by Leigh Turner
Sally could see that her rivals’ males had been given long whips, as well as the two bridle leads for directional guidance. All the men were completely naked still, their cuffs removed to free them to hold the reins and whips. Simon would have the same. At least he was of slight build. Though tall, he quite possibly weighed least of all the males.
She felt she was about to race for her life, and jostled unbidden by her rider for the best starting position. All was momentarily chaos as the others did the same.
‘Get set! Go!’
Fiona and Liz became briefly entangled. Oliver was still jockeying Becky, behind her, and it was Sally who galloped first out of the gravelled area on to the estate road. She heard rapid clopping noises behind her as she ran keenly without input from Simon. Perhaps if she won she might be rewarded with a shafting from an available male.
Her mind was warped and one-tracked as she ran on, dimly realising that she must somehow pace herself if she was to reach the finish with any chance of success. She settled to a steady gait, hoping Simon would empathise with her strategy. She could do without input from a tease whip after what she had endured up to now.
Down the hill into the clearing, they were caught by Becky pulling the yellow trap. Red-faced, she drew ahead up the hill after it, as Oliver brandished the tease whip, smarting her bare buttock flank.
As Sally determined to resist being drawn into a sprint, she felt the sting of the tease whip. The idiot Simon, led by the whim of the pack, failed to see the pitfall. But she pushed on, enough to satisfy him, show him she was trying, even while keeping something in reserve.
Her ears distinguished little, but she thought at least one runner was still down at the clearing as they crested the rise. Soon after, they closed on Becky and Oliver, who were virtually at a standstill. Sally saw Becky bent, gasping for breath, as they went past.
She trotted steadily on, finding a rhythm. Soon they saw the spire-shaped folly, further out in the grounds than they had been before. What if there were normal staff members out here, grizzled old gardeners looking up from their spades at the pornographic spectacle approaching them?
In the event it was Inez she saw, taking a while to recognize her in long, black skirt, check tweed riding jacket, and trilby-style hat. Sally wondered if she was hallucinating, entering a world where Jane Austen and The Devil in Miss Jones had become intermingled.
The sight of Inez’s smile as she stepped away from a castellated stone ornament pulled her out of her reverie. Here atop it was the flag, now revealed, the marker that Jane had described.
She felt a pull on the rein from Simon as she went behind it and turned left. Let him feel in control if he wanted, she was going that way anyway. As she rounded the corner and turned for home, she was at last able to see her rivals. Fiona and Nick trailed badly, just having crested the rise. Greg rode Liz, closer but still a little way back. If she could just keep going …
As she trotted across the grassland, she caught sight of the yellow trap ahead of her. How had they got there? Unless … Of course, they had cut across, Oliver realising that Becky had tired; he had no doubt asked too much of her. So they had cheated. No matter. Not seeing that Inez was watching the turn point, they would have a surprise waiting for them.
As they drew closer to the garages, Sally tried to put on a spurt. She could see the outline of Max’s Jaguar. How close were Greg and Liz now?
She received her answer as the tease whip thwacked upon her. She summoned all her strength, tingling fanny temporarily forgotten as blood was pumped to her legs. Again and again the tease whip descended, on alternate flanks now to spare her.
She responded with all her heart, desperate to win, appreciating the flagellation, using it for fuel and motivation. As she left the track and entered the gravelled area at the gap in the hedge, she saw Jane and Celia there, with Max, applauding. It must be over. She had sensed Liz behind her at her shoulder over the last few yards. But she had prevailed. The end of the estate road at the hedge must have been the finish line.
They trotted to a halt, spent. Sally and Liz were untethered as Fiona trotted home, resigned. Becky was already loose, being led away toward the stable block, this time by Vanessa. The three remaining girls were taken to the showers, where Celia and Jane worked to divest them of the demeaning bridles, tails, butt-plugs and hoof boots.
Sally and Liz were free first, and began to soap themselves in a well-earned shower, the open plan area affording them a view of each other’s nudity, as well as Fiona, opposite, being stripped of apparel, this time by Jane and Celia together.
They were left with instructions to put some robes on, report to the kitchen for refreshment, and relax until activities resumed, when they would be called from the lounge at about 2 p.m.
As Sally dried herself and selected a white robe from a rail at the dry side of the shower area, she wondered at her new status. Perhaps her victory had changed Jane’s view of her. It was surely not just an oversight that Becky had been led back to the stables, still bridled, while she, Sally, luxuriated in the washing away of sweat, spunk, and ingrained muck.
Lena had prepared a buffet. Three girls and three boys partook of it, and wandered at will to sit and eat. There was no sign of Steven, Tom, Peter, or Nick and Becky who had remained outside. The three young men gravitated to the dining room, where Oliver was teased by the other two for missing the turn checkpoint. His reply, overheard by Sally, that “the bitch couldn’t win without me doing that”, did little to endear him to her.
Sally and Liz found themselves in the lounge with their loaded plates. Fiona for once had wandered elsewhere, either with the lads or outside. Sally felt a grudging respect from Liz as she addressed her.
‘Well, I’ll beat you in the return match anyway.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Didn’t you hear what Jane said about tit for tat with the whips? They’ll be doing the same after lunch with the men in between the shafts and us doing the riding.’
‘Oh. Yes, you might be right. Well, may the best … horse win.’
This brought a laugh from both of them.
Sally was glad that her sexual frustration had receded for a while. She began to think of the mundane world she had left behind. What was going on in this place and why had she agreed to it? She was interrupted by Liz’s question. Perhaps emboldened by the slight crack in the ice between them, she now expressed her curiosity.
‘So what happened to you last night? What did they do with you?’
‘It was pretty demeaning, actually. I’d rather not talk about it.’
Liz’s eyebrows raised as Sally put down her empty plate and shut her eyes for a nap.
Maybe 15 or 20 minutes had passed when she stirred. It felt like many more, such was the depth of her relaxation. Blinking, she saw Tom talking to Liz near the door. He was dressed in jeans and T-shirt, as if he had come from the gardens. Noticing her movement, he spoke.
‘Time to assemble in the courtyard, Sally. You’ve got five minutes, no more.’ With that, he turned, and Liz followed him out of the door.
Sally was grateful for his use of her first name. Things seemed to be a little impersonal here at times, as if all the staff were drones, there to perform Jane’s edicts and no more. There were some exceptions; Vanessa, for instance.
Coming to, she hurried to take a pee. Entering the courtyard through the back door, she found herself the third girl to arrive, after Fiona and Liz. She must not have been too late, however, for Jane had no word of chastisement. Instead, she smiled benignly.
‘Good, you are all here. You three ladies, you have ten minutes. Go to the wardrobe room and select some appropriate clothing. You are to be the riders this time; the steeds are being harnessed now. Becky will join us just before the start; she remains at my personal command for now. Go, you may choose whatever satisfies your whim.’
They found their way to the wardrobe room next to Inez’s surgery. Ten minutes was not long. Every conceivable
garb was here somewhere, but it would be hard to navigate the selection in the time available. While the other two were gazing around, Sally made a beeline for the drawers at the end, where she knew she would find clean white knickers. Finding also an extensive choice of suspender belts, she decided to don a deep-arched, wide-belted garment in white, teaming its four suspenders with black seamed stockings.
Hurrying, she found a white blouse to fit. She wanted jodhpurs like Jane, but there was no time to try several for the right fit. Instead, she grabbed a black skirt, quite short. Not quite the look she had in mind at the outset, but she did not want to dither and face the prospect of a smart outfit respectable in all aspects except the glaring lack of a lower garment, knickers on show.
As she pulled on a pair of knee-length, dark grey leather boots, she glanced toward the coat rail and saw that Liz had selected a red hunting jacket; predictable perhaps, but no less than appropriate. She had managed to find some tight black riding breeches and black calf-length boots over them. As the girl moved past her, Sally homed in on a double-breasted jacket in a bright French blue, which caught her eye. Luckily it fitted well, and with its gold embroidered decoration and silver buttons, gave her something of a military air.
She followed Liz, copying her selection of a hemispherical peaked riding helmet in black. Those platforms looked none too stable, and the men were liable to be carrying them at a faster pace, being more muscular and carrying less weight.
As they now made for the door, with time fast slipping away, they noticed Fiona following them. She had come from the antechamber which contained the more blatantly erotic costumes, and now smiled confidently as she strode toward them, sheathed in a tight red latex one-piece catsuit. Her only other attire consisted of black Cuban-heeled boots very similar to those worn by Sally, the heel wide enough to provide a safer purchase than stilettos. Sally had to admit that she looked magnificent, with her mane of dark red hair flowing down, every curve of her excellent figure highlighted to perfection. She must have spent most of the ten minutes wriggling into it, but it would be worth the effort, for all male eyes would be drawn first to her.
They reached the rear drive, to see Vanessa beckon them toward the garage yard, where they had begun the earlier race. Here they witnessed the final stages of the harnessing process. Each male had a handler, all of whom were attaching reins to the bridles which were worn just like the females had worn them earlier. Lena attended to Oliver, Celia to Greg, and Jane to Simon. The fourth stallion, in the red trap, was now Steven, still in his gay submissive-style leather thong outfit, which covered little and revealed all of his well-muscled physique. It would appear that the middle-aged Nick had been replaced, to give Fiona a fairer chance against the three young men. He was being harnessed by Tom.
Though Sally had been through the process earlier, she was still shocked to see what had become of these “steeds”. While their feet were spared the hobbling hoof boots in favour of black canvas pumps, the rest of their attire was no less equestrian than that which the girls had endured earlier, down to the bridles, helmet with blinkers and ear shapes sticking up, and, finally, the belt and straps holding in a butt-plug and, yes, the horse hair tail too.
Jane must have gained their acquiescence to this last ultimate humiliation by threat of disqualification, thought Sally. Or perhaps they had been harnessed to the shafts by their belts first, maybe cuffed, and then forced to endure the intrusion. In any case, they now stood ready, hands gripping the shafts, loosely secured to them by short chained wristbands. So even had they wished to rebel, this restriction would not allow them to reach behind and disturb the plug.
Jane surveyed the three arrivals, then instructed Vanessa to fetch a riding helmet for the bare-headed Fiona. Finishing Simon’s reins with a tug, she left the arena, shortly to return shepherding Becky forward, a short whip in her hand ready for any waywardness. Presumably Becky had been in the stables while they had showered and eaten a civilised lunch. She remained a sweaty and servile beast, still bridled, helmeted, hoofed, and with her hands shackled behind her above the plugging tail.
Jane instructed Vanessa, who had returned and fitted Fiona’s helmet, to take Becky’s boots off. She then fetched some flat pumps to replace them. Jane divested the girl at last of the animal helmet and bridle, fitting her, like Fiona, with the standard black helmet which Vanessa had brought from the house. Her hands were uncuffed and she was allowed to grasp the handrail as she mounted the trap. Finally, the tail was unscrewed and taken away. The butt-plug, however, remained, symbol of Jane’s power and domination over the girl.
The three clothed riders were instructed to mount, and reins and long tease whips were handed to them. They began to jostle around wordlessly as Sally tried to test the limits of her balance on the small, flat platform behind the wheels. There was a rail ahead of her to grip, but this compromised her hold on the reins. Nevertheless she clasped it, reins in the same hand, leaving her right hand to brandish the whip and reach the reins ahead occasionally to transmit changes of direction. There seemed to be an unspoken rule not to speak to the mounts, judging by the precedent set earlier by the boys. Was it a rule, as such? More to the point, dare she risk penalties by breaking it?
Sally looked round at her rivals. The pricks of Oliver and Steven stuck rudely forward. Greg looked like he was sporting at least a semi-erection, from the glimpse she got. Jane was beginning her starter’s orders.
‘Girls. You are strongly advised not to try to look behind you. Concentrate on your goal ahead, or, like Orpheus, you may find your world comes crashing down around your ears. Do not spare your mounts. They are young, fit, and have been medically examined. The route is the same as before. May the fleetest stallion with the bravest rider win.
‘Are you ready? Get set. Go!’
Sally gripped tightly, and swung the whip with her right hand. Simon, startled, produced the desired response and began to run. But it was Oliver, seemingly unbidden by the virtually naked Becky, who made the running this time, charging ahead of all of them as his rider clung on to the rail of the trap.
Sally and Simon were second as they descended into the woods, but here came Greg alongside, taking advantage of the slope, the path barely wide enough for two traps. Nosing ahead at the clearing, he stumbled as one wheel snagged on the rough terrain at the side of the path. Sally seized her moment and deftly applied a right, left, right flick of the tease whip to catch each buttock and spur Simon on.
He had a runner’s lithe body, but did he have the stamina to hold off the stocky and determined Greg? She wanted to get ahead up the slope, to avoid the danger of entanglement on the narrow path.
As they approached the marker where Inez waited once more, she saw Oliver, ahead of them, begin his turn. Breathing heavier now, yet not flagging, she could not help but admire his toned physique, ebony muscles straining, beaded in sweat. He still had a semi-erect dick, which bobbed up and down as he ran. You’d better not be wasting any blood supply on display, my boy, she mentally addressed Simon.
As they turned left, she couldn’t actually see Greg and Liz, which meant they must be close by behind her right shoulder. Slightly further back was Fiona in her painted-on costume. She must be hot by now in her scarlet sheath; it was an effort to hold on, even for the riders.
She heard the redhead’s voice.
‘Come on, you fucking tart. Get moving or I’ll whip your sissy arse like a bitch.’
The young man, for one so gym toned, did seem to be underperforming. Was it psychological? Sally cared little. Her main rivalry was with Liz. Oliver and Becky were sure to be disqualified from the first race. It was good if they took the leader’s points this time; a bit of insurance if Liz was to finish ahead of her.
She wanted to shout encouragement to Simon, but dared not. Why risk penalty when success was so near? She wielded the tease whip again and again as they saw the finish line. Simon had got into a stride, his long legs gaining on the tiring Oliver.
S
ally heard Liz urging Greg on. ‘Come on, come on!’ She could tell by the voice’s range that they had extended their advantage.
Only ten yards to go now, as Oliver hung on and crossed the line ahead. Then they were home. With Simon easing off, she finally turned on her platform, to see Steven, pride stung, gaining on a flagging Greg. Both riders whipped their mounts fiercely in the frenzy to prevail. Oliver’s would be the only rump not reddened by abuse at the end of this. Sally hoped she had not overstepped the mark, as she watched Liz, face full of fury, pipped by a head by Fiona’s athletic steed.
As they received the applause, she heard Jane’s voice.
‘Excellent sport. A wonderful spectacle. And Tom has it all on film. Ladies, you may relieve your mounts of any frustration once they have caught breath. It is a free for all; you do not have to stick to your own steed. I will award some bonus points for style to the ladies, for endurance to the men. Begin.’
Stepping from their platforms, they witnessed Max approach each male. Carrying a bucket of water, he doused them one by one, in order of finishing. After Simon had received his refreshing bucketful, Sally felt safe to move forward. Positioning herself in front of him, she grasped his cock, still limp after the exertion and the drenching.
‘Come with me, my boy.’ She revelled in the feeling of command, of no longer being a helpless recipient.
She led him by the cock over to where Oliver stood harnessed. Becky was tentatively fondling his organ, which grew as she watched.
‘Do you want to take it in you?’ asked Sally, plainly and boldly.
She was rewarded with a slight nodding of the head, Becky characteristically meek yet overcome with desire.
‘Turn.’ Command felt good. ‘And bend,’ she said as the girl complied.