Joanne could hardly believe what was happening. The way it had been described to the nineteen-year-old stable girl, she had pictured nothing like this.
Sybil Baxter, the racehorse trainer for whom the pretty, shapely, dark-haired girl had recently started work, had described it as ‘a bit of fun.’
Draping an arm around the shoulder of the new girl, the blonde, attractive, yet formidable leading lady trainer, had explained what was so unusual about the Colonel Richard Hudson Memorial Steeplechase.
‘The late Colonel had been a keen supporter of National Hunt racing, and also the owner of the Carchester racecourse. He had been one for the ladies and, as well as horse racing, he had loved to smack the bottoms of young girls.’
Joanne laughed, imagining a bewhiskered, whiskey drinking, old soldier, smacking the upthrust buttocks of a servant girl; but what did Sybil Baxter’s revelation have to do with the big race on Saturday?
‘He was absolutely delighted when, in recent years, many more girls came into racing. The old boy was particularly fond of stable girls.’
Joanne pulled a face, but it was still a pretty one, nevertheless. The Colonel had now passed on, so her bottom couldn’t pass through his hands, so to speak.
The two females leaned on a white-painted rail as the trainer continued. ‘The Authorities have put up a nice trophy and good prize money as a proper memorial to the late Colonel’s enthusiasm for racing.’
Joanne nodded her obvious approval.
‘However,’ continued Sybil Baxter, ‘Unofficially, we trainers and owners decided to honour the memory of the old boy in a manner more befitting his other passion.’
Joanne’s big blue eyes widened, sensing that the bottoms of young stable girls somehow fitted into this tribute.
She was right.
The young girl subconsciously rubbed the palms of her hands over the nicely padded seat of her fawn coloured riding breeches, as she listened to her employer.
‘There is always a very good prize for the best turned out horse in the parade ring, so we thought that the person looking after the worst turned out horse should get something as well — a smacked bottom as a fitting memorial to one of racing’s great benefactors.’
Sybil laughed, her big breasts bobbing up and down. However, Joanne, the proud possessor of decent boobs herself, did not laugh.
‘What happens if it’s a stable lad who… er… loses?’ the young girl wanted to know.
Sybil Baxter started to walk away from the rail, and she smiled at Joanne.
‘It’s carefully arranged that only stable girls parade horses prior to that particular race.’
Joanne somehow knew that her employer was telling her all this for a good reason. Sure enough, Sybil mentioned that one of her particular charges, a chestnut gelding called Half Time, had been entered in the Memorial Chase at Carchester.
‘Anyway, it’s all a bit of fun really,’ breezed the blonde woman, sticking her hands in the pockets of her berber jacket, and setting off for the boxes in the yard. As she walked away, she turned her head and said to Joanne, ‘I suppose you’re game.’
It wasn’t a question. Joanne knew that she could back out if she wanted to. No employer could possibly insist on any of their staff taking part in such a ritual if they didn’t want to. A refusal, however, would not do much for an employee’s popularity or promotion prospects.
Sybil Baxter ran a very successful yard. The working conditions were better than in most and, as she sent out a lot of winners, there was always a fair amount of prize money to be divided up amongst the hard-working staff.
Joanne certainly didn’t wish to upset her own apple cart. Besides, there was only one girl who could lose, so the odds were pretty good. Furthermore, the popular, pretty-faced new arrival had already won one prize of £20 for turning out a horse at Hexham only the previous day. Little chance, therefore, that she would actually lose.
Anyway, hadn’t Sybil said that it was all a bit of fun, really? Joanne liked a bit of fun.
The day of the Colonel Richard Hudson Memorial Steeplechase drew nearer and nearer, until there was only a week to go.
Joanne talked about the event with a good-looking stable lad called Tony. He had a conditional jump jockey’s license and he occasionally rode one of the yard’s no-hopers in a selling hurdle.
‘So you’ve got your arse on offer at Carchester next Saturday, have you?’ he grinned, leaning against the doorway of Half Time’s box.
‘Guess so,’ grinned Joanne, dropping a hose into a bucket. ‘It’s big enough, isn’t it!’
‘I personally think it’s a very nice arse, Jo,’ he smiled, ‘I was riding out behind you this morning. Those breeches of yours are really tight across the beam, and the way that arse of yours was lifting and offering itself to me as you rode along, got me all hot and bothered.’
‘Really?’ remarked Joanne. She picked up the hose, turned on the tap, and a surprised Tony received a jet of cold water in his crotch. ‘That should cool you down a bit!’ she laughed.
She roared as he danced around, and she followed him with the hosepipe. She could get away with that with Tony. The pair of them had a good, though unconsummated, relationship.
The day of the Carchester races quickly came. Joanne sat up front in the big horse transporter with the Travelling Head Lad who was driving, and with Tony sitting alongside her. As they turned into the main gates, she could not help but wonder how many of the race-goers were aware of the ‘bit of fun’ involving the stable girls and the big race of the day — the Memorial Chase.
She led Half Time into his stall, confident that she was not going to lose out in the secret competition. Joanne was intrigued by it all, however, and she wanted to watch the event when it took place.
Joanne gave Half Time’s coat a final brushing, and checked that all the leather was clean and polished, before saddling him up and leading him out into the parade ring.
As she led her charge round, muttering to him when he nuzzled her neck, she was aware of an unusual fluttering in her tummy. Her view of the other horses was obscured by Half Time, the only other runner visible to her being the one immediately in front.
Joanne recognised the girl leading it as Amanda Raymond. Tall and blonde-haired, she was very attractive. In fact, she worked for a neighbouring stable, and she had chatted to Joanne several times in the village pub.
Joanne looked at Amanda’s jean-clad bottom, watching the cheeks rise and fall in the stretched denim, with each stride she took. She had never really noticed anyone’s bottom until now. Remembering Tony’s remark about her own rear, she smiled, wondering why he wasn’t impressed the same with her tits. Joanne knew she had really nice tits.
Amanda’s grey horse had its tail plaited, but Joanne didn’t think the leggy, blonde-haired girl had made a particularly good job of it.
The loudspeaker crackled to life once again, announcing that the £50 prize for the best turned out horse had been won by Joanne Bradley, who looked after number six, Half Time.
Joanne gave her charge an affectionate pat on the nose. She’d won fifty quid which would go towards a car. More importantly though, it wouldn’t be her bottom providing the ‘bit of fun’ later on.
‘Well done Joanne,’ Amanda congratulated her, as the leading reins were slipped from the bridles, and the horses, with their jockeys aboard, cantered down to post.
‘Thank you,’ beamed Joanne, ‘That’s a weight off my mind — and a weight off my arse as well!’
‘We’ll find out in a minute who…’ began the blonde.
However, she was immediately interrupted by a man calling her over to him. He was handsome, aged around mid-thirties, and was dressed comfortably in a tweed suit. He wore the almost obligatory brown trilby hat. Joanne was to find out later that this was Richard Hudson Jnr, the son of the late Colonel.
He whispered into Amanda’s ear, and then walked away.
The blonde remained there, a look of distress on her face, and she burst into tears on the spot.
Joanne now knew who the unlucky girl was going to be!
Half Time ran a poor fourth, but the horse that the dark-haired Tony looked after, romped home by five lengths.
‘More prize money to share,’ he grinned, as the pair locked the horse box prior to making their way to a large marquee just outside the racecourse, on land owned by the Hudson family.
It was time for the ‘bit of fun.’
Joanne could hardly believe her eyes when she got there. The place was packed with people of both sexes and all ages, standing on boxes, tables, and anything else they could find to use as a vantage point.
Suddenly, there was a lot of cheering, especially from the males, in the big tent.
‘She’s starting to strip off,’ grinned Tony, grabbing hold of Joanne’s hand. ‘Quickly! Let’s get to the front!’
By pushing, shoving, and even crawling, the two of them got to the front of the crowded marquee.
Joanne gasped as she crouched down on the grass, and took in the scene being enacted in front of her.
A small makeshift stage had been erected, and upon it stood Richard Hudson Jnr and Amanda Raymond.
Hudson, now minus trilby, jacket, and tie, stood with hands on hips, accepting items of clothing being removed by the unfortunate stable girl.
Already, he was holding Amanda’s black boots, socks, and jeans. There were more cheers as she tugged her white top upwards and showed, first of all, her black-pantie-covered crotch, her flat tummy, and then her black, not very well-filled, bra.
‘She hasn’t got much tit to swing,’ complained a middle-aged man alongside Joanne.
‘Never mind, dear,’ consoled his female companion, ‘Her swinging bottom will more than make up for it when Richard gets to work.’
Joanne watched, dry-mouthed, as the man on the stage added the white top to his collection.
Then, head bowed, Amanda unclipped the back of her bra, and passed the thin black straps down her arms.
Polite applause broke out as the audience beheld the sight of the bare-breasted stable girl. Her boobs were apple-sized, dainty almost, but were very firm. She made to conceal them with her arms, but Richard Hudson wagged a finger at her.
‘The girl last year had tits like melons,’ sighed Tony, clearly upset that poor Amanda did not compare with her predecessor in the breastworks department.
Joanne wriggled her hand out of his. She really felt for poor Amanda. This whole thing was carrying a bit of fun too far!
‘Off! Off! Off!’ came the shout from a hundred or so voices. The most vociferous of the callers seemed to be the well-dressed daughters of owners and trainers and the like. It was for all the world like a guillotine scene during the French Revolution.
Amanda hesitated, biting her lip. Then, closing her eyes, she pushed her black briefs down her long slim legs.
There was more applause as she straightened up, embarrassingly revealing her thatch of golden pubic curls.
‘I always wondered if she was a natural blonde,’ roared a coarse male voice.
Joanne recognised it as belonging to the red-faced trainer Amanda herself worked for.
‘The girl last year had ginger hair,’ reminisced Tony, taking hold of Joanne’s hand once again.
‘Remind me to dye my pubes if I’m ever up there!’ scowled Joanne.
Amanda handed her panties to Richard, who held them aloft to the baying crowd. Joanne was horrified when the handsome landowner hurled them into the audience. She was even more horrified when Tony caught them, and gleefully stuffed them into a pocket.
‘All good fun,’ he grinned at his colleague.
He received an icy glare in return.
Richard Hudson put the girl’s clothing down onto the wooden flooring. When he straightened up, he was holding a flexible, plaited, riding whip.
A gasp went up from the crowd. Amanda started in horror at the implement. So too, did Joanne. She had expected the ‘Memorial’ to the late Colonel to take the form of a gentle smacking over the knee. This was awful.
A hush fell on the big marquee as Richard Hudson indicated to Amanda that she was to turn around. As she did so, the silence turned into a murmur and, as the blonde girl revealed her enticing bottom for the first time, there were loud shouts and a round of applause.
‘Not a bad arse at all,’ murmured Tony, his brown eyes shining as he craned his neck further forward to ogle Amanda’s ripely-rounded, marble-white, buttocks.
Joanne thought back to the parade ring, remembering how she herself had admired the blonde girl’s bottom. She had always thought her own was too big.
Richard Hudson ran a hand through his thick fair hair. Joanne stared at him. He was certainly a good-looking bloke, and he seemed so nice. How could he do what he was doing?
He placed his left hand onto Amanda’s shoulder, and pressed her down to touch her toes. The action rounded out her bottom nicely, and more murmurs of appreciation ran through the audience.
Joanne noticed how Amanda’s long lean thighs were pressed tightly together. Would she be able to preserve what little modesty she had left?
‘You might as well show it off now, Amanda!,’ roared out her boss. ‘We’re going to see it sooner or later!’
The remark caused a great deal of laughter. Joanne opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it.
There was total silence now as Amanda, legs taut, braced herself for her ordeal. Tony gripped Joanne’s hand tightly. She herself found that she was completely unable to turn her head away from the awful scene. The blonde girl’s superbly sculpted buttocks were like a magnet to her eyes.
Richard Hudson gripped the riding crop and raised it to shoulder height. Then, it came arcing down to land horizontally across the full width of Amanda’s seat.
The flesh rippled with the force of the blow. The bent-over girl squealed and tottered. The rapt audience, with one female exception, voiced their approval.
‘How many does she get?’ croaked Joanne.
‘Only six,’ replied the good-looking stable lad, licking his lips. ‘A pity it’s not more.’
Already, a line the width of the implement had sprung up across Amanda’s derriere. It bisected her crease and gave her behind the appearance of a hot cross bun.
Joanne wondered what it would look like when it was all over.
Richard steadied himself for the next stroke, and delivered it crisply to the straining rump.
The sound of the crop striking the unprotected nubile flesh was immediately followed by a loud shriek.
Amanda’s seat waggled from side to side in its acute discomfort. When it eventually came to rest, with another stripe one inch below the first one, her narrow thighs had parted, and hundreds of pairs of eyes gazed upon Amanda’s intimate cleft.
‘Looks just like the girlfriend,’ remarked a wag.
Tony gripped Joanne’s damp hand. ‘We might see it twinkling before the six are up,’ he said excitedly.
‘How nice,’ sniffed the dark-haired girl.
The sarcasm was not noticed by the stable lad. ‘A couple of years ago,’ he told his pretty companion, ‘The girl up there actually came before it was all over!’ Tony had obviously relished the poor girl’s dreadful humiliation.
Joanne sighed and shook her head. She suddenly realised that she herself was very wet down there. What a good job it wasn’t her up on that platform.
Richard raised his arm once more. Joanne took her eyes off her friend’s twitching bottom and looked closely at the late Colonel’s son. No doubt the father would have been proud of his offspring carrying on the family tradition in this spectacular way. He reminded her of a hero in a romantic story. He had such lovely dark eyes.
Richard had a strong right arm, too. Amanda yelped like a puppy as the crop sliced its painful mark on the undercurve of her rump.
She still maintained her bent-over pose, but her bare feet stamped a tattoo on the rough boards of the mini-stage.
‘This is no time for dancing, my dear,’ laughed the stricken girl’s boss.
Richard arched the crop between his hands as he waited for Amanda to brace herself for the fourth swipe. He bent down to peer at the blonde girl’s sit-upon. He obviously had a close-up view of her most intimate parts.
‘I’ll bet he’s having a good sniff down there,’ sniggered Tony.
He had Joanne’s hand in a vice-like grip.
Joanne preferred to believe that Richard Hudson was inspecting the target area for any signs of damage, so that he would not call her any uncalled-for distress.
The fourth and fifth lashes were delivered swiftly, one after the other. Amanda’s posterior went into motion after the first of the double blows had landed, and Richard’s crop then hit the moving target with a loud CRACK!
Amanda let out a howl, but no one heard it as the audience erupted with cheers and applause for the landowner’s skill with the pain-giving implement.
The blonde girl jerked upright, clasping her scorching rear. She turned round and round in her anguish, further delighting the crowd with her dancing breasts.
‘Good fun, isn’t it?’ breathed Tony, letting go of Joanne’s hand and clutching her trim waist instead.
Joanne disagreed with him, although there was something about the affair she found arousing. She couldn’t quite figure out exactly what, however.
Up on the stage, Richard Hudson gently persuaded Amanda to remove her hands from her rear. When she did so, Joanne bit her lip as she surveyed her friend’s bum. Ridges the width of a little finger corrugated the twin humps.
The man responsible dabbed gently at Amanda’s eyes with a big white handkerchief, and then he pressed down her shoulders so that she was posing submissively for the final stroke.
Joanne’s nails dug into the palms of her hands as she watched the crop descend for the final time.
It landed on the join between her thighs and bum-cheeks, sending her to her knees and lewdly exposing herself more than ever as she sobbed her heart out.
Immediately after Amanda sank to the floor, one of the first to congratulate Richard was Sybil Baxter. She shook him warmly by the hand.
Quite a few owners, trainers, and their wives, made close up inspections of Amanda’s wealed backside, before reluctantly leaving the marquee. Joanne thought that it was awful. How could people be like that? She wanted to help her friend in some way, but Tony assured her that she would be ‘well taken care of.’
For the trip back to the yard, he suggested they both ride in the horse box. Joanne knew the reason why, but she wanted to get screwed as much as the stable lad wanted to screw her.
Reluctantly, she had to agree that the whole thing had been a turn on. The gusset of her panties was sticking to her.
The racehorse transporter had an empty stall, and plenty of straw to lie on. By the time the big vehicle had pulled out onto the main road, Tony was already out of his trousers.
Joanne eyed his manhood in awe of its pleasure-giving qualities, before allowing it into the dark-haired warmth of her loins. She cupped her hands around his flanks, and surges of pleasure rippled through her body as they made love in the moving vehicle.
That had all been twelve months ago. During that time, Amanda had come to work for Sybil Baxter, and had immediately moved in with Joanne. The two girls had become inseparable.
As the Memorial Chase fixture neared once more, they discussed the after-race event quite often, as two of their particular charges had been entered, and would definitely run.
The day of the race came and, as the horses were paraded around the ring, Joanne heard the loudspeaker announce that the £50 prize for the best turned out horse had been won by Amanda.
Tony, as a conditional jockey, had got the ride on Joanne’s horse. As he mounted the animal he said to her, ‘We’ll have a different arse on show afterwards. I wonder whose it will be?’
The dark-haired girl shrugged, and led horse and rider away. When she had slipped the leading rein, she found that Richard Hudson was at her elbow. He pulled her to one side and whispered in her ear. ‘Bad luck, old girl. Your turn out wasn’t up to scratch, I’m afraid. Six o’clock in the marquee. Okay?’
Joanne ran off in search of her friend Amanda.
Tony, who had fallen at the second last, was shocked when she told him the news. ‘I don’t believe it,’ he gasped, ‘You normally do a wonderful grooming job.’
Joanne shrugged her shoulders once more, and remained silent.
As six o’clock approached, she made her way to the marquee as instructed. On the way, elbows were dug into ribs, and knowing winks exchanged, as greedy eyes focussed upon her tight khaki breeches, which snugly contoured her buttocks, thighs, and hips.
‘Don’t be frightened,’ Richard assured her as she sat on the stage, waiting for six o’clock to strike. ‘It will hurt, but it’s all a bit of fun, really.’
Joanne looked into his dark smouldering eyes, sniffled, and nodded.
At the first stroke of six, a cheer went up. Joanne rose, with weak knees, and stood on the stage in front of what she was sure was a bigger audience than the previous year.
She stood on one leg at a time, letting Richard pull off her black shining boots. Then, he dragged off her white socks.
‘You’re on your own now, Joanne,’ he smiled at her.
There was a hubbub of conversation as she began on the buttons of her white blouse. She had earlier removed her bra, so that, when the last button was unfastened, and the sides of the garment pulled apart, her breasts were revealed for all to see.
Joanne’s full, rising-tipped breasts were fully appreciated by her audience. She saw Tony, who had pushed his way once more to the front — this time with Amanda — clapping enthusiastically. The blonde girl, last year’s ‘loser,’ grinned as the blouse came off completely.
Her boobs swung and swayed majestically as Joanne began to fumble with the buttons on her drum-tight breeches. There were five on each side. It wasn’t long before she was showing off her well-moulded legs, leaving her standing there in just her red, polka-dotted briefs.
‘Off! Off! Off!’ came the chants.
Joanne ran her tongue across her lips, as she hooked her thumbs in the elasticated top of the briefs. She recalled her remark of the previous year, about dyeing her black pubic hairs a ginger red. When she’d said that, she’d never dreamed she would actually be in this position.
Her eyes sought Tony as she skinned down the polka-dotted triangle.
The stable lad’s mouth dropped open in amazement. The rest of the spectators gasped, and then wildly cheered and clapped.
‘Most unexpected, my dear,’ smiled the handsome Richard Hudson alongside her. ‘Very nice too, just like the rest of you.’
It was nice hearing that coming from his lips.
Joanne had not dyed her pubes — she had shaved away her jet-black pubic triangle, and her love mound was completely stubble free! The excited crowd just loved her hairless zone.
Tony blew her a kiss, and Amanda gave her a thumbs-up sign.
She felt Richard’s hand, warm on her shoulder, and taking a deep breath, she turned around.
Having always thought of her bottom as being too much on the big side to be appreciated, she was delighted to hear the shouts and cries, as her nether cheeks were put on view.
Two large, white, and quivering globes overhung her full, heavy thighs. It was her strong hips which swept out beneath a narrow waistline, which gave the illusion of her bottom being over-large.
Those members of the audience who had attended the event over the years, thought the girl’s bottom was just perfect for the purpose.
Again, Richard’s hand touched her shoulders. Joanne, legs braced, lowered her body from the waist, and her fingers touched her toes. She hardly heard the noise from the hundred or so people behind her, as she waited for Richard to begin.
Her bare, helpless bum trembled chubbily.
Suddenly, she was aware of everything being quiet. Then there was a whoosh!, followed by the sound of bare flesh being struck.
Joanne felt the crop streak across her bottom, and her breath left her in a rush.
The first stroke was agonising. Her behind jiggled and contorted, rose and fell.
Richard waited for her to recover before swinging in once more.
Joanne cried aloud, gyrating her buttocks as they reacted against the smarting pain.
So preoccupied was she in coping with the after effects of the scything whip, that she was oblivious to the fact that her thighs were wide open for the benefit of the spectators.
Again, white fire blasted through her ample bottom. She had never imagined that the bite of the riding crop could hurt so much.
Still, she had only herself to blame for the temporary discomfort. Joanne had helped Amanda to turn out her horse, and had thus neglected her own. The blonde girl’s winnings had been gratefully handed over to her friend. She was still saving for a car.
Joanne gasped and her body wriggled more and more violently, as each quickly succeeding stroke added its cumulative contribution to those which had landed before.
The money wasn’t the main reason why the pretty girl with the hairless mons had set herself up. Amanda had confided in her that the girl who got her backside seen to at the hands of Richard Hudson, got to spend the night with him!
Joanne really fancied Richard. What better way to preserve the memory of his randy, yet kindly, late father?