It was Easter, and Jasmine, the nineteen-year-old daughter of the household, was home for the holidays. She had always been wilful, another word for spoilt. Partly, I thought because her father had left the family home years before and her mother didn’t know how to deal with her.

I was ten years older than Jasmine and had known her since she started riding when she was five and I was a stable lad. Our upbringings had been very different - my father and my mother had both believed in corporal punishment and I’d been on the receiving end of many a thrashing with a belt, slipper or whatever came to hand in my youth.

I loved my job looking after the family’s horses; the stables were my domain and the animals were my charges. I lived rent-free in a cottage next to the stables, which I treated as my own although it wasn’t. The family’s horses were well looked after and I knew the foibles of each and every one of them.

Julia, Jasmine's mother, knew this and trusted me totally. I was also aware that she watched me in a certain way when she visited the stables and I was doing some physical work, like stacking hay bales or rubbing down the horses. I was tall, and the physical work entailed in looking after the horses had given me a good set of muscles. 

I was working when Jasmine came in one morning soon after her return to the house. 

‘Get Rosie ready. I want to take her out.’ She had always been haughty. Never a please or thank you. Manners cost nothing, I thought, as I heaved the saddle on to Rosie, Jasmine’s horse. Rosie was a lovely animal, placid and easy-going. Probably my favourite.

I watched as Jasmine mounted her and set off across the courtyard. She had been riding for years and had what’s called a good seat. That morning she looked particularly good. She held herself very straight, and the muscles in her legs moved under her tight denim leggings as she rode.

She wore a faded old t-shirt which she’d had for years and was now a bit tight about the chest. She had a trim waist and small, pert breasts and this morning she had clearly decided against wearing a bra, I watched her rounded backside rise and fall as Rosie clopped across the courtyard. 

When she got to the open gate, she turned and looked back at me. She gave a tight little smile - she had always liked being noticed - and brought her riding crop down sharply on Rosie’s flank, making the horse jerk forward. Jasmine knew my views about whipping the horses - it was rarely necessary and often cruel. I guessed that she was doing this as much for my benefit as a way to make Rosie break into a gallop. I could feel my jaw muscles tightening as I watched her whip the riding crop back and forth on both sides of Rosie’s flanks as she rode her faster and faster across the meadow. 

‘She rides well, doesn’t she? Has a good seat.’ I jumped. Julia was standing beside me. How long had she been watching me admire her daughter? 

‘I’d say yes if she wasn’t so free with that riding crop,’ I said. Julia looked at me, surprised. She wasn’t used to me contradicting her. She hoisted herself up on the lower rung of the fence, watching Jasmine and Rosie as they cantered across the field. She was dressed in riding breeches, and I was very aware of the sleek contours of her legs and bottom as she tensed her legs against the wooden fence.

She’d had Jasmine young and was in her early forties; she rode a lot and kept herself very fit. I’d always admired her, and at times harboured utterly improper thoughts, involving both of us in various situations. My favourite was on a blanket in the hayloft. 

‘I see what you mean,’ she said. ‘I don’t think that’s necessary. Rosie’s a very biddable horse. I’ve never had to do more than urge her on with my legs and the reins.’ She considered, looking down at me. From where I stood, she was more desirable than ever. I’d always admired the swell of her hips, her firm, shapely derriere, and her full breasts, and her tight riding clothes made the most of her sensual curves.

I realised she was looking at me and concentrated instead on what she was saying. ‘What do you think I should do about it?’ she said. ‘Jasmine’s always been so wilful. I haven’t really been able to control her properly these last few years, in fact ever since Gerald left.’

She had split from Gerald when Jasmine was about fourteen. I know from the people that worked in the house that he had put Jasmine across his knee often enough while he was there; I also knew that Julia hadn’t disciplined her daughter once since he’d left. 

I didn’t answer right away, but instead heaved myself up beside her, enjoying the physical closeness as our arms touched briefly. We both watched as Jasmine wheeled Rosie round in the field, again using the crop liberally. Inside me, something snapped. I turned my head to look Julia in the eye. ‘I would use that crop on her good seat, as soon as she gets back.’ 

Julia regarded me levelly and I felt my face redden. I began to speak. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said..’ But Julia put a finger to my lips and smiled.  

‘I agree. I think you,’ she paused, looking into my eyes, ‘should bend her over that hay bale,’ she gestured behind us at a bale in the centre of the stable, ‘and give her impudent backside a good thrashing. Using her own riding crop.’ 

I gaped, open-mouthed, at her. She turned her gaze back to the horse and rider. Her lips were moving. I realised she was counting the number of times Jasmine was using the crop on Rosie. ‘That’s ten, just there,’ she said. ‘I would estimate she’s used that crop on poor Rosie about thirty times. More by the time she gets back here.’ She jumped down, stood with her hands on her hips, looking up at me. I climbed down and faced her. 

‘So,’ she said, ‘will you do it? I would consider it a personal service. I would be very thankful.’ She put a bit of emphasis on the ‘very’. I couldn’t quite believe what was happening. My throat felt dry and I had to cough before I could speak.

‘If you really want me to.’ I could feel a tension growing in my chest, my shoulders. A tension that only physical exercise would release. Exercise like thrashing Jasmine’s haughty backside. I realised I wanted to. Badly. I took a deep breath. ‘I will,’ I said.

Julia smiled, a wide, happy smile that made me want her more than ever. ‘Excellent. I’ll be up there.’ She gestured to the hayloft. She was going to watch. This was getting interesting. ‘Make sure you give her at least thirty, whatever she says. She’s a strong girl, she can take it.’

She held my gaze for a long moment. I stayed very still and maintained eye contact. I could almost taste the tension. The sexual tension. Between us. In the end, I had to take a deep breath, breaking the spell. 

Julia turned and strode away. She stood at the foot of the ladder for a moment looking back at me, then climbed up swiftly and disappeared into the darkness of the barn. I watched the delicious rotation of her backside as she climbed. I climbed back on the fence, saw Jasmine riding hard across the field, back to the barn. Her hair flying free behind her, she was holding herself low in the saddle, enjoying the speed, the force of the hooves, the power of the horse between her legs. A clatter of hooves on concrete.

Jasmine swung herself from the saddle. She was panting hard, and had worked up a sweat. Her breasts stretched the worn cotton of her t-shirt. With her hair windblown and wild she looked magnificent. 

‘I enjoyed that,’ she said. ‘Although Rosie was a bit sluggish. I had to urge her on somewhat.’ 

I took the bridle from her hand, looked the horse over. She was steaming with the effort of galloping hard, and I could see the marks of the whip on her flanks. Jasmine had started to walk away. 

‘Wait there,’ I said. The way I said it made her stop. 

‘What do you mean, wait there? I’m off for a shower. You don’t get to order me about.’ 

I reached over, took the riding crop from her hand. ‘Yes I do, Jasmine. Your mother has asked me to. She saw how you used this crop,’ I raised the worn leather whip, ‘on Rosie. She agrees with me that it was cruelty. She’s asked me to do something about it. So I’m going to.’

I took her arm, pulled her across the yard and pushed her down, bending her over the hay bale. She struggled and tried to get up, but I held her down easily. Her thin leggings stretched tight across her rounded bottom. I looked down at her and hefted the worn leather riding crop in my hand ‘You’re going to get precisely what you gave Rosie.’ 

Ignoring her cries of outrage I raised the crop and brought it down as hard as I could, full across her backside. Jasmine let out a howl and struggled even harder. My hand pressing the small of her back, I rained blows across that well-filled seat, counting under my breath as Jasmine cried out in pain and swore at me furiously. When I reached ten I stopped. 

‘You’ve got another twenty of those coming. Are you going to keep this noise up the whole time?’ 

She gulped back tears. ‘I couldn’t stand another twenty! I’ll get you sacked, great oaf! You’ll be flung out of that cottage of yours! Let me up!’ 

‘If that’s the way you want it,’ I said, and pressed her back down harder. I took aim with the crop and started again. Only this time I put a lot more into each stroke. The worn leather blazed a trail of pain across her rounded backside again and again. After about another ten strokes I stopped again, breathing hard. Jasmine had stopped struggling and lay still, eyes closed tight, hands gripping the sides of the bale. 

‘I wonder if I’m really getting through to you, Jasmine,’ I said. ‘Stand up.’ 

She stood, stiffly, slowly. Her hands massaged her punished backside and she turned her tear-stained face towards me. Her breasts seemed to strain even more against her t-shirt and I swear I could see the nipples almost poking through the cotton. 

‘You said thirty,’ she said, huskily. ‘I don’t think we’ve had that many yet.’ 

I was momentarily nonplussed, then felt anger rise in me again. ‘We have another ten to go. And you know what, Rosie didn’t have any protection, so neither should you.’  I heard a movement in the barn above me but ignored it. I gestured to her leggings. ‘Get them down,’ I growled.

Much to my surprise, she slipped the waistband over her hips and slid them down her legs without any fuss. I turned her towards one of the dividing fences in the stable and gently pushed her down. She bent over fully and grasped the bar halfway down. She still had a pair of white knickers on, skimpy and thin. The exposed skin on either side was a mass of red stripes.

I looked up and saw Julia’s face in the gloom of the hayloft. The smile she gave me was enough. I took my position, measured the crop against the red and white target and drew back. 

Standing without having to hold Jasmine down meant I could really get some force into the strokes. The first was hard; Jasmine gritted her teeth and her knuckles were white as she gripped the fence. The next ones were just as hard. She grunted, but held her position. I stopped after the crop had whipped across her backside five times. 

‘These last ones are going to hurt, Jasmine,’ I said. I detected a shiver in her tensed legs, drew back and let fly. Jasmine cried out as the leather cut deep into her reddened globes. I left no time between the strokes, thrashing the leather whip across her backside, now a mass of reddened weals, without mercy. After the last one, I dropped the crop at her feet.

‘You’d better go and get yourself cleaned up,’ I said. She didn't say a word as she pulled up her tight breeches, although she winced as they covered her smarting bottom. ‘But be warned, the next time you won’t even be allowed to keep those panties on.’ She stood, both hands to her punished backside, and looked at me, breathing heavily, her lips parted slightly. Her glance moved to the hayloft, then she bent down, picked up the crop and ran for the house. I watched her go, imagining that well-thrashed backside moving under the tight leggings. 

‘John, could you come up here a minute please?’ I looked up to see Julia at the top of the ladder. She seemed to be unbuttoning her blouse. I don’t think my feet touched the rungs as I flew up the ladder. She was on a horse blanket, pulling off her riding breeches. 

‘I want to thank you properly for what you’ve just done,’ she said as she unclipped her bra. Naked, she kneeled in front of me and undid my belt, then pulled my trousers down. My cock was as stiff as a flagpole. She laughed as it sprang free. ‘I thought you were enjoying it too,’ she said, ‘but I had no idea how much.’ And then she took me into her mouth. It was like stepping into heaven. I stood it as long as I could, then gently raised her head. 

‘That’s fantastic, but I think we both want something more.’ She smiled and squirmed away from me, laying back on the blanket, opening her legs. I stopped for a moment, letting the scene sink in. This was, after all, the favourite of the many fantasies I had run through my mind over the past god knows how many years. Naked, she looked even more fantastic than she had in my imagination. I lowered myself into her arms as she guided my hardness into her. She shuddered a little as my swollen cock parted her pussy lips and pushed smoothly inside. 

She held my arms tight, eyes glittering and a lascivious smile on her face, then let out a low moan as I slid out to the tip and slowly pushed back into the root. Her moans got louder as I slid my length out, then in, slowly at first, then faster, harder as her hands gripped my bottom and pulled me down. Julia writhed and twisted beneath me, her nails digging into my arse as I hammered into her like a piston, like someone possessed.

Just as I felt the first throes of orgasm build, Julia cried out and her hips bucked sharply upwards, her body going rigid as her own orgasm tore through her. My cock twisted and spasmed inside her and I gushed what seemed to be my entire life force into her body.  

Both covered in sweat, we lay, utterly spent, on that course blanket in the sem-darkness of the hayloft. After a few minutes, my breathing returned to something resembling normal. Julia sat up and ran her hand down over my chest, all the way to my groin. She circled my cock and bent over to kiss it, then looked up at me.

‘Next time Jasmine goes out riding, call me. I want to be here when she gets back. Something tells me she's going to need another session with the riding crop. And I’m going to need another session with this.’ She gave my cock a quick pat and got up. I watched her dress, revelling in her sensuality, and the smell of sex that surrounded us. She smiled at the top of the ladder. ‘Thank you for that as well. I’ve fantasised about just that for some time.’ And she was away, leaving me stunned, sated and very, very happy. 

I had my doubts about any repeats of Jasmine’s behaviour, but Julia knew her daughter. After taking a couple of days for the weals to go down, Jasmine was back. She took Rory, a high-spirited young horse, and, when she had hoisted herself into the saddle, gave the horse a quick tap on the haunch with her crop. A new riding crop, I noticed. A bit longer than her old one, with a little leather tab on the end. She watched for my reaction and guided Rory out, into the field. I stayed watching from the gate while I called Julia on my mobile. 

‘You were right. She’s on Rory, and she’s already used the crop a few times.’

‘I’ll be right down,’ was the sharp response before she ended the call. Minutes later she was climbing the ladder, this time dressed in thin leggings rather than her usual riding breeches. I’m sure she gave her bottom an extra wiggle as she climbed up to take her position. 

Soon enough, the clatter of hooves on concrete told me Jasmine was back. She swung down from the saddle and walked towards me. She handed me the crop. ‘I’m afraid I had to use this rather a lot on Rory, he was behaving deplorably.’ I noticed Jasmine was breathing heavily, even though she didn’t seem to have had a particularly long ride. Her eyes were unnaturally bright and her nipples were hard little buttons on her pert breasts.

She turned and walked to the same low fence just inside the stable. She picked up a horse blanket and draped it across the wood. ‘I got a splinter last time,’ she said as she slid her leggings down, then her knickers. She leaned forward and grasped the lower cross rail, and turned her head towards me. I’m sure I must have whipped poor Rory at least twenty times,’  she said. ‘Quite hard.’ 

She watched me approach and I was acutely aware of two pairs of eyes on me. Her rounded bottom still bore marks from a few days ago, although the raised weals had disappeared. I swished the new riding crop through the air. ‘This is longer and quite a bit whippier than your old crop,’ I said. ‘Are you sure you laid it on quite as much as you said?’

‘Oh, I’m sure,’ she said, and I thought I detected something else in her voice, which seemed huskier than usual. ‘He deserved it, he was so very naughty.’

I smiled. ‘In that case, young Miss Jasmine, I’m going to have to do something about all your naughtiness over the years. You have been so very naughty for such a long time.’ I thought I’d imagined the slight chuckle from the hayloft, but Jasmine suddenly twisted to look up. She looked back at me with a smile. 

‘Don’t take all day, will you? Mummy will be waiting for me, I’m sure.’ 

I measured the length of the riding crop against those rounded orbs and started. The whip cracked against skin with a sharp sound like a pistol shot. Jasmine arched her back and I heard her gasp in a full breath, to let it out in a cry as it fell again on the same place. The crop was whippy but strong and I thrashed her backside without mercy, leaving marks, then raised welts, crisscrossed against the skin.

The little leather flap made its own mark with each stroke, adding to a very colourful, well punished backside. Jasmine bucked and jerked against the blanket with each stroke but stayed down. After about twenty cruel strokes she seemed to relax and just endured; she stopped crying out her pain and made a small whimper with each stroke. As before, I delivered the last few strokes in a flurry, and dropped the crop at her feet.

‘I hope that’s been a proper lesson to you, Jasmine.’ Somehow, I managed to keep my voice level. ‘I’m sure I won’t need to do this again any time soon.’ 

Jasmine pulled up her panties and leggings, wincing as the tight material stretched against her punished backside. She turned to face me as she rubbed at the pain. Her eyes were, if anything, even brighter. ‘I’m here for another two weeks. Who knows?’ And she gave me a smile and skipped away. I heard her break into a run, back to the house, on the path outside.

This time I didn’t need to be called up to the hayloft. Julia had already made preparations, and was kneeling across a bale of hay with one hand already between her legs. ‘What did I tell you?’ She smiled quite the broadest smile I’ve ever seen when I dropped my jeans and pulled out my cock. I felt ready to explode as I eased the tip past her swollen, moist lips and slid in smoothly, so very smoothly. I held the position, didn’t move, savouring the feeling, and the view of Julia’s fantastic backside, then delivered a stinging slap to her right cheek with my hand. The response was immediate.

Julia cried out and moved, pushing back, hard into my groin. ‘Again!’ she cried. I slapped my hand against her backside again and again, making her move faster and faster, effectively fucking me while I stayed stock still. I could feel my cock growing inside her as she moaned, crying out with each thrust. Her moans grew louder and more frantic, then gave a loud cry and half straightened, back arched and bottom pushed hard against me, as she came. I pulled her hips towards me and slammed hard into her as my own orgasm overwhelmed me. 

Over the next two weeks, Jasmine went riding a total of four more times. Each time she used the crop, handed it to me, told me how many times she had used it and received her due punishment. And each time Julia and I received our reward directly afterwards. When Jasmine returned to University after the holiday I assumed that would be the end of the fun until the summer. I could not have been more wrong. 

The very night Jasmine left, I was cleaning away my tea things when I heard a knock on my kitchen door. Julia was wearing her full riding gear: tight riding breeches, white top demurely buttoned to the chin. She was carrying a riding crop. Not the one I’d become used to using on Jasmine but an older, heavier one, slightly frayed from years of use. She handed it to me without a word and bent over the kitchen table. A vision that I had dreamt about for so many years faced me. Her backside was fuller, but no less gorgeous, than her daughter’s. Her breasts pressed against the worn wood and she reached out to grab the sides of the table.

She twisted her head round to make eye contact. ‘I’ve neglected Jasmine over many years,’ she said. ‘I should have been far stricter with her. As strict as you’ve been. Exactly as strict. I’m asking you to help me make amends, starting now. It might take a while. Perhaps until the summer. Perhaps even longer’

I smoothed my hand over the fabric of her riding breeches stretched tight over the gorgeously rounded cheeks of her bottom, then took my position and bent the crop in my hands. ‘I’m here to help, Julia,’ I said, and then I measured the crop against the fullness of her backside and began.