Kirsty’s Horse Play

Taken from a true story, a girl makes a silly mistake. 

By Julie Baker

My name is Kirsty Wilson and I was born in October 1985 in Peterborough into a solidly middle class family. I have a brother who is two years younger than me and we both went to local schools in the city. My brother’s passion was football and mine were athletics and horses. I am a tall and strong girl with naturally blonde hair and an attractive personality which has never left me short of friends of both sexes. I was well behaved at home and school, with only the occasional chastisement, and never found myself in any serious trouble. I lost my virginity at 17, which was a lot later than most of my friends, and found that experience fabulous. Enjoying sex has come easily to me and, although I am choosy over who I go with, this rapidly became an important part of my life.

However horses were my big passion in my early teenage years. My parents both worked and could afford to buy me a pony which was based at a stables out of town and was within range for cycling. Weekends were often spent at Pony Club events and I would spend evenings and holidays helping at the stables. I was reasonably able academically and I decided to do science subjects for A level to see if I could get into Veterinary School. All my hopes were pinned on this and I had an offer to go to Nottingham, conditional on 3 straight A grades. I was predicted to achieve this but when the results came through I had only got one A and two Bs. I was devastated but decided instead to apply for a Veterinary Nursing course to start a year later.

Consequently I was left with a gap year. I was 18 and could have travelled abroad but decided that some experience working with animals might be more help in the long run. I asked around amongst my horsey contacts and discovered that a friend of a friend knew a chap at Newmarket who was looking for a stable girl to help run his race horse yard. I contacted him and went down for an interview. It was a small yard with only eight horses in training. He needed two stable girls and one had just left. He explained that he would provide accommodation, the cost of which he would deduct from my wages, and that I would be paid the minimum wage for an 18 year old. I explained that I would only be able to work for him for 12 months and that my experience was limited but he thought that was fine and the job was mine.

I started on the Monday after. The accommodation was basic but I quickly settled in and loved the work. The other girl, who was called Jane, and I had a room each upstairs in the stable block with a bathroom and kitchen/lounge area between our two rooms. The stable block was separate but attached to the main house. Jane and I got on really well and in the light summer evenings we would often cycle into Newmarket to go to the pubs and meet some of the local boys. I knew the winter would be tougher but those early days were terrific fun.

The boss was called Mark and he must have been in his mid 30s. He was very handsome and charming and I must admit I had a bit of a crush on him. He was obviously very wealthy. He had an Aston Martin and a Range Rover along with his lovely house and 800 acres of prime arable land which he let out to another local farmer. He kept enough land for his training enterprise and appeared to run a very successful business. His stables were full to capacity and he seemed to get more than his fair share of winners. He was single, although we noticed there were always girls coming and going from his house. To me he was the perfect boss and I often fantasised about having an affair with him.

He was generally quite formal with us however. During the working days we were expected to wear standard riding kit including jodhpurs. These, of course, were skin tight and I had noticed that Mark’s eyes would often linger on our shapely bottoms. Jane wore ordinary knickers under her jodhpurs but I opted for a thong so that I showed none of those dreaded ‘visible panty lines’. The only disadvantage to this was that Mark would occasionally flick our bottoms with his riding crop if he considered we had done something wrong. Probably not correct by today’s standards but it was done light heartedly and we accepted it as a bit of light flirting. However the crack of the crop was not light and through my one layer of clothing it felt like a bee sting and I accumulated several red marks on my bottom from the leather flap on the end of the crop.

As the year moved into autumn my only problem was a lack of money to fund my social life. Almost a third of my income went in rent and Jane and I had to buy food and clothing out of the rest. Other costs, such as mobile phones, meant that we were left with very little pocket money. Occasionally I would have reason to be in Mark’s office and I noticed that he kept a large roll of £20 notes in his desk drawer. There might have been £500 in total and sometimes he would give us one of the notes to run an errand. Neither the office nor drawer was locked, and I’m ashamed to say that I decided to help myself to the odd note when Mark was away. There didn’t seem to be any system for knowing how much was in there and I figured that he would never find out.

He did find out. One morning Jane and myself were called to his kitchen in the main house. He had a lamp on the kitchen table and asked us to place our hands under it. Jane went first and then me. My right hand showed up with some yellow stains and I immediately realised that I had been caught. Jane was sent away and I was left to face Mark alone. I apologised profusely and tried to explain about the lack of money in my life. Quite rightly he said that I should have discussed it with him and that stealing was a criminal offence. He said that he could involve the police but was prepared to offer me the alternative of being physically punished by him. He said that if I took the latter option I would need to do as he instructed but he would give me two guarantees; the punishment would leave no real damage and he would not touch me directly at any time.

I thought about my predicament for a few minutes. I was a strong girl and felt I could handle the ordeal of being spanked by Mark. I assumed the punishment would be on my bottom and even at this early stage this was giving me a bit of naughty pleasure at the prospect. Against this I knew it would be painful and I was devastated to have been caught stealing from him. With hindsight I’m not sure that stealing from my employer’s petty cash would have remotely interested the police but at the time I wasn’t thinking very clearly. I said I would take the punishment from him. He replied that I should report back to the kitchen at 2.00pm wearing loose fitting clothing. I didn’t understand the reason for this request but took it to mean that I should wear a summer frock rather than my jodhpurs.

I did my normal stable duties that morning but clearly my mind was very much focused on my impending ordeal. I explained to Jane what had happened and couldn’t help having a little cry based more on my shame rather than the prospect of a sore bottom. She hugged me and told me that she would make sure she was around to comfort me after it was all over.

After lunch I went up to my room and took off my work boots, blouse, bra, jodhpurs and thong. I stroked the smooth skin on my pale bottom and wondered how that would feel later in the afternoon. I dressed again in short white socks, flat canvas shoes and, what was, my favourite dark blue floral summer dress. It came just below my knees and I thought made me look very pretty. I tied my long blonde hair up into a bun and then went to my drawer to select some underwear. My thongs clearly weren’t appropriate as they would provide no protection at all so I selected a nice pair of tight fitting white satin panties. I slipped these on and headed for the farm kitchen.

I think I expected to be either slippered or caned over the kitchen table as soon as I got there, probably with my dress raised above my waist, but my satin panties remaining in place. I couldn’t have been more wrong. When I entered the kitchen Mark was sitting at the kitchen table. He gestured for me to sit opposite him. I could see that in front of him was a picture of what I now know is a birching rod. He said my punishment was to be a birching consisting of 12 strokes and that I was to go into the grounds of his house to collect the birch twigs with which to construct two birching rods. He gave me the picture to give me an idea of what I was looking for, and a pair of secateurs. He said there were plenty of accessible birch trees at the bottom of his garden and that I should report back to him in the kitchen as quickly as possible. My heart was thumping at this stage and something in my distant memory was telling me that birchings are extremely painful and always administered to bare bottoms.

I was soon down at the far end of his garden looking for suitable parts of the birch trees to make the rods. I could hardly believe the position that I had got myself into. However there was no way out of it now and I would just have to accept the consequences of my actions. I was soon back in the kitchen with a bundle of birch cuttings. Mark initially said nothing but seemed to be happy with my offerings. He selected what looked to be the best bits and told me to take off any leaves, trim the cuttings to about 60 centimetres in length and then group them into two equal bundles with the stalks at one end and the twiggy bits at the other. He then gave me some string and told me to tightly tie the stalks together and then cover the string with some leather bindings that he provided. Mark then got me to trim off any stray twigs and we soon had two birching rods which looked remarkably similar to the one in the original picture.

“OK, Kirsty,” he said. “You can now come with me into my den and we will get this matter dealt with.”

I followed him through a door at the far end of his kitchen that I had always assumed led into a store room. In fact it wasn’t a store room but a very spacious area with no windows, rough walls, low lighting and large off-cuts of carpet on the floor. It was reasonably clean and at one end there was a comfy leather three-piece suite arranged around a large television. In another corner was a pool table and there were various cupboards around the walls. There were other large objects under dust sheets and at the far end was a piece of apparatus that I’d never seen before but it needed no explanation. I discovered shortly afterwards that it was called a ‘birching horse’. It consisted of a central pole about one meter in length which was flattened but with a slight curve on top to produce a surface of about 4 centimetres in width. This pole was covered in beautifully soft and supple light brown leather and it was mounted on four wooden legs which splayed out from each corner of the bar supporting it at about chest height. On each leg were leather straps that could be adjusted for height. There was a small stool placed to one side.

Actually I found the sight of the birching horse strangely reassuring. It now sort of fitted together. Using his riding crop on our bottoms, the coming and going of girls, and now the sight of his den. It all pointed towards a man with a keen interest in spanking girls’ bottoms and this meant that he was highly likely to know what he was doing when he had me at his mercy with birching rod in hand! Nevertheless this was only a relatively small comfort at this stage.

As soon as we were both in the room and the door was closed behind us Mark spoke.

“Kirsty, you have agreed to this punishment and I have made you two promises that I will keep. I would ask you not to discuss this matter or the contents of this room with anyone. Jane will clearly have some knowledge of what is happening to you but please ask her to be discreet also. This is our way of sorting out the mess that you have got yourself into, but I hope that we will remain on friendly terms and that you will continue to work here after today. Is there anything that you would like to say?”

“Not really, Mark,” I said. “Thank you for finding a solution that satisfies us both and I would like to sincerely apologise for taking the money. It was inexcusable and will not happen again. I’m now ready to get this over with.”

“Thanks, Kirsty, and I accept what you say at face value. Now please go over to the corner where the chair is standing and take off all your clothes.”

I had kind of seen this coming although I had still been hoping that I would simply have to take off my knickers and raise the back of my dress. I walked over to the chair and faced it with the birching horse and the rest of the room now behind me. As I took off my shoes and socks I heard the click of a switch and I turned round to see that the birching horse was now illuminated by several spot lights. I turned round again and slipped off my panties. I folded them neatly and placed them on the seat of the chair alongside my socks. I then reached round to lower the zip on the back of my dress. I slipped the straps off my shoulders and allowed the dress to silently slip downwards until it was pooled around my ankles. I knew then that Mark was getting his first look at my naked bottom. I bent down, lifted the dress and folded it to place with my other clothes on the chair. Finally I took off my bra and placed it on the chair also.

I then turned and faced Mark, trying to preserve as much of my modesty as was possible. He was facing me from the other side of the horse and had one of the birching rods in his right hand.

“Please use the stool to help yourself get onto the birching horse. You are to lie facing downwards with your arms and legs dangling down on each side. I will then fasten your wrists and ankles to the horse so that there is limited movement possible from you during your punishment. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mark.”

I climbed up onto the horse very much conscious of the fact that there was now no part of me that remained hidden from Mark. I got myself into position and was soon draped over the bar. The comfort of the bar itself was slightly helped by the covering which had a strong leathery smell. My upper body was now on the bar with my head hanging free at one end, the bar passing between my two breasts and my bottom positioned at the end of the bar at the other end. My weight was pressing down onto the bar from the top of my chest down to my pubic area with my legs and arms dangling down on each side. Mark fastened the straps onto my ankles and wrists. My arms went straight down but the straps on my ankles caused my legs to be a little bent with my knees a bit forward and just beyond level with my hips. If you want a visual image think of a competitor crouched low on a racing motorbike. This was the shape of my lower half. This had the effect of pushing my bottom outwards beyond the end of the bar, creating a perfect target for the birch. I was totally defenceless and totally in his hands.

“You have agreed to take 12 strokes of the birch. Are you ready?”

“Yes, Mark.”

I could then feel the birch resting on my bottom. He seemed to hold it there for quite a time. When I felt it lift off I braced myself for the first strike. It arrived with quite a sting but nothing worse and at this point I thought that I was going to get on quite well. However the second and third arrived in quick succession and the pain began to build. My mother used to slipper me on occasions up to the age of about twelve with an old plimsoll. The impact seemed quite substantial at the time and the discomfort rose to a crescendo. Getting birched was different. At this early stage I was only aware of this building stinging sensation, like nettle stings but multiplied by a factor of ten. I kept on counting the strokes and the pain was building to a level that caused me to whimper and cry a little.

After receiving about six strokes my mind became something of a blur, a mix of stinging, smarting pain, the repetitive rhythm of the birch landing on my bottom, and even, most oddly, something remotely sensual. As more strokes followed, the pain intensified and my bottom felt like it was on fire. Suddenly, the rhythm was broken and I became totally lost.

“That’s it, Kirsty, all over now,” said Mark in a very soft and kind voice.

He went to each corner of the horse and released the straps signifying the end of the punishment. I slid off the horse and managed to navigate down onto the stool and then onto the floor. I couldn’t speak and didn’t know whether to focus on my burning insides or my burning bottom. Without asking permission I staggered over to the leather sofa, collapsed onto it and lay face down, burying my head in a soft cushion. I must have laid there for at least ten minutes. I had no instinct to cover myself and no doubt Mark was left staring at this naked eighteen year old girl lying on his sofa with a very red and sore bottom.

Eventually I calmed down and my breathing returned to normal. I became aware that I needed to gather my wits and make a reasonably dignified exit from the room. I got onto my feet a little unsteadily and saw Mark sitting in one of the other armchairs watching my every move. I was actually quite comfortable with him seeing me naked now after what I had been through. I slowly walked to the other end of the room to get dressed. I put my bra back on first, then my shoes and socks. Finally I put my dress on over my head and let it fall over my body returning me to some sort of normality. I reached round to pull up the zip but I couldn’t face pulling up my panties over my well thrashed bottom. They remained in my hand and I now fully understood why Mark had asked me to come in loose clothing.

I took one more look at the birching horse and noticed that both birching rods were lying on the floor. Mark must have used both on me although I was not aware of the switch over. I wasn’t sure if I ever wanted to be back on that piece of equipment; although my feelings weren’t one hundred per cent hostile. I turned and thanked Mark and fled out of the door back to my rooms. Mark had said nothing more but Jane made up for it with an endless stream of questions. After asking her not to tell anyone else I gave her a full account of the afternoon. She then suggested that I took my dress off so that she could inspect the damage. I stood in front of the mirror and the full horror of the state of my bottom was revealed. That morning it had been smooth and pale. Now it was rough to the touch and totally covered in a maze of little red lines and welts. It was throbbing horribly and I asked Jane to gently rub some cream into it. This helped.

It took a couple of weeks for my bottom to return to normal. Jane and I carried on working as we had previously and Mark didn’t treat me any differently from before. I had taken £60 of his money but he never asked for it back. He must have considered my services as adequate compensation! What he did do, though, was give us both a pay rise which helped with my problem of not being able to fund my social life. I thought this was a thoroughly decent gesture and I have no hard feelings about what he did to me that day. I completed my year working for him and subsequently did my veterinary nursing qualifications. I am now married to a vet and enjoy a fantastic sex life with my new husband. I love having my bottom spanked but I have never tried to replicate that experience on the birching horse. One day maybe.

The End

© Julie Baker 2016    Email Julie at