.  I showed her a copy of my contract on my phone, and some of the texts Sue had sent me.  She was gobsmacked.
“Oh my god, boys.  What have I done?  I’m so sorry!  I really believed her.  She seemed so credible.  She even sounded distressed.”
“Yeah?  She’s a good actress, Marcia.”
“How could she?  I should have realised that two boys who could risk themselves to stop a bolting horse couldn’t be like that!  But somehow she convinced me!!  Oh, I hate her!  I’m going to ring her right now and demand she deletes that video!”
“No, no, don’t do that, Marcia.  She won’t delete it, and it may make it worse for us.  One day we’ll get our revenge.  We’ll get something on her, I’m sure.  But just forget it for now.”
“How could I be so stupid?  How could I breach the trust I owed you?  I’m so, so sorry.  I don’t know what to say…”
“Don’t worry, Marcia.”  I put my arm round her and hugged her.  “She’s tricked us enough times.  You didn’t have a chance.”

Poor Marcia was so upset.  She poured herself an early glass of wine and sat silent in the armchair for some time.  I took Billy aside.
“Billy!  What have we done?” I groaned.  “It’s coming back to me now – the stuff we did, and all that rubbish I was talking!   She’ll show it to everyone!  Miss Strickland.  Miss Benson, even!  We’ll never live it down!”
“If Miss Strickland sees it, she’s bound to show it to Tamsin and Carmelita.  What if she shows it to Miss Mortimer as well?  She’d probably withdraw her offer of places at St. Catherine’s.”
“Do you think so?  We need to stop her showing it to anyone.  I’m going to ring her and plead with her.”
“Okay.  Do it then.  It’s our only chance.”

I went out into the garden and rang Sue.  She answered immediately.
“Simon!  How nice of you to call!  Loved the photo.”
“Sue.  I’m ringing about the video.”
“Video?  Oh, that video.  Yes?  What can I do for you?”
“I’m begging you not to show it to the Committee.  Or anyone.  We were drunk when we made it.”
“Were you?  It didn’t seem like it.  You were very articulate.  And very rude.  You seemed to be enjoying every second.”
“I know.  I’m sorry.  Look, we’ll do anything, but please don’t circulate it.  We might even lose our places at St. Catherine’s over it.”
“Simon, I do believe you’re grovelling again!  Are you?”
“Yes, Miss.  I’m grovelling.  I’m begging you, please don’t show it around.”
There was a pause.
“All right, Simon.  I’ll tell you what I’ll do.  I’ll do nothing till you get back, and on Saturday or Sunday we can all sit down and discuss the matter.  Agreed?”
“Yes, agreed.  Thank you.”
“Good.  Oh, and by the way, we’re expecting the gymkhana posters in today.  As soon as we get them I’ll send you a picture.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“See you Saturday, then.”
“Yes.  Goodbye.”

We had a reprieve – temporary, probably, but at least we could enjoy the rest of camp.  Marcia, chastened by her encounter with the world’s biggest con artist, was uncharacteristically reserved as she got ready to take us back.  Thank goodness our bags were at the post office, and we were able to change back into our trousers before going back to the centre.
Marcia dropped us off, still apologising, and we exchanged numbers and promised to come back and see her next time we were here.  Of course, we had to fend off all the jibes and questions, but we escaped as soon as we could, taking packed lunches and going off exploring.  Once clear of the centre, we found a nice quiet spot to sit down, and reviewed our position.
“What a pair of idiots, falling for that.” I remarked.
“Yeah, but when your drunk stupid things can seem quite rational.”
“And vice versa.  I don’t want to look at the film, Billy.  It must be the most embarrassing one yet, even for me.”
“Yeah, for both of us.  But what can they do with it?”
“Pretty much anything.  The problem is we’re clearly acting of our own volition.”
“Yes.  That is a bit awkward.”
We sat silent for a minute.
“But I’m beginning to understand why you’re addicted to latex, Sim.  There’s something about it…. I mean, I’ve hardly ever had such an amazing orgasm.  I nearly blacked out.”
“Really?  You understand now?  It’s very difficult to resist, to resist anything, when you’re wearing rubber.  It’s impossible to resist women giving you orders.”  I laughed.  “I become like putty in their hands!”
“Yeah.  And all day long, while I was wearing those shorts, sure I was feeling humiliated, but I was also feeling sort of safe, and happy, and in a pleasant state of permanent arousal.  Free, somehow.  I was definitely enjoying the feeling.”
“I thought you were showing off a bit.  You were enjoying the attention too, weren’t you?”
“I guess I was, a bit.”
Our conversation was interrupted by my phone.  A text.  From Sue.  With a picture.  Before reading the text, I looked at the picture.  I enlarged it.  The gymkhana poster.  My mouth fell open.  “No!” I cried.
“What is it?”
“Look at this.”
The poster was landscape format, with a green background.  In the four corners were little vignettes showing scenes from a previous gymkhana – top left. show-jumping, top right, food stalls, bottom left, bouncy castle, bottom right, pony racing.  In between the top two vignettes were the words, “Holly End Late Summer Gymkhana, Sunday 28 August”, in red letters.  In between the bottom two, “Come and meet Simon the Pony with Geraldine, his Groom”, also in red.  And in the middle a big vignette of me, in my pony suit, without my blinkers, in a field, and mounted by Geraldine!
“She can’t do this, Billy!”
“Looks like she has, Sim.  What does the text say?”
I went back to the text.  “Hope you like the poster, and your photo.  The girls are putting them up in town today.  Geraldine is very excited.  You two will be the main attraction, and we have had lots of interesting suggestions of things you can do.  I’m setting aside this Saturday for planning.  Please come to the Committee meeting at 10.30 am.  See me beforehand, at 10.  Look forward to it.  Sue. x”
“I can’t go through with it, Billy.”
“You’ll have to.  Never mind, you’ll be okay.  Your little girlfriend will look after you,” he grinned.
“What?”
“Geraldine.  You’re going to her party too, remember?”
“Shut up, Billy!”
“I think you like being a pony.  You didn’t complain much about it.”
“I don’t!  Don’t you dare say that!”
Billy started rolling on the grass, helpless with laughter.  I was fuming. But I knew how to wipe the smile off his face.
“You know, Billy, when I was in my pony suit, they were thinking of making one for you, too.”
“What?”  That stopped him in his tracks.
“Yes.  They were talking of turning you into a grey mare.  Shall I put in a word for you?”
“You’d better not!”  he cried, sitting up.  Now it was my turn to laugh.  He glared at me for a moment, and then we grabbed each other and fell to the ground in hysterics. 
When we finally calmed down, we sat and talked about Holly End.
“I don’t see how we’ll ever escape from the clutches of the Committee,” said Billy.
“I don’t see, either,” I replied.  “All we can do is humour them, carry on with our other lives, and wait for an opportunity.  It will come, Billy.”
We sat together, our arms around each other, watching the sun sinking over the trees, and the little groups of horses and cattle moving lazily through the landscape.  There were no human animals in sight.  Billy rested his cheek against mine.  “As long as we’re together, Sim, no-one has any real power over us.  Remember that.”