A Taste Of Amber

by Penny Birch

  ‘I’m here,’ Melody announced from the scullery door.

  Like Susan she was covered, but only with a short leather jacket that left most of her long, dark legs showing. She had her blue trainers on and bright-yellow ankle socks, also yellow and pale-blue spray colour in her hair. This had to be a mistake as it would show up like a beacon in the spinneys.

  ‘You look pretty,’ Susan said as Melody walked up beside her.

  Melody smiled and tousled Susan’s hair, a gesture that gave me a quite irrational pang of jealousy.

  ‘Your attention, please.’ Henry declared. ‘The rules are as always. Susan and Melody, pay attention. You may run anywhere within the boundaries of the big field and the two spinneys you can see up the slope. The hedge at the top is fair ground but the woods to either side are not. Each hunter will have an hour to catch their pony, rope her, punish her and bring her back. Hunters may not carry timepieces. Bottoms may be smacked in any way the hunter pleases, but there must be some colour to the pony-girl’s rear cheeks when she is returned. After an hour any pony-girl remaining uncaptured is considered to have escaped. Stop words are as usual, but should only be used in dire need. You are dressed beautifully, Amber. You, Morris, although I suppose your dress is not actually against the rules, really should consider the sartorial implications of combining training shoes with riding gear. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to borrow a pair of my boots?’

  ‘Thank you but no,’ Rathwell replied. ‘Now, if you could find a coin, I’d like to get started. I’m eager to introduce little Amber’s virgin twat to the old happy stick.’

  ‘Very well,’ Henry answered, ‘although I doubt that you will gain that privilege. You may call.’

  He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a fifty pence piece, which he flipped high and caught dextrously before it could land in the mud.

  ‘Heads,’ Rathwell called.

  ‘Tails,’ Henry declared, looking at the coin in his hand and then showing it to Rathwell. ‘Amber may choose.’

  ‘Susan runs first,’ I stated without hesitation, reasoning that it would be better for me to know what time I had to beat, if any.

  ‘One other thing,’ Henry put in. ‘I feel it would be fair for Melody to have a chance to familiarise herself with the ground. Amber?’

  ‘That’s reasonable,’ I admitted, although slightly irked by Henry’s obsession with fair play.

  ‘Excellent,’ Henry declared cheerfully. ‘Let’s have our stirrup cup then.’

  He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with tots of hot rum punch which we drank at a gulp. Melody then jogged away up the field, leaving a clear trail through the morning dew. This was an unexpected problem. When we had practised, the grass had been wet but dull, leaving no trails to speak of. Now the entire meadow was carpeted with a multitude of tiny dew drops, each reflecting its scintilla of light and each ready to be shattered by someone’s foot. The hunters would now have a far easier task, especially the one going first. Annoyingly, it was just too late to choose to have Melody run first. Resigning myself to a tougher run, I walked over to where Harmony was standing talking with Francis.

  ‘You’d better get Susan greased,’ I said to Francis.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said.

  ‘Ready for it?’ Harmony asked, her voice sympathetic.

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ I assured her. ‘I don’t intend to lose, but I can handle it if I do.’

  ‘You’ve got spirit,’ she answered. ‘Look, I’ll give you a hint. If you want to turn Melody on so she doesn’t fight too hard, just get her on the ground and pee on her.’

  ‘Really?’ I asked, not at all sure if Harmony’s advice could be trusted.

  ‘Believe me, girl. Do that and she’ll be putty in you hands,’ Harmony assured me.

  Or a raving, spitting hell-cat, I thought to myself, intrigued by the idea but very cautious. After the way Melody had teased me it would also be a pleasure, and I quickly decided that it had to be done, but only once she was securely tied and helpless.

  ‘What are you up to?’ I heard Rathwell’s voice from behind me.

  ‘Never heard of a greased piglet?’ Francis answered, continuing to slap handfuls of our revolting lubricant on to Susan’s now naked body.

  ‘Nothing in the rules says a wild pony-girl can’t be greased,’ Henry said, wagging his finger at Rathwell. ‘No more than they mention bolases.’

  ‘I …’ Rathwell began and thought better of it, instead waving at Melody where she was visible walking along the ridge.

  By the time Melody returned Susan was fully greased, nude and glistening in the bright sunlight, her tanned skin and freckles highlighted by her oily coating. Rathwell took a coil of rope from Henry and tucked it into his belt.

  ‘Make it easy and I’ll just spank your little tush,’ he said to Susan. ‘Give me a hard time and I’ll take the whip to you.’

  ‘Hey!’ I protested automatically.

  ‘Don’t worry, Amber, I’d quite like a taste of the whip,’ Susan answered cheekily. ‘Not that the poor old boy’ll catch me anyway, so you’ll have to do it instead.’

  I laughed at the immediate flush of annoyance on Rathwell’s face. Susan had hit a soft spot and riled him, which with luck would make him a less efficient hunter.

  ‘We’ll start on the half-hour,’ Henry interrupted. ‘In just two minutes.’

  Susan began to run on the spot, watching Henry until he gave the signal and then taking off up the field. She ran fast considering how wet the ground was, and quickly disappeared around the end of the rectangular spinney.

  ‘This shouldn’t take too long, I think,’ Rathwell remarked in what was supposed to be a bored tone as he walked slowly over to stand at the edge of the field.

  For all his nonchalance I could tell he was nervous. A vein in one of his hands stood out, pulsing occasionally, while the long, bony fingers were trembling ever so slightly.

  ‘You’re off, Morris,’ Henry announced.

  Rathwell started forward, moving at an easy lope. I could tell he was fit for his age, yet could hardly see him out-running or out-thinking Susan, and so turned back to Henry with only a moderate flutter of apprehension in my stomach.

  ‘What do you think?’ I asked.

  ‘The dew is a problem,’ Henry answered. ‘Yet I have faith in both Susan and yourself.’

  ‘Morris is going to get you, girl,’ a voice spoke from over my shoulder.

  It was Melody, who had come up to stand close beside me. She had also put her hand on my bottom, cupping my cheeks right in the middle and prodding meaningfully at my pussy with a finger.

  ‘Virgin,’ she continued, and there was definite lust in her voice. ‘Say, if I had a strap-on, I’d fuck you myself.’

  ‘If you’ve got one on you, you can,’ I offered, ‘but your master wouldn’t be best pleased with you now, would he?’

  ‘It’d be well worth a whipping,’ she answered, then leant closer to whisper in my ear, ‘especially as when I’d had your pussy I’d push my big, black hard-on right up your posh little behind.’

  I gulped and felt the colour rise to my cheeks, imagining Melody mounted on me and putting a strap-on dildo to my anus. Not that I’d ever seen such a thing, but it was something I’d imagined often enough even before I knew such things were actually made. She was trying to get to me and succeeding although, as I was due to take a riding whip to her bottom, it seemed a foolish move. Unless, of course, her intention was not to discomfort me but ensure that once I caught her she got properly dealt with.

  ‘Throw the competition and you can do exactly that,’ I whispered back. ‘I mean it, up my bottom, and you can beat me, too.’

  Melody stepped back and looked me right in the eye. Her emotions were hard to read, but I’d certainly shaken her. She raised her eyebrows and stepped away, walking over to talk to Harmony. I gave them both a wicked grin and stuck my bottom out a little, getting raised eyebrows from Melody and an appraising loo
k from Harmony.

  Up the field Rathwell had vanished into the rectangular spinney, evidently having seen no tracks on the far side. Susan emerged from the other end, crouched low and moving towards Rathwell. She was taking a risk, yet had every chance of eluding him. He would also be unable to use his bolas in the spinneys.

  By the time he emerged from the end of the rectangular spinney, she was in the circular one. He stood and looked around, checking for trails and finding none. It was all I could do not to laugh as he scratched his head in puzzlement. Susan appeared again, backtracking her footprints between the two spinneys and making a mess of the dew so that it was impossible to determine which way she had gone. Rathwell entered the rectangular spinney again and vanished from our sight.

  For a long time we saw nothing, then Susan suddenly burst from the circular spinney, running at full speed with Rathwell close behind. He was trying to get his bolas going, but the effort slowed him and Susan was getting away. It whirled over his head, making an eerie whistling noise. He ran on, then threw, the bolas aimed straight for her. Susan stopped, turned, waited and then threw herself flat, the bolas passing harmlessly over her. Rathwell started after her, only for Susan to jump up, grab the fallen bolas and sprint away across the field. I couldn’t resist clapping as her laughter floated back to us, light and girlish. She was dancing across the meadow without a hint of fatigue, laughing and taunting Rathwell, then swinging the bolas high into an oak, where it caught.

  ‘I should have included you two in the bet,’ I called to the black girls, ‘as my sex-slaves for a week.’

  ‘Any time,’ Harmony called back, earning a smack on her leg from Melody.

  Henry’s stopwatch showed twenty-six minutes, and Rathwell showed no signs of even coming close to Susan. Over the next half-hour they chased and dodged around the field, Rathwell becoming increasingly cross and Susan increasingly cheeky. Finally she overdid it, actually touching his jacket before darting away. He shot a foot out, tripping her, and the next instant was kneeling across her and pulling her wrists together in the small of her back. She kicked futilely, still laughing as her arms were lashed. Glancing nervously towards us, he gave her half-a-dozen hard strokes on her upturned bottom. She continued laughing in between squeaks as he whipped her and afterwards, kicking and squirming to make life difficult for him. Finally he managed to get her across his shoulder and started towards us at a slow jog.

  I had to admit she looked entrancing, balanced on his shoulder with her wrists lashed together and her sex-lips peeping out from between her thighs, six red lines criss-crossing her rounded, girlish bottom. He was a very different matter: red-faced, covered in mud and grease, his clothes soaked and one pocket of his smart jacket torn almost completely away.

  ‘Fifty-eight minutes and thirty-seven seconds,’ Henry intoned as Rathwell crossed the line. ‘Cutting it a bit fine there, Morris.’

  Rathwell said nothing for once, instead lowering Susan into the mud and going to lean against the wall of one of the stables, puffing and blowing. Melody hurried over to him with a tumbler of rum punch, Harmony sauntering behind.

  ‘Let the old boy get his breath back and I’m ready,’ I told Henry and Francis, making sure my remark was loud enough for Rathwell to hear. ‘Well done, Susan, nice run.’

  Rathwell shot me a dirty look as Francis bent down to untie Susan.

  ‘That was great,’ Susan sighed. ‘Really good fun. A proper beating would have been nice, though, with a warm-up spanking first and then perhaps being made to count the strokes out loud.’

  ‘I didn’t have the time,’ Rathwell growled, and then turned back to what was becoming an intense conversation with Melody and Harmony.

  I looked at them, finding Melody nodding seriously and Harmony looking uncertain. Whatever it was obviously boded no good for me, yet it was impossible to see how I could fail unless they broke the rules, which would mean immediate victory for me. Finally they broke up, Melody sauntering towards me with a look of insolent self-assurance on her face. She shrugged off her jacket as she came, tossing it to Henry. Underneath she was naked, big dark-skinned breasts stuck out, the nipples darker still and stiff. Her belly was firm and muscular, her pussy hidden in a nest of thick, crinkled hair, sprayed yellow and blue like the hair on her head.

  ‘That’s sweet,’ I admitted, determining to take my time with her if I caught her quickly.

  Something about her powerful, dark body and insolent manner brought out the submissive in me, especially after her taunts about what she wanted to do to me. I was the one with the whip and rope, though, and for now was determined to gain her submission.

  ‘I’m ready for you, girl,’ she said, putting her hands on her hips and throwing me a typically impertinent look.

  ‘We’ll go in three and a bit minutes,’ Henry announced.

  Melody looked round, nodding confidently to Rathwell, who returned a knowing leer. I took the rope from Francis, winding it into a hank. Susan came up to me, smiling and bright eyed despite being scratched in several places and completely coated with a mixture of mud, leaves and grease.

  ‘Good luck, Amber,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Thanks,’ I answered, tousling her hair as Henry signalled Melody to go.

  My adrenaline rose quickly as I watched Melody run lightly up the big field. Instead of using Susan’s route, she made straight for the gap between the spinneys. Rather than turn into one, she continued on, finally disappearing from view beyond the rectangular spinney when she was a good halfway to the ridge. I wondered if she was attempting some sort of complicated double back, as otherwise she would have only the ridge hedge to use for cover.

  ‘You’re off, Amber,’ Henry announced.

  I started forward, following Melody’s trail. It ran clear between the spinneys and on to the ridge, with no sign of her having returned. Up-slope from me it disappeared into the enclave, which was presumably where she was. I followed, puzzled by her tactics and ready for her to break from the hedge once I got into the enclave. She didn’t, but was standing waiting for me in the shelter of the high beech hedges. She stood with her arms folded and her head cocked to the side.

  ‘Right, girl,’ she said as I stepped into the enclave. ‘Now I’m going to teach you a lesson. First I’m going to tie your hands with your own rope, then I’m going to take down those fancy jodhpurs and your panties too. Maybe I’ll strip you bare. After that I’m going to take a long time over that sassy white behind until it’s just as red as a London bus and I’m ready to come. Then you can suck my titties, kiss me right down between my cheeks, and lick pussy until the horn goes. Right?’

  I didn’t answer, realising that this was their trick. It wasn’t against the rules either. A wild pony-girl is expected to put up a fight and, if she wins, that’s hard luck on the hunter. Normally, of course, the girl craves nothing more than to be caught and made to submit to the hunter. Now I found myself wishing that the more openly submissive Harmony had won the toss.

  Melody was smiling and walking towards me with every sign of confidence. I hesitated, threw my whip down and feinted a dash for the field, then charged her. I hit her full on and we went down into the puddle that had formed in the centre of the enclave. She squealed and grabbed at my wrist, trying to get her weight on top of me. The pressure came on to my arm, forcing me back inch by inch. She was incredibly strong, her face showing a grin of triumph and delight as I began to give way. My own feelings began to betray me, the mental need for her to dominate me rising as her physical strength overcame me.

  ‘Better to give in easy, girl,’ Melody said through gritted teeth, ‘or I’ll take you back tied and your little girlfriend will see you.’

  It was the wrong thing to say, making me think of Susan, naked and trembling in my arms, begging for punishment. The image fired new determination and I started to push back. It was hopeless, but for a moment she was off balance. I twisted and rolled, finding myself behind her and managing to plant a hard smack on her meaty
bottom. For a moment she was distracted, enabling me to crawl away, only for her hand to catch on to my jodhpurs and pull them down over my bottom. I kicked out, contacting something soft. Melody squeaked and wrenched herself away. I sat up to find her jumping to her feet. She spun around to face me. I stayed low, waiting for her in a squat.

  ‘Harmony says you’ll be easy to handle once you’ve been peed on,’ I said, determined to give her a dose of her own medicine.

  She leapt at me like a wild cat, knocking me back and hissing wordlessly as she clawed at me. I went down under her, grabbing at her wrists to stop her scratching me. For a moment her naked breasts were in my face, then her legs were straddling my waist, pinning me to the ground.

  ‘No way!’ she shouted, flustered far beyond what I had expected. ‘You’re going to get that, not me!’

  I twisted again, throwing her off me to land hard in the mud. She grabbed at my blouse, tearing it open, her nails catching one of my breasts and leaving a long, scarlet scratch. That really made me see red. She was grappling me, trying to roll me on to my front. I resisted, taking her weight on my arms and trying to force her back. For a moment there was deadlock. Melody’s face was contorted with the strain and her passion, her eyes burning with determination. She grunted, wrenching furiously at me but only gaining an inch. Once more there was deadlock then, slowly, painfully, she began to give. Her expression changed from determination to alarm as I bent her arm back, my teeth gritted together with the effort. She gave a grunt of consternation as I began to twist her arm, then a furious sob as I applied an arm lock and triumphantly straddled her back.

  I was filthy with mud and my blouse had been torn completely open, also my bra, leaving both breasts uncovered and soiled. My jodhpurs were half-down, my panties sodden and torn across the seat. My skin was scratched and wet, yet none of it mattered. By good luck the rope was within reach and I made quick work of lashing Melody’s wrists and attaching them to her waist, then lashing her ankles to leave her completely helpless. I stood up, panting and exhausted yet utterly triumphant.