by Penny Birch
‘Are you ready?’ Amber asked gently.
‘Please turn me on a bit more, first,’ I asked, not feeling at all sure if I could take the whacking that was coming, ‘and start gently.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she answered. ‘I could cuddle you while you’re beaten, if you like?’
‘Yes, please,’ I said. I was already having to breathe deeply and I hadn’t even taken a stroke yet. Amber knelt again and put her arms around me, a hand on each of my tits and my head upside down between her breasts. Suddenly, it was all right. I felt secure and comforted, the coming caning something that I needed and deserved.
I’d been spanked often enough to recognise the feeling. In addition to the simple sexual thrill of a hot, bare bottom, punishment produces a wonderful feeling of release — redemption, even. A good spanking always leaves me wanting to cuddle the person who’s just beaten me: the opposite response to what many people would expect. The feeling was stronger now, though. Being beaten by the three of them seemed just, as was my nudity, my legs spread and my pussy and bum-hole on show to them, adding shame to my well-deserved punishment.
A finger touched my pussy. I didn’t know whose, but it didn’t matter. If they wanted to explore me, that was their privilege. After all, I was being punished and didn’t feel I had any right to privacy until my punishment was complete. I felt the finger tease open my pussy and slide inside me, move in my vagina and then withdraw.
‘Six, I think,’ I heard Matthew’s voice. ‘Two each, that is; and Ginny had better go first.’
I found myself whimpering softly as they stood back from me. Six strokes! More, if Amber chose to join in. My poor bottom was going to be in a dreadful state. I heard the cane make an experimental swish through the air. The next stroke of the implement was going to be brought down on to my bare bottom and I had begun to kick even as Amber pulled my head closer in between her breasts. I could feel the texture of her bra through her jumper, lace over yielding flesh. Then there was another swish and a sharp pain exploded in my bottom. I cried out and flung my legs up in a futile effort to protect myself.
Ginny giggled and waited until my wriggling had subsided. I heard the cane swish again and another line of fire sprang up on my bottom, lower than the first.
‘Two,’ I heard her say.
I felt her hand on my bottom, stroking my cheeks and lingering on the two cane marks she had made. My skin felt hot and rough where the cane had struck, Ginny’s caresses accentuating my awareness of the state of my bottom.
‘OK?’ Matthew asked and I knew that he had taken the cane from his sister.
‘Yes,’ I managed.
‘Hang on,’ Amber said.
There was a murmur of appreciation, I think from Michael, as Amber pulled her jumper up and once more cradled my head between her breasts. Her flesh was against my face, firm and smooth. I nuzzled her, nipping the edge of her bra in a mute plea for more. She hesitated, but only for a moment, then undid her bra catch and pulled the cups up to join her jumper. Her arms came back and now the bare flesh of her breasts was against my face.
I saw her signal to them and, the next instant, the cane came down hard across my bum. I had been imagining that Ginny’s strokes gave the measure of how much a cane hurt. I had been wrong. This was much harder and had me kicking and whimpering into Amber’s boobs. Ginny laughed even as the second stroke caught me, again making me kick and squirm over the stool, indifferent to the display I was making of myself.
‘Four,’ Matthew announced, ‘there we are, Michael: one wriggling little backside, all for you.’
Amber held a nipple out for my mouth and I began to suckle her as I braced myself to take Michael’s share of my punishment. The first stroke landed and, even as I gave my first kick, the second followed. I yelped at the unexpected double stroke and Michael laughed.
That was it. I lay panting and sobbing over the whipping stool, my skin wet with sweat and my bottom a mass of fire. I had been well and truly punished: stripped, tied and beaten, to my own order. Amber continued to let me suckle her nipple, stroking my head to soothe me. Just being cuddled by her was ecstasy, her big, soft breasts providing me immeasurable comfort.
‘Make her come,’ Amber said, reading my mind.
‘There’s a vibrator in the drawer under the desk. You’d like that, Penny, wouldn’t you?’
I nodded around my mouthful of nipple, trying to push my bottom up further for the welcome contact of the vibrator. I had begun to shake with the after-effects of the caning and my whip marks had started to smart with an odd, prickly sensation that made me more conscious than ever of my bottom. I heard the drawer open and then shut, followed by a brief buzzing sound as someone tested the vibrator.
A moment later the cold hard plastic touched my pussy. It was rubbed among the folds of my vulva, finding my clit and then humming to life. That unique electric thrill went right through me and I found myself tensing my buttocks and thighs immediately. In my upside down position, all I could see were the curves of Amber’s breasts and belly, and not who was working my pussy. Whoever it was certainly knew how to frig a girl. The vibrator was pressed against my clit and held steady so that I could set my own rhythm in squirming against it. The bells on my nipples were jingling, Amber’s finger caressing one distended bud of flesh. A hand was stroking my bottom, touching the ridges of rough skin where the cane had fallen, to constantly remind me of my beating.
My mind began to run on my punishment. The stripping, being put in bondage and having nipple bells clipped on, being held and then caned: caned methodically while they laughed at my squirming bottom, at my pouting pussy lips, at the vulgar display of my bottom hole.
It didn’t take long. My muscles began to contract faster and my breathing became heavy as I approached orgasm. A hand cupped the vibrator against me and a thumb was slipped into my pussy. The other hand left the surface of my aching bum cheeks and slipped between them, finding my anus and sliding a finger inside. I came, feeling both holes contract onto the intruding digits, thrusting my pussy hard against the vibrator and screaming my ecstasy out between Amber’s breasts.
I was barely aware of them untying me and, when I was free, I just sat panting on the floor, stark naked and not caring a bit. When I eventually climbed to my feet, they showed me my bum in a mirror. Red lines criss-crossed the white cheeks, each cane mark two parallel scarlet scratches surrounded by an area of deeper red. The flesh was slick and moist, with a tuft of wet pussy hair showing between my thighs. My first thoughts were how sore my poor bottom was, and how humiliating it was to be standing in the nude, with my bum cheeks covered in cane marks. I had given them the right to make those marks, though, and I wouldn’t have missed the experience for anything.
Afterwards, as we drank wine in Amber’s kitchen, I was surprised at the way their attitudes had changed towards me. Matthew had always treated me rather as if I were made of cut glass; that is, when he wasn’t intent on filling me with cock or turning my bum the colour of a cherry. Now, his respect was tinged with awe, as if he found my very willingness intimidating. Michael and Ginny had always been friendly and made no secret of enjoying my body. While I was dressing, I had caught a look of real lust from Michael and I suspected that both of them were wondering what it would be like to have me as their plaything.
As for Amber, she didn’t seem to be able to keep still. Talking animatedly and sipping her wine, as if scared that someone was going to try to take her glass away, she was obviously strongly affected by what we’d done. Despite feeling drowsy and satisfied, my own thoughts were very much turned in her direction. She had been both strict and cuddly towards me, a wonderful combination. The thought of being under her control made me melt. My guilt was there, too, stronger than ever because now I wasn’t just playing along: I wanted it badly.
‘I’ll bring the tack down to you next week, if you like,’ she was saying, addressing Matthew.
‘I can’t really keep it at the farm,’ he answered.
‘Could you bring it to Michael and Ginny’s?’
‘Fine,’ she replied. ‘In fact, how about a challenge?’
‘What sort?’ Matthew asked.
‘A pony-girl race,’ Amber continued. ‘Around your park.’
‘Great!’ Ginny enthused. ‘With a good punishment session for the loser.’
‘Hey!’ I protested. ‘There’s no way I can beat you. I’ll take my medicine if I lose, but only if it’s a fair race.’
‘Actually, I was thinking of a prize for the winner,’ Amber said.
‘That doesn’t really give the ponies the same incentive,’ Michael remarked, ‘and, as Penny says, she and Matthew haven’t a fair chance against Ginny and I.’
‘We could work out a handicap,’ Matthew suggested.
‘Or put Ginny in a partial hobble,’ Michael added.
‘With the loser’s punishment worked out in advance and the details pinned to the stable door,’ Matthew said.
‘Good idea,’ Ginny put in. ‘Penny and I could read it out before getting into harness…’
‘Hold on, hold on,’ Amber said. ‘I want to make a specific challenge. Listen to me. You four can put together any team you like. If I manage to beat you over five laps of the park, I get my prize.’
‘Five laps?’ Ginny asked.
‘You can do that,’ Michael replied. ‘You’ve done seven before.’
‘Yes, but not racing.’
‘Five laps,’ Amber continued, ‘let’s make a decent race of it. If I win, I get Penny as my pony-girl for a day. If that’s all right, Penny?’
Her last sentence had been spoken with just a hint of doubt. I smiled and nodded, immediately restoring Amber’s confident tone as she continued. ‘Alone, that is. What do you say?’
I could see that Matthew wasn’t too happy with the bet. Michael and Ginny seemed more amused than anything, but it was Michael who decided to haggle.
‘And if we win?’ he asked.
‘You get my pony to play with, of course,’ Amber replied.
‘So all four of us get to share one pony-girl who we’ve not met or you get to play with our delectable new filly all on your own?’ Michael went on. ‘That’s not a very good deal, Amber.’
‘What else can I offer?’ Amber asked.
There was silence for a moment as each considered the other.
‘Yourself,’ Ginny spoke suddenly.
‘Me!’ Amber exclaimed. ‘But…’
‘Matthew and I won’t touch,’ Michael put in quickly,
‘but we do get to look.’
‘I…’ Amber began. She was stuck. Michael obviously wasn’t going to back down and she either had to call the whole thing off or accept his offer. She looked out of the window, then at me. It seemed to me that I won either way and that I ought to encourage her to take the risk. I returned her look and gave my upper lip the smallest of dabs with my tongue, then lowered my eyes.
‘You’re on,’ she said to Michael.
Five
I was sure Amber had something up her sleeve. As we had driven back after visiting her, all of them had expressed astonishment at her acceptance of Michael’s offer. Ginny knew that she had occasionally been a pony-girl before, but not often and only for other women. In fact, baring her boobs with two men present was regarded as pretty unusual. The assumption was that she had fallen in love with me on the spot, and there was a lot of teasing about what she’d do, once she got hold of me. Matthew I would have expected to be less enthusiastic — jealous, even — but he seemed happy to go along with the idea. They intended to win, after all.
Personally, I doubted we would. I was intent on doing my best, and once we had agreed that Ginny and I would run as a pair, I spent as much time as I could training.
When Amber arrived at the park the following Saturday, it was in a horsebox. She wouldn’t open the back, which confirmed my suspicions, but did present me with my tack. She had made it in thick black textured leather which still had a rich scent to it. The fittings were shiny new brass, which Matthew immediately told me to keep polished, with the threat of a spanking if I didn’t. It was beautiful work and I was looking forward to showing off in it.
I thanked Amber with a kiss, letting my mouth open briefly under hers. I was already beginning to feel the unique excitement of being under control as a pony-girl, even before really being in role. Ginny and I had been warming up and Michael and Matthew’s method of warming up was enough to get anybody going. First they had had Ginny and I undress each other, then made us run naked on the spot with a carriage whip handy to make sure we kept it up.
We had just finished that when Amber arrived and so, when I kissed her, she got an armful of naked girl into the bargain. She, like Matthew and Michael, was in full kit: shiny black riding boots, jodhpurs and a loose white blouse. The three of them together, with Ginny and I totally nude, made an erotic scene straight out of fantasy. Not only was it real, but I was the main subject of it.
Michael made short work of tying Ginny’s and my hands behind our backs and attaching us to the hitching post, then went to talk to Amber while Matthew rigged the cart. I watched as he attached two poles to the eyelets on the shafts and fixed them in place with rope. I could see how it worked. Ginny and I would be pulling on either side of the cart. Thus our heels would be free to kick up without risk of hitting the cart, while both our bottoms would be freely available to his whip. The ropes distributed the strain evenly, the whole design allowing us to run much faster than normal. It looked good to me and I turned to see if our engineering skills were worrying Amber.
They weren’t; or at least, if they were, she didn’t show it. Instead, she was chatting to Michael and admiring the surrounding park. I had to admire her calm. In her place, I would have been trembling in anticipation of erotic humiliation. As Ginny had told us, part of Amber’s philosophy was that you should never do what you weren’t prepared to accept yourself. We knew she would accept defeat with good grace, and I privately expected that she would thoroughly enjoy it, as long as we didn’t realise it. Still, her attitude betrayed not the slightest hint of apprehension.
She and Michael were discussing the technicalities of the race. He offered to reduce the distance but, as before, she insisted on five laps. With Michael weighing some three stone more than her, they agreed to weight the undercarriage of her cart to make up the difference. They also agreed to dispense with tails; having a plug up one’s bottom made running unreasonably difficult. Most of the terms they used were lost on me and I realised that there was more to being a pony-girl master or mistress than simply giving commands and applying whips to bottoms.
Only when they had the cart fully rigged and the race terms agreed did they come over to Ginny and me. Amber watched as we were put in harness, making the occasional remark about the attachments for my new kit.
The corset waist belt was particularly fine, hugging my midriff and bringing my breasts and hips into prominence. Our hands were untied and the wrist cuffs put on, then the bridles, with an adjustable strap running between our cheek rings. The reins looped back, also attached to our cheek rings so that both of us would receive the signals. There were no bells or other bits of decoration that might distract us. Once harnessed, we were led over to the cart and hitched in place by our wrists and waists. As before, there was the delicious feeling of being under control, only made more intense by the excitement of the coming race.
Matthew led us into the shade and we stood patiently while Amber undid the rear door of her horsebox. I couldn’t see inside, but Amber whistled and there was a noise, then her pony-girl emerged, walking smartly down the ramp, already in full harness and hitched to a cart.
‘May I introduce you to Hippolyta,’ Amber addressed the men, smiling proudly as she took the pony-girl’s reins and began to stroke her hair.
I was impressed and it was obvious that Michael and Matthew were as well. ‘Hippolyta’, which was presumably a pet name, was pure elegance. She stood
a good three inches taller than Amber, a pillar of firm, hard muscle, naked except for her harness and shoes. Her breasts were small and high, tipped with dark nipples in contrast to her pale skin. Long black hair was drawn back into a pony-tail, tied with a scarlet ribbon and falling to the small of her back. I felt an unexpected pang of jealously as Amber’s hand moved from her hair to squeeze a pert buttock.
‘Very impressive,’ Matthew said, eyeing Hippolyta with undisguised relish. ‘Draw your teams up to the line, then.’
As Hippolyta paced forward, I could actually see the outlines of her muscles working in her legs. She was magnificent, it was true, and looking at her made me feel very small and girly. There seemed little doubt that she could outrun Ginny and me in a sprint, but over any distance she might have less of an advantage. Why, then, had Amber been so insistent on the five laps?
The reins flicked against my back and I took a step forward, following Hippolyta’s sweetly rotating rump towards the starting line. Michael was walking behind us, holding the reins. As we were not allowed to talk, and were supposed only to obey commands from voice, reins and whip, we had discussed tactics in advance. The idea was for us to start as fast as possible and get ahead by the start of the narrow track. With our two-abreast formation, it would be next to impossible to overtake us on the first circuit and, from there, we hoped being in a pair would tell.
Of course, it didn’t work like that. As soon as Matthew dropped his handkerchief to signal the start, Hippolyta was off like a shot. At the far end of the carriage sweep, she had enough of a lead to pull in front of us and leave us trailing as we descended the shallow slope into the woods. She was still drawing ahead and we quickly lost sight of them on the curved track.
It wasn’t that we were going slowly. In fact, compared with my previous experience of pony-carting, we were going at an impressive pace. Having proper shoes with grips instead of high-heeled ankle boots was most important, but the whole experience was very different. For a start, Michael made little use of the whip or reins and gave most of his commands verbally. He had also abandoned his cool, devil-may-care attitude, which was mainly done for the benefit of Ginny. Instead, he drove us with a fevered determination, abandoning the finer points of the fantasy in favour of efficiency. The difference was that, where the pleasure in pony-girl fantasy usually comes from actually doing it, with racing the really erotic part comes with the prize.
