The Pool, The Orchard & the Pony

I was always the one in my family who got lumbered with the jobs no-one else wanted, so it was no surprise that when my Uncle William died I would be the one asked to help with clearing out his old stuff. Uncle William had been pretty wealthy, and owned a large detached house just outside the village with a swimming pool at the back, an orchard tacked on behind it and a stable yard round the side of the house.

My uncle had remarried a few years previously, and the stable yard in particular was good news for his second wife Susan. She was probably about 50, twenty years older than me, and a horsey sort of woman who always seemed to be busy. Susan was below average height, and I wouldn’t have described her as particularly good-looking, but she was quite curvy. She had shoulder-length auburn hair that just sort of flopped around and was continually getting in her eyes.

Anyway, the day we were to finish clearing out my uncle’s belongings was a sultry, humid day at the end of summer. I parked my car at the front as usual and got stuck into helping Susan pile up of a load of old furniture, which was hot, sticky work. Still, it had to be done, and after a couple of hours everything had been cleared out. I was sweating like a pig and thinking wistfully how nice it would be to have a swim.

Susan seemed to divine my thoughts. “You’re quite welcome to use the pool, Craig,” she said.

“That would be nice,” I replied. “But I don’t have my trunks with me.”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Susan with a mischievous grin. “William used to go skinny-dipping all the time. Oh, don’t worry about me peeking,” she added, seeing the look of alarm on my face. “I won’t be watching you. Go round the back and I’ll fetch you a towel.”

Within a few minutes I was at the back of the house, and Susan came out with the towel. “Help yourself,” she said with a smile. “I shall be in the stable yard getting my gear together. It’s high time I picked some of those apples in the orchard.” And without another word she trotted off round the side of the house leaving me searching for something to say.

Well, the invitation was pretty clear. I’d be rude not to accept it, really. So I tentatively peeled off my T-shirt, shoes and socks and finally jeans; clad in just a pair of boxers I looked round nervously to make sure Susan had gone.

There was no sign of her, so I wrapped the towel around my waist, slipped out of my boxers and made my way to the edge of the pool. I sat down on the edge with my feet in the water and loosened the towel. I took a deep breath, and in one movement slipped down into the pool while leaving the towel behind by the side of the pool.

I was naked and just a bit nervous, but there was still so no sign of Susan, so I got on with my swim. It was wonderful! Let me tell you, if you have never been skinny-dipping, you really should try it. The feeling is really liberating. I swam up and down and splashed about for about ten minutes, and soon began to feel a bit more comfortable. In fact, when I had finished it felt quite disappointing to have to get out and get dressed again.

By this time the clouds had rolled away and the warm afternoon had become sunny. I put on my boxers and jeans, but the heat of the sunshine and the feel of the cool grass on my toes was so nice that I didn’t bother with my footwear or shirt. Wondering what Susan was up to, I picked up my shirt and footwear and walked round the corner to the stable yard where Susan was fiddling with a very unusual-looking cart.

“Hi Craig,” she said, looking up. “Come and have a look at this.”

Putting down my bundle of clothes, I went over to the cart. It was a sulky, with just one wheel either side, and a big basket attached to the back (presumably for the apples). But the shafts intrigued me; they seemed too short and narrow for any horse I had seen around the place, only a couple of feet apart, in fact. They also seemed to be cocked at a funny angle, about 45 degrees rather than sticking straight out.

“How does this work, then?” I asked.

“Like this,” replied Susan. “Stand here, between the shafts, and I’ll show you. No, not like that, face away from the cart. That’s right. You place your forearms along the shafts;” I did so, wondering what she was taking about; “and, hey presto!” With a sudden click she closed the clips on the shafts around my wrists, making a pretty nifty pair of handcuffs. I was trapped!

I must have looked flabbergasted. “You see,” she said, “this cart is designed to be pulled by a human pony. And I think you should help me pick some apples, don’t you?

“I shall do nothing of the kind,” I replied, trying to sound more indignant than I felt. “You’d better undo these cuffs and let me out.”

“No chance,” said Susan. “I’ve got a few more things to fetch from the house. Try and get free, if you can. And if you think about running away, just think how it will look if you have to plead with some stranger to release you, dressed like that!” And with that, she slipped away again.

Well, I struggled. In fact, I struggled like mad, but I couldn’t free my arms and even if I’d wanted to run off I couldn’t because the wheels of the cart were chocked firmly to the ground. I realised I was stuck. Dressed only from the waist down, I felt distinctly vulnerable as Susan appeared again carrying several new items – including a camera!

“Don’t say anything,” she said, moving around and taking pictures of my plight. “If you do anything I don’t like, these pics will appear on the internet before you can say Jack Robinson.”

“But…” I started to reply.

“SILENCE! I need you to help me pick the apples, not to talk. I shall put this bit-gag on you to keep you quiet. And don’t even think about kicking me,” she added as she approached. “You can’t get out without my help, and my punishments can be very unpleasant.”

Stunned, I stood still as she stuffed a ball-gag into my mouth, and strapped it to the back of my head. A pair of reins was attached to it.

“Now then,” said Susan, the camera again clicking away. “We’re going to the orchard to pick some apples. I shall steer you with the reins, but don’t forget to obey my spoken commands. Otherwise things could get nasty.” I noticed a long riding crop in her left hand. I was shocked, but at least I still had my trousers on. Up till now.

“Hmm, ponies don’t wear jeans, do they,” she said. Now you just stand still for me for a minute.” And with that, she walked towards me, and looking me in the eye all the while, unbuckled my belt, undid the catch and unzipped the fly. With a quick pull my jeans were around my ankles!

“Just step out of those, please, Craig,” she said stepping back and taking more pictures. My resistance broken, I realised that I had to obey.

“Let’s go, then, she said, climbing onto the seat. “Down to the orchard - quick march!”

It took some effort to get the cart under way, but once it was moving I must admit pulling it was pretty easy. I found I had to grip the shafts of the cart with my hands to prevent the clips from chafing my wrists, but I soon got used to that. Fortunately it had been dry for a while and the ground was hard; I found striding out to the orchard wasn’t very demanding. And at least she hadn’t stripped me naked, as I feared she would do.

We stopped under the first tree, and Susan picked some apples. The feel of the grass under my feet was still good, but more…exciting, somehow.

“That’s good,” she said. “Just stand still a moment.”

I could hear her leaning forward behind me. Then, I felt the briefest touch of cold metal on my waist, and with a snip of the scissors (I hadn't even realised she was carrying any!) the right-hand side of my boxers disintegrated! Quick as a flash, Susan repeated the act on the left side and the remains of my underwear fell away. I stood as naked as the day I was born, strapped to the cart, and – visibly – starting to enjoy the experience!

“Carry on then, Craig,” said Susan. “Good boy.”

We must have spent about half an hour in the orchard, picking apples, although to me it seemed much longer. After a while I started to get used to my nudity, my excitement subsided, and I wondered how on earth I’d managed to get into such a pickle. Susan was quite gentle, and lightly stroked my hips and the cheeks of my bottom on several occasions. What a tantalising feeling! But every time I tried to twist round, she just laughed and resumed her apple picking.

Eventually Susan finished and we returned to the stable yard. She dismounted from her seat, chocked the cart to the ground and, as I’d half expected, another photography session, this time of my naked body, followed. “Insurance,” she explained.

Finally, she put the camera away and came and stood in front of me, taking a good look; of course, I could do nothing to cover myself. Susan then walked right up to me and sank to her knees.

“You’ve been a good boy, Craig,” she said, mischievously, “but you seemed to get a bit agitated when I stroked you. Why was that, I wonder?” She resumed stroking my buttocks and hips, but this time allowed her fingers to stray to the front, paying careful attention to the junction between my thighs and torso, even running them through my pubic hair.

“Quite the little stallion, aren’t we,” she said, noting my growing erection. She could hardly fail to notice – it was almost in her face! “Naughty little stallion.” I arched forward as far as I could, but couldn’t reach her. Every now and then her hands or arms brushed against the tip of my penis, as if by accident.

“Naughty little stallion,” she repeated with a chuckle, and started to run her fingernails up and down the side of my erect penis. It was electrifying. This carried on for a few minutes, and I was nearing the point of no return. In fact, I was convinced that she was just about to take my tortured glans into her mouth, when… I heard the distinct sound of wheels on gravel. It was a car pulling up at the front of the house.

“Damn!” exclaimed Susan, whose hearing was as good as mine. “My daughter must be early. Don’t worry, wait there a minute and I’ll be back in a minute.” Now, I’ve only met Susan’s daughter Chloe a couple of times. She is 20-odd, quite shy but gorgeous, and quite what she would make of seeing me in the altogether tied to her mother’s cart – with a raging hard-on - I can’t imagine.

For the next five minutes my heart was hammering so frantically that I thought it would burst my chest. But eventually I heard the back door open. I steeled myself as footsteps approached the corner, and Susan walked into view… alone.

“All sorted,” she said. “You’d better nip off quick now; I don’t want Chloe to see you. And don’t forget about those pictures, so if I ring up and ask you to help me out again, you’d better say yes.” Giving me a quick peck on the cheek (face not bottom) she unclipped my cuffs. “Quickly now. Your clothes are round the front by your car. We’ll be round the back but I wouldn’t hang about if I were you. And, oh yes, your reward for helping me is with your clothes.”

I fairly sprinted round to the front of the house, and, fortunately, next to my car were my jeans, T-shirt, shoes and socks. Nipping behind the car to get dressed, it was only then that I remembered to remove my gag and bridle.

And my reward? Sitting on top of my pile of clothes was the biggest apple I have ever seen.

end

 

22.10.11