by Penny Birch
‘Halt,’ I said as we reached the edge of the yard.
Todd reined his team in next to me, turning and grinning wolfishly. I had half-hoped he would throw the race for me but, like various other people, he seemed to find the idea of me being buggered and used as Rathwell’s sex-slave thoroughly stimulating. If I beat him it would have to be fairly and, as we sat waiting for Henry’s signal, I wasn’t at all sure I could do it.
He looked cool and in control and I knew he was one of the most experienced drivers of all. Their cart outshone ours like a modern sports car standing next to a sixties-style limousine. Trisha, Melody and Ellen all looked supremely fit and, if their harness lacked the careful design of ours, then it was still far from crude. I took another pull at the flask, telling myself not to be defeatist.
The waiting seemed to last forever, until finally Henry’s phone rang. It was Francis, calling on his mobile to report that both checkpoints were in place. Henry called to us as he came back outside, my pulse thumping as he walked towards us.
‘On my call,’ he announced. ‘Go!’
I flicked the whip on Vicky’s bottom and snapped the reins. My pony-girls took off fast, as did Todd’s team, and we raced up the big field, side by side until their weight advantage began to tell and we started to lose ground. The sight of my team running was beautiful, especially the tails swishing from side to side across their bottoms. I found myself wishing for time to appreciate them, and determined that I would take them out again sometime, win or lose.
We entered the woods at the top, managing to keep them from increasing their lead as we made for the hairpin of the track were Ginny and Henry had once tricked me into making an exhibition of myself by the railway. As it happened a train was passing as we came out of the woods and started across the field, but I no longer cared, intent only on trying to stop my rivals increasing their lead. It was hopeless. They had fifty yards on us at the beginning of the field and perhaps seventy on the far side. Ahead was the gate that led from Henry’s land on to a public bridleway. Todd slewed his team to a stop and unfastened it, then slammed it shut the instant his cart was clear. I cursed him as we too had to stop, losing another few yards.
The track was broad and dry, running in a perfectly straight line to a fringe of trees that I knew marked the road. I saw them turn ahead of me and called frantically for more speed, only to reach the road and find they’d disappeared. The first checkpoint was in Kerry Woods, a dense copse on the brow of the hill in front of us: Windbreak Hill. The cart ran smoothly on the tarmac of the road, allowing me to check my map properly before turning them on to a footpath that led up the hill.
‘Run!’ I begged, ignoring the startled looks of two cyclists who were coming down the track towards us. ‘Make way!’
They moved, refusing to meet my eyes even when I thanked them as we barrelled past. I glanced back to find the girl staring at us in slack-jawed amazement: a look that would have done wonders for my streak of exhibitionism in less fraught circumstances.
By the time we got to the top of Windbreak Hill all three pony-girls were panting and running sweat. Even Vicky was showing the strain yet, as we pulled in, we saw Todd pull away. Trisha’s bottom was red with nettle rash where her cheeks peeped out around her bikini and all three girls now had bare, bouncing breasts. Susan was holding a great bunch of nettles in one gloved hand, Francis a bottle of water and a stopwatch.
‘You’re three minutes thirty-five behind,’ he announced as we stopped.
‘Tickle Ginny,’ I instructed, grabbing for Harmony’s bikini top and pulling it up over her full, dark breasts.
Ginny squeaked as Susan pushed the bunch of stinging nettles against her bottom, turning it to make sure her cheeks were well covered. I had Vicky’s tits bare as Francis pulled Harmony’s bit out to water her, and had pulled Ginny’s top off before he got to Vicky. I saw how red Ginny’s bum was as I remounted the cart. It was speckled and sore looking. I knew how it felt, stinging and then throbbing; a wonderfully erotic sensation and hopefully one to spur a pony-girl on.
‘You can go,’ Francis said, stepping quickly to the side as Ginny started off.
The next section of run was a long, winding path through woods at the top of the ridge. It was rough going and we never so much as glimpsed Todd’s team. I was starting to despair as we reached what I new was roughly the halfway point: a junction with a lane that led down to the village. In the valley below us we could hear the whistles and clanking sounds of the steam rally, with the church spire and the roofs of houses occasionally glimpsed through the trees.
The pony-girls were straining for me, even Harmony, yet I was sure we were losing too much time. They were panting, their bodies wet with sweat and spattered with mud. Dappled sunlight came down through the trees, the undergrowth closing in ahead to create a dim tunnel. Entering it the girls had to duck and bunch up, slowing us further. Soon we were moving at a walk and I was really starting to panic, trying to stop my tears and wishing I’d never been so obstinate and stupid as to challenge Rathwell.
We finally made the village road and crossed it to find the second checkpoint. Carrie and the two men were hidden in among the trees and there was no sign of Todd’s team.
‘Four minutes twenty-seven behind,’ Stefan announced. ‘Which girl is to be beaten?’
‘Harmony,’ I said, intent on keeping Vicky as fresh as possible. ‘On your knees, girl.’
Harmony sank to her knees, Vicky and Ginny crouching to let her bring the cart down. I started to work Ginny’s bikini pants down as Sven swished his birch against the black girl’s bottom. Harmony moaned and put her face in the dirt, an act of abject submission to the tall Dane. As Ginny kicked her pants off I started on Vicky’s, tugging them hard down over her hips. For a moment her legs parted and I had a glimpse of the wet, pink centre of her pussy in its nest of fur. I kissed it gently and then stood to speak to her.
‘You know what to do now, Vicky,’ I whispered. ‘Run like you’ve never run before and don’t stop for anything.’
She nodded, her eyes looking full into mine.
‘Hang on,’ I instructed Sven. Just let me get this one’s knickers off.’
He paused and Harmony lifted her bottom obligingly for me to take down her bikini pants. I pulled them off and stuffed them in my pocket, Harmony once more presenting her bottom for the birch. Carrie was watering Vicky as I climbed back into my seat, Stefan standing to the side and watching Harmony being beaten with evident pleasure.
‘Come on!’ I urged.
‘Fuck me, Sven,’ Harmony moaned as the birch lashed down across her bottom once more.
‘No way!’ I said. ‘I’m not falling for that one again. Let’s go!’
‘Come on,’ Sven said. ‘You’ve lost anyway, so let’s have some fun.’
‘Later,’ I insisted. ‘Rise!’
Harmony obeyed, but Sven’s hand was on her bridle and for a horrible moment I wondered if Rathwell hadn’t set the whole thing up. If they insisted on getting their kicks with Harmony then I was finished, and she was obviously willing. I struggled for something to say, choking on my words, the tears starting in my eyes.
‘I’ll play with you,’ Carrie chirped up suddenly. ‘You can birch me while I suck Stefan. Come on.’
Sven turned without hesitation and I wheeled the cart.
‘Thanks, Carrie, I’ll remember that,’ I called over my shoulder, catching a last glimpse of her going down on her knees in front of Stefan while Sven raised the birch over her trim hindquarters. The blonde tail was sticking up over her bottom, her cheeks were bared for the birch, and her mouth was open for Stefan’s cock. I would never have guessed she was such a dirty little tramp, but now I knew I was glad of it.
We turned back on to the road, the cart accelerating on the tarmac. We were some five minutes behind; a hopeless task unless Susan’s strategy paid off.
‘Run like the wind!’ I yelled, smacking Vicky’s bottom with my whip. ‘No turning!’
They o
beyed, three stark-naked pony-girls with their tails bobbing behind them and their boobs bouncing in front, pulling me just as fast as they could go, straight towards Sapsford Village and the annual steam traction rally.
The track leading on to Henry’s land passed to our right. My heart gave a leap as I saw the marks of tyres in the mud – unmistakable pony-cart tyres. Susan had been right. A team driven by Todd and consisting of the three more modest pony-girls would never risk sprinting naked through the village, especially when two had the added shame of red, recently punished bottoms. Rathwell had picked his team for sheer power; I’d picked mine for their dirty minds. Todd, Trisha and Ellen had respectable jobs. Melody was a slut, but she was in a minority. My team were very different. Vicky and Ginny were exhibitionists through and through and Harmony was no better than Melody. As for me, at that moment I’d have more than happily driven the team down the middle of Oxford Street, never mind a country village.
The track they had taken led back to Henry’s in a long curve, crossing another road and joining the big field halfway up. On the map it was nearly three times the length of the road and pretty rough as well. If we couldn’t make up the lost five minutes then it was my pony-girls who deserved to be caned and buggered, not me.
Of course we still had one major obstacle to overcome: the village itself. Planning to drive a miniature cart pulled by three naked pony-girls through a village is one thing. Doing it is another. As we passed the Sapsford sign and the first house we were going flat out, the pony-girls’ legs flashing in the light, driven as much by the immediate prospect of public exposure as by my commands and whip. Vicky and Ginny had known my plan, but Harmony hadn’t, yet she was making no effort to do anything but go as fast as she could.
We saw our first person as we started into the gentle curve that leads to the green. She was middle-aged, stick thin and staring at us with absolutely ferocious disapproval. It’s hard to shake your upbringing, and hers was just the sort of look I was used to getting when found doing something I knew I shouldn’t be. As a large number of aunts, au-pairs and teachers had found out over the years, all that look does to me is make me obstinate. Be it given for jumping in a puddle in my best shoes, refusing to attend church, or pony-carting in public, the result is the same.
Not one of my pony-girls slowed, running hard past her and towards the corner that hid us from the green. There was a straggle of people ahead; several men standing around a van, and a couple of elderly women talking by a cottage door. Their heads turned as we approached, staring, laughing nervously, passing a shocked remark.
We were going fast, but that only means ten miles an hour or so. They all got a good look as we passed and my sense of being exposed really started to build. Then we came out on to the green and I realised that all my previous experiences of being exposed were nothing. The green was packed. To our left a great crowd of people were milling around outside the Green Man. To our right the road was solid with parked cars and bustling with yet more people. Ahead the green was studded with antique steam engines and thronged with humanity.
The pony-girls did their best to keep their speed up, but it was hopeless. We had to walk across the green. People stared at us, people laughed at us, people made disapproving comments, people made waggish comments, but they wouldn’t get out of our way. I was quickly wishing I’d worn my hat and veil, but then that wouldn’t have been fair on the pony-girls. After all, I was dressed. They were naked but for leather straps that did nothing to hide their breasts, fannies and bottoms. I used to be ashamed if my skirt blew up and my panties showed, even if nobody was looking. How much stronger their feelings were as we paraded ourselves so blatantly in front of perhaps five hundred people didn’t bear thinking about. It’s the disapproval that hurts. All three of them had run naked in front of Rathwell’s crowds at pony-carting meets and enjoyed every second of it. Now it was very different.
Of course there was nothing we could do but walk on. I had planned to cross the green at full speed, and had never imagined that it would be so crowded. Running was physically impossible, but we still had to cross and I was soon asking the more awkward bystanders to move. They did, turning, gaping, sometimes finding something to say, but never once interfering with us. I suppose it actually takes a lot of guts to grab a naked girl but, whatever the reason, nobody did and we finally made it to the verge of the crowd, trotting, running, then once more going flat out for the far side.
Only as we reached the opposite corner of the green did I see the police car parked by the Post Office. A small group stood by it, one woman expostulating angrily, a man pointing in our direction. A head peered out of the car’s window, turning to look at us.
‘Sprint!’ I yelled. ‘There are police!’
Even as the team surged forward it occurred to me that it had been the very thickness of the crowd that had saved us. We had been invisible from the car until we reached the far side of the green, and now they were having to turn in a press of bystanders who showed no more compunction to move than they had for us.
All of this disappeared as we rounded a corner. It wasn’t far to the turn off for the farm, yet the chances of making it seemed slim. Of course, what I couldn’t do was put Henry in jeopardy. Better to be arrested than turn into his drive in view of the authorities. With the noise of the steam fair I could hear nothing behind us, then came the sound of a siren and my heart went into my mouth. It lasted only an instant, but I knew what it meant. The drive was visible ahead, but too far; far too far.
‘Turn here!’ I ordered.
They didn’t need to be told. A track led to the right, going somewhere and I didn’t care where. We turned, finding a narrow lane leading down between the houses and finishing at a fence. Beyond were woods: Henry’s woods.
‘Down to the fence!’ I called.
Fortunately Vicky ignored me, instead turning hard behind the buildings and stopping behind a van. I heard the sound of a car, approaching, passing, then fading into the distance.
‘Now down to the fence,’ I demanded.
Vicky tugged left, back towards the road. Instantly I realised she was right. It would be impossible to get through the woods in time to win and, despite everything, we still had a chance. I dismounted and ran up the lane, peering out to find the road deserted. I was about to signal them when the police car appeared in the distance, coming towards us. It was going slowly, the man in the passenger seat peering left and right as they came.
‘They’re searching,’ I hissed. ‘Come on!’
They didn’t hesitate, running down the lane to the fence and clambering over as I lifted the cart behind them. We ran into the woods, pushing through the undergrowth, the girls heedless of scratches. Twice I glanced back, seeing nothing, the third time glimpsing the car as it passed the lane. It seemed to slow and I froze, waiting for the inevitable.
It went on and a moment later the trees had closed around us and the houses were invisible. We pushed on into more open woodland where I could remount and soon reached a track. I felt elated yet guilty, aware of what I had risked yet unable not to feel pleased with myself. The pony-girls ran on, slower now, and bumping along the rough track with obvious difficulty. Ginny was beginning to flag badly, and Harmony also was obviously on her last legs. Vicky alone seemed to have any energy left.
As we moved through the wood my feeling of elation faded to be replaced by a sick sensation in the pit of my stomach. I was sure we had lost, and that we would come into the big field to find Rathwell’s cart drawn up with him standing smugly beside it. I found myself clenching my buttocks at the thought, thinking of his cock prodding at my bottom-hole, opening me, buggering me as I knelt with my pants pulled down and my buttocks spread for him.
The two outside pony-girls slowed, exhausted and sensing my despair. Vicky was forced to drop her pace, and I was about to give the command to walk when I heard a sound to our side up the slope. It was a call, Todd’s voice yelling for more speed.
‘Run!’ I
screamed, but only provoked an exhausted stagger from Harmony.
I had one last chance, utilising a design feature of my harness that I had invented for just such an emergency. Ginny was trying hard but was dragging her feet and appeared to have a stitch. Harmony was worse, completely incapable of doing more than walk. Ahead was the light where the track opened into the big field, the stables visible beyond. I heard Todd’s voice again, closer and ahead.
‘Run, Vicky!’ I yelled as my fingers went to the snap locks that held the outer ponies’ traces to the cart.
The first came open and Ginny moved forward, the cart’s weight no longer on her. The other snapped and Harmony did the same, the traces trailing in the dirt as Vicky took the full strain. I wrenched at the junction lead and the swingletrees fell away to either side, Ginny falling back, Harmony collapsing to the ground. Vicky moved into a trot, then a run, her sheer power filling me with delight.
We burst into the big field. Todd’s cart was visible away to the side and upslope. They had the advantage, but I could see they were as tired as us. Melody was staggering, Trisha limping slightly but still fast. Ellen alone was moving at the steady lope of the experienced long-distance runner, yet I could see the red marks left by the birch on her buttocks and thighs and knew that her bottom would be burning. Todd turned, saw us and yelled for speed.
Vicky surged forward without having to be told. Todd’s cart slewed, Melody simply unable to keep pace with the others. A yell went up from the yard and I looked ahead to find Rathwell on his feet, gesticulating frantically to his team. Todd yelled for speed again and gave Melody a sharp crack with the whip.
At that instant I knew we would make it. If Todd had ever been in harness himself he’d have known that the whip is there for play. It may encourage a pony-girl under normal circumstances but, in a desperate sprint, it only hinders. He drove Vicky, too, who usually won and so really didn’t know how it felt to be driving an exhausted pony-girl.
Now I had Vicky and, when it came down to it, she was simply the best there was. When I saw Todd he was perhaps ten yards ahead and well up the slope. We were neck and neck with a hundred yards to go; then we had the lead and I was yelling with pure joy. Rathwell was leaping up and down in fury, and Todd was screaming at his team. We closed on each other, aiming straight for Rathwell, my team coming in at a steep angle. Vicky’s foot crossed the line, then a wheel, and we were home, turning, brushing Rathwell as he slapped his hand to his forehead, the cart slowing, stopping, even as Trisha crossed the line. Her knees buckled immediately, Melody and Ellen following her to the ground to collapse exhausted before Rathwell. Vicky stayed up, proud and tall, standing directly in front of Henry’s chair.
