Returning from our honeymoon, we settled into married life. Charles commuted to his job in the City. I occupied my time with setting up home, going to the gym, meeting for lunch with girlfriends, and riding out from the livery yard where I kept my horse.

Long rides across the rolling countryside were heaven. But as most female riders will tell you, the motion and the constant rub of the saddle is highly arousing. I frequently arrived back at the stables, gave my mare to one of the grooms to untack and put in the stable, and then left to find somewhere secluded on the way home to park the Range Rover and bring myself to a much-needed orgasm.

The grooms at the yard were young, horse-mad girls, who worked under the direction of the yard manager, Dessie. In his early forties, Dessie was a wiry, tough man who took no nonsense, but knew his horses and their management.  Good looking in a rough sort of way, Dessie was a man of few words. Polite but gruff, he was business-like, rather than friendly. What I noticed most about him, particularly when he wore tight jodhpurs, was the size of his manhood. Even when flaccid, it clearly was enormous. The thought of it proud and hard often filled my mind; not least, when parked up and toying with myself.

One summer afternoon, I arrived at the yard to ride out. I was dressed in khaki riding breeches, which were sculptured beautifully to follow the contours of my figure; tight over my firm little bum and long legs. With them, I wore leather field boots, with a contoured fit, and into which I had tucked my riding crop; and a white base layer top, with elegant lace short sleeves, lace panelling to the tight-fitting upper body, and a mock sweetheart neckline, with gold poppers on the high collar.

Walking to where Amy, the groom, had my mare tacked up and waiting for me, I passed Dessie. Greeting him, he replied with a gruff hello. But I couldn’t help noticing his eyes roaming across my curves as I consciously kept a slow steady pace, swinging my hips slightly and pushing out my boobs so that they strained against the fabric of the base layer top. His face coloured as I gave him a knowing smile, and looked meaningfully at the outline of his cock inside his tight, worn, and dirt-incrusted jodhpurs.

I rode my mare hard, turned on by the glimpse of Dessie’s cock. That feeling of arousal grew with the motion of cantering and galloping across the fields. The horse was in a serious lather when I arrived back at the yard and handed her back to Amy with a smile of thanks.

Dessie took an experienced look at my horse and shook his head. “Ma’am,” he called, “might I have a word?”

I swayed across to him and raised an eyebrow, whilst Dessie gave me a ticking off for bringing my mare back in that state.

“Dessie, I enjoy a long, hard, ride,” I retorted haughtily, but with the hint of a meaningful pout that was not lost on the craggy yard manager. “And my husband pays you extremely well to look after her, even when I bring her back in need of attention.”

“That’s as maybe, Ma’am, but you should know better than to bring her back like that,” he scowled; albeit, his eyes were drawn to my firm body, as I stood with a hand on my hips flaunting myself in front of him.

“But you so experienced with thoroughbreds, Dessie; you just know how to look after their every need,” I purred, casting him a mischievous look.

He shook his head with irritation, but I could see his eyes running over my boobs and the gap between my legs. “We need her fresh, not over-ridden, for the hunter trails this weekend,” he chided.

“You wouldn’t deny me a good hard ride, would you, Dessie,” I murmured huskily, my eyes drawn down, seeing his cock twitch involuntarily in reaction to my blatant innuendo.

“But I’m sorry,” I continued in a honeyed tone, touching his arm, “I misjudged it. It’s why I need an experienced man like you, who knows how far to push each ride,” I continued, my gloved hand running down his arm, my eyes lingering on his crotch as it twitched again.

“Perhaps we should make sure the horse box is prepared for the weekend,” I suggested. Taking Dessie’s grunt as agreement, I led the way around to the back of the yard, where the boxes and lorries were parked-up; conscious of his eyes boring into my firm bum, as he followed behind me in silence.

Opening the side door to the trailer, I put my booted foot on the ledge, stretching the breeches even tighter over my buttocks, and looked back over my shoulder. “Shall we.” I smiled enticingly, and then pulled myself up and into the empty trailer.

Dessie joined me. Seeing a loose rope, I turned from him and bent forward slowly to pick it up. Straightening, I checked his growing bulge and smiled gently. “The girls really need to pay more attention,” I tutted theatrically, brushing against him when I moved to put the rope in the storage at the front.

It was all too much for Dessie, who pushed me firmly back against the side of the trailer. Pinning me in place, he thrust a hand between my legs and rubbed hard against the khaki material.

“Slut,” he growled, looking me in the eye with a mix of lust and contempt; a thrill of humiliation and arousal coursing through me. In the sexually charged silence that followed, he spun me around, pulled my left hand up, and held it against one of the wooden side struts. Fishing a cable tie from his back pocket, he bound me to the strut, tightening the tie over the leather of my gloved hand.

“Dessie, what the hell do you think you are doing,” I remonstrated, with a look of shock and mild panic; watching helplessly as he did the same to my other hand.

“You’re a stuck-up, prick-teasing, bitch,” he snarled, his leathery face inches from mine. Having moved to lock the side door, he re-joined me, breathing hard into my ear. Reaching forward, he began to unbutton my breaches. “It is high time you were taught a lesson,” he continued, yanking them down around the tops of my leather boots.

I gasped and looked at him wide-eyed. “Are you going to teach me a lesson, Dessie,” I murmured, the cotton of my knickers dampening as my predicament became apparent. I was alone, tied up and helpless, with an angry and aroused middle-aged man in the back of a locked horse box. I was so turned on.

“Oh, I’m going to punish you alright,” he muttered gruffly, tugging down my knickers and pushing my legs apart with his booted feet, so that the knicker elastic was fully stretched.

My moan of arousal turned to one of panic, when I felt him reach down and pull the riding crop from where I had lodged it in my left boot. “What the hell do you think you are doing,” I demanded in a voice full of panic.

“Teaching you a lesson,” he grinned, laying the leather keeper of the whip onto my exposed bum. “Not so full of yourself now, are we, your ladyship.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” I stuttered. With that, he drew the whip across my arse. I screamed in agony, and burnt with humiliation. “Bastard,” I sobbed.

“That was for being a stuck-up bitch. This,” Dessie informed me calmly, bringing the whip down again on the alabaster white skin of my buttocks, “is for bringing your horse back in a muck-sweat.”

Pain shot through me, and tears formed in my eyes as he administered the third stroke. Those tears began to roll down my cheeks with the fourth and fifth. I was whimpering with pain and humiliation; trembling in anticipation of the leather connecting with my soft skin. A burning sensation spread through my backside, and a feeling of deep arousal spread through my whole body; I could feel juices running from my tingling pussy.

“And that,” Dessie concluded with the sixth stroke, “is for being a prick-tease.” He threw the whip away, and looked at me with a mix of lust, anticipation, and grim satisfaction. Reaching forward, he ran a finger across my quim, making me shudder and moan with anticipation.

“Like a bitch on heat,” he muttered, his finger sticky with my juices, “does the bitch need servicing?”

The pain was subsiding, but the feeling of yearning was so intense that I was almost beside myself. I looked over my shoulder with longing, and nodded at the sinewy yard manager. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he grunted, popping the button on his jodhpurs and unzipping the fly, before pushing them down around his ankles.

His grubby y-fronts followed, revealing the biggest cock I have ever seen. My husband is of average size: just under six inches. But this was at least 9 inches. And the girth was thick; so thick, my elegant fingers would not have been able to close around it. “Oh my God,” I gasped, eyes wide with astonishment.

Shuffling forward, Dessie positioned himself behind me. One hand on my hips for balance, he used the other to guide the bulbous head between my legs, so that it nestled up against my sopping pussy. Then, in silence, he paused. Fighting the urge to scream in frustration, I tried to push back against his member.

“Not so elegant and refined now,” he sneered, “strip all that away and you’re just a dirty little slut that needs a good fucking, aren’t you?” Whimpering, I nodded frantically; desperate for him to enter me, and sate the almost unbearable feeling of arousal.

Hands hard on my red, raw buttocks, Dessie pushed the massive head between my distended pussy lips. I wailed, as I felt the walls of my vagina distend. He paused, pulled back slightly, and then forcefully slid home the dome of his cock. “Yesss,” I hissed, feeling him feed ever more of his length into me.

Pulling slowly back again, he paused and then buried himself inside my pussy. “Fuck, yes,” I screamed with joy and intense pleasure.

Leaning forward, his fingers tore at the delicate lace panelling of my base layer top. As the material rendered, buttons flew off, bouncing and scattering across the trailer floor. With the expensive garment flapping open uselessly, he reached inside and yanked down my bra, exposing my pendulous breasts.

His rough, calloused hands kneading the soft flesh of my boobs, and pinching my sensitive nipples, Dessie slowly and deliberately took me; holding himself at the full extension of each thrust, before sliding back through vaginal muscles that had contracted on his thick girth, and then plunging deep into me, again and again. Mouth open in a silent scream, I twitched and trembled as he brought me to climax; holding himself buried to the hilt, hard up against my cervix.

With the aftershocks of the intense orgasm running through me, Dessie wrapped my long blond hair like a rein around his hand. Then, yanking my head back hard, his other hand on the small of my back, the yard manager launched an almost feverish assault of my aching pussy.

“Yes…yes…yes…ohhh…fuck…yes,” I screamed; my eyes wide, as he tugged my hair harshly in time with each rhythmic drive of his hips. The trailer was filled with my cries, his laboured breathing, and the slap, slap, slap of flesh on flesh.

“Fucking whore,” Dessie snarled; his words degrading and arousing in equal measure. He was using me and I was loving it. Familiar waves of tension built in response to exquisite intensity of the sustained pounding. My eyes lost focus, and I emitted an incoherent babble of noise, as I climaxed uncontrollably, gushing over the thick shaft embedded in me.

Dessie’s breathing changed, and I felt him tense slightly. In haste, he pulled out from me, leaving an unwelcome void. Taking a cock glistening with my juices in hand, he stroked it until, with a satisfied grunt, he coated my backside and lower back with his warm, sticky mess.

The trailer fell silent. The weathered, sinewy, horseman stood for a moment, catching his breath and considering the upper-class lady panting and bent over in front of him; my hands tied to the side of the trailer, breeches and knickers around my knees, expensive top ripped and torn, perspiration glistening on my pretty face and firm young body, and his cum splashed across my exposed arse.

A neutral expression on his face, Dessie moved forward. Taking my ruined top in his rough and dirt-incrusted hand, he wiped his manhood clean on the white lace panelling. Pulling up his jodhpurs and buttoning them, he fished out a small knife and cut the cable ties, freeing my hands. In silence and without a backward glance, he climbed from the trailer and sauntered across the Yard.

Gingerly, I raised myself up, and slipped my knickers back on. Then, I pulled my breeches up over a red raw, cum splattered bum; wincing as the tight material slid over the welts left from Dessie’s use of the whip.

Leaning against the trailer for balance whilst I regained composure, the dizziness subsided. Without my hairbrush, there was little I could do to untangle my normally elegant long blond hair; instead, I pulled it into a ponytail using an elastic band I found lying on the floor. Brushing off my breeches and placing the whip back inside my left boot, I slowly and painfully stepped from the trailer and shut the door behind me.

I made my way to the Range Rover as quickly as my battered and bruised body would allow; my arms folded across my chest in an effort to hide the ripped and torn nature of my now useless top. Just as I reached the vehicle and unlocked it, Amy came around the corner. She shot me a look of contempt. My face colouring with shame, I climbed into the driver’s seat and pulled away. Then, finding the nearest secluded spot, I pulled in, slipped two long fingers inside myself, and brought myself to a shuddering climax for the third time, replaying in my mind the scene in the trailer.

Driving home, I mused on whether I could persuade Charles to stable our horses at home and hire Dessie to look after them…