by Penny Birch
I hesitated – my Ups an inch from her bumhole – braced myself and kissed it, drawing a giggle and a sigh from Susan. It felt glorious to be licking her and I was soon burrowing my tongue into the little hole, as dirty and abandoned as she had been with me. She came again like that, with my tongue in her anus while she played with herself.
After that we paused, sharing a bottle of wine in bed and then once more beginning to tease and caress each other. As the night progressed I increasingly took the dominant role. Susan wanted another over-the-knee spanking and put on her uniform to take it. I dressed too, and when I had warmed her bottom I made her kiss my feet and beg for more. A ruler and then a hairbrush left her bottom smarting and pink and her on a natural high of pure submission. Giggling with wine and sex, we became gradually dirtier, using the hairbrush handle first in her vagina then her bottom. I stripped her but stayed dressed myself, adding to my feeling of dominance. We experimented with bondage games, me tying Susan’s hands behind her back and tormenting her breasts and fanny. When I needed a pee I did it all over her in the small shower attached to her room, directing my stream first over her breasts and then actually into her mouth as she knelt naked in front of me.
Some time in the early hours of the morning I had her tied face down on the bed. She was nude, her upturned bottom as red as a tomato, the hairbrush protruding from between her cheeks where it was wedged up her anus. I could see her sex-lips from the rear, swollen and pink, now shaved and slick with the skin cream we had been using as a lubricant. She was breathing fast, her excitement rising again from my treatment of her.
‘I’m going to wet the bed, Amber,’ she said suddenly.
For a moment I thought she wanted to be untied but, before I could do anything about it, a trickle of pee had started to run from her fanny. It built quickly to a stream, pooling on the bed between her thighs and soaking into the blankets. She was panting and sobbing as she did it, obviously in ecstasy. I watched her pee gush out, my own excitement rising as she soiled her bed. The sight was more than I could resist and I buried my face in between her thighs, putting my face to her still dribbling fanny, tasting her pee, swallowing some, then lifting my head and letting it run out of my mouth on to her bottom and back.
I untied her and we made love again, licking and stroking each other frantically in the sodden bed, totally unrestrained in each other’s arms until we had both come again and finally collapsed into exhausted sleep.
Seven
Inevitably Susan and I were a little embarrassed by just how carried away we had got with each other when we awoke that morning in Oxford. Our shame soon turned to giggles as we did our best to cover up our misbehaviour. The rest of the day was spent sightseeing with her and Francis, and only that night did we once more make love together. I returned to Hertfordshire the next morning feeling extremely happy with myself. I had satisfied the passion for Susan which had been building up in me for months, years, really. I was no longer a virgin, and I had lost my virginity in a situation that was both delightfully eccentric and memorable. Better by far than surrendering myself to some clumsy farm boy in a barn or outhouse. I was also confident in my ability to beat Rathwell and claim my piece of land.
Henry was delighted by my experience and demanded a blow-by-blow account of my weekend. I gave it all except the most intimate moments with Susan, watching him get gradually more excited as I described our sex play. When I had finished there was nothing for it but for me to get into my uniform once more and allow him to spank me. Once my bottom was warm and I was in my usual submissive state, it just didn’t seem fair to deny him my vagina any more. Bending over his favourite armchair, I let him enter me from the rear, my bottom warm under the weight of his belly as he worked his oversized cock slowly into me. It hurt a little but felt wonderful once it was inside me and I was soon playing with myself while he took his time with me and finally came over my bottom.
The next day we contacted Rathwell and set a date for the pursuit-capture-punishment when Susan and Francis would be able to come down. It was to be the last weekend in September; something of a risk as outdoor pony-girl play is definitely not a cold weather sport.
As it happened, the weather on the Saturday before the race was exceptionally mild but also wet. It had rained hard all night and was still drizzling when Susan and Francis arrived. Henry and Francis got on well over lunch, but were too inhibited by each other’s presence for us to indulge in the gentle afternoon sex play I had been hoping for and which had become normal between Henry and I. This was a shame as I’d been hoping to coax Susan into having sex with Henry.
Their reluctance didn’t extend to watching Susan and I practise for pursuit-capture-punishment, however, and when the clouds finally broke in the middle of the afternoon Henry took deck chairs outside and set them up for the two of them. Rules demanded that the wild pony-girl be completely naked except for her shoes, while it was felt to be good etiquette for the hunter to be fully and traditionally dressed. I had jodhpurs and boots from school, and Henry had insisted on buying me a pink jacket. I dressed and put my hair up with a red ribbon, which completed an outfit that both he and Francis complimented me on. I also had a coil of soft rope and a riding whip: one for tying Susan; one for her bottom when I caught her.
Susan was already in the yard, having only had to take her clothes off and get into socks and trainers. This wasn’t to say she hadn’t made an effort with her look. The socks came up above her knees and were patterned with broad red and black bands. This really highlighted the rest of her nudity and had my pulse racing as soon as I saw her. Next to Henry she looked more tiny than ever – a fragile, naked nymph with her pert breasts pushed out as she stretched in the warm, moist air. She had kept her fanny shaved, and I could see her sex lips peeping out from between her thighs.
She was in an active mood, and full of energy as she warmed up. While we were changing she had confided in me that the thought of being naked in front of Henry made her feel a little nervous but extremely submissive. Going nude for the larger crowd on the following day was a more daunting prospect, as was running from Morris Rathwell.
On Henry’s signal she sped off up the big field, her heels kicking up little plumes of water with each pace. I waited, Henry eyeing his stopwatch as Susan vanished around the end of the rectangular spinney. Beyond it I knew she had two main choices: turn back and conceal herself or move to the top of the field in its shadow. The woods at the edges were out of bounds, but not the beech hedge on the ridge, nor the enclave at its middle.
‘You’re off, Amber,’ Henry said. ‘I’ll sound the horn if your hour runs out.’
I set off up the field at a slow run, keen not to exhaust myself. I made for the gap between the spinneys, knowing that Susan must cross my field of vision if she wanted to get to the left-hand half of the big field. She didn’t, and once I had reached the ridge and checked the enclave I started to move back down, certain that she was trapped in the rectangular spinney.
Only she wasn’t, or at least not that I could find. The rules precluded climbing trees or burying herself in leaves and, although the spinney was pretty dense, it was also narrow. I reached the end feeling puzzled and wondering where I had made a mistake. She wasn’t in the spinney, I was pretty sure of that, which meant she had eluded me and could be anywhere.
I changed tactics, running to the top of the field and along the hedge, searching in it as I went. I failed to find her and so once more made for the spinneys, this time running through the round spinney in a random pattern. Again nothing came of it and I emerged into the field feeling seriously frustrated.
So it went, until I was certain that she’d cheated in some way and this made me feel badly thwarted. Eventually the horn sounded and I had to return to Henry and Francis, completely defeated. As I reached them I heard a cheerful laugh behind me and turned to see Susan emerging from the rectangular spinney. I waited with my hands on my hips while she skipped down the field, laughing and twice turning ca
rtwheels until she reached me and gave me a kiss before going to Francis.
I accepted a badly needed cup of tea from Henry and listened to Susan explaining how she had stayed just deep enough in the spinneys to watch me, anticipated my search pattern and always kept one step ahead. She had eluded me the first time by dashing across to the round spinney in the few seconds it had taken me to check the enclave. Twice after that we had been on opposite sides of large trees but, once I had started to get worked up, avoiding me had become increasingly easy.
‘She’s far too good for Morris,’ Henry remarked, when Susan had finished her explanation. ‘I think we should take precautions, though. Greasing her might be an idea.’
‘Like a pig?’ I asked, delighted by the idea.
‘Yes, please,’ Susan laughed.
‘Butter always proved best in my view,’ Henry continued, ‘although lard has its advocates.’
‘Why not a proper body oil,’ I suggested. ‘Something that smells nice.’
‘It soaks in too quickly,’ Henry replied. ‘A pound of butter is the thing, and also cheaper.’
‘Vaseline is a better lubricant,’ Francis put in. ‘I find butter melts too fast.’
‘Have you greased a girl before?’ I inquired.
‘Not entirely,’ he answered. ‘And not for such exotic purposes but, as you know, I have my preferences.’
Susan blushed and giggled.
‘Let’s test it this evening,’ I suggested, seizing a chance to get round the men’s reservations by arranging something specific. ‘We can play with candles and things.’
The idea was accepted enthusiastically and, after another cup of tea, I made a second attempt to catch Susan. This time I was successful but only after a long chase across the big field to the sound of the men’s laughter as we slipped and slid on the wet ground. When I finally had hold of Susan’s arm I pushed her down, sat on her back and gave her two strokes with my riding whip to comply with the rule that a captured pony-girl must be brought in visibly spanked. I then lashed her wrists behind her back, slung her across my shoulder and brought her in triumphantly. The time was forty-two minutes and, if she’d been greased, I doubt I’d have managed to get hold of her at all, so I was pretty confident that we could beat Rathwell.
It had started to drizzle again during our second practice run, so we went inside to discuss tactics while Henry began the preparation of an evening meal even more elaborate than usual. Susan was full of clever ideas – as was Francis – and by the time Henry appeared to ask me to lay the table I was certain that the competition would be a walkover for me. I had found it exciting as well, and so had Susan, although it would have been better if I’d caught her in good time and been able to take her up to the enclave for a more leisurely and intimate punishment.
My efforts to get Henry and Francis to be completely open in each other’s company were moderately successful, with the testing of various lubricants on our arms. We eventually decided on a mixture of butter and Vaseline, by which time Susan was sitting on the scullery floor with her dress rolled down to her waist and liberally smeared with goo. Both men were enjoying watching, so I grabbed Susan and, after a brief and messy struggle, managed to straddle her back. I made a great show of pulling her dress up. Her panties were white, lacy and obviously quite expensive, which made it even more satisfying to pull the back open and smear a liberal handful of the muck down them. She giggled as I rubbed it into her bottom, then squealed as I put a hand down between her cheeks to lubricate her bottom-hole. My finger went in easily and I played with her anus until she began to moan and push her bottom up, only then stopping abruptly and pulling her thoroughly soiled panties tight up between her cheeks so that the yellowish mess squelched out of the sides.
The show had been too much for Henry and, when I looked up, he had his cock in his hand, stiff and ready for me. I crawled over, leaving Susan in a puddle of greasy mess. Kneeling in front of Henry I opened my blouse and pulled my bra up, folding his erection between my tits. He sighed deeply and began to push it up and down, fucking my boobs until his great cock looked fit to burst. I then pulled back. Susan was still on the floor, but kneeling by Francis and stroking his crotch through his trousers. I held my breasts out to him, offering him the same pleasure I had given Henry. As I had guessed it was more than he could resist, and he made no protest as Susan started to undo his fly.
That broke down the final barrier and his erection was soon nestled between my tits while Susan sucked greedily on Henry’s cock. Both men came in our mouths, leaving Susan and I to share a sticky, salty kiss and retire to the bathroom to wash and come under each other’s tongues.
I actually slept in Henry’s bed that night, though mainly for comfort as Susan and Francis were together. We slept with me sat in his lap, quite innocently until I was awakened at some point in the early hours by a hand gently pulling my nightie up. I let him explore, lifting my nightie and putting his hand down the back of my pants. I obliged by lifting my thigh so that he could get to my fanny. He opened me slowly with a finger, waiting until I was wet and moaning for him to take me. We fucked slowly with the gusset of my panties pulled to the side and my bottom stuck out into his lap. He stayed in me for ages without either of us coming and, at last, we rolled apart and masturbated together while we talked about what we’d like to do to Susan and Ginny.
It had been raining hard outside when Henry woke me for sex, but the morning was a blaze of sunshine. Unfortunately the yard was three inches deep in a disgusting pale brown slurry and the big field was a morass with pools of water standing in the hollows. I stood looking out of the window for a long time, watching the clouds scud across the sky. The weather looked fresh and distinctly autumnal. So it proved, although Susan made no objection as long as she had a blanket when she wasn’t running.
Rathwell turned up in the middle of the morning, driving his ostentatious gold Rolls Royce as always and acting his usual, disagreeable self. Both Melody and Harmony were with him, behaving with their usual combination of vanity and friendliness. They were quite heavily dressed and seemed to find the weather unpleasant, which added to my confidence. Rathwell didn’t, acting as cock-sure and self-satisfied as ever, with remarks about what he thought was my inevitable defloweration. Melody was as bad when it came to teasing me, although Harmony was more sympathetic than anything.
I had dressed in my riding outfit, which was immaculate, Susan having sweetly volunteered to polish my boots and brush my jacket immediately after breakfast. Rathwell matched me almost garment for garment, only spoiling the effect with trainers instead of riding boots and sporting a flashy cravat in turquoise and gold silk. Having determined by tossing a coin that it would be Melody who ran for Rathwell, she opened the boot of the car and went into the house with a bag. Rathwell then drew two objects out, one of which alarmed me immediately and the other which I found unsettling despite not knowing what he intended to do with it. It was a yoke. The first item was a bolas made of three solid rubber balls attached to lengths of soft rope which joined in a central knot.
‘Is that legal?’ I asked Henry, who was standing by me.
‘The bolas?’ he answered. ‘I fear I know of nothing that outlaws it. Indeed I can’t really even say it’s against the spirit of the game.’
‘Nothing in the rules,’ Rathwell put in. ‘Nothing in the rules, and old Henry wrote them, so he should know. Nice idea eh, Henry? Who’s your wild one, then? Tell me it’s that tall blonde with the massive knockers.’
‘I’m afraid Ginny’s not here today,’ I told him. ‘Another friend, Susan, will be running for me.’
‘Good-looking is she? Nice body?’
‘She’s very pretty,’ I answered coolly, ‘but judge for yourself.’
Susan had come out of the scullery and was walking towards us alongside Francis. She had a blanket over her shoulders which hid her body but, with each step, she showed her red and black thigh-length socks and a little leg. Her hair was in bunches and
tied with red and black ribbons, which alone was enough to set my pulse fluttering. Rathwell whistled lewdly.
‘How many more dirty little cuties do you know?’ he demanded.
‘Oh, one or two,’ I lied as, in fact, other than girls who Rathwell knew as well, Susan and Ginny were my only two erotic playmates. ‘This is Susan Wren and her boyfriend, Dr Francis Rudge.’
‘Nice to meet you, Sue, Doc Rudge,’ Rathwell replied.
I saw Francis wince and Susan stuck her tongue out at Rathwell in a gesture that was calculated to earn her an even more tender bottom if he ever actually caught her.
‘What’s that for?’ I asked, overcome with curiosity as to why he had brought a yoke.
‘It’s a yoke, Amber,’ Henry said with a sigh.
‘I know,’ I answered, ‘but it’s for a real horse. It’s not pony-girl kit. Is it?’
‘Not exactly,’ Rathwell said, favouring me with a lewd grin, ‘although, as old Henry will tell you, they can be used for ploughing competitions. You’d be good at that, with those sturdy thighs and shoulders, not to mention your big, muscular bottom.’
‘But we’re not doing that today, are we?’ I queried.
‘No, no, just look on it as decoration for now,’ he answered.
He clearly had no intention of telling me what it was for, so I let the subject drop instead of allowing him to get to me. Henry seemed to know what Rathwell intended but preferred to keep me in blissful ignorance. Instead of pressing the point I asked Rathwell if he would accept the toss of a coin to determine who ran first.
‘Sure,’ he answered. ‘I suppose I can trust old Henry to be a fair ref, I remember him ruling against Jean often enough.’
‘Myself, Francis and Harmony can mediate any disputes,’ Henry declared, ‘but we need Melody before I go over the rules.’