Blonde Fury II

by Sean O'Kane

  Wilbur put down his orange juice and sat forward, steepling his hands under his chin.

  “We’ve had someone asking round about White Lightning – or the girl she used to be I mean.”

  “Nothing new there. You’re paid to put them off.”

  “Yeah, hoods and low-lifes looking for their whores and mules. We can handle them. But this is different.”

  “Go on.”

  “I had to track back from who was doing the asking to find who was paying to have the questions asked, that alone bothered me – it ain’t normal. Had to lean on a couple too. But it goes back to a P.I.”

  Wilbur snorted and relaxed.

  “No, Sir. We know this one. He’s expensive, very careful and very discreet. The rich guys use him to keep an eye on other rich guys.” A thought seemed to strike him and he added, “If you don’t mind my saying, Sir”

  Wilbur waved the apology away, he never used local P.I.s for anything.

  “Ok. Keep me informed,” he said and cut Henry off.

  Damnation! His best ever pony! But then of course that was why she was being looked for, a girl of that calibre wouldn’t be just a Jane Doe, someone would want her. But all the signs when Henry picked her up had seemed to point to her being just an ordinary girl on the run.

  It wasn’t the ranch and the pony girls being exposed that bothered him, the current climate was getting much more permissive and tolerant of the sport. That would blow over. But the last thing he needed for a lot of other projects was big government agencies sticking their noses into his affairs. He was especially anxious to avoid the IRS.

  There was only one thing to do. He didn’t want to but this was no time for sentiment.

  It was mid morning on race day before her groom came for Sophie to tack her up for her first race. Her grooming was a bit more thorough than on a normal day. He scrubbed her down in the shower using the sponge mounted on a broom handle as usual, but with more than normal diligence. He made her part her legs and if he noticed the crusted sperm on and about her groin he made no comment. When he turned the shower off he used the hose to douche her and she felt cool and relaxed inside as he dried her hair off and brushed it through before tying it into a tight ponytail. Then he coated her body in oil. Sophie loved this part, not only because a man’s hands ran over and into every feminine crevice and fold of her body, but also because she loved how it made her gleam. When he was finished and she was feeling keen to get on, he tapped her cheeks and she obediently opened her mouth to receive her bit and he gave her a moment or two to champ on it and get comfortable. Then he lifted the web of leather strapping that was her bridle over her head and sorted it until he could buckle it under her chin and settle the straps that ran from her nose down over her cheeks and joined her bit rings, which also supported her reins. Once the rings had been clipped to the bit and the straps over her head were untwisted and the buckle at her chin tested again for a snug fit, the plumes in the red and gold of the ranch were added at the crown of her head and her blinkers were clipped on. Then her stable collar was removed and her racing collar was buckled on. This one was in quilted leather that was soft to the skin but which had a hard core that kept her head raised and made it almost impossible for her to turn it as it made it uncomfortable. Sophie liked it, it was pleasantly controlling and she knew from the admiring noises the men made when she was paraded that they liked her in harness; and that meant plenty of sex.

  She raised her feet behind her, one at a time to have her boots laced on. They were low wedged heels, safe enough to run in at the speeds she was capable of when pulling a sulky. And then finally it was time for her favourite part of the process. The groom tapped the undersides of her breasts.

  “Come on, girl. Present!” he said.

  Immediately she thrust her chest out proudly and saw his appreciative smile as he reached for her nipples, unscrewed the balls on the barbells and pulled them out. She couldn’t help shivering with pleasure as she felt his fingers touch her sensitive flesh and he tutted but didn’t smack her. Instead he took up a fine gold chain and fed one end through the holes in the nipples, then looped it back, pulled it fairly tight and clipped it to itself so that her breasts were subject to gentle pressure but not compression. Sophie found it just as comfortable as any sports bra she had ever worn.

  The rig she was to pull; just a plain, unpadded bench between two, large, lightweight, alloy wheels, with two shafts projecting forwards was waiting in the yard. She was backed between the shafts and the groom lifted them and fastened her wrists to them. Then he looped her reins over a hook beside the door to her stall and left her. Immediately she shifted her weight onto one leg and relaxed the other, cocking her hips as she did so. Ahead of her she could see a coloured girl – one of her stablemates, in exactly the same pose. The yard was quiet at the moment – even the whipping gibbet hadn’t been used that morning but then two drivers came through the gap at the corner of the stableyard that led to the main house. They were dressed in the stable colours of red and gold as well and were slightly built men, but wiry. Sophie knew that they could wield the whip as hard as necessary and scraped a foot and champed her bit, like her stablemate, as the men approached. The ponies were keen to do what they were there for.

  Sophie’s driver patted her flank and looked her over critically while he continued to chat to his companion. Sophie paid no attention to the words, they were not for her. She paid attention to his hands though. They ran knowledgeably over her flanks, her stomach and her thighs. He wasn’t bothered about her breasts or her sex – yet. Maybe later. For now he was assessing his mount and his mount was appreciative of the knowledge she felt in those hands – where they kneaded and where they stroked. She could feel his strong fingers pressing her muscles and knew she was in capable hands. Her impression was confirmed when he climbed aboard and she felt his weight shift until he was comfortable and his feet were settled on the foot rail. Then he tightened her reins and gently turned her head left and right, checking she had been tacked up properly and testing her responsiveness, some inexperienced drivers were in too much of a hurry to get to the whip. But finally, when he was good and ready, he took up the lash and she heard it being removed from its holder and at last felt a gentle sting across her shoulders. She and her stablemate leaned forwards and in a clattering of shoes on cobbles, grinding of metal wheels on stone and tongue clicks from the drivers, the two ponies moved out.

  They were driven to the paddock past rows of massive horseboxes from stables all over the country and Sophie caught sight of packed car parks too. This was the biggest race she had ever been competed in and when they did finally reach the paddock, her impression was confirmed. There were about twenty rigs going in her event and the paddock was full of waving plumes in a kaleidoscope of colours and what looked like acres of gleaming, naked girlflesh. A compère’s voice was booming over a PA as her driver took her on a circuit that went close to the crowd so that bets could be placed. She appreciated her blinkers at times like this. They allowed her to concentrate on the coming race, clear her mind of any thoughts about the previous night’s pleasures and the possible pleasures to come. She focussed on the joy of running naked and the pleasure of winning instead.

  There seemed to be an eternity of milling about and Sophie could definitely get the scent of arousal as well as body oil from the ponies around her. This was what they all lived for. She reared her head and tugged at the bit impatiently until at last she was urged forwards to the tape. Beside her she could hear the other ponies snorting and stamping in excitement.

  Then the pistol went off and the air around Sophie exploded into a cacophony of whips smacking, men crying out as they urged their ponies into a gallop and the crowd baying as the girls surged forwards under the lashes. At first she was intimidated by the sheer number of ponies and rigs around her but soon, once the initial flurry of stinging lashes across her upper back had subsided and she was feeling her legs relax as they stretched into their customary gait, So
phie realised that she was comfortably placed with only four or five in front of her. Her instinct was to go for the lead. She knew she didn’t have a kick finish, she relied on her long legs eating up the ground easily over the majority of the race, leaving the others with too much to do to catch her at the end. She tucked her chin in and accelerated into the first turn as the track with its white railings curved away from the stand to the left. Immediately she felt her reins tug back and her bit press back against her teeth and the corners of her mouth. In addition she caught three stinging lashes across the fronts of her thighs from the whipcord of the driving whip. They were hard, smacking lashes which made her twist her head in protest but she got the message. She was to remain where she was.

  To her dismay as they rounded the bend into the back straight, from behind her right blinker two more ponies appeared, running hard but keeping their shape well. They eased past her along the straight, their drivers’ whips lacing the air above them and the wheel spokes blurring.

  Sophie pulled again at her reins and again was pulled back by a hard hand on the reins and another volley of lashes across her thighs. As they took the corner into the home straight, yet another rig went past. And then suddenly with the crowd noise beating against her ears as they went past the stand, Sophie found herself in the pack. She was running close to the rails and now there were ten or more rigs on her right and she could no longer even see where the leaders were.

  This was not where she was used to running. She liked the freedom of the air on her body as she ran; here she was hemmed in and the air was thick with the smell of sweat and oil. She began to panic, she tossed her head and tried to veer away from the fence. Immediately she got a strong downward tug on the reins that made her tuck her chin in and she found she was looking at her own breasts, quivering and rippling as she ran but not swinging. And instead of the lash being plied across her thighs, it merely touched her back lightly with the point of the shaft, not the stinging whipcord that was attached to it. She felt herself calm down as the driver was telling her that he knew what she was feeling. She was being told to ignore the rest of the field and she kept her gaze fixed downwards as they completed a second lap. Of course she never knew how many laps a race consisted of – it was her driver’s business not hers.

  As they entered the third lap, the pressure on the reins eased and the whip stung her middle back. She picked up her pace and gained on the rig ahead, then she felt the right rein tug and got another three hard lashes to her back. She was being let off the leash and jumped at the chance. She overtook the rig she had been following and saw two more ahead of her with space between them. She went for it and got more whip on her back and an encouraging cry from her driver. He and she were at one again. With a brief increase in noise from either side, both ponies were gasping and slathering, she sped through the gap between them and could see the leaders spread out before her. The reins tightened again and she was steadied round the bend into the back straight. This time she obeyed and then in response to the whip as they thundered down the straight she began to creep up on the next few rigs. She was kept behind them on the turn but unleashed once more as they came into the home straight and was stretching her legs past them as they got to the bell.

  Behind her she heard her driver yell at her and felt the lash criss cross her buttocks and back time and again. The pressure on the reins eased altogether and she was free. Her legs felt fresh but for the first time she broke into a sweat as she easily passed a pony whose saliva was hanging in trails from her mouth and bedewing her breasts as she faded badly in the last lap. Sophie was steered back into the railings again until the back straight lay ahead of them and again the whip was played on her back. Joyfully Sophie accelerated once more, proud of how easily it came to her and now, as they neared the final turn she was pulled away from the rails again and they flashed past another rig. The whip was constant now, not hard but demanding that she keep giving her best. Sophie ducked her head and gulped in breath as she pumped her legs that now just began to register some tiredness. Sweat began to run into her eyes and she blinked it away and shook her head, rattling her bit, then suddenly she was tugged right again and then straightened. She managed to look up and saw she was drawing alongside a rig on the rails and that ahead there was nothing but the tape at the end of the home straight. She felt saliva begin to drip from her mouth as fatigue began to set in but it couldn’t stop her now. Behind her she heard her driver yelling her on as he worked the lash on her burning back and buttocks and she found that she still had more in the tank and accelerated again.

  Chapter Six

  Wilbur reached out and grabbed Lightning’s reins as she was brought to a halt in the winner’s enclosure, he let her continue to toss her head and cavil as she got her wind back and gradually stopped stamping.

  “Good girl!” he said and unclipped the stabilising chain from between her breasts and pulled it free of the nipples so that her rosette could be pinned to her.

  Her driver jumped down and came round to her head.

  “If she wasn’t running again this afternoon, I’d have her strung up and thrashed! Never had such a hard puller in my life! If I’d given her her head, she’d have run out of steam a clear half lap short.”

  “Yeah, she is headstrong over longer distances,” Wilbur agreed. “And after the cross country I’ll happily join you in thrashing her hide for her. But I do need her to win!”

  The driver looked at him shrewdly. “You sound like you mean that Mr Floyd,” he said.

  “I surely do.”

  “Ok, what rules we running?”

  “Usual over three miles cross country.”

  A slow smile spread across the man’s face. “Good! In that case let me loose in your kitchen, make that a number three instead of a number two at the front of my paycheck and I’ll deliver.”

  “If you deliver I’ll gladly do that and add another five hundred at the back of it for good measure.”

  The men smiled at each other, shook hands and went their separate ways. The driver headed for the house, Wilbur led the now calm White Lightning to her stall, where her groom took her harness off and rubbed her down.

  She was given a light lunch which she ate as usual from her wide trough set on the front wall of her stall. She had a long drink from her bottle which hung just above it and grimaced as usual at its rather sour taste of fruit juice and sperm, then she lay down and managed to sleep until she was roused again. Before she was tacked up this time she was led round the yard on a leash from her collar to loosen her muscles up again and was trotted on the lunge rein for a few minutes before she was led back. The traces of the whip from earlier on had largely faded and only a slight discomfort remained. But with the application of oil, even that disappeared beneath her groom’s massaging fingers.

  She knew she was going in a cross country when the tack was laid out and she stamped her foot to show her enthusiasm. The sense of running free was even keener when she was away from a track altogether with only her driver and the rig rumbling across grass behind her. For cross country the ponies wore tails, it was considered that away from a formal track a more natural look was desirable. It also allowed the owners to add a further spur to performance that Sophie had not yet experienced, having not raced over three miles before. But she had worn the crupper strap that went between her legs and which buckled onto a thin belt around her waist. It supported an upward curving prong on which hung her palomino tail. She loved it and didn’t mind the butt plug that assisted in holding the whole thing steady at all.

  It was the last item they put on her and she got a shock when she bent over in obedience to a downward tug of the reins. The groom’s fingers delivered something icily cold straight into her rectum and then rammed the plug in straight afterwards. She had no way of knowing that she had been carefully kept from seeing the large ice cube in a steel dish and what it contained. She was allowed to step and prance for a minute afterwards to get used to the strange feeling inside her
and then she was led out again.

  This time they went down to the river which ran through the ranch.

  “Don’t worry,” the driver told Wilbur as they waited for Lightning to be delivered to them. “All the others will have done similar and it’s within the rules. But mine is the best in the business. Hell, I’ve won on an eight year old gelding at a hundred to one with that stuff!”

  Wilbur raised his eyebrows.

  “Don’t worry! I toned it down a bit and went easy on the spices. Well some of them!”

  Just then Lightning was led towards him, looking graceful and fast with her tail swishing as she moved. He was going to have to watch this and see what havoc was wreaked inside her. He just hoped it wouldn’t be too much for her. If it wasn’t and the driver’s magic jollop worked then it would be the last time she raced in his colours anyway.

  Sophie was pleased to see the same driver as her last race and tried not to get too restive among the other rigs that jostled for position at the top of the bank beside the river. There were just as many as before but the sulkies themselves were a little different. The wheels were smaller and had pneumatic tyres on them so that they were less likely to tip over on rough ground and for the same reason there was rudimentary suspension. She could feel the slight extra weight as she was squashed between other ponies, snorting round their bits and once again she was lost somewhere in the pack. She hoped her driver would be as cool as he had been in the morning race.

  The pistol cracked again and they were off. This time her driver slammed the brakes on before she had had a chance to move. The bank sloped steeply down into the water and he wanted a clear view before he let her tip toe her way down, even in dry conditions. With her bit pulling cruelly against the corners of her mouth, making her keep her head up, Sophie had to feel her way forwards, trusting in her driver to steer her because she couldn’t see anything ahead and below her. Beside her, other ponies were rearing their heads and snorting as their drivers hauled on the reins too but eventually they were down and into the water. It was only a few inches deep but chilling and refreshing on a hot day like this one.