by Penny Birch
It sounded sarcastic, but Amber’s choice of words made me realise that she was not just going along with it for my sake. She was enormously enjoying the prospect of watching him fuck me.
I waded down through the mud into the water. Neither he nor Amber said a word as I got into the clear water in the middle and began to splash cool water over myself. I was amazed at how well the tail and snout stayed on and began to wonder if I was going to be a permanent piggy-girl.
The atmosphere was uneasy but very erotic. I felt as if I was about to undergo some bizarre religious ritual, washing so that I would be clean for a whipping and to be fucked. It took me a while to get the mud out of all the little crevices, but after a while I was finished, my skin pink and flushed. I turned to find that he’d already got his cock out ready for me.
In sex stories, it’s the handsome young man who has the enormous penis, while the fat old buffer who’s always leering at the girls has a thing like a chipolata. This man completely destroyed that theory. His cock was quite as long as any I’d had before, but what was really impressive was the thickness.
It was already erect. I suspect he’d had it erect in the bushes when he’d been watching us. He was nursing it in his hand, keeping it stiff for my fanny, and his fingers didn’t meet around the shaft. Amber didn’t seem too bothered by this. She was sitting back on the oak trunk and watching him calmly. Still, she wasn’t the one about to have it put in her pussy. One good thing, I reflected as I looked for a way to get out without getting muddy again, was that he hadn’t expressed any desire to put the monstrous thing up my bum. If he had, I think I’d have run away and left Amber to accommodate him as best she could.
I got out on the grass and walked over to them. The man had picked up the hazel switch and was whipping it backwards and forwards experimentally, still stroking his cock with the other hand. He accepted a condom from Amber and peeled it on as I watched, then gestured to the ground.
‘Not too hard,’ I said as I got back on my knees and stuck my bum out for him. ‘I do like it, but be a bit gentle.’
‘I see you’ve already been done,’ he said, gloating over the four red lines Amber had put across my seat.
‘Were you a bad pig?’
I nodded and hung my head. The question had been just right, making him part of the game while enhancing my sense of erotic humiliation.
‘And what were you whipped for?’ he asked. ‘Tell me.’
I knew I wasn’t supposed to talk, but his questions were just what I needed to restore my desire to be punished.
‘I wanted to sit my bum in the mud on the track,’ I answered.
‘Disgusting,’ he answered.
The switch came down across my bum and I grunted at the sudden sharp pain.
‘This,’ he continued, ‘is for trespassing on my field.’
Again the switch came down across my bum and again I grunted. The first line was already stinging.
‘And this,’ he said, ‘is for filthy behaviour.’
I had closed my eyes and was bracing myself for the next stroke, but instead I heard a dull thud and realised he had sunk to his knees behind me. The next instant I felt pressure against my vaginal opening and his oversized cock was being pushed up me. The sensation made me gasp as my pussy filled with cock. It had me panting even before he started to thrust, and when he did it was all I could do to lower my chest to the ground and grunt and squeal and pant as he fucked me. Not only was his cock huge and his pushes like being rammed by a goat, but he had his heavy belly resting on my bum and I was supporting a good deal of his weight.
When I got over the initial shock and looked up, it was to find Amber smiling at me and looking thoroughly pleased with herself. I couldn’t say anything because the breath was being knocked out of me with increasingly hard thrusts. Had I been able to, I would have told her to stop smirking and try it herself.
Well, I’d wanted to be fucked as a piggy-girl and now I was getting it, and from a man who could well have been a pig farmer. It was the piggy-girl fantasy I wanted my own orgasm over, but he was slamming into me so hard it was difficult to focus my mind.
Fortunately, he didn’t take very long. Not that I didn’t like it, but as it was I knew my hips and vulva would be bruised and didn’t want to be out of action for the rest of the weekend. After probably a couple of minutes, he took a final vice-like grip on my hips and came in me, slamming his cock up me to the hilt.
When he pulled out, it was all I could do to flop over to my side, curl my legs up and reach back underneath me to get to my pussy. Now that I was no longer being stuffed senseless, the fantasy came together perfectly. I was Amber’s pet again, but had been caught and fucked by the farmer.
One hand was on my pussy, the middle finger rubbing at my clit. The other was exploring my bottom, touching the tail, caressing the whip marks on by bum cheeks, teasing my anus. I knew he could see everything and didn’t care; in fact, it made it better. He’dbe watching me as I frigged in helpless ecstasy from his vast cock. In my fantasy he had begun to molest Amber as he watched me frig, lifting her jumper and bra to get her tits out to play with. She would be feigning reluctance but giggling as her breasts were bared and he took one soft tit in each callused hand, fondling her while her piggy-girl writhed in ecstasy on the ground.
I felt myself coming and wanted to do something really rude in front of them, so I slid a finger into my bum-hole. I wiggled the top joint about in the tight hole, felt my anus contract along with my pussy, then was coming, whimpering and kicking in the grass, fully aware of the display I was making of myself.
Of course, I knew the whole thing had been a fix from the instant Amber had said he could whip me. If he had really been a stranger, there was no way she would ever have done that. Even before that, I’d been suspicious. Dirty old men run away when they’re seen; they don’t just breeze up and ask to more or less exactly fulfil the fantasy of the girl they’ve been peeping at.
‘Who are you, then?’ I asked as I rolled over and sat up, not bothering to cover myself, as he’d already seen everything I’d got.
He and Amber were sitting on the log, looking thoroughly pleased with themselves.
‘Henry Gresham; a pleasure to meet you,’ he replied, ‘and may I say that you make a most beautiful piggy-girl.’
‘And are you really the farmer?’ I continued.
‘Oh, yes,’ he replied. ‘Amber and I set the whole thing up in the week.’
‘So you were watching from the beginning?’ I asked.
‘I’m afraid so,’ he answered, smiling cheerfully. ‘I’m Amber’s godfather, by the way.’
‘So what’s the background to you two?’ I asked.
‘Until I was eighteen, he was nothing more to me than a card on my birthday and the occasional dolly,’ Amber answered as I sat down next to her on the log. ‘Then, when I left school, he offered to let me work on his farm for the summer. I took him up on it and I have to say he was the perfect gentleman. What I found in his library suggested otherwise.’
‘There’s nothing ungentlemanly about wanting to spank a strapping young lass,’ Henry Gresham interrupted.
‘Maybe not,’ Amber continued, ‘but bondage, uniforms, pony-girls… Especially pony-girls. That’s what set Ginny and me off playing pony-girls, and eventually I plucked up the courage to ask him about it all. The result, you can see.’
‘You didn’t tell me this before,’ I accused her jokingly.
‘No,’ she admitted, ‘because I knew that before long I’d need somewhere special to treat you to a really powerful piece of erotic play. The wood is his, too, by the way. The stuff about the Forestry Commission was just to make you nervous. We made the tracks last week, with Henry’s tractor. The piggy-girl idea was all mine; a fantasy tailor-made to your dirty, submissive, perverted little imagination, Miss Penny Birch.’
I caught Amber completely by surprise. One moment she was sitting on the log trying not to laugh, the next I had pushed her ov
er and she was on her back in the grass. She struggled half-heartedly as I jumped on her and rolled her legs up, even as I grappled with her trouser button. For all her size and strength, there was nothing she could do; she was laughing too much. I pulled the trousers up her legs, taking her panties with them and baring her pussy. With her legs up, I could get at a fair bit of her bum and she was soon squealing in between her laughs as I began to spank her.
Henry just laughed at his goddaughter’s struggles and watched as I applied stinging slaps from the ends of my fingers, turning what I could reach of her bum cheeks quickly red. When I’d finished with her bottom, I started on her thighs. Her pussy was sticking out between her rolled-up legs and it was more than I could resist not to slap that too, but I only got more giggles for my efforts. After a while, she gave up struggling and obligingly lifted her bottom for its full share of slaps, indifferent to the show she was making in front of him.
We went back to Henry Gresham’s for dinner. This was magnificent, with four courses each accompanied by a suitable wine. By the end, I was stuffed to the brim and feeling extremely mellow. He then showed us around his library and the collection of erotica. This included pony-girl stories and images dating back to the last century, which surprised me. In practice, I suppose, it can’t have been long after the invention of the wheel that some paleolithic pervert attached his wife to it. We went home at close to midnight, after I’d treated his splendid cock to a leisurely suck. Amber watched this approvingly, and even took him in her hand for a while. She did this with a familiarity that suggested to me that it wasn’t so unusual, but rather that masturbating him was simply a part of their friendship. It was my mouth he came in, though, which put me in a thoroughly turned-on mood as we drove back to Amber’s.
When we arrived, there was a message from Vicky telling Amber to call them when she got in. Despite the time, Amber took her at her word, but it was a sleepy Anderson who eventually answered the phone.
‘Do you want to go carriage-driving tomorrow?’ Amber asked me over her shoulder when they had spoken for a while.
‘Carriage-driving?’ I asked.
‘Anderson’s built himself a three-seater,’ she continued. ‘He wants to test it out.’
‘Sure,’ I responded, ‘a three-seater pony-cart sounds fun.’
‘Carriage,’ Amber corrected me. ‘Carts have two wheels; this has four. Yes, Anderson, we’d love to. We’ll get down to you by about eleven. Yes. Oh, and, by the way, I’ve got a new invention of my own to show you. No, you can wait until tomorrow. OK. Bye.’
Half an hour later, snuggled up to Amber in bed, I was dreaming of a huge barn, entirely filled with piggy-girls and tended by fat men with impossibly large cocks.
Twelve
Sunday proved dry and warm with a light breeze. Ideal pony-carting weather, in fact, as a really hot day just tires us poor pony-girls out and we’re not nearly so much fun. Vicky and Anderson lived in Surrey and we managed to get to their house at the appointed time. He shared Amber’s enthusiasm for the practical side of pony-carting and they were soon involved in a highly technical discussion about tack and formations and team control. The carriage was impressive, an elegant vehicle with two seats at the rear and a higher driver’s seat. Twin shafts projected from the front, although when I asked how they worked I was told it was ‘pole gear’ and not shafts. It looked the same to me, and I nearly said so, but Vicky took me by the arm and led me to the kitchen, pouring cold beers for us and then going out onto the lawn.
‘Leave them to it,’ she told me as she made for a rug that had been laid out in the centre of the lawn. ‘They’ll sort it out in the end.’
I followed her as she walked across the lawn, as elegant and languorous as a cat. She was dressed only in a scarlet bikini, cut high to show off her sleek muscular bottom. I’d forgotten just how athletic she was and was thinking that I would cut a very poor image as a pony-girl next to her. There was nothing superior about her character, though, and we were soon laughing together and comparing experiences, mainly sexual.
Eventually Amber and Anderson emerged from the garage in which he had the carriage. They were still deep in a technical discussion.
‘The question,’ Anderson was saying with absolute seriousness, ‘is how to balance the team.’
‘I don’t think pulling weight will be a problem, not at that speed,’ Amber cut in. ‘I’m more concerned with an even appearance.’
‘That’s simply not practical,’ Anderson objected.
‘Nonsense; we could use an in-line formation, then the disparity in height wouldn’t matter.’
‘Maybe, if we had the swingletrees forking out from the pole gear, but the lead pony would be miles ahead of the driver.’
‘You’re obsessed with symmetry, Anderson. As long as the gear and tack is complicated enough and the ponies are balanced people will be impressed. So all we need —’
‘What people?’ I interrupted.
‘The people at Bourne village fe^te,’ Amber answered.
‘Anderson here has booked us in as a side-show.’
‘A village fe^te!’ I echoed. ‘Pony-girls, naked on a village green? We’ll be arrested!’
‘We’ll be wearing bikinis, silly,’ Vicky put in. ‘Not to mention ostrich plumes, ribbons and goodness knows what else. We’ve told them it’s like a circus act.’
‘And they believed you?’ I demanded.
‘They went for it,’ Vicky answered easily. ‘Be fair, it’s no more obviously erotic than some trapeze acts.’
‘Yes, it is!’ I protested. ‘We’re in bondage!’
‘So’s an escape artist,’ Anderson pointed out.
‘But I’ve got six whip-stripes on my bum!’ I objected lamely.
‘If you didn’t want people to see that you’ve been punished you shouldn’t have been naughty,’ Vicky replied, with a complete lack of sympathy.
‘Thanks,’ I answered, ‘you really know how to console a girl. OK, but if we get put in the cells I’m just going to whinny; you lot can sort it out.’
‘Relax,’ Vicky answered, then paused and turned to me with a wicked grin. ‘But remember, they think we’re a circus act, but we know we’re pony-girls!’
I had to admit that she was right. As long as we got away with it, the exhibitionist thrill would be something else.
‘I’ve worked out the formation,’ Amber announced, at which Anderson immediately looked obstinate. ‘We’ll have the swingletrees in conventional set with a free lead and linking traces.’
‘Brilliant, only we need three pony-girls,’ Anderson answered.
‘I suppose I’d better be your third then,’ Amber answered in the tone of mock resignation I’d come to recognise when she wanted an excuse to be submissive.
‘It’s just as well I brought some spare tack. Penny will have to lead, of course, or we’ll look unbalanced.’
That bit I understood, which was more than could be said for the rest of her idea, even after living with her for two weeks. I had no objection to being lead; if I was going to show off, then I might as well do it in style.
We did it with a vengeance. I named Amber ‘Honey’, which I felt suited her colouring. She and I stripped and got into scarlet bikinis which Vicky ‘just happened’ to have spare. These knotted at the hips and looked really sweet, leaving most of our bums bare.
Amber’s spare tack proved to contain not only extra harness but a golden tail that was actually part of Mr Novak’s order and due to be collected that evening. It was obvious that she’d decided to be a pony-girl in advance, which amused me after the way she’d made it seem as if she were doing it for the sake of perfection. To put the tails in, all three of us got into a line and took hold of our ankles, presenting Anderson with our bikini-clad bums. He tweaked our bikini pants down and greased our bottoms, then watched as we put our tail plugs in. How he resisted getting his cock out and sliding it up Vicky’s pussy was beyond me but, when the plugs were in, he just helped us adju
st our bikini pants and put on the invisible belts.
Our harnesses went on after that, with complicated head-dresses of scarlet ostrich plumes on our heads and scarlet ribbons to complement them. The tack was immensely complicated, with traces leading between our cheek rings and a system of rope that made the one I’d used with Ginny look simple. Heels made up for Amber being shorter than Vicky, producing a smart turnout.
I felt wonderful when it was all finished, standing at the front with my bit between my teeth and waiting for Anderson’s command to move off. We did look gorgeous, but I couldn’t see how anybody could think we looked anything other then unashamedly erotic.
‘Right,’ Anderson said as he got into the cart.
Moving out onto the public road doubled my feelings of uncertainty. We weren’t just taking a risk of being seen, we were actively going to show ourselves off, and to a crowd at a village fe^te. Despite my feelings, I just acted as a good pony-girl should, following Anderson’s commands and drawing the carriage.
It was nearly a mile from his house to Bourne, along a small but not exactly deserted road. Several times, we were overtaken by cars but, in the nature of drivers, they seemed to regard us as more of a nuisance than anything. The road ran down a wooded slope and then turned sharply around a building. I came around the corner to find the green spread out in front of us, bright with bunting and stalls and tents. This is it, I thought, they’ll take one look at us and have us arrested for indecent exposure.
Anderson drove onto the green and drew us to a stop in the very centre. We stood, straight-legged and motionless, waiting for his command as people turned to look at us.
‘High-step, take it slowly,’ Anderson commanded, tapping my shoulder with the whip in the command Amber had taught me for high-stepping. I started off, pacing slowly and evenly, taking care that the upper surface of my thigh reached the horizontal with each pace and angling my leg back and my foot down as I had been taught.
