The pristine, pastoral Midlands county of West Bollocksfordshire. It has managed to stay so completely unspoiled because it is almost totally owned by the some of the most prominent families of the British plutocracy (and a few rich bastard Yanks, as well). We know how much the rich love horses, so this was ideal horse country.

All the stable lads in West Bollocksfordshire were secretly a little terrified of the county's most dominant and pre-eminent vet, Doc Granger. She radiated a powerful confidence and exerted a powerful animal magnetism on all who knew her. Whenever she entered an area, men could barely keep from dropping everything they were doing and just stay standing, slack jawed, watching her every move in mute fascination, their balls beginning to tingle, their members beginning to stir in their pants. And if she actually stopped to smile or talk or lightly touch you, your cock would spring up hard and stubbonly throbbing. She well knew the power she held over men, and when she was done with you, she would always make a little point of glancing down at your straining hardness trapped in your pants and then give a little smirk and a twinkle of her eye to you as she turned to walk away.

Part II: Gelding A Stallion

She hated it. She loved horses. Thought they were beautiful and magnificent and that they should stay as nature intended. This one was being gelded for the crime of throwing a corpulent old dowager and giving her a sprained ankle and a rough bump on her huge bum.

It was an uncommonly warm West Bollocksfordshire day in July, so she decided to roll up her sleeves. First the left one. She unbottoned the cuff and then began to laboriously, methodically roll it up, about 2 and a half inches at a time. By the time she had it rolled up tightly to her bicep, small rivulets of sweat were beginning to form on her forehead and temples. She turned to her right sleeve and began the process there. She was about half way done when she suddenly said, "Sod this! I really can't be arsed!" In a trice she had unbottoned her shirt and cast if off, leaving herself naked to the waist. She was bra-less, as usual, and since she had never borne children, her perfect medium sized breasts were almost as firm as when she was 14. She gave a little shiver of pleasure, and she let her nipples proudly stiffen as she felt the warm caress of a soft summer breeze on her exposed semi-nakedness. The stallion was one of her favorites, and she took great pains to geld it as carefully as possible.

Part III: Her Latest Conquest

Doc Granger had had her eye on little Timmy O'Toole for quite a while now. He was a healthy young lad of 19, fresh faced, rosy cheeked and completely open, trusting and guilless. And, Doc Granger suspected, still a virgin. He was nearly 6 feet, and of medium build, but there was something so sweet and childlike about him that everyone always referred to him as "Little Timmy".

She caught him masturbating one day in his little bunk room off the stable. She had been walking by and heard a rhythmic slapping noise and so had stopped and put her eye to a knot-hole in the wall and spied Timmy, bollock naked, on his bunk with his rampant, purple member clenched tightly in his fist, stroking it savagely. In his other hand he held an issuse of "Cruella", opened to a pictorial set in a horse barn. She recognized it because, for one, she had a full set of all Rogue-Hagen publications at home, including every issue of "Cruella", "Goddess" and "Riding Cult", and for another, because she was good friends with the publishers and had even served as an informal advisor at the very photo shoot to which little Timmy was now so deeply engrossed. Doc Granger couldn't resist watching this little tableau play out to it's natural conclusion. Soon, little Timmy gave out a deep grunt, threw back his head and let his spunk fly up from the depths of his being and out into the warm summer air. As the last spurts oozed out, he shuddered and moaned. His eyes had been closed as he ejaculated, but after the last tremors of ecstacy had subsided, his eyes popped open, fixed on, as if by instinct, the knot-hole in his bedroom wall through which Doc Granger had been spying on him. Startled, Doc Granger took a quick step back and stepped, somewhat noisily, in a small muddly puddle of horse piss. "Who's there!" called Timmy, and Doc Granger said nothing, but just quickly turned on her heel and retreated from the stables.

Part IV: The Trap Is Set

She tricks Timmy into coming to her stately home: When the forcefulness of her personality, and the sweet, strong attraction of her sexuality aren't quite sufficient, the clincher is when she lies and tells him that portly old Sir Guy DeCombersome, the owner of the stables where Timmy worked and lived, has asked her to talk to him, to Timmy. What she doesn't tell him, is that DeCombersome himself had experienced the exquisite delights of having fallen into her tender trap over 20 years before, and he had been one of her devoted eunuch admirers ever since.

Once she has secured his shy consent and sweet submission to her will, Doc Granger tells Timmy to get into her Bentley and she will drive him to her home.

Once they have reached her stately (without being ostentatious) little manor house, little Timmy is so utterly speechless and over-awed that she has no difficulty maneuvering him into stripping completely naked and then allowing her to firmly strap him into her purpose-built gelding frame/stocks. Noticing his straining hardness copiously dripping pre-cum, she graciously decides to milk him with an automated milking sleeve. After he surrenders to an earthshattering orgasm and spurts every drop of his prime essence into the sleeve, she shaves his scrotum. By the time she is done shaving him he has become burstingly hard again, so she slips the sleeve on him again and powers up the milker. Finally, after watching him surrender to a second shuddering, wrenching orgasm, then she softly, sweely, gently proceeds to geld him. When she is done she pats him on his soft, tender bottom and tells him he's a good boy.

Whilst she was gelding him, little Timmy realizes the special honor she has bestowed on him. After she releases him from the frame/stocks, he kneels down, kisses the hand that had recently castrated him, and silently pledges his undying devotion to her. He looks up into her warm, loving, almost glowing eyes and loses himself in them. Doc Granger leans forward and softly brushes his cheek with her hand and kisses him on the forehead. By this token he realizes that she has accepted his pledge. A feeling of tremendous warmth and well-being floods through him as he realizes that he has now put all of life's loneliness, doubt and uncertainty behind him forever. His feelings of gratitude towards Doc Granger are so overwhelming that he almost faints.

Part V: Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity-Jig

Later, as Doc Granger is driving him back to the stables in her Bentley, he slouches down in his seat, lets his head loll lazily and casts his gaze dreamily out at the West Bollocksfordshire countryside as it flits by, lit paley by a waxing moon. Doc Granger on the other hand, has completely forgotten his existence and can only think of completing her late night errand and returning home to put her feet up, sip a couple glasses of chilled Dom Perignon and watch a taped re-run of "The Sweeney". Thinking back on it, she has to admit that today had been a very full, as well as a very satisfying, day.