Pony-Girl Tales

by Peter Birch

  The bridle slipped over Susanna’s head and she closed her teeth on the bit with an anxious glance at Jeremy. A tactic suddenly occurred to her, and she began to speak, only to be silenced with a slap on her bottom from Miss Chertsey. Jeremy sat down and took up Susanna’s reins. He had decided that his best interest lay in doing as well as possible, though the sight of the opposition made their task seem hopeless. Sir Osmond had directed him to use a route that made the most of paved roads and allowed Susanna to keep her speed up. Jeremy had kept silent but his study of the map suggested an alternative tactic.

  “To your lines,” Miss Chertsey called. “Remember, once their bridles are in place no pony may speak. Your current location and destination are marked on the map. The course is just over three miles as the crow flies, perhaps six by road, the winner being thefirst to get through the lich-gate of St. Jude’s church in Steeple Dunning, where I will be waiting. I want a good, clean race, no kicking, tripping, use of whips on the opposition or other foul play. Broken security bracelets constitute automatic disqualification and forfeiture of the prize. Is that clear? ”

  Susanna walked over and pulled up next to the triplets. They stood perfectly poised, immaculate bodies relaxed, eyes to the front as Miss Chertsey clipped a security bracelet from one of Arrabella’s wrists to the shaft of the cart. Susanna’s own wrist was tagged in the same way, making it impossible to unharness without breaking it and getting disqualified.

  She watched from the corner of one eye as the observer raised her starting pistol. There was a second of tension, then a bang and the sharp sting of Jeremy’s whip on her right bottom cheek. She lunged forward and to the left, straight in front of Christobel who couldn’t restrain a curse as the black cart’s shaft struck her hip.

  “Foul!” Croom and Sir Osmond called simultaneously as Susanna made good her advantage and gained the middle of the track.

  “One obstruction and one pony talking,” Miss Chertsey called. “Cancels, no foul.”

  “Damn!” Croom swore.

  “That’s my girl!” Sir Osmond yelled after the rapidly receding cart.

  As they were blocking the track, Susanna and Jeremy were able to set the pace, steering the cart on an uneven course and ignoring Croom’s remarks on their parentage and sexual habits. Susanna kept up an easy jog, presenting the solid rear of the cart to the soft front of Arrabella and well out of range of Croom’s whip.

  “My road, damn you!” Croom yelled as they took a corner onto a broader stretch of track.

  Jeremy looked round to see that the horse-boxes were lost from sight. One of his wheels caught a puddle, spraying Britannia with muddy water. A twitch of the reins steered Susanna so that they hit another, harder this time, splattering Arrabella and Christobel with their share of water. For a moment the triplets’ rhythm broke and Susanna gained a lead, allowing her to concentrate on pulling as Croom held back.

  The wood came to an abrupt end, opening out to a broad area of hard ground in the middle of which lay several piles of pine trunks.

  “Go!” Croom yelled, bringing his whip down hard across Christobel’s bottom. The triplets surged forward, steering for the right hand path the moment it was clear that their rivals intended to take the left. Susanna accelerated, goaded on by Jeremy’s voice and an unexpectedly sharp application of the whip. She put every ounce of muscle into her effort, determined to keep her lead. Jeremy caught a glimpse of the rival cart through a gap in the log piles, only just behind them.

  “We’re going to make it!” he called just as an elderly man rose from beyond the log pile were he had been making botanical sketches.

  The expression of mild admonition which he had intended to use on whoever was being so noisy turned to wonder an instant before Susanna hit him, one full breast blocking his mouth as he tried to speak. She stumbled, taking him down with her even as Jeremy’s heels dug into the ground and ending in an untidy heap on the ground.

  “Sorry,” she managed, pushing her bit out with her tongue and rising so that his face was no longer smothered between her boobs. “Are you all right?”

  Then she heard Croom give a triumphant cackle as he rounded the end of the logs and looked back.

  “Learn to steer!” he called, giving Britannia’s bottom a gleeful whack and waving cheerfully to Susanna and Jeremy.

  The old man looked round at the voice, to be presented with the sight of Croom’s cart retreating down the lane, the three naked girls running easily, each bottom with its tell-tale red marks.

  “Must go, bye,” Jeremy said as Susanna got the bit back between her teeth and started around the obstruction. “Terribly sorry and all that.”

  Susanna sped off, leaving the old man sitting in the dust with his mouth still open in an O of astonishment. They had lost ground and were loosing more. The section of track was straight and sloped gently downhill between tall hedges. Croom’s cart was a good fifty yards clear, the triplets’ pony-tails bobbing tauntingly as they ran. Jeremy fumbled for the map, letting Susanna control the cart.

  They were headed at a sharp angle to their destination, he saw. A low hill, most of its area marked as deciduous woodland, separated them from Steeple Dunning. The road that they were about to join ran parallel to the river Bourne for a while and then curved around in a loop, crossing the river and joining another road that led directly to the village. Jeremy had checked the river to make sure there was no nearer crossing point, yet a single, long field separated road and river for nearly a mile.

  “Slow!” he heard Croom’s voice tinged with panic as the triplets turned hard onto the road, almost spilling cart and rider. “Go easy, Arrabella, they can’t catch us, and any more manoeuvres like that and you’ll be on rusks for a month!”

  Susanna took the turning more carefully and they emerged into the road a hundred yards or more behind Croom. The cart ran more smoothly on the tarmac, picking up speed, Susanna settling into a smooth running motion yet still loosing as every advantage for her was a greater advantage for the triplets.

  “Whoa!” Jeremy called as they passed a gate.

  Susanna pulled up, looking fretfully over her shoulder as Jeremy dismounted and began to work at the knotted bailing twine that held the gate shut.

  “We’re taking a short cut,” he explained.

  Chapter 6

  In Which a Variety ofTactics are Tested

  Croom, turning in his seat to gloat over the loosing cart, saw Susanna pulled up at the gate and immediately drew on Arrabella’s reins. The triplets came to a halt as he opened his map and searched for the right place.

  “What the hell are they up to?” he said. “Hang on, what’s this thin black line across the river?”

  The key revealed that the symbol indicated a weir. Just above it the river became much wider. Croom paused. If a crossing was possible and he didn’t try it, Jeremy would gain an unassailable lead. On the other hand, if the crossing was not possible he’d loose nothing by checking as he’d still have the advantage on the road. Turning thought into action he pulled the team in a tight circle and made for the gate which Jeremy was carefully closing behind him. Leaping from the cart as the triplets reached the gate, he reached for the catch, only to find that Jeremy had secured it with a hideous tangle of knotted bailing twine. He cursed as a carefully manicured fingernail broke on the tough orange string.

  Jeremy, wishing to honour the rules but reasoning that even if the pony wasn’t allowed to talk there was nothing wrong with the rider talking to the pony, explained his idea to Susanna as she struggled to pull the cart through the field. The land had been left fallow and ripe grass seed was sticking to her skin and catching in her pussy hair, while the occasional half-hidden thistle pricked her calves and knees. She sighed with relief when they reached the river, plunging in the moment Jeremy dismounted. She immediately sank to her knees in mud, but the water was blissfully cool,
lapping against the tuck of her bottom and then up to her waist as she plunged deeper. The wooden cart began to float as the water reached her neck, and for moment she thought she would be unable to make it, only to find the bottom rising once more.

  Jeremy splashed in behind her,having hurled most of his clothes and map across in a bundle. He crossed the river with a few clean strokes and then turning to help his wife. Susanna’s feet found firm gravel as Jeremy took her hand and she stood up, feeling deliciously clean and refreshed, boobs just clear of the water surface with her nipples standing stiffly to attention. Unfortunately the far bank was steep, so that they had to wade upstream until they reached a point under a massive beech tree were cows came down to drink.

  Susanna made a wry face at the sight what she was going to have to wade through, but pushed gamely on, quickly finding herself calf deep in muck. Just as she was about to reach dryer ground, her foot slipped and she sat down full in the mess, smearing her freshly cleaned pussy and bottom cheeks with an ample helping of cow dung and mud. She swore through the bit and then pushed it out to speak.

  “It’s all up my bum!” she protested disgustedly to Jeremy. “Hold on, I’ve got to wash.”

  “There’s no time!” Jeremy replied pointing across the river. “They’re coming.”

  Susanna turned to see their rivals on the far side of the river. She scrambled up, extricating herself and the cart from the muck but remaining plastered in slurry from the waist down. Jeremy ran to retrieve his clothes, dressing frantically and then turning back to see why Croom hadn’t attempted the river. The triplets were pulled up at the edge, their master standing by and looking between the river, his clearly expensive white cotton summer suit and the vile sludge on the far side.

  “I say truce!” he called over to Jeremy. “How deep’s the river? ”

  “Pretty,” Jeremy called back. “Susanna was to her neck.”

  “I take it your cart floats?” Croom asked a trace of irritation in his voice.

  “Yes of course, it’s made of wood.”

  “Sod it! Mine’ll sink!” Croom cursed and made for his cart, reining the triplets around and making hell-for-leather for the gate, each elegant rear getting a taste of the whip in turn as they balked at a particularly large patch of thistles. .

  “Let’s go,” Jeremy said as he boarded the cart. “That gives us a good mile’s lead, more if he sticks to the road. We should do it if we keep our pace up. Make for those trees.”

  Susanna set off, trying her best to ignore the slimy mess in the crack of her bottom and down her legs. A little dirt wouldn’t hurt her, and it certainly wasn’t worth risking twenty-thousand pounds for. They reached the trees and negotiated a small style, finding a muddy track beyond. Out of sight of Croom and the possibility of being observed by Miss Chertsey, Jeremy dismounted and helped Susanna with the cart despite a pang of guilt at breaking the rules. The hill was steeper than he had anticipated and the deeply rutted track made going difficult as they worked their way towards the top.

  Croom meanwhile was driving his team furiously along the road, all three ponies running sweat and breathing hard, each perfect bottom red and smarting from his whip strokes. As Jeremy and Susanna reached the crest of the hill, he was turning over the bridge, tearing the map in his desperation to find a better route. A possibility struck him immediately. The map marked a large house of some sort with paved tracks leading both to Steeple Dunning and to the road he was on. Given that there were only dirt tracks near where Jeremy and Susanna had crossed the river it had to give him a chance.

  A sign came into view. “Bournefields Estate - Private” he read. Another sign, of more temporary appearance, announced something about a conference but Croom paid no heed, not caring who was there as long as the shortcut offered him a chance to win.

  “Left ahead.” he called, pulling on Arrabella’s reins and steering the triplets through the massive arch that marked the estate entrance. “Now ride hard.”

  A couple of whip strokes returned the triplets to full speed, Croom calling encouragement and glancing nervously at his watch. They were in carefully cultivated parkland, rhododendron bushes growing thick on each side between the trunks of massive oaks and limes. Ahead of them a line of curiously dressed walkers came into view. Nuns, he realised even as the last of them turned to see what the commotion was behind her.

  “Clear the road!” Croom yelled, catching Christobel a cracking stroke across her already well smacked bottom as her step faltered. “Out of my way, damn you!”

  Nuns scattered in all directions, starring at Croom as if he were the devil himself. Croom aimed a stroke at a temptingly rounded section of habit. The whip connected, drawing an indignant yelp from the nun, Croom realising too late that he had leaned too far out from the cart. For a moment the cart hung poised on one wheel, Britannia looking around in panic as her shaft rose unexpectedly, then Croom lost his balance, pitching headlong onto the road and releasing a volley of curses. The triplets regained control of the cart, giggling as their master picked himself up from the road and ruefully inspected a grazed hand.

  “Bloody penguins!” Croom swore at the rapidly fleeing nuns. “Sorry about that, I got a bit carried away there. Right, let’s go.”

  The triplets took the strain again as the whip snapped against Arrabella’s rear. The drive took a sharp turn, joined with another and opened out into a imposing avenue of limes set in a broad meadow and ending at a magnificent house.

  “Jesus!” Croom breathed, appropriately enough as the entire area in front of them was swarming with people, nuns, monks, curates, vicars, priests of every denomination and rank, even a stately cardinal strolling between the limes with a beatific smile that changed to outrage when his eyes focused on the naked triplets.

  “Christ,” Croom added, momentarily nonplussed as the triplets pace faltered and they came to a stop. All around them heads began to turn, mouths dropping open at the sight of the cart and it’s rider, but most of all at the three gloriously naked girls, bodies streaked with sweat and bottoms as red as cherries. Silence spread like a wave over the assembly until the whole scene was frozen, two thousand faces starring at four.

  The scene held for a second, then Christobel gave a nervous laugh, breaking the spell on Croom.

  “Ride for it!” he bellowed, applying the whip to Britannia’s backside, then Arrabella’s, then to the hand of an determined young priest who had made the mistake of reaching for part of Christobel’s harness.

  “Go like hell!” Croom screamed, sending the man’s beretta flying with another swipe. The triplets needed no encouragement. On all sides outraged men of God were closing in on them, assuming the intrusion to be a deliberate and calculated outrage aimed at them. The team were sprinting in no time, Croom for once deciding that the best target for his whip was not girl’s bottoms but anything even vaguely ecclesiastical that came within striking range. They tore down the avenue, Croom striking to either side, his face red with fury.

  Directly in front of them a tall, stern figure was blocking the path, his hand raised in a commanding gesture, the expression on his face broking no disagreement.

  “Stop immediately,” the man ordered, his voice the very essence of authority.

  Arrabella though, had only one master, the man behind her with the whip and her reins in his hands. Her pace never faltered, the man leaping to the side as he realised that the alternative was to be ploughed under by the team.

  “We’re away!” Croom called as the man rolled onto the grass and a final slash cleared the last two pursuers from behind the cart. “Keep it up, we’re nearly through! ”

  The triplets surged forward with renewed energy. Ahead of them a knot of around twenty black clad figures had formed, blocking the path. Arrabella didn’t even hesitate, aiming dead centre for the group, her muscles aching as she strained for more speed.

&nbs
p; “Give way, blast you!” Croom raged as they hit. A heavy set young curate took one look at his face and decided to heed the warning, but another made a grab for Britannia’s arm.

  “Get your hands off her or by Satan I’ll take the whip to you!” Croom yelled.” Kick him Britannia! Fine shot! Back, you oily bible-basher! ”

  For a moment Britannia faltered, stumbled, then found her feet and they were through, Croom lashing out viciously as they passed but failing to connect.

  “Clear!” he crowed as the open drive stretched in front of them. Croom turned and shook his fist, cackling demonically, then realised that there were at least a hundred assorted priests still in pursuit. “Shit. Keep going girls, it’s not over yet! ”

  Arrabella glanced back then set her face determinedly to the front. The girls were supremely fit and the pursuers replete with food and mostly hampered by unwieldy religious garments, yet they had already run two miles and had the cart to pull.

  “Make for that arch.” Croom instructed, risking a leap from the cart and landing at a run. “It must lead to the back drive.”