Simon

[Simonssister]

VII:  Self-Discipline

It was another week and a half before were finally able to read Simon’s account of the days following our meeting.  He was a bright boy and a good writer.  Here’s what he wrote:
Saturday 11th June:   I’m at Billy’s.  I brought my diary with me cos I’m still embarrassed about yesterday.  My ears get all hot when I think about it.  Sandra was probably disgusted, though she didn’t show it.  Why does rubber have that effect on me?  My willy has a mind of its own.  I simply lose control.  It’s not fair.  I like my new shorts, especially now I know they really are cool, but sometimes my stupid boy thing spoils everything.   Perhaps it would be better if I wore a skirt.  Funny, sometimes I think I wouldn’t mind.  But then it would spoil my new outfit.  I’m going to have to train myself in self-control.  I’m sure it can be done.  I’m going to ask my aunt for some advice when I get home from Billy’s tonight.  She knows all about that stuff.  I can’t wait to see the new outfit Sandra is arranging for me.
At home.  Nice to see Billy.  We played computer games all the morning, and went to the park in the afternoon.  His mum bought us ice-creams, and we had home-made pizza for tea.  She’s a very good cook.  It turned out Billy had heard all about the science class on Friday.  Sarah had shown him a video.  I didn’t know he knew Sarah.  Everyone in town must have heard about it by now.
“Why were you wearing those little shiny pants?” he asked me.
“Oh, it was just a lesson about materials.  I was demonstrating about latex, that’s all.”
 â€œBut who gave you those pants to wear?  Was it your teacher?”
“No. It was my aunt.”
“I’m glad I don’t have an aunt like that.”
“Yeah, but Billy, you don’t understand cos you’re just a kid, but my friend Sandra – you know, Alice’s sister – knows all about fashion and she says they’re pretty cool.  In any case, I’ve got new ones now.”
“New ones?  What, to wear?”
“Course to wear.  What else?”  (He’s a little bit thick sometimes, Billy.)
“What, like for school and stuff?”
“No, not for school.  For, like, when I go out.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.  Sandra’s already asked me to go out with her.”
“Has she?  She’s nice.  You’re lucky.”
“Well, she’s pretty much my best friend.  She said she can get me any sort of outfit I want.”
“What are your new pants like?”
“They’re purple and pink.”
“What?  That’s like my little cousin’s things.  She’s six.”
“Yeah, but she’s not a grown up, and not a boy.  It’s different when your grown up.  Colours mean different things.”
“Purple and pink, though.”
“I’m sorry, Billy, but you don’t understand fashion properly and, I’m sorry, but you don’t understand cool!”
Billy was okay, but some things he just didn’t get.  Never mind.  He was still my friend.
So when I got home that evening, I plucked up courage to talk to my aunt.  I was feeling really tired, but apart from wanting some advice I wondered whether she had heard anything from Sandra.
“Auntie, can I ask you something?”
“You can ask me anything, Simon.  I may not know the answer, though.”
“Have you heard anything from Sandra since last night?”
“Oh, yes.  In fact I ran into her today.  Why?”
“I wondered if she said anything about me.”
“She did, as a matter of fact.  She said what a good boy you are, how handsome you are, and how smart you looked last night!”
“Anything else?  Anything … bad?”
“Bad?  Of course not, silly.  She did say how much she loves you.  That was about the worst thing!  Why?”
“Oh, nothing really.  You know I really like wearing my new pants now, but sometimes they …they’re so smooth and nice … they make me get all sort of hot and excited.  And I can’t help it!”
“Oh, Simon, you are such a silly!  That’s perfectly normal, especially for a boy of your age, and it’s fine.  No-one minds.  For goodness’ sake don’t go trying to suppress your natural feelings.  It’s just a part of growing up.”
“Oh, so it’s okay if it happens sometimes?”
“Absolutely, darling.  It’s expected.”
“Because I can’t help it, you know.”
“No.  That’s understood.” She smiled, and added, “Look, if you want to make it happen less, I’ll give you some advice.  If you leave off all your rubber things, and make sure you don’t  touch yourself at all for a few days, and you should find that helps a lot.  Let’s try it over the next week, shall we?  I’ll keep all your rubber things in my room, you can have cotton bedding, and you promise me not to play any games with yourself.  I was thinking we should have a dress rehearsal on Friday, but in view of what you’ve just said I think it would be better if you didn’t touch any rubber until Sunday when you go to the Thomsons’, and then you can put on your new outfit.  What do you think?”
“Okay aunt.  All right!”
“Deal?”
“Deal!”
We started that very night.  I felt restive without my rubber sheets and pillow, and especially my rubber pyjama pants, but it was fine, really.  I dreamt about my new outfit, though, and when I woke I had to remind myself of my promise.  On Sunday my aunt told me that Miss Benson had rung to say she wanted me to do an act in the freshers’ show after the holidays.  I have to see her next week to discuss it.  I don’t know what she wants me to do.  Auntie said I’d have to talk to her personally about it after school on Monday.  It’s difficult having to have self-control.
Monday 13th June.  Just as well I wore normal school uniform today.  Lots of remarks from everyone, and people are swapping photos and videos.  Alice says she has the “definitive” collection.  Debbie spent the day inventing stupid questions to ask me.  Like when I opened my lunch box, “Ooh, Simon, do you have another little sausage with you today?”  And when I went to the toilet, “Are you going to change into your proper pants now?”  Huh!  Wait till they see my new outfit.  They won’t be so rude to me then!  I was glad when the day was over.  I stayed after class to see Miss Benson.  She wants me to do a song and dance act.  At first I just refused.  But then she said,
“Simon, you know the materials science exhibition we’re putting together for freshers’ day next term?”
“Yes, Miss, I’ve heard about it.”
Well, several of your classmates have suggested we include a big poster of you.  We’ve got some lovely photos, very high definition, which could easily be enlarged.”  She looked at me with a wicked smile on her witchy face.   She wasn’t joking.  It took me about one second to make a decision.
“Miss, I’ll do an act.  Tell me what you want.”
“Good boy!  We can discuss it next week.  Off you go, then!”
She can be a real bitch when she wants to.  Bitch rhymes with witch.  I’ll write a poem about her, I think.
The next few days were uneventful, but on Thursday morning two big parcels arrived just as I was leaving for school, and I guessed it was my new stuff.  I dashed home that evening but however much I pleaded my aunt refused to show me anything, saying I’d have to wait until I had finished Stella’s boots on Friday.  I lay in bed feeling frustrated in every sense.  I had to force myself to behave.  Was this really the best strategy to insure against loss of control, I wondered?
Friday 17th June.  We went to Garden Road after supper, about seven.  I wasted no time finding Stella’s boots and getting to work.  No Boot Boy outfit for me that evening, though, which was a bit of a shame.  It didn’t feel quite right working on Stella’s stuff in boring old normal clothes.  I must have looked a bit despondent because Stella said,
“Never mind, Sim.  You’ve got some new Boot Boy stuff to match your new pants, but you’re not allowed it till next week – which is good, because I’ve got a show that Saturday.  As a matter of fact, I wanted to talk to you about that.  The lady that owns the riding school has asked to meet you.  She always admires my shiny boots and the other day I told her that it was my little brother than was responsible.  I don’t know, but she may offer you some work during the summer hols.  Might you be interested?”
“Yeah!  Course I would.  What sort of work?”  The truth is that I’ve been trying to think of ways I could earn a few quid this summer.  There’s so many things I need.  I want a new skateboard badly, and there’s a couple of computer games, too.
“She didn’t say.  But she said that if you wanted, you could come and act as my groom at the show – you know, lead Bobby round and stuff.  Interested?”
“Sure.  And I can wear my new uniform, right?”
“Oh, definitely!  I already asked her about that.  Grooms can dress how they please, as long as they look smart.  But I don’t think any of the girls will be wearing anything quite like that.  It’s mostly jods and boots up there.”
“Okay.  Bobby’s that big chestnut, right?”
“That’s right.  He’s very docile, though.  You won’t have any trouble.”
“I don’t care.  I’m sure I can handle any of those horses.  When I last went to Holly End to watch you ride they all looked pretty sleepy and bored.”
“Well they may look sleepy but I assure you you have to look out when you’re around them, because they can be moody and irritable at times.  So please remember that on Saturday.  Treat them all with the greatest respect.”
“I will, don’t worry.”
“And we’ll have to leave early so I have time to get ready.”
“Okay, no probs!”
Sunday 19th June.  We stayed overnight at Garden Road.  It was arranged Stella and I would drive round to the Thomson’s in the morning for breakfast.  My clothes were there, so I wouldn’t get to change until after I had arrived.  I was feeling desperate to get back into rubber pants.  I had really missed the feeling for the past week, and my body was in a state of physical withdrawal, not knowing whether to be excited or disappointed, and alternating between the two states. 

[Simonssister]

VIII:  Chez Thomson


Narrator’s note:  Sandra didn’t want us to post this part of Simon’s account, but she got outvoted.  It was too good to waste.  To tell the truth, we were a little bit annoyed with her for spoiling the fun.  It’s not what we planned.  She says she’ll stick to the script in future, but I’m not sure.  She certainly has a soft spot for our hero.  Never mind – I’ll be in charge next weekend at Holly End!

Sunday 19th June.  Stella was hardly ever seen in a skirt, so when she came downstairs wearing one I must have looked surprised, even though she had mitigated this nod to her feminine nature by choosing a leather one and wearing a white collared shirt and her Pony Club tie.  Her hair had been scraped firmly back into a pony tail and I detected a hint of make-up.
“Well you’re going to get to dress up.  I thought I’d at least make a gesture.”
“No, Stella, you look nice.  I’ve never seen that skirt before.”
“No.  I only bought it this week.  I went shopping with Sandra and I noticed how cool she looked.  If she can wear black leather all the time, why not me?”
“Yes, dear,” my aunt interjected, “you’d do well to put a bit more thought into your clothes. You’re the polar opposite of Sandra in that respect.”  Stella dismissed this remark with a flick of her pony tail.
“What was she shopping for?” I asked, curious to know whether it was connected to me.
“Oh, mainly just more stuff for herself,” replied Stella carelessly.
We left the house at half past eight, and arrived in the Thomson’s driveway before nine.  As we got out of the car the front door opened and Mrs Thomson emerged.
“Stella!  Simon!  Lovely to see you both!   Come in, come in!”
“Hello Mrs Thomson,” I smiled, “lovely to see you again too.”
She led the way into the house.  “I’m afraid Alice and Debbie aren’t here yet.  Alice stayed at Debbie’s last night.  But they’ll be over soon.  Simon, would you like to go upstairs?  Sandra’s in her room.  I think she has something for you.  Stella, would you like a coffee?”
I bounded up the stairs and knocked at Sandra’s door.  “Come in!”  In I went – and then stopped dead.  Sandra was standing in front of her long mirror.  She was wearing her usual thigh boots, fishnets, and short black jumper, but in the place of the little black leather skirt I was used to, were a pair of very short, very tight black leather shorts!  I stood there gaping like an idiot.
“What do you think of these, Simon? They’re a bit tight still because they’re brand new, but they’ll give a little bit with wear.  Do you like them?”  She looked at me innocently.
“I – I … yes, Sandra, they’re very … nice!” I stammered, blinking with disbelief.
“Well I don’t see why you’re the only one allowed to have cute pants,” she smiled, pulling on her fingerless gloves.  “I got these at Simpson’s last week.  Come and feel how soft the leather is.”
She took my hand and placed it on her flank.  “Just feel that!”  I touched the taut soft leather awkwardly, colouring up in an instant.  “Feel the hem.  Go on.  See?  The leather’s almost as fine as rubber, isn’t it?”  I opened my mouth but found no words to speak.
“Oh, Simon, I’m sorry.  Here’s me wittering on about my stupid clothes.  I’m sure you’re not interested.  Here, come and see your new outfit!”
I followed her to her chest of drawers, my gaze riveted to her petite leather-encased posterior.  She opened a drawer.
“Now, there is more, but I’m just thinking of today at the moment.  Oh, and perhaps next weekend.  You know, Stella’s show.  So we’ve got you two pairs of purple and pink ones – actually they’re more like mauve and pink, but they’re very pretty, don’t you think?”  She laid two pairs of latex pants on the bed.  They looked identical.  They were a very nice shade of, yes, mauve, with very tight little pink frills around each leg.  They had belt loops and a little pink heart logo on the left hand side of the left leg, just above the frilling.  I gulped.
“Feel them.  Those on the left are very fine latex.  They’re for special occasions, indoor things, like today.  The others are more heavyweight.  They’ll be perfect for the horse show.”
As soon as I touched the latex I began to feel aroused.  It was so long since I had experienced that gorgeous feeling against my skin!  There was a label inside the pants: “Bubblegum”.
“They call themselves “Bubblegum” because most of their main lines have some of this lovely bubblegum pink in them.  That’s their logo – a little bubblegum pink heart.  Do you like them?”  I nodded slowly.  “Gosh…yes.”
“Now, I’ve got you a nice pink leather belt to go with them, and a matching pink leather choker.  And here’s your pink baseball caps.   There’s one with your name on it for next Saturday so the other grooms will know who you are.  For today I thought a plain one would do.  And here” – she produced a box from under the chest – “here are your new boots!”
Opening the box she took out something I had always wanted – a little pair of purple Doc Marten’s!  And a pair of chunky, loose pink socks.  I whooped with delight.
“Thank you, thank you so much, Sandra!  I love them!”
“And for your top.  Well, you’ll have a T-shirt for Saturday, and maybe something else, but for today I bought you this.”  She gave me something wrapped in tissue.  I unwrapped it eagerly.  Inside was a short pink wool jumper with a round neck and little puff sleeves, and a stretchy pink spandex vest to go under it.  I loved the feel of it.  I could hardly wait to get dressed.  At that stage it never even occurred to me that this outfit was a little more feminine than anything I had worn before.  It just felt perfect.  I thanked Sandra again, and hugged her happily.
“Can I get dressed now?”
“Of course.  Call me when you’re done.  There’s a couple of small accessories.”
Sandra went off downstairs and I started to pull off my old clothes, dumping my T-shirt and jeans on the floor.  Once I was naked I began to dress, savouring the moment.  I can’t express the relief of being able to pull on those lovely cool, smooth pants!  They were super glossy, inside and out, and just seemed to fuse to my skin.  I threaded the pink leather belt through the loops and fastened it.  Then I pulled on my new vest and jumper.  They fitted perfectly and felt so comfortable!  Finally on with my brand new socks and my boots, which I laced up carefully.  There!  I admired myself in the mirror.  The jumper was short enough that it didn’t obscure my belt, but allowed my belly to peep out as I walked.  Pacing up and down Sandra’s bedroom on my imaginary catwalk, I noticed that the leg frills of my pants rustled slightly as they brushed together.  I perched my cap on my untidy thatch.  Great!  I opened the door and called Sandra.
“I’m ready!”
“Coming!”
She came up straight away and peeped round the door.  “Let me see my favourite boy….oh my goodness!  He’s amazing.  Simon!  You look beautiful!  Come here!”
She held  me by the shoulders and looked me up and down.  “You’re a doll!  Stand still a moment.”  She fussed with my jumper and adjusted the leg bands of my pants.  I was too excited even to get aroused, if you know what I mean!  Then she went back to the chest and fished out a couple more things.  The pink choker matched the belt.  It was about three centimetres wide and very soft and flexible.  At the front there was a little silver letter “S” in a circle.  She turned me round and closed it round my neck.  It fastened with a little click.  It fitted perfectly.
“And I hope you like these.”  She showed me a pair of wrist-length fingerless latex gloves, matching my pants; mauve with little frilled pink wrist bands.  “Put those on, and I’m going to try these earrings on you.”
“Earrings?”
“The coolest boys all have earrings, Simon.  Look at these.  Their clip-ons for the moment, but I’m going to take you to get your ears pierced soon.  These will look nice for today, you’ll see.”
They were silver with little purple ceramic discs, very simple.  As I pulled on my new gloves, Sandra attached them to my ear lobes.  They had strong springs, and were a bit painful at first, but also exciting, a constant reminder I was wearing them.  In fact the whole costume was a sensual experience with a distinctly more feminine feel than any of the previous ones.  I was aware of a physical tension between my maleness and the female character of my clothing which was immediately arousing and which I knew I liked; a sort of permanent reminder of my sexual ambiguity.  I breathed deeply, adjusting to this new sensation.  Sandra perceived I was unsettled.  She placed her hand gently on my arm.
“You all right, Sim?”
“Yeah, thanks.  This new stuff is so cool.  I really like it.”
“You’re not upset?”
“No!  Quite the opposite.  A bit wired, maybe.”
“Shall we go down?”
“Yeah.  Let’s go.”
I followed Sandra into the dining-room, where Stella and Mrs Thomson were sitting drinking coffee.  They both did a double-take when they saw me.
“Wow, Sim!  You look fantastic!” cried my sister.
“Goodness, Simon!  That’s such a cute outfit!  You look wonderful!” said Sandra’s mum.  I simpered and pretended to be rather shy.  But Sandra had said how cool I was going to look and it had turned out she was quite right.
“Thanks.  Good shopping by Sandra and my aunt.  I’m so happy!”
Stella jumped up.  “Simon – just stand on the chair a minute, please.  I want a full length photo.  You’ve got such lovely long legs, haven’t you?  That outfit really shows them off!”
I clambered up with a pretence of reluctance, but the truth was in this new outfit I was really getting a kick out of showing off.  I was pleased when Mrs Thomson ran for her camera as well, and I stood there posing like a model while they snapped away.  It was fun!  But as I wallowed in the attention I felt my little member beginning to swell with appreciation.  It grew and lengthened easily under the slippery latex, and before it became too obvious I thought it judicious to jump down and get my legs under the table.  I remembered my aunt’s reassurances, but I was didn’t feel ready to be seen in all my glory just yet!
“Coffee, you two?” asked Mrs Thomson.  “Alice and Debbie should be here soon.”
I sat down at the table and Sandra sat next to me and we drank our coffee and talked.  Stella quickly got back to her favourite subject – horses – and we discussed the coming show.  She explained what was involved.  I’d be leading Bobby around the ring and to and from the showground.  If she won a rosette I’d also have to hold him while it was presented.  And she revealed that there was a prize awarded for the best turned-out groom! 
“Well I doubt you have any chance of winning, but you’ll definitely stand out.  I think you’ll be the only boy, for one thing, and all the rest will be wearing breeches and boots.  I don’t know what they’re going to think of you.  But they’re all nice girls, and very friendly.  What plans have we got for his costume, Sandra?”
“The same colour pants, but in heavyweight latex.  And then Boot Boy stuff.  I was thinking he should wear the same boots and socks, but he’ll have proper gloves, matching his pants, of course.  You know, practical stuff.”
“Sweet!  Can’t wait to see the reaction!”
I wasn’t so sure about the show, now.  All the girls in boots, too.  That could be a problem.  Suppose they all wore thigh boots like Sandra?  The thought was enough to consummate by erection.  I slid my chair further under the table and pretended to be listening to the conversation, but my week of total abstinence was coming back to punish me.  I slid my hand down and felt myself gingerly.  It was very big.  These pants seemed to be tailored from a thinner, smoother latex than my previous ones, which provided very little resistance.  Thank goodness I’d be wearing heavyweight rubber next weekend!  I squeezed myself experimentally and almost moaned out loud with pleasure.  I had to be careful.  I quickly removed my hand and tried to think of other things.  But by now the conversation had shifted to Sandra’s new shorts, and she was standing up showing off the quality and suppleness of the leather to the others, smoothing her flat tummy with both hands to demonstrate the perfect fit.  My eager, frustrated member throbbed faintly against my right thigh.  I had to close my eyes to shut out the vision of Sandra squirming her pretty bottom more firmly into her leather pants.
“You all right, Simon?” asked Stella.  Did she have a smile on her face?  Probably just my imagination.
“Er, yes, Stella, I’m fine.  Just a little tired.  Didn’t sleep that well last night.”  That was true, at least.
By dint of thinking of school work, Miss Benson, Alice’s “definitive collection”, and other unpleasant matters, I succeeded in relieving the pressure in my pants a little bit, though with contraction came the inevitable lubrication.  At least I was feeling more comfortable.  Then there was a ring at the bell.
“Oh, that’ll be Alice and Debbie, I expect,” said Mrs Thomson.  I was nearest the front door, so Stella said, “Could you let them in, Simon?”
Well, I was almost respectable now.  So I got up, taking care to shield my front from the others, and made my way to the door.  On the way I took off my cap and clipped it around my belt, so I hung down over my crotch.  I yanked open the door.
To my surprise, instead of Alice and Debbie, there stood two girls from year two, Debbie’s sister Chloe and another.  Damn!  They stared at me open-mouthed.  I turned bright red.
“Oh, said Chloe, “hello.  I was looking for Debbie.  I stayed over at Charlotte’s last night” – Charlotte nodded, without shifting her attention from my clothes – “and she was going to give us some pocket money.”
“Oh, I see,” I said, flustered. ”I’m sorry, she’s not here at the moment….”  I stood there like a lemon, not quite knowing what to do.
“Are you Simon?” asked Chloe, a smile spreading over her face.  “Debbie told me about you.  I like your outfit!”
“So do I!” said Charlotte, enthusiastically.
I was rescued by Sandra, who appeared beside me at that moment.
“Hello girls!  How are you?  You’ve met Simon, then.  What do you think of his new outfit?”
“It’s brilliant!” cried Chloe.  “Don’t you think so, Lottie?”  Charlotte nodded vigorously.
“Come in girls.  Debbie’s not back yet but I think I can find you a few quid.”
So in they trooped, laughing and giggling.  I don’t understand why girls are always giggling like that.  It gets boring, if you know what I mean.  Sandra was whispering something to them, and they kept glancing in my direction and grinning.  Annoying.  They were invited to have some drinks and ended up taking my seat at the table, so I had to stand.  I felt a bit awkward, not knowing them, and showing my newest outfit to a couple of second years wasn’t an ideal way to start the day.
“Simon, put your cap on and show the girls how nice you look,” said Sandra.  I couldn’t very well refuse without seeming self-conscious, so I did.  Thank goodness my boyhood was almost back to normal.  I stood awkwardly on one leg with my hands clasped in front of me.
“Come on, let them see your new pants.  Don’t be shy.  That;s right.  What do you think girls?”
“It’s really cute!” screamed Charlotte.  “Can we take his photo?”
“Of course!  You don’t mind, do you Simon?”
“Er, no, Sandra.  Course not.”
“Smile then!  Come on.  Don’t look so sulky!  Chloe?  If you want to get all of him in you need to step back a bit, dear.  You’re going to lose all his legs and his new Doc Marten’s otherwise.”
I had to smile and pose, and pose and smile, all over again.  Great.  Now all year two were going to know about me.  Honestly.  Little girls are such a pain.  And I wasn’t very pleased with Sandra, either.  I thought she’d be more discreet.  But it wouldn’t be any good saying anything.  She’d just stroke my cheek and call me a silly boy and I’d melt, as usual.
Then Stella said, “Charlotte?  Will you be at the show next weekend?”
“Yes, Stella.  I’m not riding, but I’m going to be helping out.”
“Did you know Simon’s going to be my groom?”
“Really?  He’ll be the only boy groom there I think.”
“Yes, I know.  And he’s got a new outfit to wear, a bit like this one.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened.  “At the show?  Wow! You coming Chloe?”
“Yes, I am now!  Absolutely. And I’m going to tell the others!”
“You might as well.  Your lot will all get in free anyway.  You can cheer for me and Simon.”
Oh, great, Stella!  I thought, why don’t you invite the whole bloody school while you’re about it?  Just when I hoped they were about to leave, Alice and Debbie burst in, and I had to endure the same performance all over again.  At least they were taking photos for the right reasons.
“That’s a very neat outfit, Simon,” said Alice, “really grown-up and well-coordinated.  Though not many boys could carry it off.  Those gloves and earrings are really cool, too.”
“I agree,” said Debbie, “I love the whole thing.  A lot of my friends are really into fashion, especially men’s fashion, and they’d be very interested.  Sandra’s got such a good eye for this stuff, don’t you think?  Maybe you could come to my house one day in the holidays and we’d have a big barbecue.  It would be so cool.  Would you?”
I was very gratifying to be appreciated at last.  The girls were clearly beginning to understand the rationale behind my outfits.  I felt pleased, and a lot friendlier towards them.  I know I criticised Debbie before, and called her a smart-arse, but I acknowledge that she is very sharp and intelligent.  And so am I, of course.  I’ve really got my shit together in school lately and me and her are probably top of the class now.  Anyway, I agreed.
“Yeah, sure, Debbie.  Thanks for inviting me.”
“And you’ll bring all your outfits?”
“Okay.  Except the school pants.  That was stupid, wasn’t it?  My silly old aunt!”  And I laughed self-consciously.
“Oh, absolutely!  No, not those.  But everything else, please!”
It was nearly lunchtime when Chloe and Charlotte finally left, and then they were outside the front door with Alice and Debbie chattering and giggling again for about twenty minutes.  What do these girls have to talk about?  Once they were gone I handed out my presents.  Everyone was very pleased and there was a lot of kissy kissy.  Then I and the girls played computer games until Mrs Thomson suggested we went into the garden.  We messed around watering the plants and spraying each other with the hose till we were tired, after which we lay on the grass, waiting for Alice’s mum to make tea.  The sun was shining and the rubber began to warm up, making me start to swell once again.  My pants were slippery now, and soon I had a little sausage-shaped mound lying along my right leg band.  I rolled over onto my tummy to hide it.  I thought I was being clever, but Alice chose this moment to take advantage of my position by jumping astride my back shouting “Simon’s my horsey!” and bouncing up and down.
“No, he’s mine!” screamed Debbie, “He’s my Bobby!”  And then they were both on top of me, squashing me against the turf.
I was rescued by Mrs Thomson calling from the kitchen that lunch was ready.  The girls jumped off and ran to the house.  Using my cap to hide the bulge, I followed them into the dining-room and manged to get seated without anyone noticing. I unfolded my napkin and spread it over my lap. Sandra came and sat beside me. She patted my leg.
"Having a good time, Sim?"
"Yeah! Sure!"
"Sanwiches and pancakes for lunch!"
Mrs Thomson makes the best pancakes. After the sandwiches she came in with two huge piles on two plates. There was lemon juice, sugar, maple syrup, honey and jam, too. We dug in. As I ate, my erection slowly subsided. At one point I dropped my napkin, but it no longer mattered. We sat there munching our way through the pile for the best part of twenty minutes. We all made pigs of ourselves. But in terms of greediness I am ashamed to admit I outdid the others. Finally we were all full, but there was one pancake left, and when Mrs Thomson offered it to me, I simply couldn't resist! I filled it with syrup – perhaps I went a bit overboard with it – and rolled it up. Yummy! As I bit into one end a huge glob of syrup oozed out of the other end and dropped right into my lap. Crap! I dumped the pancake back onto my plate and slid my chair back, closing my legs to prevent the syrup dripping onto the carpet.  I tried to contain it with my hand, but only succeeded in smearing the sticky mess over the front of my pants.  Mrs Thomson had seen what had happened.
"Simon, don’t worry.  There's a cloth in the kitchen next to the sink.  Sandra, could you help, darling?”
Sandra jumped up at once and, taking me by the hand like I was a little kid of about eight, she led me off into the kitchen. The maple syrup had landed right in my lap, and by the time we got into the kitchen it was trickling over the frills of my pants and down my legs.
Sandra led me over to the sink. She didn't hesitate. She pulled a fresh J-cloth out of the packet, wetted it under the tap, squeezed it out, and addressed herself to the syrup.  First she wiped it off my hand.  Then,
"Stand still, Simon, and we'll soon get you cleaned up.  Open your legs a bit."
She held me by the arm, bent over, and began to wipe the syrup off my thighs and then off the frills of my pants. It had got between the pleats and eventually she had to kneel down and clean each one separately, tugging and wiping, a mere few centimetres from my slippery member.  As she worked, I could feel an irresistible resurgence taking place.  I held my breath, praying for her to finish.  But Sandra was determined to be thorough.
At last she was satisfied she had got all the syrup out of the frills.  “There.  That’s that done.”  I sighed with relief, and closed my legs, but my reprieve was short-lived.  She stood up, went to the sink, and rinsed out the cloth in warm water. 
“Am I done?”
“Not quite. It’s still all over your front.”
It was true. And my poor boyhood was now visibly swollen.  It lay proudly across my thigh, resting on my right leg band, exquisitely delineated under the thin, taut latex.  Worse, it was spattered and smeared with sticky syrup.  Without further ado, Sandra took a position on my right and put her arm round my waist.  I pressed my thighs together in consternation.   
“Sorry about this, Sim, but it has to be done.”   
Working from left to right, in a series of long, firm strokes, she slowly wiped the sticky mess off the front of my pants!
" There! Nice and clean!” 
I was.  But her assiduous ministrations had also brought me to the highest pitch of arousal.  She rinsed the cloth, hung it on the tap, and, taking my hand, she pulled me back into the dining room. She introduced me like a ring-mistress ushering in the final act.
"Taraa!! Presentable again! Have I done a good job?"
I wasn't surprised at their reactions. Alice and Debbie whooped and whistled with delight. Mrs Thomson gasped, stared, and covered her mouth with her hand. Stella clapped and laughed:
"You've done an amazing job, Sandra!"
"Well, yes, Sandra," said Mrs Thomson, "Dear me.  Quite astonishing!"
"Wow, awesome!!" Alice laughed, "Yes, Simon, that's much better! My sister's so clever!”
They all sat there gawping at me.  There was a mirror on the far wall, and mercifully I could only see my upper half in it.  What struck me forcibly at that moment was how easily I could be taken for a girl.  It was a revelation.  I was effectively two genders in one body.  My upper half was delightfully feminine whilst the rest of me was definitely male.  Momentarily I felt pulled in two opposite directions.  Or were they opposite?  No, perhaps not.  Of course, I thought, everyone had these two elements within them.  In some they were competing.  In others fused together.  In me?  In me they had not yet arrived at a resolution.  That was all.
My thoughts were interrupted by a shout from Alice.
“Mummy?”
"Yes, dear?"
"Could we do photos now?  You said we would be able to, remember?"
Mrs Thomson nodded. "I don’t see why not.  We can do them in the garden."
“One here first!”  And before I could protest she had snapped me with her phone, right there in all my glory.
Sandra came to my rescue.  “Girls!  Hold on.  How about some make-up first?  Simon would look so much nicer.”
“Yay!” cried the girls, as one.  “Let’s do it!”
“Okay.  Let’s go to my bedroom.  All the stuff is there.”  I looked at Sandra gratefully.  It would give me the chance to cool off a bit.
We trooped upstairs.  Sandra assembled her extensive collection of make-up on the bedside cabinet.  Then she got me sitting on the edge of her bed, which was quite low.  She piled up pillows behind me and gently pushed me onto them so I was leaning back at an angle of about forty-five degrees.  Alice and Debbie took up spectator positions cross-legged on the floor.  Sandra pushed my legs apart and knelt between them.  She leant forward, cleaning my face with little soft damp pads.  It felt nice, though in leaning forward her left hip pressed gently against my erection.
When she was satisfied, she started to smooth something onto the skin.
“This is foundation, Simon.  I’m only going to use a tiny bit on you, because your skin is already very smooth.”
“Okay.”
“Now a tiny bit of eyeliner, and a touch of mascara.”
“You’re going to be beautiful, Simon,” grinned Debbie.
As she worked on me, she kept on kneeling up to refresh the make-up, then leaning in again.  Every time she leant forward she squashed me a little, generating a thrill of pleasure.  Was it deliberate?  Surely not.  But now the girls were now standing either side of her to get a better view of my face, and she was pressed against me, and all the time almost imperceptibly undulating her hips in a steady rhythm, compressing and releasing, compressing and releasing.  It was like being gently milked.   I was breathing heavily.  She needed to stop, and soon!  Then all at once she turned to Alice.
“Darling?  Could you and Debbie go and ask Stella for her rouge?  I seem to have run out.”
“Okay!” they shouted, and darted off.  “Close the door, girls!”  I looked at Sandra.
“It’s code.  Stella doesn’t use rouge.  She’ll know what to do.”
She smiled at me and, supporting herself on her hands, resumed her movements, slightly faster now.  I groaned.  Sandra smiled.
“Come on Simon,” she whispered softly in my ear, “Let go.  Just let go.”
She pressed her lips to my ear and I toppled helplessly over the edge.  I literally saw stars, and I think I blacked out for a moment. I was overwhelmed with pleasure.  Eventually I lay there under her, twitching slightly  and totally exhausted.
“Is that better?”
“Sandra…why did you…do that?”
“Cos you needed it, you poor thing.”
We lay there together for some minutes, not speaking.  Eventually I said,
“Well, you’ll have to go out with me now.  Will you be my girlfriend?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.  But you can be my girlfriend, if you like.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think you’d be happier like that.  Wouldn’t you?”
“I’m still not sure.”
“Well, there’s plenty of time.”
“Do you love me?”
“I’ve always loved you, silly.”
“But like that.”
“Looks like it, doesn’t it?  But we have to be for ever wary about love.”
“Wary?  What do you mean?”
She stood up and went to her bookshelf.  She pulled down an old volume, and opened it at a marker.  She read to me.
“Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a Heaven in Hell’s despair.”
“That’s beautiful.”
“Hold on.  I haven’t finished yet.”
“Love seeketh only self to please,
To bind another to its delight,
Joys in another’s loss of ease,
And builds a Hell in Heaven’s despite.”
We looked at each other.  She replaced the volume, came over, and held me in her arms.  After a while she said, “You’d better get cleaned up.  My bathroom’s there.”  I went and showered.  I didn’t know – I still don’t know – all that I felt.  But deeply, eternally, happy.
We came downstairs a bit later.  Everyone was strangely subdued.  Everything had changed, somehow.  We spent a quiet afternoon and my aunt picked me up after dinner.  She looked at me oddly.  She too was affected by the atmosphere.  When we left, Sandra and I didn’t kiss as usual – we just touched hands for a few moments.  Alice’s parting shot was:
“Bye Simon.  Let’s do the make-up next time.  At least I have one really hot photo!”

[sissyplasticknickers]

I adore this story, thank you for posting x

[Simonssister]

Thanks!  I'm enjoying writing it.  It may not be to everone's taste, so it's nice to have your endorsement. xx

[jeangurl]

Lovely I identify with Simone  :P

[Simonssister]

Chapter IX:  Show Time

Okay.  It’s my turn now.  He had had an easy ride at Sandra’s, thanks to her - what shall we call it? – ‘emotional involvement’.  But as far as the next weekend was concerned, I was in charge.  Sandra and Bea had done their bits, getting his outfit together.  But now my dewy-eyed little brother was going to introduced to the horsey world; and he was going to find it a much tougher environment!  My friend Sue Dawson, who owned Holly End Equestrian Centre, had seen some of the piccies and vids of Simon, and was very interested in getting him involved.  We had already had some discussions about long-term plans.  She thought his boot-cleaning skills, combined with his cute looks and sexy little outfits, were wasted on our small circle.  “Imagine, Stella,” she said, “imagine if we had him here, all dressed up in his little rubber pants, as a permanent boot boy.  You know what most of these horsey women are like.  They’d go mad for him.  And he’d be in seventh heaven, wouldn’t he?  Wouldn’t he?  Well, if not, too bad!  I want him and I mean to have him!”  She winked at me wickedly.  It was a great idea, and the show would be the perfect introduction.  I’d already given Simon some lessons the previous winter in leading a horse, both with a leading rein and simply a rope through the bit ring, so I was quite confident in his ability to do the job.  But I was also hoping for some good fun on the day, to which end I’d arranged a little help from one of my mates, Phoebe, who would also be acting as a groom.  Phoebe won the ‘best turned-out groom’ competition most years, and she wasn’t partial to interlopers!   â€œLeave him to me, Stella,” she said, “I’ll make sure he’s put firmly in his place!”  For myself, I always had fun at these events.  It wasn’t even the competing, though I always aimed to win.  I really am not a good loser.  No.  I have to confess that when I get out of my old working rags and into my poshest riding gear, it always turns me on.  Suddenly all the wimps who ignore me all the rest of the time start taking an interest.  I just love the feeling of them impotently salivating over my tight breeches and gleaming boots, knowing they’ve got no chance, not daring to say a word to me.  If it’s a girl it makes me even hotter.  And when I’m astride Bobby, nestled firmly against the hard leather saddle, looking down on them….well, best not go there right now.  Let’s get back to Simon, and let him tell the story.  I’ve left out all the stuff from the preceding week.  It was mostly about Sandra, and rated 9.5 on a scale of soppiness!  Love is blind!

Friday 24th June.  It’s the show at Holly End tomorrow, so I had to get Stella’s equipment ready this evening.  Auntie drove us round, and after supper Stella came with me to the garage and showed me my outfit for the big day.  We decided I wouldn’t put it on until the morning so it didn’t get dirty.  There were the heavyweight latex pants and the belt, a nice new ‘Boot Boy’ T shirt and cap, and instead of my choker, a wider, thicker pink collar with a tiny silver bell at the front and a steel ring at the back and a buckle which locked with a tiny padlock.  I was a bit puzzled why it needed to lock.  “In case I need to tether you!” joked Stella, showing me the key or her keyring.  I also had my Doc Marten’s and my floppy socks, my latex gloves – proper gloves for the show - and a cute little purple and pink bomber jacket which Stella told me Sandra had bought.  I packed all my clothes neatly into my rucksack.  My aunt had bought me a little rubber care kit, consisting of a tube of latex polish, a tube of lubricant gel, and a little atomizer containing rose-scented perfume, which could be used to make rubber smell nice.  I didn’t want to disappoint her, so I had let her pack it in the side pocket.  I put the rucksack and my boots in the corner ready for the next day, and turned my attention to Stella’s boots.
I gave Stella's boots the full treatment.  First, a second wash and brush, including the soles, to make sure they were spotless.  Then I applied a rubber cream with cotton wool, and polished it off.  I finished them off with a silicone spray and another polish with a soft cloth.  By the time I had done that, they were gleaming!  I waxed the spur straps and polished the little nickel spurs till they shone, then carefully strapped them in place.  Finally, I brushed her show jacket and hat, both of which were a beautiful dark royal blue, and checked her riding breeches for marks.  They were also immaculate, but I had a little bottle of talc in my rucksack just in case.  That will always cover up any unforeseen speck of dirt.  I felt proud that I was going to be leading her around, and that I was going to be a proper and responsible groom.  I hoped I could at least impress Ms Dawson if no-one else.

We were up at six the next morning, ate breakfast, and drove to Holly End, arriving at seven-thirty. The weather was bright and warm, even that early. We paid a visit to one of the stable blocks, where Bobby lived. Today Stella was not going to have time to prepare him for showing, so the head groom Jane and another girl were working on him, trimming his tail, plaiting his main, brushing him, painting his hooves with some oily stuff, and making lovely checkerboard marks on his chestnut rump, which I think she called "quarter marks". He was looking very pretty, all shiny in the sunlight. I was introduced to Jane, but she was so busy she didn't have time to talk. She said she would tell me all I needed to know after I was dressed and ready. From there we walked up the track to the main building, which was larger than I had imagined, of red brick with glass doors. In reception, which was hung with lots of pictures of riders and horses, and decorated with plants in pots, a lady called Mary wished us good morning. She said she was sorry Sue wasn't there to meet me, but that she was busy preparing the show ground. She'd catch up with me after the show. Stella took me into the offices behind reception and showed me a room with an en suite bathroom I could use to change. She went off to get ready too. It took me only a few minutes to slip on my pants, T-shirt, boots and socks.  I buckled my belt, stuffed my jacket, hat, and collar back into my rucksack, and headed off back to reception to meet Stella. She hadn't finished dressing yet, but Mary was there. She was impressed by my outfit.
"Wow, Simon, that's a really ... amazing costume! Did you choose it yourself?"
"Well, pretty much," I lied, "but my aunt and my friends helped. Do you think I stand any chance in the best groom competition?"
"Oh, that. You'll have some stiff competition. There's a prize now, so all the girls will be making a serious effort to look good. Watch out for Phoebe in particular.  Though I don't expect any of them will be wearing anything like that. I'm sure you'll make an impression."
She stood back and looked me up and down. "Here, let me fix your shorts." And she knelt down and adjusted the leg bands, making them level and symmetrical. "I love the little pink frills! They're so smart!" She stood up. "And you've got matching gloves! If I can get off reception for a few minutes I'll come down and cheer you on later. Good luck, anyway!"
I could see Stella approaching. I was quite shocked by her appearance. Normally she was so carelessly dressed, but now, in her pristine riding gear and gleaming boots, her hard hat under her arm and her whip in her hand, she looked magnificent.
"Hi Stella. You look fantastic!"
"You look pretty good yourself, young man! Got your collar?"
"Right here."
"Come here and I'll put it on." 
She turned me round and placed the collar round my neck.  It fitted perfectly, and had a soft fleece lining which was very comfortable.  I slipped on my new jacket in front of the reception mirror and zipped it up.  It looked very neat, and was short enough to show off my new pants to best advantage.  I stuck my Boot Boy cap on my head, and together we made our way out of reception and trotted down through the stables and fields towards the show ground.  The little bell on my collar tinkled all the way.  I didn’t think it was a great idea, but it would have been pointless objecting now.  There were lots of girls in jods and boots walking about or leading horses. Some of them stopped and stared at us as we passed, or whispered amongst themselves. I wasn’t sure whether it was Stella or me attracting their attention.  Either way I felt pleased.  In one of the fields there were hurdles made of painted poles and two girls jumping their horses over them. A few more horses were just grazing in other fields.  The school was much bigger than I had thought. As we walked down the path we got a clear view of the showground. Stella stopped and pointed out the main features.
"Look Simon. Nearest to us you can see those two lines of loose boxes. That's where the horses wait to go out. In between them, see that oval railed area? That's the parade ring, the paddock. That’s where you’ll be leading Bobby around when you’re waiting for me to come and mount.  The idea is to let the horses loosen up before they go into the main arena, and also to allow the spectators to get a good close-up look at them.  You can see the showing and dressage arena on the right.”
“It’s big.  Bigger than I thought it would be.”
Well, there’s more than twenty horses to show, and those that aren’t performing have to wait in that roped off area on the left.  Now, see the tiers of seats?  They’re just temporary.  The school hires them for shows.  You’ll be sitting there while the showing and dressage is going on, so you’ll have a great view.”
“Who else gets to sit there?”
“All the grooms and helpers, and special people like relatives and officials.  People like that.  And see that table in front of the seats?  That where the judges sit.”
“Who are the judges?”
Today it’ll be Mrs Dawson herself and another lady called Miss Strickland.  She’s from the British Horse Society.  She knows everything about horses.”
"I can see another field farther on with jumps in it."
"Yes, that's for the show jumping. I'm not doing that today but some people will be. Now, do you see at the end of that nearest row of loose boxes there's a long red-brick building? That's used as the grooms' waiting-room.  It used to be a big stable.  There are rings all round the walls where they used to tether the horses in the old days.  You’ll get to meet all the other grooms in there while the horses are waiting in their boxes. Come on.  Let's go and find Bobby. He should be in number five."

We walked on down the path.  It curved around to the right and split, running around the paddock and along the front of the two rows of loose boxes, one on either side. A few girls were standing in groups talking. They stopped and stared as we walked by. Stella said hello to some of them. We carried on till we came to number five box, where Jane and the other girl were attending to Bobby. The girl was brushing him gently while Jane held his head. They both turned to greet us as we entered. The two girls gaped at me with amazement. I blushed and looked down. Jane was the first to speak.
"H-hello, Stella! Sorry, I didn't recognise Simon for a moment. Hi Simon!"
"Hi, Jane!"
"Hi Simon.  Sorry.  You look so different in your outfit.  This is Denise. She's prepping Bobby."
Denise said nothing except “Is that a bell?”.  Just stood there looking me up and down with a sort of disbelieving smirk on her face.  Very rude, I thought.  I addressed myself to Jane.
"Do you think it's ...okay?" I asked nervously.
"It’s very nice…very colourful.  You’re certainly going to stand out amongst the girls.  I really don’t know what the judges will make of it. They'll either love it or they'll hate it! Oh, sorry – I didn't mean ..."
"No, that's okay, Jane. I'm sort of nervous but everyone I've asked says it's pretty cool. Do you know how many people there are likely to be here today?"
"Oh, quite a few, I think. The weather's good and that normally means a good turn-out. Would you like to meet the other grooms while I have a chat to Stella? Denise, could you take Simon to the waiting-room, please?"
All the time Jane had been talking, Denise, who I reckoned was probably a couple of years younger than me, had simply been standing there staring at me with undisguised amusement, in the most irritating manner.  Instead of responding immediately to Jane’s request, she coolly took out her phone, and I’m sure she took a photo of me, under the pretence of sending a text!
"Denise?"
"Sorry, Jane. Just had to text my mum. This way, Simon.”
She ushered me out of the box, still smirking, and walked ahead of me down to the waiting-room. She didn't say a word, just strode along while I followed on, singing some stupid song under her breath.  The rudest girl I’d ever met!  When we got to the door of the building she threw it open and shouted to whoever was inside, "Stella's groom!" – and suffixed it with a loud snort of mirth.
"Thank you!" I said, as sarcastically as I could, and walked into the room. There had been a hubbub of girlish voices, but as I entered it trailed off into dead silence.  I was confronted by a group of about two dozen young girls, mostly in cream-coloured breeches and boots, with black or check jackets. Two dozen faces turned towards me, and two dozen pairs of eyes widened as they took me in.  I didn't know quite what to say.
"H-hello." I began, taking off my rucksack.  I paused. "I-I'm Simon."
No-one moved.  In the silence that followed someone said, "Oh my god!" Someone else piped up, “Simon?  Simon the Boot Boy!  Look – it says so on his cap!”  Another: “Have you come to shine our boots, Boot Boy?  Better get started, then!”   Then suddenly, pandemonium.  They mobbed me, crowding round and jostling and pushing me, laughing and shouting and whooping. It was impossible for me to defend myself.  This was nothing like I had expected.  Stella had warned me these horsey girls can be a bit boisterous.  But I thought they’d be nice to a new boy and I imagined them helping me and giving me advice!  I was quickly disabused of this notion, however.  They thrust me back against the wall and held me there by my arms and legs while the main body fell back to survey me properly. One girl came forward and took charge.  She was a little older and taller than the others, almost my height. She alone carried a riding whip, which she stuck down the side of her boot as she approached me. Someone said to her, "What are we going to do with him, Phoebe?" So this was Phoebe. She was pretty, slim and blonde. Her hair was tightly pinned up and gathered in a net. She wore tall leather riding boots, expensive-looking cream breeches, a tweedy riding jacket, and a stock with a gold pin. She looked me up and down several times, and flicked my little bell, with a malicious smile on her face.
“So you’re the famous Simon.  I was warned to expect you.  What do you think you're wearing, little boy?  Well?”
“I-it’s just my groom outfit, miss. Before today I didn’t really know what grooms wear, anyway.  I’ve never done this before.”
She put her face close to mine and looked steadily into my eyes.  I blinked nervously.  I felt her tug at my leg frills, pulling the leg band out and letting it snap back onto my thigh.  The heavy rubber actually stung as it hit my skin.  “Ow!”  She did this several times more. “Are these really rubber?  (snap!)  They are, aren’t they? (snap!)  “How sweet.”  (snap!)  So what’s your game, Simon the Boot Boy in your little rubber panties?  (snap!)  “Hoping to catch the judge’s eye, are we?”  (snap!)
“No!  P-please stop.  I just wanted to look smart for Stella!” I whined.
She looked at me incredulously.  “Okay.  Beth – give me a carabiner from the box, would you?”  There was some movement in the corner and a girl came up and gave Phoebe an oval steel thing.  She put her finger through the ring at the back of my collar and pulled me to a tethering point on the wall.  Then she used the ‘carabiner’ to fasten my collar to the tether, screwing it up tight.  She stepped back.
“Right.  Now we’re going to get some answers.  Aren’t we girls?”  Cheering from the spectators.  “Beth?  Lock the door please.”
“I-I didn’t mean to c-cause you any problems.” I stammered weakly.
“Oh, it’s no problem, darling,” said Phoebe, “not for us, at least.  Now tell us, where did you get these sweet little pants?”
“My aunt bought them for me.”
“Do you like them?”
“Y-yes.  I’ve got more than one pair.”
“Really?  How many?”
“I-I’m not sure.  My aunt keeps them.  They’re different colours.”
There was a general howl of laughter.  I had recovered from my initial shock and was beginning to feel annoyed.  I said something I shouldn’t have.  Something pompous and stupid.
“They’re actually very cool.  You may not understand fashion very well, if you just wear jods and boots every day!”  There was a frosty silence.  Phoebe drew her riding whip out of her boot.  I was about to retract my last statement when the flap at the end of it struck me on my flank.  “Ouch!” I yelled.  “No, don’t do that!”
“Just be quiet, Boot Boy, or you’ll regret it.”
“But ..”  She hit me again, this time on my bare thigh, leaving a red weal.
“Did you not hear me, boy?”  I nodded.  “Beth.  Search his rucksack.”  She resheathed her whip.
“There’s not much here.  Tissues.  Polos.  Sandwiches.  Oh, what’s this?  ‘Rubbercare Travelling Kit’”
“Let me see,” said Phoebe.  “Aha!  Polish…and scent…and lube.  Perfect!  I think we should help Simon to show off his pants to best advantage.”
At that moment, there was a knock at the door and Jane called from outside, “Girls – oh, and Simon – five minutes and you’re on!”
“Okay, Jane!”
Phoebe held the lube in one hand, and with the other deftly unbuckled my belt.  “Beth, hold his shirt up a moment.”  Then she pulled open the waistband of my pants and squirted half the bottle of cold gel down my front.  My hands were free.  I could have tried to stop her.  But the truth is, I was terrified of her now.  Beth tucked my shirt back in, and Phoebe rebuckled my belt.
She stood back for a minute, smiling.  She pulled out her whip once again, and prodded me with it.  In particular, she pressed the flap firmly against the little mound of my sausage, lying against my left thigh.  As my pants were now full of lube, it immediately slipped upwards.  With the end of her whip she worked it up to the vertical, then down the other side – much to the delight and amusement of all present.  Then back again.  “It’s three o’clock again!” laughed one of the grooms.  She did this a couple of times, commentating on its steadily increasing tumescence. 
“It’s getting bigger.”   â€œOh, yes, definitely longer this time.”  “And fatter!”  “I think we’re nearly there, girls!”  I squirmed and protested weakly, but thought it safer to let them have their fun.  They had to let me go in a couple of minutes, anyway.  At last she was satisfied.
“I think that’s it, Simon!  Well done!  Miss Strickland will be so impressed!  What’s that, leaking out of your pants?  Just lube, I hope?  You shouldn’t use so much, you know.  Never mind!”
“Now, polish.  Mind you, they’re quite shiny already.  But we’ll give them a final treatment.”
It was a cream polish.  One of the girls found a clean cloth, to which Phoebe applied a big blob of rubber cream.  She made me stick my bum out and applied cream liberally.  “There, it’s really glossy now.  The judges will be dazzled!  Now, stand up straight.”  She squirted more cream onto the cloth and polished it slowly into the rest of my pants, my flanks, my crotch, and my front, pushing my erection back and forth in the process.  As the last vestige of cream disappeared from the gleaming purple latex, she checked her watch.  “Hmm.  Just nine.  Okay.”  And she used one finger to slide me into the appropriate position, along my right right-hand leg band.  “There!  Now you are telling the right time!”  More laughter.
“Time to go Phoebe,” someone called from the door.
“One last thing.”  And she picked up the atomiser and sprayed me liberally from my neck to my knees with scent.
“Okay, let us out.”
“W-what about me,” I asked.
“Oh, you can stay here, boy.”  I must have looked horrified.  “Don’t worry, I’m just joking.  We don’t want to keep that lovely outfit from your public, do we?  Beth, could you release Simon here before you leave, please?”
“Sure.  Move, boy.  Let me get at that ring.  Ooh, you smell wonderful!”  As the others were filing out, Beth unscrewed the steel link and set me free.
“Thanks.”
“No probs.  See you in the paddock.”

I repacked the rubber kit in my rucksack and stowed it in a cupboard.  By the time I reached the door the time by my special clock was rapidly approaching midday.  The lubricant, which was now evident on the insides of my thighs, made it impossible for me to control.  I walked out onto the path.  What could I do? I pulled down the peak of my cap, kept my eyes on the ground, and made my way as quickly as I could to box five. Denise was there holding Bobby, who was now saddled and bridled and ready to be ridden. The first thing she did was to check out my pants.  She reacted with another snort of laughter.
“Looks like you got the full initiation, then!”  Then the perfume hit her.  “You smell lovely!  I hope it doesn’t frighten Bobby!” 
She fastened a number band onto my left arm, and handed me the rope threaded through Bobby's bit ring. Then she retreated to the pathway, pulling her phone out of her pocket as she did so.
"Boy – just a quick one, please!"  Before I could respond she had taken another snap.  “Good luck!  You’d get first prize in the sissy category, if there was one!”
I waited in box five.  Jane was standing on the grass calling out the numbers. As she called a number, the groom leading that horse had to bring it out of its box and walk it down the path to the paddock to join the others. The paddock was big enough to accommodate twenty or thirty horses.  They would be led around on the tarmac path which ran round the perimeter, just inside the railings. The riders would later congregate on the grass in the centre, whilst the onlookers could stand around the outside and get a good view of proceedings, as well as being within touching distance of the horses. Mainly as a matter of safety, it was customary for the grooms to walk on the inside of their charges. This is what I was thinking about as I waited for Jane to call my number.
"Five!"

[BetBots]

Chapter IX:  Show Time (continued)

I took a deep breath and gave the leading rope a tug.  Bobby came willingly out of his box, but at a leisurely pace. I tried to hide myself beside him but really there was no way of disguising the state I was in. For the time being I was between the horse and the building, so it was not too bad, but when the path curved away to the paddock I'd have no cover at all. Worse, as I walked, my eager boyhood flicked slightly back and forth, like the hand of a metronome, from one side of the centre seam to the other. Where the rubber was joined it formed a little ridge, which grazed the sensitive underside at each stroke, precluding any possibility of recession. We turned into the gap in the rails and entered the ring. The horses were walking anti-clockwise, so I was now on Bobby's inside, with him between me and the people leaning on the rails. That was something at least. And it was still early, so there weren't many people around the paddock. But at that moment I heard my name called.
"Simon! Over here!" I looked across the opposite side of the paddock and there stood Alice, Debbie, and half a dozen of the girls from my class, and with them Chloe and Charlotte and a whole bunch of year twos, goggle-eyed with delight and all ready with their phones!  “Bullshit!” I muttered under my breath.  “Why did they all have to turn up?”  I all but ignored them as we drew level, but Alice and Debbie trotted and skipped along beside us all around the ring.  At least they weren’t allowed inside.
"Simon!" gasped Debbie, "You're so lucky! So many of our friends are here, and Chloe’s brought hers as well.!
“So I see,” I replied, “How nice of them.”
"We all want piccies, Simon! Will you be able to pose for us later? Miss Benson is here too, and she said we can put one up in the classroom if it's good enough!"
Miss Benson? Why was she here? She was supposed to be busy. But yes, there she was sure enough, laughing and joking with the others.  And more of my classmates arriving along the path! No, it wasn't fair!
On the next circuit Miss Benson waved, and the rest of them were either jumping about with excitement, or trying to take pictures.  I tried to ignore them.  What else could I do?  All the while my swollen member, stimulated by the gentle but regular oscillation, refused to subside.  My ears burned with embarrassment.  I held on tight to Bobby and pretended to be thinking about something, despite having my name called incessantly.  Now the fluids in my pants, a mixture of the lube with my own natural secretions, were trying to escape.  My right leg band slid up and down my thigh as I walked, generating a frothy slime along the line of the frilling..  I had no tissues on me and in any case the last thing I wanted was to draw attention to my plight.  A lot of the competitors, including Stella and her friends, were leaning on the paddock rails chatting,.  Some of them followed me with their eyes as I walked the circuit.  Some of the women were very attractive, and being surrounded by all those tight breeches and shiny boots helped to keep me aroused, despite the fact that by this time the constant to and fro of my member was making me distinctly uncomfortable.  Eventually the riders started to make their way onto the lawn in the middle of the paddock, and soon grooms were being summoned to being over their mounts.  I gave a sigh of relief when Stella approached me.  She patted me on the head and I helped her mount.
"Thanks, Sim. Great job! Wish me luck!"
"Yeah, go for it Stell!" I slipped the leading rope out of the bit ring and tied it round my belt.

As the riders left the paddock the grooms got into line again, and when the last horse trotted out of the exit they followed on. I tagged onto the back of the line, not quite knowing what was supposed to happen next. But then I heard Phoebe's voice behind me.
"Maybe I overdid the perfume a bit."
"Yes. And the lubricant!"
"Well, it seems to be doing its job. Come on, keep up!" And she gave the back of my leg a flick with her whip.
"Ow!" I looked round. "Where are we going?"
"We've got ringside seats, didn't you know? We've got the third row back, behind the relatives and dignitaries. Stick with me and I'll show you."
As we made our way to the seating alongside the show ground, my erection began to subside, but little beads of fluid were now escaping from under the frills and trickling down my bare thigh.  By the time we arrived at the tiered seats I was sticky to my knee.  The seats were no more than benches. Phoebe allowed a few girls to go in, then pushed me forward and followed on herself. The rest of the grooms took their seats to our left. I discovered that I had the annoying Denise on my right.
"You're not a groom!" I whispered, as I undid my jacket.
"Not today, stupid, but I'm the best prepper here. So mind your own beeswax!" She glanced down at my leg.  “Oh, that’s so gross!  Would you like a tissue?”
“Oh, yes please, Denise.”
“Well, I haven’t got one!”
It was hot now, so I wiped my leg with my gloved fingers and hoped the rest would dry by itself.  Then I settled back to watch the competitions. The dressage was first. Stella did really well, but there were some really great riders and amazing horses out there, and in the end she was placed fifth. Then came the showing. This was more her style. There were even more competitors here, but Bobby looked beautiful, partly due, I had to admit, to Denise's work, and Stella sat so straight and haughty-looking in the saddle no-one could fail to be impressed.
"Good work on those boots!" whispered Denise, "I think we're in with a chance here."
It was a long process. The judges were conferring, narrowing down the field to the best riders. Stella and another girl were asked to appear again. The sun had dried my legs, warming the latex, and I could feel myself swelling again. I covered the bulge with my hand and tried to focus on the competition.  We were all on tenterhooks. In the excitement Phoebe was gripping my left thigh, while Denise was nervously hanging onto the frills on my right leg. Their combined attentions made matters worse, and soon my unruly boyhood had regained its full proportions, its tip not far below my belt buckle. I leant forward in my seat as if engrossed in events on the field, attempting to hide my arousal.  But my mind was elsewhere, so that the announcement over the Tannoy, and the immediate burst of applause took me by surprise.  Denise jumped to her feet.
"She's down it! Hooray!"
"She's won, Simon! Stella's won!" Phoebe shouted in my ear. "You'd better get down there!"
"What?"
"Get down there! You have to lead Bobby up for the presentation!"
"No!"
"Yes, idiot! Go!!" She dragged me upright and pushed me in front of her. The line of grooms were all staring at me. I struggled past the first girl. There was limited room by their feet, and I could see that none of them was going to move to help me pass.   I had to run the gauntlet, except I wasn’t running, but picking my way awkwardly along the line, bell tinkling, apologising all the way, my cheeks burning.  They had an unrestricted eye-level view of my erection.  “That’s a big one!  The horse, stupid!”  “Cindy, would you like my sausage roll?”  “Has anyone seen my banana?”  By the time I emerged onto the steps I had tears in my eyes, and as I descended clumsily to the field I noticed that my right leg band had started slipping against my thigh again.  As I made my way to where Stella and Bobby were waiting, I heard my name being announced, amid cheers from my schoolfriends.  I zipped up my little jacket and threaded the rope through Bobby’s bit.
"About time," she whispered, "Right, now lead us over to the judges table."
I led him forward.  The two judges, Sue and Miss Strickland, sitting at their table, smiled and contemplated us with satisfaction.  The sun was now overhead.  I was perspiring freely and blinking in the strong light.
“Well done, Stella! Said Sue.  “And you, young man.”
Miss Strickland read out the citation and Stella's score. I stood to attention, holding Bobby's lead with one hand and the other at my side and looked straight ahead; but I could see out of the corner of my eye Mrs Dawson was gazing fixedly at my pants, a faint smile on her face.  I daren’t look down at myself, but I could feel the faint tickling sensation as a new dribble of fluid began to descend my thigh.  It moved slowly, stickily, towards my knee.  Sue seemed to be watching it with interest. I could do nothing about it. I felt it reach my knee and my tilting my head a little I could see a long string of clear fluid hanging from my knee and periodically releasing drops onto my Doc Marten’s. I could also see a blob of white froth hanging from the leg frilling of the left leg of my pants!  I wanted the ground to open and swallow me up!  My only hope was that they thought it was sweat dripping out of my pants.  The heat of the sun sustained my erection, and the scent of warm latex mingled with that of summer roses.  At last it was time for the presentation.  Miss Strickland presented Stella with her prize, attaching the rosette to Bobby's bridle.  I too was awarded a little rosette, which she pinned to my jacket.  She congratulated both of us again, to more applause from the crowd, and then we had to submit to the inevitable photographs, first by one of the grooms for the school’s hall of fame, and then, more humiliating, by a photographer from the local paper, who wanted to ask me questions about being a boy groom!  I fended her off, and as soon as I could, I led Bobby away back to the boxes.   By the time we got there I was in a terrible state, though my erection had finally subsided.  I grabbed a roll of kitchen towel and cleaned myself up, wiping my legs and boots and the inside of my pants until I was respectable again.
“Well that was some show!” said Stella.
“Yeah.  Well done, sis.  You were amazing!”
“You were pretty amazing yourself, little bro!  But you’d better get back there for the grooms’ competition!”
“Oh, yes!  I almost forgot!”  I dashed back across the field.  The grooms were all in line on the grass, now, and the judges were walking along inspecting them and asking questions.  They had a microphone and the interviews were being broadcast to the crowd.   I attached myself to the end of the line. The girl next to me grinned at me but said nothing.  When the judges eventually got to me I think the whole line turned their heads to watch.
“So.  This is Simon, I believe.  We’ve already seen you once today, haven’t we?” said Mrs Dawson.
“Yes, miss.”  (A few shouts of “Go, Simon!” from my schoolmates.)
“I understand you’re our Stella’s brother.”
“That’s right, miss.”
“And you’ve never done anything like this before?”
“No, miss, never.”
“Did you enjoy yourself today?”
“Very much, miss”
“And tell us, Simon,” said Miss Strickland, “Tell us something about your outfit.  It’s most unconventional, though of course quite within our rules.  Did you design it yourself?  It looks rather American in style, I thought.”
“Well, to tell the truth, miss, it was mainly my aunt and my sister and my friend Sandra.  But they took my taste into account, I think.”
“Well, I think your taste is very nice, and your family and friends most supportive.  I know I speak for Mrs Dawson as well when I say we’d love to see you here as a groom again soon.”
“Thank you, miss!”
The judges retired to their table, and soon announced the winner, which was, predictably, Phoebe.  But amazingly they gave me what they called a “special commendation” for innovation and, I think they said, “daring”! It came with a little pink rosette and a fiver!  Cool!
As the show wound up, Phoebe came over and tweaked my ear.
“You did it, you little sexpot!”
“What do you mean?
“You got the judges going with that little display of yours.  Smart work!”
“I don’t know what you mean!”
“Oh, never mind.  Play the innocent, then.  But make sure you come back soon.  You’re fun to have around, Simon.”
“Oh, well, thank you, Phoebe,” I said, not knowing quite how to take that remark.
I saw Stella approaching across the field.  I ran towards her, but at that moment all my schoolfriends arrived from another direction and mobbed me.
“Simon!  You won two prizes!”  shouted Alice, embracing me.
“Yes, Simon.  And I would have given you another for having the biggest …”
“Debbie!  Shut up!” interrupted Alice.  “Leave him alone!  I think he’s great!”
“Oh, okay Ally.  I was just joking.  Simon – my barbecue’s next Saturday.  And we need to discuss costumes.  Please can we get together tomorrow?”
“Ooh, yes, Simon, please!” echoed Alice.
I was in a good mood now.  “Okay.  Don’t see why not!”

But now Stella dragged me away.  “Sue needs to talk to you before you run away, remember?  Just follow me.  She should be back in the office now.”
We headed back up the slope to the main buildings.  Sue and Mary were in reception, talking to Miss Strickland.  They greeted me ecstatically.
“Simon!  Thank so much for coming!” cried Mrs Dawson, “You were great today!”   
"Oh, thank you, Miss Dawson.  I’m sorry about … you know, getting a bit over-excited and stuff.  It was a very big day for me.  I’ve never been to a proper show before.”
“Oh, Simon, my dear, I don’t know why you’re apologising.  We couldn’t have been more impressed, could we Rebecca?”
“Not at all, Simon.  You looked wonderful!  You must tell me where you bought those gorgeous pants.  I’d like to get a pair for my son.”
“Oh, my mum got them, Miss Strickland,” cut in Stella.  “I’ll give you her email and I’m sure she’d be delighted to let you have all the details.”
“Thank you, Stella!”
“Why don’t we all go into the office and have a chat?” said Mrs Dawson.  “Mary, could you keep an eye on reception for half-an hour?  Simon, I hope you don’t mind if Miss Strickland joins us?  She has an interest in the policies of equestrian establishments, and what I’m going to suggest is quite innovative.”
“Of course not, miss.”
“And please call me Sue from now on, and Miss Strickland is Rebecca.  Okay?”
So it was that the four of us found ourselves sitting around Sue’s desk.
“Well Simon, you know already from your sister that we were thinking of utilising your obvious talents at Holly End.   Originally, I was thinking you might come in and run our tack room. I was so impressed with your work on Stella's boots. But then I had an idea, an idea that could be good for both of us. And it came to me after so many of my clients had actually asked how Stella got her boots so glossy and bright.  So let me get straight to the point. How about, if we set up a little salon for you in the school? You would clean and polish boots, we would pay you, and you'd get to keep all your tips. At the beginning you could work maybe just one day a week, and we'd see how it went. What do you think?"
"Oh!  I see!  But how would that work, exactly?” I asked.  “Would people leave their boots with me to work on?"
"Oh, no, Simon, not quite.  The idea would be, that you'd shine their boots while they were wearing them. The customer would have a nice comfy chair and you would kneel in front of them. We'd make sure you had all the proper facilities and mats and everything. You see,” she added confidentially, “the fact is this. A lot of my clients are quite posh, and maybe even a bit snooty.  They often have a very high estimation of their own worth.  Not all, of course!  But quite a few.  And they’re usually quite well-heeled, as it were.  Do you follow me?”
“Yes, I think so,” I said, still a bit puzzled.  “But I don’t really see why they’d pay for that.  I mean, surely they could polish their own boots at home for nothing?”
Sue and Rebecca both burst out laughing.  Rebecca said,
“Polish their own boots?”  Not the people we’re thinking of, Simon!  No, the people Sue is aiming at are those who’d still have a butler if it was acceptable or if they could find one.  This scheme will offer the perfect channel for their pretensions, believe me.”
“Really?  I’m amazed!”
“Shall I tell you something?” said Sue, “since you appeared on the field as a groom today, I’ve already had several enquiries about whether your services are available.  And whenever I’ve mentioned my idea of a boot-shine, there’s been a…well, let’s say, an enthusiastic response. They would just love the idea of having their own little boot slave kneeling before them polishing away, doing their bidding.”
“Well, I’m not sure, Sue.  I wouldn’t mind, I suppose.  I mean, I do quite like being a boot boy, it’s true.  But I’ve never thought of polishing someone’s boots like that before.”
The truth was that, as I thought of some of the beautiful women I’d seen at the show that very day, the thought of kneeling before them, polishing their riding boots, was already making my boyhood reawaken.  My main doubt was, could I cope with it?
“Would you like to try?”
“I’d have to ask my aunt and my mother, of course.”
 â€œWe’ve already cleared it with them, Sim,” said Stella.  “It’s entirely up to you.”
“Wow.”
"They seemed to think it was something you'd really enjoy, plus you would be earning some reasonable money,” said Sue.
"Er, about how much would I be earning?"
"Well, I'd pay you, say, seven pounds an hour to start, and I'm sure you'd get some good tips from the sort of clientele we’re talking about.”
"Really? That much?" I was gobsmacked. There were so many things I could buy with that sort of money.  It seemed a bit like prostitution, I admit, but what the hell?  For dosh like that there wasn’t much I wouldn’t have done.  And this sounded like fun, as well.
"Gosh. Well, yes, in that case I'd definitely like to have a go..."
“Good boy!” said Miss Strickland.  I don’t know what her interest was really, but she seemed very involved in the wholes scheme.
“Now, there’s just one big proviso, Simon, which I hope you feel able to agree to.”
“Yes?”
“Your uniform.  You will be required to wear your uniform, which may be like the one you wore today, or may be varied at the Centre’s complete discretion.”
“Oh.  Well, I don’t really have any objection to that, I suppose.  I like wearing a uniform, anyway.”
“Oh, good!” said Sue, “You know it’s essential for our clients that you’re nicely dressed, and sometimes they’re going to want something a bit special.  You know, maybe colours that they like, or fabrics, or whatever.  They’re going to be paying a good price for your services so of course they have a right to decide the details.  You understand I’m sure.”
I didn’t, but all I was thinking of was the money and the women.  The offer had brought out the worst aspects of my personality.  And when Sue produced a contract then and there, I didn’t even bother to read the small print.  I just signed it confidently.  The women looked at each other meaningfully.  Miss Strickland rubbed her hands.  “Well done, Simon!”

Before Stella and I departed, Sue walked us down the main path to the entrance to the Centre.  Just opposite the car park was a longish brick building which was clearly in the process of being completely renovated.  It had three blind walls and a row of high windows on the path side.  There was one door at the upper end nearest the offices. Inside, new beams had already been put in, and the floor was being tiled.  Cupboards and seats were wrapped in plastic awaiting installation.  Also a big mechanical chair, like a hairdresser’s chair, at the far end.  And there was wiring everywhere.
“This will be your headquarters, Simon,” said Sue.  “Your salon, as it were.  I took the liberty of getting work under way a week and a half ago, because I wanted it to be ready for the school holidays.  I don’t know what we should have done if you’d refused.
“But I didn’t,” I smiled, “so everything will be all right!”  I was even more committed now, seeing what Sue was investing in her idea.  My own salon!  I was going to someone once this got going.  I didn’t know what I’d do if it failed.
“I hope I get some customers,” I said, quietly.
“Oh. I think you’ll get a few,” said Sue, “Don’t worry!”